P.L. Nunn's Blog, page 2

Yay!!! Data recovery

They were able to restore my old Mac's operating systems and save all my data. My relief knows no bounds. I bought an external back up and will try with all my might to remember to back everything up every day. (I've made this vow to myself before though - - but am easily distracted - - so we'll see how it goes.)

Anyway, Some of the art I thought lost is found, and i've posted an illustration from the last chapters of "Shifting the Balance" on the art page.

Shifting the Balance - Epilogue

And as promised the Epilogue.




Epilogue

The Pang Nyu was a Chinese junk out of Kiungchow. Her crew lovingly called her the Fat Lady, for her bottom was broad and her construction sturdy. In the lean years of the second opium war she’d been a steadfast pirate of British and Dutch vessels. Her voyages now were mostly mercantile, making the slow trade route south east of China to the rich ports of Bangkok, Singapore and Rangoon and even distant Calcutta when the money was good.

In her seventy years of service, she’d weathered war and storms and political upheaval. She’d had four captains all of the same family linage, and a crew of sons and grandsons, brothers, cousins and uncles. Experienced sailors all, and still the storm that had ripped across the Bay of Bengal had cracked the mainmast and flooded the hold and likened to sink the old lady, crew and all. It was only by the grace and the good will of accumulated ancestors that she weathered it and limped into port at Calcutta.

Two days to repair the mast and it took the funds that otherwise would have finished filling her hold with trade goods. It was a disgruntled crew that headed home with a half empty hold. A disgruntled crew that four days later came upon a tiny boat, adrift and for all appearances abandoned, caught in southbound currents. There was still enough of the pirate in the old captain that he swept down upon it with salvage in mind. At the very least it was a dingy of European design that could bring a few yuan.

At first, when they closed in they thought they heard the squall of some gull, swept far, far from land, but as they pulled in beside the little boat and threw out lines to capture it, they saw instead the face of a child, sun reddened and twisted in the midst of a tantrum as it sat in the bottom of the boat, clutching the robes of a woman who lay very still next to it. There was a man as well, who sprawled equally as silent, dressed in the garb of a well to do Westerner.

As men of the Pang Nyu scrambled down lines to the tiny boat, they called up to the faces looking down from above that the two adults had every appearance of severe dehydration. The single flask on its leather strap that hung around the child’s neck, long empty of water. There were no other rations on the boat. Only a tarp that had been constructed at the prow, that the woman lay half under, shielding her from the unyielding sun.

A woman, if her garb were any indication, of Japanese origin. The man was clearly European, though there was just the slightest hint of Asian tilt to his closed eyes. There was gold in a purse in his pocket though, and a fine pocket watch, which the crew tossed up to the captain, who took an experimental bite of a foreign coin. Gold was gold, though, no matter the origin and could be melted into whatever form a man wanted. And a man that carried a purse of gold on his person was no doubt a man of means and men of means might be worth more gold if handled properly.

The captain signaled and his crew went to work transferring the occupants of the small boat up to the Pang Nyu. The man roused first, as water was forced down his throat, blinking and sputtering weakly, croaking in his indecipherable English, desperate in his flailing until he saw the woman and the child also under the care of the crew on deck.

She came around more slowly, pale skin sun reddened and blistered in places, but still an attractive enough young woman, who clutched the child to her and cried, when she was sensible enough to realize he was there at her side.

“Japanese?” The captain asked, standing over her, casting her and the boy in his shade. She looked up at him dazedly and nodded.

“English?” The captain cast a dark look at the man, with his rumpled western suit and his mustache above a stubbled chin.

“Yes, I am English. We’re indebted to you for our rescue,” the man answered for himself in Japanese better than the captain’s own.

“Rich?” the captain asked.

The man hesitated, glancing at the woman and child, uncertainly, wise enough not to blurt out such things in the company of strangers. But the gold in his pockets told the tale well enough.

“There might be a reward,” the man said slowly. “For your kindness.”

The captain glanced at the girl, who had her arms around the child. “And her? Is she your woman?”

“No!” the man seemed offended. An honorable man. “She is under my protection, though and by God, I‘ll see her and her son safely home. I promise a reward to you, if you drop us at the nearest port. Where are we?”

“West of Rangoon. But we’ll make no port until home. We can talk of our reward there.”

“Where is home?” the man asked warily.

“Kiungchow.”

“China?” The man looked to the girl and the child she clutched in her lap. She looked back with wide, reddened eyes. Finally he nodded, accepting the inevitable, pushing himself painful to his feet. A tall man, though young, despite the years the sunburn and the mustache tried to add to his age.

“Good enough. Better than dying in a life raft with none the wiser.”

“Yes,” she said softly, bowing her head respectfully at the captain.

“I am Ian Fletcher,” the Englishman said extending a hand that the captain only stared at curiously, until the man withdrew it uncertainly. “The lady is Kaoru and was taken by force from her home in Japan, along with her son. It is my duty, as it is the duty of any man of honor, to see her safely back to it.”

To be continued in book two of this series.

Shifting the Balance 28

I thought I'd post something that wasn't dismal and depressing. I lost the first version of this in the computer crash and it was important to me to get it rewritten for my own peace of mind.

Its been a depressing, stressful week and I needed this completion.

Save for the Epilogue, which I'll be posting directly after this, this is the last chapter of book one of this saga. The second part of the story is in the works now.

I'd love to know how many of you have stuck with this story over the years and what your thoughts are on the conclusion of this portion and the notion of the continuing storyline.


Chapter 28

The smell of food woke Sano up. He lay there, sunlight coming in from the inner shutter slats slanted across his face, and figured it was close to noon. Breakfast was long gone, so it must have been lunch smells that were drifting upstairs to disturb his sleep. Of course, hunger tended to trump sleep with him. Always had.

He yawned, stretched and pushed himself up from the nest he’d made for himself. There was a lump across the room, where Kenshin had made his own bed, which showed no signs of stirring. He pulled on his borrowed shirt and ran a hand through his hair, then ambled over and toed Kenshin under his blanket. He got a look for that, from under tangled hair.

“So, I think they’re making lunch. You wanna come down with me and get some?”

Kenshin made a non-committal sound and shifted an arm over his eyes.

“That a no?” Sano stood there, waiting.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah? When’s the last time you ate? You remember?”

A long silence, and Kenshin finally moved his arm to stare up at Sano. He looked about as enthused at the idea of eating as he might about the notion of amputation. “I’ll get something later, Sano.”

Sano huffed, not entirely understanding how a body could ignore not having eaten for two days, emotional turmoil or not. Nothing had ever had the capacity to dull his appetite. But he allowed Kenshin the courtesy of not arguing the point and went downstairs by himself.

Lunch was indeed underway, most of the household in the courtyard about the task. The chatting paused when he appeared, all eyes turning his way, before he got the smiles and a bevy of enthusiastic greetings. The younger ones, Satya, Natun, and Disha abandoned their work to descend on him, flirting shamelessly. He could understand Kenshin maybe not being up to braving this.

Sano soldiered through, letting them lead him to the low table and offer him a prime place in the pillows. Pakshi came out not long after with her daughter, bearing bowls of food, not all of it recognizable or particularly appealing visually. She asked after Kenshin and Sano shrugged.

“He’s not up to much of a big meal.”

Pakshi nodded. “I understand. I’ll see he gets something later without a houseful of girls to pester him.”

“We don’t pester, aunt,” Natun pouted defensively.

The old sister-in-law, whose name he believed was Vachya, snorted. “Ha. The way the lot of you pant over this one and talk about the other, you’d think there were a shortage of men in India.”

“Vachya,” Pakshi waved a hand at her. “Don’t stir trouble. You embarrass our guest.”

The old woman chuckled, not deterred in the least. Sano gave her a look, amused.

Pakshi shook her head, smiling slightly. “There is a favor I would ask of you.”

“Sure,” Sano was more than willing to work for his board.

“Rajiv usually accompanies the girls to the river with the laundry, but he is behind in his studies and I would keep him here for extra lessons today - -“ she ignored the boy’s groan and went on. “Would you accompany them to the river? With the unrest from so many come to the city because of the famine in the north, I would feel better if the girls had the escort of a man.”

Which was how Sano found himself at the Cooum River, sitting on the broad stone steps that descended into the edge of the water itself watching Satya and two of her cousins while they scrubbed their laundry, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, sari’s pulled up to bare brown legs. Hundreds of people gathered here, washing either clothes or bodies in the brown waters. The women not too modest to show a little skin as they pulled sari’s up, or down as they worked or bathed. Nothing like Japanese women. Sano rather liked it.

He waded into the water himself, trousers and all, not quite so bold that he was willing to strip down to nothing but the loin clothes that some of the men had, and washed off the dried residue of seawater and sand that the rain on the walk home last night hadn’t already rid him of.

Afterwards he sprawled on the steps above the water line and let the warm sun dry his clothes while the girls finished up. They bundled their damp wash up and balanced it atop their heads, graceful even under their ungainly burdens. Sano strolled along, devoid of burden himself - - and he had offered - - taking note of the vendors hawking their wares along the street as they walked.

A few people ran towards them and he craned his neck, taller than most of the people around him, looking down the street towards some sort of disturbance that rippled through the crowd ahead. There were the sounds of shouting and of agitated people. A regiment of city guard, mostly uniformed Indians, but a few Europeans among them, rushed by, almost clipping one of the girls in their hasty passage. Sano caught her arm, keeping her from losing her footing and stared after the retreating soldiers.

“What do you think that’s about?”

“Another riot,” Satya said. “Someone stealing food from a merchant, who objects and it gets out of hand. The city regiment is not lenient with thieves. Less forgiving still with those the British think incite rebellion against their rule.”

“We should go another way.” Natun said worriedly.

“I’ve heard tales,” Satya said as they veered down a side street away from the gathering crowd along their original path. “Of bodies littering the streets of towns to the north, where people protested the British rule. Terrible tales.”

“Rumors,” Natun said unhappily.

“They’re not,” Satya snapped. “They cling to their rule like tyrants and those that oppose them meet violence. Aunt Pakshi and uncle Narasimha didn’t wish to believe, because they were wealthy and supported the British and only saw the kind hand of their masters.”

“Shush,” Natun said sharply. “Or I’ll tell Aunt Pakshi what you say.”

Satya pouted, but shut her mouth.

Sano looked back, at the distant figures of more people running from the riot. There was the faint pop of gunfire and the girls started. He clenched his fists, thinking of unarmed crowds and frightened soldiers with guns in their hands.

“C’mon,” he urged them to a faster pace, taking the huge bundle from Disha, the smallest of the lot and slinging it over his shoulder. The sooner he had the girls away from the outskirts of the mess back there, the better.



The view from the attic window was spectacular. The Bay of Bengal a sparkling blue expanse of water, dotted here and there with the shapes of ships. It was peaceful sitting there, staring out upon it - - a mindless activity, which required nothing of him, yet drew his thoughts away from other things.

It was there Kenshin was sitting, back against the sill, knees drawn up, when Pakshi rapped softly on the door. She entered, a covered bowl in her hands that he supposed Sano had asked her to bring him. The thought of food made him vaguely sick, yet there was an emptiness in his gut, a parchment thin feeling that made his hands shake just a little, that was sign enough that he’d gone too long with no nourishment. He’d gotten soft. There had been lean days when he’d been wondering after the war, that he’d gone longer with only water to fill his belly.

“Pakshi san.” He inclined his head to her and she sat the bowl on the sill at his feet. Simple white rice with a piece of grilled flat bread atop it.

