The Fox's Quest

by Anna Frost

  The streets were muddy; the only non-melted snow was hiding in shadowy corners. Under the warmth of the bright afternoon sun, one might have been tricked into thinking it were spring if it hadn’t been for the naked, winter-bare trees dotting the city here and there.

  Two men with wooden hammers were pounding rice into paste while the woman beside them sold colored dumplings made with the resulting sticky paste. A skewer of dumplings in hand, Mamoru ventured onward.

  He could hardly go three steps in the market street without being jostled. He lingered, squeezing his way from tiny stall to tiny stall. Marvelous silks caught his eye and left him daydreaming of offering them to Usagi—but she must have been provided with an extensive array of fancy clothing for her role here. Best wait and save his coin. Perhaps he’d be able to find out what items were currently in fashion and sought after.

  Now, where was the Imperial Palace? Polite inquiries sent him the right way to find the servant’s entrance.

  To the guards there, he said, “I seek the lady Usagi. She should have arrived here recently at the behest of her uncle Advisor Yoshida. I am her cousin, arrived late because of injuries I sustained while we were traveling here.” The burns had healed almost unnaturally well and fast, leaving no scar behind. “Please inform her of my arrival.”

  One of the guards snorted. “You, a relative of the emperor’s advisor? Unlikely.”

  Mamoru knew his modest appearance wasn’t very impressive, but it was in keeping with his role. If he didn’t find the right words to convince these guards, it might be a while before he saw Usagi.

  “You misunderstand,” he said. “I am only related to the lady. I am but a minor relation, but I serve her well. Ask her how I gained these burns.”

  Luck was with him as the second guard said, “Hey, isn’t that the lady Usagi coming toward us?”

  A woman wearing thick and colored layers of clothing was drifting by, head tilted back to observe the cloud-free sky. Mamoru recognized the delicate visage at once. He wanted to wave but didn’t; it wouldn’t be consistent with his cover. Subordinates didn’t gesture at their betters. He had to remember such things, things trained into Mamoru the shinobi, but not into his other half.

  The second guard called out, “Lady Usagi, a visitor for you.”

  Usagi’s face lit up, eyes brightening and lips curving in a smile. “Mamoru, my dear! Are you quite recovered?”

  He bowed deep. “As you can see, my lady, I am fit to travel. I hoped to find my place at your side yet vacant.”

  “Of course, of course. Come along and we’ll get you settled.” Usagi glided onward, Mamoru a step behind her. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her words sent his heart soaring, but only until she added, “We have a situation that may require special talents.”

  Was she only happy because she had need of a shinobi?

  The sandy ground gave way to a gardened area with a fish-filled pond beside which stood a lone man. Usagi approached and bowed. “Uncle, you wished to speak with me?”

  The man turned, presenting a gaunt face full of sharp angles. “Who is this, Usagi?”

  Mamoru bent at the waist and held the bow silently. He hadn’t been addressed.

  “This is my cousin Mamoru, the one who was injured protecting me from a falling tree. He’s newly arrived in the city.”

  “Ah, yes. I recall. He may be of use. Listen: the phoenix has sung. I have men in place, watching. Go, and take your cousin as escort.”

  Usagi received a small box from the man’s hands. “Of course, Uncle. We will serve you well.” With a last bow, Usagi retreated and turned away. “That’s Advisor Yoshida,” she whispered to Mamoru. “Our patron here. He even introduced me to the youngest prince.” Irritatingly, there was a pink tinge to her cheeks.

  The next moment she was business-like, speaking fast as they headed back toward the gate. “I’m to recover a certain article. The hired men are brutes and we might have to silence them discreetly. That’s why I’m going, you see?” She batted her eyelashes. “If I meet with trouble, I count on you to help.”

  A lady and her attendants drifted past, so Mamoru kept his answer short and safe for their ears. “Understood, my lady.”

