‘Don’t point your finger at me,’ snarled Ronin, swaying on his feet as he took a swig of saké. ‘Remember, there’s always three pointing back at you! I wasn’t the one who was robbed in the first place.’
‘What’s your problem?’ snapped Jack. ‘Why are you always drinking?’
‘In order to suffer fools like you!’ shot back Ronin.
‘Stop! Stop!’ exclaimed Hana, stepping between them. ‘This isn’t helping us get to Kyoto.’
Jack and Ronin glared at each other, neither willing to back down.
‘It’s no one’s fault here. The only people to blame are those who attacked Jack.’
Recognizing the sense in Hana’s words, Jack now felt deeply ashamed of his outburst and bowed his head in remorse.
‘I’m sorry, Ronin. I should be thankful for all the help you’ve given me. It’s just that I seem to be getting nowhere. We may have the pearl, but what chance do I have of ever recovering my other possessions? It’s hopeless.’
Ronin took another swig from his bottle and smiled encouragingly at Jack.
‘It’s never hopeless,’ he said, gripping Jack’s shoulder. ‘Tomorrow’s a new day and I promise we’ll find your swords.’
23
KYOTO
Jack’s breath caught in his throat at the first sighting of the Heart of Japan. The home of the Emperor, of Nijo Castle, of the Niten Ichi Ryū, and of many experiences … good and bad.
He recalled how awestruck he’d been upon his first arrival at the capital city three years before and was no less impressed by its size and scale this time. Approaching from the southern plain, Kyoto lay at the heart of an immense horseshoe of forested mountains. To the north-east, Jack could see Mount Hiei rising up towards the clouds. Perched upon its slopes was the ruined temple complex of Enryakuji, destroyed forty years ago by the samurai General Nobunaga. But Jack knew that a lantern, the ‘Eternal Light’, continued to burn in a crumbling shrine, for he had trained in one of its courtyards under the guidance of his blind bōjutsu master, Sensei Kano. And, like that flame, his memories now reignited.
He remembered how he and Akiko had sat on that very mountain, her head resting upon his shoulder as they watched the first sunrise of the New Year.
Drawing closer to the city’s boundary, Jack spotted the towering pagoda of Kiyomizudera, its spire poking above the tree canopy near where the Sound of Feathers waterfall thundered down the mountainside. That had been where he and Yamato had fought over the Jade Sword and subsequently forged the beginnings of a friendship. A wave of sadness always consumed him when he thought of Yamato, his loyal and brave friend who was now dead, having sacrificed his life to save Akiko and Jack from the ruthless ninja Dragon Eye.
Crossing a wide wooden bridge into the city, Ronin, now sober, guided them along the grassy treelined banks of the Kizugawa River. Hearing laughter and seeing a family enjoying a picnic together beneath the sakura trees, Jack was reminded of Akiko’s hanami party, the annual flower-viewing celebration in spring.
As they wound through the streets of Kyoto, passing the countless Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, private villas and miniature gardens, busy shops and crowded inns, Jack recognized more and more places from his past. The golden maple leaves of the Eikando Temple caught his eye; the street vendor selling okonomiyaki, the fried pancakes that his friend Saburo had relished; the store displaying papier-mâché masks like the ones they’d all worn for the Gion Matsuri Festival. And down that alley Jack knew was concealed the mysterious Ryoanji, the Temple of the Peaceful Dragon, where a monk with knife-like hands had secretly taught Akiko the Art of the Ninja.
So many memories, so many experiences, but they were just like ghosts now. And the city for all its familiarity felt hostile to Jack.
The throng of the central market made him nervous. Although he could hide in a crowd, there were more people – more eyes – that might notice him. He kept his head bowed, ensuring Ronin’s wide-brimmed hat covered his face.
Ronin forged a path through the streets, congested with shoppers, browsers, samurai and traders. They cut down a side alley before emerging into a small square, quieter and more placid than the others.
‘Stay here,’ ordered Ronin, stopping beside a tea house on the corner. ‘I’ll make some enquiries as to Araki’s whereabouts.’
He ordered a pot of sencha for Jack and Hana, paid the serving girl and headed off down the street in search of the samurai who now had Jack’s swords.
