The Ennin Mysteries: Collected Series 1 – 5 (25 Stories) MEGAPACK

by Ben Stevens

  ‘The samurai under his command were charged with finding him such attractive women; also they had to find ‘playmates’, as it were, for his only son (whose mother died shortly after giving birth), who is judged to be more than a little strange.’

  This, of course, I knew already from my conversation with the senior samurai named Yamada.

  ‘One woman’s name kept cropping up in conversation; a woman famed locally for her beauty, who was forced to share the tyrant’s bed for several nights some five years ago, until he grew weary of her. A couple of years later – I was then informed – her son, Taro, was paid to be playmate to the daimyo’s son.’

  Again, information I already knew. Was there nothing I could tell my master, that he didn’t know already?

  We had left the part of the town occupied by the samurai who weren’t sufficiently high-ranking to live within the castle walls. But still their homes were spacious and well-constructed, the streets reasonably wide and well-swept.

  Now we moved into the poorer part of the town, where those who labored in the fields that were before the mountains resided. These homes were small and squalid, with old straw roofs and lopsided windows and doors. We passed between them through narrow, muddy streets – until all of a sudden my master doubled over, clutching his stomach and sweating.

  ‘Master?’ I said; then, as he fell to his knees, I repeated the word louder.

  ‘Hey!’ I said, looking at the houses around me. ‘Hey! Somebody, help!’

  I sensed rather than saw people taking snatched glances through the windows and such, keeping themselves concealed. They had lived under a tyrant for so long that clearly no one dared show themselves without excellent reason.

  But my master was obviously sick.

  ‘Hey!’ I shouted again. ‘Someone help – now!’

  Some people began to drift out of the houses either side, staring cautiously at my master and me. Thin, pinched, hard and miserable faces – and then I saw her.

  She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. What she was doing living in this wretched backwater was quite beyond me. She could have earned a fortune just by her looks. And when I say this, I mean she was as ill-dressed, as dirty as those other townspeople…

  And neither was she all that young. Maybe around my own age – thirty-five. Yet still she had a sort of natural beauty that shone through her desperate circumstances, and her ill-kempt appearance.

  Behind her stood a young lad who I took to be her son. He was about the same age as Kenko – that strange son of the deceased daimyo. This boy stood behind his mother, staring at my master with a curious expression that somehow made him look much older than his years. Yet he was thin as a rake, and also a little small, stunted no doubt by the poor diet forced upon him by his mother’s poverty.

  My master stared back at the boy, each holding the other’s gaze for several moments...

  Someone then brought my master a bowl of water (I noted that no one offered him food, so desperate were their circumstances), and my master appeared to stage something of a rapid recovery.

  A little too rapid to my eye, in fact. I’d previously seen him feign ill-health for some reason or other; and now I realized that he’d just done so again.

  But for what possible reason?

  ‘Thank you,’ he told those few people gathered around him, that beautiful woman included. Really, I could hardly take my eyes off her.

  ‘I’m feeling much better,’ declared my master then.

  Uncaring, the townspeople drifted away back inside their miserable dwellings, relieved only that my master wasn’t about to die in the street outside and cause them to have to move his body.

  Life in such a place as this, I knew, was cheap indeed.

  My master and I soon left the outskirts of this town and then walked along a track which cut through the paddy-fields towards the mountains.

  ‘I saw her, didn’t I master?’ I said quietly. ‘When you feigned your attack of sickness. The beautiful woman – the one who was forced to share the dead daimyo’s bed five years ago.’

  ‘Yes,’ returned my master, his own voice thoughtful. ‘You saw her – as did I. I learnt earlier through subtle questioning as to just where she lived, and so I made sure to pass by there as we left this town. I wanted to see her – and someone else.’

  ‘Master,’ I said almost in a sigh. ‘You know I don’t understand. Was this woman the daimyo’s assassin – and you said that the physician wasn’t wholly wrong about the poisoned darts being fired through the holes in the ceiling. Even though there were no obvious entry marks on his face, neck or indeed any exposed part of his body.

