‘I think it might be what Jack is standing in,’ said Yori, pointing his shakujō staff at the noxious pile surrounding Jack’s feet.
Akiko grimaced. ‘Ah, horse sh–’
‘Yes,’ Jack cut in, ‘quite right.’ The long twelve-month voyage back to England had given Akiko and Yori the opportunity to learn English and both were now fluent – although Jack considered some of the words the sailors had taught Akiko improper for a lady.
‘I guess … only the reddest rose grows in the most fertile soil!’ said Yori jovially as Jack scraped the muck from his sandals, his face reddening at his undignified arrival on English shores.
‘Oi, I like your skirt!’
Jack glanced up to see a burly dockhand, flanked by two other young brutish lads. They wore shirts and breeches and had a rough unkempt look born of a hard life lugging cargo.
‘It’s not a skirt – it’s a hakama,’ Jack corrected, standing up straight and allowing the full length of his black wide-pleated trousers to show.
The dockhand smirked. ‘Looks like a skirt to me.’
Jack bristled, his hand coming to rest on his samurai sword. Unabashed, the dockhand now eyed Yori in his saffron robes and over-sized straw-bowl hat. ‘And what are you supposed to be?’
Yori frowned. ‘I’m not supposed to be anything. I’m a monk.’
‘You look like a mushroom!’ the dockhand said with a snort.
His two friends laughed raucously. Then the dockhand’s eyes fell upon Akiko in her shimmering silk kimono, her long dark hair straight as an arrow down her back. ‘’Ello, and what do we ’ave ’ere?’ He swaggered up to her. ‘You’re a precious piece of cargo.’
‘Don’t you dare touch her!’ warned Jack.
The dockhand shot him a sidelong look as he took hold of Akiko’s hand and drew her to him. ‘Why? What are you going to do about it?’
‘Nothing,’ Jack replied coolly. ‘It’s what Akiko will do to you.’
All of a sudden, the dockhand’s eyes flared wide in shock and pain as Akiko twisted his arm into a nikyo wrist lock. The lad dropped to his knees, gasping in agony.
‘Help me!’ he cried to the others.
Fists clenched, the two other boys rushed to attack, but Yori stepped aside to let them pass and nonchalantly stuck out his ringed staff, catching one of them by the ankle.
‘Oops!’ said Yori, watching his victim tumble over the quayside and into the water. The boy was swiftly followed by his friend, as Jack grabbed the second boy by the lapel of his shirt and executed seoi-nage, the shoulder throw, sending him sailing through the air and into the Thames with a splash.
The dockhand remained on his knees, confounded by Akiko’s apparently miraculous strength. Jack knew it was all in the technique. He strode up to the ill-mannered dockhand and took over nikyo from Akiko.
‘Show some respect to our guests,’ said Jack. ‘In Japan, it is polite to bow.’
He applied more pressure to the wrist lock, and the dockhand, grimacing with pain, lowered his head until his face was buried in the pile of horse dung. Akiko raised an eyebrow at Jack. ‘I think he’s learnt his manners now.’
Reluctantly Jack let the dockhand go and the lad slunk away, spluttering and retching. After throwing a line to the two boys still floundering in the water, Yori approached Jack with a wry smile.
‘What a warm welcome to England!’
‘I see you’re making friends already,’ said Captain Spilbergen, striding down the gangplank on to the quay. As tall and sturdy as a mast, the Dutch captain cut a fine figure in his brown leather jacket, black breeches and white linen shirt with its stiff lace ruff. In emulation of Sir Walter Raleigh, he sported a trimmed beard and thin moustache of light auburn hair.
‘Here,’ he said, handing Jack a heavy purse. ‘Your share of the cargo’s profits.’
Jack held up a hand in protest. ‘You’ve done more than enough bringing me home.’
Captain Spilbergen laughed off the suggestion. ‘Nonsense! You and your rutter cut a whole year off our route and saved me a fortune in supplies and wages.’ He thrust the purse into Jack’s hands.
Gratefully accepting the money, Jack put the purse into his pack beside a dark oilskin-bound book. This was the precious rutter that he’d battled to keep safe and in his possession during his long years in Japan. His father’s navigational logbook was one of the few accurate rutters in existence and it had helped Jack guide Captain Spilbergen’s small fleet of ships across the oceans and through the North-East Passage – the fabled shortcut between Europe and the Far East. This knowledge alone made the rutter invaluable. But its value went beyond safe navigation and secret trading routes. For Jack, the rutter was his last link to his father.