‘How long do you think he’ll be?’ asked Hana, pouring the tea for Jack.
‘Not long, I hope.’
Jack felt terribly exposed having come to Kyoto. He now wished he hadn’t taken the risk. It was like entering a lion’s den. He had to hope that most of Kyoto’s citizens were too busy with their own daily lives to notice a traveller in a non-descript blue kimono and straw hat.
Hana gazed around in awe. ‘I never imagined Kyoto to be like this!’
As Jack sipped his tea, she gave him a running description of everything she saw – the white-faced geisha girl, the strutting samurai, the lion-dog statue outside the local temple, the hawker selling wooden spinning tops.
After a while, the proprietor of the tea house came over. ‘More sencha?’
Hana looked to Jack, who shook his head.
‘No, thank you,’ she replied.
‘You’re not from these parts, are you?’ observed the man.
Hana smiled sweetly. ‘We’re on a pilgrimage with our master,’ she said, repeating their pre-planned answer.
‘Of course,’ said the proprietor, glancing with interest at Jack but making no attempt to enquire further. ‘A friendly word of warning, travellers don’t go unnoticed in this city. And some are not so welcome as they once were.’
Jack daren’t look up.
‘You two appear to be of particular interest.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Hana.
‘To the metsuke on the other side of the street.’
Hana gave him a blank stare. The proprietor leant in close, as if to clear their table.
‘A watcher. One of the Shogun’s spies.’
24
METSUKE
‘What does the metsuke look like?’ Jack asked Hana, once the proprietor left to attend to his other customers.
Hana was sharp-witted enough as a thief not to look directly at their observer. Instead she pretended to admire her surroundings, while casting a casual glance across the street. At first she didn’t see anyone. Then she noticed a figure lingering outside the entrance to the temple. He appeared to have little interest in praying. Nor was he in any rush to go elsewhere.
‘Young,’ replied Hana. ‘Thin as a chopstick, with eyes that look a little too close together. He’s wearing a black kimono and a pair of samurai swords. The odd thing is he can’t be much older than you.’
Jack felt a chill run through his body. Hana’s description was worryingly familiar.
‘Where is he now?’ asked Jack.
‘Over by the lion-dog statue.’
Jack warily peeked from beneath the brim of his hat. A steady flow of traffic crossed the square, but no one wore a black kimono. ‘Where?’
‘In front of the – ’ Hana looked around. ‘He’s gone!’
‘We should leave too,’ said Jack, reaching for his staff.
‘Why? It’s got to be a good thing. He obviously doesn’t think we’re a threat.’
‘Perhaps,’ replied Jack, thinking they should head towards Nijo Castle. ‘But it could also mean trouble.’
‘But we can’t leave before Ronin gets back. How will he know where to find us?’
Jack pondered this a moment. They hadn’t arranged an alternative meeting point. Nor did they know in which direction the metsuke had gone. They could run straight into him. And if Jack’s hunch was right they’d need the protection of Ronin’s swords.
‘All right, we’ll stay a little longer.’
The passing minutes were excruci
ating. Even though it wasn’t a particularly warm day, Jack began to perspire. He felt as if everyone was watching him. They all knew he was a gaijin. They could tell by his manner, smell his foreignness.
Jack thought about leaving a message with the proprietor, but there was no guarantee they could trust him.
‘Let’s move to the temple,’ said Jack, the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. ‘We can keep an eye on the tea house from there.’
‘Wait!’ said Hana, pointing down the road. ‘I see Ronin.’
But Jack didn’t look round. His eyes were fixed on the four figures clad in black kimono, headed directly for them from the opposite direction. Leading the pack, a red sun kamon emblazoned on his left lapel, was the person he’d feared most to encounter in Kyoto.
Kazuki.
The last time Jack had seen his old school rival was on the Tenno-ji battlefield, Akiko having shot an arrow through his sword hand. But this traitor – the student responsible for the downfall of the Niten Ichi Ryū – appeared to have recovered from his injuries, looking stronger than ever. With a shaved head, fierce dark eyes and a grimace of hate that marred an otherwise handsome face, he cut a formidable figure as he strode across the square towards them.
