The Return of the Warrior

by Chris Bradford

  ‘Sir Toby, lay down your arms!’ commanded Sir Henry.

  Defiant and seething, he pressed on. Sir Toby thrust again and again, determined to skewer Jack through the heart. This time Jack responded with a different Two Heavens technique: Mountain to Sea. Attacking in a highly unexpected manner, Jack threw his parrying dagger at Sir Toby. The blade went spinning, end over end, and the hilt struck him dead centre in the forehead. Sir Toby staggered and fell to the floor, where Jack planted the needle-sharp tip of his rapier on his heart.

  ‘I swear I will run you through,’ threatened Jack, ‘unless you tell me the truth!’

  All the colour drained from Sir Toby’s cheeks as he realized he was defeated. ‘You want the truth?’ he spat, his voice quavering. ‘Then you shall have it. Your precious sister is dead!’

  ‘Dead?’ said Jack, the word sounding like a church bell’s toll in his head. ‘How can that be? I saw her but a week ago, alive, in Stratford.’

  Sir Toby held Jack’s questioning gaze. ‘She fell from the carriage, trying to get out to see you, and was run over by the wheels.’ Sir Toby gave a great sob, a tear ran down his cheek. ‘Believe me, I tried to save her but she was beyond help.’

  ‘You lie!’ cried Jack, pressing down on the rapier until its tip pierced his opponent’s chest.

  ‘NO!’ Sir Toby screamed as blood seeped from the wound. ‘I swear that’s the truth. On my life!’

  ‘Lower your sword, Jack!’ commanded Sir Henry. ‘He has no reason to lie. You have him at your mercy.’

  For a moment, Jack thought about driving the blade all the way home. Surely a just punishment to avenge Jess?

  Then Yori was at his side, a small hand resting upon his to stay his sword. ‘Killing him will not bring Jess back,’ said his friend quietly. ‘Think about the consequences, Jack. People who fight fire with fire usually end up with ashes!’

  Jack was reminded of his old Zen master’s words from his first year in Japan: You must never forget your bushido. Rectitude, your ability to judge what is wrong and what is right, is the keystone to being samurai …

  He looked to Akiko, who gently shook her head. Jack felt all the fight drain out of him and he let his rapier drop. If Jess was dead, it was over. He had nothing more to fight for.

  ‘Sir Edmund, Sir Francis – detain Sir Toby in his room until further notice,’ ordered Sir Henry, as Jack stood numb and paralysed by grief in the centre of the room.

  Sir Toby, his head hung low in shame, was escorted out of the gallery. He was almost at the door when, in a fit of fury, he snatched a loaded flintlock pistol from the rack on the wall. Cocking the weapon, he took aim at Jack.

  ‘No one humiliates the Right Honourable Sir Toby Nashe and lives!’ he cried in outrage, pulling the trigger.

  ‘NO!’ yelled Signor Horatio, shoving Jack to one side.

  The pistol shot resounded like a thunderclap through the gallery. Jack flinched as he fell to the ground – but Signor Horatio’s quick reaction had saved him. A startled and pained cry caused everyone to turn. For a second, Jack thought Signor Horatio had been struck, his courageous act having put him in the line of fire. But, when he looked, Signor Horatio was unharmed. Instead, it was Rose who slumped to the floor, blood pouring from the bullet hole in the breastplate of her costume.

  The sounds of the masked ball resumed in the Great Hall, the music and chatter more muted than before. Up on the first floor of the house, Rose was laid out on a four-poster bed, a circle of concerned faces watching as her armoured breastplate was carefully removed. A blossom of blood stained the front of her green dress. Taking a knife, Signor Horatio cut away a patch of cloth and inspected the wound in Rose’s belly.

  ‘Can you save her?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I can see the lead shot,’ the sword master replied gravely as he washed his hands in a bowl of hot water. ‘Thankfully her costume’s armour slowed the round. If I can get it out, she has a good chance.’

  Rose groaned in pain, her face ashen and glistening with sweat. Akiko dabbed Rose’s brow with a cool cloth, while Yori held her hand and hummed ‘Vam’, the healing mantra for the stomach. Over the flickering flame of a candle, Signor Horatio heated the knife to sterilize it before letting the steel cool.

  ‘This might sting a little, signorina,’ he warned Rose, as he prepared to insert the knife into the wound.

