it around for show?”
Ken’ishi glanced down at the old man’s head, lying on the dirt street, dribbling a thin trail of blood behind it, the body twitching as it lay crumpled on the ground. Such a senseless death. To have lived for so long and died so badly, so meaninglessly, at the hands of one so crass and cruel. The old man had deserved better.
“You have the look of a young cock ready for his first fight,” said the samurai, squaring his body toward Ken’ishi with bloodlust in his eyes. “Perhaps you should be taught your place.”
Ken’ishi thrust the hilt of his sword forward. Akao snarled and bared his teeth.
“Oho! A young cock you are then! A cock and a dog. But which is which? Perhaps you are both dogs.” The samurai’s words were jovial, but his tone was not. “Perhaps you’re one head too tall as well.”
The other man was accustomed to his harsh words causing others to back down from him. But Ken’ishi was not backing down. He planted his feet and tested his footing.
The samurai started forward and snarled, “Why you little turd, I’ll—!”
Then another voice roared down the street, echoing between the shops and houses like the rumble of thunder. “Goemon! What the hell are you doing!”
The samurai stopped in mid-step and turned.
As the new figure came into the light, Ken’ishi saw he was also a samurai, dressed in robes that were rich, but not opulent, and carrying himself with the bearing of a man accustomed to command. He had strong, handsome features and sharp eyes. His gaze seemed to drill into Goemon, puncture him. The hostility bottled within Goemon began to seep away.
Goemon said, “Captain Mishima. I was just about to teach this rude young cock a lesson in manners.”
Captain Mishima stopped about two paces away from Goemon. “You were doing no such thing. He neither said nor did anything to provoke you. I saw the whole thing.”
Goemon stiffened as if struck.
Captain Mishima continued, his voice steady and controlled. “You are a disgrace. You’re nothing but a drunken bully, and you bring shame to our master. We are retainers to a noble house, some of the highest ranked bushi in the capital! We live to a far higher standard than this! Your disgraceful behavior brings dishonor upon our master, and that I cannot allow!”
“But—!”
“Shut up. I have been looking for you since nightfall. You have gone too far. The owner of a certain sake house sent word of your . . . behavior tonight to my office. You debauch yourself with sake, opium, and whores, and then spend the rest of the night proving your superiority to boys and old men.” He turned his penetrating gaze for an instant on the corpse sprawled in the dirt, and a look of pity and sadness flickered through his eyes, quickly washed away by a controlled rush of anger. “Madame Matsuko has powerful friends, and you have angered her with your ill-mannered treatment of her girls. You are a disgrace. I swear on my oath to our master that you will answer for this.”
Goemon’s chin fell further and further toward his chest, his shoulders slumping at the verbal barrage.
Captain Mishima continued, “I would enjoy the chance to cut you down myself, but you are not mine to kill.”
Goemon’s head rose at those words, and his body tensed again as he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.
Captain Mishima was unfazed, and his voice turned cold and deadly. “Do you think you can fight me? You are drunk, and I can smell the opium on your clothes. Your death would be no better than his.” He pointed toward the old man’s corpse. “Come with me now and you may be allowed to regain your honor with seppuku. It is not my decision to make, however. If it were, I would cut you down like the dog you are. Disobey me and you will be hunted and executed like a criminal.” He raised his arm and pointed back down the street in the direction he had come. “Now, go.”
Goemon released his sword hilt, lowered his head, and