~~~

A small hawfinch sat on a branch of an ancient tree, watching with bored curiosity as the human hand on the ground below started to spasm.

Then the arm.

Then the neck.

Then, finally, what was left of the torso.

When the eyes shot open, draining out a trapped deposit of blood, the hawfinch decided enough was enough and flew upwards into the canopy, swearing never again to hang out at a human worship point.

On the blood-and-leaves covered ground it left behind, the mutilated corpse of Gen continued to spasm; the hands tried to plant themselves on the dirt to lift up the torso, but it was delicate work, and they inevitably buckled and brought the whole body down again.

With purple vapours evaporating off the scalp, the corpse tried again, and this time managed to secure a firm grip on a nearby rock.

It moved the left arm forward, steadying itself, then followed with the right. The procedure went smoothly for about four metres, until a crevice appeared in the path and, unable to keep its balance, the ashigaru corpse rolled over on its side.

‘… … … … … … … …’ emanated from Gen’s mouth, along with a stream of purple mist [inadvertently flushing out a rogue maggot].

Atta Noe reformed into her regular female shape and slammed her fists on the lid of the box, which was still loose on the ground, next to one of the other ashigaru corpses.

‘Where are those two fools?’ she said, practically spitting the words out.

The other corpses didn’t answer.

Nor did the trees.

Nor the ant inspection team that had just arrived on the scene, sent to investigate the disappearance of group ZX887.

She moved on from the lid and struck the box instead, feeling no pain at all despite using her knuckles.

Late by four hours, she fumed internally. What level of ineptitude is this? That cursed ashigaru and the idiot boy will be miles away by now. Out of Kai Province even.

She glanced down at the corpse of Yasu, his chest sliced in two down the middle, and pulled at the sleeve of her white yukata.

Stupid ashigaru. Why had he not died more prosaically? Why had he forced her to do that amount of damage to him?

Now she was stuck there, at one of those ludicrous human worship points, relying on the competence of two drunk ashigaru, who when they did eventually turn up would probably try to grope her.

If that neurotic wreck Atta ka Saori had taught me better, she thought, thinking back to her earlier years, then I’d be able to transport my own box.

Or expand my range a few metres at least.

That would have been enough to grab those two little parasites…get them up here and slowly rip tiny, little strips from their faces…force them to listen to lines of Shingen’s juvenile poetry while I do it…

Looking down again, she noticed the line of ants scurrying away from her feet, seeking sanctuary in one of those fake skulls.

‘And where do you think you’re going, little pests?’

Her foot trickled out into purple smoke and formed a trail around them, hovering for a few seconds as the ants stopped, confused…then closed in with brutal speed, crushing them.

‘That’s better.’

~~~

The path leading up to Jewel Of Kai Ryokan was about as pleasant as any path in Japan could be.

A gentle stream running parallel, with no lurking bears. Endless mountains to the left that may have had bandits camped somewhere within during the summer months, but at the tail end of winter, no chance. And, in a clearing up ahead, a young woman planted behind a giant sheet of rice paper, painting a young man with his kosode off, hand propped up against a slanted cypress tree.

The last thing was especially pleasant because it reassured Miho, as he hobbled past with Akira slumped on one shoulder, that there were actual guests at the ryokan, and that it wasn’t just a spider-trap set up to lure in salt merchants and rob them while they slept.

‘Beautiful afternoon,’ he said, sticking his hand up to wave and instantly having it swatted away by the delirious samurai.

The painter didn’t notice, focusing instead on her brush strokes, while the man moved a step from his position and shouted, ‘don’t let him throw up in the stream.’

‘He’s injured,’ Miho replied, taking a long breath before adding, ‘not drunk.’

‘Oh. Don’t let him bleed on the tatami then.’

‘Position,’ shouted the woman, pointing the man back to the tree.

‘Don’t let him bleed on the bridge either.’

Nodding politely, Miho continued on, whispering to Akira that the guy was probably joking, but the samurai didn’t respond.

Not even a muffled groan or random arm swipe.

‘Almost there now…thank gods…’

Crossing the first of two bridges, Miho briefly considered stopping and propping up his human baggage on the wooden railings, but he could see the entrance of the ryokan now, and the lodging rooms beside it, and another, grander one on the slope to the left that was presumably for VIPs, so he decided to push through the dull pain in his legs and arms until he could collapse on the bench just outside the front door.

And that’s what he did.

