Postcards from Otosan Uchi
Year one - Post Graduate Work
Day 162 - Ayase, Saizo, Merquri
The report that came in was from a Unicorn clan samurai, Ide Taro, who arrived at the Emerald Magistrate’s station house when it opened. Ayase greeted him politely and asked for his tale, offering a professional and friendly welcome that put him at ease. The last month or so had found that the technique worked well...Ayase would put on a friendly, sympathetic face, while Saizo would serve as cold-hearted skeptic. Between the two of them, playing off each other, one or the other could get the details they needed.
The Ide’s story was intriguing. He claimed to be walking alone by the bridge of Ameterasu’s Benevolence late in the evening when, out of the darkness, a terrifying Goryo sprang from the shadows, threatening and cursing him. Ayase pressed for details, and truly the entity described sounded terrifying. But many things can be frightening in darkness that are not so in the day.
“Were you alone at the time?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, of course!”
“He wasn’t. No one goes there alone.” Ayase had to suppress her smile at Saizo’s drawl. “Fireflies. Moonlight. No sake or geisha house in the area, but no nosy neighbors and their lanterns. He wasn’t alone.”
“Saizo-san!” she said sharply, though in her heart she was secretly amused, especially at the growing panic in the Ide’s face... “Ide-san is only human. Such things need not be spoken of here in public. Please, Ide-san...you seem still understandably distressed. Please, come have tea with me and we can speak in private….”
About thirty minutes later, Taro emerged from the back room, bowing and thanking them all greatly for investigating the case, before turning and running back to his lord. Ayase emerged a moment after. She summoned Saizo, and, after a moment, Merquri, who was washing his hands and drying them on a clean, white towel as he came in.
“He was entertaining a prostitute,” she offered. “ ‘Kiki’, from the House of Blue Jasmine. She saw it too. He was specific in description and detail...exactly where and when he saw this creature. That he dared approach us at all makes me inclined to believe he truly saw something, We need to check it out.”
The Bridge of Ameterasu’s Benevolence was one of many small bridges in the city, its stone arch and red painted railings curving gently over a small tidal inlet that stretched into the heart of Otosan Uchi. In daylight, it was a quiet, isolated street, scented heavily with seaweed and salt air, the heimen inhabitants far more interested in their own comings and goings than that of the occasional samurai that wandered through. Still, there was nothing eerie or strange about the place; just a quiet street in a quiet part of town.
Merquri knew that his role was first: to see if there were any angry spirits lurking about waiting for nightfall. He had ridden to the district, and now dismounted to begin his rites. He tucked his Machi-Kanshisha Pipe into his obi and pushed back his new, black, broad-brimmed hat. The shugenja spread his arms, drew out a scroll, and began to chant. Ayase could see no change, though it seemed the insects grew quieter and the sound of the waves grew louder as he chanted. After what seemed like forever, he opened his eyes. “The usual spirits are here...kami of water and air. No kasen. There have been deaths here, yes. But nothing recent. I get no sense of any yurei or gaki at all...except…” He fixed on Ayase with an odd look.
She raised an eyebrow. “Except?”
“Nothing. There is little activity here for us to be concerned with. But perhaps investigating the area will find us more.”
“I’ll go speak with Kiki-san,” offered Saizo. “Let’s see if she remembers anything else. “
The three magistrates split up. Merquri was combing the bridge and the water’s edge for anything that might have been left of the ghost, while Saizo hunted down the prostitute, and Ayase questioned the locals who lived near the little bridge. When they reassembled at the bridge they shared their results.
“Kiki-san was not reluctant to talk,” Saizo offered first, “once I got past the ronin at the door.” Ayase’s eyes drifted down to Saizo’s bandaged fist, then back up at his face. He kept his expression even, but she narrowed her eyes anyway. “He will offer swift cooperation in the future.” Ayase released him from her glare and Saizo continued. “Her report matches the Ide’s. A pale, luminous ghost with a terrifying face and streaming rags for clothes. One interesting note though. She mentioned the clicking sound of his geta pursuing them down the street.”
