Leaning out to catch the light of the candle, he unstoppered the bamboo tube. Gently he pulled a single roll of hand-made paper from it.
Moonshadow unwound the plans and looked them over. At once, every instinct told him they were the real thing. A series of technical drawings, with captions in some alien language, showed a peculiar device. It was similar to a musket, though part of its middle, near the trigger assembly, flared out like a water gourd. Lower on the page, a cutaway diagram of the flared section revealed six separate chambers inside it. Each chamber held its own lead ball, shot wad, and gunpowder. A set of cogs at either end meant this gourd-like magazine could be rotated, lining the weapon's barrel up first with one chamber, then with the next.
At the bottom of the single sheet, the plans carried an odd stamp-mark Moon had been told to look out for, the trademark of the black market broker Silver Wolf had used. So these were the real plans.
Moon swallowed. He had known that his mission was to intercept plans for a weapon that would give Silver Wolf a tremendous advantage. An unacceptable advantage in the hands of one plotting rebellion. But what a weapon! Now, confronted with its details, the implications of this terrible device shocked him.
Warfare, the ancient craft of Japan's ruling class, would never be the same again. Every soldier toting a gun like this would get six shots, in rapid succession, before needing to reload it. That was enough firepower to bring down charging cavalry or rows of armoured men. He shook his head, picturing a long line of such shooters. Then he imagined a whole army of them.
This weapon would dictate who ruled the country. Skill in combat would lose all importance, and what about rules of honour on the battlefield? The old way was to pick your opponent, declare your name, make a challenge, and duel him! It took courage to see a man's eyes as you fought him up close.
To fire on a distant, faceless foe, no manners, honour or courage would be required. Silver Wolf not only intended to plunge the country back into war. He would bring future war, using ugly new science Japan had never known.
There was only one way to take this wicked advantage from the rogue warlord: make sure that either nobody or everybody had these plans. Moon stared at the inner workings of the doomsday musket. It was up to him to stop this nightmare in its tracks.
He rolled up the plans and eased them back into the bamboo tube. He slung the thong around his neck then fed the tube carefully into his jacket, sliding it under both his night and mesh suits. The tube would keep the plans dry should he have to use the moat to escape. But was swimming out even an option now? His eyes flicked to the window. The glow behind those shutters was unmistakable. Moon cursed. The sky was growing brighter still. Escaping via the moat was out of the question because very shortly the crescent moon would turn that shadowy moat into an archer's shooting gallery.
He stood tall on the chest then bent his knees and made ready to launch himself upwards for the second gap he had made in the ceiling.
In the distance, a conch shell horn sounded, the type used to send signals in battle. Moon's stomach churned, his heart sprinted into a flutter. What was happening? He hadn't set off any traps! He looked around frantically. Or had he? An alarm gong pealed from the castle's outer rectangle. Surely they were not under attack? Not at this hour!
Warning shouts came from somewhere far below in the castle grounds. He heard the urgent thrumming of feet on wooden stairs. Guards, and lots of them. They were inside the keep, on the next level down but rising fast. How, how had he been detected?
'They see him!' A fierce voice relayed the report in the corridor outside the treasure room. Moon flinched hard. 'The intruder's climbing down again!'
No he wasn't! Moon tilted his head to one side, bewildered. The fellow outside was bellowing about something he hadn't done yet! Unless –
He blinked hard. Unless they had seen another intruder?
A muffled meow came from the roof above him, echoing through the ceiling cavity. 'Great timing,' Moon grumbled. Now the cat wanted to renew their friendship! There was another meow, a thunk, then a scraping sound as the roof tiles he had balanced collapsed into the hole he'd made. Moon listened as the scraping turned to grinding then stopped sharply. That damned cat! It had tried to follow him into the ceiling, setting off the tile-trap and blocking his escape hole! On the roof above, the animal began mewing, complaining because now it couldn't join him.
'Check the treasure room!' A guard's deep voice growled nearby. 'There could be more!'
Moon glanced at the door, then back up at the ceiling, momentarily confused. He was trapped! What to do? The keep's corridor floorboards pounded, the noise approaching fast. There were scuffing sounds, a sharp creak, then a tremble went through the treasure room's heavy sliding door. Moon crouched low on the Chinese chest, holding his breath. The reinforced door flew open.
