Owl Ninja

by Sandy Fussell

We hurry across the wooden bridge.

  “I am pleased to meet you,” the prince says. “I hear you wiped the tatami mats with the Dragon Ryu at the Samurai Trainee Games. I wish I’d seen that.”

  He smiles. The Grandson of Heaven commands the sun, too. I already like this boy a lot. Kicking off our sandals, we sit at the water’s edge, letting the koi nibble our feet. It’s peaceful here. Our ryu garden is full of cabbages, chickens, and stones. There’s nothing restful about hard work and calloused hands.

  “I am learning swordsmanship, too,” the prince says.

  Mikko grins. “We could have a practice match. Just for fun.”

  “I don’t know,” the prince says hesitantly. “It wouldn’t be fair to fight a one-armed opponent.”

  “You could tie up one hand,” Mikko suggests. “What about a wager? If I win, you owe me a gold piece.”

  The prince wouldn’t stand a chance, even with both hands.

  “Don’t believe him. It’s a trick,” says Kyoko, glaring at Mikko. “He could win with no hands and the sword between his teeth.”

  “Sorry,” Mikko apologizes. “But there’s a girl I like, and I need to bring her a belt full of money.”

  The prince winks. “I understand that.”

  I’m not sure I like the way the prince looks at Kyoko when he says it. Before I can pull my thoughts together, Yoshi changes the subject.

  “We came through Hell Valley on our way here, and a ghost spoke to Niya. Sensei says you know a lot about the spirit world.”

  Trust Yoshi to know what the prince is interested in. Sensei would be pleased. A good samurai is always prepared.

  “I wish I could go into the valley. Father says it’s too dangerous. He is afraid, but I am not.” The prince’s eyes shine with excitement. “I’ve spent years studying but have never seen anything. Ghosts, goblins, shape-shifters, tengu . . .”

  Mikko pokes me in the ribs, and my friends erupt in giggles.

  “Supernatural beings should not be laughed at,” the prince says. “Even my father cannot dictate to the other world. Emperor and subjects bow fearfully before the spirits.”

  “Three candles went out in the throne room,” I say. “Your father was very upset.”

  The prince is not surprised. “When he was a boy, my father was visited by a fearsome goblin — a tengu priest from the mountains. The stories that priest told still give my father nightmares, and ever since then, he has slept with two samurai guards at his feet.”

  “What are the stories?” I ask.

  “My father refuses to repeat even one, no matter how many times I plead.”

  “Niya thinks Sensei is a tengu priest,” Mikko says, laughing.

  The prince doesn’t join the laughter. “It’s possible,” he says thoughtfully. “Some tengu are consumed by the darkness, but others give their life to teaching those with a special need.”

  I like him more than ever. Even if he stares at Kyoko.

  “Everyone has goodness and evil in their heart,” explains the prince. “We all try to hide the evil so our goodness shines brightest.”

  Sensei is very good. He could easily outshine a great evil.

  “You know a lot about these things,” I say admiringly.

  “It’s not easy being a prince. I don’t have any friends, so I read a lot.”

  It’s not easy being us either. But we’ve always got one another.

  The prince pulls a gold coin from his pocket and offers it to Mikko, who shakes his head.

  “Take it,” the prince insists. “Then you can invite me to the wedding. I am invited many places but never as a friend.”

  “Thanks. I will.” Mikko pockets the coin. “She’s the most beautiful girl in all of Japan.”

  Mikko needs his eyes tested. My sister isn’t even a little pretty.

  Looking into her reflection, Kyoko sighs deeply. “The Dragon kids say I’m ugly. Who would marry me?”

  Someone very lucky, I think.

  “I would,” volunteers the prince.

  I don’t like that idea much, but Kyoko is as beautiful as a princess.

  Cranky ducks interrupt my thoughts, quacking and complaining as Taji races across the grass toward the bridge.

  “He should slow down. He might trip.” The prince looks worried.

  Yoshi shakes his head. “Not even if I stick my foot out.” He pokes his foot out to prove the point, and Taji skids around it, careening into Nezume.

  “I’ve overheard something really important.” He hesitates, unsure whether to trust the prince.

