Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (35 page)

Brian's Story Continues

1810

“Seen enough countryside to last a lifetime?” Brian said to his wife. “Even if it's in Nippon?”

“It is very lovely,” she said. For it was incredibly beautiful, unspoiled and natural, nothing paved, rarely a sign. They occasionally passed travelers, who either ignored them or moved away at the sight of Miyoshi with his hands (casually) on his blades, but besides that there was no one.

Eventually they took a road that looked barely wide enough to be passable. Nadezhda privately admitted to being a bit exhausted from sleeping in the open, however good Miyoshi was at setting up a shelter with his cloak, and Brian felt that old tiredness seeping into him. “Can we stop here? At an inn or something?”

To their surprise, Miyoshi nodded. That was, until he saw a sign, which he spent some time studying before announcing, “We cannot enter here. We must go around.”

“Will we lose time?”

“It doesn't matter,” Miyoshi turned away from the posted note. “We have to go around.”

“What's wrong?” Brian said instinctually.

“There's a wanted criminal about, and that means they will be searching all travelers.” He added, “We will find another town soon.”

That did not mean they were free of company, as there were people going to and fro. They had to journey some distance off the road to find any sanctuary. This Japan place was filled with forests and rivers, and they were low on food.

“Can we fish?” Brian said, wondering if there was a law or something.

Miyoshi's response was to remove his
ronin gasa
and tie up his long sleeves. “Yes. Do you know how?”

“What man doesn't know how to fish?” Brian replied, and tied a string to the end of his walking stick as Nadezhda worked on the other end, pinning a piece of their remaining bread to it. “There we go. There are fish here, right?”

Miyoshi grunted, which meant that he was unwilling to admit to not knowing. Brian had barely got his makeshift fishing rod into the water when Miyoshi held out a hand. “Quiet.”

“I was being—”

Their bodyguard looked at them seriously, silencing them, and Brian slipped his hat over his face. Miyoshi's left hand was on his sword hilt and not lightly. He took a few steps straight into the water, which was not especially deep, barely inches above his ankles, and his blade came out fast enough to drop the man who leapt in front of him. In a spray of blood the man fell down into the water, but Miyoshi did not hesitate, drawing back to protect the Maddoxes as the other bandits emerged from the woods, armed with spears and swords.

“You are outnumbered,
ronin
,” said one of them.

“It does not concern me,” Miyoshi said, his voice as steady as a rock. “Come closer, and you shall suffer the same fate.”

“If they want money,” Brian whispered, “give it to them and be done with it.”

Miyoshi grunted. Clearly it was not up for consideration. He was true to his word, because when the first man came forward, he cut his spear in half before letting his swing slice through the man beside him. Brian instinctively put himself in front of his wife, his hand on his walking stick. “Don't look,” he whispered to her in Romanian, because the water was looking a bit red for his taste. Yet Miyoshi was unconcerned. His attention was apparently on cutting them all down without thought, and he was very good at doing it.

“Don't move,” said a man behind them, putting a sword to Brian's shoulder, the tip piercing enough to make him bleed. “Tell your samurai to stop.”

“What do you want?”

“Money. And your woman. Surely worth your life?”

It was Nadezhda who screamed as, without hesitation, Brian drew the sword hidden in his cane and spun around. He meant to at least put some distance between him and the bandit, but it didn't have a hope of working, as the man laughed and knocked it out of his hands. He was out of his league.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaai!”

The cry came from above, the man landing before it was finished. He was different from the others, moving in a blue blur from his
haori
coat, his bizarre sword drawn and ready as he sliced the man's head off before his stilt shoes hit the ground between them. He then turned to Brian and Nadezhda. His hair was wild and not shaved or even tied up, his clothing mismatched and worn, obviously a collection of other people's outfits. He had tattoos around his wrists. He laughed and ran past them with no explanation, sword still drawn, and with a flying leap, landed on the man whom Miyoshi was attempting to fight off. While he stood on him, he swung his sword around, missing Miyoshi by inches on one side, decapitating the last bandit on the other while one drowned beneath his
geta
shoes.