A dozen samurai stood outside, long swords already drawn. Moon's hand slid into his leggings, probing for the high pocket where his shuriken and smoke bombs lay.
'There's one!' A powerful-looking swordsman pointed. 'Take him!'
Roaring as one man, the twelve rushed in.
THIRTEEN
Detected
He hurled a smoke bomb at the floor then leapt for the opening above him.
With a low hissing, white smoke quickly filled the treasure room. The samurai plunged into it, stumbling over the low black cables, setting off chime traps as they ran for where they had last seen Moonshadow.
'Don't swing till you see him!' The swordsman leading them yelled. 'Don't cut each other!'
The boards shook, the chime traps warbled. Moon dangled from the ceiling, swinging his legs. Below him, inside a white cloud, the guards collided with one another around the Chinese chest. Momentarily, they became a tight crush. Moon swung himself hard and dropped, aiming his feet for the shoulders of the man nearest the door. The samurai snarled as Moon landed on him, the impact sending him reeling backwards.
Moon sprung from the staggering samurai to the floor, bounded through the doorway and twisted around fast. He quickly slid the reinforced door shut, snapping its wooden locking pin into place as the weight of twelve bodies shook it from the inside. Moon ran along the corridor until he came to a window. Its shutters were open. He leapt up onto its sill, fished for his claws and put them on, then hurriedly lowered himself onto the keep's wall outside. As he cleared the window and started down the side of the keep, the corridor he had just left echoed with the sounds of more shouting, running men. He descended faster.
The crescent moon was clearing the mountains now, splashing light over the tiles and beams of the castle's roofs. Shadows darting across the courtyard below and more frantic shouts from above suggested that an army of guards now converged on the keep and its treasure room.
Good, Moon nodded. Let that diversion last as long as possible while he found his way out of here! He dropped smoothly to the rain roof, looking in all directions. He was now halfway back down the solitary tower. What was the fastest route out of this castle? He stared past the rain roof's chimney to the deserted archer's platform. That walkway would take him straight to the outer rectangle.
Hunching in shadow, Moon stowed his claws, then listened and watched the walkway. No signs of life. The din of a panicky search continued to come from high up in the keep, but all was quiet in this little fold of the castle. He gave a sharp nod. Seize the advantage while it was there! Moon stood up and scurried low across the rain roof.
Passing the chimney, he immediately sensed someone close behind him. Moon spun about, but the foe was already springing from the chimney's tiny roof. Knuckles glanced off the side of his head. Moon reeled backwards, catching a glimpse of his attacker: a slender figure, dressed like him in a dark night suit, wearing a back-mounted sword. So there was another spy!
Moon cartwheeled away to turn around in a strong upright stance, one hand on the grip of his sword. His mouth fell open. The rooftop was empty. Where did he go?
A knee slammed
into his back from behind. He stumbled and groaned. This enemy could really jump! Moon twisted about, brought his fists up and used a scissor action to block a powerful incoming punch aimed at his throat. His agile enemy changed position with ease to sweep his feet out from underneath him. He crashed sideways to the tiles, forced to use his arms to break his fall. Seeing Moon's guard down, his unknown foe pounced, dropping on top of him and revolving nimbly to elbow him hard between the eyes. The force of the blow jolted Moon's head back. The rooftop around him instantly grew hazy. He tried to rise. His limbs were numb. He gasped, realising his attacker's cunning nerve-strike had paralysed him. He was an easy kill now. Moon willed his feet to move. They felt dead. The foe loomed over him, studying his night suit.
Crumpled against the tiles, Moonshadow waited for a sword's tip or edge to find him. Neither came. Instead of drawing a blade, his assailant crouched low and rammed one hand down the front of Moon's jacket; long, thin fingers probing for the bamboo and the plans. Moon tried to move his feet again and this time felt them respond. He summoned up his strength and rolled, trapping his foe's legs, dragging the enemy to the rooftop beside him. Sustaining the roll, Moon seized the stranger's wrist and twisted it fast, breaking the hold his opponent had taken on the leather thong around his neck.