  “It’s okay. Our new friend has the heart of a Cockroach,” says Yoshi.

  We never question Yoshi’s judgment, except when he’s deciding who gets the leftover serving of pudding. But this time it’s got nothing to do with dessert.

  “The Dragon Master’s scroll will be stolen tonight,” Taji confides. “While the master and his students are completing their evening exercises, the kitchen boy will deliver their meal and steal the scroll. Without it, the Dragon Master can’t prove whom he speaks for.”

  But Sensei can. He always speaks for himself.

  We wish we could tell the prince about the ninja in his kitchen, but it’s not our secret to spill, and we promised the Owl Master we would keep it safe.

  “Sensei is coming now,” announces Taji.

  The prince looks at me as Sensei rounds a corner. I shrug. I don’t know how Taji does it either.

  “Master,” the prince stands and bows.

  “Grandson of Heaven.” Sensei returns the bow. “I have come to meditate in your garden. I hear you have many wise old cherry trees.”

  “It would be an honor for you to rest beneath their branches,” says the prince.

  Sensei looks tired. And he looks sad. Perhaps it took all his strength to calm the Emperor’s fears. Or maybe he is worried about tomorrow. I hop with him to the oldest, wisest cherry tree, waiting while he settles back against its trunk.

  “Are you sad, Sensei?”

  He sighs. “I have lived a long time. Longer than any man should.”

  Are you a man? I want to ask.

  “When you have lived as long as I have, you gather many memories. And some are very sad,” Sensei says. “Some, I would even give my left leg to change.”

  Understanding, I nod. I have many happy memories, and I would not trade a single one of them. Not even for another leg.

  “Niya,” Kyoko calls, “come and feed the koi.”

  The moment snaps like a frayed piece of bamboo. Sensei closes his eyes.

  “Rest well, Master,” I whisper.

  Sensei snores. And inside my head, he smiles.

  Bash. Bash. BASH.

  No gentle tap this time. The pounding demands that we open the door right away, before the rice paper rips. Even Yoshi stops mid-breakfast, rushing to answer the knock.

  The attendant has run all the way to deliver this message and is gasping for breath. “The Emperor requires an audience with Ki-Yaga.” Words tumble and drop so fast that my ears struggle to catch them. “Immediately.”

  It’s not a request. It’s a command.

  “Chop, chop, Little Cockroaches.” Wiping a stray noodle from his beard, Sensei heads out the door. We don’t even stop to change into our castle finery. This time the ronin comes, too, pausing for one last mouthful and to tuck his wooden sword into his belt.

  “What do you need that for?” Mikko asks.

  “A stout piece of wood is always useful. Perhaps I will wave it around to make a point.”

  The point of a wooden sword is rounded and blunt, but even a floorboard would be a convincing weapon in the ronin’s giant hands. He might not have the skill and grace of a swordsman, but he has the strength of a huge bear.

  Sensei strides along beside the attendant, whistling, the way he does when he’s looking forward to something. But I know it’s not good news. Good news is more polite. It waits until after breakfast.

  Loud and angry, the Dragon Master’s voice gu
sts along the corridor to buffet our ears. Nezume moves closer to Sensei. Our master is not afraid. “The castle’s heating is working well this morning. The hallway is full of hot air,” he says with a chuckle.

  The Emperor’s voice rises to quell the Dragon’s fire. “I will wait to hear what Ki-Yaga has to say.”

  When Sensei steps through the doorway, the hush falls like a noose around us. The Dragon Master and his students are standing before the throne. Turning, the Dragon’s glare swipes razor-sharp across the room. But our teacher bows effortlessly beneath it.

  “How may I be of service?” Sensei asks the Emperor.

  “You’ve caused enough trouble.” The Dragon Master has forgotten his court manners, raking a long red fingernail just beneath Sensei’s chin. “You took my scroll.”

  Sensei shrugs. “I have not seen it. But like the Emperor, I was hoping to check its authenticity this morning.”

  “You can’t trick me this time.” The Dragon Master smirks. “I’ve got proof.”

