Whispers of the Dead (Miraibanashi, #1) Read online

  Roshike sat up with a start and only just missed banging his head on the ceiling. His heart was racing, his head pounded in time to that rhythm, while his left bicep ached from where the enforcer’s bullet had bitten into his flesh. And the nightmare receded as adrenaline coursed through his body to bring him fully awake. It still took a long moment for his mind to catch up and help him orient.

  The real memories came flooding back, and his hands dug into the pad he’d been sleeping on. He’d reached his bolt hole in one of the box hotels in Old Osaka. That’s where he was. He’d cleaned out the bullet wound, sprayed it with antiseptic, and bandaged up his arm before the exhaustion had overtaken him. And as he’d drifted off, he’d wondered what he could’ve done different.

  Rubbing his hands over his face, Roshike didn’t flinch from asking himself that question again, now that he was awake and semi-alert. He might’ve refused the job altogether or to take Teresa with him on the operation. But he knew in either case she’d almost certainly have hired another hakken-ya, one who’d do what they were told, which wouldn’t have ended any better. Though it was hard to see how it could’ve been any worse.

  He rapidly reviewed how he’d executed the job itself, but he couldn’t imagine what course of action would’ve prevented Teresa from being shot. It was strange, inexplicable even, that the enforcer should have shot her at all. It wasn’t as if she’d been threatening him in any way. There seemed to be no sense in it, and while Roshike had seen enforcers act with savage disregard for someone’s life, he never knew them to act without purpose. But he couldn’t conceive of any reason that would explain why the man would want to shoot an unarmed woman. Especially one the Batsu would’ve presumably liked to question. Roshike shook his head.

  At least he’d easily lost his pursuers and made it to this temporary sanctuary. The room might only be a meter high, and barely long enough for him to stretch out when he slept, but then he only used the place when he had to. And last night he’d needed to take care of his arm and get a bit of rest, even more than he’d needed to keep moving. And he had to get the things he kept stored here.

  Roshike felt a twinge of pain in his arm, and his hand moved to the temporary bandage he had tied around the wound. Removing the dressing, he took a look at the tiny tear and saw it had stopped bleeding. So he slapped on a new bandage and shrugged into a clean shirt.

  Of course he’d have to leave behind the bloody, torn shirt he’d been wearing last night. His soaked pants looked awful, and he didn’t have time to take care of them, so they’d have to go too. He grabbed a clean pair of pants and slid them on as he looked around him to decide what he needed to take when he left. Because the Batsu would soon trace him to this place and he wouldn’t be coming back. Probably anywhere he’d been seen with Teresa would no longer be safe for him either. That didn’t leave a lot of options.

  He carefully folded a couple changes of clothes into a thin pile and wrapped them up with the raincoat he hadn’t had with him last night, turning it into a pack he could wear on his back. A couple other items, such as his small bottle of antiseptic spray and a spare bandage, he stuffed into pouches on his belt. What he needed the most wasn’t as easily accessible though.

  When Roshike had arrived here, dawn had still been far off, so Roshike had carefully snuck into the hotel and then his room, making sure nobody saw. There were always those who kept an eye on everybody’s coming and goings, seeking something they could report to the Batsu in the hope of receiving a few bits for the information. Being out and about at night was seen as suspicious, and the enforcers certainly would’ve paid special attention to any report of such activity last night.

  So since Roshike had wanted rest, rather than a horde of Batsu thugs descending on him here while he slept, he hadn’t risked retrieving the things he’d hidden. In case anyone had noticed and reported it. But as he planned to be moving on any minute now, being seen was no longer a huge problem.

  Shifting around in the small space, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. One of the things he’d liked about this place was the way the doors swung both ways—not very secure, but that was a false sort of security anyway. Roshike appreciated being able to always push his way in or out, whichever way he was going.

  This time, though, he wanted to bring the edge of the door into the room with him, away from any prying eyes. When he’d first rented this room, he’d considered replacing the lock with one of his own so the staff wouldn’t be able to enter at their leisure—that would only have raised everybody’s interest in what he kept here though. So instead, he’d hid his valuables.

  Taking a tiny multi-function tool from a pouch on his belt, Roshike removed the lock from the door frame, then used a separate part of the same tool to reach into the cavity and snag a loose cord lying inside the hollow space. Pulling on the cord, he lifted out the small bag he’d tied to the other end and left sitting in there. He swiftly put the lock back in place and closed the door, then dumped the contents out on the floor—lots of buttons and the anon screen he normally used. He’d left that behind last night, taking the shadow screen with him instead.

  That had been destroyed in his encounter with the enforcer, though, and left behind when Roshike fled. So the anon was all he had now. He sat there frowning at it—after what he’d learned last night, he thought it too risky to take with him. From now on, he’d have to change screens regularly as a standard precaution.

  Before he left it behind with all the dirty clothes and other detritus of his habitation though, he had to use it to sort his buttons. Some of them were useful programs, but most contained various amounts of bits. And without a screen, he wouldn’t be able to tell which was which or how much it had, so he began inserting one button after another to see. Then he sorted them into separate piles. One for the programs, one for the few with sufficient bits for things like buying new screens, one for moderate sums he could use to rent rooms, and one for the buttons to use for food. Then he carefully placed the piles into different compartments on his belt. He hoped he’d be able to recall which held what buttons.

