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Byakuya felt more foolish than ‘incognito.’ Still, he had to admit that Eishirō had chosen clothes no Kuchiki would normally be caught dead in. Byakuya wasn’t even certain what fabric this ill-fitting outfit was made of--cotton, perhaps, or hemp? It certainly wasn’t silk. The cut and the color were simple to the point of being crude, and it was at least one size too large for him. Senbonzakura was tucked against his side with nothing more than thick cord.
The hooded traveling cloak, however, was quite nice. Made of some kind of oilskin, it felt warm and protective--possibly even lightly armored.
“Don’t you think this stands out too much?” Byakuya asked Eishirō as they left the estate via the backdoor, the servants giving Byakuya a double-take as he passed.
“No,” Eishirō said, “You’re carrying a weapon. I had to make sure you looked like the sort of person who would put what little money he had toward the important things: good steel and a decent, all-weather cloak. Besides, your household provides them to all their retainers. It won’t look strange for me to be traveling with an armed Kuchiki bodyguard.”
It was clear Eishirō had thought this through. Pushing hair away from his face, Byakuya said, “Very well.”
Eishirō peered over at Byakuya and frowned, as he opened to gate to the tradesmen’s road. “Just don’t talk much, okay, milord? Do your silent thing, will you?”
“‘Silent thing’?” Byakuya scoffed. “It’s not a ‘thing.’ I’m… naturally contemplative. And you should drop the honorifics.”
“Yes, m’—“ Eishirō stopped himself just in time. “What should I call you?”
They walked along the streets of the Seireitei. No one gave them more than a passing glance, having come, as they did, from the back of the estate. The streets were bustling with early evening crowd. Carts rattled along the cobblestone. Several Sixth Division shinigami passed by and gave Eishirō a brief nod. Their gaze passed curiously over Byakuya, but clearly they didn’t recognize their captain with his face and Senbonzakura mostly hidden. Once they were gone, Byakuya felt flushed with a strange sort of pride at having passed by unnoticed. “Do you remember the name we used when I was younger?”
“Of course, my lord,” Eishirō said. Then, realizing his mistake, started over, “I mean, of course, Yuka.”
The silly inversion of the middle part of his name made Byakuya laugh. He’d not been a terribly clever or inventive youth, but the codename had been simple and memorable enough that it’d stuck.
When Eishirō turned north and wound their way through the narrow streets towards the Black Ridge Gate, Byakuya wondered again about the nature of Eishirō’s errand. “Are we headed to the North First District?”
“We are,” Eishirō acknowledged.
Byakuya suppressed a sigh. “This friend of yours expects much from you. It’ll take us until nightfall to reach the gate alone.”
Plus, they’d have to pass right through Kenpachi’s territory, which, as the sun set, became more and more like a rough party district.
“Perhaps the young master would prefer to travel by palanquin?”
“The young master would prefer flash step,” Byakuya replied in an equally dry, teasing tone. “Need I remind you? I’m a grown man now; I could easily carry you, Eishirō. We could be there in a matter of moments.”
“Yet, somehow, I have no desire to experience high speeds slung over your shoulder like a sack of rice, Yuka,” Eishirō said.
“You would prefer to be cradled against my chest, like a lover?” Byakuya smiled.
“You can carry Lieutenant Abarai?”
They’d entered the fringes of the area around the Eleventh Division. Izakaya employees rolled out barrels of sake and dusted off porch seating in preparation for the increased nighttime activity. In fact, the atmosphere was like a festival, despite the fact that it wasn’t even a week’s end. Food trucks set up along the road; the smell of cheap, frying food filled the air. “Renji outweighs me by thirty pounds. Plus, he’s an ungainly length. He would be difficult to carry like that. I was thinking of Hisana. You’re more her size, at any rate.”
“Be fair,” Eishirō said with a cluck of his tongue, sounding affronted. He splayed a hand on his trim chest, across the black silk of his servant’s kimono. “I’m average height for a man. It’s not my fault that you grew up so tall.”
“It most certainly is. You were responsible for feeding me,” Byakuya said. “My height is entirely your fault.”
Eishirō smiled warmly. “I guess I did all right, then. You turned out well enough.”
Though had he? Byakuya frowned, thinking of the words he’d exchanged with Soi Fon. Was she serious about a prison having been built for him? What would have precipitated such a thing? Shame colored his cheeks, thankfully hidden by the hooded cloak, as he considered the possibilities. Could word of the accident with his young lover have gone beyond the family? What of Senkei Senbonzakura Kageyoshi and the man he swore to kill with his own hand? Had news of those less… controlled moments travelled? Had they made internal enemies for him that Byakuya hadn’t even realized? Perhaps coupled with his tendency to defy his family and traditions—
Ah, the crushing irony. He’d worked his whole life to be the perfect, law-abiding noble shinigami only to discover he’d fooled no one except himself.
And, then there was Soi Fon’s final threat. It was becoming painfully clear that Byakuya had no command over the beast that raged deep within his own soul. To think he’d once admonished Renji for not having an adequate hold on his demons. Byakuya had clearly mastered none of his own.
