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Madame Kaji thought she could open the samurai's mind. Show him the art of sex, done without shame. Her firm belief in natural desires and the artistry of her work led her to show him many things. The man did not react, which bemused Madame Kaji. In her life, she knows three facts about men -- they're predictable, they're weak, and they are foolish. She assumed this samurai was the same.
When she was told a customer was demanding to see her, she expected everything but the figure before her. Maybe an arrogant idiotic male who wanted the best of the best, maybe a woman seeking an experienced, older woman. Madame Kaji's line of work has caused her to anticipate a lot. She only seeks a paying customer.
The samurai was certainly paying, but he did not eye her or her workers with the same perverted hunger as any regular man. In fact, he did not eye them at all, he did not stare, and he did not hunger, the samurai simply looked at them. The bigger man beside him, the invalid, she noted (not unkindly), stared after Ise and stared at the sex happening around him. But the samurai did not do this. He just sat there and waited for her. In his eyes, he saw women working, not a body to use for his own pleasure.
It was.. somewhat refreshing, but terrifying at the same time. If he did not desire sex, he must want something else badly.
Madame Kaji found out what the samurai wanted when she told him to write his desires. She watched, tentatively, as he dabbed the brush in ink and pressed it to the paper she offered. He wanted Abijah Fowler, the only white man in Japan.
"How do you know that name?" Kaji demanded, she felt the horror that only came from a secret being exposed. Her fists clench in the rush of anger that she associates with that man.
" Abijah Fowler ." The man voiced the name in his writing. His voice was strange, she noticed earlier. It was teetering between too much and too little. It was forced and it was quiet, it was gravelly and guttural.
"Peculiarities," he offers, as an explanation. Kaji stands, preparing to leave. "Fowler's tastes are... loathsome. Curating his entertainment requires a specialist."
As the samurai talks of Fowler, his voice is rough, different from the aloofness of earlier, and full of hatred. Madame Kaji stares at him and sees a promise of slaughter written all over his face. He wanted Abijah Fowler, dead.
"You have murder in your eyes," she declares. "I see your desire now."
"His castle allows no one in, but you've sent your prostitutes to him." The man goes on. Her eyebrows furrow in a moment of anger at being found out. " You've been inside. You've seen him." The samurai's face only gets fiercer as he continues.
"Enough times to know you never want to." She concedes. "He's a man who began life taking pleasure in others' pain. Boredom has only made him experimental."
She remembers her visits to the castle. His ugly, white face and his brash accent. Fowler's demands and his violence. But he is a paying customer, and Kaji does what she has to.
"Some men's eyes say plainly they've tasted human flesh." Madame Kaji knows how to read people. Even a complete idiot would know Fowler is dangerous. " Raw ."
The samurai is unconcerned with her warnings and her fear. He is only interested in getting inside of the castle. His eyebrow raises slightly, and she expects the question he's going to ask.
"If you serviced him at his keep, then there's a way inside." His persistence does not retreat. "You will tell me where it is."
Something about the delivery of the veiled threat reminds her of how negotiations work. She is the one with the information, and if she gives up the entrance to his castle, Madame Kaji gains nothing. She doesn't think that this ragged man could even kill Fowler, no matter how hard he tries.
"Why would I help you kill my customer?"
" Because he deserves to die. " His face lifts in a sneer that is born of disgust and abhorrence. The samurai's obvious naivety towards exactly how many men deserve to die for their sickening ways is amusing to her. No matter how threatening this man pretends to be, Kaji can see how basic he really is.
She huffs in light mirth. "If you killed every man I've seen that couldn't come till someone bled, you'd wear your blade to a stump." Madame Kaji hums delicately to collect herself. She cannot be vulnerable in front of a stranger.
"The gentleman and I have no business." She sprinkles in the hidden honorific in an attempt to appease his subconscious. "He is welcome to all the hospitality my teahouse provides." She bows slightly, showing the amount of respect that is due for someone of his nature.
Madame Kaji walks around the samurai and is almost to the door when he speaks again.
"Perhaps in your visits, you met Heiji Shindo ?" He name-drops, and she stops. "Perhaps he laid a hand on you."
Her eyes widen in his ability to assume. This entire conversation, and what led him to her teahouse, was all hypothetical in the samurai's mind. He only guessed her relations to the white man and guessed at many other things.
The man goes on, "If it was his right hand, consider yourself avenged."
She turns fully around, as he's caught her interest again.
"You provide services," he says, "so do I.
"Name your desire."
Kaji shows him around the area, informing him of Boss Hamata’s tyrannic rule and the threat of the Thousand Claws. She tells him of Kinuyo. Her story, her abuse, and her hardships.