She stood staring out at the bay with him for a long moment, then smiled wistfully. “I spent many days with no appetite for anything but sleep and tears when I lost my first child.”

He looked at her sharply, surprised at that admission. “Pakshi san - - I’m sorry.”

“If not for Narasimha I might have wasted away, a young mother adrift in her grief. But he was adamant, my husband, even in his own grief, that we go on.”

He stared at her, at the lines on her face and imaged the tales they told.

“So we tried again, and we had Nanda, my eldest daughter, and she thrived. As did Rajiv - - who young Rajiv is named for. I lost my fourth child to a fever not a month after he was born. And the fifth was still born - - but I had taken a fever in the weeks before his birth - - so I blame myself for that. Rajiv the elder lost his life in the service of his country. His regiment went south two years past to help with the flooding, and he was killed when the supply wagon he guarded was overturned in a river crossing.”

Kenshin sucked in a breath, horrified at that calm confession. At so many young lives lost before their time. “I - - I’m so sorry - -“

“What is - - is,” she said. “If my faith is to believed, they will live again. I do not know what yours dictates.”

He shut his eyes, having little enough faith of any kind to believe in optimistic fairytales. His beliefs tended towards darker things. Vengeful things.

“We go on - - those of us who survive. What other choice do we have?” she asked.

None, he supposed, since he’d found he had little taste for the notion of death. He couldn’t answer her, but she didn’t seem to require one of him. She inclined her head with a jangling of earrings, and left him to his contemplation of the bay.

He pressed his palms against his eyes and leaned that way over his knees for a long while, before he blew out a breath and straightened. There was nothing to do but reach for the bowl of rice and flatbread.


Sano came back, after being gone for most of the day. He smelled of river water and spoke of half naked women bathing in public and riots in the streets. Kenshin sat in the window and listened to the sound of his voice.

He declined dinner downstairs and Sano gave him a look verging on a glower, patience running thin. Kenshin held up a placating hand and murmured, ‘tomorrow, perhaps.’ Which Sano did glower at, but left, muttering under his breath.

Sano returned to the attic room late into the night, this time smelling of curry and wine and perfume, staggering just a little. There had been music and laughter that had drifted up even to the attic. Sano brought with him a small urn and a bowl with rice and a skewer of meat and onions. He thrust them both on Kenshin with a lazy grin and sank down almost on the spot he stood, to sit cross-legged on the floor by the window.

“Pakshi used to be a temple dancer, did you know? She’s taught the girls - - and damn, but its something to see.”

Kenshin picked at the food, sipping at the wine direct from the urn since Sano had neglected to bring a cup. He found the taste marginally more appealing than he had the last time he’d eaten. Perhaps it was the distraction Sano provided. Sano’s half drunken talk soothing in a strange way.

Sano drifted off, and Kenshin sat with his mostly empty bowl and watched him for a while. The flutter of thick lashes on tanned cheeks. The disheveled way that dark hair, which was growing longer than Sano usually wore it, fell this way and that across his forehead and cheek. The smooth skin of youth. Sano had scars, but none of them showed. He tended to heal well, scars fading almost to obscurity. Kenshin knew where they all were, each and every one.

He shut his eyes, not so soothed of a sudden in this room with Sano and the things Sano made him ponder. He rose, silently gathering the urn he’d drained and taking it and the bowl with him as he left the room. The house was quiet now, its occupants retreated to their beds. He traversed the stairs, recalling the creaky ones and avoiding them. He took the bowl to the kitchen off the courtyard and rinsed it in water someone had drawn and left in a basin on the counter. Then he took himself to the well and the little alcove with its wooden bench to cleanse himself. He drew a second bucket to rinse his hair - - he very much suspected there were still grains of sand in it - - and twisted it to wring the water out after. He stood in the courtyard, borrowed clothing damp against his skin, staring up at the square of starry sky above.

He hoped very much that Pakshi was right. That Kenji’s young soul would find life again. That Kaoru’s would. It was a nice thought. A comforting one. He tried to repress the pessimistic realist inside him that insisted that that was the very reason it was probably not true. The world was simply not that kind and death, he very much suspected - - was simply death.

Sano stirred upon his return, blinking at him blearily. Kenshin went to the blankets he had against the wall by the window, shut his eyes and sat with his back against it. He cracked them open when he heard Sano moving. Sano gathered up a blanket of his own and tossed it down by Kenshin. Kenshin opened his eyes fully and gave him a wary look, in no frame of mind for any notion Sano might be entertaining in his not entirely sober head.

“Sano - - ?”

Sano waved a hand at him, frowning. “Shut up. Give me some credit, will you?” He sank down next to Kenshin, glaring at nothing in particular. He didn’t say anything for a long time, then finally - - “I understand a lot more than you think I do, you know?”

Kenshin stared at his hands across his knees and conceded that point. “I know.”

“Just so you do.”

They sat for a long while, side by side, a cool breeze drifting in from the open window. It smelled like rain might be moving in. Sano finally reached out an arm, draped it across Kenshin’s shoulders and pulled him against his side. Kenshin shut his eyes, things fluttering inside him. Guilty things - - that he could allow himself the utter comfort of Sano’s physical presence - - that he could crave it - - after having failed Kaoru so utterly. Cold and alone was what he deserved. And then, fool, take what you can get. A voice inside his head that wasn’t Kaoru’s - - Hiko’s maybe. Or something Sano would have said. Or maybe just the pragmatic part of himself that knew if he let it, the misery would eat him alive.


Days at Pakshi’s turned into weeks and Sano was content enough with the excuse that word still might come of some miraculous discovery of shipwrecked survivors. He didn’t think Kenshin believed it. Kenshin knew too much of death to ever believe it. But Kenshin was getting better - - if you considered leaving the retreat of the attic to actually appear in the courtyard with the rest of the household better. Engaging in conversation would have been a whole other realm of recovery, but he wasn’t there yet.

The girls loved him though, as girls of any nationality tended to. Maybe it was the quiet manners when he did actually do more than nod at a comment directed towards him, or the aura of tragedy, because he had that in spades. More than likely, though, Sano figured, it was as much the pretty face and the way he moved.

They earned their keep. The roof got patched, the chicken coop in the back garden rebuilt, the garden wall plastered, the interior wall of the well patched, and any number of other things that required a man’s touch. If nothing else the labor snared Kenshin’s attention. Sano was man enough to admit that he had little talent in the way of woodwork or construction. He could do heavy lifting all the day long, but building a coop that was square on all sides and didn’t tilt a little precariously was beyond him. Kenshin was enough of a perfectionist that he couldn’t stand idly by and let Sano mangle a job. Though he was far from a master carpenter himself, he was better at it than Sano. Or at least patient enough to think things out before plunging into the project.

They discovered the city, sometimes in the company of one or more of Pakshi’s household, sometimes on their own, which Kenshin preferred. Walking in silence and taking in the ambiance of an ancient city that seemed to ever change with the times, and yet still retain the bones of its origin. The temples scattered about were varied, dedicated to multiple deities. The one Pakshi and her family preferred was dedicated to her patron goddess, Shakti the Mother goddess. Pakshi had served in her temple as a young girl before she had married.

Sano picked up a great deal of English and some Hindu. Kenshin learned slower, but then his heart wasn’t in it and he was less likely to sit with the women for hours after supper while they chatted before retiring. Sano thought he understood more than he spoke, though. Kenshin was very adept at appearing oblivious when he was anything but.

But as the weeks melted into a month, and then two and it became painfully apparent to all concerned that no word was coming, Sano began to sense a certain restlessness in Kenshin. An unease when he sat too long in the comfort of the house, or had a meal before him that was large and sumptuous, with the company of a household of women that seemed very much content with their addition. As if he thought he might not deserve it.

And Sano, who liked to think he knew Kenshin very well indeed, thought it might be just that. That mindset he’d had before Kaoru had convinced him that he deserved a place to call home as much as any man. The mindset that had set him wondering for close to ten years after the war - - just punishment in his mind - - for the acts he had committed.

But he spoke nothing of it. And it was only Sano’s intuition that had the hairs on the back of his arms standing up sometimes, when Kenshin stood too long staring at the haze of distant land beyond the city.

They were on an errand for Pakshi one day, escorting Rajiv to market for supplies. The boy skipped ahead, happy to be out without the watchful eyes of mother or grandmother, while Sano and Kenshin strolled behind, enjoying the mid morning sun and the strong breeze coming in off the bay. Sure sign of a storm on the way, but for the moment it cut through the oppressive, humid heat that seemed a constant in the city.

The market street was lined with shops with colorful awnings under which merchants displayed their wares. Women in their colorful sari’s and girls in their pavadas. Men in their traditional sarongs, or their dhoti’s, the Sikh’s in their turbans as well as the ever present influence of western fashion worn by the English and those that wished to be like them.

Rajiv had run ahead, pausing, as a boy might to gawk at a merchant’s display of knives. Curved daggers with ornate sheaths that looked more decorative than practical. Sano gave them a look in passing, not so jaded that a display of weaponry, even small daggers of dubious efficiency did not catch his attention. Kenshin didn’t glance that way, his eyes fixed on something in the crowd ahead of them.

The boy skipped ahead, weaving through the crowd and Kenshin called his name sharply of a sudden, but the call was lost in the clamor of the crowd.

“What?” Sano started even as a man in the crowd ahead of them cried out, brandishing a curved blade longer and more wicked than the ones on display. People cried out in fear and surprise, scattering away from the screaming man, even as he descended, weapon raised, upon a crisply uniformed English soldier who’d been browsing the stalls with a lady of European descent upon his arm. The woman screamed and the soldier fumbled for the firearm holstered at his side. Neither wild eyed attacker or startled, gun wielding English officer seemed to notice the boy standing like a fear frozen rabbit between them.

Sano swore, shoving aside people trying to flee the area in an attempt to approach it. But Kenshin was already there, the Indian with the scimitar howling, clutching at his empty hand and what might have been a broken wrist, the cry of the English soldier, as his gun arm was knocked aside, his aim badly disrupted as Kenshin staggered against him, as if he had lost his footing. The boy was on his backside in the dusty street no few yards from where he’d stood in the middle of the conflict, round eyed and stunned.

“Clumsy oaf,” the Englishman was cursing Kenshin, who backed away, holding up empty hands, apologizing in his rudimentary English. But it wasn’t Kenshin who was his primary concern, but the bearded, wild-eyed Indian, who still clutched his wrist. The crowd gathered around, hemming him in as the soldier called for the city guard, his gun pointed threateningly at the man who’d tried to attack him. The man’s sword, surprisingly enough, was lodged in the wooden beam of the second story awning of the building behind them.

Sano hauled Rajiv up by the collar. “You okay, kid?”

The boy nodded mutely, staring with no few members of the rest of the crowd brave enough to have stayed, at the sword still quivering minutely above their heads. There were murmurs in the crowd, as more uniformed soldiers arrived, of Thagi.

“I don’t know what happened?” Rajiv finally admitted shakily. “I was there - - and then, I was not.”

“Yeah, funny that.” Sano looked over his head at Kenshin who had worked his way out from the center of the conflict and was weaving his way through the outer edges back towards the two of them.

“What’s Thagi?” Sano asked and the boy looked up at him with white around the rims of his eyes, frightened.

“No good is what they are. Thieves and assassins who kill for the honor of Kali. They’re few now - - because of the English. But they appear now and then causing trouble. They hate the British.”

He glanced at Kenshin, who shrugged a shoulder. “He did appear to have a grudge.”