  ‘Did she,’ I persisted, ‘somehow manage to hide up in that ceiling above the daimyo’s bed, and kill the man who’d basically raped her however many years before? Did she manage to achieve what the ninja you told me about earlier, at the inn, had failed to achieve – the ninja who’d been so horribly tortured to death, after he’d been captured within the castle?’

  We had by now entered into a whispering bamboo grove at the foot of a mountain. Sunlight cut in soft shards through the foliage high above. The thick, green, towering bamboo creaked and groaned mysteriously as we passed through it.

  ‘Forgive me, Kukai, if I am sometimes overly cryptic – or just plain secretive,’ said my master then, quietly. ‘I have to form my theories in my own way, and reveal them in my own time. But I never wish it to appear as though I am being deliberately obtuse – at least not to you, my friend.’

  My master’s words touched me more deeply than I would have thought possible. I nodded, there in the creaking, swaying silence of that bamboo forest, and said –

  ‘Of course, master.’

  Then, raising his voice slightly, my master said suddenly –

  ‘You have my respect, Taro Uchino. For your father is now avenged, as is your mother.’

  ‘Master?’ I began, entirely taken aback by his words.

  But my master waved one hand, to signify that I should be silent.

  ‘Even after your father’s death, you continued your secretive training’ (resumed my master). ‘Doubtless there are other ninja in this area, who still teach you late at night and deep in the mountains. From them, no doubt, you learnt what chemical causes crickets to chirp – and you threw this chemical around you as you hid by the edge of the castle moat last night, so that these insects should not reveal your position by ceasing their noise. For I spoke to the sentry who was on duty yesterday evening.’

  I stared at my master, bewildered. I realized that he was talking to someone behind us, although he was still facing forwards, a small smile on his face. I knew that I should not turn round, either. Somehow, I recognized that our lives were in danger – that everything depended on what my master said now…

  ‘Easy enough for you, a ninja, to gain entrance into the castle – as your honorable father did five years before. Only he did so to avenge the dishonor the daimyo had caused your mother; not – as was considered to be the case once your father had been captured – as an assassin merely employed by some other daimyo who wished to acquire more territory.

  ‘Yes – for although everyone in this village believes you to have been the result of a short-lived affair between your mother and a travelling umbrella seller, you were in fact fathered by a ninja. And, as such, your secretive training commenced almost as soon as you were able to stand unaided.

  ‘Your father and others lived secretly in the mountains. He visited your mother when he could. But one day some five years before, she was suddenly taken by the samurai to the daimyo, and there in the castle – dishonored.

  ‘Your father then sought to avenge this dishonor, but was regrettably caught, tortured and killed – although he bravely gave nothing away under torture which, of course, may otherwise have placed you and your mother in grave danger.

  ‘You were scarcely eight or nine when your father was murdered – yet still you swore your revenge. After all, you had he
ard his screams sounding from the castle… So you demanded that no other attempt be made on the daimyo’s life by your father’s peers, until you were finally ready to strike.

  ‘For as white-hot as your desire for revenge was, you still knew you were not ready. You continued to train; with weapons, building speed, confidence…

  ‘Then one day you realized there was a chance to undertake some vital reconnaissance work within the castle. All you had to do was to be asked to play with the daimyo’s somewhat ‘peculiar’ son.

  ‘This request was easy enough to obtain – and so for several months you were his playmate, although you had a tendency to get ‘lost’ sometimes, then being discovered in various places around the castle. Those guards who knew you sniggered at this, considering you to be almost as ‘strange’ as the boy Kenko.

