Interlude: Home Defense
"Smith! Get out here!"
Master Ōshirō sighed. He jerked his chin at his apprentice and nodded towards the metal that the master had been working. Takatoshi set down the tools that he had been cleaning and hurried to take over the work of keeping the metal hot so that Master Ōshirō didn't lose all the work he had done.
The master smith emerged from his forge into the front room of his smithy. It wasn't open at the moment, meaning that Clan Lord Hagoromo had barged in past a sign saying "Closed".
"How may I help you, My Lord?" he said, bowing deeply.
"I need a new hold-out knife. That traitorous Gōketsu whelp destroyed mine a while back and I haven't been able to find anything already existing that met the same standard and I'm sick of carrying garbage. You're supposed to be the best smith around. How long will it take?" He paused for only a moment and then remembered to add, "Money doesn't matter." He pulled a heavy sack from his sleeve and dropped it on the table. It hit with a
thunk that said it contained enough metal coin that you could use the bag to beat someone to death without half trying. He did not, however, push it across to Ōshirō. It was a demonstration, not a delivery.
So, this ass barged past a 'Closed' sign, acted rude, and now he was insulting Lord Gōketsu? Lord Gōketsu, who had saved Ōshirō when his forge burned down, who had given him zero-interest loans and generous profit rates on consignment selling where the sales were performed by skilled negotiators, far better that Ōshirō had ever managed on his own? The smith's income had more than doubled since he started working with the Gōketsu and he wasn't having to do all the bullshit parts that he hated. He usually didn't even have to take orders—one of the Gōketsu factors would come out periodically to check on his availability, with a list of potential commissions in hand. Ōshirō would choose the ones that looked interesting, the Gōketsu would be responsible for telling the losers that their commission wasn't able to be handled at this time and fob them off on some other smith. When the work was done another Gōketsu would swing by to pick it up and deliver it. Ōshirō only had to work with his beloved steel and leave all the annoying bits to someone else.
Ōshirō started to open his mouth to refuse, then smiled. There was a much better solution.
"It would be my honor to provide you with such a weapon, My Lord," he said, bowing deeply. "Although I fear I am backed up a bit at the moment. I have an order from another clan which is going to take some time." Meaning it would take Sagebedamned forever and this rich prick could dangle. If he was waiting on Ōshirō then he wouldn't go to another smith in the meantime.
"How long?"
Ōshirō shook his head regretfully. "It is difficult to say, My Lord. Perhaps three weeks? It depends. They have an extension clause such that if they like the work then they can expand the order a certain amount." Yes, the entirely hypothetical client could expand their entirely hypothetical order indefinitely.
"Hmph. Who is it? I can get you out of it."
"I apologize most profusely, My Lord." Deep bow, hold. "I ask your understanding that I can't give names of customers or details of their orders. Would you want me telling someone that I had made a holdout for you, or the size and shape of that blade, or where you keep it?"
"...I suppose not. Very well. I'll pick it up in three weeks."
"Respectfully, My Lord, three weeks is not the date that the blade will be ready. It is the earliest that I might be able to
start on the piece, and even that is uncertain. It might be somewhat longer before I can begin."
"Hmph. Very well. How much?"
Oh no. You weren't getting out of here that easily. First let's waste a bit more of your time.
"I am certain the money will be of no object to you, Great Lord. Before we deal with that, why don't you tell me more precisely what you need? Blade shape and length, details of the hilt, and where you intend to keep it, if you please."
Suspicion lit the ninja's eyes. "Why do you need to know where I keep it?"
Ōshirō frowned. "Have the smiths you worked with in the past not asked? They failed you. Obviously, I will be providing the sheath and straps to go with the blade, and they must be set differently if you wish to keep it in at your wrist, ankle, shoulder, or elsewhere. Additionally, the blade itself must be perfect for its hiding place. For example, if you will wear it on the top of your wrist then the hilt must be designed not to catch on the bone, here." He tapped the protuberance on the outside of his left wrist. "If you wish a thicker blade then it will not be easily concealable on your wrist and should be worn at your neck, belly, or ankle. If you wish for—"
"Yes, yes, fine, fine. I want one like my father made for me, the one that pig Gōketsu destroyed. Here." He sketched it on the counter with his finger.
The price doubled at the words 'that pig Gōketsu' but outwardly Ōshirō only bowed. "Excellent, My Lord. Allow me to get some parchment and charcoal. We can design something more precise."
And then he would demand a truly eye-watering price, enough to make this asshole's brain explode.
o-o-o-o
"—and then we got back," the visiting ninja was saying to the bedridden one as Ageha entered the room.
"No sign of the traitors, then?" the patient demanded. "Damn, I wish I had been able to go on the patrols. I always knew that anyone who would betray their original village would betray the Leaf. No trace of the Will of Fire in them."
