Doctor Who fic: The Boy Who Waited (23/49)
Title: The Boy Who Waited (23/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
Rory broached the question to Yamada and the samurai’s response was to take him to a local tavern. Yamada didn’t strike him as the type who drank so clearly they were here to recruit some men. He indicated to a table in the corner and Rory sat down while Yamada made a circuit of the room. It was getting late enough that most men in the room had a few drinks in them and conversation was loud and lively. No one seemed to notice that Rory was dressed differently or that he was clearly not Japanese.
It was almost like being back at the pub in Leadworth. Add a dartboard and the transformation would have been complete. There were no large pints of ale, but drinks were downed just as fast. Now that Rory thought about it, the pub in Leadworth was the last pub he had visited. He had held his stag there.
It was the same night he had entered the TARDIS for the first time.
He had essentially been travelling non-stop since his stag night.
A loud voice rang out, but it wasn’t tinged with joyous laughter. It shook Rory from his thoughts and he looked up. A random tavern patron rose from his chair, confronting Yamada. The samurai was bigger and taller than the man, but the man didn’t seem to care. He cared more about hurling words at Yamada, insulting the samurai’s family and honour.
Rory had seen plenty of pub fights in his time, especially if a football match was on. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet, but he hung back. If they could avoid a fight, that would be great.
Yamada stared down at the man, who clearly had too much to drink. The katana still hung at the samurai’s side but he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he spoke calmly, showing no emotion. “Return to your drinks. There is no need for any hostilities.” He didn’t crack a reassuring smile, which Rory would have done. This was a simple order, not a suggestion.
The drunken man laughed. He poked Yamada in the chest. “Are you even worthy to hold that sword anymore?”
Moving quick as a cat, Yamada grabbed the man’s finger and he twisted it back, near to the breaking point. The drunk cried out, the pain obvious even through his alcohol induced stupor. It was a bad move. The man’s friends jumped up from their seats, sending death glares at Yamada. There were six of them and that didn’t count the others in the tavern who loved a good fight and would join in once the first punch was thrown.
Yamada calmly looked around, making note of the odds. He didn’t say anything, but four men emerged from the silenced crowd and took up positions behind the samurai. They weren’t as nearly as impressive in stature as Yamada was, but they were obviously samurai, too. They held themselves differently from the brawlers across from them; loose and light, like they were ready to spin and slice if they had swords.
Yamada let go of the drunken man’s finger and the man immediately cradled his sore digit. Rory watched the crowd, but no one moved. Maybe they could walk away from this.
“Cowards,” muttered the drunk.
Yamada punched the man so hard, his head snapped around on his neck and he fell like a sack of potatoes onto the table, scattering drinks everywhere.
The room erupted into chaos. One of the man’s friends attacked Yamada and that spurred everyone to jump in on the action. Immediately there were crashes and bangs as people knocked over tables and smashed bottles. Those still sober enough to think for themselves quickly fled the tavern while others stayed to the sidelines and egged on the fighters.
Rory sighed. The last time he had been in a pub fight was back in university and he had ended up with a swollen nose. His fighting skills had improved a lot since then, but he still waded into the sea of struggling bodies with reluctance. As medical professional, it was his job to frown upon things like this. He felt sorry for the town doctor who ended up treating all the injured from this brawl.
He grabbed a wiry sailor by the back of his shirt with one hand and his raised arm with the other. With a quick twist of the sailor’s wrist, Rory forced him to drop the bottle he had in his hand. The sailor gasped in pain and Rory chucked him aside.
At the centre of the storm, Yamada easily fought off his attackers. His fellow samurai watched his back and hardly anyone laid a blow on them. If Rory didn’t know any better, he swore that Yamada was enjoying this. He didn’t have a big grin on his face, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction to his expression, like he had always wanted to do this, but had never tried before tonight.
“This is madness,” muttered the tavern owner. He was huddled in one corner, trying to make himself invisible.
Rory couldn’t have agreed more. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled as loud as he could. Everyone stopped and looked over at him. It was like he had hit the pause button on his DVD player remote. People froze mid strike, with their fists or broken furniture raised, ready to be brought down.
“Enough!” shouted Rory. He pulled out his sword, deliberately making the blade ring. “We are leaving. If anyone tries to attack us, I will run them through.”
