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Twenty-One: Back to Business

(On a searing day, like with every Summer now, I was taught endurance. A canine can only take so much heat before passing out from exhaustion. I had passed out twice in my first Summer here. It would still keep me awake at night. As men and women were in separate quarters, there were no judgments. When naked, the heat is a little easier to tolerate. So, the other women respected sleeping naked, for they would, as well.

(On this particular day, there was more than endurance to test. I was given a "private lesson" with Tsuyoi. The red wolf seemed to give me a death stare, like he always does. He wanted to be the one to inform me that he only felt his emotions when they would reach their peaks. And he did tell me that. He began his first private lesson for me with: "There was something that my predecessor saw in me. And I was a hard wolf to read." It was true. Though I could make out a scowl, he did not express with his ears or his tail. The first lecture that he'd given me was about himself: how he trained, how he was known to act, and why he was deemed worthy of the mantle.

(Whether Tsuyoi's story was true was up to its listener. He told me that he was twelve when he enrolled in the dojos. As a beginner at the classes, he would be more and more frustrated. He hated the dojos because he could not improve. He also hated everyone for making fun of him. Despite those motivations, he could not get better. Tsuyoi was tempted to drop out and let his parents betroth him to an aristo that he would hate. However, the grandmasters taught him patience and to channel his aggression.

(Tsuyoi was known to act out during lectures and sparring sessions. However, the grandmasters got through to him. He found a real motivation. He wanted to be better than every student at that time. He would have his stability tested time and again. The red wolf would speak more with his actions and his aura. All that he wanted was to build his fire enough to reach the sky. When the red wolf was sixteen, he had a choice: to return home, to engage to a friend that kept his anger in check as a cub, or to stay with the Tamashi Kadorikyo and further his studies. He chose the latter, for it was his calling.

(Now, here I was, to listen another one of his speeches. He began with: "There is a reason for that story of mine. As it is tradition, we summon the most elite of students." I was not one to brag about my levels in their combat styles. He continued, "There is a reason I chose you, Namonaki, of all Okami, to listen to my story...")

It is dark when I make it to the borough Roseberg. That dread has not left since boarding the train. It is not some bare patch of pavement surrounding the station, but stone constructs. I face an extensive marketplace opposite the sidewalk where the stairs to and from the platform leads. I am not here to shop right now. First, I need a place to stay. I hurry to a block from the train station.

I am familiar with this borough. So, I can find an inn without asking Michi. The white and greys are given tinges blue with the night. I dash at times, forcing carriages to stop as I cross the road. I keep changing direction as I do so, expecting the conspirators to be still following me. If Michi is with me right now, and if he senses something amiss as he watches me, he would let out a shrill caw.

When I reach an inn on which I can settle, I hurry inside. I breathe heavily upon entering the lobby, which is none too shabby. The walls are of rough-looking wood, the lower half covered with plain grey wallpaper. The desk opposite the doorway has a polished counter. I approach the counter, deliberately walking loudly. It turns out that I have no need. Already, a wolf enters from behind the counter. He has a brown pelt, but curiously has a black underbelly, shown as his white business shirt is open. His eyes are green, a yellow stripe encircling each. He asks, "'Ow kin I 'elp yeh, Ma'am?"

"By giving me a room", I reply.

"Desperate?" He inquires.

I retort, "In a rush." He turns around and opens a short box. He pauses before lifting a key from a peg.

The wolf presents it to me, stating, "We got a stove an' oven. So, we kin cook yer meals fer yeh. Every room 'as its own loo, complete with a tub. Rent is fifty quid per night."

I take the key, replying, "Yer money won't come late."

I am as quick as finding this place, to get in the room that I have been assigned. I set my trunk at the end of the bed, covered with a plain comforter over a floral duvet. The pillows are in striped cases. I head to the window, which the headboard faces. I lift the window frame, howling plainly. Probably as a joke, I hear another voice howl like only a wolf can. Michi flies past me. So, I shut the window.

I lift my eyepatch from my face as I face my friend, perched upon the headboard. I give him a content look. How I admire my raven friend, being able to follow me for cities, with or without a head start. I approach the bed and sit on the edge. I caress his feathers, wanting only to be with him right now. Where you guide me must be the right way.

Still having my friend at my side, I dig into the papers that I keep. Among them is the folded picture, which I look at. Soon, your business will be finished.

"Hélène Segal. Rabbit. Broker, banker, lender, financier: whichever is preferred, makes no difference. Name any marketplace in the borough and there is a great chance that she has invested in it. Being a partial owner of the buildings, she can decide the utilities. It is how Giffard gets his money and his merchandise. You can find any workshop led by her men. As it borders outside Agnarge and Subroot, 'heretics' are among the wanted criminals of Roseberg. Beware; sculduggery adds to her crimes."

To add to Jack's note is the names of the workshops on her direct payroll. I look at Michi, as if expecting him to give an explanation. All these aristos, criminals, officials, and people meant to be trusted: all that they care about is money. It all comes down to that. Even Jack cares about money, which he has been losing in my absence.