“You don’t see them in the city much,” Rajiv said, craning his neck as the crowd dispersed, the city guard having hauled the sword wielding Thagi away. The British officer and his lady had also melted into the crowd. “I’ve heard Auntie Vachya say they used to roam the countryside, strangling travelers and cutting out their eyes in the name of Kali, then stealing all their belongings.”

“Ouch.” Sano placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and got him moving. The merchant they’d been sent to visit was no more than a few blocks down. “Sounds like the British taking them out was a good thing.”

The boy nodded in agreement.

Rajiv stayed very close the rest of the trip, carrying his sack of rice, while Kenshin shouldered the cask of wine, and Sano the sacks of grain and flour. The women were appropriately shocked and relieved when they returned to the house and the boy told them what had happened. Rajiv was pressed for some time to his mother’s bosom, while she bemoaned ever letting him from her sight again.

The storm did come that night, blowing in off the bay and pelting the city with rain and winds. Two days and when the sun next came out, the city was waterlogged and already high humidity became unbearable.

Sano came back to the house, as shirtless and barefoot as Rajiv, the both of them having accompanied a few of the girls to the river, to find Kenshin holding some conversation with Pakshi in the courtyard. Kenshin bowed to her when they burst into the house, the chattering lot of them, and retreated. Pakshi forced her frown into a smile, and welcomed them back, offering watered wine to ease their thirsts.

Sano stood in the midst of the girls and watched Kenshin ascend the stairs, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.


Sano was happy. Sano had a place that he was welcome - - more than welcome - - that he was needed - - that he might build a family. Kenshin wanted that for him. Wanted Sano happy more than any other concern he had left. Wanted Sano safe - - as safe as this world would allow - - at any rate.

Sano deserved that. Deserved more than his company, when he wasn’t sure if he could ever be whole again. He felt - - displaced and fractured and not all the warm comfort of Pakshi’s house could ease it. He thought it might even be making it worse. He couldn’t stay. The grief, the guilt, the unease churned under his skin like grains of sand itching for him to just - - move. To walk and not stop walking. Again. Like he’d felt before. Owning nothing but the clothes on his back and the sword at his hip. Calling no place home. No companions to ease the solitary nature of the road.

Only he had no sword. He’d given that to the sea. And the companion he had - - he wanted safe and sound away from the ill luck his presence seemed to bring. Only he didn’t - - oh, he surely did not wish the lack of Sano and Sano’s bad fortune with money, and Sano’s tendency to provoke conflict and Sano’s sour temper when his stomach was empty.

A quandary to be sure. But an easy one. Sano safe was worth more than his own selfishness. So he did what needed to be done and told himself that was all there was to it.

He gave Pakshi the courtesy of forewarning. Thanked her for her generosity and wished well upon her house. He waited until Sano was out of the house, accompanying the girls and Rajiv, to see the lights at the nearby temple, then gathered what few things he had. The most serviceable of the clothing that Pakshi had given him. A battered travel pack with the bare essentials that a man on a long road would need. A knife that she had given him that had belonged to her son. An old blade in need of sharpening, eight inches long, with a plain sheath. For his needs, it would do.

It was past dusk when he left, bowing again to Pakshi and old Vachya who had come out with her sister-in-law to watch him leave. Pakshi handed him a very small pouch, which he tried to return, but she folded his fingers about it, promising it was but a pittance. Enough to see him fed for the next few days, should he need it. He hated accepting it, but standing there arguing with her was pointless, with old Vachya glaring and calling him a fool.

He knew the way out of the city. North, to the city gates, which were open still, to late travelers. Beyond were fields of rice and imported corn and the outlying villages of the farmers who tended them. There was a tributary of one of the rivers that cut through the city running parallel to the road, and smaller fingers of that feeding the fields.

Other than out of the city, he had no destination in mind. There were roads that led to places. He would figure it out as he went. It was a plan that had served him well enough in the past. He tried to ignore the pang of unease that stirred in his gut at setting out on it now. Tried to ignore the regret because his loss would surly be someone’s gain.

He stared with intensity at the distant dark haze of foothills, easy to see past the miles of lush flatland with its web work of tributaries and flooded paddies. There were other travelers on the road. A tiny speck of a man leading an ox. A small cart pulled by an old man heading towards the city. A group of men with no baggage at all, workers perhaps or some of those poor that gravitated towards Madras in hopes of food or work. Travel worn men who eyed him with keen speculation as they passed on the road. Out of reflex he went to lay his hand upon the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there and took a breath, clenching his fist over nothing.

They passed each other peacefully enough on the wide dirt road between paddies. Trees swayed on one side, rustling in the breeze. A dog lay in the intersection of a small path leading off to a tiny shack off the side of the road. It growled low in its throat as he passed. A gentle warning to keep his distance.

Its dark eyes flicked beyond him, towards the road he had traveled, ears pricked at the sound of another traveler moving up the road. Keener ears by far than Kenshin, who glanced over his shoulder and barely saw the shape of a lone man some ways back, steadily making progress in a distance devouring lope.

He turned back around, not slowing his pace. He shut his eyes as he walked though, breathing deep, heart thudding in something that might very well have been relief.

It took perhaps half an hour for Sano to catch up with him. He had a pack over his shoulder and a pissed off look on his face. The sound of his teeth grinding was audible as he slowed his jog to a walk and stalked beside Kenshin. Kenshin said nothing, hardly knowing what it was he actually did want anymore, too many things churning about inside him to have a clue. Sano happy. Sano safe. Sano and the temptation Sano brought with him safely distant from him, because when he got too close he could not shake that terrible guilt of the betrayal he’d dealt her. Sano’s company. Sano.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” Sano finally stabbed a finger at him, maneuvering around to stand in his path, stalling his forward progress. “You slip out of the house without even the courtesy of telling them goodbye. What sort of asshole does that?”

“It would only have been painful. For everyone.”

Sano let out an explosive exhalation of breath. “Right. And slipping away like a thief in the night because you’re too much of a coward to deal with a little emotion isn’t hurtful at all.”

“I spoke to Pakshi,” Kenshin said softly.

“Really. Pakshi. Figured she’d tell me the news with the rest of the house, huh?”

“I thought - - I thought it better that way.”

“You thought - -? You son of a - -” Sano growled and swung at him. Kenshin just shut his eyes and let the open palm of his hand connect, let Sano get out the frustration and the anger that had the veins in his neck standing out.

And it hurt. He staggered, ear ringing from the impact of palm against the side of his head. Sano had very little concept of just how strong he was.

“Are you completely addled?” Sano shouted at him.

Kenshin barely heard it through the ringing. “Possibly now,” he muttered, rubbing gingerly at the spot.

“Damn you, Kenshin. You really thought you were gonna get away with leaving me behind? Without even a fucking word? Like I don’t mean anything more to you than any of those girls back at the house? You damned ass. I should of just let you go you and to hell with you.”

“You should have,” Kenshin agreed softly.

“Why? Who are you punishing? Me? You? The both of us?”

“I’m not - -“ Kenshin snapped his eyes up to meet Sano’s in denial. “Not you - “

Sano nodded, sneering. “Right. You then. I figured that. I wanna kick your ass so bad right now.”

“I’m sorry, Sano.”

“What you are is frustrating. And so damned tangled up you don’t know up from down anymore, much less the difference between a good decision and a bad one.”

Kenshin looked away at that, not entirely sure Sano wasn’t in the right there.

“We had this conversation, Kenshin.” Sano reminded him. “More than once. Thought I’d made myself clear.”

“Sano - -“ his voice broke and he had to swallow and try again. “I don’t know what I want - - I don’t know that I can be - - content again. I let myself for a little while and - - I paid for it. Kaoru did and - - and Kenji. You even. Go back to Pakshi’s - - go back to Japan - - find the home you deserve, Sano.”

He moved around Sano, taking to the road again. Sano stood for a moment, fists clenching so hard that Kenshin heard the joints popping.

“What about your home?” Sano snapped, stalking after him. “You’ve still got one, remember? You just gonna abandon it and leave everybody back there wondering?”

The very idea of going back to the dojo made Kenshin short of breath. Of going back to the place where Kaoru and Kenji’s essence dwelled. The place where Kenji had been born, where Kaoru and he had shared a room and a bed and a life. No crevice or corner of that place wouldn’t destroy him. Bad enough when he’d only thought them kidnapped and believed with all his heart that he’d get them back. To return there now - - was beyond him. It was cowardice and he didn’t care.

“There’s no more home for me, Sano. Not there. I can’t - - not where we lived - - not - - “ He swallowed, vision wavering for a moment, before he blinked it clear again. “Yahiko will take care of the dojo. He’ll need a place of his own. He’s a master now of the Kamiya Kasshin-ryu style. He can carry on Kaoru’s father’s legacy. The widow is there and her daughter. They’ll feed Cat - -“

His voice broke again so he stopped talking. He’d said enough. He felt sick.

“Yeah,” Sano said bitterly. “ Guess they’ll all be fine thinking we’re all dead then.”

“You could return and tell them.”

“Fuck you, Kenshin.”

Sano stalked along in silence for a while after that. Then after a good half mile of muddy road, he said through clenched teeth. “You know what? You’re right in one thing - - home’s a funny thing. Without people there that matter - - its nothing more than a roof and four walls. You’re my people. Where you’re at - -that’s home for me. Whether it’s in a nice snug house with plenty of food or starving our asses off on the road. You don’t get that - - well, I got no problem pounding it into your head.”

Sano looked at him, as if he were expecting something from him and it felt like there was something huge and ungainly stuck in his throat. He worked to swallow it down, bereft of words. Sano had said enough for the both of them. So he simply nodded. One quick jerk of his chin that was all he could manage, before lowering his head and letting his hair fall over his eyes to hide the embarrassment of water spiked lashes.

“Think you’re gonna leave me behind - - asshole,” Sano muttered, reiterating his initial thoughts on the matter.

“It was a mistake.”

“You think?” Sano snorted. Then after a bit. “So, where we headed?”

“I don’t know.”

Sano stuffed his thumbs through the sash at his waist. “Okay. I’ve been that road before. It’s a big country. A lot of places to see.”

Not much now though, with night fully fallen and only a few stars out to keep the whole of the world from stark darkness. The road was clear enough though, for a pair of men used to traveling at ungainly hours. And the sun would rise again soon enough and illuminate the way.

No matter the state of the rest of the world, it always did.


Epilogue to follow - -

Some progress

Well I'm making progress. I've got a scanner that works now and thanks to my wonderful site administrator, i've figured out how to upload images to the website.

I did discover that one of my thumb drives where I had data stored got corrupted. Okay - - a cat who I shall not name and is on my shit list at the moment may have peed on it and destroyed it. Damn cats.

I may have to beg some of the folks who've purchased Image CD's over the years to send me copies of certain of those images disks. Mostly the later ones.

I lost a few images that I hadn't backed up and the partially finished next chapter of "shifting the Balance" All the other writing was backed up. i hope. I tend to get scattered when I 'm creating and don't always remember to back stuff up.

However, I've managed to rewrite most of the lost chapter - - a better version I hope, and am back on course with that. I did just upload some Kenshin art as a test to the web site. A picture from a future chapter of the next book.

http://plnunn.com/art_gallery/main/display.php?id=34

Computer woes

My computer has crashed and crashed but good. I'm feeling pretty devastated right about now. Both my hard drives are corrupted and my computer guru couldn't figure out to fix it this morning, though he tried very hard. i am crossing my fingers he'll be able to at least salvage some of my data, but as of right now, I'm on a borrowed machine and pretty much f&$Ked. All my contacts have been lost, so anyone trying to email me - - please me patient.