  He turns to the Emperor. “When I finished my exercises, our evening meal was on the table but the scroll in the adjoining room was gone. There was only one person who came into our rooms. The castle kitchen boy stole it for him.” The red nail stabs at Sensei’s chest, and the Dragon boys snicker. “Who else but Ki-Yaga would benefit from such a crime?”

  Sensei nods. “It is true I have often benefited from the Dragon Master’s shortcomings. But should I be held responsible whenever he cannot remember where he has left something?”

  The prince is sitting beside his father, and he struggles not to laugh. “Is the Dragon Master suggesting that our castle kitchen staff does Ki-Yaga’s bidding?” he asks.

  Sensei shakes his head, amazed. “Next the Dragon Master will be suggesting the kitchen is full of ninja.”

  “Ridiculous,” the Emperor agrees. “My staff is loyal to me. They are not criminals for hire.”

  “I can prove it was the kitchen boy. I didn’t see his face, as I was concentrating on an extremely difficult exercise. The foolish culprit was in such a hurry that he left something behind in the scroll’s room.” The Dragon Master places a slipper on the table. “Call the boy who served me last night and we’ll see if the slipper fits.”

  My heart drops onto my foot so hard I want to hop in pain. I recognize the slipper. It belongs to Ako. He can run like wind across rice, but he’ll never outrace the Dragon Master’s revenge.

  The Emperor reaches for his bell.

  Fear spreads like ice through my stomach, but in my memory the ghost’s red eyes burn lava-hot. Remembering its words, relief thaws me. I need only one slipper. Sensei nods, and the White Crane winks back.

  “It is not necessary to find the boy,” Sensei says. “I have a confession to make.”

  “I knew it,” the Dragon Master gloats.

  “It will be best if Niya explains.”

  I hop forward. Face flushed, I feel the Dragons breathing hot down my neck. But the White Crane stands still and regal, its one foot firmly anchored in the cool waters of the lake.

  “Son of Heaven.” I bow. “I must apologize. I am the one who has caused the Dragon Master to wrongfully accuse your staff and our teacher.”

  Slowly and respectfully, I bend toward the throne.

  “Please continue.” Shining like the sun, the Emperor’s warm voice gives me even greater courage. What I must say isn’t easy for me. Sometimes a samurai kid must use a ninja trick to deceive.

  “I was the one who served the Dragon Master’s meal. There was no kitchen boy in his rooms, only me. But I didn’t go into the room containing the scroll.”

  The prince smiles encouragingly, but the Dragons have faces like thunder. I close my ears to their rumble.

  “I swapped with the kitchen boy because Sensei teaches us that a samurai must be good with a sword on the battlefield and a knife in the kitchen. He is always telling us we need more practice.”

  “Is this true?” The Emperor knows our master cannot lie to the Son of Heaven.

  But Sensei is as clever with words as he is with his sword. He can dodge a question as easily as he ducks under a swinging blade. “Yes. I am always yelling ‘More practice.’ My students complain about it all the time.”

  Only the Dragon Master is not convinced. “The Cockroach boy is lying.”

  “Perhaps someone else entered your room,” suggests the Emperor.

  “No. I felt only one person enter. I am a Zen master, and I would know if someone else sneaked in. Not even a ninja can creep past me. It is the boy’s slipper. Make him try it on. It will prove he was in the scroll’s room.”

  “I would be glad to,” I say. “But I cannot. It is for the left foot and I only have a right one. Maybe one of the Dragon students left it there. Perhaps they forget where they leave things, too.”

  The Dragon Master scowls, and the Dragon kids glare. If looks could kill, I’d be dead many times over by now.

  The prince tries not to laugh. But this time he can’t help it. Laughter is like a river. It runs from face to face, tickling and teasing. The ronin’s voice rumbles. Yoshi roars. Mikko giggles. Even the Emperor smiles.

  Slowly, he rises to speak. “I have made my decision.”

  Kyoko reaches for my hand while Nezume fidgets nervously. Will the Emperor’s words silence the drum?

  “In battle, when one side loses its scroll of orders, it surrenders. And the other side wins. The theft of a scroll is an ancient and honorable military strategy. And while this does not excuse the culprit from punishment if he is caught, in this case, he is too clever for that.”

  Inside my head, the drumming finally stops.