‘Are you sure you won’t stay aboard as a permanent member of my crew?’ continued the captain. ‘I could do with a fine pilot like you.’ His keen eyes scanned the ships in dock. ‘In fact, Captain Kroeger could damn well do with you too! Where the hell’s the Salamander got to?’
‘Thank you for the offer, Captain,’ replied Jack, ‘but I have to find my sister. It’s been seven years. Jess must think I’m dead!’ – like our father, he thought with a sudden stab of sadness. While he longed to be reunited with his sister, Jack dreaded having to tell her that their father had been killed by a ninja – the cruel and ruthless assassin Dragon Eye. The only comfort he could offer her was that Dragon Eye was dead too. Justice had been served when Jack’s friend Yamato had sacrificed himself to save Jack and Akiko from the ninjas during the battle of Osaka Castle.
‘Well, it’s been good sailing with you,’ said the captain, laying a callused hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘I wish you luck in your quest. Remember, you’ve always got a place aboard my ship.’ Then he turned to Akiko and Yori. ‘The same goes for you. I expect you’ll be seeking passage back to the Japans at some point?’
Akiko bowed. ‘That’s very kind of you, Captain, but my fate is bound with Jack’s.’
A deep warmth filled Jack’s heart. He knew he’d asked a great deal of her – and Yori – to cross half the known world to join him in England. Yori had readily agreed in order to expand his horizons, Akiko because of her love and loyalty for him, enshrined in their vow: Forever bound to one another. But following their encounter with the dockhands, Jack imagined his friends’ initial impression of his fellow countrymen wasn’t that high. So he saw it as his duty to guide and protect them in his own homeland, just as they had done for him in Japan – not that Akiko needed protecting!
‘And you, Yori?’ asked the captain.
‘A journey is best measured in friends rather than miles, Captain,’ replied Yori. He glanced over at the two bedraggled and fuming dockhands clambering back on to the quayside. ‘Since we’ve yet to make friends here, we may stay a while!’
Captain Spilbergen laughed. ‘Well, if you’re looking for somewhere to lodge, I can recommend the Mermaid Inn in Cheapside.’ With that, he bid them farewell, then reboarded his ship.
Noticing a number of dockhands gathering at the end of the quay, one with a smear of horse dung still visible on his cheek, Jack turned to his friends and clapped his hands. ‘Come on, let’s go and find my sister!’ he urged, picking up Akiko’s pack and handing it to her, along with her bamboo bow and quiver of hawk-feather arrows.
‘Can we perhaps freshen up first?’ Akiko asked as Jack ferried them swiftly along the wharf and through the muttering crowd of longshoremen. ‘I’d really like a bath before I’m introduced.’
‘Of course,’ said Jack, not slowing his pace until they were clear of Somers Quay. No stranger to Japanese customs, he was well aware of how important cleanliness was to Akiko. And after a year at sea he too could do with a long soak, a decent meal and a good night’s rest. As eager as he was to see Jess, he wanted to appear at his best for their reunion. Besides, after seven years, one more day wouldn’t make that much difference. ‘Let’s head to Cheapside.’
Leaving the docks behind, they entered the c
ity and wended their way through the backstreets, Jack guiding them by memory. But London wasn’t exactly how he remembered it. In his head the city had been a gleaming jewel – but now he was confronted with a grim and desperate scene. Overhanging houses cramped the narrow alleyways and cast the lanes into permanent shadow. The stink they’d first smelt on their arrival intensified in the listless air to eye-watering potency. And most of the busy thoroughfares were little more than rivers of clay and mud, with only the main routes laid with gravel. People pushed rudely past amid a hubbub of noise and chaos, the calls of hawkers selling their wares competing with the yells of the city criers delivering news and public announcements. Starving beggars in filthy rags filled the street corners and gangs of young vagrants loitered in darkened passageways like packs of wild dogs. From the ship, London had appeared the heavenly dream he’d held on to for so many years. But up close the city was a hellish nightmare.
‘People actually live here?’ asked Akiko, gazing round in astonishment at the dire conditions.
