That explained the sweet, near-sickly odour. The cat smelled far-off man-sweat.
Moon cursed. It was hard to see the flitting figure at all, let alone make out any features like his weaponry. This fellow was most likely wearing a blue-purple night suit of the kind he and Snowhawk wore. Its unique colour was harder to distinguish in half-light or shadow than plain black.
Only shinobi had such equipment and this man certainly moved like one. Moon shook his head. An agent then, for sure.
One of theirs, or an enemy?
TWO
Double dealings
Moonshadow concentrated hard, taking complete control of the cat. Up on the apex, it stiffened slightly.
As he settled into the third and highest level of the Eye of the Beast, Moon felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. It warned of increased drain on his ki.
Stay where you are, he ordered the cat, watch that man.
Moving slowly, with the cat's watery vision dancing over the top of his own, Moonshadow dangled his head through the opening Snowhawk had made. His eyes quickly found her, stretched out face-down, a few paces to the left. His heart skipped a beat. Was she all right? Then he saw the pile of junk on the attic floor behind her. He exhaled slowly with relief. Its components told their own tale.
A tangle of cut, knotted ropes, several small iron eye-hooks and three large cylinders of bamboo with carved wooden clappers on cords, all of them now severed. He grinned. The attic had been defended with chime traps, but their darkened, hidden ropes were no match for a professional like Snowhawk.
Moonshadow crept to her side and she pointed with a special gimlet, indicating where she had already bored a line of small listening or watching holes. He nodded and carefully stretched out next to her. Moon held his breath, brushing aside the one tiny pile of sawdust Snowhawk's drilling had left, in case a flake or two fell through the hole and gave them away. He turned his head to lower one ear over a hole.
Immediately he heard breathing and smelled men and liquor in the room below. Angling his head, Moon lined up one eye with the peephole, a move made harder by the constant, wobbling view of the Edo skyline he was seeing through the cat.
Through the cat's vision, Moon saw that the man outside was steadily approaching, though his advance had slowed. Now he seemed to be inspecting certain roofs with meticulous care. Why? Was he uncertain of where he was? Was he hunting for them, or did he have a totally different objective here in Tsukiji? What if he was actually a rooftop guard for the conspirators' meeting, and was arriving a little late after being delayed somehow?
Moonshadow concentrated. Enough. Stay calm, do the job. There may still be time.
He studied the men below, clustered so tightly around a low eating table that, thanks to the room's high ceiling, he could see all three of them at once. If they, however, looked up, the same ceiling's high band of shadow would hide the spy holes drilled in its thin wooden plates.
The conspirators knelt on the tatami floor, feet folded under them. On the table lay sake cups, chopsticks, small empty rice bowls and a tall clay beaker. It looked as if they had already shared a snack and a midnight drink at the outset of their meeting. Good: that had probably bought him and Snowhawk some time. And besides, sake generally loosened men's tongues. He peered through a different spy-hole and found their weapons. A sword sitting in an elegant rack and on the reed matting beside it, laid in neat lines, two tantostyle daggers. One of them was highly ornate, the kind rich traders wore.
Snowhawk slid closer. 'I sense shinobi energy,' she whispered. 'It's distant, but getting stronger.'
He tapped her arm in acknowledgement. This was one of her strengths that he couldn't match, the ability to feel the presence of another spy. She was very good at it, he quite inconsistent. At least tonight he could rely on her prowess with that skill, should any other uninvited guests turn up.
'I can see him. One man, very agile,' he murmured softly. 'Looks big. Bigger than Groundspider. Coming this way, searching roofs hard. There's still some time.'
As they turned their attention to the conspirators, one began to speak.
Judging by his golden leaf-patterned robes and nobleman's hair queue, the man had to be Lord Akechi. He sipped a cup of sake between his sentences. The two facing him, one man bearded, the other clean-shaven and bald, nodded keenly as he talked.
The bearded one wore the thin green indoor kimono of a house guest; the bald fellow, the bland grey street robes common to merchants. A silver prosperity charm from the shrine of the money god was stitched to one dark lapel.
