by Adam Baker
She turned and calmly faced the door as two soldiers entered the room. They saw the idiot kitchen girl at the centre of the room, hands behind her back.
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded one of the men.
‘Waiting for you,’ said the girl. The first soldier was confused to hear a supposedly dumb kitchen scullion speak with the clarity and command of an aristocrat. She executed a perfect draw-strike and cut off his head.
The second soldier tried to pull his katana from its sheath in a clumsy, panicked movement. He delivered a crude side-cut. The girl blocked; span her blade and sliced deep into the man’s neck. He staggered and dropped his sword. He clamped a hand over his wounded throat and tried to plug the gash. He collapsed and bled out, feet dancing.
The girl sheathed her sword and headed for the window. She hung from the gable edge, kicked the window shutters closed then hauled herself up onto the roof.
* * *
They lay on the roof and watched search teams hurry building to building. The samurai checked the sky. A deepening blue. The first stars had appeared. Torches had been lit along the battlements and courtyard walls.
‘Come on, Masaie,’ murmured Ariyo in frustration, his attention focused beyond the gatehouse and down the mountainside. ‘Do your part. Open fire.’
‘I killed two guards,’ said the girl. ‘It won’t be long before they notice the men are missing.’
‘We’re committed,’ said the samurai. ‘Our fate is in the hands of the gods.’
‘Then this is where we say goodbye.’
He nodded. ‘You are a samurai,’ he said. ‘I have nothing left to teach you.’
‘Thank you,’ said the girl. ‘For everything.’
‘Wait until the fight begins then use the distraction. Head up the mountain. Get away from here. Get out of the province quick as you can. And remember what I told you. Head south. Travel to Iga. Search out The Temple of Suijin, in the village of Kōga.’
She nodded. ‘You saved my life many times,’ she said. ‘You will always be in my prayers.’ The girl reached over to squeeze his hand and felt him press a folded piece of paper into her palm.
‘Goodbye.’
He turned to Ariyo.
‘Let’s go.’
Ariyo crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down on an unattended corner of the courtyard – the point where the side-wall of the storehouse intersected with the rockface. He lashed a rope round the peak of a gable and threw the coil from the roof. It unravelled as it fell. The samurai gripped the rope and began to edge off the roof.
‘Will you be okay?’ asked Ariyo, looking doubtful as the samurai gripped the rope one-handed.
The samurai didn’t reply. He wrapped his legs round the rope and descended in a succession of jerks as he released and tightened his grip. He reached the ground. Ariyo followed. They huddled in shadow and contemplated the fifteen yards of well-lit courtyard that separated them from the side of the tower.
Raku prowled the kitchen. He kicked over a sack of pak choi. He kicked the cat. The captain of the watch interrogated the cook.
‘She was here and then she was gone,’ explained the cook as the fearful apparition paced the room.
‘When did she leave?’ demanded the captain.
‘A little while ago. She stepped into the pantry then was nowhere to be found.’
‘So you’ve given her the run of the castle these past few days?’
‘The girl is slow-witted,’ protested the cook. She didn’t understand the captain’s line of questioning but sensed she was being set up to take the blame for something severe. ‘She’s nothing. She couldn’t harm anyone. Doesn’t have it in her. The poor runt can barely look after herself.’
Raku stared at the cook in contempt. He turned and addressed the captain.
‘I’ll conduct the search myself. This time we’ll do it properly. And we’ll seal every room, every building behind us. All staff, all troops out in the courtyard. We’ll sniff out that rat. We’ll leave her nowhere to hide.’
The old man returned from the courtyard struggling to carry a pot full of water. He trembled in fear to find himself confronted by the captain and his monstrous companion.
‘How about you?’ asked the captain. ‘The girl. The idiot. Have you seen her?’
‘The storehouse,’ said the old man. ‘I saw her go into the storehouse.’
