The Rebel and the Gaijin Part 2: Mark of the Karasu By: Tuwaki Mizumo Zan Shutani Houkiku For Tuwaki Mizumo, admiring the beatiful morning was a given. Eyes on the sky, she let a smile curl up upon her lips, watching a flock of birds circle the air and break northbound. It was mid morning and she was trying to teach Yahiko the secret of her speed. They were outside since they knew that Mizumos' speed would break the Dojo down. "Now, all you have to do is relax, think of nothing, then strike, once you are able to reach your limit you will you master it." *Great, I sounded like father,* she thought. "Alright, then I run and strike, ne? Well alright Ne-chan," Yahiko closed his eyes relaxed then opened them up. He lunged at Mizumo... and ran straight into a tree as she moved aside. Mizumo laughed, "Nice try, you could've almost hit me... if I were asleep, ototo." "I feel so encouraged." Yahiko said, his voice filled with sarcasm, "You are just too fast!" Mizumo sighed, "Oi, just keep trying..." She trailed of as they both heard bullets in the distance. Mizumo almost drew her swords, but suddenly remembered it could only be one person. Both went to that part of the Dojo grounds where the sound of bullets were coming from... Small fragments of broken glass littered the garden floor as Zan's last shot shattered the bottle into unrecognizable pieces. The Gaijin Swordsman let out a deep breath, inhaled another wad of fresh air mixed with a little gunsmoke. "My morning ritual." Zan twirled the Johnny No More and snapped the chamber open, reaching to his belt for spare bullets. "The problem with revolvers is that reloading is manual. Maybe in the future, slapping some ammunition into a gun won't be such a bane." One by one, Zan inserted a new bullet into each hole of the chamber. Finished, he fetched six used sake bottles from a nearby collection and set them up. "Thank God for gracious hosts like Kaoru Kamiya." Instead however, of arranging them all in front of him in a row, he set them up around him on wooden posts in roughly a circle. "That should do it." Zan held his gun up to his ear, cocked the hammer and closed his eyes, his mind's eye placing him in a dusty town, the rising sun at his back, surrounded by a pessel of six bandits who had him surrounded and were ready to plug him with enough lead to resemble a pencil. "Draw." With a bang, his first shot flew at the bottle straight ahead of him, while the succeeding bullet fired from the hip going right. He readjusted his aim and fired diagonally left, followed by a shot over his shoulder, imagining one of the bandits was going to get the drop on him from behind. He turned and finished the last two, the sound of both bottles breaking almost simultaneous. The Samurai Gunman grinned, surveyed his blasted targets. The bottles exploding had come within milliseconds of each other. "Finesse. Not much use in a fight, but nice to look at anyway." With a puff of air, the smoke billowed away from the Johnny No More's barrel, and his immediate line of sight cleared to see Mizumo and Yahiko. The dark-haired boy looked relatively apathetic but seemed otherwise impressed. Mizumo was smiling brightly and Zan found himself smiling back. "A little movement of the lips can be very contagious." He bowed in greeting. "Mornin' you two." "Good morning, Zan!" Zan could tell by the look on Mizumo's face that she was more than impressed. Of course, Mizumo had seen guns before, but never up close and personal like now. *I wonder if I can learn...* "Hey Zan, can I try, I won't be any trouble, just that well... I love trying new things, please let me try! Please!" Something in the girl's eyes was irresistible and so eager that Zan couldn't refuse. She was close to ripping his arm off, so he reloaded the Johnny No More to placate her. As he did, he grinned. "Y'know, that's the first time I've heard someone in this country asking me to teach her how to handle a gun. Quite a lot of Japanese think firearms an undesirable weapon compared to a sword." Mizumo chuckled, a pleasant sound that Zan wished could be repeated. "Maybe we ARE a little narrow-minded. But you're looking at a girl who isn't." The blond American shrugged. "Okay. Here you go." He flipped the gun over so that he held it by the barrel and the handle was in front of her. As she took it into her right hand, he noted that she tried to raise and aim it one-handed but immediately ended up using both. "Mizumo, that's my own special revolver. It's no ordinary gun. You need to be prety strong to carry it one-handed like I do." He withdrew the last six bottles of his 'stash' and set them all up in a horizontal row before her. He then walked behind her and looked over her shoulder, guided her arms to improve her aim. "Lean forward, Mizumo. The bang this gun gives might be enough to send you flying back." "All right," Mizumo aimed the gun... and was about to