“Darcy!”
“What? He is smaller than I am.” His hapless smirk was too endearing for her to say anything against him, and he knew it.
***
The next morning, the snow finally ceased, and Derbyshire was encased in white powder. The guests had had necessary items brought from Chatton, which was truly not that far away, and stayed the night, staying up much later than was good for them and resulting in some very late risings.
Geoffrey Darcy, who was sharing his room with Charles, was up first. He was always up first, to the annoyance of many people, but the servants were quite used to it, and most paid little attention to him except for a polite smile. He was still not entirely awake when he was surprised to find someone else up. Georgie Bingley was staring out one of the windows of the great hall, wrapped in a blanket. It was hard to heat large spaces in winter, Father said.
“D’you know how early it is?” Geoffrey said, rubbing his eyes.
“Shut up!” Georgie commanded, not taking her eye off the window. “Do you want to see it or not?”
Geoffrey yawned and nodded. He had to wipe away the condensation on the glass to see out. White snow blanketed Pemberley, including the long stone porch. At the end of it, facing the forest, Mr. Mugin stood on one leg, the other braced against his knee like a bird, his left sandal abandoned. There he stood, arms braced together, quite still and silent for some time. Geoffrey doubted he could get into that position, much less stay in it for so long. Mugin was wearing only a scarf and his bizarre hat over his regular clothes; he must have been freezing.
“C’mon!”
“Georgie! You can’t be—” But apparently she was serious, because she tossed him a blanket, wrapping her own around herself as she opened the door and stepped outside cautiously.
“Mr. Mugin-san!” she called.
“Hai?” he said, without moving an inch.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Ar-en you? Englishmen very weak.”
“We’re not!” Geoffrey said, and decided to race out in front of her, knowing his blanket and his shoes would be soaked in moments. Georgie followed quickly, shutting the door behind them, and they ran around Mugin’s side. “See?”
“Are you praying, Mr. Mugin-san?”
“Nani? Ah, no,” he said, lowering his hands from the prayer position. “Don know word. Thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?” Geoffrey asked.
“Nothing. Is point, Darcy-chan.”
Georgiana attempted to climb onto his unused sandal, which would put her above the snow. She quickly lost her balance but Mugin caught her before she could topple over, holding her above the snow, as he slid back into his other shoe. “Good?”
“Good,” she said, though she sounded a little rattled. Mugin did not set her down, but instead took her into his arms, even though she was seven and not many adults could do that.
“I put you down?”
“Yes, sir.”
He set her down without any trouble, beside Geoffrey, picked up his sword, which was lying in the snow, and put it back over his shoulders.
“May I ask you a question, Mr. Mugin-san?”
“Not Meester,” he said. “Mugin-san; means same.”
“Mugin-san, have you killed a lot of people with your sword?”
Geoffrey was put off with the question; Mugin was not and only shrugged. “I very bad at counting.”
“Is that why you went to prison?” Geoffrey asked. “My dad said you went to prison. That’s why you have tattoos.”
“Not why. I—stole from ship, get arrested. Very stupid of me.”
“So it’s okay to kill people in Japan?”
Mugin shrugged. “People fight me, I kill them or they kill me. Is fine.”
“Anyone? Not, like, women and children?”
“No!” Mugin said. “Some women, fine.”
“Do women have swords in your country?” Georgie said, tugging at his pants.
“Some. Women can be very dangerous.”
Geoffrey huffed. “We don’t kill people in England, Mr. Mugin, unless they’ve done something really bad.”
“But you kill people in France,” Mugin countered. “Big war. No war in Japan.”
“That… is true.”
“Ha ha!” Georgie said. “Mugin outsmarted you.”
“He did not!”
“Did too!”
“Good children,” Mugin said, patting them both on their heads. “Cold. We go in.”
“Mugin-san! Look!”