Anyone i'm supposed to email back - - sorry and again be patient.

I foresee a new computer in my future - - sigh.

Shifting the balance chapter 27

I've got the next chapter of Shifting the Balance.

I'll have it up on the site in a little bit, for the time being you can read it here.

Chapter 27


Chapter 27

Sano left and it was like relief of pressure that had built and built, held at bay the entire walk here, held rigidly in check while women with faces that were blurred in his memory had clustered, speaking too fast, too loudly to be anything but light and noise.

In this quiet place, in the shadows, with the sounds of a city muted and distant - - with no witnesses - - he choked on a breath - - leaned over his knees on the window seat, chest burning with the raw ache of spiritual pain made physical.

Arguing with Sano about the validity of hope was not a thing he could do and keep any semblance of composure. But he knew - - he knew that luck had swung his way on an edge finer than a sharp blade for far too many times for it to turn his way this one last crucial time. He felt it in his gut.

Images and smells and sounds slid across his memory, one by one, relentless, welcome, devastating. Her voice, her scent, the ghost of her smile or her scowl, of her furrow of concentration when she was intent on getting a stance just so, so as not to embarrass herself in front of students, the curve of her body in the darkness when she shed her robes - -

He dug his fingers into his hair and rocked, wetness winning past the barrier of clenched lids. She made him weep. She made him ache with a pain that pieced him to the core. Kenji thoughts made him want to find a bottle and drown himself in it. Made him welcome that offer of violence Sano had made him when he'd woken this morning - - made him very much wish for painful oblivion to escape the notion of his child dead.

He wasn't sure he wanted to go to the shipping authority and have his fears confirmed. He wasn't sure he wanted to go on period, when he doubted the pain and the grief and the guilt would ever go away.

Hiko would have laughed at him in scorn and called him a coward. Sano would have and cursed him. But he hurt and he was tired and there was a point fighting it became too hard.



The women and damned, there were a lot of them filling the courtyard that seemed the main gathering spot for the extended family, were more somber when Sano came back down. Pakshi and Satya had informed them of the details of the situation, and a multitude of somber, painted eyes turned to him when he shuffled into the courtyard.

The invited him into their midst with a clatter of beckoning, braceleted hands. They had a platter of cut fruit and a pitcher watered down wine on a low table that the majority of them sat around on pillows and strewn cushions. He sank down on a cushion between Satya and a plump girl of similar age. Two or three of them offered him wine simultaneously, and glared at each other afterwards. The old woman, Pakshi's husband's sister, if Sano recalled, poured it herself and Sano hid a grin at the miffed looks exchanged between the younger girls.

"How is he?" Satya asked, leaning forward with the superiority of longer acquaintance.

"Better, once we find out something one way or another." Sano didn't want to discuss Kenshin with them. He didn't want Kenshin a subject for speculation among them, when Kenshin was teetering on the fine edge of losing it.

But women were women, and they spoke among themselves of the tragedy. Of how horrible to die swallowed up by the sea. Of how terrible for a husband to lose a wife and child. But he was certainly young enough to marry again and father many more children. And was Sano married? Tall and fit as he was, he'd father fine sons.

Sano swallowed his goblet of wine and edged it over for the old woman to refill. She gave him a wry look, understanding his need and filled it to the rim.

"Uncle Narasimha left very respectable dowries for his nieces," the plump one, who he thought was called Natun, hinted.

"This is a nice house," Sano veered off that subject uncomfortably. "What did your uncle do?"

"Our father was the second son of the brother of a prince of Oressa." The old woman said. "Family money, even after the British tried to tax it to death. Narasimha had his books and was renowned in all of India for his studies. Even among the English, who consider themselves the only truly educated people. There is a room in this house filled with his books and his scrolls. Pakshi refuses to be rid of them, even though we could use the space."

She waved a hand at a quiet, very pregnant young woman at the edge of the gathering.

Sano slid his gaze across the assembled collection of women. Rajiv had made himself scarce, as well as Pakshi herself. No husbands, no brothers, only the one son. It was an unusual lack of men in a house full of women of marriageable age.

Pakshi descended not long after, in a sari of finer quality than her traveling one.

"Have they been pestering you with their nonsense?" She asked after stopping at a niche with the stone image of a graciously endowed, multi-armed woman and offering respect.

"He's a man," the old woman said, waving a dismissive hand. "What man shrivels under the attention of pretty girls?"

Pakshi gave her a sharp look and Sano got the feeling the two of them, eldest of the household, butted heads frequently.

"Fetch Rajiv from where ever he's off to. I'll need him as escort."

"I'll go," Satya said.

"No." Pakshi said simply and the girl settled back down, pouting.

"So, we ready to go?" Sano asked and the woman nodded.

"Okay. I'll get Kenshin."



The Madras port authority complex was on the north side of Fort St. George, which served as the headquarters for the British government in Madras. There was a concentration of English there, diplomats, soldiers and their families, and the architecture reflected that with a touch of European lines.

It was close to an hour's walk from Pakshi's house, but the afternoon had cooled somewhat, rife with a strong breeze in off the bay and the path she led them on was less congested than the way in from the docks. The streets here were more orderly once they reaches the north side, a great deal more white skinned people mingling with the brown. A great many uniformed soldiers, both British and Indian on patrol.

The Port Authority was a sprawling, white washed stone complex that looked as if bits and pieces of it had been added on with different flavors of architecture over the years. There was a congestion of traffic outside, carriages and wagons and tethered horses. People coming and going from various offices, on various errands.

Pakshi, one of the few women in evidence, weeded her way inside, with Rajiv, Sano and Kenshin in her wake. Her sex and the rich cut of her sari afforded her some respect, men making way and doffing caps. There were no few military men in evidence, some in red-coated uniforms, some in sand colored ones. Pakshi found a clerk and made inquiries and was directed to offices in the back. Another clerk took note of her, as they made their way forward, and rose to politely inquire what service he might grant. Their exchange of English was too rapid for Sano to easily follow, so he stood there, next to Kenshin, and watched the a cluster of men who were very obviously military outside an office at the end of the hall. There were raised voices within and soon a man of some rank, if the array of decoration on his uniform breast were any indication, came storming out. The lot of milling soldiers outside the office fell into step as he stalked down the hall, passing them with nary a glance.

Rajiv tugged on Sano's sleeve, eyes wide and whispered in his halting Japanese. "It is him. Sir Fletcher."

"Who's he?"

"He commanded the order of the Star of India, the fiercest of regiments. He is second only to Lord Roberts in command of the army in Southern India."

"Seems pissed," Sano observed, watching the retreat of the broad shouldered, balding man in the company of his subordinates.

Pakshi, after a pause while the General passed, was still speaking with the Clerk. After a moment, the man went to the very office Sir Fletcher had stormed out of, and spoke quietly to the occupant. He waved them forward as a harassed looking Englishman stepped out.

"Lady Pakshi," he said and glanced past her to them. She indicated Kenshin and him and spoke in English and Sano picked up words here and there. Kenshin was very still and very quiet, picking up less than Sano, Sano figured. The man offered Pakshi a chair on one side of a cluttered desk. Kenshin refused, standing just inside the door, so Sano stood with him, waiting while Pakshi spoke with the official.

There was nothing in his face, as they spoke, that indicated the good fortune of having found survivors of a shipwreck. Whenever he cast a glance at Kenshin, all he saw was hair shielding his eyes, and a mouth taut with tension. Finally, the man rose and Pakshi did, the former showing her out with a hand hovering at the small of her back. Inclining his head respectfully at her, and casting them all sad, tired looks, before he retreated back into his office.

"What did he say?" Sano asked, before the door had even closed.

She didn't answer, moving through the press of people, scarves swaying. Finally, when they'd breached the doors and stood on the wide stone steps outside, she turned and tried to take Kenshin's hand in hers.

He refused to let her, backing a half step away and asking simply. "Tell me what he said, Pakshi San."

"They have found no survivors. The Eastcourt went down far enough from land that they hold little hope for finding any. The Company has called off its search and the only reason that the British navy still carries out its own search is that General Fletcher had a son on board the Eastcourt and has great influence with the admiral of the British fleet here in Madras. But soon, they too will stop their patrols. I am sorry."

"Thank you, Pakshi San," Kenshin said quietly.

"Wait, but there's always a chance, right?" Sano said. "You hear of sailors or fishermen whose ships went down in storms floating around on debris for days until somebody finds them."

"Such things do happen. I've told them to send word to my house if any need be sent." she agreed, but she sounded less than hopeful.




It was easy enough to slip away. Even from Sano who kept casting him worried looks, but was willing enough to give him the space that he so badly wanted. Simple to fall back, as they walked, Sano distracted by something on the street, and melt into the crowd of a bisecting road.

Towards the bay and the dock street that ran adjacent. Through those crowds that he barely registered, until the docks became fewer and more dilapidated, and finally the wharfs gave way to stone jetties and eventually to sand beaches. The docks were far and away, the forest of masts grey in the distance. The outline of the city was as well, its profile foreign and strange from the rooftops of Japan he was used to. The sounds of it were muted by the crash of waves.

There was nothing here, but fishing shacks and trees shielding a dirt road leading towards the city outskirts, where the occasional person walked, baskets or bundles perched on their shoulders, or balanced on their heads. There was the shrill laughter of a group of boys, playing tag with the surf. Further down a pair of fishermen hauled in a wide expanse of net. Kenshin stopped on the beach staring out into the water, at the darkening vista of the horizon. Afternoon coming to a close and he wasn't sure where the day had gone. It seemed only hours ago that Sano had woken him on the ship.

The boys screamed in delight down the beach, having found some spidery crab and tossing it among themselves. He thought he saw a smaller one out in the waves, past the white crashing surf. Bobbing in the current, face small and round and paler than these Indian boys. Familiar. He shaded his eyes against a sun close to the horizon, trying to make out that small shape. He was in the water before he realized he'd been moving that way, fighting his way through waves that wanted to knock him off his feet, looking for that small dark head, but the swells kept hiding it from him.

A surging whitecap knocked him off his feet and he went under, struggling up desperately seeking that vision. But it eluded him. All he could see was foam and the occasional gull riding the waves that inexplicably pushed him back towards shore. He sat on wet sand once he'd reached it, the froth rushing up and dragging the earth out from under him with each pass. Dug his hands into the sand helplessly and stared into the face of the uncaring sea. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do. The thought kept repeating itself in his head, again and again. Sometimes in her voice. Her tones of accusation. Useless. Everything he was - - all his skills, all the experience in the world at the sorts of things he'd been brought up to deal with - - useless to them. He'd as well grown up that superstitious, ignorant peasant farmer as a swordsman of notorious repute for all the help he'd been them. That farmer might still have a family, safe and poor and working their fingers till they bled in someone else's fields. But alive. At least we'd be alive.

Nothing he was had made any difference for them and he knew what he had to do. He rose, an odd, faint numb in his extremities. An odd muffled numb padding his senses. He'd wondered far from Pakshi's house, but he knew the way back. Stone sober, he could find his way back to any path he'd previously tread.

It was dark by the time he reached Pakshi's house. Her street was filled with the smells of supper cooking, of grilled meats and spices. A wealthy street to boast such scents. He stood outside the door and listened for Sano's presence. Heard his voice, finally, amidst the voices of women, likely in the courtyard. Not this way in, then if he wanted to avoid confrontation. There was an alley between houses and he navigated that, a neat stone path, well tended, that led to a walled enclosure where chickens rustled quietly in the growing shadows. The gate was latched, but up and over was not a hindrance for him. He hesitated at the top of the wall, and instead of dropping to the yard below, leapt to the open sill of a window on the second floor.