pull the trigger... "Oh yeah, my gun is single action: you have to recock the hammer after each shot." Zan added. "I saw you shoot this gun before Zan, I can do it," Mizumo sounded rather impatient, she was eager to try. "All right, just letting you know." Zan stepped away and crossed his arms. "Maybe automatic weapons will also become a possibility. But right now, aside from gatling guns, that's not likely." Mizumo slowly, but surely, pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening and she almost toppled over from the bang, but she kept firm. The bullet crashed straight into one of the bottles and burst it. "Not bad, try it again." Mizumo recocked the hammer and pulled the trigger again, a bit faster now. Another bottle broken. Through the third to fifth shot, Mizumo hadn't missed, and was getting faster. But the sixth shot was a tad bit off... "Oops," Mizumo gave a nervous laugh as an enraged Kaoru, clad in a white and blue hakama, confronted them and held up one of her undergarments, which happened to sport a neat hole that hadn't been there before. "WHO DID THIS?!" Mizumo croaked, "I... I..." she began to stammer as the thought of Kaoru's bokken crashing down to her head came to view. *I'm done for...* But before she could say anthing else, Zan cut her off. For some odd reason, Mizumo noted that she could no longer feel the weight of the gun in her hand. Much to her astonishment, she turned a little and saw the Johnny No More back with Zan. "What...?" Zan bowed penitently. "I apologize, Miss Kamiya. I thought it would be safe, firing off a few rounds here." Kaoru folded her arms and let out a slight humph, as Yahiko sniggered in the diretion of her under-kimono. "Well, in case you didn't know, all the clothes are being hung to dry out here. That's NOT what I'd call safe." "Very well. I won't be firing anymore guns around here." Zan bowed once more, and Kaoru, since he HAD apologized sincerely, sighed and nodded. "It's all right, as you are new here. Just be careful next time around, ne?" She then redirected her attention to a rapidly vanishing Yahiko, yelling at him something concerning an unswept backyard. "Will do, Ma'am." Zan spun the gun on its' trigger, slipped it back into the holster, then walked off without a word. Mizumo watched him go, felt a twinge of guilt. It had been on her account that Zan had been reprimanded, and still he had stood up and taken the blame. "It's not fair!" She ran after him, clapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Zan, thanks, you didn't have to do that." Zan shrugged nonchalantly. "Save for a hole through one of Ms. Kamiya's kimonos, it's no big deal. No harm done." Mizumo continued. "Why did you take the blame when it was clearly my fault?" The American turned, sky-blue eyes on hers of violet, and smiled wryly. "Because I should have known better to recall the first rule of gunfighting." Mizumo gave him a quizzical look. She had no idea gunfighting actually HAD rules. "And what's that?" "Never let a first-timer go shooting in a field of ladies' underwear." Those words did not sound sensible enough to be considered a rule, and judging the smile on Zan's mouth, it was clearly a joke. She giggled softly at first, but eventually let it grow into a laugh, and Zan joined, albeit lightly. When it was over, Mizumo slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "Now, that little mistake doesn't mean we're over with you teaching me gun-fighting!" Mizumo exclaimed. "Well then, where else can I practice and teach you how to shoot... with no laundry being hung out to dry?" Mizumo began to think a bit, "I got it! Let's try the river, it's not far from here, come on!" She gripped his arm with her hand to lead him there, and just when Zan had adjusted himself to keep from being dragged, Mizumo stopped as quickly as she had started. "Sano, what's wrong?", she inquired. Zan let the girl's hand fall away, saw the young but tall brawler with what seemed to be a newspaper in his hands. The expression on his hardened and seasoned face was neutral, but his brown eyes betrayed something akin to deep anger and even a little horror. He looked up, eyes right on Zan, and after awhile got the words out. "You're not going to like this.", he said as he calmly handed the paper to the American. The Gaijin Swordsman, after a moment's hesitancy, accepted the paper like it was an explosive that would detonate if he held it the wrong way and glanced at the headline. And a cold fist grabbed his heart. Mizumo watched as Zan pored through the news. She could easily have just peeked over his shoulder to see what the matter was, but she was intrigued and wary of the dark look in his eyes. Suddenly, Zan tossed the paper back to Sano and before she could blink, had run out through the gate, calling "Tell Ms. Kamiya I'll clean the roof later." The lilac haired girl blinked in wonder, a cloud of