Waters Under Earth

A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Alan Harnum 
-harnums@thekeep.org
-harnums@hotmail.com (old/backup)

All Ranma characters are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, first
published by Shogakukan in Japan and brought over to North
America by Viz Communications.

Waters Under Earth at Transpacific Fanfiction:  
http://www.humbug.org.au/~wendigo/transp.html
http://users.ev1.net/~adina/shrines2/fanfics.html

Chapter 17 : A Movement of Darkness On Darkness

Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
-William Shakespeare

     He woke in the night to music.
     
     The soft strains of the piano in the sitting room drifted up
through the shadowed hallways of the house, to slide through the
crack of light beneath the darkened door of his room and reach 
his ears.  He lay there, on the futon upon the floor, gazing up 
into the thickness of the night that hovered between the ceiling 
and the floor and the walls, until his eyes adjusted and he began 
to make out dim shapes, until the sweet tones of the melody came
firmer and sharper into his ears, into his mind.

     Tatewaki Kuno's two loves, his two true loves, had always
been the art of the sword and the art of the poet, of the steel
graven on the flesh and the word graven on the page.  He hadn't
cared for music in a long, long time.  But he knew this melody, 
yes, he certainly knew this one.  It was a memory of a music long 
ingrained into his brain, into his very soul.  

     The player had great skill, as her fingers worked gently a 
floor below him, crafting the music from the pages before her,
laying it bare and painful upon the air with the beauty of it.

     Beethoven.  The fourteenth piano sonata, first movement.
The 'Moonlight'.  It was painful to hear, the beauty, painful to
bear the memory of.  He rose up from his bed, leaving the blanket 
disarrayed across the bamboo mats that covered the floor of his 
room, and walked in his silk pyjamas to the closet, finding his 
way in the dim room by the memory of its contents.

     He took his robe down from inside and belted it on, then
went out into the hall, leaving his door open, and made his way
down the stairs as the aching of the piano grew louder.

     "Sister?" he called softly as he stepped into the sitting
room a minute later.  She sat upon the wooden bench, a dark robe
much like his loose around her nightgown as her hands moved over 
the keys.  The lights were off in the room, but the tall windows
had their curtains pulled back, letting in the shine of the moon
outside and the faded mist of the city's lights.  She looked very
pale as she played the last few bars of the adagio and turned her
head to look at him.  Her eyes were misted with the faint signs 
of tears held back.

     "I didn't know you still played," Kuno said as he stepped
inside.  Here, here in the night and alone except for Kodachi, he 
could let some of it drop, some of the pretences, some of the 
lies that he had laid between them, between himself and the
world.

     "I didn't know I did either," Kodachi said softly, turning
the rest of her body on the bench to face him.  She looked small
and childlike, and a wave of fraternal affection swept over him,
an increased sense of the same feeling he always kept hidden
around her, knowing she didn't want to see it; that it would
always be returned as even more bitterness.  "I got up and I just 
kind of... started.  I didn't even think I remembered how to 
play."

     He took a few hesitant steps over and sat down on the narrow
bench next to her.  "It brings back a great deal of memories, 
does it not, sister dear?"

     She nodded mutely and twisted her hands in her lap.  The
dark polish of her nails gleamed sharply in the pale illumination
shining from outside.

     For a long moment, the scene between them was frozen like
that within the moonlight that came shredded and filtered 
through the windows.  Outside, a cloud drew itself through the
air across the silver face and dimmed the light, but quickly
vanished.

     "I dreamt about her last night," Kodachi said suddenly, so 
unexpectedly it took even Kuno by surprise.  

     "About her?" he asked softly.
     
     "I think," she said hesitantly.  "She was calling me.
Beckoning me."

     A stab of fear for his sister ran him through, but he 
suppressed it.  "You still want to go, then?"
     
     She gave another nod of her head.  Moonlight struck the soft
definitions of her features like a shroud with the motion, and he
saw the reflection of his own face in hers, the deep similarity
of their appearance.

     "If it is your choice," he said gently.  "Then I will help
you achieve this desire."

     "You can't come with me," she said just as gently, turning
to gaze at him.  "You can't."

     He looked at her, wounded concern on his face.  "Why?"
     
     "Because, Tachi," she said, as if it were the most obvious 
of all things.  "You have to stay here."

     And he realized, with sadness, that it was true.  There was
still much for him to do here.  He had made vows.  Certain
promises, if only to himself.  

     There was long silence between them again, and outside the
window the slender branch of a tree scraped against the glass
like a claw, put in motion by an errant gust of wind.

     Kodachi broke it again, in a voice with a depth of sorrow as
deep as the dark floor of the sea.  "Oh, brother, I miss her so 
much."

     As unexpected as what she had said before had been, this was
infinitely more.  Kuno glanced over at her, and saw that the 
tears had finally come now, and a painful, aching sadness filled
him.  
     
     It would be all right, he told himself.  Kodachi was not as
she had been before; her realization of Ranma's nature had been 
the bridge that had led to a long-awaited catharsis, and so it 
had been for the better.  

     But it was so hard, he realized, and so much pain yet to
come.  He could only put an arm around her shaking shoulders and
sit like that with her until the sun rose over the skyline, 
almost convinced that from the piano behind him he could hear the
faint trembling of the instrument from the memory of the notes it
had finally played, after so long gone without.

**********

     Soun placed his stone upon the go board, and looked out 
across the yard at the wavering reflection of the newly-risen
sun in the pond.  The wind stirred the surface into small waves,
and the quick silver back of a fish flashed bright for a moment
near the top before it ducked back under the depths.

     "Your move, Saotome," he said.  He'd woken earlier than
usual this morning, and come out to the back porch to find his
friend looking up at the rising sun; he'd suggested a game before
breakfast, and Genma had quietly acquiesced.
     
     Genma shifted slightly from his seat on the floor and 
reached out a broad hand as if to pick up a piece, then slowly
drew it back with a gentle, breathy sigh.  He turned his head and
stared out at the pond, like Soun had been doing moments before.

     Troubled, Soun said nothing as he watched his friend.  He
had been this distant since yesterday morning, when the cab had
pulled up and Ryoga had carried Nodoka's bags to it, as Genma
stood and watched, his face as smooth and blank of feeling as a 
pillar of stone.

     For a short time, the Saotome family had been together
again, and now it was again split apart.  Soun stared at the
craggy, age-hardened features of Genma's face.  He thought of his
three daughters, sleeping upstairs, and of Ryoga, who had been
given a spot in the dojo to lay his head for a few days.  

     He thought of the vanished boy who he'd hoped would be his
son-in-law, and remembered a time when he and Genma had been that
young, that full of fire and hope, ready to take on the world 
with the Art, ready to do anything.

     Life had a way of catching up to you, though.  You found as
you grew older that what you'd loved as a young man became less
beloved in your heart, and new things took its place; the eyes of 
a woman, the gentle laughter of her voice, the tiny hand of your 
new daughter gripping your finger as she lay in her cradle.

     It had, he realized, never quite happened to Genma in the
same way it had to him.  Genma had tried to mould his son into 
his vision of the way a man should be, the way in which he'd
wanted himself to be as a young man, a true master of the Art.
     
     Soun knew his friend had flaws, but he was a good man at his
core.  He had been a better man in his youth than he was now, and
it was the memory of that better man that Soun liked to carry
with him when he thought of his friend.

     Then again, perhaps he himself had been a better man in his
youth as well.  But everything had changed; everything had ended
with the slow beeps of heart monitors and the cooling hand of his
wife in his, and much of who he had been lay interred in the
earth with the body of his wife, lost in the depths of the fading
photograph of a young man and woman he kept in the upper shelf of
his closet, and on some nights he would find himself unable to
sleep, and he would hug that photo in its cracked plastic frame
to his chest and quietly cry, and the loneliness and grief in him 
were like a hungry thing.

