THIRTY-THREE
“We know you helped them Akika. It is no use trying to pretend otherwise. We know you enlisted the help of the foreign teacher and in time we will bring him here too. However, at present it is your account we want to hear. We doubt the teacher will talk so easily. You, on the other hand, are not a brave man are you? You will tell us what we want to know. Now, let us try again shall we? Tell us how you got him from the castle,” the voice demanded. It was the same voice he had heard in his home when they arrested him, yet now it was soft and silky smooth with no trace of anger, but it was a voice Kouhei now associated with pain and fear. It belonged to a cold sadist.
“I.., I told you. I know nothing of this. We only passed on information. P...please, you must believe me. I…, am telling you the truth,” the little translator begged through bleary swollen eyes. He could taste the blood in his mouth from where he had bitten into his tongue when they beat him. His head pounded agonisingly and he felt sick, in fact he had vomited more than once. The sadist had laughed at him and called him a filthy pig. Kouhei had cried and begged for mercy, but he was shown none. Over and over he had been asked the same questions. He had told them everything he knew. The sadist was correct, he was not a brave man and he burned with humiliation and the dishonour of what he had done. But the pain was everything. The sadist struck his feet again with bamboo rods and he screamed.
“P...p...please!” he cried and his head lolled onto his chest. “I know nothing else.”
The sadist walked around his prisoner his hands behind his back. He was a thin man with paler skin than many of his countrymen and his long black hair prematurely grey for someone barely thirty. He had been in the service of Lord Kurohoshi for twelve years and prided himself on his skill at extracting information. It did not occur to him that torture was a crime against humanity, but simply a means of finding out what he needed to know and he quite enjoyed it. He had moved up in the world from his humble beginnings of tormenting cats and dogs and the snivelling urchin children that lived in the neighbourhood where he grew up. He had committed his first murder when just thirteen and it had left him feeling exhilarated. He felt no compassion for the life he had taken and never suffered remorse. No, he was good at his job, because like a God he was not plagued with conscience or contrition. He was above such lowly things.
The sadist bent over and grabbing Kouhei’s hair pulled the translator’s head back feeling pleasure as the face before him contorted with pain. He looked into the prisoner’s eyes and knew instinctively that he told the truth. The sadist felt disappointed. He had hoped to prolong the torture, but he knew he would be only wasting valuable time. He sighed and stroked Kouhei’s face in mock affection.
“That is too bad Akika-san. Because now, you see, you are no more use to me. I will have to bring in your friend instead. Maybe he can tell me more,” the sadist said relishing the thought of torturing Marrel. The foreign teacher was a braver man than this snivelling pathetic worm at his feet.
“No please. I beg you. Stefan knows nothing!” Kouhei objected panic stricken.
“No? Well I will just have to find out for myself. Goodbye Akika-san,” the sadist whispered smoothly in his victim’s ear and as a look of horrified understanding crept over Kouhei’s face the sadist swiped a sharp blade across the little man’s throat. Warm blood gushed from the wound down his neck and chest and down Kouhei’s throat, into his lungs. He choked; his eyes wide with terror. He tried to breathe, frantically fighting for air but his lungs only gurgled with terrible fluidity. His ears pounded and the light began to fade into grey shadows, his vision growing ever darker around its periphery. The panic that swelled within him only acted to hasten his demise and as he slipped into unconsciousness and the final cold sleep beyond, his last earthly experience was that of heartless, cruel laughter. Akika Kouhei died as he had lived for most of his life, afraid.
THIRTY-FOUR
Stefan had not hung around at his house when he witnessed Kurohoshi’s chief interrogator and his men drag Kouhei away. He had stood, frozen by his kitchen window having been awakened from a fitful sleep by loud banging on his neighbour’s door. Before he had even climbed, naked from his bed he knew what was happening. He had thrown a light Yukata around himself and stood and watched, his heart pounding and his rage burning. He had felt frustrated by his impotence, his inability to help his friend, the one man in this city who did not treat him as a foreigner, but he stayed put. If he had run out to help Kouhei no doubt he too would have been arrested if not killed. So he had waited until the officers had gone and then he awoke his wife and daughters with urgent instructions to get dressed and pack a bag each with one change of clothes and another with food and water. He had dressed himself and gone outside, walking blatantly from the front door and heading as if towards the city centre.
