----------------------------------------------------------------------
                    Prologue - Musk Empire, 665 CE
----------------------------------------------------------------------

     The palace was a rotten tooth protruding from the desert's ragged
mandible, its torn brown outline the last incisor in a gaping, 
blue-roofed maw.

     Once, long hours ago, it had been HER bite, with which she
crushed opponents, chewing their remains and absorbing their strengths
to add them to her own.  With each death, her strength grew, until she
stood high as Marpa Kon himself.

     But now... now, they had cast her forth, and with her all the
life had gone out of the Citadel.  Marpa Kon might still hold court in
Faradu, but only in his warped and senile mind would any trace be left
of justice, judgment or refinement.  All others would see little but
what lay before her now: dead rock fingers rising from a ground of
barren sand and sprinkled liberally with swirling and inconstant dirt,
with only a shrunken withered tree upon this or that ridge-top to
stand witness to the fact that once this area lived, and grew, and
reached towards the skies.

     And, of course, the pools.

     The pools were the true stewards of the Empire, born with the
first Emperor and destined to outlive the last.  Their power brought
the Musk their strength, distinguishing them from all other petty
tribes and giving them a focus and a unity unknown to the neighbouring
Hordes.  They were a heart to Faradu's bite and the Emperors' assumed
(if not in practice) mind, pumping the blood of power that had let 
them dominate the area and resist the Hordes - and she was their 
chosen one.  They had made her their avatar; she was Jusenkyo 
incarnate, she WAS the Musk.  And only her consort was too blind to 
see it, and too proud to acknowledge it.

     Manly pride.  

     Wu Lin scowled.  Maybe the Amazons knew a thing or two, after
all.  And yet they too lay under the yoke of the Musk - but, then
again, only her surprise attack had shattered their last stand...

     What had driven the Emperor to this extreme of indiscretion?
Nothing but his own near-sightedness and insecurity.  Always inwards
were his eyes turned, never to the world outside.  That's why he
always seemed so poised, and silent... his senseless egotism passed
for nobility among the unaware.  She, too, had been fooled.  For a
while.  But then she began to notice, and so did he... At the daily
audiences, messengers would fight each other to be first to report her
tactical successes.  They drew straws to speak of the results of _his_
stratagems, and the loser was to speak - and quite often, Marpa Kon's
reaction was to kill the messenger, or at least relieve him of a body
part or two.  Minstrels from all conquered lands - and even free ones! 
- would sing her praises in new songs and poetry, while Marpa Kon's 
chief source of flattery was paid by the hour.  He no longer lay by 
her; he feared to, feared to approach the bedding of her as an equal 
and not as a master, but masked this with pretence of boredom.  
Another foolish move.  All the warriors and half the wives in the 
capital had personal reason to scoff at the suggestion, and his 
play-acting only made them doubt his virility.  If the fool had only 
taken a lover or two, the whispering would have stopped.

      But he knew well that any lover he took would be known to her in
an hour, and dead within two.        

     Another man would have accepted and submitted to the will of the
Imperial Spirit, left the cloak of his office to his heir, and gone to
become one with his ancestors and the pools.  Marpa Kon had done his 
part.  He'd conquered and enlarged the reach of the Musk, and wisely 
presided over the rituals required by the pools of power.  A deep and 
prescient pool he may have been at one time, but days of sun-soaked 
battle and breezy nights of cool-tempered planning had evaporated his 
self, will and being until all that was left was a barren pit, fit 
only to be filled in with earth.

     That's what SHE was there for.  Water without a pit, an embodied
dakini that was one with the pools...

     And now exiled for filial overperceptiveness.  That the heirs to
the throne should come to HER for permission during an Imperial
Audience and leave without seeking the Emperor's approval of her plans
bent him to the breaking point, and now...

     May someone else have mercy on him, for she would have none.  Nor
upon those of his court who had stood by like cowards and said nothing
as he cast her forth from her home, her people, her children.

