“Now:
hold still and this won’t hurt a bit.”
Murasaki
had pulled up Kunihiko’s left sleeve to administer a glucose shot. It was necessary: the dual ordeal of the attempted
abduction and the ensuing carnage had left the Crown Prince in shock.
“Did
you leave any alive?”, he asked Murasaki.
“I
asked Rei to hold one prisoner, Kuni-sama.”
She jerked a thumb at Rei who was tying up the sole survivor, whistling
for the entire world like it was a routine chore. “We slaughtered the rest.”
“Slaughtered!” Gulping nervously, Kunihiko turned to see
the security crew cleaning up: corpses were hoisted onto auto-gurneys while the
sanitation people mopped up pools of blood.
Rei and the Fujiwaras had been more than efficient in dealing with the
situation. “Remind me never to pick up
a fight against you, Violet.”
“Why’s
that?”
“You
seem to have this penchant for mass carnage.”
“I
know.” She withdrew the hypodermic
pump. “There you go.”
Kunihiko
studied her intently as she reprimanded the airport security staff. She obvious had a low threshold of tolerance
for incompetence given the way she was chewing out the head of security.
“I
don’t care if you didn’t know the Crown Prince was around till the last
minute!”, she roared ferociously. “His
Imperial Highness would’ve been killed if Rei-sama and I hadn’t spurred into
action.”
“I’m
sorry, Milady.” The head of Narita’s
security corps was profuse in his apologies, but Murasaki would not be
appeased. “I assure you, Milady: it won’t happen again.”
“Captain,
there may not even be a next time if you keep bungling on the job!” Murasaki was simmering as she finished
applying antiseptic gel on the prince’s arm.
She rolled down the sleeve and buttoned up the cuff. She slid a very severe glance at the captain
and his second in command. “You do know the penalty for failing to
protect the Emperor and his immediate heir, don’t you?”
The
captain gulped. “Death, Milady”, he
managed to say in a very small voice.
“Be
grateful that His Highness wasn’t hurt, captain.” Ominously, she shook a warning finger in his face. “Otherwise…” Grimly, she left the matter hanging and turned to Kunihiko who
was breathing somewhat easier. “Shall we
go, Highness?”, she asked in a softer manner.
Kunihiko
nodded, gripping her arm to steady his shaky steps. Solicitously, the leather-clad ningyô led him out of the airport.
When
they’d gone, the captain slumped wearily in his chair. His skeletal second-in-command looked
astounded since the captain never
took any lip from anyone.
“How
could you let her scold you, sir?” the
lieutenant demanded indignantly. It was
unimaginable that a young girl could be tough enough to howl at a long-standing
officer. “Didn’t she respect your
authority?”
“She
had every right to scold, Lieutenant.”
The captain poured himself a cup of tea., warming his hands as he held
the cup.
“What! Why?”
“That
girl, Lieutenant, was Murasaki Fujiwara.”
“The
Countess of Nara-ken?” The Lieutenant’s
eyes widened in alarm. The daughter of
the Grand Duke of Nara?”, he choked.
“Is she…?”
“A
ningyô? Looks like it, though I don’t
think it was announced in the dailies as yet.”
He shuddered visibly. “Whoever
it was that tried to grab His Highness had better be careful.”
“Oh,
definitely, sir! That girl will
probably rip his guts out, salt `em, and hang `em out to dry – no doubt!”
“Amen!”
“Have some tea, Your Highness.”
24-year-old
Masakazu Fujiwara, third son of the Grand Duke of Nara, busied himself with the
samovar set up in the sitting room, loaded with Royal Milk Tea. Masakazu was a seminarian in his junior year
of theological studies at St. Francis Xavier’s House of Divinity in Nagasaki;
it was pure luck that he was on home leave on the day his sister arrived from
America.
He
set a large cup of tea before Kunihiko, making sure to sweeten it with a large
spoonful of fresh honey taken from the hives they kept on the estate. The prince accepted it gratefully and
drained it.
“You
ran into trouble?”, he turned to his siblings.
