Fuel to the Fire

Chapter 1

16th year of the Meiji Era (1883) – Tokyo

The air was unseasonably cool for a late spring evening. The wind blew through the open streets, signaling the storm that was soon to arrive. Recently shed cherry blossoms twirled through the air without abandon. Lanterns swayed with the wind, casting strange shadows on the patrons of Yoshiwara. Women of the streets advertised their good and services, offering to shelter their patrons from the storm. Tatsumaki laughed as two young girls grabbed hold of his arms, pulling him towards a darkened alley. He shrugged them off, bowing his apologies.

A few more steps placed him before his goal, The Perfumed Petal. He’d heard it was a new bathhouse that catered only to the upscale citizens of Tokyo, mostly government officials and the true money holders of the city. It was whispered that the women were beautiful beyond compare, all raised in the countryside with proper manners and “appropriate” skills. No one actually knew who was proprietor of the establishment, but it was rumored that the women took care of their own, and always kept their customers’ secrets.

That was his purpose for attending this evening. It was reported that some former daimyo were still fighting against the new government and its policies, unsure of their new positions as governors without their land and people to support them. He was here to play along, professing his hatred of the Meiji emperor when he was actually in the employ of the current Council of State. The rebellious daimyo of the Tokugawa era had quieted their voices over the last ten years, but certain members within the government suspected resurgence in the near future. He simply needed to sit in, get the information, and get out before anyone suspected his façade.

Ducking under the awning, Tatsu eyed the hostess. Both bowed to each other, then she held out her hands. “I am sorry, sir, but we do not permit weapons beyond this point,” she said, giving another short bow as Tatsu placed his swords in the care. She stashed them in a cabinet, then nodded for him to follow. Entering the corridor he immediately caught the floral scent of jasmine. A memory flashed through his mind, and he grinned to himself. ‘Does something please you, sir?” the girl was asking. He realized they had come to a stop before the changing room. “Only a fond memory,” he said, nodding to the hostess. She smiled at him, “You may leave your clothing here. Your party is waiting in room 13, upstairs and on the left. Unfortunately I must take my leave of you. Enjoy your stay.”

Tatsu nodded again, and she was gone from his side. Tatsu changed from his typical haori and hakama combination into a simple white yukata and slippers. He removed the leather tie from his hair and placed it among the folds of his clothing. Tatsu ran his fingers through his hair, releasing the silken threads from their braided prison. Following the path up the stairs, he heard thunder rumbling over the sounds of splashing water and moaning clients. The drenching rain came down hard against the roof, and lightning exposed the shadows of the night.

Stopping before the door marked with “13”, Tatsu paused for a breath. This was an experience he had not allowed himself for almost five years. In all that time, he had remained faithful to the one who got away. The woman he had professed his love to, promised his life to, then lost her to her own ambitions. He had searched for her; from the sea to the ocean, he had longed to find her. But she had escaped him, and he had returned to his Hikone home alone. With no ties keeping there, Tatsumaki left his inspector job in Kyoto only to take another within the Meiji government in the capital of Tokyo. In his spare time, he investigated rumored sightings of female ninja within the city walls. It turned out that most of those rumors did not bear fruit, and he would continue by digging deep into his next assignment. All of this led him to this soapland resort, a house of wet fun that he was not sure he could indulge in.

Laughter from behind the door pulled Tatsu from his burdening thoughts. Sliding open the door, he found a room full of warm scented mist, and two tubs. Three men sat in one, two in the other. “Hey! There he is!” yelled a man he recognized as a Choshu governor. The large man pulled himself out of the water to greet Tatsu. Both men shook hands, and while Tatsu disrobed, the other man rang the bell hanging by the door. Tatsu climbed into the second tub, bowing to the gentlemen before dipping his naked form into the perfumed water. The men were exchanging stories of the old days as two women entered the room. Tatsumaki could not see them because his back was to the door, a mistake he did not normally make. He looked to the left to see a small woman climb into the neighboring tub. Her skin was a creamy white, marred only by a brand on her shoulder. Dipping her sponge into the water, she immediately went to work bathing the Choshu man.

Tatsumaki closed his eyes while listening to the conversations surrounding him. The water rose slightly and rippled against him as their own entertainment arrived. Tatsu cracked an eye to watch the woman. Right away, he noticed her full hips before she dipped them into the watery depths. Her hair was put up in an unnatural state, as was traditional of geisha and other women of this nature. Her generous breasts bounced and floated in the water. Turning slightly to the side, he saw that she also had a brand on her right shoulder. Inadvertently Tatsu reached out to touch that mark when he saw something that stilled his hand. Next to the brand was a scar, about the length of a tanto blade.

The man across from him noticed Tatsu and whispered something to the woman. She giggled, then nodded. “Looking a little pale and cold, is he? Well we’ll just need to take care of him first,” she said, turning to Tatsu. His breath caught for a moment as the thunder grumbled above. The wind howled outside as the woman scooted towards him, then winked at him. She came closer, dunking the sponge in the water. “Now, shall I start at the top or the bottom?” she said. The men in his tub began to chant, “Bottom! Bottom!”, but he could only stare in wonder and rage at the woman who had alluded him. His dream, his fire, his Yume….