The Ring of Earth Page 14

  Zenjubo waited for a lull in activity before leaving the cover of the forest. Walking slowly in a line, their shakuhachi in their hands, the four of them merged in with the traffic and approached the main gate.

  Through the grille of his basket, Jack saw a number of samurai guards on duty. They were randomly checking the travel permits of merchants entering the town. Only now did it strike Jack just how risky this mission was. If he was discovered, all his ninja training would be for nothing. Jack felt a desperate urge to turn back while he could.

  ‘Just remember,’ hissed Miyuki from behind, ‘I’ll be watching your every move.’

  Jack held his breath as they levelled with the guards, but the samurai allowed the four of them to pass through unopposed. Maybe this was going to work, after all.

  Zenjubo led them up the main street. The wooden buildings on either side were a mix of shops, inns, houses and shrines. Various banners and lanterns proclaimed their wares and services. A ball of cedar branches hung outside one establishment, indicating saké for sale. The smells of cooking wafted through the air from countless food stalls. Jack spotted an old woman crouched beside a brazier, grilling pieces of chicken. Smiling, he remembered how his old friend Saburo had loved yakitori.

  Zenjubo and Tenzen parted company with them in the market square. Miyuki found a spot beside a shrine, put down a small wooden bowl and began to play her flute. For the most part people ignored her, but then an old man tottered by and dropped in a copper coin.

  While she was performing, Jack took the opportunity to gather the information they required. Glancing around, he was surprised at how busy the town was. Despite being in the middle of the Iga mountains, it was apparent that a large number of samurai had recently arrived. All the inns had signs declaring they were full and the main street was thronged with people, many carrying katana and wakizashi. There could be no doubt that daimyo Akechi was raising a second battalion.

  Miyuki stopped playing. Bending down, she picked up her alms bowl.

  ‘Only two coins and a rotten daikon,’ she complained, holding up the browning radish in disgust. ‘Let’s see if you do any better, while I look around.’

  Putting down his own begging bowl, Jack wet his lips and blew into the shakuhachi. The soulful languid notes of ‘Hifumi hachi gaeshi’ floated over the hustle and bustle of the crowd.

  Every so often a passer-by would drop a coin into his bowl.

  As he reached the end of the piece, Miyuki stated, ‘Time to visit the temple.’

  Jack fished out his offerings. ‘Five coins! And a bag of rice!’

  ‘They were paying you to stop!’ she muttered.

  Walking through the town, they made note of what they saw, pausing to play and beg for alms at particular points of interest. They performed near the stables, counting at least two regiments’ worth of horses and discovering a warehouse full of rice sacks. Even though they were on a mission, their competitive spirit simmered away as they compared takings for each performance.

  After surveying the stables, they paid their respects at the temple in order not to arouse suspicion. Several other Monks of Emptiness were gathered there, passing through on their pilgrimage.

  ‘You stay here and pretend to pray,’ whispered Miyuki. ‘I’m going to see what I can find out from the priest.’

  Jack approached a large wooden effigy of the Buddha. Picking up a stick of incense, he lit it from a nearby candle and placed it in a bowl. The heady aroma of sandalwood filled the air. Bowing twice, he clapped his hands before bowing a final time.

  ‘You travel far?’ asked a soft voice from behind.

  Jack turned to see another basket-headed monk. ‘Two days,’ he replied.

  ‘Your journey has hardly begun.’

  ‘And you?’ asked Jack.

  ‘My pilgrimage is never-ending. I’m visiting all the temples in Japan.’

  All the temples, thought Jack, wondering whether this monk could possibly deliver the message to Akiko. He’d surely be more trustworthy than a courier.

  ‘Including the Ise shrine near Toba?’ Jack asked innocently.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘I’ve already prayed there. I’m now heading south.’

  Jack was glad to be wearing the basket, otherwise the monk would have seen the disappointment on his face.

  ‘Journey well,’ said the monk, bowing as he departed.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ demanded Miyuki, suddenly appearing at Jack’s side.

  ‘Just being friendly,’ said Jack.

  ‘Well, don’t. You’re risking our mission.’

  The two of them returned to the central square and found a spot to perform in sight of the main gate while they waited for the others to return.

