“I didn’t hear anything.”
The first soldier looks along the wall. “I heard something. We should check.”
“Do it yourself, Jungo. I’m not listening to you anymore. That’s how I got into this trouble in the first place,” the second soldier grumbles. “If you hadn’t convinced me to gamble against the captain, we’d be home drinking hot sake instead of doing extra guard duty.”
“Shh. Stop whining, Shouji, and let me listen,” Jungo says.
“It was probably an owl. The place is riddled with the scraggly, stinking things.”
“Tu-whit. Tu-whoo,” Riaze hoots in protest.
“Hear that? What did I tell you, noodle-head? The only thing threatening to attack the castle has claws and feathers,” says Shouji.
Riaze rustles in his belt bag. It’s a sound as soft as owl wings, but I’m a good listener.
Ssst. Pfft. A white cloud of smoke balloons to envelop us all. Another ninja trick.
“This ocean mist is thicker than day-old miso soup. Do you still want to go owl hunting?” Shouji sneers.
“Nah. I suppose you’re right.”
The two soldiers grumble their way into a farther corner of the night.
“Ninja are always pleased to see the castle defenses in the safe hands of the samurai,” Riaze taunts. “It makes our job easier.”
The ronin’s teeth flash a grin into the darkness, and Sensei snorts in mock indignation.
“It would be different if it was me. I could do it one-handed,” Mikko boasts.
He’d have to. It’s all he’s got. But he wouldn’t be doing it alone. The Cockroach Ryu is a team. We stick together like rice and honey.
After Riaze is sure the soldiers have left, he hauls the rope ladder up and drops it down the other side. As we near the ground, a ghostly-white shadow swoops low over our heads. Somewhere nearby, a mouse squeals.
“The owl strikes, silent and deadly,” Sensei says, dropping expertly to the ground.
Yoshi lands on all fours, like a cat. I collapse with a thump to provide a soft cushion for Mikko, who lands on top of me. There’s nothing graceful about our entrance, but only the moon is watching. It winks and returns to hide behind the clouds.
“Keep the climbing claws,” says Riaze. “You might need them again one day.”
Mikko won’t like it if we do. And I would rather fly.
We edge along the dark shadowed streets, around corners, through narrow gateways. Around and around, until I’m hopelessly lost.
“Yeow. I stepped on a rock,” Yoshi whispers through clenched teeth. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Me neither. How am I expected to find my way?” Taji laughs.
“The road is curved so that even in daylight attackers cannot see very far ahead,” says Sensei. “But now that you are trainee ninja, you don’t need eyes to see where you must go. More practice, Little Cockroaches. Tomorrow your training begins at the Owl Dojo. We have many challenges ahead, and you will need new skills to meet them.”
Oh, no. Back to school.
Mikko groans, and the ronin laughs.
Pressing his fingers against his lips, Riaze leads us through the maze to a small wooden entrance.
Yoshi reads the words above the door: “Kitchen staff .”
“The best place for a ninja clan to hide is under the Emperor’s nose,” Sensei says approvingly.
“Owl Ninja are also the castle kitchen hands. My miso soup will make your mouth water,” Riaze brags.
“Tu-whoo, tu-whoo,” he calls softly.
The door creaks open. Just wide enough for the face behind it to see what the owl has dragged in. Just enough for the smell to reach out and tug at our tastebuds.
Hot miso soup. Mmmm. I can’t help it. Drool pools in the corners of my mouth.
Last night was a tired blur of welcoming smiles, my tale of almost drowning, a hot bath, and the best miso soup ever. This morning I’m hungry again and hoping for another bowl.
In the dojo dining room, we are quickly surrounded by familiar faces from our mountain village. One of them makes the hair on the back of my neck bristle. It is the face of a dead man. Black eyes lurk behind shaggy eyebrows. Gray furry hair covers his chin and cheeks. His mouth curls, almost into a snarl. I’d never forget a face like that.
We accompanied Sensei to his funeral two years ago. Women howled, banging their rice cooking pots. The bright red coffin was lowered into the fire, and that night we sent a flotilla of lanterns down the river. Without a proper farewell, a soul wanders for eternity — like the ghosts of Hell Valley. But everything was done right for this man. Why can’t his spirit rest in peace?
