CHAPTER FIVE—TWO OLD FOOLS AND A CHALLENGE
“You have no money?!” the official asked, his tone nasal and higher in pitch than most women. “Then you cannot enta da city, yes?!” He waved a dismissive hand in Ujiro’s face.
As a dangerous growl began to rise within the rōnin’s throat, Hiro put a hand on his shoulder. “Come, my friend. We will secure the coin easily.”
Ujiro glanced at him over his shoulder, wondering what Hiro meant by such words. With a stiff nod, he turned to follow the other two men while the robed official took no further notice of them. He scrawled another name into his ledger after collecting the required coin from the person who had passed them in line.
The distasteful thing about all this, apart from the official’s lack of empathy, was that it was left to his complete discretion to decide the amount required for the entry tax—and for a reason only oni knew why, he had chosen an amount far higher than Ujiro had in his possession, an amount the previous payers collected from had not had to relinquish in the least.
He made a fist as they strode among the crowds on the docks back to where Haru was waiting. “Now what?” Ujiro asked. “We do not have the money and I know you do not, Hiro-san.”
“Come with me,” Ujiro said. “I want to show you both something.” He led the way, not glancing back to see if the other men were following him. With the smirk on his face, his eyes travelled across the dark waters, at the people huddled under the awnings that protected them from the rain, but not the splash of the sea or the cold wind.
A chill took him, but he ignored it completely. He stopped at the edge of the docks where the ship lay before them on their right side. There were many other vessels, many small skiffs and other sailing boats, no small few of which resembled old boots with red fins. If boots could float and mate with fish. He smiled. What a stupid idea. He wondered what they called these strange ships that seemed to sit high on the water, with their ribbed sails of red canvas. “Look,” he said, waving his arm across the horizon. “Tell me, what do you see?”
Asking the question, he wanted the other two men to come to the conclusion that he had when watching the fishing skiffs crest the stone embankment where the city walls intersected. He had a very good idea what was back there, since some of his own relatives worked similar trades.
“I see the water,” Ujiro said, trying to keep his patience.
“Hai,” Hiro said with a nod. “But since you are old and short on time, my friend, I will choose to overlook your impatience. Haru-kun. Tell me what you see.”
The younger rōnin glanced between Ujiro and Hiro, wondering if an argument were about to break out between them as Ujiro grumbled over the slight delivered to him regarding his age.
The older man saw Haru’s concern. But there was nothing to worry about, since Ujiro knew his impatience and grumbling deserved such a response, and so, as the older, more mature of the group, he had kept his silence. And besides, Hiro never meant anything truly insulting by the things he said. Sure, the men got into tiffs, sometimes scuffles when they were drunk, but none of their disagreements ever resulted in prolonged misgivings between the two—and certainly not duels.
Seeing that their quarrel would not continue, Haru glanced across the waters and the horizon, shivering as he held himself for what little warmth the heat in his arms could provide. Like Hiro-san he had gotten a free cloak to wear—also threadbare and barely worth the wearing.
Trying not to give Hiro a flippant answer as the oldest of the group had, Haru looked, saw many small skiffs and larger vessels of a strange foreign make. Were the smaller skiffs fishing boats? They looked like it. “Are you suggesting that we can make the coin by catching and selling fish?”
Ujiro glanced back, remembering the grillers among the other food vendors. Many of them were cooking various breeds of fish. They had many tasty sauces, but because Ujiro had realized an entry tax was required, he had chosen not to spend what little coin they had left. And they would continue to scrimp as much as they could until they could pay that fee, unfortunately. “I should take that official down an alley and tell him how much tax he wants,” Ujiro growled as if he could hear Haru’s thoughts.
“Mm,” Hiro nodded. “Not bad, but also wrong. But at least you gave it a try, ojii-san.”
“For the kami’s sake, you fool, just tell us what you have to say,” Ujiro growled as he slammed the butt of his staff into the wet wood.
With a smile, Hiro’s white teeth showed before he chuckled. Despite his large muscles and the deadly nature of his trade, and the glee he seemed to find in battle and duels and killing, he had an altogether friendly face, thought Haru. “Yes,” Hiro said. “Fine. Since you have little time left.”
