The Return of the Warrior

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Rose. ‘They’re after you.’

  ‘But why?’ said Jack.

  Rose shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask them, won’t you.’

  ‘Judging by their actions so far, they’re not here to talk,’ said Akiko.

  Jack grimaced. ‘Perhaps we should’ve faced them down rather than run like cowards.’

  ‘A gazelle runs from the lion, not through fear but for love of life,’ said Yori sagely.

  ‘Yori’s right,’ said Akiko. ‘We’re not here to fight; we’re here to find your sister.’

  ‘But who would send ninja on an assassination mission halfway round the world?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Dokugan Ryu?’ suggested Yori, swallowing hard at the mere thought of Dragon Eye.

  ‘Impossible. He’s dead,’ said Jack bluntly. Although, after the nightmarish vision in London, he wasn’t so sure. The ninja’s spirit clearly continued to haunt him.

  ‘But his clan isn’t,’ reminded Akiko. ‘His successor might consider that Dragon Eye’s death still needs to be avenged, just like the kagemusha before him.’

  ‘Or maybe it was Shogun Kamakura?’ said Yori. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that man’s dying wish was to have you killed at any cost!’

  Jack nodded thoughtfully, recalling the late samurai lord’s determination to wipe out all foreigners from Japan, in particular the ‘gaijin samurai’, whom he considered an abomination. ‘That might at least explain why the plague doctor was carrying a katana,’ he said.

  Yori frowned. ‘Did you get a close look at the blade?’

  ‘Too close!’ replied Jack. ‘But to be honest, I wasn’t studying its craftsmanship at the time.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Yori. ‘If its design contained a kamon, we might be able to identify the owner from their family crest.’

  Akiko shook her head. ‘Not necessarily. Ninjas sometimes take the weapons of their victims. They believe the spirit of those they have vanquished in battle transfers to the weapon and adds to its power. So that katana could be wielded by anyone.’

  ‘Well, whoever they are, and whatever they want, let’s not find out in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night!’ said Rose, glancing behind at the dark and forbidding road. ‘If those ninjas have tracked you all the way from Japan, then a river – even in flood – isn’t going to stop them.’

  ‘I agree with Rose,’ said Jack, quickening his pace. ‘We need to stay one step ahead of them.’

  As dawn broke the next day, Jack and his friends were struggling to put one foot in front of the other. They’d been walking all through the night, the fear of the plague doctors driving them on, and had covered some twenty miles, despite no longer having Sir Henry’s horses at their disposal. Tired, cold and hungry, they urged their weary bodies along the deserted highway. The chill morning mist that hung over the meadows slowly turned golden with the rising sun and the birds struck up their dawn chorus. As the world awoke, the peal of a church bell rang softly in the distance. Jack glanced up from the muddy road. A wooden spire could be seen piercing the glowing coals of the horizon.

  ‘That must be Stratford!’ he exclaimed, feeling a renewed vigour enter his stride.

  The others, encouraged by his burst of enthusiasm, hurried after him.

  The road soon met with the main highway and they joined a steady procession of people heading from the countryside into the town, farmers driving their cattle, herdsmen their sheep, itinerant labourers, assorted tradesmen, and villagers bearing baskets, with their children in tow.

  ‘Is it market day?’ Rose asked an apple-cheeked boy who was leading a rather large and reluctant pig by a ring through its nose.

  ‘No, it’s harvest festival,’ he replied, casting a wary eye over the four dishevelled travellers before giving his swine a tug and moving on ahead.

  Rose grinned at Jack. ‘It’s your lucky day, Jack! If your sister’s in Stratford, she’s bound to be out and about for the festival.’

  Impatient to get into town, Jack threaded his way through the stream of farmers and villagers, all the time keeping his eye out for a glimpse of a girl with barley-blonde hair. Akiko, Yori and Rose followed close behind as the flow of people thickened into a bottleneck at a long bridge spanning the great river.

