FIVE
A quiet day at the market
On their fourth day on the road, the weather turned humid. High, thin clouds formed a prism that trapped the sun in a silk curtain of white glare.
A pre-dawn conversation on the day they left Edo came back to Moon as he pounded along a dusty hill road beside Snowhawk.
Perhaps feeling the need for a bold gesture, Brother Eagle had recommended what he called 'fitting disguises' for Moonshadow and Snowhawk's journey to the White Nun.
As a result, they now wore identical rough hemp jackets, dark blue and wadded, with matching loose pants. Under their backpacks, flattened sleeping rolls hid their swords. He felt a little self-conscious about the bold white characters running down his sleeves.
'Edo Golden Future Traders,' each column read, 'a highly sincere Company.'
'Would it not be poetic,' Eagle had suggested after their briefing, 'for the two of you to travel as merchants' labourers? Brother Badger tells me that he happens to have two uniforms of about the right size among his stores. Heron's skills would make short work of adjusting them for you.'
After accepting, Moonshadow had spoken solemnly. 'I've been thinking. Merchants and their companies, men who are not warriors, men with no code but profit, now number among our mortal enemies. That's strange. I would never have expected –'
Eagle had cut him off. 'The one you go to rescue did.' The leader of the Grey Light Order had sighed. 'The White Nun once told me that she had seen the distant future. One day, merchants will rule the world, their companies, like the warlords of today: a few doing good, but many . . . unspeakable evil. The empire, we shinobi, even the samurai . . . the White Nun told me that all would be gone by then, echoes lost in time.'
Moonshadow laughed at the outlandish pre diction as he walked. Ridiculous. So even the White Nun could make mistakes. A world run by traders? It sounded like some crazy Kyogen play! No, they'd knock this rise of the merchants on the head within the next few years. In the meantime, it felt somewhat odd dressing up as a servant of one.
Their cover story was simple: they were orphans, brother and sister, experienced in managing storerooms, seeking lives and jobs in the country after a year in hectic Edo.
The road north had been lonely and dull, just the odd group of farmers passing by, with much of the terrain – oceans of rice paddies and islands of trees – almost identical. So they had talked themselves hoarse all through the farmlands and into these foothills, covering a surprisingly wide range of topics.
Their favourite things. Earliest memories. Theories about who their parents might have been. Best friends or kindest helpers during their hardest times in life. Funniest moments during missions. Who they'd each like to be, if they could live a different life.
Snowhawk asked many probing questions. She had wanted to know in detail what Moon experienced when he linked to an animal. One cold night, lying back-to-back for warmth on the porch of a deserted temple, she had asked him if he was scared of dying. They had then talked for hours about their dangerous lives and the often short life-span of agents. Three or four times during the journey so far, bantering and laughing together, they had glanced at each other and – for some reason – felt compelled to look away.
Moonshadow watched Snowhawk now as they strode on. Getting to know her was exciting. And scary. The one subject they could never quite manage to talk about was how much they liked each other. He sighed. Stuff like that was just too hard to speak about. It was creepy. It made him squirm, gave him goose flesh.
Moon frowned. Given a choice, he'd rather dodge shurikens than talk about it.
Now the road grew steeper, widening as it approached the first hill town. A breeze picked up, cooling them, bringing the aromas of pine needles and late spring flowers. Peasants trickled from gullies on both sides of the road, forming an ever-growing swell that moved towards the distant buildings. Many carried vegetables or fruit in back-mounted woven baskets. Some hauled rice sacks or lugged strings of dried mushrooms.
'Look at this.' Snowhawk gestured at a man shouldering chickens in a bamboo cage. 'It must be market day in this town. That'll make a nice change, things to look at. If the place is quiet, we should rest there, enjoy the market and take rooms overnight.'
'As long as it is quiet and stays that way.' Moon studied the people around them suspiciously. He saw nothing to alert him and Snowhawk obviously sensed no shinobi energy. But all that could change in a moment. 'Remember, if it doesn't work out here, the second town is not that far away.'
She gave a faint sigh, flashing him a look that said stop worrying so much.