Fighters hurriedly broke apart, letting go of their opponents’ shirt or kimono. Bruised and swollen faces watched Rory as he backed out of the tavern with Yamada and his friends. He let the samurai exit first and once they were gone, he threw out one last menacing glare at the crowd before he left, too.
Outside, he turned to Yamada. Some of his hair had come loose from his topknot and a few raven locks fell down over his face. Someone had got in a lucky punch and a cut split his lower lip. The other samurai looked equally dishevelled.
Rory stared at them, feeling like a school teacher who had just caught some of his students fighting in the hallway. He thought samurai warriors were honourable men who didn’t stoop to barroom brawls. He slid his sword back into the scabbard with a little more force than necessary. “What was that?” he demanded.
“They insulted us,” Yamada replied coolly.
“He called you a coward, I heard. I thought you were better than that. It is just a word.”
“He was right.”
Rory just stared at Yamada. The other samurai made no show to disagree. They just stood stoically behind Yamada.
“We are rōnin, m-”
“Masterless samurai,” interrupted Rory, as everything became clear. He had seen Seven Samurai plenty of times. Rōnin were disgraced samurai. They were expected to perform a ritual suicide rather than live the rest of their lives without a master. No wonder everyone in the tavern had a low opinion of Yamada and his friends.
As Rory took this in, Yamada spoke to his fellow rōnin, telling them about the Hikaru Maru and when to meet. They silently slinked off into the shadows. Alone once more, Yamada turned his attention back to Rory. He said nothing and simply waited for Rory’s judgement.
“Why did you not mention this?” asked Rory. He didn’t feel betrayed or anything, Yamada had been holding back information since they met, but it would have been a nice piece of information to know so he wouldn’t be surprised by disgruntled people at every turn.
“I am not proud of my status. I will leave if it displeases you.” Yamada turned to go, not even waiting for Rory’s response.
“Wait.” Rory reached out and grabbed Yamada by the arm before he could go. Samurai were too noble for their own good. Yamada looked down at Rory’s hand on his arm and then back up at Rory. Rory let go of his arm before the samurai could knock him out with one punch. “I did not say that it displeases me. I do not care if you are disgraced. You offered your help when no one else did.” He paused, choosing his next words deliberately. “I would be honoured if you stayed.”
Yamada’s eyes widened just slightly. That was the extent of his awe, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t profoundly moved. “Thank you, Heavenly Warrior.”
Rory led the way back to the Pandorica. “Let us call it a night. Unless you wish to start another fight with more drunken sailors.”
“If you wish it, I will.”
He couldn’t tell if Yamada was joking.
The sun hadn’t even risen yet and the docks buzzed with activity. Sailors on merchant ships loaded the last of their products and fishermen readied their equipment for the day at sea. It was like these men didn’t even go home last night.
Rory walked along the docks with Yamada, admiring the work ethic of these men. It was a lot like working the early shift at the hospital. The getting out of bed part was hard, but once you actually got to work, you couldn’t picture yourself anywhere else. These ships were the livelihood of these men. Without them they were nothing.
The Hikaru Maru had a berth at the far end of the docks. He and Yamada weren’t the first to arrive. Two of the rōnin from last night were already there, chatting idly. When they saw Yamada and Rory, they turned and bowed. They bowed back. Rory found it a welcomed change from all the kowtowing he encountered practically every day while in the Khan’s palace. It wasn’t a one-way greeting.
The two samurai introduced themselves as Inaba and Chiaki. They were younger than Yamada, who was probably in his late forties, but older than Rory’s physical age. He had to wonder how they all ended up masterless. Not all samurai became rōnin because they disgraced their masters.
The last two rōnin soon arrived and after the obligatory bowing Rory learned their names were Kimura and Katō. Kimura was the youngest, no older than twenty-five, and it was sad to think that his career as a samurai had ended so soon. None of them seemed bitter about their positions, though, and last night had been an uncustomary slip in their usually tranquil demeanour.
Now that they were gathered, they were only waiting on Ichiro. Rory couldn’t see much of the Hikaru Maru in the dim light provided by the lanterns lighting the docks, but she was a sizeable ship, large enough to carry the Pandorica. Twin sails rose up, their outlines just visible against the lightening sky. He hoped the ship would last the voyage; he didn’t want anyone to lose their life just because he was trying to get home.