  With a sigh he remembered the advanced hacking program Teresa had bought him. It would have been nice to keep ahold of that, but he’d never even thought of trying to retrieve it from the remnants of the shadow screen it had been in. Other things had occupied his mind at the time.

  Roshike pushed open the door, then slid out of the room for the last time. It was late enough in the morning that several people were milling around in the halls, but he studiously ignored them, much as they did each other. He waited until he got outside to tuck his ponytail down the back of his shirt, then slip a paper mask over his face. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but plenty of people wore them in the hope they wouldn’t catch something. Because there was always a bug or two going around.

  Keeping to the main streets, he mixed with the crowds such as they were as he worked his way out of Old Osaka toward what people used to call Kobe. The Batsu’s presence was weaker there, which gave Roshike more room to maneuver. And a number of his older contacts were there, those he’d had little to no contact with since he’d been working mostly for Teresa.

  Tears threatened to well up in his eyes when he thought about her. At the same time a smile forced its way to his lips as he recalled the first time he had seen her, standing up to a pair of enforcers with an icy and imperious glare. He hadn’t known who she was then, but it had been clear she wouldn’t be going with them, not without a fight.

  Her defiance would’ve been for naught though, if Roshike hadn’t rushed to her rescue. She’d paid him for that, and offered him more work. She had run away from her family, full Batsu citizens, and of course they wanted her back. Apparently choosing to leave the Batsu wasn’t an option. From then on, keeping her off the enforcers’ radar had required a lot of his time, but she’d rewarded him well for that. But he’d never heard anything more from her about her family or why she’d felt compelled to leave. He might be happier not knowing. />
  Then the tears flowed, thinking of those missed opportunities to get to know her better, how he had failed her in the end. At least she no longer worried about the Batsu dragging her back. He wondered if she’d have preferred it this way.

  Blinking back the tears and wiping away water at the corners of his eyes with the convenient paper mask, Roshike forced himself to focus on the future. Teresa was gone, and there wasn’t anything he’d be able to do for her now. He’d have his hands full trying to take care of himself.

  Not that he had a lot of options as things stood, but staying a step ahead of the enforcers would be a good start. He’d begin by putting some distance between himself and anything associated with Teresa, as they’d have her screen and started tracing her recent movements by now. Soon they would have her entire history since she’d run away. They might’ve found out a lot about Roshike too, tracing her connections, but if they hadn’t yet they would.

  Eventually they might even track down some of his old haunts like the one he was headed for, but he felt sure that would take them time. He had to take advantage while he could.

  Staying alert for any sign somebody was following him, Roshike wound his way along the ruins of the elevated express that had once soared above the streets here. In its shadow, ramshackle shops and houses littered the path travelers still took between cities.

  Eventually Roshike found himself back in Sannomiya and stepped down one side street after another and through a narrow alley until he found the squalid little square he’d been heading for all along. Dusty, dilapidated buildings surrounded an empty space barren of people. The shops looked deserted and the offices abandoned.

  Roshike removed the paper mask from his face and walked around the edge of the square, then he paused before a building with blacked-out windows and a dark, unmarked door. It had been almost two years since he’d been here, and he had to hope this place hadn’t changed. Pressing his hand against the door, he pushed his way into the dimly lit bar.

  Though it was still early afternoon, a number of patrons already sat at tables or slumped against the bar itself, nursing their drinks. The prices were outrageous, so everybody tried to make them last. As they were also watered down, anybody who wanted to get drunk took a long time to get there.

  The master of the bar stood behind the counter, swiping it down with a rag. The burly man glanced briefly in Roshike’s direction, but no one else bothered to look at him as he entered. That didn’t surprise him, but something else did. A man Roshike had never seen before, with close-cropped hair and wearing a drab, olive-green jacket sitting sideways to him at the bar. It wasn’t the person himself that shocked Roshike, but the quick intricate motion he had flashed with his left hand.

  Roshike kept his expression blank though, and continued his stroll up to the counter. The man behind the bar finally turned his attention back to the newcomer with a frown. “Well, what’ll it be?”

  With a look of defiance, Roshike dug a handful of ancient coins from his pocket and slapped them down. “As much beer as that will buy.”

  The master scowled something fierce. “What is it you’re trying to do to me? That wouldn’t buy you a single drop.” Of course, nobody was supposed to accept the ancient currency, according to the Batsu. And no one used it if they wanted to avoid trouble. “You’re not wanted here—take it to somebody else’s bar.” He jerked his head at a thick giant who stood silent in one of the dark corners of the bar. “Throw him out the back, Ivan, so we don’t scare away any potential customers.”

  With a grim expression, the intimidating looking Ivan strode over without a word and clamped a massive hand on Roshike’s shoulder, then began to drag him across the floor toward a door at the back of the bar. Opening the door with his free hand, the towering man pushed Roshike through and down a dusty corridor, then thrust him into a murky storeroom. At least he turned on the overhead light before slamming the door shut and locking him in.