“A thousand pardons,” came Eishirō’s voice, unusually shy and uncertain, cutting through Byakuya’s dark thoughts, “I shouldn’t presume to take credit for the man you’ve become—“
“Nonsense,” Byakuya said with a wave of his hand to banish the misunderstanding. “You may certainly lay claim to any good in my heart. You and your father were my first tutors and taught me everything about being a gentleman.” What he didn’t say, of course, was that Byakuya’s grandfather was likely responsible for the kind of noble Byakuya had become—which, it seemed, was anything but a gentle man. “I was just considering the ways in which I’ve failed to live up to your instruction.”
To his credit, Eishirō didn’t try to get Byakuya to deny any imperfection, he merely nodded noncommittally.
They walked together in silence, along the increasingly rowdy streets. The walls surrounding the Eleventh’s barracks were visible just ahead. Their large, rough planks still closed for the day. Soon enough they’d swing open, releasing their marauding, barbaric horde. The neighborhood, at least, seemed happy about the prospect. All along the lane, lanterns were being lit and ‘open for business’ signs turned out. Kenpachi’s own little strange economy, Byakuya thought, watching the food stall vendors greeting the tavern owners jovially, clearly excited at the potential profit to be gleaned from the drunken revelry.
“Are you sure you won’t allow me to carry you?” Byakuya asked Eishirō.
“Try to enjoy the evening, Yuka,” Eishirō said with a smile and a gentle admonishment.
“Patience,” Byakuya said, “Has never been my strong suit, particularly when there’s an expedient solution available.”
“An evening stroll is not a problem in need of fixing, young master.”
Byakuya grimaced, feeling far too much like the child he once was, “Yes, Shiyōnin-sama.”
Eishirō glanced up at Byakuya sharply, and then shook his head fondly. “We can’t arrive too early at any rate. The horishi isn’t expecting me until late.”
Horishi? Byakuya stopped in his tracks. “You’re not thinking of getting a tattoo, are you, Eishirō?”
Turning to look back where Byakuya had paused on the sidewalk, Eishirō blinked and had a guilty look on his face. “Oh, I… did I say that out loud?”
“You did.”
Byakuya waited as Eishirō seemed to decide what he wanted to say. “Oh, um…” Eishirō started, and then he took a breath, as though plunging into deep water. “No tattoos for me. I’m just delivering a payment to the horishi for someone else.”
Someone else? Byakuya started walking again with a sigh. “Renji,” Byakuya surmised. “It must be Renji. Where on earth did he find space for new tattoos?”
“I’m not certain, my lord. He didn’t show me,” Eishirō said. When Byakuya came up beside him, Eishirō gave him a curious look. “You’re not angry?”
“That Renji would ask you to run his errands? Or that he’s apparently negligent with his bills and debts?” Byakuya asked with a slight shrug. “I find neither of these things particularly surprising. Though, I am a little curious about a tattoo artist would do work on IOU, but Renji’s reputation is solid enough, I suppose. It’s not as though he’s unemployed.”
“Ah yes, well--the lieutenant did leave a bit of collateral behind,” Eishirō said, his gaze sliding from Byakuya.
“Indeed?”
Eishirō coughed.
No other words were necessary; Byakuya knew. That red-haired idiot had left behind the kenseikan shard necklace. “My token of love,” Byakuya said thinly, with a shake of his head. “I see. I may have to kill him, after all.”
Byakuya tried speaking calmly, without heat, but Eishirō took in a sharp breath. “Please, my lord, I’m sure it was a mistake. When he came to me, he was very desperate to get it back.”
“Oh, I’m sure he was.”
Eishirō made a nervous little sound, clearly aware of just how angry and seething Byakuya was under the surface. Despite himself, swirls of reiatsu pulled at the cloak. How could he? How could Renji have traded something so precious and personal for something so stupid and… just stupid.
Words failed. Byakuya was so angry he could hardly think straight.
Eishirō stumbled.
For a moment, it didn’t register to Byakuya what had happened. Then, with effort he pulled in the spiritual pressure that threatened to shake the tiles from the rooftops. He stopped to help Eishirō back to his feet.
Behind them, the sounds of gates creaking open were followed by a whooping cheer as the Eleventh spilled out into the neighborhood to begin their evening festivities. Once Eishirō was steady and dusted off, Byakuya picked up the pace. The last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by the merrymaking thugs of the Eleventh at this moment. Turning to glance at the outpouring of ruffians, Byakuya said with an irritated snap, “I blame them, I do. That night Renji wouldn’t stay with Rukia and me; he had to run off to be with those despicable former colleagues of his, probably on a drinking binge. What should I expect? Those people bring out the worst in him.”
“Oh, no,” Eishirō said quietly. “I’m fairly certain the running off was my fault.”
“Don’t make excuses for him,” Byakuya snarled.
“I’m not.” Eishirō was nearly trotting to keep up with Byakuya’s increased pace. “I upset him that night, I know I did.”
