“Come on, city boy.” It couldn’t really be called ‘grumbling’ because it was so much more intense, though the words seemed frivolous enough. “These aren’t the carrots we want.” He addressed himself to Hajime specifically despite believing the other two just as ignorant of farming as the knight; he didn’t want to talk to the other two. But they all three followed without any verbal question when he rose after only a few minutes seated and insisted they relocate to a different row.
As they settled again, Hajime remarked seemingly with more curiosity than irritation, “I fail to see the difference in these carrots.” Other items lined the shelves and dangled from the racks around them too, of course, but carrots were what Sano had specifically mentioned.
“Over there–” Sano jerked his thumb at the area they’d previously occupied– “looks like the oldest stuff in here. If anyone comes in to load up vegetables to sell, they’re gonna grab the oldest stuff first. We’ve got a better chance of them not catching us if we’re here with the newer shit. Probably not the next row over, though,” he added, craning his neck but unable to see much of the referenced lane; “the freshest row is where they’ll put anything they’ve just picked.”
The others stared at him, and Sano hoped they wouldn’t ask why he’d gone into such unnecessary detail about the relative freshness of the surrounding produce. Why he seemed to be showing off as best he could and that best was still limited to the most tedious knowledge of a displaced orchard hand. Finally Hajime remarked with sarcasm disguised as interest, “I didn’t realize carrots were your area of expertise.”
“Just common sense,” Sano muttered, pulling his heavy wet shiiya over his head and preparing to wring it out. At least fleeing through the rain could more or less pass for bathing, something he hadn’t done in far too many days. Katsu had brought fresh water to the thieves’ guild for Sano to wipe off with on a couple of occasions, but the limited amount he could carry up and down the ladder through that narrow opening was a far cry from being covered and soaked the way rain allowed for.
Tokio had a couple of spare garments tucked away in her backpack, and as she drew them out as towels for herself and Eiji, it reminded Sano of what he carried himself. Not blankets, unfortunately — back in Elotica, he’d been using the ones he’d stolen from Seijuurou’s house what felt like forever ago to make the thieves’ guild a slightly more comfortable place to sleep. They would have been useful here, but he’d returned to Enca to bring Hajime into the capital with him, not to make camp again (or so he’d believed), and therefore hadn’t brought them.
He did, however, retain his five stolen devoted shiiyao, which represented a significant amount of dry cloth. Or at least mostly dry; it appeared that, after being forced by the harassing Tokio to stuff all his costumes haphazardly back into the bag, he hadn’t closed the latter as thoroughly as he normally would have. Rainwater had leaked in and dampened the shiiya on top (ironically, the one bearing the image of a volcano), but the rest seemed to be dry enough. He ascertained this as he extracted them and tossed them to the floor in a heap with a rough motion, saying as he did so, “Here,” in an ungracious grunt.
Jealously interested though he was in hearing everything Hajime and Tokio said to each other — it was mostly logistical at this point, having to do with ridding themselves of excess rainwater and what supplies they had and why Sano was carrying five red devoted shiiyao around with him — he was equally disinterested in taking any part in the discussion, so as he worked on getting himself dried off (he’d grabbed the Yumi garment completely at random) he scooted a pace or two away from them so he could put his back to the cold stone wall at the far end of the row. And once he’d wrung out his hair, wiped himself down with red cloth that swiftly became thoroughly damp from seam to seam, and risen briefly to hang his blue and orange thing from the corner of one of the nearby shelves — it would smell like carrots after not too long — he sat back and, rather than observing a scene he didn’t want to contemplate, stared upward toward the highest hanging vegetables and the ceiling dim in little more than the light from Hajime’s keonblade.
The garden stretched out expansively, opulently, threaded through with silver waterways gleaming in the warm, pervasive light, yet somehow lay entirely indoors. As such there was an oppressive, claustrophobic feel even to its great size, and the sunlight seemed trapped as if it had nowhere to go and wasn’t even sure how it had gotten in here in the first place.
Lilies floated on the rippling water, and the land between the little walking paths was a rainbow of other flowers: oleander, jasmine, dahlia, crocus, bougainvillea, cornflower… The chaos of hue boggled the eye, every bit as oppressive as the sense of invisible walls around him, and their earthy, edible fragrance was thick and overwhelming.
