The cable would have been the wrong way in, since it would always be watched by the nearest guards. But now, fleeing, his cover already lost, getting seen hardly mattered!
He thought of the samurai's uniforms. Yes, there was a way to do this.
Another arrow flashed up from the courtyard, burying itself in the platform's handrail beside him, its tail flights trembling. Moon reached the end of the walkway and jumped for the roof tiles. He bounded across the outer roof and landed on the tall block of stone from which the mast rose. Panting, Moonshadow looked back.
Akira had stopped before the end of the walkway and was tying a tourniquet around his arm. The two samurai, as one might expect from professional warriors, were already scrambling with great determination across the roof. The one nearest the stone was perhaps five seconds behind Moonshadow. The gangster was at their rear, weaving nervously over the roof with less than cat-like agility.
Moon took in the sake brewery end of the cable, then he spun back with his sword raised as the large samurai scrambled onto the stone block.
The samurai guard lunged at him. Moon parried the attack, then turned the cutting edge of his sword quickly to hack at the foe's nearest wrist. But the guard had seen that trick before and he changed his grip fast, flicking his sword outwards to block the slice.
Something blurred into the corner of Moon's vision and instinctively he ducked. A shuriken hurtled just above his head, then another. He stood tall. The smaller samurai guard was struggling onto the block now. Moon ignored him and charged the tall one.
Forcing the big samurai to block a fast series of slices with ever-changing angles, Moon pressured the man into turning. Then relentlessly, cut by cut, he drove him backwards at his colleague. Finally, Moon gave a ferocious growl. He rushed the tall guard, locked swords with him and pushed, sending the man crashing onto his partner.
Tangling each other's limbs, the guards tumbled on the edge of the stone block.
As they struggled to rise quickly without nicking one another, Moonshadow dropped to his knee and aimed a precision cut at the tallest samurai's thick cloth belt. His sword's tip sang true all the way to its target and the man's belt fell away, severed cleanly near its stomach knot.
Moon stood up then jumped, aiming with both feet for the samurai's belly. The man wheezed as Moon landed on him, snatched the belt away, then pushed himself off hard. With a humiliated bellow the samurai angled a flailing cut up at Moon, who blocked the rising sword with his leg armour then scurried for the mast.
Enraged, the big samurai leapt up. His kimono swung open, revealing his carefully tied white loincloth. With a high-pitched grunt, he dropped his sword and frantically began tying the flaps of his clothing together.
Below the mast and its cable, Moon sheathed the sword on his hip. He wound the stolen belt around one wrist, slung its length, double-folded, over the cable, caught the falling end, and wound that onto his free hand.
There was a sharp crack. Sparks flew from the mast beside his head. Moon shuddered. Another shuriken! He looked around. The gangster was about to climb onto the stone block and he obviously hadn't run out of throwing stars yet.
The tall samurai finished tying the front flaps of his kimono together. The guards exchanged nods and rushed Moon, side by side, their swords swishing up into an overhead attack position.
Letting the cable take his weight, Moon gripped the belt tightly and launched himself out over the moat. The cable creaked. Light as he was, he rapidly gained speed.
Halfway across and descending fast, a shuriken glanced off the armour of his right leg. He winced and cried out. The tip of one of its blades had punctured a joint in his armour, just missing the pockets, crammed with tools and clothing, above and below it.
He raised his leg and glanced down at it. There was a new pin-prick hole in his legging, and he could feel a blood welt, right beneath it, on his thigh.
The outer bank of the moat flashed below. Moon released the belt and dropped from the cable at the foot of the sake brewery. Just uphill, three huge wooden brewing barrels, each atop their own little tower, cast a massive, dark shadow.
As he ran for its cover, a hail of arrows fell around him.
FIFTEEN
Blame game
In the castle's finest landscape garden, Silver Wolf's two top guards, then Akira and Jiro, stood in a line, their heads bowed. Their master paced angrily before them, his face matching the dark clouds rolling in from the mountains.