Merquri scratched his nascent beard thoughtfully. “Ghosts don’t have feet,” he offered with certainty. He bent down and picked up to present to the others a mid-sized wok of pounded iron. “Neither do they prepare tasty vegetables. I found this under the bridge strangely enough. It looks like something has been burned in it. See the ash?” He shook his head.
Saizo looked at the wok and sniffed. He chuckled. “This smells like pine pitch. A little pitch and damp leaves would make a lot of smoke.. Make it hard for anyone to see anything clearly at night.”
Ayase offered her small contribution. “The neighbors say that there have been many terrifying noises coming from around the bridge...to the point where they’re frightened to come out at night. There is always a fog on the river...that could be the smoke...and the most terrible howling. It only started about a month ago. They don’t remember any murders or other similar incidents in the area.” She took the wok, studying it carefully with her mismatched eyes. Then she turned it over. She frowned when she saw the maker’s mark. “Humm. I think…” Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to claim the memory. “I’ve seen this mark before. There’s a seller on the Ironworker’s street that makes these.”
Merquri smiled. “Well, I need to return to the stationhouse, but let me know how it goes.” He patted his horse on the neck and mounted. “Fortune’s blessings.” With that, he trotted away.
The Ironworker’s street was not far, a bustling place of forges and the banging of metal. No fine weaponsmithing here, but everyday tools for heimen and samurai alike. Questioning the smith turned up three who had purchased such an item from him within the last two months, but the smith was an intelligent man and able to provide their names. Two were housewives: unlikely to be burning leaves under a bridge at night. The third, though, was a slender hinin man, Dinu, with a handsome, almost feminine face. It didn’t sound like someone who would buy a wok. The smith told the pair of magistrates where they could find him: at the abandoned theater in the yūkaku area of the district.
The yūkaku area was where the prostitutes and yakuza geisha houses could be found. It was a busy place, but it never would be a place that seemed right for a fifteen-year-old Crane princess, no matter how street-wise she pretended to be. Saizo had visited earlier to get information from the prostitute Kiki. He gave Ayase a look of concern. She looked at him coolly and stiffened her back. “I’m going.” I’m the one who wanted to be a magistrate, after all. Saizo shrugged and led the way.
The abandoned theater had been constructed a half century beforehand when the heimen of the district had found it worth their precious zeni to assume airs and watch kabuki plays like the samurai did. Ji-samurai and even some clan samurai would bring their escorts for the evening, from among the geisha or the prostitutes, to see hinin actors perform raunchy plays on bawdy or tragic subjects. It had closed a few years before when puppet shows became more popular.
“An actor, you think?” Ayase asked as they approached.
“Hai,” Saizo answered. “It makes sense, being able to dress up like a yurei...scare away the locals. The question is why?”
Ayase puzzled that one over as they walked. “It’s a quiet spot. The inlet there is just big enough to bring in a rowboat…”
Saizo nodded. “A smuggler.”
The gate to the theater was hung from just one hinge. Saizo pushed it open and they moved inside.
Ayase gestured and they separated, skirting the outer walls of the theater area to meet in front of the stage.
“Only the one entrance,” Saizo said softly.
Ayase nodded. Together they stepped up onto the weather-beaten old stage, walked across it, and reached the entrance to the theater building behind it.
They went in.
The air backstage smelled of fried fish, and several unlit candles adorned crates and boxes. The late afternoon sunlight shone shafts of dim light in. They could hear the sound of footsteps.
‘Come out!” Ayase commanded sharply. “Emerald Yoriki to Magistrate Akodo Renjiro. We’re here to speak to Dinu.”
A rustling from some of the side chambers, and a tall, think young man, with the feminine features described by the smith, emerged. “I am Dinu. Do you have an interest in theater Samurai-sama?”
“I’m interested in performance you gave last night by the Bridge of Ameterasu’s Benevolence. Rumors say that you have great skill in performing as yurei or gaki. I’d like to see your costumes.”
The actor paled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Saizo said simply, his voice cold. “He’s lying.”
Ayase nodded. “I recommend you tell us of the smugglers who were paying you for your performance. You don’t have any place here to keep a boat...and you don’t have the look of one used to hauling crates of goods. Acting, even bad acting, is not a crime. Tell us, and…”
She was cut off by the sound of feet from another one of the smaller rooms, and a deep voice answering, “I think not. Emerald Yoriki, humm? Neither of you look a day over sixteen. Well, you’ve come to play-act at being magistrates in the wrong theater.”
