CHAPTER EIGHT
Yamaguchi Castletown, late October 1865. The ceremony at the administration building was now over, as was Kenshin’s duty for the day. Nakamura and Takahata were already at Katsura’s side. The one good thing about Nakamura’s furious social climbing was the fact that it caused him to stick to Katsura, the acknowledged leader of the Choshu loyalist faction, like glue. And where Nakamura went, Takahata, his skinny little shadow, followed.
One of Sakamoto Ryoma’s henchmen from his Kameyama Trading Company had received a sword from the Lord of Choshu himself, in recognition of his efforts in brokering the deal to buy a warship, the Union, from a Nagasaki arms dealer. Shunme told Kenshin that the ship cost 37,000 ryo.
Though Nakamura and Takahata had relieved Shunme and Kenshin early, so that they could be with Katsura during the ceremony, Shunme decided to stay and watch.
With all the extra nobles and officials crowding the interior and outer precincts of the building, Kenshin decided to stay as well, to keep an eye on things.
He walked around the corner of the building and saw a short man standing alone staring into a small pond. In his right hand he held a sheathed Katana, his thumb clenched on the tsuba at the hilt to keep it closed. He wore white hakama and a blue top.
It was uncommon, and perked Kenshin’s interest. Swordsmen kept their swords tucked in their obi belts at their waist. He came closer to the man, who, sensing his presence, looked over his shoulder and watched him come near.
When Kenshin reached him, he turned back to the pond. “Amazing fish, koi.”
Kenshin hmmed noncommittally.
“Watch how they swarm around each other. Their life is simple. All they want is food.”
The man was interested in fish, not mayhem. Kenshin stepped back to leave when suddenly the man turned and faced him.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I don’t think I met you inside. My name is Kondo, Chojiro. You can call me Chojiro.”
“Himura, Kenshin.” Kenshin gave his name unhesitatingly. So this was Chojiro, and that explained why he was holding his sword. As he’d turned Kenshin saw that he already had the two swords of a samurai, the Katana and Wakizashi, tucked in his obi.
“Ah, you’re the bodyguard Ryoma spoke of.”
“Yes.” Kenshin’s eyes flicked again to the sword in Chojiro’s hand.
Chojiro noticed and brought the sheathed weapon up and held it between them. “It’s a beauty isn’t it?” He asked dispassionately, then let it back down and held it at his side. “I’m grateful, but it changes nothing.”
He glanced back over his shoulder where little groups of nobles were conferring. “To most of them, despite my new samurai title, I’m still just a bean jam maker’s son.” Chojiro nodded to Kenshin’s waist where his single sword lay tucked into his obi at his hip. “Not too long ago I was restricted from wearing two swords.”
“I only need one.” Kenshin told him.
Chojiro smiled sadly. “And now I have three.” He regarded the sword in his right hand again. “I don’t really know what to do with this. If I wear it back in Nagasaki, my fellow Kameyama company members will think that I’m getting above myself.”
Kenshin frowned. That didn’t sound like the idealized Japan Ryoma had talked to him about back in the tavern in Shimonoseki.
“Ah, but it’s useless to complain. Complaining won’t change anything. Here only Ryoma doesn’t seem to care who a man’s parents were. It’s different in America, and in Europe. One day perhaps Ryoma will sail there, and I’ll go too.” He shrugged, glancing once again at the nobles behind him. “I’m going with him soon to Kyoto. We have to let Saigo know that the rice shipments are being prepared.” Chojiro looked into Kenshin’s eyes and asked politely. “Have you ever been to Kyoto?”
“Yes.” Kenshin didn’t mention that the last time he’d been there was the Gion festival, and that he’d fled right before a good portion of the city went up in flames thanks to Katsura’s rival, Miyabe’s insane plan. Kyoto’s bustling streets and hidden dangers came rushing back. He’d killed many men in Kyoto without a thought, as many men had sought to kill him.
“Be careful.” Kenshin said urgently, surprising himself. “There are many Shinsengumi patrols in Kyoto.”
“Yes,” answered Chojiro, looking a little surprised himself. “Thanks. I will.”
Kenshin nodded and moved away, going back to what he did now, guarding Katsura instead of killing for him. He wasn’t a battousai anymore. His Kyoto days were over.