I look down at Jack's notes. Only he knows these people to be significant to Giffard. One of Jack's employees has his eyes on me. I hope he never came down to this. Of the two biggest crimelords in Highcond, the city is better controlled by Jack than Giffard. I cannot sleep due to this problem having arisen. So, I head downstairs. Behind the counter of the desk, a telephone is idle.

"Get me Wickerson", I tell the one having picked up.

"He is off-duty for the night, Ma'am." Shit. I hang up without a word. This hunt will be dangerous, with or without the best official in the piss-poor hellhole. I would wager that he eats the rats for breakfast.

In the morning, I try again, this time with a pen and paper ready. As chance would have it, he is available now. "Guess who needs the lieutenant", I say wryly.

Wickerson remarks, "It seems the city's own hell cannot kill Death."

"It almost did, but its poison is not enough."

"So, where are you now?" How intuitive of him.

"Roseberg. I must be specific this time. Is there anyone in your records known fer defyin' the churches?"

"Cultists?" Wickerson spits. "This'll take much longer." That is no lie, for the pause is much longer than the previous times. When he returns, he says, "Sorry, Vigilante. It took close reading. I am the last one who should be colled for searching files. Me eyes are not as trained and me fingers are longer than yer entire hand."

I respond, "I will also need you fer interrogation. We kin 'elp each other." I look around, expecting the spy to be near.

Wickerson states, "My records 'ave two cultists for which the police of Roseberg issued bounties." I listen carefully, writing down the details that the grizzly reads aloud. Each cultist is a dog suspected of kidnapping and murder. Their addresses are known, for they have been arrested for drug possession, vandalism, and peace disturbance.

I say, "Thank you, Payton."

"Vigilante... Are you sure y-want me in Roseberg and lead potential raids?" I commend his intuition again.

I admit, "Lieutenant, you are the only officer with my trust to get a job done. By my understanding, you police make yer income arresting the kinds of criminals I encountered long before we met."

Pause. "I do this because I know so few who make arrests here", he states. "I shall depart immediately." He will still take some time to reach the station here.

I say, "Until then, Payton." Then, I hang up.

(Tsuyoi had my full attention when he began his story. "There is more to a tale than the essential parts. Only those are told in short stories and the tales of lore. Among the story of the best-known pair of dragon siblings is the birth of a god. The birth fatally burnt the sister's vagina, bringing her to the Darkworld. His egg was hatched before it was even laid. That god was named Hikagu, for the fire that he was born with.

("When he knew of his fire as a chick, controlled only by his emotions, he exiled himself to the mountains. Throughout his chickhood, he resided inside the volcano, for it was the only thing that could contain his fire. A mortal nomad was sent by the moon goddess Tsuki to bring him a mirror forged with the sun goddess Muchi's fire. It could take his fire and heat. At night, he was able to see the world outside the volcano. It was torture to him, seeing the lives of the mortals. With him connected to the volcano, the lava would move with his reactions to what he saw.

("When having just become an adult, in the time of the deity war fought by the mortals, Hikagu sees so much hatred, anger, grief, and bloodshed that he lost control of his emotions. He causes a fissure that triggers the volcano. The lava from the eruptions flow to the valley below, where warring mortals were. Three thousand individuals died that night, incinerated or died of burns over time. When he saw what he did, he cried for the time in his life. He stopped the flow of the lava with divine cry. The act of judging the mortals made them stop the war, but he regretted it all his life. He would live in the volcano for his immortal existence, but would only leave when he was called to ward off the demons threatening to claim the mortal plains."

(I had an impression of where he led. Tsuyoi continued, "Yes, Namonaki, I compare myself to him, as did my peers. The friends I made would call me Hinogami.")

Of course he is not here. Any criminal wanted on a bounty would leave their house, taking whatever they can. He could come back to swap out his dirty clothes for cleaner ones. The kitchen, which has a cloud of dust on the countertop and the scratched cupboard with its paint peeling. I rummage through the dusty shelves of his cabinets, finding no food or components for cooking. So, I search the study, which has only a few books. There are not even loose floorboards in this room.

I head back to the kitchen, this time looking under the table, knocking on the wood of the floor. There, the knocking makes a sound hollower than expected. I lift the boards, and there is possible evidence. I take the small box to the table. Inside, along with white and powdery cubes, is notes... about some demon... This demon is not the same as the one worshipped by the bear in Agnarge, but it supposedly has the same means of revival. The difference: the "revival" requires those close to ending cubhood. I scowl. There is a reason this possible kidnapper has been seen near a schoolhouse.

Anyone could be his potential victim today. I take his logbook and his small velvet bag with me as I dash out the front door. I howl, "Michibiku!" In the fraction of a second, I hear him caw and he alights upon my outstretched forearm. I say hastily, "Virgillius School. Saata."

He caws in response and lifts himself, flapping his wings. I wait for him to go a good few metres ahead of me, which is barely a second, and then cross the street. I climb up another house and dash along the rooftops onwards.

By the time I am outside the open square of the schoolhouse, it is the break between classes. The cubs will head to their houses for something to eat. I look around at the square, finding various cats and canines idle. None of them match the man that I seek--

Until I hear my friend caw. I look to where he is, and he glides in circles. Where he sees the Rough Collie is behind the schoolhouse's rear. However, he indicates the dog being on the move. Where my friend hovers in circles next is opposite to where I am. So, I make my move. I tread the rooftops, going around the open square. The bell chimes, and in seconds of the first chime the cubs begin heading out, to their parents. None of them could be above sixteen years of age. This will not bode well in a kidnapper's testimony.

