Blasphemy

by DoraMouse

Fire

"The fire you kindle for your enemy often burns you more than him."

-Ancient Chinese Proverb

What a waste of time. Han could hardly conceal his disappointment.

He'd hoped to find old letters, personal belongings - items that would have provided clues about what kind of person the Regent had been. Items that might have helped to explain how and why the Regent had died. But the Regents chambers had been empty. Every fragment of the dead mans existence was gone. Even the hiding spaces - one or two false floorboards, a few hollow spaces in the wall, a nook in the closet - had been cleared out.

Either the Regent had been planning to relocate or he had been robbed as well as murdered.

Han did not like this.

To clear out the Regents chambers without being noticed... Or perhaps, more accurately, without being seen as out of place by anyone who HAD noticed. To pull such a feat off, the killer - or the robber - or both of them, if it wasn't the same person... Almost certainly had to be a native of Imperial City.

Han was tired. Preoccupied. Upset. He'd known that the case would be a political nightmare, that part didn't surprise him too much. But... Han was new to detective work. And he couldn't help but feel that he might have made a mistake by taking the job. Because Han was starting to realize that the criminal he was after could be an experienced professional.

A disturbing realization, to say the least. Han had been hoping for something simple. An amateur assassin, to be precise. Someone who had never killed before. Someone who didn't know how to cover their tracks. A political rival or secret admirer that had just snapped and killed the Regent one day. Something petty like that.

The Regent had been murdered and robbed. But who had done it and why? Han didn't know. There weren't any clues. Perhaps the Regent had actually died of natural causes but... If that was the case then why had the Regents rooms been empty?

It was dark outside. Han was trudging across the compound, weary and absorbed in speculation as he returned to the guest room where he was staying. Dim pools of light issued from paper lanterns hung along the path. Between the lanterns, the path was consumed in deep shadows. Beyond the path... Patches of light from buildings. The glimmer of moonbeams reflected on water.

None of it was enough to show the thin plume of dark smoke rising into the sky.

And none of it prevented Han from slamming into someone.

Oh wonderful. So much for sneaking out unnoticed.

I have got to pay more attention... The Emperor sighed.

Well. Sort of. He wasn't technically the Emperor at the moment. He was in disguise.

Because Emperors were holy. So Emperors weren't allowed to walk on ground that had been touched by 'impure' mortal feet. Emperors could be carried on palanquins. Emperors could ride horses, deer, elephants, dinosaurs or dragons. Emperors could sit in carriages or sit on thrones. But they weren't allowed to walk. It was another one of those unwritten commandments. Walking was undignified for an immortal, apparently.

And Emperors most certainly weren't allowed to dress up as a peasant, slip out of a window and go dashing off through the gardens at night. The shame! The dishonor!

Heads were going to roll for this. The Imperial Guards on duty would probably commit suicide the moment that they discovered he was 'lost'. The Emperor knew it. And he was sincerely sorry about that. But this was a sanity break. Not the first that the Emperor had ever taken and, more than likely, not the last. He couldn't live his whole life by the countless rules that applied to the Emperor. Not without going insane. And being of imperial descent, he'd heard plenty of horror stories about various ancestors that had gone quite insane indeed. In truth, the lives of a few Imperial Guards was a worthwhile tradeoff if it prevented him from following in the demented footsteps of those ancestors.

Before he could dash off again, a hand settled on his shoulder. The Emperor flinched. He wasn't used to this. People - mortals - weren't supposed to touch him. Everyone always kept a distance. It was a matter of respect. Purity. Tradition. Security.

This Emperor was young and a tad more open-minded than most of his ancestors had been. Plus he was trying to keep the ruse going. So he did his best to act like the peasant that he was disguised as. Which, he was fairly sure, meant no fighting back.

"In a hurry, hrmmm?" Han growled as he glared down at the offending peasant that had crashed into him. His voice was full of suspicion. "Who are you? And what's the rush?"

Silence. The Emperor wasn't sure what a peasant would have said under the circumstances. He'd never actually met a real peasant.

He'd also never met the young man in front of him. Which was not completely unheard of. Imperial City was huge. The Emperor didn't doubt that there were legions of people who'd lived on the compound for generations without meeting him or any of his ancestors. Still. The Emperor had thought that he knew everyone of the upper social ranks.

He studied the traditional badges on the young mans robe. Everyone in the Imperial Court wore at least two badges on their robes. One badge to display the occupation symbol while the second badge was decorated with the family seal. Hrmm. A scholar. Probably just visiting Imperial City then. What was the clan...

The Emperor went rigid when he caught sight of it.

A chorus of noise brought an end to the awkward confrontation.

"FIRE!"

"WAKE UP! WAKE UP! FIRE!"

The voices were distant but clear and shrill. Han was startled enough to release the 'peasant' and turn away. When he glanced back to the path, it was empty.

If anyone in the garden library had looked out the back entrance, they would have been witness to an incredible sight. A teenage boy - slender and nearly five foot tall with tan skin, shoulder length dark hair and the costume of a peasant - ran past. And as he did so, he withdrew something white from the folds of his shirt. And pressed the white object to his face. And vanished in a sudden fog.

Seconds later, a small pale figure emerged from the fog and darted into the Imperial Palace.

Outside of Imperial City, a battered middle aged man stood in the street waving his fist in the air. One fist. The other hand held a sword.

"KAMA DE ASOBA NA!"

When truly upset, Master Wen was capable of making strange threats in six languages. Not because he was trying to impress anyone but because he sincerely hoped that his enemies understood at least one of the six languages that his temper spoke fluently.