Georgie pointed in the direction of the field. The forest was not far away, and because it was so white they had not noticed the quiet approach of a white wolf, sniffing curiously, some distance away from them. They were not far from the door. Geoffrey was going to run when Mugin grabbed him by the shoulder very strongly. “You stay. She go for small thing first. Wait.”
“Mr. Mugin—”
“Not move,” he commanded. “I take care, you go for door. Understand?” He looked down at them. “Understand!”
They both nodded.
“Good children. I distract her. Then you go.” He released Geoffrey, herding them behind him as he drew his sword.
Neither of them dared to say a word.
“You not look. Understand? Just run for door.”
They nodded again.
He cautiously stepped out farther on the terrace, approaching the wolf. “Go!” he whispered, and they ran.
The wolf did not attack Mugin, who continued to approach it, his stilt sandals keeping his feet out of the snow. Geoffrey and Georgie ran inside and closed the door behind them, but not all the way. Geoffrey wanted to run and tell someone, but Georgie grabbed him.
“But he said not to look!”
“Do you want to see it or not?”
He did. They stood by the window as Mugin shouted at the wolf and pointed to the forest. It growled in response. He jumped up and down, trying to scare it off. It circled him. There was a silent gesture back and forth, and Mugin looked over his shoulder and winked at them, only a moment before the white wolf launched herself at him. He leaned back and let the wolf bite down—on his sandal. Her teeth caught, and he rolled back into the snow and flipped her over with him. The ensuing action was obscured by the spray of powder, but Mugin stood, covered in snow, and wiped his sword across his maroon shirt to clean it before putting it back in its case. He kicked some snow over the wolf, which lay motionless, and turned back to the house, entering as if nothing had happened and there was no reason why he was covered in snow and breathing heavily.
“Mugin-san, you’re bleeding!” Georgie cried out.
He looked down at his foot, the one the wolf had tried to bite off. There was a small mark there that was bleeding. “Huh. Caught me. Good opponent.” By now, some servant had passed through and was standing in horror at the spectacle of an armed Oriental facing him. “You have cloth for foot?”
***
When the Darcys were woken (which was quickly) and the panicking finished (which was not as quickly done), the children were sent off with a minor scolding for going outside in the cold, and to be watched more carefully by their nurses. Meanwhile, the adults held conference as Dr. Maddox bound Mugin’s foot.
“Bath,” he said to the servant who was the least terrified about approaching him. “Now! Very hot.”
“Yes, sir; right away, sir.”
Mugin bowed to Darcy and followed the servant.
Stunned by Mugin’s appearance and the news of a wolf threatening his children, Darcy struggled to maintain his composure as the master of the grounds; he turned to a curious Brian Maddox, who was the first one to speak to the Japanese man in his native tongue. “Is there some way to—pay Mr. Mugin?”
“He wants the white wolf’s hide. He says she’s still on
the lawn.”
Darcy nodded. Glad that the job was done, he pushed it away in his mind. Aside from entertaining the children with some stories, the whole matter was set aside, and the holiday festivities continued as the Christmas decorations came down and the Twelfth Night ones were put up. In the ensuing chaos, the whole event was largely forgotten, and Darcy never bothered to inquire about the hide, or even think of it again.
Chapter 32
Brian’s Story Continues
1810
“Seen enough countryside to last a lifetime?” Brian said to his wife. “Even if it’s in Nippon?”
“It is very lovely,” she said. For it was incredibly beautiful, unspoiled and natural, nothing paved, rarely a sign. They occasionally passed travelers, who either ignored them or moved away at the sight of Miyoshi with his hands (casually) on his blades, but besides that there was no one.
Eventually they took a road that looked barely wide enough to be passable. Nadezhda privately admitted to being a bit exhausted from sleeping in the open, however good Miyoshi was at setting up a shelter with his cloak, and Brian felt that old tiredness seeping into him. “Can we stop here? At an inn or something?”
