by Unknown
‘There you go again, comparing yourself to others. Don’t worry about what anyone else is doing. Concentrate on your own progress.’
Yori paused a moment, his fingers lightly tapping his chin as he contemplated what to say next.
‘It’s like today on the pond. You were so focused on beating Kazuki that you forgot the purpose of the race. It’s the same with the Two Heavens. If you waste your energy thinking about others, you’ll end up on the rocks again. Focus on rowing your own boat and you will reach the shore.’
Yori gave a sagely nod of the head, clearly satisfied with his advice, and set off down the road again. Jack stared after his little friend. Yori may not possess the build of a warrior, but he certainly had the brains of a priest. Jack was glad of his friendship. He lifted the sodden folds of his kimono and hurried after him.
As they passed by a building with an arched roof of green tiles and dragon finials, Jack recognized they were in the outer courtyard of the Ryōanji, the Temple of the Peaceful Dragon. He’d been here several times before.
The previous year Jack had spotted Akiko mysteriously leaving the Niten Ichi Ryū at night. Being both curious and concerned by her unusual behaviour, Jack had followed her and arrived at this very temple. He’d discovered she was visiting a strange monk who had knife-like hands more suited for fighting than praying. To begin with, Akiko had given no credible explanation for her nocturnal wanderings or why she kept them so secret. At one point, Jack had even thought she was training to be a ninja. But Akiko had eventually confided in him that the monk was simply offering her spiritual comfort for the loss of her baby brother, Kiyoshi, some years ago. Jack knew Akiko still called upon the monk as he’d seen her leave the school grounds at night on a number of occasions since their return to school.
‘GRAB HIM!’ shouted a gruff voice.
Two men jumped from a side alley and seized Jack by the arms, disarming him of his staff. A third man shoved a bag over his head. Before Jack knew what was happening, they had dragged him off his feet and were carrying him away. As Jack struggled wildly to escape, he could hear Yori shouting.
‘Stop! Or I’ll –’
‘Or what, little one?’ snorted the gruff voice. ‘Bite our ankles?’
The two men holding Jack began to laugh.
‘I’m warning you,’ said Yori, his voice trembling. ‘I train at the Niten Ichi Ryū.’
‘Don’t make me laugh. They don’t teach pet samurai.’
Jack heard a scuffle. One of the men swore loudly. There was a snap of wood as a staff broke, followed by the dull sound of a fist striking flesh. Yori groaned and Jack heard a small body fall to the floor. Forgetting his fear and fuelled by anger, Jack redoubled his efforts. He managed to free a leg and lashed out. His foot connected with someone’s face. There was a satisfying crunch as a nose broke. Jack kicked again and freed his other leg.
‘Damn gaijin!’ the man growled, spitting blood.
Jack tried to get away, but the other man still held his arms tight from behind. He flung back his head in an attempt to knock his captor’s teeth out, but something hard struck the back of his neck first.
Lights exploded in front of his eyes. He felt sick. Then blacked out.
17
PUNISHMENT
A musty smell of rotting straw filled Jack’s nostrils. His head pounded, his neck was stiff and a large bruise throbbed below his right ear. Licking his lips, a wave of nausea rose in his throat. He opened his eyes, only to discover it was dark. How long had he been out for?
Then he realized his captors hadn’t removed the bag from his head. His kimono was still damp, though, so he couldn’t have been unconscious for long. He tried to remove the bag, but his hands were tied. In fact, he couldn’t move at all. He was lying on his side upon a hard wooden floor, his feet and hands bound tightly behind his back.
‘I say we kill the gaijin,’ said a man to Jack’s right. ‘Far less hassle than delivering him alive.’
‘True…’ said the man with the gruff voice, standing behind Jack. ‘But he’s worth more alive.’
Jack tried to clear his head. He had to think his way out of this predicament. Who were his captors? They had to be ninja. Dragon Eye must have sent them to kidnap him. This was good news. It must mean the rutter was still not deciphered. But he’d planned to face Dragon Eye on equal terms, both swords in hand – not as a prisoner.
‘The only good gaijin is a dead gaijin,’ spat a third man to Jack’s left.
