The Return of the Warrior

by Chris Bradford

  A flicker of hope ignited in Jack’s heart. ‘Are you talking about Jess?’

  The witch’s grin suddenly vanished and she stared wide-eyed down the road, as if a storm was fast approaching. ‘Make haste! For the sun soon sets, and your shadows grow longer. And you don’t want your shadow catching up with you … do you, Jack?’

  The old woman fixed him with such a piercing look that Jack wondered if she somehow knew of the dark figure he’d seen outside Sir Henry’s house in London. The flicker of hope he’d felt a moment ago now turned to cold fear.

  ‘For your kindness to an old woman, I offer you this prophecy.’ She held up her gnarled hand, raising her fingers, one at a time, with each line she uttered:

  ‘One will live …

  Two will love …

  Three will cry …

  Four will die!’

  Jack exchanged a look of alarm with his friends, their party of four suddenly feeling cursed despite the witch’s promise not to. Then, cackling to herself, the old woman limped off into the woods, her words hanging in the air like a spell.

  Dusk was descending by the time Jack and his friends reached the Fox and Pheasant Inn. The ostler met them at the gates and led their horses through a wide archway into the cobbled yard. While the horses were unsaddled and taken through to the stables at the rear, a young lad gathered their bags and bade them follow him into the main hall. A roaring fire was burning in the stone hearth and the smell of woodsmoke mingled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasted pheasant coming from the kitchen. At a long table sat a group of travellers, drinking and feasting, as a lank-haired musician played a lively jig on his fiddle. In the corner nearest the fire, a well-dressed gentleman and lady were afforded more privacy in their own booth, a pair of manservants attending to their every need. Jack, Akiko and Yori took an empty table close to the fire, while Rose went to negotiate with the innkeeper over their rooms and board.

  ‘It seems like a respectable establishment,’ said Jack, glancing round at the candlelit bar, cushioned benches and painted-cloth hangings on the walls.

  ‘Do you think they’ll have a bath?’ asked Akiko hopefully.

  ‘Probably …’ replied Jack, ‘but whether they have enough hot water is another matter.’

  Akiko frowned in disappointment. ‘This country is so strange. Even the most basic tea house in Japan would be able to provide its guests with a proper bath.’

  Jack scratched at the dirt on his neck from the long journey. He too missed the daily ritual of bathing, but was loath to admit it. ‘We English are a hardy lot,’ he said by way of an excuse. ‘Tell me,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘do you believe what the old woman said?’

  The witch’s words still played on Jack’s mind: her prophecy was deeply troubling. After his encounter with the Riddling Monk in Japan, and the crazed man’s predictions that came true, he gave more credence to the forecasts of oracles and soothsayers.

  Yori rested his staff against the table, its bronze rings jingling softly. ‘Divination is an unproven art,’ he said. ‘There’s always more beyond the horizon than one can see.’

  Jack swallowed hard. ‘But she said the four of us will die!’

  Yori nodded. ‘She did. But prophecies aren’t always direct predictions of future events. Often, they’re symbolic of possible outcomes.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Yori,’ said Akiko, her expression as equally worried as Jack’s. ‘Because she was very convincing.’

  ‘And I’m convinced that that witch has met my sister on the road,’ said Jack. ‘How else could she have –’

  ‘Good evening!’

  They all looked up as a young man in a plush velvet jerkin, with silver buttons and shoulder wings, sat himself down at their table. ‘You look like you’ve come far,’ he said cheerily to Akiko and Yori.

  Jack stiffened, instinctively on guard. ‘And what’s it to you?’

  The young man raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t take umbrage, my good man. I’m only being friendly to our foreign visitors here.’ He offered his hand. ‘Sorry, rude of me not to introduce myself. The name’s Harold Westcott. And you are?’

  Jack relaxed a little. From his dress and manner, their uninvited guest appeared to be a gentleman. Jack shook hands with him, and introduced himself and his friends.

  ‘The Japans, eh?’ remarked Harold, regarding Yori and Akiko with open curiosity. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever heard of the place. But it must be a fine country to produce such fine people as you.’ His gaze rested on Akiko.

