Like Moonshadow, The Deathless had been reared to see in darkness that left normal men blind. His vision penetrated the haze. He watched the slender intruder cling to the wall like a frog, peel off a pair of water spiders and slowly feed their parts, one at a time, into his leggings. The figure then rummaged for something else in his hidden pockets, hunched against the wall, head turning warily in all directions.
'What do you fish for?' The Deathless whispered. 'Rope and grappler?' A moment later the slim, dark outline was on the move, steadily climbing for the drain outlet. The assassin nodded again. The way this enemy agent spread himself flat, quickly securing good hand and foot holds, suggested the skilful use of climbing claws.
'Yes, real talent.' The Deathless chuckled. 'But it will not be enough. I will wait, patient and thoughtful, poised to strike at your worst possible moment. And once I discover where your limits lie . . .'
He closed his spy glass with a muffled snap.
ELEVEN
Unexpected
friend
Moonshadow hung with one hand from the drain's protruding stone mouth, packing away his second climbing claw with the other. After breaking the sight-joining, he had felt confused as usual, but this time the mental fuzziness seemed to be lasting longer. A thin stream of water fell beside him from the drain. It didn't smell too bad, so Moonshadow leaned forward and passed his cowled head under the small cascade. The shock of the cold water cleared his mind a little, but he knew he could not wait for every trace of the joining to disperse. All too soon, that moon would rise.
He hauled himself up and crouched on the trough-shaped outlet, working his left shoulder loose. He prepared himself for pain, placed his right fist under his left armpit, and steadily forced the shoulder from its socket. There was a loud, nauseating click. Moon almost bit his tongue as he stifled an agonised gasp.
His eyes watered, his teeth ground together. At first it felt as if his arm was on fire and being torn from his body. Then the awful pain settled down to a dull constant throbbing. He angled his right shoulder forward, tucked in his chin and fed himself into the drain head first. Moon inch-wormed along on his belly through a thin layer of water, his dislocated arm trailing, rubbing against the drain's stone side. There was a dull thud, then what sounded like a heavy gate creaking shut somewhere above him. He froze, looking up, listening anxiously.
If he was detected in here, he would be defenceless. Groundspider had told him of a shinobi once trapped in a similar drain. That man's enemies had poured oil into the narrow tunnel, then set it alight. The desperate spy had barely escaped with his life, diving – on fire – into the moat and sustaining terrible burns.
From overhead, nothing but silence now. He moved on, listening warily.
When he had travelled around sixty paces in the dark, cramped channel, he smelled wet fur up ahead. An animal. A rat maybe? If Badger's chart of the castle was accurate and Moon's estimate of how far he had come was also correct, he was now under the great courtyard, nearing the keep. The outer mansions, guard quarters and landscaped gardens were all behind him now. Ahead loomed the central tower of the castle complex. At its base were living areas, stables and kitchens, and above them, its master's rooms and audience chamber. And, most importantly, at the very top of the keep, his treasure vault.
The drain grew lighter as he pressed forward and suddenly he could see the silhouette of a creature in his path. Its pointy ears brushed against the drain's ceiling. Moon slid forward, straining his eyes at the animal until he could tell what it was.
It was a lean cat, the type known as a kimono cat, contentedly chewing a rat it had already beheaded. Just past it, the drain widened, becoming brighter still. Moon reached the feeding animal. It gave him a curious look then turned and scuttled ahead, the rat hanging from its mouth. Moon frowned. This cat was odd! The black-and-white pattern on its back resembled a woman wearing a kimono, a traditional Japanese robe, hence the name kimono cat. Cats born with these markings were considered sacred and sent to live in the grounds of temples, so they were also called temple cats. But this one was like no other he had seen: it had a long tail. The tail of a temple cat was normally short, broad and almost triangular in shape.
'You're different. A loner, like me, neh?' Moon whispered to the cat.
