Winter Raven (Path of the Samurai Book 1) Read online

  Lieutenant Kisoi sat on the far left of the group. He had a stack of copper coins in front of him. Sometimes he won but mostly he lost and the stack of coins slowly dwindled. Raku observed the lieutenant with fascination. He studied the mix of fear and exhilaration on Kisoi’s face as he watched the dice, caught by a compulsion strong as lust.

  Kisoi started to sweat. A run of bad luck wiped out most of his money. He was down to his final coin. A shake of the dice. The cup was upturned and the dice skittered across the mat. Odds. The coin was swept away.

  Kisoi checked his purse to see if he had any more money but it was empty. He got to his feet and bowed stiffly to his fellow gamblers. They ignored him, preoccupied by the next roll of the dice. He turned and left by a back door. Raku rose and followed him.

  * * *

  Raku stepped into the alley and hid in shadows next to a stack of barrels and watched the lieutenant stride stiffly towards the street.

  ‘You.’

  Two burly men emerged from the side entrance of the tavern and walk towards Kisoi.

  ‘Hey. You.’

  The lieutenant slowly turned as if he had been expecting to be accosted, as if the scene about to play out was inevitable.

  ‘Not enough,’ said one of the men. ‘Nowhere near enough.’

  The lieutenant seemed resigned like he knew what was coming next. A thug delivered a gut punch then a knee to the face. The lieutenant fell to the ground and curled foetal to protect his head from multiple kicks. He was a soldier. He was carrying a knife. He could have killed the men in a heart-beat, stabbed and slashed like he had been drilled many times on sacks filled with straw. But instead he lay on the ground and let them kick. Raku assumed that on some deep level the man needed to abase himself, needed to be punished.

  ‘Two days,’ shouted one of the men. ‘All of it. Two days.’

  The men spat on the prone officer and returned to the tavern, closing the door behind them. The lieutenant rolled on his side and tried to stand up. Raku stood over him and offered a hand.

  ‘Let me help you.’

  * * *

  They walked to ancient tavern a few streets away and joined a genteel crowd in a better part of town. The ceiling was ribbed by crooked beams and bowed as if furniture in the rooms above were about to crash down on their heads. A quiet murmur of conversation. Groups of men minding their own business.

  Raku and Kisoi sat in a corner. Kisoi sat with his back to the room so no one saw his face as he dabbed his bloody nose on his sleeve. Raku signalled for wine. An old woman brought a couple of bowls. The commander sipped hot saké while Kisoi looked with suspicion at the bowl in his hands. He suspected that, by accepting Raku’s hospitality, he would be incurring an unwelcome debt.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the lieutenant.

  ‘Me? No one. No one at all.’ Raku took a sip of saké. ‘Those men in the alley. How much do you owe?’

  The lieutenant flinched at the question. He felt the trap and stared at Raku. The lieutenant put down his bowl and stood up like he intended to leave. Raku unhitched a leather purse from his belt and took out a single coin and tossed it on the boards in front of him. It skittered, chimed and rolled to a stop. The lieutenant stood looking down at the coin, torn between the instinct to put distance between himself and the mysterious stranger and his desperate need for money.

  Raku sipped wine and waited for the man to reach his decision. Kisoi reluctantly sat down. He picked up the coin and examined each face.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Chinese burial coin.’

  ‘Gold?’

  ‘Keep it.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to help. That coin? More if you need it. No wagers, mind you. No dice. Your gambling days are over. This is for your debts.’

  ‘In exchange for what?’

  Raku gestured to the coin in the lieutenant’s hand. ‘Put that away before someone sees it,’ he advised.

  Kisoi closed the coin in his fist.

  ‘Your time,’ said Raku. ‘That’s all I want. The occasional conversation. We’ll sit and talk, just as we’re doing right now.’

  ‘You’re one of Shōgun’s men.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter who I am or where I’m from. This is about you. You’re in trouble and I can help. You have a wife? Children?’ Raku asked, taking another sip of wine.

  ‘I suspect you already know,’ said the lieutenant.

  ‘Two sons. One daughter.’

  ‘Leave them out of this.’

  ‘You have a responsibility to the Imperial House and you feel the weight of that obligation. That’s good. Admirable. But you also have a responsibility to your family. To keep them fed. You’re doing what every man must do. Facing danger, facing hardship, for the sake of those dependent on him. You’re in a bad predicament, neh? So what’s your plan? Wallow in self-pity? What will that achieve? Here is an opportunity to transform your situation.’

  Commander Raku had turned enough informants during his time in the general’s service to know to know that sometimes money wasn’t enough to close the deal. A street-level outcaste would snatch a proffered coin without hesitation and wouldn’t feel bad about it – wouldn’t feel anything at all. But a high-born man raised with a code of honour would need more subtle persuasion. He would need to be offered a narrative that justified treason, a perspective that will allow him the pretence of integrity even as he sold out his master.

  Raku put a second coin on the floor in front of the lieutenant.

  ‘You can walk out of here right now, honour intact. But what happens when those men from the tavern come calling? What will you do? Beg? Plead? I’m offering a way out. There is an element of risk. But we’re soldiers, neh? Ask yourself: am I the kind of man that takes decisive action and holds my nerve in a tough situation?’

