Waters Under Earth

A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Alan Harnum - harnums@hotmail.com

All Ranma characters are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, first
published by Shogakukan in Japan and brought over to North
America by Viz Communications.

Homepage at:  http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Bay/9758

Commentary, as usual, is welcomed and appreciated.

Chapter 32 : That Which We Destroy (3 of 3)
     
     In a rush, Soun came.  Silver glinted in Tofu's hands.  
Before Soun even came within striking range, he felt the strength 
go from his limbs.  A numb feeling in his shoulder made him 
glance to the side, to see the glinting head of an acupuncture 
needle driven into his flesh.  His legs crumpled.  Desperately, 
he tried to fight, but his blood had turned to ice. Movement was 
impossible.  Face down in the grass, he inhaled the scent of rain 
and wet earth, and cursed himself in every way he knew.  Fool, he 
thought.  Failure.  Can't protect your daughter.  Can't protect 
anyone.  Useless.  Someone turned him over with a foot; he didn't 
even feel it - his body was a prison now, not a servant.  He 
looked up into Tofu's grinning face.  Behind his glasses, the 
doctor's eyes seemed not to be those of a man.  There was a 
coldness in them, a hunger that chilled Soun to see.

     Footsteps, light on the grass.  Kasumi weeping, no words in
her voice.  Men stood behind Tofu now; a half-dozen of them,
perhaps.  Soun could not see their faces.  Tofu reached down and 
put his fingers to Soun's neck.  "Take the old man inside," he 
said.  "I'll handle the women."

     "Honoured mother of the night did not say--" one of the men 
began.  His voice was oddly high and musical.     
     
     "The honoured mother the night is not here," Tofu cut off.     
"Nor is the honoured mother of the shadows.  I am, however, and I
am ko-daimyo.  Do you defy me, child?"

     "No, lord."
     
     "Good."
     
     Tofu pressed down on a certain point on Soun's neck.  
Forgive me, daughter, he thought, and then there was nothing.

**********     

     The arms of the clock on the classroom wall ticked slowly 
down the day.  Bored almost beyond reason, Kuno listened to the
teacher drone on and on.  School taught him nothing now, and 
never had before.

     White bird, flying alone, through the storm.  He thought he
knew what it meant, but was not sure.  Moreover, he had been
occupied this morning in consideration of Nabiki Tendo's 
situation.  Now the first class of the day was half over, and she 
still had not appeared.  It was unlike her to be late.

     From his desk near the classroom window, he could see out
into the front yard of the school.  Shrubbery and trees, dampened
by rain, hung low and heavy.  Rain was coming again, though he
couldn't guess when.  Could it be that Nabiki was unwell this
morning?

     No.  The sudden conviction came over him that something was
very wrong.  It had begun; he should have seen the signs last
night.  He cursed himself silently for a fool.  The teacher
recited interminably from the textbook.

     Kuno sprang to his feet.  "Enough, varlet!  Teach us not of
these petty, womanish things!  Let us hear a history of Musashi,
or of the campaigns of Nobunaga!"

     "Well," the teacher replied icily, adjusting his glasses, 
"if you don't want to learn about the socio-economic factors
behind the Meiji restoration, you're welcome to stand in the 
hall.  In fact, I insist upon it.  With buckets, if you please."

     Stiffly, Kuno walked out of the classroom, enduring the
snickers of his peers as he always did.  Fools mock that which
they cannot comprehend.  Once he reached the hallway, however, he
began to run as quickly as he could.

**********

     Footsteps, coming up the stairs.  You learned to recognize 
the tread of your own family upon the stairs after a while, or at 
least Nabiki had.  Kasumi's steps, but there was something odd 
about them.

     Nabiki closed her notebook with a snap and laid it down on
the bedside table.  The footsteps stopped outside her room, and
she called out.  "Kasumi?"
     
     Without a word, the door swung open.  Tofu stood in the 
hallway, hand on the doorknob.  Kasumi was behind him.  Her older 
sister's hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and she 
stared fixatedly at the ground.

     "Have you ever heard of knocking, doc?" Nabiki asked, 
annoyed.
     
     Tofu stepped in in silence, and Nabiki saw he almost seemed 
to glide across the floor, he walked so lightly.  That was why 
she hadn't heard his steps.

     "Doctor Tofu?" she asked hesitantly.  
     