     "Tendo?  Your move," Genma said, bringing him back.
     
     Soun studied the board for a long moment, then made his 
move.  Genma observed the change in the structure of the game,
then slowly shook his head.

     "I'm sorry, Tendo," he said finally.  "My mind's not on the
game today."

     "It's understandable, old friend," Soun observed wryly.  "I
suppose it should be on other things anyway."

     "Aye," Genma said with a sigh.  
     
     "You're going to China, then?" Soun asked.
     
     Genma nodded.  "I'm waiting to talk to the master again.
He's... making arrangements, or so he says."

     Soun shuddered.  "Taking the master's help... the horror.
Who knows what price he may exact later?"

     "The master's changed," Genma said after a moment.  "Ever
since we came back.  At least his age seems to have steadied out,
but..."

     "It's unfortunate," Soun said.  "I was at least hoping we'd
manage to outlive him."
     
     Genma laughed, though not particularly convincingly.  "Who
knows?  Stranger things have happened."  But the amusement was
brief, and his face soon returned to melancholy.  "I have to go, 
Soun.  It's the only lead I have.  It's the only hope I've got 
left."

     "And if he's not to be found there?"
     
     Genma's face went hard.  "Then I'll look for him somewhere
else, until I find out just what has happened to my son.  I owe
him that much, at least."  He hung his head.  "I owe Nodoka that 
much.  She said..."
     
     What he said next was spoken so quietly that Soun was barely
sure he heard it.  "She said that if I can bring him back, then
maybe there's a chance for us."

     Soun looked at his friend levelly for a few seconds, then
stood up and walked around the game board to clap Genma on the 
shoulder.  "You know I would come with you if I could, old
friend, but..."

     "I know," Genma said, something in his eyes that might have
been gratefulness.  "But you've got your house and your 
daughters, Soun."  He spread his hands wide in front of him, 
indicating nothingness with the gesture.  "I have a vanished son 
and a wife who does not wish to see me."

     Soun was silent for a moment before speaking.  "You know
that's not true, Saotome.  She's given you a way back.  You just
have to take it."

     "I want to, Tendo," Genma said.  "But it's so hard.  It's so
hard."

     "Most things that are truly worthwhile are," Soun said
sagely.       

     There was a long stretch of silence.
     
     Genma looked at Soun.  "We're getting old, Tendo.  We sound
like a pair of monks, staring into the water and talking of the
meaning of life."
     
     "I know, Saotome," Soun said dejectedly.  "I know."
     
     Soun sat back down and looked out at the pond again.  The
game forgotten, the two men watched the slow creeping of the sun
towards the apex of the sky, and waited to be called for 
breakfast, hoping until then to manage to avoid the fact that
neither knew quite what to say to the other.

**********

     Nodoka pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and tucked it
back behind her ear, then resumed working on the garden with the
same care she had since the sun had risen an hour ago.  She
wanted to get some work done before the sun got too high in the
sky and the day got too hot.

     And it was something to do, something to help her not think,
about her son, about her husband.  She could wrap herself in the
cheerful monotony of the garden for a long time.

     The trowel scraped softly on the earth, as her eyes fell to
the row of bulbs waiting to be planted on the unkempt grass 
nearby.  She'd have to work on the lawn later; right now, the 
long bed of fenced-in earth near the eastern wall of the house 
was occupying her attention.

     "Good morning, Saotome-san," someone called from the gate
near the wall of the house.

     She looked up to see the neighbour she'd met the day she'd
moved in, an older man in his late fifties.  "Good morning,
Ongaku-san."

     He had a newspaper tucked under his arm, as he had the first
day she'd met him.  "Mind if I come in for a moment?"

     "You're welcome to," she said with a smile and a nod.  As he
walked in through the gate and across the grass towards her, she
noted his shoes were very expensive-looking, a contrast to the
casual look of the rest of his clothing.  

     He knelt down by her, balancing the balls of his feet, and 
looked at the just-begun garden.  "Ahh.  I really should start 
working on mine, but I just keep putting it off."

     "Oh?  You enjoy gardening?" Nodoka asked, taking a bulb and
carefully placing it in one of the holes she'd dug.

     Taikazu smiled, a bit sadly.  "My wife did, when she was
alive.  I keep it up for her sake.  I've gotten rather attached 
to the flowers over the years."

     "I'm sorry," Nodoka said, feeling bad for bringing up such a
memory.     
     
     "It's all right," he said.  "It's been over ten years, and you
had no way of knowing."

     He reached over and picked up a bulb from the grass, 
weighing it up and down in his hand.  "The flowers are the easy
part.  It's the plants you have to worry about it; you've really
got to get at them right from the start, make sure they don't
grow all twisted, or when they get mature they're awfully hard to
correct."

     "I know what you mean," Nodoka said with a sigh as she
planted another bulb.  "How long have you lived here in Nerima,
Taikazu-san?"

     "All my life, though not always in the house I'm in now," he
said.  He stood up and brushed at the hem of his pants.  "It's
been a delight to talk to you, Nodoka-san.  I'm sure we'll get to
know each other better as time goes on.  I'm off to meet some of
my business associates for a morning meeting, though, so I'll see
you later."

     "Oh?  And what business are you in?" she asked, returning
the majority of her attention to the garden.

     "We do a lot of things," he said, his voice fading as he
walked away.  "Shipping, receiving, product distribution..."

     Nodoka smiled and planted another bulb.  He was a very
charming man; he had almost been enough to make her forget the
circumstances that had brought her here, even if just for a
little while.

     But not quite enough.  The smile faded, and though she
continued to garden for a few hours more, her heart truly wasn't
in it.

**********

     "So you're not coming in with me today?  Again?"
     
     Akane looked back at Nabiki from where she sat at her desk,
then slowly shook her head.  "No.  I've got other things to do."

     "Like what?" Nabiki said, leaning against the doorframe in
her school dress, satchel dangling from one hand.  "Sit around 
and mope some more with Ryoga about Ranma being gone?"

     Akane winced.  "Just go away, Nabiki," she said harshly.  "I
don't want to have to put up with this from you right now."
     
     "This can't go on forever, Akane," Nabiki said, a bit more
gently this time.  "You've either got to do something about it or
get over it.  You can't spend the whole time just thinking about
him.  That doesn't do you or him any good."

     Akane sighed and shook her head.  "I know, Nabiki."
     
     "Then why are you still acting like this?" her sister said.
"It's been three days since you got back.  What have you done
since then?  Have you talked to Shampoo about why Cologne might
have done what she did?  Have you talked to Mr. Saotome?  
Anything like that?"

     "There hasn't been time," Akane said, shoving her chair back
on its wheels and standing up.  "I've been busy-"

     "Busy spending time with Ryoga," Nabiki interrupted.  "You
have got to get your act together, sis, or this is going to get
even worse.  Ranma's gone, Akane; the question is whether or not
you can get him back."

     "Fine," Akane said icily, taking a few steps across the 
floor of her room to stand in front of Nabiki, glaring up at her.  
"Where would you suggest I start, Nabiki?"

     "I'd start by talking to Mr. Saotome and Happosai," Nabiki
said in a cool voice.  "Since they've been discussing going to
China to look for Ranma since yesterday."

     "What?" Akane said in a slightly stunned voice.  "And they
didn't even tell me?"

     "You've got to keep your ears open, Akane," Nabiki said with
a smirk, tapping her left ear with one finger.  "Maybe then you
wouldn't miss the glaringly obvious."

     "I-" Akane began.
     
     But Nabiki was already making her way down the hall in a
quick walk.  Akane stifled the words and walked back to her desk
chair, sitting down with a sigh.  