Ageha's ears had pricked up at the word 'traitors'. The little shit had to be talking about the Gōketsu and that nonsense about them 'going missing'. Ha! As if Great Lord Gōketsu would go missing! The man had done more for the village than any other three clans. The idea that he could be lacking the Will of Fire was ludicrous. Either he had fallen in battle or he was on a secret mission or something. He definitely had not gone missing.
Ageha kept those thoughts locked away in the vault deep behind her eyes, the one that every civilian held. The one where they could hide all of their anger and hatred away from the light in a place arrogant ninja couldn't see.
Outwardly, she said only, "Good afternoon, honored ninja. I am Ageha, one of the civilian auxiliaries. I am here to take your lunch order, if you please." She extended the menu with both hands, holding a deep bow to prevent any risk of the ninja looking through her eyes and into the vault.
"What? Oh, yes." He took the menu from her and skimmed through it. "I'll have option four. Extra pickles."
"Yes, honored ninja." He would get his extra pickles, and also an extra helping of spit in his tea and a little snot mixed into his soup. Also, the chalkboard on the wall said that the attending nurse was Koruri; she was a KEI ninja and would likely be interested to hear about this rude man's comments.
It took only two minutes to find Koruri; the woman was starting her rounds and currently halfway down the ward, only three doors from SpitDrinker's room.
"Good evening, honored nurse," Ageha said, bowing until her back was parallel to the floor.
"Little mother, I've told you before, you don't need to do that," Koruri said with amusement. "You are old enough to be my grandmother. What did you want?"
"I wished to verify a food request, ma'am," Ageha said, keeping her eyes down. "The honored ninja in room seven. When I entered to take his dinner order he and his friend were having a conversation." She leaned just slightly on the final word before quickly moving on. "When they paused, I asked for his dinner order. He said he wanted option four, the beef teriyaki and vegetables, but I was to provide extra pickles. I wished to be certain that extra pickles would not interfere with his treatment."
Koruri's brow furrowed very slightly. Ageha had been working at the hospital forever; she knew perfectly well that extra pickles wouldn't interfere with the treatment for anyone who was allowed food. Food verifications like this were for when a patient requested sake, or extra spicy food that might be harmful to the digestion, or something with specific herbs that reacted poorly with some of the medications the hospital used in various cases. Pickles?
"You are most dutiful, little mother. If I may ask, was the conversation they were having in any way relevant to the patient's condition?"
"No, honored nurse. The patient was saying something about one of the clans...the Gōketsu, I believe, although he didn't mention them by name."
Koruri's face donned its professional mask, the one that prevented patients from becoming alarmed when things were going badly. If Ageha was bringing this to her then clearly the little shit had said rather more than how the Gōketsu enjoyed their tea.
Koruri's little sister, a civilian, had gone through the Gōketsu Educational Department's curriculum and thus she knew her numbers and letters. Knew her numbers rather better than most clan kids, if you were being honest. Chisato was mad for numbers, learning everything she could get her hands on. More than that, she had read poetry and maps and histories. She had read enough that she might have trouble finding a husband, but Koruri could not bring herself to disapprove. The light in Chisato's face every time she came home from the GED made lamps unnecessary.
"Oh, interesting," she said, in a tone that indicated she was only being polite and didn't really care. "What was he saying?"
"I do not wish to be seen to carry tales, honored nurse," Ageha said with another deep bow. "I suspect he will be more than happy to speak energetically about the Gōketsu if asked." The slight and completely deniable twist to the word 'energetically' indicated that it would not be a positive energy.
Koruri smiled. "Ah, very wise. I should not be asking for gossip, little mother. Thank you for reminding me. Now that I think about it, I do remember noticing some perturbations in the patient's gut the last time I scanned him." Perturbations that would absolutely be there after she spent a few minutes 'checking him over'. "It's probably nothing but could indicate an imbalance in his bile, in which case spicy foods could be a problem. In fact, why don't you tell the kitchen to note him down as on restricted diet. Marshweed only, boiled for no less than thirty minutes. No salt in his diet, no spices."
Marshweed was easy to digest and very healthy but it tasted like a skunk that had rolled in a midden before dying and rotting in the sun for a few weeks. And if you boiled it for thirty minutes it fell apart into a glutinous green mass that looked and felt like snot.
"Thank you for the instruction, honored nurse," Ageha said, bowing deeply but allowing the angry little smile to remain on her face just long enough for Koruri to see it as she straightened up. "I shall pass it on to the chef immediately."
o-o-o-o
"To seeing the backside of those Gōketsu fuckers!" Motoyoshi shouted, his words clear despite the fresh glow in his cheeks from the shots of sake he had already downed.
His three friends hoorahed and raised their glasses high, clinking them together and then slamming them back.
Pouring a drink a few drunks down the bar, Daiji forced himself not to frown as his professionally-sharp ears caught the words. Motoyoshi was a clan ninja, Daiji was a civilian. Expressing disapproval was not going to go well for the bartender, not even with the protection of the Soggy Tag's owner. Sure, Motoyoshi might get banned from the bar but Daiji would still be in hospital.
