Loyalty Without Ambition
5 October 2005
by Loren Dean

'... the chamber is located beneath a hillside near the former Imperial Palace. The entrance is cleverly concealed, but the local Hidden Toe tribe of Nezumi knows its location. They consider the place taboo, and so do not enter, but they can be convinced to lead a party to its location. My companions and I saved one of their number, who called himself Reepicheep, from a pack of Goblins, and he felt obliged to help us. If properly reminded of this battle, he could doubtless be induced to direct another group to the tunnel entrance. I am, as always, your servant...'

Shosuro Ridachi held his brush before writing his name on the page, and then set it next to the glowing candle to think. As always, your servant. An interesting choice of words.

It was at the door to the forgotten Imperial treasure chamber. The door was itself enchanted, placidly refusing entry to any not of the Imperial line. And it was while musing on Nikana-san's tenuous but certainly extant claim to such blood that the name had filtered through the layers of courtly histories and into prominence in his head. Seppun Nikana. It was the name of one of his companions, a Samurai that gave every indication of honor and loyalty; a Samurai who could certainly never be called a poor example of the type. He was strong, he was swift, he was respectable, he was courageous. In truth, Ridachi rather liked the man.

But there was another Seppun Nikana several generations ago, as Ridachi recalled, who had disgraced himself by running from the battles surrounding the Scorpion Coup. To the Seppun, guards and soldiers all, this would be a cardinal sin. He would not even have remembered the name were it not for the lessons taught of the man in the schools of the Bayushi courtiers. If memory served, his was one of many comparative studies of the penalties for failure among the different clans of the Empire. Ridachi could not immediately recall the details of the disgrace, or the following punishment, but he seemed to recall something about relegation to menial tasks. And that was the tie that made it stand out.

The current Nikana had been sent by his family, the loyal and proud Seppun, to attend the White Orchid festival. While Doji Shiju-sama certainly had put on every air possible during the festival, it had still ultimately been a backwater celebration. It had struck Ridachi as odd at the time that such minor functionaries of the different clans would be told to go to the festival, from the hulking Shinjo Yul to the albino (and thus omen tainted) Mirumoto Tetsujin. The Lion had sent an Ikoma, the Crab a Hiruma, and the Mantis representative had only come to the festival because he was a bounty hunter chasing an opium dealer. An impressive panoply of names and personages the guest list had certainly not been.

Why then a Seppun? The family was not large, especially when compared to the other clans of the Empire. Why send anyone at all, and why Nikana-san specifically? Unless, Ridachi thought, Nikana was truly related to the Nikana of the lessons, in which case it made sense that he would still be serving under his ancestor's sentence of menial tasks and worthless jobs. The White Orchid festival had certainly fit that description.

But Nikana-san now had information about a source of treasures important to the Hantei line, and by extension the Seppun. What would he do now? He would certainly report the presence of the trove to his family, as Ridachi himself was doing. His honor would dictate no less. And he had refused Ridachi's offer of aid in petitioning his family for an expedition to recover the treasures. Ridachi certainly understood the man's trepidation at the idea. Any young and unproven Samurai walking into his daimyo's presence and announcing "we have found a storeroom filled with treasures of the Hantei line. Here is a Scorpion to tell you more," would doubtless be ordered from the room at the daimyo's earliest convenience.

But if, in fact, Nikana-san was the descendant of a Samurai marked with cowardice and thus treated as a menial, such an act would only cement his status as one unable to carry out even the simplest of tasks. If Nikana-san were in fact such a descendant, his association with a Scorpion could be construed in any number of dangerous ways by his family.

Ridachi looked at his writing desk, and the nearly finished letter. Sending this letter would alert the Clan to the trove, and it was likely that those he served would procure an Imperial relative of some stripe and move to recover the artifacts stored within. This would please his masters, advance his position, and become another plank in the metaphorical floor of the metaphorical house he was building for his family's future.

However, such an expedition could not be kept entirely secret. Otosan Uchi was a wasteland of warring Nezumi, Oni, and Goblins, nominally overseen by a family so minor they were practically ronin. There were too many places where such an expedition would be seen to keep it entirely secret. Those he served would certainly know this, and so would allow themselves to be seen. This would alert the Seppun that the Scorpion had items wanted by the former, create a series of debts and favors, and become another strand in the web of intrigue spun by the former Emperor's underhand.

Unfortunately, Nikana-san would be the only real casualty. The Seppun, doubtless in full wrath at the idea of owing the Scorpion favors for recovering their treasures, would know he knew of the trove, and would question him about who also knew. Ridachi's name would be certain to come up, and while Ridachi knew that he himself would escape any significant response, such a revelation brought his line of thinking back to Nikana's refusal to let Ridachi near the Seppun. The revelation would taint Nikana-san as surely as if Ridachi had stood before the Seppun daimyo and explained that he was Nikana-san's traveling companion. In fact, it would likely taint him even darker, as Nikana would doubtless be blamed for the leak of the information. And if Nikana were the descendent of a failure, and then himself failed in what would certainly be considered a menial task...

Ridachi took up the letter, and regarded it closely, leaning toward his candle to make out the words more clearly. He lingered close to the candle, reading and re-reading the letter, until he smelled the acrid tang of the rice paper singeing. Once the paper was fully alight, he dropped it into the empty rice bowl beside him and poured out a small measure of water to douse the flame.

"How clumsy of me," he said softly to himself, mimicking an absent-minded air and schooling away the smile that was starting. "I shall have to write the letter again. Someday."

He then looked to his brush, rinsing away the ink and beginning to put away his writing tools.