The hatch leading down to the hold opened and Ichiro stepped out, holding a lantern aloft. The soft halo of light that it gave off reached the small gathering of men and Ichiro frowned when he saw them. “Oh, you are here.” He sounded more disappointed than surprised. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. The captain had a crew now. They had fulfilled their side of the agreement.
“Well?” asked Rory. “Are we set to sail?”
“Found some of your friends, I see, Yamada,” said Ichiro.
It didn’t strike Rory until just now, but the rōnin weren’t an issue with Ichiro. He would have thrown out some hateful insults the moment he saw Yamada, like the drunken man at the tavern, but instead he had invited the samurai into his home and listened to what he had to say. The man showed tolerance more than anything else.
“These men are willing to travel with you, to the Heavenly Warrior’s unknown land.”
“At least I know you can follow orders,” Ichiro grumbled to himself. He looked around at the assembled men and sighed. The sigh seemed almost for him, like he couldn’t believe he had a crew. “If you all want to risk your lives for a complete stranger, then welcome aboard. We set sail tomorrow at dawn.” The captain disappeared back into the hold, avoiding any more questions.
Rory glanced back at the samurai, trying to gauge their reactions of Ichiro’s ringing endorsement. Not surprisingly, they didn’t look concerned. One or two even looked pleased with the prospect of risking their lives.
“Pack only what you need or cannot do without,” instructed Yamada. “We might not return here.”
Despite the gloomy prediction, none of the samurai protested. They nodded their acknowledgement and went off to tie up any loose ends. That left just Rory and Yamada. “Thank you, for your help. I doubt I would have found a ship or a crew as quickly.”
“It was no trouble.” Yamada wasn’t being modest. He was stating fact.
An awkward pause descended on the conversation. “So… I guess this means you are coming, too?” Rory didn’t want to presume anything, but he would have liked to have Yamada along for the trip. “I could use some help protecting the Pandorica. People tend to get the wrong idea about it sometimes.”
It was another childhood thing. Samurai were just like knights, only with cooler swords. The boy in Rory just wanted to hang out with Yamada as much as he could, soaking up the way of the warrior. The more practical side of him also recognized that Yamada was an excellent fighter. A long journey like this one was going to be far from smooth. Having a group of samurai around, one led by a good tactician, would be such a boon.
Yamada didn’t even have to think about it. “If you will have me, I will gladly join you.”
Rory was grateful that it was still dark enough to hide most of his face. Yamada would have seen a big grin from him and that wasn’t quite becoming for a mysterious, centuries old Roman centurion. He reached out and grasped the samurai by the forearm, exchanging a warrior’s handshake. Yamada caught on quickly and did the same.
“I will see you here tomorrow,” said Rory.
Yamada vowed the same before walking off to settle his life in Kagoshima. Rory got the feeling that it wouldn’t take the rōnin long to sort out their lives. If they were willing to leave Japan behind, for a complete stranger as Ichiro put it, then there wasn’t much keeping them here.
Rory was set to leave, too, to move the Pandorica from its hiding place, when he saw Ichiro’s daughter Kasumi headed towards him. Her hair was up today and she was dressed more formally. It was like a school uniform; a certain look she had to take on because those were the rules.
He nodded his head at her, unsure if she remembered him from last night since they weren’t formally introduced, though it was hard to forget a white man dressed like a Roman soldier.
“Hello,” greeted Kasumi. She looked around at the docks. “Did my father scare off the potential crew members?”
So she did remember him. “No, they have gone to settle their affairs. We sail tomorrow.”
Kasumi’s lips twitched up into a brief smile. Rory thought back to her comment about coming along for the trip. That seemed incredibly likely now. “I will need to speak with Father then. Excuse me.” She moved to board the Hikaru Maru.
“Wait.” She paused at the gangway and looked back at Rory. Reaching into his wrist guard, he pulled out the gold bar proclaiming his credentials. “Could you do me a favour?”
Kasumi regarded him for a moment, probably judging his character from the scant few things she knew about him. “A favour for the Heavenly Warrior?”
“It is nothing glamourous,” he assured her. “Just take this.” He handed her the gold bar. “Exchange it for money and use the funds to buy supplies, as much as you can get. It is going to be a long journey, trust me.” Rory figured Kasumi would have more luck with the merchants than he would have.
She looked over the wording and frowned. “Are you certain you do not need this?”