dust dissipating where Zan had once stood. "What's wrong with him?" Seconds later, another dirt cloud joined the first. Mizumo ran out onto the street after the gaijin, nearly running full on into a passing carriage. The horses rose up on their hind legs and neighed, and the coachman was torn between pacifying them and yelling at Mizumo. Muttering apologies and picking up her pace, she finally caught up, slowing down next to the foreigner, her eyes filled with wonder and worry. "Slow down, Zan. What's wrong? Obviously something in that newspaper bothered you... a lot. Zan tell me, what's the matter?" Zan hurried on, not answering at first, much less looking at Mizumo. After awhile of prodding from the girl, the American finally relented. "Mizumo, if you stick around me any longer now, it'll be dangerous. I suggest you leave now while the going's good." "I could care less! I have a right to know what's wrong! Just tell me what it is!" Still silent, Zan stopped before the gates to a fair-sized building, Mizumo next to him. Several curious onlookers were clustered outside and were speaking among themselves in hushed tones. It took Mizumo a few seconds, but she recognized the place as a school. And were those wails of despair she was hearing? The look in the gaijin's eyes, though shadowed by the brim of his hat, was of rage. Zan stepped through the gate and Mizumo followed. The sight of police men and civilians, parents crying met her eyes. There was a familiar sickly sweet smell in the air. Blood. And then a horrifying scene... The bodies of children, boys and girls lying on the ground dead and slashed, brutally murdered. Mizumo eyes widened and she covered her mouth to stop a scream from coming, tears in her eyes, her knees felt weak. She crumpled to the ground. *What monster could've done this....* As she was staring in horror, Zan clenched his fist, and slowly forced it out. Dodge City over in Kansas had had a few homicides before, but on all occasions, the victims were all grown men or women. And now, in a country that placed high value on honor, someone had just slain children. "Who the hell could sink so low?" Mizumo turned a little, buried her face in her hands as a mother wept over the body of a dead daughter and was gently led away by a police officer. "Why? Who could do this to children who can't fight back?" The girl felt a hand on her shoulder, looked up to see Zan. "Someone out there's sending me a message.", said the American. Mizumo looked into his eyes, saw a cold fury in the normally devil-may-care blue. The lilac-haired girl drew back a little, but Zan softened the look on his face with a grim half-smile. "He'll get what he wants soon enough." The Samurai Gunman picked his way past the police around him, walked over to the officer in charge of the dispatch, almost bumping into a dazed and pale couple as he did. Resplendent in purple and armed with a saber, the officer nodded at a final question from a bystander, then turned and saw Zan, greeting him with a raised eyebrow. "I had a feeling you'd be here." Zan folded his arms, looked over at the children's corpses and winced. "Can't be the guy who's been slaying shopkeepers. He kills clean." Out loud, he addressed the bearded ascetic- looking inspector. "Any leads?." The policeman wagged his head reluctantly. "Not too much. Fifteen children and two teachers dead, all by evisceration with a long and sharp weapon. Perpetrator could be a wayward Hitokiri. Could be a nut. No witnesses save for one. And even then, he refuses to talk." Zan frowned. "Who's 'he'?" Inspector Shirakawa scribbled one last thing on a piece of paper, then turned and waved to two officers, who momentarily disappeared and returned with a shivering blanket-bundled boy between them. His dark hair was short and blood-matted. The fact that his skin was pale and he had an empty look in his eyes made him resemble one who had indeed survived something he'd never wish to see again. "'He' is a survivor. One of the students." Zan knelt and gently looked into the boy's eyes. Perhaps he had gone through enough trauma to last him a lifetime and did not wish to be reminded of it, but he needed to hear for himself. "Kid, what's your name?" After what seemed an hour, the boy slowly craned his head, the look of the damned etched on his face. Dried tears framed his eyes. "I--I--chiro." "Ichiro,", the Samurai Gunman repeated. "Who did this? What did you see?" Once more the boy fell silent and stared off blankly into space as if Zan never was. No question about it, the boy was scarred for life. Shirakawa waved a hand exasperatedly. "It's no use, Zan. He won't talk. It's been too much for him. Leave him alone." At that, Mizumo stood up and came over to the youngster, purple eyes glistening and threatening to spill out in eithers tears or screams. "Ichiro," she said, placing her hands around his shoulders. "Please let