     Sometimes, she wished she was able to share things with her
sisters.  But both of them were too distant; Kasumi with her
housework, Nabiki with her scams and her greed.  The three of 
them were all too different to be really close in the way some
sisters were.

     Ryoga, now, she didn't know what she would do without him.
He was like the brother she'd never had.  It was thanks to him
that she was holding up as well as she was.

     If what Nabiki said was true, if Genma and Happosai did
believe Ranma to be in China, well, that was better than not
knowing where he was at all.  It was a start, at least.

     Not that there wasn't reason to be wary.  This was Genma and
Happosai, after all.  But if they had some kind of lead, she
could at least evaluate it and try to decide if it was worth
following up on.

     Feeling a little more optimistic than she had five minutes 
ago, Akane hurried down the stairs.  Genma had been at breakfast,
though Happosai hadn't.  It was preferable to talk to Ranma's 
father anyway; she'd take speaking to him over Happosai any day.

     "Kasumi?" she said, ducking her head round the kitchen door,
where Kasumi was washing the breakfast dishes at the sink.

     "Yes, Akane?" Kasumi said, looking up as she continued to
scrub at a bowl, the hot water from the tap gently murmuring
across her working hands.

     "Where's Mr. Saotome?"
     
     "I think he and father went out," Kasumi said as she turned
her attentions back to the dishes.  "They said something about
having to talk about some things."

     "Did they say when they'd be back?" 
     
     Kasumi stood in thought for a moment, then shook her head.
     
     "Thanks anyway," Akane said dejectedly as she backed out of
the kitchen.  She walked out of the kitchen and made her way into
the dining room that faced out into the backyard.  Through the 
open doors, she could see the green sprawl of the yard broken by
the pond, and Ryoga.

     He was standing near the wall, his shadow splashed across 
the white stone mirroring the slow movements of his body as he
went through a complex kata.  There was grace in his movements;
not the same absolutely fluid grace that Ranma had always had, 
but there was still a sense of near-perfect balance and agility 
in Ryoga's form as he moved.

     She watched him for a few moments, he and the dark mirror of
his shadow, and felt memory rise in her, a cold chill down her
spine as she saw that shadow move in time with him, and she
remembered the woman in black with the long braid of hair, and 
the shadows rising from her, and the blood streaming down Ryoga's
arms, and the blood staining the white of Shampoo's blouse, and
the horrible drumroll of thunder and the flash of lightning that
there had been before Denkoko and Yamiko had come.

     And now she felt like crying again, but she didn't want to,
because she'd done quite enough of that.  Last night she'd come
outside and stood in the moonlight and cried, and whispered his
name once, as if he might somehow hear her, wherever he was.  

     Ryoga paused in his movements and looked at her.  He raised
a hand in greeting, and smiled as she walked out into the back
yard, grass tickling against the soles of her bare feet.  "Hi,
Akane.  Shouldn't you be at school?"

     She shook her head.  "I can miss another day."
     
     Ryoga nodded as he understood, then went back to his kata,
though he didn't seem as focused as before.  "So what's up?"

     She quickly told him what Nabiki had told her, about Genma
and Happosai's plans to go to China.

     At the end, Ryoga slowly nodded and leaned back against the
wall, folding his arms over his chest.  "Mousse said he thinks
that's where he is, if Cologne has him.  I was thinking I would 
go there myself."

     "Well, why didn't you tell me?" Akane asked, slightly 
annoyed.

     Ryoga coughed and looked at the ground.  "Well..."
     
     "You don't want me to go, is that it?" Akane said in a low
voice.  "You think I'll just be in the way."

     Ryoga said nothing, but his eyes betrayed him.  Akane felt a
slow anger grow in her.  "Is that it?"

     "Akane, that's not-"
     
     "So you were going to leave me behind and go to China?" she
said.  "Like you left me behind to go after Herb, like you left 
me behind to go to Phoenix Mountain."  She clenched her hands 
into fists at her sides.  "I know I'm not much compared to you or 
Ranma.  I'm not even much compared to Shampoo or Ukyou.  But I'm 
still good enough to fight, Ryoga.  And if you, or Mr. Saotome, 
or Happosai, is going to China, then I'm coming with you."

     Ryoga took a deep breath, and spoke as if it took him great
effort to do so.  "Akane, I didn't know anything about Mr. 
Saotome or Happosai planning to go to China.   I was going to 
talk to you before I did anything anyway."

     There was a sense of pain in his words now, pain reflected
in his eyes.  "I don't want you to be hurt, Akane.  By anything.
We're up against something very, very powerful.  I can feel that, 
though I'm not quite sure how.  You could get hurt."

     "I know that," Akane said.  "I'm not afraid of getting hurt,
Ryoga.  I know that whoever those people who we fought on the
mountain were, they're very dangerous.  But I'm not sitting back
this time, Ryoga.  Not this time."
     
     She looked up into his eyes, vision tracing across the four
thin scars across his cheek, the only visible remnant of the
battle on him.  He healed so fast; like Ranma.  "I'm going to
fight, Ryoga.  Ranma's fought for me before; this time, I'm going 
to fight for him."

     Ryoga looked back at her, his eyes unreadable now.  Finally,
a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, exposing a flash of
sharp canines for a moment.  "I can't stand in your way, Akane."
His tone seemed almost regretful.  "I couldn't even if I wanted 
to."

     Akane managed, with some effort, not to show her relief.
"Great.  You can help me talk to Mr. Saotome, then."

     Ryoga blinked.  "What do you want me for?"
     
     Akane snorted.  "Compared to him, Ranma's got a progressive
attitude towards girls, and Happosai's even worse.  I need you 
there for support."

     "You can count on me," Ryoga said, and then looked
embarrassed.     
     
     She smiled.  "I always can, can't I?"
     
     A light breeze blew through the yard, stirred the surface of
the pond, and slowly, slowly, like the rising of the tides, Akane
began to feel a hope rising in her that took some of the weight
of grief from her shoulders.

**********

     Nabiki was halfway to school when the car pulled up to the
curb near her.  With a soft, hissing scrape, the driver's side
window rolled down.

     "A moment of your time, Tendo," a voice said, deep and soft.
     
     The routine was familiar enough.  Nabiki glanced around, 
then opened the rear door and slid into the back seat of the long
dark car.

     The upholstery was soft and dark, elegantly expensive.  The
car was, as usual, empty except for the driver.  He rolled up his
window and then turned his head back to look at her.

     "Hello, Nabiki," he said with a smile.  "We haven't met in
person like this for a long time."

     "You can't imagine my pleasure at seeing you again, 
Yoshiyuki," Nabiki said in a flat voice.  Oddly, she always found
it easier to deal with him in person than on the phone; perhaps 
it was because he was so nondescript.  His suit, haircut and
sunglasses would have screamed yakuza thug, if he wasn't short,
slightly pudgy, and pale.  

     Still, even if she wasn't always frightened of him, she was
wary.  People who weren't wary with yakuza had a tendency to end
up dead.

     "I'd love to make small talk, Nabiki," the yakuza said with
a sigh.  "But I'm a busy man.  I'll get straight to the point;
you've been holding out on us."

     "Whatever do you mean?" Nabiki replied coolly.
     
     "You said nothing about those in the household planning to
go to China," Yoshiyuki said.  "You know this arrangement can 
only continue as it is if you're honest with us."

     "I am honest with you," Nabiki said.  "I didn't think it
would concern you.  It doesn't really have anything to do with
Ranma, does it?"  Her voice was cool, but it only disguised her
nervousness.  How, she wondered, had he found out?

     "Nabiki," Yoshiyuki said chidingly.  "Anything and 
everything even vaguely related to Ranma Saotome interests me.
They're going to China to look for him, aren't they?"
     
