Following the trail
He decided to have more tea rather than go after her. She was willful, and when angry unlikely to be forthcoming with any further information. Perhaps he would go to her hut later. When she had calmed down.
He sat down wearily. The night had been cold and he had received many messages on the wind. Both had conspired to keep him awake for most of the night.
The tea was hot and revived him somewhat. He decided to go over what he knew already.
His employer was a daimyo of the north islands and had risen to power and wealth after the Ōnin war. He had been called to the house two hours after the wife's death. Deep with grief his employer had the composure to leave everything as it had been found. She was beautiful even though her attacker had disfigured her horribly. Slashes like the one he had felt on the girl's side where everywhere on her body, but always north south. The blade puncturing the skin and dragged down in a whip like action, the middle of the wound deepest. The exit point was ragged as if the blade was twisted purposefully as a final insult to the skin. He had felt the woman's wounds and committed to memory the vibration of the blade that had caused such damage. At that point he did not know the murderer's name.
Finn had been an outsider, originally from Europe born from an affair his Nordic mother had sworn she would never speak about. When she was dying he had begged her to say his father's name. She refused. So he decided to travel, to find a place he belonged. He had gone first to Russia, across Mongolia to central China, then the Korean peninsula to seek work. He had found his skill as a tracker and after the war sailed to Japan lured by the possibility of becoming a sabarau. He had found that tracking was more lucrative, and he liked the idea of being anonymous.
It had been six weeks since he had stood in that room with the lifeless body. It was obvious she had been raped, held captive for many hours, tortured and finally killed. The murderer had disappeared without a trace until he had heard a rumour. Further in the mountainous South, a young woman, a westerner, was said to have come to the house of the local nobility, where she had asked if she could be sheltered for the night. She had been wearing a light nightdress that had been slashed down the side. Barefoot and bleeding she had been taken into the servant's quarters. She had a long wound where her nightdress had been opened, clearly made by a sword. The family physician had attended to her. She would not say who had attacked her, and left two days later before she was fully healed. When Finn spoke to the physician he had been almost secretive about the treatment provided and the conversations he had with the young lady. He would only say she should have stayed longer, and that the servants had supplied her with some clothes, food and he had given her a small amount of money. Then she had left. The physician said she was heading further South. Finn knew he was lying, he could feel the discord on the man's breath. She had left quite a mark on the old man, she was obviously beautiful for him to protect her like that. Perhaps she had bewitched him.
He had asked some discreet questions about a red headed woman, a takokujin. She had gone XX he heard. And he had been lucky. Passing through a village, eager to find food, he had discovered the place alive with trade. Once a week farmers from the flat lands came up to the foothills to sell their produce. He was sitting on the shingle roof of a dwelling when he had seen her move through the crowded stalls. He noticed that she kept her hood on, said very little to anyone, and bought only a couple of items. She was taller than the other women and not as slight but she walked with grace. Pride he thought. He had followed her for a week, been to her home, a single roomed hut barely space for sleeping quarters and a hearth. On the side of a hill about three miles from the village, she was alone and he felt, dangerously unprotected.
It was then he had heard whispers of other attacks and he had traveled back to the city. What he was told unsettled him. This man had murdered before the daimyo's wife. Three times before in fact. And once after. Five bodies all women of great beauty, and only the red haired takokujin alive to speak of the attack, to identify the man. She was his sixth victim. There were likely to be more.
He felt sure he would come back to her. She was unfinished business. He was sure this man would protect his anonymity, and Finn knew a little something about that. The murderer was clever in that he had not been seen entering or leaving the homes of the women he killed. All had been heavily guarded by trained men, experienced soldiers. All dead. No one had heard a sound. He had checked and the women all had their tongues, they had not been cut out. There was no sign of a mouth gag or bondage of any kind. There were marks on the wife where a strong hand had held and bruised her wrists, arms, upper thighs. But how had he done all that without them at least crying out?
In the city and some of the larger villages of the North they had named this man the kage, the shadow. Perhaps by now there were others tracking the kage. It was possible.
He kept coming back to the young woman. She would be able to tell him what he needed to know. Perhaps he could even save her? But he tried to brush away that thought. He was not a hero and his life would be complicated if he was weighed down by obligations other than that of his employer.
He had also seen she was not defenseless. She was lightening quick with her sword and she could fly. But he knew she stood little chance. He had killed samurai, men of the sword. All she had was a shorter jian probably light, and a hand dagger. She didn't stand much of a chance. If Finn could find her this easily, the kage could as well.
He decided he would need to speak with her again. He had to explain why he had touched her. She could be angry if she liked.
But he would keep the rest to himself- why he had turned from her so quickly without a word and sped away. He was not sure what he would do with those thoughts. He would deal with that later. He would see his favourite in the city and she would erase all memory of the green eyes and the skin beneath the silk.
So he went to the small hut on the side of the hill. He knocked politely, but knew as soon as he touched the wood of the door she had gone.
Yes, he had handled things very badly indeed.
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