Jack nodded. ‘London’s the place to be!’ he said heartily, not wishing to admit his disappointment. Either the city had changed remarkably in his absence or his memory of it had been softened by the years.
A casement window overhead suddenly opened and there was a cry of ‘Look out below!’
Pedestrians scattered as a chamber pot was emptied and a pile of human excrement splatted on the ground at their feet. Only Akiko’s nimbleness prevented her from being covered in the muck. She stared aghast at Jack. ‘I thought you said London was civilized!’
‘It is,’ he assured her, keenly aware that his home capital was not comparing favourably with the cleanliness and order of Kyoto’s city streets. ‘We’re just in one of the poorer parts, that’s all.’
Then, as if to prove his point, the alley opened out on to a wide paved street lined with splendid five-storey buildings, their timbers brightly painted and crystal-clear glass glinting in all the windows. Gentlemen and ladies, dressed in their finery, strolled up and down the thoroughfare. They browsed round the goldsmiths’ shops and through the latest fashions in the milliners’, the newest titles in the booksellers’ and the gleaming goblets and bowls in the glass-sellers’ stores. There was even a row of handsome houses decorated in real gold leaf.
‘See?’ said Jack, relieved to find the London of his dreams.
Akiko nodded appreciatively. ‘Yes, far more civilized.’
Yori, with a wry smile, said, ‘I guess, like the plume of a peacock, London is far finer in front than from behind.’
Cheapside, the widest street in the city, was a bustling hive of activity. Horse-drawn coaches rattled along the paving. Women with baskets on their heads called out, ‘Hot pudding pies, hot!’ while others bearing trugs of herbs cried out, ‘Rosemary and bays!’ Water carriers and servants queued up to fill their pails at the large stone fountain of the Great Conduit. And at the far west end of the street a great throng of housewives, maids and travellers perused the timber-covered market stalls in such numbers that the street overflowed like a churning river.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Akiko gasped, her wonder and respect of the city growing.
Jack puffed out his chest a little. ‘I told you London is the centre of the world!’
The shoppers parted as the three of them passed through the busy market, and Jack realized they must make quite a sight. While many Londoners were used to foreigners, few would have encountered Japanese people before – or their fashions. Akiko drew many an eye in her red-and-gold silk kimono, her yumi bow strapped across her back; and Yori was a curiosity in his plain yellow monk’s robes and oversized straw hat, his Buddhist ringed staff jingling with each step.
But that was nothing compared to Jack in his black haori jacket and hakama trousers, his daishō of a katana and wakizashi swords on his hip.
Conscious that, as an Englishman, his Japanese garb was drawing unnecessary attention, Jack said, ‘I think I’ll invest in some new clothes.’ He stopped beside a market stall selling long, thigh-length shirts.
‘Good day, sirrah!’ greeted the trader, a short fat man with cheeks as red as apples. ‘You’ve come to the right place. I’ve the finest cambric shirts in the whole market!’
Jack remembered his father once telling him that ‘cloth is class’ and, with a full purse in his pack, he decided to treat himself to the finest clothes money could buy. He found a couple of shirts that fitted him, then moved on to a stall selling breeches and waistcoats. Half an hour of shopping later, Jack was quite laden down with two cambric shirts, damask breeches, a velvet waistcoat and doublet, calico netherstocks and a pair of knee-length black leather boots.
‘Are they all for you to wear?’ asked Yori, staring agog at the array of clothes.
‘Fashion has moved on in England since I was last here,’ Jack replied, carefully folding them into his pack. ‘Have you seen something you need?’ he asked them, offering his purse.
Yori politely declined. ‘All I need is my robe and sandals,’ he said cheerily.
Akiko, eyeing a pile of stiff bodices and heavy skirts, said, ‘I’m fine with my kimonos, thank you, Jack.’ She gazed around at the countless stalls in the market. ‘I never imagined such a wealth of goods. It’s quite unbelievable.’
‘There’s nothing in the world that you can’t buy here in London,’ said Jack proudly, shouldering his now-heavy pack. ‘Right, time for a bath and a hearty meal.’ He looked up and down the street for their lodgings.
A girl in a plain brown smock, her straw-blonde hair left loose and long, was leaning beside a water fountain in the centre of the market, watching them curiously. ‘You lost?’ she asked.
‘Do you know where the Mermaid Inn is?’ said Jack.
