Kensho, part 3 (Claimings) (Patreon)

Haru has climbed into my head and made himself at home.  I blame all of you for this.  Literally. Without Patreon part of his would have crossed my mind and I would have filed it away.  But the more I write, the more I want to write.

  

Now that Haru had made a mental connection between Tuk-Liam and Ryota Ito, Haru could not stop seeing similarities. True, his own father had been a slight man, as many from the island were. Even before joining the Rownt, Sergeant Munson had been a far more sturdy individual. Now that the Rownt had somehow changed him, he was built like a professional athlete. As they crossed the street from the parking to the antique store, everyone turned to stare.

It was not often that a seven-foot tall, broad shouldered man strolled through the shopping district with the confidence Munson showed. A dozen individuals had gifted Munson with looks that could only be called salacious. One word, and any of them would invite him into a bed. Haru’s father had been the same, and like Munson, he had largely ignored or perhaps not even noticed the reactions. Haru’s mother, Souma Ito, had been endlessly amused in her own quiet way. Over tea she would comment on the foolishness of women who would set their sights on a man who had no interest in them.

Haru wondered if Munson was asexual or if the rumors of his relationship with Tuk-Ondry were true. Command had strictly forbidden the rumors, but that had only driven underground where the fires burned hotter and spread faster.  Besides, if Captain Mora changed loyalties and thoroughly as Munson had, he had already shared them.

“This is it,” Haru said as he stopped outside the correct store. He pressed his hand to the scanner to open the door. Politeness would have dictated that he allow Munson to request entry, but Tsang was famous for not opening the door if an unfamiliar person sought entry. Haru could only hope that this introduction didn’t backfire. His superiors would not be amused if Munson took offense to something Tsang said.

After a wait that was too long to be strictly polite, the front door clicked and the light flashed. However, Tsang did not appear. Haru opened the door and gestured for Munson to go ahead of him. Over the years, Haru had visited the shop many times. His wife loved the botanicals prints, both historical and modern, that Tsang offered. Other officers complained that their wives wanted off-world trips, even during this time of war when transportation was difficult and expensive, so Haru had very little reason to complain, especially when he shared his wife’s love for antiques.

Watching Munson, however, was a new experience. He walked around the tables filled with small, colorful vases with an exaggerated caution that was almost comical. By the time he reached the end of the first aisle, Munson had wrapped his arms around his waist, but his head swiveled around as he took in the art that filled every corner. Antique wood screens covered one wall with hundred year old scrolls displayed on another and modern art filling a third. The center was a riot of pots and vases and statues, some five hundred years old and some new.

Haru nodded toward an arch that led to a second room in the back. “The Aizen Myo-o is back there,” he said.

Munson moved carefully, detouring around the male Fu dog that guarded the back room. The matching female stood on the other side of the arch, her stone gaze watching them. The back of this inner room had a clear security wall protecting a pair of thousand-year-old vases, a folding screen from the 17th century depicting a dragon and a tiger, an Edo Period Samurai armor set with a helmet, and the last painting by Hēidòng, an artist so secretive that no one knew his or her real identity. And to the left stood Aizen Myo-o.

He wore a fierce expression that had always fascinated Haru. Munson moved closer, his expression rapt as he studied the statue. Aizen Myo-o wore a lion head as his crown and carried a bell, a lotus, a vajra, and his always-present bow and arrows. The artist had carved each in exquisite detail. The gilded wood statue stood sixteen or eighteen inches high, but it was set on a golden lotus bowl with a sun disk behind it. Haru would trade every piece he owned for the Aizen, but Tsang had refused to give him a price.

As if summoned by the thought, Tsang appeared at the office door. He crossed his arms and got a cross expression when he saw Haru looking at the Aizen. No doubt he would like to verbally eviscerate Haru in front of an audience. Before he could, once again, tell Haru exactly how much he did not deserve to own the statue, Munson spoke.

“Mr. Tsang. I should start with an insult, but I am too impressed by the quality of this work.” Munson continued to look at Aizen for a few seconds, but then he shifted his attention to Tsang. Apparently Munson could work magic because Tsang shut his mouth and stared at him for an uncomfortable length of time. And instead of filling the air with awkward or useless words, Munson just stared back. Haru liked the man more with every passing second.