     He didn't even seem to register her voice, but rather 
glanced back to Kasumi.  "Stay, Kasumi.  Don't go."
     
     A nod from Kasumi raised her head slightly, and Nabiki saw
that her face was tear-stained, yet expressionless as if carved
from stone.  Before that thought entirely registered, Tofu closed
the door of her room with a finalistic click, and glided over to
the bed.  He was smiling.

     "Nabiki dear," he greeted jovially.  "You've been an awfully
bad girl, haven't you?"

     "What?"
     
     "Selling out your family," he continued.  "Selling out
everyone.  I wonder, is there anything you would not sell if the
price was enough?"

     Trying to think of words to use was futile.  Words had
always been her weapons, but Tofu's had disarmed her.  All she
could do was stare.  A vague itch at the base of her spine, cold
and sharp as an icicle, began.  As she looked into Tofu's eyes,
it speared through her entire body.  Suddenly, she realized how
vulnerable, how horribly vulnerable she was.  Lying in bed, in
pyjamas, the sheets covering only her legs.  And one leg didn't
work.  So this was Tofu, she realized vaguely.  Another mask.
Another disguise.  Was nothing she had believed true, true?

     A finger traced the line of her collarbone.  Fast; he had
moved so fast she had seen no motion.  His smile was all teeth.  
Then he moved the hand to rest upon her breasts, and the physical
reaction was almost automatic.  He caught the hand before she
could slap his face, shook his head slightly, and then bent her
wrist almost to the breaking point.  A ragged scream burst from 
her.  The pain was almost unimaginable; she could feel bones 
shifting, ready to pop if she moved her arm even fractionally.  
Tofu slapped her, hard enough to rock her head back, and dropped 
her arm.  Sobbing, she cradled it in her other hand.  

     "No one who can help can hear," Tofu said softly.  He 
leaned over the bed, resting his hands on the wall behind her
head, until his face was only inches from hers.  "Whatever I
want, I may do."

     "You son of a bitch," Nabiki growled, finding words amidst
the pain.  "Kasumi's already ran off and called the police."
     
     Tofu laughed, his breath coming hot against her face.  "You
do not know your sister very well, do you?"  He seized her face
under the chin and tilted her head back to examine her intently.

     "Bastard."  She would fight, she vowed.  Whatever he tried
to do, she would fight.  The startling horror of the situation
was only slowly hitting her - Tofu knew, which meant he was
connected somehow.  Yakuza, or worse.  

     He slapped her again, this time so hard her lip cut against
her teeth.  "Watch your mouth, Nabiki.  That's not proper 
language for a young lady."

     The words came forth before she could even think of stopping
them.  "Fuck you."
     
     A hand grabbed her wrist in a grip like iron.  There was a
pop, and the pain leapt straight up her arm and knifed into her 
heart.  She screamed.  Couldn't help it.  Hurt too much.

     "That's a dislocation," Tofu explained in a clinical voice.
"I can pop that back in easily, and do it so it won't hurt for
more than a few hours.  Speak to me like _that_ again, and I'll 
break it.  That won't heal so easily, and if I splinter the bone
through the skin, believe me that the pain you have right now 
will seem a pleasant memory."

     Her wrist was already bruising, and the limp angle it hung
at was not anything even approaching normal.  Even the soft 
feel of the bedcovers it lay upon was like needles stabbing the 
skin.  Screaming won't help, she thought vaguely.  Be strong,
Nabiki, be brave.  Don't let him know you're scared.  Fat chance 
of that.  Stupid, stupid, why didn't you see, why didn't you see 
what he was?

     "Do you want me to fix that wrist of yours?" he asked
politely.  The urge to shake her head, to defy, was consumed by
the awesome pain she was in.  Tearfully, she nodded.  How easy it
was, to rid herself of pride in the face of this.

     Tofu grabbed and twisted.  There was another pop, and the
pain of before was like pleasure next to this.  The coppery taste
of blood filled her mouth, and she realized she'd bitten her
tongue to stop herself from crying out.  It took her long seconds 
to descend from the towering apex of her pain, until the fire in 
her arm was but a dull throbbing in her tender wrist.

     "You love Kasumi, don't you?" she asked in a pained whisper.
One last try, one desperate grasping for salvation.  Even if, 
from what she saw in Tofu's eyes, love was not even a part of his
being.