     "I suppose they could be," Nabiki said guardedly.  "I didn't
really ask."

     He shook his head.  "Don't play these games with me, Nabiki.
Neither you nor I get any benefit out of them."

     Nabiki nodded, almost imperceptibly.  She didn't quite know
why she hadn't yet told him about Happosai and Genma herself; 
perhaps a vague trace of guilt she hadn't yet managed to stifle.

     "I know I say this all the time," she said.  "But Ranma 
wouldn't ever be willing to get involved with you guys.  He's got
an somewhat shifty sense of honour, but not shifty enough to work 
for the yakuza."

     "Then why do you continue to report to us, if our desire to
recruit such exceptional people as Saotome and his friends can
never be realized?" the gangster asked softly.

     Nabiki laughed, not a true laugh, but a calculated one.
"Because you pay me a lot of money, Yoshiyuki.  Because I like
having a lot of money."

     "What for?" he asked unexpectedly.
     
     "It makes me feel secure," Nabiki said.  And it goes into 
the savings for college, and maybe some new clothes once in a 
while, and maybe a little slipped to Kasumi for groceries or
repairs to the house or dojo if she was feeling generous.

     "You seem very lonely to me, sometimes," Yoshiyuki said.
He grinned.  "Perhaps you would like-"
     
     "I'd prefer to keep our relationship at somewhere between
the levels of person seen passing on the street and occasional
acquaintance," Nabiki said shortly.  Even with his sunglasses on,
she was sure she could feel his eyes running up and down her
body; she pulled her schoolbag up and hugged it to her chest like
a shield.

     Yoshiyuki turned his head back to look out through the glass
of the windshield and the people passing; his hands gripped the
steering wheel.  "I believe this meeting is finished, then."

     Trying not to show relief on her face, Nabiki reached for 
the handle of the door.  She wanted nothing more than to get out,
get out of the stifling darkness of the car and away from
Yoshiyuki's presence.

     There was the clicking sound of the doors locking, and the
cold tinglings of fear crawled slowly down the ridges of her
spine.  Yoshiyuki turned his head back and smiled at her coldly.

     "One more thing, Nabiki," he said in a voice like the
languid beating of a drum.  "Don't you ever, ever, hold 
information back from us again.  Do you understand?"

     "Unlock the door, Yoshiyuki," Nabiki said, willing her voice
to be firm.  

     "Do you understand?" he asked again.
     
     "I understand," Nabiki said quickly.  
     
     There was a long moment of harsh silence between them, and
for a second, Nabiki was convinced that the doors would not be
unlocked, that the dark car with its tinted windows would roll
off into the city, and she would never be seen again.  Terror
built in her, threatening to choke off her control, poising to
leap down her throat and make her scream, and she knew, knew with
all her heart and soul, that no one would hear.

     Then, with a sound sweeter than any music she had ever 
heard, the locks clicked again, and she was scrambling out of the
car to stand on the sidewalk in the sun, closing the door behind
her with a bang, watching the car drive off down a side street.

     She stared at the unconcerned faces of people passing by,
taking slow, deep breaths.  She clutched her bag to herself and
tried to concentrate on the warmth of the sun on her face, on the
faint smell of city all around her.

     A thought came to her suddenly.  At a certain point when one
is climbing a steep and dangerous mountain, it becomes safer to
continue up then to attempt to climb back down.  She wondered, 
vaguely, as she began to walk to school, if she would ever 
remember just what that point had been for her.     
     
**********

     "We need to talk, Shampoo."
     
     Shampoo took a moment to respond, and then looked back at
Mousse from where she sat on the floor of the dining room.  All
the tables and chairs were piled off to the side now, and the
main space was occupied by large piles of clothing and other
accoutrements of life, including a fairly large collection of
Joketsuzoku artifacts contained in various trunks, boxes and
bags.  

     "What you want, Mousse?" she asked tiredly.  "I very busy
right now."

     That was true; the morning so far had been spent sorting
through her possessions and the possessions Cologne had left
behind, deciding what would be kept and what would be discarded.

     All of Cologne's old robes and the collection of hairbands 
the old woman had worn, those could be tossed away.  Most of
Shampoo's clothing would be kept, except for the aprons and 
bonnets that had been a part of her work uniform; those she 
would not miss.  The Joketsuzoku artifacts had to be returned to 
the village, of course.  

     Other things were more difficult.  Cologne's staff; several
ink-sketches that were cracked and faded with age, signed with 
the old woman's neat, precise hand.  They had made their way
during the morning from one side to another a half-dozen times;
part of her never wanted to see them again, part of her wanted
them as a memory of the happy times she'd had with Cologne.

     The memories of the times before she'd gone mad and 
kidnapped Ranma's mother, setting into motion the events that had
led to his disappearance.  Even now, she was not sure just what
Cologne's motive had been; the old woman had left no clues or
traces that could have explained her actions.  
     
     There was the matter of the engagement, of course, but that
left too many threads unexplained.  Shampoo knew, felt it in her
bones, that this went deeper than that.  How deep, though, she 
did not know.

     "We need to decide what we're going to do next, Shampoo,"
Mousse said, sitting down across from her on the floor, his robes
whispering softly as he folded his legs and looked at her 
somewhat warily.

     "Is easy to understand," Shampoo said shortly.  "We go 
home."

     "What about Ranma?" 
     
     A flash of sadness marked her face for a moment, and then it
was gone.  "I not know what to do about him.  He is not husband.
He no love me.  What I care?"

     How easy she found it, to speak lies out loud, though the
truth of the matter was that each thought of Ranma made her heart
ache.  She saw by Mousse's eyes that he knew it, that the knowing
of it wounded him deep.

     "I know you care, Shampoo," Mousse said quietly.  "Even
after you finally realize someone doesn't want you in the way you
want them, it's not that easy to give them up."

     She nodded, and intently examined the grain of the wood in
the floor.  "Well, what you think we do about Ranma?  It not like
he your friend."

     There was silence from him for a moment before he spoke. 
"No, I suppose it's not like he was.  But I did fight beside him,
Shampoo; he was my brother in arms, if not my friend."  He 
sighed.  "And I'm worried about where he is, Shampoo, because I 
know this is a lot bigger than any of us yet see.  If you want to 
know what I think, I'll tell you."

     He took a deep breath.  "I think, or I'd like to think, 
that Cologne was the one who got her hands on Ranma, not those
two women.  Happosai was more than a match for the one we fought,
and Cologne's better than he is.  I think she took him back to
China.  I think they're near the village."

     "Lot of assumptions to be making," Shampoo said.  "And why
you think all this?"     

     "Because of Jusenkyou," Mousse said.  "I've been thinking,
and in everything truly important that's involved Ranma, that's
involved us, Jusenkyou has been the key.  The very reason you
came to Japan in the first place was because of Jusenkyou; we
fought Herb and his men because of Jusenkyou."  He paused for a 
moment.  "We went to Mount Phoenix because of Jusenkyou.  And 
because of you, of course."

     With an effort, Shampoo forced down the bitter memories that
rose like bile, of the haze of magic-induced obedience that she'd
lived in for a time.  Her fists clenched at her sides, and she
took a deep breath to calm herself.
     
     "And Cologne used Jusenkyou as well, to become young again,"
Mousse said, not seeming to notice the flash of rage in her.  
"That's what Happosai said, at least.  It all comes back to
Jusenkyou."

     Shampoo nodded.  It made a strange kind of sense, actually.
     
     "Why you so anxious to help Ranma all of sudden?" she said,
vague suspicion in the tone.

     Mousse looked at her for a long moment, then sighed.  "Can't
you ever see I can want do some good sometimes, Shampoo?"

