"Don't you have family somewhere?"

"Yoshi and Jurou are my family. The only ones I need. Anyways, why do you care?"

"Well, because this is no way for you children to be living, that's why."

She turned on him, a scowl darkening her face, eye narrowed near to shutting.

"Children?" Her expression was disbelieving. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Well-"

"Do you know what it takes to live in Shima's gutters, Akihito-san?" Her voice hardened, became a thing of cold stone. "Have you ever had to break someone's skull for a sc.r.a.p of food or a dry corner to sleep in? Ever watched your friends selling their bodies for copper bits? Has your life ever been so awful that a job slinging s.h.i.t in the royal palace sounds like paradise?" She glanced at the beggars, the bloodstains and rot around them. "You honestly think children live here anymore?"

"I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant. Oh, and before you spit on the way I live? In case you didn't notice, you're living right there with me, Akihito."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't know me." Her lips were tight across her teeth. "You don't know anything about me. The things I've seen. The things I've done. I'm risking my life every day in that palace, and the two people I love most in this world don't even know I'm doing it. Most people in this city wouldn't p.i.s.s on me if I were on fire, and I do it anyway. Because it's right. Because no one else will. f.u.c.k you, calling me a G.o.dsd.a.m.ned child..."

He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight as she tried to flinch away. He could feel the too-thin flesh beneath new cloth, the bird-brittle bones beneath that.

"I'm sorry, Hana."

She stared at him, mute and unblinking, jaw clenched. The breeze blew sweat-damp locks about her eye, bright in the dark, too large in that gaunt and bloodless face. A long minute ticked by in silence, and Akihito saw the truth of her words; the way she stood, fierce and unafraid, fingers curled to fists at her side, muscles overwound, staring him down. There was nothing left of a child inside her. Kigen had stolen every part of it away. And finally, after a breathless span in the chi lamps' flickering light, she relented. Gifted him with a sharp nod. Breathed deep.

"Come on." She crooked a thumb. "The bushimen are gone. If we're quick, we can be in and out before they're back."

She stepped from the shadows, smoke-soft footfalls on hard stone. He limped behind, beneath the cramped archway of a small arcade. The stores were barred, windows boarded up. The cobbles were newly stained; dry blood turned to muddy brown, broken gla.s.s glittering in the flagstone seams. They kept to the gloom, Akihito bending with a wince and shifting a loose brick near the storm drain while Hana kept watch, lashes fluttering against her cheek.

He pawed through the dirt, heart lurching in his chest as he felt a small sc.r.a.p of paper crumpled in one corner. Unraveling it, he quickly scanned the contents. Address. Time. Tomorrow's date. Someone else had made it out from Kuro Street, gotten in touch with the Iishi cell. That meant they still had radio capability. That meant they were still in business.

Thank the G.o.ds ...

Committing the address to memory, he stuffed the paper into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Replacing the brick, he stood, grimacing, nodded to Hana. He heard the soft whisper of padded feet above, saw Daken flitting back over the rooftops toward the tenement tower. As he and the girl faded into the shadows and followed the tom, Akihito couldn't stifle his grin despite the pain in his leg.

"Good news?" Hana whispered.

"It's news," he nodded. "So it's good. I'll tell you all about it somewhere safer."

As the pair melted into the gloom, a tiny fistful of chrome uncurled from its hiding place in a downspout and stood to watch them go. Eight silvered spider legs clicked softly as it ticked its way across the roof tiles, windup key spinning along its spine. A single glowing eye marked their pa.s.sing, its light burning softly in the poisoned dark.

Blood-red.

22.

SKINNED.

Sometimes a bowl of puke-warm slop can seem the greatest gift in the world.

The scarred, dark-haired gaijin sat across from Yukiko's cot, feeding her heaped spoonfuls of seafood chowder, wiping her greasy chin with a rag. After four days on Buruu's back with almost nothing to eat, even with her nausea, her ice-pick headache, the constant fear that every hour she spent trapped here was another hour Hiro's wedding drew closer, the meal tasted more delicious than any Yukiko had eaten in her life.

The man loosened her restraints when he noticed her fingernails were purple, careful to do it one bond at a time. She watched him, eyes flitting over the insignia at his collars, the pistons and brace strapped around his crippled leg. A short knife hung from his belt, flanked by a tube of coiled copper and delicate gla.s.s globes that reminded her of Yoritomo's iron-thrower. When he'd entered the room with her meal, his shoulders had been wrapped in an animal skin, but he'd shrugged it off and hung it up as soon as he'd shut the door. She looked at it now; shawl of dark fur, long tail dragging on the floor. Yukiko thought it might be a wolf pelt, but if so, it had belonged to the biggest wolf she'd ever heard of.

