Tokk, tokk, tokk, the bamboo pole hit upon the stone with rhythmic regularity, borne down by the weight of water. The spring sky reflected in the large pool and its wet clouds were echoed by the wet rocks surrounding it. In the garden, the only perceptible movement was the gentle swaying of grass in the breeze. The white paper walls surrounding it were translucent enough to let the clear morning light through.

With a thunderous roar, flames erupted into the garden, accompanied by torn paper and splintered wood. Then the cannon erupted once again, and another part of the house exploded.

As the Imperial Guardsmen charged into the house, their disciplined cries and efficient steps filled the air. The step of a delicate leather shoe, crushing underneath it the smouldering cinders of a wood-beam, joined them. Andrian Nolfe, Count of Garante and Plenipotentiary Ambassador Extraordinaire from the Court of Merenae to the Glorious Golden Empire of Rokugan, summoned a lieutenant from his escort.

"The thief is probably gone by now", he said, stroking his beard. "Nevertheless, he did not act alone. Find his accomplices."

The gunso bowed, a grim look on his face, and departed to relay Nolfe's orders.

It would probably be pointless, Nolfe knew. The trail had gone cold long before his informants pointed to this house. But destroying this summer house meant weakening the position of Lord Matsu Ado-e, and that had been his true goal. Besides, he had his own agents hunting for the thief in a much more efficient manner. There was only one place he could run to, by now, and Nolfe's man was waiting for him there.

Shinjo Natsuke gulped, trying to keep her fear from showing. The men seated in front of her were killers. They had a reputation as thugs and murderers. More pressingly, they were stunningly rude.

Natsuke was a young recruit of Lord Doji Tsuma, a high-ranking official in the Third Bakufu. Only four weeks ago, she had been formally inducted in the direct service of the government, in a calm ceremony under the supervision of the Shogun himself. Natsuke, like the other eight samurai in her position, had snuck glances to the Shogun all along the ceremony, trying to guess what made this man so important, so powerful.

Seppun Hashida was a short man with graying hair. He was fairly corpulent, with eyes that permanently seemed to water. Rumour had it that he had been near-sighted all his life, but always refused to wear glasses. Hashida was a mystery: a man who only dressed in ceremonial traditional clothes and armour, but who organised most of the trade deals the gaijin governments passed with the Empire. He had been accused of selling the land to the foreigners by the more traditionalist elements of the country - but only under their breath, because the Shogun still wielded power in the name of the Emperor. The Third Bakufu did not have the same brashness as the Kaneka dynasty's or the same ruthlessness as the Shojiro one, but there was no question that this man, for all intents and purposes, guided the destiny of the Empire. Hashida let gaijin technology cut deep across the Rokugani territory, but the veiled woman by his side was unmistakeably a shugenja, one of these rare and precious magicians that had become almost mythical in the past twenty years. And it was strange to see this most powerful of all men look slightly bored, neither imposing nor threatening, but vaguely paternal as Natsuke and her colleagues were formally inducted as servants of the government.

Doji Tsuma, on the other hand, was not a kind figure. He had ordered Natsuke into service immediately as she had been assigned to him. Truth be told, she rather enjoyed it. Since she had left the formal training of the Shinjo magistrate school, she had had little to test her skills with. Now, even her position was a mystery to be unlocked. It was obvious Tsuma-sama was involved in deals that were much more than commercial, but to what extent he was really overstepping his bounds she could not determine. It was the second time now she had been sent to collect messages for her lord, while all official correspondence was deposited in the morning by an aide. The first time, it had been a somewhat official visit to the Embassy of the Dragon Clan. Like many buildings in Toshi Ranbo, the embassy had a long and rich history, but it seemed sadly empty and quiet when compared to the hustle of the rest of the Imperial City. The monk that greeted her silently had given her the sheet of paper and sent her on her way almost immediately. Despite her burning curiosity, it would never have come to the mind of Natsuke to try and decipher the message scrawled in between the sheets of paper, and she had come back to the office of her lord with a pulsing heart and butterflies in her stomach from the excitement and mystery.