My friend continues to glide in circles when I am at the edge of the roof, to the gap between two houses. I climb down from the edge. Surprise is still available in my arsenal. The Rough Collie's apparent bodyguard, a bulldog, has not noticed me.

It is the very second I let go of a window ledge, I draw my stiletto. I land upon the bulldog's shoulder, bringing him to the ground. With my stiletto, I stab the back of his neck. The Rough Collie just starts running when I stand up. The chase is for only a second. I grab his arm, holding with a vice-like grip and press my stiletto against his back, between his ribs. His pelt is not as voluminous as even his kind of dog. He passes more for a Terrier with his fur the way it is. His suit is slightly ragged. I tell him, "You are going to the police on account of bounty."

"Piss off", he mutters. I bring him back to the alley, so I can knock him out, and then strip him. I filch whatever money he keeps. I still take a minute to find an available carriage, so I can take him to the station house.

When I am outside the front door of the borough's station, Wickerson is there, in his black trousers and his overcoat open, revealing his bare chest and slightly-defined pectoral line. He comments, upon me bringing the dog, who has come to, "Your methods still go unchanged."

I reply as we go inside, to a room of clean white, "Yer colleagues can say what they want. I am no sexual predator."

The tabby cat at the desk weighs in, "And yet, Wickerson warnt my sergeant y-would do this." Another officer in the blue uniform, a rottweiler, takes the suspect from there. I hand him the logbook and the velvet bag as well.

Before going, however, the rottweiler speaks, "The reward will need wait; I need confirmation."

I wait on the criminal being locked up. The grizzly had to go along, to learn of what I want of him. When he returns, he demands, "Oll right, Vigilante, whot're yer intentions?"

"A conspiracy", I answer bluntly. "I received information about a shop for drug mixing. The owner of said shop 'as the drugs sold, to provide funding fer other businesses, only ter 'ave their owners 'eld with 'er chains."

"Her?" Wickerson speaks, arms folded. "Hélène Segal? She is known 'ere t-finance businesses, but if she manipulates them through debt, it should 'ave bin..." He pauses, all of it coming into place. He looks behind him, not even trusting the tabby. He leans forward and rumbles, "How kin we know the officers 'ere will not try t-kill me or the man y-brough' in? How kin we know the judges will deny warrants fer searches or arrests?"

I speak up, "The more reason I trust you more than I do other men bearing your kind of badge."

"The ones over whom I have authority are not in this jurisdiction", he warns lowly. "Yeh're playin' close ta the chest."

He is right, but I see no other way. I say, "Payton... I encountered another bear in Crowsridge. The Chief Inspector. He told me he faked his death nine times. I know not how much you are used to being threatened, to being shot, or losin' a righ' amount o' blood. Whether you survive anythin' fatal in my presence, do not seek me."

I feel the hot streams from the grizzly bear's nostrils as he sighs. He admits as lowly, "I 'ave experienced only incompetence in my jurisdiction; never corruption. But there 'ave bin criminals to stab me, only to fail in killing me." That reminds me again of the cultist bear in Agnarge.

I turn to him, to ask, "Which do you think is more dangerous to crimelords: someone with nothing to lose, or someone who needs to protect another?"

There is a pause before he Wickerson replies, "Only the future can provide such an answer." Though I expected no answer, I know that he is right.

I whisper, "Watch yer back, Payton." Then, I exit the station house.

(Like a good storyteller, Tsuyoi had left me wanting more from his story. So, the day after he told me what his friends called him, I was in the grandmasters' temple again, to listen to the red wolf's tales.

("I was not the best student until much later. Even when I began taking my studies seriously, I still had obstacles to overcome. The two wolves you see leading this clan are not the same as they were around your age. I was very different at your age than I am now.

("I had my rage, which is only a powerful tool if it is used properly. When I was at level six in the art of the Samurai, I had an enemy, a rival. He was one to boast about his prowess, which was exceptional. That wolf was from a wealthy family and had chosen his studies over his duties for his house. I knew this wolf, a level nine, to taunt me every time he saw me spar with other disciples of my level. Of all wolves of a humble background, he chose me. His lies and insults about what I do would provoke my rage. He wanted to see me suffer by making my temper my weakness.

("Emotions are the most important factor in being a warrior. From my point of view, even now, suppressing emotions, whether you spar or are in a real fight, means acting unnatural. I have lived with the memories of practising with others, failing to hold back my rage. My rival would do the smallest things to provoke me, after my first reaction to his insults. He was full of himself. That Summer, when I could not sleep at night, the thought of his voice would tempt me to execute regrettable actions.

("I cared not whether I would be expelled from the clan for it. I snapped on a summer day as I would still see him... I approached him upon hearing a taunt of his... I punched, aiming for his nose, but he caught my fist. I started to fight him. No matter what, I tried again and again to bloody his perfect face... The fight ended with me on my knees, a bruise around my eye, a bruise on my left shoulder, and a bruise in my diaphragm.

