The Way Of The Sword by Chris Bradford Page B

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 cranes.’
    ‘I can see that, but
origami
in bed! You take Sensei Yamada’s lessons far too seriously,’ accused Jack. ‘Listen, if you hear Akiko come back, can you let her know that I’ve gone over to the
Butokuden
.’
    ‘The training hall? And you accuse me of studying too hard!’ Yori glanced dubiously at Jack’s
katana
. ‘Isn’t it rather late to be practising your sword
kata
?’
    ‘I don’t have time to explain. Just tell Akiko.’
    Jack sped off, not bothering to wait for Yori’s response.
    As he reached the main door, he briefly considered alerting Yamato and Saburo, but they would be asleep and he had wasted too much time already. The intruders might have gone by the time they all reached the
Butokuden
.

    Jack rushed across the courtyard. The storm was approaching fast and icy blasts of wind stabbed through his thin night kimono like a
tantō
blade. Pressing himself flat against the
Butokuden’
s wall, he edged towards its main entrance. Poking his head round the wooden door frame, he searched for the intruders.
    In the gloom of the great hall, he could distinguish a number of hunched figures sitting in a tight circle within the ceremonial alcove. But from this distance, he was unable to make out their faces or hear what they were saying.
    Jack hurried to the back of the
Butokuden
, where the slatted windows behind the dais were within easy reach. As quietly as he could, he eased open a wooden shutter. Peering through, he discovered he had a