us know. Other people out there might die too if you don't tell us something. Tell us. Please, Ichiro." The boy continued to stare into a void, and just when Zan decided the boy had had enough, Ichiro began to shake and stammer. Apparently, he was trying to get some words out. "What?" "Ka...ra...su..." the boy mumbled, over and over again. The boy broke down as a woman came up and pryed him away. "Stop it! Can't you see my son has had enough?!" Zan, Mizumo, and Shirakawa watched as the woman led the boy away, hugging him and comforting him. The policeman shrugged, relit his pipe. "There goes our witness." Mizumo turned to Zan. "Karasu?" The Gaijin Swordsman shrugged. "Sounds odd. But it's my only clue at the moment." He turned to Shirakawa. "Mind if I see the bodies?" The officer half-closed his eyes and pulled at his beard, gestured a little way off. "Yeah I guess so. Come and take a look." The Inspector glanced over at the bodies, motioned Zan to follow him. The American knelt closer, and almost passed out from the stench. He forced himself to inhale properly through his nose, and soon enough got used to the smell. The faces of the bodies around him bore a myriad of expressions. Some of pure horror and some of pure innocent curiousity, oblivious and totally ignorant of the fate that would befall them. Whatever person had done this to them was likely the last thing they saw. "Have the bodies been moved?" asked Zan. Shirakawa shook his head, clasped his hands together behind his back. "No. Not an inch." The Samurai Gunman nodded. "Good. See this?" He pointed to the bodies of four children, a girl and three boys, who were collapsed on top of each other like fallen dominoes. His finger indicated slit marks on the chests and backs of those children. "Whoever had done this impaled all of them in one stroke. It's either a spear or a nodachi." "Nice insight. What do you make of this?." Inspector Shirakawa traced an odd symbol on the body in front of Zan, that of a young girl of no more than ten. The symbol was odd and carved in blood; that of a man-size crow, the tengu, the mythical Japanese birdman, swooping down on a man whose hands were raised in mortal terror. Zan didn't seem to recognize the symbol. Mizumo stood up and, very reluctantly, forced herself to look. The symbol was vaguely familiar, as if she had seen it somewhere. "That... that symbol..." She couldn't put a finger on it, but it was as if she had seen it before. *These souls must be avenged, they were only children!* Mizumo was deeply disturbed. Zan had mentioned that perhaps someone was trying to get his attention. And that someone was willing to take innocent life to accomplish that. Zan nodded at the Inspector. "Well, I guess that's about it. Got anything to write on with?" Inspector Shirakawa reached into a pocket, handed Zan a small paper and a feather pen, carefully dipping it first into an ink bottle supplied by another officer. Zan then knelt and meticulously copied every detail of the symbol. After a minute or so and one round of redipping, he stood up, rapidly fanned the paper in the air to dry it off, and looked at what he had copied. "Not much a work of art, but it'll do." He then carefully folded it and placed it in his pocket. "The hunter had better check the bushes behind him. He won't like what he'll see..." At the dojo, Zan was explaining what happened at the school to Kenshin. Though Sano had read the paper first, he was still stunned. Kaoru was a tad bit pale and saddened, Kenshin was concerned and Yahiko wasn't happy. Mizumo had been quiet through the explaining, she herself was very depressed. *They were only children, who in the world would want to kill children?* Yahiko looked over at the petrified Mizumo and frowned, Mizumo wasn't the cheerful girl when it came to murder... Kenshin sat cross-legged, sheathed sakabatou over one shoulder, eyes set in a dark but calm line as Zan outlined everything in great detail at the school. More than once, he tugged at his kimono, sickened at some of the grisly details. "Perhaps Zan was of the law enforcement in America. The way he decribes things seems to manifest his powers of observation, a trait most detectives are supposed to have." After describing the childrens' bodies, something which Kenshin was not the least bit happy about, the American withdrew some sort of paper from his pocket, unfolded it. Kenshin leaned forward and looked it over. "And I found this symbol on one of the victims' bodies. The only survivor was a boy, and the only word he could say was 'Karasu'" The ex-Hitokiri's eyes swept the paper. Drawn in black was the image of a tengu swooping down on a man. A dozen possible candidates flashed through his mind, on what kind of maniac would have used the emblem, but none came up right. He shook his head in the negative. "Ne, Shinta," The mellow female voice was followed by a hollow tap as