The Ring of Water - Chris Bradford [45]
‘Off the gap-toothed bandit.’
‘You stole it?’
‘No,’ objected Hana, her mouth dropping open as if that was the last thing she’d ever do. ‘He threw it away. Anyway, I left my old one for him.’
Slipping the tip of the knife into the lock, she carefully twisted and jiggled the blade until there was a sharp click. The gate swung open. Hana turned to them, a smug grin on her face.
Ronin grunted with almost a hint of admiration.
‘Good work!’ said Jack, pleased Hana had proved her usefulness to Ronin twice in quick succession.
They hurried inside and shut the gate behind them. Their feet crunched loudly as they crossed the deserted pebbled courtyard. Jack felt as if they’d entered a cemetery, the derelict buildings no more than tombs to the martial arts that were once taught here.
‘I can see this was an impressive school,’ commented Ronin, heading for the Butokuden. ‘Such a waste!’
They entered the great hall, its rounded pillars of cypress wood still propping up the immense panelled ceiling, with its criss-cross of beams like the skeleton of a beached whale. Shafts of late afternoon sun pierced the vast interior, catching dust motes in the stale air and illuminating the ransacked Weapons Wall. Stripped of all its equipment during the height of battle over the school, just a broken wakizashi and a worn bokken now remained discarded upon the floor.
Walking over to the ceremonial alcove, their footsteps echoed off the bare walls. Ronin picked up the wooden sword and casually tested its weight. He sighed. ‘To have trained in a place like this must have been a great honour.’
Jack nodded in agreement. Yet his experiences hadn’t been all good. Sensei Kyuzo, the dwarf-sized yet lethal taijutsu master, had spent many a lesson demonstrating excruciatingly painful combat techniques upon him for the benefit of the rest of the class. And, as a punishment once, he’d forced Jack to spend the entire night cleaning every single woodblock of the dojo floor. But Jack would willingly suffer all that again to see the Niten Ichi Ryū back to its former glory.
They left the Butokuden and made for the Chō-no-ma.
‘It’s beautiful!’ gasped Hana, running her fingers over the exquisite silk-screen paintings of butterflies and sakura trees that lined the dining hall.
Some of the tables were still set for dinner as if waiting for the students and their sensei to appear. Jack almost expected Masamoto to stride through the door, proclaiming his return. But then he caught sight of a dried bloodstain upon one of the tabletops. This was where Saburo had lain to have his arrow wound tended to and bandaged. That night had been the beginning of the end.
Jack wondered what had become of his friend, and of Kiku who’d stayed behind as his nurse. Were they still alive? If so, were they hiding like him? Or had they escaped the Shogun’s purge of his enemies?
While Jack contemplated his friends’ fate, Ronin found the kitchen and returned a few moments later with some dishes, three pairs of hashi and a cooking bowl.
‘Time to eat. You’ll need your strength for the duel tomorrow.’
Ronin led them outside and ordered Hana to collect some wood from the ruins of the Hall of the Hawk. Then he found a suitable spot in the Southern Zen Garden to make a fire, in the lee of an immense standing stone to shield the light and beneath a tree to disperse the smoke, so that their presence within the Niten Ichi Ryū wouldn’t be detected. As the rice cooked, Hana cut up some vegetables and Jack gutted a fish that Ronin had bought earlier with their dwindling money supply.
By the time dinner was ready, however, Jack had lost his appetite. He’d been unable to shake off his sadness at coming back to the school and he was worried about the impending duel. Returning to the Niten Ichi Ryū had reminded him that he’d not practised his swordwork, let alone the Two Heavens technique, since regaining consciousness several days before.
‘I need a walk,’ he said, smiling apologetically when Hana offered him his share.
‘And I need a drink,’ replied Ronin, lifting a