To their surprise, Miyoshi nodded. That was, until he saw a sign, which he spent some time studying before announcing, “We cannot enter here. We must go around.”
“Will we lose time?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Miyoshi turned away from the posted note. “We have to go around.”
“What’s wrong?” Brian said instinctually.
“There’s a wanted criminal about, and that means they will be searching all travelers.” He added, “We will find another town soon.”
That did not mean they were free of company, as there were people going to and fro. They had to journey some distance off the road to find any sanctuary. This Japan place was filled with forests and rivers, and they were low on food.
“Can we fish?” Brian said, wondering if there was a law or something.
Miyoshi’s response was to remove his ronin gasa and tie up his long sleeves. “Yes. Do you know how?”
“What man doesn’t know how to fish?” Brian replied, and tied a string to the end of his walking stick as Nadezhda worked on the other end, pinning a piece of their remaining bread to it. “There we go. There are fish here, right?”
Miyoshi grunted, which meant that he was unwilling to admit to not knowing. Brian had barely got his makeshift fishing rod into the water when Miyoshi held out a hand. “Quiet.”
“I was being—”
Their bodyguard looked at them seriously, silencing them, and Brian slipped his hat over his face. Miyoshi’s left hand was on his sword hilt and not lightly. He took a few steps straight into the water, which was not especially deep, barely inches above his ankles, and his blade came out fast enough to drop the man who leapt in front of him. In a spray of blood the man fell down into the water, but Miyoshi did not hesitate, drawing back to protect the Maddoxes as the other bandits emerged from the woods, armed with spears and swords.
“You are outnumbered, ronin,” said one of them.
“It does not concern me,” Miyoshi said, his voice as steady as a rock. “Come closer, and you shall suffer the same fate.”
“If they want money,” Brian whispered, “give it to them and be done with it.”
Miyoshi grunted. Clearly it was not up for consideration. He was true to his word, because when the first man came forward, he cut his spear in half before letting his swing slice through the man beside him. Brian instinctively put himself in front of his wife, his hand on his walking stick. “Don’t look,” he whispered to her in Romanian, because the water was looking a bit red for his taste. Yet Miyoshi was unconcerned. His attention was apparently on cutting them all down without thought, and he was very good at doing it.
“Don’t move,” said a man behind them, putting a sword to Brian’s shoulder, the tip piercing enough to make him bleed. “Tell your samurai to stop.”
“What do you want?”
“Money. And your woman. Surely worth your life?”
It was Nadezhda who screamed as, without hesitation, Brian drew the sword hidden in his cane and spun around. He meant to at least put some distance between him and the bandit, but it didn’t have a hope of working, as the man laughed and knocked it out of his hands. He was out of his league.
“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaai!”
The cry came from above, the man landing before it was finished. He was different from the others, moving in a blue blur from his haori coat, his bizarre sword drawn and ready as he sliced the man’s head off before his stilt shoes hit the ground between them. He then turned to Brian and Nadezhda. His hair was wild and not shaved or even tied up, his clothing mismatched and worn, obviously a collection of other people’s outfits. He had tattoos around his wrists. He laughed and ran past them with no explanation, sword still drawn, and with a flying leap, landed on the man whom Miyoshi was attempting to fight off. While he stood on him, he swung his sword around, missing Miyoshi by inches on one side, decapitating the last bandit on the other while one drowned beneath his geta shoes.
“So,” Miyoshi said, not sheathing his sword, “you’re the villain they’ve put up warnings about.”
“Me? Signs?” the man said. “I’m honored.”
“What did you do this time?”
“Who knows?” he said, and swung at his opponent—Miyoshi. Their blades met, and the man leapt off the now-dead bandit and back into the water, catching Miyoshi’s swing in his shoe, and stepped down, bringing the sword with it. “See? At my mercy again?”
That was when Miyoshi dropped his sword and drew his shorter blade, hitting the man in the hand with the butt of it, disarming him again. “Not so easy, Mugin.” He recovered as Mugin lifted his foot, allowing Miyoshi to recover his blade. “I can’t do this now.”