Stepping out was a powerfully built, full grown man, six feet of solid muscle. His skin was darkly tanned with the sun, and he wore broad white trousers tied off at the knee and a sleeveless green jubon. A roughly stitched mon of a Mantis ornamented his jubon, and he carried a daisho in his broad obi, though he ignored it in favor of the kama he held in his hand. Beside him, four heimen also came out. To Ayase’s eyes, they looked terrified, but in their hands, they carried parangu and kumade. The Mantis samurai gestured at the heimen. “Kill them.”
Their fear of disobeying the Mantis weighed against their terror of the two yoriki, but the hope of escaping with their lives if the yoriki were dead tipped the balance, and they attacked.
Never draw your sword unless you intend to kill. The four had not taken more than a step to attack when Saizo and Ayase had flung themselves into motion. Both of their styles relied upon speed, and both katanas were drawn almost-simultaneously from their sayas as they leapt into the iaijutsu attack. Ayase’s first attack connected, cutting deep, and the heimen she lashed out with, armed with a parangu, slid from her blade with a hissing gurgle. But this wasn’t the dojo. The Kakita blade cut cleanly through body, flesh, and bone, but it was harder to pull out than she had expected. The delay of a heartbeat was enough for the tines of her second attacker’s kumade to penetrate through her light armor. Though most of its strength was stripped by the plates of steel, she felt a burning pain in her side as the shaft penetrated into her side.
She yanked her blade free and brought it down hard, cutting the shaft of the kumade which splintered under the force of her blow. The remaining part tangled in the silks of her do, holding the head in place. The second heimen, now unarmed, quailed away from the fight, but the Mantis, having had a chance to observe them in battle, was closing in.
Saizo’s opponents lay at his feet, though he was also breathing heavily and Ayase could see red blossom across the silks on one of his arms. Can’t think about it now. They turned their blades to face the Mantis bushi, standing together, slowly sizing each other up. The Mantis himself looked serious, as if expecting something less of the junior yoriki. He assumed a defensive stance.
Ayase and Saizo struck. She was shorter, trying to get beneath the blows to aim a rising strike towards his armpit, while Saizo came down from above, going for the neck. They moved fast, though Ayase could feel the pain of the kumade radiate from her wound. Saizo seemed unfazed by his injuries, but despite the fact that both their blows connected and bit deep, the Mantis was still upright and moving fast. Ayase had never fought a weapon like the kama before. Its hissing scythe-blade just missed her as she pivoted around it, which meant she never saw the haft as it came back around and slammed into the side of her head. She went flying.
A wave of terror flooded through her as she realized Saizo was now facing the Mantis alone, but the room was spinning and Ayase couldn’t seem to get her feet under her. Had they hurt him enough? All she could see in the blurry dimness was that wicked blade coming down towards Saizo’s throat.
But then, the door to the theater slammed open and she heard a roar as a figure slammed into the wounded Mantis, knocking him away from Saizo and to the ground. A bear? Not in green… The confused thoughts bubbled through her ringing head. But she did not mistake the rise of a shining sword, the downward strike, and the crunch as the Mantis was cut down.
Definitely a bear. Ayase tried shaking her head, but that made it worse. She struggled to rise. Then Merquri was there. “You’re wounded. Stop moving.”
“Saizo…” she struggled again to rise to see how her partner was doing.
“Better off than you. Hold still!” With a yank, Merquri ripped the spearhead from her side, and she could feel a rush of blood pour beneath her armor, pooling at her obi. But the shugenja was quick with his spells and a flood of cool healing washed over her. That shook some of the cobwebs out of her head, at least.
Akodo Renjiro rode nobly through the riff-raff of the yūkaku area, drawing gapes, but the yoriki made a less smashing profile coming in behind. Saizo had taken some solid blows, but was good at hiding his injuries, at least until Merquri called the aid of the kami upon him. Within the theater, Renjiro had found a fair number of crates of smuggled goods as well as the actor Dinu’s costume for an angry ghost. No doubt Renjiro’s cunning investigative work would be celebrated by the district governor; Ayase’s head ached too much to care.