“How? How could something you said have made any different to the raging idiocy of that thoughtless animal?” Byakuya stopped to let Eishirō catch up, and to take a few breaths to keep himself under control. It was difficult. Dust eddies swirled around his feet despite his efforts.
“The Lady Masama,” Eishirō said, somewhat breathless and looking ready to drop to his knees again. “She asked me to have ready a ritual of purification. As the staff is always completely up-to-date on such things, I could only imagine who she intended it for—especially given what she’d just learned about the two of you. When I mentioned it in passing that evening, it appeared Lieutenant Abarai had never heard of the rite. I didn’t want to say anything out of turn. I thought he would ask his questions of you—you who are in a much better position to explain things properly. It seems he rushed out instead.”
A picture began to form in Byakuya’s head. He wasn’t sure all of it made sense, but he could imagine Renji learning that he wasn’t ‘pure enough’ in Auntie Massey’s eyes would have stung. Anyone could feel hurt by the ‘dirty’ implication of such a thing, but Renji… he always had so many issues.
“I wish he would talk to me,” Byakuya said through clenched teeth, though he felt the bulk of his anger slipping away, “Before he does such ridiculously moronic things, like giving away my token of love on the very first night I presented him with it.”
Eishirō nodded wordlessly.
They continued toward the northern gate at a slower pace. They could see the head and broad back of the dark-skinned giant, Danzōmaru, who guarded the gate looming above the rooftops in the distance. The light was fading, but the blocky stripe of tribal tattoos visible on the giant’s head reminded Byakuya of Renji. “I don’t understand him,” Byakuya confessed, still struggling to not be angry. “He found out about the ritual, and decided, what? That he needed to mark himself even more lowborn and spend my kenseikan to do it?”
“Possibly,” Eishirō said. “He’s very proud.”
“Proud?” Byakuya had many words in his mind at the moment that described Renji, but proud was not one of them.
They’d nearly reached the end of the road. Beyond the gate, Byakuya could see the wide empty expanse of the ‘no man’s land’ that separated the Rukongai from the Seireitei. The giant nodded at them as they passed by his mountainous form. “Maybe proud isn’t the right word,” Eishirō said. “But he’s always very… aware of where he came from and what it… cost. Perhaps, finding out that he still wasn’t good enough made him—well, of course, I can’t say, but perhaps he retreated to what he knew, where he couldn’t fail.”
As they stepped into the Rukongai, Byakuya could feel a slight tickle over his skin as they passed through the kidō barrier. Eishirō had said nothing about Renji that Byakuya hadn’t known if he’d thought about it, but the steward had articulated things in a way that made it all, somehow, clearer.
Damn it. It was impossible to stay mad in light of such reasonableness. Byakuya let much of his anger go with a sigh.
“Have you always been this annoyingly wise?” Byakuya asked after they had walked a ways.
Eishirō smiled demurely, and dipped his head, “No, my lord. Today is just an especially good day. Perhaps the stars have aligned.”
Indeed, it would take a miracle to untangle Renji’s thought process. Even though Byakuya felt he understood the impulse a little thanks to Eishirō, Byakuya would still have some choice words for Renji when they spoke next. It didn’t help matters that Byakuya knew that Renji hated the kenseikan. He’d hoped that Renji would understand how important it was, how valuable—for more than its component parts of jade and bone. But, no. Even making it a symbol of Byakuya’s love and commitment had meant nothing to Renji. Apparently, he’d cast it aside at the first opportunity.
Mere hours later.
Damn him, anyway.
Many of the shutters of the Rukongai machiya were drawn for the evening, their businesses closed and houses locked up tightly. This close to the gate, however, a few front shops stayed open in the hopes of attracting custom from the other side of the wall. The most prominent townhouse’s lattice was painted a deep vermillion marking it as an okiya, the home for orian trainees.
Next door was a tea house, its name prominently on the font, “Black Ridge Gate Tea.” From the meager garden in the front and the curtain obscuring the entrance, Byakuya knew, however, no tea was served there.
Instead, a young apprentice stood outside in a bright gold and red kimono, her hair done in an elaborate style and dripping with glass beads in colors to rival the setting sun. Her face painted to accentuate her pale skin and dark eyes; she smiled politely at them as they passed, but very pointedly did not meet their eyes.
Byakuya grunted at the sight of her. “Renji hates the tea houses, did you know?”
“No, I didn’t,” Eishirō said, though Byakuya noticed the steward averted his eyes as he’d walked by the shop and seemed to tense up.
“Do you, as well?”
Eishirō looked trapped. His eyes were wide and his mouth worked, but he clearly didn’t know what to say. “Ah, look, we’re nearly there. I see the tattoo shop just there.”
Byakuya frowned, glancing back over his shoulder at the apprentice orian standing at the doorway of the tea shop. She welcomed a group of shinigami with gracious bows. “Is it the profit we make? Do you find something about it distasteful?”
“It’s not my place to comment, my lord,” Eishirō said.
“It is, if I ask you,” Byakuya pointed out.