     Wu Lin shall rule alone in Faradu, she swore.  If I must water
the desert with blood, until crimson trees and red flowers bloom, then
I shall.

     "Your..."  Behind her, a general struggled for a suitable
honorific.  She could imagine his confusion. What to call her now?
Majesty? Excellency? Highness? None of the old titles fit.

     "Wave Empress," she prompted.  "If I have for the moment lost
Faradu, I am yet the Mistress of the Pools."  And she would sweep over
this valley like a tidal wave, claiming it in the name of the waters
she was born of.

     "Yes... Wave Empress."

     "What is it that you wish, general?"  Her gaze stayed fixed upon
the jagged Citadel.

     "Your... army, Great Lady.  Ready."

     "How many?"

     "Six hundred souls only, M... Wave Empress."

     "I care not for souls, only for soldiers.  How many?"

     "Five hundred and fifty-six."

     She smiled and turned to look downhill towards the encampment of
her supporters.  Voluntary co-exiles, the lot, and willing to follow
her to death and back.  Where else had they to go now?  When one steps
away from the Emperor of the Musk, to turn back is invariably fatal.

     They would do, to start.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

                         W A T E R F A L L S
                       
                               a mystery
                       
                                  by
                              Alan Harnum
                                 and
                            Chris Willmore
                         
----------------------------------------------------------------------
     Based on characters and situations created by Rumiko Takahashi
                  and used without permission.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
                       Chapter 3 : Awakenings
----------------------------------------------------------------------

             Taste the whip, in love not given lightly 
                 Taste the whip, now plead for me
                       I am tired, I am weary
                 I could sleep for a thousand years
               A thousand dreams that would awake me 
                   Different colors made of tears
                      -The Velvet Underground

----------------------------------------------------------------------

     Long legs wrapped lazily around a sweat-filmed, heaving torso,
and farther up, somewhere between a bed of dirt and covers of night
air, a pair of white orchid hands brushed against a chest of smooth, 
sun-bronzed skin.  Tiny, downy hairs covered it, slick with sweat.

     It smelled like fear.  She touched a finger to her ruby lips.  
Tasted like it, too.

     She liked that.  She felt the skin beneath her nostrils widen as
some part of her willed a smile.  Her eyes took his in.  Wide-open,
staring but not seeing, like some domesticated animal finally
perceiving that its caring parent is also its butcher.  And the mouth?
Lips wet with liquids not his own, a little dribble at each corner...
no movement, though.  He wouldn't dare.  Not anymore.

     She grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, and moved it from
side to side, taking in all of his profiles.  Nothing interesting.
She'd seen it all before.  A disdainful snort rolled off her fair
lips, and she released her grip.  His skull met the ground with a
resounding thunk, but somehow she doubted it would do her servant any
harm.  He'd be doing little thinking of his own, from now on.

     "You are mine, slave."

     "I..." He swallowed to clear his throat, but didn't attempt to
shift his neck from its current awkward position.  "I am yours."

     "I did not ask for confirmation."

     She pressed her hands against his shoulders and peeled herself
from him, ending in a squat between her minion's parted legs without
more than a quick and mocking glance downwards.  In another age, she
would have laughed outright, but this was neither the place, nor the
hour - her skin already began to tighten, and there was still so much
to do...

     "Slave, you will find her, and you will bring her, and you will
do so with all the haste you proved this night to have in excess."

     Behind her, something clattered.  She whirled like a harvester's
scythe, but stopped herself before doing any damage to the dwarf whose
pipe had dropped from his mouth.

     "Aaaa..." His withered jaw went up and down. "My turn now?"
      