  Rose forced a smile. ‘At least … I know you’re skilled … with a blade,’ she whispered.

  Jack offered her a wooden spoon.

  ‘No thanks … I’m not hungry.’ She attempted a laugh, but ended up grimacing in agony.

  ‘It’s for you to bite on,’ Jack explained. ‘Here, take it.’

  Holding the wound open, Signor Horatio dug the knife into her flesh. Rose clamped down on the spoon’s shaft and, through clenched teeth, let out an anguished cry. Ever so slowly, Signor Horatio prised the lead shot from her belly. As the bullet came free, Rose gasped and passed out. Now the blood flowed freely, and Signor Horatio pressed his hand hard against the wound.

  ‘Over to you and your herbal magic, Yori,’ said the sword master, stepping aside.

  From his pouch of medicines, Yori selected a dark paste that he’d previously prepared for Jack’s injuries. Gently applying the healing salve, he began to bandage Rose and was almost finished when there was a knock on the door and Sir Henry looked in. ‘How’s the patient faring?’ he enquired.

  ‘Signor Horatio has succeeded in removing the bullet,’ replied Jack, helping Yori tie off the bandage.

  The sword master tenderly pushed aside a lock of red hair from Rose’s face. ‘By God’s grace, she’ll live.’

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ said Sir Henry, the relief evident in his voice. ‘I’ve spoken with Sir Toby and he’s deeply remorseful. He’s agreed not to inform the authorities of your whereabouts, if in turn you’ll overlook the, er … accident with the pistol.’

  ‘Accident? That was no accident!’ roared Signor Horatio, anger flashing in his eyes. ‘The idiot tried to shoot Jack and ended up almost killing Rose!’

  Sir Henry offered a conciliatory smile. ‘I understand you’re upset, sir. But it’s best for everyone that we don’t involve the authorities. While I may have some influence, I could not promise to stay the heavy hand of the law completely. And we don’t want you arrested again now, do we, Jack?’

  ‘But what about my sister?’ demanded Jack, feeling hot tears sting his eyes at her loss.

  With a regretful look, Sir Henry replied, ‘A tragic accident. Sir Toby can barely bring himself to talk about it.’

  ‘Then where’s her body?’ he persisted. ‘Where was she buried?’

  ‘I believe she lies in the parish graveyard,’ said Sir Henry, making the sign of the cross in respect. ‘I can take you there tomorrow. But, for now, I’d advise agreeing to Sir Toby’s terms. It is far better to be a free man nursing your grief than an imprisoned man trapped with it.’

  Jack cursed Sir Toby’s cunning. He had Jack and his friends at his mercy with that false conviction. The vile man had not only shot Rose but was responsible for Jess’s death too, yet he would get away scot-free. ‘Just ensure Sir Toby keeps his word.’

  ‘But of course,’ Sir Henry replied. Then, as the others tended to Rose, Sir Henry drew Jack to one side. ‘Forgive me for bringing this up again at such a delicate time, Jack. But, in light of your sister’s sad passing, have you by chance had any further thoughts as to my proposal?’

  Jack was stunned by the insensitivity of his host’s request. Why would Sir Henry raise the matter again this evening, and at such a sorrowful time? Jack knew the answer, of course. He was now aware how desperate the impoverished Sir Henry was to secure a trading mission.

  For his own part, having found out that Jess was dead, Jack had little left to bind him to England – and England no longer seemed bound to him. This past couple of weeks his homeland had at times felt more foreign to him than Japan.

  Then he was struck by another thou
ght too: How exactly am I going to survive in this country anyway? The money in his purse would soon run out. He needed a livelihood … and a new purpose. The only means he knew of making a living was as a pilot aboard a trading ship. So returning to Japan was the obvious solution … and perhaps a way he could escape his grief. More to the point, with the four deadly ninjas on their trail, it would be prudent to leave England behind. He already knew that Akiko and Yori would be glad to return home. So, with all things considered, the decision had been pretty much made for him.

  Jack gave a deep sigh. ‘I accept your proposal,’ he announced.

  ‘Excellent!’ Sir Henry grinned and clapped him on the back. ‘You won’t regret it, Jack. And all that sea air will do you the world of good, help you get over your loss. Now if you will excuse me, I must return to my other guests downstairs.’ With that Sir Henry departed.

