Young Samurai _ The Way Of The Dragon - Chris Bradford [116]
Passing the fifth floor, Yamato stopped.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Jack.
Nodding, Yamato whispered, ‘Look! Father Bobadillo’s door is open.’
Down the corridor, the wood-panelled walls of the priest’s study were visible, an oil lamp flickering in one corner.
‘This could be your only chance,’ said Yamato, looking meaningfully at Jack.
‘But what about you?’
‘I’ll be fine with Akiko’s help,’ he said, taking his arm off Jack’s shoulder. ‘Just find your father’s rutter.’
52
DIVINE JUSTICE
Jack crept towards Father Bobadillo’s study. Despite the raging battle outside, the corridor was eerily deserted. Most of the guards were engaged in fighting on the battlements. Standing to one side of the door frame, Jack peeked in and immediately drew his head back.
Father Bobadillo was in the room.
But he had his back to the door.
Jack risked another look. The priest was frantically emptying the most precious contents of his casket into a bag. Moving to the recess, he pulled the books off the shelf and slid open a hidden compartment in the wall.
Jack almost gasped aloud. This had to be where he kept the rutter.
But Father Bobadillo only palmed more jewels and silver coins into his bag. Shouldering his booty, the priest hurried towards the prayer room.
Jack was about to follow, when Father Bobadillo suddenly stopped as if he’d forgotten something. Turning, he considered the oil painting of St Ignatius.
Surely he isn’t thinking of taking that, thought Jack.
But the priest returned and lifted it off the wall. Putting the portrait to one side, he pressed one of the wooden panels and there was a soft click.
Behind the painting lay another secret compartment.
Father Bobadillo reached inside and pulled out the rutter, still wrapped in its protective oilskin.
Jack, stunned to actually see it again, couldn’t contain his anger at the priest.
‘So it was you!’ said Jack, stepping into the room and drawing his sword. ‘You stole the rutter! You murdered my father!’
Father Bobadillo spun round, the momentary shock on his face quickly replaced by a sneer.
‘I stole nothing,’ he replied, ignoring the threat the sword posed. ‘I only took back what was rightfully ours.’
The priest calmly settled into his high-backed chair and eyed Jack.
‘This rutter is the property of Portugal,’ he said, placing the logbook on the table. ‘Before your father acquired it by ill means, it belonged to a Portuguese pilot. Your father was not only a Protestant heretic, he was a thief.’
‘You lie!’ shouted Jack, his outstretched blade quivering with fury at the accusation.
‘Have you never questioned how your father, an Englishman, came by such vast knowledge of the oceans?’ said the priest, laying his hands in his lap.
Jack faltered, unable to answer the priest’s question.
‘Let me enlighten you. Your father was a pirate. He plundered the seas and stole our rutter. I didn’t kill your father. He condemned himself. I was merely administering justice on behalf of my country. Having dared sail to the Japans, I thought it fitting his executioner should be a ninja.’
Jack didn’t know what to think. Father Bobadillo must be lying, but the priest had sown a seed of doubt in his mind. His father had never spoken of how he’d come by the rutter. He’d just said the logbook was obtained at great cost to life and limb. Jack had assumed he was referring to the dangers of exploration, not piracy. Anyway, he couldn’t remember a time when his father hadn’t possessed the rutter. It had to be his father’s.
At the same time, he knew the logbook contained more information than one man could obtain during a lifetime at sea. It even detailed the Pacific Ocean where his father had never sailed before. The more Jack thought about it, the more questions were raised.
‘So what are you going to do, young samurai? Cut me in half?’ said Father Bobadillo, enjoying the play of emotions and doubt on Jack’s face.
As Jack lowered his sword, the priest