      His turn?  HIS turn?  The very thought was so wretched that for
a moment she considered spending some of her precious power in 
annihilating him for the affront--
      
     And then, she laughed, with her temple wind-chime voice.  Why had
she never seen jesters like this one, before?  That's what he'd be for
her, once... once...  Still slightly hunched from the uncommon
exercise, she waved her previous servant towards a pan of water.  Her
laughs grew harder, louder, and she only caught a glimpse of a winged
and tentacled shadow lifting off, from the corner of her tear-filled
eye.  "And now, it's my turn," she repeated, "MY turn..." and the
laughter stopped.  She heaved and held her chest, allowing herself a
few deep breaths.

     The lady never noticed the departure of her smaller servant, or
his sad slink out of the ring of trees, towards a place of comfort.

     She had more timely matters to attend to.
                              
                              * * * * *     
     
     The night was hot.  Akane tossed and turned beneath the sheets, 
even more agitated in her repose than usual.  Her arms flailed; her
legs kicked.  She battered the mattress and pillows as though they
were hated foes; perhaps, in dreams, she fought.  Beads of sweat shone
upon her forehead in the light from the hallway.  So hot... so hot it
seemed that waves of heat could be seen rising in the room, slowly
dispersing, rising again...

     Ranma stood in the doorway and watched, as still as a deer caught 
in the headlights of an oncoming truck.  He did not dare to move; 
hardly even did he dare to draw breath, to risk disturbing her.  His
face was hot and flushed.  The door had been open when he came back 
from the bathroom.  Though he couldn't remember why he'd gone to the
bathroom.  Had he wanted a drink, or to relieve himself?  No memory of
either thing.  

     He hadn't opened the door quietly, so that he could stand there
and watch her sleeping.  It had been closed when he went down the
stairs to the bathroom, open when he came back up.  That was certain.

     She was beautiful; he wanted to stride inside and take her in his
arms, hold her tight against him, let his lips brush time and time
again her lips and cheeks and throat.  The heat was almost unbearable;
the room felt like a furnace.  He _needed_ to quench himself in her;
but it was not allowed.  She had not given him leave, and he would
never do such a thing, never such a thing without her consent...

     "Ran...ma..."
     
     The tiniest of whispers, but he heard it.  His heart leapt; he 
stepped beyond the threshold.  A floorboard creaked beneath his feet.

     Akane bolted upright in bed with a gasp, and Ranma stopped dead.  
     
     "What are you doing here?" she asked, half-fearful.  Her hands 
trembled as she clutched the edge of the blanket.  He wanted to reach
out and tell her that she did not have to fear him, that he would
never hurt her... the heat... the heat was fading.  The room was
cooling down, thank the gods; it was hard to think with such heat.

     And Akane was looking very, very angry.
     
     "Umm... I can explain," he said quickly.  Even though he 
couldn't.

     "Hurry up," Akane replied flatly.  
     
     Things had changed, he realized; months ago, she wouldn't have
even given him a chance to explain.  He thought quickly.
Explanations, or at least believable lies, escaped him like the wind.
Akane's glare became more and more fierce with each passing second.

     "The door was open," he said at last.  "I wanted to... umm... 
make sure you were okay."

     "Really?"
     
     He licked his lips.  Hot again.  "Yeah."
     
     Still scowling, Akane got out of bed and crossed the floor until 
she stood before him.  "Don't lie to me, Ranma."
     
     "It's not a lie."  It wasn't, either; he did worry about her at
night, with everything that happened around here and all the crazies
who seemed to be after him.  Especially the old lech, although he
hadn't been around lately.  

     Akane raised her eyebrow.  "Oh?  And there was no other reason 
you were staring at me while I slept?"

     So hot...
     
     "You called me," he whispered.  "You called me, and I came."
     
     She blinked.  "What the heck are you talking about?"
     
     He had to lie but so hot too hot to lie...
     
     "You said my name," he continued.  "While you were sleeping.  I 
dunno, maybe you were dreaming about me, but you said my name..."

     A deep blush rose upon Akane's face.  "I don't dream about you.
I've _never_ dreamed about you!"