Behind them, The Deathless sat on a granite boulder, dreamily brushing its dappled moss with his large fingers. He nodded slowly, feeling the strength of the rock beneath the softness of the moss.
He was unperturbed by Silver Wolf's lurking rage. Like this rock he was weathered, hard and patient, yet like its speckled covering, misleading with deceptive softness, at least so far. The Deathless grinned. His invincible edge would show itself soon. First, his experience told him, he should hold back, let the enemy themselves make his task simpler. Let this warlord fume, his minions fumble about.
The Deathless crumbled some moss between his thumb and finger, watching Silver Wolf grumble as he paced.
He had known there were two intruders in town, each young, powerful, and about to strike, for he had felt them. He'd watched one entering the castle and, if his impressions had been correct, had even sensed the second spy, further away, no doubt crossing the moat elsewhere to scale another wall. Their slightly different energies suggested they weren't of the same school, but each of them was skilled. The Deathless yawned beneath his hood. His master Koga Danjo, before his . . . untimely death, had taught him far more than the greatest Old Country science. He had taught him to reason and to scheme about every situation. In the spirit world, no doubt Danjo regretted that now!
The two intruders The Deathless had sensed were probably among the best of a whole new generation of shinobi. By comparison, deathless or not, he was a scarred old war dog. He would let them compete, battle it out for the prize, then corner the exhausted winner, saving his strength in case they proved as strong as they felt. Yet he would prove superior: he the falcon, they the dove.
His eyes glided over his fellow hirelings. Along the way, these lesser men would be thinned out, for the pair they were up against clearly outclassed them.
Good! He alone would remain to make that final kill, and perhaps, as things grew more desperate for Silver Wolf, he could even raise his hefty fee a notch or two more.
The Deathless dropped his eyes to his seat of stone. He could make this work. But only if he remained as cool, as hidden, as that Ezo valley where he had been born. Double-faced, like this unbreakable rock and its misleading, passive moss.
'More rain in the next few days, then a storm, I would say,' Silver Wolf took his eyes from the cloudy sky and continued pacing his landscape garden, hands clasped at his back. 'But we have a greater problem than bad weather, don't we, gentlemen?'
On learning the plans had been taken, he had exploded with rage, threatening to behead the unfortunate guard who had delivered the bad news. Once alone, Silver Wolf had hurled his writing kit against a wall. Along the way to his garden he'd barked at every maid, servant and samurai he had encountered.
His fiery red fury had settled down now into brooding, white-hot malice. His every sarcastic word and chilling glance overflowed with it. But Silver Wolf knew self-control was vital if he was to salvage this disaster. As usual, he would have to do the thinking for his idiot men. He took a steadying breath. This peaceful garden always helped clear his mind. It was where he came to find solutions when things went wrong. As they had last night, and badly.
He crossed a small wooden bridge over the garden's spring-fed stream, stopping at a stone lantern under a maple tree. Muttering, Silver Wolf shook his head and walked on. Rounding a miniature 'sea' of raked sand, he strode back to the group of waiting, uneasy men.
The warlord eyed his hirelings coldly as he approached, making no effort to hide his contempt for them.
He was tempted to slay at least one for last night's miserable effort, but then he would never get his money's worth out of whoever he chose to kill. Besides, their job wasn't done yet, and he still needed them all. With his guidance, they might yet redeem themselves. If not . . .
'Anyway . . . finish your report!' the warlord grunted at Akira. The spy cleared his throat. 'Before sunrise, I went with Jiro and your men to the inn your informer spoke of. The innkeeper there agreed he'd just had such a customer: a messenger boy, the right age and build, and what's more, a stranger to the town. But that boy vanished last night. Nobody near the inn has seen him since.'
Silver Wolf was thoughtful. 'Akira, though you failed last night, it was you who duelled our intruder before his escape on the cable. As your wound proves, you were closest to the action. So, what else can you tell me?'
'Forget last night, Lord, he won't escape us again!' Jiro butted in. 'My gangsters now watch every exit from town, with orders to stop and search any young male of slight build! A bit more time, that's all we need. He'll be found.'
