'There, sir.' He put the drugged cold tea down before the samurai then cheerily held up his own cup. 'To our success. And . . . to the ruin of all thieves!'
'Nnng!' agreed the stranger, draining his cup in two fast gulps. Moon smiled. This one's gluttony would work against him. He sat down, listening to the birdsong of the forest, watching the passers-by, while he counted silently.
When he had reached sixty, he glanced at his would-be bodyguard. The man's eyes were already half-closed and his head was lolling forward. Moonshadow sprung to his feet. 'I must be going now, sir. I can see you're not yet rested, so, farewell!' He bounded from the porch and started pacing away uphill. His sharp ears told him that the samurai had struggled to his feet and was swaying on the spot, leaning on creaking furniture.
'Oi!' the man called, his speech slurred. 'You can't go. You need me. My sword is . . . I am . . . I can't be . . . defeated!' He gave a sharp belch.
Moonshadow glanced back over his shoulder. The samurai raised one hand, pointing, then his head sagged onto his chest. The hand flailed, dropped. He swayed a full circle then tumbled headlong from the porch to land face down in the road. A small dust cloud rose around him.
The serving lady hurried from her shop and leaned over him, tilting her head to one side. Her face creased with surprise. The samurai was already snoring loudly. She returned to the porch, snatched up his teacup and peered warily into it.
'You won't be drinking here again.' Moon shook his head and quickened his pace uphill. Nor, he hoped, trying to scam innocent passers-by.
Within an hour he crossed the ridge and the road descended, snaking into a shady gully where it met the Hakone Barrier. There a wall of sharpened bamboo stakes ran right across the gully. Behind the wall was a little guardhouse. A heavily protected single gate loomed in the wall's centre. To one side of the narrow opening, a warning flag read:
Produce Papers, Turn Back or Be Arrested.
Opposite it, a long banner proudly declared:
Suspected spies beheaded so far this month: Eleven
Eleven executions in two weeks! They couldn't all have been real spies. Moon forced himself to stay calm, though his thoughts quickly sped up. In recent times, the Shogun had encouraged the regional warlords to staff these checkpoints with their own samurai. It saved the Shogun money and helped keep his own loyal warriors around him in Edo, but it also created problems. Some local samurai were overzealous at their job or just plain bullies. This particular crew was made up of Silver Wolf's men, and they seemed eager to be as ruthless and feared as their master.
Moon eyed the warriors ahead as he drew closer to the barrier. From the way they lurched and strutted, all show and no real balance, his duelling instructor, Mantis, could have fought them all and won. He almost smiled. Of course, Mantis's advice right now would be to avoid trouble: adopt a soft tone and show patience.
'Offer humility and respect, even when it's not deserved,' Mantis had told him many times. 'For it turns away rage, even among hot-blooded youths . . . like you!' He pictured his sword teacher's sharp but melancholic eyes and nodded.
He glanced at the road behind him. No sign of his unwanted bodyguard, who would still be sleeping off his special tea for some time to come. Moonshadow vowed to be more careful of strangers from now on, to protect his mission from all delays and distractions. His orders, after all, were straightforward and urgent. Enter Silver Wolf's lair. Find and steal the plans he had just purchased, plans for a new type of weapon, and so neutralise their threat to the Shogun. He paced up to the barrier, one hand dipping in his jacket for his papers.
'Halt!' A gruff voice roared. Moon heard the snick of a sword leaving its scabbard and he froze, closing his eyes the way a frightened pilgrim boy should. A blade whistled in the air to his right and he felt its tip pass close to his neck. He sensed the guard on the other end of the sword, another warrior stepping up behind him, and a third swordsman to his left, half-drawing a blade slowly and noisily.
'We tell you when and how to reach for your papers! Understand, boy?' The samurai behind him demanded.
'Yes, sir,' Moon nodded quickly. He opened one eye.
The guard to his right slowly withdrew his sword and sheathed it. 'Let's see them, now!' he grunted. 'Left hand only.' Moonshadow followed his orders, slowly pulling his identification papers from his jacket. Each barrier guard carefully studied the document, reading the description of the young pilgrim then inspecting him to ensure that he matched it.