He crept through a darkened room that smelled of perfumes and spices, with silks over the arms of a chair, and womanly things scattered on a vanity with a small, scuffed mirror. It did not smell of Pakshi's scent, so he moved on, silently moving out onto the railed deck that overlooked the courtyard. A large yard, with a fruit baring tree, and a fountain, and a large stone pit which a fire crackled in merrily, roasting skewers of something, while women sat on the edge, keeping charge of the cooking. He saw Sano sitting cross legged under the fruit tree, several of the young women not charged with the cooking, gathered around him. Sano looked less than pleased with their chatter, a scowl on his face, his mouth tight. Not so much annoyed with his feminine hosts, Kenshin thought, as with him. Sano would be upset and angry.

Pakshi was not below though, and he moved on, quiet as Cat on the prowl, until he found a room with a presence within. He knocked once, softly on the door, before slipping in. She looked up in surprise at him, her hands stalled in the process of twining her long hair.

"Forgive me, Pakshi san, for the intrusion. But I need my sword."

She stared at him, large dark eyes, a woman that had without doubt been a beauty of her generation in her youth. Carefully she laid her hair, unbound, across her shoulders and nodded. Rose, and went to a large trunk just inside her door. Inside, atop folded clothes and cloth and the packages a woman might buy to take home with her on the completion of a long journey, lay his sakabatou. She retrieved it and offered it to him upon her open palms.

"He was afraid for you when he gave it to me for safekeeping."

Kenshin closed his fists around the sheath, meeting her eyes for a long silent moment. Not entirely remembering what had happened that night on the ship after he'd learned of the sinking of Kaoru's boat. Perhaps he had given Sano reason to doubt.

"Thank you - - for everything. Thank you for taking care of him - -" he broke off, not sure what it was he needed to ask of her. Too many things battling for dominance in his head. He couldn't shake the vision of Kenji bobbing in the waves - -or the sound of Kaoru's voice in his head.

He backed away, leaving her the way he'd come, heard her call out, but ignored her. Down that walk like a shadow and out the window to the garden gate.

No meandering slow journey this time, this time, sure of his path as he was, back to the outskirts of the city and the beach. Full night now, the moon risen high and casting wan blue light upon the world. The dark shielded him and weapon he carried from late night travelers that he passed. Held close to his body, even the night watch were none he wiser.

The beach was deserted when he returned to it. Fishermen returned to their homes, nets neatly stacked far enough up the beach that the tides could not reach them. Even the gulls had left, retreated to wherever it was that they nested for night. The only life were the small, skittering crabs that rushed in with the tide, and scampered across wet sand, before the returning water pulled them back out. There was a twine ball, lodged in the sand, the toy of some child left behind when he returned home, safe and sound to the arms of his mother.

He drew in a shuddery breath, vision wavering on that abandoned toy. Kenji had had such a ball, that he used to play with Cat, the one game Cat lowered herself to engage in, the stalking of that tossed ball. He could hear Kenji's laughter, delighted by so simple a thing as a cat pouncing on a ball.

He could hear it now, a whisper amidst the crashing of the waves. A fleeting shimmer of white in the corner of his vision and he thought he saw a figure standing out in the waves. A woman in a pale, drenched kimono. Dark hair streaming across her face.

What good is that? She whispered and he clenched his fist around the sheath of the sword. Look where you and your ideals got us.

The waves crashed against her back, but she remained unmoved, the only wavering of her form from the water filling his eyes. He saw, hiding half behind her, a small figure, clinging to the back of her kimono.

"Forgive me," he whispered, thigh deep in the surf, and flung the sword out into the water. It was swallowed up, beyond where she waited, with barely a splash.

"What are you doing?" The question came in the form of a bellow and not in her tones. H glanced away from her, to a figure stomping down the beach. Sano, trudging through the sand along the trail of his own footprints.

"Go away," he yelled back, Sano part of the problem. Sano one of his sins against her.

"The hell - -" Sano stalked down the beach towards him, maybe having followed him all the way from Pakshi's house, alerted by that lady.

When Kenshin looked back for Kaoru, she was gone, flitted away in the white caps. He drew a desperate breath, furious at Sano for following him, for interfering, for chasing her away.

"Damn you! I don't want you here - -" He screamed it at Sano, shoving him backwards when Sano splashed into the water. "She was there - -they were there - -"

He flung an arm out towards the vastness of the ocean, where nothing but moonlight glinted now, nothing but vast darkness broken by the pale lines of whitecaps rolling towards the beach. Sano stared in confusion at the water, then back at him.

"You threw your sword away." That was Sano's concern.

"What good did it do them?" He backed away, deeper into the water and a wave crashed against his back, staggering him. "She blames me. I see it in her eyes."

"She - -? Who? Kaoru? Have you lost your damned mind? Get out of the water."

Sano made a grab for him and Kenshin hissed, evading him, but not the wave that crashed into his back, the solid sand under his feet one moment and nothing the next, turbulent water sucking him under. His back scraped bottom, salt water invaded his ears, his nose, his throat. Burning. He lost his sense of direction for a moment, no notion where surface was. Panicked. Every instinct he had screaming to fight for the surface - - even though part of him said, don't - -this is what they felt. Take the path they did and let the scales balance.

But when his feet found sandy bottom his body followed instinct and he launched himself up, spitting water and gasping for breath, considerably further out than he'd been when he'd gone under. Sano was a dark shake a dozen yards further down, desperately searching the water. Sano saw him and cursed, hair clinging to his face in dark streaming strands.

Kenshin tread water, the bottom out of his reach. There was nothing here, but waves and beach and Sano. No ghostly wives. No ghostly children. The waves carried him closer to the beach and he didn't fight it. Sand under his feet again and he staggered towards shore. Sano fought his way through the waves, angling towards him. Kenshin had lost a sandal along the way. Sano still had both of his.

"She's gone, Kenshin," Sano barked at him, jaw clenched, fists clenched. "And I'm sorry- - I'm truly, truly sorry - - but she's not blaming anybody for anything anymore. And even if you weren't fucking losing it and seeing her ghost - - well her ghost would be a damned bitch if she's blaming you for any of this."

"Shut up," Kenshin cried, indignant, wailing rage blackening the edges of his vision. He hit Sano, and Sano staggered a pace back, raising a hand to his mouth. Looked at the blood on his fingers and pulled back his lips in a red rimmed grin.

"Yeah - - okay - -" he swung back and Kenshin didn't even try to avoid it.

Sano probably pulled the punch - - and it still knocked Kenshin back onto the sand. He lay there, both hands over his eyes, blood in his mouth, jaw throbbing. World reeling, and it wasn't from the blow. He could take a decent blow.

He felt the shifting of sand as Sano knelt next to him. Not touching. Just a presence.

"What do you want, Kenshin," Sano asked hoarsely. "You wanna die and join them? That what she's asking you to do? That what you want? "

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth. Then, with sinking despair. "No." Because he didn't - - not deep down where the center of him was. And maybe that was the worst betrayal of all.

"Whatever you think you're seeing - - hearing. It's not her." Sano said. "I know the twit - - and the last thing she'd ever want was you dead. She loved you, idiot."

Loved. Past tense. Sano had admitted it finally - - given up on his pretense of hope. It was a blow of sorts that he hadn't expected.

"He was three years old, Sano. He was only three - -" Everything was a blur. His throat so thick he could barely get the words out.

"I know - -I'm sorry - -" Sano did lay hands on him then, hauling him up roughly, wrapping long arms around him. Kenshin balled a fist in Sano's wet shirt, pressed his forehead against his shoulder and sobbed.



Sano swallowed blood and a little bit of sand and knelt there while Kenshin let out his grief. Other than that craziness on the ship, it was too long coming. Craziness tonight, too, with Kenshin claiming to see ghosts. He cast a wary look at the ocean, having a healthy respect for the things in the shadows and ghosts in particular - - the shades of Buddhist monks haunting their dilapidated shrine had cemented that, thank you - - and he half expected to see something hovering out there.

But there was nothing but waves, and the occasional glimmering white cap, that he supposed someone crazy with grief might in their gnarled, fevered imagination think to be a figure drifting in the water. And he believed what he'd told Kenshin. If Kaoru ever came back to haunt him as a spirit, she'd be a benevolent one, not some accusing shade pushing him towards whatever it was Kenshin had been trying to convince himself of. She'd spent the entirety of the time he'd known her damned and determined to convince Kenshin that he wasn't the monster he thought past deeds had made him.

Of course that didn't mean Kenshin wasn't seeing some sort of kappa, out to cause mischief. Water spirits were notorious for sensing weakness and exploiting it. And Gods knew, Kenshin had enough vulnerabilities now to fall prey to it.

Sano drew his brows, wishing they were further up the beach, out of the edge of the tide and things that held power in it. But he'd brave the ill intentions of water spirits if he had to, to let Kenshin get this out. Sano had lost a person or two in his life and all holding back the grief got you was messed up. You screamed, you cried, you beat the shit out of something if you had to, but you let out. Didn't mean you didn't carry it with you forever, one way or another - - but at least it got you through the day. And the next. And the next.

Kenshin wrung himself dry eventually, limp against Sano for a while after, until he stiffened a little, maybe embarrassed at the show of weakness, and pushed himself away. His hair, come loose from its tail in the waves, was a sodden, sand crusted mess clinging to face and shoulders.

"So - -" Sano had no idea what to say. So he pushed himself up, reached down and caught Kenshin's arm, hauling him up whether he wanted up or not and got them further up the beach where the sand was soft and dry, out of the domain of anything possibly out there lurking in the water. He collapsed back down then, and after a moment, Kenshin did beside him, barefoot and hollow eyed.

"You lost your sandals." Stating the obvious seemed safe enough. Sano was almost afraid to mention the sword, lost out there in the water. Gods knew what Kenshin had been thinking doing that - - but if Sano were any judge it had been some guilt-ridden attempt to punish himself. He'd regret it, Sano figured, sooner or later.

For a long time they sat there in silence, watching the waves, the slow migration of the moon, the distant silhouette of some ship sailing towards Madras harbor.

"It hurts," Kenshin whispered, barely audible.

"Yeah."

Kenshin dropped his head, tangling his fingers in his hair and didn't say more.

By the time it started misting, the moon was far behind them and the horizon over the bay turning purple and red with the onset of sunrise. Sano figured they'd sat out here long enough, clothes gone dry becoming damp again with early morning showers.

"C'mon," he pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand for Kenshin. After a moment, Kenshin accepted it and let Sano pull him to his feet. It would be a long walk back in the rain to Pakshi's and he hoped they still had a place in her home after all the drama. A smart woman, with a family of her own to look after, might well rescind her offer to houseguests not acting entirely within their right minds.

He got as far as the jetties and the houses at the outskirts of the city, before he lost his way entirely, standing in indecision at an unfamiliar cross road. He hadn't been paying a great deal of attention to his surroundings when he'd been scrambling to keep on Kenshin's trail out here. He'd barely caught sight of him at the end of Pakshi's street after she'd alerted him of Kenshin's coming and going with that sword.

Kenshin took the lead then, silently, taking the path Sano would not have chosen, if it had been left to his devices. Leading them a meandering way through grey, mostly deserted city streets in the hours before true dawn, towards Pakshi's house.