Masaie opened his eyes and saw a fabulous dusting of stars. He sat a while and tried to remember where he was. His father sat nearby patiently tossing a pebble in the air and catching it.
‘Ready?’ asked his father.
‘Can’t feel my legs. Either of them.’
‘Were you planning on going for a stroll?’
‘I suppose not.’
Masaie looked at the pack beside him, his long bow strapped to the side. Fletched arrows protruding from the open flap. He pulled one of the arrows from the pack, contemplated the red paper cylinder impaled on the tip. A dim recall of his mission.
‘It’s dark,’ said his father. ‘Come on. It’s time to get to work.’
Masaie nodded and made a desultory attempt to stand. His legs were so numb and useless he had to drag himself clear of the cave on his elbows. He hooked his arm through the strap of the pack and hauled it along. He sat with his back to the tree, strung an arrow, closed his eyes and breathed deep.
‘Ready to change history?’ asked his father.
Masaie summoned his remaining strength. He looked at the castle above him. The high granite walls, the roofed battlements. He drew back the bow with trembling arms and fired.
Raku and the captain rushed through the storehouse and ran inside. They stood in the centre aisle surrounded by sacks of rice and barley, and bales of arrows. The captain held a sword and a torch. Raku stood beside him, enraged that he could no longer hold a weapon.
‘Has this place been searched?’ asked Raku.
‘Several times,’ said the captain.
‘Fetch more men. Smash open every barrel. Slit open every sack.’
The captain turned to leave, but Raku said: ‘Wait. Listen.’ A slow, faint ticking sound. ‘What’s that noise?’
They edged down the aisle. Something splashed at Raku’s feet. The captain raised his torch and looked up to see a dark liquid dripping between boards from the floor above. A crimson droplet hit Raku’s mask – a bloody tear-streak down his lacquered cheek.
‘Fetch your men. Put a ring of swords round this building. We have them cornered. Tear the place to the ground if need be.’
The moment he finished speaking there was a flash of fierce orange light outside. A heavy concussion shook the building. Raku ran to the yard. A fire. Some kind of tar had splashed over the cobbles burning with filthy black smoke.
A second detonation. A projectile punched through the kitchen roof and exploded, filling the room with fire. Raku and the captain threw themselves to the ground as a jet of flame erupted from the windows and doorway like dragon’s breath. A burning figure ran from the kitchen. The old man. He collapsed. He thrashed. His flaming limbs dripped fire.
Raku got to his feet. A soldier high on the ramparts rang the alarm and bellowed: ‘Attack. Attack.’
An explosion ripped open the barrack roof. Burning shingles rained on the courtyard. Troops jumped aside as a roof beam cart-wheeled across the yard.
Ariyo and the samurai used the distraction to run along the edge of the battlement wall and throw themselves against the base of the tower. Another explosion blasted a crater in the courtyard. A couple of soldiers were maimed by flying cobbles.
‘He did it,’ said Ariyo. He smiled. ‘Masaie actually did it.’
‘Help me climb,’ said the samurai, clambering onto Ariyo’s shoulders and reaching for a narrow second floor window. The shutter was sealed. He pulled a knife from his belt, jammed it between the shutter frame and levered the latch. He gripped the sill, scrambled up the wall and squirmed into the aperture. He turned and looked down at Ariyo
.
‘Thank you. Now go.’
Ariyo saluted the samurai, gave a deep bow of respect then fled.
* * *
The samurai let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He could make out shelves stacked with scrolls. He gripped his gut, hit by a vicious, stabbing pain. He slid down the wall and pulled an ampoule from his obi, bit open the glass bulb and drained the contents. He tossed it aside. He bit open a second ampoule and knocked it back.
‘A little longer,’ he murmured. ‘Just a little longer.’
He slowly got to his feet. He released his cloak, unsheathed his sword and let the scabbard fall to the floor.
