by Ben Stevens
The two men, clad in rough kimono and standing awkwardly in one corner of the room (I had been wondering as to the purpose of their presence), now ventured closer towards the daimyo, bowing repeatedly as they did so.
‘Open the chest on that table, and carefully unroll the scrolls, using the stones I ordered you to collect to weight down their corners on the surface of the table,’ commanded Yoichi. ‘Careful now – even a single slight tear appears on one of those scrolls, and I will personally feed you to the castle dogs!’
I need hardly say that this daimyo no longer appeared remotely honest, far less noble. I’d been entirely deceived by his false character; he was an evil man – I certainly knew that now – but still an excellent actor…
With hands they tried to keep from trembling, the village men unrolled the scrolls of crackling, yellowed paper and spread them with painstaking care upon the surface of the table. I saw that the writing was tiny – far too small for me to be able to read it from where I was standing. I also saw that there were a multitude of diagrams almost as miniscule. Of what vaguely seemed to be war machines, star constellations, plants and such…
‘Anyway, Ennin-sensei, I’ll let you and your servant be on your way now – after I’ve paid you the rest of what I owe,’ grinned the daimyo. ‘I wouldn’t want you to feel cheated, after all…’
‘Sir… sir!’ said one of the disheveled laborers at once.
Yoichi turned irritably towards him, and then stared down at where the man was pointing. I saw what had caused this laborer to cry out – the writing and the diagrams were…
It was fading! Everything written and drawn on those scrolls (every one of which had by now been opened) was disappearing, leaving only an empty expanse of yellow paper…!
The daimyo gave a wild yell, his hands suddenly clawing at one of the scrolls, as though he could somehow stop the tiny writing and pictures from disappearing that way.
But it was no use; I swear I even saw a little steam, or mist, rise up into the air, as the last of the writing and annotations disappeared.
And my master was laughing.
‘Brilliantly done, my lord! Of course, I had to play along, right to the end! I had heard you are a man of considerable wit, but that was sublime!’
And my master clapped his hands, seemingly barely able to control this bizarre fit of merriment. Yoichi observed him as though dazed, his mouth gaping stupidly open. As for the laborers, they looked at my famous master as if he was a madman.
Which, I considered, right at the present moment, hardly seemed an inaccurate description…
‘You knew, naturally, that the words of Hachiman – ‘…and in the dark may they (that is, the scrolls) always remain, never to be seen by the sun…’ was a cryptic instruction – a message understood by anyone possessing the slightest modicum of intelligence,’ continued my master. ‘That is, that the words had been crafted (written, printed – whatever) using a special type of ink, which would simply disappear when exposed to harsh light – especially sunlight.
‘Brilliantly done, my lord – the ‘Dark Scrolls’ (see how the clue was even in the name!) are now forever destroyed, and with such a refreshing touch of comedy!’
And again my master emitted a burst of laughter, as Yoichi’s face slowly turned purple and his thick lips trembled…
Then, oh so slowly, he reached inside his kimono with one hand, and produced another bag of coins.
‘Yes…’ he said, his voice almost pitifully soft and distant. Like a man who has just lost everything he holds dear, and is thus in a state of severe shock. ‘It is… as you say, Ennin… sensei.
‘Here,’ continued the daimyo, now shaking his head slowly back and forth. ‘Take these coins and…’
At once the daimyo showed his teeth, and suddenly almost yelled the word –
‘Begone!’
‘Thank you, my lord, thank you,’ returned my master, as he tugged at my sleeve and we began to walk backwards towards the closed door of the room, leaving the stunned daimyo and the two cowering laborers there in that sun-drenched room of the castle.
‘Any time at all you require my services again, please do not hesitate,’ said my master then – and a moment later we were outside the room, walking quickly past the bemused samurai bodyguard stationed there…
6
‘And the scrolls, master…’ I mused just an hour or so later, as we quickly headed towards the outskirts of Yoichi’s domain. (And once we’d left it, neither would we be entering into the territory commanded by Kimura, either…)
‘What of them?’ returned my master idly.
‘It seems a shame, that’s all,’ I declared. ‘Before everything just… disappeared, I was able to perhaps ‘make out’ a few of those diagrams and such. And who knows what secrets and legends were contained in that tiny script…’
‘Some startling knowledge, for sure,’ nodded my master, his voice such that I turned sharply to stare at him. ‘Some information that may well serve to protect Japan, in times of great peril. But also a great deal of superstitious mumbo-jumbo, silly ‘magic spells’ and such.
‘We must not forget, Kukai, that these scrolls were written – by a man, god or whoever, whatever – approximately two hundred years ago. As such, we can hardly expect that they would all have something to offer to a somewhat more enlightened age, regardless of the legend which surrounds them.’
‘You read them, master,’ I said. ‘Those five days or so you were largely absent from our room at the inn.’
Then I recalled him massaging his right hand.
‘No,’ I continued. ‘You copied it down – all the information contained!’
Then I shook my head with sudden doubt.
