“The royal rooms will be in the most secure part of the tower—the top,” said Kate. “But how will we get up there?”
“The roof is guarded, but I think I’ve found a weak spot,” said Cormac from behind his binocs. “If we continue along this roof, we’ll reach the foundations of the keep. From there, I can scale the walls to the first-floor roof and lower a rope for you guys to follow.”
Kate nodded.
Like cats, they padded along the roof tiles, silent and black, conscious that one wrong move could alert the guards below. The three ninjas reached the castle keep unnoticed. They lay facedown on the tiles, watching the patrolling guards below.
When the coast was clear, Cormac sprang to his feet and ran toward the keep. When he reached the stone foundations he kept running vertically like a two-legged spider. With amazing agility, he grabbed the protruding roof edge while letting his feet drop from the wall. His body swung outward, threatening his tentative hold.
Kate gasped, but Cormac’s grip didn’t falter. For a moment he hung there, swinging like a black rag in the breeze, and then, using the strength of his arms alone, he pulled himself up onto the roof of the keep.
Kate watched in terror and awe as Cormac crawled up the steeply inclining roof to a dark window in the wall. He tied his rope to one of the window bars, slid back down the roof, and dangled the other end over the edge.
“Ladies first,” whispered Ghost.
Kate crawled along the ridge tiles to the rope. She couldn’t use the wall for assistance now and was glad of all the hours they had practiced going up and down ropes. Cormac pulled her onto the roof and they lay on their stomachs, waiting for Ghost.
She saw the rope moving as Ghost made his way to the top. But it took him so long, Kate worried he might not make it. She guessed that staying invisible must be draining, because in training he had always been one of the first to the top. Panting heavily, he eventually joined them.
“Maybe you should change back to visible again?” suggested Kate.
“I’m fine,” gasped Ghost.
They crawled up the roof to where Cormac had fixed the rope. He untied it and replaced it in his shōzoku.
“All the windows are barred,” he whispered, “but we may have something to help.”
He removed his roll of Acid Wrap and tore off two pieces, which he wrapped around the top and bottom of the middle bar. The wrap fizzled at the edges, the chemical reaction producing a toxic smell, with tendrils of smoke curling into the night air. A few seconds later, the wraps dropped off, revealing eroded rings of metal.
Cormac yanked the bar and it snapped clean off. “Are we ready?”
“No,” said Ghost.
“What?”
“I go alone.”
“No,” protested Cormac and Kate.
“The place will be full of samurai. Only I can move totally unseen.”
“What about Kiko?” asked Cormac.
“She does not know I am here,” replied Ghost.
Kate shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Who would you say has the best chance?” asked Ghost. “Three people or one invisible person?”
Kate shrugged in reluctant agreement. “But are you up to it?”
“Yes.”
“And how will you get the sword out?” asked Kate. “Don’t you think the guards will notice a sword floating past them?”
“I have a plan.”
“And are you gonna tell us what it is?”
“There is no time—I must go.”
They listened to Ghost’s grunts as he squeezed in through the gap in the bars.
“Stay here” were his final words. “If I do not return in one hour, you leave.”
The reason Ghost didn’t tell Kate his plan for getting the sword out of the castle was that he didn’t have one. He wished Cormac hadn’t mentioned Kiko. He’d managed not to think about her until then. But here he was, in her castle, ready to steal her beloved sword. He shuddered to think of what she’d do if she found him.
He shivered and looked around the room, trying to ignore the icy cramps gripping his body. Moonlight from the window revealed a large rectangular room with high ceilings of polished wood, a floor covered in straw mats, and sliding walls made of paper and wood. Shōji. He remembered the word from his classes in Renkondo.
Ghost stiffened at the sound of footsteps. The profile of a man moved across one of the paper walls. There was the unmistakable silhouette of two swords in the man’s belt. As his footsteps disappeared into the night, Ghost slid open the shōji and looked out into a corridor lit by a glowing torch on a stone wall.
Apart from a servant boy carrying a stinking bucket, the corridor was empty. Soon, Ghost came to a steep flight of wooden steps. Kate had said the top of the keep would be most secure and thus the most likely place to find the sword, but he heard voices and footsteps below. The commotion could be about the sword. He had to investigate.
With legs like concrete, he hobbled down the stairs as quietly as possible. The next floor was patrolled by a samurai, his face drawn and nervous-looking.
Looks like I’m going the right way.
He slipped past the man and continued along a passageway until he came to another staircase leading down. And this one was guarded.
Que bom! He smiled, listening to the sound of many footsteps on the floor below.
Carefully he stepped between the two samurai, remembering what Sensei Iwamoto had said about nightingale floors in Japanese castles. To prevent the steps from squeaking, he stood on the edge of the treads where they were attached to the wall. Though slow and awkward, it worked, and he made it noiselessly to the bottom.
The sword had to be on this floor, because there were guards everywhere. They watched every window, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, unaware of the boy creeping past them. In the most heavily guarded corridor, Ghost found two sentries guarding a closed shōji.
Ghost continued down the corridor and around the corner to where more guards protected a door into the same room.