  The lieutenant drained his bowl and signalled for a refill. He understood the dance, the seduction. And he knew he would succumb. No matter how low he sank there was always another level of degradation waiting for him.

  ‘So what will it be?’ prompted the commander. ‘Will you let me help you?’

  Kisoi picked up the coin. It felt cold.

  The samurai was led from his cell, his remaining arm lashed to his waist. He was flanked by four guards as he climbed steps to the courtyard and had a rope round his neck in case he tried to run. The jailer unlocked the main door and pushed it wide. The samurai stepped into blinding daylight. He was led across the courtyard to a building on the opposite side of the square.

  * * *

  The samurai stood in the centre of a wide room. He was dirty and unkempt. He felt dazzled. Maybe he was dead, and this pristine white space was heaven’s anteroom.

  ‘This is your new accommodation,’ said the captain of the guard as he loosened and removed the noose from the samurai’s neck. He pulled a knife from his belt and cut the rope binding his arm.

  ‘I don’t need to post a guard at the door, do I? You’ve sworn an oath. You won’t try to escape. You’re a man of your word.’

  He summoned two maids. ‘These ladies will take care of you for now. We will speak later.’

  The captain left and the maids stripped the samurai naked and dumped his soiled clothes in a basket. They pulled back a screen revealing a bath prepared in the next room. An iron tank piped hot water into a wooden tub.

  The maids helped the samurai step on a stool and climb into the tub. He slowly lowered himself into the water. He sat staring straight ahead, unfocused. The maids tied back their sleeves. They soaped him down and scrubbed grime from his skin. They washed his hair and trimmed his beard.

  The samurai returned to the adjacent room. He lay on a cotton-padded mattress, stared at rafters a while then fell asleep. He was woken by the rasp of the screen being pulled back.

  The captain and Saracen entered the room. The physician knelt and examined the samurai’s right shoulder. He used a small knife to slit silk stitches.

  ‘It might
help if you look away,’ he said. ’The injury is healing well. There will be no problems, as long as you keep the affected area clean.’

  The physician bowed and left.

  ‘Dress,’ ordered the captain.

  The samurai got to his feet and examined clothes laid over a low stool. A crisp, clean hakima and kimono. Leather travel shoes and a quilted hanten. He dressed. A seamstress had removed the right sleeve of the kimono and sewed the shoulder closed. He couldn’t tie the obi round his waist. The Captain summoned a maid who knelt in front of the samurai and knotted the sash.

  ‘I want my sword.’

  ‘You’ve lost your arm.’

  ‘I’ll fight left-handed.’

  ‘Later,’ said the captain. The idea of the maimed man struggling to wield a sword with his remaining arm was pathetic verging on shameful and the captain didn’t want to dwell on the image. ‘It’s time you learned the details of your mission.’

  He ushered the maid from the room and drew the screens closed before kneeling at a table.

  ‘Join me.’

  The captain unravelled the scroll etched with an ornate cluster of pictograms. Castles, lakes, and mountains spread across the provinces of Honshu.

  ‘Games within games,’ said the captain, stroking the chart. ‘It would take days to explain the subtly shifting balances of power, the web of allegiances that bind these states. Only a master tactician could hold them all in mind. But that need not concern you. You have a simple task to perform.’

  ‘If the task is easy, why haven’t you sent your own men?’

  ‘I said it was simple. I didn’t say it was easy.’

  The captain leant forward and tapped Kyoto.

  ‘You are to travel from here to upper Etchū.’ His finger traced the route. ‘The northern half of Etchū is the seat of General Motohide. He affects to be a loyal subject of the Emperor but has cemented an alliance with the Shōgun in an attempt to further his own dynastic ambitions.’

  ‘The Emperor wants him dead.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Send an army. Decide the matter on the battlefield like men.’

  The captain shook his head. ‘No. We don’t have the resources to mount a full-scale campaign. We must rely on subterfuge. And nothing must tie the Emperor to this act which is why you have been chosen to execute the mission. No one will believe you are working on the Emperor’s behalf – the man who recently tried to take his life.’

  ‘The Shōgun will suspect.’

  ‘But he won’t be able to prove anything. The act will never be acknowledged. It won’t become part of the written chronicle. It will be part of the shadow history.’

  The captain pointed to the mountains of Etchū.

  ‘There is another reason we cannot consider a conventional assault even if we had an army at our disposal. The general is well aware there may be an attempt on his life. His official residence is the palace in Sekino which is where he keeps most of his wives. However the general spends most of his time here, at Nakatomi Castle otherwise known as The Dragon’s Lair. My men tell me it is unassailable.’

  The captain unrolled a second sheet of paper showing a crude illustration of the castle with high ramparts built into a mountainside.

  ‘We sent a scout to reconnoitre the castle. That’s as close as he got.’

  The samurai lifted the page and inspected the image. The captain studied the samurai’s expression, fascinated to see dull-eyed defeat replaced by the focused concentration of a man with a problem to solve.

  ‘The picture doesn’t tell me a great deal.’