They neared the little town and Moonshadow smiled at the beauty of the way ahead. Distant snow-capped mountains peeped over green hills framing the settlement. Cherry trees lined the road, their petals wafting in the breeze like white and pink snow.
'It's all so lovely, isn't it?' Snowhawk stopped walking. She clicked her tongue. 'Except for some of the local brats.'
'What do you mean?' He followed her stare. Ahead, a group of boys stood in a half-circle around one boy. He was smaller than the rest, softer faced, too.
Snowhawk had sensed their aggression first. Now Moonshadow could feel it.
As the pair approached, the oldest looking boy in the group shoved the small lad in the chest. He staggered backwards. Moon stared narrowly. So that was the leader.
'Everyone in our town can fight,' the older boy snarled from under a mop of tangled hair. 'You want to live here, prove you can too. Get it? Or are you stupid?'
'He is stupid,' another boy with a squeaky voice put in. 'Stupid and . . . dumb!'
'It's fighting that's stupid,' the small boy said, struggling to hold back tears.
'We shouldn't get involved,' Snowhawk warned, sounding like she wanted to.
Moon strode ahead of her. 'I must. Or Mantis has wasted all his words on me.'
He walked confidently up to the biggest boy and pushed past him, turned and put his back to the group's intended victim, facing the half-circle of his persecutors. Moonshadow's eyes glided left to right, assessing his unworthy new foes. The oldest lad and two others were tall, brawny country kids and each roughly matched Moonshadow's bodyweight. None of that trio appeared armed or moved as if trained. The rest were the typical cowardly runts that loved following bullies around like a stream of goldfish dung.
'Who are you?' The oldest lad looked Moon up and down. 'What do you want?'
'For you to get on your way and stop picking on my friend.' Moon scowled.
The three hefty boys read his jacket sleeves then exchanged frowns.
'You're from Edo,' the leader sneered. 'He is not your friend!'
Moonshadow looked over his shoulder at the boy and winked. The gang's target, realising that he was being rescued, half-smiled. Moon turned back to face the leader.
'He is today.' He raised one eyebrow. 'So if you want him, you fight me first.'
The leader brandished his fists. 'You'll be sorry! My father was a samurai!'
'He doesn't know which one,' the squeaky fellow added, 'but it's true!'
'This'll teach you to mind your own business!' With that, the leader attacked.
To Moonshadow, the boy's angry punch for his jaw appeared to approach in slow motion. He dodged it lazily, sidestepped, then thrust one leg out, confident that such an overdone blow would surely drag its sender behind it.
It did. Off balance, the lunging bully tripped over Moon's ankle and plunged to the dusty road, landing hard and winding himself. He spat dust and gave a reflexive sob.
His two biggest friends darted at Moon, the first remarkably hefty for his age, the other more long-legged and gangly. Moonshadow's eyes flicked from one to the next. The first had power, the second one reach. Their movements said neither had any skill.
The more solid boy swung a crazed, open backhand strike, aiming for Moon's face. Moonshadow swayed backwards and felt the close rush of air as it missed him. With a thwack the wild blow met the fac
e of the skinny lad who let out a howl and crumpled, cupping his nose. The stocky boy turned back, growled, then shot his best punch at Moon's stomach, throwing his shoulders behind it. Again, from Moonshadow's point of view, the fist approached slowly.
He had time to weigh up what to do next. At lightning speed, he reasoned it out.
Why not startle them all into quitting? It'd be easy: just show them something they couldn't explain, without going too far. After all, Overt Combat – using one's skills in public – was forbidden unless there was no choice. Yes . . . a little bluff to frighten them.
An instant before impact, Moonshadow locked up his stomach muscles, rock-hard from a special diet and a lifetime of hard training. The bully's fist struck home.
Along with the thump of impact came a nasty clicking sound. Squealing with pain, the boy sagged to the road, nursing his hand. Moonshadow gave a detached sigh. It served him right. Bad technique and broken fingers went together like rice and fish.
The former group of pack-hunters stared at Moon, each frozen to the spot with awe and fear. Moonshadow grabbed their leader and dragged him to his feet. Red-faced, the boy clutched his belly, gasping for breath. Moon went nose-to-nose with him.