Shutani Houkiku landed a wooden basin she held in her hands lightly on the back of Kenshin's head. "Leave the police work to those paid to do it! You've got better... ..." The basin cluttered to the ground and the woman stood pale and frozen, fingers quivering around the piece of paper stolen from Kenshin's hand. "Where..." She croaked finally, a harsh, ugly sound. "Where did you get this..." "Kiku?" Kenshin sprang to his feet immediately, pressing her to sit down. "Daioubu?" "It is a murderer," Zan started to run through his explanation again. "And I was asking Kenshin if he knows anything about it." "Oro... I think I recall one by the name of Tengu once." "Tengu, eh? Sounds suspicious..." "No! How do you know it's not one of you despicable -gaijin-!" the woman sprang to her feet, eyes flashing in an uncharacteristic fierceness that quite took all aback. "It cannot be! This is a sham, it is not the Tengu!" She glared at the trio, challenging them to challenge her and ran out amidst confused looks. Zan crossed his arms and adjusted his hat a little. "Could be one of us... but save for me, no non-Japanese are familiar with Eastern weapons or fighting styles. Moreover, the guy was a skilled clean killer. Couldn't have been my kind." Kenshin shrugged sheepishly. "Er, sorry, Zan." The American mimicked his move, but in resignation. "She'd give Calamity Jane a run for her money." Before the redhead could ask who Calamity Jane was supposed to be, the Samurai Gunman retrieved the paper and frowned momentarily. "Can't shake the gut feeling that my enemies hired this scorpion, whoever he is." Zan had a feeling that wherever the arms dealers laired, he would find answers. He turned slightly, looked at the tall spiky dark-haired boxer. "Sanosuke..." He looked up, bored brown eyes on his. "Yeah?" "Remember what I said about help?" "Hard to forget, isn't it?" Zan nodded. "Yeah... and now I could use it." He let out a breath and slowly clenched a fist. "I've learned to play by hunches, and right now, it's that I can find this killer where I can find the arms dealers. In this area, where do these guys hang out?" Sano paused a moment, spoke up. "Well... it's pretty much into the slums of the city. On the border between the middle-class area and the poor. It's a bawdyhouse called the Golden Pavillion, and it's owned and run by a local gang. A friend tells me non-Japanese weapons of superior quality are being sold in under-the-table-deals. Suggest you check it out. It's one place to look." The former Sekihotai soldier grinned and cracked his knuckles. "I dunno, Zan. It might be too much for you to handle. Y'might want company..." Zan held his hands up. "Thanks but no thanks. I'll wing these vultures myself." Mizumo began to think hard, almost to the point of hurting. She wanted to avenge the children and their families. Her sadness and shock turned into anger and determination, she would help Zan. She had a feeling, eversince she had laid eyes on the ominous symbol, that she would be involved in this. "Zan-san, Kenshin-san," The men turned to her. She held her chin up, laid a hand on her swords. "I want to help find this murderer, these children must be avenged and after what I saw, I know that symbol is familiar as if... I don't know... like I've seen it before." She looked at Zan with imploring eyes. "Please, Zan. Let me help you." The Samurai Gunman frowned. Mizumo might as well have been asking someone to grant her a death wish. Whoever had slaughtered an entire school could well do the same or worse to one person. Being careful was to be expected, but here was Mizumo, offering to fight alongside him and bring the murderer to justice. Zan was definitely tempted by the offer of support and backup. A fighter like Mizumo would be an invaluable ally. And yet... he did not want her to rush recklessly into a hunt such as this. "She's only a child. If she's not careful, one more would be added to the children and teachers already slain. I don't want that." After a silence, he spoke up at last, slowly and carefully, but firmly. "Mizumo...I've seen you fight, and I know you're anything but good. But I don't want to have you running off and risking your life like that. Leave it to me to avenge those children." And as he spoke those words, he picked himself up, and with a slide of the shoji door, left the room. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty at what he had said, but it WAS true. Mizumo had much to live for, and he couldn't put her in danger. Sanosuke Sagara smirked. "Yeah right, remember that when you make it back here with a dismembered arm...or worse." Mizumo glared at Sano for such a comment. He didn't notice and for once, she didn't care. She felt dejected, she really wanted to avenge so many lost young ones... "I'm going to my shop, I need to get things there straightened a bit..." "Mizumo, now you be careful..." Kaoru said, her voice a bit choked up, "I don't want anything to happen to you..." Mizumo made a small, faint smile, "Don't worry, I have samurai blood in me, I will be be able to protect myself..." With that, Mizumo went out of the Dojo, sniffed, and headed to her shop... * * * Mizumo swept the ground in her shop, her eyes brimmed with tears. The scene was still buried in her mind, all those bodies of children. She soon found herself wondering about her father's death...