The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (44 page)

“She’s…” Fuminari breathed, turning on the room’s main light.

Renobo brayed and howled. She covered her face and threw herself flat against the floor, leaving a sizable clump of hair in Biku’s hand. It had offered no resistance as she pulled away. Her once lithe, youthful body was suddenly withered. Fuminari kicked at her with his foot, turning her to face upwards. She leapt at him with astounding velocity. He parried, grabbing her right arm and twisting it into a lock. He caught her chin with his other hand and pulled her head upright.

“
The fuck!?
” Fuminari blurted as he saw the face. It was that of a withered hag, all but lost under folds of loose skin.

The old woman ground her teeth, clamping them over her lips and drawing blood.

“Miwa Ishibashi!?”

Before him was Akio Ishibashi’s mother, the very face that adorned the L.L.S. Pamphlets—Miwa Ishibashi. The striking enchantress, Renobo—
Miwa Ishibashi
.

She was a witch.

Twenty-three

Darkness, Butchered

1

A dimly-lit tearoom.

The only light came from a thick candle propped up on a steel candle-holder over the tatami mats near the room’s alcove; it burned at almost half its original length, flame flickering in the slight currents of air that carried through the wooden slats of the partially open, paper window.

The tearoom was built in the
Soan
style. Each element—from the
Gamamushiro
thatched ceiling and exquisitely rounded pillars to the walls and even the utensils collected for use in the tea ceremony—had been made with the highest-quality materials. Nothing obvious to the uninitiated, but the room’s sense of calm was the same even without an awareness of such fine detail. Although the materials were of the finest grade, the room was designed with restraint, a subtlety that had a veiled grace successfully transforming the tea room into a microcosm of sorts.

Inside the alcove was a vase, ceramic and adorned with a single Chinese bellflower whose petals were in full bloom. It was night, yet the petals were still open; they would normally close at nightfall. The fact would have been curious enough to arrest the attention of anyone with a passing interest in botany. Yet the flower was not a fake; it shimmered in the candlelight, perfectly real. Shadows congealed around its core, stretched tight over the amaranthine petals.

Hanging on the alcove wall behind the flower was a Buddhist scroll painting. The picture depicted the two standing deities of Varahi and Heruka, engaged in intercourse.

Heruka is portrayed in ultramarine blue, Varahi is clamped around his lap, black-green as the male deity penetrates her from below. They kiss with their teeth exposed. Heruka holds a cobalt pestle in his right hand, a priceless gem in his left. His arms spread out innumerable behind him, in a fan-shape. In each hand he holds a ritualistic tool of Esoteric Buddhism—a mix of grotesque items that include the severed head of Brahma and human bodies skewered through the anus. The deity’s clothing is made from human heads. Blood seeps out from the eyes of some, others have wide-open mouths full of teeth. Heruka’s head is adorned with a chain of skulls. The esoteric scroll is bright, painted in noxious colors. The candlelight flickered over Heruka’s face, revealing an expression that was neither pleasure or anger. The impression was that Heruka was breathing:
or screaming, or crying, or raging, or howling.
The expression appeared to span the entire gamut of human emotion.

There was another sound, faint, inseparable from the smoky darkness of the tearoom; something other than the rustling of the larch that carried in on the breeze. The sound was of water coming to boil in an iron teapot. There was a brazier located towards the center of the four-and-a-half tatami room; above the red-hot coals hung an iron pot, black in the
Nanbu
style.

There was a flicking sound, a bamboo tea whisk. Two old men sat in the room—Kurogosho, and the beast master Enoh. Kurogosho was preparing tea for the latter, who sat formally on the tatami mats, eyes closed, listening to the breeze and the whisk in Kurogosho’s hands. The candlelight flitted over his wrinkled eyelids. The whisk fell silent.

“It is ready, Enoh,” Kurogosho said presently.

Enoh opened his eyes. On the floor at his knees was a gently steaming bowl of tea. There was a scent of
macha
in the air.

“Thank you,” he reached out and scooped the bowl up.

He savored the contents and replaced it to the floor. His movements did not follow those of the tea ritual, yet the casual formality seemed somehow appropriate. Neither of the men seemed overly concerned with the rigid structures of the tea ceremony, they were simply being themselves.