Mamoru
nodded. “A potential kidnapping”, he
informed his brother. “Things like that
are never pleasant.” He handed his cup
over for a refill. “Good thing Murasaki
raised the alarm.”
“She
was always fast on her feet”, Masakazu smiled as he turned the spigot on.
“She
killed the guy who knocked my lights out”, Kunihiko told the stern-faced
Masakazu. “She also asked Rei to take
one of them prisoner.”
“He’s
in the dungeon”, Rei agreed. It was a
peculiarity of the Fujiwara Stronghold that they had a “good ol’ fashioned”
dungeon within the bowels of its foundation.
Over centuries of experience, it had proven itself more than a little
useful. “His Grace intends to run him
through the meat grinder a little later.”
“Sounds
like fun.” Mamoru grinned evilly and
slapped a five with the just as wicked-looking Mitsuru. “I hope Masami doesn’t have any classes
today. Last time we dragged someone in
for questioning, the guy only had to look at Masami to start babbling up the
truth!”
They
all laughed. Masami, the fourth of the
Fujiwara brood, was six feet tall and built like a house: broad of shoulder and grim of countenance. Despite the fact that he was really a sweet
guy, he was not a very friendly person to look at.
“I
thought I heard my name being taken in vain”, a massive basso profundo rumbled
from the doorway. Masami leaned in the
doorframe, his sheer bulk blocking anyone else who would’ve wanted to come in. For all his thug-like looks, Masami was an
intellectual in his senior year of Elizabethan Literature at Waseda. Indeed, he was courtly of manner, making him
quite a favorite of the Imperial Court in Tokyo.
“Masami-kun.” Mamoru waved him in and motioned for him to
sit down in an empty armchair. “Seen
Violet already?”
“I
did”, Masami smiled, settling his bulk into the chair. “All grown up now, isn’t she?” He smirked slyly at Kunihiko. “I’ll just bet you guys someone failed to
recognize her when she bumped into him!”
“Touché!” Kunihiko chuckled, raising the cup Masakazu
had refilled for him. “She caught me
off-guard, Masami-kun. I hope none of
you mind my saying this, but she’s a goddess!”
“A
war-goddess”, Mitsuru agreed wryly.
“Kali perhaps or Epona of the Gauls.”
“Ennyo
of the secret religions of the Ancient East.”
Rei would know; she loved reading about ancient myths. “Goddess of love, war, and beauty all in one
body.” Her brother choked at such a
description. “Why, whatever is wrong,
brother dear?”
“Nothing”,
Kunihiko gasped, not trusting himself to say anything else.
Presently,
a herald declared the arrival of the Empress Naoko and the Grand Duchess Rumiko
Fujiwara. All those present rose and
bowed formally even as the Empress waved them back to their seats.
“As
you were”, she told them with an airy wave.
Kunihiko
quickly vacated his armchair to make room for his mother and positioned himself
on the arm of the sofa where Mamoru, Mitsuru, and Rei sat together with Rumiko.
“Well,
kitten!” Maternally, Naoko planted a
kiss on top of her son’s head as she passed him. “I’m glad you’re safe!
You had us all worried!”
“How
did you know, Mamma?” Kunihiko demanded, blushing because of her affectionate
gesture, one not usually encountered in a battle-axe like a former ningyô.
“It
was in the news a few minutes ago”, Naoko replied, gracefully taking her
seat. “Did any of you recognize them?”
“No,
your Majesty”, Mitsuru replied. “They
wore a uniform similar to that of the ancient Saracens.”
“The
one Murasaki killed mentioned something about global domination”, Mamoru chimed
in.
“It
couldn’t be the Muslim Resistance, could it?”, Masami rumbled dubiously. “They haven’t been rousing the rabble since
Iraq was blown up in 2105!”
“Some
remnant perhaps?”, the Empress suggested.
“It
couldn’t be”, Mamoru disagreed with her.
“If it were, Majesty, they would be after the incumbent president of the
United States. The MR has always had a
bone to pick with them. Japan is a
superpower now, but we’ve only been one for less than fifty years. Besides, as far as Middle Eastern conflict
was concerned, we were always on neutral ground.”