Raku stood on the battlements above the gatehouse and stared out into the mountain darkness. He heard another projectile launch. He couldn’t see it but he could hear the rising wind-whistle of the incoming arrow arcing over the wall, reaching the peak of its ascension then entering a dive. He heard it pass overhead and turned away from the heat-blast as the missile detonated on the stable roof. Rice-straw thatch was immediately set ablaze. Horses screamed.
Raku turned to the archer next to him.
‘How many out there?’ he bellowed. ‘What have you seen?’
‘Nothing, Commander-sama’ shouted the lookout. ‘I can’t see a thing.’
‘Archers. To the gate,’ yelled Raku.
Archers hurried along the battlements and clustered above the gatehouse. They threw torches from the wall to illuminate the track leading to the castle.
‘Anyone comes up that road, put fifty arrows in them.’
Raku turned and yelled down at troops milling in the courtyard bellow. ‘A cordon. Make a cordon round the tower. Protect the general.’
Raku watched the soldiers hurry to form a protective barrier in front of the tower entrance. They tipped over a couple of carts to form a barricade. Archers took position behind the carts, ready to cut down any force that managed to smash open the main gates of the castle.
His gaze wandered to the tower itself. The general’s bodyguard would be moving him from his quarters to the refuge room on the second floor. Raku was gripped by cold horror as he realised the samurai’s plan. He vaulted down wooden steps and sprinted towards the tower.
Guards hurriedly pulled back a screen and entered the general’s bedchamber giving perfunctory bows.
‘Sir, we’re under attack. There are missiles. The out-buildings are on fire.’
Motohide scrambled to his feet and shrugged on a kimono. His wife flung on a robe and ran to fetch her son.
‘What kind of force?’ demanded the general. ‘How many men?’
‘We’re not sure.’
The general pushed between the guards, hurried into the corridor and stepped out onto the balcony. The captain of the watch stood at his side.
‘Sir, you should go back inside. It’s too dangerous out here.’
The stables had partially collapsed. They heard the splinter and crash of falling beams. A geyser of sparks erupted into the night sky. Burning horses bolted from the imploding structure, bucking, shrieking and trampling soldiers under their hooves.
They heard the rising whistle of an incoming projectile. The captain pushed the general back inside the building. He slammed the balcony door and threw himself against it as a thunderous explosion made the building shake. Licks of flame flickered through gaps in the door frame.
‘We must get you to the refuge, General-sama.’
The general hurried to his bedchamber, pulled back a screen to his shrine and snatched his sword from its altar. An adjutant brought his helmet and breast plate.
‘Give them to him,’ said Asaji, pointing at the captain. ‘Let him take your place.’
The general thought it over for moment. It would be shameful to disguise himself as a common soldier and hide. He should put on his armour and declare himself on the field of battle. But he wanted to live.
‘Give me your armour.’
The general put on the captain’s helmet and cloak while the captain put on Motohide’s bear skin, his bear-head helmet. The general and four other soldiers hustled the imposter along with Asaji and her son down the stairs to the second floor. They hurried along a low stone corridor. Guards flung open double doors and the general and his family entered the room, along with the captain and a bodyguard. The remaining men pulled the door closed and blocked the door with their bodies, swords drawn.
* * *
The guard lit lanterns. The captain sealed the double doors from the inside by dropping a heavy restraining beam.
‘This is absurd,’ said the general. ‘I should be outside, leading the counter-attack.’
They were barricaded within a library. A wide hall lined with rack after rack of scrolls – poetry, court chronicles, and genealogical records. A store of intellectual wealth stockpiled by Motohide’s wife. The general had seized the province through force of arms but that alone wasn’t enough to raise the family to nobility. Asaji hoped to establish a palace in Kyoto one day and join the other great dynasties that lived within the orbit of the Imperial Palace. She knew that, no matter how many men Motohide could command, no matter how much territory he annexed, true social acceptance would depend on her ability to play a game of exquisitely refined etiquette within the salons of Kyoto’s elite. A vicious war for social supremacy waged in silence as matriarchs sipped tea and assessed the cut of their rival’s kimonos, their balletic deportment, the subtly revealing way they held a cup. The general himself could not read. He relied on his priest to recite documents aloud. He would always be regarded as a barbarian, but Asaji would ensure his son would be taught by the most expert tutors and raised a model of a refined aristocrat. He would marry well and the family name would finally be secure.