“Oh, stop it! Enough of these age jabs, boy! I can take you on this dock right now and spin you three ways before you know what’s good for you!”
“All right,” Hiro exclaimed, his mirth still apparent as he put up his hands. “All right—all right. Let me tell you.”
“Tell us!”
“I am telling you.”
“The kami damn you.”
Shaking his head, Haru stepped back. They were going to fight. He knew they would, and until both of the men became tired they would—
“Do you see those fishing skiffs? Look.” Hiro pointed.
Ujiro sighed heavily. “Of course we see them.”
“Where, are they going?” He said the sentence with a slight pause after the first word. An innate custom of natural word flow for Mikuman speech.
“Where? Why do we care where they are going?”
“Where?” Hiro persisted.
“Bah!” Ujiro waved a dismissive hand and crossed his arms petulantly. Then he glanced at the skiffs. The city wall was massive—one that could not be climbed. But the wall also met the rocks further to the north. Squinting his eyes, he peered more closely. Just as he regarded the skiffs, one was obscured from his view as it crested the line of rocks leading into the water. Some of the skiffs were not using the gate. But where were they going? Disregarding it, he said, “They are only fishing in better waters. Why are you wasting our time?”
“No,” Hiro said, eyes widening. “Do you realize there is probably a village on the north side?”
Ujiro paused. He regarded Hiro for an interminable moment. Then finally he shrugged. “You may be right.”
“Or,” Hiro said, “I also like your idea about taking the tax collector to an alley and—“
“We go to the village,” Haru said, interrupting the two older rōnin who wanted to force their way in. How could they be so foolish?
“Do we?” Ujiro asked.
“Do we?” Hiro added.
“He said we do,” Ujiro said, gesturing to Haru.
“Yes,” Hiro said, taking his chin in his hand. “Yes, he did.”
Haru could not help but glance between the two older men. Were they making sport of him? “Are you jesting with me?”
“No,” Hiro said. “Of course not. We would, never, do such a thing.”
But Ujiro’s face was slightly contemplative, and yet carried an air of challenge. He did not like that face. Not now, because—“
“You two go to the village”—Ujiro said, then he laughed—“if there is a village!”
Hiro regarded the older man. “And what will you do, stay here until you die of old age?”
“I challenge you!” Ujiro growled as he pointed an aggressive finger at the other man. “The man who gets into the city first, buys the other all of his drinks for a month.”
Hiro barked out a laugh and nodded. “Hai!”
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“No!” Haru said. “We must be sensible and—“
“Silence,” Hiro said.
“Do not interrupt your elders when they are speaking,” Ujiro added. “You are the junior rōnin among us and you must defer to our experience.”
Haru-kun’s mouth nearly dropped. “Nani?”
“We are older than you!” Hiro said, his eyes mere slits with mirth as he smiled broadly. “You”—he pointed a finger into Haru’s chest—“are much younger than us.” He shoved his finger around back at himself.
“We have all been rōnin for the same amount of time! How can you say you have more experience than—“
Ujiro lunged forward and grabbed Haru, shoved his head down whereupon he began to rub his head like a magic lamp from some foolish gaijin tale of blue ghosts and magic. Hiro laughed loudly as Haru struggled to get away from the sudden attack.
“Gahh! Enough!”
Then it was Ujiro’s turn to laugh as Haru, his cheeks flaring with indignation as he had just been the butt of a joke between the older fools who were acting as though they had plied themselves all night with sake.
He straightened out his ragged cloak, but said no more.
“All right,” Hiro said. “Haru-kun, come with me. And we will see you in the city, my old friend.”
“Are you calling me old again?!”
“No,” Hiro barked. “I said we were ‘old friends’!” Then he cupped a hand to his ear. “Can. You. Hear me, ojiisa—“
And then Ujiro did take a swing at the younger man, but he saw it coming from a league away and dodged the blow, laughing and running from Ujiro, who tried to cuff him several more time.
Finally, after both of them were breathing heavily, Ujiro glanced up and said, “I think… I think you mean you will find me within the city after I have already finished my first cups of the local piss they call drink!”
Hiro laughed, and so did Ujiro.
“But, my friend. We must be put on an even footing,” Hiro added.