'Don't you know the gods secretly roam the land in many forms, watching for cruelty?' The bully's eyes grew large. He looked at Moonshadow in a whole new way. 'Do you think they are giving you a chance to change? All of you?' Moon looked round the group. 'Well, ignore them at your peril! Now, go, live good lives or else!'
The terrified gang ran.
Moon turned and bowed to the boy they had picked on. The child gave him a humble bow back. He was speechless, wonder sparkling in his eyes. Moonshadow could read his thoughts: why have the gods been so kind to me? The idea filled him with pride. He fished deep inside his jacket then handed the boy a few copper coins.
'Run home now, share this with your whole family. Live your life to the fullest, but always keep the law, honouring the old and the gods. All of them!'
'Thank you, I will, sir.' The boy backed away, bowing again, glancing between Moon and the coins in his own hand. 'I promise!' He turned and ran, his face glowing.
Thrusting his chest out, Moonshadow wagged his head side-to-side as Snowhawk walked up to him. Her first words made his head stop moving, his shoulders fall.
'You look like Groundspider when you do that,' she muttered.
Snowhawk cupped one hand above her eyes and watched the last of the children disappear from sight. 'That was kind and reasonably subtle, too. I'm proud of you. But should you really be impersonating a justice kami? What if a real god curses us both for the insult, did you ever stop to think about that?'
'Aw.' He hung his head. 'Don't be so hard on me. Heron would have said that was performed well.' Moon glanced away. 'Besides, I thought of just the right way to put it, before I said each bit,' he lied. 'I never said I was one of those roving sheriff-spirits. I just warned them to change before a real one got them.' He finished with an unconvincing nod.
'You're quite sneaky.' Snowhawk creased her nose. 'I'll remember that.'
They stared at each other. Her eyes grew softer. He felt his stomach flutter, his face blush. Snowhawk blinked suddenly and turned away, fussing with her hair. Gesturing once for Moon to follow, she paced off quickly into the town.
He trailed her, shaking his head. Girls. So strange. Hard to figure out, because they seemed to say one thing but feel another. Snowhawk had said she was proud of him, but the way she'd acted also made him feel like a reckless showoff. Why else mention Groundspider? It was confusing. So did she admire what he had just done, or not?
As he caught up to her, a droning temple bell from the far end of town announced that it was midday, halfway through the Hour of the Horse.
Closely packed buildings lined the main street all the way to the heart of the town, where the road flared into a central square around a circular stone well. Rows of folding booths, partially covered stalls, were arranged along the outer lines of the square. Most displayed a string of coloured flags above the counter or table of their selling area. The flags were marked with large characters describing what they sold, what was on special.
Between the stalls and the well, more vendors had set up banks of trestle tables or rugs on the square's packed gravel floor. Along each, their products were neatly laid out.
Local peasant farmers and townsfolk were pouring into the square now, a few selling produce, most just shopping. Hearing an Edo accent, Moon's head turned sharply.
He and Snowhawk followed the voice to a table selling winter quilts shaped like giant kimonos. A stodgy, one-eyed man haggled energetically with a young woman carrying a baby in a sling on her chest. They watched him, then traded frowns. No, probably harmless. Not everybody up here from Edo was a spy. Moon smiled. Just them.
A set of flags read 'Doctor Fish can make you young'. Moon and Snowhawk exchanged curious grins then approached the stall. Below the flags, it contained only a skinny, open-faced peasant behind his counter, a large iron pot filled with water, and a hanging abacus for calculating payment rates. While they looked on, an elderly lady used the stall's services. She bowed and paid Doctor Fish. He smiled and gestured. She plunged her hands into the pot. Moonshadow shuffled closer, watching intently.
Something teemed in the cloudy water in a frenzy of tiny bubbles.
The lady flinched twice, then, urged by the vendor, withdrew her hands. They gleamed in places, pink and shiny. Doctor Fish can make you young? It was sort of true; the woman's hands no longer matched the rest of her skin. They looked . . . younger.
'Thousands of tiny fish.' Snowhawk shook her head. 'They eat the dead skin off.'