End of Year 1
The report that came in was from a Unicorn clan samurai, Ide Taro, who arrived at the Emerald Magistrate’s station house when it opened. Ayase greeted him politely and asked for his tale, offering a professional and friendly welcome that put him at ease. The last month or so had found that the technique worked well...Ayase would put on a friendly, sympathetic face, while Saizo would serve as cold-hearted skeptic. Between the two of them, playing off each other, one or the other could get the details they needed.
The Ide’s story was intriguing. He claimed to be walking alone by the bridge of Ameterasu’s Benevolence late in the evening when, out of the darkness, a terrifying Goryo sprang from the shadows, threatening and cursing him. Ayase pressed for details, and truly the entity described sounded terrifying. But many things can be frightening in darkness that are not so in the day.
“Were you alone at the time?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, of course!”
“He wasn’t. No one goes there alone.” Ayase had to suppress her smile at Saizo’s drawl. “Fireflies. Moonlight. No sake or geisha house in the area, but no nosy neighbors and their lanterns. He wasn’t alone.”
“Saizo-san!” she said sharply, though in her heart she was secretly amused, especially at the growing panic in the Ide’s face... “Ide-san is only human. Such things need not be spoken of here in public. Please, Ide-san...you seem still understandably distressed. Please, come have tea with me and we can speak in private….”
About thirty minutes later, Taro emerged from the back room, bowing and thanking them all greatly for investigating the case, before turning and running back to his lord. Ayase emerged a moment after. She summoned Saizo, and, after a moment, Merquri, who was washing his hands and drying them on a clean, white towel as he came in.
“He was entertaining a prostitute,” she offered. “ ‘Kiki’, from the House of Blue Jasmine. She saw it too. He was specific in description and detail...exactly where and when he saw this creature. That he dared approach us at all makes me inclined to believe he truly saw something, We need to check it out.”
The Bridge of Ameterasu’s Benevolence was one of many small bridges in the city, its stone arch and red painted railings curving gently over a small tidal inlet that stretched into the heart of Otosan Uchi. In daylight, it was a quiet, isolated street, scented heavily with seaweed and salt air, the heimen inhabitants far more interested in their own comings and goings than that of the occasional samurai that wandered through. Still, there was nothing eerie or strange about the place; just a quiet street in a quiet part of town.
Merquri knew that his role was first: to see if there were any angry spirits lurking about waiting for nightfall. He had ridden to the district, and now dismounted to begin his rites. He tucked his Machi-Kanshisha Pipe into his obi and pushed back his new, black, broad-brimmed hat. The shugenja spread his arms, drew out a scroll, and began to chant. Ayase could see no change, though it seemed the insects grew quieter and the sound of the waves grew louder as he chanted. After what seemed like forever, he opened his eyes. “The usual spirits are here...kami of water and air. No kasen. There have been deaths here, yes. But nothing recent. I get no sense of any yurei or gaki at all...except…” He fixed on Ayase with an odd look.
She raised an eyebrow. “Except?”
“Nothing. There is little activity here for us to be concerned with. But perhaps investigating the area will find us more.”
“I’ll go speak with Kiki-san,” offered Saizo. “Let’s see if she remembers anything else. “
The three magistrates split up. Merquri was combing the bridge and the water’s edge for anything that might have been left of the ghost, while Saizo hunted down the prostitute, and Ayase questioned the locals who lived near the little bridge. When they reassembled at the bridge they shared their results.
“Kiki-san was not reluctant to talk,” Saizo offered first, “once I got past the ronin at the door.” Ayase’s eyes drifted down to Saizo’s bandaged fist, then back up at his face. He kept his expression even, but she narrowed her eyes anyway. “He will offer swift cooperation in the future.” Ayase released him from her glare and Saizo continued. “Her report matches the Ide’s. A pale, luminous ghost with a terrifying face and streaming rags for clothes. One interesting note though. She mentioned the clicking sound of his geta pursuing them down the street.”
Merquri scratched his nascent beard thoughtfully. “Ghosts don’t have feet,” he offered with certainty. He bent down and picked up to present to the others a mid-sized wok of pounded iron. “Neither do they prepare tasty vegetables. I found this under the bridge strangely enough. It looks like something has been burned in it. See the ash?” He shook his head.