The ash still fell lazily around him deadening his footfalls and smothering the streets in eerie silence. He had kept his eyes to the ground searching for marks in the soft, white cinders but other than those around Kouhei’s home and across the street leading away towards the castle he found none. He had circled his home, stopping occasionally to listen and to watch and finally, when he had assured himself that there was no one, he had returned to his family.
They were waiting for him, huddled together in the kitchen, wide eyed and frightened. He had smiled at them with all the reassurance he could muster.
“We must leave Hana-Shi-Ku before dawn. I am afraid that the volcano poses a greater threat than the authorities would have us believe,” he said. All day yesterday local government spokesmen had travelled around the city encouraging people to stay and rebuild the city. They had said the worst was over and indeed the eruption did appear to be subsiding.
“But Stefan, the mountain is quieter now. I do not think there is…,” his wife argued glancing at her daughters and wondering what had come over her husband to scare them like this. It worried her; he had said nothing last night of his fears. She suspected he was not being entirely truthful.
“Please Ayame, trust me on this and do as I ask,” he interrupted and she saw the pleading in his face. A cold trickle of fear ran down her spine and her face drained of blood. Something was dreadfully wrong. She nodded her head and smiled brightly at the children.
“Come my darlings. Let us do as your father says. This is going to be a big adventure,” she cried fastening a small sack of clothes around her youngest.
“But Mummy I’m tired and it is still dark,” the little one moaned.
Her father bent down so that his face was next to hers.
“If we wait too long all the boats will be gone sweetheart. I am sorry it is early, but you can sleep on the boat,” he explained and rubbed his nose against hers. She smiled reluctantly at her father and sighed with resignation.
The four of them left the house, the children’s faces gaping in wonder at the grey-white moonscape around them. They giggled as clouds of ash whirled up around their feet and they kicked at it with wondrous fascination. Ayame hushed them quiet and picked up both their hands as she stood behind her husband watching him fearfully. He had paused at the end of the street and looked about him intently. This was no flight from the mountain; this was something altogether more sinister. She shivered, but not from cold, and as he turned to face her she questioned with searching eyes. He picked up her hand and kissed it.
“Later. I will explain all later. Let me just say now that Kouhei has been taken and we are in danger,” he replied to her unspoken request and saw her features cloud with anxiety. He squeezed her hand tightly. “I am sorry,” he whispered. She turned to the girls and pulled her youngest forward.
“We can travel faster if you carry Shiori,” she said handing the child over to her man. He smiled and picked the girl up onto his shoulders. Ayame took hold of her other daughter’s hand and they pressed forward towards the harbour.
At the quayside, Stefan hid his family behind a pile of lobster pots while he looked for a suitable ve
ssel. He returned fifteen minutes later to find them huddled together looking afraid and made prematurely old by the ash that had settled into their black hair and on their clothes.
“Come, this way,” he urged and lifting Shiori back onto his shoulders he led the way to the wharf and the ladder down to a small fishing boat. It was a single masted vessel with no true deck; only a small canvass awning over the bows afforded some shelter. Aft was a long handled tiller that was also used to propel the boat when not under sail. On the quay a pile of fishing nets and buckets lay where Stefan had piled them after removing them from the boat. Ayame glanced at the nets and down at their transport.
“Is it only us? Where is the fisherman?” she asked.
“Probably still asleep. Hurry, climb down the ladder I will pass the girls down to you,” he pressed.
“I can climb down without help Daddy,” the elder child cried a little too loudly causing her mother to hush her.
“Are we stealing it?” Ayame queried somewhat alarmed at the prospect.