This time around, though, she had been sent to a discreet tea house, in the other side of town. It was low-ceilinged and hardly lit at all. In the mid-day light, Natsuke had only been able to make out the first few tables from the entrance. They seemed to be occupied by heimin and ronin, talking loudly and chewing their food with their mouths open. Her mind had balked and her throat contracted at the idea of mingling with these people, but her sense of duty had prevailed when she decided to shut her mind off the more unrefined aspects of the situation. She had entered and demanded the attention of a servant girl. As instructed by her lord, she had sat down in one of the semi-secluded alcoves that lined the main room, and waited for Red Crane, whoever he was, to join her.

When she had seen the gang of ronin enter the tea house, she had recognised them immediately. They bore the insigna of the Sparrow Clan, which had been destroyed two years ago in retaliation for their rebellion against the Bakufu. They were throwbacks to an earlier age, thugs and killers. It was rumoured that the so-called Sparrow samurai had killed magistrates for looking at them funny. The five ronin that composed the group did not seem to be any exception. Two bore prominent scars on their faces. One was missing an ear. One was a woman, and so unkempt that Natsuke felt dirty just looking at her. The last one scanned the room with a practised nonchalant air, but with the narrow, angry eyes of one who looks for a prey. With a smile, he walked over to her alcove, followed by his smirking cohorts. He sat down squarely in front of her, while the other four samurai sat in a semi-circle around the entrance of the alcove, ostensibly lounging around but with body language expressing danger from every muscle.

Shinjo Natsuke looked down and gulped. If the Red Crane came in now, he'd be scared off. She'd have failed in her mission, and she might well be killed by the Sparrows. Nobody would testify against them. One quick glance at the rest of the patrons proved to her that everyone was carefully averting their gazes from her direction. Everyone was scared. She tried to calm herself, to think of a plan. Before she could garner her courage, though, the ronin sat in front of her spoke, in a low, smirking voice:

"Well, well… A trembling foal like you shouldn't come in places like this. This is who Tsuma sends me? Pah. Next time, you tell him that the Red Crane doesn't like to deal with children."

"It suits you, Sir".

Doji Kamui kept a carefully blank look on his face as the gaijin tailor fumbled around his waist, his hands fluttering in and out of the material, tucking in and pulling out pieces of fabric in an arcane manipulation Kamui only dimly understood. He was not made uncomfortable by the activity near his groin, but by the physical contact itself; a proximity that was profoundly repulsive, for all that he boasted to his friends that he loved spending time in this high-quality but strangely isolated tailor shop. Kamui had been raised traditionally. Only after his gempukku had he discovered the secret preparations associated with the gaijin dress that all his elder colleagues at the School paraded around in.

The tailor stood back and let Kamui watch himself in the tall mirror. He did look very elegant, and Kamui allowed himself to take some measure of pride in that fact. Of course, it was not the first suit he wore. The first time he had come to the tailor, brought by the son of a friend of his father, he had gazed around, lost and impressed, until one of the young aides came to tactfully enquire upon his wishes. Kamui had mentioned bright red slacks, a blue shirt and a brown waiscoat, with a bird-patterned cravat. The aide had cleared his throat and discreetly suggested that perhaps Sir might consider another colour pattern, more suited to the season. Kamui had felt red with embarrassment and demanded in a loud voice that the servant did his duty and brought him what he required. Of course, the assistant had complied. The fact that he needed to pay on purchase had also come as a shock, and he had cut deep into his allowance to buy a ridiculous suit that he strutted around in for weeks. Kamui smiled at the memory. He now grasped much more firmly gaijin taste, and his image was now a picture of slick modernity, what with the gray double-pleated pants, the embroidered waistcoat, the coat-tailed black jacket, the pearl pin in the black silk cravat, all the way up to his wire-rimmed glasses, framed by his neat parted haircut. It did suit him.