*Father...you've must have been so lonely, did you died quickly, slowly? Did the blade or bullet hurt or did you not feel it?* "Father..." she choked and tears dripped down her eyes, she laid her head in her hands and cried. She wiped the tears away and happened to look at the window... Her eyes widened. It could have been a lack of sleep, or maybe even Kaoru's cooking, but something was staring at her through the window. A small rain rendered the window's view distorted due to water droplets, but what seemed to be staring back at her was a helmet. The helmet piece of centuries old samurai- armor. And a pair of cold yellow eyes behind it. *Ghost?* She blinked once and the thing vanished. "Nani...?" She shook her head, "I'm seeing things, I need some rest..." She went to a table, sat down, and rested her head down there, her eyes tired from all the tears that had been shed, she slowly closed her eyes, and let herself fall to sleep... But a few minutes later, a scream filled the shop... Chaos reigned as Zan lunged forward and brought the Demonslayer up in a thrust to his attacker's chest. The blade of virtually unbreakable steel impaled his target in the heart, then the Samurai Gunman used a thrust kick to release him. The last man behind Zan raised his sword and took a step forward. The blow he would have given could have taken the gaijin's head off... had not a brown-gloved fist slammed into his nose, leaving stars and stripes in the black of his mind. The room around Zan reeked of spilled sake and perfume, and a number of the dancers had panicked and had run away. The gaijin turned and sighted his quarry. The bald man, obviously gaijin like himself and also wearing the familiar frontiersman garb, was staring with eyes and mouth wide open in anything but surprise. "No way you could've beaten my men." He raised his hand with a .44 Frontier in it. Zan however was a fraction of a second ahead of him. A shot and a scream later, and blood gushed from a hole in the man's wrist, the gun clattering on the table. Thus incapacitated, Zan grabbed the man by his neck and shoved him into his face. He was so close he could smell his sweat. And it stank of fear. "I've been at this for the past hour, and I'm starting to get more than a little sick of this. Didn't want to speak with me like civilized men, so I had to take myself down to your level." He whipped out the piece of paper and shoved it into it the man's face, making sure he saw it well. "Tell me what you know 'bout this." The man saw it, a monstrous bird of prey with posture as upright as a human's, and swooping down on a man. "Um...er...I dunno...I get hit in the head a lot..." The Samurai Gunman cocked his revolver, stuffed it up the man's left nostril. Anyone could tell the outlaw was hiding something. "Liars go to hell and wallow in crud." "All right! All right! I do know some! Just put that damn gun somewhere else!" the man yelled, waving his hands wildly. Zan smirked and pulled the Johnny No More away. Most anyone would loosen his tongue when he had a gun barrel stuffed down his nose. "I knew you'd be reasonable. Let's talk..." Minutes later, Zan stepped out the door and into a small drizzle from the sky, leaving the shambles of the whorehouse behind him. The only survivor of course was the thug he had interviewed. And thanks to him, now Zan knew a little about his hunter. "Great. Another merc." The man in question was Jigoro Tatsujin, among the greatest bounty hunters in the underworld, no morals, no qualms about doing anything he was being paid to do. One would know the elusive mercenary immediately from his black and gold samurai armor, which was as old as it looked. He had killed over a dozen targets and was up for grabs by almost every crime boss in the city. Tatsujin was already hard to find, and his demands were high: if you couldn't afford him, you didn't know he existed. And Jason Rand was more than in a high position to avail of the mercenary's services. Zan sighed. It could be that he himself was the cause of the schoolchildren's deaths, since Rand had most likely hired Tatsujin to deal with the threat he posed to the foreign arms cartel. "How many more people are gonna have to die because of the things I do?" Pondering that was on his mind, when a keening sound ripped through the air, and Zan took a while to realize, it came from Mizumo's shop. A scream. "No! Tatsujin... if he harms her...!" The Gaijin