("That would only make me angrier. So, when I recovered, I acted dishonourably. I tackled him to the ground so I could beat him. However, his friends restrained me before I could land the first blow. I was willing to bring more dishonour, for I came to him at night two weeks later. That time, I was armed with a knife. He deliberately idled as I approached him. I was tempted to stab him from behind, but I could not. Instead, I threw it aside. I let him taunt me. That was the first time I ignored something, but I built up my rage with each remark he made.

("I needed to face my enemy when I engaging him. I stood like a statue. When deciding that he crossed the line, I made the first move. I let him hold me down. I was tempted to yowl, but I held back on that, too. I awaited the pinnacle moment. I held my breath as he held me down. I intended to pretend to surrender, but it became more and more real.

("When he finally got off me, calling me pathetic, I made my move. I tripped him, and then tackled him. Everything went black, but when I came to my senses and I stood, looking down on him, his nose bled and he lay rasping. I held my arm up, the knife in my hand. I thought that he deserved both the beating and his demise. He was another aristocrat thinking that he was better than everyone else. He knew nothing about being born with no fortune and in a city of ruin. He was just one noble thinking that peasants are the worst. I only spared him because there are hundreds of his type.

("In the aftermath, I was in the sparring temple, in tears. I was tempted to use that knife to thrust in my chest. But I did not. There was a she-wolf to find me, the way I was. Before I became friends with Kashikoi, that she-wolf was the only one to know. Based on the next day, my enemy told nobody.

("Since that day, I learnt to channel my rage and store it like energy. In a spar with my enemy, which promoted me from level eight to level nine, I relied on that as my technique, like I had done numerous times before.")

(I sat there in silence, letting the words sink in. Now I knew why he told me this, for he knew how I acted. It was more than that the orange of my right eye matched that of his eyes; he studied my fighting style.)

I am at the house of the known residence of the second cultist listed by Wickerson. The house that I break into is empty; no tables, chairs, or couch. It stinks terribly, too. Must be quick. Even in the slum of the borough, single-floor houses match other dwellings. The only difference is the dirt road separating the brick constructs. As before, I find a logbook and a velvet bag of white cubes. A whiff is enough to tell me what they are made of. These items, I find under the mattress laying on the floor without a frame.

The log entries tell me of this Bulldog's hallucinations as he seeks a succubus. I suppress a growl at reading the traits of the kind of demon that he hopes to see, high on the opium or otherwise. The problem is that he has laced what drug powder he buys, with sulfur. That could kill him if I fail to find him. It is logical that witnesses see him frequent a church's grounds. What other place would a cultist favour to defile?

Here I await in one of the chapels of the estate of Saint Thomas's Church. My friend is right outside, idle as well. The silence is something that I have welcomed. A good time and place. Where there is rivalry, there is treachery. Why would one of Jack's men conspire against both me and him? Jack told me that Giffard's former mistress have bought from Jack's dealers. I told those people held captive in Agnarge Asylum that they could work for Jack. Was I wrong about that? I could have directed them to Ventine, to the Sanctuary of Mau-Re, but I did not. I cannot help everyone. I shut my eyes tightly and shake my head. I have been there before. I look up, tempted to call to my friend. Even if he has the answer, he cannot tell me, smart as that corvid is.

I am brought out of my thoughts when my ears perk. Someone is near, talking--two men. I dash from the podium behind which I have hidden. With a peek from the edge of the threshold, I spot two dogs, one of them being the Bulldog cultist. I then dash to the wall, to climb out of the window. I shuffle, making small rustles of the grass as I do so. Looking slightly from the edge of the wall, I watch as the Bulldog takes a wrapped brick from a Greyhound, and then hands him a stack of bills. The Greyhound counts them before giving his approval. I have a choice here: ignore the dealer and take the cultist, and expect him to testify, or to kill the cultist and take the drug dealer in.

Do not hesitate. I call to Michi, "Kougeki hairo dog!" Both of the men freeze. The Greyhound draws his pistol as I run toward the Bulldog. I hear a bang from his gun, but it turns out to be a misfire, for neither I nor the Bulldog are hit. My friend is busy harassing the Greyhound, but I am focused on the Bulldog. I draw my stiletto and he starts running. He gets not far enough, for I hurl it and it lands in his back. He falls forward.

Even now, my friend refuses to let up. I sprint up to the Greyhound, slashing at his arm. He stumbles, yowling in agony. Based on how his hand seems to dangle, his wrist is broken. I sheathe my Khopeshes, so I can lift him to face me, before I butt his head. With a punch to follow, he is unconscious. I approach the cultist, who still lays in the same position. I take my stiletto from where it landed and sheathe in my boot. Along with the unconscious Greyhound, I carry the Bulldog off the grounds and into a carriage. I know how this will go, but I will still hate hearing it.

Back at the stationhouse, Wickerson reproaches, "We 'ave no use fer a corpse. We may never get a confession from the dealer; a way of saying 'Fuck you' to the families of his client's victims."

The borough's sergeant, the rottweiler, objects, "But the vigilante did deliver on us. You are known to not lie, and we 'ave a sworn statement that you them exchange the drugs and money." He adds as a comment, "You must be desperate, though, collecting two bounties at once."

I retort, "I did not do this for the money."