"It doesn't suit you", he heard Toshiji say from over a screen. "You look like an undertaker."

The tailor, Mr. Newsborough, silently retreated. For all that they were heathen savages, his customers were afforded the same privacy that his clients in the civilised world required for their gossip or intrigue. He walked over to the counter near the entrance of the shop and, seeing that no other customer was present, indulged in the only decent pleasure this country could provide: a good cup of tea.

Kamui tugged at the sides of the waistcoat and swayed a bit to admire himself in the mirror. "Quite a few will die of jealousy when they see me in this getup. Might as well be an undertaker nearby."

"Leave it to a Crane to die from feelings", said Bayushi Toshiji with a shrug. Truth be told, his clothes were fairly similar to Kamui's, except a black velvet veil hung over the lower part of his face. "Incidentally, I heard that that is precisely what your sister is planning to do."

"Hineko?" Kamui turned back from the mirror to face Toshiji. "She reads too many gaijin books. What did she invent this time?"

"She fancies she has fallen in love with the son of the Yodatai ambassador. Your father is… worried." Toshiji enjoyed watching the colour drain from Kamui, just a little before he regained control. He savoured sending the killing blow. "I believe she has privately defied Makida-sama's choice for her future husband."

Kamui looked back down to his belt, laying his fingers on the metallic buckle without bringing himself to actually touch the leather. The news did not really surprise him. He readily acknowledged, but never understood, how Hineko could be so easily influenced by this immoral literature, and yet remain so headstrong when confronting their father. The fact that Toshiji knew and not him, on the other hand, deeply unnerved him.

"It'll pass when she reads another gaijin book. In fact, I think I will ask one of my contacts to procure one for her specifically to that purpose." Kamui raised his head and looked at himself one more time before stepping out from behind the screen. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to pay for this purchase and return to my work. After all, the Police Services are a very busy department."

"Surely you're not implying that the Roads Office is any less important", Toshiji replied. "Your father graces us with a splendid leadership."

"Oh, definitely not", Kamui said while counting the notes for Mr. Newsborough. "Roads carry the pulse of the Empire with the speed of kami. Including despicable criminals, and the sterling policemen who pursue them. In fact, I should thank you. It is thanks to your service that we have become so vital for Rokugan."

Toshiji bowed in thanks, recognising that this set was won by the Crane. Turning to a manikin, he signalled for the tailor to join him, which Mr. Newsborough did obediently after having locked Kamui's money in his small safe and wished him a good day.

As Kamui left the shop, he had the definite impression that it would not be.

Ikoma Haitaka surveyed his valley, from the terrace of his mountain home. It was the first truly warm day of the year, and Haitaka savoured it, relishing its calm. He made a mental note of performing an offering to the Lord Sun later today. Five years ago, he would have told a priest to do it in his name. Now, however, it was important that he demonstrate his personal piety. The peasants were more reassured after a public display of religion, and he needed to keep them calm. With all the comings and goings through his valley lately, there had been legitimate concerns of unrest.

As he watched, peasants toiled on the rice paddies downwards of his estate. They sang as they worked, an almost melody-less song which, to Haitaka, expressed peasant secrets, peasant traditions; a world he would never be a part of, but a world that existed because he protected it.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to greet his visitor. She was a nun of the order of Shinsei. Middle-aged and strong, she stood respectfully bowed at the edge of the terrace. Her features were fair, but it was her smile which made her truly beautiful.

"Lao Cheun. My dear, old friend. How went your travels?"

"Hataika-sama, they went well. Peace be in your heart", she added, standing up and walking to his side to watch the valley with him.

"It is good. One can learn much from travelling." Haitaka had spoken evenly, not betraying in any way the excitement he derived from this, his first opportunity for fresh intelligence from the world abroad. He had become too isolated recently, too cut off from his fellow traditionalists in the eastern provinces of the Lion lands.