     Tofu looked, of all things, surprised.  "Of course I do."
     
     "Then let us go." Half-pleading, the sound of her own voice
shamed her.  "Let us all go."
     
     He shook his head, still smiling.  "But don't you see?  I
love her so much I can't let her go.  She's mine, Nabiki.  She'll
always be mine."  He reached out and seemed to brush his fingers
against a point on her neck.  All the strength flowed out of her
body below the shoulders.  "I had her.  I could have had Akane.
But I never even thought of having you."  He bent down until his
mouth was next to her ear.  "But I'll make you a deal," he
whispered, pushing a few locks of her hair out the way with 
gentle fingers.  "Let me have you right now, instead of Kasumi, 
and I won't touch her if you're good enough.  How's that sound?  
Is it a deal?"

     Oh, god, Nabiki thought, oh god, the loathsome bastard.  
Tears of remorse began to mingle with the ones of pain upon her
face.  She couldn't do it, oh, forgive her, she couldn't.  It was
beyond her.  She was nothing, nothing here, against this 
nightmare, this monster in flesh.  

     "I didn't think so."
     
     Tofu silently crossed the floor of her room.  The door 
opened, and he was gone.  Paralysed, she wept silently, unable to 
give voice to screams or anything else.  Footsteps in the hall 
outside, and then the sound of a door opening and closing.  Let 
it end, Nabiki thought desperately.  Let me pass out from pain, 
or faint, or anything.  Do not make me hear this.  But that was 
denied.          
              
**********

     Tofu closed the door to her room, and she was trapped.  He
was in the house now, he was a guest, you couldn't be rude to
guests, no matter where they touched you, no matter what they did
to you, because home was the place where you were safe and people
loved you and no one could hurt you in the home as long as it was
a good home and he promised he wouldn't hurt Nabiki if she didn't
run and--

     His hands, reaching up to undo the ribbon from her hair.  
She saw her face in the mirror on her table, saw it was a mask of
skin, and could not cry although she wanted to.  So go away 
someone whispered.  Go to where you don't need to cry, where no 
one can hurt you, where it's safe.  Not the house anymore - not 
even here.

     Not the body.  The body hurts, the body is wounded.  Not
safe here.  He undid the ties of her apron and slid it slowly
from her body.  The body whimpered like an animal, and she heard
it as she went away.

     His hands touched the hips, slid up to cup the breasts.
The body screamed, the body couldn't help it, the body was 
scared.  Flesh was weak.  The buttons on the back of the dress 
popped one by one under his fingers.  A hand stroked the back, 
pebbled the skin with goosebumps.  So cold, so cold.  A deep 
place.  No more running.  No more need to run.  Nothing to run 
from.  The body trembled, wept, screamed.

     He was silent.  He had always been silent, never making a
sound during this.  That had not been right, she knew.  But he'd 
said he loved her, that she was his forever.  And the body was, 
the body was, he could take that, he could have it, she hated it, 
it was weak, it had liked it at the start.  

     Oh god, oh any god that can hear me, oh god.  The body was 
naked now, and his hands touched it, dipped and soared across the 
curves and contours.  The deepest darkest coldest safest pit 
there ever was.  The body screamed again as it was hurled 
face-first upon the bed and his hands grabbed the shoulders and 
pressed down and oh god, oh, merciful god the body prayed in the
silence of the dead.
     
     But Kasumi was safe.  Kasumi didn't hurt.  She was in a dark
place, a lonely place, but not a place that hurt.     
     
**********

     There were four of them in the yard.  Warriors all, he could
have told that by stance alone.  Their dress was strange, two of
them in flowing tunics and blousy pants of dark grey sashed with
black, two of them in tight-fitting and featureless black from 
head to toe.  The men in grey had sheathed swords, of a make he
could not tell from this distance - the eye seemed to slide off
if not carefully kept upon them.  The ones in black were even
worse; he had not even noticed them at first from his 
vantage-point across the street, until he had seen the way their
shadows fell upon the grass beyond the gate.  Seeing the shadows
before the men that cast them was not something he liked.

     Thoughtfully, he ran a finger across the edge of one of his 
bokken.  There had been no time to go home and get the swords,
but had not Musashi himself given up all blades but those of wood
in his later years?

