The Whipping Boy || Kokuzan/Michizan Vers. ||

Of the Hot-Potato Man and other matters.

The solders had passed by.

Following the river, Michikatsu ventured toward the city. Muzan strode along beside him.

"Soon as I can, I aim to give you the slip," Michikatsu warned. "You'll be on your own."

Muzan said nothing.

The tide was low and they traveled out of sight of the road, below the grassy embankment. In the distance, against billowing white clouds, stood a jackstraw jumble of ships' masts.

"You can fend for your own self, can't you?" Michikatsu asked suddenly.

"Of course I can!" answered Muzan in a stinging voice. "I don't need flocks of servants to fetch and carry for me."

"It's settled, then."

"Settled! Skip off anytime you like."

With the tide out, a wide mud flat lay exposed. From long habit, Michikatsu kept his eyes peeled for treasure. Sandpipers scattered like mice before him.

He spotted a barrel stave and pounced upon it.

"Trash," remarked Muzan. "What are you doing?"

"Mudlarking."

"What?"

"I've got to eat, don't I? If i can collect enough driftwood, I can sell it as firewood."

Muzan shrugged and walked on ahead.

Michikatsu gazed after him for a moment. What did a prince know about living off the streets? His meals had always appeared on China plates and silver trays as if by magic. Left to himself, he'd starve.

"It's not my worry," Michikatsu muttered.

"What?"

"You, that's what. If you get hungry enough, you'll scramble back to the castle."

Muzan glared back at Michikatsu, and then stooped down to retreive the broken leg of a chair from the mud. "Is this worth anything?"

Michikatsu nodded. Before long, the two of them had collected three more barrel stave and the back of the chair.

Then Michikatsu found something even more valuable to him--- a bent and battered birdcage. He could go into busines with that! Straightened out, it would hold rats.

They rounded a bend and the crack of a whip sounded in the air like a firecracker. Michikatsu crawled up the embankment for a look.

A weary old coach was mired in a mudhole on the road. The coachman, held the reins of his two-horse team and cracked his whip in the air again.

"Hurry, be good! It's my own fault, not leading you around this bog. My eyesight is quite terrible-"

Michikatsu watched for another moment as the horses tried to pull the coach free. The coach was enameled blue, with yellow lettering painted on the door panel:

Capt. Akaza Soyama
________________________________________

HOT-POTATO-MAN

Michikatsu crawled over the embankment. A ride to the city would suit him fine.

"Sir? Would you take on a passanger? Here, let me set these barrel staves under the wheels."

"Don't mind if you do," Said Akaza. "I'm late for the fair as it is."

Michikatsu busied himself, laying a firm track for the wheels. Muzan watched from the edge of the embankment.

"You must be carrying a heavy load," Michikatsu cried out. "Try again, Captain!"

Akaza cracked his whip, the horses strained--- and the coach rolled up out of the bog.

"Get in!"

Michikatsu opened the door and saw that the coach was heavily loaded with raw potatos and a huge iron kettle. Michikatsu settled himself as best as he could, and the coach lurched forward.

At last, Michikatsu thought, you're free of the prince! But he couldn't resist a backward glance.

Muzan was standing in the center of the road. He'd dropped his load of driftwood and merely gazed at the receding coach.

Michikatsu straightened, and folded his arms. The prince wasn't his lookout any longer. But he'd stood there like a wounded bird. Blast him! A prince hadn't cockeyed notion how to fend for himself.

"Stop, Captain!" Michikatsu shouted. "We've left my friend behind."

Akaza pulled up on the reins, Michikatsu leaned out a window. With an arm he motioned Muzan to come along.

For an instant, Michikatsu thought he saw a smile flash across Muzan's face. But it had vanished by the time Muzan joined him inside the coach.

They road in silence. Michikatsu wondered what had possessed him to refer to Muzan as his friend. Friends? Cows would give beer first!

Then, minutes later, the coach rocked to a sudden halt.

"Stand and deliver!" came a shout.

A pair of highwaymen were training pistols on Akaza. Michikatsu hardly had to peer out. The voice was familiar.

It was Hold-Your-Nose-Nemi. And Genya.