The Ring of Water

by Chris Bradford

  Ronin hiccupped. ‘How mushh?’

  ‘Everything you’ve got.’

  ‘Oh, good!’ replied Ronin cheerfully. ‘We’ve got nothing … that means we can pass.’

  Waving Jack and Hana on, Ronin started walking. But the leader put a hand to Ronin’s chest.

  ‘I don’t think so, samurai. We’ll have that bottle for starters.’

  ‘Thisss?’ slurred Ronin, giving the bottle a shake. ‘But it’s empty.’

  To prove his point, he drained the last of its contents into his mouth.

  ‘I can see you’ve got another bottle! Hand it over –’

  At that moment, Ronin pretended to choke and spat the rice wine into the bandit’s face. The man shrieked as the alcohol burnt his eyes. Ronin drunkenly lurched forward, headbutting him in the nose and breaking it. The leader staggered away, blood gushing down his face.

  ‘Get them!’ he yelled.

  Immediately, the squat bandit attacked Ronin with his club. Swaying to one side, Ronin’s arms whirled as if trying to catch his balance. He easily evaded the vicious swipe and in the process smashed the ceramic bottle over the bandit’s head. The man was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

  Jack leapt into action. Spinning his bō, he cracked the nearest bandit across the knuckles. The man grunted with pain and was forced to let go of his weapon. The axe cut the tip off his little toe as it dropped on to his foot. Hopping in agony, the bandit made an easy target as Jack whipped his staff round, caught the man’s legs and flipped him over. A quick jab to the gut ensured he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

  Jack heard a scream from behind and saw Hana being snatched by the gap-toothed bandit.

  ‘Duck!’ he shouted, thrusting the end of the staff at Hana’s head.

  Hana obeyed and the bō struck her assailant in the chest. Wheezing from the blow, the bandit released her and threw his knife at Jack in retaliation. The blade headed straight for Jack’s throat. Only split-second timing and his samurai training saved him. He instinctively deflected the knife with the bō’s shaft.

  Furious, the bandit charged at Jack, who flicked the staff’s tip up beneath the man’s jaw. There was a nasty crunch and several more teeth flew out. Then Jack brought his staff whipping round and sent the toothless bandit hurtling into a tree, knocking him senseless.

  He now turned to face the fourth robber armed with a staff.

  Meanwhile, Ronin was battling with both the leader and the spear-wielding bandit. Hana watched open-mouthed as Ronin toppled, tumbled and turned between his assailants. But at no point could either of them land a strike on the drunken samurai.

  The bandit with the spear tried to drive his weapon into the rolling Ronin, and promptly got the tip wedged into the earth. Springing to his feet, Ronin stomped on the shaft, snapping it in two. A drunken fist to the throat brought the fight to a swift end.

  Disorientated from all his multiple twists and turns, Ronin’s legs went from beneath him and he collapsed to the ground.

  ‘Now I’ve got you!’ snarled the furious leader, raising his club to smash the samurai to pieces.

  Suddenly Ronin rebounded to his feet, threw out a leg and struck him in the face a second time. The bandit was stopped mid-swing and toppled like a felled tree.

  ‘Never ever take my saké!’ said Ronin. He peered down at the bandit’s battered features. ‘And I really didn’t think you could get any uglier!’

  The vanquished leader could only manage a feeble groan in response.

  Ronin glanced over to where Jack was still locked in combat with the final bandit.

  ‘Come on! We haven’t got all night,’ he complained impatiently.

  He leant against a tree to watch the fight, but didn’t have long to wait before Jack disarmed his opponent. One glance at his fallen comrades was enough to convince the bandit to run while he still had the chance.

  ‘Leave them to lick their wounds,’ said Ronin, tottering off down the road.

  Jack and Hana followed close behind, Hana speechless for the first time since they’d started walking that day.

  Eventually they stopped by a river and found a suitable and safe spot upstream to camp for the night. Jack built a fire and they gathered by its warmth, while tucking into chestnut-flavoured manjū and sharing a straw container of rice.

