Kaguta - Or, Ankūro - The Warrior, The Thief and The Killer

46 - Epilogues

Tiluun Dansurō

Only the wise know,
That beginnings and endings,
Aren't so different.
- Rasakūn.

The smoke gilded her lungs as she lounged upon the long chair. It filled her with a euphoria that she found nowhere else. Not in her many, and varied, dealings and business ventures. Not in the arms of her equally many and varied men and women that she took to her bed. The smoke, the weed, filled her and fulfilled her, but she had her taste of it under control.

Unlike when that corpulent bastard, the Yāttō had her under his thumb. She had come close, then, to succumbing to the joys of the weed. Close to losing all control of her operations, both legal and nefarious. True, the Yāttō had paid her well, and in advance, no less, but it had put pressures upon her that still niggled her guts.

Yarukushuma, her playground, had come close to revolution against her after rumours began to spread about her proclivities, her betrayals, but she had crushed that revolt like a Haūdo would crush a petulant village unwilling to pay its taxes. She had shown little mercy. Now, the Yāttō lay dead and the only rumours that passed through her city were of her unwavering, merciless control. Things had started to return to normal.

And yet the weed still filled more hours than she liked. It felt too good. Now, sitting within her suite of rooms in her Gochin tavern, by the docks, 'Vurduzj's Triumph', she contemplated how best to rid herself of the last vestiges of her addiction. Some time away, perhaps? Or locking herself in a room until the sweats and the trembles passed? Both options would leave her city without its chief criminal, however, and she could not allow that.

As she drew in yet more smoke, she arched her back in languid pleasure, only for strange noises to break into her ecstasy. Living above a tavern, Tiluun was no stranger to the sounds of brawling. Indeed, if a day passed without someone attempting to gut another then she assumed the tavern had not sold enough alcohol. These sounds, however, were different. More desperate. More violent.

Her legs dropped to the floor, the pipe coming to rest upon its holder on the table beside the long chair, and she scowled as the sounds came louder and closer. Her guards would stop anyone that dared to disturb her day, but something gave her pause. She moved to her desk, swaying after too much of the weed, and shook her head as she removed a curved, Orususk-style knife from the drawer. Almost as soon as she returned to the long seat, something slammed against her door.

Shouting followed, the sounds of big men throwing fists. Her guards were strong, powerful, well-trained and utterly loyal. Tiluun had no fears for her safety. Why, then, did her hands shake so. She was used to violence, a half-Orususk, half-Kaguta child growing up on the streets of Villeta had to learn to protect themselves, always wary of an open hand and beguiling smile. Any that found their way past her guards, that dared enter her rooms, would not find a wilting woman awaiting them.

The blade of a sword pierced the thick wood of the door, blood dripping from the tip. That was impossible! No sword could penetrate wood so thick, not even the celebrated swords of the master craftsmen of this island. And yet, there it was, glistening with blood as the wielder withdrew it from the door. Then, something odd occurred. Someone knocked."

"Enter." There seemed little point in denying the intruder entry, though Tiluun moved once more, back behind her desk with the nearby, open window available for escape.

The door opened and Tiluun almost jumped through that window. Her reputation could fall, for all she cared, for a Sansui walked through that door. A Sansui wearing the symbol of the Emperor themself, and Tiluun knew the repercussions of her association with the Yāttō had come to haunt her. She put the knife down. It would prove as useful as a feather against a Sansui.