“It is of no value where we are going.”
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
Rory broached the question to Yamada and the samurai’s response was to take him to a local tavern. Yamada didn’t strike him as the type who drank so clearly they were here to recruit some men. He indicated to a table in the corner and Rory sat down while Yamada made a circuit of the room. It was getting late enough that most men in the room had a few drinks in them and conversation was loud and lively. No one seemed to notice that Rory was dressed differently or that he was clearly not Japanese.
It was almost like being back at the pub in Leadworth. Add a dartboard and the transformation would have been complete. There were no large pints of ale, but drinks were downed just as fast. Now that Rory thought about it, the pub in Leadworth was the last pub he had visited. He had held his stag there.
It was the same night he had entered the TARDIS for the first time.
He had essentially been travelling non-stop since his stag night.
A loud voice rang out, but it wasn’t tinged with joyous laughter. It shook Rory from his thoughts and he looked up. A random tavern patron rose from his chair, confronting Yamada. The samurai was bigger and taller than the man, but the man didn’t seem to care. He cared more about hurling words at Yamada, insulting the samurai’s family and honour.
Rory had seen plenty of pub fights in his time, especially if a football match was on. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet, but he hung back. If they could avoid a fight, that would be great.
Yamada stared down at the man, who clearly had too much to drink. The katana still hung at the samurai’s side but he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he spoke calmly, showing no emotion. “Return to your drinks. There is no need for any hostilities.” He didn’t crack a reassuring smile, which Rory would have done. This was a simple order, not a suggestion.
The drunken man laughed. He poked Yamada in the chest. “Are you even worthy to hold that sword anymore?”
Moving quick as a cat, Yamada grabbed the man’s finger and he twisted it back, near to the breaking point. The drunk cried out, the pain obvious even through his alcohol induced stupor. It was a bad move. The man’s friends jumped up from their seats, sending death glares at Yamada. There were six of them and that didn’t count the others in the tavern who loved a good fight and would join in once the first punch was thrown.
Yamada calmly looked around, making note of the odds. He didn’t say anything, but four men emerged from the silenced crowd and took up positions behind the samurai. They weren’t as nearly as impressive in stature as Yamada was, but they were obviously samurai, too. They held themselves differently from the brawlers across from them; loose and light, like they were ready to spin and slice if they had swords.
Yamada let go of the drunken man’s finger and the man immediately cradled his sore digit. Rory watched the crowd, but no one moved. Maybe they could walk away from this.
“Cowards,” muttered the drunk.
Yamada punched the man so hard, his head snapped around on his neck and he fell like a sack of potatoes onto the table, scattering drinks everywhere.
The room erupted into chaos. One of the man’s friends attacked Yamada and that spurred everyone to jump in on the action. Immediately there were crashes and bangs as people knocked over tables and smashed bottles. Those still sober enough to think for themselves quickly fled the tavern while others stayed to the sidelines and egged on the fighters.
Rory sighed. The last time he had been in a pub fight was back in university and he had ended up with a swollen nose. His fighting skills had improved a lot since then, but he still waded into the sea of struggling bodies with reluctance. As medical professional, it was his job to frown upon things like this. He felt sorry for the town doctor who ended up treating all the injured from this brawl.
He grabbed a wiry sailor by the back of his shirt with one hand and his raised arm with the other. With a quick twist of the sailor’s wrist, Rory forced him to drop the bottle he had in his hand. The sailor gasped in pain and Rory chucked him aside.
At the centre of the storm, Yamada easily fought off his attackers. His fellow samurai watched his back and hardly anyone laid a blow on them. If Rory didn’t know any better, he swore that Yamada was enjoying this. He didn’t have a big grin on his face, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction to his expression, like he had always wanted to do this, but had never tried before tonight.
“This is madness,” muttered the tavern owner. He was huddled in one corner, trying to make himself invisible.
Rory couldn’t have agreed more. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled as loud as he could. Everyone stopped and looked over at him. It was like he had hit the pause button on his DVD player remote. People froze mid strike, with their fists or broken furniture raised, ready to be brought down.
“Enough!” shouted Rory. He pulled out his sword, deliberately making the blade ring. “We are leaving. If anyone tries to attack us, I will run them through.”