"There is what one learns, and then there is what one teaches." Haitaka watched Lao Cheun. She seemed to radiate nothing but desire to serve.

"And there is what one is asked." Haitaka kept watching Lao Cheun for any reaction. If he was troubled by asking a nun to spy on the Empire, what must the nun's reaction be? But there was none. She did not even turn to face him. Still watching the countryside, she answered in a smooth voice:

"That is true."

There was a silence.

"The wind from the sea is good, at this time of year", Lao Cheun finally said. "However, here we are far from the sea."

Haitaka nodded gravely. Knowing that his Mantis allies made progress was good, but it would not help him much at the present conjuncture. He did not say anything. Better to let her get on with her report. It did not occur to him to find it strange that things should be said in such a devious, hidden way. It's not that he feared spies. But the Emperors themselves had deemed it dishonourable to involve holy people in politics, since the entire sordid Gozoku affair, fourteen centuries before. At least, this way, a pretence of honour was preserved. It was the least he could do. He could not lie to himself, but that didn't mean appearances didn't need to be preserved.

"But at sea, storms are violent but short", she continued, while ostensibly inspecting a nearby bamboo tree for imperfections. "Here in the lands, storms build for a long time before exploding. One can feel it in the air, when such a storm is coming. All is still, all is calm. Even the south wind, which is usually a burning one."

Haitaka felt an icy grip clamp on his heart. If even the Shadowlands were quiet, what could be happening? And if war truly was brewing in Rokugan (and he didn't doubt it was, he'd seen too much in his life to miss the signs), and the Crab were not busy with their age-old enemy, then would they not get involved? Haitaka felt a pang of shame at the thought that he could wish his Crab brethren battle against the Foul Enemy. This was quickly cooled down, however, by the knowledge that he had been right to consider all possibilities.

Haitaka shook his head. This was too much. Fire and brimstone were coming to Rokugan. First the drying up of magic, then the gaijin setting up camp in the Imperial Court, now this? There was no time for maintaining appearances anymore. With a sigh, he gestured towards his rooms in the inside and followed Lao Cheun when she turned away from the terrace's banister to walk into the house. He slid the shoji behind them.

"Tell me more", he said as he sealed them in.

Mihane let her legs dangle in the hot water and felt the burning sensation creep all the way up her body, relaxing her every muscle. She closed her eyes. The air smelled of soap, of hot perfumed oil, of water and of the slight tinge of sulphur. It was heady and full of steam. She could feel currents of fresh air roiling around the level of her forehead, battling with the water vapour that rose from the hot basin.

"Don't fall asleep", said a voice a hair's breadth away from her ear.

Mihane startled, her eyes opening wide and her heart skipping a beat. Even as the cold beads of surprise descended along her spine to nestle in her stomach, she recognised the voice. She balanced on her palms and stepped fully into the basin, all the while turning her back to the new arrival.

"I thought I would be alone", she said. The burning water almost stopped her breathing as they closed around her chest, but she stifled the resulting gasp.

"And I thought you would be awake", replied Tomoe as she laid down on the edge of the basin. Her hair dangled around her face and spread in a corona when it reached the water. "I can't very well tell you about Chana-kun if you're asleep, can I?"

"Again? Tomoe, you should stop obsessing about this boy." Mihane finally turned back to face her friend, but Tomoe was too absorbed by her own reflection in the water to see her.

"And he should stop obsessing about his work. It's not healthy! If he's not looking at pretty girls when he's seventeen, what's he gonna be like at thirty-five?" Mihane could guess from Tomoe's voice that she was making a face as she spoke the sentence, and suspected that she did so to watch herself pouting.

Mihane let herself float on her back in the water until she found a rock she could rest against. "He's a Tsuruchi, Tomoe. He's never going to stop obsessing about his work. That's how they are, that's all!"

Tomoe finally looked up from her reflection to look at Mihane. "But that's just unfair! Why can't they be more like us Yoritomo? Not that you'd know. You haven't even fallen in love with anyone yet!"

