Winter Raven (Path of the Samurai Book 1) Page 14

‘I’ll cut you in half, tip your remains over the side and the captain back in Kyoto will do whatever he pleases with your mother.’

  Ariyo smiled. ‘They say you should never fight a cripple. If he kills you, then you die shamed. If you kill him, then everyone hates you for killing a cripple. You lose either way. Personally I never cared much about the opinion of others. Draw your sword on me and I’ll send you to the bottom of this lake piece at a time.’

  The samurai shrugged off the canvas, got to his feet and took a step forward. Ariyo straightened up and faced him. The two men stood dripping rain. They stared each other down. Ariyo calculated the odds. He was confident he could beat the one-armed man in a fight but the samurai’s unblinking gaze told him the cripple would bite and claw to the death while any strength remained. Ariyo might win the confrontation but he would pay hard for the victory. He gave a dismissive snort, turned away and sat down. He plucked another hair and lowered the line.

  The samurai resumed his seat beneath the hooded canvas. The girl watched rain dance on the water a while.

  ‘How many men have you killed?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t keep count,’ said the samurai. ‘I don’t like to reduce men to a number.’

  He turned and looked at her. ‘You’re wondering what it will be like to kill someone, neh?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ he said. ‘If you take to the road with a katana tucked in your obi it won’t be long before someone challenges you to a duel. A sword will attract trouble like a lodestone.’

  She nodded.

  ‘It will happen fast,’ he said. ‘You will face your opponent. Both of you will be terrified. You will bow and you will draw. A moment later the contest will be concluded. Sword fights rarely last longer than a few breaths. But later you will relive it in dreams. How they begged. That little noise they made as you drove a blade into their gut.’

  ‘Do you hear them in dreams?’ she asked. ‘The men you killed?’

  ‘These days, I don’t sleep much at all.’

  * * *

  The rain grew worse and the wind rose higher.

  ‘Time to make camp,’ said the skipper.

  ‘I’d hoped to reach the northern shore today,’ said the samurai.

  ‘The weather’s against us. There is nothing to be done.’

  They swung towards land. The skipper’s mate jumped from the boat and lashed a mooring rope to a stump. The convicts ran from the boat and took shelter in a copse of trees.

  ‘Best make camp,’ said the samurai. ‘Let’s get a fire going.’

  Tameyo crouched and gutted fish while the other convicts searched for wood. Ariyo and Masaie disappeared among the trees while the girl gathered grass for kindling.

  ‘Are you sure they’ll be back?’ asked the girl.

  ‘Their families will be executed if they flee,’ said the samurai.

  ‘They’re survivors. Maybe they’ll sacrifice their children in order to live. A snared wolf will chew off his own leg to escape. Maybe these men will trade their wives and children for freedom.’

  The samurai nodded. ‘Who knows how far people will sink?’

  ‘Maybe we should go after them.’

  ‘No. They need to reach their own decision.’

  Masaie returned with armfuls of wood. The girl lit kindling with a flint and blew down bamboo to encourage a flame. They waited a long while for Ariyo to join them. Eventually he emerged from the trees carrying a small log. Little to show for an hour’s search. The girl assumed he had been alone in the forest deciding whether to flee, start a new life under a new name and hope to put the fate of his mother from his mind. He sat cross-legged by the fire and stared into the flames.

  * * *

  They huddled under canvas and ate fish. Fat raindrops dripped from the branches and fell sizzling in the campfire flames. The girl played a couple of tunes on a double-reed flute.

  ‘Every time I think my life can’t get any more wretched, somehow it does,’ muttered Masaie.

  ‘Least we can stretch out,’ said Tameyo.

  ‘I’ll keep watch,’ said Masaie.

  ‘They’ll be looking for us by now, neh?’ said the girl. ‘There will be notices posted in every market square across Kyoto. Escaped prisoners. A price on all your heads.’