It stopped and looked back at him, then gave a muffled meow as if agreeing. He winced. Its cry might draw attention. The cat scurried ahead until it stopped beneath an iron grate. Moon listened carefully and sampled the dank air before catching up to the animal. Old smells of soya sauce, spilt sake and burnt rice told him they had reached the kitchen at the base of the keep. His sharp ears said it was unoccupied right now.
Lantern or candle light streamed in from the iron grate and Moon dragged himself cautiously under it. The bars were just far enough apart for him to squeeze through the grate without a dislocated shoulder. Moonshadow had just enough room now to rise to his knees and reach across his body for his dangling left arm. Once more he prepared for pain. The cat tilted its head, watching his every move intently.
With a dull snap he put his shoulder back in its socket. The cat flinched at the sound, dropped its rat, and sprung up through the grate. Wiping tears of pain from his eyes, Moon clambered slowly after it. He rose to his feet and gingerly stretched. He was inside the kitchen's storeroom, not the kitchen itself. The cat stared at him, tail swishing.
His mind had cleared now from the effects of the carp-joining, his strength and energy were returning. A good thing, he decided. He was going to need them.
The storeroom was shadowy like the kitchen beyond it. Both were lit by a series of well-spaced iron lanterns. Moon heard a faint sniff. In the nearby corridor lurked the first of many night watch guards. Vigilant, hand-picked samurai, each one armed with two swords.
He slid off his cloth pack and emptied it. Tightly folding his day clothes and the pack itself, he distributed them throughout the pockets of his armoured leggings. Now, with only his sword on his back, there was less for an enemy to snatch at. He wedged himself into a dark corner and stared at the temple cat, which sat brushing its whiskers near the half-open sliding door to the kitchen. He would use it to scout before moving, but only on the least demanding level to conserve energy.
Moon closed his eyes. His hands trembled. The cat sat bolt upright and, turning its head, stared at him. For the first time ever, he saw his own face through an animal's eyes. The usual shimmering, watery veil was there, but his features were distinct despite it, and the experience of seeing them was strange and unsettling.
He opened his dormant human eyes. Through the cat's sharp vision he saw an unexpected colour glinting above his own high cheekbones. Now, while joined to this animal, the pupils of his unused eyes glowed with a subtle green hue. Did that always happen? Moon watched himself frown as an odd, sharp taste grew strong in his mouth – which he hoped was not the taste of fresh rat's head – and the kitchen smells suddenly became almost overpowering.
The temple cat turned away and bounded through the half-open sliding door, eager to resume its rounds. Moon watched carefully, taking in everything the creature saw as it padded around the kitchen looking for food.
Its vision lit on the paper-lined wall and the shadow of a corridor guard, standing tall and silent just outside. The cat vaulted onto a long bench, avoided a fish knife lying on it, then leapt to a large iron cooking plate set against the wall and framed by an archway of stones. Hunching in the centre of the plate, the cat looked around before turning its gaze up. Moon nodded at what he and the cat saw.
A rounded brick flue, installed for cooking smoke to escape the kitchen, loomed above the plate. It had no bars, mesh or bends, and was large enough for Moon to ascend inside it. It had to end in a chimney. But he didn't recall a flue or chimney on Badger's chart. Was this new? If so, what else had recently changed? Just one new extra-tough door, unexpected grille or new set of bars could destroy his mission.
The guard outside coughed then groaned
softly as he stretched. Through the cat, Moon watched the man's shadow. He paced a little circle near the kitchen door. He cleared his throat and spat into what looked like a small paper hand kerchief. The cat and Moon together saw the shadow of his head turn sharply towards the kitchen.
Was the guard about to sneak in for a cup of water? It was time to go!
Moon broke the link with the cat and crept quickly along the ground, through the half-open sliding door and into the kitchen itself. The cat jumped from the cooking plate, following some promising smell with a twitching nose.
Moonshadow scrambled like a giant spider up onto the cooking plate and under the flue. Watching the guard's silhouette with his own eyes now, he rummaged quickly for the climbing claws.
