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‘Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap,’ said a calm voice in his ear.

Sensei Yamada had appeared at Jack’s shoulder and leant over to take the paper from his hands. He scored, folded and bent the sheet in front of Jack’s eyes, transforming it into a beautiful flowering rose.

‘Judge it by the seeds you plant.’

‘You’re having a bad week, that’s all,’ said Akiko, trying to console Jack during dinner that evening.

‘But I haven’t hit the archery targets for nearly a month now,’ Jack replied, half-heartedly spearing a piece of sushi with his hashi before reminding himself that it was bad etiquette.

‘It’s just a matter of getting used to the distance,’ encouraged Yamato. ‘Don’t you remember how you scored in kyujutsu during the Taryu-Jiai? It’s not as if you can’t do it.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ conceded Jack, putting down his hashi. ‘But it feels like I’ve hit a brick wall with my training. Even in kenjutsu Sensei Hosokawa’s constantly on my back, correcting every little mistake. However hard I try, I don’t seem to be getting any better.’

‘But you heard what Sensei Yamada said,’ reminded Yori. ‘Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap…’

‘Yes, but what seeds am I actually planting?’ sighed Jack, burying his head in his hands. ‘Perhaps Kazuki’s right. I’m not meant to be samurai.’

‘You’re not listening to Kazuki again, are you?’ exclaimed Akiko in exasperation. ‘He’s poisoning your mind! Of course you’re worthy to be samurai. Masamoto-sama would not have adopted you, or invited you to his school if he thought you were anything less. Becoming a true samurai takes time.’

Jack gazed despondently out of the tiny window of his room in the Shishi-no-ma. The night sky was a blanket of stars. A waning moon shone its ghostly light and washed out all colour from the buildings of the Niten Ichi Ryū.

On the horizon, Jack could see storm clouds brewing. They were blotting out the stars one by one. The prayer flags at the entrance to the Butsuden started to flutter like a ship’s sails as a chill wind cut through the open courtyard.

Jack began to imagine he was back on-board the Alexandria with his father, learning to navigate by the heavens. That was something he was good at. Being a pilot came naturally. He could name the stars and planets and use them to calculate the ship’s position and course, even in rough seas.

He had been destined to be a ship’s pilot by blood and birth. Not a samurai.

Suddenly Jack felt the pressure of life in Japan like a coiled spring in the pit of his stomach, getting wound tighter and tighter until he thought he was going to explode. The headache of speaking Japanese every day. The rigid etiquette of Japanese life as if he was walking on eggshells all the time. The painstaking progress he was making with his training. The constant threat of Dragon Eye and whether he would be ready to face him in time. The gaping absence of his parents. The thought of Jess alone, with the threat of a workhouse hanging over her…

Lost in his despair, Jack almost missed the movement of several shrouded figures crossing the school’s courtyard. Hugging the shadows, they skirted under the lee of the Butokuden before disappearing inside.

Determined to discover who the intruders were this time, Jack grabbed his katana and sprinted out of the room.

18

IREZUMI

‘Akiko? Are you there?’ whispered Jack through the paper-thin door of her room.

There was no reply. He drew back the shoji and peeked inside. Akiko was nowhere to be seen. Her futon was untouched even though she should have been in bed by now.

Perhaps she had gone to the bathhouse, thought Jack, or else…

He shut the door and hurried on. A lantern was still burning within Yori’s room.

‘Yori?’ he called.

The little boy slid open his shoji.

‘Have you seen Akiko?’

‘Not since supper,’ replied Yori, shaking his head. ‘Isn’t she in her room?’

‘No, I think she’s…’ Jack trailed off, distracted by the sight of countless paper cranes littering Yori’s floor. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m folding