     People passed by on the street outside the house constantly,
but given the odd displacement of vision the men seemed to 
induce and the isolation provided by the high white walls, it was
not strange that no one had noticed anything.

     Tucking the two bokken into the cloth belt of his hakama,
he took a roundabout route to the back of the Tendo compound and
hopped atop the wall there.  He might not be able to equal 
Ranma's prodigious leaps, but such acrobatics as that were not a 
function of his Art.  What he was capable of sufficed.  Crouching 
low, hands upon the hilts of his weapons, he scuttled along the 
top of the wall.  There were four more of them, scattered around 
the back of the house, hidden behind bushes or trees.

     Finding the most isolated, one of the black-clad ones, he
dropped behind him and landed in silence upon the grass.  Two
quick steps, and one bokken flashed out at a blinding speed.  
The man dropped from a blow to the base of the skull, where neck
met spine, making no sound but for the soft impact of his body 
with the earth.  

     Though that, it seemed, was enough.  He heard them, running
through the grass, coming around from the front of the house, and
drew his other wooden blade.  Flicking them out to the sides and
dropping their points low to the ground, he paced back as they
came, close to the wall so they couldn't surround him from all
sides.  The men in grey had knotted their black sashes over their 
eyes, for some reason, but moved as if they could see all the 
same.  

     Seven of them.  The swords of the men in grey were straight
and uncurved, about the same length as his bokken.  The ones in 
black held a hooked knife in each hand.  Their faces were hard 
and brutal without exception.  Killers - they had the same 
deadness of the eyes as the men whose faces he had memorized, the 
ones who had killed his mother and then been let go.  Justice had 
been served, though.  He had made sure of that.  Too young he had 
been, he had thought later.  But he'd done it all the same.  And
he'd kept it inside - kept the killer in, buried under so many
guises and layers that it couldn't ever come out.

     And now it seemed the time had come to let it forth again.
The men smiled.  One of the grey-clad said something that he did
not hear.  Blood roared in his ears.  The men came at him in a
concerted wave.  Seven.  Too little.  Kuno brought his blades up, 
and began to kill them.  Turned upon the living, a wooden blade 
that cleaves through stone and wood as easily as it does through 
air is a horribly effective weapon.
          
**********     

     Footsteps, coming up the stairs.  A single tread.  The
screaming had stopped a while ago.  Now, only the occasional
pained moan came from beyond the door, and there had not been one
of those for some time.  Not once had she heard Tofu's voice - 
only Kasumi's.  Somehow, that frightened her more than nearly 
anything else had.  She wanted to believe he wasn't human, but 
knew that he was.  You read about people like Tofu, or saw them 
in movies; you didn't meet them in real life.

     She had given up trying to move, given up trying to reach
the phone upon the desk.  Not a muscle could she work; it took
effort to breathe, to blink her eyes.  The footsteps weren't her
father's; too light, and too fast.  She wondered what Tofu had
done to her father.  The thought brought unwelcome others, and 
she pushed it away.

     The footsteps paused outside her door.  Now Kasumi had gone
silent, and the click of someone turning the handle of her door 
seemed the only sound in all the world.  Slowly, the door swung 
open.  When she saw it was Kuno, she tried to let out a sigh of
relief.  It came out as a hiss.  Kuno strode to the bedside.  
"Nabiki Tendo, your father lies insensate below.  Where is your 
elder sister?"

     She stared.  Spots.  Spots of blood, all over his clothing.
His face - she would not forget the look of his face until the
day she died.  Empty was the only word - empty of everything, and
his eyes looked like those of a man who had seen all the horrors
the world had to offer, that no more might ever touch him.  
Through the cloth belt at his waist, two bokken were thrust - the
edges were red-stained.

     Kasumi, she tried to say.  But there was no voice.  A thin
squeak.  Kuno leaned down, put his ear to her mouth.  "Who has     
done this to you?"

     Tofu.  Damned bastard Tofu.  The words wouldn't come forth.
She tried to force them, but could not.  Beyond Kuno, she saw the
door edging slowly open, so as to make no sound.

     Behind you.  No - no, speech was denied.  Blink and breathe,
that was all she could do.  Kuno leaned closer.  "Nabiki Tendo,
speak."  His voice was so dead of everything, of all emotion.

     The door opened fully, without a sound.  Tofu stood beyond,
something long and glinting in one hand.  From the room next 
door, a whimper that must have been Kasumi came through the wall, 
so faint it almost could not be heard.