'Something big is in the wind,' Akechi said confidently. 'It grows clearer by the day that not every noble wants this new peace to last. They know that war means opportunities. The chance for those denied power to seize it.'
The bearded man in the guest robe raised his cup and spoke in a soft Kyoto accent. 'And for those of us consorting with barbarian traders, a chance to make instant fortunes through importing their most wanted commodity . . . the latest firearms.'
Moon grimaced under his face-bindings. So much for oaths of loyalty. Right here, within sight of the Shogun's home, two very different worlds were sneakily scheming revolt together. The nobles, the families of old wealth with lands, titles and mastery over the warrior class. And the merchants, the new rich, that rising modern caste of money-men with vast ambitions and, occasionally, illegal foreign allies. No wonder these eavesdropping missions were becoming more common. Something big was in the wind.
Akechi's bald guest folded his arms. He spoke fast and firmly, in the manner of many Edodwellers. 'My lord, a hundred pardons but I have been wondering how our investment proceeds. Would it be rude for me to humbly ask for an update at this time?'
The bearded one nodded eagerly as if he'd wanted to raise the same thing.
'Not rude at all.' Akechi smiled. 'As long as plain language is fittingly avoided.'
The bald one gestured. 'So, my lord, our determined friend to the west – how exactly does he propose to . . . to soften the ground before replanting the main garden?'
Snowhawk nudged Moon. 'That has to be the cutest code for mass slaughter I've ever heard. Which noble lord is it this time? Who wants to reverse the outcome of the Battle of Sekigahara, crush their old enemies, make themselves Shogun?' Though she had only whispered, he'd felt the outrage in her words.
'Take your pick,' he whispered back. 'But I know who tops my list of names.'
He grimly refocused on the figure the cat was watching. Much closer now, the man appeared to be checking every rooftop in this part of Tsukiji.
'We're almost out of time,' he breathed. Snowhawk nodded.
'My friend,' Akechi said below, 'waits on new "kitchen help" that his favourite organiser has been recruiting. That big-hearted fellow with the staff left Edo recently, but not before contacting some fine new helpers, who chanced to be labouring in these parts.' He leaned forward. 'My friend hopes that with the aid of such a skilful team, their restaurant will put the nearby competition out of business. Then, he will feel confident to . . . open for trading himself.' Akechi paused. 'At which time, I will have to ask you to commit even more . . . soil and seeds.'
The two merchants grunted supportively. The bearded one half-bowed.
Moonshadow scowled. These three men each owned so much, but because of their greed and opportunism, and the ambition of their 'friend to the west', a new civil war might break out within the year, in which tens of thousands could die. As Brother Badger had always said, and a little bitterly, the world's history was a centipede of gluttony wars. Moon clenched his teeth. Not this time; he, Snowhawk and all the Grey Light Order, the Shogun's eyes and ears, would stop them. He stilled himself, etching their words into his mind so he could later recall them verbatim. As trained, he and Snowhawk would each write a version of what they had heard, then the two accounts would be used to check each other's accuracy.
Movement in the beast sight made his heart start pounding. The agent outside was five roo
fs away. Snowhawk slid back from the holes she had made in the attic floor.
'I know,' she whispered. 'Time to go. I can feel him. He's almost on us, right?'
Moon nodded and quickly but silently followed her from the attic. He kept watch through the cat as Snowhawk carefully replaced the tiles. The moment the last one had muttered softly back into place, he gave the cat a final command.
Go home, now. Moon broke the beast-link and he and Snowhawk turned to run.
Side by side they scuttled low across Lord Akechi's roof and then jumped to the next frozen tsunami of tiles that arched in the moonlight. Snowhawk glanced over her shoulder. She clicked her tongue.
Moonshadow stopped and hung his head knowingly. 'The cat's following us, isn't it?'
She nodded with a sigh. 'Then let's outrun them both,' he mumbled with irritation.
They tore off, springing up and down over a long series of identical rooftops that formed a dappled, rolling road in the moonlight. As they ran and jumped, Moon smelled his own streaming sweat.
After travelling the distance a bow-shot could cover, they paused on the roof of a temple and looked back. The cat had dropped out of the race, but the unknown spy was still coming, closely following their path. Now there was no doubt: he was after them.