     A lie.  Cool again.  She stepped back from him, and balled her
hands into fists.  "Look, Ranma, I don't know why you've got the need
to constantly peep on me while I'm trying to sleep, but I don't like
it at all."

     Ranma smirked and said, before he could stop himself, "A tomboy 
like you ought to be flattered if a handsome guy like me is peepin' on
you.  Which I wasn't doing, for that matter."

     Akane had grabbed her desk chair and lifted it overhead when they
heard the heavy tread of footsteps in the hall.  The two of them
froze; slowly, she lowered the chair to the ground again.

     Genma, nails clicking on the hardwood as he padded down the 
hallway in panda form, paused and looked into the room with an
inquiring growl.  Spotting Ranma and Akane standing so close together,
both blushing and staring away from the other, he jumped to the
obvious conclusion and reached for his markers and sign.

     *A midnight visit, eh boy?  Good job!  Just like your old man!*
     
     Ranma blanched.  "It ain't like that!"
     
     *A late night of conversation, then?  Excellent!  Remember, a
     successful relationship is founded upon being not only lovers,
     but the best of friends!*
     
     "Go away, Mr. Saotome," Akane said commandingly.
     
     To Ranma's surprise, his Pop turned and almost hurried down the
stairs, without even a farewell sign.

     "You go away too, Ranma," she continued, turning her gaze to him.
"I've got to go to school tomorrow, and I don't really feel like
dealing with you right now.  I'm too tired."

     Ranma opened his mouth, closed it, and left her room.
     
                              * * * * *     

    *RRRRRIIIIIIIIIING!*

    "Hello, Nekohanten, we deliver..."  Cologne's voice dropped.
"Oh. It's _you_."

    She clenched the phone cord while making a few punctiliously
polite inquiries, and listened carefully to the replies.

    "Yes, I have heard the story of what transpired after your
departure."

    Her cool voice turned frigid after the next announcement.

    "How...  good of you to honour us again with your presence, Son of
Dragons."

     Shampoo watched the conversation from the doorway, holding a
serving platter to her bosom as a shield.

     "A meeting, Master of Pools?"

     Old looked to young, smiled, tried to reassure that the ice
of the tones had nought to do with her.  Young bobbed her head,
left.

    "Yes," she agreed, with somewhat more warmth.  "I suppose."
A pause, and a quick glance upwards.  "I know the place.  It will do."

                              * * * * *     
     
     "Where's the old ghoul gone?"
     
     "Not your business, dummy.  Run cash and serve.  I cook."
     
     Mousse clenched his teeth and grabbed up the order pad from where 
it rested beside the register.  Trust Cologne to leave him and Shampoo
to handle everything during the lunch time rush hour.  The customers
called out their orders as he walked around, and he tried to scribble
them down while remembering who wanted what.

     "Wonton soup!"
     
     "Noodle platter!"
     
     Not, he would admit, with great success.
     
     "Stir-fry!"
     
     "Side order of rice!"
     
     The ceiling fan chopped overhead as he took orders, giving him 
mild relief from the hot air of the restaurant.  As he finished
writing down the orders and turned around to call them back to
Shampoo, the phone rang.  Shampoo flounced out of the kitchen and
snatched it up.  "Hello, Nekohanten, I help you?"

     "Waiter, my check?"
     
     "Do you have fries here?"
     
     Mousse ignored them and watched Shampoo.  Even when she spoke on
the phone she was beautiful... the way her lips moved to talk to the
customer, the way her free hand toyed with one of the tails of hair
that dangled over her ear...

     "Waiter!"
     
     "Yes, we deliver.  Address?  What you want?  That a lot of food.
You very hungry?  Yes?"  She laughed.  It was like the voice of an
angel.

     "WAITER!"
     
     He turned around, and the thrown chopstick bounced off the back
of his skull, rather than his forehead.  

     Shampoo called to him:  "I making order for delivery, then 
leaving.  Run restaurant by yourself, until I get back."