Goose bumps crawl across my chest as the ghost’s wolf-like stare hunts me down. But then he grins, and there are no pointed rows of teeth — just a smile.
“Your face is pale, young Cockroach. I am surprised you remember my mock funeral.”
“Niya has a memory like a steel boar trap and the fastest brain on any number of legs.” Sensei beams proudly.
My goose bumps are gone now. I pretend they were never there at all.
“I’m used to talking with real ghosts,” I brag. Yoshi stomps on my foot, reminding me to be polite, but I continue. “When we passed through Hell Valley, a ghost chose to speak with me.”
“Then I am pleased to have such a famous person in my dojo,” the man says with a chuckle.
The wolf man is the Ninja Master! I wish I’d listened to Yoshi’s stomp.
I bow, low and humble. “I meant no disrespect. It was only half a ghost, not very frightening at all.”
The Ninja Master nods, pardoning my insolence. “When I was chosen as clan leader, I had to disappear from my old life. Death is the ultimate vanishing act.”
Ninja are famous for their tricks, and this master is a great magician.
His hypnotic stare binds me tight, piercing deep into my heart. The White Crane looks into the Wolf’s eyes, unafraid.
Satisfied with what he finds, the Wolf releases us both. “I am honored to have Ki-Yaga return to the Owl Dojo. It will be a privilege to teach his students.”
I know I can trust this man. He could have swallowed my soul, but he chose not to. And there’s something more: I recognize the wolf Yoshi and I saw on the mountain track just before the earthquake that almost killed me. Even then, the ninja were watching over us.
The Ninja Master places his hand on my shoulder. “Let us share breakfast and after that” — he laughs — “more practice.”
Sensei nods his approval, but my friends and I groan. Around us, the Owl Ninja trainees echo our opinion. Ninja and samurai are not so different after all.
We’re lucky the ninja of the Owl Dojo work as castle kitchen staff. They cook a wonderful breakfast.
“Never eat a big meal before a battle,” Sensei taught us. “Sometimes in combat, a samurai sees things that make him glad his stomach is empty.”
But we’re only training today, so we pile our plates high.
“This is the best fish I’ve ever eaten,” says Taji.
Yoshi belches. “These are the best three fish I’ve ever eaten.”
We all murmur appreciatively, except the ronin. His goldfish cheeks are stuffed too full to make any noise.
After more breakfast than I’ve ever eaten before, an elderly ninja leads us in meditation and warm-up exercises.
“How can he teach us?” Kyoko whispers. “He’s so old. If he stretches anything, it will snap in two.”
Coughing softly, Sensei reminds us to be respectful or his old arms will teach us a lesson with his traveling staff.
A ninja needs to be flexible. Limb by limb, we stretch everything. By the time we’ve finished, I feel twice as tall as before.
The Ninja Master arrives to watch our progress. “Today each Cockroach student will learn a different skill,” he announces. “Then, together, you will be expert at them all.”
We’re used to that. We have never been expert at anything on our own. B
lind eyes, one leg, one arm. But our team is strong, with many arms and legs, able to see in the dark.
“Ki-Yaga and I have agreed on what each trainee needs to know. Yoshi will study concealment and disguise, learning to transform into other things and other people.”
“He’s going to be a ninja rock,” Mikko teases.
Yoshi growls gently. “Kick me and you’ll be sorry.”
We laugh, but it’s an excellent choice. Yoshi is already a rock. We lean on him all the time.
“Taji will learn espionage. Ninja have ways of listening that the samurai have never heard of,” the master says. “Kyoko will train in the garden with our women.”
Dark clouds thunder across Kyoko’s face. “I’m just as good as the boys.” She glowers, eyes flashing like lightning.
“The master did not say any different,” Sensei intercedes. “You might be surprised at what you learn. If you leave your mind open, anything can fly in.”
I always try to keep my mind open wide. Maybe that’s how Sensei flies in so easily.