“Are you saying we should split Haru-kun down the middle so we can both have similar balance?”
“Hmm,” Hiro intoned as he put a hand to his chin.
Haru rolled his eyes. “Enough, you fools.”
“What I was truly thinking, my friend, was that you should split the coin purse.”
“Nani? Why is that fair?”
“Because!” Hiro exclaimed. “Should we defeat you, and make it into the city before your old brain can devise a way, then Haru-kun and myself will need coin for drinks.”
Narrowing his eyes dangerously, Ujiro growled at the other man and made a face.
“All right, all right,” Hiro said. “No more, old man, jokes.”
But Ujiro gave him a dubious look for some time.
“Well?” Hiro asked.
The older swordsman thought about Hiro’s reason to split the coin, and seeing the point the other man made, Ujiro grumbled a bit, but relented, and split the purse among them. What had remained, was meager indeed, and Haru wondered if the coin altogether would be enough to even get a room at an inn for the three men by nightfall.
Kami-sama! Haru thought. What foolishness this was, and to play stupid games during a time like this. It was not befitting the samurai—
He interrupted his own thought, taking stock of the fact that, they were indeed no longer samurai. It was completely out of his character to be so mirthful about the situation, to make light of it as if nothing could go wrong.
And the horseplay…
Among those two older men. It was embarrassing.
“Come,” Hiro said.
“Where are we going?” Haru asked, and glanced after Ujiro, who disappeared within the crowds. He found that his heart was pounding with anticipation, but anticipation for what? The challenge between Hiro-san and Ujiro-san—or was he worried their group would, for some reason unbeknownst to any of them, never be whole again?
He swallowed, then glanced quickly after Hiro, who was walking far away. “Matte!” He ran. “Wait! Hiro-san!” The older man did not turn, only beckoned jerkily for the younger criminal to follow.
Inwardly, Ujiro laughed, as he would surely beat Hiro-san by a long stretch of the arm. He had no doubts whatsoever. He was older, not old. He had experience—he had the wit and the tenacity to carry out his original thoughts. Was it criminal for him to do so? Certainly. Was it wrong? Surely not. What was the wrong path was to arbitrarily charge different passengers varying sums to enter the city based on a whim.
The older rōnin suspected a rat—a racket that these “officials” had going, and by the looks of things, a lucrative one as well. The rich nobles who had no house servants or aids to take care of their purses—assuming they weren’t also skimming—would no doubt be fleeced by these types.
And the way the tax collection offices were situated. The backs of the passengers were completely exposed to the wind and the spray of the sea, while the collectors sat warm and cozy next to their brazier and surrounded by guards!
So what if he took a few coins from one of those corrupt officials. What were a few coins to spare for one of them? They were robbing half the people on the docks already. But robbing a thief was still thievery. Ujiro found that he did not care. If he was no longer a samurai, why did he have to act the samurai? Bushido was for the warrior, respected among his community and his peers for his class, for his responsibilities to his lord.
And now he was nothing more than a criminal—even if unfairly judged as so. It was not surprising to him in the least that Hiro had no compunctions about their attitudes either, for the two men had long been friends and allies and were often of a mind, despite their age differences.
Haru-kun, however, was young. He was naïve. He had to be shown the right way for their circumstance. They were “the little people” now—the chōnin. They were free from their obligations as samurai.
Ujiro sidestepped some fishermen on the docks as they dragged their nets from the decks of their skiffs to unravel them and prepare for the next day’s catch. He was starving, and if he planned to acquire enough coin to get into the city by dubious means, then he could spend what he currently possessed.
Glancing about the docks and the long lines where the tax collection agents sat in their warm booths surrounded by crackling braziers and armored guards, Ujiro surveyed his surroundings. The banners of the Twin Cities flapped and snapped in the winds from where they hung at the collection offices. They were red with somewhat of a rusty hue and had gold stitching running down the sides. The symbol upon them consisted of two towers with roofs in the local design—quite like the upturned roofs in the Mikuma Empire, and connecting the high structures was a bridge with the head of a beast in the middle, the beast depicted in the metal entablature of the gates leading into the city. Some kind of serpent of legend. It was not terribly creative, but served its purpose, and was grandiose in its own right, Ujiro supposed.