  ‘Time to go,’ Miyuki whispered, indicating with her flute the appearance of Zenjubo and Tenzen. The two of them were already heading down the main street.

  Jack came to the end of his song and a few more alms dropped into his bowl.

  ‘I think that settles it,’ he said, depositing the proceeds into his bag. It jingled with considerably more coins than Miyuki had collected.

  ‘You can celebrate when we’re out of here,’ she replied testily.

  Miyuki led the way through the busy main street, the townsfolk giving them a respectful berth. As they passed a stall selling fans, Jack overheard the merchant talking to a finely dressed woman.

  ‘The one with pearl inlay comes from Toba …’

  His attention caught, Jack slowed his pace, trying to eavesdrop further.

  ‘Do you have any others like this?’ the lady asked.

  The merchant shook his head. ‘But I can send for more. My son travels the Tokaido Road regularly. He’ll be passing Toba next month.’

  This merchant could deliver the message to Akiko, thought Jack. For the right money, of course.

  By now, Miyuki was approaching the gate. She looked back impatiently, wondering what was holding Jack up. Not wanting to be left behind or rouse her suspicion further, Jack quickened his pace. Then he realized this would look odd. He was supposed to be a monk in meditation. His haste could attract the unwanted attention of a samurai. As hard as it was, he walked slowly and with great deliberation. Through his wicker basket, Jack eyed the guards. But they were paying him no interest. He reached the gate and almost wanted to skip down the road. The mission had gone without a hitch and he’d found a way of contacting Akiko.

  ‘Komusō!’

  Jack froze, his heart leaping into his throat.

  Miyuki, further down the road, glanced back but didn’t stop.

  ‘I’m talking to you, monk. Come here.’

  Jack’s first instinct was to run. But he’d have little hope of escaping with a basket on his head. Keeping his cool, he turned to face the guard. The man beckoned him over.

  ‘Play us a song.’

  Jack almost wanted to laugh out loud with relief. The samurai appeared relaxed, not at all suspicious. Obediently, Jack raised the shakuhachi to his lips and began to play ‘Hifumi’.

  The guard groaned. ‘Not that one,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘I want to hear “Shika no Tone”.’

  Jack hesitated. Soke had once played the tune for him, but he’d never been able to master it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jack admitted. ‘I don’t know that tune.’

  The guard’s eyes narrowed. Without warning, the samurai drew his sword.

  ‘A real Komusō would!’

  32

  A QUESTION OF LOYALTY

  ‘The infamous gaijin samurai in my castle!’ mused daimyo Akechi, stroking the tips of his neatly trimmed moustache. ‘Or are you now a ninja?’ he laughed.

  Jack kept his silence, his head bowed as he knelt before the samurai lord. Two guards were stationed either side of him. Four more were lined against the back wall. All were impatient to execute him on the daimyo’s command.

  Outside, birds were twittering and chirping in the bright summer sunshine, oblivious to Jack’s p
redicament. Following his capture, the gatekeeper had almost dropped his sword as he ordered Jack to remove the basket and was greeted by a foreign face. The other guards had jumped to their feet, surrounding him in a matter of seconds. In the uproar, Miyuki had vanished from sight. Jack had been swiftly escorted to the fourth floor of the castle and presented to daimyo Akechi.

  The samurai lord was immaculately attired in a sheer black hakama and kataginu winged jacket, his family mon of a dragonfly woven in gold thread upon his chest. Handsome and self-assured, his hair was tied tightly into a topknot and oiled smooth. The daimyo was also vain, judging by the immense silk-screen painting in the room, depicting him larger than life and victorious in battle.

  ‘Only shinobi would consider such a clever disguise,’ he went on, indicating the Komusō basket and robes. ‘But I’m intrigued to know why the ninja are helping you.’

  ‘The ninja are my enemy, Akechi-sama,’ said Jack, bowing even lower.

  ‘If that’s the case, then how come you’re still alive? Where have you been hiding all this time? My patrols have searched for you in every known valley, forest and village of my province.’

  ‘I’ve survived in the mountains, avoiding everyone I could.’

  ‘Please don’t insult my intelligence,’ sighed the daimyo. ‘You’re too well fed to have lived like a wild animal. Now, just tell me, where is the village that took you in?’

