* A tale involving the “other” side of Miss Hermit. Feel free to comment *
The last place I thought I was going to hear the Song of Combat was in my flat in Wheatstone. However, these things seem not to be chosen by me but by circumstances chosen by the Kami and who I am to question them? No sooner than I closed the door than I was set upon by the man. Thankfully I had my katana with me. The swords rang with each stroke while our stamping feet kept the counterpoint. Our labored breathing provided the harmony and while the occasional crash of furnishings gave the odd note of surprise and emphasis. Finally, with a rising shrill of metal voice, I caused his sword to slide along mine and into the blade snapper built into my hilt. A twist of the wrist broke his sword with a sharp ping followed closely by the final movement of the song as I slashed across his throat and he fell at my feet to gurgle his life away.
I thought that this was going to happen sooner or later. It was the reason why I kept moving my residence within Babbage. I was hoping for some peace and quiet while conducting my studies here but somehow my location was discovered. Perhaps I was sending too many pigeons to the Temple, after all they can be traced after a while. Panting in a most unladylike fashion I kicked the pieces of the broken sword out of reach of the body. One can never be too careful; he could be faking death you know. A quick once over of my person reviewed that this dress was beyond repair not to mention I was bleeding in a few places where the fool got lucky and scored my skin. On second thought I more likely was the lucky one as he was above average in his sword skills. I defended the flat against attack from spirits and demons with the placing of wards but never set any traps. I though Babbage was safe. Looks like I was wrong.
I walked over to the sofa and dropped onto it, glad to get off my feet after the battle. Fighting in heels is such a bother. I looked around for Tasha, the spirit who has been my house ghost of sorts. She stayed with me during the Slenderman episode and decided to remain saying I was in great need of a domestic to clean up after me.
“Tasha, where are you hiding? I could use some help here.”
At the sound of my voice she floats through the ceiling and over to me. “My Lady requires something?”
I roll my eyes to the heavens. While diligent in her duties she has selective hearing, something all 16 year girls appear to have. “Yes girl, first why did you not alert me that there was another person in the flat? Second, I need you to bring down the salve and some dressings from the table in the bedroom.”
“I am sorry M’Lady I thought you were expecting him. He entered without any problems by the front door and while I stayed unseen he spoke only your language. One moment and I will bring the supplies.”
She floats back upstairs and returns in a moment with the items. She is getting much stronger handling physical items and can move about a pound at a time without to much trouble. As I start to bandage myself I look at her again.
“Tasha, you say he spoke my language. You do not know more than three words of Japanese. How did you know?”
“He said the word miko and I remembered that you said you were one. That’s why I thought it was Japanese.” she replied.
“Well it seems I have a body to dispose of now. I want you to go and fetch Mac here. Check the graveyard first, then the bars. Then clean up the blood from the floor after I carry him out of here. Think this dress can be sewn?”
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Tasha glances over the ruins and shakes her head, “I doubt it M’Lady you have done it good and made a rag collection of it. Couldn’t you change before you start killing people?“
“If the help would tell me I have a guest who wishes to carve me up I might. Now go find Mac.” Tasha fades out as she leaves and I look back at the corpse. Looks like the wiggyfish will eat well tonight. Thank goodness the canals are nearby; I won’t have to carry him too far. If this killer thinks that his secrets died with him he has a surprise coming to him. Between Mac and I we will wring him dry later. The question is, who wants me dead this time?