“A girl who can fight like a boy is the perfect surprise weapon,” the Ninja Master says. “She will make the warrior hesitate and . . .”
“He who hesitates has already lost,” we all chorus, including the ronin.
“You have taught your students well, Ki-Yaga.”
Sensei nods, pleased with us and with the Ninja Master’s praise.
“I will teach Nezume to fight with a ninja dagger, and Mikko will learn to use explosives. Niya will practice unarmed combat.” The Wolf grins, sly but wise. “Maybe his slipper will learn new tricks.”
Good. I grin, too. Then I’ll be able to try those tricks out on Mikko.
Sensei eyes the cherry tree in the courtyard. “I think I will practice as well.”
“I’ll snore at your feet and learn from you,” the ronin says. “It will be just like the old days.”
We turn eagerly, hoping for the story. But somewhere a gong sounds, and we know what that means. No more chatter. Practice has begun.
“My name is Ako,” my opponent says. He’s smaller and thinner than me, but I’m not fooled by that. “I am also called Rice Boy,” Ako continues, “because I make the best rice porridge in Toyozawa. And there is one more reason but I’ll demonstrate that later.”
I search his face for clues. But the ninja are masters of disguise. All I find is a smile.
Ako tucks one leg up and hops forward. He falls flat on his face but rises quickly, ready to hop again.
“Are you making fun of me?” I ask.
Ako looks offended. “A ninja would never insult a guest.”
“Then why are you pretending to have one leg?”
“I want to fight like you. If I can manage on one leg, it doesn’t matter if I fall and break an ankle.”
I never thought about that before. What if I broke my ankle? The question answers itself. Yoshi and Mikko would argue about whose turn it was to carry me.
Ako and I begin to wrestle. Sometimes Ako wrestles me to the ground, and sometimes I topple him. But most of the time he stumbles and we crash together. It’s not easy, but Ako refuses to give up, persisting until he can balance on one leg. Not as good as the White Crane but much better than Taji and Mikko.
“May I borrow your slipper?” he says. “I think it would be harder to fight with a shoe on.”
“You are right,” I agree, “but my slipper probably won’t fit you.”
It does. Perfectly. Now I have the advantage as my bare foot grips the floor.
We lock arms with a grunt.
Crash. Clunk.
We untangle legs with a giggle.
Riaze appears, raising his eyebrows at us. “Do you want to go and see what the others are doing?”
“We’re supposed to practice wrestling,” I say.
“We could practice stealth,” suggests Ako. “All ninja have to learn that.”
Riaze, Ako, and I sneak into the garden, where Kyoko is throwing shuriken stars. When Kyoko kicks me during unarmed fighting practice, I often see stars, but not like these. Each star has four razor-sharp points, and according to Grandfather’s stories, sometimes they are dipped in poison.
At the far end of the garden, a woman stands holding a wooden pole. Kyoko swings her arm, and blades of metal spin across the open space to splinter the wood in the woman’s hand. The woman doesn’t flinch, but I do.
“What are you doing here?” Kyoko calls.
I wave her over. “We’re sneaking up on everyone.”
“Come with us, and I’ll show you how I broke my leg. You can try the climb,” offers Riaze.
Kyoko can’t resist a climbing challenge.
Riaze points to a thin bamboo string swinging high between two trees. I’m not trying that, I think. But Kyoko is already running toward the nearest trunk. She scrambles across on all fours and drops to the ground.
“Too easy. How could you possibly fall?”
“Hmph,” Riaze snorts. “I’ll show you.”
He walks the string like a tightrope. Kyoko wants to try it that way, but black smoke is billowing from the hut at the other end of the garden. That’s where Mikko is. We race to see what he’s burning.
In the middle of the room, Mikko is filling an eggshell with dark powder.
“Look,” he calls. “I’m mixing sand, pepper, and nettles. When I throw this in someone’s eyes, they’ll be blinder than Taji. Do you know what else I learned this morning?”
We shake our heads. I’ve never seen Mikko excited about learning anything.
“I can make a wall of flame, but I can’t show you.” He grins sheepishly. “I burned a hole in the wall last time.”