     As the customers began to shout louder, Mousse tried his hardest 
not to break down and cry.

                              * * * * *

     Akane yelled and brought her fist crashing down.  The
cinderblocks shattered beneath the blow as though made of porcelain.
She laid down another two atop each other, cried out again, and broke
them.

     Stupid Ranma.  Even after a whole day of avoiding talking to him
at school, she still felt mad.  He'd come into her room like some sort
of stalker, and even when she'd given him a chance to explain all he
was able to do was insult her and make up lies.  And if she'd lied as
well, about having dreams about him... well they weren't _romantic_
dreams, or anything.  Not all of them.  Everyone had strange dreams
about things that probably weren't ever going to happen.

     He was an idiotic jerk.  So what if he was cute, and brave, and
could sometimes even be nice to her - he was still just a jerk!

     She snarled, and moved up to breaking three blocks at a time.

     "Who am I kidding?" she said quietly.  She had been dreaming
about him last night; he had woken her up in the middle, so the memory
was still vivid.  She had been a princess trapped in a tower, kept
prisoner by an evil witch who bore a close resemblance to Shampoo.
The witch had two helpers, who looked quite a bit like Ukyou and
Kodachi, except not quite as pretty.  All three of them had used all
their wiles to try to seduce the handsome prince who came to rescue
her, and...

     And then Ranma, the stupid jerk, had woken her up.  Well, all
that stuff about dreams reflecting your true heart was stupid anyway.
It hadn't even been a very good dream; more like a nightmare.

     Breathing hard, she stood up from the ruins of another three
cinderblocks and wiped her hand through her sweaty hair.  It was hot
in the dojo; the weatherman had said that today was going to be one of
the hottest days on record.  Now that she'd stopped concentrating on
the blocks, she could hear the sounds of Genma and Ranma sparring in
the backyard, and smell Kasumi cooking dinner.  Breaking the blocks
had certainly made her feel better, but it hadn't got rid of the real
problem.

     The best of friends.  Hah!  Genma was as much of an idiot as his
son sometimes; he certainly wasn't one to be giving advice like that.
Though it would be nice, she had to admit, if she and Ranma fought
less...

     Something made her turn around, to see Happosai standing mere
feet from her.

     "Akane-chan," he said quietly.  "How I've missed you these last
few days."

     He looked, Akane thought, even worse than he usually did.  His
bulging eyes were ringed with dark circles, so badly that they looked
like bruises, and his clothing was torn and dirty.  And he stank;
Happosai never smelled especially good to begin with, but rankness
steamed from him in a visible fog.  And were those flies around his
head?

     She blinked, and they disappeared.

     "What do you want, Happosai?" she asked, taking a step back.
There was something... dangerous in his eyes, truly dangerous, and the
state of his clothes made her worried.  What had he been up to?

     "You don't know what it's like, Akane-chan..." he said, taking a
step across the dojo floor towards her.  "Pray you never know what
it's like, because oh my head, my poor head my darlings, quiet now,
let me be me, let me think, my head..."

     Don't be afraid, she told herself.  Ranma is right outside; if
you scream, he'll hear you.

     Happosai took another step.  "And the buzzings and the lappings
of the waves, my darling, my dear Akane, such beauty as never I have
seen but my head hurts so..."

     There were flies.  Or there was something; some cloud of buzzing,
dark shapes flitting about his head, nearly invisible.  One moment she
saw them, the next they disappeared.  What the...  She began to wonder
if she hadn't somehow hit her head during her practice.

     "I must take comfort in your bosom!"

     The midget sprang and clung to her chest like a limpet, working
his hands beneath the tunic of her gi and trying to squeeze them
underneath beneath the sports bra she wore and she screamed and lashed
at him as best she could...

     "Get OFF me!"

     And he did.  He dropped like a burnt leech, and scuttled back
from her.  Happosai's bald skull was the eye of a hurricane of flies,
so many that she could not imagine where they came from.  His eyes
were wide and fearful now.  The room felt almost sickeningly hot; heat
waves were rising all around her, but that had to be an illusion...