"Keep thinking that", the rottweiler remarks. He takes a wad from a pile that he keeps in a box. The bundle that I accept is for the bounty hunt. He continues, "Now, whot information you seek will not be here right away. There is still a trial ter 'old. If need be, I kin intimidate them into testifyin'."

"When will they be questioned? Tomorrow?"

Wickerson answers, "That will work fer everyone, but it is not that simple. There are several cases ahead of this, namely on corruption in the market, which take much longer thanks to stoicism and deep pockets."

"Shit", I mutter. There is only one way, then, to locate the workshop owned wholly by Segal. I tell them, "Then whot I need do is piss 'er off." I bow my head. "Gentlemen." Then, I exit the office. I will do what I must to get to Segal.

("The wolf to come to me that night, to see me about to stab my chest, was a friend that I had not seen since my parents' proposition", the red wolf opened with, for his next story. "I judged too quickly that I would be betrothed to a she-wolf that I would hate. Instead, there was a she-wolf that I befriended. She would be there, to help me spend negative energy. S_he_ proposed that I enrol in the dojos. My friend, who I affectionately dubbed Shunju. I wept in her arms, conflicted.

("She stayed with me all night and all of the following day for morale. Shinju was the one to convince me that my rival told nobody about the fight. I was nineteen at the time, but I still was like the angry cub that I always was. Only with her presence, I kept my anger in check during her visit.

("There was only one other wolf to interact with me during Shunju's visit. A blue wolf with violet eyes. He asked me several questions during a lunch with Shunju. I was jealous at first, for she spoke to him more. By the end of the day, they had not run out of stories to exchange. Like the blue wolf, Shunju was wise beyond her years. She knew me better than anyone. But we were not meant to be.

("Despite Shunju's absence, I found a friend in somebody who is like her. Until the day I was to have the honourable confrontation with my rival, the blue wolf was there. He knew as well as Shunju did, how to control my rage. He and I would always disagree about something, but he would always be my best friend. By the time he and I were promoted to level nine, we would be rivals. We knew each other's fighting style as well as each other's weapon of choice." He stood up, to undo the belt of his robe. He hastily opened his ceremonial robe and as quickly hung it on a hook on the wall. He needed not say why; I already knew. He held off on why he built muscle, but he flexed slowly, to show the definition of the muscles of his chest, abdomen, shoulders and arms. Not so peculiarly to me, the muscle of his left arm was more defined than that of his right. The distinct muscles of his torso were like that of a god.

(The red wolf spoke, keeping eye contact on me as he retrieved his robe, "I worked harder for strength and endurance than for skill and prowess." He re-tied the belt and sat back down before he continued. "The first time the blue wolf tested my patience was to have me figure out what he knew that only few other Samurai, Shogun, and Sensei did. That took me a year to figure out.

("There will be more to figure out every day of your life, even after you finish classes. I have watched you closely since you reached level two. Regardless of whether you reach level nine, Kashikoi is as aware as I am that yours is a long path ahead. So, what I ask of you now: what do you seek after you graduate? That is what I want you to tell me tomorrow, whether with a story like you Symphonites, or with a list.")

Utilising the telephone of the inn, I have rung Jack, who has been on edge. I held back on who his traitor might be. Right now, I question whether I can trust him, even though I have done favours for him in exchange for information long before destroying the brothel in Grauk. He knows none of Segal's top men, but his child informants know who they are.

So, I idle in the middle of a marketplace during lunchtime, awaiting a cub working for Jack. Children are trustworthy to gangsters and vigilantes such as myself and Jack. However, their trust in others can be used against them if a sibling or a friend is used as leverage.

A familiar boy voice asks, "Pardon me, Ma'am, but 'ave you a few quid t-spare?" I look down, and the face is as familiar. A grey wolf cub with yellow eyes. He wears brown trousers with suspenders and a yellow work shirt that could have been such a shade when it was bought. He carries a small basket with him.

I reply to him, "If yeh're 'ungry, I kin buy you somethin' to eat." He has not forgotten the image of my grey pinstripe suit and eyepatch. I mean what I say, even though it is intended as code. I approach a butcher for a chop and a grocer for fresh vegetables. Among the dealers in the marketplace, there is a fire source, so I can cook the piece of meat.

After about ten minutes, when the meat and vegetables are close enough with being cooked, I place the food in his basket. He follows me to a corner, where he sits on a bench in front of me. He uses the sheet in his basket to protect the food from whatever is on the wooden surface. I tell him, "Keepin' the good faith, Julian?"

"Yes, Ma'am", he answers. "Especially in Mister MacNiadh."

I inquire, "He told me he lost one of 'is bases in Agnarge. That would not be where you live, is it?" He pauses before he takes the first bite of his chop. His muzzle droops and he lays the chop back on the sheet as if he has just lost his appetite, which is odd for one living in this economy. "I am so sorry", I add.

"Men ransacked the place" Julian states lowly. "They assailed my friends. I was afraid that they would kill us."

"When was this?" I inquire.

"Last week, Ma'am", he answers. "Me friends and I were terrified... Mister MacNiadh sent 'is men to evacuate us, only to be intercepted. Most of me friends disbanded. Only a few including meself claimed an 'ouse close to the Asylum as our new 'ome." He looks up, his amber eyes seeming to light up. "I 'ave asked one of Mister MacNiadh's men ta teach me ter use a gun."