“Let us just say we are borrowing it,” he replied. “Please, Ayame, climb into the boat.
She frowned and threw the sack of clothes for herself and the children into the vessel and handed him the food. Nimbly she climbed down the ladder and waited with outstretched arms while he handed Shiori to her.
“Are you sure you can manage Mika?” he asked the older girl. She nodded brightly relishing the adventure far more than her little sister was, and began a steady descent of the ladder. Finally, when his family were aboard and the girls seated under the awning on instruction from their mother, he passed down the sack of food and water and untied the ropes holding the boat to the quay. He scrambled down into the vessel, unfastened the lateen sail in readiness to use it, told Ayame to sit with the children and pushed away from the wall.
Working the tiller he slowly propelled and steered the little vessel through the expanse of the harbour, past silent hulking ships and diminutive fishing boats alike, their crews all asleep on board or ashore. No one was readying to set sail, the tide was low. The water surface was covered in a thick scum of ash and pumice giving it the appearance of a very unappetizing porridge, it rattled on the boat’s hull as she cut through it.
As they reached the harbour mouth, Stefan looked back. Above the city he saw the volcano, its summit shrouded in a billowing black cloud that glowed dully red at its base. The cloud reached no great height and did appear to have subsided since yesterday but the mountain still rumbled like a giant with stomach ache and he admitted to himself that even though his real fear was Kurohoshi’s men, that he was also glad to be getting away from this other menace. He moved forward to the sail, worked to hoist it and as it caught the slight breeze he set the boat on a starboard tack away from the city of Hana-Shi-Ku.
THIRTY-FIVE
They stood around him, their faces blackened with dirt and sweat, some with arms folded proudly, others with white teeth and bright eyes shining through the grime and he smiled back humbled by their loyalty. He had laughed at Karasu’s account of the journey in the old warship from Kyo-To-Shi and tried to imagine his proud Samurai warriors loading wood under orders from a pirate Kapitan, stoking furnaces and generally working like slaves. He knew they did it only for him, for the honour of his name and for the promise of vengeance. Soberingly he realised he owed them much, not least the return of their dignity. He spoke to them now, his arms spread wide in act of embrace. They had seen a diminished man arrive aboard the frigate and more than one of them had expressed doubt to his neighbour, but as Hayato spoke, his voice enthused with passion for the fight ahead, they began to smile their approbation and they felt their hearts swell with patriotic zeal.
This man had nearly died. Should have died. Yet he stood before them now, wounded, but undefeated, scarred, but still whole and what if he could barely walk without aid? He was their Presidor, the rightful heir of Lord Oyama Naoki and they would fight for him to the death.
Hayato spoke of the pirates as allies, painting them as brothers in arms, united in a just cause, though he and his closest confidants believed them merely opportunists bent upon gaining wealth and not glory. He told of how this ship would creep upon Hana-Shi-Ku and wreak a dreadful vengeance upon its inhabitants. That the Lady Mizuki would be rescued from her evil captors and that they would return to Kyo-To-Shi as liberators and vanquishers of Kurohoshi’s iniquitous regime. Yes there would be more bloodshed in their home city, but no one would die in vain. The oppressors would be cast down into the depths of Hell where they belonged and the oppressed would rise and flourish like flowers in the spring.
It was a rousing speech that touched the souls of all. First Samurai Furuki Jun puffed his chest out and held his head high as he realised that the young man he had risked so much to save was truly a great man’s son, a natural leader and ruler. Only Karasu perceived the slight hesitation, saw the shake of his brother’s hand as it held onto the staff they had given him to help him stand alone. Hayato’s humiliating capture, torture and imprisonment had left more self doubt than any other knew. He hid it well and as the massed men cheered, the pirates watched on with gob smacked interest. He turned to his younger brother and the fire in his eyes dimmed to a weary glow of dying embers.
“I am tired Karasu,” he uttered lowly, “Yet now we must speak with Kapitan Devlin. While the men eat and drink, we must ensure his continued support at least until we have Mizuki safe once more. Is she still safe? Can you see?” Hayato leant heavily upon his wooden staff and Karasu thought he looked far older than his twenty five years.