Almost he was embarrassed to knock on her door, at this hour, but he was tired and wet again and manners had never figured greatly into Sano's decision making. So he pounded a fist against the doors, while Kenshin stood mutely behind him. She answered it herself, after a few minutes, wrapped in a long robe, with her hair in a long braid across her shoulder.

Kenshin bowed deeply to her, without quite looking her in the eye. "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, Pakshi San."

She looked more relieved than irritated, Sano thought. "What is life without its inconveniences?" she said. "I rise before the girls, regardless. I was awake."

She ushered them in, out of the rain. The courtyard was glistening with it, water running across the flagstones to a central drain. "If you wish to avoid answering questions from the girls, go upstairs now, though. You'll find dry clothing in the big blue trunk - - my husband's - - my son's - - that should make due. Go, before they rouse."

There was very wan light seeping through the inner shutters in the attic. Just enough to see by without lighting a candle. Sano found the trunk, filled with men's clothing. The belongings of Pakshi's dead. He found he wasn't picky, very much tired of wet cloth against his skin. The clothing, size wise was more suited for Kenshin - - Pakshi's men having been of average size and height, but they were loose enough to fit, even if they were short in the arm and leg. Even the plain ones were of a very fine, very soft fabric, with fine embroidery along the edges.

It had been a very long time since Sano had slept, none since the night before he'd sat vigil on Kenshin on the ship. He felt it now, that seeping exhaustion. He fell into the pile of blankets he'd tossed against a wall, trusting this time, that he could leave Kenshin to his own devices. He was asleep before he'd fully nestled down into his pallet, the sound of the rain on the roof a quiet serenade.

Shifting the balance chapter 26

The new chapter of Shifting the Balance is up here.

For those of you even casually interested in Rurouni Kenshin, you must see the live action movie. It's well worth struggling through sub-titles. I'm on about my fifth viewing. It's the best anime adaptation I've ever seen.

Shifting the balance chapter 25

I've got the next chapter of 'Shifting the Balance'.

Check it out here

Shifting the balance chapter 24

The next chapter of Shifting the Balance is up and running.

Check it out here

shifting the balance chapter 23

I've got the next chapter of "Shifting the Balance" ready.

You can either read it on my fiction page here

Or check it out here.





Kenshin had broken Winter's nose and it hurt like hell. Jun mixed one of his herbal concoctions to ease the pain, but nothing worked as well as hard liquor. Winter had several snifters of fine Irish whiskey, sitting with strips of rag up his nostrils, waiting for the bleeding to finally stop.

He'd had a fine, straight nose, reminiscent of his aristocratic lineage, and the little bastard had ruined it. He'd be lucky if it healed with only a slight bump. Damned slant-eyed fuck for consistently complicating Winter's life. Any reasonable man would have given up at the shores of his own country instead of trekking across the sea and following him here. Damned Japanese obstinacy. Which was why, of course, Winter had concocted this whole plan to begin with, trying to figure out a way to etch out a foothold of lucrative Japanese trade before the damned Americans managed to convince the Meiji government to grant them open trade rights. Then it would be anyone's game. For the time being the Japanese government was still gun shy of unfettered foreign access to all their ports of call. And he'd been so damned close to getting that access to Tokyo and its untapped exotic goods.

Damned little chance of that now, without Erizowa's help. But still, there were ways Winter still might come out ahead in this. He'd halfway convinced Kilbourne that Kenshin's claims were all lies. That Kenshin was an agent of a rival Japanese clan that wished to circumvent their lucrative deal by scaring off Winter's investors, in favor of their own with other foreign rival shippers.

Kilbourne had already sunk enough money into this project that he wanted to believe in plots and machinations afoot rather than the simple fact that they'd been sunk. With a little finesse, he could figure a way out of this that avoided placing blame at his doorstep. Avoided the displeasure of the all-powerful East India company, who did not look kindly upon competition from within and most importantly no black marketeering charges leveled against him by his own government.

The pain was duller, Jun's powder having accomplished its task. Winter gingerly fingered the swelling and winced, then glared at the floor, in the direction of the basement where his guest still languished. A few hours left chained down there and Winter figured Kenshin might welcome a little company. He smirked, and it brought a sting of discomfort, so he turned it into a scowl and contemplated the best method of indoctrinating a dangerous new acquisition. He'd really rather that his nose was the only injury he received during his entertainment.

He called for his manservant and Jun appeared post haste, bowing his head and waiting for Winter's command with those inscrutable black eyes of his. That was one of the things he liked about Kenshin, the color of his eyes, and the emotion they broadcast. At least when he wasn't killing mad. Then there was nothing in his gaze but promises of pain and death.

"Whip up something, would you, to make our guest a bit less inclined to perpetrate violence. I think it's time to play a little."

"He's dangerous, master Quinton," Jun complained. "Kill him now or he'll bring bad luck upon us."

"Which is why I'd like you to administer one of your ingenious powders. Now don't question my orders." Winter gave him a stern look and the manservant pursed his lips and inclined his head once more.

"Shall I have him brought up to the room, or have your kit taken down to the basement?"

Winter shrugged, considering. Jun turned his head, as if his hearing were somehow keener than Winter's own, or he had some sort of unnatural prescience, which just might be the case for he tended to anticipate Winter's needs often before Winter himself. Then the chimes rang, indicating someone at the door.

"Well," Winter straightened his jacket, running hand through his hair. "I wasn't aware we were expecting visitors."

Jun hurried out of the study, his hand surreptitiously on the little knife he always carried. Winter strode after him, keenly aware of the weight of the pistol in his inner pocket. One of the Ceylonese servants opened the door, bowing deeply at whoever was on the other side.

Winter didn't have long to wait to see who it was, for Kilbourne shouldered his considerable bulk past the slim Ceylonese girl and stormed Winter's foyer. He wasn't alone. Ashton and DeMarley were on his heels. All of Winter's investors in his little scheme come to demand their due. Damn Kilbourne to hell for not taking Winter at his word.

"Gentlemen. To what do I owe the honor?"

"You know damned well, Winter." Kilbourne spat, cheeks ruddy, jowls quivering. Winter imagined putting a bullet between the fat bastard's eyes.

Lord Ashton, anything but fat and lazy, strolled past Kilbourne, eyes half lidded and sharp. He lifted a brow when he got a good look at winter's swollen nose and purpling eyes. "Have a bit of an accident?"

Winter smiled tightly. "Just a little mishap."

"Looks painful, ol' Chap."

"I understand we've had a problem, Winter." DeMarly got straight to the point.

"Nothing I can't deal with, my lord. Have dealt with, in fact."

"So you nabbed the insolent bastard, then?" Kilbourne demanded.

Winter inclined his head, smiling his merchant's smile. All promise and none of it reaching past his eyes. He waved a hand, ushering them down the hall to the billiards room with its broad gaming table and its leather furniture, its suits of armor and its stuffed animal heads leering down from the walls. The room smelled faintly of smoke and fine liquor. A pleasant scent. A manly scent.

"So what's this I hear, Winter, of fake daughters, and double dealings?" DeMarly asked, soft spoken, the calmest of the lot, a plain looking man with a fortune at his back. A man with a stake in the East India Company, but not as big a stake as he'd like.

"Was the little Japanese girl you presented Erizowa's daughter or not?"

"Of course she was. She's well on her way home to report the success of her mission to her papa as we speak."

"And the claims otherwise?" Kilbourne demanded.

"Lies," Winter said. "I told you they were lies. You think the house of lords is chock full of political machinations - -we don’t hold a candle to the internal politics of these Japanese noble houses. Erizowa is still our ally. The man that broke into your house was an agent of a rival house."

"This agent - - you have him here?" Ashton inquired, helping himself to a tumbler of brandy.

Winter hesitated a moment, wary. Then nodded. "He is - -my guest."
Ashton chuckled.

Kilbourne's face turned ruddier. "Why haven't you strung the bastard up?"

Winter shrugged. "I had questions for him."

"And did he give you answers?" DeMarly asked.

Winter smiled. "They're very stubborn, these Japanese. I haven't finished asking."

"Why don't we ask him a few questions of our own?" Ashton suggested, damn the man. "Let us assuage some of our own fears."

"A reasonable request," DeMarly agreed.

Kilbourne just chomped, agitated, on the stub of a fat cigar clenched between his teeth.

"Ah, well, I was rather - - vigorous in my questioning. He might not be much good for answering yours. And even if he did, he's adamant in his lies."

"Let's see him, Winter," Kilbourne finally snapped. "I've a debt to pay the insolent dog."

Winter shrugged, smiling his false smile again to hide his annoyance. "As you wish, gentlemen."

He slipped out to the hall, where Jun was waiting, dipped his head and ordered softly. "Make sure he's not coherent enough to talk, then have him brought up."

Jun nodded and scurried away to do his bidding.

He offered them fresh cigars and a sampling of his uncle's finest Scottish double malt while they waited. He trusted Jun to accomplish his task and if Kenshin were lucid enough to get out a few words - - well, the only translators in the room where himself and his manservant. But he had to play his cards carefully, these were dangerous men with power and position, used to getting their own way. They'd ruin him if they guessed he was double dealing them.

Soon enough Jun appeared at the doorway, bowing at the lot of them, before moving aside and letting two of the native servants haul Kenshin in between them. Jun hadn't unfettered him, even though his head drooped and his body was barely responsive to the handling.

"What the hell is this?" Kilbourne rose, stalking over, glaring at Winter more than their prisoner. "This can't be the one - - the man who attacked me was larger, I'm sure of it."

Winter smiled, letting just a touch of condescension flitter at the edges. "Men tend to seem larger when they've got a sword to your throat, Kilbourne. I assure you, this is the man."

The man cast him a nasty look, then grasped a handful of Kenshin's hair, jerking his head back. Kenshin's lashes fluttered, trying to focus, eyes distant and hazy. Jun deserved a bonus for the effectiveness of his powders, Winter thought with satisfaction. Ashton strolled up, lazily sucking on his cigar, eyes flitting over Kenshin's face.

"Hmm. Doesn't look that threatening, Kilbourne. Look's rather too pretty for that. But then, looks can be deceiving. Perhaps you were drunk, ol' chap."
Kilbourne snarled, swung his meaty hand and backhanded Kenshin. The two servants clutched tighter to his arms, holding him upright.

"Were you the one?" Kilbourne demanded, grasping his jaw, forcing his head back up. "Do you know who I am? Do you, you worthless dog?"

He hit him again, with little more reaction. Ashton shook his head looking bored.

"I told you," Winter said sipping at his own drink. "That he wouldn't be much for answering questions."

He waved a hand towards the billiard's table and the two servants deposited their burden there. Kenshin lay, feet dangling, manacled hands limp across his stomach on the green felt of the tabletop. Winter leaned a palm on the edge looking down, mouth twitching as he saw the struggle for coherency in Kenshin's eyes. There was a little trickle of blood running down from the corner of his mouth.

"So," DeMarly leaned a hip against the table, casting a glance down at Kenshin, before dismissing him and looking to Winter. "This rival clan? Can you handle the problem on the Japanese end?"

"I can. My contact's clan, you might say, is more powerful than his rivals. Erizowa is a powerful enough player that he will deal with them. Trust me, gentlemen."

"When I see a return on my investment, I'll trust you a little more," Ashton said, then lifted a brow at Kilbourne who'd hefted a billiard's cue and was slapping the thick end against his palm. He cracked it down onto the table top next to Kenshin's head.

Winter flinched at the retort, frowning at the little tear in the felt. "This is a perfectly fine table, Kilbourne. I'd prefer if you didn't get blood all over it."