  ‘The sooner we cross the border into Echizen the better.’

  * * *

  The samurai and the girl found a forest clearing. The rain had stopped. The sky had cleared and moonlight shafted through the branches. The girl watched as the samurai tried to tuck his sword into his obi at his right hip. He tried time and again but fumbled and failed. She waited for him to ask for help. Eventually he said:

  ‘Please.’

  He stood impassive as she tucked his sword into his obi. She backed off and moved out of strike range. He stood at the centre of the clearing, gripped the tsuka with his left hand and drew with a wide slash of his sword. He executed an elaborate kata. He advanced. He retreated. He cut down imaginary opponents left and right. His sword wrote a lethal poem in the air. The blade whispered as it cut.

  He sheathed his sword and stood in silent contemplation. An untrained eye would have seen a master swordsman at work. A lethal blur of steel. But the girl had watched the samurai train countless times and could detect the lack of balance, the millisecond hesitancy to his cuts. He might prevail against an average soldier but if he met an experienced bugeisha, someone who had dedicated their life to the study and practise of bushido, he would be brought down. With a few years practice he might be able to regain his former proficiency. But there wasn’t time.

  ‘Teach me,’ said the girl. ‘Teach me to fight.’

  The samurai thought it over. It was hard to read his face in moonlight. ‘You wish to continue your training?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The girl searched the edge of the clearing in the gloom and found two sturdy bamboo sticks that would serve as bokken. They faced each other. They bowed. The samurai raised the stick and brought it down, aiming to crack open her head. The girl parried the blow. She twisted and blocked two strikes which followed in quick succession, one from the left, one from the right. They fought back and forth across the clearing, taking turns to block and cut.

  ‘You’re good,’ said the samurai. ‘Normally I wouldn’t tell you. A student should be self-contained. They shouldn’t be dependent on praise. But you need to know, in case something happens to me in the coming days. You have a talent for the sword. You are already a match for most men. You have no need to fear a confrontation.’

  She nodded.

  ‘When the time comes, you mustn’t freeze,’ said the samurai. ‘I can give you some training. Offer some advice. But in that instant, when it time to kill or be killed, you will be alone.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Do you think you can do it? Drive a sword into a man’s gut without a moment’s pause?’

  ‘I won’t hesitate.’

  A Kyoto tavern.

  Commander Raku and Lieutenant Kisoi sat by the fire as a serving girl brought wine.

  Kisoi looked down at his hands and hid his face from the girl. He nervously looked around, worried he might be under surveillance. He studied fellow drinkers to see if any of them were showing an unusual interest in his companion. A man near the door kept glancing their way. The man was old and bent, drinking alone. Might be a street scavenger earning a few coins as a paid informant.

  ‘Relax,’ said the commander. ‘You’re drawing attention.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. Any idea what will happen if I am found talking to you? Any idea what will happen to my family? I haven’t slept for days.’

  ‘You’re a soldier. You live with risk.’

  Raku noted a flicker of shame from the lieutenant. A slight downcast of the eyes. Clearly the man had not, during his military service at the Imperial Palace, seen combat.

  ‘You’re too tense,’ said Raku. ‘Too agitated. The more you look
around, the more people look our way.’

  The lieutenant sat back and made an effort to relax.

  ‘The mind defeats us. A person can get so scared of discovery and punishment they make it happen.’ Raku patted his belly. ‘The enemy inside. Your toughest opponent.’

  ‘Spare me the bromides. Let’s conclude our business and get out of here.’

  The commander sipped saké. ‘I’m interested in unusual troop movements.’

  ‘Can’t say I’ve anything to report.’

  ‘I climbed a hill to the south yesterday,’ said Raku. ‘It was a good vantage point. It overlooked the camp on the edge of the city. How many men does the Shōgun have garrisoned?’

  ‘Five thousand, I believe.’