“Yes she is safe, but she is in a dreadful place and I fear for her. We must go soon.”
“Yes, but not in daylight. We can cause more terror and confusion under cover of darkness.”
Hayato glanced back at his men mingling with the pirates. Neither group understood a word the others said, but enjoyed comradely joviality as they imbibed saki and ate a simple meal of boiled rice and seaweed. The Samurai added fish flakes to their food but the sailors refused the meat when offered. It struck the brothers as strange but they were too preoccupied with other thoughts to ask why. They joined the Kapitan in a largish compartment he called the wardroom and they took with them Jun and Second Samurai Hiraiwa.
On entering the former officer’s mess the young Lord sat heavily upon the first chair he reached at a long rectangular table. Devlin was standing at a porthole looking out and he turned when the entourage entered. He thought Hayato looked tired but he said nothing and joined everyone at the table, Aledd sitting on his right. He grinned at Hiraiwa, a kindred spirit amongst strangers.
“So your men are contented?” he asked for want of something more useful to say.
“Yes thank you. Kapitan, I wish to strike Hana-Shi-Ku tonight. A night time attack will cause more confusion and increase the element of surprise. It will also afford my brother and First Samurai Furuki cover for their rescue of our sister,” Hayato spoke in his own language and waited for Karasu to translate. He picked up the glass of saki that was placed in front of him and stared at it without interest. He wanted more than anything to sleep, but he had to be strong. He owed everyone so much.
Devlin studied the man he had shared a spell in prison with. He recognised the weariness and felt pity that so much was expected of one so weakened by deprivation and cruelty, yet he was impressed at the man’s determination and sense of duty.
“I will go with them,” he said at length causing Aledd to stare at him incredulously.
“Kapitan…,” the First Mate began, but Thom held up his hand. Karasu paused before translating and smirked. After he had related the Kapitan’s words he cast a derisive gaze upon the pirate.
“I thought you afraid Kapitan,” he said sneeringly, his contempt unhidden.
In truth Thom was afraid of the volcano, but he needed his gold back and if he was honest with himself he had also been thinking of Mizuki. It did not seem right to leave such beauty in the hands of a nefarious villain
as Kurohoshi.
“I am not leaving without wresting what is mine,” he said at length holding the younger man’s gaze.
“Yours! Hah! Ill-gotten gains from immoral plunder of innocent merchants. Your greed disgusts me. There lives at stake here and you worry about gold,” Karasu spat surprising even himself with his vehemence. He did not hate Devlin, so why was he so angry and reproachful with the man now? After all, the pirate had done all he had asked of him and more. He knew he was not justified in his accusation. He felt his brother’s hand on his arm, a signal of appeasement asking for calm. He looked to the table to hide his embarrassment and shame at his outburst.
Thom sat back and folded his arms. He smiled sardonically but he seethed inside. He suppressed the urge to reach out and throttle the little upstart knowing only too well he was outnumbered despite his mute friendship with Hiraiwa.
“Forgive brother. He say from…um,…fear,” Hayato said in Westlandish not knowing what had been said but understanding its provocative tone and sensing the growing tension. He ignored his sibling’s flinch.
Thom inclined his head.
“Tis understandable. He is afraid and I appear a heartless brigand. But nevertheless we must talk business. I will go with you and a number of my men to reacquire our…er, ill gotten gains. However, you should know Karasu that gold buys food for many mouths and weapons for protection of my people.
“With this ship we can lay siege to the city in a matter of hours. She could rain a terrifying bombardment from a good six grosmetriles out, er, about twelve of your distances, but to be sure of our aim I would prefer to be closer in. We do not want to risk killing your sweet sister in our attack. That would be an unforgivable travesty. Besides we do not want to have to row too far and be exhausted by the time we reach shore,” he laughed. Karasu translated rapidly and the Ashiman contingency smiled.
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