“You won’t fight me?”
“Not now,” Miyoshi said, putting away his blades.
“So, you’re protecting foreigners? The very opposite of the law.”
“You must be very familiar with it, as you’ve never done a lawful thing in your life,” Miyoshi said, stepping out of the now-red stream and returning to land and his charges. Mugin gave an exaggerated gesture as if he was offended. “We’d best be on our way,” Miyoshi said to his charges.
“He knows,” Brian felt compelled to point out.
“Yes, of course. I’m not an idiot, no matter what Shiro-chan says,” the fugitive said.
“How long have you been following us?”
“Does it matter?” Mugin said, walking across the water and onto their side of the lake, ignoring the pile of bodies behind him as he put his sword back in its scabbard, which was over his shoulder. “So, Nagasaki it is, then? It’s very far.”
“You’re not invited,” Miyoshi said.
“Ah, but then I could report you, of course.”
“That would mean showing your face to the authorities.”
“Heh! I’m not a wanted man in every village, though I am proud that you think I’m such an esteemed criminal,” the man said. “Besides, it looks like you could use the help, no? All I want is a few good meals. A good deal for you.”
Miyoshi, for some reason, seemed to be considering it. Despite the fact he had just fought this man with ready blades, there was some faltering in his usual stoic expression, and his hesitation forced Brian to push the matter. “Miyoshi, can we trust him?”
“No,” he said. “But it seems he’s coming anyway.”
“Besides, I can fish better than Shiro any day,” the man said and, without hesitation and fully clothed, ran to a deeper area of the river and dove in, resurfacing a minute later with a fish speared on a knife. “There.” He removed the fish and tossed it to their shore. “Back in a minute.” And he dove under again.
“Who is he?�
� Nadezhda asked as Miyoshi watched on in stunned silence.
“Mugin,” Miyoshi said at last.
“A friend of yours?” Brian dared to ask as yet another fish was thrown at their feet.
“No,” Miyoshi insisted, and said no more.
When Mugin had provided them with a pile of fish, they walked some ways down the river, far away from the bodies, and started a fire to cook the fish. A soaked Mugin shook his hair out like a dog and sat down by it, putting up his feet in a mode of complete relaxation, as Miyoshi tended to the fish.
Brian was the first to remove his hat. When Mugin didn’t bat an eye, he encouraged Nadezhda to do the same. “Mugin-san,” he said, bowing to him. “I am Maddox Brian, and this is Maddox Nadezhda, my wife.”
Mugin did open his eyes at this but showed no surprise. “Hai. Greetings.”
“May I ask how you know Miyoshi?”
“I don’t know—he might get annoyed. But he gets annoyed at everything, so who cares?” Mugin said, sitting up. “I’d rather Shiro-chan tell it.”
“Why do you call him that?”
“Because I know him,” he said, thinking he had to explain the significance of chan to the foreigner. From Brian’s expression, he did not. “He was so formal with you; he didn’t tell you his name? Miyoshi Shiro? How rude. And yet, how like him.”
“You traveled together?”
“For some time.”
Brian quickly realized that Mugin would be a wealth of information about their bodyguard, who grumbled at basically everything that came out of Mugin’s mouth but still did not order him away. That, however, could be handled in time.
As night descended on him, there were other things on his mind, thoughts that he had been distracted from by the sudden appearance of Mugin, who they gathered was at least partially mixed-race, as he laughed at the suggestion and dismissed it. They had been witness to nothing less than a mass slaughter, even if those men had been bandits. Nadezhda was tense in his arms under their shelter and Brian knew why but could find no words to comfort her. In the nearly three months of being on Japanese soil they had come to feel a peace. That had been shattered by the reality of violence that was taken for granted by the men who protected them. They were not safe.
Mr. Darcy's Great Escape Page 33