  Akiko inclined her head, smiling politely, and Jack felt a stab of envy at their guest’s easy charm and charisma. Both Akiko and Yori attracted a lot of attention in England, and Jack felt protective of them as his guests in his homeland.

  ‘If I may say so,’ Harold went on, ‘that’s an exquisite hairpin you’re wearing, miss. Solid gold?’

  Akiko nodded, her hand going to the slender kanzashi pin that held her long dark hair in a bun. One end was crafted into the shape of a sakura flower. But Akiko’s kanzashi was as beautiful as it was deadly – its tip sharpened to a fine point for use as a secret lethal weapon. Not that our new friend need know that, thought Jack, reminding himself that Akiko was more than capable of protecting herself.

  ‘And you look to be a learned young man,’ remarked Harold, turning to Yori. ‘What’s that staff you’re carrying?’

  ‘It’s a shakujō,’ Yori explained enthusiastically. ‘We use it in prayer, as an accompaniment to our chanting.’

  Harold examined its spiked bronze tip and six metal rings. ‘Looks more like a spear than a musical instrument!’

  Yori responded with an enigmatic smile. The man was closer to the truth than he realized. Not mentioning the staff’s purpose as a self-defence weapon, Yori replied, ‘I am a Buddhist. We believe in not harming any creature. The jingling of the rings warns insects and other animals of our approach so that we don’t step on them accidentally.’

  ‘Admirable,’ said Harold. ‘But why six rings?’

  ‘They represent the Six Perfections.’

  Harold listened attentively as Yori told him of the Six Perfections of Generosity, Virtue, Patience, Diligence, Contemplation and Wisdom. Harold glanced at Jack. ‘And there I was thinking England was the font of all knowledge!’ He let out a good-natured laugh. ‘So what’s your story, Jack? How come you’ve been to the Japans?’

  ‘You’re certainly full of questions,’ said Jack, becoming mindful of Sir Henry’s warning not to trust anyone on the road.

  Harold gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Well, he who asks a question is a fool for a minute; he who does not remains a fool forever. Isn’t that right, Yori?’

  Yori nodded approvingly at such wise words. Harold took a sip from his pewter wine goblet, then, sensing Jack’s reluctance to open up, jutted his chin in the direction of the richly dressed couple in their own private booth. ‘There appear to be a lot of fine people on the road this evening. That’s Lord Robert Percival and his wife, Lady Catherine, don’t you know.’

  Jack glanced over at the silver-haired man and his elegant wife, who was younger than her husband. ‘I’ve never heard of them,’ he said.

  Harold’s mouth fell open in shock at this admission. ‘Lord Robert Percival’s a member of the Privy Council – a very important man, an adviser to the King himself!’

  Jack studied the elderly man again. Attired in red velvet robes and seated ramrod straight in his booth, Lord Percival certainly carried an air of authority as he talked with his wife; the two manservants hovering close by at his beck and call.

  Harold leant in and whispered, ‘Lady Catherine is … French.’ He took another swig from his wine goblet and sat back. ‘I presume you’ve ridden up from London today? I bet you’re glad to be out of the city, what with those plague doctors wreaking havoc!’

  Jack looked up suddenly at Harold. ‘What are you talking about? What plague doctors?’

  Putting aside his goblet, Harold lowered his voice once
more, his expression turning grave. ‘You ain’t heard? It’s as if the four horsemen of the Apocalypse have descended. They appear only at night – dark as shadows – leaving death in their wake.’

  Jack felt a chill run through him. Plague doctors conjured up nightmarish images in his head, but it was Harold’s mention of shadows that really troubled him.

  ‘Yet it’s not the plague that kills,’ Harold went on. ‘It’s the doctors themselves. I heard some poor soul was found with his right eye pierced straight through with a red ostrich feather after they visited him!’

  Jack’s mouth went dry as a bone. The victim could only be one person – Rowland Bodley.

  ‘They say he’s not the first, and he won’t be the last!’ Harold went on, not noticing the uneasy looks being exchanged between Jack, Yori and Akiko. ‘Rumour has it there’s a whole trail of bodies, from Limehouse to Ludgate. These are dark and dangerous times, my friends!’

