The Return of the Warrior

by Chris Bradford

  Akiko and Yori trailed behind, silent and cautious.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Yori.

  Only then did Jack notice how empty it seemed. A number of dogs roamed the streets and a rat scuttled along a deserted alleyway. The sharp smell of bonfires tinged the air and the smoke from them left a permanent haze. The few people they did pass eyed the bedraggled trio with distrust and kept their distance, closing their doors as they approached. A sense of unease crept into Jack’s bones.

  Suddenly he recognized where he was and broke into a run.

  ‘WAIT!’ Akiko called after him.

  But Jack didn’t stop. He raced down a lane and turned a corner. ‘Here it is!’ he cried.

  Akiko and Yori hurried to join him as he shouted, ‘Jess! I’m home! JESS!’

  Jack felt a surge of joy and relief to be finally home. After all these years he would be reunited with his sister again. They would be a family once more!

  His father’s thatched white-washed cottage with its garden plot of herbs and apple trees was just as he remembered it. Except … the windows were boarded up, the front door too – a large red cross was daubed on it, with the words: Lord have mercy upon us.

  Jack’s gut tightened, his joy instantly dissolving to ash. Sprinting up the overgrown garden path, he tore at the wooden planks blocking the doorway, screaming, ‘No! No! NO!’

  Akiko pulled him away from the door. ‘Jack, don’t – look! Is that wise?’ she questioned, eyeing the ominous red cross.

  Too shocked to think straight, Jack shook her off and yanked at the last plank. The iron nails protested but eventually gave way, the wood splintering in his grasp. Tossing the plank aside, he grabbed the latch and threw open the door. A waft of stale air assailed him as if he’d broken the seal to some ancient and cursed tomb. Nonetheless, he stepped inside the cottage.

  The front parlour was shrouded in shadows, dark and dismal. The boards across the window were like bars to a prison cell. Blackened stubs of candles protruded from their holders and dust had settled on his father’s armchair by the fire. Jack stood transfixed in the middle of the room, barely able to breathe. No longer was his home the warm and welcoming place of his childhood. It had become a crypt.

  Akiko and Yori followed him tentatively inside.

  ‘I really don’t think we should be in here …’ said Yori, glancing around nervously, a visible shudder running through his slight frame.

  Akiko nodded in agreement. ‘There’s a good reason why the house is b–’

  Jack held up his hand, silencing her. ‘Jess?’ he called softly. ‘Are you there?’

  His voice sounded dead and dull in the heavy silence. He crossed the room, past the fireplace, its hearth cold and empty, and over to a door. Heading along a narrow passage, he made his way to the kitchen at the rear. The faint, sickly-sweet smell of decay lingered in the air there too. On the kitchen table, there appeared to be the remains of a meal, half-prepared and abandoned. Pewter plates, iron pans and knives were all there, but the food had rotted away. In one dark corner of the room lay a litter of bones, too small to be human. A dog or a cat? But they hadn’t kept any pets.

  ‘There’s no one here, Jack,’ said Akiko. She held the sleeve of her kimono to her mouth, breathing shallowly. ‘I’m sorry, but let’s go now.’

  ‘No,’ Jack replied firmly, ‘not until I’ve searched this whole house for her.’

  He knew he might not like what he found, but he had to know his sister’s fate. He first looked in the pantry. Here the stench was strongest, the stores having turned rancid and rotten at least a month or more back. Gagging, Jack stuffed a fist into his mouth. It was all he could do not to vomit. A quick inspection, though, told him that Jess wasn’t there.

  Turning on his heels, he headed up the creaking staircase to the floor above and entered the main bedroom. Even here the dormer window was boarded up, condemning the room to a permanent dusk. Hidden in the gloom was a four-poster bed, hung with heavy drapes. Jack approached it and slowly drew back the drapes. The mattress was sunken and the blankets pulled aside, the sheets looked stained and musty: the bed had clearly not been slept in for some time.

  ‘Any luck?’ asked Yori, peering round the door frame, as Jack hesitantly lifted the lid to a large oak chest that stood against the far wall. It just contained spare bedding and some old clothes.