"Not oll spies rely on guns", I explain. "Furthermore, you might forget your training when y-first use a weapon. Adrenaline is useful, but if it gets to you, there is a big chance of misfiring."

"Whot about you? Why d-you keep no guns?"

"it is a long story", I sigh.

The wolf cub begins eating his lunch, as if his appetite has suddenly returned. He reminds me of our feral ancestors, eating with his hands. When orts remain, he wipes his paw pads and muzzle before he rummages in his pocket. Julian presents me a folded page. He says, "These are the names of the men you requested. Mister MacNiadh 'as children 'ere, too, as you assumed."

I present a bill to him and say, "You 'ave bin helpful again, Julian."

He slowly takes the tenner before he asks, "Is everything oll right, Ma'am? Mister MacNiadh 'eld somethin' back when mentioning you t-me."

I explain, "I fault you not fer choosing a crimelord fer a boss. It seems t-be the best way fer a cub to make a living on the street. But a crimelord is not completely trustworthy; they break the laws more than business owners who bribe officials and overwork staff."

He retorts, "You kin trust me, Ma'am. And Leigh-Anne."

"I know", I respond. "But y-must never let anyone lookin' shady lay a hand upon yer friends. If Jack's informants 'ave their eyes on me, they know where I currently sojourn. Take care, kid." I stand up, but I slowly depart from the market, to make sure that no one grabs the cub before he and I both reach the sidewalk.

(Three years of being at the dojos. And among what I brought, I kept a significant object as if it were a treasure. I brought that to the Grandmasters' personal temple when going to see the red wolf. So, here I sat in front of the wolf symbolising determination and power. He spoke, "Is that why you are here, attending classes of the dojos?" He addressed the book in my lap.

(I answered, "This book belonged to my mother, written in her hand. This, along with several notes and ledgers, are all I have that belonged to her and my step-father."

(Tsuyoi inquired, "And what does that book contain?"

(I sighed, looking down at the cover of the book. Tsuyoi, to my astonishment, was patient with me tonight. He was right about waiting for this, for I had rehearsed what I would say. I looked up, giving my explanation: "I know not the full story yet, writing in here. I saw my mother write in this, but I she wanted me to wait to read it. I understood not why they wanted me to avoid attracting unwanted attention, for we inhabited a slum. I learnt the reason the hard way.

("I was ten years old when my mother and step-father were killed. My mother was already dead when I returned to the house, after avoiding the criminals, but I saw my step-father get killed by another wolf--one looking as peculiar as I. As my step-father still clung for his life, he ordered me to take all the pages that they kept, and I did so.

("In only a few weeks of living the Sanctuary of Mau-Re, I opened this book for the first time. I could barely read past the first page... I was so angry that I threw the book across the room. I thought it was a lie at the time." I pause at that. I looked down again as I finished, "I never read further. I am afraid of what I will learn."

(Silence. "Afraid?" That seemed to be all that Tsuyoi had to ask. "Everyone is afraid of something." Silence again. I knew Tsuyoi for that.

(I object, "You are right; fear is common. Surely, an experienced Samurai fears something."

("Indeed", he agrees. That is when I look up yet again, his eyes seeming to glow in the dim lamplight. "Even in my nineteenth year, I was afraid of pain. When I joined the military on the occasional mission, I was afraid that I would die. Then, I would forget that fear in the battlefield. Where two individuals do battle, only one can survive. I followed orders of Shogun. Fear is about expecting something that you will hate. Courage is about acting despite fear." He is silent, as if to let that sink in, which works, but his eyes are on the book in my lap.

(I explain, "I know who killed my mother and step-father. Only for his sake, I heeded my step-father's dying words. I would understand before long that if I went after their killer right there and then, I would face him unprepared and inexperienced. I still want to pursue that wolf. He is not worthy of being called that; he is nothing but a murderer."

(Tsuyoi narrows his eyes, making them look like a pair of flames. "I know now why you remind me of myself." He pauses again. "I, too, wanted revenge once. I was so consumed by such desire that I was willing to give up on honour. However, honour is not a code. Honour is not different than morality. Every Samurai house has its own rules. Morality is the distinguishing of right and wrong."

(I asked, "So, if I killed a criminal in my city, regardless of how despicable they are, I will become like them?"

("It depends whether the killing of an unrecognised criminal is personal", he answered. "It also depends on whether you kill with your emotions. That is a weapon as deadly as your sword." There was another pause before he added, "Emotions clouded my judgment when I was your age. No one who gives orders thinks about whether someone deserves to live or die."

(I asked, "Will you teach me to channel my anger?"

(He admitted, "I waited for you to ask that.")

I shove a Terrier against a wall, and then wedge my Khopeshes into the wood. "I will not ask politely", I seethe. I angle them to press the blades against his throat. Looking into the Terrier's eyes filled with horror, I ask, "Where- is- Segal?"

He stammers, "I- I- I kn-know nothing..." I can feel him shaking.

"Then why is your heart racing?" I growl.

"I- I w-would never sell 'er out." And yet I catch the whiff of ammonia.