Eishirō shook his head. “My opinion is meaningless in any case. I’m responsible for your household, not your businesses.”
“I see,” Byakuya said, letting the matter drop. After all, it was clear Eishirō was afraid of offending him in some way, even though it was becoming obvious that the steward, too, had some mysterious issue with the Kuchiki interests in the tea houses. Perhaps it was just was well Byakuya had offered them to the Third Seat, Miisho.
Byakuya turned his attention to the tattoo parlor. It was, it seemed, perfectly positioned sitting, as it was, between the tea house, and, on the other side, an akachōchin, a red lantern bar. There was a progression of debauchery here, though no respectable tea house would allow someone drunk and freshly tattooed to darken their doorway.
Was that it? The possibility of danger for the women working at the tea houses? Before they left, Byakuya would stop in and make sure that there were an appropriate number of bodyguards. Besides, it would be an excellent source of gossip. As he knew from Hisana, orians often knew much, much more than the average citizens about local politics.
The lettering on the sign out front of the horishi’s shop declared the tattoo artist to be traditionally trained. A sign in the window very clearly noted that work must be paid for in advance. Seeing it, Byakuya shook his head. Renji must have charmed this horishi clear out of his or her senses.
Eishirō and Byakuya were greeted at the door by a slender woman with a curving tribal tattoo on the side of her face that snaked down the length of her long, elegant neck and disappeared into the collar of her plain, un-dyed shitagi. The fine bones of her face were off-set by black spiky hair. The curve of tattoo, dark hair and sharp, angry features reminded Byakuya far too much of a certain deceased Shiba lieutenant and his damnable family crest. Were they everywhere, this outlawed noble clan? Did they exist merely to taunt and annoy him?
She, likewise, took one look at the oilskin cloak and muttered with a similar derision, “Kuchiki.”
Eishirō glanced back and forth between them, but, after clearing his throat, pulled a purse from a hidden pocket of his kimono. “I’ve come to repay Lieutenant Abarai’s debt and retrieve the item he left behind by mistake. I understand you made an arrangement?”
The horishi wasn’t even looking at Eishirō. Her eyes stayed riveted to Byakuya. He thought there might be some kind of argument or a demand for higher pay, but after a long, tense moment, she shrugged. Turning away, she went over to a shelf that contained all the tools of her trade. “I should never take trade,” she muttered as though to herself. “But, if I refused barter, I’d lose more than half my business.” After retrieving it from somewhere well hidden, she held up the shard, dangling off her fingers on its silver chain. “I knew what this was, you know. A less reputable person would have sold it off to the highest bidder. I could be living in a mansion.”
“Only if you could have found a buyer,” Byakuya noted. “If word of it hitting the black market reached the estate, it would have been presumed stolen. You might just as easily have been arrested.”
The horishi snarled a smile as she passed the necklace to Eishirō in exchange for ken. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out, too. Still, for a moment, I had a fortune.”
Such, it seemed, was the fate of the Shiba--to have, only briefly, the world in their hands. Thinking of them, Byakuya said quietly, “You are, perhaps, too decent.”
She blinked at him and then laughed, “Nah, I’m just a big softie. I liked the idiot redhead. His body art is legendary. My master did some of his earlier work, and I was grateful for a chance to see if it was true.”
“See if what was true?” Byakuya asked curiously, watching as she rearranged things on her shelf and slipped the money into some hidey-hole or other.
“That he falls asleep under the needle.”
Byakuya had no idea if that was unusual, though clearly she thought it was. “You’re sure he didn’t just pass out from the alcohol?”
“Oh, I’m sure that played a part. It was still cute—him all drooling and as relaxed as a baby,” she said with a little laugh, turning back around and dusting off her hands on the thighs of her pants. “Easiest damn job of my life. Explains how his lines are so clean. But according to my old master, Mizushuma, it was the same the very first time. And, trust me, not a lot of people snooze peacefully when faced with Inuzuri bokukei.”
“What’s bokukei?” Byakuya asked with a glance at Eishirō to see if he knew. Eishirō returned an equally confused look.
The smile she’d been holding on to faded suddenly. “Oh. I suppose that was a secret. Damn it. Well, I suppose the cat’s out of the bag, I might as well tell you.” She made a circular motion around her lower bicep with two fingers, right where Renji had the two bands on his arms. “Punishment tattoos. Pretty much the only job for an Inuzuri horishi, you understand. That, and work for the yakuza. My master did both until he made enough money to be reassigned to a better district. Anyway, apparently your boy just nodded off like he was getting a massage.”
There was just too much for Byakuya to process all at once. He stood on the matted floor of her townhouse and blinked at her stupidly.
As thoughts whirled in Byakuya’s head, she continued talking as she straightened things in her shop, “You’d think the presence of armed guards would be enough to keep you awake, but, nope, out like a baby. Old Mizushuma must have told me that story a dozen times. He was impressed. I mean, a lot of guys cry. Really tough guys sob and vomit and all sorts of things. It’s not like getting tickled, you know. Some go into a kind of Zen trance, which I think Mizushuma figured at first, but, then this kid, just barely a man, falls into Mizushuma’s arms happy as a clam and sleeps through the whole thing without even twitching. The guard kicked him awake a couple of times, but then had to give up.”