A pair of young men stood a yard or so behind their sensei, crouched in defensive positions with their own weapons drawn. The apprentices rolled their eyes at Master Wens continued shouts and scanned their surroundings for signs of life.

Not many people were out this time of night, this part of town. With the exception of Master Wen, all was quiet here. The occasional person passing by gave the samurai a wide berth and shot Master Wen looks of pity or distaste, as if to imply that this dear old fellow clearly belonged in a mental institution.

Master Wen ignored the looks.

"Damn it." He whispered fiercely, his voice faint and scratchy from so much shouting. For emphasis, he kicked the dirt. The ground was rather severely charred and no longer held any trace of the capsule house that the samurai had been staying in.

Master Wen didn't ask if his apprentices were hurt. No need. They were all a bit roughed up, he could see that. But they were samurai and they'd been through far worse. So they would survive. They were just lucky to have gotten out in time. Thank heaven for Mikatas sensitive hearing.

The elder apprentice managed a weak smile. Not a cheerful expression but a haunted one. "So someone wants us dead." Mikata observed in a whisper.

They hadn't seen their attacker. Couldn't give chase. Whoever it was...

"Bloody cowards!" Master Wen spat. He gestured to the buildings in the area. "Probably inside. Hidden from view. Damned modern weapons!"

Guns. A problem. Not just because these days practically any moron could get ahold of a gun with relative ease, legal or not. But because there were also capsulized guns. Which meant that any moron could CONCEAL one.

The samurai didn't see anyone around that was particularly threatening or heavily armed. However the grim truth was that every single person that they saw could have been carrying an arsenal stored in a container the size of a sugar cube. So the odds of the samurai capturing the person who had reduced their capsule house to smoldering pile of ashes were roughly the same as the odds for instant world peace. In a word, nonexistent.

Master Wen spent a few moments cursing the people who'd invented guns. He also cursed their ancestors, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, friends, relatives, pets and livestock. He even cursed their gardens - which would have been a fairly serious insult in a more traditional society.

"Uhm." Said the younger apprentice, a stout young man with a mane of shaggy black hair tied back in a ponytail. "Does anyone else smell smoke?"

As one, the trio of samurai turned. Flames were now visible over the high walls of Imperial City. Crackles and screams carried on the breeze.

If ever there had been a bad omen...

Mikata took a step back, eyes wide. Master Wen resumed cursing in every language he knew and a few that he didn't.

A flash of silver. Master Wen abruptly leveled the point of his blade at his students. "Leave. Now." And before they could protest, he added. "Get into the aircar and do not stop driving until you are back at the World Palace. Report to no less than the World Emperor. Tell him that the sun is setting in Meiji."

It was a modern world. They could have phoned the World Palace. Or sent a letter. Or an email. But these were samurai. And samurai were concerned with issues of sincerity. Letters, emails, phone calls... People could misinterpret such things. People could ignore such things. To go in person made everything so much more immediate. Less chance for misunderstandings. And no one would be able to doubt their sincerity, their honesty.

Communications technology had come a long way but it would never have quite the same impact as a disgruntled samurai on the doorstep.

"You will probably be accused of lying." Master Wen cautioned, "You may even be blamed for this crime."

Mikata nodded, worried but determined. "We - "

"Sensei, what if this is intended?" The younger apprentice asked, still visually scanning the area. "If our attacker truly wanted us dead, wouldn't they have made sure? We've made no effort to hide the fact that we survived."

Mikata perked up, similar thoughts had crossed his mind. "A report to the World Court - "

This time it was Master Wen who interrupted. "Is our sworn duty. Now leave."

Without another word, Master Wen jogged towards the end of the street where local police were converging for crowd control. Alarms all over the city were blaring, waking everyone. Master Wen was soon lost from sight among the people who were gathering on the sidewalks. Flames licked the sky. Fire engines hurtled past.

The apprentice samurai contemplated their options.

"Someone wants us dead?"

"Maybe." Mikata answered, holding the sleeve of his robe over his nose to block out the smell of smoke. "Either that or someone is trying to start a war." He took a breath then explained. "If we die here, the World Court will accuse Meiji Court of murdering us. If we stay alive, Meiji accuses us of being spies and starting fires. Strains relations either way."

"Ah." Grumbled the younger apprentice. "Politics."

Mikata sighed. "Yep."

"We're dead no matter who we report to, aren't we?"

The haunted smile returned to Mikatas features. "Probably." After a short pause Mikata sighed again. "You should go home."

"WHAT?" The younger apprentice was more than caught off guard by the suggestion, he was insulted. "How can you even THINK that? I'm not just going to -"

"Stay alive?" Mikata finished calmly. "Look, Yaji, no offense okay? But this is out of our league. And I promised your parents that you would live to be twenty, at least. Help me keep that promise. Get out while you can."

A howling wind came out of nowhere. Dark clouds rolled in from the east with supernatural speed. Thunder shook the world. Rain. Just a soft patter at first. Then a drizzle. A sharp crack as the clouds broke and the rain came down in curtains. Then... A chill breeze. Snow.

The fire in Imperial City was out.

Cheers echoed through the streets, barely audible over the sirens and alarms that continued to serenade the city.

The storm faded as quickly as it had come.

Mikata sheathed his sword, checked his crossbow and dusted the recent snow from his robes. Despair and awe blended in his expression. "Magic." His eyes narrowed. "Definitely out of our league."