Fighters hurriedly broke apart, letting go of their opponents’ shirt or kimono. Bruised and swollen faces watched Rory as he backed out of the tavern with Yamada and his friends. He let the samurai exit first and once they were gone, he threw out one last menacing glare at the crowd before he left, too.
Outside, he turned to Yamada. Some of his hair had come loose from his topknot and a few raven locks fell down over his face. Someone had got in a lucky punch and a cut split his lower lip. The other samurai looked equally dishevelled.
Rory stared at them, feeling like a school teacher who had just caught some of his students fighting in the hallway. He thought samurai warriors were honourable men who didn’t stoop to barroom brawls. He slid his sword back into the scabbard with a little more force than necessary. “What was that?” he demanded.
“They insulted us,” Yamada replied coolly.
“He called you a coward, I heard. I thought you were better than that. It is just a word.”
“He was right.”
Rory just stared at Yamada. The other samurai made no show to disagree. They just stood stoically behind Yamada.
“We are rōnin, m-”
“Masterless samurai,” interrupted Rory, as everything became clear. He had seen Seven Samurai plenty of times. Rōnin were disgraced samurai. They were expected to perform a ritual suicide rather than live the rest of their lives without a master. No wonder everyone in the tavern had a low opinion of Yamada and his friends.
As Rory took this in, Yamada spoke to his fellow rōnin, telling them about the Hikaru Maru and when to meet. They silently slinked off into the shadows. Alone once more, Yamada turned his attention back to Rory. He said nothing and simply waited for Rory’s judgement.
“Why did you not mention this?” asked Rory. He didn’t feel betrayed or anything, Yamada had been holding back information since they met, but it would have been a nice piece of information to know so he wouldn’t be surprised by disgruntled people at every turn.
“I am not proud of my status. I will leave if it displeases you.” Yamada turned to go, not even waiting for Rory’s response.
“Wait.” Rory reached out and grabbed Yamada by the arm before he could go. Samurai were too noble for their own good. Yamada looked down at Rory’s hand on his arm and then back up at Rory. Rory let go of his arm before the samurai could knock him out with one punch. “I did not say that it displeases me. I do not care if you are disgraced. You offered your help when no one else did.” He paused, choosing his next words deliberately. “I would be honoured if you stayed.”
Yamada’s eyes widened just slightly. That was the extent of his awe, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t profoundly moved. “Thank you, Heavenly Warrior.”
Rory led the way back to the Pandorica. “Let us call it a night. Unless you wish to start another fight with more drunken sailors.”
“If you wish it, I will.”
He couldn’t tell if Yamada was joking.
The sun hadn’t even risen yet and the docks buzzed with activity. Sailors on merchant ships loaded the last of their products and fishermen readied their equipment for the day at sea. It was like these men didn’t even go home last night.
Rory walked along the docks with Yamada, admiring the work ethic of these men. It was a lot like working the early shift at the hospital. The getting out of bed part was hard, but once you actually got to work, you couldn’t picture yourself anywhere else. These ships were the livelihood of these men. Without them they were nothing.
The Hikaru Maru had a berth at the far end of the docks. He and Yamada weren’t the first to arrive. Two of the rōnin from last night were already there, chatting idly. When they saw Yamada and Rory, they turned and bowed. They bowed back. Rory found it a welcomed change from all the kowtowing he encountered practically every day while in the Khan’s palace. It wasn’t a one-way greeting.
The two samurai introduced themselves as Inaba and Chiaki. They were younger than Yamada, who was probably in his late forties, but older than Rory’s physical age. He had to wonder how they all ended up masterless. Not all samurai became rōnin because they disgraced their masters.
The last two rōnin soon arrived and after the obligatory bowing Rory learned their names were Kimura and Katō. Kimura was the youngest, no older than twenty-five, and it was sad to think that his career as a samurai had ended so soon. None of them seemed bitter about their positions, though, and last night had been an uncustomary slip in their usually tranquil demeanour.
Now that they were gathered, they were only waiting on Ichiro. Rory couldn’t see much of the Hikaru Maru in the dim light provided by the lanterns lighting the docks, but she was a sizeable ship, large enough to carry the Pandorica. Twin sails rose up, their outlines just visible against the lightening sky. He hoped the ship would last the voyage; he didn’t want anyone to lose their life just because he was trying to get home.