Byakuya’s brain was still far behind the horishi’s chatter. He couldn’t get over what she’d said. Was she suggesting that Renji had first been tattooed as a punishment? “For what?”
“Huh?” the horishi looked at Byakuya.
“Why did Renji face this bokukei, as you call it?”
She shrugged, “Who knows? But, don’t think too hard about it. In Inuzuri the answer is going to be petty theft.” She smiled, “Boy must have been a major repeat offender, though, with shitty enough luck to keep getting caught. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have gone to the trouble—just given him a beating and sent him on his way. My guess is, he must have run afoul of more than just the magistrates… because there aren’t a lot of cops down there. Some rival gang probably ratted him out. Poor kid. Smart enough to figure out how to hide them, though.”
“Yes,” Byakuya agreed, thinking of how seamlessly the tiger stripes blended into the bands, “Very clever, indeed.”
“Aw, I didn’t get him in trouble with you, did I? You’re his boss right?” the horishi asked. “Shit. Old man Mizushuma will kill me.”
“This old master of yours is still alive?” Byakuya asked.
Her smile was wan, “Yeah, the lucky bastard is retired. Probably got himself a kenseikan shard and kept his.”
“My lord,” Eishirō piped up in a cautious tone of warning, as though anticipating Byakuya’s thought process. “You’ve learned far more than enough. Let’s leave things here. Lieutenant Abarai’s past belongs to himself alone. If he’d wanted you to know, he’d have told you.”
“They must not have seen them at Academy,” Byakuya said to Eishirō. “I’m sure criminal tattoos are not allowed.”
“Oh, I don’t know, hidden like that?” the horishi said slyly, like she was pleased Renji had gotten away with such deception. “You didn’t know what they were, did you? You think anybody at your fancy school did either? It’s not like they wrote dog on his forehead.”
Which they could have. Byakuya sucked in a startled breath. Seeing Seichi marked like that must have been an even more devastating blow.
“Lucky for your friend, my master refused to do that in Inuzuri,” she said.
Just then the door slid open and a pair of drunken shinigami stood weaving at the threshold. “I want a unicorn,” the taller one slurred, his words barely distinguishable. “Sparkly! With a lavender mane. On my ass. And make him well-endowed, like me!”
It seemed like their cue to leave. Even though Byakuya would have liked to have stayed to ask more questions of the horishi, the drunken shinigami was already dropping his hakama.
“Whoa there, big fella,” she was saying as they slipped out into the night, “I need to see your money first.”
#
Eishirō was just happy this business with the kenseikan shard was finally over and they were headed home. Just outside of the shop, he took a moment to slip the necklace over his head and tuck it under his kimono for safe keeping.
The gate was visible just at the top of the road. It was a relief to see the giant standing guard. The first thing Eishirō would do when they were back, was settle his lordship in with some nice tea and dessert and then--
A light tug on his sleeve directed Eishirō towards the tea house. The tea house? Shocked, he stopped with a force sudden enough to pull his lordship’s grip from the fabric. “Oh, I…” Eishirō wanted to drop down and apologize, but he could only shake his head. “I can’t go in there, my lord. I’m a married man! My wife would kill me.”
Byakuya-sama pursed his lips—a very fearsome look. The disguise, Eishirō decided, worked a little too well. Lord Kuchiki looked nothing like his usual self. He always exuded power, but it was matched perfectly by the stateliness of the captain’s haori and orderly uniform of a shinigami.
Dressed in rags, with his black hair spilling in front of his hooded and shadowed face, he should have seemed diminished. Instead, he looked dangerous, roguish, and menacing—like an outlaw or a mercenary.
“My intentions are not what you think,” Byakuya-sama said with a little impatient sigh. “I have no desire to be unfaithful to Renji. Orian often have the best gossip. I’m hoping to follow up on a rumor.”
Ah! Of course! Now Eishirō was a little embarrassed at his assumptions, and to cover that he asked curiously, “May I ask about the rumor?”
“It seems to me there’s an unusual amount of unrest here in the Rukongai. Renji’s brother and that business with the patrol, plus there’re rumors of shinigami attacking women. Renji told me he suspected an organizing hand. The orian may not know much about things happening far out, but they’ll know if women are being mistreated. Perhaps they might see a pattern where we can’t.”
Eishirō nodded, but he glanced longingly at the gate.
Byakuya-sama tracked Eishirō’s glance and asked, “Will you come in with me? I’m loath to leave you to make your way back to the estate through the Eleventh’s neighborhood alone,” he said, looking in the direction of the tea house. The tiny young thing working at the door in her bright kimono gave them shy, yet-knowing glances. “It should only take a moment, and then we can be on our way.”
Eishirō shook his head, his eyes on the girl. How old was she? Didn’t Miki have a sister that young still out in the Rukon? “I can’t.”