Guarded on all sides? This had to be it—but how would he get in?
He was exhausted. The temptation to rest was almost overwhelming, but he couldn’t stop now. All he needed was a few seconds to slide the shōji open and slip inside. But first he needed a distraction.
In a nearby alcove sat a small flower arrangement. Ghost put his hand into the vase, took out a pebble, and made his way to the least guarded shōji in the corridor. Although the stone was small, he couldn’t simply carry it because to the guards it would appear to be floating toward them in midair. Instead he carried it along the floor and against the wall, bending over as he walked, but all the time watching the two samurai. He had used this trick plenty of times before while stealing wallets or jewelry from occupied bedrooms.
It worked, and the pebble slid unnoticed right up to one of the guards’ feet. Ghost placed it behind the samurai and then crept around the other side of him so that he was now standing at the shōji and in between the two guards. He picked up the pebble. The next bit would be tricky. He needed to throw the stone down the corridor without the guards seeing the direction it had come from.
He held the stone behind the samurai’s head. He was so close to the man that he could smell the perfume in his hair. If the guard tilted his head back, he would feel Ghost’s hand behind him. Ghost held his breath and waited.
When the samurai twisted his head to look down the corridor, Ghost flicked the pebble the opposite way. It clattered onto the wooden floor, causing both guards to spring into fighting stance, each partially drawing his sword. They took a few tentative steps toward the source of the noise, and Ghost put his hand on the shōji. One of them stooped down to pick up the pebble, and that’s when Ghost eased open the screen, just enough to slip inside. Quickly he closed it again and waited. A memory of holding his breath in the apartment in Copacabana flashed into his mind, but was quickly banished by the sight before him.
There must have been at least a hundred samurai, and each carried a sword. Every soldier wore shining red armor and some carried the Empire’s all-too-familiar banner with the image of the two crossed swords. Separated by a three-foot-wide aisle of tatami mats, the samurai were split into two groups facing a raised platform at the top of the hall. In the center of the stage sat a cushion and a small wooden chest.
An air of silent anticipation hung in the hall. Everybody remained motionless, including Ghost. Or at least he tried to, but his shivering was becoming uncontrollable. He needed to move. Before he could, a voice from the top of the hall called out something in Japanese. The only word Ghost picked up was “Goda.”
Like a wave, the kneeling samurai bowed to the ground. Goda entered, dressed in a red kimono and wearing two swords.
Ghost’s heart skipped a beat as the leader of the Samurai Empire—the president he knew from TV—stepped onto the stage, faced his audience, and bowed. The samurai straightened up from the floor.
Goda began addressing his army. Ghost couldn’t understand what he was saying. He looked around for Kiko, but she was nowhere to be seen. Was one of the blades in Goda’s sash the Moon Sword? He needed to get closer to be sure.
Though worried about his fatigue, Ghost carefully walked up the aisle between the kneeling samurai. He held his breath, but none of them blinked or looked sideways as he passed—their attention was on the stage.
Goda had stopped talking and had removed one of his swords. He carefully laid it across the raised cushion.
Heart pounding in his chest, and terrified that he’d stumble or cough, Ghost stepped closer to the stage. One of the corners of Goda’s mouth curled upward in a faint smile and his eyes burned bright as he stared at the sword on the cushion.
Ghost leaned closer. The sword’s scabbard was black and shiny, exactly like that of the Moon Sword, except it was decorated with a gold-and-silver eye instead of a moon.
Now, Goda removed his second katana, marked with a gold butterfly. He placed it across the other sword to form an X. He began to speak once more, pointing at the swords, his voice ringing out over the hall. Ghost listened in, recognizing a few of the words—“Oosutoria, Firipin, Shingapooru, Indo, Furansu, Sue-den, Indoneshia.” Countries! All part of the future Samurai Empire.
Goda opened the wooden chest and removed a red piece of cloth—the Empire flag.
He placed the flag with the crossed swords on the wall, above the crossed swords on the cushion, and then raised his hand and beckoned someone through the doorway Ghost had just used.
Ghost’s legs almost gave way when he saw who entered. Lady Kiko carried a black sword in outstretched arms and pattered down the aisle toward him in tiny steps. Her face was powdered white, her bloodred lips painted into a smile, and her eyes dark and menacing. Terror rather than cold froze Ghost solidly to the floor as she headed for him. She was going to crash straight into him if he didn’t move. But he couldn’t. His legs were paralyzed by fear.
He closed his eyes as she approached, already foreseeing what would happen in a fast-forwarded movie reel inside his head. She’d bump into him, realize who it was, enter his brain, flood it with agonizing pain, and, if he was lucky, finish him off with the sword.
But when nothing happened, he opened his eyes to see that Kiko had passed by him and joined Goda on the stage. She placed her sword across the other two on the cushion, to form an asterisk. It was the Moon Sword. This was it. This was what he had come here for. And though it was within arm’s reach, he couldn’t take it. You couldn’t just float a sword out past a hundred samurai.
Ghost’s attention shifted to Goda, who was opening the wooden chest. He removed a small pot and a paintbrush. Dipping the brush into the pot, he painted a crude third sword on the Empire flag, to mirror the three swords on the cushion.