Swordsman sped down the road, heart racing, and burst through the door, stopped himself with a slide, and drew sword and gun... only to see Mizumo with her head in her hands, crying. Mizumo turned around, stood up and was about to lash out her swords when she noticed who it was... "Zan..." She sat down again and sulked, her face horribly pale from her nightmare. "Mizumo...what happened? I heard you scream-" "I had a nightmare, that wretched emblem. It's horrible," she broke into tears again, " I saw the symbol just as it was on the little girl's body. Except... the birdman was feasting on the corpse of my father. And then... he raised a hand out to me and pleaded my help. But I could do nothing, couldn't raise my swords. I was afraid!" She stammered. "Right at that moment, the creature looked at me with cruel yellow eyes, laughed and said, "You will be next."" "Mizumo," Zan stepped forward, eyes filled with concern even though she wasn't hurt but she was clearly scared out of her wits, "Slowly now..." "I know who did this... but he couldn't be alive... he couldn't". Mizumo's voice broke and she fell silent, unable to say more, shuddering from the horrible nightmare... The American stepped forward, lightly embraced the girl. "There, there now." He gently looked her in the eyes, letting her find a hub of reassurance in it. "Tell me everything." The lilac-haired girl was somewhat pale, so Zan grabbed a glass and filled it with water. "Here. You don't look too well." Mizumo nodded gratefully and drained the glass, then she set it down and fell silent as if composing herself. She began reulctantly. "Well... it was ten years to the end of the Tokugawa era. A man named Kenjuro Kyodai was a high-ranking Shogunate daimyo. An excellent military tactician he was, as well as a powerful swordsman. As the story goes, he was supposedly a loyal servant to the Shogun, but moonlighted as a murderer who targeted his own colleagues and important people in the Shogunate. Moreover, he had plans to betray it to the Imperial loyalists and grab a seat of power for himself once they won. A man exposed his treachery and Kyodai was imprisoned, to be executed by drowning. Rumors are that he eluded death at the last minute and got away. That was the end of a legend." The girl choked back a sob, and Zan laid his hands on her shoulders. "And?" Mizumo looked into his eyes, a haunted look in them. "When Kyodai was still the murderer, he would alleviate suspicion from himself by leaving his mark on some of the people he killed. No honorable samurai would take such a thing for his emblem." Zan's eyes flashed beneath his hat. "You mean...?" She nodded. "Tengu devouring a man. It was his signature. His weapon of choice was the nodachi." The American bowed, all the images of those slashed and impaled children. Awfully coincidental, considering the weapon that was supposedly used to do the job. It made sense now. "Mizumo...how do you know this guy?" She wiped away a few tears and shivered. "Normally I'd say that it's because everyone knows him...but..." Zan nodded encouragingly. "Don't worry. I'm listening." The lilac-haired girl sniffed. "The man who exposed Kyodai as a traitor... was my father." Mizumo hid her face in her hands. It was all coming back now. Her father standing tall and proud as the samurai led Kyodai off to prison and execution. And the ex- daimyo's hard glittering eyes fixed on her father. And her. Something clicked at the back of Mizumo's mind. "Kyodai... could he have had something to do with father's death?" She looked down, horribly scared, angered, and sad all at once. *Maybe he could've been behind the murder...* She shuddered, she wanted to avenge her fathers' death, memories of her and her father appeared and circled her mind. Tears went down from her eyes and she sniffled, regretting the fact that she couldn't at least help stop her father from getting killed, *I know I wasn't there... but maybe I could've done something...* She slowly took a seat, wiped away her tears. "Zan... I am going with you whether you like it or not." The Gaijin Swordsman shook his head. "Mizumo, you'd better get some rest." The lilac-haired girl looked up at him, eyes blazing with a quiet fire. "Fine. But on one condition: from now on, I'm with you on this. Like it or not, Zan, you can't stop me. As far as I can see, I'm very much concerned here." Zan sighed, held a hand to his forehead. It was true. Mizumo was stubborn and wouldn't let him go anywhere on the hunt for Tatsujin without her. "And yet... it's easier not having to worry about anyone." But she also had a point: SHE WOULDN'T LEAVE HIM ALONE. