Side by side, they came towards him: the slight, limping Jiro, and dwarfing him, the bull-necked, towering wrestler. Frightened locals dodged past them, then ran.
Moonshadow's head was still light from becoming a human cannonball. He couldn't let that happen again. He stared at the approaching sumo's enormous hands. Nor fall into those bone-grinders once more.
If he was grabbed, nothing less than his sword would stop the giant tearing him apart. In a place this public, drawing any blade was out of the question. Moon cursed under his breath. Even if his enemies did. He tracked Jiro, watching the gambler's hands.
The wrestler and Jiro stopped, about ten paces away. They glanced at each other. The huge sumo motioned for Jiro to do the talking.
Jiro greeted Moon with a cackle. 'I love reunions! Remember me, kid? We have unfinished business, you and me. Don't bother looking for your little girlfriend. Sweet that she's stuck with you.' He gave a cruel sneer. 'But I just stuck her with one of these!'
His hand flashed in and out of his jacket. He held up something black. A bo-shuriken. What a nasty surprise. So since their last encounter, Jiro had upgraded to this oldest style of shuriken, the classical straight design with a grip.
They were the hardest of all to throw. But they did the most damage.
The crook was lying about Snowhawk, Moon decided. She was no easy kill. She'd gone to ground, that's all. He swallowed – hopefully.
Jiro waved his new weapon. 'Oh, don't look so amazed.' The gangster sniffed. 'Think it's just you cockroaches of the shadows who train to better your crafts?' He thumped his chest so hard the wrestler flinched and looked at him. 'Well even the likes of me can want that!'
Moon felt daunted. Jiro had changed. A darker fire drove him now. 'Congratulations,' he told the gambler, concealing his reaction. 'So what do you want?'
'Can you guess, kid?' Jiro's mouth quirked to one side. He limped a step, pointing down. 'I'm not blaming you for this, not any more. People say I do, but I'm over it.'
'No blade of mine did that to you,' Moon replied coolly. 'As well you know.' He looked Jiro up and down with open disdain. 'I even left money for them to get you fixed.'
'Sweet of you, kid, but it must have been spent on someone more valuable. Anyway, forget my bad knee. Know why I'm still riled at you? You ruined my record. You and the girl were the only targets ever to escape me! Let's fix that, shall we?'
The sumo patted Jiro's shoulder with one finger. 'Who is he again?' he asked.
Jiro made an irritated sound. 'Moonshadow, they call him, just like the sword move.' He rolled his eyes. 'You see, kid, my large friend here, for some reason, is a stickler for manners. So he wants introductions before he crushes you into the dust.'
'You should just give up,' the giant said slowly, 'be my prisoner. Then you won't get hurt, just tied with rope. I am Wada. Once sumo, now bounty hunter. Just, uh . . .'
'Just give up,' Moon prompted impatiently. Wada returned a slow, earnest nod.
With one hand on his hip, Jiro eyed the giant. 'Happy now? Good. Then get him!'
At once Wada leaned forward, lowered his head and broke into a fast, accelerating charge. Moon shadow felt each impact of the wrestler's feet through the small stretch of ground that separated them. In two or three seconds Wada closed the gap.
Moon bent his knees and swung his arms hard at his sides, pushing off into a leap, straight up. Once airborne he curled his spine and raised both knees to his chest.
Wada's scalp of closely cropped hair brushed the soles of his sandals. The sumo thundered below him, moving too fast now for a controlled stop. As Moon's feet hit the ground there was a commotion behind him: a terrified scream, the shouts of bystanders, splintering wood and tearing fabric. Wada was ploughing into a stall like a runaway bull.
Moonshadow looked over one shoulder. What had been a little folding shopfront, trading in charms for safety and good luck, was now a tangle of broken planks, torn flags and snapped cords. Tiny charm packets were scattered far and wide. An ashen-faced, middle-aged lady was being hauled from the rubble by the back of her pink kimono. By Wada.
With one hand, he set the shocked woman down next to her destroyed stall.
'Uh. Sorry,' Wada said sluggishly. Moon squinted. Wada's shoulder bled, but he appeared not to know it. He thumbed in Moon's direction. 'His fault,' Wada murmured.