'Hmm. I think it's him. All appears in order,' one guard said casually. He glared at Moon. 'But I hate religious beggars. Let's kill him anyway.' The others nodded.
Moonshadow thought quickly as he stared back at the man's stony face. These guards were mad dogs! If they made a move, he would have no choice but to take down the closest ones, then run. Maybe they would spare him if he pleaded? He tried to look vulnerable. 'But . . . sirs, please. I didn't do anything!'
'Oh yeah,' the stone-faced guard suddenly grinned. 'That's right, you didn't!' He looked around, sniggering. 'What are the rules again? Oh, that's it, we should only kill the guilty ones! I guess we'll have to let him live after all.' He slapped his thigh and gave a high-pitched giggle.
The other guards laughed too, one clapping Moon on the back. 'Did you see his face? Why are pilgrims all so gullible?' He snorted then guffawed.
His laugh had an annoying nasal quality that made Moon want to duel him. 'It's 'cos he's just a kid,' the third samurai yawned, obviously tired of their game now. He thrust the papers into Moonshadow's hand and waved him through the gate. 'Go on, holy boy, get out of here! May the gods help you make it down to the lake. Bandits have been bad this month.'
Moon strode away downhill, muttering angrily. He hated being called gullible, perhaps because it was one of Groundspider's favourite taunts. Nice sense of humour, those guards! If it wasn't for the wisdom of Eagle and Mantis, he might have overreacted twice on this, his first day on the road, throwing away the whole mission. Why did everyone keep on about bandits though? Like the ronin he had been forced to drug, surely those barrier guards had been lying, just teasing him again.
Then his eyes flicked ahead, taking in the look of the highway. Overhead, the tree canopies were starting to meet, forming a long natural arch. The forest below was the darkest stretch yet. A white stone marker beside the road caught his eye. He stopped as he reached it, kneeling down to read the inscription below its cap of thick green moss.
It was a list of names, apparently several members of the same family. Down one side of the little monument, a line of text said they had been slain.
By bandits. In this forest.
He stood up, staring at the marker. The inscription was just weeks old. Moonshadow began to walk on downhill, then stopped and looked up into the thick canopy. He turned his head left and right, mouth open, listening.
It was true. Every bird in the forest had abruptly stopped singing.
SIX
Brigands of
the forest
A hundred paces downhill at a sharp switchback in the road, a large group of farmers huddled together.
Moonshadow studied them. There were around two dozen men and women, in roughly equal numbers. Perhaps from the same village or at least the same region, they ranged from an old, stooped couple to a handful of youths.
Pressing into each other, back to back and shoulder to shoulder, the farmers peered into the tops of the trees just as Moon had. The forest's ominous silence continued. An older woman, in a series of frightened whispers, urged the group to stay still and quiet.
Moon tightened the chin sash holding his sun hat in place. He hurried to catch up to the huddle of fellow travellers but as he trotted under the forest's darkest archways yet, he questioned himself.
What exactly did he plan to do when he reached these people? He was supposed to make Fushimi unnoticed, undetected by any of the Shogun's enemies. Now he found himself considering what spies called Overt Combat – using one's ski
lls publicly – and this was strictly forbidden unless he had no choice.
So what use could he be to these poor farmers? He wasn't obliged to protect them. In fact, if they were attacked, he wasn't allowed to protect them. He was supposed to take the easy option: escape. What happened to these defenceless people was simply not his problem. In fact, they would be helping him by tying up the brigands' attention while he stole away. During the chaos that would surround the bandits robbing their victims or carrying them off as slaves, he could vanish through the forest, go about his mission. Why was he even considering helping out? Had Mantis and his endless maxims about Buddha's compassion scrambled his mind?
He said it aloud, struggling to convince himself. 'Not my problem.'
As he closed with the group, Moon glanced up and saw a familiar face.
It was her.