"Wrong answer", I say bluntly. I slash his throat with two simultaneous swipes across his throat. He falls, back still against the wall, and choking. Three drug dealers working for Segal and none of them have talked.

It has been only a day since Julian gave me the names and where they operate. It is not even lunchtime when my friend pecks at that dog. By my impression, a corvid's stomach is never full. Furthermore, he needs to keep up his energy to aid my search. When he is possibly done with what meat is available, he perches upon my shoulder. I examine the next address, which I give my friend. He is quick to comply.

I hesitate, for I feel like I am being watched again, an odour standing out. I look around, knowing that I smell something familiar. I narrow my eyes at the smell of whiskey.

Despite that disturbance as I see no time, I proceed with my hunt. Where I am next is at a series of townhouses, this one with a rose bush stretching as far as the field behind them. I quickly examine the rose bush. Immediately, I scowl. If not by the look, I know poppies when I smell them. Better tell the police to burn this.

I storm right in. The second that the weasels in the living room of wood, wallpaper, and furniture, I dash up to the nearest criminal. I slash his throat before he can fire his pistol. I do the same thing to the next. I leap side-to-side, before I break the ribs of the third, who coughs blood as he stumbles. On the last weasel, a badger, I disarm him before I press my Khopeshes to the sides of his neck.

I growl, "One chance, Blighter: where is Segal's workshop?"

He says with evident panic, "I will tell you. Please, jus' put the swords down." I do not heed the request. With laboured breathing, he says, "You can find the bank records in the study, in the bookcase's bottom shelf. The workshop's address, too." His heart still races, but because he is afraid. Something is not right. No one is so quick to give up information, even if it is false.

I lower my right arm, but keep my left arm up. I shift to his side. I press the tine of my left Khopesh against his back. "Show me."

He starts walking. Where he leads me is to the study, with a desk gathering dust. The badger lowers himself, to get a stack of pages standing out among the books. He presents them. Those are indeed ledgers. I sheathe my right Khopesh, so I can take the pages. He demands lowly, "Will you still kill me?"

I answer, "The police have no use fer a corpse."

There Wickerson is, idle, against a wall of the work chamber, watching officers hammer on typewriters for reports. I push the badger toward the grizzly, stating, "He might be of use to connect the rest of Segal's dealers."

Wickerson waves for a dog, who takes the badger to a cell. I sheathe my Khopesh, He tells me, "There are officers 'ere that will answer to me. Many respect individuals of higher statures and higher positions."

How I wish that were true. I question not him, but I question that logic. As someone knew Giffard's secrets, he must be afraid that someone will betray him. Jack has told me how a ship captain's worst fear is mutiny. As I hold back, Wickerson continues, "Wherever your search has led you, you cannot go alone." Now he wants to help me this way? Then again, I trust no one in law enforcement to help me. "Soon, the drug dealer will talk."

I inquire, "You do not feel you owe me, do you?"

"Fer the bounty 'unts?" Wickerson asks back. "News o' yer bloody messes travelled quickly. 'Tis enough ter attract our attention."

I signal him to get close. So, the grizzly leans to me. I mutter, "That dealer gave up information on Segal too easily. Someone wants me to get to 'er."

He mutters back, "Oll the more reason fer reinforcements."

I comment lowly, "I never depicted you as stubborn, Payton."

"Since when were you protective of me?"

"It is not like that; it is not your fight."

Before I can add anything, he growls, "Not my fight, Vigilante? You and everyone here is enemies with arms and drug barons. 'Tis our job t-keep them off the streets."

I sigh before I whisper, "Tomorrow night. Hopefully, you are familiar with my friend, the raven."

He scoffs, and I feel the short gusts from it. "A raven at night? How mad kin the world get?"

"Not as close to the edge with men such as yerself", I quip. He chuckles. I bow my head, silently bidding him goodbye.

This information was given up without a fight. So, the lieutenant is right to offer his aid. The rose bush outside those weasels' house has been set ablaze, to be replaced with a new one. I have Segal's home address, as well. I had a talk with her housemaid, who I needed not persuade to help me. If she escapes during my attack, I have a backup plan. Even the businesses in Roseberg are no strangers to black-market dealers.

Now, the time has come to strike while the iron is hot. True to my word, I idle on the other side of the road from the brick construct that Segal's factory is. As promised, the grizzly is there, accompanied by an armed squad. The six canines behind him each have an automatic rifle over their backs.

I climb down from where I watch, deliberately making noise as I do so. That is how Wickerson knows that I am there. He has to wave an arm to keep the dogs from drawing their guns.

I state, "The factory 'as high security. You are correct that destroying Segal's merchandise will be difficult."

The grizzly bear scoffs. "Say somethin' other than the obvious." I leave him hanging. So, he continues, "I will engage the men out here. Go in from the other side. Y-might need time the start of the crossfire."

As I scale the house next to the factory, Wickerson speaks up, "This is a raid! I will give you one chance: surrender your weapons and approach with yer hands up!"

I am on the roof of the factory by the time he has finished his announcement. I can hear the guards from the sides dashing. I watch as the guards, with their pistols drawn, hesitate in front of Wickerson and his partners, rifles pointing. The rifles fire, and the criminals go down--time to go. Per the lieutenant's advice, I tread the rooftop toward the back. I climb down from there, to the first open window.

