From alt.pub.dragons-inn Sun May 29 11:26:31 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7316 Path: netcom.com!csus.edu!wupost!spool.mu.edu!agate!cat.cis.Brown.EDU!noc.near.net!news.delphi.com!usenet From: brudnick@delphi.com Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [SoV] Chapter 1 -- Memories Date: Fri, 27 May 94 19:51:25 -0500 Organization: Delphi (info@delphi.com email, 800-695-4005 voice) Lines: 467 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: bos1g.delphi.com ============================================================ [SoV] Chapter 1 -- Memories Admin [The cast of characters for the [SoV] thread: Character Created/Managed by --------------------------------------------------------- Matte Kudasai Matt Hebert Masuko Hattori Barbara French Tomonobu Fujiwara Bret Rudnick Synopsis: Several adventurers find their fates woven in a common thread -- a quest for revenge. This first post in the series sets the scene. ] Admin [As always, comments/questions welcome.] ============================================================ The lighting was dim in the secluded area of the inn where sat Tomonobu Fujiwara and Matte Kudasai. The diminutive exorcist had come in ready for a toddy to take off the night chill and immediately noticed her previous quest companion seated alone. It had been several days since the completion of their quest and their final dealings with the wizard who sent them on it, and Matte was glad to see her friend was still around. Something had been troubling her, and she welcomed the opportunity to talk about it. She nervously twisted the chains that secured her Hellympics medal and the medallion that was her quest reward. There were many disturbing things she had discovered since their quest for the orchids, and she felt Tomonobu could provide some insight in his thoughtful, uncanny way. It was certainly not by accident that she had met him at the Inn this evening. But to her surprise, Matte found she could not yet bring herself to talk about those things with her quest-mate. After the polite introductory remarks, she simply smiled at him, then stared into the warm liquid in her mug which she gripped with both hands. "Ahh," Matte sighed as she sipped her mulled drink. "Sends the warmth right down to the toes!" A slight chill after the initial burst of warmth caused her to react by raising her shoulders and shaking her head, sending her curly hair in all directions. She looked down at the table and noticed the envelope Tomonobu had been given by the wizard was placed conspicuously in front of him. "What did the message say?" she asked, curious. "Did you get the answer you wanted?" "I do not know," Tomonobu replied flatly, "I haven't opened it." "What!" Matte reacted, quite surprised, splashing some of her drink on the table in the process. "Ooo," she added as she quickly snatched up the precious envelope before it got wet. She knew the envelope was supposed to contain the whereabouts of the enemy Tomonobu had been seeking for years. "Aren't you even the least bit anxious to find out about it?" "Oh, quite," he answered, betraying no corresponding emotion in his tone. "I am consumed with curiosity. I have decided that until the feeling subsides, I shall not open the envelope. A good warrior must master his emotions, rather than be mastered by them." Vintage Tomonobu, Matte thought. Throughout their quest he rarely gave any indication of his feelings, especially in times of crisis. This was in stark contrast to the half-human Matte, whose outlook on life was generally positive. She was quick to share laughter (or tears) with her friends, as the situation dictated. "Tomonobu, your self-discipline is really remarkable. I suppose I'll never be able to match your self-control." She playfully passed the envelope, which she still held, between her eye and the table lamp, hoping to make something out. Having no success, she handed the envelope to the ronin. "Your opponent, this Mage...." Matte swung her foot a little harder, hunched her shoulders and looked down at the table. "He's looking for a key or something, isn't he?" The question was presented as more of a statement. After a few moments, she picked up her head and looked the warrior squarely in the eye with a narrowed stare. Her companion, however, sat silently, impassively. Matte tugged anxiously at a heavy earring and cleared her throat. "OK. I'll come clean with you. There has been a figure watching me since I've gone back to work, since I've been home. It's looking for something, I think ... something it thinks I can find for it. During the last exorcism, just yesterday, it appeared by a door. A door to some other plane." The halfling paused a moment and finished the remainder of her drink in an unfeminine gulp. Tomonobu, now showing subtle signs of interest, nodded for her to continue. "It was standing by the "kimon," the devil's gate. Tengu was beyond the door, bragging as usual. He was yelling something about how stupid I was and how he could have found the key himself by now." Matte's hands were shaking, but her eyes remained firm as stone. "These are demons of your world, Tomonobu, yet they are following me." She paused for a long moment locking eyes with the silent ronin, then finally released a heavy