The wooden floorboards creaked as someone stepped closer. A cold steel blade was pressed against his throat. Bound and helpless, Jack couldn’t avoid his fate.
Snatching a last breath, he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to God. In those final moments, his mind filled with all the memories of his life, his mother and father, of little Jess, the voyage around the world, his time in Japan, of the Niten Ichi Ryū and Masamoto, of Akiko and his friends. He realized he’d be leaving them all behind and desperately wanted to live.
‘Stop!’ shouted the gruff-voiced man.
The blade hesitated on Jack’s skin.
‘But daimyo Kamakura’s ruling clearly stated that any gaijin found in his domain are to face punishment,’ said the man with the knife.
‘Yes. But we’re not in his province – yet. Kyoto belongs to that soft-headed, Christian-loving daimyo Takatomi. Besides, this gaijin is no ordinary foreigner. He’s pretending to be samurai! How perverse is that? If we deliver him alive to daimyo Kamakura in Edo, our reward would be tenfold. We wouldn’t be masterless ashigaru any more. He’d make us samurai!’
The blade was withdrawn and Jack let out an unsteady sigh of relief. Though it was only a short reprieve, he’d live to see another day.
Jack reassessed his situation. His captors weren’t ninja. They were foot soldiers looking to better themselves. They were seeking the reward Kazuki had talked about during the opening ceremony of the Hall of the Hawk. He also knew he was still in Kyoto, so there was a slim chance he’d be able to escape before they moved him to Edo.
‘A good point,’ agreed the man to Jack’s right. ‘We can’t kill him. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Fine, but the daimyo’s decree allows us to punish gaijin in other ways besides death.’
The man with the knife wrenched Jack to his knees. Jack groaned under the strain, his bonds tightening painfully round his wrists.
‘He’s coming to. That’s good. He can hear his choices,’ the man said with glee.
He whipped the bag off Jack’s head. Jack squinted against the sudden brightness. Once his eyes grew accustomed to the light, he saw he was being held in a featureless room with a single high slit for a window. There was dirt and straw on the floor and the roof had a hole in it. The surrounding walls were made out of rough planks of wood and the only door he could see was the one straight in front of him.
The man with the knife crouched before him, grinning maliciously while turning the blade before Jack’s eyes. He had a flat ugly face with pockmarked skin. Both eyes were ringed black and blue and his nose was flattened like a trampled mushroom, the nostrils caked with dry blood. Jack had obviously executed a perfect stamping kick in his attempt to escape, since both the man’s front teeth were missing too.
Glad to see I improved your looks, thought Jack, allowing himself a little smile of satisfaction.
‘You won’t be smiling when I’ve finished with you, gaijin,’ gloated Broken Nose. ‘Maybe I can’t kill you. But you have a choice of punishment – branding, nose-slitting, amputation of the feet or castration. What will it be?’
‘You can’t brand him,’ said the man to Jack’s right. He was heavy-set with a bald head and thick muscular arms.
‘Why not?’
‘We haven’t got a hot iron or fire, stupid.’
‘Then perhaps I should cut off his feet?’ Broken Nose allowed the knife to wander down Jack’s body.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said Jack, trying not to tremble. ‘I’m Masamo
to-sama’s adopted son.’
‘So what? I’ve no idea who Masamoto is.’
‘He’s the greatest swordsman in Japan and he’ll slice you into eight pieces if you harm me.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ said the leader with the gruff voice, who still stood behind Jack unseen. ‘He’s that samurai who uses two swords, isn’t he?’
Jack nodded furiously. Masamoto’s reputation had saved him once before with some local drunks and he hoped to God it would again.
‘I doubt his story’s true. No respected samurai would dishonour their family name by adopting a gaijin. Slit his big nose,’ he ordered the man with the knife. ‘A nose for a nose. The daimyo would surely consider that just punishment.’
Broken Nose excitedly raised his tantō. Jack tried to turn his head away, but was grabbed by the hair from behind and forced to face the blade.
‘Hold still, gaijin. This won’t take long.’
18
A CALL TO ARMS
There was a rap on the door. The knife hovered over the bridge of Jack’s nose.