  Picking up his wine goblet, he took a long draught and finished it off. ‘Anyways, where are you folks headed?’

  ‘Stratford,’ Jack replied distractedly, his thoughts consumed by Harold’s story. Was the apparition outside the window last night a plague doctor? Or was it something even more sinister … something connected to the rumours of killer shadows?

  ‘Well, if you’re going that way, take the high road out of town,’ advised Harold. ‘The low road’s flooded and has become almost impassable.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Akiko, smiling warmly at him.

  ‘You’re welcome, miss.’ Setting down his empty goblet, Harold’s eye was caught by the glint of silver round Jack’s neck. ‘That’s a fine locket. Is it your sweetheart inside?’ he asked, glancing at Akiko.

  ‘No, it’s my little sister,’ replied Jack, opening up the locket and showing Harold Jess’s portrait. ‘She’s missing. Have you seen her by any chance? I believe she may have travelled this way.’

  ‘Let me have a closer look.’ Harold peered at the miniature, then regretfully shook his head. ‘Sorry, no, but I’ll keep an eye out for the lass.’

  ‘I’m sure you will!’ said Rose, inserting herself between Jack and their guest. ‘Now be gone and try your luck with those coneys over there.’

  Harold scowled at Rose, who unflinchingly stared back. Then he stood and bowed stiffly to Jack, Akiko and Yori. ‘A pleasure meeting you. May you continue safe on your journey.’

  As he traipsed off to the other table of travellers, Akiko stared in astonishment at Rose. ‘Why were you so rude? He was just being friendly.’

  ‘Too friendly,’ replied Rose. ‘Seems like a courtesy-man to me.’

  ‘What’s a courtesy-man?’ asked Yori.

  ‘A courtesy-man is a con man, a thief. You see those fine clothes he’s wearing?’ said Rose. ‘Likely they ain’t his. Probably stolen off the last traveller who fell for his charm.’

  Akiko looked aghast. ‘I don’t believe it. He seemed so nice. Surely not every Englishman’s a thief?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Rose replied, the corner of her mouth curling into a sly grin as she produced a small leather purse. ‘Women can be too. But we’re better at it!’ She nodded in Harold’s direction. ‘Dinner’s on him tonight.’

  ‘Well, we’re not thieves!’ said Akiko, snatching the purse from Rose. She chased after Harold, calling, ‘You dropped this.’

  Harold blinked in surprise. ‘Why, thank you, Akiko,’ he said, reattaching the purse to his belt. ‘It’s rare to come across such honest folk these days. I do hope I can return the favour one day.’

  After a supper of roast pheasant and sweet turnip, Jack and his friends turned in for the night. The long ride from London had tired them all out. As they ascended the stairs to the gallery overlooking the moonlit yard, Yori asked, ‘Do you think the man killed by those plague doctors was Rowland Bodley?’

  ‘There can’t be too many other Londoners who wear red ostrich feathers in their hats,’ said Jack grimly.

  ‘The feather could just be a coincidence,’ suggested Akiko.

  Jack glanced at her. ‘Too much of a coincidence, for my liking.’

  ‘I reckon Nathan Holme did it,’ said Rose, leaning against the balcony rail. ‘To avenge his father.’

  ‘Nathan didn’t seem like a murderer to me,’ said Yori.

  ‘Grief can push a man to the brink,’ argued Rose. ‘If he didn’t do it, then he hired someone to do it for him.’

  ‘But why hire plague doctors?’ questioned Akiko, unconvinced.

  Rose shrugged. ‘The men he hired likely dressed as plague doctors so they could move freely round the city and not rouse any suspicion.’

  That’s certainly what a ninja would do, thought Jack, the notion flashing through his mind like a shuriken star.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Akiko, noticing the troubled look on Jack’s face.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied, dismissing his concerns with a shake of his head. He realized that he should be focusing on finding his sister rather than worrying about rumours of shadows. ‘Whatever it was, Bodley’s not our problem any more.’

  ‘Or anyone else’s, for that matter!’ said Rose with a gallow’s laugh. ‘Right, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.’ And, as she passed Jack on her way to her room, she kissed him goodnight on the cheek.