     Akane reached out with her hand and brushed the flies away.  And
they _burned_, burned like torches to her eye, and...

     Happosai looked up at her.  He did not seem frightening any
longer; he was small and dirty and almost pitiful.  His gaze was no
longer one of lust; adoration, rather.  But that faded quickly, and
was replaced by horror.

     "The pit," he said quickly, "down in the..."

     A dry hiss cut off his next words.  She saw the skin of his face
ripple.  His mouth was still opened and closed, as though he were
still trying to speak, but had no breath to speak with.  His hands
came up, fingers curled into talons, and he clawed at his throat,
tearing it into moist rags and strips of skin and fat and meat... but
pink, not red, for water flowed from his wounds in place of blood, and
the puddle below him grew larger, until it eclipsed his projected
shadow.  He clawed even when there was nothing left to shred; clawed
until she screamed at him to stop, and he did, and then Ranma and
Genma rushed in, and everybody else, because they'd heard her
screaming, and Happosai lay on the dojo floor in a shallow pool of his
jugular water and gasped until he died.

                              * * * * *
                              
     Two shadows and their owners stood between four walls of chain.
The position of the sun had grotesquely elongated the shadows, so that
one was a giant, and one was nearly the height of a normal woman.
     
     The owner of the taller shadow smiled at the owner of the shorter     
one.  "Had I known it was such effort for you to reach a place so
close to your dwelling, I would have visited you there."

     Cologne ignored the barb.  She had watched him for nearly an 
hour as he stood patient on the grass, nothing betraying any
frustration he might have at her lateness.  That was her prerogative
as
the elder in the situation.

     "And to what may I owe the honour of this visit?" A smiling Musk
prince was never a welcome sight.  Cologne fingered a faded scar on
her left arm to remind herself of the fact, and automatically checked
her guest for hidden weapons as best she could without actually laying
hands upon him.  He wore robes in the Musk Imperial fashion, perfect
to hide a dagger, sword or ten-pound cannon in, but so far, he seemed
to offer no-

     Cologne caught the object hurled at her by reflex.  It took her
mind a moment to register what it was.

     "Finest Musk teddy bear wrapping paper." The Amazon cocked what
remained of an eyebrow.  Herb bowed.  "AND a red ribbon."

     "My thanks for accepting this unworthy one's most humble
offering.  I am sure you will find that all is in order."

     <Beware those who bear false gifts...>  Cologne dropped the
package to the weed-choked earth of the vacant lot, the best spot she
could think of on such short notice to meet with a potential danger
like Herb.  "I accept nothing."

     "It would sully both our honours if you were to give it back. You
took it, and you must keep it."

     "I will do no such thing." She would NOT be in debt to that man,
not even for... for... whatever was in that box.

     "I am afraid you have little choice.  Let me... unwrap this for
you."

     Herb lifted the present, brushed seemingly invisible specks of 
dirt from it, and carefully undid the bow, flattening the wrapping
paper as he took it off.  

     He lifted two objects from the cardboard box within and
presented them with just barely exaggerated formality.

     "A knife and an envelope. And it's not even my birthday. You
shouldn't have."  Cologne's emphasis on the last sentence was
unmistakable.

     "I am honour-bound to do so.  What I give in this object--" Herb
held the knife up "--is an item of my personal use, by the standard
legal definition of both our tribes." The blade and carved copper
handle were worn and rusted as to defy any reflection of light.  "I
thought you would be able to find use for such a carving knife in
your... ah... establishment."  Cologne glowered.  "And in the
envelope--" He tore it open and pulled a brightly-patterned paper
from inside "--is a cheque for twenty thousand Musk crowns, drawn on
my account at the Imperial bank.  Proper and just payment, by the
standard legal definition of both our tribes, for several weeks of
lodging."

     Cologne started.  