Eventually Tsang cleared his throat and walked into the room, closing his office door behind him. “An insult? Why would you start with an insult?”

Munson’s smile was slow and dangerous and utterly charming. “Because I assume you are confident enough in your skills that you do not require or appreciate compliments from someone you just met.”

“That is a sensible attitude,” Tsang said in a grudging tone. He turned to Haru and offered a polite nod. “Colonel. What can I help you with today?”

Haru was, for once, enjoying himself. “I was hoping to look at the Aiden Mayo-o piece again.” He smiled.

Tsang’s expression turned sour. “I would rather you look at something you’re likely to buy.”

“I would buy that in an instant if you named a price.”

“More than you can afford,” Tsang shot back. The worst part was that he was probably right. The Aizen was the sort of quality that museums bought, and Haru was only a colonel. He wondered if it had originally been made for a temple or the private shrine of a wealthy family, not that it mattered. Tsang quickly lost interest in Haru and turned his attention back to Munson who made no secret of his admiration for the statue.

“Do you like that piece?”

“Enough that I am glad the artist who produced it is dead so I can’t insult him with my inadequate compliments. The work is beautiful.”

Tsang moved to stand in front of Munson, blocking his view. That deadly charm reappeared in Munson’s smile. 

“How do you know the artist is dead?” Tsang asked.

“The wood has a patina I would only expect to see in a piece that is several hundred years old. I assumed no one on Earth lived that long.” Munson tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps I’m wrong and you will educate me.”

Tsang narrowed his eyes. “I understood you were a poor, barely educated foot soldier who lucked into his position.”

Horror shocked Haru into silence. That was so far beyond the bounds of propriety that Haru failed to come to Munson’s defense before Munson shrugged and said easily, “Some do say that.”

“And yet you recognize the patina of a true antiquity.”

Munson studied Tsang like he was a lower life form. “Unlike some, I have gone out into the universe to learn.”

“To learn about the quality of aged wood.” Tsang punctuated his words with a disgusted snort.

“One who wishes to learn will find knowledge everywhere.” Munson took a step toward Tsang. “Those who hide in crowded rooms might be surprised at what exists outside their narrow view.”

Tsang laughed. After a decade of buying art and longing after pieces he couldn’t buy, Haru had never heard that sound before.

Tsang reached for his keys. “I know more than you can imagine gutter rat.”

Munson’s smile was more open and genuinely amused now. “But I will learn more than you will dream of, little mole.”

“So, why did the colonel bring you along on one of his fruitless visits to Aizen?” Tsang triggered the key fob and the protective barrier slid away, exposing the priceless art. Haru had never been so close to the statue. He could reach out and touch it if he dared. He didn’t.

“He had hoped I could make a more interesting offer,” Munson said.

“To get him the Aizen? That is not likely.”

“I’m not offering to buy it for him.” Liam took a step closer and rested his fingertips on the shelf under the Aizen.

“Then who are you buying for?”

Munson glanced over his shoulder. “For a merchant, you are far less informed than I expected.”

“For a servant, you are quick to voice your uneducated opinions.”

Haru had to step in before more harm could be done. “Mr. Tsang, Tuk-Liam is highly ranked among the Rownt, and Command recognizes his rank and somewhere between a colonel and a general.”

Tsang looked at Munson. “Is that right?”

“Not if the money they send to my beneficiaries is any indication.”

“Typical of Command. They give words that are never followed with actions.” Tsang glared at Haru as if he was to blame for the military’s faults.

“So I have noticed,” Munson said. Haru made a mental note to bring up the subject of making his Command rank something closer to his Rownt rank.

“So why would the Rownt want the Aizen?” Tsang asked with far less animosity than Haru had expected.

“They are storytellers. He has an interesting story.” Munson seemed to think for a time before he added. “Rownt appreciate craftsmanship. The Aizen would have a place of honor in the temple.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yes.”

Tsang triggered the lock and the barrier slid down, forcing Munson to jerk his hand away before he got his fingers cut off. “Now you speak out of turn. I am disappointed.”

Munson turned to face off against Tsang. “You doubt my word?”