Hajime didn’t seem to think so; his movements were nothing but casual and leisurely as, hand-in-hand with Tokio, he ambled down the paved lane among the beds and bushes of passionate color. Even as Sano watched, unable to lift a foot to follow them, Hajime turned toward her with an open smile and leaned in slightly, making some comment Sano could not catch that ended on a carefree laugh. The two of them were clad in blue from head to toe.
“You don’t know him very well, do you?” Though the voice was Tokio’s, the words rang from some unknown source outside of her, reverberating off walls and ceiling throughout the great room and echoing continually back in Sano’s direction in cool, largely indifferent mockery. “You don’t know him very well, do you? You don’t know him very well… You don’t know him…”
Hajime and Tokio drew farther and farther away, for Sano still couldn’t move after. But they hadn’t grown so distant and small that he couldn’t easily see what was going on when Eiji, in the same true-blue attire, came running eagerly up to show off the astonishingly huge oleander blossom he’d plucked somewhere in the vicinity. He lifted the bright pink flower like an offering toward his mother, who accepted it and brought it to her face to inhale. As she drew back from it, Hajime’s strong hand reached out and took it, then threaded it through the unbound hair behind her ear.
It looked absurd sitting there, half as big as her head, a brilliant discordant note with her blue garments, but Tokio merely laughed as she turned fully to face Hajime, and leaned up to press her parted lips against his. There was something immediately horrific about this movement, something every bit as oppressive as the enclosed garden and its eye-assaulting colors.
Sano jerked awake as if from a nightmare, and experienced a startling moment of déjà vu: leaning not very comfortably against a hard surface, damp with rainwater, dreaming about Hajime, feeling a fundamental sense of wrongness… But he was fairly sure the original sense of wrongness had been his mind’s attempt to reject the weird connection he and Hajime had somehow developed — people weren’t supposed to share dreams the way they did — not from what he specifically, pettily considered inappropriate in this situation. And besides, this hadn’t felt like that shared type of dream; it had been full of the sensory detail that marked the visions he had when Hajime wasn’t asleep nearby rather than the conceptual detail his connection with Hajime brought.
In fact there had been rather too much sensory detail: the cloying scents of the flowers — which, Sano realized now, had been an enhanced loan from reality, merely the smell of the vegetables around him augmented almost beyond endurance — the leadenness of his feet, and, most of all, the visual specifics of Tokio’s face as she gazed up at Hajime with love and belonging. This last represented an almost aggressive wealth of detail, as if in his dream she looked even realer than in reality. Every line of her face was carved into his brain now as if with hammer and chisel; he would never forget that expression she’d worn, though it was purely a jealous invention of his subconscious.
He jumped to his feet and made his way up the row, pushing rudely past the others in the limited space with no regard to what they might think of this behavior. He couldn’t stay near them — near her — for one instant longer.
Free of the restrictive lanes full of vegetables though never free of their atmosphere, Sano looked around the small open space in front of the exit. He was a little surprised, he considered vaguely, that none of the others had pointed out the flaw in his ‘We’ve got a better chance of them not catching us’ lecture: if anyone did enter the shed, they would notice immediately that the lock on the door had been broken and the door itself held closed by sacks of potatoes piled at the top of the stairs.
More such sacks were heaped up to the left of the entrance, and beside them hulked a great lumpy pile of empty bags waiting to be filled and carted off somewhere. On the other side of the door stood a series of troughs surrounding a large tub where vegetables could be washed before being bagged up. This really wasn’t an ideal hiding place, but they’d lacked a variety of options.
Given the building’s style of construction, there were no proper windows, but narrow horizontal slits at roof level let in a little light and sound from outside. Sano moved to the tub and hauled himself up onto its lip closest to the wall so he could peer out at the rainy farm and have something else to contemplate than what he’d just seen in his doze and what lay behind him. This could double as keeping watch, despite very few people being out and about in the continual downpour.