     "Lodging?  I fear my 'establishment' is too cramped and lacking
in splendour to accommodate the honoured Emperor of the Musk."

     "Not at all. It is I who would be honoured to stay with..." He
cleared his throat. "With one who won so much _distinction_ as a
Matriarch of the Amazons."

     "The burden of honour is still too great for my tired and aged
body.  I must thank the honoured Emperor and decline his kind and
generous offer."

     Herb stopped Cologne's departure by placing an open book before
her face.

     "The collected laws of the Musk and the Joketsuzoku.  I have
proceeded according to the letter of the law as regards the request of
food and lodging by a visiting dignitary.  You have accepted my
tribute."
     
     "You tricked me." Cologne's eyes were frosted granite.
     
     "But you accepted. By the letter of the law.  Would you have your
sisters hear of this?"
     
     The Amazon turned away.
     
     "I thought not.  Your face has dropped from more than age too 
many times, already.  You may lead me to my lodgings, now.  I hope the
sheets are clean.  And I would like a kettle of tea."

     "How long will you be staying... honoured guest?" The last two
words were hissed through gritted teeth.

     "Long enough." Herb smiled.  "Indeed, as I seek rest, I may stay
long enough to..." The Emperor looked thoughtful for a moment.  "My
line has been too long without a consort, and the capital begins to
feel the strain of a bachelor's neglect and clutter.  You have close
to you a neglected flower, too little in the light and once too often
watered, that I think would flourish in my soil."
     
     Cologne looked somewhat mollified.  This presented...
possibilities.  If 'son-in-law' persisted in refusing to live up to
what she called him, well, there were other ways to make up for lost
honour.
     
     "And this sprig... it would blossom?"
     
     "My fertilizer has never yet been called into question."
     
     "Or activity."
     
     "I-"
     
     "Shampoo!"  A blur in a white robe streaked into the lot, leaving 
a man-sized hole in the chain-link fence.  Cologne grabbed the black
mane trailing behind it.  "AAAAAAARGH! My HAIR! Let GO, you dried up
old-" 
     
     ***WHAM!***
     
     "Don't mind him, honoured guest.  As you were saying?"
     
     "Yes. Your-"
     
     "SHAMPOO!!! SHE'S-"
     
     ***WHAM!***
     
     "Doesn't that hurt him?"
     
     "I doubt his brain can be further damaged."
     
     "But... but..." Mousse groaned.  "Sha... Sha..."  Cologne raised
her staff.  "She's GONE!"
     
     The Matriarch blinked.
     
     "What?"
     
     Mousse sighed, and licked a dribble of blood from his lips.
     
     "Shampoo is gone," he said.

                              * * * * *     
     
     Doctor Tofu pushed his glasses back up his nose and shook his
head.  "I don't understand it," he murmured, sounding confused and
slightly afraid.  "This... this is unbelievable."

     The Tendos and Saotomes stood in a circle around Tofu as he
examined Happosai's body.  Nodoka was ashen-faced, Kasumi was softly
crying, and even Nabiki looked upset, perhaps at the unpleasant sight
more than anything else.  Akane held onto Ranma's arm as if she were
adrift on the ocean; he held her back almost unconsciously, eyes
troubled as he stared at Happosai's still form.

     Genma hesitantly spoke.  "Doctor, is he truly..."

     Tofu looked at him oddly and gave a quick significant glance at
the little that was left of the ancient master's neck.

    "Let's just say that if he isn't, he'd better be awfully careful
when he nods."

     "Free at last!" Genma cried, embracing Soun.  "Our years of
prayer have paid off...  Praise the gods!"

     "How we have waited for this day!" Soun sobbed, as he hugged
Genma back.  Tofu glared disapprovingly, and bent down over Happosai
again.

     "Pop, Mr. Tendo, stop it!" Ranma snapped.  "He's dead.  It's not
funny.  It ain't right to celebrate when somebody dies, no matter how
much ya hate 'em!  This ain't the time or the place!"