Asaji and her son knelt at a table. The child looked to his mother for reassurance. She tried to appear relaxed and confident for his sake. ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she told him. ‘Some weak, foolish, evil men have come here to harm your father. He will find them and punish them. And then we will go back to bed.’
Another explosion. A muffled thunderclap. The shock of detonation make the floor shiver.
‘We’ve discussed this contingency many times, General-sama,’ said the captain. ‘Let Commander Raku assess the situation.’
‘I should be on the battlements coordinating the defence.’
‘The assassin is relying on you to put yourself in danger. He’s trying to draw you out. We should stay here for the time being. We shouldn’t play into his hands.’
‘I don’t like it,’ said the general. ‘An alarm two nights in a row.’
‘Yesterday was a squabble between ill-disciplined soldiers.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidences.’
The general leant close to the door and bellowed to the men outside. ‘What’s going on?’
A muffled reply: ‘The fire is spreading.’
‘What is the size of the enemy force?’
‘Commander Raku is up on the outer walls, sir. We’re waiting for his report.’
‘This is utterly absurd,’ said the general, turning away from the door to face the captain. ‘I should be leading my men.’
A faint thud at the back of the room. They froze.
‘What was that?’ murmured the general, staring with apprehension at the rows of scroll racks. He edged towards his family, a hand on the tsuka of his sword. He gestured to the guard, pointed to the corner of the room. Investigate.
The bodyguard edged between scroll racks, lamp held high. He reached the back of the room and saw a cloak lying on the floor. He crouched. Something glittered, something caught in the folds of the cloak. A small glass ampoule drained dry. He picked up the empty bulb, sniffed it and examined it by lamplight.
* * *
Raku ran to the tower. ‘Out of the way,’ he shouted.
The sentries blocking the door hesitated, intimidated by the blank-faced figure staring them down but aware of their duty during an emergency situation: Guard the d
oor. No one in or out. Only the general himself can countermand this order.
‘Out of the way,’ screamed Raku. Enraged eyes behind the white mask. He pushed past the men and pounded the door with his stumps. ‘Open up. Commander Raku. Open up.’
A long pause. The soldiers inside torn between their orders and the commander’s fury.
‘Open the damned door.’
The sentries pulled back iron latches and started to push open the door. Raku wrenched it wide with stumped arms and ran up the stairwell steps three at a time. The stairway and corridors were hazed with smoke. The tower itself was on fire. Another explosion. The building shook. Raku ran to the soldiers guarding the library door.
‘Open up. The assassin. He’s inside the refuge with the general.’
The soldiers hurried to obey. They pulled back iron bolts and struggled to open the door.
‘It’s locked, Commander-sama. Locked from the inside.’
‘Smash it down.’
* * *
‘Soldier,’ called the captain. ‘Soldier, what’s going on?’ There was no reply from the recesses of the library.
Motohide gestured to the captain and urged him forward. The captain drew his sword and slowly advanced, inching with trepidation between scroll racks. The general beckoned to Asaji and his son. They ran to him. He drew his sword and backed towards the library door. Asaji sniffed the air.
‘Can you smell it? Smoke. The tower is on fire.’
The sound of a blade smacking through meat. The thud of an armoured body hitting the floor. The empty bear-head helmet was flung from the shadows. It rolled, span and came to rest.
Motohide and Asaji turned and ran for the door. She dragged her son by the arm. The samurai stepped from behind a scroll rack and blocked their path. The general skidded to a halt. Asaji and his son cowered behind him.