His mind busied itself very little, though — its inactivity reminded him of his breathlessness and difficult moving after that devoted had slammed him into a wall, leaving him with a pervasive ache — and he was more conscious of the faintly rainbow sheen on the back of a black beetle crawling along the stone nearby that he was of any coherent thought. He only knew what he felt: empty, betrayed, hopeless, tired.
How long he stood there he couldn’t be sure. How long he’d napped before he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t know what time of day it might be or what he — or they, if he could allow for that plural at the moment — should do next. In any case, the rain outside was beginning to let up and his confidante the beetle had long since moved on when he heard footsteps on the dirt floor behind him. He stiffened slightly, unwilling to countenance what whoever it was would have to say. He should have just left. He should have gone outside.
“Hey.” Had the others realized the kid was the least likely to send Sano into a tantrum? Not that Sano wanted to see or talk to him even so. “We’re going to discuss what to do, and probably eat some stolen vegetables.”
Though slightly tempted to laugh at the latter half of the statement, all Sano could come up with in response was a somewhat bitter, “That’s great.” He didn’t move.
“You’re not coming?” Eiji sounded skeptical rather than demanding.
Sano, meanwhile, sounded downright surly. “Maybe. Leave me the fuck alone.” And he kicked out blindly with one foot in the direction of the voice behind him. He regretted the motion immediately, but couldn’t retract it, and he hadn’t connected with anything anyway. Behind him, steps retreated back to the rows of produce and then fell silent.
Presently a much quieter walk — so soft he might have been imagining it — made its way over to him before the newcomer seemed to stand contemplatively still nearby for several seconds. Next, very unexpectedly, something completely unidentifiable for the moment but that made a loud and startling snapping sound in the heavy air stung him so hard and fiercely on his left buttock that he gave an inadvertent yelp and a body-wide jerk that plunged him from where he stood straight into the tub that had previously supported him. He splashed into a thin layer of dirty water at the bottom and knocked various parts of himself against its sides, but the vicious stinging sensation in his ass was his greatest concern at the moment. And it was through sharp tears that he saw Hajime, armed with a wet garment twisted tightly into a lethal weapon ready for a second strike, leaning down to look at him in his new pathetic position.
“What the fuck was that for?” Sano demanded, twisting around to rub at the smarting spot where he’d been hit before he could even consider doing anything else.
“For bullying my nephew,” Hajime replied.
“Why don’t you just go–” The massaging motion of Sano’s fingers against the new wound on his ass stilled abruptly, and he shifted violently around through the muddy water into a clumsy seated position. “Your nephew??” Shock almost completely overrode the pain Hajime had just occasioned, and Sano stared up at him in baffled astonishment.
Hajime lowered the twisted shiiya in his hands and raised a brow at Sano. “Even an idiot should be able to see the family resemblance.”
“I saw it; I just thought…” In his sudden daze, Sano continued to sit still in the muddy inch of water at the bottom of the basin. “Then that woman is…”
And a scene came back to him all at once: an occurrence from a dream Hajime had never explained and Sano had never had the nerve to ask about, in which a beloved woman, pregnant with the child of a con artist, had demonstrated both her unhappiness and her strength of character, and Hajime had been unable to offer the comfort he’d so desperately wanted to provide. Why hadn’t that dream identified her as his sister? Because she represented the suffering of the community as a whole? Because Hajime had been upset on behalf of more victims than only her, unwilling to claim that his personal connection to one of them was more important than the larger scale infamy of the anonymous churchman? Sano supposed it didn’t matter now.
“She’s the one who…” But after breathing these words, he trailed off into silence.
Hajime’s expression, its details obscured by shadow in the imperfectly lit shed, was nevertheless recognizable as dour as he came to lean against the side of the tub, facing away from Sano. “Tokio had an unpleasant experience with a devoted when she was younger,” he said quietly. “She vowed to put an end to that kind of corruption in the church. She came with me to Elotica when I joined the royal knights, and when the king heard her story, he created the position of Visitant specifically for her. She travels the kingdom and inspects the shrines and the devoted; she has administrative authority equal to that of a fourth-wash.”