Mihane felt herself blush. Luckily, or unluckily, the hot steam in the air had long made her skin go red, so that Tomoe couldn't notice. She cast her eyes downwards and said. "My mother's a Moshi. I must take from her. Also, you're older than me."

"Only by six months! I'm not old!" Tomoe sat up cross-legged and started to brush her hair.

"No, you're not. You're only seventeen.", Mihane replied distantly.

Tomoe looked up. "What? Usually, you would have already called me an old cow by now, or told me I'm unmarriable or something. Are you all right?" After a moment she repeated: "Mihane? Are you all right?"

Mihane looked up again. "Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine."

Tomoe did not say anything until they both dried themselves off and put on their light cotton kimonos. They handed their wooden tablets to the bath-house lady at the entrance counter, an agreeable lady of forty-something, went to the door, put on their sandals and stepped outside. It was the beginning of the evening. It had stopped raining recently, and the smells of the earth wafted up to their nostrils, carrying green and floral scents.

"It's your father, isn't it?", Tomoe asked as they started on the path down to the harbour.

Mihane felt ill at ease again, but rather than embarrassed, she was annoyed at Tomoe this time. "He's fine. He's just… had some trouble recently. He's irritated."

"Are his goods not selling well on the mainland again?", Tomoe murmured.

"I… think so", Mihane nodded. "The gaijin stuff is just too cheap for us to compete. They bring it from the Ivory Kingdoms, you know. Just like we used to, in the old days."

"What, your father?", Tomoe asked. "He traded with the gaijin colonies?"

"No!", clucked Mihane. "No, I meant, before that. And when I said "us", I meant our family. The Yoritomo. In the old days. When we were a minor clan, and trade with foreigners were forbidden. We would go to the Ivory Kingdoms, when they were their own country, and we would buy things from them, and smuggle them back into the Empire. Didn't they teach you that?"

"No", Tomoe admitted. "I'm a bushi. I don't have to know about all that. I leave it to you merchants." There was a silence, as they both walked under the gardening sky, towards the fires that were beginning to be lit in Inazuma no Toshi harbour. "You should do the same", Tomoe added.

"You mean, not know about all that?", replied Mihane.

"No, I mean like the merchants of old", Tomoe said gravely. "You should go on an expedition with one of your father's ships, and find somewhere new, and bring back lots of things for your family to sell."

"Tomoe!", Mihane cried. "Father would never let me. I'm only sixteen."

"Don't leave him a choice. Tell him if he doesn't let you go, you'll run away and marry a Lion. That'll make him bend."

"I could not do that!", Mihane replied, blushing with confusion. "You're just teasing me, and it's not funny. We're… not doing well at the moment."

"All the more reason to take a risk", Tomoe said, seriously. She stopped walking. "Mihane, I am not joking. You can't let your family go down that slope. You're the one who talks about the grand old times, the times of Yoritomo and Kitao. What do you think they would have done? If you don't gamble now, soon you won't have any chips to play with anymore."

Mihane looked a her incredulously. Then, slowly, she nodded, twice. She started again to walk. At the thought of confronting her father with such a project, her throat contracted. But she did not stop walking.

Both of them were silent the rest of the way.

In the north, spring comes later than in the rest of Rokugan. It is no surprise, then, that while the south of the Empire enjoyed the first truly warm days of the year, Shiba Tsomura's steps crunched white-blue snow underfoot as he walked towards his family home. He could already smell the scent of burning pine resin wafting from the indoor braseros. He hurried to get back before the cold bit through his heavy winter kimono.

Red-nosed and breathing vapour, he left his shoes behind and walked to the central room of the house, a large chamber sporting red heavy pillars. His father was already waiting for him there, stone-faced. Slightly cowed, Tsomura knelt in front of him.

"You're late", said Shiba Doju. He was a strong man, unused to inefficiency and softness. Tsomura looked more like his mother than like him.