  Crossing over the fourteen stone arches, Jack and his friends finally arrived in Stratford-upon-Avon. The main thoroughfare, Bridge Street, was already bustling with tradesmen and women arriving early for the festival. Stalls had been set up on both sides, as well as crammed down the centre. They passed needle-makers and hosiers, wool merchants and weavers, glovers and tailors; there were butchers, bakers and fishmongers, barbers and ironmongers. A band of wandering minstrels played and people were laughing and dancing to the music in a circle round them. Games of chance were being won and lost on street corners, and the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meats laced the air. On two sides of the busy marketplace, and forming a grand backdrop to it, were rows of timber-and-brick houses, three storeys high, with glazed windows with lead lattices. Stratford was in all ways a prosperous and popular town.

  ‘Let’s spread out,’ instructed Jack, eager to find his sister. ‘We’ll have a better chance of spotting Jess.’

  ‘What about breakfast?’ Rose asked, hungrily eyeing a stall selling figs, apples and freshly picked blackberries. ‘I’m starving!’

  ‘That’ll have to wait,’ replied Jack, even though his own stomach cried out for food.

  So, fanning out, they headed into the thick of the market. Jack impatiently pushed his way through the throng, his eyes sweeping the multitude of faces for a glimpse of blonde hair, a flash of blue eyes – in fact, any young girl who might remotely be his sister. Akiko and Yori drew many curious stares as they passed through the marketplace, their progress marked by Yori’s strange, jingling shakujō, but no one attempted to stop or question them.

  At the top of the street, they regrouped. ‘Any luck?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Sadly, no,’ replied Akiko with a regretful look.

  Jack gave a heavy sigh. ‘It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack!’

  ‘At least we’ve found the haystack,’ said Yori encouragingly. ‘It’s only a matter of time before we find the needle.’

  After a second sweep through the market, they found themselves back at the bridge.

  ‘Has anyone seen her?’ asked Jack, his tone barely concealing his desperation. His three friends solemnly shook their heads. ‘She has to be somewhere. Look again!’ he urged.

  Resuming their search, they went more slowly this time, stopping at each stall. Jack felt his frustration building as the number of people seemed more and more overwhelming. Jess could be but a few metres from him yet he might not spot her.

  ‘Is that her?’ called Rose suddenly, pointing to a blonde bob in the crowd.

  Jack looked keenly. He couldn’t see her face; too many shoppers in the way. He stood on tiptoe, peering over their heads, and caught a glimpse of golden hair. ‘JESS!’ he cried out, his heart lifting.

  Several people turned towards the shout, including the blonde bob …

  But she proved to be a thin-faced girl with a pinched nose and mud-brown eyes. Definitely not his sister.

  His hopes dropped. Then he heard the familiar chime of Yori’s staff as he rushed towards him.

  ‘Jack! Jack!’ yelled Yori. ‘I just saw Jess!’

  ‘Where is she?’ he cried, a sudden surge of euphoria raising his spirits again.

  ‘I spotted her near the flower stall,’ Yori replied, pulling him along. ‘She’s wearing a blue shawl …’

  Yori guided Jack over to the flower-seller, collecting Akiko and Rose along the way. A number of women and young women clustered round the fragrant nosegays and posies on display, but none of them wore a blue shawl or even had a wisp of blonde hair.

  Jack looked frantically around, but the shifting sea of shoppers made it difficult to follow anyone beyond a few
stalls away. Unable to locate his sister, he blurted out, ‘Oh, why didn’t you just go up to her, Yori?’

  ‘I-I-I’m sorry,’ stuttered Yori, bowing his head. ‘I did try, but I was blocked by the crowd. So I thought it better to find you instead.’

  ‘You did the right thing, Yori,’ said Akiko, with a reproachful look at Jack for his outburst. ‘She can’t be too far away. Come on!’

  With a rushed apology, Jack headed down the centre of Bridge Street. Akiko and Yori took the left side, Rose the right. Jack felt terrible for snapping at Yori, but his exasperation at being so close to finding his sister yet so –

  A flash of blue cloth caught his eye. Halfway down the street, beside a fruit stall, a young woman with curls of blonde hair was inspecting a basket of red apples.

  There she is!

  Jack could scarcely breathe. His heart pounding, he hesitantly approached from behind. ‘Jess?’ he asked softly.

  The young woman turned round and smiled. Her locks of blonde hair, like spun gold, framed her pretty face, and her pale blue eyes gazed back at him with kindness and enquiry. ‘Sorry, do I know you?’ she said.