     "The boy is right, of course," Genma said soberly.  "Tendo, I do
believe you have a bottle of most excellent sake we've been saving for
this occasion for nearly twenty years, do you not?"

     "Indeed I do," Soun replied.  "Let us adjourn to the back porch,
with said bottle, and toast the memory of our dear, departed master,
whom we shall miss so much."

     Arm in arm, the two men walked out of the dojo.

     "I wish they were not so insensitive," Nodoka said quietly.  "I
remember the Master well from when Genma was courting me.  He was a
most manly man, though he perhaps took it too far, if such a thing can
be done."

     Akane said nothing, only pressed her face against Ranma's
shoulder in a vain attempt to hide her scattered tears.  He sighed
gently and patted her on the back, feeling distinctly helpless.

     Tofu was still looking over Happosai's body, pressing his fingers
against the wrinkled flesh at the wrist, belly and throat with a frown
upon his face.  "I still can't believe it."

     Kasumi blew her nose on a tissue and asked, "Can't believe what,
doctor?"

     Tofu looked up, and seemed to notice her for the first time.
"Well, Kasumi," he said, and giggled.  "It's really quite stupendously
amazing, you see.  If I didn't know better, I would say that his blood
has been replaced with water.  Though how that could happen, I cannot
say in my capacity as a medical man."

     He dipped his fingers into the spreading pool around Happosai's
body, and popped them in his mouth.  "Yup.  Most definitely water.
Really extremely astonishingly remarkable, Kasumi.  I wonder where
he dropped all his red blood cells?"

     He laughed again.  Ranma stared at him in open-mouthed disgust.

     Nabiki frowned.  "Why am I needed here?  I'm going to my room."

    The far wall of the dojo exploded before she could leave.  When
the dust cleared, a slender figure stood beyond the newly created
portal.

     Lightly as wind moving over grass, she stepped over the rubble
and into the room.  She wore silks, and jewelled slippers, and golden
bangles hung upon her wrists and ankles.  A ruby necklace glittered at
her throat; a silver circlet held back her silky black hair from her
forehead.

     And she was, perhaps, the loveliest woman that Ranma had ever
seen.  Her figure was perfection; looking at her made it hard to
breathe, hard to think.  A mild buzzing began to emanate from the
centre of his skull.  The woman smiled at him; the buzzing grew.
Black specks...

     Akane stepped between him and the woman, and the noises ceased.

     "Who are you?" she demanded.

     The woman took deep breath, and changed.

     Brown wings, white-speckled like a hawk's, ripped through her
clothing and unfurled, stirring dust from the demolished wall with
their flapping.  Fingernails became long talons as she flexed her
hands; from her open mouth, large fangs dripped a liquid that made the
wooden floor it fell on hiss and bubble.  Limbs shifted, lengthened;
the rest of her body followed suit, and in the end she was a half-head
taller than before.

     Ranma watched, enraptured.  Dimly, he realized that he should be
getting ready to fight; whoever the woman was, she was obviously
dangerous.  But she was so beautiful...

     "Who are you?" Akane asked again.

     "Never shall you know my name, little child," the woman said.
The serpent-fangs distorted her mouth and voice, but it was still
almost unbearably sweet and seductive.  Even from here, Ranma could
see that her tongue was forked.  "For I shall kill you before granting
you even that much of an increase in your power."

     The monster laughed, and raised her wrathful hand.
     
======================================================================
                            END CHAPTER 3
======================================================================

Acknowledgements:

     The writing of the third chapter of Waterfalls took a little 
longer than the writing of the first two, as it suffered from numerous
delays, lapses of memory, vacations, and otherwise.  Still, in the
end, we managed to produce it, helped along at times by the prodding
of our prereaders, who then helped us get the finished product into
something presentable.  Krista, Lara, Vince, Mercutio--we thank you.
                                                    -AH and CW