'You seem familiar, sir,' Moon lied confidently. 'Are you not a famous wrestler?'
The man's eyes momentarily lit up then seemed to grow fixed and probing. Just as the innkeeper had warned!
'I once wrestled, but that was years ago. You would have been too young to see me fight.' Katsu shrugged, grinning disarmingly. 'Perhaps all sumo types are somewhat alike?'
This fellow, Moonshadow decided, might prove to be quite dangerous. Cool natured and quick-witted, he should be responded to with care. The hasty question about wrestling had been a mistake. It had given the stranger his first insight into Moon, that he was a good – maybe trained – observer. A pity he should have learned that so quickly.
Who had sent him? What was he really after?
'Forgive my rudeness, I meant no disrespect,' Moon said. 'A detective, then? How exciting! But surely you can't be after a person like me?' He laughed, gesturing expansively. 'No murderers here! Just a dull, hard-working messenger from Edo!'
'Indeed?' Katsu chuckled, too knowingly for Moon's liking. 'Well, in fact, my current case involves no murders. It's all about a hero, actually, not a villain. I have been knocking on doors enquiring of many a hard-working youth today.' From his robe he yanked a patterned cloth purse.
'You see, I seek a certain brave boy pilgrim. I've been hired by . . . let's just say by a pious client who wishes to remain anonymous.'
'Hired to do what?'
'To honour this daring young man for his charity and valour. My client witnessed his chivalry near Hakone on the Tokaido, and says that Lord Buddha will not let him sleep until the boy is rewarded!' Katsu shook the purse, making its contents jingle.
'Are you he, by any chance? I must observe, you are the right age and height and generally fit the description I have.'
'As many do, I suppose,' Moon said casually. Katsu nodded and shrugged again.
For a split second, Moon wondered if the girl had sent this Katsu. He quickly dismissed the thought. Her again! Why did he keep thinking of her? He forced himself to concentrate on the detective. This man – and his story – felt all wrong. Whoever he was, whatever he really wanted, he was no ally of the Grey Light.
Katsu's random movements, the vitality in his eyes and his steady, silent breathing told Moon three things. The detective was very physically strong, mentally sharp and highly disciplined. He gave nothing else away, a warning in itself. Only a fool would trust him, for he was definitely a player in this game. But on whose side?
Moonshadow's nimble mind flashed back to a series of lessons Badger had given him on how to deal with authorities like magistrates or the police. It had all seemed tedious at the time, and despite having learned by then to appreciate Badger, he had still come to find those particular sessions as irritating as Saru-San's many fleas. Now he realised their profound worth and felt grateful that he could recall so much of Badger's advice. Don't just listen to their questions, the archivist had warned. Consider their unspoken strategy: where the questions are leading. They will try to trap you with your own answers, so choose each word with care. Any new facts you blurt will come back at you like shuriken. Remember that to mislead them, you must move, breathe and even glance as one wholly innocent.
'I'm neither the hero you seek,' Moon stretched as if the whole matter was starting to bore him, 'nor even a pilgrim!' He patted the calligraphy on his clothing. 'Just a poor runner of messages between the eastern and western capitals.'
'Hmm,' Katsu nodded amiably, 'and just arrived from Edo, you said?'
Moon sensed the snare in his questioning. 'I said from Edo, yes. But not just arrived. I've been in the area several days, delivering letters in both Otsu and Kyoto.' He almost winced. That was too specific. He'd handed Katsu new 'facts'.
'Ah,' Katsu's eyes shone. 'I was in Kyoto myself last week. Along the road facing Nijo Castle, those hedges of kirishima flowers – you know, azaleas – are they not looking magnificent this spring? One type in particular . . . such an outstanding colour.'
'Kirishima flowers?' Moon did his best impression of the stone Buddha outside the local temple. Katsu was watching his face closely. The smallest twitch would betray him.
'Yes, banks of them. One colour seems to have taken over this year.'
Moon's gaze blankly drifted left and right before meeting Katsu's seeking stare. 'What a shame I missed out on them. Sadly, my deliveries took me nowhere near the castle.'