'Over there,' Snowhawk pointed at a line of homes. Two among them appeared brand new. Perhaps they had replaced buildings that had recently burnt down. They were new and different. 'See the two flat roofs, one close, one far?' She patted her pack. 'They look ideal for traps.'
'Let's do it!' he hissed. They began house-hopping towards the first roof.
On arrival Moonshadow looked down at it, his eyebrows knitting. So these fashionable new flat roofs weren't truly flat, their angle was just very subtle. He glanced about. Clothes-drying poles. A wooden ladder fixed to the outside of the building. Moon padded across the tiles of foreign design to take up a sentry point in the darkest corner.
He watched the skyline behind Snowhawk as she quickly pulled two blackened trip-wires from her pack. She worked fast, using the bamboo drying poles at each end of the roof, and tied one wire at throat height in a long shadow, the next at ankle height in another dark patch two strides from the edge. Moon nodded approvingly at her cunning; if their pursuer sensed and ducked the first wire, he just might then relax enough to trip over the second and plunge from the roof. It was no certainty, but worth a try for sure.
The first traps set, they resumed roof-hopping, both panting hard now but increasing their speed until they vaulted, side by side, onto the second flat roof. Moon rubbed his burning thighs as he looked around.
This roof's entire surface was bathed in the shadow of the mansion next door.
The higher rooftop was undergoing alteration. A thick cedar beam, drilled clean through with large holes at regular intervals, was roped along its apex.
His eyes locked on the beam. It was high enough to offer a ready hiding place from which they could observe both roofs. The big holes made it a ready duck blind.
Snowhawk saw the same potential. 'I say we get behind that,' she gestured up at the beam, 'wait, then ambush him.'
Moon nodded agreement, and as he jumped for the next roof, she half-turned and scooped something from her pack. Before following Moon, Snowhawk turned back, carefully giving the roof a single, wide wave.
Low skittering sounds told Moonshadow that she had strewn tetsubishi across the rooftop. A wise move. Tetsubishi were tiny caltrops designed to pierce the sandals – and feet – of anyone following in a shinobi's wake. Some agents used cast metal or twisted-wire tetsubishi, but Snowhawk preferred the natural kind: the spiky dried seedpods of a certain water plant. Unlike their man-made relatives, they often broke when stepped on, which actually made them even more effective. Usually, at least one of their four rather nasty curved prongs wound up lodged deep beneath a howling victim's skin.
'Where is he?' Moon peered warily through a hole in the beam. 'There! He keeps stopping. Must be having trouble tracking us. Hope he doesn't notice your –'
Snowhawk cut him off. 'Say he does. Say he dodges all my traps. Do we try to take him alive?' She gripped the sword strapped beside her backpack. 'You're the senior on this mission. The decision is yours.' She slowly unsheathed her blade, keeping it low, out of the moonlight. 'I'm happy to go either way . . . unless he's a Fuma agent.'
Moonshadow frowned. 'You mean because they raised you, if he's of Clan Fuma you're reluctant to kill him?'
'No,' she said lightly, 'the opposite. If he's Fuma . . .' She gestured making a cut with her weapon.
He stared at her, his concealed mouth open in surprise. Snowhawk leaned close. Even in the moonlight he could see that deep anger filled her lovely eyes.
'Raised me?' She gave a low hiss. 'They trained me well, but as for how they raised me . . .' She found another hole and checked on their pursuer before going on. 'My mentors were beyond harsh. I saw friends our age put to death or abandoned to the enemy for failing one mission. It's why I defected; why I'd never go back.'
'I'd never let anyone send you back,' he said quickly.
'I know,' she said with a nod. 'Look, I told you before: both Fuma and your order train suitable orphans, but the Grey Light treat theirs like human beings.' She shrugged. 'So don't worry about this fellow. Leave him to me. He comes, I'll happily take care of it.'
While Moonshadow watched the unknown agent approach the first flat roof, he started weighing his decision at feverish speed. His it was! Young or not, he was the senior agent tonight.
Which meant he had to make that hardest choice of all: to kill or not to kill.