     Shampoo gave a harsh laugh.  "Right.  Everything you ever do 
from time we children is to try and make me marry you."

     She regretted what she'd said almost immediately, because
she saw the hurt on his face, but she pressed on, as she often
did, because it was easier to continue in the cruelty than to try
and make some amends for it.  "You want help Ranma?  You hate
Ranma."

     "Shampoo..." Mousse said helplessly.  "I don't hate him.
Maybe I did before.  Not anymore.  I always hated how he treated
you, how he made you behave, but I stopped hating him a long time
ago."

     "Ranma not need your help anyway," Shampoo said, hating each
word as she spoke it, not understanding why she felt the need to
be so cruel to him.  Perhaps because it was familiar, because it
was easy; how easy to slip into the old routines, the old 
interplay.  "Ranma is great warrior; why he need your help?"

     Mousse's face twisted into an expression of pain, and he
stood up, his body tense.  "I'm not going to listen to this,
Shampoo."

     He turned, as if to walk away, and she leapt to her feet and
grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around with a snarl.  "Man no
turn back on woman when she talk to him."

     "Is this what you've become, Shampoo?" Mousse said coldly, a
vague sense of anger unfamiliar to her in his tone.  "You sound
more and more like your great-grandmother with each passing
moment I listen to you."

     She pulled back a fist and hit him.  
     
     At least, that was the plan.  Somewhere along the line, she
found the blow blocked, her arm trapped at the wrist in his grip.

     She stared into his eyes, saw something terribly, terribly
cold and angry there, and she could almost see the gears of his
memory turning, the thoughts reflected in the depths of his eyes,
the recollection of each taunt, each rejection, each blow.

     Everyone, everyone, has a point at which they must break, no
matter the goodness of their nature or the depths of their 
feelings.  Push someone hard enough, and they will, eventually, 
no matter how they feel about you, push back.

     Shampoo realized that perhaps she'd finally pushed too far
about a second before Mousse's fist collided with her jaw.  There
was a crack that echoed through her skull, a ringing flash of
blinding flight, and then her body crashed to the floor.  

     The blow was hard, but it was not as if she could not take
it.  It was shock and surprise that left her lying there, not any
actual pain.  Shock as she played back her own words and realized
just how cruel they had been, surprise at how Mousse had raised a
hand against her.

     She raised herself on her elbows and looked up, and was even
more surprised.  Mousse was trembling like a plucked string, 
shaking back and forth with the hand he'd blocked with spread 
over his face and the one he'd hit her with stretched out in 
front of him, palm held out flat towards her.

     He was whispering something under his breath, repeating it
over and over again.  After a moment, she was able to make it 
out.

     "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

     She slowly stood up, her jaw aching, and crossed the 
expanse of space between them, stepping lightly over boxes and
piles of clothing.  Carefully, she extended a hand and touched
his shoulder.

     "Mousse-"
     
     He gave a cry and shied back from her.  He raised his head
and looked up at, and his eyes were filled with pain, with long
anger, and with regret.  "Please... don't touch me, Shampoo."

     Slowly, he turned from her and walked to the front door,
sliding it open and stepping outside the restaurant.  Shampoo
stared at the closed door for a long, long time, and then went to
find some ice to put on her jaw before it turned into a bruise.
     
**********

     It was near the lunch hour at Ucchan's Okonomiyaki when the
phone in the kitchen rang.  There was no lunch being served that
day; usually, Ukyou would have been at school.  However, certain
unusual circumstances had prevented that.

     Since she'd risen late this morning after a night of sleep
disturbed by dreams she could not remember, she'd been carefully
checking through the account books.  She had no small amount of
money squirreled away; years of life on the road with her father
had taught her the value of frugality.  

     Still, going to Okinawa would not be cheap, and despite it's
size compared to the rest of the Japanese islands, it was not a
small place.  She had no idea where Konatsu might be, where she
might find any sign of Clan Kenzan.

     In truth, she was not even sure if she wanted to go.  Ranma
was still missing, and despite what she might desire, she could
not deny her own feelings.  

     But Ranma had others who would look for him, and Konatsu had
no one but her, and never had.  He needed her more than Ranma 
did.  He needed somebody, because every time she stared at that
note, the ink faded from when Happosai had thrown it into the
pond, she felt that dreadful sense of apprehension rising in her.

     So the day so far had been spent in consultation of 
finances, in calling various travel agents to see what a flight
to Naha would cost, what it would take to get her to the capital
city of the prefecture; if the search could be begun anywhere, it
would be there.  She was paging through her bank statements for
the third time this hour when the buzz of the phone startled her
from her thoughts.

     She pushed her chair back and stood, pacing across the floor
of the small kitchen to take it off the hook.  "Hello?"

     There was the silence of an open line on the other end of 
the phone, the soft sound of breathing.  

     "Hello?" she said again.
     
     For a moment, there was only the breathing, and then there
was a voice, old and trembling, fearful, the voice of a woman in
the last years of life.

     "Is Konatsu there?" 

     Ukyou felt a chill run through her.  "Who is this?"
     
     The breathing began to sound even softer, as if the phone 
had been moved away from the mouth.  

     "Please wait," Ukyou pleaded.  "Don't hang up.  Please.  Who
is this?"

     Silence again, for an agonizing second, and then the voice
spoke again.

     "Is she there?"
     
     "No," Ukyou said.  "He's gone, and I think he's in trouble.
Who are you?"

     "I can't-"
     
     "Please," Ukyou begged.  "Please, if you care for Konatsu at
all, if you know anything, you have to help me."

     "Kenzan," the voice on the other end of the line said, as if
the word were poison, as if the word was pain to speak.     

     "What about them?"
     
     There was a pause.  "I think we need to talk."
     
     "I think we do," Ukyou said, hardly daring to breathe.
     
     "Is there an entrance to your restaurant other than the
front?" the voice on the other end of the line asked.

     "There's a side door in an alley," Ukyou responded.  "You
can come up through it from the street behind the restaurant."
     
     "I shall be there in fifteen minutes," the voice said.
There was a tremor of fear in it, as if the owner of the voice
were very unsure of what they were doing.  "Be there to open it
for me, please."

     "I will," Ukyou said.  There was a click as the phone on the
other end of the line hung up, and then the chirping buzz of the
dial tone.  She let out the breath she'd been holding and took a
step back from the phone, running a hand across her forehead and
through her bangs.  

     The minute hand of the clock on the kitchen wall seemed to 
trace itself across the numbered face with glacial slowness now, 
as the ticking of the mechanism echoed in her head.  
     
     She tried to sit still, but she couldn't.  She got up and
paced through the kitchen, the dining room, up and down the
stairs.  After what seemed like hours, a little over fourteen
minutes had passed according to the clock, and she found herself
by the door in the kitchen that led into the alley.

     At fifteen minutes after she had hung the phone up, there
came a knocking at the door.  Ukyou pulled it open and saw the
hunched shape standing in the alleyway, illuminated by the
sunlight streaming down the sides of the buildings.  It was an
old woman, back bent by age and arms twisted by the weight of
years.  Wispy white hair was gathered back into a loose bun, held
in place by the strategic thrust of a long silver pin.  The black
dress was shapeless, and hung across a bony frame that trembled
and shook as the woman stood there, as if unsure what to do.
Then Ukyou noticed the opaque black glasses and the long
white cane with a red tip, and realized the woman was blind.  

     "Please, come in," she said graciously, reaching out and
taking one of the woman's hands in hers.  With short steps, the
old woman walked carefully into the restaurant, the cane a sharp
tap on the floor to each fall of her footsteps.  Ukyou guided her
to the kitchen table and into a chair, and then sat down when she
was sure the woman was comfortable.