Moonshadow was turning back to face the gangster when he heard the sound. A sharper hiss than circular GLO shuriken made, growing ever-louder. He twisted, evading quickly. The whirling bo-shuriken passed so close to his eyes that its wake stung them. Moon cursed. That was a good throw! An accident, or had Jiro markedly improved?
A warning tremor shook the ground behind him. Moon cartwheeled to one side and Wada tore past, head and shoulders down, grunting, flicking up grit and stones. Jiro had to scramble out of his way. The wrestler changed course just in time to avoid trampling the terrified man relentlessly guarding his clay cups and jugs with his own body.
Jiro let out a shriek and grabbed the back of his own head. A small rock danced across the ground behind the gangster's feet. Snowhawk, another rock in her palm, stalked up behind him. Moon noticed that she held something behind her back. But what?
'Oi! Jiro! See what happens when you throw things?' Her tone and eyes were icy.
The gangster turned around, blurting a startled curse. 'So I missed you!' He chuckled. 'Never mind. Let's try again!'
He drew a pair of bo-shuriken from his jacket with alarming speed. The remaining onlookers and vendors cringed at the sight of the twin throwing knives. A young girl started screaming. Taking a short step forward, Jiro let fly at Snowhawk.
A blurring circle of death hissed sharply across the marketplace. Moon opened his mouth to shout a warning but out of the corner of one eye he saw Wada charging at him. This time there was a little more distance between them; thus more time to think.
Wada the bounty hunter was extraordinarily tough, but once he hit full speed, controlled stops seemed hard for him. That was something to work with.
Moonshadow turned and ran, a town watchman and a pair of woodcutters scattering out of his way. The giant followed, pounding up behind him, gaining at a scary pace. Moon glanced to his side to check on Snowhawk. She was running in a zigzag near the well, a tin-lined tea-serving tray in one hand. It was pierced through the centre with Jiro's knife and now he was lining up for another throw. Moon changed course and led Wada, right behind him now, straight between Jiro and his flitting target.
'Madness!' shouted an old man with a stick as Moonshadow tore past him. 'Lunatics! You wreck our town!'
Jiro swore as Wada's thunderous passing blocked his field of fire. Moon heard heavy breathing at his back and knew that the giant had closed the distance between them. He changed direction sharply and vaulted for the centre of a wide stall table.
It was strewn with farming implements such as hand sickles and rice-bale chains, the kind shinobi clans often converted into weapons. No licence to grab one today, however.
Moon plunged for the tabletop. As soon as his feet struck it, he launched himself again, aiming for the roof of the tent-stall next door.
He landed against its angled fabric on his side, rolled off before his weight could tear it and dropped to the ground in a crouch as the stall next door was noisily destroyed.
Wada's headlong impact snapped the table in half, flinging tools into the air. Moon glanced up. A scattered shower of blades and hooks was about to fall. He skipped instinctively to one side. A spinning sickle dug into the earth beside his foot. A young farmer let out a strangled croak on the other side of the wrecked stall. Moon saw him struggling to free a chain that had been flung, whirling, and wrapped around his neck.
The sumo wrestler picked himself up out of the debris, mangled planks and a narrow digging tool sliding off his vast back. Blood ran down one of his cheeks and there was a nasty tear in his left ear. As before, he didn't seem aware that he'd taken damage.
Wa
da shook his head several times as if waking, then mumbled, 'Sorry . . . sorry.'
Moon looked about. Snowhawk was backing up to the well, brandishing the tea tray's flat tin base between her hands. Jiro faced her. Two throwing knives now stuck from the tray. No wonder she disappeared earlier, Moon thought. She'd quickly hunted down the right counter-device for the job, one offering protection without disclosing shinobi skills. She was amazing! He ran to her side. Jiro drew two more shuriken from his clothes. Jiro! He'd forgotten that this gangster always brought so much ammunition.
The four faced off. Moonshadow locked his gaze on Wada, who stood hunched, panting as he stared back, blood dripping from his chin. He was not going to quit.
Snowhawk's eyes were bright with challenge as she held up the tray, baiting Jiro with a teasing smile. He loosened his wrists and squeezed the bo-shuriken's grips.
Moon tensed. What if Jiro could throw two at once with the same accuracy?
Jiro lunged forward and hurled the first knife. Simultaneously, Wada dropped his huge head and accelerated at Moonshadow.