The girl offered a bright smile. ‘Follow me!’
As they trailed along behind, Akiko touched Jack’s arm. ‘Londoners are certainly friendly folk.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ replied Jack, comforted by both her words and her touch. ‘I was worried those dockhands had put you off England for good.’
‘Not at all,’ said Akiko, smiling. ‘As Sensei Yamada might say, one rotten apple doesn’t spoil the whole tree.’
The girl led them across the road and into the backstreets, and the crowds thinned out as they left the market behind. Checking they were still following, she beckoned them on through a gateway. Then, as she ducked into a dank and dirty alley, Jack questioned, ‘Are you sure this is the right way?’
‘Absolutely!’ rasped a deep and unsavoury voice from the shadows.
Out of a dark doorway stepped a man with glinting mud-brown eyes, a raggedy beard and a black-toothed grin. He wore a battered feathered hat, cocked at an angle, and he had a large hole in his right ear, burnt straight through the gristle – the mark of a vagabond.
‘My sparrow ’ere,’ he said, nodding at the girl whose sweet smile had now soured to a sharp look of cunning, ‘she says you’re lost.’
Jack glanced over his shoulder, but the gateway behind had been filled with the bear-like bulk of a man who was all straggly hair and rippling muscle. ‘Looks like we are now,’ Jack replied, realizing their way out was blocked.
A gaunt, rat-faced lad scurried out of a side alley. ‘First time in London?’ he enquired, nonchalantly swinging a heavy spiked stick.
They were surrounded.
‘As it happens, yes,’ Yori replied genially, then bowed low, ‘and it’s an honour to meet such noble folk as yourselves.’
His polite gesture took the vagabond and his gang off guard. They stared in astonishment at the little monk, before the vagabond snorted a laugh. ‘Noble? I ain’t been called that before!’
‘Nah,’ agreed the girl, smirking, ‘but you have been called a no–’
The vagabond shot her a fierce look. ‘Shut it!’
The girl shrugged. ‘Just saying. These travellers look very noble to me.’ And, reaching out, she fingered the soft silk of Akiko’s kimono.
‘These are some fine glad rags. Wouldn’t mind trying them on myself. Let’s swap!’
Akiko tugged her kimono away and studied the girl’s dull brown smock. ‘I don’t think the colour of your dress would suit me as well as it does you,’ she replied with a courteous smile.
‘I wasn’t asking,’ snapped the girl. ‘I was telling!’ She made a grab for Akiko’s sleeve, but Akiko deftly evaded her lunge. As the girl overbalanced, Akiko gave her a subtle nudge and the girl ended up in a heap on the ground. Springing back to her feet, she spat at Akiko like an alley cat, her mouth twisting into a snarl.
‘Steady now, Tabby!’ warned the vagabond. ‘It seems like we got off on the wrong foot with these strangers.’ He bowed with a flourish of his hat. ‘My name’s Porter. It’s a delight to meet you … in particular this good lady.’
He gently took Akiko’s hand in his, raising it to his lips as if to place a kiss on it … before licking his rough tongue across her smooth skin. With a grimace, Akiko snatched her hand back.
‘You rogue!’ Jack went to draw his sword but was engulfed in the colossal arms of the bear-man.
Porter tutted. ‘Quick to her defence, aren’t you?’ He smirked, then his eyes alighted upon the katana. ‘Why, that’s a fancy-looking sword. Must be worth a pretty penny. What else you got?’
Jack struggled in the bear-man’s grip, helpless as a trussed-up chicken. Akiko made a move to free him, but the girl drew a butcher’s knife and held it to her throat. At the same time, the rat-faced lad backed Yori up against the wall with the spiked stick.
‘Enough of the small talk,’ said Porter. ‘Hand over your purse.’
‘What purse?’ said Jack, playing for time as he tried to figure out a way to escape.
Porter rolled his eyes. ‘The one my sparrow saw you flauntin’ in the market.’
‘It’s in his pack,’ said the girl.
Porter grabbed Jack’s bag and yanked it off him. ‘It’s heavy!’ he declared, avarice shining in his eyes. ‘Perhaps we can help lighten your load.’ Rifling through the bag, Porter found the oilskin rutter and let out a disappointed groan. ‘Aww … it’s just a book.’
The Return of the Warrior Page 2