Saizo looked at the wok and sniffed. He chuckled. “This smells like pine pitch. A little pitch and damp leaves would make a lot of smoke.. Make it hard for anyone to see anything clearly at night.”
Ayase offered her small contribution. “The neighbors say that there have been many terrifying noises coming from around the bridge...to the point where they’re frightened to come out at night. There is always a fog on the river...that could be the smoke...and the most terrible howling. It only started about a month ago. They don’t remember any murders or other similar incidents in the area.” She took the wok, studying it carefully with her mismatched eyes. Then she turned it over. She frowned when she saw the maker’s mark. “Humm. I think…” Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to claim the memory. “I’ve seen this mark before. There’s a seller on the Ironworker’s street that makes these.”
Merquri smiled. “Well, I need to return to the stationhouse, but let me know how it goes.” He patted his horse on the neck and mounted. “Fortune’s blessings.” With that, he trotted away.
The Ironworker’s street was not far, a bustling place of forges and the banging of metal. No fine weaponsmithing here, but everyday tools for heimen and samurai alike. Questioning the smith turned up three who had purchased such an item from him within the last two months, but the smith was an intelligent man and able to provide their names. Two were housewives: unlikely to be burning leaves under a bridge at night. The third, though, was a slender hinin man, Dinu, with a handsome, almost feminine face. It didn’t sound like someone who would buy a wok. The smith told the pair of magistrates where they could find him: at the abandoned theater in the yūkaku area of the district.
The yūkaku area was where the prostitutes and yakuza geisha houses could be found. It was a busy place, but it never would be a place that seemed right for a fifteen-year-old Crane princess, no matter how street-wise she pretended to be. Saizo had visited earlier to get information from the prostitute Kiki. He gave Ayase a look of concern. She looked at him coolly and stiffened her back. “I’m going.” I’m the one who wanted to be a magistrate, after all. Saizo shrugged and led the way.
The abandoned theater had been constructed a half century beforehand when the heimen of the district had found it worth their precious zeni to assume airs and watch kabuki plays like the samurai did. Ji-samurai and even some clan samurai would bring their escorts for the evening, from among the geisha or the prostitutes, to see hinin actors perform raunchy plays on bawdy or tragic subjects. It had closed a few years before when puppet shows became more popular.
“An actor, you think?” Ayase asked as they approached.
“Hai,” Saizo answered. “It makes sense, being able to dress up like a yurei...scare away the locals. The question is why?”
Ayase puzzled that one over as they walked. “It’s a quiet spot. The inlet there is just big enough to bring in a rowboat…”
Saizo nodded. “A smuggler.”
The gate to the theater was hung from just one hinge. Saizo pushed it open and they moved inside.
Ayase gestured and they separated, skirting the outer walls of the theater area to meet in front of the stage.
“Only the one entrance,” Saizo said softly.
Ayase nodded. Together they stepped up onto the weather-beaten old stage, walked across it, and reached the entrance to the theater building behind it.
They went in.
The air backstage smelled of fried fish, and several unlit candles adorned crates and boxes. The late afternoon sunlight shone shafts of dim light in. They could hear the sound of footsteps.
‘Come out!” Ayase commanded sharply. “Emerald Yoriki to Magistrate Akodo Renjiro. We’re here to speak to Dinu.”
A rustling from some of the side chambers, and a tall, think young man, with the feminine features described by the smith, emerged. “I am Dinu. Do you have an interest in theater Samurai-sama?”
“I’m interested in performance you gave last night by the Bridge of Ameterasu’s Benevolence. Rumors say that you have great skill in performing as yurei or gaki. I’d like to see your costumes.”
The actor paled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Saizo said simply, his voice cold. “He’s lying.”
Ayase nodded. “I recommend you tell us of the smugglers who were paying you for your performance. You don’t have any place here to keep a boat...and you don’t have the look of one used to hauling crates of goods. Acting, even bad acting, is not a crime. Tell us, and…”
She was cut off by the sound of feet from another one of the smaller rooms, and a deep voice answering, “I think not. Emerald Yoriki, humm? Neither of you look a day over sixteen. Well, you’ve come to play-act at being magistrates in the wrong theater.”