  ‘In reality, during those times you could not be found, you were in fact exploring the castle’s very walls and ceilings – as well as discreetly discovering where all the anti-ninja traps were located. You found your way into the void above the daimyo’s own bedroom, entering via the foot-wide vents at either end of the ceiling void. Even for someone of your small and thin stature, this first required that you dislocate one of your shoulders (as you’d already been taught, such a ‘trick’ being entirely standard for ninja) so to be able to gain entry.

  ‘And as you lay there, carefully spread out on the thin ceiling beams – which only just supported your weight – you stared through the tiny openings made in the ceiling, in the elaborate painting that was above the daimyo’s bed – and a plan began to form…’

  …My master paused, stood there among the bamboo. All was incredibly silent and still – yet I felt a definite pricking between my own shoulders. At any moment, I expected to feel the sharp impact of a knife or something similar being hurled into my back…

  Then my master continued –

  ‘Your training continued for another couple of years, as you also paid close attention to the study of poisons. Finally, no matter how deliberately you starved yourself, so to remain as thin and as light as possible, you realized that soon (as subtle and double-jointed as you remain, due to your training) you would no longer physically be able to enter the void above the daimyo’s bedchamber.

  ‘And so you entered the castle last night; you worked your way slowly, carefully, above a number of ceilings until you were at last above the daimyo’s locked-up and purportedly secure bedchamber. I expect your diet has recently consisted greatly of watercress, which undoubtedly assists with a ninja’s ability to see in the dark. But of course, you also had the moonlight spilling onto the daimyo’s sizeable, snoring form below…

  ‘It was then you produced a piece of thread from within your black clothing, and worked it through one of the holes in the ceiling until it hung down by the daimyo’s face. You peered through another hole, in order to check your aim. Then, when the thread was hanging directly above the daimyo’s lips, you struck!

  ‘A small phial of poison was produced, selected especially for this purpose. A drop was applied to the top of the thread, this thread then shaken very, very slightly so that the drop of poison might slide downwards towards the daimyo’s lips…

  ‘The type of poison I’ m all but certain you used causes great pain, which would have caused the daimyo to awaken from his slumber. But almost instantaneously, it also causes total body paralysis. The victim would have been unable even to blink, far less cry out for help

  ‘But still he would have been able to hear – as you whispered down through the holes in the ceiling of how your mother’s dishonor, and your father’s death, were now avenged. Pitching your voice low so that even the guard stood outside the door to the daimyo’s bedchamber would not be able to hear – just the daimyo himself. And then you made your departure, knowing that the daimyo would take several hours to die – several hours spent lying there entirely unable to move or to speak, and in agony. And you left behind what you fully expected would remain forever a mysterious and unsolvable mystery.’

  Again, my master paused for a moment. The very air itself seemed to be fully charged and expectant –

  ‘I know,’ said my master then, ‘that there are at present two shuriken ready to be thrown at my servant and I, to ensure that we never speak of this matter again. But I – Ennin – and my servant – Kukai – give you our word that this shall remain a secret, Taro Uchino. And, furthermore, I have something I would like to give you – and your mother. A mark of my respect, if you will.’

  Saying this, my master produced a small bag of coins from inside his kimono.

  ‘I will put this on the ground, and walk on for a short way with my servant,’ continued my master. ‘But after a minute or so has passed, I and my servant will turn round, so that my servant can see this bag has been taken, and so will know that I have not just been talking to myself.’

  In accordance with his words, my master put down the bag and I walked with him through the bamboo grove for maybe twenty or thirty yards. Though I strained my ears, I heard no sound at all coming from behind us.

  Then, my master said loudly –

  ‘We are turning round, now.’

  We did so, slowly – and the bag of money lying in the middle of the narrow pathway running through the bamboo grove was gone. In its place were two small, metallic objects – I squinted, trying to make out what they were…

  ‘Master!’ I said cautiously, as my master started walking towards them...

  But picking these objects up, my master returned to show me that they were shuriken – throwing stars. I took one and stared at it in fascination. It was surprisingly heavy. I’d never seen one of the ninja’s infamous weapons of death before – far less held one.

