by Alex Archer
“Is that it?”
He smirked. “My feet also don’t lift and stomp down on the rocks. They roll over them. It’s a sort of rolling footwork that compacts the stones together before too much weight is applied and causes the action to make a lot of noise.”
Annja tried lowering herself on bent knees and kept her feet closer together as she rolled across. The stones still made noise when she tried it.
“It does take a great deal of practice,” Ken said. “And leaves are even tougher.”
“Swell,” Annja said. “I guess I flunk out as a ninja-in-training, huh?”
“Maybe you can get some gravel installed at your apartment in Brooklyn.”
She pointed. “Now, there’s a thought. A bad one, but it’s a thought nonetheless.”
Ken smiled. “I’ll go ahead and check us in while you practice.” He moved on, leaving Annja alone in the darkness.
Bend my knees, she thought, frowning again. I was bending my knees. And then the rolling footwork. How the hell did he do that? She bent her knees again and tried allowing her feet to come down almost in an arc with the heel touching first and then the rest of the foot as she rolled across the stone.
This time, the noise was greatly reduced.
“Hey, cool—”
She stopped.
A breeze had scampered across the area, rustling tree limbs and leaves. She shivered and realized she felt tense. She turned and looked out into the night. The ambient light from the lantern wasn’t so bright that she couldn’t see into the darkness.
All around the inn the mist-enshrouded mountains of Iga loomed. The birthplace of ninjitsu was what Ken called it. She shivered again as another breeze laid its hand across her shoulders. Imagine the history of this place, she thought. Imagine what it would have been like traveling through here at night hundreds of years ago when this region was controlled by the ninja.
Annja frowned. She was letting her imagination run away with itself. She was, after all, a scientist, and even though Ken had certainly proved that ninja still existed and Annja herself had trained in some of their amazing techniques, she was letting the superstitions about them get a hold of her mind.
And that was dangerous.
Still, it was somewhat spooky being out in the night like this when everything else was completely silent.
Where was Ken?
She moved up the path and found the entrance to the inn. From inside, much brighter light spilled onto the gravel walkway. She saw Ken talking to the innkeeper, a gaunt old man wrapped in a dull gray kimono.
As Annja approached, the innkeeper looked around Ken and frowned when he saw her. He muttered something to Ken, who barked back at him.
Annja could feel the tension immediately escalate. “Everything okay?”
Ken looked back at her. “Give me a moment, would you?”
“Sure.” Annja backed out and waited just outside the entrance. She made a note to start studying Japanese when she returned home. Whatever Ken was saying to the innkeeper, it didn’t sound particularly friendly.
Had Garin been right about him? Was Ken someone Annja should be wary of? Was he up to something bad? Her instincts offered no warnings.
Ken ducked back outside. “I apologize.”
“Everything all right?”
Ken glanced away. “I’d rather not discuss it.”
“It sounded serious.”
“Stupid is what it is,” Ken said.
“I’d like to know.”
He sighed. “All right. The innkeeper was a bit upset that you weren’t Japanese.”
“Excuse me?”
Ken nodded. “I know, I know. It’s ridiculous, right? In this day and age, the idea that someone would be racist or xenophobic is truly appalling. It turns my stomach, believe me. But unfortunately, once you leave the cities, in parts of Japan, just like in America, you run into hicks who can’t figure out if the earth is round or not. This guy happens to be one of those special morons.”
“A Japanese hick.” Annja grinned. “Who woulda thought?”
“Not me,” Ken said. “Or I certainly wouldn’t have taken you here. However,” he sighed, “it is late and I’m not so sure we can make it to another ryokan. They tend to close early and if we don’t take what we have, we might not have anything.”
Annja nodded. “And I expect we’ll be out for a few days in the woods anyway, so I suppose we ought to have one final night in comfort, so to speak.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ve dealt with worse,” Annja said. “And I’m sure you have, too.”
“On a highway in Mississippi outside of Keesler Air Force Base a few years back,” Ken said, “I was walking with a good friend of mine who happens to be African-American. We were walking toward the riverboat-gambling area and a pickup truck full of rednecks rolled by hurling racial epithets at us.”
Annja shook her head. “What did you do?”
“Well, my friend wanted to fight them then and there, but they were driving too fast for us to catch on foot. However, as providence would have it, we were invited to a party at a local motel and what vehicle should just happen to be in the parking lot but the very one full of those inbred, narrow-minded idiots.”
Annja grinned. “I take it you enlightened them as to the error of their ways?”
“Believe it or not,” Ken said, “I did very little. The real dervish that night was my friend who stood all of about five and a half feet tall but had a spirit a mile high. He sent three of them to the hospital.”
“Sounds like a good friend to have.”
Ken smiled. “There have been several times since that night that I have dearly wished he was around.”
“Get the room,” Annja said. “And don’t worry—I won’t send the old man to the hospital unless I absolutely have to.”
Ken ducked back inside and returned moments later. “We’re all set. Follow me.”
Annja entered the ryokan again and found the innkeeper suitably sheepish this time. Whatever Ken had told him had apparently reduced his hostility exponentially. The innkeeper gave Annja a stiff bow and welcomed her. With one hand holding a candle he beckoned them to follow him down a narrow corridor.