Goda returned to the chest and removed a large roll of paper and a carved box. Kneeling, Kiko helped him unroll the scroll on the floor while Goda held the curling corners down with four polished stones.
Ghost stepped closer. The scroll was a map of New York City. Goda reached into the wooden box and began placing red plastic models of samurai soldiers in the center of the map. He spoke excitedly to Kiko as he moved the models around the map. The words “Nyūyōku” and “Amerika” were repeated again and again. Goda was planning an attack on New York City.
Ghost turned back to where the three katana lay on the cushion. The Swords of Sarumara. Makoto had talked about them on their first day at Renkondo. The Black Lotus had spent hundreds of years protecting one, and here they were, all three together.
Ghost turned and glanced around the hall, wondering what his chances of escape would be if he just grabbed them and ran. But a hundred pairs of warrior eyes stared up at him from the back of the hall. He might make it out of there before they realized what was happening, but three floating swords would immediately alert Kiko to his presence. She wouldn’t even have to stand up to strike him down dead.
Suddenly the red samurai in the hall stood, in perfect unison. Ghost staggered backward with fright. Goda beckoned one of them forward and gave him the Moon Sword. He then gave the man lengthy orders in Japanese. The samurai blinked and then bowed before marching down the aisle between the two groups of warriors. Half the soldiers followed him in single file.
Ghost watched his prize disappear out of the hall. Blast! He glanced back at the remaining swords, but Goda was replacing them in his sash. With his wife at his side, Goda headed for the door through which he had entered.
Ghost glanced between the two exits in panic. Which way should I go? Moments before, he could have taken the three swords. Now they were leaving the hall in different directions.
Ghost ran after the Moon Sword, stumbling past the samurai filing out of the hall. He followed the marching soldiers along corridors and up wooden stairs, racing past them whenever he got a chance. Though he had to be careful about not bumping into them, he didn’t have to worry about being quiet. The castle donjon was filled with the sound of fifty pairs of feet marching along wooden passageways and stairs.
Higher and higher they went into the keep, Ghost still overtaking samurai when he could, in a desperate attempt to get to the sword before it was locked away out of reach. Panting for breath, he caught up with the leading samurai just as he stepped into a room, carrying the sword with him.
Ghost followed him into a bedroom with walls of stone instead of paper. The man placed the blade on a wooden stand beside a low futon. He then poured a clear liquid from a ceramic jug into a cup on a low polished table. Ghost’s nostrils prickled at the smell of alcohol.
The samurai ran his hand along the Moon Sword before leaving the room and closing the heavy wooden double doors. Ghost heard him bark orders and saw his red armor through the gap between the doors.
Ghost hugged himself. His body was like a block of ice, screaming at him to lie down. But he couldn’t. Not until his job was done.
He’d found the sword, but how would he get it out? He looked around the room. It was large and dimly lit by an oil lamp in one corner. A single narrow window looked out onto the night sky. Already there were traces of pink on the horizon. The window was guarded by iron bars. But even if he could remove them, the opening was too narrow to climb through. The ceiling was supported by thick beams of wood that sat on red pillars with gold carvings of foxes and deer. Somebody important used this room, and would be coming to bed soon …
His gaze fell on the black scabbard inlaid with a gold-and-silver moon. The sword looked more beautiful than dangerous, yet it had caused so much trouble for hundreds of years.
He stepped carefully across the floor, keeping his eye
s fixed on the closed wooden doors. He held his breath and bent down to take the blade. It felt heavier than he remembered. How the heck was he going to get it out past fifty guards?
The answer came in the most unexpected manner. First he heard a tiny scurrying noise, and then he noticed movement along one of the ceiling beams. A mouse ran down one of the red pillars toward him. As it got closer he realized it was carrying something in its mouth, something that looked like a piece of black plastic. Savage! It looked around the room, then sniffed its way right up to him and dropped the object at his feet.
Ghost put down the sword and picked up the object—two pieces of black plastic joined by a thin wire. The comm from his shōzoku! He inserted the earpiece and listened. At first there was nothing, and then came Kate’s voice.
“Ghost, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he whispered, glancing back at the door.
“I hope you’ll treat Savage with a little more respect from now on,” she said.
“Yes.” He nodded, looking down at the little mouse, who was sitting up on his back legs, waiting.
“Is everything OK?”
“Yes.”
“Any sign of the sword?”
“I have it, but I don’t know how to get it out.”
He described the situation as quickly and quietly as he could.
Cormac’s voice came through the comm. “How many floors did you go up?”
Ghost tallied up the number of staircases he’d climbed. “Four, I think.”
“Is there a window in the room?”
“Yes, but it is too small to climb through. And it has bars.”
“Look out and tell me what you see.”
Outside, the stars were almost all gone, and crimson streaked the morning sky. Below, the town of Yosa slept. Sticking up above all the buildings was one that looked like a miniature version of the castle he was in.
“I think I see a temple.”
“Describe it.”
“It’s white with four curved roofs … ”
The Black Lotus Page 13