Steam continued to rise from the now empty bowl. It was one of two that Kurogosho had once asked Shutaro Toyama to evaluate in this same tearoom. Kurogosho had fired it himself. The technique was reminiscent of the
Ekaratsu
style
,
with
nothing about it to suggest the work of an amateur. Toyama had ducked his forehead onto the tatami, unwilling to risk assigning a value to the bowls.

Now, he was dead, by Senkichi Fuminari’s hand, and he was not the only one. Fuminari had killed Akio Ishibashi, right in front of Enoh and Hanko. With Biku, he had also kidnapped Renobo.

“What do you propose we should do?” Enoh asked, not rushing.

“About what?” Kurogosho did not move. He was sat heavily, in formal
seiza
and wearing Japanese robes.

“Renobo.”

“There is nothing we can do now.”

“Nothing?”

“...about them learning of this location.”

“That is true. I instructed Renobo to give away our location before they resorted to torture.”

“Excellent. We are waiting, then, for them to make contact.”

“Might they come here directly?”

“I think we will hear from them before that happens.”

“An exchange, then—Kukai for Renobo?”

“Most likely.”

“They will be here eventually; what happens then is what counts. I imagine they would not attempt to kill Renobo before then.”

“That woman has the capacity to astonish even myself. If she decides not to speak, she will carry her secrets to the grave. However…”

“…”

“I fear she may be close to
that time
.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Indeed. Unless she has taken that monster Fuminari, or Biku. Otherwise…”

“Yes.”

“Senkichi Fuminari.” A dark energy whirled up from Kurogosho’s frame as he growled the name. “So, he killed Akio…” His voice was a violent whisper against the sound of the rustling larch outside.

Just then, there was a rapping on the door.

“Who’s there?” Enoh barked.

“Tsushima, sir,” came the brief reply from outside. The man whose arm Fuminari had broken in Aoyama, that night when Enoh had first met him. One of the four bodyguards dressed in black; those assigned to guard Kurogosho.

“What is it?”

“We have just received a call from a man claiming to be Fuminari.”

“What!?”

“He told us he would call back in five minutes, then hung up.”

“Hah, I see…”

“What would you like to do, Master?”

Kurogosho answered. “Bring the phone.”

“It is already here.”

A door concealed at the base of one of the walls slid open, a phone was pushed through onto the tatami. The door closed again. Enoh moved it between himself and Kurogosho.

“As you had expected,” Enoh said.

Kurogosho nodded in silence.

After a moment’s pause, the phone began to ring. The men locked eyes. Enoh let it ring twice, then reached down to pick up the receiver. There was a dark silence. Then the sound of hushed breathing, close against his ears.

“Fuminari…” Enoh said.

“The same,” a deep voice replied, “and you’re that old fogey, Enoh.”

“Just so.”

“You’re still breathing, huh?”

“Probably half the air you do, but yes.”

“Hah,” Fuminari clicked his teeth.

“What is your business?” Enoh asked.

“Where is Kurogosho?”

“He is here with me.”

“Put him on.”

Their dialogue was short and to the point. Kurogosho took the receiver. Fuminari appeared to sense this—there was a long silence before he spoke in a dense, measured voice.

“This is Senkichi Fuminari,” he said. It was as though his voice carried his huge physical bulk, his deep whisper like the striking of a heavy drum.

“It was a shame to miss each other at Hachioji,” Kurogosho said. He was referring to Fuminari’s capture at the hands of Akio Ishibashi and his retainers, of his being held at Miwa Ishibashi’s residence, and of his escape the night before Kurogosho was due to arrive.

“I’m sure we’ll meet, soon enough.”

“Mmm, I look forward to it.”

“Huh.”

“Tell me about this interest you have in us.”

“Sure—in exchange for Hanko’s head.”

“Hanko’s head?” Kurogosho repeated; he heard Fuminari chuckle and imagined the man to be grinning; the phone was being passed to someone else.

“Finally, the one they call Kurogosho.”

Another voice, one with all emotion suppressed—perhaps
lacking
emotion to begin with.