‘Gag him,’ said the leader, passing Broken Nose a dirty piece of cloth. ‘And you, see who it is.’
The bald-headed foot soldier got to his feet and went to the door.
Jack retched as the filthy rag was stuffed into his mouth. Broken Nose drew closer, spittle plastering Jack’s face as he spoke, ‘Make a single sound and it’ll be your throat I slit.’
Jack stared back, wide-eyed with panic. The unexpected visitor was his sole chance of escape, but bound and gagged as he was, he was helpless. He could only pray that the caller would look in and see him.
‘It’s just some blind beggar,’ said the bald-headed soldier, parting the door a crack.
Jack’s hope of rescue vanished.
‘Tell him we’re not a temple. We don’t give out alms,’ ordered their leader.
‘Go away!’ shouted the bald-headed soldier, closing the door in the beggar’s face.
Broken Nose, knife in hand, turned back to Jack. His gaptoothed smile revealed his eagerness to begin the punishment.
‘Leave the gag in,’ ordered the leader. ‘We don’t want his screams attracting the whole neighbourhood.’
All of a sudden the door exploded inwards, the splintering wood knocking the bald-headed soldier off his feet. Jumping to his feet, Broken Nose was confronted by a tall bearded man.
Sensei Kano.
Jack would have cried out for joy if not for the gag.
Broken Nose ran at the bō master with his knife. Sensei Kano, hearing his attacker cross the wooden floor, whipped his staff hard and high into the man’s face. It caught Broken Nose on the jaw and he dropped like a stone.
Meanwhile, the bald-headed soldier had scrambled to his feet and snatched up his katana. He charged at Sensei Kano, aiming to slice through his neck. The bō master sensed the attack and ducked beneath the blade. He brought the other end of his staff cracking down on to the man’s skull. The soldier reeled under the blow and dropped his sword. Then Sensei Kano thrust the tip of his bō into the man’s gut. The soldier fell to his knees, croaking for breath. A third strike knocked him flat on his back, where he lay unconscious.
Jack wondered where the leader was in all this. Hearing a clattering sound to his left, he spied a discarded saya out of the corner of his eye. Sensei Kano turned to face his adversary.
But the leader appeared to Jack’s right instead, sneaking silently towards the blind samurai. This was the first time Jack had caught sight of the man. Red-eyed, with a moustache consisting of two tufts of thick black hair either side of his nose, he looked as mean as a devil – and was as devious as one. Sandals in one hand, he crept round the edge of the room so as not to make the boards creak. In the other hand, he held his katana, its blade chipped and battleworn. Throwing a sandal close to where his saya had fallen, he moved even closer to Sensei Kano.
Sensei Kano held his staff out in the direction of the noises, unaware of the approaching man behind.
Tossing his other sandal into the far corner as a final distraction, the soldier thrust his sword into Sensei Kano’s back. But the bō master had already dropped to his knees and simultaneously driven his staff backwards into the groin of his attacker. The soldier, bent double with agony, didn’t stand a chance as Sensei Kano swivelled round and struck him a mighty blow across the temple with his bō. The man collapsed in a pile.
So intent upon the fight, Jack had failed to notice that Broken Nose had come to. The man was crawling towards him. His mouth hung ghoulishly open, all blood, gums and shattered teeth.
‘Die, gaijin!’ he spat.
Jack tried to wriggle away, but Broken Nose was already on his knees lifting the blade to drive it into Jack’s chest.
Suddenly a staff shot across the room like a spear, striking Broken Nose in the side of the head. His eyes rolled in their sockets and he fell face first to the wooden deck. Jack heard a crunch as several more teeth were knocked out of the man’s mouth.
Yamato ran into the room.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, removing Jack’s gag.
‘I am now,’ coughed Jack. ‘Thanks to Sensei Kano’s bō.’
‘That was my bō!’
‘You threw it?’ said Jack, impressed at his friend’s skill.
‘New trick I learnt today,’ he replied, grinning with pride while he undid Jack’s bonds.
‘But one only to be used as a last resort, since you sacrifice your weapon,’ reminded Sensei Kano, dragging the three unconscious soldiers into a pile. ‘Yamato-kun, restrain these men with the rope. Masamoto-sama will decide their fate.’