  Yori headed to his and Jack’s chamber, yawning, and Jack followed. But Akiko lingered in the darkness. ‘Jack,’ she called softly.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, turning back to her.

  Akiko stood stiffly, her usual warmth towards him absent. ‘How well do you know Rose?’

  Jack could still feel the press of Rose’s lips on his cheek. ‘We’re childhood friends, that’s all,’ he reassured her.

  ‘That was over seven years ago,’ said Akiko. ‘A person can change in that time. I don’t think you can trust her.’

  Jack frowned. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘She’s a thief,’ replied Akiko, as if the answer was obvious. ‘And I think she’s taking advantage of you.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ argued Jack. ‘Rose is helping us find my sister.’

  ‘Not without payment,’ said Akiko. ‘I saw her pocket one of the coins you gave her for board and lodging. She’s stealing your money.’

  Jack frowned. ‘Rose negotiated a good price for the rooms. She gave me back more change than I expected, so I’d be surprised if she’d taken any for herself. Besides, she may be a thief, but she’s got a good heart.’

  Akiko stared unexpectedly hard at Jack. ‘Why are you defending her?’

  ‘And why are you attacking her?’ replied Jack. ‘This isn’t like you. Can’t you be more friendly?’

  ‘Well, she’s certainly being friendly with you.’

  Jack sighed. ‘Akiko, there’s no need to be jealous, I –’

  ‘Jealous? Of her?’ Akiko shot him an affronted look and crossed her arms. ‘Jack, you do what you want. This is your country. I’m only a guest. If you prefer a rose to a sakura blossom, that’s your choice. I’m just trying to protect you, that’s all. Goodnight.’

  With that, she turned on her heel and strode off towards her chamber, leaving Jack alone on the gallery. He gazed up in bewilderment at the stars, wondering what he’d said to upset her. He imagined she was just tired from the journey.

  But as he stood in the darkness, listening to the whinny of the horses in the stables, Jack thought again about what Akiko had said. Was she right about not trusting Rose? It was true that his only acquaintance with Rose before last week consisted of a childhood kiss under Moorgate. But it was Rose who had led them to Mrs Winters, and suggested seeking out the miniaturist, and was now guiding them through a country he was no longer familiar with.

  Rose was a godsend … wasn’t she?

  The next morning, by the time they’d polished off a breakfast of buttered bread and sage, the ostler had their horses saddled and ready to ride. Jack tipped the man, then set off out of town with his friends. Along the
highway a mist hung over the fields, the dew glistening in the early-morning sunlight. Rose led the way, followed by Jack and Yori, with Akiko trailing a little behind. Besides a polite ‘Good morning’, Akiko had not said much.

  ‘I think she’s homesick,’ Yori whispered to Jack, noticing him look back several times to check on her.

  ‘You think so?’ said Jack. He hadn’t mentioned the previous night’s quarrel to his friend, but maybe that explained why Akiko was being so distant with him.

  Yori nodded and offered him a weary smile. ‘I’m starting to appreciate how you must have felt, arriving in Japan. Everything is so different, so alien … the food, the beds, the people … it takes time to grow accustomed to it …’ He gazed longingly at the rolling meadows with the mist beginning to lift from them.

  ‘Do you want to go home too?’ asked Jack, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

  ‘We haven’t found your sister yet!’ Yori replied heartily.

  Jack noticed that his friend hadn’t directly answered his question, and he thought this was telling in itself. Jack realized Yori was homesick, but doing his best to hide his true feelings from him.

  ‘Besides,’ Yori continued, putting on a smile, ‘the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but in seeing with new eyes. I think Akiko just needs to look at things in a different way.’

  Sighing, Jack nodded his understanding. After the welcome they’d received, he couldn’t blame his friends for wanting to return home. There were many times in Japan when, feeling homesick, he’d snapped at his friends and taken his frustration out on them. No wonder Akiko had been irritable with him; it was more surprising that it had taken so long for those feelings to surface. The fact that both his friends insisted on helping him search for his sister, rather than returning home to Japan, proved their loyalty to him. Their unwavering devotion made Jack feel simultaneously fortunate and guilty … yet hopeful too. With such friends at his side, he couldn’t fail in his quest.