“Let me guess, Biku?” Kurogosho ventured.

“Indeed,” Biku answered.

“Now this I have been looking forward to.”

“I assumed as much.”

“Should we begin with your demands?” Kurogosho suggested, still seated formally.

“I would like you to return Kukai.”

“Kukai…”

“Yes.”

“You know, you just left him there, in that burial chamber. You could have at least put a tree over the entrance. Or a rock.”

“I cannot agree more, but the management at Mt. Koya fail to share in my opinion.”

“So it would seem.”

“We have the woman, Renobo. I was hoping we could discuss her repatriation, in exchange for Kukai’s return.”

“You’re a comedian, Biku.”

“It’s a good deal for you.”

“Tempting, of course.”

“How about it?”

“Do you require an immediate answer?”

“We can wait—four days.”

“I see. And to where should we direct our response?”

“We’re a little…mobile…at the moment. We will initiate the contact, in four days.”

Kurogosho chuckled. “And if we have no response by then?”

“Then we will pay a visit to reclaim Kukai directly.”

“If it comes to that, rest assured I will prepare a grand welcome.”

“Great, we’ll bring a souvenir or something.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Okay then.”

The line went dead.

Kurogosho replaced the receiver, the sound echoed through the silent room.

2

“How will you reply?” Enoh asked.

The candle was a fraction shorter than earlier, the light seemed to accentuate the wrinkles of the two old men.

“Our reply? We say nothing, of course,” Kurogosho answered without hesitation.

“We are going to abandon Renobo?”

“Not necessarily. Although it may come to that, at some point.”

“So we are stalling for four days?”

“I think so.”

“Will that be enough time for us to understand Kukai?”

“Most probably not.”

“If not, then why?”

“Not, that is, if we discover Kukai to be truly alive after all. If the dive reveals him dead, then we no longer have a use for him, or the Diver.”

“Hosuke Kumon?”

“And the girl, Yuko.”

“I see.”

“Come to think of it, the girl is already useless to us.” Kurogosho’s eyes flashed with a foul light.

“But we should not kill her yet. We still need her to motivate Hosuke Kumon.”

“Not necessarily. He has become quite obsessed with Kukai.”

“That is true.”

“I would even go as far to say that he feels a
compulsion
to dive, regardless of what happens to the girl.”

“But…”

“They killed Akio.”

“
Fuminari
killed Akio…”

Kurogosho ignored Enoh’s response. “Just a bit of fun, after such a long time. And I have thought up a particularly interesting scenario.”

“I must disagree. This is out of character, Master Kurogosho.”

“Perhaps you are right, Enoh. Either way, we must get Hosuke to work faster.”

“Agreed.”

“Katsuragi has signaled that his testing could have exciting results. Make sure Hosuke dives the moment Katsuragi has the necessary data.”

“Should we be thinking of moving from this place?”

“No, not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Hosuke must perform at least one dive first.”

“…”

“We have four days.”

“Can we trust Biku? It would be wrong to underestimate him. We cannot know his true intention.”

“A fair point. How many of us are here in the residence now?”

“Around fifteen; not including Yuko, Hosuke Kumon, or Kukai…”

“Call another five or six from Tokyo.
Talented
ones.”

“Yes, Master.”

“While we are on the subject—have we discovered Fuminari’s location?”

“The Shinmeikai tracked him from Gotenba to Hakone before they were taken out, so we have a general idea. We are searching all the rental properties, hotels and
ryokan
in the area. The man’s size would make it hard to hop between places too often, not
without being noticed. We know he had spent some time at a summer house in Sengokubara and a hotel in Atami until three days ago. With a woman. We don’t have his current location. It might be difficult if he keeps on the move, switching motels each day.”

“And Hanko and Jakou’in?”

Enoh grimaced. “It would appear that Hanko is quite taken with the snake-lipped woman, more so than with me.”

“They are beginning to worry me a little.”

“I have been watching, carefully.”

As Enoh replied, there was another quiet knock at the door.

“What is it now?” Enoh called out.

A male voice answered, tense from the other side of the door. “We have located where Mistress Renobo is being held,” Tsushima said.