Over the bridge, past another guest sitting on an unnaturally positioned rock by the stream, across the second bridge [with one section of the railing snapped off], almost tripping over some replica chicken statues in the ryokan courtyard, and finally making it safely to the bench.

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‘Kusoooo…’ he said, dumping both himself and the unconscious ashigaru down on top of it. ‘We made it.’

‘Graarrrg…’ slurred Akira, sliding diagonally down.

Calling the owner and getting a room was clearly the next step, but Miho was too tired to stand up again, and they’d probably seen him through the lobby window anyway.

He closed his eyes, returning his breathing to a more regular rate, and let the sun warm his eyelids.

The samurai next to him made a few of his routine groaning sounds, but mostly stayed as committed to sleep as he had for the whole trip.

If Miho were a cynical type, he would’ve suspected the man of tricking him, of pretending to be unconscious just so he could get a free lift to the ryokan, but that kind of thinking was for bandits and high-level aristocrats, not him.

Besides, the trip didn’t seem that bad now that he was resting on the bench. The sun had been present most of the way, there was no chilly wind coming in from the north, no bandits pretending to be lost tourists with a fake map, asking where the nearest post office was.

Apparently sensing Miho’s new found comfort, the clouds above shifted, blocking out the already dipping sun.

‘Stop dragging it,’ shouted a rough voice nearby.

Miho opened one eye and looked across the courtyard, then at the cabins on the right. Two fairly large men were following a young girl in a brown yukata out of the nearest one, hitting her with a large piece of bamboo every time she dropped the large trunk she was attempting to carry.

‘If there’s any marks on it, I’ll cut a piece of you off,’ shouted the fatter of the two men, not even looking at the trunk.

‘Tomorrow,’ added his friend, smirking in a way that made Miho shift in his seat to subdue the sudden shivering sensation in his limbs.

It got worse when he noticed the katanas tucked in their belts.

‘Samurai…’ he whispered to Akira, getting an ‘urrrrr’ in return.

The girl continued along with the trunk, not responding to any of the provocations, though her face did look quite stern. Miho had seen the same expression on River Bitch once, when a local warlord’s son had come to the village for the day and forced her to carry him on her back.

She must work here, he thought, examining her yukata again.

It wasn’t the most impressive deduction ever, as the only possible alternative was that she was the two samurais’ sex slave, but he was still quite proud of himself.

‘You dropped it again,’ yelled the fat ashigaru, finally losing patience and kicking the girl in the ass.

Somehow, she kept her balance enough not to fall over, but that only incensed the fat ashigaru further, and he sent her stumbling forward with a fierce blow to the back of her head.

‘Hey…’ shouted Miho and the other ashigaru at the same time.

Hearing the echo, both ashigaru instinctively looked the wrong way, up towards the mountains, then realised their mistake and switched the spotlight to Miho.

At some point, he’d stood up and moved off the bench and, figuring that he should probably offer a follow up, said in a lower, more playful voice, ‘hitting people weaker than yourself will only damage you too.’

‘Who are you talking to, boy?’ demanded the fat ashigaru.

‘Are you mad?’ asked the other, taller one.

Miho considered both questions, while also taking the chance to see if the girl was okay. As far as he could tell, she was unhurt, though she was still on the ground. And looking at him with a very weird, squinting expression.

‘Don’t enter into silence around me, boy,’ shouted the fat ashigaru, advancing with his katana halfway out.

Miho stood his ground, remembering his father’s stories about the noble samurai and their code of honour, but the fat ashigaru didn’t slow down and his face looked like a demon who’d just had his mortgage doubled, and his katana was already pulled back, ready to thrust forward and…

‘Morita…’

Miho turned, puzzled for a moment when he saw the samurai he’d dragged there sitting up on the bench, then quickly adjusted.

‘Kōtoku…’ blurted the fat ashigaru, almost dropping his katana on the spot. ‘Is that you?’

‘No, it’s my body double,’ Akira groaned, rubbing the back of his head.

‘What the king of hell are you doing here?’ asked the slimmer ashigaru, taking his hand off the girl’s shoulder and walking up next to his stuttering comrade.

‘Vacation.’

‘The box…you were supposed to be…’

‘Demon.’

‘…carrying it to-…what?’

‘Demon in the box. Everyone dead.’ Akira finished with his head and pulled himself up into a more formal sitting position. ‘What are you two doing here?’