‘No – there was simply too much; you couldn’t have done all that alone, and in just five days…’
‘I wasn’t alone,’ said my master idly. ‘There in that crude and somewhat dimly-lit hut in that bamboo grove, the person who stole those scrolls also assisted me in determining exactly what information they contained was worth recording.’
As though my master recognized my sudden sense of hurt, concerning the fact that it had not been me whom he’d asked to assist him, my master said then –
‘I’m sorry I said nothing until now, Kukai; but the person who we involved in this case, you must admit…’
‘…Is an expert,’ I nodded. ‘Yes, I understand your reasoning, master. And so the information you deemed worthy of recording is now…?’
‘It has been taken to the Imperial City by our friend, who – once an appropriate password has been given – will be granted an audience with the Empress herself. Then these new scrolls (this time written in ink which will only ever perhaps fade with extreme age) will be stored in the deepest, most secret depths of the Imperial Castle, hopefully there to remain undisturbed forever…’
‘Unless?’ I heard myself say, as though from somewhere far away.
‘Unless Japan has ever need – in its direst hour – of the information contained. For some of that information, Kukai, is something no human should ever know – and yet I (and the one who assisted me) am now cursed with its knowledge, until my dying day.
‘Be grateful you know nothing of it, Kukai! In the wrong hands, it could tear a country apart and drive a million men insane – which is why no mere daimyo must ever be allowed to learn such things.
‘But in Japan’s darkest hour, against who knows what foes, such knowledge might yet prove vital.
‘For it is timeless – and utterly deadly…’
The Forty-eighth Ronin
‘Someone will attempt to kill us this evening, Kukai,’ declared my master, as we sat together in a private room on the top-floor of a luxurious inn.
We had just finished a sumptuous meal, and I was in the act of pouring us some more sake when my master made this surprising declaration.
‘I see, master,’ I said carefully.
I finished pouring the alcohol, and my master took a sip b
efore nodding his head and grunting with approval.
‘Really, I must ask the maid serving what type of sake this is, and possibly buy a few flasks before we leave here…’
He paused, took another sip, and then said –
‘If I am correct, our would-be assassin is currently on his way here, full of ill-will and carrying what he trusts are two sharp swords by his side. He is an expert swordsman, and intends to inform me of the nature of his grievance before cutting us both down with his long sword.
‘My apologies, Kukai; you would be killed only because you are my so-called servant. You see the danger you run, just by being in my company!’
‘It would hardly be the first time I’ve experienced such danger, master,’ I remarked dryly. ‘But if I might ask as to the actual nature of this mysterious swordsman’s grievance…?’
‘Yes,’ said my master, stretching out his arms and yawning there inside that softly-lit room. The walls were beautifully decorated with scenes from Japan’s seasons: pink cherry blossom in spring, next to this a dazzling summer sun reflecting off a lake, merging into the glorious red-and-orange hues of autumn and then deep snow covering a mountainside…
‘It makes for quite an interesting story, actually – and it would probably be best to give you a short explanation, in any case, before our friend the ronin arrives,’ declared my master.
I pricked up my ears at this. A ronin – a masterless samurai, usually armed and thus exceedingly dangerous, ready to cut anyone in half at the slightest provocation…
‘It relates to a time not long before we met, Kukai,’ continued my master. ‘When I entered into a certain town one New Year’s Eve, put the horse I had into a stable, and then soon after witnessed the owner of a wretched little stall which sold grilled eels being bullied by three young ronin – their ‘leader’, as it were, being the man who will arrive here shortly.’
‘The owner of the store was somewhat on the short side, aged approximately in his mid-fifties, with the usual towel tied around his head. His wife was looking helplessly on as the ronin hooted with laughter and pulled on the two wooden poles either side of the stall; something which threatened to bring the entire flimsy structure crashing to the ground.
‘‘Your eels taste foul, you silly old bastard,’ sneered the obvious leader of the ronin, tall and with a hard-looking, malicious type of face. ‘You make the whole neighborhood stink, even, with the disgusting smoke you make as you cook this garbage!’
‘I have to say, the smoke emitted by the eels being grilled was not the most appetizing thing I’ve ever smelt. It did not seem as though the owner of the stall was using any type of sauce – just salt sprinkled on the eels as they were being cooked.
‘As such, without the flesh of the eels thus being marinated and made deliciously tender (something I had recently observed – and, moreover, had the delight of tasting – in a town not so far from this one), they would at best make a decidedly average meal.
“Where are your customers, eh?’ demanded the leader of the three ronin then. ‘At least the other stalls in this town have got people waiting to buy the food they’re cooking – but not this place. Why don’t you just close shop – before we ‘close it’ for you?’
‘At this, the leader placed his right hand threateningly on the hilt of his long sword, something which caused the other two thugs to again cackle with laughter.
‘The stallholder looked as though he would pass out with fear, his mouth opening and closing but only an incoherent ‘whining’ sound being emitted.