  Jack stared at her, unable to believe what he saw before him. The girl did indeed look like his sister. But it wasn’t Jess.

  Compared to the portrait in the locket, her eyes were a shade too light. Her nose a fraction too wide. Her lips a touch too thin. But her gaze was what settled the matter. On a deep, instinctive level, Jack didn’t feel any sibling connection with this young woman. They were total strangers. Their souls were unrelated.

  With a sorrowful shake of his head, he backed away. ‘I’m afraid not, madam. My apologies …’

  Disappointment hit him hard. The rapid see-sawing of his emotions plunged him sharply into despair. Letting the crowd swallow him up, Jack felt more alone than he had since that first year in Japan. He was an island in an ocean of strangers, not one of whom was Jess. He’d sailed so far – both in miles and in life – in the hope of being reunited with her. Yet the port he’d plotted his ship for seemed cruelly elusive. He realized now that he might never find her, that Jess was probably lost to him – and possibly forever.

  Slumped on a bench outside the bustling Greyhound Inn, Jack numbly watched the flow of people passing by on the High Street. So many faces. So many strangers. None of them Jess. After a fourth fruitless sweep through the market, they’d abandoned their search and sought out a tavern for a late but much-needed breakfast.

  ‘Are you certain that girl wasn’t Jess?’ asked Yori. ‘I mean, she looked exactly like the portrait. Seven years is a long time, and people change. Is there a chance you could be mistaken?’

  Jack glumly shook his head. ‘No, I know my sister. A whole lifetime and a whole ocean couldn’t break the bond between us. In here,’ he said, pointing to his chest, ‘I’ll always recognize Jess – and when I spoke to that girl my heart felt nothing.’

  ‘Don’t despair, Jack,’ said Akiko, as Rose ducked inside the inn to order food and enquire about lodgings. ‘We’ve come this far, we’ll finish the journey. We will find your sister.’

  Jack sighed and looked at her. ‘But what if she’s not here? What if we’re on a wild goose chase after all? Bodley could have made up that story just to save his own skin!’

  Akiko gently closed her hand over his, in an effort to reassure him. ‘I believe Bodley was telling the truth. His eyes weren’t lying. So we’ll stay in Stratford as long as it takes to find Jess.’

  Despite Akiko’s determined optimism, Jack wearily shook his head. ‘I’m beginning to think we never will, though.’

  ‘You can’t think like that!’ chided Yori. ‘Remember what the witch said: when you feel furthest away, you’re closer than you think.’

  Akiko nodded. ‘Yori’s right. If you feel like giving up, just remember why you held on for so long in the first place.’

  His friends’ wise words gave Jack pause for thought. The idea of reuniting with his sister had been the seed of his survival in Japan. It had sustained him during his training at the Niten Ichi Ryū. It had been his shield during the Battle of Osaka Castle. It had carried him across Japan, all the way from Kyoto to Nagasaki and back home to England. To give up on his sister now would be to give up the very thing he’d always fought so hard for.

  Jack sat up straighter. ‘You’re right. As Sensei Yamada said, there’s no failure except in no longer trying.’ And once again he began scanning the crowd with renewed determination.

  ‘I’ve got us lodgings for the night,’ announced Rose, emerging from the inn with four tankards.

  ‘That’s good news,’ said Akiko, moving along the bench to make room for Rose. ‘I’m so tired I could sleep on a board!’

  Rose laughed. ‘You might have to. There were only straw beds above the stable loft. We’re lucky to even get those – Stratford’s heaving because of the harvest festival.’

  ‘Straw! It sounds like luxury to me!’ said Yori, taking a polite sip of his drink.

  A servant came out with four plates heaped with buttered bread and dark meat in gravy. He plonked them on the table, stared wide-eyed at Akiko and Yori, then cautiously backed away. Akiko studied her plate dubiously. ‘May I ask what we’re eating?’

  ‘Goose,’ replied Rose, tearing off a chunk of bread and dipping it in her gravy. ‘They say, “He who eats goose on Michaelmas Day shan’t money lack or debts pay.” It brings good luck.’