  But the Dragon is not willing to surrender. He has no respect for tradition or honor.

  “Everyone in the castle must try the slipper on,” he demands.

  Sensei pokes a skinny crow foot forward. “Perhaps it might fit me.”

  “It is not necessary. The Dragon Master has testified that only the boy who delivered the evening meal was in the room and clearly the slipper is not his,” says the Emperor.

  “It’s another trick,” fumes the Dragon. “Ki-Yaga is a black magician. You,” he hisses at me, “are just like your master.”

  There’s no greater compliment. “Thank you.” I bow.

  “War is a game with many rules,” Sensei says. “Strategy is always an honorable move. Remember the great warrior who left his opponent waiting while he slept late and ate a leisurely breakfast?”

  Our stomachs rumble, remembering the missed meal.

  “This young warrior finally arrived, barefoot and half-dressed, carrying only a wooden sword. His enraged opponent slashed wildly, lured into carelessness. The young upstart had won the first of many famous battles.”

  Everyone knows the story about Mitsuka Manuyoto, but the ronin is grinning so wide, it’s obvious that Sensei is talking about him. It seems there’s more to our big friend’s craftiness than simply taking off his trousers. And now we know his name. I was right all along.

  The Emperor smiles, welcoming the defender of his youth. But the Dragon Master still doesn’t know. He’s too angry to listen properly. And he hasn’t learned the lesson. His face furrows with fury. “It was a pathetic win. He didn’t even kill his opponent. The fool let him escape.”

  “He wisely chose to let him live,” Sensei says. “The greatest victory is always the one with the least bloodshed.”

  “Is that what you think?” The Dragon Master unsheathes his sword.

  The blade flashes only inches from Sensei’s long beaked nose.

  Behind me I hear the Emperor’s guards move, but the Son of Heaven raises his hand to stay them. The war is not over after all, and it is only right for two masters to settle their differences with a blade. Except Sensei hasn’t brought his sword with him.

  The drumming begins again inside my head. Louder, faster. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

  Sensei doesn’t move. He’s not in a hurry. Only the slow man needs a head st
art.

  The ronin’s strong voice fills the room as he places his huge body between Sensei and the fire-breathing Dragon. “No one insults my teacher. I accept the challenge on his behalf.”

  “You? I’m not fighting a beggar,” the Dragon bellows. There’s no glory in slicing the head from a street tramp, but the man who collects Sensei’s head will have many stories told about him.

  But it’s not up to the Dragon Master. Ki-Yaga’s voice rings with even greater authority than the gong. “I accept my student’s offer.”

  Our teacher waves us to the back of the room, where the castle guards are standing, hands on their swords. The Dragon kids move, too, staying as far away from us as possible. Only Sensei, the ronin, and the Dragon Master remain in front of the throne.

  “Cockroaches smell,” the big Dragon boy mutters.

  Kyoko pokes out her tongue. “And Dragons stink.”

  Phew. Mikko and Taji pinch their noses shut.

  “Shh,” Yoshi says.

  “This filthy ronin doesn’t even have a proper sword,” the Dragon Master sneers.

  I smile, and Yoshi chuckles softly.

  A true samurai doesn’t need a sword.

  “I have all I need.” Grinning, the ronin pulls the wooden bokken from his belt.

  The Dragon’s mouth curls in contempt. “It’s just a practice sword.”

  “Not in my hands. And anyway, I am only intending to practice on you. Maybe tomorrow I will find a worthy opponent.”

  If the Dragon Master really could breathe fire, the room would be filled with smoke and ash. Instead, it is choked with rage and anger.

  “I will not fight against street trash.” He folds his gold sleeves across his chest.

  “All that glitters is not gold,” Nezume whispers.

  “Sometimes it is just shiny rubbish.” Kyoko giggles.

  Sensei is a great teacher, and the ronin was his greatest pupil. It’s not over yet.

  “It appears that the Dragon is too timid to fight me.” The ronin waits, hands on his hips.

  “I’ll fight,” sneers the Dragon Master. “But you’ll regret your words when I chop your sword into firewood.”

  “As my student is fighting on my behalf, may I provide him with a sword?” Sensei asks the Emperor.