  Jack shook his head and crossed the landing to his old room … Jess’s room. In here was the wooden-framed bed he’d shared with his sister when they were little children. The blankets were in disarray, but the layer of dust on the floorboards suggested no one had entered the room for a while. It was as if Jess and Mrs Winters had vanished and left the house to rot.

  Jack looked around for any evidence that she’d ever been there. On the windowsill he spied five small, smooth white bones. The knucklebones he and Jess used to play with! He picked them up, weighing them in his hand. Were these all that was left of their time together?

  As he stashed the bones in his purse, he heard a scratching, like fingernails on wood. He glanced over at Akiko and Yori.

  ‘It’s coming from under the bed,’ Akiko whispered.

  His pulse racing, Jack crept over. ‘Jess?’ he asked gently.

  Lifting the dusty covers, he peered into the inky blackness beneath. Two gleaming eyes stared back at him. Startled, the large black rat leapt out from its hiding place. Jack tumbled backwards in shock as the rodent scurried across the floorboards, between Yori’s legs and down the stairs.

  ‘Did you see the size of that?’ squealed Yori, his eyes wide in horror. ‘It was so big I thought it was a dog!’

  Recovering his breath, Jack slowly got back to his feet. ‘I think I’ve seen enough,’ he said.

  They returned to the kitchen, where Jack paused by the hearth. He could still recall its cosy warmth and the comforting smells of his mother’s cooking. He remembered how the family used to gather round the fire in the depths of winter, his father regaling them with stories of his sea voyages, his mother smiling and stirring the pot, baby Jess cradled in her arms. He remembered burning himself once on the iron grate, how his mother had tended to him with herbs and a poultice. He recalled the day he’d said goodbye to Jess, his sister crying in Mrs Winters’ arms as he and his father packed for their long voyage to the Japans. That was the last time he’d seen his sister.

  ‘Are you coming?’ asked Akiko, her tone gentle, her expression kind.

  Jack nodded. At the same time a shadow passed across the boarded-up window. Darting over, he peered through a gap into the back garden and caught a glimpse of a black-garbed figure. Jack’s breath caught in his throat. His first thought was … Ninjas. But that was ridiculous. He was about as far away from the shinobi warriors as he could get.

  But someone was outside.

  Putting a finger to his lips, he exchanged a look of warning with Akiko and Yori. They crept into the parlour and were almost at the front door when a tall figure in a black waxed cloak blocked their escape. His face was a nightmarish white-beaked mask, his eyes hidden behind thick circles of glass. Upon his head he wore a wide-brimmed black hat and in his gloved hands he carried a slim wooden cane.

  ‘What are you doing?’ The voice was harsh, nasal and muffled by the pointed beak.

  ‘I … I … was looking for my sister,’ Jack stammered. He found himself frozen to the spot as his childhood fears of the sinister plague doctors came rushing back.

  ‘This is a plague house,’ said the doctor. ‘You should not be in here.’

  ‘This is his father’s cottage,’ explained Akiko, her face pale, as she too was unsettled by the grim figure.

  ‘Still, you shouldn’t be here,’ the doctor growled.

  ‘You’re right,’ Yori replied, smiling cordially and making for the door. ‘Our mistake.’

  But the plague doctor beat him back with his cane. ‘You could be infected now. You can’t leave.’

  ‘But we haven’t touched anything,’ said Akik
o earnestly. ‘We’ve barely been here.’

  The plague doctor appeared unmoved by her pleas. ‘All the occupants of this house perished. They’re dead and buried in a plague pit. And now, because of your foolish risk-taking, you might be joining them too.’

  Jack felt his knees go weak. Not for fear of himself but for his sister. He’d known from the first sighting of the red cross on the door that the plague had visited his home. But he’d held on to the slender hope that Jess was still alive, imprisoned inside. He’d heard stories of people being left untouched by the plague even when others in the household were struck down.

  ‘All?’ he asked tremulously.

  The plague doctor responded with a single solitary nod.

  ‘When did it happen?’ pressed Jack.

  ‘Some two months back, so the house is not yet cleansed.’

  ‘Let us out!’ demanded Akiko, her voice tight and panicky. ‘There’s no one here. We’re not infected.’