The two ashigaru exchanged glances, telepathically asking for a semi-believable cover story. Luckily, they didn’t have to articulate their final choice - ‘we’re reviewing ryokans for Shingen’s new census’ – as Himiko pushed open the entrance door with a kendo stick in her hand and demanded to know what all the ruckus was about.

‘Talking to an old friend,’ said the fat ashigaru, frowning at the stick.

‘Old?’ asked Akira, coughing.

Himiko nodded and looked at Aya, who was back on her feet now and moving over to the trunk. ‘What are you doing, silly girl? That trunk’s far too heavy for you.’

‘She can manage,’ said the slimmer ashigaru.

‘Obviously, she can’t. Anyway, that’s irrelevant, Chef Amo needs her in the kitchen. You’ll have to carry it yourself.’ Himiko shifted the kendo stick to her other hand and turned to Miho, who was just about to collapse on the bench again. ‘And you two? What do you think you’re doing on that bench?’

‘I was just taking a rest,’ said Miho.

‘Only paid guests can sit there. And it’s a two night minimum stay. In the room, not on the bench’

‘Okay. We will take one room.’

‘Two,’ said Akira, eyelids barely able to stay up.

‘Sorry, one is all we’ve got. Two futons, very cosy.’ Himiko tapped the kendo stick against the wooden door panel. ‘Come inside and I’ll get you the key.’

Miho bowed slightly, keeping his eyes on the kendo stick, and looked at Akira. As seemed to be his habit, he was unconscious again.

‘Fine, he can stay there. Temporarily. Aya, what are you waiting for? Get in the kitchen.’

Aya did the curtest of nods and let go of the trunk handle. As she walked past the other two ashigaru, she slowly opened the clenched fist of her other hand, releasing bits of dirt and tiny jagged flint onto the ground.

The fat ashigaru muttered something then bent down and picked up his katana. His slim comrade folded his arms, watching both Miho and Aya disappear inside the ryokan, before turning his attention back to Akira.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked the fat ashigaru.

As he spoke, more clouds appeared, covering completely what remained of the afternoon sun.

‘Not here,’ replied the slim ashigaru, gesturing with his elbow towards the trunk.

~~~

A short while later, the fat ashigaru dumped the trunk by the futon and stood by the balcony window panel of Room 28, the ryokan’s deluxe cabin.

It hadn’t taken too long to carry the luggage up, but long enough for the sun to go down and the odd purple light of the witching hour to replace it.

‘Looks like he’s in bad shape,’ said the fat ashigaru, peering at Akira through the panel gaps.

‘Not bad enough,’ replied the slim ashigaru, checking the inside of the tea pot then moving into the onsen room.

‘There’s two of us, one of him.’

‘Don’t be obtuse. We’ll wait until he’s asleep, then sneak in. The boy will have to be dealt with too.’

‘Yeah, that little shit…’ shouted the fat ashigaru, trying to wipe away a small green light from the door panel, ‘…saying hey like that. To a samurai.’

‘Don’t get too excited. We’re up at sunrise tomorrow, remember? In and out, no frills. I’ll do the same with the girl here. Then we go grab that fucking box and hope Shingen’s in a good mood when we get back.’

He paused, dipping his hand in the onsen water and pulling it right back out again.

‘Kuso,’ he cried, wagging his hand in the air. ‘It’s like a fucking volcano. What the fuck’s she playing at?’

There was a whistling sound from the main room, but no words succeeding it.

‘Ahh, doesn’t matter. Might actually be fun. I can dip the girl in, scold her for carrying our trunk poorly.’

The thin ashigaru moved back to the doorway to the main room, sucking the minor burn on his finger.

‘You’ll have to go for a walk when she comes. Maybe go and chase that owner, see if she’ll let you play with her. It’s worth a try. Hey, when did it get so dark in here? Did you close all the panels?’

The fat ashigaru remained still, his shape a silhouette against the balcony screens now that it was so dark.

‘Light up the okiandon, I can barely see a thing.’

There was another whistling sound, then a dark green light where the fat ashigaru’s face was.

‘Gods of Lake Hell, what’s wrong with…’

Two more green lights appeared, roughly where his comrade’s eyes were.

‘…your face?’

Before the slim ashigaru could add anything else, the shape of his comrade dropped like it was merely the yukata itself and landed crumpled on the tatami. In its place, another shape stood, eyes and mouth glowing dark green.

‘Morita?’ the slim ashigaru asked, backing into the wall.

‘No,’ the shape replied, green light extending forward as it spoke, absorbing the room and its shadows.