‘His wife, however, almost as short and plump as him, was somewhat more spirited –
“You’re gutless and cowardly at heart!’ she yelled at the three young men, pointing her finger at them like a podgy knife. ‘That’s all – nothing without your fancy swords! Not one of you is worth spit!’
“Wife, guard your mouth…!’ the stallholder almost squealed. It was pathetic to see a man being reduced to such a visibly terrified specimen; yet he had good reason to be so afraid. After all, it was he who the three ronin would likely punish (with blows or possibly even using their swords) for his wife’s words – not the woman herself.
“I know it’s not much,’ the man went on, his voice pleading and expression agonized, ‘but it’s all we have. All our money, all our resources are tied up in this little stall; we cannot ju – ’
“Shut up, you old fool,’ bellowed the leader, grinning broadly. ‘This’d better be the last day you ever open – tomorrow is the new year, in any case, so just you make sure that that’s when you get yourself a new job…’
‘A thought suddenly struck me, there as I stood watching this sorry scene, townspeople cowering nearby.
‘I stepped forward, approaching the three ronin, and said –
‘‘If you’d care to come back to this stall this very evening – shall we say at around six o’clock? – I can assure you that you will eat the finest eel you’ve ever tasted!’
‘‘Who the hell are you?’ demanded the leader, his hand again moving to his sword.
‘‘Just someone who can promise you a culinary delight later this evening,’ I returned. ‘I assure you…’
‘The stallholder, his wife and those other townspeople gathered around all gawped at me, as though I was crazy and actively looking to be murdered. Indeed, I wondered as to quite what I was doing myself – but it was too late now; I’d spoken.
‘Still, perhaps it was the confident voice which disguised my inner fear, together with my outwardly placid expression… In any case, after staring hard at me for a good few moments, the leader of the three ronin said then –
‘‘Very well, this challenge of yours is accepted. We will return later this evening, to see what you can do to the eels this old fool sells to make them taste as good as you claim they will.
‘‘But – beware! If you have been lying, and these eels are still as foul as they are now, then…’
‘With a grimace I assumed was intended to scare me, the young ronin made as though to draw his sword.
“Please, sir – ’ began the eel-seller.
“Silence, you senile old idiot,’ returned the ronin, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘The only reason me and my friends aren’t chopping your stall – and maybe you – to pieces right now is because of what this man says.
“So, we’ll be back – we’ll… be… back…’
‘And with this the three ronin walked slowly away, with frequent, menacing glances back in my direction. But I could see that I had confused them with my offer – they did actually want to see if these eels would taste as good as I had promised…
‘Then I realized that the eel-seller and his wife – and those other people gathered around – were staring at me. It was time I explained myself.
‘This I did quickly, detailing the nature of my plan, before preparing to ride on the horse I currently – fortunately – had in my possession, back to the town from where I had just come.
‘From the eel-stall there in that town (which, incidentally, did excellent business), I could purchase some of the sauce they used when cooking the eels, and returning give it to the eel-seller here to put on his own product before the ronin returned.
‘I needed to move fast, however. It was already noon, and the town where I needed to go lay some two hours’ ride from here. And then, of course, I had to return straight away…
‘Barely had I told the stall-holder, his wife and those others this, before I was back on my horse and galloping away, wondering myself as to quite what I was doing – and why I’d even got involved in the first place…’
…My master paused in his account, taking a sip of sake.
‘You see, Kukai,’ he said then, ‘this situation gave me a chance to discover whether the common hoodlum, as it were, could have his intentions swayed by something other than just the threat of violence. A threat of violence greater, that is, than that which even he can provide.
‘So, in effect, my assisting t
his eel-seller was almost something like an experiment; an investigation, if you will, into the ancient Chinese concept of yin-yang.’
‘I see, master,’ I said perfunctorily although, in truth, my comprehension of what my master was explaining was vague at best.
‘Anyway, I purchased a flask of this sauce from the eel-seller in the other town, and returned within four or five hours. Quickly the middle-aged man grilled some more eels, this time pouring the sauce over them as they sizzled.
‘Soon, a quite delicious aroma filled the neighborhood, attracting people from nearby. This made the eel-seller and his wife appear slightly happier, and they thanked me earnestly for my assistance. But then the eel-seller’s face fell once again, as he informed me –
“I should tell you that you have placed yourself in great danger, just by helping my wife and me. For the leader of those three thugs is the man who carries the nickname the ‘Forty-eighth Ronin’.’
‘Evidently, this name was supposed to mean something to me. When it became obvious that it actually meant nothing, the eel-seller continued –
“He claims that a close relation of his was one of the famous ‘Forty-seven Ronin’, who avenged the honor of their late daimyo by killing the court-official, Kira, who’d caused their lord to have to commit suicide by seppuku two years previously. This act of revenge having been completed, all but one of the forty-seven ronin then committed seppuku themselves.’
“I’m familiar with the story,’ I returned, watching as the cooking eels slowly turned a delicious-looking brown color. The man – whose name was Mizoguchi – used a long pair of chopsticks to turn them over, so that they would not burn…