“No.” Nezume shakes his head vigorously.
“We’re not going to kill anyone,” snaps Kyoko.
Mitsuka growls threateningly.
It’s not the samurai way.
“All right. But they’ll have sore heads in the morning.” Riaze’s eyes gleam with pleasure.
We might be friends with the Owl Ninja, but Riaze’s words remind me that we will always be different. But Sensei was right, too. The ninja and samurai must work together. And tonight his freedom depends on it.
“We need to find out as much as we can about the Emperor’s sleeping arrangements,” I say.
We know where to find his head. The dead are buried facing north, so a fearful man always places his pillow pointing south. In our ryu bedroom, we are not afraid and our mattresses are bare. “You are not soft in the head, so you do not need pillows,” Sensei told us.
“I’ll find out who is delivering the evening meal to the Emperor’s guards and arrange for a sleeping tablet to be slipped into their sake,” says Riaze.
“I’ll work out the best way to climb up to the Emperor’s bedroom,” Kyoko volunteers.
“The rest of us will listen in the corridors and compounds,” Yoshi says.
And I have a task to complete, too. The White Crane wants its feathers back. It doesn’t like to see them on the Dragon Master’s helmet. And Sensei’s staff needs a new feather, too.
Mitsuka grins. “It is a good plan. A samurai must be well prepared. Otherwise he will have to resort to surprise tactics and take his trousers off.”
“Never,” protests Mikko. “We want to frighten the Emperor, not make him laugh.”
It makes us laugh, though. And laughter binds us together, tighter than a sushi roll.
“It’s going to rain tonight,” Riaze says.
Ninja always know these things. And it’s good news. Clouds will ensure that the night is deep and dark. Thunder and lightning will help us scare the Emperor.
Everything is organized. Even the weather.
A moment later I notice that Riaze has gone. Even in broad daylight a ninja can disappear into thin air.
As the night lengthens, rain smashes against the roof. The wind howls like a wolf facing into the storm.
At exactly midnight, Mitsuka rises, tucking both his bokken and his sword into his sash. Yoshi slides the door open. He hoots softly, then listens for Riaze’s answer. We slink into the dripping shadows, our ninja-blue uniforms lost in the darkness, wind, and rain.
Phlat.
A large shape drops directly in front of Kyoko, and her scream is sucked into the roaring wind.
“Shh,” we chorus.
“It’s not my fault,” she mutters, glaring into Riaze’s barely visible eyes. Then she giggles. “But I wasn’t half as loud as the shushing. SHHH.” When the Snow Monkey mimics, we can’t help laughing.
“It is always good to begin with laughter,” Mitsuka says approvingly.
We creep and slosh across the compound until we reach the eastern tower.
Kyoko points. “There’s the window to the royal sleeping quarters.”
This afternoon Taji counted twelve guards between the tower door and the Emperor’s bedroom. And that was when the Son of Heaven wasn’t even there. So tonight we’re going over the rooftops to drop in from above.
Quickly, we attach our hand and foot claws. The stacked rock wall of the nearby servants’ building is notched with easy handholds, but the blustering rain pushes and shoves against us. We climb single file, sheltering behind the body in front. Yoshi goes first, his broad shoulders bearing the brunt of the storm.
Below us, Mitsuka melts into the shadows, standing watch until we return.
Ptt. Pttt.
Suddenly, Mikko loses his footing and his leg swings free, dislodging a shower of stones. Just behind him, I maneuver my shoulder under his foot. We’re all leaning on one another tonight. It makes us strong.
“Thanks,” whispers Mikko.
“You better hope you didn’t rain rocks onto Mitsuka’s head,” I say.
Nezume laughs beneath me. “I bet he could parry them with a single sword thrust.”
I bet he could slice them into quarters as well.
On top of the roof, I look west to where the ocean rolls beneath the darkness. The wind crashes like waves onto the shore, and the White Crane yearns to fly above the spray. One day, I promise myself. One day we’ll go over the sea.
Riaze unloops a rope from his belt.
“Let me do that,” volunteers Kyoko.
Expertly, she tosses the rope across the gap between the two towers. Clunk. The hooked end claws into stone. Like throwing shuriken stars.