“Then you are almost as good as Grandfather,” I say. “He set the roof on fire twice, and once he even singed his own beard.”
“Has Mikko finished his lesson?” Ako asks the teacher.
The ninja nods, looking relieved that the instruction is over. Winking at me, Mikko slips the eggshells into his pocket, unnoticed by everyone else.
We’re looking for Taji next, but he finds us first. He’s finished learning to listen and is practicing with a bamboo cup against the dojo wall. “I heard you coming,” he says, laughing. “But I didn’t need the listening cup to hear Niya.”
“You won’t hear me anymore. Ako and Riaze are teaching me to creep like a ninja.”
“I’ll believe that when I hear it,” Taji says.
The White Crane is learning to fly on owl wings, but the Golden Bat already knows how to swoop without a sound.
We need Taji’s help to find Yoshi. He’s sitting motionless, not making any noise at all. Yoshi has been practicing like this for years. Every day he sits on his rock overlooking the valley, thinking about the time years ago when he accidentally killed another boy. But ever since he shared the story, he doesn’t spend as much time sitting alone.
“Would you like to see something dangerous?” Riaze asks. “It’s in the next room.”
We nod eagerly. Samurai kids race toward danger. Except when they don’t know where they’re going. The dojo is a maze of rice-paper walls, and they all look the same to me.
“There it is.” Ako points to a raised platform in the middle of the room.
Why would a room need two floors? And what’s so dangerous about that?
“This is a nightingale floor,” Riaze says. “It sings.”
“Like a sword?” Nezume asks.
When Riaze steps onto the wooden floor, the boards creak softly. “No. This is not a song you ever want to hear.”
“Its notes are meant to rouse sleeping samurai guards,” says Ako. He draws an imaginary sword across his neck. “One dead ninja.”
“And if the samurai don’t wake up?” Yoshi asks.
“One dead samurai,” says the ronin from the doorway. Sensei, the Ninja Master, and Nezume are with him.
Are ninja and samurai enemies? Or friends?
You must decide for yourself, Sensei answers me.
&
nbsp; “Even the Emperor now sleeps surrounded by a nightingale floor,” says the Ninja Master. “We haven’t yet found a way across.”
Nezume turns, hand on his sword. “Do you want to kill the Emperor?”
“No. The Emperor is a good man, and I would defend his honor. But we must be prepared for the day when this floor lies between us and our enemy.”
“A samurai doesn’t like to sneak and kill,” I say indignantly.
Riaze laughs. “That’s why he hires a ninja to do it for him.”
I’m about to argue, but Sensei and the ronin are nodding. It’s true!
Yoshi steps onto the floor to stand beside Riaze. He has made his decision. And he’s right. These ninja are our friends. One by one, we follow his lead until we’re all standing in the middle of the floor and a flock of nightingales cries out in deadly song.
The sound is familiar, and the White Crane shakes its head, trying to remember. Sensei says that sometimes you need to tip your head sideways so you can look at a problem differently.
Or tip your ear so you can hear at a different angle.
Kyoko places her ear against the floor. “I know that sound.”
Taking her shakuhachi flute from her pocket, she begins to play. Her six fingers play the bamboo flute until it sings in tune with the creaks and sighs of the floor.
When she stops playing, the Ninja Master bows low.
“I am in your debt,” he says. “You will save many ninja lives.”
The ninja are masters of deception, but they had nothing to hide behind when they stepped onto the nightingale floor. Now they can play Kyoko’s song. Slumbering beneath the sound of a flute’s lullabies, no one will hear the ninja creep.
We came here to end war in the mountains, and now beneath the castle wall we are ending another conflict, as samurai and ninja work together.
Sensei grins proudly. I am such a good teacher.
Yes, I answer. And we are such good students.
It’s hard to listen when Sensei laughs inside my head. The Ninja Master is speaking again. “Let us celebrate by shouting,” he says.
We shout to release ki. Sensei teaches us that ki is a powerful spiritual energy, stored in the stomach and more potent than one of Yoshi’s belches. A great shout can startle an ambush or frighten an adversary. And it always feels good to yell.
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