breath. Her shoulders fell and a smile returned to her face. The release of the tension was nearly tangible. Matte smiled, shrugged and signaled for another beverage. "Not that I'm concerned, mind you," she said, winking with a jolly, plump cheek. "I was just noticing how you and I have more and more in common every day." She was soon rescued from the awkwardness of the moment by her second round, which she embraced as if it were life itself. "Why don't you open that letter," she said in a light tone, but without looking up. Tomonobu again sipped his tea. "I think now may be the right time," he said, as he opened the envelope before him. Inside, he found a small card with just an address printed on it, and a beautiful pink origami butterfly. The paper was magnificently folded, and the butterfly was amazingly life-like. "May I see?" Matte asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Hey, I know where that is," she commented as she read the street name indicated by the address. "It's in the Pleasure Quarter. Very expensive part of town, if I recall correctly." "The significance of the butterfly is lost on me," Tomonobu commented. "It's not a family crest or a particular design I immediately recognise. Perhaps it's a token of admittance." "Well, let's go see," Matte said cheerfully as she rose to adjust her scarf and cloak. "What do you mean _us_," Tomonobu said, still seated. "As I suggested just now, I think our goals are related. Besides, I'd really like to help anyway." She looked up suddenly from her preparations with a stern look on her face. "Are you refusing my offer?" Her last words came out a bit harsher than she intended, though she knew she was attempting to disguise a measure of hurt and fear. "No, Little One," Tomonobu smiled, "That would, I think, be most unwise." He rose and placed some coins on the table. Several moments after they left, another figure (who had been discreetly observing their table) also left the inn. * * * * * Matte led the way through the twisting streets. After awhile, they arrived at the address indicated by the card. The part of town known as the Pleasure District was one of the older sections of Generica, and by far the most opulent. Tall, glittering gambling houses, lush restaurants and some of the most exclusive brothels in the city vied with one another to attract the wealthiest and most stylish patrons. Unlike other parts of town with common gambling houses and ordinary brothels, the Pleasure District had somehow maintained an air of indulgent respectability. Among the men in tastefully expensive robes and women dripping jewels, Matte and Tomonobu felt keenly out of place. Their destination turned out to be none other than the Blue House, one of the oldest and most expensive brothels in the city. The three-story false front was covered in small bits of various blue stones -- turquoise, lapis lazuli, and, some suggested, real sapphire -- which created an intricate mosaic of twisting vines and flowers. The Blue House had had another name once, but it had been called the Blue House for so long the other name was long forgotten. Tomonobu stood back to search the pattern from a distance, his eyes hooded in concentration. "There are no butterflies in the pattern," he commented. Matte looked at the card again, then at the door, shrugging. "It's the right address." She frowned at the door. "Do we just knock?" Just then, a pair of young noblemen in short, hip-length pleated cotehardies and long hose jogged up the steps of the Blue House, opened the brass door and walked in. They spared Matte and Tomonobu a bemused glance before disappearing inside. "I suppose that answers our question," Tomonobu said, fingering the folded butterfly. "Well," Matte said, "I must admit this will be a new experience for me!" * * * * * The front room of the Blue House was surprisingly tasteful, given the gaudiness of the Pleasure District. Blue remained a theme: blue velvet carpet, thick blue drapes covering twenty-foot windows, pale blue patterned paper on the walls. Tomonobu stopped at the entrance to remove his shoes, setting them beside what appeared to be a room for cloaks and coats. The two young noblemen who had preceded them into the Blue House were being led up a set of wide steps by a pair of women. Both wore pale blue gowns of some soft, sheer material; Tomonobu found himself a little embarrassed to discover that the women's bodies were clearly visible beneath the gossamer fabric. One's face was framed by clouds of milk-white braids, while the other had skin as dark and rich as blackoak bark and hair as black as a moonless night. "How may we serve you this evening, good friends?" a voice said at their side. Tomonobu started; it was unlike him to become so wrapped up in his surroundings to not notice someone approach. The woman beside him was older and dressed conservatively in a dark blue robe of some soft, nubby fabric. A single sapphire the size of a small apricot hung around her throat on a fine but sturdy gold chain. Her eyes were the same startling deep blue of her jewel, and if she was surprised at her unusual clientele, she made absolutely no hint of surprise or disdain. Tomonobu bowed slightly. "We -- my associate and I -- were given this address and this small