‘Please accept my apologies for our previous ill manners,’ said Junichi, bowing his head. ‘I only had the village’s safety at heart. It was a shock to discover you were a foreigner. And we have no wish to defy the Shogun’s orders.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Jack, knowing the power of life and death that the Shogun held over his subjects.

  ‘We would like you to stay. At least for a few days until you’re fully rested,’ continued Junichi. ‘Of course, if you wish to stay longer …’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ said Jack. The farmers had shown their fickle nature and Jack wasn’t willing to commit to anything, although he would take them up on their offer to stay a couple of nights.

  ‘A great fire burns within you,’ observed Yoshi. ‘You saw for yourself our feeble-hearted men. We need a person of your courage.’

  ‘The boy may be brave,’ muttered Toge, moodily sipping his green tea, ‘but that doesn’t make him a samurai.’

  Fed up with Toge’s scepticism, Jack put down his chopsticks and, without warning, whipped out his katana. The razor-sharp blade sliced clean through Toge’s cup, spilling hot tea into the farmer’s lap.

  Too stunned to move, Toge could only let out a pitiful whimper as the steaming sencha seeped through the cloth of his kimono. Recovering his wits, he examined his fingers in panic to check they were all still there.

  Neko clapped her hands in delight at the farmer’s hysteria, while Kunio rolled with laughter on the floor. Even Yoshi gave a toothless grin at this fine display of swordsmanship.

  ‘If that doesn’t convince you,’ chortled Yoshi, ‘why don’t you challenge the boy to a duel?’

  ‘Yes, a duel!’ Kunio blurted eagerly. ‘Jack’s on his musha shugyō – his swords are deadly!’

  Shamefaced, Toge sullenly crossed his arms and shut up.

  Junichi, hastily putting down his own cup, declared, ‘I have no doubt in your abilities, young samurai.’ With a nervous smile, he added, ‘Sora has offered his house for as long as you wish to stay. And you may use my bathtub at any time.’

  Jack acknowledged their hospitality. His point having been made, he sheathed his katana and returned to his meal.

  Rested, bathed and fed, Jack felt like a new person as he stepped out of Sora’s house and into the morning sun. Last night was the first time he’d enjoyed an undisturbed sleep in weeks. At this rate, it would only take him a few days to recover his full strength.

  Neko, now his constant companion, was waiting outside. Sora also joined him on his stroll down to the village pond. As Jack passed other homes, he was greeted with respectful bows and kindly looks, and it was clear the farmers had accepted him into their community. Although he could never truly be a part of Japanese society, there were moments like this when the barriers dropped and Jack felt like he belonged – just as he always did at Akiko’s side. His thoughts went out to his closest friend and Jack prayed she was safe and well. Kazuki had vowed revenge on Akiko for disabling his sword hand with an arrow during the Battle of Osaka Castle. Yet despite having recently saved his rival’s life in return for the promise of her safety, Jack didn’t trust Kazuki. That’s why he’d sent his friend Hana to warn Akiko, while Jack left clues along his route, so that his arch-rival would track him down instead.

  ‘Are you all right?’ enquired Sora, noticing the frown on Jack’s face.

  Jack nodded. ‘I’m concerned for my friends.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ he replied mournfully.

  Jack studied Sora’s despairing expression and sensed an inconsolable loss in the old man’s heart. But it wasn’t just him. On reflection, Jack realized that all the farmers bore a similar air of grief. He’d put this down to the impending threat posed by Akuma, but even the children in the square were solemn and unusually subdued.

  It was then Jack noticed there were hardly any young girls – only mothers and their smallest children.

  ‘Where are the girls of your village?’

  Sora sniffed. ‘All gone.’

  ‘You mean, to market?’

  ‘No, abducted.’

  Jack was stopped in his tracks. ‘Who abducted them?’

  ‘Akuma! Who else?’ spat Sora, clenching his fists in futile rage. ‘He took my only daughter.’

  Sora began to sob uncontrollably at the memory.

  ‘The first two years … Akuma only stole our rice … leaving us barely enough to survive … But last winter … he kidnapped our girls to become the bandits’ slaves!’

  ‘Do you know where they took them?’ asked Jack, appalled at this news.