Now Moonshadow further tangled the attacker's arms and legs with his own, gripping tightly as he rolled for the roof's edge. He sucked in an anxious breath. If he had rightly calculated the distance to the edge, momentum would help him fling his enemy from the roof. They'd have to abandon their attack to save themselves from falling. If he had figured the distance poorly, that edge would arrive too soon and they would both plunge over it, and anything could happen.
His sheathed sword dug into his back as he reached the final row of tiles. With a twist of his hips Moon released the attacker, flicking him from the roof. Soundlessly the stranger fell. Moon scrambled back from the edge, lungs heaving for air. He checked the leather thong, then patted the centre of his chest. The bamboo tube was still in place. He carefully leaned from the roof, eyes hunting for signs of the other intruder on the face of the keep. His assailant hadn't tried to kill him when he could have, so Moon hoped he had snatched a hold or found a landing point on the way down. But he saw nothing.
Moon shuddered. His attacker had simply vanished. There was no hint of him clinging anywhere below the rain roof. No dangling rope, nor claw marks in the growing moonlight.
Had he overdone it, had the fall slain him? His eyes probed lower. Nothing: no blood down the side of the building, no corpse at the bottom. He shook his head. Whoever his competitor was, his style was very different but he was good. His distinctive moves looked so light and crisp, yet were deceptively powerful. Moon clambered to his feet, glanced around warily, then focused on the walkway connected to the rain roof.
Someone else had found him, someone a little friendlier. Unable to help himself, Moonshadow grinned. The temple cat was crouched halfway along the walkway, head to the floor, apparently studying something trapped between its paws. His sense of relief started turning to elation, but years of training quickly cut in, warning him: this was no time to relax. Moon glanced over his shoulder. He had dealt with an unexpected complication, managing to survive it. But the real threat still lay ahead, the one he was always going to have to face: Silver Wolf's best guards, his finest castle samurai. And given the way the night had gone so far, who knew what else? Moonshadow licked dry lips.
He started forward onto the walkway. The cat looked up, glanced left and right, then leapt to its feet and ran to the edge. Moon stopped as it jumped from sight into the darkness around the long archer's platform. He narrowed his eyes, peering further along the walkway.
Yes. There was a man, standing alone in shadow, blocking the path to the outer rectangle. A moment after seeing him, Moon heard sounds from behind.
Men, approaching stealthily.
Then the crescent moon burst above the castle's skyline and the whole suspended gallery was streaked with fingers of light.
Moonshadow slowly turned a circle. He was surrounded.
FOURTEEN
Encircled
Moonshadow eyed the lone figure on the walkway. If he overcame that one man, a path to the outer rectangle, and escape, was his.
Moon advanced, darting quickly through the fingers of brightness, creeping watch fully through the bands of grey half-light.
On the walkway ahead, the man paced out of his shadow into a brighter spot. He pulled a short, shinobi-style sword from his belt and began tapping it, still in its scabbard, against one shoulder. Moon studied him.
This one was balding and wiry. Clean-shaven. Hard eyes and a plain black robe. He was smiling, the manner of his walk deceptively casual. Moon's mouth turned as dry as his lips. This fellow was very dangerous. There was skill in his aura, a cruel edge to his face.
The man looked Moonshadow in the eyes and bowed elegantly. Then his smile vanished. He started feeding his sword back into his belt.
Help me, Mantis, Moonshadow thought. What would you do if facing this confident fellow? He gave himself a subtle nod. Yes, that was it. Use the enemy's confidence, his assurance that he's facing another shinobi and therefore predictable shinobi moves. Be unpredictable.
Moon stepped back into a patch of shadow and hunched low. Keeping his weapon hidden behind his body, he moved it from his back to his hip. After tying it in place, he looked around.
Three men were sneaking up on his rear. Two were uniformed samurai wearing household emblems: a tall fellow and his shorter sidekick. The third man's numerous tattoos said he was a gangster, no doubt from one of those big-town criminal gangs the Grey Light Order had, at times, infiltrated on behalf of the Shogun.
The trio stopped moving. The tattooed one gestured to the lone figure blocking Moon's path. It was not a polite gesture.