  ‘It seems to be a pretty settled camp. They’ve dug latrine trenches, cut trees, erected a perimeter defence. Doesn’t look like they are planning to move any time soon.’

  ‘I don’t serve the Shōgunate. I serve the Imperial House.’

  ‘But if the Shōgun issued mobilisation orders, you would know, neh?’

  ‘I’ve heard nothing out of the ordinary. They are sending out standard patrols to man the provincial frontier. The usual complement of sentries guard the city.’

  ‘And the Imperial Guard?’

  ‘They’ve dispatched a team of men to hunt some escaped prisoners. They wouldn’t waste manpower chasing down convicts if they were readying themselves for battle.’

  ‘So nothing out of the ordinary? No one is requisitioning materiel? Buying horses?’

  ‘There is no hint of war.’

  ‘Could campaign preparations be made without your knowledge?’

  ‘If the Shōgunate or the Imperial House were mobilising an army they’d have bought all the food in the market. They’d have armourers working overtime. They would be conscripting men. The whole city would know.’

  The commander took a ruminative sip of saké. ‘So what are you hearing from diplomatic circles?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t move in diplomatic circles.’

  ‘You must overhear things.’

  ‘The new Daimyō of Etchū has petitioned for the Imperial blessing,’ said the lieutenant. ‘I hear an embassy will be dispatched to formally legitimise his rule.’

  ‘What else have you heard?’

  The lieutenant smiled, sensing Raku’s indifference to the mention of Etchū hid an intense interest in the province.

  ‘Is that where you’re from? Is that was this is about? Etchū?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter where I’m from,’ said Raku.’ What else have you heard?’

  ‘An Imperial embassy. That’s all.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Raku nodded, concluding the interview. ‘Keep your eyes and ears open. Give me an update in a couple of days.’

  He unhitched a purse from his belt and discretely handed it to Kisoi. Kisoi felt the weight of coins, and wondered if the pouch full of metal discs would end up costing his life.

  ‘Should I go?’ he asked, trying to work out the best way to leave the tavern without attracting attention.

  ‘I’ll leave first,’ said Raku. ‘I’ll use the side door. Wait a while, then head out the front.’

  Raku raised his cup, intending to drain it dry. He paused, looking down at his own reflection.

  He had debriefed informants on many occasions. Usually the subject didn’t understand the significance of the information they conveyed. The most important detail of the interview might be contained in a throwaway remark, a seemingly trivial comment. Raku had learned to listen; to pursue avenues of intelligence that less experienced interrogators might disregard.

  ‘Escaped convicts?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The palace has sent out a search team?’

  ‘They will ask border patrols to keep a lookout.’

  ‘A lot of effort to chase down a few thieves.’

  ‘You heard about the attempt on the Emperor’s life?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It wasn’t made public. An assassin stashed kegs of gunpowder in a water channel beneath the street.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘No idea. A lone bugeisha. He wasn’t in the pay of the Shōgun. He wasn’t in the pay of ambitious Daimyō. It seems it was a personal vendetta.’

  ‘He broke out of prison.’

  ‘Yes. A stockade a few miles to the west. He has lost an arm, apparently. A one-armed man and a handful of bedraggled confederates. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Raku drained his cup and set it down. ‘We’ll meet again soon.’

  Kisoi nodded.

  ‘Remember: wait a while before you leave.’

  Raku got up and strolled across the tavern, slow and casual. He tossed a gratuity to the maid, pulled his cloak hood over his head and stepped out the side door into the rain.

  * * *

  The vintner’s house.

  The commander’s men knelt on the kitchen floor playing dice. The cook knelt nearby, dicing carrots, throwing them in a pot.

  The commander pushed open the door and hurried inside, dripping rain.

  ‘Get your stuff together.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Tadasue.

  ‘We’re leaving. Now.’

  * * *

  They rode out of Kyoto following directions to the stockade. They reached the top of a hill and found themselves looking down on burned-out ruins. Columns of smoke rose from the wrecked buildings. Even at a distance they could smell cooked flesh.