  ‘No. We searched for months, but the bandits’ camp is hidden somewhere deep in the mountains. Our girls are lost forever!’

  Sora wiped the tears from his eyes and fell into a shuddering silence.

  For the first time, Jack truly appreciated the suffering Akuma and his bandits had delivered upon this innocent community. Not only had they taken the food out of the farmers’ mouths but the life and soul from the village itself.

  ‘Perhaps Akuma won’t come this year,’ said Jack, trying to console the old farmer.

  ‘He will,’ replied Sora. ‘Black Moon always does.’

  9

  RECRUITMENT

  ‘So what’s the story with Neko?’ asked Jack as the three of them walked round the pond, its rim encrusted with ice and snow. ‘She’s still here.’

  Neko looked up expectantly at Jack, somehow aware that he was talking about her.

  ‘The bandits didn’t want her,’ replied Sora, with uncharacteristic bitterness.

  ‘Neko’s parents must be thankful.’

  Sighing heavily, Sora revealed, ‘Her parents were killed in the first raid.’

  ‘So who looks after her now?’

  ‘No one. She’s an orphan of the village. We all take care of her, but Neko remains a painful reminder of our loss.’

  Jack felt his outrage boil over. Neko had lost all that was dear to her, just as he had. But at least he’d been fortunate enough to have friends like Akiko, Yamato and Yori to turn to. She had no one to comfort her. Knowing the torment she would have suffered alone, Jack felt his resolve harden. This Akuma was cruel and merciless – worse than a devil.

  ‘I must return to Okayama,’ stated Jack, much to Sora’s alarm.

  ‘B-b-but you can’t go yet!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back,’ he replied. ‘With more samurai!’

  News of Jack’s decision spread like wildfire and he was heralded as the village’s saviour. In spite of his determination earlier that morning, Jack was beginning to question his ability to deliver on the promise. He might be able to convince other warriors to join the cause. But once they discovered he was a gaijin, what then?

  The villagers in their excitement seemed to have forgotten this.

  Yoshi, the elder, hadn’t.

  ‘Take Toge with you,’ he instructed as they discussed his departure over lunch at Junichi’s house. ‘He can act as your servant. It’ll lend you more status.’

  Toge’s expression soured at the idea, but he was given no choice.

  ‘You go too, Sora, as representative of the village.’

  ‘And me!’ volunteered Kunio.

  ‘If you must,’ replied Junichi wearily. Though his expression suggested relief that he’d be rid of the boy for another few days.

  ‘Neko comes too,’ said Jack.

  ‘What for? She’s a terrible cook,’ muttered Toge.

  ‘Are you going to cook for me?’ challenged Jack. To which Toge didn’t answer.

  By the time all the travel preparations had been made, it was late.

  ‘We’ll leave tomorrow morning,’ said Jack.

  Jack awoke at first light, fresh and more positive about his forthcoming mission. The weather also appeared to be in their favour. A bright winter sun shimmered across the crisp white carpet of the Okayama Plain and the main road was clearly visible, snaking its way towards the horizon.

  All the villagers gathered in the square to wave them off. As the provisions were divided up between the party of five, Jack ensured Neko wasn’t overburdened this time.

  ‘Kunio!’ he called as the boy went for the smallest load. ‘This rice sack and cooking pot should be no trouble for a strong farmer like you.’

  Not wanting to lose face in front of the other boys, Kunio smiled gamely.

  ‘No problem,’ he grunted, hauling the heavy iron pot along with the cumbersome sack on to his back. He staggered slightly, then followed Jack and the others out of the village.

  Working their way past the snow-laden fields, the group crossed the bridge by the mill and soon left Tamagashi behind. Neko skipped merrily at Jack’s side, clearly delighted not to be treated as the village slave for once.

  With the route clear, they made good time and by mid-afternoon the outskirts of Okayama came into view. Toge managed to acquire the same rundown accommodation as before and they left Neko and an exhausted Kunio to guard the provisions. Okayama’s main square was bustling with people and there was a buzz of excitement in the air.

  ‘Market day,’ explained Toge as he led Jack through the crowds and past stalls of fish goods, silk traders, spice merchants and vendors selling everything from oil and wood to farm tools and pottery.