“Mamoru
has a point, Nao-chan.” The Empress and
the Fujiwara Grand Duchess had been friends for so long that it was automatic
for them to skip each other’s titles.
“It’s quite obvious that it was an almost direct attack on the Japanese
Imperial Court.”
“I’d
suspect the Parliamentarians”, Rei chimed in, referring to a secessionist
claque who supported a return to the Diet.
They were a negligible albeit noisy minority at best. “But the style of this morning’s fiasco was
too dramatic for them.”
They
continued to speculate, suggesting who – or what – could have possibly
instigated the attack. Kunihiko
suddenly spoke up:
“Didn’t
one of us say something earlier about destroying a tree by ruining its fruit –
the part that bears its seed?” Everyone
stared at him in bewilderment. “I’m
merely speculating, of course, but it could be that Father isn’t the
real target; I am.”
“But
why?”, his mother cried.
“Dad
is still hale and hearty”, Rei added.
“You won’t be ascending the throne any time soon!”
“They’re
probably going to use His Highness as a pawn in a fairly elaborate
cat-and-mouse game.” Murasaki stood in the
doorway, still dressed in her black leather bodysuit but had changed her shoes
for a cute, fluffy pair of house slippers sewn like cats’ faces. It was incongruous yet adorable at the same
time. She bowed gracefully to the
Empress even while all the men in the room scrambled to their feet to respond
to her bow. The Empress raised an
amused eyebrow at their bungling while Murasaki merely laughed them off and sat
down on a nearby footstool. All of a
sudden, a plump black and white Persian leapt out of nowhere to curl up on the
girl’s lap with a joyful yowl.
“A
pawn?”, Rei gasped incredulously.
“Yes”,
Murasaki nodded severely. “As terrible
as this may sound, Kuni-sama might be used as a bargaining chip by whoever’s
responsible for all this.”
“But
who could possibly attack Kuni when he barely ever appears in public?”, Mitsuru
wondered aloud.
“Someone
who obviously saw through his cover”, Murasaki supposed, accepting a cup of
milk tea from Masakazu. She poured a
little into the saucer and set it on the floor. Her cat eagerly came down and purred as she lapped her tea. “Someone who has probably observed the
prince even while kagemusha were taking his place.”
“It
would have to be someone with connections in the Imperial Court”, Mamoru
agreed. “Someone who knows that Mitsuru
and Prince Fumihiko have been taking turns standing in for His Highness.”
“We
can begin the investigation as soon as I’ve been properly sworn into Imperial
Service.” There were exclamations all
around her and she saw surprise and consternation written all over their
faces. “What’s wrong?”, she asked. “Have you forgotten that I haven’t gone
through a proper investiture ceremony as yet?”
They
all shook their heads. Technically
speaking, Murasaki had been training to be ningyô since the day she took
her first steps. The mandatory five
years away from home served more to polish her instead of serving as her actual
training. She’d been observing her parents
and older siblings, the Crown Prince and Rei over the course of time and picked
up a number of techniques in defense and diplomacy that most ningyô had
never seen or even mastered. To all who
knew her, Murasaki had been a ningyô from the cradle.
“Oh,
spare me the formalities, Fujiwara-ningyô!”, the Empress grunted
indecorously. “You’ve been calling
Kuni-chan ‘master’ since the day you could talk, dear child. I’d say that’s enough of an investiture.
Murasaki
normally didn’t stand on ceremony but the investiture meant a lot to her. That was one ceremony she wouldn’t live without. “Point of law”, she snapped back.
Naoko
turned to Masakazu who was an expert on the protocol of the Imperial Court
other than his specialization as a man of the cloth. “Speak the law”, she commanded him.
Masakazu
looked thoughtful. “I’d hate to break
it to you, sis”, he murmured. “But her
Majesty is right. Regardless of whether
or not you’ve gone through a proper investiture ceremony, you vocally pledged
your allegiance to a member of the Imperial Clan. No matter how informal it may have seemed, that automatically
assigns you to the service of the Chrysanthemum Throne – regardless of how old
you were at the time that you verbally gave your pledge.” He smirked at his sister who looked ready to
blow. “Hey, you’ve been telling his
Highness that he was going to be your master since you were six years old. In effect, you’ve been a ningyô for
the past ten years. Now, be a good
girl, Murasaki and drop that eyebrow.