  Akiko looked curiously at Jack. ‘Why is he so cheerful?’

  Jack stared out of the bedroom window at the moonlit sky, its silvery light casting a sheen across the lawns. Shining bright in the heavens was Polaris, the great North Star that was the celestial reference point for navigation. ‘I’ve agreed to pilot his trading mission to the Japans,’ he told her.

  Akiko’s eyes sparkled almost as bright as the North Star. ‘That’s wonderful! But …’ The sparkle faded and a sadness entered her voice. ‘You’ve fought so hard to get home, Jack. Are you sure you don’t want to stay?’

  He rested his head against the cool lattice panes. ‘Now that Jess is forever lost to me, I have no reason to be here. I appreciate all you and Yori have done to help me find her. Your friendship and your loyalty have meant a great deal to me. But it’s time I took you both home …’

  Yori cleared his throat. ‘Before we do that, can I show you something?’

  Jack frowned. ‘Of course. What is it?’

  ‘It’s best you see it for yourself and make your own mind up,’ he replied cryptically.

  Jack glanced over at Rose, who was slowly coming round. ‘Yori, can’t it wait?’

  Yori shook his head adamantly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Signor Horatio, helping Rose to take a sip of water. ‘I’ll look after her.’

  So, leaving their injured friend in the sword master’s care, Jack and Akiko followed Yori down the stairs and back into the Gallery of Arms. The room was now deserted, the guests all in the Great Hall, only a patch of drying blood marking the spot where Rose fell.

  ‘Look at this,’ said Yori, beckoning Jack and Akiko over to Sir Henry’s towering portrait over the fireplace.

  Jack peered at the painting. ‘It’s very impressive, but what exactly are we supposed to be looking for?’

  ‘Here!’ said Yori, pointing to an inscription of two letters in the right-hand corner.

  ‘N … H …’ Jack read out aloud. He furrowed his brow. ‘And?’

  Yori let out a heavy sigh, as if the answer was obvious. ‘Your locket! It’s the same artist.’

  Tugging the silver locket from round his neck, Jack compared the initials, trying to ignore the swell of sadness at seeing his sister’s face once more. ‘N. H. – Nicholas Holme. So what of it? He’s probably painted countless portraits.’

  ‘It’s true that, on its own, it’s just a coincidence,’ agreed Yori. ‘But I’ve checked other paintings in Lupus Hall, and Sir Henry appears to have commissioned a number from this particular artist. He clearly favours his style. Maybe he was even his patron for a while.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean Sir Henry has anything to do with the locket, though,’ said Akiko.

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ conceded Yori. ‘But there is a possible connection.’ He turned away from the portrait and headed over to the racks of arquebuses. ‘Earlier, at the ball, I overheard some guests talking about Sir Henry’s claim to his coat of arms. There’s a rumour he bought it and has no true family connection to a noble lineage.’

  ‘That’s not uncommon,’ said Jack, unsure where his friend was taking them with this. ‘Many successful merchants have bought themselves the right to bear a coat of arms.’

  ‘Well, it would be odd in Japan,’ observed Akiko, ‘like a fisherman buying a katana to become a samurai!’

  ‘No, that’s not the issue,’ said Yori. ‘It’s the coat of arms itself.’ He pointed to the black-and-white wooden shield hanging above the rack of rifles. ‘Don’t you remember what Mrs Winters in Bedlam said? Beware the red wolf at your door!’

  Jack studied the design on the shield – a white stag opposite a red wolf. A sense of unease began to creep into his heart.

  ‘But the old woman was mad,’ Akiko reminded him. ‘Why take her ravings seriously?’

  ‘She wasn’t mad – she was afraid!’ insisted Yori. ‘Afraid of the red wolf.’

  Jack looked sidelong at Yori. ‘Are you suggesting that Sir Henry is the red wolf? Then perhaps you should be in Bedlam for thinking it! Sir Henry was a dear friend of my father’s. He’s our friend. He’s been helping us look for Jess. He’s offered me a job.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Yori. ‘He needs you to sail back to the Japans to regain his lost fortune. I fear he would pretend to be your long-lost uncle if he thought it would persuade you. But I think he’s hiding something. A treasure far more precious than silver or gold.’