  Discreetly, Mamoru checked his supplies. The pouch at his belt contained not only his coin but also poisoned needles and antidotes in padded vials, hidden pockets sewn inside the top of his hakama pants held throwing knives, and his winter kosode’s long sleeves concealed a pair of daggers. Bandages were wrapped around his legs below the knee, for use in case of injury.

  With a few words to a servant, Usagi acquired a basket to camouflage the money box. This basket Mamoru carried dutifully as they strolled through town, Usagi making a few purchases of dried fruits along the way to put atop the camouflaged box.

  They wandered toward quieter, narrower streets. Here homes were one-room affairs built of plain wood, doors succeeding each other at short intervals. Over here, a line in front of the street’s shared outhouse. Over there, a water well surrounded by chatting women.

  Usagi was ridiculously overdressed for the area and attracting the eye of everyone they passed. Mamoru glared and glowered and threatened death with his gaze.

  “This is it,” Usagi finally said, gesturing to a rundown building of dubious appearance. Inside, small groups of hard-eyed men were drinking. Advisor Yoshida’s men might have been among them.

  Usagi approached the bartender, a scar-faced fellow who seemed more likely to serve death than sake. “Excuse me. Who here has heard the phoenix’s song?”

  “Monks,” the barkeeper said.

  “In the far corner,” Mamoru murmured.

  The two men there wore the shaved heads and robes of sohei and had the spears to match the outfits. The one whose face they could see had a cold, distant look in his eyes.

  “Those are your brutes?” Mamoru said. “Monks?”

  “Let us find out.” Usagi approached the monks. They’d been watching her, the same as every other breathing male in the room. “Do you have what I seek?”

  One of the monks stirred, lifting a sword from where it had been laying on his lap. “I have this.”

  “Please allow me to see it.”

  The man grinned, transforming his face into a jovial, friendly one. It was a vaguely familiar face, but Mamoru couldn’t place it. He didn’t trust it, though.

  “The lady’s not a mere courier, eh? Have a look, then.” The monk pulled the sword half out of its scabbard, enough to expose the glyphs on it without seeming to threaten her with it.

  The glyphs meant this was a demon-slaying sword. Not sure whether it might react to his presence, Mamoru edged back.

  “It appears to be the one,” Usagi said. “But I don’t believe you’re the men we hired to recover it.”

  The cheerful one stayed cheerful. “I’m afraid they met with an accident.”

  “I see. Mamoru, please.”

  He laid the basket on a nearby table and lifted the money box from it, presenting it with a servile bow.

  The monk seemed unimpressed. “That’s it? For this thing? We’d get more selling it back to the Great Temple it was stolen from.”

  Usagi froze, either acting shocked or truly taken by surprise. “Ah, stolen?”

  “Didn’t you know? This is one of the Great Temples’ relics. It’s exactly the kind of old, useless item they keep for their ‘historical value.’ This one was stolen years ago. It’s quite interesting your master knew where it was, eh? Wonder what the Temples would make of it.”

  Whether or not it was true was beside the point; these men wished to squeeze them for additional coin. Mamoru stayed outwardly relaxed, waiting for Usagi to tell him what to do. If she flicked her fingers in a certain way, it meant to attack.

  Her fingers didn’t flick.

&nbs
p; Usagi slid on the bench and leaned against the cheerful monk. “Please, let me reward you for your hard work. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  This place was obviously more used to serving sake than tea. But a steaming teapot did arrive after Usagi stared murder at the barkeeper.

  Usagi poured with poise and feminine grace, slipping poison in so deftly Mamoru almost missed it. He placed a hand at his waist, ready to grab hold of a knife.

  A shimmering at the edge of his vision caught his attention, but when he turned his head to better see it, there was nothing there. One of the monks frowned. Had he seen it, too?

  Ghost, said Mamoru’s superstitious side.

  Please, let’s not be silly, he admonished himself. It could have been a passing spirit, but what would it be doing in the middle of a city?

  “What troubles you two?” Usagi inquired of the non-drinking monks. “You don’t like green tea? Would you prefer sake?”

