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First the man’s obi hit the ground.

Then his hakama fell in a heap.

Finally the samurai’s headband floated down through the air, the scorpion kamon cut exactly in half.

The warrior turned on Jack and roared, bringing his sword up to retaliate.

‘First blood!” announced Masamoto, quickly stepping between the two of them to halt the fight.

The samurai blinked in disbelief. He had the tiniest trickle of blood running down his forehead from where Jack had nicked him with his kissaki.

‘My apologies,’ said Jack, bowing to stifle a grin. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

One of the spectators began to laugh.

Then another joined in. And another. Soon the whole crowd was in fits of laughter, many of the women waving their little fingers at the defeated warrior. Slowly it dawned on the samurai that he was totally naked, his hakama around his ankles. The warrior glanced around, mortified at his loss of face. Pulling up the remains of his clothing round him, he fled from the duelling ground.

Jack was swamped by his friends and a whole host of other students from the Niten Ichi Ryū, all clamouring to congratulate him.

Jack took in little of what was being said. His mind was lost in the moment of the duel. Mushin. He had mastered mushin. Or, at the very least, experienced it. More importantly, for a brief moment, his sword had existed in his heart. It had become part of him.

The sword was truly the soul of a samurai.

The crowd opened out to allow Masamoto and Sensei Hosokawa through.

‘A masterful ruse, Jack-kun. You had me fooled,’ commended Masamoto. ‘If you cannot defeat your opponent physically, then you have to trick his mind. You have earned my respect.’

‘I understand, Masamoto-sama,’ replied Jack, bowing, and thanking God that he’d been forgiven for his lie over the rutter.

When he looked up again, Sensei Hosokawa stood before him. His sharp eyes studied Jack as he pulled pensively at the sharp stub of his beard. Then his sword master grinned, broad and proud.

‘Jack-kun, you are ready. You’ve proved to me you truly comprehend the Way of the Sword.’

51

KUNOICHI

The night was unduly warm and the room airless, making Jack sweat uncomfortably as his hand fumbled in the darkness for his father’s rutter.

The high floating sound of a bamboo flute entwined with the vibrating plucking of a shamisen could be heard from the distant Grand Chamber of daimyo Takatomo’s palace, where everyone was gathered to celebrate the completion of the Circle of Three.

‘It’s not here!’ said Jack, a note of panic entering his voice.

‘Are you sure?’ queried Yamato.

‘Yes. I left it on the upper ledge,’ Jack insisted, as he emerged from behind the silk white crane that hung upon the wall of the reception room, ‘but it’s gone.’

‘Let me look,’ offered Akiko. She stepped on to the cedar dais and peered into the bolt-hole.

The three of them had slipped out of the celebrations, having left Saburo and Kiku to look after Yori. Their intention had been to retrieve the rutter and return before anyone noticed their absence. Masamoto, now aware of the logbook, had asked to see it for himself, requesting that Jack bring it to him the following morning. Jack had agreed, though he hadn’t revealed its location in case he further angered the samurai.

But it appeared they were too late. Dragon Eye had already stolen it.

‘How could he have got into a ninja-proof castle?’ despaired Jack, slumping to the floor.

‘Jack!’

Jack was vaguely aware that Akiko was waving something in front of his face.

‘Is this what you were looking for?’ She smiled, brandishing the oilskin-covered rutter in her hand, and placed it in his lap. ‘It had just fallen on the floor.’

‘You are…’ began Jack, but he didn’t quite know how to express his relief and joy to Akiko.

The music in the Great Chamber came to an end and in the lull a bird could be heard singing.

A nightingale.

The grin on Jack’s face faded as he remembered daimyo Takatomi’s unique alarm system built