  ‘I … can’t tell you,’ Jack replied.

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  Akechi studied him for a moment.

  ‘I’m not an unreasonable lord,’ he said with a smile as smooth as silk. ‘I’ll make a deal with you. In return for telling me the location of your ninja village, I’ll grant you your freedom.’

  Jack didn’t trust the samurai lord. The man’s promise seemed as unconvincing as his silk-screen painting. ‘What about the Shogun’s orders?’

  ‘I’ll inform the Shogun you rendered me a great service. Your safety’s assured. To my borders, at least.’

  Jack thought carefully before replying. ‘I still can’t tell you. The ninja captured and blindfolded me.’

  The daimyo raised his eyebrows sceptically.

  ‘This is a question of loyalty, Fletcher-san, a matter of bushido!’ asserted daimyo Akechi, now using the respectful etiquette to address Jack. ‘Are you samurai … or ninja?’

  Even Jack was unsure of that answer. A few months before, there would have been no doubt he was a samurai. But now?

  ‘I’ve heard great things about you,’ admitted Akechi, suddenly adopting a flattering tone. ‘Daimyo Takatomi, once your lord in Kyoto, has spoken highly of your samurai arts. I believe you saved his life, preventing an assassination by Dragon Eye? And didn’t that same ninja kill your father?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Jack through gritted teeth, trying not to let emotions cloud his judgement.

  ‘Then why are you protecting the shinobi?’

  ‘Dragon Eye’s dead. I just want to go home,’ said Jack, avoiding the question.

  ‘Don’t be a fool! Dragon Eye lives on through the ninja. They’re all the same. Devils! That’s why they hide their faces.’

  The daimyo leant forward confidentially, his expression sorrowful.

  ‘My father was murdered by ninja too,’ he said, speaking quietly as if divulging some great secret to Jack. ‘I don’t know which one, though. So I have to kill them all to regain my family’s honour.’

  Jack saw the venomous hatred in the man’s eyes. He realized the daimyo was so consumed with vengeance he’d lost all reason. Just like Dragon Eye.

  ‘I intend to hunt down every last ninja, burn their villages to the ground and end their evil ways, once and for all. Imagine that, Fletcher-san. No more ninja. Your father’s enemy wiped from the face of the earth.’

  Jack resolved, there and then, he could never let this man discover the village. He’d slaughter every innocent man, woman and child he found. Miyuki would be faced with the same awful tragedy all over again. Wherever his loyalties lay, Jack couldn’t allow that to happen, especially with Hanzo – or Kiyoshi, as he now thought of him – as part of the village.

  ‘A single tree doesn’t make a forest,’ said Jack.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not all ninja are like that. Many are simply farmers, just trying to survive –’

  The daimyo cut him short with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘You’ve clearly spent too long among them. The ninja have bewitched your mind with their magic.’

  He clicked his fingers and the two guards hauled Jack to his feet.

  ‘Perhaps you need time to think about where your loyalties lie, gaijin,’ snapped daimyo Akechi, his previous charm giving way to displeasure. ‘Gemnan!’ he called.

  A thin-faced man with sallow skin and narrow eyes slipped through a side door into the room. Shuffling up to his lord, he gave a crooked bow.

  ‘You have a choice, gaijin,’ stated the daimyo. ‘If by tomorrow morning you haven’t revealed the location of the village, Gemnan will help you remember. He can be very persuasive.’

  Gemnan, his lips parting into a sadistic grin, scrutinized Jack the way a snake might its prey. Jack felt a shiver of dread run down his spine. Whatever means this man had of persuading him, it wouldn’t be pleasant … or painless.

  33

  HELL’S GARDEN

  ‘Welcome to my garden,’ wheezed Gemnan as the two guards threw Jack roughly to the ground.

  The courtyard, located to the rear of the castle, was a barren, sunbaked patch of earth. There were no flowers, no bushes, just a lone tree from which a man hung, suspended by his arms behind his back.

  ‘It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Gemnan proudly.