  ‘That’s good news,’ said Jack, keeping his hat low over his eyes. ‘There’ll be more samurai to choose from.’

  They decided the marketplace itself was too hectic to make a personal appeal to anyone, so Jack chose a small tea house at one corner of the square. As well as providing good views across the market, it was an appropriate meeting place for ronin. More importantly, it offered Jack the best escape route should his identity be exposed.

  Acting according to his role, Toge ordered a pot of sencha for his master, poured out a cup, then knelt to one side with Sora. The three of them surveyed the market for suitable samurai.

  Jack spotted one almost immediately. He wore a plain black kimono and had a neatly trimmed beard. On his hip were a pair of well-maintained swords and he walked with an air of confidence, but not arrogance.

  ‘Try him.’

  Toge jumped to his feet and hurried over to the man. Jack and Sora watched as, bowing profusely, Toge introduced himself and invited the samurai for tea. The warrior appeared to ask a question, to which Toge answered. The samurai then shook his head and walked on. Toge returned to the tea house, a glum expression on his face.

  ‘He said to thank you for your offer, but he wasn’t in need of a job.’

  They resumed their search.

  ‘What about him?’ suggested Sora, pointing to a well-dressed samurai with a long moustache, plump jowls and a visible paunch.

  ‘No,’ said Jack, realizing the man was too affluent to be a ronin. ‘We need to find hungry masterless samurai.’

  ‘How about that one?’ said Toge.

  A stick-thin warrior with pinched cheeks and a shabby brown kimono wandered through the market.

  ‘Possibly,’ replied Jack, taking a sip of tea while he considered the man.

  The samurai drew closer. As he passed a fruit stall, he slipped an apple into his kimono sleeve.

  ‘He’s definitely hungry,’ said Sora.

  ‘He’s also a thief!’ muttered Toge.

  Jack was inclined to agree with Toge’s disapproval. They needed honourable trustworthy samurai. But under the circumstances, they couldn’t be too choosy.

  All of a sudden there was a commotion in the crowd and an old woman barged her way through. Raising a gnarled walking-stick aloft, she began to beat the hungry samurai around the head.

  ‘You pathetic excuse of a samurai!’ she shrieked. ‘Hand back my apple!’

  ‘I … I … was going to pay,’ protested the samurai feebly, scrabbling for his purse.

  ‘You’ll pay all right!’ she crowed, thumping him again and again.

  The samurai cowered under her blows. Dropping the apple, he ran as if his life depended upon it. The surrounding shoppers burst into laughter at the sight of the warrior fleeing an old woman half his size.

  ‘No good,’ said Jack. ‘Any recruit has to be brave, at the very least.’

  With potential candidates few and far between, their quest was proving even more difficult than he’d expected.

  Then a tough, battle-hardened samurai strolled past the tea house. Judging by his frayed kimono with no affiliating mon, the warrior was a ronin seeking work. Furthermore, his sayas displayed the scars of numerous fights.

  ‘He’s our man,’ said Jack.

  Toge hurried over and bowed to get his attention.

  ‘May my master have a word?’ asked Toge, directing the ronin to Jack, his face shielded beneath the straw hat.

  Intrigued, the ronin curtly nodded his agreement. He sat down at Jack’s table, placing his swords close by his side. Sora immediately poured out some sencha.

  ‘Thank you for taking the time to join me,’ said Jack, toasting the ronin with his cup. Adopting his guardian’s name, Jack introduced himself. ‘My name’s Takeshi.’

  The samurai bowed his head. ‘I’m Honen. How can I be of service?’

  ‘I’m seeking samurai on behalf of Tamagashi village – to defend them against bandit raids during the winter.’

  ‘An honourable if inglorious cause.’

  ‘But a worthy one,’ countered Jack. And, guessing the ronin would appreciate directness as well as a challenge, he added, ‘The bandits’ leader is the notorious Akuma, the man they call Black Moon.’

  ‘He’s a fearsome warrior. Killed hundreds of men, I hear.’

  ‘What sort of courage does it take to defeat unarmed farmers?’ said Jack. ‘Such a bandit wouldn’t stand a chance against a samurai like you. Are you willing to join us in our campaign?’