“Would your wife be happier if we spoke to a boy?”
“Oh, much, but I still don’t think this is a good—“
Further argument was cut off when Byakuya-sama motioned to the girl. She approached them with the click of geta on cobblestone. “You have kagema here?” Byakuya-sama asked her with the authority of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. She dipped her head in a demure affirmative, glass beads clanking. At her nod, Byakuya-sama added, “Then we will be seen by your most popular—someone who is requested a lot, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, though she spared Eishirō’s servants’ kimono a brief disapproving look. “Right this way, sirs.”
Once past the curtain, Byakuya seemed to look around, assessing the number of bodyguards or exits or gods knew what, but it added to that sense of a man ready for trouble. Trouble Eishirō sincerely did not want, so he clung close to his lordship’s side as the girl showed them to a table in a private corner of a busy room. Men, most of them low ranking shinigami, sat at low tables throughout the room, being served… hot water? If there were tea being brewed here, Eishirō couldn’t smell a single whiff of it.
Well, he thought, settling into seiza opposite Byakuya-sama, tea was expensive. It could be easily stolen… or eaten, he supposed, by the very desperate. Still, the ultra fancy clothing on the doll-faced women and lack of actual tea made the whole scene surreal, almost farcical. All these people were playing at genteelness, like a giant pretend tea party.
Byakuya must have been thinking something similar because, despite the nature of the business, he said, “Yachiru would love it here.”
An older woman approached their table and set out fine bowls. As she knelt to serve them, she asked in a low voice, “You have an account or wish to start one?”
“There is an account,” Byakuya-sama’s voice rumbled from under the cover of the hood, “For Yuka Ume.”
“Ume? Yuka Ume? Oh!” She seemed startled by the ridiculous sounding name. Taking a breath, she composed herself, her head dropped to the floor. “Our house is at your service. What does my lord require?”
“The same as I asked for at the door,” Byakuya-sama said impatiently. “To be served by your most popular kagema.”
Coming back up from her bow, she gave a glance at Eishirō, clearly trying to imagine how he fit into all of this. Finally, she asked cautiously, “Only the one? Will our young man entertain both of you?”
“For the moment one will be sufficient. I may have need of several of your best,” Byakuya-sama said without hesitation.
Eishirō was pretty sure he was blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. What must she think of him?! A servant who apparently does everything with his master—and such an insatiable sounding master!? Eishirō could die right here, except he’d be too mortified to have to have his wife, Satomi, retrieve his body from such a place.
But, the woman was smiling greedily, “That’s no problem. Shall I set up a private room for your party?”
“Not yet, we’ll take tea here for the time being. I should like to get to know the first young man in question a bit,” Byakuya-sama said.
“Ah, of course,” she said. “Daisuke will be right out.”
Daisuke? ‘Great helper’? Was his name a joke or some kind of pun on his profession? This was such a nightmare. It didn’t help matters to listen to how easily the young lord Kuchiki negotiated all of these tawdry affairs. Byakuya-sama was clearly very comfortable here in a way that made Eishirō quite the opposite. Even though the atmosphere of the room was one of quiet enjoyment, Eishirō felt his skin crawl. Looking out at the faces of the painted girls, he had one thought: they were all so young. His own son wasn’t much older than many of these girls.
Byakuya pulled the hood from his head, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Try not to look quite so much like you’ve swallowed something sour.”
Eishirō hadn’t realized so much of his emotions were showing, “My apologies, my lord.”
Byakuya’s own eyes were hooded in the shadows and he spoke to the wall as he said, “I suppose you hadn’t known that my account remained active.”
That hadn’t even occurred to Eishirō, but now that it did… had Byakuya been using the services here after Hisana died? If he had, he must’ve snuck out under the cover of darkness, all the while playing the devastated widower---?
As though reading Eishirō’s thoughts, Byakuya shook his head. “The accountant does it automatically. As a member of the merchant class, he imagines that someday I’ll wish to impress colleagues with a show of my wealth.” Byakuya laughed derisively at the thought. Eishirō shook his head; clearly the accountant didn’t understand Kuchiki at all. Byakuya continued, “After that nasty business with the Shiba clan and what happened with Yoruichi, I decided that the tea houses might make good bolt holes, should I ever need a place to disappear to in the Rukongai. The accounts are kept in secret and in trust, so even if my fortunes are seized I can still access them with the code name you heard.” Misinterpreting Eishirō’s raised eyebrows, Byakuya explained, “These places are guarded like fortresses and filled with dozens of escape routes and secret exits and entrances. I should probably contrive to hold onto one, especially given what Soi Fon…”
So shocked by the fact that Lord Kuchiki had contingencies for such a cataclysmic event, words tumbled out of Eishirō’s mouth without their usual filters, “But the staff! You would leave us on our own, without resources or recourse?”
Byakuya’s mouth opened, and then he paused and seemed to reconsider. “I’ll speak to the accountant. You’re right; the household staff should have money in an untouchable reserve, as well. I’ll make certain it’s done as soon as possible. Of course you’re all provided for in my will, but there’s no plan should I be forced into exile. That was negligent of me.”