He caught the smells of cooking foods, of fatty fish grilled over fires and his stomach growled like that of a troll. He needed food, and he needed it now if he would have the energy to do what was required of him to enact his plan.
“Mm,” he nodded, and set forth. The docks in this area were expansive and went in many directions and even up to higher levels supported by stilts covered in barnacles and algae. The food was on the other side, quite clearly, where hundreds of visitors milled about.
He might not be in the city now, but these docks served as much more than a place for ships to anchor and for fishermen to tie up their boats. The place, as Ujiro realized, was a veritable fish market and much, much more.Fish stalls were everywhere, along with the cooking stalls where rice and green leaves from the sea were being cooked up together and covered with grilled fish and covered in sauces that made Ujiro’s nose twitch and his mouth water.
Kami-sama, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was. “How much is the meal?”
This stall served one dish but in various sizes. He pointed to the largest one and the man chirped out the price. Ujiro looked at his coins. They were Mukuma coins and the man shook his head and muttered something in a language Ujiro didn’t understand, probably whatever local gaijin language persisted here.
“What do you mean? Is it not enough? Surely I have enough.”
“No, friend!” another man said from behind. He was thick, had a large face and a bald head, but around his temple was a bandana of sorts. “You must go to the money changers.” He pointed. “They are that way?”
“Uh—oh,” Ujiro said, feeling what the gaijin first arriving within Mikuma must, though, not that there were many now—now that the new shōgun was in power. He walked across the docks, his stomach still growling furiously.
He found the money changers and had the coins exchanged, knew that he was getting his pockets ripped in the exchange rate. But what could he do? Grumbling would not work, and the guards had hard faces.
Surely they were used to abusing foreigners, or perhaps dealing with the tricky ones—the tricky ones such as himself. Or not, he thought, smiling.
He went back to the food stalls, bought another large bowl of the rice and the fish with the sea grass and the sauce. He practically inhaled the food, and his stomach pained him after. It was a lot, and he realized then how many of the fishermen and visitors tended to be rail-thin. But there were also heavier people as well—men mostly, with thick arms and large bellies, their feet thumping heavily on the docks as they strode along in their sandals and wood-colored trousers that reached only halfway down their calves.
These big men—these ones could eat a lot, as he was witness to. Ujiro watched, getting a sense for the new culture. If they were to make their lives here, he would have to learn—they all would.
With the meal done, and energy returning to him, Ujiro decided it was time to do what he planned. He would beat Hiro-san and Haru-kun easily, and then he would gloat while they begged him for drinks that tasted like piss.
When night came, which had not been far off, Ujiro waited in one of the alley’s leading to the boats shat continually departed for the gate to the Twin Cities. There were many rock formations jutting up above the waters at and around the docks, the wooden planks built around them in spirals, with structures atop and around the rocks, held up by wooden beams and supports.
The docks were not unclean, and despite the fishermen’s areas, there were also areas where money was apparent. Across the water another rock formation jutted high above the crashing waves where several luxurious structures with lit windows perched, their views of the sea perfect from outside the walls of the city.
And now, Ujiro waited in an alley close to one of these jutting spires. When the tax collector came down the darkened docks with nothing but a lantern to guide his way, Ujiro made his move. He lurched like a rail shark and grabbing the man by the hem of his ridiculously voluptuous robes.
It was easy.
He laughed. “I have you now, you swine!” Then he yanked the official forward. The man howled before catching his balance. And then something happened that Ujiro was not expecting. The official made a face and jerked hiss arm back. He hissed some words at Ujiro and then chortled gloatingly as two men stepped into the alley behind them. They held their lamps high to see by.
When Ujiro caught sight of the newcomers, he realized he was in trouble. Two guards with stones for faces stood with their hands on their sword hilts. One of them—a big thick-armed brawler—drew his weapon with a metallic hiss.
“Oh, noooo,” the official said, his tone nasal and mocking. “You have made a mistake, yes?” Then he waved a bored and dismissive hand, and as if he were simply asking his thuggish guards to swat a fly on the window, said, “Kill him.”
Eyes wide, Ujiro took two steps back.