The Ring of Earth - Chris Bradford [4]
At the last second, Jack jumped aside. The razor-sharp blade cut through the saké cask instead, cleaving the wooden barrel in half. Rice wine gushed out. The fat samurai, still on his knees retrieving his sword, was half-drowned beneath the alcoholic waterfall. An idiotic smile blossomed on his face as he gulped down several involuntary mouthfuls of saké.
In contrast, the thin samurai’s expression was a knot of fury. He raised his sword again, determined to finish Jack off. As he did so, the serving girl appeared from behind the counter and smashed a saké jar across the back of his head. The samurai swayed slightly, before collapsing to the floor.
Jack stared in amazement at the girl.
‘They simply can’t handle their drink,’ she said, smiling innocently as the fat samurai struggled in the sludge of mud and wine.
The man pulled himself to his feet, his face dripping with saké. Glancing round at his fallen comrades, he staggered away from Jack.
‘This isn’t a fair fight,’ he pleaded, his sword trembling in his hands.
‘It never was,’ replied Jack, executing an Autumn Leaf strike.
His blade struck the back of the man’s sword twice, disarming him of his weapon in an instant.
The samurai held up his hands in surrender, blubbing, ‘Please don’t kill me!’
In the blink of an eye, Jack sliced across the man’s body with both his swords. The samurai screamed, his high-pitched cry fading into a pitiful whimper.
‘I don’t wish to kill anyone,’ replied Jack, sheathing his swords. ‘I just want to go home.’
The samurai inspected himself with amazement. He was totally unharmed, but then his obi fell apart and dropped from his waist to his ankles, together with the sayas for his swords, his inro carrying case and a string of coins attached to the belt.
Horrified at Jack’s supreme sword skills, the samurai fled from the inn.
3
THE IGA MOUNTAINS
Jack gazed around at the destruction. The inn, run-down to begin with, was now a shambles – upturned tables, half the ceiling caved in and the floor a pool of sticky saké. The owner of the establishment sat in the corner, his head in his hands.
Spying the string of coins left behind by the samurai, Jack picked it up and gave the money to the serving girl. ‘That should pay for the damage.’
She bowed her thanks, pocketing the coins inside the sleeve of her kimono.
‘Tell me, why did you help me?’ Jack asked, surprised the girl had the courage to fight, let alone come to the aid of a foreigner.
‘Those three always bully our customers,’ she explained. Then, sneaking an admiring glance at Jack, she added, ‘You’re the first to fight back … and win.’
From beneath the pile of bamboo the leader groaned.
‘You should go,’ said the girl. ‘His friend will return with more samurai.’
‘Will anyone believe a half-dressed man stinking of saké?’ Jack jested.
The serving girl giggled, but stopped as the clang of the post station’s bell rang out.
‘You must leave now!’ she urged.
Jack hurriedly shouldered his pack. Sticking his head out of the door, he saw a troop of samurai marching towards the inn.
‘Come with me,’ said the girl, leading him behind the counter and through a small kitchen to a back entrance. She grabbed a straw container of rice and shoved it into his hands. ‘Take this and follow that trail south.’
She pointed to a dirt track that branched from the main road and disappeared into a forest.
‘Where does it lead?’ Jack asked.
‘Into the Iga mountains.’
Jack shook his head in despair. The domain of the ninja was the last place he wanted to go. But a splintering crash from behind as the samurai troop kicked down the inn’s door left him with little alternative.
‘Stick to the main trail and beware of bandits,’ the girl advised.
‘Thank you,’ said Jack, knowing she’d risked her own life to save him. ‘But what about you?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, waving him on. ‘I’ll say you forced me to help.’
‘WHERE’S THE GAIJIN?’ came a gruff