The Ring of Water - Chris Bradford [43]
‘Wait here,’ instructed the old man, closing the door behind him.
Left alone, Jack began to raise his head. ‘Do y–’
‘Head down and be quiet!’ whispered Ronin. ‘They’ll be watching us.’
Ronin respectfully gestured for Jack to kneel before the dais, then joined him by his side. They waited together in silence.
After a while, a shoji in the far wall slid open and a man entered. Jack risked a quick peek. Young, fit and confident to the point of arrogance, the samurai knelt down on the dais, flicking the folds of his hakama to one side in sharp precise movements. The top of his head was shaved and his hair tied into a tight topknot as befitted a samurai of his status. He wore a crisp green and black kimono with specks of iridescent purple like a peacock’s tail feather. His face was handsome yet severe, his dark eyebrows being too dominant and the corners of his mouth permanently downturned.
Araki glanced at Ronin, then eyed the hat-wearing Jack with suspicion.
‘Welcome to the Yagyu Ryū – the New Shadow School – and home to the official swordmasters of the Shogun.’
‘We appreciate you taking the time to see us,’ said Ronin, bowing his head. Jack followed suit.
Araki returned the greeting, his eyes never leaving them.
‘I was sorry to learn of your father’s fate,’ replied Araki, without any hint of true remorse. ‘I’d heard you had died too.’
The steely expression on Ronin’s face barely flickered. For a moment, Jack wondered whether Obata Torayasu was his father or merely a ruse to get an audience with Araki.
‘Don’t believe every rumour you hear,’ replied Ronin.
Araki and Ronin held one another’s gaze, as if a silent battle of wills was taking place. The tension in the room grew and Jack realized one false move on either his or Ronin’s part could result in their downfall.
‘Have you travelled far?’ said Araki, finally breaking the silence.
Ronin nodded. ‘Your reputation has spread the length and breadth of Japan.’
Araki smiled at this news. ‘So you’re here for a … duel?’
‘Much as I’d be honoured by such a privilege, I’m here on behalf of my master,’ he explained, inclining his head in deference to Jack.
‘Your master?’ queried Araki, somewhat surprised at Jack’s status considering his appearance. ‘Can’t he speak for himself?’
‘I’m afraid not. Allow me to explain. An unfortunate incident resulted in his swords being stolen.’
Araki raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
‘In respect of this, he’s taken a vow of silence and keeps his head bowed in order to separate himself from the world, until the day his swords are back in his possession. As you’ll appreciate, for a samurai they’re his soul.’
Araki pursed his lips and nodded in approval of such a symbolic sacrifice.
‘And how may I be of service?’
‘We’ve been led to believe you have his swords.’
Araki’s expression grew thunderous. ‘Are you implying I stole them?’
‘Of course not!’ replied Ronin, his tone conciliatory. ‘They’ve come into your possession by virtue of your esteemed duelling skills.’
The flattery went some way to pacifying Araki’s indignation. ‘I’ve acquired many trophies in my time,’ he bragged. ‘But who’s to say any belong to your master?’
‘My master’s swords are unique. They’re a family heirloom. Black sayas inlaid with mother-of-pearl, unusual dark-red woven handles and upon the blade is inscribed the name of its swordmaker, Shizu.’
An undeniable flicker of recognition passed across Araki’s face.
‘Do you recall them?’ pressed Ronin.
‘Perhaps,’ he replied carefully. ‘Your description sounds familiar.’
‘Then we humbly request their return to the rightful owner.’
‘That won’t be possible.’
Jack, who’d been mutely following the progress of the conversation, felt his heart sink at the news. But it was now that Ronin made his play.
‘I’m sure you don’t wish it to be known that you use stolen swords?’
Araki laughed without humour. ‘Spoken like a true samurai. A fine attack upon my sense of honour.’ He paused, evaluating the threat posed by Ronin and his enigmatic master. ‘You’ve judged me well. But you must appreciate that I can’t be