Next, Riaze tugs a harness from his bag. “This will ensure that no one falls. We’ll cross, one by one, sending the harness back for the next climber.”
I know Riaze won’t need it. And neither does Kyoko. She brushes it aside, takes hold of the rope, and deftly climbs across. It’s easy for a Snow Monkey.
The White Crane can fly, but my foot likes to feel the ground underneath it. It’s a long tumble to the courtyard below. I’m not too proud to tie the harness around my waist and inch my way across. My fingers ache, numb against the slippery rope. Rain slaps me in the face, scolding me for my foolishness.
From the main tower roof, it’s a short climb down to the Emperor’s window balcony. At the ledge, I remove my claws and drop noiselessly into the Emperor’s room. My friends stay on the balcony. The slumbering samurai don’t even stir.
There’s only one more barrier between me and the Emperor. The nightingale floor.
Taking the flute from her pocket, Kyoko plays a haunting six-fingered tune to hide the sighs and creaks as I creep across the floorboards to the southern end of the Emperor’s mattress. We don’t want the nightingale’s song to call any more guards. We want them to think that the Emperor is listening to a late-night lullaby.
Groaning and turning, the Emperor, with his huge belly, shakes the bed. Gradually, my presence behind him seeps into his dreams. He wakes in fright.
“Guards!” he shouts to his samurai, but they’re lost, deep within their ninja-induced nightmares.
Pfflt. Mikko’s smoke egg lands on the nightingale floor, perfectly tossed by Kyoko. The smoke rises like an eerie gray fog rolling across the marsh to wrap the White Crane in mist.
I stand still, arms raised high.
Outside, the storm grows, pounding its fists against the roof. The wind batters and bawls.
“Who’s there?” the Emperor cries out into the darkness. “Show yourself. I can’t see you.” His words command, but his voice shakes. “Who are you?”
Only the flute wails in answer, its eerie notes fading as the storm tires.
Into the silence, the White Crane cries, “Aye-ee-yah.” Four times. Not loud enough to disturb the guards stationed on other floors but harsh enough to scrape like fingernails down a bamboo bucket.
“I am the White Crane, messenger of the black tengu.” My voice echoes around and around, until it is impossible to tell which direction it came from.
I see shadows move on the balcony as my friends join hands to support me. The room fills with the strength of our ki. Pulling the covers over his head, the Emperor huddles into his bedclothes.
“What do you want from me?” the Emperor moans.
“Whoo, whoo,” Riaze hoots through the window.
Not what, but who.
“Release Ki-Yaga,” the White Crane shrieks. “Now is not the time foretold. But if you continue to ignore the tengu’s instruction, greater disaster will strike.”
I’m even scaring myself.
“But I need his help.” Desperation makes the Emperor bold.
“Is your need greater than mine?”
The Emperor’s answer is barely a whimper.
Pfflt. Another smoke egg breaks open, and the fog thickens. The flute cries. Hidden by the fog, Yoshi creeps with ninja steps across the nightingale floor, placing four candles
at the foot of the Emperor’s mattress. Four flames facing north. As soon as Yoshi is back on the balcony, the White Crane screeches again.
“Did you not see the candles the tengu blew out this morning? Can you not see the flames that burn at your feet tonight?”
Sitting up now, the Emperor gasps at the four wisps of light curling through the smoke.
“Let Ki-Yaga go free,” the White Crane shrieks, even louder than before.
“I w-will,” the Emperor stutters.
“Samurai’s honor?”
“Samurai’s honor,” he repeats. It’s an oath powerful enough to bind even the Son of Heaven.
I place two white crane feathers and a dyed owl feather on the royal pillow. Tomorrow morning, the Emperor will have a reminder and the Dragon Master’s helmet will be bare.
Sensing my movement behind him, the Emperor spins around, peering, frightened, into the fog. Lightning flares, and for an instant, my shadow is caught. The White Crane stands motionless, its wings to the sky.
Pfflt. A third egg rolls into the room.
“Time for us to go,” Yoshi calls softly. “Quickly.” He reaches to help me out the window.