Moon cursed the timing. What if Snowhawk took a hit? He glanced sideways fast. She snapped the tray up in front of her face just as the bo-shuriken slammed into it with a thunk. His eyes flicked back. Already, Wada was only a breath away, coming at him with amazing speed, his huge body low to the ground.
With a growl of effort, Moon somersaulted backwards up onto the lip of the well. As he landed, a tremor shook the stones under his feet. Moonshadow caught his balance and looked down.
The stones were cut and fitted but not mortared and the well wall had come apart. Wada's head and shoulders were wedged between two sections that had held. Moon heard dislodged stones tumble into the inky funnel, clicking off the walls until loud splashes echoed from far below. The pinned sumo let out a strange groan. Surely he had felt that?
Moonshadow looked up quickly at Jiro. Someone was approaching behind him. Another attacker? A woman, one of the locals, so probably not. She was middle-aged and wore a pink kimono. Just as Snowhawk had, she was hiding something behind her back.
Jiro cackled, tapping his second bo-shuriken on the palm of one hand. 'Aw . . . Moonshadow.' He grinned, displaying yellowed teeth. 'You have no shield!'
The gambler drew back his arm. At the same time, the lady behind him heaved something long and black around her body. Moon glanced at it. With white knuckles the woman raised a heavy, cone-shaped iron saucepan. A sickening, nearly hollow clunk quickly followed. Jiro's head lolled on his shoulders. His arm sagged, eyes became slits.
'Who did that?' Jiro asked quickly. He sank to his knees. With a moan he fell forward, his face hitting the ground hard. Moon scanned him carefully. Unconscious.
'Here's my good luck charm for you!' The lady dropped her weapon, leaned over Jiro and spat. 'Swine! Filthy gangster beast! Ten curses on every part of your painted corpse!' She kicked one of Jiro's legs. He twitched. 'Monster! Get gut worms and die! Mindless wrecker! May the next dice you roll . . . poke out your eyes!'
Moonshadow jumped down from the lip of the well. 'Aw.' He elbowed Snowhawk. 'I'm glad she's on our side.'
'That lady is pretty mad,' Snowhawk panted, 'and she won't be the only one. Let's get out of here before people turn on us. That next town's looking better and better.'
They crept around the well, stepping over the motionless giant fused up to his great shoulder-blades into its wall. Moon leaned over Wada, checking him. Semiconscious but, somehow, alive. Badly hurt, whether he felt it or not. How did he feel no pain? Surely it wasn't a shinobi science? Whatever the cause, it hadn't helped him win the day. Snowhawk passed a knowing look over Wada. Moon knew what she was thinking.
Pain was good, important. It alerted you that you weren't winning. Warned that your tactics had failed. Told you to quit so you could live to fight again later. Operating without it had not helped this mountain of a man defeat a slender opponent like Moon.
He shook his head at Wada. Here lay a lesson worth discussing with Mantis and Eagle. A weird truth: pain was a warrior's valuable friend.
All around them, the locals were slowly starting to move, glancing blankly at each other and the devastated stalls. Their drawn expressions implied mass shock. Perhaps this town didn't see much trouble. Good! Then maybe they didn't even have –
Snowhawk grabbed his wrist and pointed. Moonshadow looked along her arm to the incoming road. He groaned. He'd hoped in vain. They did have a policeman.
A purposeful-looking inspector in official robes, flanked by two burly samurai, approached along the road. His eyes were already locked on the chaos in the marketplace.
Moonshadow and Snowhawk darted away from Wada and into a tight little crowd huddling in the least damaged corner of the square. Stunned faces turned to look at them as they pushed past, heading for a narrow lane between two buildings.
One person in the crowd had a singular demeanour. Snowhawk paced right by him but he caught Moon's attention with his stare. It was constant, bold almost to the point of arrogance. This fellow was young, perhaps just a few years older than Snowhawk or Moon. He wore a dagger, eye-catching clothes and a fancy city hairstyle, long but untied. Make-up, too, so he obviously followed all the latest urban fashions.
The youth was so remote and confident, he might have been a shinobi, but for one factor. Snowhawk hadn't sensed him, nor had Moon himself felt a thing. So that was that.
He caught up with Snowhawk in the lane. 'Wait! You feel any shinobi energy?'