The peasant girl smiled with recognition. He blinked as he took in her loveliness all over again. Once more his cheeks burned.
Moonshadow was ten paces from the girl when the first horseman burst between the trees. The farmers went into a tight, gasping crush. The ground rumbled. Branches snapped, twigs crackled and flicked into the air as three more riders charged from their hiding places. Moon turned a smooth circle, looking the attackers over. Two were archers, the other two spearmen. All four brigands wore armour, but not one of them had a matching set. Most likely they had pilfered these mixed fragments from the dead of some great battlefield. Each rider was a patchwork of randomly coloured plates as they galloped in circles around the screaming, praying farmers.
While the others squeezed together the girl alone stood tall, gripping her staff like a sword, eyeing the riders with cool contempt. Moon shook his head, motioning for her to join the protection of the group. She ignored him. Without a thought he started making for her. At the same time, one of the horsemen slowed, stopped circling and trotted his mount straight at the girl.
Moon hesitated, mind racing. His mission . . . guard its secrecy . . . not his problem . . .
Her eyes met his and she smiled again. Moonshadow steeled himself. He was unsure how or why, but some part of him had already reached a decision: a quiet escape was now out of the question. But he also had to conceal the nature of his skills as much as possible. There'd be no going for his sword. He put his head down, grunted, then ran hard and fast at the mounted spearman closing on the girl.
As he dashed up to the bandit's horse, Moon pulled a shuriken from the pouch inside his jacket, hiding it in his hand so that only a few dark, sharp spikes peeped between his fingers. He twisted his body, right arm lashing out in a horizontal arc. A split second later, when the rider noticed him and raised his spear, Moon cartwheeled out of range.
Ignoring the girl now and glaring at Moonshadow instead, the brigand pulled hard on his reins, turning to chase his new target. His mount took another stride or two, then the wide leather strap holding its saddle in place came apart, a neat cut-line suddenly opening across the strap's entire width. The saddle lurched, slid to the right, then tipped forward, breaking away from the horse. Dropping the spear, the brigand toppled from his mount, turning in the air with a frightened squeak. He landed on his back beside the scrambling huddle of farmers. The strongest men quickly expanded their circle to surround him.
Moon was already running for his next target when the bandit sat up, dazed, only to find himself ringed by the very people he had been about to harm. The farming men glanced at one another, nodded, then pounced on the fallen spearman. He went for his sword, but two men trapped his arm before he could draw it. Behind the melee, a mounted bandit archer hoisted his bow. He took aim at one of the farmers pinning the downed brigand's sword arm.
Unnoticed by all but the girl, Moon sprang into view beside the archer. His arm briefly becoming a blur, he hacked in the air like a cat cuffing a dangling thread, then dropped to the ground, landing in a low crouch. With a loud fff-twang the rider's long bow bucked on the end of his arm. Its wooden curve straightened out, dipping sharply as its arrow launched and string snapped at the same time.
The mounted archer howled with pain and began snatching for the arrow that had just pierced his foot. Moon scrambled out of sight behind the bandit's horse. With gritted teeth and an angry sob, the archer slid from his saddle. He hit the ground hard then curled up, muttering painfully, trying to loosen the arrow which pinned his sandal to his foot.
Moonshadow stood up. The two remaining brigands were riding straight for him, one from each side. The first brandished a bow, the second a spear.
He waved frantically to the girl, catching her eye. 'Get them ready to run,' he shouted. 'When I signal you, go, and don't look back!'
'Who are you?' She called, her eyes wide. 'What are you?'
'A . . .' his mouth hung open for a second, 'a . . . warrior monk!'
Moon slapped the rump of the wounded bandit's horse and it started turning in panicked circles. He darted, low to the ground, towards the looming mounted spearman.
The rider changed the grip on his spear and thrust at Moon impulsively.
Moon evaded the stab and grabbed the spear's shaft in his free hand, leaning back as he secured his hold. With a twist and a grunt, he tugged it from the man's grip and spinning around, Moon tossed the spear, point-up, to one of the feistier farmers.