We’ve got work to do.”
Murasaki’s chubby cat made it a point to mimic
her mistress’s every mood.
Her
mistress was fairly prickly when it came to being painted into a corner the way
she’d been over tea. Freya, thus,
snarled and hissed and scratched at everyone who tried to go near her mistress.
Everyone,
of course, save for Prince Kunihiko.
When the Crown Prince entered the greenhouse where Murasaki kept her
prize rosebushes and bonsai, the cat was most amiable, scampering towards him
and rubbing affectionately against his ankles.
A long-time patron of cats, he crouched down to pick her up.
“Hello”,
he greeted her. “You didn’t tell me
your name, kitty.”
“It’s
Freya”, Murasaki replied, busily pruning a particularly treasured bonsai with a
delicate little pair of scissors.
“Your
mommy’s godawful sore right now, Freya-nyan”, Kunihiko told the cat. “Well, if your mommy will let me, I’d like
to take you out for some fresh air.”
“Freya-nyan’s
mommy wants to know what you’re doing here, your Highness.”
“I
was going to ask if you wanted to take a walk around the estate, Murasaki”,
Kunihiko replied, rising to his feet with the cat in his arms. “But you look busy.”
Murasaki
sighed and put away her tools, putting her plants back on their respective
shelves, tenderly admonishing them to grow healthier. She turned to face Kunihiko with a face like thunder.
“I
don’t think a walk in the park would be appropriate”, she said rather
coldly. “Have you had lunch?”
“No. In fact, I wasn’t able to get that bowl of
ramen from the vending machine `cause I got so shaken. Heck, I even skipped breakfast!”
“In
that case, you’d better come with me and take Freya-nyan with you.” Striding purposefully, she led the way back
inside the manor. As they went down the
halls, servants and the lesser nobles who served as functionaries of the Nara
Court bowed as they passed. Young as
she was, Murasaki had developed her mother’s regal bearing; she acknowledged
each bow with a slight wave or a nod.
This was her home and these were her people. The respect they accorded to her was appropriate, even expected.
Master
Miyajima, the resident postmaster on the manor, stopped them so that he could
hand several message cards to Murasaki.
He bowed formally as he handed her the mail.
“It
is good to have you back, Countess”, he told her.
“Master
Miyajima.” Murasaki’s smile was
genuinely affectionate. “It’s really
good to be home.” She slipped each
message card into the holo-reader on her wrist and smiled as she read,
listened, or viewed missives from a number of old friends and relatives. Some were invitations from a number of
institutions asking her to come speak to their students. There was one missive, though, that
she looked at in sheer disgust. It bore
the holo-seal of Hong Kong: a golden
bauhinia. In distaste, she handed it
back to the wizened old postmaster.
“Dispose of this one please, Master Miyajima.”
Kunihiko
eyed the message card ominously.
“Another letter from my cousin Sora?”
Murasaki
nodded. “Doesn’t that moon-faced
know-nothing know when to give up?”, she hissed contemptuously.
“Violet,
he’s a know-nothing. Of course he
doesn’t know when to give up!” Grimly,
he cracked his knuckles, surprising Freya.
“I think it’s high time I taught him a lesson.”
Murasaki’s
steely gaze softened and she seemed to glow as she linked her arm with
his. “That’s so sweet of you”, she
smiled. “But I’d rather beat him up
myself, thank you very much.”
“It’s
a gentleman’s duty to protect his lady, Countess Fujiwara.”
“How
true; but the circumstances do differ somewhat if the lady makes a
living out of watching the gentleman’s back.”
She tugged at his arm. “Shall we
go?”
“Of
course.”
“Good: we can ask my dad if we can borrow a
hover-type.”
When
they entered the garage, they found Mitsuru ogling a fantastic-looking Jaguar
convertible-Z2100 hover-type in rich glossy plum. It was the sort of car that could go both airborne and
amphibious. Murasaki whistled
admiringly as she ran her hand over the smooth finish.