token." He handed the woman the folded butterfly. "We--" "So it has come," the woman interrupted, taking the butterfly from him with a perfectly manicured hand. There was some sadness in her voice. "She said it would, but I'd hoped to keep her through the next season at least. The Prefect will be most disappointed." She turned and clapped her hands twice. A girl of about fifteen appeared. "Diani, take our guests to the Green Room and see they are given refreshment." She spared a quick glance at Tomonobu. "Make sure they are given tea. The new blend, I think." Without another word, the exquisite woman moved quickly up the stairs, as the young girl led them down the hall by the cloak room. * * * * * The Green Room was a comfortable, small room filled with exotic plants and plenty of chairs. A large silver tray was brought in for them, small plates full of delicate food: shrimp wrapped in iliseth leaves, small biscuits of various types, tiny black mushrooms stuffed with finely chopped spiced chicken, bite-sized cakes, other dainty tidbits. Two bottles of wine of two very expensive and unusual vintages were brought in next, as well as the last thing which surprised Tomonobu the most: a plain white tea set of obviously Japanese design. Tomonobu smiled at the familiar smell. "Jasmine tea," he mused. "How long has it been since I've had a cup of jasmine tea?" "Aren't you going to have any?" Matte asked, as she helped herself to a good-sized glass of wine and picked up one of the provided plates. "No, and I'd advise you to decline as well. Poison --" "Aw, poison, poison. Do you think the Blue House wants to ruin its reputation by poisoning patrons? I've heard about their food here, and I mean to take advantage of the situation." She helped herself to a significant array of the food. Having been raised with halfling manners, she scarcely noticed when a serving girl raised an eyebrow at the amount of food she was taking, and she simply could not understand Tomonobu's reluctance. All this perfectly wonderful food ... it would be a shame to let it go to waste, she thought warmly to herself, humming a little dinner music as she strolled beside the tables. Poison, she humphed to herself again, nibbling a taste of a tiny stuffed mushroom. If she couldn't discern a poison in a sauce or wine by this time, her whole Tookish ancestry would roll over in their graves. And, of course, she would certainly know if they did any such thing. For the next several moments, Matte tried most of the provided dishes, giving her commentary on each of them in turn. Tomonobu listened politely and watched his companion with a wary eye. She also tried both wines. "Remind me to let the mistress of the house know that the Sabin vintage is soured," she said. "Perhaps they aren't storing it correctly." Tomonobu had been surprised at the tea. That surprise was trivial compared to what he felt next. A young woman glided in silently, silk-slippered feet moving noiselessly on the thick carpet. She was tall for a Japanese woman, her slender form wrapped in a pale blue silk kimono embroidered thickly with soft-colored butterflies, with a rose-colored obi. Her ink-black hair was simply dressed, probably more simply than was fashionable in Japan, and secured with a pair of long pins tipped with rose-colored stones. She had what would have been considered a pleasing face in Japan, had her smooth beauty not been marred by a faint but noticeable scar: about three or four fingers wide, running from the left corner of her mouth. Her eyebrows were not shaved, as was the norm for a woman of Japan, and he noticed a flash of white teeth at her slight start of surprise; she did not follow the custom of blackening her teeth, either. She stood for a moment, regarding them in silence before closing the door behind her. "The butterfly was meant to summon you," Tomonobu said, setting aside his empty cup and standing. "What does it mean?" The woman shook her head very slightly, then moved to the sidebar to pour herself a splash of tea in a white cup. She sipped the tea, looking suddenly at the ceiling and blinking as if trying to gather her thoughts. Tomonobu and Matte glanced at one another. Matte chose to take the initiative. Setting aside her second plate, and wiping her face with a large, embroidered cloth, she stood. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Matte Kudasai, and this," she said gesturing to the ronin, "is my associate, Tomonobu Fujiwara--" The woman's reaction was swift and sudden. The cup dropped from her fingers, bouncing harmlessly on the carpet. A bit of tea spattered on the hem of her kimono, sinking into the thick fabric. Her eyes locked into Tomonobu's, searching his face for a brief moment before prostrating herself on the carpet at his feet. Tomonobu, puzzled and a little embarrassed, looked down at the woman on the floor. He avoided Matte's face. Tomonobu's voice feigned irritation. "You dishonour me, woman," he said as he folded his arms. "I am but a ronin, masterless and without rank, unworthy of such a display." The woman rose but she now avoided eye contact with him. "What is going on? What is the butterfly about, and why do you treat me this way? This is Generica, not Japan." The woman still did not answer him. She clasped