The guard moved for the kitchen. Moon slid his hands into the claws. The guard gripped the paper screen-door. As it rattled faintly, starting to open, Moon fed his hands, then his head and shoulders up into the flue, stabbing outwards with the claws for a pair of hand-holds. The outer door slid open and the guard stole into the kitchen, looking around for a cup. An instant before his roving gaze lit on the cooking plate Moon's legs disappeared up the flue.
Moon ascended with silent speed inside the chimney, the prongs of his claws finding thin gaps between each layer of bricks. Legs splayed, feet wedged against opposite walls, he climbed higher, listening to the sounds of the guard below him in the kitchen. They echoed, growing fainter. More coughing. The trickle of water leaving a jug. The guard grumbling to himself as he sat drinking on the edge of the cooking plate. Moon glanced down. That was close!
The chimney emerged onto a gently sloping rain roof halfway up the side of the keep, its opening covered with a small tiled roof of its own. Moon squeezed himself from the chimney, rotated his aching left shoulder, then resumed climbing.
Now he moved under a crisp, starry sky. Cold night air stung his eyes as he clawed his way up massive stones and wooden beams to the top of Silver Wolf's tower. At last his claws chinked on the tiles of the keep's highest roof. Moon paused to catch his breath, looking out over the castle.
Tall and thin, the keep stood alone in the centre of a rectangle formed by the castle's outer buildings and their roofs, beyond which lay the walls, then the moat.
That outer rectangle and the keep were connected above ground level, but only at one point. A wide walkway, a miniature bridge, ran from the rain roof, where his surprise chimney had ended, across to one corner of the outer rectangle.
The walkway was obviously an archers' platform. From it, a regiment of shooters could defend the keep should the castle's outer defences fall. He studied its design. If a desperate last-stand by the archers failed, there were great ropes at the rain roof end which could be cut, dropping the platform, severing it from the keep so an invader couldn't use it. Moon took off his claws as he watched the walkway. It looked empty, unguarded, but since Silver Wolf was no fool, it would be watched.
He glanced at the faint lights of the town, then took in more of the castle's layout. The walkway led to that same corner of the outer rectangle from which a cable ran across the moat to the sake brewery.
Moon looked around. Would he see the cat again? He was tenser now than ever, and its presence had been strangely comforting, his link with it unusually strong. But the roof remained still, silent. The creature had gone its way. Moon steadied his breathing as best he could, stowed his iron claws and stared down at the roof tiles under his feet. This was it! He recalled Eagle's final words to him in Edo.
Never forget your valuable place in the universe. To be trained as one of the Shogun's shinobi, to risk or even lose your life in his service . . . there can be no greater honour. The real test of that training was about to begin. It was time to earn the honour – and the trust – afforded him. His stomach writhed, heart pounded. He forced the fear from his thoughts.
According to Grey Light Order intelligence, the plans were right under his nose now, or rather, beneath his sandals. To be precise, they waited in the keep's uppermost chamber, locked in an ornate Chinese chest beside a much larger iron treasure vault. That greater, more enticing safe was simply a ruse, a false target designed to divert any would-be thief. Moon wondered at the daring of the Grey Light Order infiltrator who had furnished them with such detailed information. Just before leaving Edo, Eagle had spoken – with great admiration – of this gifted field agent. He'd said only that they owed much to a woman, a former orphan like Moon, who had served in the castle before faking her own drowning in the moat.
Moonshadow drew the tile-lifting tool from his leggings and, using it adeptly, prised two great roof tiles up and out of their wooden frames. He set them close to the hole he had created, balancing one on the other so that, if pursued up through the hole on his return, a gentle push would collapse the tiles onto his first pursuer's head.
He carefully swung his feet into the black cavity between the roof and ceiling, about to descend. Out of the corner of one eye, an alarming detail caught his attention. He turned his head, making sure his impression was right. It was! A bead of nervous sweat glided down his spine. The sky to the east was growing lighter. The crescent moon was about to rise. No plans yet, and already, he was almost out of time.
TWELVE
The prize
Once inside the roof cavity, Moon pressed an ear to the ceiling boards. He listened hard for sounds of life in the treasure room below. Nothing.