Actually, this whole thing was far more thoughtful than Eishirō had expected of Lord Kuchiki. It was clear that watching two noble houses be dismantled in his lifetime had affected the impressionable young master. Seeing both clan heads escape must have started wheels turning about his own precarious position.
At the far end of the narrow room, a curtain parted. An extraordinarily handsome youth with tousled, blond hair and large, bright curious eyes glanced around the room until spotting them. When he noticed Eishirō looking back, his head comically disappeared behind the curtain again. A few seconds later, composed and eyes downcast, the same lad came out carrying a tea tray.
Eishirō didn’t mean to stare, but the boy was profoundly handsome. Eishirō had been expecting someone delicate, small, unassuming—honestly, someone with a beauty like Lord Kuchiki’s, which verged on the edges of prettiness. But, this young man had the look of vitality, playfulness, and vigor.
He wore a beautiful kimono, colors reminiscent of falling water—blues of every shade mixed with hints of shimmering green. Like the ladies, he wore geta with no tabi. Unlike them, his obi was narrow and his face unpainted, which only added to his fresh, enthusiastic impression.
Eishirō gave a nervous glance at Byakuya-sama. This boy could very much be his lordship’s type. But, if Byakuya noticed the lad’s approach, it wasn’t evident. He still seemed to be puzzling out accounts and disaster plans.
When the youth knelt at the table, Byakuya-sama finally seemed to take note. Then, his eyes roamed over the boy, stopping to linger on certain features. Finally, Byakuya said, “You’re older than I would’ve expected.”
The boy blushed, an attractive coloring across his nose, but said unhesitatingly, “You asked for the most popular, my lord, not the youngest.”
“Indeed, I did,” Byakuya laughed.
Daisuke poured Byakuya’s tea, keeping his eyes down the whole time. He met Eishirō’s gaze briefly as he hesitated over whether or not to do the same for him. Eishirō could only shrug back into startlingly pale green eyes. Normally, Eishirō would never consider having tea at the same table as Lord Kuchiki. In fact, it felt beyond bizarre to have someone else pouring for him. At Eishirō’s uncertain look the boy smiled slightly-- a devastatingly devious twinkle gracing his face, and then boldly poured Eishirō a bowl of his own.
It was, Eishirō noticed, real tea, brewed to perfection. Everyone else played at tea, but they were being served.
“Are you staying in the Rukongai long, gentlemen?” Daisuke asked, settling back against his heels. His tone was light, and he kept his eyes on his lap. His voice was rich and full, like an actor’s, his voice had clearly dropped some time ago. Eishirō breathed a sigh of relief at that. There was hope he was at least approaching the age of majority. Daisuke smiled again, “Or have you come out of the Seireitei just for the evening?”
Byakuya asked, “What makes you think we’re from the Seireitei?”
“Besides the fact I was told you owned the place and not to mess things up with the big boss?” he smiled devilishly again, laughing brightly, and daring to raise his eyes briefly. “That was by far my biggest clue. But, I might have guessed anyway. Your clothes may be ragged, but there’s no dust from the road on them. Your cloak looks useful to a man on the wander, but it’s new. There are still creases at the shoulders from where it sat folded on the shelf not long ago. You sit seiza. You have a servant.” He lifted a well-shaped shoulder, “Senbonzakura’s hilt is distinctive. Even if I didn’t know its name by reputation, anyone could tell that’s no ordinary blade you carry, my lord.”
Byakuya glanced at Eishirō, “Humph, I had no real chance of fooling anyone, did I?”
“Probably not, my lord,” Eishirō said regretfully. The tattoo artist had seen right through them, as well, “My apologies.”
Byakuya made a little dismissive grunt as though to say it didn’t matter. He returned his attention to Daisuke. He studied him intently for a moment and then said, “You’re exactly what I hoped for. I’m very pleased.”
Daisuke’s eyes went wide and his mouth formed a surprised ‘oh.’ The blush that had dusted the bridge of his nose, deepened across his cheeks. Fingers played with the ties of his obi, and Eishirō thought there was a slight tremor in the boy’s hands. He was… afraid?
Byakuya seemed unaware of the response he’d evoked, as he continued, “What else have you noticed with your clever eyes?”
“About you, my lord?” Daisuke asked shyly, not looking up.
“No,” Byakuya said with a little smile, “It’s clear you’ve uncovered many of my secrets already and I’m not in need of further flattery at the moment. Are your other guests shinigami? Do they talk to you about their patrols?”
“Some,” Daisuke said, another little smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “But, perhaps my lord has noticed which gate his establishment is nearest? The shinigami I entertain are often a bit short on conversation, I’m afraid.”
Eishirō couldn’t stop the small noise of sympathy that came out of his mouth. To be a kagema to the Eleventh!
Daisuke continued, “It’s from the merchants I hear more. Our district has always had a rough reputation being situated where it is, but people are saying they feel less safe than they once did in the South and the West. The East remains the same, but it’s the double-edged sword it has always been for them. There’s no dodging any logs or manifests under the the intense scrutiny of the Second Division and the potential hidden mechanical surveillance of the Twelfth.”