'Nnng,' the detective's face hinted at a smile, 'indeed, a great pity.' He bowed to Moonshadow. 'I apologise for wasting your time. A good day and a safe visit to you!' He turned and lumbered off down the street, swinging his staff, whistling.
Carefully Moon watched him. Katsu never looked back.
'I haven't seen the last of you, have I?' Moonshadow muttered. This fellow's arrival was a bad development. Things had been going quite smoothly, but now he was under suspicion. Another day's scouting and preparation would have been ideal, but with Katsu prowling the town, the wisest course was to waste no time. What if the big man reappeared tomorrow with fifty local samurai at his back?
Moon glanced towards the castle. Yes. He'd go in tonight.
He turned to cross the porch then decided to quickly check for other potential threats. While pretending to inspect the porch flags Moon examined everyone in sight out of the corners of his eyes.
Other than the hulking form of Katsu, there were around twenty people on the street. By their faces or walks he was quickly able to eliminate each one from the category of possible problem. Soon only one remained. A flower-seller, fifty paces away, hunched over her tray of colourful kirishima flowers . . . the very azaleas of which Katsu had spoken. The beauty of the flowers swept his thoughts back to the girl once more. Suddenly he found himself wondering if she was especially fond of azaleas, the way Heron was.
'Get out of my head,' Moon whispered good-naturedly. 'Every time you bob up, things get cloudy. I'll start making mistakes.'
He quickly looked the flower-seller over. Her head was shrouded, face hidden, by a brightly coloured scarf. Moon watched her shoulders move as she sorted azaleas, studied the line of her slightly hunched back.
'No, too old.' He returned to the inn. 'No one I should worry about.'
Snowhawk looked up as the boy left the porch. She had felt his eyes glide over her. Now she was grateful that apparently, from the way he had just turned and disappeared, her disguise had fooled him. He'd believed her an old, hunched woman. Her thorough training had proved itself again; it appeared she could deceive almost anyone.
Whoever he was, though, he was still pretty sharp. Snowhawk had watched him handle the nosy private detective. Even at this distance, it had been obvious that he had read the fellow as easily as a scholar might discern a cheap, unreliable travel guidebook. Having had time now to study this boy, Snowhawk was convinced of a few things.
She had been right to return to this spot and watch for him after chancing down the street earlier and seeing him in his new disguise, striding from the inn. Regardless of that disguise, she had recognised him with absolute certainty. His balanced grace and his eyes had given him away. It was him: the same brave stranger who, dressed as a pilgrim, had rescued her and the farmers on the Great Road. Snowhawk gave a slightly smug grin. The gullible farmers she had used for travel cover. The way he had looked at her in the forest, it appeared he had done it for her. The farmers had been incidental. Knowing he liked her could prove useful later on.
There should be no underestimating him, however. This plucky lad had many skills. Subtle combat. Changing his appearance. Handling the suspicious interrogator now striding off down the street. The boy was clearly a professional. But a warrior monk? Snowhawk laughed. His trainers might have included a few perhaps, but no, he himself was no staff-carrying chanter. Her face tightened.
He was like her. He was shinobi. A spy, and clearly a gifted one.
Not perfect, though: he'd just failed to notice her, right under his nose. Some spies were good at sensin
g each other's presence. He appeared underdeveloped in that area. She nodded. That too was worth remembering.
Watching him in action back on the highway had impressed her. He was an outstanding warrior, fast and agile. Snowhawk stared thoughtfully at the porch of the inn, at the exact spot where she had last seen him. In all likelihood, this boy was the male version of her. If that were so, then he too was here to get the plans.
Had the shadow clan he served perceived the same grand chance for profit as her masters? Did they too intend to steal, then secretly auction Silver Wolf's new asset among the faithless, opportunistic warlords? Perhaps. A creature like herself or not, that made him her rival.