her hands together, locking the thumbs as she pressed the sides of her fingers to her lips. Her face, devoid of makeup, was pale. There was something about the woman's persistent silence which confused and strangely angered Tomonobu. Despite the fact that they were not in Japan, Tomonobu had expected the woman to answer his question when he asked and was not happy that she had seemed to refuse his request. Strange how such expectations returned so suddenly, faced with one of his own culture. "Answer my question," he said. "Have you no voice to speak?" The woman lifted her head, and he saw the bright glint of unshed tears in her eyes. She blinked hard to push them back, but one escaped and she brushed it away with one delicate hand. She shook her head once, very slightly. "Are you refusing to answer his questions," asked Matte gently, placing a hand on her arm, "or have you no voice?" The woman bit her lip, turned and disappeared from the Green Room. "What do you suppose that was all about?" Matte asked. Tomonobu frowned. "I do not know." But the woman returned almost immediately, carrying a flat rectangular basket, and sat on one of the chairs nearby. From the basket she drew out two thin, silver-grey sticks and a piece of flat slate, the stone backed with a thin layer of silver. She picked up one of the sticks and wrote something on the slate. Tomonobu and Matte both gathered on either side of her, and read the words she had written: *Can't speak. I have no tongue*. Neither Matte nor Tomonobu could think of anything to say. Tomonobu quietly grunted, chastising himself. *I know what the butterfly means. Will explain to you later. You will stay here for supper tonight. We leave in the morning.* "Leave? For where?" Matte asked. The woman paused, wrote something, erased it and wrote again. *Wizard.* Tomonobu sat back on his heels. "You know where Kagenori is?" he asked softly. She erased her slate with a bit of cloth. *Will lead you to him.* "I think that unwise," Tomonobu said. "As a geisha, how could you endure a journey of any significant length?" Her eyes suddenly blazed, and she wrote furiously. *I am more -- and less -- than I seem. Have as much reason as you to want wizard dead. Have handled myself and kept alive despite him for almost 20 years.* Tomonobu had been studying her face. Something about her was vaguely familiar, but he could not place it at all. Certainly he would have remembered the scar, which looked quite old. And he remembered no Japanese women who had no tongue, although he could remember a few where he might have wished so -- men and women, Japanese or not. "You know me," he said quietly. An almost impenetrable sadness reflected in her eyes as she returned his gaze, eyes dropping away after a brief contact. She erased her words slowly and nodded. "I don't know you," Tomonobu said. She nodded again. *Was young when last saw.* Her slate pencil hovered over the stone for a moment, when she wrote a few Japanese characters Matte could not read. The effect on Tomonobu was immediate. The color drained from his face, and he stood, staring at her in disbelief. Carefully, he schooled his features to neutrality, but his eyes betrayed him. Old pain reflected there. "That's impossible. Masuko Hattori is dead." The woman shook her head in negation, and tapped one finger on her breastbone. This time, her eyes met his in calm challenge. "The Hattori clan was wiped out when I was seventeen," Tomonobu continued. "Kagenori's troops killed them all, including Masuko." Before Tomonobu finished speaking, the scratch of the woman's pencil started. *Captured, yes. They cut out my tongue, but I survived. The Hideyori hid me.* He studied her face, then said, "You look familiar, yes, but I last saw Masuko Hattori twenty years ago. She was a child. Anyone your age could claim to be her." His face darkened. "And I have been victim of such deceits before." Her dark eyes widened, momentary despair showing in their depths. For several heartbeats, she and Tomonobu did nothing but look at one another's faces. At last, she erased her slate and wrote slowly, hunched over her board as she wrote. When she was done, she passed the slate to Matte, stood, smoothed her kimono and checked her obi before leaving the Green Room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Matte read the slate, puzzled. "What does it say?" Tomonobu asked finally. "First thing is an invitation to supper. She says she's arranged rooms for us and we'll leave in the morning." Matte frowned. "The last part I don't understand." "Read it." "It says, 'At the ceremony, I was seven and you were a grown-up fifteen. Or so it seemed in my eyes. At the celebration, I was sleepy and thirsty and spilled my tea. I was so tired and upset after a long day I almost started to cry, but you offered me your tea instead. A kindness unforgotten.'" Matte set down the slate. Tomonobu looked a bit startled, but turned and paced to the window. He studied the dark street below. "After so many years," he whispered. "I knew her to be dead." "So what are you saying?" Matte asked, a bit confused by the turn of events. "Do you know this woman?" "Yes," Tomonobu answered. "She is my betrothed, arranged by our families many years ago. Masuko is meant to be my wife."