by Unknown
2
THE RUTTER
The pale light of dawn filtered through the tiny window and rain continued to drip sluggishly from the lintel to the sill.
A single eye stared through the gloom at Jack.
But it was not Dokugan Ryu’s.
It belonged to the Daruma Doll that Sensei Yamada, his Zen teacher, had given him during his first week of samurai training at the Niten Ichi Ryū, the ‘One School of Two Heavens’ in Kyoto.
More than a year had passed since Jack’s fateful arrival in Japan when a ninja attack upon the trading ship his father piloted had left him stranded and fighting for his life. The sole survivor, Jack had been rescued by the legendary warrior Masamoto Takeshi, the founder of this particular samurai school.
Injured, unable to speak the language and without friends or family to look after him, Jack had had little choice but to do as he was told. Besides, Masamoto was not the sort of man to have his authority questioned – a fact proven when he adopted Jack, a foreigner, as his son.
Of course, Jack dreamed of going home and being with his sister, Jess, the only family he had left, but these dreams often became nightmares infiltrated by his nemesis, Dragon Eye. The ninja wanted the rutter, his father’s navigational logbook, at any cost, even if that meant killing a boy Jack’s age.
The little wooden Daruma Doll with its round painted face continued to stare at him in the darkness, its lone eye mocking his predicament. Jack recalled the day Sensei Yamada had instructed him to paint in the right eye of the doll and make a wish – the other to be added only when the wish came true. Jack realized to his dismay that his wish was no closer to fulfilment than when he had first filled in the eye at the beginning of the year.
He rolled over in despair, burying his head in the futon. The other trainee warriors were bound to have heard his cries through the paper-thin walls of his tiny room in the Shishi-no-ma, the Hall of Lions.
‘Jack, are you all right?’ came a whisper in Japanese from the other side of the shoji door.
He heard the door slide open and recognized the dim outlines of his best friend Akiko and her cousin Yamato, the second-born son of Masamoto. They slipped inside quietly. Dressed in a cream silk night kimono, her long dark hair tied back, Akiko came and knelt by Jack’s bed.
‘We heard a shout,’ continued Akiko, her half-moon eyes studying his pale face with concern.
‘We thought you might be in trouble,’ said Yamato, a wiry boy the same age as Jack with chestnut-brown eyes and spiky black hair. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Jack wiped his brow with a trembling hand and tried to calm his nerves. The dream, so vivid and real, had left him shaken and the image of Jess being snatched lingered in his mind.
‘I dreamt of Dragon Eye… He’d broken into my parents’ house… He kidnapped my little sister…’ Jack swallowed hard, trying to calm himself.
Akiko looked like she might reach out to comfort him, but Jack knew Japanese formality prevented any such outward displays of affection. She offered him a sad smile instead.
‘Jack, it’s just a dream,’ said Akiko.
Yamato nodded in agreement, adding, ‘It’s impossible for Dragon Eye to be in England.’
‘I know,’ Jack conceded, taking a deep breath, ‘but I’m not in England either. If the Alexandria hadn’t been attacked, I’d be halfway home by now. Instead, I’m stranded on the other side of the world. There’s no telling what’s happened to Jess. I may be under the protection of your father here, but she has no one.’
Jack’s vision blurred with tears.
‘But isn’t your sister being looked after by a neighbour?’ asked Akiko.
‘Mrs Winters is old,’ said Jack, shaking his head dismissively. ‘She can’t work and soon she’ll have run out of the money my father gave her. Besides, she could have become sick and died… just like my mother! Jess will be sent to a workhouse if there’s no one to care for her.’
‘What’s a workhouse?’ Yamato asked.
‘They’re like prisons, but for beggars and orphans. She’ll have to break stones for roads, pick apart old ropes, maybe even crush bones for fertilizer. There’s little food, so they end up fighting over the rotting pieces just to eat. How could she ever survive that?’
Jack buried his head in his hands. He was powerless to save what remained of his family. Just as he had been when his father had needed his help fighting the ninja who had boarded their ship. Jack punched his pillow, frustrated at his inability to do anything about it. Akiko and Yamato watched silently as their friend vented his anger.
