But there were other matters to deal with first if the mission was to be launched on time.
'Katsu!' the warlord demanded. 'What of the support for this man that I charged you with organising? Before we call in the other . . . help . . . brief me on that!'
'At once, my lord.' Katsu bowed. 'On his way north, Chikuma-San will be met by Wada, an old sumo training partner of mine who now works as a very successful bounty hunter. Put simply, the fellow is special. He feels virtually no pain. No one knows why.'
'No pain at all? Is that a good thing?' Chikuma narrowed his eyes.
Katsu gestured expansively. 'It is if you're a fearless human battering ram.'
'Good.' Silver Wolf folded his arms. 'Inventive, I like it. But, detective, what of my requested candidate? Did you find her?'
'Yes indeed, great lord. As you bade, I sought out the lady . . . Kagero.'
The two samurai guards tensed at the mention of her name.
'As a freelance assassin and bounty hunter,' Katsu said, 'her reputation is second to none.'
'True!' Chikuma volunteered. 'Though she's an "independent" these days, the lady Kagero is well regarded by we of the House of Fuma. Originally she was a Fuma agent. But after arranging a lucrative ongoing contract for our masters, she successfully negotiated . . . leaving us. Such arrangements are rare, and offered only to the best.'
Silver Wolf nodded. He had learned something new: shadow clan members could buy their freedom! Even their proud, ancient houses were swayed by money in the end. But only the elite could hope for that; deserters and failures . . . Well, everyone knew what happened to them at the hands of the very people who had trained and often raised them.
Katsu blinked delicately. 'She was expensive, lord.'
Silver Wolf nodded, staring mildly back at Katsu. He had expected that.
At their meeting last year, Lord Akechi had told Silver Wolf of her. 'Kagero is some kind of sorceress,' Lord Akechi had said, eager to impress with his recently acquired knowledge of contract killers and catchers. 'And middle-aged or not, she slew the great Kaiho Shundai of Edo. Without a sword. She never uses one.'
'How then?' Silver Wolf had asked, lowering his sake cup. 'Kaiho was strong.'
'No one knows,' Akechi had answered. 'The swordsman's wounds – and there were many – were unique.'
Silver Wolf's mind returned to the present, and the order of business. He sneered. Business. A real age of peace word. Now even preparing for war had become business, a series of barter-and-promise meetings. Help me do this . . . I'll later give you that. Some wanted money. Others land. A few simply craved vengeance. But the old ways were the best, for they were the ways of the true warrior; of pride and courage, of sword and bow and horse! That was how disputes were settled and rulers decided, and he had to steer this country back to that while it still had a soul.
When all his alliances were in place, when this temporary, foolish Shogun's spies – the real tetsubishi in his sandal – had been swept aside, then he would take this land. And with it, his birthright to power. He would take it the old way. Through a forest of spears, on a mountain of corpses, down a river of blood if necessary, he would hack and smash and capture his way to the real throne of the empire. It was his destiny!
Akechi and the greedy merchants were either soft, or lost in the era's pathetic new school of thought – business, money – but they were still proving keen allies.
True, they didn't care about destroying the Grey Light Order as much as he did; for them, that little war wasn't personal. But they were happy to help him remove all who stood with the Shogun, convinced that once in office, Silver Wolf would indeed reward them with land and titles, money and payback, just as he had promised. He half-smiled. When the time arrived, maybe he would. And maybe he'd simply have his huge, unified army destroy them. After all, if they'd betray one Shogun, they might later betray him. For the future stability of his empire, they might all be better off dead . . .
'Well, Katsu, we shall speak of the price of Kagero's help later.' The warlord gave his hireling a shallow nod. 'For now at least, everything else seems to be in place. I am particularly pleased with how you handled our grand opportunity – the one that brought us such pivotal, rare information.'
'It was nothing I did, lord.' Katsu averted his eyes. 'He was an old travelling monk, in the process of losing his mind to age. Plying him with sake and tricking him into revealing such a vital secret was no feat of skill on my part. Verifying his information was actually more taxing! In all truth, my master, we were simply lucky!'
'Perhaps so,' Silver Wolf smiled malevolently. 'But what you chanced upon through him now helps me strike down the dogs who guard my enemy's gate!'