“What
a beauty!”, she enthused to her twin.
“Whose is it, Mitsuru? Mom’s?”
“I
don’t know!”, Mitsuru shrugged.
Nevertheless, he sighed over it as if it were a beautiful but
unattainable girl. “I do wish it were
mine, though.”
“Ditto!”
“The
new SUV is yours, Mitsu-kun.” They
turned to see Yoshiyuki coming in with Masahiro. He bowed respectfully to the prince. “That’s why I let your drive it.”
“Oh,
Dad, thank you!” Mitsuru unabashedly
embraced their father. “For real? It’s the best!”
“I
don’t see why you shouldn’t drive even if you’re only sixteen”, Yoshiyuki
shrugged. “You do need to get
around given what you do. As for this
here work of art…” He winked at his
daughter. “Why, I believe that it
belongs to you, my little Violet.”
“Lucky”,
Masahiro sighed enviously.
“OH,
DADDY!” Normally undemonstrative,
Murasaki flung her arms about her father and kissed him soundly. “THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!”
“Guess
you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Highness”, Yoshiyuki teased Kunihiko. “Fancy your ningyô driving a better
car than you!”
Kunihiko
giggled; his own car was a vintage Jaguar he’d salvaged with his first
salary. His father had offered to get
him a late model Jag, but he opted to go get his own. He loved to assert his independence in every which way he
could. He didn’t mind the fact that
Murasaki’s set of wheels would look better than his. A car was just a car.
Or
so he thought until Yoshiyuki pointed to a series of panels on the
dashboard. “I had it customized to suit
your needs, my dear”, he explained to Murasaki.”
“In
what way, Daddy?” Murasaki’s curiosity
was piqued.
“This
way.” Yoshiyuki tapped the panels and
activated a series of weapons cunningly concealed within and around the
car. Kunihiko and the Fujiwara boys
drew back, stunned. It wasn’t just a
car; it was an all-purpose ballistics carrier.
“Good
Lord!”, Kunihiko swore. “That thing
looks like a regular killing machine, your Grace!”
“Why,
thanks, Highness.” Yoshiyuki managed to
look flattered. “I didn’t become your
father’s military munitions expert for nothing, you know. We Fujiwaras have been assigned to guard
your person; it’s a responsibility we take very seriously.”
“That’s
blatantly obvious, your Grace.”
“It’s
wonderful!” Murasaki was as pleased as
punch. This little baby would be more
than a little useful. It was a very
appropriate birthday present. She was
quick to catch the activator card her father tossed to her and retracted the
defense mechanisms. Lightly, she leapt
into the driver’s seat and motioned for Kunihiko to get in. Freya was just as eager to leap into the
backseat. “We’re going out to lunch,
Dad”, she informed her father. “His
Highness and I have a few things to discuss.”
“That’s
pretty obvious.” Yoshiyuki waved
goodbye as they pulled out of the garage.
“You watch his Highness’s back now, you hear?”
“You
can count on me!”
“I’m
sure I can.” A proud smile on his face,
Yoshiyuki motioned for his sons to follow him.
“Come along, boys; the Emperor’s in the study. We mustn’t keep him waiting.”
The Emperor Junichi sat in a swivel chair facing
a window that looked out onto the formal gardens of the Fujiwara Estate.
He
could understand why the Grand Duke liked his study more than any other room in
his house. It offered a peaceful
retreat from the rest of the world. But
not even the lovely view could dissuade the Emperor from thinking
dismally. His only son had been
attacked that morning. As grateful as
he was that Kunihiko had not been harmed, he felt more than a little uneasy.
Three
of the four Grand Dukes who sat on the Imperial Council of Advisors were
present. Yoshiyuki Fujiwara, of
course. Yoshiyuki’s brother-in-law,
Hiroyuki Urushihara the Grand Duke of Kyôto was also there. Yasuhiro Taira, Grand Duke of Tôkyo and the
Emperor’s brother-in-law, was present as well.