‘Why did the Alexandria have to sail into that storm? If her hull had held, we wouldn’t have been shipwrecked. We wouldn’t have been attacked. And my father would still be alive!’
Even now Jack could see the wire garrotte, slick with his father’s blood, Dragon Eye wrenching back on it harder as John Fletcher struggled to get free. Jack remembered how he had simply stood there, his body paralysed with fear, the knife hanging limp in his hand. His father, gasping for breath, the veins in his neck fit to burst, desperately reaching out to him…
Angry with himself for his failure to act, Jack threw his pillow across the room.
‘Jack. Calm down. You’re with us now, it’ll be all right,’ soothed Akiko. She exchanged a worried glance with Yamato. They had never seen him like this.
‘No, it’s not all right,’ replied Jack, slowly shaking his head and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind of the nightmarish vision.
‘Jack, it’s no wonder you’re sleeping so badly. There’s a book under your futon!’ exclaimed Yamato, picking up the leatherbound tome he’d spotted.
Jack snatched it out of his hands.
It was his father’s rutter. He’d kept it hidden under his futon since there was no other place he could conceal it in his tiny featureless room. The rutter was his sole link to his father and Jack cherished every page, every note and every word his father had written. The information it contained was highly valuable and Jack had sworn to his father to keep it secret.
‘Easy, Jack. It’s only a dictionary,’ said Yamato, taken aback at Jack’s unexpected aggressiveness.
Jack stared wide-eyed at Yamato, realizing his friend had mistaken the rutter for the Portuguese–Japanese dictionary the late Father Lucius had given him the previous year. The one he was supposed to deliver to the priest’s superior, Father Bobadillo, in Osaka when he got the chance. But it wasn’t the dictionary. Though they both had similar leather bindings, this was his father’s rutter.
Jack had never told Yamato the truth about the rutter, even denying its existence to him. And for good reason. Until their victory and reconciliation at the inter-school Taryu-Jiai contest that summer, he’d had no reason to trust Yamato.
When Masamoto had first adopted Jack, Yamato had taken an instant dislike to him. His older brother, Tenno, had been killed and he saw Jack as his father’s attempt to replace his eldest son. To Yamato, Jack was stealing his father from him. It took a near-drowning experience for Jack to convince Yamato otherwise and to bind them as allies.
Jack knew it was a risk to tell Yamato about something as precious as his father’s rutter. And Jack had no idea how he would react. But perhaps now was the time to trust his new friend with the secret.
‘It’s not Father Lucius’s dictionary,’ confessed Jack.
‘What is it then?’ asked Yamato, a perplexed look on his face.
‘It’s my father’s rutter.’
3
THE DARUMA WISH
‘Your father’s rutter!’ exclaimed Yamato, confusion turning to disbelief. ‘But when Dragon Eye attacked Akiko’s house, you denied all knowledge of it!’
‘I lied. I had no choice at the time.’
Jack couldn’t bring himself to meet Yamato’s eyes. He knew his friend felt betrayed.
Yamato turned to Akiko. ‘Did you know about this?’
Akiko nodded, her face flushing with shame.
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Yamato fumed. ‘I don’t believe it. Is this why Dragon Eye keeps coming back? For a stupid book?’
‘Yamato, I would have told you,’ said Akiko, trying to calm him, ‘but I promised Jack I’d keep it secret.’
‘How can a book be worth Chiro’s life?’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘She may only have been a maid, but she was loyal to our family. Jack’s put all of us in danger because of this so-called rutter.’
Yamato stared in silent rage at Jack, the old hatred flaring in his eyes. To Jack’s horror, Yamato turned to leave.
‘I’m going to tell my father about this.’
‘Please don’t,’ Jack pleaded, grabbing Yamato’s kimono sleeve. ‘It’s not just any book. It must be kept secret.’
‘Why?’ Yamato demanded, looking down at Jack’s hand in disgust.
Jack let go, but Yamato didn’t leave.
Jack wordlessly passed him the book and Yamato flicked through its pages, glancing at but not comprehending the various ocean maps, constellations and their accompanying sea reports.