He drew in a deep breath. Katsu thought it mere luck, but the detective's chance encounter with an ancient, half-mad pilgrim up north had proved no idle twist of fate. It all confirmed that Silver Wolf's path was, in the end, a glorious destiny. He thrust out his full chest. Yes, he had been born to save Japan, to purge her, wash her clean – in blood.
Katsu dipped his chin, revelling in his master's favour. 'Thank you, lord. Those violators of your privacy will soon be as hapless as your other sworn enemies.'
'Well said!' The warlord rubbed his hands together. 'Now, a final matter.' He looked around commandingly. 'I have funded one more specialist to support this mission. This one I included for several reasons. He is totally disposable. He is not samurai and therefore brings no house into disrepute if captured then disowned. And he has relentlessly petitioned me to re-employ him – at very low rates – owing to his personal vendetta with an agent of the Grey Light Order. With which, of course,' he grinned, 'I heartily sympathise. And don't mention the limp.'
Silver Wolf gestured to his younger bodyguard. The samurai gave a sharp whistle.
From down the corridor came the innkeeper's voice. 'Sir, they call for you!'
A familiar scruffy man limped into view in the doorway. Silver Wolf took in the fellow's wily eyes and long, unkempt hair. Jiro, gangster and throwing-knife expert. He hadn't changed much. Still that same thick, untidy beard and loud patterned jacket denoting an urban gang member. The warlord squinted. Something was different. Jiro's neck and forearms had always been covered in red and green tattoos of textured dragons and carps. Now the artwork had spread to his face. Calligraphy ran down one cheek.
'Great lord.' Jiro bowed, a little awkwardly. 'An honour to serve you again.'
'Welcome.' Silver Wolf eyed him. 'What is that writing on your face?'
Jiro straightened up. A wince implied his bad knee was bothering him today. 'It reads, pledged to avenge.' Fire filled his eyes as he added, 'It's a lifelong commitment.'
Silver Wolf smiled. Perfect! Jiro had changed, and not just in appearance either.
When first in the warlord's service, Jiro had been injured during an encounter with the Grey Light Order agent called Moonshadow. Silver Wolf knew only that Jiro held this Moonshadow responsible for his ruined leg.
Perhaps he'd been stewing on it throughout his recovery. There was a new sense of steel to Jiro now, a single-minded determination. Had the urge to get even driven him to develop as a killer? Maybe, the lord nodded. He'd seen that process before in men, many times. Hate was a powerful poison. It helped drive him too.
His eyes flicked left and right and Silver Wolf caught his bodyguards scowling. That was to be expected. Samurai despised gangsters, took offence at sharing the same air as them. These two were no doubt disgusted by the prospect of serving alongside one.
Chikuma turned and examined Jiro, then caught Silver Wolf's attention.
'Yes?' the warlord inclined his head. 'What is it? You may speak freely.'
'Great lord, a gangster with a gammy leg? In a small strike force, the potency of every member is crucial. I seek no trouble here, but . . . what can he contribute?'
Silver Wolf glanced at Jiro. So much for don't mention the limp. Chikuma obviously cared little for diplomacy and already the gambler
was simmering with anger. This could prove very entertaining. He just needed to keep a rein on things, set limits so that nobody died or was maimed. Hirelings were expensive; it was frivolous to waste their peculiar talents by making them fight like dogs on some whim. Tempting, though.
No, he sighed. Nobody here could die yet. There was work to do, people to kill.
'Call the innkeeper!' he ordered his samurai. The strapping youngster bowed neatly. As before, a hasty summons was issued in the form of a whistle.
The small man quickly appeared, hunching in the doorway with eyebrows raised.
'Bring me two plain, cheap fans. Run out and buy them if you must. Hurry!'
'My lord,' the innkeeper swooped into a low bow, 'I think I have just what you need.' He turned and scuttled away down the corridor's cherry wood floorboards.
'Jiro,' Silver Wolf said. 'When he returns with the fans, I propose a demonstration. Chikuma-San here will open each fan, then throw them into the air without warning. Bring them down, without leaving a mark anywhere in this room.'
Chikuma's face contorted with surprise. 'Is he really that good?'
'You'll see, pretty boy,' Jiro mumbled.
'So you accept this challenge?' Silver Wolf asked. 'Think you can do it?'