Here was the kind of complication she had never thought about. Snowhawk sighed deeply. She would love to speak with the boy, maybe even get to know him. Ask him questions about all they had in common. From up close, look into that bold, interesting face, those sharp eyes. He might just be the first person she had ever met who could understand her privileged, lonely life. The honour, the pride and the burden of being shinobi. As her trainers had said for as long as she could remember, one selected to do great deeds in secret, topple princes, alter the course of history. One who could do things others could not.
She closed her eyes. One destined to walk alone, friendless and often fearful, never daring to fail. Who but her own kind would comprehend such a destiny?
Yes, he could very well be her mirror image. She hung her head. Mirror image or not, she might end up having to kill him.
NINE
To cross
the moat
For the remainder of the day, Moonshadow was uneasy, half-expecting Katsu to return leading Silver Wolf's men to the inn. As darkness fell, he dutifully recited the furube sutra and then placed a tiny iron wedge in the runner of his door, locking his room. He unpacked his equipment for the mission, spreading his gear out on the matting so he could check each individual piece.
Under his specially hued night suit, he would wear a full-body undergarment of thin wire mesh. The featherweight cousin of chain mail, it offered some protection from part-blunt or light blades. But if forced to deal with multiple guards at close quarters, he would need more protection than it gave. Moon unfolded two strips of lightweight, segmented thigh armour, checking the ties on each strip's joints. The armour was unique to the Grey Light Order, each leg lined with a series of tough leather pouches. Flexible but strong, it reached hip to knee. Inspired by the defences of armadillos and insects like slaters, the leggings could deflect arrows or be used as suddenly rising shields when duelling. Moon donned the mesh, then his night suit and finally, the leg armour.
He examined each of his tools before stowing them in the legging's pouches, distributing their combined weight evenly.
First, his pair of shuko, black iron climbing claws. Usually, shuko were used along with ashiko, strap-on iron foot spikes, but Moon preferred a lighter combination: claws and serrated-sole sandals. He checked that the shuko's prongs were sound, leather palm straps intact. Once over the moat, these claws and the serrated grip of his specially woven sandals would help him scale the wall.
Moonshadow pulled on the draw cords of his night suit's thick cowl, tightening it around his head. Its interior was lined with a special red fabric, the colour of which disguised blood. Should his neck or face be wounded, his enemies wouldn't know they had made him bleed. Even when soaked with blood, the unique red fabric simply looked wet, as if from sweat. Its use among spies had given rise to a predictable legend. Simple folk said that the men and women of the shadows had strange powers, for as gossipping guards throughout the land had said, even when cut, these spies did not bleed.
Moon tied the draw cords and secured the cowl in place with one end of his double-length sash. He wound the long indigo belt around his waist then up over one shoulder, setting clever, open knots in it that could hold his sheathed sword on either his back or left hip. The knotted sash made it easy to move his weapon between the two locations. This would make a certain trick possible.
If facing a good swordsman, he could quickly switch his sword from back to hip then perform a speed draw like a regular duellist. Most samurai guards attacking a spy would be unprepared for such a move, since shinobi usually wore their swords in back-mounted sheaths. Few would expect a lightning draw from the hip instead.
Mantis had shown him the trick, saying at the time with just a hint of bitterness, 'It's a ploy that will surprise even experienced swordsmen. I should know; it worked on me the first time I saw it.' He had then peeled open his jacket and shown his student a thin horizontal scar on his chest.
Into the leggings went Moon's burglary tools. An iron right-angle for lifting heavy roof tiles without a sound. A small iron hook and a series of thin blades used for picking locks. A long, weighted, reinforced cord on a wooden spool. Water in a bamboo phial.
Moon counted his stocks of shuriken and smoke bombs, then turned to his means of transport over the moat. From his pack he drew out eight quarter-circles and two strong crossbeams fitted with foot straps, carved from a certain buoyant timber. He checked that the parts snapped together easily to form a pair of mizu gumo or 'water spiders'. First, the quarter-circles were assembled into two large discs, each held together with cunning, spring-loaded joints. Finally the two crossbeams and their leather straps were slotted in place wholly within each circle. Moon tested the strength of the water spiders then took them apart again and spread their parts throughout his legging pouches.