  ‘Not yet, maybe, but –’

  The plague doctor suddenly broke into a coughing fit. He clasped the door frame to stop himself collapsing, and Jack, Akiko and Yori seized their chance to push past. Escaping the oppressive and poisonous air of the cottage, they dashed into the bright sunshine of the front garden, where life at once seemed to return to them. The plague doctor was now on his knees, still hacking. Akiko stopped and turned back.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, offering her hand to help him up.

  ‘No,’ he replied hoarsely, waving her hand away, ‘but there’s little you can do for me, apart from pray.’ He gazed at them from behind his glass-eyed bird mask. ‘I should have you arrested, but what hope do any of us have against this scourge? God preserve us all!’

  He rose unsteadily to his feet and sloped off down the road like a sickly crow.

  Jack stared morosely into his tankard of small beer, wishing it was something stronger. His head hung heavy. His shoulders were slumped, his face slack. He felt drained of all joy and hope. The gloomy recess he occupied in the little riverside tavern only added to the impression of a soul plunged into the darkest despair. After leaving his derelict and rat-infested home, Jack had led his friends into the Bunch of Grapes Inn, a disreputable establishment frequented by drunks, low-lifes and shady characters. However, even in his distress, Jack had recognized the need to keep off the streets and out of sight of the authorities, at least until matters quietened down.

  Akiko and Yori sat at the table with him, their tankards untouched. They observed their grieving friend in anguished silence, ignoring the curious and hostile glares of the tavern’s other patrons.

  ‘She’s dead,’ Jack murmured, more to his drink than to his friends. ‘Dead and buried.’

  He turned the tankard in his hands, as if it was a crystal ball in which he could see an alternative future.

  ‘All these years I’ve fought to get back home,’ he went on. ‘The obstacles I have overcome, the trials I have suffered, the enemies I have defeated, all with one aim in mind: to be reunited with Jess.’ He swallowed hard. ‘My sister was the one thing that kept me going, the single hope I’d held on to.’ In frustration, Jack tightened his grip on his tankard. ‘If only I’d got to England a few months ago I could have saved her.’

  Akiko reached out and gently touched the back of his hand. ‘Then you might have died from the plague too,’ she said softly.

  Jack glanced up, his eyes red and rimmed with tears. ‘At least I would’ve been there for her. She wouldn’t have died alone, terrified and tormented. And now I’ve risked your lives too, by dragging you into that death house!’

  ‘We were careful not to touch anything and we covered our mouths,’ said Yori. ‘Besides, there was no one there to infect us.’

  ‘Apart from the plague-ridden doctor himself! Oh, damn this infernal country!’ Jack slammed his fist on the table so fiercely that he upset his tankard, and liquid slopped across the table. Several patrons shot him steely glares and muttered irritably under their breath. Jack ignored them and took a long swig of his remaining drink. ‘I’ve come all this way, and for what? I’ve lost the rutter back at the Mermaid, my home and now my sister! I can’t even mark her grave. The last of my family is gone, tossed into some unknown plague pit. I’ve no one left now.’

  ‘You have us,’ said Akiko.

  Jack looked into her face, the earnest expression opening up a well of emotion inside him. ‘I know, it’s just –’ burying his head in his hands, he broke down into sobs – ‘I feel … like I’m … drowning in grief.’

  ‘Grief is like an ocean,’ consoled Yori, putting his arm round Jack’s heaving shoulders. ‘Your sadness will come in waves, ebbing and flowing. At times, the water will be calm. At others, rough and overwhelming. All you can do is learn to swim through it.’

  Jack let himself be held as his tears ran freely. Akiko and Yori sat beside him in silent mourning, letting his grief flow. Jack thought his tears would never stop, but eventually his sobbing subsided.

  ‘Perhaps we should retrieve our belongings and return to the Hosiander?’ said Akiko gently.

  Jack stared at her in disbelief. ‘You want to go home already?’

  She gave a non-committal shrug. ‘Well … what do you suggest?’

  Jack wiped away the tears with the back of his sleeve, then drained his tankard. ‘Another drink! You want one?’

  Akiko and Yori both shook their heads. Pushing back his chair, Jack looked around for the innkeeper and his eye was drawn to a hoary old seaman with a salt-and-pepper beard and skin as wrinkled and weathered as tree bark. He sat propped in one corner, buttressed by a handful of other old mariners cradling tankards of ale. They all huddled close, listening rapt to the seaman.