  Taking a long draught of sencha, Honen considered the proposition.

  ‘And if I was to accept, what would my reward be for such dangerous work?’

  ‘As poor farmers, they can offer three meals a day and lodging.’

  The expression on the samurai’s face turned from sympathy to indignation.

  ‘How dare you, a fellow samurai, offend me with such a paltry offer!’ he growled, slamming his cup on the table. ‘I may be a ronin, but that doesn’t make me a beggar!’

  Grabbing his swords, the samurai stormed off.

  ‘This is hopeless,’ moaned Sora.

  ‘We can’t give up yet,’ said Jack, though he was beginning to doubt their chances.

  With the light fading, the market grew quieter. Still they managed to attract the attention of two more samurai. The first had also heard of Akuma and hurriedly made his excuses to leave; the second balked at the lack of glory in dying for lowly farmers.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll have better luck tomorrow,’ said Jack, hiding his own disappointment.

  Dispirited, Toge paid the bill and the three of them headed back to the storehouse. As they crossed the street, Jack sensed someone following them. Without looking round, he indicated for Toge to take the next alley.

  But their pursuer wasn’t far behind.

  Weaving through the backstreets, Jack urged the farmers to quicken their pace. Still they couldn’t shake him off. Signing for Toge and Sora to continue, Jack ducked into a narrow passageway. Footsteps crunched in the snow. Jack tightened the grip on his sword. A shadowy figure passed by.

  Then stopped.

  ‘Do you always hide from friends?’

  10

  AN OLD FRIEND

  A round-faced boy with thick bushy eyebrows and an ample belly grinned down the passageway at Jack.

  ‘SABURO!’ exclaimed Jack, recognizing his old friend at once. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was about to ask you the same question.’

  Toge and Sora shuffled back, bemused expressions on their faces.

  ‘You know this samurai?’ queried Toge, eyeing the swords on Saburo’s hip.

  ‘Know him? I trained with him for three years!’ Jack exclaimed, as he abandoned Japanese etiquette and embraced his friend warmly. ‘We were at the Niten Ichi Ryū together in Kyoto.’

  ‘And Jack was the teacher’s pet,’ teased Saburo, elbowing his friend in the ribs.

  ‘Yes, the one that was kicked and punched around the dojo by Sensei Kyuzo.’

  Saburo laughed. ‘Well, you needed toughening up!’

  ‘How did you ever find me?’

  ‘I was watching you for ages in the market,’ explained Saburo. ‘I couldn’t be certain it was you, so I waited until you left the main square.’

  ‘Does your samurai friend want to join us for supper?’ interjected Sora.

  Saburo beamed at the suggestion of food. ‘I’d be delighted.’

  The four of them made their way back to the dilapidated storehouse.

  ‘You’re living the life of a lord!’ mocked Saburo as he inspected the decaying wooden walls and dirt floor.

  ‘I have to keep a low profile,’ explained Jack, noticing the shame on Sora’s face at his friend’s offhand comment.

  The farmer manically tried to clean the raised platform before inviting both of them to sit.

  ‘So, what are you doing in Okayama?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I’m on my musha shugyō.’

  ‘You!’ said Jack, surprised. His friend was a loyal and occasionally brave samurai, but he wasn’t a born fighter or a glory seeker.

  Saburo gave a weary nod of the head. ‘My father’s idea. After my brother’s legendary sacrifice at the Battle of Osaka Castle, my arrow wound for saving your life during the school attack was no longer so impressive. You know how my father is – not satisfied with one heroic son, he wants to brag about my duelling exploits. He even presented me with this new daishō.’

  Saburo passed Jack two impressive-looking swords. ‘As a good-luck gift.’

  Jack admired the honed blade of the katana. ‘So, how many duels have you won with this?’

  ‘All of them,’ replied Saburo.

  ‘Really!’ said Jack, handing back the weapons with respect. ‘You’ve certainly become a mighty swordsman.’

  Leaning in, Saburo lowered his voice. ‘That’s because I haven’t fought any yet,’ he admitted with a canny grin. ‘But I won’t be telling Father that.’

 

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