She grinned widely. 'None, just a vague sense of being unpopular around here.'
He laughed with relief. It made her giggle as she turned to move on.
'They went down that lane!' A man's deep voice called from out in the square.
'You know what?' Moon started to run. 'You're right. Let's not stay in this town.'
SEVEN
The kindness of strangers
The middle-aged innkeeper smiled back at Snowhawk as she led her to the room.
It was at the end of a long corridor on the river side of the inn. Snowhawk counted the doors they passed on the way there. Ten, which meant that every room in this place was as tiny as that booth Moonshadow had just been given. She shrugged to herself. It didn't matter. They were both exhausted, he covered in bruises and nursing aching ribs. If her room was big enough for a bedroll, it would do. She sighed wearily. Besides, though it looked oddly deserted tonight, this was the only inn in town.
After travelling across country from the market town, moving parallel to the north road, they'd crept into this place just after sunset. Built on a teeming river, it was a pretty, serene-looking town, smaller than its neighbour. White-blossomed cherry trees ran along the entire main street and a great wooden millwheel turned beyond the last building.
While hiding between narrow, thatched-roofed cottages they'd overheard the locals excitedly trading gossip. The market town's inspector and his men had paid them a visit, searching for a gang of deranged vandals responsible for disrupting Market Day. Finding no unfamiliar faces or new information in this town, they had given up and returned south.
Patting the bun of grey-streaked hair on the crown of her head, the lady stopped outside the last door. She turned to Snowhawk and bowed, sliding it open with one hand. The creases around her soft eyes multiplied as she smiled warmly.
'There you are, dear. The quietest end of the inn. You'll get a good night's sleep here.' She covered her mouth and gave an eccentric little titter. 'Your poor brother looked like he would sleep anywhere, on a peak under thunderclouds, maybe?' The innkeeper tittered again. 'So young to be tramping so far, but I envy you both. What freedom!'
Snowhawk bowed and stepped into the room. It was tiny, lit by a single wall-mounted lamp, but she was surprised to see that it wasn't empty. A thick duck-down quilt lay folded in one corner. Snowhawk's mouth twisted. She hadn't paid an extra copper to add a quilt to the room rental. But the spring nights were cold in these hills, especially in places near water. That
quilt would be a welcome extra. She grinned at the thought of it, deep and soft, above and below her.
The lady's eyes batted as they moved from the quilt to Snowhawk.
'A little gift, no extra charge,' the woman sighed. 'I'm a sentimental old thing.'
'Good lady, you are far from old.' Snowhawk gave a grateful bow. 'Thank you for this wonderful kindness, but why me? How do I make you feel sentimental?'
The innkeeper looked wistful as she stepped inside the room and closed the door.
'You look just like me when I was your age. That's all.' She dropped her eyes humbly. 'Though I never went travelling, looking for work at my brother's side, like you. I've never left this village. I was born here, and here I will die. No doubt, in this inn.'
A lump rose in Snowhawk's throat. This poor woman was lonely. She probably had been all her life. Snowhawk looked about, avoiding the lady's eyes while she weighed a decision. Why not? What harm could come from repaying a kindness?
'Would you like to stay a while?' Snowhawk offered gently. 'Talk with me?'
The lady's face lit up. 'You're very sweet, child. But are you not also weary?'
'Yes, but I'd love some company. Just for a while.' Snowhawk sank into the seiza position, gesturing for the woman to also sit.
The innkeeper studied her with probing maternal eyes. 'May I be very forward, Miss?' Snowhawk frowned at the question but nodded slowly. 'When you and that lad parted outside his room, I saw each of you give the other a certain glance . . .' She tittered. 'Forgive me. He's not really your brother, is he?'
'Why do you ask?' Snowhawk felt a twinge of irritation. This was too personal!
Staring down at the reed mat in front of her knees, the lady shrugged. 'It's none of my business, I know. But if the two of you happened to be in some sort of trouble, on the run even . . .' She looked up, tears in her eyes. 'I would let you both hide here.'
Snowhawk met the woman's gaze and her own chin began to tremble as she sensed the depth of feeling behind this remarkable offer. This lady, a total stranger, was reliving her unhappy life – or at least trying to – through Snowhawk. How generous – and how sad. Her vision swam as she fought off tears of her own.
The Wrath of Silver Wolf Page 7