  Roshike sat down on an empty crate to wait for his old friend. He was happy to find one of the few people he knew he could count on, still in the same place as two years ago. And probably still doing the same good work.

  It seemed a long time, but it was probably only a few minutes before the door was unlocked and the master of the bar walked in, firmly closing the door behind him before saying a word. “It’s been a long time. But why make such a spectacle of yourself?”

  Roshike found himself grinning at the man who had helped him get his first few jobs after coming to the city. “You’ll be glad I did, Keep, when enforcers come around asking questions. Everybody will say I wasn’t welcome. Much better than if the two of us looked friendly, wouldn’t you say?” Which was putting it mildly. “You played your part perfectly.”

  “That must’ve been your doing last night, then. The Batsu put out the word this morning that they killed a couple of terrorists who tried to attack their headquarters in Osaka. It’s conspirators everyone says they’re looking for now.”

  Looking at the man’s frown, Roshike nodded. “I must be one of the two corpses they’re talking about—they’ll try to make that reality, I’m sure—but they did kill my employer.” He felt strange, referring to Teresa’s death that way, but Keep had never known her. “Naturally they won’t want people finding out someone broke into their headquarters and lived to tell the tale, so every enforcer will be out looking for me. I’ll need to leave the area for a while.”

  Keep pursed his lips. “Well, I’ll see what I can do to spread the word you survived, ruin their propaganda. But what can I do to help you? So their lie doesn’t become the truth.”

  Roshike hesitated. Mostly he must have come here for the moral support, but he couldn’t stay and endanger his friend or the man’s operation. He did need a new screen, but the ones Keep might have on hand were meant for the poor. And Roshike could afford to buy one for himself. Besides, those cheap anon screens his friend gave away wouldn’t handle the code Roshike would need to run on them. He’d just have to buy a better one before long anyway. “I would like to know where a good, reputable screen dealer can be found these days.” One that wouldn’t rip him off.

  “Sure, I can give you directions. And just mention my name and he’ll get you what you need.” He looked Roshike up and down with a critical eye. “I can do something even more helpful for you.” The burly man walked over to some shelves against one of the walls and grabbed a giant pair of scissors. He gestured with the things at Roshike’s neck. “Without that ridiculous-looking ponytail, no one would recognize you. Certainly not the enforcers.”

  Without waiting for Roshike to respond to that statement, Keep crossed behind him and hacked off his ponytail. Swiveling his head to glare at the man, Roshike complained. “Was that necessary?”

  “You know it was, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get a decent haircut right away. And turn yourself into a different person altogether.”

  Roshike winced while he watched his old friend toss the clump of hair into a trash can. “As long as you aren’t volunteering to do the job with those garden shears.”

  Keep snorted. “I hardly have the time. Is there anything else I can do to help?” As he spoke, he was scribbling on a scrap of paper. He handed it to Roshike with a nod. “Your screen guy, but be careful, I’m pretty sure the Batsu have their eye on him. So get that haircut first.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. But I want you being careful too—don’t use your screen for anything you wouldn’t want them to know about. They’re monitoring everything.”

  The master of the bar shook his head. “I’ve always assumed they were. And I told you to act like they could and would.”

  Roshike sighed. “I know you did, but now that I know for sure they’re keeping track of every detail, I had to let you know.” That led his thoughts in a different direction. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Seiko?” Like him, she’d run away from the Kyoushi to live in the city, and Keep had set her up with some odd jobs, just a
s he had for Roshike. “She hasn’t been back around at all?” Around three years ago she’d up and disappeared. He’d followed suit when he met Teresa and started working most of the time for her.

  “No, not a word. But I’d have heard if anything bad had happened to her, so don’t worry.”

  “If you say so.” She wasn’t all he wanted to ask about though. “When I entered, a man at the bar—long, drab green coat—he made our sign.” The one members of the Yes network used to identify themselves to each other.

  Keep had drifted over by the door, getting ready to leave. He hesitated before speaking for some reason. “Yeah, he’s one of us. Said he was looking for you, wanted to have a little chat. Under the circumstances though...”

  Roshike shook his head. He didn’t understand why Keep was so reluctant—but if a fellow Kyoushi couldn’t be trusted, no one could. And the fact Roshike was running from enforcers wasn’t sufficient reason to avoid meeting with the man. “I suppose I should hear what he has to say.”

  “I’ll send him back here, then. He can pretend he has to use the facilities. But don’t take too long—I’ve got Ivan standing by the back door, just waiting to toss you out for real.” Keep grinned with his hand on the doorknob. “I want it to look good, and if too much time passes before you go flying out the back, somebody might get a bright idea.”

  “Hardly seems likely, but I’ll make it short.” He wanted to protect the man’s cover, after all, so he’d go along with it.

  The two nodded at each other in farewell, then Keep was slipping out the door. Roshike hopped off the crate and grabbed the scissors the man had put back on a shelf. Turning to stare at his hazy reflection in the side of a shiny steel cabinet, he began to cut off more of his hair in huge chunks, more by feel than by the blurry image he was looking at. And as he clipped, he wondered about the man he’d soon be meeting.