Jack explained the significance of its contents in hushed tones. ‘The rutter is a navigational logbook that describes the safe routes across the oceans of the world. The information is so valuable that men have died trying to get their hands on this book. I promised my father I would keep it secret.’
‘But why’s it so important? Isn’t it just a book of directions?’
‘No. It’s much more than that. It’s not only a map of the oceans. My father said it’s a powerful political tool. Whoever owns it can control the trade routes between all nations. This means that any country with a rutter as accurate as this one rules the seas. That’s why England, Spain and Portugal all want it.’
‘What does that have to do with Japan?’ Yamato said, handing the book back. ‘Japan’s not like England. I don’t think we even have a fleet.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t care about politics. I just want to get back to England one day and find Jess. I’m worried about her,’ explained Jack, caressing the leather binding of the logbook. ‘My father taught me how to use this rutter so I could be a pilot like him. That’s why, when I do leave Japan, the rutter is my ticket home. My future. Without it, I have no trade. Much as I love training in the Way of the Warrior, there’s little call for samurai in England.’
‘But what’s stopping you leaving now?’ challenged Yamato, his eyes narrowing.
‘Jack can’t just go,’ interjected Akiko on his behalf. ‘Your father’s adopted him until he’s sixteen and of age. He would need Masamoto-sama’s permission. Besides, where would he go to?’
Yamato shrugged.
‘Nagasaki,’ answered Jack.
They both stared at him.
‘That’s the port my father was piloting us to before the storm blew us off course. The port might have a ship bound for Europe, or even England.’
‘But do you even know where Nagasaki is, Jack?’ asked Akiko.
‘Sort of… there’s a rough map in here.’
Jack began to flick through the rutter’s pages.
‘It’s in the far south of Japan in Kyūshū,’ said Yamato impatiently.
Akiko rested her hand on the logbook, stopping Jack’s search for the map. ‘With no food or money, how would you get there? It would take you more than a month to walk from Kyoto.’
‘You had better start walking now then, hadn’t you?’ Yamato said sarcastically.
‘Stop it, Yamato! You two are supposed to be friends, remember?’ said Akiko. ‘Jack can’t simply walk to Nagasaki. Dragon Eye’s out there. At school, he’s under your father’s protection and Masamoto-sama seems to be the only person the ninja fears. If Jack left here alone, he could be captured… or even killed!’
They all fell silent.
Jack put away the rutter, padding the futon back over the top. It was such a poor hiding place for something so precious and he realized he needed to find a more secure location for it before Dragon Eye returned.
Yamato slid open the door of the room to leave. Glancing back over his shoulder at Jack, he asked, ‘So are you going to tell my father about it?’
They held each other’s stare, the tension between them growing.
Jack shook his head. ‘My father went to great lengths to keep it hidden. On-board ship he had a secret compartment for it. Not even the Captain knew where my father held his logbook. As his son, it’s my duty to protect the rutter,’ explained Jack, knowing he had to get through to Yamato somehow. ‘You understand duty. You’re samurai. My father made me promise to keep it secret. I’m bound to that promise.’
Yamato nodded ever so slightly and slid the door shut again, before turning back to him.
‘I now understand why you haven’t told anyone,’ Yamato said, unclenching his fists as his anger finally died down. ‘I was annoyed that you hadn’t told me. That you didn’t trust me. You can, you know.’
‘Thank you, Yamato,’ replied Jack, breathing a sigh of relief.
Yamato sat back down next to Jack. ‘I just don’t understand why you can’t tell my father. He could protect it.’
‘No, we mustn’t,’ insisted Jack. ‘When Father Lucius died, he confessed that someone he knew was after the rutter and would kill me for it.’
‘Dokugan Ryu, of course’ said Yamato.
‘Yes, Dragon Eye wants the rutter,’ agreed Jack, ‘but you told me ninja were employed for their skills. Somebody’s hiring him to steal the rutter. It could be someone Masamoto-sama knows. Father Lucius was part of his entourage, so I can’t afford to trust anyone. That’s why I believe the fewer people who know about it, the better.’
