Reluctantly – because she was still hungry – Akane lowered the remains of her second attempt at dinner. She had, working largely by taste, stripped the rabbit of all edible mass, and now regarded the remainder in the flickering light of the campfire, wishing there had been more to it.
“Wwasste of good Rrabbit,” muttered her friend.
Akane found she couldn’t muster the energy for a good rebuttal. The taste of charcoal suggested that Ranma might possibly have a point. She had watched the spit carefully, turning the roast as directed, she hardly took her eyes off it – well, not counting when she moved their packs inside the tent, or when she went to relieve herself – so she really couldn’t understand why it didn’t turn out fine.
She sighed, and wearily wound up to toss the rabbit-based charcoal briquette.
“In firre,” insisted Ranma.
“Huh?”
“Pt on firre. Animals come if in bshes.”
Akane frowned as she interpreted that. “Oh. Makes sense, I suppose,” she said, dropping the lump in the middle of the embers. A small flurry of sparks rose from the impact. Akane watched them for a time, before asking, “Don’t I have to put the fire out before I leave it?”
“Rrr,” replied Ranma. “Burry in dirrt.”
“Ah.” Wearily, she began scooping up the loose soil around the treetrunk she sat on, and dumping it onto the fire.
Kuno began to worry that the sorcerer might suspect his tail, for the stout miscreant had circled back upon himself twice, and retraced a full half a kilometre of his path since the samurai had taken up the trail. And yet he made no move to force a confrontation, and his attempts to obscure his objective were… obvious.
After due consideration, and making allowance for his opponent’s duplicitousness and his own mastery of the arts of concealment, Kuno concluded that the man was, in fact, merely laying false trails, not suspecting that his nemesis was so close that the attempt merely further blackened his sooty reputation. The possibility existed, of course, that he was laying false trails for his son, but Kuno rejected that conclusion immediately; for how could the man reproduce the trail left by the abducted maidens as well as that of their abductor? Truly, the notion was preposterous.
It had become abundantly clear that this abduction was no mere act of hustling the two girls into some convenient shed, for even with his circuitous route the villain had unknowingly led the stalwart champion of light fully out of the Furinkan district. Presumably, long preparation had provided some noisome but defensible place far from civilisation in which to incarcerate the helpless maidens. It was of no concern; the Blue Thunder was puissant enough to prevail even should the lair be defended by further accomplices. Nonetheless, it would be passing inconvenient to return the maidens to their home, for it would be necessary to find some means to call home for suitable transportation.
Seeing his quarry pause at a road junction, the Blue Thunder adopted the demeanour of a man seeking a friend’s home in an unfamiliar district, thereby hiding in plain sight. The buildings around were vaguely familiar; they had walked as far as the edge of Tomobiki, he thought.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the elder Saotome straighten, as though finally sighting a friend or safe haven, and stride away. Divining that the man had seen his destination – perhaps been signalled to approach by an accomplice, such as his till-now-unseen son – Kuno also moved, breaking into a steady run with the intention of catching his prey at the entry to the lair ahead, for that would permit him to dispatch both the sorcerer and whatever minion had opened the door.
Even so, he refrained from releasing his battlecry, and it was well that he did, for it seemed that the elder Saotome had entered a small green space, a tiny patch of wilderness no doubt maintained by a family like Kuno’s own who treasured the gentle charms of nature more than the blatant blandishments of the city; though, undoubtedly, by a family who had fallen upon hard times, for the garden was overgrown, tangled, and unkempt as the grounds of the Kuno mansion were not. Saotome had stepped over the token remnant of the boundary fence, and stalked into the brush, peering under trees and behind bushes and muttering. Clearly, the entrance to his hideout was concealed sufficiently that even he was unable to find it in the twilight, and he was uttering the password so that his gang would open it before him.
Silently, Kuno sidled into the lot, straining his ears to hear the man’s voice.
“where’s he… tent… boy… where’s the ent… pid boy”
‘Boy wears the rent,’ indeed! After some thought, it was indeed a suitable phrase for a password; surpassingly unlikely to be uttered in passing by any but those it had been vouchsafed to by virtue of it’s complete nonsense. It was becoming more and more clear that the Saotomes were indeed vile villains of the worst and most dangerous sort, for none but the least desirable denizens of the fair land of Japan had reason to cloak their doings in such misdirection and subterfuge.
Grimly, he reaffirmed his vow to rescue the fair flame-haired maiden and the beauteous Tendo Akane, and to bring their abductors to their just desserts. He raised his weapon, set the meaningless password into his mind, and girded himself to fall justly upon the unrighteous.
Suddenly, Saotome stopped walking, waving his arms in wide circles and swaying backwards and forwards. He cried out, incoherently, snatched at a nearby sapling, and then fell forward with a crashing whumph!
Kuno charged forwards, hurdling the low brush between then, and struck downward mightily at the white form as he passed. Immediately, he checked his momentum, striking to either side with flashing strokes; but his weapon dismembered only trees, for no doorway existed for him to pass through. Indeed, he remained in the small grove still, with neither sign nor sight of the villains’ lair.
He turned slowly, checking the shadows. In due course, not finding the lesser villains, he returned his attention to the figure he had struck down in passing. To his shock – and there was no dishonour or shame in admitting shock at such a discovery – he found at his feet not the gi-clad form of a Japanese man of poor breeding, but the distinctive form of a Giant Panda snoring into a puddle on the ground. His mind whirled at this discovery.
“Indeed, Saotome, you are in truth a most foul, and most powerful, sorcerer. It shall avail thee but little in the fullness of time, for I shall inevitably triumph, but your foul arts may serve to secrete you from justice for a short while…” He rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “And surely this is some greater working of that foul art, to transpose yourself for a beast of the wild forests of distant China – egads!”
He brandished his bokken in the general direction of West and declared stentorianly, “Your schemes shall avail thee not, and mere distance not shield thee from justice – for I shall conquer sea and mountain to find thee in thy fastness in uncivilised China, and render thee unto the true light of righteousness! So swear I, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High School!”
Thunder crashed above the trees, and Akane jerked to full wakefulness. The low roar of the wind through the treetops intensified, as did the blast of chill air though the rent in the canvas. She stared into the darkness, her heart racing.
Dimly, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and flinched again before realising it was only her companion sleepily flipping her tail over her nose.
“R-Ranma?” She swallowed, and tried again, loader and without the timorous tremor. “Ranma? You awake?”
There was no answer but the howl of the wind. Akane shivered. She had already woken Ranma once, to borrow her unused sleeping bag to add to her own thin and elderly one – and been horrified to discover that Ranma’s was both thinner than hers and worn almost through in places. Ranma had pointedly closed her eyes and rested her head on her forepaws as she started to exclaim about it, though, but she still resolved to obtain new sleeping bags for both of them if they were to go on any more ‘training trips’.
After lying still for a few long moments listening to her companion breathing, she pulled the top of the sleeping bag up over her face and tried to return to sleep.
From outside came a wavering hoot from a hunting owl, and the first pitter-patter prelude of rain.
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(Posted Sun, 30 Sep 2007 11:45)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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