The occasional crack of thunder shook the walls, lightning flashing through the small gla.s.s window high above her. The room's lights would glow brighter then, buzzing in their sockets as the building vibrated around her.

Catching the sky ...

"Piotr." The gaijin pointed to his chest. "Piotr."

"Yukiko," she said, pointing to herself as best she could.

Piotr brushed his fingers across the same cheek he'd slapped. She could feel it bruising. His touch made her skin crawl.

He seemed about to speak again when heavy footfalls rang down the corridor. The gaijin stood with a wince, pistons hissing. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the animal skin off the wall and threw it around his shoulders, just as the blond boy who had saved her life appeared in the doorway.

The boy stumbled forward as if shoved, and a huge gaijin appeared behind him. The man looked in his mid-forties, as tall and broad as Akihito. A thick beard tied in three plaits, short copper hair, hint of gray at the temples, a tanned, windswept face, nicked with scars-chin, eyebrow, cheeks. He held a long cylindrical object wrapped in oilskin. A heavy dark red jacket was smeared with black grease, insignia on his collars trimmed with frayed golden thread. The skin of some enormous animal rested over his coat; bristling fur, front paws as big as Yukiko's head, knotted around his neck. The pelt might have belonged to a panda bear once, save that it was rust-brown all over. A set of heavy welding goggles sat above pale blue eyes, dark lenses glinting the same color as the disembodied shapes mounted upon his shoulders.

Yukiko's heart lurched as she noticed them. The helmets had been beaten flat, mounted on his shoulders like spaulders, but the snarling oni faceplates were still recognizable.

Iron Samurai helms. Half a dozen, at least.

The big gaijin was wearing them like trophies.

Behind him stood the first gaijin woman Yukiko had ever seen. Her hair was so blond it was almost white, tangled into a series of long knotted braids interwoven with insulated wiring, reaching down to her hips. She might have been pretty once, but her face was marred by symmetrical scars; three on each cheek, four running from lip to chin in jagged, lightning patterns. Clad head to foot in dark leather, adorned with wiring and transistors and heat sinks; machine components of all shapes and sizes. Plates of burnished bra.s.s covered her torso, shins and forearms. An enormous pair of boots with thick rubber heels lifted her to average height, long fingernails and lips unpainted. Her shoulders were adorned with the remnants of insectoid helmets, severed breather tubes spilling from the mouths, eyes of red gla.s.s. Yukiko would recognize them anywhere.

Lotusmen helms.

It was as if she'd flayed the metal skin from their flesh and turned them into skin of her own.

The woman stepped into the room, her movements feline, minimalist. Her adornments swayed and shifted, making a clicking, hollow music. Yukiko would guess she was close to thirty, but it was difficult to tell; beyond the scarification and outlandish clothing, there was something altogether alien about her. She tilted her head and stared, and Yukiko saw her eyes were mismatched; one black as Kigen Bay, the other a strange, luminous rose, aglow like the choking moon. She spoke, her voice low, lilting and completely indecipherable.

The big man wearing the bearskin murmured a reply, nodded. Respectful.

A dog darted into the room, scorched copper fur, eyes to match. He jumped onto the bed and s...o...b..red over Yukiko's face before burying his nose into the chowder bowl. Piotr yelled at the hound, who promptly jumped off the bed and slunk into a corner.

She steeled herself, gathering her wall about her, pushing a tiny fragment into his mind.

h.e.l.lo, Red.

it's you! girl!

A flare of pain. Brittle-sharp. Bearable.

These are friends of yours?

He blinked at the knot of people in the doorway, speaking in hushed voices.

boy yes men no mean lady no Mean lady?

she kick me Oh.

i am gooddog don't need the kicking I'm sure you're very good.

and men hit my boy don't like it boy is mine my boy i am gooddog yes I am Can you understand what they're saying?

Red tilted his head to one side, blinking.

Never mind ...

By the doorway, Piotr's face was flushed, and he stabbed the air with his finger, pointing at Yukiko and making gestures not even a foreigner could mistake for friendly. Yukiko presumed the big man wearing the samurai trophies was an authority figure-when he spoke, Piotr stopped talking, listened intently. The woman in the flayed Lotusman skins simply stared at Yukiko, head c.o.c.ked, running one fingernail along the helms on her shoulder. The boy who'd rescued her from the sea leaned against the wall and said nothing at all.

