The Way Of The Dragon (14 page)

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 Masamoto-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.’

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.

‘Are you going to kill them?’ asked Jack, not certain he really wanted to know the answer.

‘I’ve seriously considered it. But Sensei Yamada convinced me they’d be more useful as messengers. They’ll ensure everyone they meet knows the province of Kyoto will not tolerate racial persecution.’

‘So what will you do?’

‘Let’s just say they won’t be able to count higher than eight – with either their fingers or toes!’

‘
WAR
sits upon the horizon like a thundercloud,’ proclaimed Masamoto.

The announcement sent a wave of stunned astonishment through the rows of young samurai kneeling before him in the
Chō-no-ma
, the dining hall named after its panelled walls of painted butterflies. For some, it was a shock; for others, it brought the promise of honour and glory. For Jack, who’d witnessed battles first-hand at sea against Portuguese warships, it meant days and nights of fear, pain and death.

Masamoto held up his hand for silence. He was wearing his ceremonial flame-red kimono, its five golden phoenix
kamon
glimmering in the lamplight like armour. His face was brooding and severe, his scarring a dark red.

‘You’ll all be aware of
daimyo
Kamakura’s campaign to drive out Christians and foreigners from our land. He considers them a threat to our nation.’

Jack felt the eyes of his fellow students upon him. Most were sympathetic to his plight, but a number were openly hostile.