  The barkeeper was nowhere in sight. Mamoru slid a look toward Usagi’s slim fingers, waiting for the signal. It was beginning to feel like a trap.

  A shadow filled the doorway. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a samurai’s weaponry at his side and a pointed face vaguely resembling one of a fox. It was an unfortunately familiar face. Suddenly, Mamoru recalled where he’d seen the jovial monk’s face: in this man’s mind.

  “Mamoru, wasn’t it?” Akakiba said. “Is your lady friend aware of what you’ve done?”

  Usagi sprung to her feet and held her hands to her bosom in what could have been taken for a young girl’s fright but was in truth her “prepared to draw weapon from sash” position. Her eyes were full of distrust, for the strangers, but also for him. In their trade, double agents weren’t entirely unheard of. “Mamoru? What is he saying?”

  “He’s trying to confuse you, Usagi,” Mamoru said hastily. If he spoke fast enough, perhaps he could obscure certain unfortunate facts. “He knows me because we captured him after you left. He escaped while we were on our way here. I was afraid Yoshio wouldn’t let me come to you if I went back to report, so I didn’t.”

  Mamoru stared at Akakiba, daring him to spill his secret. He stood ready to scoff at the idea he was “possessed.” To ensure Usagi believed him, he was even willing to challenge the monks to try and perform an exorcism. He was almost sure exorcisms couldn’t work on a mixed soul like his.

  The fox samurai raised an eyebrow, possibly surprised or skeptical, but did not reply. Behind him, a younger samurai—Yuki, wasn’t it?—stood watching the street, blocking the way to potential backup. Where were Advisor Yoshida’s men when they were needed?

  The cheerful monk made a “tsk” noise. “Do sit down, you two. Mamoru and Usagi, wasn’t it? We can see you’re poised to pull out a hundred weapons, but trust me when I say the two of you are no match for us. We know what you did to the tea, too, so don’t expect us to drink it. Not that I would anyway; tea from this place is likely even worse than their sake.”

  Usagi’s shoulders slumped. She sat. “Are you working for the Great Temples?”

  “Yes. We never found out who stole this sword originally, so we’d love to talk to your boss and learn what he knows.”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Mamoru waited for the signal, for it was sure to come. He was willing to follow Usagi’s lead and fight, but he considered their survival somewhat unlikely. They could have handled the two monks, but the fox samurai was a game-changer and Usagi didn’t even know it. She’d never believed the Fox clan samurai were anything more than regular humans.

  The other men in the room had until now been watching the scene as if it were a staged show. One—Advisor Yoshida’s man?—finally stood up and glowered. “Cocky samurai aren’t welcome here.” The others at his table stood as well, silently menacing.

  In that moment, with the samurai and sohei distracted by the interruption, Usagi signed “flee.” It was better than “fight.”

  Mamoru’s fingers quested for the objects hidden in his sleeve. Two smoke bombs hit the floor, creating a pair of bright flashes and a short-lived wall of smoke engineered to make eyes itch and water.

  Usagi and he flew over the table and dove behind the drinking locals. A window there became their escape route into the street. Usagi had the glyphed sword in her hand, but not its scabbard, which must have stayed in the cheerful sohei’s hands.

  An outraged yell proved the theft hadn’t gone unnoticed. “She grabbed it!”

  Throwing himself through the window, Mamoru heard weapons clashing and people shouting.

  “Boost me to the roof,” Usagi said.

  He laced his hands together for her small foot.

  From inside the building, Yuki shouted, “We’ve got this! Go!”

  Who was he talking to?

  Akakiba burst out the front door. Ah.

  They fled blindly, neither of them familiar with the area. Turning a corner at high speed, they came face to face with a wall. The alley had no exit. They could only spin around to face their pursuer.

  Twin daggers in hands, Mamoru interposed himself between Usagi and the enemy.

  Akakiba held out a hand. “Give me the sword and you may go unharmed.”

  Mamoru glanced backward, hoping…

  “No,” Usagi said. She held a hairpin in her free hand—probably poisoned.

  Oh, curse it.