‘You were lucky to survive, Sensei,’ said Jack, sitting up and rubbing at his wrists. ‘I thought that last one had you fooled.’
‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ said Sensei Kano. ‘The man hadn’t washed for a month. It was I who fooled him.’
‘But how did you ever find me?’
‘Yori ran back to the Eikan-do Temple and told us what had happened,’ Yamato explained as he tied the three men’s hands together. ‘To begin with, it was a simple matter of following the water dripping from your kimono. But then the trail dried up. Fortunately, Sensei Kano could smell you nearby.’
‘But I had a bath yesterday,’ protested Jack.
‘Foreigners have a different odour to Japanese,’ explained Sensei Kano, wrinkling his nose and giving a great big belly laugh.
Sensei Kano escorted Jack, Yamato and the prisoners back to the Niten Ichi Ryū. As soon as they returned, Masamoto summoned Jack to the Hall of the Phoenix.
‘Despite my efforts on behalf of daimyo Takatomi, daimyo Kamakura’s campaign against Christians and foreigners continues to gather support,’ began Masamoto solemnly, sitting cross-legged upon his dais.
A maid brought in a pot of sencha and poured them each a cup before being dismissed. Masamoto now toyed with his, appearing too deep in thought to drink any.
‘We had been aware that he was offering rewards to those delivering so-called justice upon Christians. Daimyo Takatomi, being a recent convert to Christianity, was not best pleased. I, however, was not concerned for your personal safety, Jack-kun. It was a local ruling. Kyoto and every other province were unaffected by it. But I’d not counted on ronin.’
‘Ronin?’ asked Jack.
‘Masterless samurai,’ explained Masamoto as he sipped his tea, only to find it had become too cold for his liking. ‘Ever since the Battle of Nakasendo brought an end to civil conflict ten years ago, many soldiers have been out of service. Ronin seek a daimyo to serve, to fight for, to die for. The cause rarely matters, so long as they have food in their stomachs and a standard to bear.’
Masamoto put down his cup and studied Jack. He gave a weary sigh, clasping his hands beneath his chin as if deliberating on whether to disclose something troubling.
‘There’s been a call to arms,’ he finally revealed. ‘Daimyo Kamakura is openly recruiting ronin, ashigaru and the support of any
daimyo sympathetic to his mission. The man’s made his intentions clear. It’s a worrying development.’
‘Are you suggesting I should leave?’ asked Jack, both hopeful and anxious of his guardian’s answer.
Returning home to England was his hope, his dream. Alone, he had no chance of making the long journey south through Japan to the port of Nagasaki. But with Masamoto’s help, he’d have his guardian’s guidance and protection. Yet Jack was now in two minds about going. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t mastered the Two Heavens and Dragon Eye was still a threat. Most importantly, he had yet to recover his father’s rutter, though he was beginning to lose hope of ever finding it. Masamoto’s sources had still not heard anything.
‘NO!’ shouted Masamoto vehemently. ‘That man will not drive you away. You are my adopted son. You are family. You are samurai!’
Jack was taken aback by his guardian’s passionate outburst. This was the other reason for his growing reluctance to leave. He now had family here in Japan. A father figure in Masamoto and a brother in Yamato. He’d also made good friends in Yori and Saburo. And there was Akiko, who’d become so much part of his life that he couldn’t imagine being without her. Japan had got under his skin, found a place in his heart, and the idea of leaving was becoming harder with each day.
‘Besides,’ continued his guardian, ‘I suspect there’s much more to daimyo Kamakura’s campaign than a simple hatred of foreigners.’
Jack was intrigued. Having met the man himself, he’d been struck by how cruel, power-hungry and sadistic the samurai was. Jack had once witnessed the beheading of an elderly tea merchant, merely because the old man hadn’t heard the command to bow as daimyo Kamakura passed by. What worse could daimyo Kamakura be planning than the exile and murder of all foreigners?
‘But I’ll be making an announcement about that this evening. First, I must see to the punishment of the three ashigaru who kidnapped you.’
Masamoto got to his feet and picked up his swords.