  ‘You were amazing!’ said Hana, admiring Ronin with spellbound eyes.

  ‘What?’ he grunted, through a mouthful of manjū.

  Hana rolled around on the ground, imitating his drunken fighting. She tried to spring to her feet, but only got halfway before landing heavily on her rear. Jack burst out laughing.

  Ronin tutted in irritation. ‘That’s not how you do it! Drunken Fist is a highly skilful martial art.’

  ‘Oh, it can’t be that hard. You just need to get drunk,’ she said, picking up Ronin’s last bottle of saké.

  ‘Give that here!’ he growled, snatching the rice wine from her grasp. ‘You don’t need saké for Drunken Fist. You need training.’

  ‘Why don’t you teach us then?’ suggested Hana.

  ‘I’m no sensei.’

  ‘Well, I’m no student,’ retorted Hana. ‘Never been taught in my life. That will make you the best teacher I’ve ever had.’

  Ronin didn’t answer, just took another slug of rice wine.

  ‘So where did you learn Drunken Fist?’ asked Jack, having suspected Ronin’s moves were part of a formal fighting style.

  ‘From a Shaolin priest, a warrior monk on a pilgrimage from China. His name was Han Zhongli.’ Ronin smiled at the memory. ‘I watched him defeat twenty men single-handedly. After that, I asked to become his student.’ He stared into the fire, lost in his reverie.

  ‘And?’ prompted Hana.

  Ronin got to his feet, bottle in hand.

  ‘Drunken Fist relies on deception,’ he explained, staggering slightly. ‘You mimic a drunkard with his cups.’ He held one hand out as if grasping a cup. ‘You move around, soft but strong.’

  Ronin swayed, rocking and rolling on the balls of his feet.

  ‘When I reach for another drink, it’s actually a strike.’ He flung out his hand, stopping just short of Hana’s nose. ‘Or a grab technique.’ He clamped down upon Hana’s shoulder and she squealed as his fingers bit in. ‘You aim for pressure points, or else take the opponent’s balance.’

  Despite his initial reluctance, Ronin was clearly warming to his role as sensei. Hana watched intently, while Jack made mental notes of everything Ronin was imparting.

  ‘The principle tactic is to feign defence while trying to attack. To appear to aim in one direction, while moving in another.’

  Staggering to his right, Ronin executed a devastating side-kick with his opposite leg.

  ‘I use all these movements to confuse my opponent, so I always look off-balance.’ Ronin tottered on one foot. ‘But I always stay in control, maintaining my centre of balance –’

  Suddenly Ronin flailed his arms and fell to the ground, bringing the lesson to an abrupt end. The ungainly finish caused Hana to burst into a fit of giggles. Jack knew Ronin wouldn’t take kindly to this and, glaring at Hana, hurried over to help the drunken samurai to his feet.

  ‘You thought I fell,’ challenged Ronin as Jack came near.

  In the blink of an eye, Ronin twisted on his back, spiralling upwards. His foot would have caught Jack in the jaw, if Jack hadn’t dodged the surprise attack. But a second later, Jack was struck in the chest with a palm strike and he was sent flying. He landed on top of Hana, both of them stunned by the unexpected assault.

  ‘That is Drunken Fist,’ proclaimed Ronin proudly. ‘Just when your opponent thinks you’re most vulnerable … you strike!’

  21

  UMESHU

  ‘Why not use the bridge?’ asked Hana as they resumed their journey the next day.

  ‘You won’t learn anything from a bridge,’ replied Ronin, leaping from the bank and on to a rock poking out of the water.

 
He landed on one foot, arms outstretched, the saké bottle in one hand, his swords in the other. Jack and Hana watched as he swayed slightly above the rippling waters.

  ‘Balance can make or break a martial artist.’

  He jumped to the next stepping stone, smaller than the first and more slippery. But he had no problem keeping his footing. Just as he’d fought in a drunken lopsided manner, so Ronin leapt from rock to rock, flexing like a reed to counterbalance himself, until he reached the opposite bank.