'Which your heads won't be, if he gets away.' Silver Wolf ogled each one of them, ending with Jiro. 'Or if you speak again without first being spoken to.'
Jiro dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Akira gave a weary sigh. 'There were two of them, Lord, which added to the confusion last night.'
'Who was the other?' Silver Wolf folded his arms. 'An accomplice to the one you fought?'
'I don't think so, Lord. His kind, like me, prefer to work alone.' Akira gave Jiro a cold sideways glance. 'Professionals find the presence of others a hindrance. No, I would say that second intruder was a rival, a rival of equal skill to the one who took your plans.' He went to add something then stopped himself.
The warlord gestured impatiently. 'What else? Come on, out with it, man!'
'I was the one who saw the other intruder on the wall of the keep, Lord. I would say from the figure's light movements and peculiar, agile flitting that it was a girl.'
'Maybe you should have fought her,' Jiro mumbled. 'Man with the big reputation.'
Akira turned on him, hand moving to his sword. 'Lucky I'm still alive to fight anyone for our Lord! Half your shurikens flew nearer me than him!'
Jiro's hand flashed into his jacket. He took a step back. 'Oh, now it's all my fault! Who demanded first try at the enemy? Who won the dodgy dice roll and got his way? Who –'
'Silence!' Silver Wolf snapped. 'Unhand your weapons! I will decide where blame is laid and who shall die for it!' He raised one eyebrow. This gangster scum had made a good point, though. Who had failed him most the night before? He stared at each of his samurai, then the hirelings, leaving The Deathless till last.
It had been agreed that The Deathless be held in reserve, the others forming the first wave against any intruder. But their overnight visitor had proved too strong for that first wave. Silver Wolf narrowed his eyes. Surely The Deathless must have been watching? Why didn't he simply jump in and deal with that intruder, who was so obviously a worthy match for him?
Silver Wolf watched the tall assassin flicking moss. Reason cooled his anger. He wanted to demand answers, but what if he made an enemy of the killer? After all, this fellow was a dangerous living legend, and since he was immune to blades, not even a warlord could threaten him with death. Silver Wolf hid a sly smile. Of course, his magic probably did not extend to guns. He might have to consider that option, if his most expensive hireling didn't do something. And soon.
The Deathless looked up and appeared to read Silver Wolf's mind. His soulless eyes locked on his master's face.
'Have no concern, my Lord,' he said slowly. 'The matter isn't settled yet. I sense our thief is still in town. Be assured: I will conduct my own search, my way, and pounce when the time is exactly right. If your other . . . employees here do not redeem their failure first, then it is I who in time will recover your plans. And this boy spy's head.'
Silver Wolf met the killer's unblinking gaze. A bold promise! He would have mocked anyone else making it, or warned them to make good on their word or die, just as he had with Jiro. The warlord drew a slow breath. But no. Not with this man.
Instead, he thought aloud. 'So! There's another spy. And a girl?'
'I am quite sure of it, Lord,' Akira bowed. 'A girl, and his rival.'
'She too,' The Deathless said, crumbing moss between his fingers, 'is still here.'
'Sir,' the tallest samurai turned, 'no disrespect, but how can you know that?'
The Deathless pointed at Akira then back to himself. 'All shinobi are taught to detect each other. As Akira-San has shown, even when disguised, the subtle moves of one's body betray information to a trained eye. As we hone our craft, some of us even learn to sense each other's presence directly. But that's an imperfect science, and few reach the level where their impressions are consistently accurate.' He paused. 'I have.'
'What matters is that they are both still here,' Silver Wolf was heartened by the news. 'I see the way ahead! We'll make this rival work for us, then kill the pair of them.'
Jiro sprang to his feet. 'Great idea, my Lord!' His nose creased. 'How?'
'All of you, forget trying to find the boy. He's obviously well hidden now in town, no doubt waiting for the right chance to bolt. Therefore, make no loud house-to-house searches for him. I will have that particular corner swept by a more subtle broom.'
'Then what should we do, Lord?' Akira rubbed the bandage on his arm.