He was accompanied by the surviving members of his Scorpion Gang. Nobu, even larger than Jack remembered, was barrelling people out of the way like an irate sumo wrestler; Goro, muscular and broad, a born warrior, marched behind, his hand clamped upon the hilt of his sword; and by Kazuki’s side was Hiroto, the person Jack had suspected to be the metsuke.
Jack felt his chest tighten at the sight of them. The Scorpion Gang had been the bane of his life at the Niten Ichi Ryū. Even as individuals they’d bullied him from the moment of his arrival. But the formation of the Scorpion Gang had given a focus for their persecution of him. It had been organized under the leadership of Kazuki, in honour of daimyo Kamakura’s campaign to rid Japan of foreigners. All members were tattooed with the emblem of a black scorpion and swore an oath of allegiance – ‘Death to all gaijin!’
Jack tightened his grip upon his improvised staff. Though he stood little chance against the entire gang, he wouldn’t give in without a fight.
25
BY ORDER OF THE SHOGUN
‘We have to get you out of here!’ cried Hana, grabbing his arm.
‘Too late,’ he replied, their opportunity to run long gone.
The Scorpion Gang was converging on them fast. As they crossed the square, a man suddenly stumbled into their path. His arms reeling, the drunkard knocked into the hawker, scattering his wooden spinning tops everywhere and halting the gang in their tracks. The resulting chaos brought the entire square to a standstill. Barely keeping his feet, Ronin then lurched into Kazuki and grabbed hold in order to steady himself. Kazuki furiously shook him off, sending his bottle of saké sloshing into Nobu’s face. Goro and Hiroto rushed to disentangle their leader from the inebriated samurai’s embrace, but kept falling over the spinning tops.
‘Sooo sssssorry,’ slurred Ronin, more rice wine flying as he reeled away into the crowd.
All of a sudden the proprietor was by their side. ‘This way,’ he whispered, leading them inside the tea house.
With no choice but to trust the man, Jack and Hana followed him through the kitchen and into the back alley.
‘Please tell the ronin, we’ll meet him south of Nijo Castle,’ instructed Jack hurriedly. ‘And thank you for your help.’
‘A fellow Christian cannot see another lamb suffer,’ whispered the proprietor.
Jack was taken aback by the man’s confession. Not only were foreigners being persecuted in the Shogun’s new Japan, but Japanese Christians too, many being sought out and burnt at the stake for their beliefs. This man had taken a great risk in aiding them.
Checking no one was watching, the proprietor made the sign of the cross. ‘May God be with you.’
‘And you too,’ replied Jack.
‘Come on!’ urged Hana.
Criss-crossing their way through Kyoto, Jack led Hana towards the castle, its tall majestic keep visible above the city’s rooftops. Deep down, Jack harboured hopes he’d find daimyo Takatomi and his daughter Emi still residing there and be able to seek refuge. But as they approached its outer fortifications, Jack realized what a grave mistake he’d made.
Guarding the main gate and patrolling the high walls along the moat were the castle’s sentries – none of whom bore daimyo Takatomi’s kamon of a white crane. All were emblazoned with the red sun crest of Kazuki’s father, Oda Satoshi. For his family’s service in the war, the Shogun had evidently rewarded him with the governance and prestige of Kyoto Province.
Jack cursed his error of judgement. Nijo Castle had seemed the easiest and safest place to meet, but this was also where Kazuki would return.
‘We’d best keep moving,’ said Jack to Hana, explaining their predicament.
With no real destination in mind, he kept his head down and allowed his instincts to guide them. Rounding the corner, they made their way along a wide boulevard and were crossing to the opposite side of the street when Jack stopped.
‘Where now?’ asked Hana.
Jack looked up to get his bearings and felt his knees almost give way at the sight before him. An entranceway of dark cypress wood and white earthen walls greeted him. Carved above the gate was a large wooden crest of a phoenix, its flaming wings broken but defiant.
‘We’re here,’ breathed Jack, emotion choking him and his eyes welling with tears.
Without thinking, he’d led them straight to the Niten Ichi Ryū.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Hana.