Upon entering through that window, I see that the top level is not guarded. The men stationed here, overseeing the machines, are currently occupied. Thank you, Payton. I crouch, eyes closed. That makes the gunfire come off as even louder. However, I can smell more than the smoke of lit powder. To add to the odours of copper, brass and steel, I detect steam. Boilers are part of the mixers. Perfect.

I need to make good use of the precious time offered by Wickerson. I climb from the railing jump down. The impact is nothing, jumping down from one level. I shake the pain off as I dash to the machine to my left. I can see in such dim light. I can only assume that the workers are slaves and have fled the second they heard the gunfire.

I madly turn the valves on the machine as far as I can, and the fires stoke enough to be bright orange. I do the same with the contraption of the other side. By letting the air in, the fire builds up. Behind the furnaces, I find a large crate of the perfect item to use: dynamite.Subtle, yet effective. I take a few sticks to pocket, before taking the ladder to the next level. The contraption that I approach is a boiler. I hope the police understand. As madly, I turn the valves until they are loose from their screws, steam piling up to clouds. I do the same on the opposite side. Now, this part of the building is clouded in steam. That is when the thugs on this side cease fire. The officers take the opportunity, shooting blindly.

I head up to the top level, and there an office is. Best use the chances I already have. I pull out the sticks of dynamite and begin clicking my lighter. The fuse ignites. So, I stand up straight, focusing on the mixer on my left. I throw, and the stick bounces off the edge. I patiently try until the fuse of the next ignites. This time, I aim higher--

And the stick lands in. Hastily, I pull out and ignite the third stick. Aiming high again, I toss the dynamite, which lands inside. I howl, "Payton! Get out of here!" I strain my throat, for I do not always call that loud. I kick the window behind me, breaking it, for I cannot lift it. I climb from there. I barely cross its threshold when the explosions thunder. The other windows break open and clouds of smoke burst out, telling me how potent that opium is. In a hurry, I climb down. Upon reaching the ground, I howl again, "Payton? Payton! Where are you?!"

Two of the canines aiding him, round the corner and train their guns on me. The one to my left, as I face the wall of the factory, states, "I hope fer your sake, the Lieutenant survived that. Thanks ter 'im, I bin following real orders."

The one to my right adds, "Same." I follow the dogs in uniform to the front gate--

And there the grizzly is, against a wall, panting. There is still a gunfight, or so I think. I hurry in through the opening, and patches of the floor, as well as the boxes, are ablaze. I look around along with the two officers still inside, firing their rifles. I return to the third floor, and go in the office, even the interior of which has taken damage. No sign of a rabbit, just like the rest of the factory. She knew I was coming.

I return to Wickerson yet again, his back against the wall. I ask him, "Any injuries?"

The grizzly rasps, "Only from the force of those explosions. Thankfully, not from bullets or shrapnel." He adds, smiling, "Yeh were brill, Vigilante."

"I appreciate yer efforts, Payton, but I am not done. I came to Roseberg fer Segal; I will 'ave her dead."

He huffs, "Be glad I bin banged up. Go do whot y-do." I do so. Where I head next is her house.

Upon entering the rabbit's house, I hear shuffling, fabric rustling. She has been alerted, even before I arrived at her abode. I growl. _Baccy and whiskey._Where I enter is in a bedroom, but not Segal's. The worn wallpaper and the ragged sheets on the bed are the signs of that. A tabby cat in a maid uniform, whispers, "Good; yeh're here." She dashes to get close to me. She continues, "Madame Segal is almost done packing. She wants me t-send a letter, which she will start soon." Time is against me. I tread lightly, even though the stairs are carpeted. I leap from the edge of one carpet to the next, crossing the living room, to the kitchen, which has a small round table and two wooden chairs. The cat presents me with a box of tea. She mixes in the makings, before I pull out a vial. I pour half of its contents, for that should be all that I need.

An aristocratic female voice speaks, "I will 'ave that tea now, Dearie."

The cat calls back, "I am jus' steepin' it, Madame." That is precisely what she is doing. I can hear scratching, and look slightly over the threshold, to see her writing her note, probably to Giffard about her business. Before long, the cat heads into the study with the porcelain kettle and a full cup in her hands. Now, I need only wait.

That wait is not long. In about two minutes, I hear coughing, which is quick to become violent. The coughing becomes heaving and gasping for air. After a long-drawn gasp, the silence falls upon the house. I look in the study, and there she lay, head down, eyes still open. I press a finger against her neck. No pulse. Then, my work is done.

The cat speaks up, "I managed to forge her will as you ordered. I longed t-do that meself, anyway. No relative of 'ers will get a penny. Most of 'er money is to go to the stock market." Smart girl. Even if she gets arrested, proving her the killer will be difficult. I hug her.

When pulling away, I tell her, "Thank you. And Best of Symphon t-you."

"Likewise, Madame."

Now, I am done here. Best I leave now. If my suspicions are correct, I will need Wickerson to follow me. I will need one of Jack's child spies, as well. If Jack's traitor continues to shadow me, I cannot let him get in a scuffle. Then again, is Jack not to be trusted?