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‘Let’s go, Jack,’ said Yamato, chasing after Saburo. ‘Otherwise there won’t be any rice left after the Poet of Love’s finished!’

While Jack found his sandals, he overheard Takuan say, ‘I was thinking of entering this haiku into the competition and I’d value your opinion.’

‘It’s lovely,’ said Akiko, bending closer to read the paper he held. ‘The mountain image is so clear. I can just imagine myself there.’

‘It’s yours to keep,’ Takuan offered.

Akiko flushed, bowing humbly. ‘But this is your entry for the kukai.’

‘I can write another,’ he said, placing it into her hands. ‘The greatest honour is that you appreciate it.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, bowing and accepting the haiku.

‘Come on, Jack!’ shouted Yamato impatiently from the other side of the courtyard.

Jack followed him into the Chō-no-ma, though his appetite had gone.

‘Are you going to enter the kukai?’ asked Jack, gazing out of Yori’s tiny bedroom window at the stars glimmering in the night sky.

‘Yah!’ squeaked Yori.

‘Do you think I should?’

‘Yah!’ squeaked Yori again.

‘Are you even listening to me?’

‘Yah!’

Yori stood in one corner of his room, shouting at the small singing bowl perched on a stand in the other. He was determined to make it ring. Since his chat with Sensei Yamada, he’d been convinced that kiaijutsu was his undiscovered talent and the martial art would save him in the forthcoming war. So far the bowl had remained silent.

Jack caught a movement outside in the courtyard. He spotted Akiko leaving the Niten Ichi Ryū by its back gate. No doubt visiting the monk at the Temple of the Peaceful Dragon.

‘Sorry, Jack, what were you saying?’ gasped Yori, trying to get his breath back.

‘I said, are you going to enter the kukai?’

‘Hopefully, if I can compose one worthy enough for Saigyo-san. He’ll expect something special. What about you?’

‘There’s not much point, is there? I’m useless at haiku. Unlike Takuan.’

Yori gave Jack a sideways glance.

‘I’m not jealous,’ insisted Jack, turning away from Yori. ‘It’s just that I saw Takuan give a haiku to Akiko.’

‘If you’re so desperate for a poem, I’ll write you one,’ said Yori, suppressing a smile.

‘You know that’s not what I mean,’ Jack replied tetchily. ‘Doesn’t it have some sort of significance in Japan? In England, that would be seen as love poetry.’

‘Not with Takuan,’ assured Yori. ‘I saw him compose a haiku for Emi the other day. He’s probably written one for each of the girls. They like such gallant gestures. That’s one reason why he’s so popular. If it’s bothering you, why not write Akiko a haiku yourself?’

‘You know that I’m no good at haiku. She’d just laugh.’

‘No, she wouldn’t. I’ll help you,’ said Yori kindly, pulling some paper from a pile.

Jack reluctantly took the paper. ‘But this isn’t a love poem, right?’

He felt his cheeks flush and hoped Yori wouldn’t notice.

‘No, of course not,’ said Yori, his face the picture of innocence. ‘It’s just practice for the kukai.’

Despite denying being jealous, Jack realized his feelings for Akiko amounted to more than just friendship. If he was honest with himself, she was the reason he was having second thoughts about leaving Japan.

23

AUTUMN LEAF STRIKE

‘Hajime,’ commanded Masamoto, beginning the Two Heavens kata between Jack and Taro.

The two of them cautiously approached one another from opposite sides of the Phoenix Hall dojo, until the tips of their katana touched, their wakizashi held in a low guard.

Suddenly Taro exploded forward. Without lifting his sword, he drove his blade along the length of Jack’s katana, pushing it aside and striking at Jack’s heart. Taro displayed perfect control over the attack, and Jack felt only the lightest pressure of the kissaki hitting his chest.

‘Excellent, Taro-kun. A faultless Flint-and-Spark strike,’ commended Masamoto. ‘Your turn, Jack-kun.’

Maintaining contact with Taro’s sword, Jack now thrust the tip of his katana at his opponent’s heart. But the end of Taro’s blade jabbed into Jack’s stomach before he could reach his target.