Scott McGough: Heretic, Betrayers of Kamigawa

Kiku reopened her fan with a loud crack, quickly enough that the metal spine at the edge shattered the tiny ceramic cup in Toshi’s hand.

“You can drop the clumsy drunk act,” she said. “I know you’re neither.”

Toshi glanced at his empty hand, his fingers still curled around the space where the cup had been. “All right,” he said. “I was only doing it to spare the bartender’s feelings.” He leaned in and whispered, “He’s very sensitive about the wine. I think his mother grows the rice herself.”

Kiku sniffed. “She grows it in the septic fields, from the smell. Come on.” She stood and motioned for Toshi to follow.

Toshi rose to his feet and tossed a few coins onto the bar. He had hoped for a chance to talk to Kiku alone about Uramon, but if the Boss wanted to see him sooner, he could accommodate that. Uramon was one of the most influential figures in the Takenuma underworld, and Toshi had worked for her in the past. It had taken some doing, but he had managed to redeem his contract with the Boss so that he was no longer obliged to serve her while also maintaining a cordial relationship with her. If she wanted to see him now, she either had work-for-hire or she wanted information.

In any case, all Toshi wanted now was to get inside Uramon’s manor and take a look around. His discussion with Kiku could wait.

The purple-clad jushi held the door to let Toshi through first. He bobbed his head and stepped out onto the sodden bamboo deck.

“Oh,” he said, when he saw the group waiting for him outside. “Great.”

Six serious men armed with daggers and hatchets stood at the far end of the deck. Two more masked jushi waited next to a huge brindle dog with an enormous square head. The dog was silent, but he was straining so hard against his leash that his handler had to anchor himself onto one of the bamboo spires that held up the roof.

Before he could dash back into the bar or draw his sword, Toshi felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder. He tried to spin out from under the caress, but as he did he saw a flash of purple. He froze in mid-spin with one eye on the dog and the other on Kiku.

The jushi had placed one of her purple camellias on Toshi’s shoulder. She was smiling casually.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It won’t do anything to you unless I tell it to.”

Toshi remained rock-still, sweat beading across his forehead. Kiku’s flowers could be deadlier than a snake bite and more caustic than acid.

“How do I keep you from telling it to?”

“By coming along peacefully. None of your tricks, none of your traps, none of your kanji magic. Uramon just wants to talk to you.”

“I’m willing to talk. You don’t need this. Or them.” He motioned toward the hatchet men with his head.

“Self-obsessed, as usual.” Kiku opened her fan and casually waved it under her chin. “This little outing was originally sent to bring back some troublesome rats who have been shockingly bold over the past few weeks. Uramon suspects someone new is moving in on her territory. Just as I was getting ready to come and see you, she requested the pleasure of your company. She said the other rats could wait.”

“If there is someone moving in, it’s not me. I’ve been lying low.”

“I actually believe you. But it’s not me you have to convince.” She snapped the fan shut and prodded Toshi with it. “Move along now. Stay beside me and don’t go to quickly. If I lose sight of you, the flower will put down roots in your torso.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Toshi glanced around at the assembled mercenaries and goons as the hatchet men formed up around him. The two jushi and the dog took up the rear. Sadly, the friendliest face he saw belonged to the burly canine straining to break its leash and savage him.

“All right,” he said. He gallantly offered his arm to Kiku. “Off we go.”

Kiku sniffed and slapped his arm away with her fan.

Boss Uramon’s manor was at the far end of the swamp on the border between Takenuma the ruins at the edge of Konda’s domain. Her home had once belonged to a rich retainer, but he had been called away years ago to fight kami. When he didn’t return, Uramon had his family and servants driven off so that she could move in. From here she kept an eye on her interests in the swamp as well as those in more polite society.

Dozens of low-level thugs meandered around the grounds as Kiku and Toshi led the strange procession through the main gate. Uramon employed a huge staff of indentured servants and outright slaves who had mortgaged their futures past the point of redemption. Her home was one of the busiest commerce centers in all Kamigawa, with a steady flow of black market goods and dozens of enterprising tradespeople looking for work. Uramon stood at the center of this network of illegal commerce, extracting her share of whatever goods or services passed through her hidden sphere influence.

Toshi knew the house well. For a time in his youth, he had been one of Uramon’s reckoners, the brutal gangs that maintained her reputation through intimidation and violence. When someone defaulted on a usurious loan or failed to produce protection money, her reckoners paid a visit. When an Uramon courier was waylaid or some of her stolen property went missing, she sent her reckoners. Any debt, any slight, any injury to Uramon’s organization would prompt a visit from the fallen warriors in her service.

It was a dirty, dangerous job, and getting out from under Uramon’s influence was the best thing Toshi had ever done for himself. Years ago he had formed his own independent band of reckoners and dubbed them the hyozan. With a significant investment of time, effort, and currency, he had convinced Uramon to accept his departure. Now he was back, and while he had settled his account with Uramon, the Boss was never one to let go easily of something she owned. If he were lucky, she would merely ask him a few questions and offer him work. If not, things could get messy.

They left the dog and the hatchet men outside. The other jushi entered the manor but fell back and let Kiku lead him into the manor’s interior. She stayed close as they went inside, brushing aside the sentries who rose to meet them. Since their party was expected, they had no trouble navigating through the opulent rooms on the first floor and climbing the staircase to Uramon’s chamber on the second. The burly guards outside Uramon’s room nodded to Kiku and opened the door.

Uramon kneeled in the center of the room. She was resting on a square stone platform in the middle of a rectangular pit filled with black sand. A collection of irregular-shaped rocks were scattered across the surface of the sand. Tall candles burned at each corner of the pit. Uramon carried a long-handled wooden rake, which she pulled through the sand, tracing parallel lines between and around the stones. She was singing softly to herself in a low, meditative voice, a study in tranquility.

Toshi had never been able to calculate Uramon’s age. Her face was always covered in a thick layer of white powder, and her hair was either dyed black or she wore an excellent wig. She had a round face, but there was no softness to it. Her expression was always one of disinterest and her eyes were frequently half-closed. Behind her slitted lids, though, they were sharp and penetrating. Neither beautiful nor homely, Uramon’s face was a nondescript mask that she had spent a lifetime perfecting. Unless she spoke or made eye contact, it was impossible to imagine how such a bland woman had mustered such a successful criminal empire. People taken in by this false lack of charisma often found themselves working for Uramon without knowing exactly how.

“Hail Uramon, venerable boss of Takenuma.” Toshi bowed.

Uramon kept singing, but she lifted the rake out of the sand. Carefully, she hauled in the tool and rested it on the stone platform. Only then did she fall silent and gaze up at Toshi and Kiku.