  They descended from the hilltop and approached the abandoned prison camp. The palisade walls were intact but the dormitory buildings had been reduced to charred support beams.

  The commander walked across the yard and surveyed the devastation while his men picked through the scorched debris of the bunkhouses. Crows took to the air.

  ‘Bones,’ shouted Tadatoo. ‘Skulls. Looks like most of the bodies were decapitated.’

  The commander nodded.

  The brothers joined him at the centre of the yard.

  ‘What’s the situation, Commander-sama?’

  ‘An attempt was made on the Emperor’s life. A lone assassin pursuing a personal grievance. The caught him. They brought him here. Apparently he broke out.’

  Tadasue gestured to the surrounding ruination.

  ‘One man did all this?’

  ‘They say he incited the slaughter. His fellow convicts lent a hand. There is a reward for their capture, dead or alive.’

  ‘And what’s your opinion, commander? Do you believe that story?’

  Raku shook his head. ‘The assassin tried to kill the Emperor. The Son of Heaven. What do you imagine they would do to such a man if they caught him?’

  ‘Devise a manner of execution so horrible it would be remembered for generations to come,’ said Tadasue.

  Raku nodded agreement. ‘They would keep him alive for years, subject him to one awful torment after another.’

  ‘So what was he doing out here?’

  ‘Exactly. This is a common prison camp. A place to hold thieves and bandits while the bailiff decides whether to kill them or cut off their ears. He should have been in an Imperial dungeon. I’m guessing they sent him here for a reason.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘A staged breakout,’ said Raku. ‘The assassin is evidently a highly skilled ninja, a man who can’t be linked to the Imperial House. Somehow, they’ve turned him. He’s been coerced to work on their behalf. They’ve sent him to kill the general.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Tadatoo.

  ‘It’s what I would do.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We ride for Etchū. Travel night and day. We have to overtake the assassin and warn the general.’

  Early morning. Clear, crisp light. The boat hugged the shoreline as it slid past a frost-white landscape. White fields, white trees. The passengers were swaddled in furs. They sat equidistant round the edge of th
e boat. Some of them slept. Some of them slumped half awake and hugged themselves for warmth. Nobody spoke. Each exhalation produced broiling plumes of steam-breath. There was nothing to do but watch rime-crusted wilderness pass by. Each of the travellers battled boredom and frustration, retreated into daydreams and memories.

  The samurai pulled a chart from his satchel and unfolded it. He studied the topographic pictograms, thought about the terrain they would have to negotiate in order to reach their destination.

  ‘Where are we?’ the girl asked, craning her neck to look.

  ‘About here.’ He pointed to the eastern edge of The Freshwater Sea. ‘And we’ll disembark here,’ he said, pointing at the northernmost shore of the vast lake. ‘It shouldn’t take too long. We’re making good progress.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘We’ll make the rest of the journey on foot. As I said before, we will have to avoid major roads. We’ll be crossing forests and hills. It’ll be a long, hard trek.’

  ‘You haven’t told us the goal of the mission,’ said the girl. ‘But the intent seems clear enough. You’ve been sent to kill the general.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So after your attempt to assassinate the Emperor’s mother, after all that planning and effort, you have become her instrument.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All because you took an oath.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You seem unconcerned.’

  ‘Have you ever heard the monks talk of karma? I believe there is an order to the world. The nun is a force for evil, motivated by cruelty and ambition. She will reap the consequences of her actions sooner or later. In the meantime we shall concentrate on the matter at hand.’

  ‘The castle. You intend to go in alone?’

  ‘I’ll do the killing. I’ll strike the blow. But it will take all of us, all our ingenuity and skill, to get inside.’

  ‘I’m coming with you. All the way. Don’t think you can leave me in a forest somewhere, minding the camp, waiting for your return. When you go in I’ll be at your side.’