     "Would you like something to drink?" she said, licking her
lips apprehensively.  "I've got-"

     "Just a glass of water, please," the old woman said 
creakily.  Ukyou got up and filled a glass at the sink, watching
the woman as he huddled in the chair out of the corner of her 
eye.  Every movement of her body was fearful, nervous.

     She handed the glass to the woman, their fingers brushing
together for just a moment, and sat back down, folding her hands 
on the edge of the table and trying not to appear impatient.

     The old woman sipped at the water once, and then put the
glass back down on the table, keeping her hand near it.  Shadowy
reflections of the room and of Ukyou's face moved across the
black lenses of her glasses.

     "So what do you know about Konatsu and Clan Kenzan?" Ukyou
asked quietly.

     "The girl is gone, isn't she?" the old woman asked softly.
     
     "You mean Konatsu?"
     
     The woman nodded.  Ukyou decided it was best not to
contradict her; she looked frightened enough already that
anything unexpected might make her worse.  "Yeah.  She's been
gone since the day before yesterday.  I've got this note-"  She 
was about to pull it out from her pocket, then stopped.  "I'm 
sorry.  You won't be able to read it."

     "That's all right, child," the old woman said, her voice
sounding a little more steady now.  "It's too late, then.  I had
heard that one of them had somehow managed to get away before the
time came, and I thought I might be able to help somehow."

     "What are you talking about?" Ukyou asked nervously.
     
     The old woman bowed her head, staring blankly at the table,
then took another sip of water.  Her hands trembled and a few
drops spilled on the table as she set it back down.  "Kenzan 
trains girls normally, until they reach a certain age.  At that
point, they are taken to the compound and a foul ritual is done
that puts their minds beneath the control of the leader of the
clan.  They become little more than slaves."

     There was hate in the old woman's voice now, nearly
overshadowed by fear.  "They are monsters, worshippers of demons
and dark gods, steeped in centuries of evil rites.  They are a
force of the shadows, hidden from the sight of the modern world,
and yet they work their foulness across all of Japan."

     Ukyou felt the worm of fear begin to twist in her belly, and
hesitantly spoke.  "Then Konatsu..."

     "It's too late," the old woman said, and shook her head.
"If they have her, it's too late.  She is as good as lost."

     "How do you know all this?" Ukyou asked.
     
     Pain twisted the old woman's face.  "They took my daughters.
Two girls, so beautiful..."

     "What did you do?"
     
     "I tried to help them," the old woman said.  She reached
into the shapeless folds of her dress and pulled out a circle of
wooden beads.  "I had power, once.  Lord Buddha and the Sun 
Goddess, I thought they could protect me.  But their evil was 
stronger, and they took my power and my eyes and did not even 
give me the mercy of clean death."

     "Then you know where they would have taken Konatsu," Ukyou
said.  "Where?"

     "Okinawa," the old woman said, clicking the prayer beards
together and muttering under her breath.  "They take them to
Okinawa.  That is where the clan compound lies, the seat of their
power."

     "I know that," Ukyou said.  "But where in Okinawa?"
     
     The old woman was silent.  She reached out and brushed
Ukyou's face with one wrinkled hand; it was like being touched by
old parchment.

     "Oh, yes," she said with something like delight and 
something like fear.  "You are the one, you are the one, yet you
must go alone, alone."

     "What?" Ukyou said, wanting to draw away, finding herself
unable.

     "Ah, little one," the old woman said, and smiled 
toothlessly.  "You wish to know where Kenzan lairs in their
darkness?  Then you shall.  On the coast to the southwest of 
Naha, perched upon a cliff that overlooks a beach of white sand,
that is where they are.  Ask for them in Naha, though you may 
need to search to find one who will tell you what you shall need
to know."

     The woman placed a hand on each side of her face, holding
the definition's of Ukyou's cheekbones, and if she had not been
blind, Ukyou would have been sure that she was looking directly
at her from behind the dark glasses.  "But you must go alone.  Do
you understand?  Do you believe?  I can give you help, but only
if you go alone."

     Ukyou nodded, the papery flesh of the old woman's hands
sliding against her face.  The black lenses seemed to trap her
gaze; coherent thought became difficult as she stared into the
blank expanse, the shadowy mirror of her face.  "I understand."

     "Good," the woman said, and took her hands away.  She
settled back into her seat and took another sip of water.  She
looked drained, fearful again.  "It will not be easy."

     "I'm not used to things being easy," Ukyou said fiercely.
     
     "Then I will give you this," the old woman said, and took
something from her clothing and placed it upon the table.  "At
your greatest need, you must open it, and you shall be aided."

     The object was a box of fine wood, inlaid with spiralling
patterns of ivory and jade, locked with a silver clasp, and no
bigger than Ukyou's hand.  She looked at it for a long moment,
then took it; it was warm and smooth as she drew it across the
table to rest near her arms.

     "Thanks," Ukyou said.  
     
     "Listen to me well," the old woman said quaveringly.  "For
though my eyes are blind, I can still see in ways that you 
cannot.  You must go alone, and you must tell no one that you
have met me, or that I gave you this thing.  For there are
traitors among those you trust, and you must take care."

     Ukyou nodded.  The woman sounded so sincere, so truthful.
     
     "I must go now," the old woman said, standing up and taking
her cane from where it rested against her chair.  "I wish you
luck."

     "Wait," Ukyou said.  "I don't even know your name."
     
     The woman shook her head.  "Does it matter?  I do not think
that we shall meet again, Ukyou Kuonji."     

     Troubled, Ukyou stood and showed the woman to the side door,
watched her step out into the shadows of the alleyway in silence,
and observed as she slowly tapped her way out onto the main
streets.  

     She closed the door and sat back down at the table to stare 
at the box, as if it could somehow give her the answers she 
needed to all the questions she still had.
     
**********     
     
     When Genma got back from walking with Soun, a walk that had
been spent less in conversation than in uncomfortable silence,
Happosai was waiting for him at the front of the house, leaning
back against the wall that surrounded the yard and house with his 
arms folded over his chest. 

     The master looked to be about twenty now.  Only his eyes
were still old; hard and dark and sharp.  Like Cologne's eyes had
been, Genma remembered with a shudder.

     "Hello, boys," he said languidly, and chuckled.  "Or perhaps
I should be calling you something else now, considering the state
of things.  

     "Hello, master," Soun said, the vaguest hint of a tremble in
his voice.  "What can we do for you?"

     "You can't do anything for me right now, Soun," Happosai
said, jerking his thumb towards the house.  "So go inside.  I
want to talk to Genma."

     Soun nodded, gave a quick bow from the waist, and scrambled
by Happosai as quickly as he could.  Once he was inside the 
house, Happosai turned his head a fraction of an inch to look 
more directly at Genma.

     "Well?" Genma said.
     
     In response, Happosai held out a long brown envelope.  
"Have a look at them, would you Genma?"

     Genma took the envelope, not understanding in the least, and
opened it up to extract the contents.  He paged without 
comprehension through a dozen sheets of paper covered in seals 
and signatures, then looked up at Happosai.  "What is all this?"

     "Travel documents that should get us on the plane to Xining
and then onto the train lines that go to the western part of 
Qinghai," Happosai said.  "We'll need to leave in the next week,
but I haven't got plane tickets yet."

     "How did you get all this so fast?" Genma said.
     
     Happosai smirked.  "You make connections in a century."
     
     Silently, Genma decided he probably would be better off not
asking just where Happosai had gotten the documents, or who he 
had gotten them from, or whether they were truly authentic.  

     "So what now?" Genma asked wearily as he leaned against the
wall next to the master.  The master was silent for a moment, 
staring out into empty space.