What would his mentors have him do? The dignified, graceful Heron was usually the first to suggest caution. Throughout years of teaching him naginata fighting, the art of disguises, and the science of potions, she had repeatedly called him impulsive, over-eager, too reckless. He had been; that was all true.
But since he was now actually thinking this through, she must have succeeded. She must have trained him to be cautious. What if sparing the stranger was over-cautious?
'He's poised before the first roof now, looking it over,' Snowhawk said quickly, 'about to jump for the side where my throat wire is. Don't like how long he's taking.'
Moon nodded, a little absently. If one of those trip-wires worked, he might escape this decision. This big decision! Badger, the Order's irritable archivist, battlefield history tutor and devoted monkey owner, would simply snap, 'Always review the mission rules.'
So he did, quickly. Their orders this morning were to memorise the intelligence, collect a message from the nearby village of Yokohama and then return home. No special limits on the use of force had been mentioned. That left things up in the air. He could slay a skilled pursuer and be neither dishonourable nor disobedient. He could, but should he? Sorry Badger, he sighed, this time your approach is of absolutely no help.
'Curse it!' Snowhawk clenched a fist. 'He just dodged both trip-wires. He's on the move again.' She shrugged. 'Oh well. Might not do as well against my tetsubishi.'
If Groundspider were here, Moon decided, he'd advocate cutting down the pursuer without hesitation. Groundspider had been Moon's sparring partner during his apprenticeship and his trainer in the use of throwing knives and smoke bombs. The young, often whimsical agent had a dark, ferocious side. He considered himself a true follower of Lord Hachiman, the god of war, patron entity of all samurai and many shinobi.
No, he was the if in doubt, kill it anyway type. Not a voice to listen to right now.
'Look,' Snowhawk whispered, elbowing him gently. 'He's almost here, see, far edge of the second flat roof. Damn it. His head's turning slowly. I think he's seen the tetsubishi.'
A heavy feeling of responsibility gripped Moonshadow. At any moment he'd have to make this decision. His mind raced even faster. What about Brother Mantis? He'd take the opposite line to Groundspider, of course. Once a famous, bloodthirsty duellist, now a sword teacher who never stopped going on ab
out mercy and compassion, Mantis would say just don't kill, unless you have no choice.
Being a fine strategist, he'd also, quite wisely, advocate gaining a prisoner – and potentially all he knows – rather than simply notching up a kill. Moon shook his head. So this was leadership. It was all so confusing. Was that only because he lived daily with advisors of opposite natures, constantly giving him conflicting advice?
He finished his reasoning at a desperate pace. Speaking of leadership and its decisions, how would Brother Eagle, head of the order, call this one? Eagle had been born and raised samurai but later trained in Iga ninjutsu and the Eye of the Beast, which he had taught Moon. Perhaps because Eagle had lived in two different worlds, his constant counsel was for Moon to trust his own instincts. Fine, then! What were they saying?
Snowhawk gave a soft gasp. 'He's balancing on the edge, sneaking over the tetsubishi. This fellow is sharp.' She patted Moon's arm and raised her sword. 'Better not take any chances. I'll just slay him then, neh?'
Moonshadow swallowed hard. Where was the instant wisdom he needed? Then he thought of one of Mantis's obsessions: the real meaning of part of their furube sutra, the shrugging-off rite intoned each dawn, sunset and before every mission.
Scatter not one grain of life. Since it was the sutra of spies and assassins, it meant, surely, one unnecessary grain. At least his instincts about that message were clear. It was, in itself, a code to follow whenever in doubt. A reminder too: where possible, walk the highest path, always winning yet doing no needless harm.
'He's heading for this roof.' Snowhawk started to rise.
'Alive,' Moon whispered quickly. 'That's my decision. We take him al–'
He heard a minute grunt of disappointment from Snowhawk but there was no time for debate. With a soft whump the pursuer landed on their roof and began hurrying up its slope for the apex and the cedar beam. Snowhawk sheathed her sword, irritation in her eyes. Moonshadow turned from her and squinted through one of the beam's holes.
The Wrath of Silver Wolf Page 2