'Come on, Akira!' The gangster was playfully irritated. 'Stop dragging it out. Get on with killing him, otherwise I will take the first turn.' His voice dropped. 'I still say it was rigged. We should have used my dice.'
Moon looked the complainer over. Many gangsters shaved their heads, but this one had long tangled hair, a messy beard and a droopy moustache. His loudly patterned jacket bragged that he was proud to be an outlaw. Moon was glancing at the man's forearm tattoos, red-green carps and dragons, when he realised that the gangster was holding a shuriken in each hand. Moon set his jaw. This was no mere thug!
As he turned back to check on the man blocking his way, Moon found the fellow creeping silently up to the edge of the shadow, one hand gliding to his sword's grip. He was dangerous all right, Moon nodded, he was clearly good. He could move without a sound! But how well would he handle . . . this?
Lunging at his enemy but staying just inside the shadow, Moon drew his sword from the hip, duellist style.
The smallest fingers of his right hand pressed into the weapon's grip, tensing the blade as its tip was about to clear the mouth of the scabbard. As the draw accelerated, Moon's left hand pulled and twisted the scabbard off the moving blade, keeping it under his belt, sliding it back around his waist. The combined, dynamic actions of each hand launched his sword tip at blinding speed.
In the moonlight, the explosive fast draw became a horizontal streak of silver, flashing momentarily from the cover of the shadow. The tip of Moon's sword ambushed the lurking foe, who stood, still drawing his own weapon, at the edge of the better-lit ground. The man flinched, and Moon saw that his eyes were turned upwards, as if he had been expecting a power cut from overhead. Aborting his own draw, the swordsman sprang back without a sound. Then he frowned, looked down and clutched his right arm.
Moon smiled to himself. Even the best could be undone by the power of surprise.
'Well you sure messed that up, Akira!' The gangster sniggered cheerfully. 'So now it's Jiro's turn!' Jiro raised one hand. Moon dived forward into a shoulder roll. An instant later he heard the clack clack of two shurikens ploughing into the walkw
ay right where he had been.
There was no time to lose! Gaining his feet, he rushed the wounded Akira.
Akira parried Moon's powerful diagonal cut and sliced back, narrowly missing Moon's head. Next he aimed a sneaky sideways hack at Moon's belly, but Moon saw it coming and sprang into the air, raising both knees. Akira's blade glanced off the armour on Moon's left leg, denting one panel. Moon landed, regained his balance and backpedalled away. Akira rushed him with a series of wild horizontal swings, each one just missing its mark. Moon dropped into a low crouch and lunged at his foe's closest ankle. Akira narrowly avoided the cut, jumping back out of sword range, chest heaving with exertion. Moon shook his head. This man sure didn't fight like one with a deep cut to his arm! Then Moon heard – and a second later felt – a shuriken whiz past his cheek. Akira dodged as it almost clipped him instead.
'Idiot!' Akira yelled. Frustrated at Jiro, he swung a hard rising cut at Moon. Blocking it and seizing on his foe's broken balance, Moon slipped past Akira and ran.
He dashed in a zigzag along the walkway. Dark figures pointed and shouted from the courtyard below. The crescent moon was higher overhead now, its light reaching further, thinning the shadows with each passing minute. Ahead, where the walkway ran out, he could discern a line of tiles, then another of huge stones.
It was the corner of the castle's outer rectangle that faced the town's sake brewery. And it was close! An arrow streaked up from the courtyard, whistling as it just missed his shoulder. He ran faster.
Four sets of feet pursued him, shaking the walkway. He glanced back. Akira was at the rear now, which surprised Moon. Perhaps he had cut the fellow badly. The gangster had fallen behind the two samurai. That was no surprise.
He looked ahead. The moonlight glinted on a cargo cable. It ran from the top of an iron mast planted in one of the corner's stone blocks. Moonshadow's mind raced. The cable ran to the sake brewery across the moat. A risky escape route, since it meant fixing himself to a predictable trajectory, but if he could somehow travel it fast . . . He glanced back at the pursuing samurai, their robes snapping as they ran.
Moonshadow Page 10