As I climb through, the moon edges from behind a cloud. This is more dangerous than a stab of lightning; Yoshi and I are about to be caught in a slash of moonlight.
Then, suddenly, a large black shape flies in front of the moon. Perfect timing. Yoshi pulls me to safety so fast that I lose my footing and tumble off the balcony ledge. Luckily, beneath me, Mitsuka steps out of the darkness, arms outstretched. I land with a hammering heart and a soft thump in the Bear’s great arms.
We hurry across the compound, then finally pause to catch our breath. Mitsuka’s eyes stare beyond me, into the sky. But the shape is gone.
“What was that?” Mikko asks.
“Tengu,” I murmur.
Mikko laughs. “Don’t be silly. Tengu don’t exist. We were just pretending.”
“Before Hell Valley, you didn’t believe in ghosts either,” Nezume reminds him.
“Maybe it was an owl,” Yoshi suggests. But he doesn’t look as if he believes his own words.
“It wasn’t an owl,” Riaze says. A ninja would know.
“It is not our concern,” Mitsuka decides.
But it is mine. And one day I’ll know the answer. One day I’ll ask Sensei my question.
The White Crane ruffles its feathers, rain dripping in puddles at its feet. The Tiger shakes its soggy fur. We’re wet, cold, and bedraggled, but we’re proud. And Sensei would be, too.
Before we reach our room, Riaze stops. “It’s time for me to leave. Good-bye, Little Cockroaches. You have owl wings now.”
“You are a friend truly worthy of Izuru,” I say, bowing deep.
“We will never forget you,” promises Kyoko.
“Until we meet again,” Riaze says, and kisses her hand.
He bows to Mitsuka. Then to all of us. One blink and he’s gone, faded into the shadows.
Behind me Taji hoots softly. And all along the castle wall, owls echo the Golden Bat’s call.
BONG. BONG.
The castle gong rings loud and insistent. We don’t care about our interrupted breakfast this time. We race Mitsuka through the garden and along the corridor to spill, breathless, into the Emperor’s presence. This morning there are even more charms and candles in the room.
“I have had a dream,” he announces. “I have received a new message from the black tengu. Ki-Yaga must leave the castle immediately or a great disaster will befall the Empire.”
The gong sounds again.
The Emperor has spoken, and his word is law.
Kyoko throws her arms around Sensei. We all follow, and soon our teacher is lost beneath a pile of arms and legs.
“My students are powerful in spirit,” Sensei says, unpeeling our layers. “And strong in their loyalty.” He winces as Yoshi squeezes him tight.
The Dragon Master frowns disapprovingly at our affection. He doesn’t understand. His students are in awe of their teacher. But there’s no respect in their groveling, only fear. Still, I don’t feel sorry for them.
“We all get what we deserve,” Sensei once said to us as he handed out heaping bowls of honey rice pudding.
Some kids deserve extra dessert, and some deserve the Dragon Master.
I do feel sorry for the prince. He almost had the best teacher in the world.
Sensei bows low to the Emperor. “You are both wise and generous. But now the Grandson of Heaven has no tutor to improve his swordsmanship. Allow me to provide him with one of my students.”
My mouth drops open. I don’t want to stay here.
But it’s not me. Nezume has already moved to stand before the Emperor.
“It’s a ridiculous suggestion.” Pushing his way forward, the Dragon Master knocks against Nezume. This time, our Long-Tailed Rat doesn’t cringe. Staring into the Dragon’s eye, he stands firm.
“The boy belongs to me,” the Dragon Master exclaims, simmering with barely controlled rage. “His father sent him to the Dragon Ryu. He is not Ki-Yaga’s to offer or give away.”
“Is this true?” the Emperor asks Nezume.
“In the beginning, I was a Dragon boy,” Nezume admits, “but under my first master’s guidance, I committed a great wrong. Yet I was forgiven.” He bends toward Mikko. “My honor was reborn when I became a Cockroach. My skill as a swordsman grew from my second master’s love and care. Today I am proud to be the Emperor’s humble servant.”
The Son of Heaven smiles. “It would seem that in the end, the boy belongs to me.”
Eyes blazing, the Dragon Master bites his lip to hold in the words.