  The samurai twitched, and attacked. Mamoru caught the attack with his crossed daggers, angling them to try and pry the sword out of the samurai’s hands. They broke apart, clashed, broke apart again. The samurai was fast, but Mamoru’s reflexes could keep up, if only barely. As long as he deflected at the proper angle, as long as he could dance away from blows too brutal to catch, he would be fine. He needed only an opening.

  One of his daggers slipped and metal sliced into his arm. He stumbled back, twisting away from a darting sword point seeking his belly. It pierced his side instead, in and out so swiftly he didn’t even feel it until ten frenzied heartbeats later.

  It’s not deep, he encouraged himself. It’s just pain. It’s not over.

  He stood his ground at the next pass, catching and holding the sword between the prongs of his daggers. If he could just get it out of the fox’s hands, the fight would shift in his favor. They struggled, so close their breaths washed against each other’s faces.

  His arm burned, blood dripping down its length. His muscles trembled. He didn’t have enough brute strength, curse it!

  Unless…

  If he could draw upon that strange power he had experienced during the forest fire incident, even just a little, perhaps he could win. He tried calling for it, pleading with it.

  Please help me.

  Strength rose, making him feel bigger, stronger. He twisted his wrists violently, and the sword went flying. Akakiba looked stunned, then calculating.

  “I see,” he said. He pulled out his second sword, the short one. His empty hand curled strangely, as if he fancied he had claws instead of nails and could use them to fight. His eyes were turning red. That couldn’t be good.

  Mamoru moved in, light on his feet. He engaged the short sword with one dagger, trying to land a hit with the other. A foot planted itself in his chest and pushed. He flew backward, smashing into a wall and crumbling to the ground.

  His head was ringing, the back wet with something warm. He struggled upright, an arm wrapped about his ribs. So much pain, but no bones seemed to move under his skin.

  The samurai moved in, short sword angled to stab Mamoru’s vitals. It hurt to move, but he lifted his daggers anyway. Maybe Usagi had had time to flee; he couldn’t hear her. He didn’t look to check, because it would only remind the samurai who held the special sword he was after.

  The special blade in question went past as if by itself, aimed at Akak
iba’s face. Usagi was holding the hilt. She made no noise as she attacked.

  Akakiba jumped back like a frightened cat.

  There was but the merest cut on his cheek, but his eyes were as wide as if he’d barely escaped evisceration. If that sword could frighten a fox, there was reason for a half-human half-demon to fear it, too.

  While Usagi kept the fox focused on her, Mamoru climbed on the nearest roof.

  “Usagi!”

  She ran to him, free hand raised above her head. He caught it, and hauled her up. His ribs were screaming, burning, but he ignored them. Blood pounded in his veins and the energy of hope moved his legs as he took off. They fled, abandoning their sandals to better grip the tiles with sock-clad feet.

  Houses here were wall-to-wall from one end of the street to the other, no holes between except where a new street opened. Those gaps were easy to bridge with momentum and motivation. Being chased by a fox samurai provided plenty of motivation.

  The rooftops were like a private road, free of traffic. Akakiba followed a beat behind and at street level, having evidently gone after his dropped sword first. He fell behind further and further as he stumbled into the people and vending stalls cluttering the way.

  Then he was nowhere to be seen.

  Acting quickly, Mamoru pulled the bandages free from around his legs so he could wrap them tightly about his wounds. There. It would do.

  “We lost him,” Usagi said breathlessly, her eyes still scanning the street.

  “Don’t count on it.” What if Akakiba found a quiet corner, left his body, and attempted to seize Usagi’s mind? “Keep moving. We need to find a shrine.”

  Usagi answered with a puzzled glance.

  “Just find one! We need a priest!” He wanted Shinto priests, not Buddhist monks who might be allies of the sohei they’d left behind.

  Streets became wider, harder to bridge with a leap. The roofs got higher, too, going from single-story to two-stories. A fall from this height would be painful. Ahead, a single red gate framed by trees indicated the entrance of a shrine.