On either side, Annja could hear the soft snoring noises of other guests. She and Ken had left their shoes in the entranceway and on stocking feet they made no noise as they traversed the hall’s shiny wood flooring.
At the far end, the innkeeper turned left down another corridor and at last knelt before a shoji screen door and slid it back on its runners.
Inside, a young woman dressed in a floral kimono knelt and was placing small plates of food and bowls of rice on a low table. She looked up and bowed at the sight of Ken.
“Dinner?” Annja asked.
Ken nodded. “I took the liberty of ordering for us. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t think I could have read the menu anyway.”
“I’m sure you’ll like the dishes. They’re basic staples, but hearty and will give us some energy for the morning.”
Annja ducked inside the room, which was warm. Ken pointed. “There’s a heater under the table. Keeps this place warm.”
The young woman said something to Ken, who nodded. She exited the room and returned a minute later just as Annja was seating herself at the table with her legs tucked under her.
“Sake,” Ken said. “Have you ever had it before?”
“Once or twice.”
He smiled. “I prefer it warm myself but some of my other countrymen swear by it being served cold. I find that nauseating. But warmed to 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, it is truly a spectacular drink.”
The young woman poured the rice wine into small cups and bowed toward Annja. Ken hoisted his cup toward Annja. “Kempai.”
Annja smiled. “Kempai.”
She tilted the cup toward her lips and took a sip of the drink. The warm liquid flowed into her mouth and then down her throat with such smoothness that it surprised her. The
sake warmed her on its way down and only after she’d swallowed it did it hit her with its dreamy effects.
She put the cup down and saw the waitress instantly refill it.
Annja nodded at her. “Is she trying to get me drunk?”
Ken smiled. “I think you’ll make a lovely couple.”
“You wish.” Annja shook her head. “Seriously, why is she refilling it for me? It wasn’t empty.”
“Japanese tradition,” Ken said. “You aren’t supposed to let the cup get empty. If we’re alone, we’re supposed to refill each other’s cup every time we take a sip. It’s considered bad form otherwise.”
“I’d rather not start our journey tomorrow with a hangover,” Annja said.
Ken said a few words to the young woman, who bowed and left the room. Ken turned to Annja. “Let’s get some food in us before this stuff makes us crazy.”
He took the covers off the plates and Annja breathed in the scent of the freshly cooked food. Ken pointed out the various dishes.
“Tonkatsu, pork cutlet, sashimi, tuna maki, soba and rice with vegetables.” He looked up. “As I said, nothing too special, but hearty enough.”
Annja grabbed a pair of chopsticks. “Is there any particular way to go about this without insulting anyone?”
Ken laughed. “Just dig in. I’m starved.”
Annja tore into the food, not realizing she’d been keeping her hunger in check until now. The last time they’d had anything of substance was on the train ride to Iga and that was but a snack. Now the home-cooked meal seemed like just the thing for Annja and she tasted every dish. “This is amazing stuff.”
Ken nodded around mouthfuls of rice. “Another benefit of staying at a ryokan. Some of them house tremendous cooks who really know what a hungry traveler needs to feel welcome.”
“Even if they are racists.”
Ken laughed. “Even if.”
Within a few minutes, the food was gone. Annja and Ken had polished off the entire dinner, and when the soft knock at the door came followed by the reappearance of the young woman in the kimono, Annja was already leaning back on her haunches, marveling at how much she’d managed to put away.
She sipped her sake, aware of the calming effects the liquor was having on her. “That was marvelous.”
Ken looked at the young woman. “Oishi.”
She bowed low and said what Annja took to be thanks. As she exited the room, she turned and said a few words to Ken, who smiled and bowed.
“What?”
Ken grinned. “She apologized for her father’s old-fashioned ways. I believe she overheard my exchange with him about you not being Japanese. She’s very embarrassed that he would say such things.”
“If I had a buck for every time I’ve heard kids express horror at stuff their parents have said, I’d be rich,” Annja said.
“Who wouldn’t?” Ken replied. He leaned back. “I’m exhausted.”
“So where do we sleep?” Annja said.
Ken held out his hands. “Right here.”
“Here?”
“Of course.”
Annja frowned. “Oh. It’s just I thought we’d have separate rooms.”
Ken shook his head. “I thought I told you—this was the last room they had available.”
“You didn’t tell me that, actually.”
Ken looked away. “I’m sorry. If it makes you uncomfortable—”
“No, no, that’s fine. I mean, it’s okay, I understand.” She looked into his eyes and he smiled at her.
“I promise I won’t try anything,” he said.
“I know,” Annja said.
She didn’t know if the sake was having an effect on her or if she was simply enjoying her time with Ken, but part of her hoped he would try something anyway.
23
Annja slept enveloped by the warmth of the bedding on the tatami-mat floor, listening to the crickets outside and the occasional breeze ruffling through the trees and shrubs. A lone fountain in the rear of the ryokan bubbled over stones, dribbling down a meandering waterfall. She breathed deeply, dreaming of perfect peace and quiet, lulled into a state of complete relaxation by the sake and exhaustion.