Jack swallowed and nodded mutely. With hesitant steps, he approached the outer gate. The wood was battered and weatherworn and in places splintered. His fingers traced a set of kanji characters carved into a large wooden board hammered across the entrance:
‘What does it say?’ asked Hana in a hushed tone.
‘Ummm …’ Jack racked his brains, trying to remember all the kanji Akiko had taught him. ‘Closed. By order of the Shogun.’
He pressed an eye to one of the cracks. On the other side lay his school, just as he remembered it, with the grey pebbled courtyard that was the hub of the Niten Ichi Ryū, and the awe-inspiring Butokuden, the celebrated training hall for kenjutsu and taijutsu. To his right, up a flight of stone steps, he could make out Sensei Yamada’s Butsuden, the Buddha Hall where he’d taken Zen meditation classes and inside which hung an immense temple bell, the size of a mountain boulder.
Behind the Buddha Hall, Jack could just make out the pale russet tiles that formed the roof of the Chō-no-ma, the Hall of Butterflies, so named for the exquisite panels of painted butterflies and sakura trees that lined its lush interior. On the far side was Masamoto’s residence and personal dojo, the Hō-oh-no-ma, where the priviledged few were taught the secret art of the Two Heavens. Next to it was the Southern Zen Garden and over to his left the Shishi-no-ma, the Hall of Lions where the young samurai slept …
Jack blinked in amazement. It was all there, just waiting for his return.
But then he began to see the truth. In his excitement, his mind had been playing tricks on him. The courtyard was unraked and strewn with debris, leaves littering all four corners. The garden was overgrown, filled with weeds, a standing stone toppled on its side. The doors to the Buddha Hall were hanging off their hinges. Beside the Butokuden, like an unfinished grave, lay the charred foundations of the Hall of the Hawk – the first building Kazuki had set fire to. And beyond that, the Hall of Lions, only one wall left standing, was no more than a crumbling burnt-out wreck.
There was no movement. No students. No sensei. No life.
Surely the place hasn’t been entirely abandoned, prayed Jack.
‘The proprietor said the south side of the castle. This is east!’ pointed out a rather breathless and irate Ronin.
Jack spun round, both surprised and relieved. ‘You weren’t arrested …’
‘I merely pretended to be drunk. And that isn’t a crime … yet.’ The samurai stared at him with eyes that were stone-cold sober and Jack knew his earlier intoxication had all been an act. Ronin looked back over his shoulder. ‘We should go. That troublesome troop of young samurai are headed this way.’
The three of them ducked down the first side street they came to, and Ronin led them in silence across the city, only slowing when they reached a narrow canal in a quiet residential district. They followed it north, walking at a leisurely pace so as not to arouse suspicion.
‘Now, who were they?’ demanded Ronin.
‘The leader’s Kazuki,’ replied Jack, the name leaving a bad taste in his mouth. ‘An old school rival. A traitor.’
‘He’s very dangerous. I saw it in his eyes. What about the rest?’
‘They’re all part of his Scorpion Gang. Their sole purpose is to hunt down gaijin like me and kill them.’
‘The skinny one’s a metsuke,’ added Hana helpfully.
‘That explains it,’ said Ronin. ‘They suspected you were a foreigner but, as I staggered off, they were arguing over whether it was actually you or not.’
‘We must leave Kyoto now,’ said Jack, feeling the city closing in on him like a noose. ‘If Kazuki thinks I’m here, he’ll tear the place apart looking for me.’
‘This is a big city,’ reassured Ronin. ‘And I have good news – we won’t need to stay much longer. I’ve found Matagoro Araki.’
‘Where?’
‘We’re headed there right now,’ replied Ronin. ‘In keeping with what you seek from him, he’s at the renowned sword school – the Yagyu Ryū.’
26
YAGYU RYŪ
Jack felt as if he was jumping from one fire into another. He had a history with the Yagyu Ryū and the last place in Kyoto he wanted to go was the samurai school founded by the Shogun himself. Especially one he’d so publicly disgraced two years before by defeating their students in a Taryu-Jiai, an inter-school martial arts contest.
The Ring of Water Page 10
