Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

battle, guns will win over swords."
    Jonathon glanced away from Barrett, needing a moment without looking at the man's smug face. Disappointment filled him. Barrett's words wounded his idealized image of what a samurai should be, especially one who was a noble lord. But then, just as there were men in all classes in all parts of the world who didn't hold up to the ideals set for them, he supposed there were many samurai who were the same way.
    "But it doesn't matter," Barrett continued. "The man's a pest. Even if he's interested in buying guns now, he'll come back around to bite me like any rabid dog. I'd rather be done with him. I've got other connections on both sides where losing him won't affect my profits."
    Jonathon paused. "Wait. You're not selling arms to both the Shogun and those who are in opposition to him?"
    "That's the plan."
    "That's all but encouraging a war to break out."
    "Whether I encourage it or not, it's going to happen. It's just a matter of time."
    Jonathon shook his head slightly. "But, isn't there one side you believe in more?"
    Barrett barked out a laugh. "What the hell do I care if they kill each other? This isn't personal. It's business. It's not even our own people."
    Jonathon fell silent. It was long past time for this conversation to end. "Is that all? May I go now?"
    "No." Barrett stood, swaying for a moment with the ship, then moved to a large, worn chest. He rummaged inside and came out with a small, black velvet pouch. Returning to Jonathon, he held it out to him.
    Jonathon stared up at him, then slowly took it from him. Loosening the silk strings, he withdrew a dark green vial. Through the opaque glass, he could see it contained white powder.
    A condescending smile rose to Barrett's lips. "Your color has suddenly paled. I thought arsenic would be fitting for one of your delicate kind. But perhaps I was wrong, considering you had no qualms driving a knife between my nephew's ribs."
    Jonathon snapped his head up, locking a dark glare on Barrett. "Your nephew got less than he deserved. The knife should have been in his heart."
    Barrett burst out laughing. "There's the devil I found in that prison, debauched and deadly all hidden beneath a pretty face. If the poison isn't to your liking, then while you're under the savage, imagine he's my nephew and find your mark this time."
    Jonathon clenched the vial, the fingers of his other hand curling in a fist. "I ask again, are you finished?"
    The humor dropped from Barrett, disgust replacing it. "Yes, save for a reminder. While you're with Takezaki, remember your purpose. Don't lose yourself in your perverse ways."
    Jonathon pushed to his feet without waiting for another word. He marched toward the door, tearing it open and slamming it closed behind him. He stormed the few steps to his cabin and darted inside. He sagged back on the door, his anger at Barrett still raging, but fear for his future draining his strength.
    He lifted the hand holding the vial. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers and gazed at it. Strange how he felt its contents determined his own life and death just as much as whom it was intended for.
    ****
    Jonathon clung to the edge of the small boat, fighting to keep his gaze focused ahead rather than down at the water, black with reflecting the moonless sky. The depths were so dark, it was as if the boat floated on a sheer veil that at any moment could break and plunge him into a bottomless void.
    Not that looking ahead to the shadowed shore was much more reassuring.
    Jonathon closed his eyes, wondering just how it was that his life had brought him to this moment. He knew the direct action, and though it had been yet another attempt to protect his life, most didn't believe that. Or more likely, no one cared. To society, whether he practiced generosity and kindness toward all who crossed his path, or he was a wastrel preying on innocents, he was morally doomed. And those sentiments were excluding his near killing of Edgar Barrett.
    Jonathon looked ahead as the two sailors leaped from the boat and began pulling it up to the beach. Collecting his satchel, he hopped out as well. The dark water swirled around his legs, as if trying to drag him back with each step he took. It seeped through his boots, chilling his legs from the knees down. He broke from the water and trudged ashore, stopping when past the waterline, and gazed into the darkness.
    How were his escorts supposed to find him? To avoid being seen by patrolling boats, the