'Concentrate on finding this girl. She must appear in some guise by daylight. You, Akira: brief the others on her build and that distinctive agility. Let The Deathless here use his sensing powers! All of you: disguise yourselves. Comb the streets. Try to recognise her walk or manner.'
Jiro looked confused. 'And then?' Akira rolled his eyes.
'Follow her, you fool! She is this boy's rival, neh? Let her lead us to him and my plans. And when you get another chance, your second try at one or both of them, take no risks!' He pointed sternly at his best guards. 'Horses and capture chains this time!'
The two samurai bowed quickly. Silver Wolf gave a low hiss. 'But know this, each of you. My patience now lies stretched, like rice paper about to tear. Fail me again . . .' he had to stop himself. Rage was swelling inside him once more.
The Deathless cracked his knuckles. The tall samurai closed his eyes. Akira stood stony faced, unblinking. Jiro glanced back at the hooded assassin and swallowed hard.
'Now get out of my sight.' Silver Wolf turned away.
Groundspider, in his favourite guise – the gregarious silk merchant – pounded his way along a lonely coastal strip of the Tokaido. He had cleared the Hakone Barrier without incident, though he'd been sorely tempted to duel one of the cocky samurai there who had snapped at him when he'd reached for his papers.
The most bandit-plagued part of the Hakone forest and the tranquil lake district below it were also behind him now, and Groundspider was starting to believe that this phase of his mission was actually meant to run smoothly.
'Just goes to prove,' he mumbled to himself, 'how much the gods love me.'
He looked ahead from under the brim of his sun hat and knew at once that he had spoken too soon. A steely-eyed inspector, one of the so-called public service samurai who assisted magistrates and other court officials, was striding towards him.
Inspectors were roving assessors, ever watchful for threats to public order, and though they rarely took direct action themselves, they were notorious for reporting suspicious or even just unfamiliar faces to the nearest authorities. Groundspider maintained the simpering grin and oafish gait of his merchant character.
He felt the inspector's eyes lock onto him. Just a few paces more, Groundspider thought, and we'll pass each other by, and it will all be over. He took care not to look too sharp, too aware, lest the inspector decide that something about his manner and his eyes did not align. It was crucial that nothing captured the man's attention. As the two travellers passed closely, Groundspider slowed an
d politely bowed without stopping. The inspector nodded, looked him up and down with a frown, and kept walking.
Groundspider let out a long sigh. Good! That wrinkle in his mission plan could so easily have become a tear. He relaxed a little, then glanced up again at the highway ahead. More trouble! In fact, he sensed, worse trouble. The muscles of his abdomen tightened.
A stocky ronin samurai stood in his path, hands on his hips, eyeing Groundspider. The man wore a single sword, belted and tied in the manner of a seasoned duellist. He was a hand-span or two shorter than Groundspider, but his aura suggested that he was actually far more vigorous than he looked. The samurai seemed relaxed, confident too, and the light in his eyes warned of a hidden purpose. Groundspider continued to furtively study the fellow as he approached him. Not one scar on his face, which was never a good sign.
'Oi!' The man pointed at Groundspider. 'Trader! There's some bad territory between here and the next town. A man with a fine jacket like that shouldn't be without a bodyguard in these parts. Lucky for you, I'm for hire.'
'Sorry,' Groundspider said, 'but I have no money with which to pay you, only silk samples . . . all small and worthless in themselves!' He awkwardly hefted his large travelling pack from his shoulder and plunged a hand inside it, fingertips seeking the hilt of his concealed sword. 'Want to see some fine white silk?'
'No,' the ronin took a step forward, hands gliding to his own sword. 'But you can pay me with that jacket.'
'Must I?' Groundspider portrayed clumsiness with the handling of his pack even as his hand closed around the grip of his weapon. He readied himself to draw and strike without warning. His plan was simple: wound the fool, scare him witless, then walk on briskly. He'd give this thug his first scar, a nice clean one on his cheek, to remind him always of his mistake. 'You know,' Groundspider said, 'I'd rather not make that deal.'
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