The Emperor has not finished questioning Nezume. “Why should I let you teach my son when you are still a student yourself?”
“I am the fastest sword in the mountains. Even Sensei cannot match me.”
“Neither can I,” admits Mitsuka.
Still, the Emperor is undecided. “I was impressed with your expertise in the demonstration match, but do you have any teaching experience?”
Nezume’s voice rings strong and true, like the blade of his sword. “I have never been a teacher, but I have been taught by the best and the worst. I know what a teacher should not do.” He lets his jacket slip from his shoulders, revealing a spiderweb of cruel red scars.
The Emperor glares at the Dragon Master. “It seems some teachers should be taught a lesson.”
Beside me the Bear growls softly, grinding his teeth. “I’d like to do that.”
“My service is much more than my sword skills,” Nezume continues. “I offer friendship and honest counsel. As you have trusted Ki-Yaga, your son can trust me.”
Sensei nods. “All my students are destined for great things. For Nezume, that journey ends here at the castle. This is the task I have trained him for.”
“Rubbish,” huffs the Dragon Master. “He is just a boy. I should teach the prince.”
“I have seen the result of your lessons. You and I will discuss the Dragon Ryu’s training methods later,” the Emperor says sharply.
I wouldn’t want to be standing in the Dragon Master’s slippers then. But I’d like to be a cockroach on the wall, listening in.
The Emperor bows to Nezume. “Welcome to your new home, Teacher.”
Sensei has sliced another master sword stroke. Now Nezume is safe from the Dragon Master forever. Our friend will grow powerful, whispering in the ear of the future Emperor.
“How can I compensate you for the loss of a student?” the Son of Heaven asks Sensei with a smile. “I recall that we have an outstanding debt to be settled. Perhaps you would like to keep your head.”
Yes! We’d all like that.
But Sensei has other priorities. “I do not value my head,” he says. “I have a special request.”
The Emperor raises his eyebrows. “Then ask.”
“It has been decreed illegal to travel outside of Japan. I request a special exemption from t
he traveling ban. I wish to take my students on a journey over the ocean.”
The White Crane stirs, daring to hope. In my imagination it stretches its wings, ready to take flight.
“So be it.” The Emperor claps his hands. “Your head is no longer forfeit and you are free to leave these shores.”
Smirking, the Dragon Master doesn’t bother to hide his pleasure. “Finally, I am rid of you.” He scowls at Sensei. “A man your age should be dead by now anyway.”
The Emperor’s stare would slay a lesser Dragon, but Sensei nods. “Sometimes the Dragon Master is accidentally wise.” He strokes his long white beard. “I am always pleasantly surprised to wake up and find I am still alive.”
It’s probably a good idea for Sensei and the Dragon Master to have an ocean between them.
“Go now, before I change my mind and decide that my son deserves two teachers,” the Emperor says. “I must consult my advisers and make an offering to the tengu.”
Bowing deep and low, we touch our noses to the floor. Our audience is over. The Emperor waves the rest of us away, but he beckons Mitsuka closer.
Halfway back to our room, Sensei stops. A puzzled look on his face, he holds his traveling staff horizontally across his palms.
“Is something wrong, Sensei?” I ask. “I took great care of it. I even added a crane feather to its neck. One I freed from the Dragon Master’s helmet.”
“The staff is much stronger now that it holds your spirit with mine.” The wizard’s blue eyes gaze deep into my soul, searching. The White Crane blinks beneath the stare but doesn’t look away.
Sensei raps the ground with his staff, and the moment is broken. “Come along, Little Cockroaches. We have much to do.”
We pack slowly, delaying the time when we have to say good-bye to Nezume. But it comes anyway, rushing toward us like a summer monsoon. Nothing will ever be the same once it has passed through our lives.
Kyoko sniffs. “I’ll miss you, Rat Boy.”
“Don’t cry.” Nezume wipes her tears with his sleeve. “When Sensei said one of us would stay, I knew it was me. It felt right. I wish I could describe it better.”
I understand and I’m good with words, so I help explain. “It’s like when I put my foot in my slipper. It fits perfectly.”
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