“So,” Miyoshi said, not sheathing his sword, “you're the villain they've put up warnings about.”

“Me? Signs?” the man said. “I'm honored.”

“What did you do
this
time?”

“Who knows?” he said, and swung at his opponent—Miyoshi. Their blades met, and the man leapt off the now-dead bandit and back into the water, catching Miyoshi's swing in his shoe, and stepped down, bringing the sword with it. “See? At my mercy again?”

That was when Miyoshi dropped his sword and drew his shorter blade, hitting the man in the hand with the butt of it, disarming him again. “Not so easy, Mugin.” He recovered as Mugin lifted his foot, allowing Miyoshi to recover his blade. “I can't do this now.”

“You won't fight me?”

“Not now,” Miyoshi said, putting away his blades.

“So, you're protecting foreigners? The very opposite of the law.”

“You must be very familiar with it, as you've never done a lawful thing in your life,” Miyoshi said, stepping out of the now-red stream and returning to land and his charges. Mugin gave an exaggerated gesture as if he was offended. “We'd best be on our way,” Miyoshi said to his charges.

“He knows,” Brian felt compelled to point out.

“Yes, of course. I'm not an idiot, no matter what Shiro-chan says,” the fugitive said.

“How long have you been following us?”

“Does it matter?” Mugin said, walking across the water and onto their side of the lake, ignoring the pile of bodies behind him as he put his sword back in its scabbard, which was over his shoulder. “So, Nagasaki it is, then? It's very far.”

“You're not invited,” Miyoshi said.

“Ah, but then I could report you, of course.”

“That would mean showing your face to the authorities.”

“Heh! I'm not a wanted man in every village, though I am proud that you think I'm such an esteemed criminal,” the man said. “Besides, it looks like you could use the help, no? All I want is a few good meals. A good deal for you.”

Miyoshi, for some reason, seemed to be considering it. Despite the fact he had just fought this man with ready blades, there was some faltering in his usual stoic expression, and his hesitation forced Brian to push the matter. “Miyoshi, can we trust him?”

“No,” he said. “But it seems he's coming anyway.”

“Besides, I can fish better than Shiro any day,” the man said and, without hesitation and fully clothed, ran to a deeper area of the river and dove in, resurfacing a minute later with a fish speared on a knife. “There.” He removed the fish and tossed it to their shore. “Back in a minute.” And he dove under again.

“Who is he?” Nadezhda asked as Miyoshi watched on in stunned silence.

“Mugin,” Miyoshi said at last.

“A friend of yours?” Brian dared to ask as yet another fish was thrown at their feet.

“No,” Miyoshi insisted, and said no more.

When Mugin had provided them with a pile of fish, they walked some ways down the river, far away from the bodies, and started a fire to cook the fish. A soaked Mugin shook his hair out like a dog and sat down by it, putting up his feet in a mode of complete relaxation, as Miyoshi tended to the fish.

Brian was the first to remove his hat. When Mugin didn't bat an eye, he encouraged Nadezhda to do the same. “Mugin-san,” he said, bowing to him. “I am Maddox Brian, and this is Maddox Nadezhda, my wife.”

Mugin did open his eyes at this but showed no surprise. “
Hai
. Greetings.”

“May I ask how you know Miyoshi?”

“I don't know—he might get annoyed. But he gets annoyed at everything, so who cares?” Mugin said, sitting up. “I'd rather Shiro-chan tell it.”

“Why do you call him that?”

“Because I know him,” he said, thinking he had to explain the significance of
chan
to the foreigner. From Brian's expression, he did not. “He was so formal with you; he didn't tell you his name? Miyoshi Shiro? How rude. And yet, how like him.”

“You traveled together?”

“For some time.”

Brian quickly realized that Mugin would be a wealth of information about their bodyguard, who grumbled at basically everything that came out of Mugin's mouth but still did not order him away. That, however, could be handled in time.