"Then drag him onto the floor. I'll take the beginnings of my own investment's return out of his hide."

"How plebian of you," Ashton drawled, before Winter could think up an excuse to deny the man the chance of taking away his own well earned enjoyment.

"He didn't break into your home, Ashton, and put a sword to your throat."

"And embarrass me in front of a little brown bed warmer?" Ashton guessed, and Kilbourne bristled.

"Beating him to death would be so boring," Ashton remarked, his smile slow and lazy, but Winter thought him anything but. "Why not vent your frustration, Kilbourne in a more sporting fashion?"

Kilbourne canted him a narrow look. Winter did, waiting.

"We haven't had a hunt in ages. Do your uncle's hounds still know how to pursue two legged game, Winter?"

Winter's mouth slowly curved in a smile. Ashton always had been a man after his own heart. A kindred spirit. "Aye. They'll chase down any prey they get the scent of."

"Then what say you, gentlemen?" Ashton smiled. "The man that takes the prey wins the right to dispose of it any manner he sees fit."

"He won't be much sport for a while." Winter looked down at Kenshin. At the half lashed gaze and the slowly flexing fingers of a man trying hard to fight his way out of the narcotic induced haze he'd been plunged into.

"We'll have a few drinks, enjoy a round of cards or two and let him recover some of his wits before we loose the dogs."



The last thing he remembered, and even that memory was hazy and insubstantial, was Winter's man, Jun slipping down the stairs to the basement they'd imprisoned him, and blowing a handful of white powder into his face. Things had gone very, very shadowy then, and slow, thick like sap oozing with infinite slowness down the trunk of a tree. He didn't recall a great deal of what happened after. Just an indefinite passage of time, a lurid wash of color and jabbering foreign voices that came and went as his vision did. Hands on him, that he ought to try and shake off, but lacked the wherewithal to do so.

After a while, water hit his face, cold and wet, shocking him into awareness. A sharper blow followed, a hard, open palmed slap across the face. He sputtered, trying to focus as hands tangled in his collar, dragging him up, slapping him again, both cheeks, voice hissing at him in a low angry tones to wake up.

Kenshin blinked water from his eyes, staring through a tangle of wet hair at a half familiar, pinched face. Jun. Winter's servant, who crouched in front of him, while men he couldn't see grasped him from behind, hands in his hair, hands on his collar holding him back against their knees while Jun shook a fist in his face.

"Filthy assassin," Jun spat at him, grabbing Kenshin's jaw, forcing his head back and bringing a short knife up to press against his throat. "My master is a fool, to have let you live this long."

There was nothing to do but stare down into angry black eyes and wait to see if the man were of a mind to slit his throat. But eventually, Jun jerked the blade away, instead slashing at the shoulder of Kenshin's noragi, Ripping down the sleeve and tearing off a good portion of the cloth. He flung the rag at a servant and snapped something at the man in Ceylonese, and the man scurried off.

Jun rose, jerked his head and the two men behind him pulled him up. It was an effort to get his legs under him. His sandals were gone and the wood was cool and slick under his feet, but at least they'd done away with the leg irons. If he could just chase away the haze that still clung with tenacity in his head, he might be able to help himself out of this situation. But wanting was a far cry from doing and the hall passed in a blur as they hauled him to a set of tall, glass paned doors and a wide porch looking out over a night dark yard. It had been a few hours after noon when he'd come here, he thought, so a good deal of time had passed.

Sano. Winter had promised to send men after the stolen papers and Sano might have been there. Either to stop them or be stopped by them. His mind whirled around scenarios where blood was shed. He could see it clear as day. Could scent it - - a scent you never forgot once you'd been awash in it - -

Jun slapped him again, and he hadn't even realized the man had moved to face him, mind that unfocused, thoughts that chaotic. Not a state of mind conducive to survival. Too much of the drug still in his system, then. Still, if the man hit him again, Kenshin was going to have to take offense and return the favor in some manner.

Jun stabbed a finger towards the darkened yard and the vast, black fields of tea beyond it. "Run. You run or the dogs will tear you apart, understand, assassin?"

Jun shoved him off the porch, and he staggered, lacking any semblance of grace, down the steps, going to hands and one knee in wet grass. He looked up from under his hair at Jun and his pair of burly servants backing him, then heard the baying of dogs. Jun's mouth curved into a cruel smile and Kenshin hissed, shoving to his feet.

When he swung his head too rapidly, his vision wavered, the shadows shuddering, the lights from the house flickering as if he were looking at them through a multi-faceted stone. The forest offered cover that the fields Jun had pointed towards did not, and the closest wood line was beyond the gardens. He ran that way, nothing so neat as a straight line, shaking his head in an effort to force clarity that did not want to come. But balance was no less intricate a part of him, as breathing and his feet found the way, body doing what it ought even if his mind swam with disorientation. Past the hedges of the garden, and the lush beds of flowering plants, the archways with their coiling vines and towards the dark wall of forest.

Light flared at him, a sudden roaring, demon faced apparition with flames at the ends of its arms. Another, leaping to join the first, bellowing at him, waving the fire in his face, and he veered from his path, shocked into taking a different course towards the fields. It occurred to him, as his heart dislodged from his throat that they'd been men. Men in masks waving torches to herd him in a direction of their choosing.

He heard the dogs again, a cacophony of excited barking from the darkness beyond the mansion and drawing closer. He didn't turn to look, just plunged into the thigh high tea plants at the edge of the fields. There was forest to the right of him, bordering the fields. A great deal of forest that they couldn't block the whole of. Even if they tried, they wouldn't deter him this time.

The sharp retort of gunfire rang out, and he reflexively crouched, diving into the shelter of plants. The bullet hadn't come near him, though. Either a bad shot, or they were simply reveling in their power. He paused for a moment, eyes shut, listening past the thud of his own heart to the sound of dogs - - and horses. The dogs had entered the fields, he could hear the sound of them ripping through tender plants on their path towards him. He rose and sprinted towards the tree line.

Two hundred yards and he rushed it headlong, feeling the presence of the pack behind him - - their roiling excitement, their lust for the kill. He broke the edge of the forest, plunged into darkness not pierced by moonlight and ran. Mulch soft and wet under his feet from recent rains, branches snapping his face and arms as he tore through underbrush. He was fast, he knew he was fast, even hindered as he was, but the dogs had four legs instead of two - - had animal instinct that a man who'd let his own instincts dull over the past few years, could not compete with.

Teeth ripped at the trailing edge of his torn noragi, yanking him off his balance. He staggered to the side, caught himself from falling outright and swung his manacled hands, hard, against a canine head. The hound let out a yelp of pain, knocked away from him and into the bole of a young tree. Another leapt at him and he rolled under its lunge, fingers curling around a fallen branch and bringing it up in a backhanded swing that cracked much like the sound of a bullet, against the dog's thick neck. The branch broke, the dog dropped, lifeless and Kenshin ran.

The ground gave way unexpectedly under his feet and he slid down a muddy slope, scrambling helplessly for purchase with hands bound and plunged into cold, dark water. He came up, gasping, waist deep in a stream that might have been fifteen feet wide. He might have gained himself a few precious moments while the dogs sniffed about their fallen pack members. A chance to get them off his track. He ripped the torn noragi off, flung the sodden cloth up the opposite slope, then headed down stream in the darkness. A treacherous path with slick rocks under his feet and unexpected deep pools to make him flounder. Something sinuous and black glinted in a bit of dappled moonlight on the waters surface, gliding towards him and he hissed, batting it out of the water towards the far shore. A very, very bad thing, snakes in the water. He'd rather face the dogs.

He waded towards the opposite shore, pulling himself up onto the bank, scrambling up the slope and into the trees. He could hear the dogs, but they weren't closing in. Mulling in confusion around his coat, trying to find a scent to follow. They'd figure it out. But for the moment he let himself slump against a tree, drawing in gasping lungfuls of air. Trying to wrap his mind around what exactly it was he was running from.

There were men behind the dogs. Men with guns. Winter's men, he could only assume. But Jun was Winter's man and Jun had set him free. Well, as free as a man might be, manacled and herded into being a rabbit for a pack of dogs. Some game of Winter's then, and he knew by now that Winter liked to play. Liked to manipulate and tease and torment.

Kenshin bared his teeth in frustration, pushed himself off the tree and started moving again. The whole of this place was unfamiliar. He had no notion where he was headed. For all he knew, he might be circling back around to the mansion.

The baying of the dogs grew closer. He heard the distant shout of a man. He ran. Men, he could avoid in the darkness. Dogs were another matter. And the dogs were on his trail again.

He found a stout enough stick as he moved, snapping it, with a foot against the bole and a grunt of effort, off a downed tree. He gripped it two handed, spun even as he caught the glimpse of a fast moving dark shape through the trees rushing at him. Cracked the dog in the muzzle and kept turning, leaping over the one on its heels and bringing the limb down upon the third. Caught another in the side, knocking it against a tree, then got pulled off his balance by teeth in the leg of his trousers. His foot slid on wet mulch and that leg went down under him, an unfortunate lapse that let another one get past his guard and latch hold of his forearm, bearing him backwards under the dog's not insubstantial weight. He went with it, using the dog's own momentum to spin it off him, bringing up a knee and slamming it against the stubbornly clenched jaws around his arm.

He had half a glimpse in the frenzy of the attacking pack of a larger, black shape bearing down on him. He half turned, the dog still attached to his arm, and met the sole of a boot, slamming into the side of his head. He went down, head spinning, the dogs descending upon him, snarling, nipping at him, shifting to avoid the prancing hooves of a horse as the animal sidled into the fray.

There was the barking command of a man, sharp orders that made no sense to Kenshin's reeling mind. He brought his arms up, covering his head as hooves thudded into the soft earth next to him. Trying to protect his throat from the snapping jaws of the dogs that wanted to rip it out. There was the cracking sound of a whip, the yelp of dogs as they were driven off. Then a lash of pain as it struck his ankle, the tail of it slithering around and cinching tight before he was jerked across the ground, in the horse's wake, the hounds dancing gleefully as he was dragged. A nightmarish progression, across bramble and earthy debris, his back slamming against a protruding root here, his head bouncing off another there.

Not far - - it could not have been far - - and then the tension around his ankle relaxed, the end of the whip slipping off, trailing in the mulch as the horse paced. Kenshin lay there, spots of color dancing at the edges of dimmed vision. The pain of maybe a rib only newly healed, fractured again, vying with the burn of the scrapes on his back.

More horses joined the first, towering over him, indistinguishable silhouettes in the darkness. The dogs circled, whining, the fervor of the hunt dissipated, looking for confirmation of their success from their masters. One even went so far as to thrust its long wet tongue against his face. Men spoke among themselves, laughing, pleased with their accomplishment of taking down disadvantaged prey. No honor at all among the lot of them.

Winter leaned over him, pale hair, pale eyes in the slivers of moonlight that escaped the foliage, trapping Kenshin's manacled hands beneath his weight . He had the whip coiled in his hand and trailed the end of it across Kenshin's scarred cheek. He said something to the men accompanying him. They were dark shapes, looming atop their horses, looking down upon them.

"I win," Winter said, grinning at him, teeth eerily pale in the shadows of his face.

Kenshin had neither the breath, nor the inclination to engage him in conversation, but then Winter didn't seem to expect it. He looped the supple leather of the whip around Kenshin's neck, pulled it taut enough to choke off air and bent down close.

"I told you," he said, lips grazing Kenshin's temple, whispering softly as if he were speaking to a lover as he choked him. "I told you I'd make you pay."