The disarmed brigand roared at Moon and fumbled for the sword hanging in a sheath below his saddle. Moon sprang up to the horse, deftly cut the spearman's saddle strap with the shuriken in his hand, ducked into a fast roll under the animal and came up running on the other side. As he streaked off, the saddle strap gave way and the bandit, with sword half-drawn, crashed from the horse in a fast, uncontrolled somersault.
Now only one of the robbers, an archer, remained mounted. He turned sharply to see Moon accelerating at him. Cursing, he quickly raised his bow and nocked an arrow.
Tucking the shuriken into his jacket as he ran, Moon charged in a zigzag for the final enemy. The archer let fly. His shaft whizzed into a blur that passed within two fists of Moon's neck.
Leading with his hip and shoulder, Moon deliberately crashed into the side of the archer's horse, startling the animal. As it shied sideways whinnying, he grabbed the rider's stirrup and foot with both hands, twisted, then pulled hard. The archer gave an agonised cry and let himself slide from the horse to stop his hip from dislocating.
Springing clear as the archer fell, Moon turned a circle, hands raised defensively like knives, eyes darting about. He checked each opponent before giving a single, crisp nod. It was done, he had unhorsed them all, and without resorting to his sword.
'Go!' he yelled to the girl. She nodded, beaming at him, then threw him her staff. Moon caught it and held it up in salute. The girl urged her companions to run.
As the farmers rushed off downhill, matching their pace to the limits of the oldest among them, Moon took the staff between his hands and set himself to block the road should any of the brigands remount. He glanced over his shoulder at the fleeing group.
He saw what he had hoped to see. There she was, at the edge of the throng, shepherding the others, looking back every few seconds, watching as long as she could. Watching for more danger, or just watching him?
Moonshadow smiled and nodded, then turned back to guard the brigands. He sighed. Any moment now she, along with the farmers, would vanish from sight around the bend, off to the safety of the lake district at the bottom of the great Hakone ridge.
Should these robbers try for a come-back, at least now he was freer to act. While it mattered what farmers might witness and go on to describe at a festival or in some crowded tavern, it was of no concern what a bandit saw. No one would believe anything they said, so Moon could now do whatever was called for. Were they still dangerous? He cautiously inspected his foes. In the forest canopy above, the first birds resumed singing.
The original brigand Moon unhorsed had been knocked out by some farmer's solid punch and although heavily bruised, he just looked asleep. His comrad
e with the arrow in his foot was still curled in a ball, whimpering as he gingerly tried to pull the shaft free. The third bandit Moon brought down had cut his arm with his half-drawn sword while falling. Having lost a lot of blood quickly, he was pale and weak. He struggled to tie a tourniquet around his arm with a trembling hand and his teeth. The fourth unsaddled robber was trying to get to his feet using his undrawn sword as a crutch. Judging by his twitchy movements and constant wincing, the man's leg had barely stayed in its hip socket. He would be useless for combat for weeks.
A sudden feeling of guilt gripped Moonshadow. Back in the monastery, he had passed his final test on the grounds of obedience. Had his intervention with these bandits not been just the opposite: a reckless act of defiance, in which he'd risked his entire mission for a bunch of farmers? His mouth tightened. Or was it actually worse than that? Hadn't he really taken this huge gamble over a girl?
If Brother Eagle was standing here now, there'd no doubt be sharp rebukes for bending the No Overt Combat rule. He frowned thoughtfully. Mantis, however, might actually praise him for showing kindness to strangers, chivalry in defending the weak and helpless. Groundspider, of course, would just revel in the thrill of the fight! Badger – as always – would agree with Eagle, while no doubt ponderously quoting some ancient Chinese sage, and Heron, well, she could go either way. It was all so confusing! He looked the bandits over again, thought of the girl and then filled his chest with air. No. His inner voice had bade him act. Like Eagle himself, who had spared his Iga interrogators so long ago, Moon had made a fast decision based on his own instincts. Whatever he had just done, he didn't regret it. He would live or die with its karma, its reward or its punishment.
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