The hatch leading down to the hold opened and Ichiro stepped out, holding a lantern aloft. The soft halo of light that it gave off reached the small gathering of men and Ichiro frowned when he saw them. “Oh, you are here.” He sounded more disappointed than surprised. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. The captain had a crew now. They had fulfilled their side of the agreement.
“Well?” asked Rory. “Are we set to sail?”
“Found some of your friends, I see, Yamada,” said Ichiro.
It didn’t strike Rory until just now, but the rōnin weren’t an issue with Ichiro. He would have thrown out some hateful insults the moment he saw Yamada, like the drunken man at the tavern, but instead he had invited the samurai into his home and listened to what he had to say. The man showed tolerance more than anything else.
“These men are willing to travel with you, to the Heavenly Warrior’s unknown land.”
“At least I know you can follow orders,” Ichiro grumbled to himself. He looked around at the assembled men and sighed. The sigh seemed almost for him, like he couldn’t believe he had a crew. “If you all want to risk your lives for a complete stranger, then welcome aboard. We set sail tomorrow at dawn.” The captain disappeared back into the hold, avoiding any more questions.
Rory glanced back at the samurai, trying to gauge their reactions of Ichiro’s ringing endorsement. Not surprisingly, they didn’t look concerned. One or two even looked pleased with the prospect of risking their lives.
“Pack only what you need or cannot do without,” instructed Yamada. “We might not return here.”
Despite the gloomy prediction, none of the samurai protested. They nodded their acknowledgement and went off to tie up any loose ends. That left just Rory and Yamada. “Thank you, for your help. I doubt I would have found a ship or a crew as quickly.”
“It was no trouble.” Yamada wasn’t being modest. He was stating fact.
An awkward pause descended on the conversation. “So… I guess this means you are coming, too?” Rory didn’t want to presume anything, but he would have liked to have Yamada along for the trip. “I could use some help protecting the Pandorica. People tend to get the wrong idea about it sometimes.”
It was another childhood thing. Samurai were just like knights, only with cooler swords. The boy in Rory just wanted to hang out with Yamada as much as he could, soaking up the way of the warrior. The more practical side of him also recognized that Yamada was an excellent fighter. A long journey like this one was going to be far from smooth. Having a group of samurai around, one led by a good tactician, would be such a boon.
Yamada didn’t even have to think about it. “If you will have me, I will gladly join you.”
Rory was grateful that it was still dark enough to hide most of his face. Yamada would have seen a big grin from him and that wasn’t quite becoming for a mysterious, centuries old Roman centurion. He reached out and grasped the samurai by the forearm, exchanging a warrior’s handshake. Yamada caught on quickly and did the same.
“I will see you here tomorrow,” said Rory.
Yamada vowed the same before walking off to settle his life in Kagoshima. Rory got the feeling that it wouldn’t take the rōnin long to sort out their lives. If they were willing to leave Japan behind, for a complete stranger as Ichiro put it, then there wasn’t much keeping them here.
Rory was set to leave, too, to move the Pandorica from its hiding place, when he saw Ichiro’s daughter Kasumi headed towards him. Her hair was up today and she was dressed more formally. It was like a school uniform; a certain look she had to take on because those were the rules.
He nodded his head at her, unsure if she remembered him from last night since they weren’t formally introduced, though it was hard to forget a white man dressed like a Roman soldier.
“Hello,” greeted Kasumi. She looked around at the docks. “Did my father scare off the potential crew members?”
So she did remember him. “No, they have gone to settle their affairs. We sail tomorrow.”
Kasumi’s lips twitched up into a brief smile. Rory thought back to her comment about coming along for the trip. That seemed incredibly likely now. “I will need to speak with Father then. Excuse me.” She moved to board the Hikaru Maru.
“Wait.” She paused at the gangway and looked back at Rory. Reaching into his wrist guard, he pulled out the gold bar proclaiming his credentials. “Could you do me a favour?”
Kasumi regarded him for a moment, probably judging his character from the scant few things she knew about him. “A favour for the Heavenly Warrior?”
“It is nothing glamourous,” he assured her. “Just take this.” He handed her the gold bar. “Exchange it for money and use the funds to buy supplies, as much as you can get. It is going to be a long journey, trust me.” Rory figured Kasumi would have more luck with the merchants than he would have.
She looked over the wording and frowned. “Are you certain you do not need this?”
“It is of no value where we are going.”