As night descended on him, there were other things on his mind, thoughts that he had been distracted from by the sudden appearance of Mugin, who they gathered was at least partially mixed-race, as he laughed at the suggestion and dismissed it. They had been witness to nothing less than a mass slaughter, even if those men had been bandits. Nadezhda was tense in his arms under their shelter and Brian knew why but could find no words to comfort her. In the nearly three months of being on Japanese soil they had come to feel a peace. That had been shattered by the reality of violence that was taken for granted by the men who protected them. They were not safe.

After he nudged her into sleep, Brian slipped out of his shelter and approached Miyoshi, who had taken up watch on a rock, his longer sword resting against his shoulder. Mugin was asleep next to the fire, snoring loudly.

“Miyoshi-san,” Brian said, bowing to him.

“Yes?”

“What happened today—”

“Mugin will not be a problem,” Miyoshi said. “As obnoxious as he is, he is actually quite useful.”

“So I saw,” Brian said with a swallow. “I also saw you kill five men.”

Miyoshi merely replied, “I am your soldier.”

“Would you have done it anyway? If they attacked you alone for some reason would you have run?”

“I am not trained to run, Madokusu-san. I am samurai. I have every right to kill as I please.” He looked up and took note of Brian's horrified expression. “Are you
gaijin
all so squeamish?”

“We're not… adjusted to the idea of such a… violent society.” He was tripping over his own thoughts as much as his vocabulary. He could not upset Miyoshi. For the first time, he was truly afraid of him, aware of what he was capable of, apparently without regret.

“Then what do you do to bandits then?”

“Try to fend them off, or have them arrested. And then they—” He realized he did not know the word, so he said it in Russian. “Stand trial.”

Miyoshi looked at him blankly.

“Go to prison,” he said in Japanese.

“Ah,” Miyoshi said. So they did have those here. “So you never kill? Even in defense of yourself? Or your wife?”

“Maybe in defense,” he said. “Maybe… a few times; twice.” He shuddered, shivering in his robe. “But I feel horrible about it. I pray for those men's souls.”

“They attacked you?”

“Yes.”

“Then they knew death was the only possible result.”

“Perhaps they did not.”

“Then they were fools. You cannot suffer for fools, Madokusu-san.” At Brian's silence, he continued, “I will make this clear now. I am to take you to Nagasaki because Kayano-sama asked it of me and I consented. Along the way, I will kill anyone who stands in our path, and people will stand in our path. If you find this arrangement disagreeable, you can turn yourself into the authorities and be crucified. Then I will have failed and must end my life. So we will all die. That is your choice. If you find my behavior disgusting, it is because you are ignorant in the ways of necessity.”

Brian didn't know what to say. For once, his clever tongue failed him. Miyoshi was so perfectly serious. The ideal world around them—so beautiful and peaceful—was marred by a severity of law, or lack thereof. Which it was, Brian couldn't tell. By Miyoshi's count, his actions were lawful, and it was clear he would not hesitate to repeat them. He cared little for either of them, and yet he would leave a trail of bodies in their wake to get them to shelter in the foreigners' port. “I cannot understand it. It is so different from—well, the rest of the world.”

“It is Japan. It is not the rest of the world.”

He could not bring himself to dispute that unshakable logic, at least, not at the moment. “So sorry, I did not understand.” He still didn't, but he returned to bed less uneasy. At least Miyoshi was on his side. And having Nadezhda literally at his side was enough to lull him into sleep.

***

Their trip around the village was not terribly costly. Mugin knew his way around much better and directed them to a quiet inn and bathhouse of some sort.

“Seems we'll be like the Romans,” Brian said to his wife in Romanian. “Will you be all right by yourself?”

“For a bath, I'd do almost anything,” she said, and they parted. The bath was an open hot spring, separated by gender with a wooden wall. Brian waited until his wife had gone, but hesitated in his robe and sandals at the carved stone steps leading down in the water.

“Shy
gaijin
,” Mugin said, leaning against the rock wall, completely nude. Fortunately the night and the water disguised his lower half. Next to him was a meditative Miyoshi, eyes closed. “Come on. We want to see if you barbarians have tails.”