weapon.’
‘Then you have it,’ said Benkei,
passing him the tool. ‘I’m no fighter.’
With an accepting nod, Jack slipped the
kunai
into his belt.
From an outbuilding came the sound of
raucous laughter and drunken singing.
‘The
dōshin
are celebrating
your capture,’ sniggered Benkei, picking up a large bag and heading out of the
yard. ‘Let’s go! I’ve already bought our supplies.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I have to get my
swords and pack first.’
Benkei gave him an exasperated look.
‘How many fingers do you want to lose?’
‘I won’t leave without my
belongings,’ insisted Jack.
Realizing he wouldn’t be swayed,
Benkei resigned himself to the situation. ‘I’ll wait for you in the barn
until sunrise … then I’m going.’
‘I understand,’ replied Jack,
grasping his shoulder in friendship. ‘You’ve done more than enough helping
me to escape.’
‘And all that effort will be wasted if
you get yourself caught again!’ Benkei muttered, before disappearing down a
backstreet.
Jack skirted the courtyard, keeping to the
shadows and steering clear of the celebration. Entering the Zen garden, he noticed the
outline of the
bugyō
’s dog on the veranda to the courtroom. The Akita lay
with his muzzle between his paws, apparently asleep. Jack had the unsettling vision of
his fingertip disappearing down the dog’s throat and shuddered.
Using his ninja stealth-walking skills, Jack
crossed the pebbled path. Step by cautious step, he drew closer to the veranda without
making a sound. But, as he climbed up, the dog stirred. Jack froze, still as a statue.
The dog snuffled and turned its head, before settling back down, the soft pant of sleep
flaring its nostrils.
With great care, Jack continued and slid
open the
shoji
to the
bugyō
’s courtroom. He let his eyes adjust
to the dark. The pale moon shone in, giving Jack just enough light to see that the place
was deserted. The door to the
bugyō
’s private office was on the opposite
side of the room. Checking the dog was still asleep, he stepped inside. Jack crept round
the edge, avoiding the centre of the wooden floor in case it creaked. As he reached out
for the handle, he prayed that his belongings would still be there.
‘You were never one to give up easily,
were you,
gaijin
?’
Jack spun to see Sensei Kyuzo emerge from a
hidden alcove beside the
fusuma
doors.
‘
Seven times down, eight times
up!
’ mocked his teacher, recalling the proverb that had been Jack’s
winning mantra during the
Taryu-Jiai
match three years ago. ‘Well, you
won’t be getting up this time.’
Sensei Kyuzo stalked towards him.
Jack held up his bandaged hand as a sign of
peace. ‘You’re supposed to be my sensei, not my enemy. How could you have
cut my fingertip off! Have you lost all respect for
bushido
?’
Sensei Kyuzo snorted. ‘Think yourself
lucky. I could have severed the whole finger!’
The
taijutsu
master glared at him,
his expression one of bitterness and hate.
‘Since the war ended, I’ve been
on the run. Forced to hidefor fear of reprisal. I’ve lost all
status because of
gaijin
like you. And now I’ve no choice but to work as
a lowly
dōshin
.’ He tugged at his uniform in disgust. ‘I have to
take orders from that potbellied
bugyō
. A man not even of samurai class.
He’s a bureaucrat, little more than a pumped-up clerk who likes to think
he’s a warrior. He hasn’t fought in a war, let alone held a sword in combat!
Yet
I
must bow to him.’
‘If you despise him so, then why
arrest me?’ argued Jack. ‘Or is it that you wanted the ten
koban
reward?’
‘I’m not interested in the
money
,’ spat Sensei Kyuzo, offended to the core by such a suggestion.
‘You’re my guarantee to redeem my status. To become a
respected
samurai once more.’
Jack was aghast. His
taijutsu
master’s vendetta was about personal loss of face. ‘You
‘Then you have it,’ said Benkei,
passing him the tool. ‘I’m no fighter.’
With an accepting nod, Jack slipped the
kunai
into his belt.
From an outbuilding came the sound of
raucous laughter and drunken singing.
‘The
dōshin
are celebrating
your capture,’ sniggered Benkei, picking up a large bag and heading out of the
yard. ‘Let’s go! I’ve already bought our supplies.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I have to get my
swords and pack first.’
Benkei gave him an exasperated look.
‘How many fingers do you want to lose?’
‘I won’t leave without my
belongings,’ insisted Jack.
Realizing he wouldn’t be swayed,
Benkei resigned himself to the situation. ‘I’ll wait for you in the barn
until sunrise … then I’m going.’
‘I understand,’ replied Jack,
grasping his shoulder in friendship. ‘You’ve done more than enough helping
me to escape.’
‘And all that effort will be wasted if
you get yourself caught again!’ Benkei muttered, before disappearing down a
backstreet.
Jack skirted the courtyard, keeping to the
shadows and steering clear of the celebration. Entering the Zen garden, he noticed the
outline of the
bugyō
’s dog on the veranda to the courtroom. The Akita lay
with his muzzle between his paws, apparently asleep. Jack had the unsettling vision of
his fingertip disappearing down the dog’s throat and shuddered.
Using his ninja stealth-walking skills, Jack
crossed the pebbled path. Step by cautious step, he drew closer to the veranda without
making a sound. But, as he climbed up, the dog stirred. Jack froze, still as a statue.
The dog snuffled and turned its head, before settling back down, the soft pant of sleep
flaring its nostrils.
With great care, Jack continued and slid
open the
shoji
to the
bugyō
’s courtroom. He let his eyes adjust
to the dark. The pale moon shone in, giving Jack just enough light to see that the place
was deserted. The door to the
bugyō
’s private office was on the opposite
side of the room. Checking the dog was still asleep, he stepped inside. Jack crept round
the edge, avoiding the centre of the wooden floor in case it creaked. As he reached out
for the handle, he prayed that his belongings would still be there.
‘You were never one to give up easily,
were you,
gaijin
?’
Jack spun to see Sensei Kyuzo emerge from a
hidden alcove beside the
fusuma
doors.
‘
Seven times down, eight times
up!
’ mocked his teacher, recalling the proverb that had been Jack’s
winning mantra during the
Taryu-Jiai
match three years ago. ‘Well, you
won’t be getting up this time.’
Sensei Kyuzo stalked towards him.
Jack held up his bandaged hand as a sign of
peace. ‘You’re supposed to be my sensei, not my enemy. How could you have
cut my fingertip off! Have you lost all respect for
bushido
?’
Sensei Kyuzo snorted. ‘Think yourself
lucky. I could have severed the whole finger!’
The
taijutsu
master glared at him,
his expression one of bitterness and hate.
‘Since the war ended, I’ve been
on the run. Forced to hidefor fear of reprisal. I’ve lost all
status because of
gaijin
like you. And now I’ve no choice but to work as
a lowly
dōshin
.’ He tugged at his uniform in disgust. ‘I have to
take orders from that potbellied
bugyō
. A man not even of samurai class.
He’s a bureaucrat, little more than a pumped-up clerk who likes to think
he’s a warrior. He hasn’t fought in a war, let alone held a sword in combat!
Yet
I
must bow to him.’
‘If you despise him so, then why
arrest me?’ argued Jack. ‘Or is it that you wanted the ten
koban
reward?’
‘I’m not interested in the
money
,’ spat Sensei Kyuzo, offended to the core by such a suggestion.
‘You’re my guarantee to redeem my status. To become a
respected
samurai once more.’
Jack was aghast. His
taijutsu
master’s vendetta was about personal loss of face. ‘You
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