"She." The dark-haired man spoke. "Pretty girl."

The gaijin were all looking at her now. Red was eyeing the chowder bowl, wondering how best to steal it without catching someone's boot. Her skull was pounding, stomach lurching, mouth dust-dry and tasting of salt. She felt as though she might vomit.

"Me?" she answered.

"Why here?"

The two gaijin men gathered around the bed, the woman lurking by the door, hands clasped as if in prayer, pale lips curled in a faint smile. The boy quietly shuffled away from her, standing against the opposite wall.

The dark-haired man who'd called himself Piotr pulled up a stool, sat down, wincing as he straightened his crippled leg. The pistons hissed, joints creaking despite the black grease smeared b.u.t.ter-thick on the metal. As he leaned closer, she smelled salt and liquor, chemicals and greasy smoke. His good eye was bloodshot.

"Who are these people?" Yukiko said.

The man blinked, taken aback. "Me asking in the question."

"Yukiko." She pointed to herself as best she could with bound wrists. "Piotr." She pointed to him. "Them?" A nod toward the others.

The man growled, said nothing.

"Ilyitch," said the blond boy, exhaling smoke. He pointed to the big gaijin with the samurai trophies. "Danyk." The woman. "Katya."

Piotr snarled something in his own tongue. The big man roared, stepped forward and slapped the boy's face, sending his smoke stick flying in a shower of sparks. The language was coa.r.s.e to Yukiko's ears, almost frightening. Her temples throbbed. The woman still stared, mute, head tilted, hips swaying as if she heard music.

"Why she here?" The dark-haired man poked her chest to regain her attention.

Yukiko jerked away from his touch, scowling. "I fell off my thunder tiger, if it's any of your business."

The man blinked.

"Thunder tiger." She tried to make a flapping motion with her bound hands. "Aras.h.i.tora."

"Gryfon," the woman said with a strange, hungry voice.

Piotr made a questioning noise, turned to look at her. The woman spoke again, pointing skyward. Danyk spoke, eyebrows rising to his hairline. The woman nodded and whispered a mouthful of guttural nonsense.

"She snake?" Piotr glared at Yukiko.

"A snake?" she scowled.

"She snake for the pleasing!"

"What the h.e.l.ls are you talking about?"

"Coming here." Piotr pointed at the ground, growing angrier by the second. "Taking words away for the Shima, da? Snake." He clicked his fingers. "Spy! She spy!"

"I'm not a G.o.dsd.a.m.ned spy." Yukiko rose up off the pillow, growling, the memory of his slap burning on her cheek. "I didn't want to come here, you mad round-eye b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I flew here on an idiot with his p.e.n.i.s where his brain used to be."

Piotr looked utterly befuddled.

"p.e.n.i.s!" Yukiko pointed at the man's crotch. "Your other head! The one you think with for most of your G.o.dsd.a.m.ned lives!"

Piotr covered his groin with both hands, shuffled his stool a few feet away. Katya laughed, clapping her hands as if delighted, and Yukiko saw the woman had filed her teeth into sharp, gleaming points. Even the boy managed a grin, despite the handprint on his cheek. Piotr started yammering, shaking his head. The room devolved into general chaos until Danyk's roar rose above the clamor.

Piotr turned back to her, brow creased in concentration as he searched for the words.

"Beast," he finally managed. "Gryfon."

He made a flapping motion, pointed to the sky.

"Aras.h.i.tora," Yukiko said.

Piotr nodded. "Where is? Where?"

Yukiko frowned. "I don't know where he is."

"Die?" Piotr closed his eyes, crossed his hands over his chest. "Is die?"

"I..." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "I don't know."

"Call?" Piotr put his fingers to his lips, gave a shrill whistle. "Calling him?"

"Izanagi's b.a.l.l.s, he's not a dog." She eyed the gaijin one by one, anger swelling her chest. "And believe me, the last thing you want is him coming here. He'd tear this little tin can of yours to pieces. He'd show you the color of your insides."

Piotr shook his head and spoke with an apologetic tone to Danyk. The woman shrugged, addressing the men as if they were children, and with a sigh, the big man nodded. He held up the cylindrical object in his hand, unwrapped the oilskin, and Yukiko caught her breath as she saw her katana gleaming in the half-light.

"Yofun," she whispered.

She'd thought it'd been lost in the ocean.