He smiled as he worked, recalling Groundspider's many failed attempts to use the floating discs. Wearing them like great round shoes, a very light person – one with a typical shinobi build like Moon – could balance upright on mizu gumo and cross a moat or still river. Being unusually big and solid for a spy, Groundspider would invariably flip upside down then thrash about underwater, dangling from the strapped-on floats like a huge drowning bat.
Despite fleeting moments of nervousness at his looming task, Moon chuckled, picturing Groundspider, drenched to the bone and taking his mizu gumo apart, after a failed moat crossing near the Shogun's fortress in Edo. 'What are you smirking at, kid?' The big fellow had scowled with mock menace. 'I'm better than you at everything else! Besides, this keeps happening only because I'm a ground spider!'
At last Moonshadow fed his short, straight shinobi sword into the knots waiting on his back, slinging beside it the cloth pack which held his day clothes. With his equipment in place, he unlocked the door. He waited awhile, listening carefully to the night sounds of the inn, until satisfied that everyone else was sleeping and no one lurked in the corridor between his room and the rear exit. He opened his door, crept unchallenged from the building and moved through the town's narrow back alleys for the castle.
The midnight bell hummed from Fushimi's largest temple, its deep ring turning butterflies loose in his stomach. Moon crouched in shadow, scanning the front stretch of Momoyama Castle's moat.
Though the night was ink-black, Moon knew the real moon would rise all too soon from behind the distant mountains. True, it would not be a full disc, but a glowing crescent that would still flood the rooftops with a dangerous amount of light. He had to stay ahead of that moonrise, or at the very least be on his way out of the castle when it struck.
Moonshadow passed the temple and crept along the moat's shadowy bank, dotted on the town side with willow trees and lone, twisted pines. His dark blue-purple night suit gave him confidence, for he knew its unique colour was harder to distinguish in shadow or half-light than plain black. But the first hint of real fear was already gnawing at the edges of his mind.
This was no training exercise. This was real: life and death. It was time to take control within through reciting the furube sutra, not dutifully as he did each dawn and sunset, but almost desperately, for now he faced real action.
Furube meant to shake or shrug something off. This 'shaking off' ritual made spies ready to carry out their missions. It cleared the mind, sharpened the sen
ses, helped a shinobi throw off all distractions before going about his work.
In the darkness at the base of a tree, Moon folded his legs and sat on his heels. He narrowed his eyes and whispered the sutra's three verses, the Preparation Verse, the Facing Self Verse and the Verse of One Resolved. He brought his palms together, folding and unfolding his fingers through a series of difficult patterns, forming a different knot or symbol to accompany each line of the sutra.
Gather, tidy and align your doings and their karma.
Cleanse any lies made this day, scatter not one grain of life.
To end this path in happiness, make still your mind.
Back when he was Nanashi, Mantis had made him think a great deal about the second verse's final part. As Mantis had said repeatedly, 'scatter not one grain of life' meant, among other things, never kill if you have a choice. At such times, a strange, wounded look would fill Mantis's eyes. The once-famous duellist spoke often of karma: the consequences of one's actions, the effect that followed every cause. Year by year, he had challenged young Nanashi to stay mindful of the sacredness of life.
It had been hard to believe that this pious man, despite his incredible skills, had ever killed anyone or anything. Then one day, Eagle had revealed quite matter-of-factly that Brother Mantis, 'in the wildness of his youth', had duelled for a living, killing a total of seventy-five men, each in single combat.
Moon drew a slow breath. Scatter not one grain of life. Would he be forced to kill tonight? Would he, like his teacher, begin a journey of many regrets?
Moonshadow widened his eyes. He looked around, took in the moat, the distant bridge across it, the sloping castle walls beyond. He was having real trouble readying his mind. What was wrong with him? The furube had done half its work, for that initial sliver of fear had faded away. No, it wasn't that.
He shook his head as he realised. It was her! She was there, haunting him, on the edge of his thoughts at any given second. Why? Was he somehow sensing her nearby? Had his interest in her become a kind of madness? He narrowed his eyes and recited the sutra again, forcing himself to concentrate harder.
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