  He raised his bottle in a toast to them and took a swig.

  Hana looked at Jack. ‘If he can cross it, I definitely can.’

  Taking a running leap, she reached the first stone.

  ‘Easy!’ she cried, tottering slightly on her tiny island.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she readied herself for the next jump. As she landed, her foot slipped and she lost her balance. Arms cartwheeling in the air, Hana looked like a frenzied sparrow as she tried to right herself. But it was no use. She toppled head first into the river.

  Ronin guffawed loudly at Hana’s misfortune as she came up spluttering and gasping.

  ‘I can’t swim! I can’t swim!’ she yelled, splashing frantically in the water.

  Jack kicked off his sandals and was about to jump in after her, when Ronin said, ‘STAND UP! It’s not deep.’

  Finding her feet, Hana stopped panicking and looked a little sheepish. The water only came up to her waist and she waded the rest of the way.

  Ronin turned to Jack. ‘Your turn, samurai boy!’

  Jack, who’d experienced many such tests during his training at the Niten Ichi Ryū, wasn’t troubled by the crossing. He even had the advantage of his bō to maintain balance. Tucking his sandals into his obi, he jumped effortlessly from stone to stone, his bare feet gripping their slimy surface just as they had the yardarm of the Alexandria when he’d been a rigging monkey.

  ‘Impressive,’ Ronin grunted as Jack reached the last of the stepping stones. ‘Here, catch this.’

  Ronin tossed his bottle at Jack. With little time to react, Jack let go of his staff and clutched at the flying bottle. It hit him squarely in the chest.

  ‘Don’t drop it!’

  Jack managed to keep hold but, with his balance gone, he splash-landed in the river. Floating there, bedraggled and with the bottle in his lap, Jack now became the focus of Ronin’s mirth, Hana joining in the laughter too.

  Ronin offered his hand. Appreciating the samurai’s gesture, Jack reached up to be helped out of the chilly mountain waters.

  ‘The saké!’ said Ronin, ignoring Jack’s outstretched arm.

  He should have known. He passed the samurai back his precious bottle.

  ‘You can’t let a simple distraction like that take your balance,’ observed Ronin as Jack dragged himself out of the river.

  Despite all his training both as a samurai and a ninja, Jack realized there would always be more to learn. He wouldn’t be caught out like that again.

  Ronin passed a cursory eye over the two of them, standing beside him like drowned rats. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll dry off by the time we reach Kyoto!’

  They welcomed the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun as they left the forested mountain slopes of Yamashiro Province and entered the plains of Kyoto Prefecture. Following the main road, they passed by an immense field lined with row upon row of small bush-like trees, none much taller than Jack himself.

  ‘We’ve reached Aodani!’ said Ronin in delight. ‘This place is famous for its flowering plum-tree groves. There are some ten thousand trees here. In spring, the blossom must be truly magnificent.’

  ‘I didn’t take you for an admirer of blossom-viewing,’ said Jack, looking archly at the effusive samurai.

  ‘I love hanami!’ interjected Hana. ‘All the flowers are so pretty …’ A mischievous smile formed on her lips. ‘And no one seems to notice if one or two things go missing.’

  Ronin laughed. ‘I much prefer harvest when the plum fruits are used to make umeshu. Aodani plum wine is reputedly the best in the whole of Japan!’

  He quickened his pace when a village came into view. ‘Let’s see if it’s true.’

  Jack and Hana followed in his wake. The village was small but well-to-do. Several thatched houses with verandas lined the road. There was a store selling provisions and a tea house. Two men sat outside near a palanquin, their eyes closed. They were evidently recovering their strength from bearing their master, a large round ball of a man, who was inside enjoying a pot of sencha and tucking into several sweet red-bean wagashi.

  ‘We’re in luck!’ announced Ronin, taking a seat. ‘They have a fresh barrel.’

  ‘We should really keep going,’ said Jack, eyeing the other customers warily from beneath his hat.

  ‘Just one drink,’ insisted Ronin. ‘Then we’ll go.’

