The Way of the Warrior - Chris Bradford [9]
Jack suddenly found himself enveloped within one of his father’s massive bear hugs.
‘Now here you are in the Japans. And, by my life, son, you proved your mettle last night. You’ll be a fine pilot one day.’
Jack felt his father’s pride in him seep into his very bones. He buried his head into his father’s chest, wanting never to be let go.
‘Jack, if you did spy someone upon the headland, then we had best remain on our guard,’ continued his father, taking the spyglass from Jack. ‘Wako ply these waters and one can never be too vigilant.’
‘What are wako?’ asked Jack, pulling his head away.
‘They’re pirates, son. But no ordinary pirates. They’re Japanese pirates, disciplined and ruthless,’ explained his father, scanning the horizon. ‘They’re feared in all places and have no qualms about killing Spanish, Dutch, Portuguese and English men alike. They’re the very devil of these seas.’
‘And they are the reason, young man,’ interrupted the Captain from behind, ‘why we must make haste and repair the Alexandria. Now, Pilot, did you get the damage report from the First Mate?’
‘Yes, Captain,’ replied Jack’s father as he and the Captain made their way to the helm. ‘It’s as bad as we feared.’
Jack remained close by, catching snatches of their conversation while he continued to search the headland for signs of the mysterious girl.
‘The Alexandria’s taken quite a beating…’ said his father.
‘At least two weeks to get her into proper shipshape…’
‘… I want the Alexandria seaworthy by the turn of the new moon.’
‘… that’s barely a week away…’ protested his father.
‘Double shifts, Pilot, if we are to be spared the fate of the Clove…’
‘… dead to the last man. Beheaded – each and every one.’
The news of double shifts did not go down well with the men, but they were too afraid of the Bosun and his cat-o’-nine-tails to complain. For the next seven days, Jack, along with the rest of the crew, laboured like galley slaves, the sweat pouring off them in rivulets under the hot Japanese sun.
While repairing the foresail, Jack found himself often gazing up at the temple. Shimmering in the heat haze, it appeared to be floating above the headland. Every day he had been on the lookout for the girl – but he was beginning to think he’d imagined her.
Perhaps his father was right. Maybe he had been too long at sea.
‘I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all,’ complained Ginsel, rousing Jack from his daydream. ‘We’re a trader ship with no sail. We’ve got a cargo of cloth, sappanwood and guns. Any pirate worth his salt is going to know we’re a prize for the taking!’
‘But there’s over a hundred of us, sir, and we have cannon,’ pointed out Christiaan. ‘How could they possibly beat us?’
‘Don’t you know nothing, you little sea urchin?’ spat Piper, a thin, bony man with skin that hung off his scrawny frame like dry parchment paper. ‘This here is the Japans. The Japanese ain’t no defenceless, bare-breasted natives. They’re fighters. Killers! You ever heard of the samurai?’
Christiaan shook his head in mute reply.
‘The samurai are said to be the most deadly, evil warriors to walk this earth. They’ll kill you as soon as look at you!’
Christiaan’s eyes widened in horror. Even Jack was taken aback by the terrifying description, though he was well aware of Piper’s reputation as a teller of tall tales.
Piper paused to light his small clay pipe and sucked lazily on it. The sailors all huddled closer.
‘Samurai work for the Devil himself. I’ve heard they’ll chop your head off if you don’t bow to them like serfs!’
Christian gasped… a few men laughed.
‘So if you ever meet a samurai, lads, bow low. Bow very, very low!’
‘That’s quite enough, Piper! Less of your scaremongering!’ interjected the Bosun, who had been watching them from the quarterdeck. ‘Now get this boat shipshape – we must be ready to sail by sunrise tomorrow!’
‘Aye, aye, Bosun,’ the men all chanted, hastily returning to their duties.
During the night, there was a growing uneasiness among the crew. Rumours about samurai and wako