The Ring of Water - Chris Bradford [9]
‘So when did you leave Toba?’
‘It must have been springtime,’ Jack admitted, realizing that it was now autumn.
‘And you’ve only reached Kamo!’ snorted Ronin in disbelief.
It hadn’t been in Jack’s plans to make such little progress, but circumstances had delayed him. Having almost been caught by the Shogun’s samurai on the Tokaido Road, he’d escaped into the Iga mountains – the domain of the ninja. Here, he’d ended up living in a secret village with his archenemies. But in that time his eyes had been opened to the truth about the ninja’s way of life. All his preconceptions and prejudices were brought into question as they trained him in the art of ninjutsu, introduced him to their moral code of ninniku and taught him about the Five Rings. In the process, he’d learnt some vital skills and his old enemies, the ninja, had become his friends. And though he still struggled with the idea, he now considered himself both samurai and ninja. But Jack was reluctant to reveal any of this to the samurai.
‘I got lost in the mountains,’ Jack explained, which was partly true.
Ronin nodded slowly, but didn’t look entirely convinced by this answer. ‘Easily done. Is that why you’re in such a state? Your injuries aren’t just from today.’
Jack looked at himself. The red welts from the dōshin’s jutte were layered over a patchwork of dark blue bruises that criss-crossed his body. His split lip and swollen eye throbbed dully, as did his ribs. So many injuries and no memory of how he got them all. But these were nothing compared to his stomach, which was still sore from the dōshin leader’s vicious attack.
‘I don’t know,’ Jack replied, shrugging. ‘I can’t remember anything of the last few days.’
‘I wouldn’t worry. That often happens to me,’ Ronin grunted, raising the jug to his lips.
‘But I don’t drink saké!’ replied Jack, laughing despite himself, then wishing he hadn’t as his stomach muscles contracted painfully.
‘So what’s your plan now?’ asked Ronin as he settled back against the shrine wall.
‘My first step is to try to get back everything I’ve lost …’ Jack began. Then, remembering the omamori in his hand, he added, ‘Or that’s been stolen.’
‘You’ve been robbed not only of your memory but your possessions too!’ Ronin exclaimed, raising his eyebrows in sympathy. ‘You have been ill-fated. What was taken?’
‘Everything. My clothes, my money, my food, an inro case given to me by daimyo Takatomi, which contained a good-luck paper crane from my friend Yori and a precious pearl that was a gift from Akiko …’
‘Anything else of value?’ asked Ronin, his bloodshot eyes suddenly sparkling.
Jack nodded. Careful not to directly refer to the rutter, he added, ‘My father’s … diary, some shuriken stars I happened to acquire and, of course, my swords.’
‘Your swords!’ said Ronin in dismay.
‘Yes,’ Jack admitted, feeling the shame. The sword was the soul of the samurai and therefore considered unforgivable to lose. ‘They belonged to Akiko’s father and were made by the swordsmith Shizu. They had dark red woven handles and their sayas had mother-of-pearl inlays. I’d recognize them anywhere.’
‘Shizu,’ Ronin breathed with admiration, clearly aware of the reputation of the legendary swordsmith. ‘This girl must favour you greatly to bestow such an heirloom. And to have them stolen must be intolerable!’
Ronin stroked his beard thoughtfully. Putting down his saké jug with a decisive thump, he announced, ‘I’ll help you, young samurai. I suspect it’s the work of bandits.’
‘I appreciate your offer, Ronin,’ replied Jack, surprised by the man’s altruism. ‘But I have nothing to pay you with.’
‘I don’t do things for money!’ he snorted. ‘Money is for merchants, not samurai. Yet …’ He shook the nearly empty saké jug. ‘A man cannot live on air alone. In return for my services, I ask only that I can choose one item from whatever we recover.’
Jack hesitated. What if Ronin decided upon the rutter? But that was highly unlikely; the samurai