Daisuke poured a second bowl of tea for Byakuya. His hands were steady now, and his posture more relaxed as he continued to talk. “Of course, all the merchants are still recovering from the ‘Great Sealing’ as they’ve been calling your recent trouble. Nothing went in or out for days while you battled the mysterious visitors.” He glanced up, “Bad for business, you know? But, trade is booming in the construction fields—quarries and ceramic tile casters are working overtime,” he added with a small chuckle. Then his smile dropped, “And in the comfort businesses too. Much more sake goes in; many more wounded hearts seeking simple, uncomplicated companionship come out.”
Eishirō was surprised at the depth of the young man’s understanding of the recent troubles. He might not know details, but he understood there had been the kind of betrayal that broke the spirit. A spirit he, in his own way, helped rebuild.
Byakuya sipped his tea thoughtfully and seemed to be focusing on one thing, “The West is unsafe for merchants? In what way?”
Always so much pride wrapped up in the Sixth Division and their responsibilities. Eishirō tasted his own tea, settling back against his ankles to listen.
Daisuke folded his hands in his lap again. “I guess men are leaving their families at home now and hiring more guards. Usually, they went without escorts to the farming districts, but with all the shinigami pulled in during the recent problems, some roads have become lawless and riddled with looters and bandits. There are other… rumors,” Daisuke glanced at the room behind him and dropped his voice. “I’ve heard there were a number of shinigami who were trapped on this side when the walls slammed down. Some say, there are a few who were happy for the chance to use the chaos to go rogue.”
“Deserters?”
Byakuya sounded horrified, like he couldn’t imagine anything more horrible. Eishirō and Daisuke exchanged a knowing look. Not all shinigami were as noble-hearted as those in the Sixth. Having a zanpakutō in the Rukongai could mean a lot of power.
“Surely the Second has been rounding them up,” Byakuya continued with a shake of his head. “That’s their job.”
Wisely, Daisuke said nothing other than a murmur of agreement. Byakuya’s tone brooked no argument. However, Eishirō felt it needed to be said, “But how would they know who was missing? There were so many casualties, so much destruction—it would be an easy thing to add a name to the rolls of the dead now that the walls have opened.”
“In the West? No. I refuse to believe it. No one under my command would desert their post in time of war—“ Byakuya stopped suddenly, cutting himself off, clearly remembering the spectacularly public desertion and insubordination of his own lieutenant. After a long, dark moment when no one at the table dared breathe, Byakuya finally said, “Perhaps I understand how this may have happened. My house was in disorder, and remains in disarray. I’ve been distracted by… many things, not the least of which is a damnable greedy Third Seat and traitorous relations upsetting any chance at returning to order.”
Eishirō’s heart sank. Renji was getting the blame for this, he could feel it. Perhaps not directly, but it seemed obvious that Byakuya was feeling guilty about having focused so much of his energy on his lover instead of his Division.
Looking up, Eishirō discovered Daisuke trying to catch his eye. He made a subtle nod in Byakuya’s direction and mouthed, ‘Does he need a drink?’
Eishirō shook his head vehemently. Alcohol was the last thing Lord Kuchiki needed.
The clever young man seemed to understand instantly, his eyes widening and then nodding as he asked silently, “Never or just when he’s angry?”
As Byakuya continued to brood, Eishirō risked a quick, “Never.” If he was sure he wouldn’t be overheard, he would have added: Never in a place like this; never with a boy like you.
In fact, it was well past time to go. Carefully, Eishirō said, “My lord? It’s growing dark. We still have a long way to go back to the estate.”
Byakuya glanced up, seeming to come out of himself. “Yes, of course. I should see you home safely.”
With a flood of relief, Eishirō followed Byakuya when he stood, but had to pause as Byakuya laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and leaned down to say something quietly into Daisuke’s ear. Eishirō strained to make out the words, but couldn’t. What he could see, on the other hand, was the way the blood drained from Daisuke’s face and the flutter of his downcast eyelashes. He nodded tremulously and said, “Yes, my lord. It will be my pleasure.”
Why did it sound like ‘it’ would be anything but? And why did Eishirō’s heart leap to his chest in worry for this bright and clever boy? He tried to have another secret communication with Daisuke, but the lad’s eyes remained firmly glued to his lap.
Scrambling to follow Byakuya, Eishirō longed for the days when he could demand answers from a boy under his charge. Now, he could only trail silently behind the man, glancing worriedly over his shoulder at where Daisuke sat still as a stone.
The tense silence continued as they walked down the darkened streets. Byakuya pulled the hood back over his head as they neared the gate, and said in a voice as cold as ice, “You will make arrangements for Daisuke to be sent to me once a week. I will be requesting his transfer to the Western Gate’s tea house to make things more convenient.”
Because he would become a spy, Eishirō reminded himself. No matter what it sounded like, surely that’s what Lord Kuchiki meant.
It must be.