"Toldja they weren't real Leaf," one of Motoyoshi's friends said. Daiji didn't recognize him; he wasn't wearing a crest but he carried himself like clan. "Not a flicker of the Will of Fire in any of 'em. Lord First would be ashamed that they ever poisoned our soil with their feet. Kampai!" He slammed back the last of his sake, went to pour another, and found the bottle empty. "More, more, more!" He started drumming rhythmically on the bar with both hands, an annoying pursuit that his friends immediately joined.
"Of course, gentlemen," Daiji said, hurrying over. "It sounds like you're celebrating."
"Damn righ'!" said the third friend, a Hyūga that Daiji didn't recognize. "Those Gōke'su fuckers 're gone! Betrayed us all. Ran off, the whole lot of 'em. Including that smarmy lil git at their head. Fuckin' asshole." He turned to his friends. "Attacked me one time, y'know? Completely unprovoked. We had a big conference, all the sealmasters. He walks in and jumps me. Sucker punched me with no warning."
"That's not what I heard, Makito," Motoyoshi said, wagging a finger and grinning. "You put your hand on him and he locked you up."
"Didn't happen! He sucker punched me!"
"Ahhhh!" the second friend said, noogying Hyūga in the shoulder. "He beat you hand-to-hand? What a chump you are! Can't believe you lost to a traitor, Makito!" He leaned in close. "D'you think it's true that he ran off because Lady Yamanaka caught him cheating on her?"
"Probably with his cat," Hyūga grumbled. "Always looked like a guy who would fuck cats."
"Gentlemen, looks like your bottle needs a refill," Daiji said, coming up from under the bar where he had been prepping. Honestly, it was nice to have polite customers once in a while. Sure, they were ninja and therefore assholes. Sure, they were drunk and therefore even worse assholes. Sure, they were shoveling muck on the back of the man who had given Daiji's family a house when theirs was destroyed in the Collapse, ensuring that they didn't freeze to death. Still, at least they had kept yammering and ignoring him long enough for him to finish spiking their drinks.
"Yes!" Motoyoshi said, waving his empty glass high. A half dozen other patrons were clamoring for drinks farther down the bar. "Another bottle!"
"Here you go," Daiji said, sliding a bottle across the bar to each of them. The men looked surprised, clearly having expected a single bottle to split. "Your stamps, please?" He held the board out in front of them. It was a clever innovation, invented right here at the Soggy Tag: patrons never had to open their purses. Instead, when they came through the door they chose a stamp from the bucket and signed themselves in with their name and the stamp to show which they were using. From then on, each drink came with a tab board covered in wax. The server marked down what you had ordered and you pressed your stamp into the wax next to the mark. At the end of the night, you settled up. It saved a lot of time, and it meant that people weren't thinking about how much they were spending.
These three certainly weren't thinking about the fact that Daiji had just handed them each a large bottle of the most expensive sake in the house. They also probably weren't thinking about the possibility that he might have spiked their drinks with the grain alcohol that the bar used for cleaning the counters. Not enough to leave them blind, but enough to get them good and hammered. Worst case, he could keep pushing drinks on them until they were bled dry of coin. Best case, they got drunk enough to start a fight and get banned from the Tag for a month, or forever if this was a second offense. (The possibility that they might end up dead from the fight wasn't likely. It would be nice, but fights in the Tag were rarely lethal.)
The three ninja glanced back and forth, none of them wanting to be the ones to look cheap by saying that they had only wanted one bottle to share. Daiji held the board with a bland expression until all three of them pressed their stamp to the wax.
"Kampai, gentlemen!" he said, before hurrying off to the next patron.
Author's Note: One of our delightful players recently approached me about writing a commission. (I shall leave it up to them if they wish to raise their hand.) They wanted something sweet and healing showing the difference that Uplift had made in Leaf, and they suggested civilians defending the now-missing Gōketsu. I had intended to do this as a separate item from the chapter but it took me until late afternoon to get the gumption together to sit down and write, which is a good sign that I don't have the juice to write an actual chapter. Plus, I was pretty confident even yesterday that I wasn't going to have it; it's been a bad day for a couple of days and I'm finally starting to get past it but I'm not completely out yet. Put all this together and it dawned on me that I could
shirk my responsibilities write an interlude instead of a chapter (hopefully one that people would enjoy) and also satisfy my new commission! Woot, everybody wins!
It's way too late now for me to run this past my UK-living co-QMs, so I will say that my intent is for it to be canon and I doubt that will be an issue but it might get reverted to omake status if there's an issue I didn't think of. Also, note that the timespan of this update is not specified; it might be a few days or a few weeks. It doesn't advance the timeline from the players' perspective so it doesn't matter.
"GM had fun" XP: 5
- Fun and wholesome scenes that lifted my spirits when I needed it
Vote time! What to do now?