  ‘The castle is old. Very old. The foundations and outer ramparts are granite. It’s high on a mountainside, so no one can approach without being seen. The route to the fortress itself is a steep and narrow road leading to a barbican gate. The castle has its own water supply – a mountain spring. And we have intelligence the general has been hoarding grain against the possibility of a siege. As long as he remains within the castle walls he is invulnerable.’

  ‘Have any of your men been inside the castle? Does anyone know the internal layout?’

  ‘No. We’re relying on you to get inside, locate the general and kill him.’

  ‘A suicide mission.’

  ‘As was your attempt on the Emperor’s life.’

  ‘Not much I can do with one arm.’

  ‘You’ll be leading a team. Outcastes. Criminals, like yourself.’

  ‘Criminals? This is a job for dedicated, disciplined men.’

  ‘Then you must ensure their dedication and discipline. Five of you will make the journey. Five of you will travel to Etchū and gain entrance to the castle. You must do it before the snows. Your companions will put you in the same room as the general, then you are to strike the killing blow.’

  ‘I’ll need to speak to an armourer. I have requirements. Special weapons.’

  ‘You have a plan?’

  ‘A few ideas.’

  ‘Saracen will construct whatever you might require.’

  ‘And my daughter must accompany me on the journey.’

  ‘The girl? No. She can’t be part of this.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She has been put to work. She has an excellent position given the circumstances. Remember, you will be travelling through hostile territory to assail a fortress. The odds of that any of your team will return alive are vanishingly small. If you care for the girl, let her remain uninvolved.’

  ‘If anything happens to her, the slightest harm, I will kill you. Forget the oath. Forget the mission. I will hunt you down. Nothing will stop me. I’ll kill you, the Emperor and his mother. I failed once. I won’t fail again.’

  ‘I will ensure she is well treated. Now rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.’

  * * *

  The samurai knelt and contemplated the brilliant whiteness of his room. Days of dark dungeon grime had been replaced by translucent paper walls.

  A screen abruptly pulled back and soldier entered the room. He gave no bow or greeting. He placed a sword on the mat in front of the samurai then left. It was the samurai’s old blade. He stood and tucked the weapon into his obi at his right hip.

  He stepped to the edge of the room to give himself space to swing. He unsheathed the weapon and tried to strike but fumbled the draw. He studied the blade as he held it in front of him. The tip trembled.

  His left arm was weak. He would need to rebuild his strength and agility before he was fit to face a trained opponent. He sheathed the sword and set it aside. He prayed a while then began a series of slow push-ups. He fixed an unblinking gaze on the mat in front of him and pumped his remaining arm, willing it to grow strong.

  The cell door swung wide.

  ‘Get up,’ said the captain.

  The girl swung her legs from the bunk and got to her feet, trying to read the captain’s face, trying to gauge if she were about to become the plaything of his men.

  ‘Come with me.’

  * * *

  The captain strode through corridors and halls in an old section of the Imperial Palace that had stood neglected for many years. There were no lamps, furniture or mats. Nothing but a lone trail of cat-prints in the dust. Evidently they were the first people to walk the shuttered passageways for a long while.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ the girl asked, trying to keep up.

  ‘Somewhere safe.’

  They reached a heavy door constructed of pine slabs bound by iron straps. There was a barred grille at face-height. The captain drew back bolts.

  ‘So I’m still a prisoner,’ said the girl.

  ‘Yes. But no longer under sentence of death,’ he said, pulling the door wide. ‘This is your new home.’

  The girl peered into the blackness. ‘I assume I’m not the only resident.’

  ‘He’s called Saracen. You are to be his companion.’

  The captain stood aside, inviting her to walk through the doorway. As she cautiously stepped into darkness, the door shut behi
nd her and bolts slid home.

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She found herself in a vast circular library, the wall-shelves filled with jumbled scrolls. There were no windows. The room was lit by lamps.

  She approached a table cluttered with charts and cartographic instruments of a strange and foreign design. A deep voice said:

  ‘Hello.’

  The voice echoed in the high-ceiling chamber. A man stood in the recesses of the room. He had the blackest skin she’d ever seen. She backed away, putting a table between herself and the apparition.

  ‘Please don’t let my appearance frighten you. I’m a man, like any other.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

  ‘They call me Saracen.’

  ‘What’s your real name?’

  ‘I’m happy to be called Saracen. I had a different name, years ago in another place. But that man is long gone. What’s your name?’

  ‘The girl,’ she said. ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘I’m a valued prisoner. They used to keep me in a subterranean cell with a piss bucket and a bed of straw. Once I proved my worth they transferred me to these spacious quarters and allowed me a few luxuries.’

  ‘Am I one of your luxuries?’

  ‘They have decreed I should have a maid – someone to clean and cook. There have been two previous girls before you.’

  ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘They fell ill.’

  ‘Ill? How?’

  ‘Bad teeth, I think. Nothing sinister. Nothing unusual. They were taken away for treatment and didn’t come back. Perhaps their illnesses proved fatal. It can happen. A rotten tooth can easily turn to a fever. Anyway, it seems you are their replacement.’

  ‘Can I leave?’

  ‘No. You are a prisoner here with me. This room will be your entire world.’