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Very well. I may not like it, but we're in this together. If this man is indeed connected to the fate of your father, then I guess you've got every right to be with me now." For the first time since the school, the rebel smiled. "I do." She stole a glance outside the window. The rain had picked up and was slashing down in sheets. She turned to Zan, "Ne, Zan, why don't we make some lunch for us, the rain has picked up quite a bit and we might catch a cold running back to Dojo..." Zan look over at her and made a skeptical smirk, "I concur. But you? Cook? I thought only real ladies could do that-" The girl froze, slowly turned, eyes staring dynamite. Zan's eyes dropped to her hands. They miraculously had a broom in it. Already, the Gaijin Swordsman was beginning to smell pain ointments... Jason Rand finished the cup of tea, yawned and stretched upon signing another document. The contract on the desk before him assured yet another gang out there that 'Mr. X' would be happy to supply them with five crates of .44 Springfield Model 1873 rifles, among the best from stateside's military storehouses. Though they possessed the capacity for but one shot, reloading was fast, shots were accurate even without a scope, the rifle itself was lightweight, and topping it off, had good range to boot. Perfect for long distance sharpshooters who needed to eliminate their target with a minimum amount of shots so as not to be located and pinned down by opposing forces. "And right now, the Cavalry probably wonders why a lot of the weapon orders they put in never make it to their bases 100% accounted for." He chuckled and replaced the feather pen into a stand that doubled as a small flag of the Confederacy and settled back into the leather-padded chair. "Even I could use forty winks." He closed his coat around himself, bowed his head and closed his eyes, the grandfather clock to the right of his desk ticking away the seconds. Save for that and the rain outside, all was quiet. Then the sound of the downpour intensified, followed by a rush of cold air, and the thump of two wet metallic boots caught the American's attention and woke him fully. Many of his rivals had made attempts on his life before. This would only be one more. He swiveled around in his chair, Colt Peacemaker up and ready to fire. The large window behind him was flung wide open and the curtains were flapping in the wind. He took one look at the intruder, and recognized the black and gold armor. Rand sighed and with a twirl, returned his gun to its' holster. "Don't you assassins ever use the door?" "I have many enemies, and I've learned to be cautious. I wouldn't be much of a mercenary if I used such conspicuous ways, would I?" said the voice behind the armor, if somewhat flatly. Rand shrugged. "You could be right. Hold on while I get rid of this draught." He stood up and walked past the mercenary, some rain splashing on his face and suit, and slammed the windows shut. He returned to his seat and observed Tatsujin for a few seconds, then spoke up, tossed a bundled-up piece of paper to the warrior. As Tatsujin caught and opened it, Rand growled. "Was THAT really neccessary?" The man who used to be Kenjuro Kyodai barely gave a look at the headline. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the paper into the air behind him, and a whistle of steel later, the paper fell to the floor in pieces, like so many snowflakes. Reptilian yellow eyes dug into Rand's. "Though you are my employer, Rand, I won't accept you telling me how to do things. I take orders, but I do it my way. You do want me to eliminate Zan, right?" The American gritted his teeth. "Yes. But I wasn't expecting anything as lowdown as that. It's an honor to kill a man fair and square. It's another thing to pick on things that cannot fight back." A low laugh sounded from the warrior. "And now YOU speak of honor, gaijin? You may go on and think you have morals despite your being a criminal, but you'll have to put up with me. You did say I was at liberty to use any tactics I wished to have Zan dead. What I just did to those children is a part of it." Rand fell silent, and Tatsujin turned to leave. As he did, he looked back at the businessman momentarily. "It is my job. I am the best there is and you don't get any less than that. Zan WILL be dead, I will get my money, and we'll all be happy." The ronin leaped out the window, into the falling rain, water from the heavens slipping down his armor. His thoughts drifted to that time, practically a decade ago, when one of his own had succeeded in ending his career and almost his life. That man was no longer among the living, but his daughter had grown up and was living here in Tokyo. What luck then, that his target and his enemy's daughter actually knew each other. Tatsujin smiled as he leaped through the rooftops. The nodachi on his back was almost screaming for blood. Tuwaki Mizumo had to know by now who he was and that he was here. All he had to do was wait. Zan too, would be digging his own grave. "Go on and dig deeper, Zan. You'll never get back out." * * * [End Part Two/Mark of the Karasu]