     Kuno whirled at the sound, as Tofu lunged on cat-quiet feet
into the room.  A wooden blade, anointed with blood, whirled up
so fast it was only a blur and a scream of sound.  Silver flew
from Tofu's hand, and the bokken clattered on the floor as 
Kuno's right arm went limp.  Then the two were only blurs of 
speed, so fast Nabiki could hardly keep track.  Kuno began to 
draw his second blade with his other hand, and then Tofu hit him, 
low punches, one, two, driving the air from him.  In silence they 
grappled for a moment - enmeshed, seeming perhaps one single
creature - but Tofu was the better in hand to hand combat and 
Kuno fought with the nerves of one arm dead.  A vase of dried
flowers fell from Nabiki's desk and shattered on the floor in a
spray of colour, as Tofu swung Kuno round and slammed him into 
the wooden edge.  Kuno groaned as the small of his back hit, and 
Tofu seized his neck and squeezed with one hand.  Kuno's body 
went fluid as water, and dropped to the floor.  Nabiki despaired 
in silence as she watched him fall.

     Tofu turned to her.  "That was a close one," he said.  His 
glasses had fallen off during the short fight, and he reached 
down and picked them back up from near one of Kuno's weapons.  
Putting them back on and pushing them a fractional distance up 
his nose, he walked over to her and leaned down.  "You almost 
made it, Nabiki.  But that's not the way these things work."  He 
reached out and tapped her nose with one long finger, almost 
affectionately.  "You shall reap what you have sown, Nabiki.  
Ever hear that?"  He waited as if for an answer, than sighed when 
he didn't get one.  "Oh yes.  Nearly forgot."  His fingers 
pressed a half-dozen points on her body in a blur of speed, and 
the feeling came back to her limbs in a rush.  "Well?  What do 
you think?"

     "Maybe I'm just getting what I deserve," Nabiki murmured
weakly, half believing it herself.  "But Kasumi doesn't deserve 
any of this, you sick bastard."

     Tofu straightened up.  "The destiny of innocents is to lose
their innocence."  He pointed his finger at the open door of her
room.  "Go and get your sister ready to go.  Please don't try to
run, or I'll be forced to chase you down and make sure you can't
run again."

     "Where are we going?" Nabiki asked as she stood up.  
     
     "You'll see when we get there," Tofu replied, kneeling down
next to Kuno and rolling him over onto his back.  He began to
carefully extract a long, thin needle from Kuno's shoulder.

     Somehow, she no longer felt afraid.  Perhaps she was beyond 
it now - whatever horrors might happen in the future, how could 
they even compare to what she had just heard going on in the room 
next door?  Or maybe she was in shock; she'd read of that, when 
the part of the mind that was scared just shut down so you would 
not go mad.  She hoped that wasn't it; she'd always thought she 
had more will, more control than that.

     When she walked into Kasumi's room, her pace slow and
measured and automatic as a machine, she saw that the lights were
off.  Only the dim sun from the grey day outside illuminated the
huddled shape lying nude under a single thin sheet upon the bed.  
Hesitant, she touched Kasumi's bare shoulder through the sheet,
her hand still sore from yesterday's fall - which now seemed to
have taken place centuries ago.  Her sister flinched back from
the touch, whimpering.

     "Kasumi?" Nabiki whispered softly, kneeling down by the bed.
"Kasumi, it's me.  It's okay.  It's over now.  But we've got to
go, or I'm worried he'll do worse things."  The words sounded
ludicrous even as they left her mouth - what, what could possibly 
be worse than this?

     Kasumi said nothing.  Nabiki touched her again, and felt how
she shook.  With her other hand, she drew down the sheet from
Kasumi's naked face.  The eyes, which had once been bright, were 
dull and unfocused.  They looked back at her, but Kasumi didn't.  

     "Oh, Kasumi," Nabiki said, pushing away the hair that clung
damply to the pallid forehead.  The air of the bedroom was hot
and musky, smelling of things she did not want to think of.  "Oh, 
god, I'm sorry.  I should have let him, I should have, but I 
wasn't strong enough.  It should have been me; I'm the one who 
sold the family out, I'm the one who..."  Anything would be 
better than this silence.  Cry - oh, how much she wanted to cry.
But somehow, she couldn't.