  Yori led Jack and Akiko out into the moonlit courtyard. He pointed up at the window where Jack had thought he’d seen his sister’s face. ‘How many windows do you count on that floor?’

  Jack looked. ‘Five,’ he replied.

  ‘Now come with me –’ With that, Yori scampered back inside, grabbing an oil lamp before heading up the central staircase.

  Halfway up, they bumped into a servant coming down the other way, his face haggard and drawn in the sudden glow of the lamp. He carried an empty tray. ‘No guests are allowed on the upper floor,’ he muttered.

  ‘We just need to look for a window,’ said Yori, his reply perplexing the grim-faced servant as he pushed on past.

  Jack and Akiko hurried after him, leaving the servant behind in the gloom. Reaching the top landing, Yori guided them round to the cobwebbed corridor. He stopped, the oil lamp spilling a wave of light across the floorboards to the attic room at the far end.

  ‘Count the windows again,’ he instructed Jack.

  Starting at one end, Jack worked his way down the corridor and into the room. ‘One … two … three … four …’

  But there was no fifth window. He re-counted. ‘Where’s the other window?’ he asked.

  ‘My point exactly,’ said Yori, crossing his arms in satisfaction. ‘Which means …’

  ‘There must be a priest hole!’ said Akiko breathlessly. Jack felt a sudden surge of shock.

  Placing the oil lamp upon the writing table, they immediately set about searching the attic room. They tapped on the walls, listening for hollows. They checked the floor for loose boards, tested the ceiling for a trapdoor. But they found nothing.

  ‘Perhaps we counted wrong,’ suggested Akiko, her tone despondent.

  Yori shook his head. ‘No, there are definitely five windows from the outside.’

  Jack stood in the middle of the room and turned a full circle, his gaze exploring every nook and cranny. ‘The priest hole has to be somewhere,’ he said. Then he heard a faint scratching and he looked at the others. ‘Do you hear that?’

  Akiko and Yori nodded, straining their ears to locate the sound.

  The scratching was getting louder. Then a small grey creature scurried out from the fireplace.

  ‘It’s just a mouse!’ groaned Jack.

  ‘Yes, but where did the mouse come from?’ asked Yori, peering into the firebox.

  Jack now noticed there were no cold cinders in the grate. In fact there wasn’t anything at all. He went over and ran his finger down the brickwork of the firebox. ‘It’s been blackened to simulate smoke!’

  Stepping on to the hearth and ducking beneath the mantel, he found a secret sliding bolt. He eased it open a
nd pushed the wall at the back. It gave a little, then, with the help of another shove, it swung wide open. Jack looked back at Akiko and Yori in astonishment. ‘A false fireplace!’

  The priest hole was a mirror version of the attic room, except there was a small altar for daily prayer and a wood-framed bed in the far corner. Through the one sole window – the missing fifth lattice – a shaft of moonlight illuminated a half-eaten meal on the writing table. The rest of the room was in shadow. As Jack’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he thought he spied a hunched figure on the bed. Then Yori and Akiko came into the chamber with the lamp and the darkness was chased away to reveal a young woman. She shielded her eyes from the lamp’s bright glare. Yori dimmed the flame and the girl lowered her arm.

  Jack stared at the vision before him. So familiar, yet so different. So much older, yet still so young. Traces of the girl he once knew present in the growing woman. Golden hair longer than he remembered. Blue eyes darker but still full of playful mischief. The slim jawline of their mother. The strong brow of their father. The lips and button nose of his sister.

  She stared back, afraid yet curious of the three intruders in her room.

  ‘Jess?’ said Jack, so softly in case he shattered the illusion.

  The girl slowly nodded, comprehension entering her sky-blue eyes. ‘Jack?’

  Needing no further confirmation, Jack rushed over and enveloped his sister in his arms. He held her tight to his chest, determined never to let her go again. Only now was he truly home. The journey he’d begun seven years earlier was at last over. He’d found his sister, against all the odds, all the obstacles and all the enemies. They were family once again.

  Jess hugged him with equal delight and desperation. ‘I prayed … and prayed … and prayed for your safe return,’ she sobbed. ‘I had all but given up hope.’

  ‘Your prayers have been answered,’ replied Jack, kissing her forehead and glancing towards the small wooden cross above the altar. ‘As have mine.’