Yasuhiro
arrived with his daughter Maria, the actual ningyô of the Taira Clan who
had been reassigned to the Emperor’s security network surveillance team as a
tech. Mamoru Fujiwara stood
protectively behind her chair the way he always did whenever they were together. Hiroyuki came accompanied by his sons
Shinya, Yôji, and Yuichiro. His
daughter Midori would be arriving from Manila that afternoon; she and Murasaki
would be invested at the same time. The
five Fujiwara sons and their mother were also present along with the Empress
and Princess Rei.
“Murasaki
says she’ll get on the case as soon as she can, your Majesty”, Yoshiyuki
informed the Emperor.
“That’s
good”, Junichi nodded. But, “For
heaven’s sake, Yoshi! Drop the titles;
we’re all friends here.”
“Of
course, Junichi. At the same time,
Murasaki thinks she may be on to something.”
“But
what?”, Naoko demanded intently.
“She
said that the one she’d killed made mention of the following words.” As he spoke, Mitsuru switched on a
microplayback mechanism on his father’s desk.
He inserted a small recording disc and played the words the assailant
had snarled at Murasaki earlier; she’d been wearing a microrecorder in her
wristwatch.
“Japan
will not be ruled by a bloodless wisp”, the recording sneered. “Nor will the world be ruled by a mere
child.”
“Violet
said she’d heard those words before”, Mamoru chimed in. “It was while she was studying at Berkeley.”
“A
student movement, perhaps”, Rumiko suggested.
“I
think it goes beyond those parameters, Mom.
It appears that there are members of the Japanese Diaspora in the United
States who started a movement that would call for the ouster of the Yamato Clan
from the Chrysanthemum Throne.”
The
Emperor’s interest was aroused and swiveled the chair to face them. “Go on, Mamoru.”
“Historically,
the Emperor who restored the absolute monarchy married a foreigner.”
“Emperor
Osamu”, Maria Taira agreed. “He married
the French diplomat Madeleine Delacroix.”
“To
the movement, the Empress Madeleine was no better than a common whore and they
blame her for the deterioration of the Yamato bloodline over time. They say that they must put someone with pure
Yamato blood on the throne.”
“Good
luck finding someone with that”, Rei snickered contemptuously. “Isn’t a member of the direct line of
Amaterasu Omikami good enough anymore?”
“Not
to them, Princess. The current
bloodline looks tainted to them.”
“But
that still doesn’t explain why they came after my brother, Mamo-san.”
“I’m
getting to that, Princess”, Mamoru assured her. “I think that it has something to do with the fact that the Taira
are of foreign lineage as well.”
“That’s
true”, Yasuhiro agreed; the Empress nodded as well. “Our paternal grandmother was Italian.”
“Lucia
Vincenzo”, Naoko said. “A good
woman. The first foreigner to train as ningyô;
she was one of the best.”
“But,
like Empress Madeleine, she was a loose woman in the eyes of the movement,
Majesty. Now, they’re accusing Kuni and
Rei of being double-diluted and should both be thrown bodily out of the
Palace.”
“Niisan,
that still doesn’t explain why they called Kuni-sama a bloodless wisp!”,
Mitsuru chimed in.
“Well,
they say that his blood’s so diluted you could call it water.”
“And
the mere child part?”
“That’s
easy”, Shinya Urushihara told his cousin.
“Kuni-sama looks much too young and too frail to take the throne should
the time come.”
“But
we all know that looks can be deceiving, Shin-kun”, his brother Yôji reminded
him. “In Kuni’s case, we all know that
he’s not the wuss he appears to be. Far
from it as a matter of fact.”
“You
would know!”, Rei laughed. “Seeing how
he used to beat you to a bloody pulp every time you called Murasaki his wife.”
“It’s
true, though”, Yôji grinned. “At least
it’s going to be true.”
“There’s
another mystery we haven’t touched upon”, Junichi reminded them. “The part about ruling the world.
Everyone
suddenly fell silent.
“Now
that, your Majesty is what we haven’t figured out”, Mamoru replied. “Well, at least not yet…”
Back
to Megami Media Online Back to the
Introduction