     Eventually, he spoke, quite softly.  "We need to talk to
Shampoo and Mousse.  I want to make sure we go on the same
flight, arrive at the same time."

     Genma looked at him quizzically.  "Why?"
     
     "The Joketsuzoku are not friendly to outsiders," Happosai
said.  "They would be even less friendly if they knew who I am."
He grimaced.  "Besides, I'm still worried about what their
Council will do to Shampoo, Ranma vanished or not.  I know
Cologne well enough to know she'd have enemies, and with her
supposedly gone mad, a lot of Shampoo's protection is gone.  They
may try to punish her in absence of punishing Cologne.  I don't
want anything to happen to her."

     Genma laughed.  "How compassionate of you."
     
     Happosai rubbed his hands together gleefully.  "Come now,
Genma, you know me better than that.  A body that perfect, a face
that fine... It would be a betrayal of myself if I let harm come
to it that I could prevent."

     "So what's your plan, master?" Genma asked, rolling his
eyes.

     "Simple enough," he said with a shrug.  "As an offering to     
the council, Shampoo is going to return the Joketsuzoku treasures
and artifacts stolen a century ago by a most clever and charming
thief."

     "That would be you, would it not?" Genma concluded morosely.
     
     "Precisely," Happosai said.  "Or who I used to be, at least.
We'll go along with our story, of course, of searching for your
vanished son."

     "And you would be who, exactly?" Genma asked.  "If you're
going to give back the treasures, you certainly can't tell them
who you are."

     "Why, I shall be my own grandson," Happosai said with a
grin.  "Trying to make some amends for the sins of his notorious
grandfather.  Rikuichi shall be my name."

     "There you are."
     
     The two men turned to see Akane and Ryoga standing beneath 
the shadow of the roof over the gate.  "Hello, Akane dear," 
Happosai said lazily.  "How can I help you today?"  His face 
brightened.  "Wait!  I know how.  Now that I'm a young man, 
you've finally realized--"

     "Happosai, shut up," Akane said wearily.  "Mr. Saotome, we
want to come to China with the two of you.  If you're looking for
Ranma there, Ryoga and I want to be along as well.  Right Ryoga?"

     Ryoga nodded.  "Yeah."
     
     Happosai shook his head.  "Out of the question.  I won't put
you in that kind of danger, Akane."

     Genma winced inwardly as he saw rage rise on Akane's face.

     "Now you listen, you old pervert-" she began.

     "No," Happosai said shortly, pushing himself off from 
leaning against the wall and turning to face Akane.  "You listen.
The Joketsuzoku Council has some connection to those two we
fought on the mountain.  This is not a training exercise or a
sparring match, Akane.  This is too dangerous for someone of your
skill level."

     "I can protect her," Ryoga said softly.  
     
     Happosai turned his gaze to him.  "But how can you protect
the other that you promised him you would, if oceans divide 
them?"

     Genma saw Ryoga's face go indecisive, confusion rising in
his eyes.  Whatever the master's words had meant, they had
obviously struck a chord.  

     "Fine," Akane said icily, her eyes hard as she looked at
Happosai.  "If I can't come with you and Mr. Saotome, I'll talk
to Shampoo and Mousse and see if I can go with them.  If they
won't let me, I'll go on my own."

     "And where will you find the money for this endeavour?"
Happosai said archly, raising an eyebrow.

     Akane flushed.  "I... I'll find it somehow.  I will.  If I
have to borrow it from Nabiki and pay back interest until my
dying day, I will."

     Happosai sighed.  "Akane-"
     
     "Listen to me, please," Akane said softly, with a core of
iron in her voice.  "Listen to me well.  I'm going to find Ranma,
and I'm going to bring him back safe.  And if anyone's done
anything to hurt him, I'll going to make them pay to the bottom
of their soul."  

     Happosai laughed derisively.  "Then I suppose it's best that 
you're around people who can make sure you don't get hurt, little
one."

     Before Akane could say anything, Happosai looked to Ryoga.
"And you, lost one?  Are you coming with us, to keep this one out
of trouble?"

     Genma could see Ryoga was torn, though between what he did
not know.  He glanced to Akane, then at the ground, and finally
spoke.  "I'm coming with you."
     
     "Just you wait," Akane snarled.  "I'll show you.  I'll show
you all I'm good enough to be of some use, that I'm more than 
the helpless victim you all seem to think I am.  Just you wait."

     With that, she spun on her heel and stomped towards the
house, leaving Ryoga to stand for an uncomfortable moment with
the two older men, before he turned and hurried after her,
talking quietly under his breath to her.

     "The girl could have been less gracious in victory, I 
suppose," Happosai said with a sigh.  "Let me have those 
papers, Genma."

     Genma handed them back.  Happosai sorted through them,
clucking his tongue a few times.  "Well, I guess it was good I
got them then."

     "Got what?" Genma said.
     
     "Travel papers for those two," Happosai said with a shrug.
     
     Genma blinked.  "Then what was all that about?  Why didn't
you just tell them they could come from the start?"     
     
     Happosai grinned.  "As one must temper the steel harshly to
make a fine weapon, so one must temper the souls of warriors."

     Genma shook his head and went inside the house.  He thought
it was about time for lunch anyway.  Some things, at least, did
not change.
     
**********

     It was fast approaching dinner hour when Shampoo heard the
knocking on the door.  Her jaw was swelling slightly, but the ice
and certain concoctions of herbs had kept it to a minimum.  She
was sitting at a table in the dining room of the restaurant,
trying to think of a reason why she had slipped back into the old
familiar cruelty towards Mousse, after such a short time of
understanding between them.  For the life of her, she could not
see why she had done it; had it only been the need to lash out,
the old familiar simplicity?  The results had certainly not been
what she'd expected.  

     The knocking tore her from her thoughts, though, and she
stood up to get the door, not sure who it might be.  She didn't
think it was Mousse; he wouldn't have knocked, and the door was
not locked.

     She opened the door, and had to stop herself from letting
out a small gasp.  Lit by the fading light of the sun that was
dipping below the skyline, the young man who stood in the doorway 
was quite literally the most handsome she had ever seen.  His 
dark hair was unruly and short, his build was tall and slender 
and well-proportioned, and his face was beautiful without being 
feminine, graceful without being weak, strong without being 
brutal.  Beneath the dark fall of his bangs, his eyes were an odd 
but attractive shade of pale blue, at odds with his Japanese 
features.  He had a briefcase covered in dark leather held in his
left hand, dangling at his side.

     "Hello," he said in a voice so melodious he almost seemed to
be singing the words as he spoke.  "I'm here to see Cologne."

     Shampoo exhaled a breath she hadn't realized until now she'd
been holding.  "Cologne gone."

     Disappointment showed on the his face; Shampoo guessed him
to be three or four years older than she was, no more than that.
"But I made this appointment over a month ago.  It took forever 
to convince her to see me.  Will she be back soon?"

     Shampoo winced.  "No.  Cologne gone."
     
     "Oh," the man said, and looked, of all things, sad.  "I'm
sorry to hear that.  You're her great-granddaughter, right?
Shampoo?"

     "Yes," Shampoo said.  She wanted to close the door on him, 
or at least a part of her did.  She ignored it.  "You want to
come in?"

     "I don't want to trouble you at a time like this," the young
man said, and turned as if to walk away.     

     Shampoo reached out and touched his shoulder, conscious of
the warmth of his skin through the cloth of his white shirt.  "Is 
no trouble.  How you know great-grandmother?"

     The young man stepped inside, smiling gratefully at her in a
way that made her heart feel less heavy.  He slid the door closed
and rubbed at the back of his head nervously.  "Let me introduce 
myself first, at least.  I'm Asakazu, Asakazu Hidarite.  I'm a
student at the University of Tokyo, a history student.  My area
of interest is Chinese history, specifically ancient Chinese
history.  I'm writing a paper on various ancient Chinese tribes
that survive in part or nearly intact today, and I wanted to talk 
to your great-grandmother about the Joketsuzoku."