  ‘And we’ll need all the luck we can get,’ said Jack, hungrily devouring his meal while keeping a constant eye on the crowd.

  With the arrival of their food a scrawny man had appeared near them, little more than skin and bones. ‘Spare some bread?’ croaked the beggar, his cracked lips salivating at the sight of such succulent meat.

  ‘Go away!’ said Rose, irritably waving him off.

  But Yori handed the beggar his whole plate. The man’s eyes almost popped out of his skull. With a muttered thanks, he ran off before the generous offer could be withdrawn.

  ‘Why did you give away all your food?’ said Rose, aghast.

  ‘He’s more in need of it than me,’ Yori replied, as several other beggars, spotting a soft touch, came over and made their appeals.

  ‘It won’t make a jot of difference,’ said Rose, shooing away the vagrants, ‘and you’ll just go hungry instead.’

  Yori placed his hands in his lap and turned to Rose. ‘Do you know the tale of the ten thousand fish?’

  Biting into her buttered bread, Rose shook her head.

  ‘One morning,’ began Yori, ‘after a tsunami had washed ten thousand fish up on to the shore, a monk went down to the beach. He saw the fish flapping on the sand, slowly dying. One by one he started to pick them up and throw them back into the sea. A samurai sitting nearby spotted the monk and laughed at him. “Foolish monk!” he cried. “What difference can one man make against the fate of nature?” In reply, the monk picked up a gasping fish and tossed it back into the ocean. “I made a difference to that one!” he answered.’

  ‘A nice story,’ said Rose, through a mouthful of goose, ‘but I prefer not to go hungry myself.’

  Yori responded with a contented smile. ‘And I prefer to be a monk rather than see other people go hungry.’

  ‘Well, I won’t see a friend go hungry either!’ said Jack, handing Yori a hunk of his own bread and a slice of meat.

  Then, as he was picking the bones of a goose wing clean, Jack glimpsed out of the corner of his eye a girl with golden hair. ‘Jess?’ he gasped.

  Dropping the bone on to his plate, Jack leapt up and plunged into the crowd after her.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Akiko, as Jack dashed off down the street.

  But Jack would wait for no one. He’d seen his sister. Of that he was sure.

  He raced along, pushing people aside, fighting his way through the crowd. She was heading into the market. He shouldered past a farmer, knocking the man’s ale out of his hand. Yelling an apology over his shoulder, Jack tripped over a group of
men playing dice on the street corner and fell to his knees – and in that moment he lost sight of Jess. Scrambling back to his feet, he looked desperately around. Where is she? Where’s she gone?

  Bridge Street was teeming with tradesmen and farmers, with villagers, entertainers and travellers. His eyes darted from one face to the next in his feverish search. Then he spotted her heading down Wood Street.

  ‘JESS!’ he shouted. ‘JESS!’

  The girl turned towards the sound of her name, seeking out the caller. Yes! Her angelic face matched the locket’s portrait down to the finest brushstroke. It was her!

  Jack waved, trying to get her attention across the crowd. ‘JESS! JESS!’ But he suddenly saw her being pulled roughly away by an older gentleman with a tight crop of copper-red hair and a curling preened moustache – and a ludicrously large ruff.

  For a second, Jack froze in shock, his voice becoming stuck in his throat. He recognized that man.

  It was Sir Toby Nashe.

  Jack fought his way through the heaving market. He could hardly believe what he’d seen. Sir Toby, of all men, was behind his sister’s disappearance! That scoundrel had taken Jess. Rage rose in Jack and he raced after them. At the crossroads with Rother Street, he saw Sir Toby pushing Jess into a horse-drawn coach, then climbing in after her. The driver flicked his reins and the coach took off.

  ‘JESS!’ cried Jack, running to catch them up.

  Her head appeared at the window and across the distance their eyes met. A brief moment of puzzlement registered on her face, then a flicker of startled recognition. But, as the coach pulled away, a huge man stepped into Jack’s path, blocking her out of sight. A large hand was planted in Jack’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  ‘Well I never!’ said a sly grating voice. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’

  Wheezing from the run and the blow to his chest, Jack stared up into the scarred, sneering face of Guy Rakesby. The bearded highwayman towered over him, almost as tall as his heavy knotted staff.