Moon drew the burglary tools from his leggings. Using the thin blades, he silently popped one wooden ceiling square and slid it to one side. He dangled his head through the opening, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light of the room. A candle in an iron holder burned in the centre of the polished hardwood floor. Another glowed between the only two pieces of furniture he could see: a fancy wooden Chinese chest and a much larger, plainer safe of rough black metal beside it. Each had built-in locks, each a large keyhole. They stood together under the room's only window, which was shuttered and bolted.
It all looked just as Grey Light Order intelligence had predicted. Moon sighed softly. It also looked too easy to be true.
He took the reinforced cord on the wooden spool from a pocket of his leggings. Moon unwound the cord, then lowered its weighted end slowly until it touched the floor. Controlling the line with feather-light pressure, he gently dragged the weight across one floor plank and onto the next. When it had crossed several polished boards, the weight stopped moving freely and Moon, sampling the cord's tension with his index finger, felt it snag. His eyes followed the cord down to the floor, hunting for whatever had trapped it. There it was, just as he had suspected, hiding in the shadows below the candles' glow.
A black wire cable, in fact several thin cables, crossed the floor a hand's width above the boards. They were designed to catch the feet of anyone moving from the reinforced sliding door to the window area. He hung upside down from the gap in the ceiling, turning his head, following the cables. At each end, they were connected to large bamboo chimes that hung in shadow. He set his jaw. There must be a guard – or several – just outside, ready to charge in at the slightest sound from those alarms.
Moonshadow retrieved his sensing cord, then pulled himself up and crept through the roof cavity until he was directly above the Chinese chest. He raised and discarded another wooden square. After judging the distance to the chest below, Moon lowered himself over it. He hung by his fingertips from the edge of the hole he'd made, checked the rest of the room again, then soundlessly dropped to the chest.
On most missions, he would put out the candles before striking, lowering the sensing cord's weight above their flames and running drops of water down the cord. In this particular situation, that light was an ally he needed. He needed to see the cables of the chime traps at all times. He needed to verify the plans before he fled with them, in case Silver Wolf was using a second ruse: dummy plans. At least he'd been prepared. Thanks to Badger, Moon knew exactly what to look for when he examined the documents, how to confirm their authe
nticity.
He crouched on the chest, too wary of more hidden traps to stand on any part of the floor itself. The very boards might be planed to rub against each other and sing like nightingales, bringing the guards – and death – down on him in the sweetest voice. He recalled Badger's detailed account of an ingenious alarm-floor in the inner corridor of mighty Nijo Castle, where recently a Grey Light agent had sustained mortal wounds after the boards sang beneath the weight of his feet. Leaning forward, working upside down with his small iron hook and thin blades, Moonshadow attacked the built-in lock on the Chinese chest.
When a soft click announced that he had beaten the mechanism, he stepped from the lid of the chest and clung to the side of the black iron vault which stood next to it. With one foot, Moon swung the chest open. As its lid rose, there was a faint hiss and a spring-loaded blade shot up from inside the camphor-scented box. Moon closed his eyes gratefully. If he'd been sloppy and careless, standing on the floor and looming unwisely over that chest, the blade now gleaming there would have sliced off his chin.
Still gripping the side of the vault, he leaned out, hovering above the open Chinese chest. Using the iron hook, Moon fished out the chest's only contents apart from the spring-loaded blade trap. It was a plugged tube of polished bamboo, hung from a tough leather thong. Swinging from his burglary hook, it dangled in front of his eyes. Was this the real thing? The packaging looked right.
He needed somewhere to stand so he could use both hands while he checked the plans over. Using one foot, Moon slowly closed the Chinese chest. The spring-loaded blade retracted, automatically folding, and the trap reset itself with a subtle double click as the lid came down. He nodded. Should these plans prove fake, he would open the chest again and replace them. Moon stretched, stepping back onto the lid of the chest. He steadied his breathing once more and stowed his tools in his leggings.
Moonshadow Page 9
