Victor O'Reilly - Rules of The Hunt

He was enjoying this. Even under these dangerous circumstances, it was fun to receive a present, especially something that was obviously special. Of course, it could be lethal, but that was unlikely, he thought. The meeting had been arranged by Yoshokawa and was a public affair. No, whatever the Namakas had in mind, he was safe for the moment. He looked across at the Namakas and smiled in anticipation. Kei Namaka beamed back at him. The man was enjoying this as much as he was. Criminal though he might be, there was something rather likable about Kei. Fumio just sat there, stone-faced. It was hard to warm to Fumio.

"What superb workmanship!" he said, indicating the cedarwood box. "I cannot imagine what must be inside." He gently caressed the rich patina of the wood, taking his time. He could feel Kei's impatience. The man had childlike enthusiasm.

"You must open the box, Fitzduane- san," Kei said. "Press the chrysanthemum inlay in the middle and slide it to the left and it will open."

Fitzduane did as instructed. The chrysanthemum, he knew, was associated with the Japanese royal family, and he began to realize that what he had been given was very special indeed. He opened the box.

A magnificent Spanish cup-hilt rapier lay there, cushioned in padded crimson silk. The hilt was inlaid with scenes of hunting and warfare. The weapon was an antique, and extremely valuable. He removed it from the presentation box and it settled in his hand as if custom-made for him.

"Late seventeenth-century Spanish," he said. "The long, straight quillons and curved knuckle bow are typical of the designs of that time – but what a superb specimen. What perfect weight and balance, and what workmanship!"

Kei Namaka looked genuinely delighted at Fitzduane's obvious surprise and pleasure. "Fitzduane- san," he said, "we heard from Yoshokawa- san that you are a swordsman of some renown and a knowledgeable collector, so this small token seemed appropriate. Your weapon of choice is, I believe, the epee, the sporting evolution of the rapier, and it was that fact that motivated this particular selection."

Fitzduane smiled his appreciation. "I do fence a little, that is true, but I'm not sure I am in the same league as this fine weapon. Also, the swords I use have blunted points. Killing your opponent in this day and age is frowned upon."

Kei laughed heartily at this observation and Chifune tittered politely as she was expected to, her hand in front of her mouth. She found the convention ridiculous, but it was not considered polite for a well-brought-up young Japanese woman to give a full belly laugh or to laugh with her mouth uncovered. Kei was acting, Chifune thought, as if he were some medieval daimyo or clan lord in a good mood, posturing in front of his samurai.

Just as quickly, she recalled, the mood of such a man could swing the other way to violence. Of course, the brutal reality was that he was indeed the modern version of a powerful daimyo, only his holdings spanned the continents. The wealth of a modern keiretsu would make a medieval daimyo pale. Kei was not merely acting his role. He was strong and influential. This was the frightening truth.

"Namaka- san," said Fitzduane. "I am deeply honored by your gift. Now perhaps you would do me the honor of opening the simple token I have brought for you. It will not compare with your generosity, but you may find it interesting."

If Kei had been excited while watching Fitzduane open his present, then this time he was practically panting, although to a less well-trained eye than Chifune's, his superficial physical demeanor did not betray him. This was Japan, where control was important and excess was frowned upon. Nonetheless, his fingers worked a little too hard at the outer wrapping and his eyes gleamed just a little too brightly. The man acted as if it was Christmas. It was curious, this mixture of childlike vulnerability and brutality.

When the gleaming ax finally emerged, the blade double-headed and the handle inlaid with fine gold wire, Kei Namaka gave a gasp of admiration and then being unable to restrain himself any longer, gave a shout and stood up, ax in hand, and whirled it about his head.

Kei, despite his handmade shirt and silk tie and Savile Row suit, did not look in any way incongruous as he whirled the weapon. On the contrary, he looked magnificent – every inch the Eternal Warrior, in Chifune's opinion, or a spoiled child with yet another lethal toy. It depended on your particular point of view.

"I heard, Namaka- san," said Fitzduane, "that you had an unsurpassed collection of edged weapons, so I wanted to find something that you would not already possess. Unfortunately, Ireland's troubled history is such that almost all our early medieval weaponry has been destroyed, but what you have there is a precise reproduction of a thirteenth-century Irish fighting ax. It was a weapon used to great effect against the Norman invader because it could cleave through armor."

Kei whirled the ax once again, then brought it back and laid it on its leather carrying case on the table. It was then that he noticed the Namaka crest etched into the blade. He looked up at Fitzduane.

"You have gone to a great deal of trouble, Fitzduane- san," he said. "My brother and I deeply appreciate this gift. We must now make arrangements for you to visit the steel plant in which, through Yoshokawa- san, you have already expressed an interest. It is an awesome sight to see the hardest steels handled like putty. Also, I have a dojo there and most of my weapons collection. I think you'll find it fascinating."

Fumio found it hard to take his eyes off the ax. Kei and this gaijin were getting along like old friends, and yet he could not shake the feeling of dread that gripped him. The weapon on the table reminded him forcibly of an executioner's ax. It was an ingenious gift, and perfect for the effect it was intended to achieve, but the sight of it made Fumio feel ill.

He tore his eyes away from the ax and looked across at Fitzduane and then at Chifune. The woman was every inch the well-mannered interpreter, but there was something about her that gave him pause.

"Fitzduane- san," said Fumio, with a slight smile. "We greatly look forward to your visit to Namaka Steel, but you will now realize that since we both speak English, you will not need an interpreter during your visit. Tanabu- san 's service will not be required."

Fitzduane played it very well, thought Chifune. He gave a dismissive gesture, as if to indicate that his interpreter was of no consequence, and the conversation moved on to other matters. The Namakas had taken the bait, but Chifune was now convinced they had every intention of keeping it. They had something in mind, she was sure of it, but what?

As Kei Namaka and Fitzduane joked and chatted in the relaxed and easy manner of old friends, united in their common interest in antique weapons, Chifune started to worry.

That evening, Fitzduane had dinner with Chifune, an enjoyable if sexually disturbing experience, and returned to the bows of the night porter near midnight feeling pleasantly mellow but sexually aroused – an quaint combination.

He endeavored to balance things out under a cold shower, a traditional remedy for such a conjunction, but his erection would not be subdued. Chifune had that kind of effect. Nothing explicit had either been said or done, but the sexual electricity had become strong enough, he felt, to make both of them glow in the dark like Russian sailors on the nuclear subs of the Northern fleet. It seemed a pity, he reflected, that for the balance of the night they would have to glow apart.

Women were damn confusing. There was Etan, whom he loved but who did not want to settle down just when he did. There was Kathleen, of whom he was becoming increasingly fond, who evidently did want to settle down, just when he was beginning to think perhaps he didn't. And there was Chifune, where the chemistry was just plain sexual and who had Adachi- san hidden in the wings, if he read the signs right. He liked Adachi, and anyway it really would not be a good idea to confuse business and pleasure. He needed, and was getting, Adachi's cooperation, so sleeping with the superintendent's woman would not be tactful. Still, life was rarely about being sensible.