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up his sleeves. “It wasn’t as cute as cartoon kappa or as logical as social-­satire kappa.” He showed her the scars where the Drowning God had sliced his flesh to the bone. “It was as bloodthirsty and merciless as social-­satire kappa, though.”
    She blinked at the scars and nodded for him to continue.
    He told her about the next three years of wandering with Yumi, young Mori, and Reverend Suzuki: finding pleasant, quiet little towns only to realize that they had arrived on the doorstep of a haunted villa or the edge of a demon-­plagued forest. Even when they tried to ignore the supernatural bits poking into their world, they were pulled into the affairs of the locals, compelled to act against evil only they could end.
    Mori and Nabeshima moved quietly on the edges of the conversation. They brought tea and snacks in a surprisingly subdued manner. Letting the adults talk , Takuda realized. He felt Nabeshima’s eyes on him while he told Yoshida of their various fights with ghosts, demons, and monsters, and he wondered which of the three she considered him.
    Mori didn’t interrupt Takuda with corrections or additions, which was a surprise in itself. Takuda glanced at him during pauses in his story of their traveling horror show. Each time, Mori was watching Nabeshima. On his best behavior.
    â€œWhat about the swords?” she asked. “One conspiracy site called you ‘warriors against the forces of darkness, armed with nothing but medieval weaponry.’ What’s that all about?”
    Takuda glanced at Mori, who shrugged as if to say he wasn’t a lawyer.
    â€œReverend Suzuki had three swords handed down from his ancestors,” Takuda said. “Gorgeous swords, true works of art. They came originally from Kuroda clan warriors, centuries before the clan came here. The warriors were passing through Naga Valley on a pilgrimage to Sado Island, and they barely escaped the Kappa with their lives. They donated both the swords and the land for a temple to Reverend Suzuki’s ancestors.”
    Yoshida leaned forward. “That’s the temple he was evicted from, accused of embezzlement, malfeasance, tax evasion, and . . .” She checked Nabeshima’s computer. “And squatting.”
    Mori said, “He’s not much at bookkeeping apparently.”
    Takuda grimaced. “Those charges were a ruse. The real story is that his parents disappeared, probably murdered, and his brothers abandoned him there. He hung on long enough to gather us and kill the Kappa.”
    â€œAh. Sweet vengeance. And the three of you run around with unlicensed swords.”
    Takuda pointed to his staff. “I use that now. My sword was destroyed in the process of killing the Drowning God. Young Mori’s sword is licensed. As a fourth-­degree black-­belt in Iaido, he’s legally entitled to have a true blade in his possession.”
    â€œWhat about the priest?”
    Takuda hesitated. Now it was time for him to trust Yoshida. “He has a long sword designed for the swallow-­cutting stroke, a medieval masterpiece sometimes called a ‘laundry-­pole sword.’ We try to make sure he doesn’t cut his own foot off with it.”
    They were all silent for a moment.
    Yoshida stood. “Well, I don’t really know what to say about your hobbies. I just hope that the information our Kaori gave you won’t end up hurting anyone. There is a disturbed young man. An innocent girl has befriended him. There’s no reason to assume there’s any connection to all this . . . other rubbish.”
    Takuda sat back, satisfied. Yoshida didn’t seem to believe his story, but it sounded as if she wouldn’t be trying to turn them in to the police.
    Yoshida called Nabeshima, who gathered her things and prepared to follow.
    â€œOur Kaori is going out,” Yoshida said. “I will walk her to the station and return.”
    Mori all