Doju had married Isawa Moriko just a few months before Tsomura was born. It had been a minor scandal, but that was the least of the Isawa's worries back then. Usually, they would not have cared much for those Isawa that couldn't practice magic, anyway. Suddenly, those "ungifted poor souls" had become the overwhelming majority of the family when, as everywhere in the Empire, the shugenja of the Phoenix had started to lose their ability to commune with the kami. In the confusion, Doju's own father had hired a good matchmaker, who had conveniently settled the matter of the marriage. As a result, Tsomaru had been raised without knowing either magic or combat, like many in the Clan. He was a good boy, Doju knew, and far from stupid, but he'd never got the drive and direction a samurai should.

"I'm sorry, father", Tsomaru said, his forehead close to the ground. "I had been visiting my friend Agasha Manoru. I did not hear that you had summoned me until too late."

Doju waved the excuse away. "It is no matter. I have to tell you of more important things. I have… arranged your marriage."

Tsomaru froze, half-way up from his bowing. His marriage? He knew the day would come, surely, but now? He composed his face and sat straight up. He did not talk, waiting for his father to explain more, if he so wished.

"Her name is Kuni Tomi. I'd advise against calling her 'Tomiko' before you are effectively married", Doju added with a smile, before realising that this was not funny at all for his son. "Listen to me, Tsomaru. I have taught you most of what I know of medicine, a knowledge transmitted to me by my father, and his father before him. And you have been a good student. In other times, it would have been enough. But not anymore. Everything has to be reinvented. We cannot sit around waiting for magic to return to the world. Now that we do not have healing spells at our disposal anymore, all of our knowledge depends on expanding the secrets our physician families have gathered along the ages. Tomi descends from a long line of reputed doctors. They have actually dabbled in… surgery." The word was barely whispered.

Tsomaru saw his father flinch at mentioning the barbaric technique of cutting people open and rummaging in their insides. Fascinated, he noticed that he, himself, felt less revulsion than interest at the notion. Perhaps there was more of the bushi in him than his father thought.

"We cannot afford to be squeamish anymore", Doju continued, almost as if admonishing himself. "You will meet the girl, and you will marry her, and the both of you will work on advancing our medical knowledge. She reputedly has quite the character. A hunter, they say, of beasts both mundane and Tainted. No matter, she will yield to her family's wishes on this." He softened up a little and let his rigid posture sag a little as he leaned over slightly towards his son. "I know you have worked hard to please me, Tsomaru, and learn our old secrets. But this is not about me anymore. It's not even about our family. It's about the Empire, son. If we do not progress by ourselves, what is our choice? Let our people die miserable deaths from ailments and injuries that could be cured, or indebt ourselves further to the gaijin until we are nothing better than their colonies in the Ivory Kingdoms or the Burning Sands?"

"Father, I understand", Tsomaru said reassuringly. "But the Council of Five may see this as… radical. You know how conservative they have become recently."

"Let them be displeased", Doju replied moodily. "They are the only ones who really remember magic nowadays. Even I am starting to forget, and magic was always present in my life when I was young. They will not be pleased with anything until it comes back, and I'm starting to fear that it won't be during my lifetime."

"Pup be a murderer someday", the old nezumi matron said as she rummaged around in her boxes.

Gijin shrugged. "Don't worry, little mother. I'm not going to get myself killed."

"Ha!" she cried. "Furless pup say that now, but one day furless pup be dead, and it be furless pup what done it."

"You worry too much, little mother", Hoshi Gijin said. "It's no good to you. Now do you have it, or was it another half-recollection from your failing memory?"

"I have very good memory!", the gray-furred ratling said. "I remember clear when furless pup was tall like three apples and I spank him for him lack respect!"

"I'm sorry, little mother", Gijin said with patience. "But I'm really in a hurry. I have to get running soon, or it will have been for nothing."

"There! There, you can have your shiny-shiny box", the ratling said, handing Gijin an exquisitely carved crystal cask. "I tell you I have it, it mean I have it. I have good memory. I find it with dead samurai, long ago. He dead of hunger in the forest, near big roads."