     "Can't do it, can you?  Useless."  She turned.  Tofu stood
in the doorway; the glare of light from the hallway turned his
eyes into blank circles of glass.  "Your would-be rescuer killed 
eight men down there."  It came as no surprise, no shock at all.  
Too much already to register another fact so great - file and 
store for later reference.  "I'll just have to do it myself."  
Something shone in Tofu's hands.  A glint in the air.  A stabbing 
pain in her shoulder.  Blackness.  
     
**********
     
     The phone rang three times, and the monster stopped his work
and picked it up.
     
     "Hello?  Dad?  Nabiki?  Kasumi?"
     
     The monster breathed slowly into the phone, and considered
speaking.  But things had already gone badly enough on this
operation - four Eyeless and as many Voiceless dead because of a
random factor whose strength had been grossly underestimated - 
that he would not risk it, entertaining though it might have 
been.  Honoured mother of the night would not be pleased at the 
deaths, nor would honoured mother of the shadows.  They would 
know of the dead now - they could sense the extinguishment of men 
who had given up a part of themselves in sacrifice for the power
they granted in return.  The monster did not relish explaining
where he had been at the time.

     The monster hung up the phone and resumed his work.  Almost
immediately after, it rang again.  He did not answer this time,
only continued his work until it stopped, but the next time he 
passed the phone, he took it off the hook so it wouldn't disturb 
him any more.

     He finished a few minutes later - his work was quick and
efficient.  The targets had been taken hours by other operatives, 
in a plain blue van, to the rendezvous point.  He had been forced 
to wait for night before he could finish the job here.  Once he 
was done, almost the last traces of Ranma Saotome would be gone 
from Nerima.

     The bodies - or pieces of bodies, as had been the case with
most of them - of the dead men he had strewn throughout the 
house.  Let the authorities wonder at that.

     A light rain began to fall as he walked out the front door.
Overhead, the night sky was rather pretty, the monster thought.
The air smelt of damp earth and fresh water, though the 
unpleasant odour coming from the house spoiled it slightly.

     The monster walked down the carefully-laid stones of the
front path, out through the gate in the tall white walls, beneath 
the peaked roof that sheltered him from the rain for a moment.

     Outside on the sidewalk, he stood in the pattering caress of
the raindrops for a few seconds.  Two children, a boy and a girl, 
ran past, their feet splashing through puddles.  "Hurry home, 
kids," he called to them.  "It's really going to start coming down 
soon."  The children laughed and waved to him, then ran away into 
the night.  The monster watched them turn the corner, then 
glanced to his watch as it ticked down the seconds.

     "Three..."
     
     Far in the distance, he heard sirens.
     
     "Two..."
     
     A night-bird called, off in the darkness.
     
     "One..."
     
     There came a muffled boom from within the house, shattering
the gentle, soft tapestry of sound that was the night.  The 
central section fell in upon itself in a great roar of flames.  
Windows blew out, spraying glass through the air, as the 
gasoline ignited.  The grass caught almost instantly despite the 
dampness, and the trees lit like torches moments later.  In a 
long line, the flames rushed along the walkway that bridged house 
and dojo, and the training hall too went up in a blossoming rose 
of fire.     
     
     The monster smiled.  Yellow flame reflected in his glasses.
The people on the street began to scream.  The monster walked
away from the inferno through the gently-falling rain.  How easy 
it is to destroy what takes so long to create, he thought, as 
behind him flames clawed apart the night and reached hungrily 
towards the stars.  No one noticed the monster walking away, for, 
like many other monsters, he wore a human skin.

     Hungry as time or desire, fueled by gasoline and the old dry
wood, the blaze swept through the house where six generations of 
Tendos had lived.  It consumed photographs, clothing, books.  
Treasured heirlooms that had been passed down from one hand to 
the next over the years were destroyed in an instant.  In the
dojo, the family altar fell for the last time in ashen ruin.  
Carefully-cultivated greenery blacked and twisted to ash in the
yard.  As the firefighters fought to extinguish, or at least 
contain, the stubborn blaze, the house slowly collapsed into its 
own foundations.  When they finally probed through the ashes and
skeletal framework that remained after the flames at last burned 
out, they found fragments - teeth, bones, little more than that - 
that seemed to indicate that several people had died within the 
inferno.  And that was the fall of the House of Tendo.

-End of Chapter 32

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