The gangster gave a half-nod, half-bow. 'Yes, lord.' His wrists crossed, both hands disappearing between the lapels of his bright, loose jacket. Along with the bodyguards, Silver Wolf flinched involuntarily. The oldest samurai took a short step towards Jiro.
'As you will see,' Jiro sniffed, 'I have taken my craft to a new level.'
Jiro drew out a bo-shuriken in each hand, apparently from twin concealed holsters. The warlord stared at the uncommon straight throwing knives. Each was black, cast from iron, about the length of a man's hand, fingertip to wrist. A tapering grip lay between the double-edged spear-like blade at one end and the small ring at the other.
Silver Wolf scratched his jaw thoughtfully. Jiro had formerly used circular, star-shaped shuriken. Converting to this very different design was no small accomplishment.
Bo-shuriken were the hardest kind to use; they were bladed at one end only, so if the spinning throw was mistimed, the ring end hit the target and the knife merely bounced off it. Their advantages? Bo-shuriken had a proper grip, so if used deftly, were ideal for stabbing in a close-range fight. The ring on the end could be used as a tiny club. It was also a tying point when securing the black knives in spring-loaded or rope traps.
The innkeeper slid into view in the corridor, a plain folding fan open in each hand. Silver Wolf stared at them: oiled, unmarked white paper and dark wooden spokes. Simple and light. Ideal. Holding the fans up, the innkeeper smiled warily.
'Well done!' Silver Wolf nodded. 'Now, close the fans and give them to him.' He gestured at Chikuma.
The innkeeper shut the fans and bowed low, then approached Chikuma like a crab, shuffling in a series of tight little sidesteps, avoiding eye contact with the shinobi. Keeping his face turned away, the innkeeper leaned, his outstretched hand trembling as he passed Chikuma the fans. The agent took them with a wry, knowing smile. After shuffling back to the door, the little man bowed hurriedly and made his escape.
Remarkable, the warlord observed. Even a lowly, untrained peasant sensed something fearful in Chikuma of Fuma. He couldn't wait to find out what it was. Soon!
'Are you both ready?' Silver Wolf looked from Jiro to Chikuma and back. Each man nodded. 'Good. One fan at a time, I think. Begin!'
Chikuma flashed Jiro a sceptical glance, then opened the first fan and threw it up.
It wheeled and fluttered unevenly into the centre of the room at about head-height. There was a sharp hiss, startling Katsu, Silver Wolf and his guards, as a dark blur streaked across the room from Jiro's hand into the white, tumbling triangle. The bo-shuriken's impact swept the fan across the room. It flailed to the matting like a wounded bird. The warlord stared down at it. That black iron throwing knife had pierced paper and wood, buckling the fan while bringing it down. So these bo-shuriken had another advantage: they were heavier than the circular kind, striking harder, cutting deeper.
Most impressive!
The guards blinked at Jiro, their faces betraying a new, reluctant respect. Katsu stared at the fan, his nose creasing. Even Chikuma of Fuma nodded admiringly.
Jiro's eyes gleamed. He turned and stared at the shinobi. It wasn't a friendly look. 'Oi, pretty boy! I'm warmed up now, see? Throw the second one up – closed.'
Silver Wolf inclined his head. Now the gangster was getting carried away. Hit a closed fan tumbling in mid-air with a bo-shuriken? Surely an impossible challenge.
Chikuma held up the second fan, closed, patiently watching Silver Wolf's face.
'Do it,' the warlord said. The instant he spoke, Chikuma threw the fan.
Jiro's hand whip-cracked the air. This time the hiss was closely followed by a dull impact sound. The merged fan and knife streaked across the room, a spinning black and white flash that ended with a whump on the tatami near the door. Again, it left no mark.
Silver Wolf craned forward, examining the fan. Everyone else in the room did the same. Everyone but Jiro. He folded his arms with a superior smile, looking away, refusing to check the result.
Taking it in, the warlord's mouth fell open. The bo-shuriken had skewered the fan at a perfect ninety-degree angle, going through both its outer wooden spokes and every paper fold in-between. He shook his head. A good thing he has seen it with his own eyes.
'Two months of constant, all-day practice, my lord, under a brilliant tutor,' Jiro said bitterly. 'The only way to spend one's . . . rehabilitation.' His eyes, bright with the flame of his all-consuming vendetta, flicked down at his ruined knee. Then he rounded on Chikuma. 'Anyway, so much for me. Now I want to know what you can contribute.'