“I have heard that the women rule the Rownt, so as a man you would have no authority to make such a statement.”

“And you are a fool who listens to others, particularly those who are unable to understand Rownt culture.”

“Do you deny that women rule?” Tsang hit another button and the clear barrier turned opaque, hiding the treasures. He might as well announce that Munson wasn’t good enough to look at his pieces.

“Rulers are chosen by age. The eldest hold the most sway, and for reasons of biology, only the Grandmothers can live a thousand years.”

“Which is another way of saying that you have no power to decide the fate of the Aizen once you purchased it.”

Munson didn’t back down or hesitate. “My word is listened to more than most, although my youth makes others hesitate to act on my word alone. However, while I don’t have the power to demand the Rownt act, I do have the understanding to predict what they will do in this circumstance.”

“And what circumstance is that?”

“The gifting of a temple artifact created by one with such talent would be displayed, either in the public temple for everyone to enjoy or in the upper levels of the temple where the Grandmothers can take pleasure in such talent.”

“You’re assuming I’ll sell the Aizen to you.”

“I am.”

The blunt answered appeared to shock Tsang into a moment of silence. The two men stared at each other—Liam’s seven foot frame towering over Tsang’s five and a half. “That’s an arrogant assumption,” Tsang said softly.

“I’m an arrogant man.” Munson said, and Haru could imagine his father saying the same words in the exact same tone.

“And if I choose to send an arrogant man away?”

“Then I will return to Ondry and his arrogance will outshine mine.”

“I can just as easily refuse him.” The words were classic Tsang, but his tone was not nearly as arrogant as Haru was used to hearing from him.

Munson leaned closer. “Then we shall make, as our gift to the temple, an offer to introduce a Grandmother to you.”

“That is a poor gift for an elder.”

“On the contrary. A Rownt elder would never walk into a shop without a proper introduction. Without me to ease the way, the Grandmother would have no access to this beauty. It would be a magnificent gift, and I would have the great pleasure of watching you attempt to negotiate with a thousand year old Rownt.” Again, Munson’s predatory smile returned. The bastard was enjoying this. More shocking, the corner of Tsang’s mouth twitched in amusement. The deserved each other.

“Do you have so much faith in your alien?” Tsang asked.

“She has no need of compliments from me, so I will limit myself to saying that your skills are adequate for a man who has not yet reached thirty.”

Haru cringed. Tsang was at least fifty or sixty years old.

Instead of taking offense, Tsang smiled. “Do all Rownt trade like you?”

“The good ones do.”

He laughed again. “Bring your Grandmother back and let me see if her insults are better than yours. You seem to have the skill of my three year old great nephew, and I don’t like children.”

“A great flaw in you, but then you have so many perhaps it doesn’t affect you to admit one more.” Munson started for the arch. Clearly the negotiations had ended without a deal, but both men appeared happy enough for the outcome.

“Go on. Get out,” Tsang shouted.

“Happily,” Munson called as he threaded his way carefully through the crowded front room. Haru followed. 

As they reached the street, Haru said, “I apologize for any insult Tsang offered.”

Munson laughed. “Rownt love insults. That’s how we tell each other that we have faith the other person is strong enough to take it and dish it out. I would be offended if he had treated me with kid gloves.” Munson was a strange tangled knot of English idioms and alien ideas. 

Haru led them back toward the car. Earlier he had wondered if Rownt were fellow travelers on the eight-fold path toward enlightenment. If they were, it would make sense that the Rownt souls, just like the souls of humans, could transcend death. If so, it was possible Tsang had met the Rownt or even been Rownt. Haru could believe it, although that was a theory he did not plan to share with his superiors.

However, if Munson appreciated a good insult, Haru could take a chance on some honesty. “I’m fairly sure you both require therapy,” he said.

Munson gave him a huge grin. “Probably. So, let’s go back and discuss what you have to trade for osmium. No doubt it’s not enough, but I’m in a rare generous mood. No doubt your lack of competence has affected my willingness to take advantage of your inferior position.”

Haru shook his head in amusement. “No doubt,” he agreed, and ignoring all his own training in diplomacy, he didn’t even try to make his words sound believable. Perhaps it was time to add more honesty and a few insults to his diplomatic repertoire.