  ‘I hear there’s a galleon beached near Hole Haven,’ he was saying in a hushed and husky tone. ‘Rumours of a king’s ransom in cargo! But no one will go near it.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked one of the others.

  The man’s close-set eyes narrowed. ‘’Cause it’s a … ghost ship!’

  There was a collective gasp and Jack smirked as the old sea-dog continued to wind up his audience with his story. ‘Whole crew murdered and stuffed into the hold. Eyes blank and staring like dead fish. They say the ship’s cursed.’

  ‘Who says it’s cursed?’ questioned a bearded fellow smoking a pipe.

  ‘The watchman who first spied the ship,’ the seaman replied, taking a slow and measured sip of his drink. ‘He climbed aboard with a customs officer and a constable. But he was the only one to survive. Except he’s gone mad. Says shadows killed ’em!’

  Jack frowned at this description and unwittingly found himself leaning in to listen.

  ‘Shadows?’ said a red-cheeked drunk with a snort. ‘The fella must be mad!’

  ‘Must he?’ questioned the seaman, fixing the drunk with a gimlet eye. ‘Been reports all along the Thames Estuary of killer shadows, mysterious murders and dark deeds.’

  Jack wondered if the old sea-dog could be talking about the missing Dutch ship, the Salamander. There’d been rumours her crew had seen moving shadows during their voyage, but her captain had dismissed such tales as superstitious nonsense. A shiver ran down Jack’s spine at the thought.

  ‘’Ello, handsome, why the glum face?’

  Jack flinched and spun round. A flame-haired serving girl stood near him. Entranced at the sight of her emerald-green eyes and ruby-red lips, Jack suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘Best close that mouth before some captain docks a ship in it!’ she said, arching a slim eyebrow.

  Suddenly aware he was gaping at her like a goldfish, Jack sat straighter and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry … just thirsty, that’s all.’

  The girl sidled closer and bent down, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin upon her palm. She locked eyes with him and smiled. ‘So what can I get you?’

  Just then, Akiko pounced on the serving girl and pinned her down on the table.

&n
bsp; ‘Akiko! What do you think you’re doing?’ cried Jack in astonishment.

  ‘Let me go!’ snarled the girl as she writhed in Akiko’s grip. But Akiko forced the girl to open her hand. Three silver coins tumbled out.

  ‘She was stealing from you, Jack!’ explained Akiko, keeping the thief pinned with an armlock.

  Glancing down at the open purse on his hip, Jack cursed. How could I have been so easily tricked by her? The girl was a pickpocket, a highly skilled cutpurse.

  ‘Jack?’ The girl stopped struggling. She frowned and studied him more closely. ‘Jack, as in … Jack Fletcher?’

  He responded with a cautious nod. ‘What’s it to you?’

  A smile burst across her lips. ‘It’s Rose. Rose Turner!’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Do you know me?’ she replied, incredulous. A twinkle entered her emerald eyes. ‘Jack, we had our first kiss together. Moorgate – you chased me. Don’t say you’ve forgotten?’

  Like a key unlocking a door, the memory flooded back and Jack gasped, ‘I was ten!’

  Rose’s grin widened. ‘And I still remember it like it was yesterday.’

  Jack shook his head in amazement. ‘Let her go, Akiko. Rose is a friend.’

  Akiko, her cheeks flushed, released the girl. Rose straightened her dress, shot Akiko a scathing look, then turned back to Jack. She handed him his coins. ‘My apologies, Jack. I’d never steal from a friend. Now let me get you drinks on the house.’

  A few moments later, Rose plonked three brimming tankards of small beer on the table. Then she pulled up a stool and sat next to Jack.

  ‘So, who’s the girl, then?’ she asked, nodding but not looking in Akiko’s direction.

  ‘I’m Akiko Dāte,’ replied Akiko with a tight-lipped smile. Bowing politely, she kept her gaze locked on Rose.

  ‘And this is Yori Sanada,’ said Jack.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yori,’ said Rose, gracing him with a beaming smile.

  His cheeks reddening, Yori bowed and smiled mutely back. Apparently lost for words, he didn’t seem to know where to put his eyes, so looked up to the ceiling as if praying.