The Ring of Earth - Chris Bradford [5]
Hearing the owner obediently reply, Jack ran for his life.
‘And watch out for ninja!’ the girl called after him.
Fleeing from the Shogun’s samurai and into the heartland of his enemy, Jack realized his escape route was suicidal. But he was spurred on by the angry shouts of the samurai. They charged up the track in hot pursuit. The serving girl was pointing furiously in his direction, screaming, ‘Thief! Thief! He stole my rice!’
She’s as quick-witted as Akiko, thought Jack.
Relieved she’d convinced the samurai of her innocence, he powered on and had almost reached the treeline when a crippling blow from behind knocked him to the ground. Dazed, Jack crawled feebly on. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the samurai closing in fast for the kill. He also discovered what had hit him – an arrow was protruding out of his back.
It was all over. The samurai would show no mercy.
But he felt no pain.
That was when he realized the arrowhead had struck his pack, not him. Scrambling to his feet, Jack lurched into the forest. A second arrow shot past his head, piercing a tree trunk with a resounding thud.
Jack didn’t look back again. He ran faster, his heart thumping, his lungs burning. The trail wound through the forest, narrowing as it rose towards the mountains that ringed the notorious Iga Province.
The samurai were gaining on him.
Passing through a bamboo grove, Jack unsheathed his katana and sliced through the tall stems either side as he ran. Bamboo cascaded down behind him, blocking the path. The samurai were forced to stop and chop their way through.
The ploy bought him a little time. But Jack knew the samurai would eventually catch up if he stayed on the main trail. Reaching a junction of paths, he chose the smallest and least used track. Deeper and deeper he went. The light faded fast as the trees crowded in, blocking out the sky.
Jack slowed his pace and listened. The samurai’s shouts were now far off and receding into the distance. He’d escaped – at least for the time being.
Catching his breath, Jack put down his pack. Hanging next to the arrow was the little red silk pouch his Zen philosophy master, Sensei Yamada, had given him. This contained an omamori, a Buddhist amulet that granted protection to its owner. It evidently worked. On emptying the bag, Jack discovered his father’s rutter had saved him. The arrowhead had embedded itself in the leatherbound cover of the navigational logbook. Jack couldn’t help but laugh. He’d defended this rutter with his life, and now it had returned the favour.
A rutter was the only means of ensuring safe passage across the world’s oceans. His father’s was highly sought after, since there were so few accurate ones in existence. But it represented more than a vital navigational tool. Whichever country possessed such an invaluable logbook could control the trade routes between nations and, in effect, rule the seas. His father had warned him never to let the rutter fall into the wrong hands. At one point it had. His arch-enemy, the one-eyed ninja Dragon Eye, had stolen it on behalf of a Portuguese Jesuit, Father Bobadillo. But with the help of Akiko and Masamoto’s son Yamato, Jack had managed to get it back … though at the cost of his dear friend Yamato’s life. With Dragon Eye and Father Bobadillo now dead, only a few people in Japan knew of the rutter’s existence. Unfortunately, one of them was the Shogun.
Carefully pulling out the arrow, Jack was relieved to find no more than the first few pages had been damaged. For him, the rutter was a means of returning home to England, of becoming a pilot like his father and providing for his sister, Jess. It was also his last cherished link to his father. After three years, Jack still felt an overwhelming emptiness in his heart. And the pain hadn’t departed with the death of Dragon Eye, his father’s murderer. The rutter, however, did ease the anguish; his father living on through the countless hand-drawn maps, personal notes and coded messages.
Rewrapping the logbook in its protective oilskin, Jack stowed his