‘You mean to say that you don’t trust my father? That you think he may want it?’ Yamato demanded, offended at the implication.
‘No!’ replied Jack quickly. ‘I’m saying if Masamoto-sama had the rutter, he might be murdered for it like my father was. And that’s a risk I can’t take. I’m trying to protect him, Yamato. At least, if Dragon Eye believes I have it, he’s only after me. That’s why we must keep it secret.’
Jack could see his friend weighing the options and for one horrible moment he thought Yamato was still going to tell his father.
‘Fine. I promise I won’t say anything,’ Yamato agreed. ‘But what makes you think Dragon Eye will come after it again? We haven’t seen him since he tried to assassinate daimyo Takatomi during the Gion Festival. Maybe he’s dead. Akiko wounded him pretty badly.’
Jack recalled how Akiko had saved his life that night. They’d spotted the ninja entering Nijo Castle, the home of Lord Takatomi, and followed him. However, Dragon Eye overcame Jack and was about to sever his arm when Akiko had flung a wakizashi sword to stop him. The short blade pierced Dragon Eye’s side, but the ninja had barely flinched. Only the timely arrival of Masamoto and his samurai had prevented the assassin from retaliating. Dragon Eye escaped over the castle walls, but not without promising he’d be back for the rutter.
The ninja’s threat still haunted him, and Jack didn’t doubt that Dragon Eye would return. The ninja was out there, waiting for him.
Akiko was right. While he was at the Niten Ichi Ryū, he was under Masamoto’s protection. He was safe. But he was dangerously exposed outside the school walls. Travelling alone, he would be lucky to make it beyond the city outskirts.
Jack had no option but to remain in Kyoto, training at the Niten Ichi Ryū. He had to learn the Way of the Sword if he was ever going to survive the journey home.
While the choice wasn’t his, the idea of perfecting his skills as a samurai gave Jack a sharp thrill. He was drawn to the discipline and virtues of bushido and the thought of wielding a real sword was exhilarating.
‘He’s out there,’ Jack said. ‘Dragon Eye will come.’
Reaching across the room, Jack picked up the Daruma Doll. He looked it squarely in the eye and solemnly remade his wish.
‘But next time I’ll be ready for him.’
4
A GRAIN OF
RICE
‘Why have you brought your sword?’ barked Sensei Hosokawa, a severe-looking samurai with an intimidating stare and a sharp stub of a beard.
Jack looked down at his katana. The polished black saya gleamed in the morning light, hinting at the razor-sharp blade within. Thrown by his sword teacher’s unexpected hostility, he thumbed the golden phoenix kamon embossed near the hilt.
‘Because… this is a kenjutsu class, Sensei,’ Jack replied, shrugging his shoulders for lack of a better answer.
‘Do any other students carry a katana?’
Jack glanced at the rest of the class lined down one side of the Butokuden, the dojo where they trained in the Way of the Sword, kenjutsu, and taijutsu, unarmed combat. The hall was cavernous, its elevated panel ceiling and immense pillars of dark cypress wood towering over the row of young trainee samurai.
Jack was once again reminded of how utterly different he was from the rest of his class. Not yet fourteen, unlike many of the other students, he was nonetheless the tallest, possessing sky-blue eyes and a mop of hair so blond it stood out like a gold coin among the black-haired uniformity of his classmates. To the olive-skinned, almond-eyed Japanese, Jack may have been training as a samurai warrior, but he would always be a foreigner – a gaijin as his enemies liked to call him.
Looking around, Jack realized that not a single student held a katana. They all carried bokken, their wooden training swords.
‘No, Sensei,’ said Jack, abashed.
At the far end of the line, a regal, darkly handsome boy with a shaved head and hooded eyes smirked at Jack’s error. Jack ignored Kazuki, knowing his rival would be delighting in his loss of face in front of the class.
Despite coming to grips with many of the Japanese customs, like wearing a kimono instead of shirt and breeches, bowing every time he met someone and the etiquette of apologizing for nearly everything, Jack still struggled with the strict ritualized discipline of Japanese life.