Stepping out was a powerfully built, full grown man, six feet of solid muscle. His skin was darkly tanned with the sun, and he wore broad white trousers tied off at the knee and a sleeveless green jubon. A roughly stitched mon of a Mantis ornamented his jubon, and he carried a daisho in his broad obi, though he ignored it in favor of the kama he held in his hand. Beside him, four heimen also came out. To Ayase’s eyes, they looked terrified, but in their hands, they carried parangu and kumade. The Mantis samurai gestured at the heimen. “Kill them.”
Their fear of disobeying the Mantis weighed against their terror of the two yoriki, but the hope of escaping with their lives if the yoriki were dead tipped the balance, and they attacked.
Never draw your sword unless you intend to kill. The four had not taken more than a step to attack when Saizo and Ayase had flung themselves into motion. Both of their styles relied upon speed, and both katanas were drawn almost-simultaneously from their sayas as they leapt into the iaijutsu attack. Ayase’s first attack connected, cutting deep, and the heimen she lashed out with, armed with a parangu, slid from her blade with a hissing gurgle. But this wasn’t the dojo. The Kakita blade cut cleanly through body, flesh, and bone, but it was harder to pull out than she had expected. The delay of a heartbeat was enough for the tines of her second attacker’s kumade to penetrate through her light armor. Though most of its strength was stripped by the plates of steel, she felt a burning pain in her side as the shaft penetrated into her side.
She yanked her blade free and brought it down hard, cutting the shaft of the kumade which splintered under the force of her blow. The remaining part tangled in the silks of her do, holding the head in place. The second heimen, now unarmed, quailed away from the fight, but the Mantis, having had a chance to observe them in battle, was closing in.
Saizo’s opponents lay at his feet, though he was also breathing heavily and Ayase could see red blossom across the silks on one of his arms. Can’t think about it now. They turned their blades to face the Mantis bushi, standing together, slowly sizing each other up. The Mantis himself looked serious, as if expecting something less of the junior yoriki. He assumed a defensive stance.
Ayase and Saizo struck. She was shorter, trying to get beneath the blows to aim a rising strike towards his armpit, while Saizo came down from above, going for the neck. They moved fast, though Ayase could feel the pain of the kumade radiate from her wound. Saizo seemed unfazed by his injuries, but despite the fact that both their blows connected and bit deep, the Mantis was still upright and moving fast. Ayase had never fought a weapon like the kama before. Its hissing scythe-blade just missed her as she pivoted around it, which meant she never saw the haft as it came back around and slammed into the side of her head. She went flying.
A wave of terror flooded through her as she realized Saizo was now facing the Mantis alone, but the room was spinning and Ayase couldn’t seem to get her feet under her. Had they hurt him enough? All she could see in the blurry dimness was that wicked blade coming down towards Saizo’s throat.
But then, the door to the theater slammed open and she heard a roar as a figure slammed into the wounded Mantis, knocking him away from Saizo and to the ground. A bear? Not in green… The confused thoughts bubbled through her ringing head. But she did not mistake the rise of a shining sword, the downward strike, and the crunch as the Mantis was cut down.
Definitely a bear. Ayase tried shaking her head, but that made it worse. She struggled to rise. Then Merquri was there. “You’re wounded. Stop moving.”
“Saizo…” she struggled again to rise to see how her partner was doing.
“Better off than you. Hold still!” With a yank, Merquri ripped the spearhead from her side, and she could feel a rush of blood pour beneath her armor, pooling at her obi. But the shugenja was quick with his spells and a flood of cool healing washed over her. That shook some of the cobwebs out of her head, at least.
Akodo Renjiro rode nobly through the riff-raff of the yūkaku area, drawing gapes, but the yoriki made a less smashing profile coming in behind. Saizo had taken some solid blows, but was good at hiding his injuries, at least until Merquri called the aid of the kami upon him. Within the theater, Renjiro had found a fair number of crates of smuggled goods as well as the actor Dinu’s costume for an angry ghost. No doubt Renjiro’s cunning investigative work would be celebrated by the district governor; Ayase’s head ached too much to care.
End of Year 1