Of course Kilbourne complained that they didn't string him up and kill him there - - gut him like any other prey they'd hunted down. It had been, on occasion, done before, when the wealthiest of Winter's blooded family acquaintances had been bored and had a taste for the blood of prey of a higher caliber. Any proper English aristocrat saw these people in the lands that they'd colonized, as little more than savages, anyway. Two legged beasts to toil in their fields, make their exported goods, clean their houses and occasionally warm their beds - - to use as they saw fit, which was the god given right of a conquering, civilized people.

Kilbourne believed that to his bones, having no more respect for the native peoples than he did for his dogs. Winter was more of an equal opportunity manipulator. He'd use an Englishman if it worked to his advantage, as easily as he'd use a foreigner. He'd used Kenshin - - but he respected him. Hard not to respect a man with Kenshin's tenacity. It didn't mean Winter wouldn't kill him - - but he'd no intention of letting Kilbourne name the place or the method. It was a personal thing now, that he had every intention of taking his sweet time with.

He put a rope around Kenshin's neck while he was still reeling from being half asphyxiated, and almost choked him out again until he managed to gain his feet, grasping the rope as it jerked taut when Winter's horse began moving through the wood. The dogs danced around him, tangling with his legs, but he managed with admirable grace to avoid tripping over them and being dragged. That little indignation would have pleased Winter. Kenshin deserved nothing less for killing two of his dogs.

A long trek back to the house. Arduous for a man bleeding from no few places and lacking shoes, tethered behind a long legged hunter whose walk equaled most horse's trot. The servants were out in mass when they rode up, whipped into competency by Jun, who glared with murder in his eyes at a live Kenshin. Jun had no love for the tools of the Meiji restoration, a born and bred servant of the shoganate they had replaced. His own master had died at the hands of an assassin, and though it was doubtful that that hand had been Himura the Battousai, he'd made a name for himself during the revolution. Still one never knew. Jun had reason enough for grudges. Perhaps he'd allow Jun a few hours to inquire. A faithful servant deserved occasional incentives.

Men rushed forward to take charge of dogs and horses. Winter dismounted, winding the rope around his fist, while Kenshin leaned over his knees, panting, sweat darkened auburn hair clinging to shoulders and shielding his face. He jerked a head at Jun who barked orders and other servants ran to take charge of him. He didn't protest, just stood there between them, lifting his head just enough to meet Winter's eyes through the tangled fall of his hair. Not a welcoming look. A frightening one, truth be told and Winter swallowed, an involuntarily chill traveling down his spine, before he got a hold of himself and snapped the rope tether, a reminder of who was in the position of power here and who was not.

"You'd think the dogs would have ripped the insolence out of him," Ashton remarked, at Winter's back, having noted that look.

"You'd think," Winter grunted, annoyed.

There was blood running down Kenshin's left arm from the imprint of canine jaws. A shallower bite on his shoulder. His feet were bloody from more than pelting through the woods barefoot. A trail of red ran down one ankle, from a hidden wound on his leg. Winter supposed they'd blooded him well enough for the lives he'd taken of theirs.

"I can rid him of it," Kilbourne grunted slapping his crop against his pants leg. As red as the big man's face was, you'd think he'd run back as well, rather than ride.

"Let up, old chap. You lost the right when you lost the hunt." Ashton reminded him.

Kilbourne snarled. "You and your damned 'entertainments', Aston. I'm owed justice."

Ashton sniffed, and glanced at Winter. "You might as well. You'll not hear the end of it, until he's had his due."

Winter cocked a brow at the crop in Kilbourne's hand, then shrugged, waving a hand. "If it will sooth your injured pride."

They dragged Kenshin into the stable, wild-eyed Ceylonese men who looked as if they'd rather be any place but this, about this business. Jun yelled at them when they looked to hesitate, shoving Kenshin face first against the post at the end of a row of stalls and drawing a rope through the manacles on his wrists and drawing his arms up. He didn't flinch through it. Just stood there, back already scraped, forehead pressed against the wood whiles the wolves circled. All of them, even DeMarly who rarely evidenced emotion, watching with gleaming eyes, anticipating the deconstruction of a man.

"It would make more of an impression if you lent me your whip," Kilbourne remarked.

"No," Winter said flatly. "When and if I choose to mangle him, it will be my hand that does it."

Kilbourne sniffed, shifted his thick fingers on the handle of his crop, then stepped forward and cracked it across Kenshin's shoulders. There was involuntary movement then. The twitching of shocked muscle.

Then Kilbourne laid in, using the shaft as much as the leather. Kenshin didn't make a sound more satisfying than the occasional stifled gasp when he took a hit across the darkening bruise over the ribs on his left side. Kilbourne sounded more distressed, exerting himself beyond his endurance. Winter wasn't surprised. It hadn't been until the bandits had driven the spike through his second hand that he'd screamed in the mountains outside Tokyo.

All Kilbourne was doing was making himself more and more irate at the lack of response. With a curse the man flung the crop away and drove a fist into Kenshin's side. Again and this time Kenshin grunted, a pain sound, fists clenching.

Winter let Kilbourne get in another few hits, before he moved it, driving the man back with a shoulder between him and his victim. "All right. All right. You've had your fun. Go inside, have a brandy - - I've a servant or two that might be your type, eh, Kilbourne. Go on, you've proved your point."

"He never made a sound. Never made a damned sound," Kilbourne panted. "What sort of man endures a beating and doesn't utter a damned sound?"

Ashton threw an arm across the man's burly shoulders and got him walking. "A stubborn one, old Chap."

DeMarly followed them towards the house. Jun stood in the shadows looking disapprovingly at Winter. Winter jerked a hand towards the house. "Don't give me grief, Jun. Have them bring him."

"You'll regret it, Master Quinton. It's not stubborn - - it's discipline. He'll wait for his chance and he'll take it and we'll all pay."



They'd overstayed their welcome, Winter thought. Drinking his liquor, smoking his cigars, enjoying his servants, and inflicting little cruelties on his property. But then, it was a long ride back to the Colombo from the plantation and a good host would have insisted they stay the night. He wasn't feeling the good host.

He was feeling stifled and impatient to be about what he'd been aching to be about since before they'd arrived. He glanced down to Kenshin, curled on his side on the floor near Winter's chair. He might or might not have been conscious. They'd recuffed his hands behind him, looped a rope around his knees, a rope around his ankles. Jun was taking no chances. The blood had crusted on most of the wounds, only the deepest of the puncture marks still seeping red. His back was a mish mash of welts and bruises. There was a bruise on his temple, where Winter had kicked him when the hounds had taken him down finally. His hair mostly concealed it. It didn't detract from his profile. Still too damned pretty to have suffered what he'd suffered tonight. Winter looked like hell and he'd only taken the one hit.

Winter took a swig from the bottle of whiskey he'd taken to drinking from, quicker than bothering to pour it into a glass. He sat it on the table next to him, and reached down, winding a hand in long auburn hair and using it to pull Kenshin up. He dragged him up between his knees, back against the leather armchair, hand still tight in his hair.

"Are you awake?" he asked softly, trailing the thumb of his other hand down the curve of Kenshin's neck.

Kenshin said nothing, though he felt the tensing of muscle as Kenshin tried to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. "They'll be gone soon enough, I promise. I do so look forward to spending time with you alone."

Still nothing. Winter could understand Kilbourne's frustration.

"Shall I tell you about the man I sold your wife, too?" he offered. "I've heard that he particularly appreciates a woman versed in oral sex. Does she have talent in that area?"

There was reaction then. Stiffening of shoulders, a slight frustrated jerk as Kenshin tried to free his hair from Winter's grasp.

"Do you?" Winter asked, pulling Kenshin's head back, grinning down in half lidded, furious eyes. He ran fingers across Kenshin's lips and barely avoided teeth when Kenshin snapped at him. Damned pissed now. It made Winter happy.

He reached for the bottle, shifted the hand in his hair to grasp his jaw and forced the lip of it into his mouth. Kenshin gagged, swallowing convulsively, amber liquor spilling down the corners of his mouth. He turned his head against Winter's knee and coughed when he let him breath. That made him happy, too.

He spent a good deal of time, while DeMarly drowses on the leather couch, and Kilbourne disappeared with two of his servant girls, forcing liquor on Kenshin. Remembering very well from his days at the dojo, on those occasions that Kaoru had served sake, that Kenshin had only ever partaken sparingly. Either he had little tolerance for it, or had never developed a taste. Either way, Winter enjoyed sliding the neck of the bottle between his lips. Enjoyed it enough that he was hard through his pants, and Kenshin if he were aware enough, had to have felt it against the back of his neck when Winter pressed him close. But maybe not. He'd stopped fighting it a while ago, and his lashes were fluttering, black against his cheeks.

"Looks like he's done for." Ashton strolled over, from where he'd been watching them all like voyeur for most of the night. He crouched down in front of Kenshin, reaching out and brushing a long strand of whisky soaked hair from his cheek. " I've always rather fancied the Indians over the Orientals, but he's really quite something."

Winter lifted a brow. Ashton looked up, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. "DeMarly's dead to the world and Kilbourne's rutting with your little servant girls. They won't notice at all, if you and I take him somewhere a little more private."

Ashton wasn't bad looking. Younger than him. A man he might not mind sharing intimate entertainments with. And it never hurt to have embarrassing information to hold over the head of a peer of realm, if the need ever arose.

Winter smiled. "I have a place."

And he did. A special room, with cabinets full of instruments that he enjoyed employing. With a sturdy bed that sported the sort of restraints a man might need when his guests were less than willing to engage in the games he liked to play.

Kenshin was limp when they drew him up. Drink, the remnant of the drugs, the abuse or a combination of all having finally mastered him. Winter hefted him up and he was heavier than he looked, all lean, compact sinew and muscle. Lolling head, strands of hair clinging to his skin. Thankfully, he didn't need to climb the stairs with him. The room was on the first floor, a guest room separated from the other rooms, providing a certain degree of privacy. Not that Winter's servants would complain. Not if they knew what was good for them.

Ashton opened the door Winter indicated and Winter maneuvered his burden in, depositing him upon the bed. Kenshin was less than immaculate, bloody, dirty. He'd soil the sheets.

"Jun," Winter snapped, knowing very well his manservant would be hovering. "Fetch water and rags to clean him up."

He caught a glimpse of Jun's glower before the little man disappeared to do his bidding. Ashton grinned at him, closed door at his back and Winter felt a sudden swell of camaraderie. A sudden shiver of excitement. He'd never had anyone - - an equal - - to share his predilections with. An audience that could appreciate and savor the same things he enjoyed. This might very well lead to things other than leverage over an influential nobleman.

Ashton lifted a thick leather manacle attached by a short length of chain to one of the hard wood columns at the foot of the bed. "Very nice."

Winter took out a knife from his boot and sliced the rope around Kenshin's legs, already planning out his strategy. Face down, to start. As painfully aroused as he still was, face down would be the most convenient position to begin. The key to the cuffs was in his trouser pocket. He dug it out and unlocked the cuff on Kenshin's closest wrist in preparation of it drawing it up towards the leather restraints on the headboard.

He looked up, half second to catch Ashton's eye and Kenshin exploded under his hand. His fingers were gripping flesh one moment and the next grasping at empty air. All he saw was the afterimage of the hand, cuff attached that slammed into the side of his face. Felt the metal slice into his skin and the pain when his nose was broken, was nothing compared to the sickening crack of his cheekbone shattering.

It didn't last long. He heard the dwindling sound of men screaming and then he heard nothing at all.