That explained the reverence in which the Enca shrine people had seemed to hold her. Sano still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that she was Hajime’s sister, but, trying to shake off his stupefaction, he took a deep breath and asked, “And the kid… does he know his dad was–”
“I don’t know, and it’s not my place to ask. You’d better not mention it either.” There was definitely some threat to the admonishment.
“Right.” After giving this affirmation that was essentially a promise, Sano sat silent for several moments, turning things over and not sure exactly how he felt anymore — a condition just the opposite of not long earlier: busy with thought but befuddled as to emotion. Finally the unpleasantness of his particular surroundings started to actively bother him, and he hauled himself up and out of the tub. He came to rest leaning against it next to Hajime, who did not move and was therefore evidently amenable to further conversation. So Sano asked what he’d wanted to know all day, though some of its specifics were now slightly altered: “You… you talked about your parents before… why didn’t you mention Tokio then?” It was the first time he’d said her name aloud. Not a bad name, really.
Hajime’s answer sounded just a little stiff. “With what you and I both are, does it surprise you I didn’t want to mention that my sister is a high-ranking religious official?”
“I guess not,” Sano admitted. “But you knew my dad was a devoted…”
“And I also saw how you treated Yahiko.”
This serious statement stung perhaps as much as the wet cloth snap had a minute before. “You were worried I’d talk shit about your sister?”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to be forced to kill you.” And though the knight’s tone as he said this was light, facetious, Sano’s heart sank as he realized exactly how reasonable Hajime’s reluctance had been.
“You could have just let her kill me,” he mumbled. “That’s how we met, you know: her threatening to kill me. She could have done it, too.”
After another moment of silence, Sano sighed and then muttered, “I really am an asshole…” Then louder, though still in the low tone they’d both adopted to keep this exchange private, “Is that why you’ve been treating me weird today? You were afraid I was going to say something rude to her face?”
Now Hajime looked over at him, appearing a bit surprised. “You’ve been looking at me like you wanted to start a fight. There wasn’t time for that.”
“Right,” Sano said again, and yet another silence fell.
From the anarchy his emotions had become in the last few minutes, some sense was beginning to emerge; he was starting to realize more clearly and precisely what his own feelings were… and he wasn’t sure what to do about them. It had been with abandon, with indifference toward its implications, that he’d admitted his jealousy of Tokio to himself earlier today. What did it matter, he’d subconsciously thought, if he envied the wife of someone that hadn’t seen fit to tell him he was married? It meant nothing; it required nothing of him.
But now, to admit he’d been jealous over his erroneous assumption about a woman’s relationship with someone that turned out to be uncommitted after all… That meant everything, and required everything of him. Was he ready for the confession, even internally, demanded of him by the new information Hajime had presented? Here was a complex emotional state he didn’t know how to deal with — a state he hadn’t been compelled to deal with before but now had to shoulder the entire driving weight of.
Beside him, though he hadn’t moved any closer, the knight suddenly seemed palpably, obtrusively near.
But Hajime hadn’t given any signs… He’d only come over here to swat Sano on the ass as retaliation for his attempted kick against Eiji, and had only disclosed his life-altering information because Sano had asked a stupid question. And he’d thought Sano had wanted to fight him all day. Clearly emotions were divided unequally between them.
Besides, weren’t they in the middle of something big? Getting back into Elotica and figuring out how to overthrow Soujirou must be their top priority right now. They probably didn’t have time for confessions, if Sano could even work up the nerve to make one.
At last Hajime stood straight and turned fully to face the younger man. “Are you ready to act like an adult yet?”
Confession or no confession, Sano was suddenly happier than he had been for quite some time. The facts Hajime had revealed had relieved him almost to the point of dizziness, and the ensuing recognition of his own state had left him almost giddy. He would go over there and look at Tokio and Eiji in a completely new light — a free, unoppressed, unjealous light. He liked that thought.
“Ready to eat stolen vegetables?” he wondered with a grin.
And to his delight, Hajime gave him a smirk in return. “That and give me your report. We need to make plans.”
Sano too stood straight, pushing away from the tub against which he’d been leaning in an almost bouncing motion. He turned toward the dark rows of vegetables that filled most of the building and inhaled once again the earthy scent of the harvest. “Let’s do this!”