Somewhere in the vagueness of nocturnal time, Annja’s subconscious noticed something. A brief glimpse of disharmony spotlighted against the backdrop of natural rhythm.
Ken’s hand suddenly snaked over her mouth. His voice was a harsh whisper in her ear.
“Stay still!”
She came awake immediately wanting to fight him off. So this was it—what Garin had tried to warn her about—that Ken was an evil man, after all. He’d wanted her along on this trip for some reason only to now spring a deadly trap on her. She would die in this rural inn in a country not her own.
Her limbs were pinned. Ken knew how to keep her from moving.
“They’re outside,” he whispered.
She frowned and stopped trying to move. Ken let her go and as she turned over slowly, he pointed toward the shoji screens. Annja could see nothing beyond their opaque paper. Certainly there were no shadows cast against them like in some bad Hollywood movie.
But Ken seemed insistent. He let his other hand move toward his backpack. From within, he withdrew a small pistol with a sound suppressor attached to it.
Annja frowned. When the hell had he found time to get a gun? She reasoned Jiro must have supplied it to him during the gear-shopping expedition.
Ken brought himself into a seated position with the gun held at the ready. His breathing had deepened rather than shallowed like Annja’s had. He looked firm and resolute, committed to using the gun.
Annja closed her own eyes and saw the sword where she needed it to be in case things went to hell. She opened her eyes and saw Ken looking at her. He barely nodded.
Annja nodded back.
Ken pivoted and shot a single round through the back wall of their room into the corridor. Annja heard a grunt and then the sound of someone toppling to the ground in a heap.
Ken knelt by the door and slid the shoji back on its runners. He ducked low and peeked around the corner, only to jerk his head back a nanosecond later as a metallic object whizzed past his head and buried itself in the door frame.
Annja looked. A throwing star blackened in soot stuck where Ken’s head had been just a second before.
Ken rolled back. “Whatever you’ve got access to, now would be a good time to bring it out.”
Annja closed her eyes and reached for the sword. She saw herself closing her hands around the hilt.
The walls of their room exploded as figures leaped into the room. Annja jerked her eyes open. The sword in her hands deflected the downward cut from one of the black-clad invaders. His sword clanged off the broadsword Annja held.
She ducked and cut horizontally, slicing into the midsection of her attacker. She felt the blade cut deep and heard the muffled cry of pain followed by the sharp tang of copper flooding the room as her blade bit into his flesh.
Ken’s gun spit three more times, catching more attackers. He spun and maneuvered to try to get closer to Annja.
She rolled to her feet and came up with her sword held vertically in front of her. Another attacker materialized from outside, stepping calmly into the fray. He sized up Annja and her sword. He brought his hands up, and Annja heard the sound of a chain unfurling.
The links bit into her hand, wrapping themselves like a metallic snake. The invader jerked his hand back, and Annja felt one of her hands come away from the hilt of her sword.
Rather than try to fight, she inexplicably went with the energy of the attacker’s pull and turned her body, cutting straight down with her sword. She cleaved his arm off and he screeched, rolling back out into the night.
Ken was firing now with regularity. She heard his gun spit rounds into more attackers.
“How many are there?” Annja shouted.
Ken didn’t answer; he just kept shooting.
And then his gun went dry.
“I’m ou
t!”
Annja spun and dropped her blade down, deflecting another throwing star that had been hurled at her. The shuriken clanged harmlessly to the corner of the room.
Two more attackers flew into the room, each armed with katana. Annja saw the curved swords gleaming in the vague moonlight. Their breathing misted the room as the cooler outside temperatures mingled with the warmth of the ryokan.
Annja regarded them both. “I might need some help here.”
But Ken was engaged with three attackers of his own. Annja could hear him fending off their attacks with just his body. She thought she heard another startled gasp. Ken had apparently dispatched another one.
Annja’s attackers spread out in a vague arc in front of her. The presence of her sword must have given them reason for pause, but she knew it wouldn’t hold them off for long. Whatever they were determined to do, they would try regardless if she was armed or not.
One of them dropped his lead foot back and drew his sword high above his head. The other dropped the tip of his low, aimed almost at her foot.
Annja kept her sword held vertically in front of herself.
All she could do was wait.
From where he held his sword high above himself, the attacker on her left cut down straight at her head. Annja felt her body jerk itself to the left, dodging to the outside of his cut. She realized they wanted her to dodge to the inside, where the second attacker would have easily cut up and into her.
Instead, Annja allowed her sword to dip and deflect the downward cut. She spun and then cut back down above the attacker’s arms. Her sword chopped into both his arms, slicing into them. His sword dropped to the tatami mats below, staining them crimson. Annja flipped the blade and cut back up, catching her attacker in the throat. His body slumped to the floor.
The second attacker regarded her coolly now. He knew she was no amateur.
Another body rolled off to the side, his head at an odd angle. Ken had taken out another attacker.
But Annja couldn’t afford to concentrate on him right now. Not when the second swordsman looked as if he was ready to kill her for all the death Annja had managed to wreak on the invaders.