Moon grinned in fascination, then moved to the stall next door, where two soft-eyed women, a mother and daughter perhaps, were selling handmade water containers fashioned from cells of giant bamboo. A dense little crowd surrounded their table.
Somebody pushed Moon from behind, quite a hard shove. Moon hung his head and hissed with irritation. Were those stupid bullies trying for a rematch? Or was Snowhawk playing a prank on him? If so, now she was acting like Groundspider!
He whirled around, his eyes lining up with the biggest chest he had ever seen in his life. Moonshadow gasped. After blinking with astonishment, he took in its owner.
A mighty fellow, obviously a sumo wrestler, loomed over him. His great arms looked impossible, thicker than any human limbs should be. His massive body had the girth of a young cedar tree. The giant wore a sky-blue jacket and matching pants that were tied at the knees. Moon stared up at the man's face. Clean-shaven and dull-eyed, his features were as meek as his form was powerful. Moon glanced down at his sandals. They held enormous, ogre-like feet the size of water barrels. Like his forearms, the man's ankles and shins were covered in bruises and scars. Some looked to be very recent.
He seemed to have no weapons. But why would he need one? He was one.
The wrestler shoved Moon again, his massive fingers digging into one shoulder. Moonshadow stepped back and found himself trapped against the stall's table. He gripped the instant throbbing in his shoulder, glowering up at the sumo.
'What's the idea, high-pockets?' he sneered. 'That hurt! You ought to think about your size compared with others before you go doing that. What's the matter? Did I push in front of you?' Moon gave a wary bow, keeping his eyes on the man. 'Forgive me.'
'No. No forgiving,' the wrestler said slowly. 'You are my enemy.' He brought his hands together in front of Moonshadow's face and loudly cracked his sizeable knuckles.
The crowd around Moon and the sumo quickly broke up. Whispers filled the air.
'Do you give up?' the wrestler asked patiently. 'You should give up.'
Moon couldn't stop his mouth falling open. This was too bizarre. He was being threatened, challenged in fact, in the mildest, flattest, least angry voice he'd ever heard.
'Give up now,' the sumo persisted nonchalantly. 'You will be my prisoner.'
T
he man's entire manner was ridiculously calm, almost lethargic, which provoked Moonshadow to laugh. He fleetingly took his eyes from the sumo to hunt for Snowhawk. Where was she? Before that first shove she'd been right –
As he glanced back at the wrestler, a high-pitched scream broke the even gaggle of marketplace voices. Moon's head snapped in its direction. Between jagged ranks of fleeing peasants, he saw Snowhawk ducking low. Then he saw a man with his arm extended. He'd just thrown something at her.
A scruffy man . . . who he recognised at once.
'Jiro,' Moon breathed. 'The shuriken gangster.' So he was still alive.
He let out a startled cry as huge hands clamped his ribs, and his feet left the ground. The sumo wrestler yanked his victim up to his own eye level, holding Moon out at arm's length as if he was unclean. It appeared to be absolutely no effort for him.
'Will you give up then?' the giant asked placidly. Moon snarled and shook his head. The sumo wrestler sighed. 'Very well, then. It's your fault.'
Moon opened his mouth to retort but the wrestler, moving with blinding speed, hoisted him overhead.
'Stop! Wait!' Moonshadow roared, looking down at the top of the fellow's head.
He felt a nauseous rush and suddenly he was flying, tumbling head over heels.
SIX
Enemies old and new
Moonshadow landed on a fleeing group of farmers, banging heads with a man in a conical straw hat before dropping to the ground, stunned.
Despite his insulating bedroll, the hand guard of his hidden sword ground into his spine. Moon groaned, sat up, shook himself hard. People rushed away in all directions. Vendors unwilling to leave their stock behind were cowering inside their stalls. One man, desperate to protect his exquisite white pottery, was stubbornly kneeling in front of his rug of wares.
With a wince Moon realised that his ribs were badly bruised from the giant's grip. He clambered to his feet, looking about for Snowhawk. He could neither see her nor sense her presence nearby. Gravel crunched. Sharp, closing strides made him turn.
The Wrath of Silver Wolf Page 6