“You want me to kill Boss Hamata.” This is the only time the man has been incorrect in his assumptions. Though, what she is about to ask of him is strange, given her obvious care for Kinuyo.
“No.” She denies, with no small amount of sadness. “Her.”
The samurai’s eyes widen and his face drops.
“They know my love for Kinuyo. If anything should happen to Boss Hamata or her, a Thousand Claws will come to my door and kill every soul in my care.” She says, as a warning, to let him know the risks of the job. “It must look like an accident.”
“It will.” He assures.
“There can be no witnesses.” She presses.
“I will be like smoke.”
“ Swear it .”
“I swear.”
This is her price for the information he seeks. She wonders how far he is willing to go to get to Abijah Fowler.
Madame Kaji gives him a place to stay for the night. She shows him the sign that she and Kinuyo used to express their care for each other. Like an, “I love you” but something that says so much more. She hopes she’s doing what’s best for Kinuyo. She knows she is, but Kaji can’t help but wish she could get her back, safe and alive and well. However, Kaji lives in a tough world, and she is a tough woman. She knows she cannot have Kinuyo back.
She closes the door and cries.
Madame Kaji has no idea what happens, but she hears a woman’s scream and rushes outside. Never before in her life has she felt dread like this. Like the Thousand Claw army standing in front of her brothel, waiting to be given the kill order. She knows who’s fault it is.
Her receptionist is cleaved open in front of them all. Madame Kaji knows right then that it’s over. There could be a hundred soldiers out there—she doesn’t count, she’s afraid to— and she’s never seen him in action, but the samurai couldn’t possibly defeat all of the Thousand Claws.
Even though she whispers, “You have murdered us all” to the samurai, she feels responsibility. If she didn’t accept his offer and if she didn’t love Kinuyo as she did and if she didn’t ask him to end her, none of this would be happening. There is no time for self-pity, therefore she does not give this much thought. She has to hide her girls and pray for their safety, and hope to every god out there that the army is not able to get through the samurai.
Kaji realizes, if they die today, she will die not knowing his name. A weird thought. She wonders who will remember them. Maybe no one. Maybe as the peculiar brothel and the strict woman who runs it. Dust falls into her eyes as she and the girls hear more disturbing thuds upstairs.
She hopes none of those bodies is the samurai’s.
Akemi leaves the safety of the bunker. Madame Kaji has the protective instinct to tie her down and keep her from killing herself, but Akemi is free to do as she likes. Time passes, and she hears heavy steps descend the stairs condescendingly. Slow and taunting, are these footsteps. They speak of arrogance. Madame Kaji wonders if the two outside protecting them have the guts to kill anyone. She supposes that everyone can, under the right circumstances.
Madame Kaji does not know how long she waits, but she holds the youngest girls close to her. Sometimes they are afraid to speak, when the thuds get close to them, and moments later, when the carnage moves away, they’ll murmur reassurances to each other. All of them stare up at the ceiling in fear.
They are unaware of how or when the samurai moves the fight outside. Eventually, the yells and thumps end. She isn’t certain how long they were in there, huddled together, heartbeats racing. The bigger, but younger, man comes in to tell them its safe to come out. She can’t believe him, but they go upstairs anyway.
The sight that greets them is traumatizing. Blood is everywhere. Brains and organs and limbs are scattered throughout the halls and bodies lay near them. You can see the horror in which these men died. Of all the corpses they pass, Madame Kaji does not see the samurai, nor any of his insides.
They walk through the halls of gore to the snowy outside. It’s not much different. Blood and flesh dirties the snow, with the samurai towering above it all. He stands there, makeshift naginata in hand, against all odds. Like ducklings, she, the girls, Ringo (as he’d introduced himself), and Akemi follow the samurai to Boss Hamata’s gambling house.
Along the way, Madame Kaji sees him kill a few more stray soldiers. She wonders how someone can be so acquainted with death. Kaji can’t comprehend the heinous acts the samurai must have committed to be able to kill Boss Hamata’s Thousand Claw army, but she’s grateful.
She watch as he kicks down the door and throws Boss Hamata’s sorry ass to the ground in front of her. The samurai hands her a pair of metal claws, and announces that this is for Kinuyo. Seeing the tyrant that took Kinuyo away, abused her, and took advantage of the whole district vulnerable at her foot made her feel powerful. There were so many emotions she’d gone through in since the samurai’s arrival, none so strong as the combination of relief and gratitude that overwhelmed her now.
Madame Kaji looks over at the weary samurai, his blue eyes drained and gray, blood splattering his blade and drenching his kimono, exhaustion etched into his every step. He was an inhuman whirlwind of destruction and death— now he is a tired man.
“You are more man than any come through my door.”
Madame Kaji wonders what his name is.