  ‘A brave boy – no, a man already,’ declared my master quietly, looking back at that hazy, sunlit spot where my master had addressed this young assassin who’d been hiding –

  Where, exactly? High up there in the swaying bamboo?

  ‘But what does it mean, master?’ I asked quietly. ‘These shuriken, that is?’

  ‘A mark of respect, given by a ninja,’ returned my master. ‘That is all – and that is everything. If ever we find ourselves in trouble, and this ninja is able to assist us, then he will do so. A debt of obligation. That is what those two shuriken having been left signify – the two shuriken which might otherwise have been hurled deep into the backs of our necks…’

  My master nodded, his eyes both amused and strangely secretive as he remarked then –

  ‘How close we are always to death, Kukai! How close indeed…’

  We resumed walking, the swaying, creaking, sunlit bamboo all around us – and a sense of wonder deep in my soul.

  The Demon King

  It was a hideous, inhuman monster – as wide as it was tall, completely hairless. And yet… It had roughly the shape, the appearance, of a man. Its arms and legs were thick as tree-trunks, a vile grin plastered across that lipless block of a face with its pig-like snout and puffy eyes...

  Fittingly, the thing snorted as it lurched towards my master. The massive fingers clenched and unclenched, clearly desiring to tear my master limb from limb.

  ‘Begin!’ cried the Demon King, his cruel eyes shining with delight, and my heart sickened as my master clenched his fists and moved to meet the beast…

  1

  ‘…He will not rest until the whole of Japan is under his control,’ declared Koyama, one of the three daimyo who’d summoned my master to a secretive meeting held in Koyama’s own castle. The two other daimyo had travelled from their own territories to attend – territories which (just like Koyama’s) bordered the large area governed by Jubei, the so-called ‘Demon King’.

  It was a title which Jubei had earned through sheer ruthlessness, as he’d determinedly risen from being just another samurai warrior of no special rank to ultimately become daimyo. All who’d stood in his way had been systematically destroyed – such as when his pursuit of power had been opposed by the Yam
abushi, a group of mountain-monks skilled in the martial arts. In answer to this, Jubei and his forces had infamously burnt their temple to the ground and massacred all but the few monks who managed to flee…

  Now, my master nodded his head slowly at Koyama’s words.

  ‘And, naturally, you are concerned that Jubei will start by attempting to take control of the territory governed by yourselves,’ declared my master, looking at each of the three daimyo as he spoke.

  It was their turn to nod, their concern obvious.

  ‘Our forces – even if they were all three combined – could not hope to match Jubei’s army,’ declared the daimyo named Nakamura. ‘He has some of the finest generals and fighters; indeed, in just a few days’ time he is hosting one of his own martial arts’ tournaments, just as he does every year. This only serves to attract yet more ruthless fighting men to first compete – and then often to serve under his command.’

  ‘It is no longer just a question of if Jubei will start to invade other territories, but when,’ said the daimyo named Hata despondently – as the two other powerful men, sat wearing fine kimono, again nodded their heads in agreement.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said my master slowly, ‘but I am not entirely certain what it is you wish from me. If you cannot hope to match the Demon King with the three armies at your disposal, then what, exactly, do you think I can do to check this obvious lust for power that he has?’

  Hata sighed, and gave the slightest shrug.

  ‘I do not know, Ennin-sensei. All I can say is that if there is any way of defeating Jubei – short of an all-out war that will cost thousands of lives and may not even be successful – then you are undoubtedly the man to discover just what this is.’

  ‘Do not think we speak just out of fear for our own skins, or because of our own need to cling to power,’ declared Koyama, looking keenly at my master. ‘We try to govern fairly, and protect those people under our control. But the Demon King is a tyrant; he enslaves and he demands constant taxes, even though many of his people are virtually starving. This is the fate that will befall our own people if he takes over our regions – and then he will only seek to occupy yet more territory.