     "Very interesting," Shampoo said softly.  "You like tea,
Asakazu?"

     "If you're offering it," he said.  "I really don't want to
intrude, not at a time like this, after you've lost a family
member."

     "Oh, she not dead," Shampoo said.  "Or at least, I not know
if she dead.  Just gone."

     Asakazu nodded, and, to her relief, didn't ask anything more
along that line of questioning.  "Well, you're a member of the
tribe too, aren't you?"

     Shampoo nodded.  "Finest warrior of generation," she said
with some pride.  

     "Then would you mind answering a few questions?" he asked.
"I promise I won't take up much of your time.  I understand if
you don't want-"

     "I be happy to," Shampoo said.  "I go make tea, first.  
Make self comfortable."

     She walked slowly into the kitchen, glancing back just once
to see him slide into a chair at the table, putting his briefcase
up on it with a gentle rasp of leather.

     She made the tea with her heart racing in her chest, trying
not to think of his hair or his face or his eyes, and finding
that beyond her.  It wasn't right that someone be that handsome;
his appearance seemed almost to have been designed to appeal to
her in all the right ways, but that was impossible.  

     When the tea was done, she carried the pot and the two best
china cups she could find into the dining room, and sat down at
the table across from him to pour them in silence.  In the time
she'd been gone he'd opened his briefcase and taken out a small
tape recorder, a black notebook and a pen.  The case was closed
and leaning against his chair; he tapped the pen absently against 
his lips as she served the tea.

     Fragrant steam wafted from the cup as he put the pen down
and took a sip of the tea.  He smiled; it was like the sun
emerging from behind clouds.  "That's very good."

     Shampoo smiled back at him.  "Thank you.  What you want to
know about Joketsuzoku?"

     He opened his notebook and looked at it as he took another 
sip of tea.  "Well, I have a list here..."

     And he did; each time she answered a question, he had 
another one, on into the darkening of the evening as they talked,
and the light of the sun outside grew dim and the light of the
streetlamps poured in through the windows.  She told him about
the fighting tournaments, about the training, about the work in
the fields, about the structure of the Council, about the small
celebration held each full moon night, about the ways in which
the men must defer to the women, and about dozens of other
things.  

     He recorded all the way through, and made notes, and looked     
at her with his beautiful eyes, and he never once tried to
correct her grammar or speed up her answers when the words in the
language escaped her; he only waited for her to find the right
ones.

     From sitting straight-backed in their chairs they went after
a few hours to leaning forward, hands nearly touching on the 
table occasionally as they spoke.  He laughed a lot, but not so
much that she thought he might be mocking her, and in a way that
made her laugh with him.

     "...and you only marry outsider men who defeat you in 
battle?" he asked some hours later, carefully looking at his
notes as the tape rolled softly on.  

     She shook her head.  "Usually, but not always.  Sometimes,
woman find man she love, but he is not strong man, not strong
enough to defeat her in battle.  Not happen very often, because
usually Joketsuzoku only love outsider man who is strong enough 
to defeat her, but sometimes it does.  First there is ritual to 
tell outsider man and tribe that woman is willing to accepted 
courtship of man even if he isn't strong."

     "And how does that work?" he said, his eyes still on his
notes.  

     Impulsively, Shampoo reached out and took his left hand in
her right, intertwining their fingers.  "Easier to show then
tell."

     He put his notebook and pen down, and for the first time
since she had met him he looked unsure, nervous.  "Uhh..."

     "Don't worry," she said.  "Just showing.  Not mean 
anything."     

     He laughed, a bit uncertainly.  "Well, if you insist..."
     
     She stood up, and he stood as well.  "Woman takes man's left
hand in her right, and put them to her heart."

     Hardly daring to breathe, she drew his hand in hers towards
her, and then carefully placed their linked hands against her
left breast, a tiny thrill running through her at the slight
pressure of his hand against her flesh.

     "Then she say words of acceptance," she said.  "Have to be
said in Chinese."

     *<This man, though his limbs are not strong as mine,>*
     *<Nor the power of his leg be strong as mine,>*
     *<This man, though he be not of my tribe,>*
     *<Nor has he conquered me in battle,>*
     *<He has yet conquered my heart, and I shall have him,>*
     *<If he shall take me, and if he shall not take me,>*
     *<Then perhaps I shall take him.>*
     
     She saw his eyes widen slightly.  He looked slightly
embarrassed.  "I... uhh... I understood some of that, but..."

     "I give you translation," she said, and smiled at him.
     
     There was a tangible moment of silence, hanging heavy
between the two of them.  His fingers shifted slightly in hers,
brushed against her breast.  She wondered if he could tell how
fast her heart was beating.

     Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed her.  It was so
unexpected, she did not know what to do.  She had kissed Ranma
before, but no one had ever kissed her first.  His lips were
soft, warm against hers.

     And she had never realized, not until now, just how badly
she had needed this, needed someone who she was attracted to, 
who she had given affection to, how badly she had needed to have
for once her affection returned.  She disentangled her hand from
his where they lay against her breast and put it against the back
of his neck, feeling the soft brush of his hair; his hand went
down to her hip, gentle and warm.

     She was not sure how long it went on before she heard the
door open and broke apart from him with a feeling like an
electric shock running through her body.  And as she turned, as 
she turned, she knew, knew with all her being, who would be in 
the doorway, and what his face would look like.

     Mousse looked as if he had been carved from stone.  His face
was blank of anything but pain as he stood in the doorway, and
the look in his eyes was so empty it hurt to see.  His hand
gripped the doorframe; he seemed unable to speak.

     Finally, he did, and his face twisted into a smile that was
terrible to see.  "Didn't take you long to get over Ranma, I 
see."

     Then he turned and went into the night, closing the door
behind as softly as anyone ever had.  It had taken all of a few
seconds; Shampoo looked at Asakazu's confused expression, and
then buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

     "I'm sorry about that," she heard him say gently, laying a
hand on her shoulder.  "I shouldn't have-"

     "No," she said, raising her head and looking at him through
the haze of her tears.  "Is nothing to do with you.  Lots of
things happen lately, I still-"

     "I understand," he said.  "I'm still sorry.  I really
shouldn't have done that, but... you were so beautiful, and..."
He flushed and looked away from her.  "I should go, I guess.  I'm 
really very sorry-"

     "Is okay," Shampoo said, wiping at her eyes.  "Is not your
fault.  If I not wanted you to kiss me, you be on floor right now
with broken head.  I..."

     She tried to smile at him.  "Why not come back tomorrow?  We
talk more, I tell you more."

     "About why your great-grandmother is gone?" he asked softly.
"And about who that boy was?"

     Shampoo nodded.  "Yes."
     
     He nodded and walked over to the table, and began to pack 
his things back into the briefcase in silence.  When that was
done, he walked by her without really seeming to notice her.  

     "Asakazu?" she called, making him pause at the door and look
back.  The night was behind him through the open door, the lights
of the restaurant shaping his handsome face as she looked at him.

     "Yes?" he inquired.
     
     "You... you come back tomorrow, right?" she said, shamed at
the tremble in her own voice.

     He smiled warmly; his pale blue eyes sparkled like the sky
reflected in a clear pool.  "No force of heaven or earth or the 
waters under the earth could stop me from coming back to you."

     Then he stepped out of the door, and the night took him into
its embrace, and he was gone.  

     And that night as she slept, for the first time ever, 
Shampoo had dreams of a man other than Ranma, and her sleep was
untroubled for the first time in many nights.