  Jack’s eyes widened in alarm as he looked around the high-walled yard. Another prisoner was tied to stakes driven into the ground. He lay spread-eagled in the sun, groaning feebly, his skin red-raw and bloodied. To Jack’s left, an immense black cauldron stood over a fire, steam rising from the bubbling water. But Jack didn’t think for one moment Gemnan ever cooked food in it.

  At the far end of the yard, a wooden crucifix had been erected. It stood ominously vacant, its shadow stretching towards Jack like a beckoning skeletal hand.

  ‘Follow me,’ ordered Gemnan.

  Getting to his feet, Jack was violently shoved in the back by one of the guards. He staggered forward as if in a nightmare, the gruesome garden a vision of Hell on earth.

  ‘Mind where you’re walking, gaijin,’ said Gemnan. ‘We were testing swords this morning.’

  ‘On what?’ asked Jack, horrified, as he stepped over a pool of blood drying in the midday heat.

  ‘Prisoners,’ replied Gemnan. ‘We’d run out of corpses.’

  Seeing the shock on Jack’s face, he let out a callous laugh.

  ‘Don’t worry, I have other plans for you.’

  Gemnan led Jack past a large iron grille set into the ground. The pitiful sound of moaning could be heard coming from below. Jack glanced down into a large stinking pit. Several emaciated men lay in a heap, flies buzzing around them.

  ‘There’s a dead man down here!’ cried one unfortunate soul.

  ‘And there’ll be another soon if you don’t shut up!’ replied Gemnan, spitting on the prisoner from above.

  Even in his perilous state, the prisoner couldn’t help but gawp at the bizarre sight of a blue-eyed, blond-haired foreign boy in their midst.

  Gemnan walked over to the crucifix. Panicking, Jack began to look for a way of escape. But the two guards behind him were watching closely, their hands ready on their swords. Jack wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d be cut down in an instant.

  ‘The cross would be a fitting punishment for a Christian like you,’ Gemnan considered, clearly relishing Jack’s growing fear. ‘Perhaps that will be your end. For the time being, though, I’ve been told to treat you well. So I’ve arranged for your own private chamber.’

  Producing a set of keys, Gemnan made his way over to a
small metal cage in one corner and unlocked the door. Bowing, he gestured politely. ‘Your room for the night, young samurai.’

  Before Jack could protest, he was seized by the arms and forcibly pushed inside. The cage was barely big enough to contain him. He couldn’t stand up or lie down. He could hardly turn round. All he could do was squat. And the cage was in the full glare of the sun.

  ‘Would you like some water before I leave you to think over your situation?’ asked Gemnan.

  Jack nodded warily. The sadistic smile returned to his jailer’s face.

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ he laughed. ‘By tomorrow, you’ll be begging for it.’

  Gemnan instructed one of the guards to remain behind should Jack decide to talk, adding, ‘I hope he doesn’t, though. It’ll be most interesting to see how long a gaijin survives the cauldron.’

  As Gemnan went to depart, he turned back to Jack.

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Do you want to know the real reason you were discovered?’ The man’s eyes once more had the look of a snake about to strike as he cackled, ‘A ninja betrayed you.’

  34

  FINGER NEEDLE FIST

  The screaming didn’t stop all afternoon. Jack thought he’d go to his grave with those cries still ringing in his ears. The man who’d been hanging in the tree had been cut down, only to be submerged in the boiling waters of the cauldron.

  Gemnan had stood by, observing the man slowly die. The intense fascination the torturer had displayed sickened Jack to the pit of his stomach. And Jack knew that by sunrise he might be suffering the same fate.

  His mind was in turmoil. Had a ninja really betrayed him?

  He wouldn’t put it past Momochi. The man had been keen to strike a deal with daimyo Akechi. But why, then, did the daimyo still want the location of their village? And how had Momochi got a message through so quickly? He’d only known of Jack’s inclusion in the mission at the last moment. It was possible Momochi had instructed Miyuki to inform the guards. But this seemed reckless for a man so intent on protecting his village. Momochi surely realized that by going on the mission Jack would learn of the valley’s location and be questioned upon capture. Or perhaps Miyuki had acted on her own initiative? She’d been against him becoming a ninja from the very start. This could be her attempt to get rid of him … permanently. But again this put her and her village at great and unnecessary risk.