Silver Wolf hid a smile behind one hand. Motivated by anger and revenge, Jiro had trained fanatically until he really had ascended to a whole new skill level. As a hired killer, he was a different commodity now – in fact, great value for the money. But as a man, it was clear that he was still a reckless hothead who, even now, stepped blindly on a tiger's tail. This was going to be great fun, as long as it stayed within limits.
'How about it then, Chikuma?' Jiro put his hands on his hips.
'Chikuma-San.' The shinobi's voice was soft but firm. His eyes grew dark as they moved to Silver Wolf. The look in them was easy to interpret: let me destroy him now.
Jiro went on, taking a step towards Chikuma. 'You're kind of . . . pretty, I guess, but you're wearing only that short tanto dagger. I guess we'll just hope that whoever you fight is happy to come that close. While they admire your nice new clothes, maybe? Oh, and better pray they don't carry anything as long as a sword! Might mess you up!'
Chikuma of Fuma let out a long, weary sigh. 'Lord?' He waited.
'As long as nobody dies or is made useless,' Silver Wolf said, 'you may forget the innkeeper and show me . . . on him.' He pointed at Jiro. Full of bravado, Jiro shrugged.
After bowing low to his new employer, Chikuma broke into a grateful smile. He rose to his feet, twitching and primping his clothes and hair, then he turned and glared at Jiro. Black, silent fury built in his eyes but his face, curiously, became expressionless.
'What art is this?' Jiro gave a mocking cackle. 'What? You stare them to death?'
Silver Wolf held his breath. At last he would see for himself what Chikuma could do. Which strange killing science of the Old Country, the Japan before recorded history, had this fellow mastered? Might it be some form of paralysis? Did Chikuma induce weakness, strip the strength from a man's limbs, before knifing him? Whatever it was, if all went well, he would soon unleash it on the likes of Moonshadow and the Grey Light Order.
The shinobi closed his eyes, body motionless, hands dangling at his sides.
Silver Wolf watched Jiro's face intently. No sign of sleepiness or paralysis yet.
'No,' the gambler laughed, 'whatever it is you do, it's just n
ot working today –'
Abruptly his head jerked up, eyes darting to a spot in the air as high as a horse's bridle. With a frown, Silver Wolf tracked along Jiro's stare. What did he look at? There was nothing there! The warlord's gaze returned to Jiro just in time to see the colour drain from the gangster's features. He gasped, took a step back. His hands rose, shaking.
'Run, r-run,' he stammered, eyes wide with terror. 'Run! Lord Amida save us all!'
Everyone in the room but Chikuma looked back and forth between Jiro and the empty space that now terrified him.
Silver Wolf felt a rush of exhilaration tinged with fear. He gripped his sword.
Looking up as if something tall was slowly advancing on him, Jiro stumbled backwards. He gave a high-pitched scream and collapsed to his knees, covering his face.
'Make it go away,' he whimpered. 'I . . . I . . . apologise.'
Jiro fell onto his side and curled into a trembling ball.
Chikuma blinked and raised his eyebrows slightly. He smiled secretively.
Jiro snarled a curse and sat up, blinking quickly, looking around as if searching.
'Wasn't really there,' he mumbled. He checked the room again. 'Wasn't . . . there.'
The warlord gaped in astonishment. Alarmed and confused, his guards had half-drawn their swords, but Jiro, the actual subject of the attack, had been so disturbed he hadn't managed to pull one shuriken. Against such dark wizardry, who could stand?
'Magnificent!' Silver Wolf raised his hands and clapped enthusiastically.
The father and son samurai sheathed their blades and joined in, smiling with relief that whatever had just happened was now over. Katsu shook his head and clapped slowly.
Chikuma bowed, gave a nasal giggle and flicked his hair. The warlord nodded back at him thoughtfully. What manner of man was this? His entire appearance was camouflage; his powers were incredible. Silver Wolf beamed. This team could not fail.
'Any other questions,' Chikuma softly asked Jiro, 'about what I can contribute?'
'Never,' Jiro snatched a deep, trembling breath, 'Chikuma-San.'
The Wrath of Silver Wolf Page 5