"It's beautiful", Gijin said, and held it up to the light. The box was carved with an intricate pattern of interlocking phoenixes and dragons. "It must be at least a hundred years old."

"Older. It older than the return of the One Tribe, it is." The matron looked at her adoptive son with a critical eye. She had taught him Nezumi history. She expected him to remember.

"Older than the first shogunate, when the tribes allied to fight the Tomorrow Chieftain. I remember, little mother." He placed the box reverently down on a table, opened it, then took off the bag that was strapped to his shoulder. From the bag, he drew forth a flat, wooden case, within which a sheet of parchment was held. It was not a piece of bamboo paper either, but an actual parchment made of animal skin. Any other Rokugani, save an eta, would have recoiled at the idea of touching dead skin, but he had been raised by the nezumi first and then by the Order of Hoshi, neither of which were models of orthodoxy.

"Why you need the case, anyway?" the matron asked.

"Because the gaijin have strange sorcery", Gijin said quietly as he encased the parchment within the crystal box. "They can see through darkness. In the old legends, crystal kept the darkness-spirits away, so I am hoping it works here too. I have a long road ahead of me. I don't want to be spied on."

"And you scavenge from gaijin, yes?", she asked pointedly.

"Yes, little mother", he agreed. "I scavenged from the gaijin. This document is ours. It has the seal of the emperor on it. I salvaged it from possession by the foreigners."

"It good you recover it, then", the matron said. "It -"

A sudden, violent battering of the door startled them both.

"Open, in the name of the Emperor!", a voice shouted outside.

"Go!" the matron hissed as she picked up the long knives that she usually used for cooking.

Gijin slid the box into his bag and pulled the strap over his head. He stopped. "Little mother, you've got to flee also. Come, now."

The hammering on the door continued. Gijin could hear the legions trying to kick the sturdy door down.

"Stop worrying!", the matron yelled. "Foolish furless pup! You not have half the brain of a nezumi. I be all right. You need leave now. It be order!" She threw one of her knives at Gijin, who only narrowly dodged it. "Go!"

Nodding, Gijin flew towards the window. Downstairs, he could see three soldiers in uniform, standing guard. He balanced on the ledge, prayed to Lord Hoshi, and jumped towards the roof of the building across the street. As he gripped the edge of the roof, he felt pain lance through his forearms. He stifled a cry and crept silently upwards until he was on the roof.

In her shabby room, the matron was preparing for combat. She had had a long life. She had not fought often, because she had been a good runner, but she had picked up a few tricks here and there. She had defended her children every time it had been necessary. She had been powerless when the cholera took them away, or when they left for the humans' wars and never came back. But she had never given up. She was ready to fight now, with all her experience and all her animal cunning. And she was defending her last surviving pup.

She picked up another knife and hefted it in her calloused and pink hand. It was a good weapon to have with you, she thought. When the door went down, she was standing in front of the window, protecting it with her body. Her teeth were gleaming, her knives whirling around her, and she was crouched low on her feet, ready to jump.

The leader of the soldiers, a tall man with a beard and a yari, said to his men: "Rabid nezumi. Do not engage. Shoot it down."

As one, four rifles spat their bullets. They dug deep within the body of the nezumi matron with a wet sound. She slumped on her feet, an incredulous expression on her face. As one of the soldiers pulled out a handgun to blow her brains out, she realised that no one would remember her true name. Even Gijin only knew her as "little mother". She tried to spell it out once, before she died, in the hope that somewhere, something in the world would remember.

She did not have time to finish it.

The tall man stepped over the body of the creature that one of his men had just put out of its misery and walked over to the window. If the creature defended it, then it probably was the way that the thief had gone. He looked down at his men, which didn't notice him. Looked up at the roof. Even if he could reach it, the thief would be long gone.

He left the guardsmen to deal with the details and started his way back to the Forbidden City.

TO BE CONTINUED