  Reluctantly, Jack agreed. What harm could it do? And moving on now might arouse more suspicion than staying.

  The tea-house owner served Ronin a cup of honey-golden liquid. Breathing in its fragrant aroma, Ronin knocked back the drink in one. He smacked his lips appreciatively. ‘Mmm, sweet and smooth. Certainly the finest I’ve ever tasted.’

  The tea-house owner bowed at the compliment, then poured him another.

  ‘But you said just one!’ whispered Jack.

  Ignoring him, Ronin asked the owner, ‘Do you have any umeboshi?’

  The man nodded and returned a moment later with some wrinkled red fruit in a bowl.

  ‘You can leave the bottle,’ said Ronin as the owner went to serve his other customers.

  ‘Ronin, you promised –’

  ‘Try this!’ said Ronin, waving away Jack’s protests and passing him one of the small dried fruits. ‘It’s a pickled plum.’

  Hana took one too. Sighing in frustration, Jack relented and bit into his. He immediately gagged. The umeboshi’s sour salty taste was revolting.

  ‘Eat up!’ said Ronin, greatly amused by the disgusted look on Jack’s face. ‘They’re good for combating tiredness in battle.’

  Hana chewed hers enthusiastically. ‘And if you have one every morning it’ll ward off misfortune.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Jack, grimacing. ‘Nothing could be worse than one of these!’

  Ronin helped himself to more plum wine, steadily making his way through the bottle, while Jack became increasingly impatient to leave.

  ‘We need to go,’ insisted Jack. ‘You said Kyoto’s still some way off. We won’t get there until after dark at this rate.’

  ‘My lassst one,’ promised Ronin, slurring slightly from the effects of the alcohol.

  As one of the customers stood up to leave, Ronin leant forward and whispered in Jack’s ear. ‘Did you say your inro had a sakura tree engraving on it?’

  Jack nodded. ‘And a lion’s head netsuke.’

  ‘Well then, that man’s got your case.’

  22

  INRO

  Paying the tea-house owner, the three of them hurried outside in pursuit of the man. Dressed in a fine silk kimono of deep green, but bearing no swords, he looked to be a successful merchant on his way to Kyoto.

  Jack only caught a glimpse of the inro as the man stepped into his palanquin. Yet the carrying case did appear to be remarkably similar. The inro that daimyo Takatomi had given him, as a gift for foiling an assassination attempt by the ninja Dragon Eye, was unique – crafted from thickly lacquered wood, it had been decorated in gold and silver leaf, with a sakura tree engraved upon its surface, its blossom picked out in ivory; while the lion’s head netsuke was expertly carved out of the same material.

  ‘You could be right,’ said Jack as the two porters lifted the enclosed seat from the ground and set off in the direction of Kizu.

  ‘Then let’s go after him!’ said Hana.

  ‘It’s only a box,’ replied Jack, reluctant to retrace his steps yet again.

  ‘But what if the man’s involved?’ said Ronin. ‘Or knows who attacked you?’

&nb
sp; Ronin had a point. They had to follow. The inro could very well lead them to the rutter.

  The palanquin had already turned the corner and was fast disappearing among the trees. Without a moment to lose, they raced after their quarry, Jack and Hana in front with the inebriated Ronin trailing behind. The two porters were clearly very fit as it took the three of them a while to catch up with the palanquin – only to find it standing empty in a small clearing, the porters taking a rest next to a stream.

  ‘Where’s the merchant?’ whispered Hana as the three of them hid behind a clump of trees.

  ‘I’ll stay here … while you look for him,’ said Ronin, sipping from his saké bottle and recovering his breath.

  Circling the clearing, Jack and Hana discovered the merchant squatting in the undergrowth and waved Ronin over. The merchant cried out in surprise as they surrounded him.

  ‘Show us your inro,’ demanded Ronin.

  Staring aghast at his three assailants, the merchant exclaimed, ‘Can’t a man answer the call of nature without being robbed?’

  Hana could hardly suppress her giggles at finding the man in such a compromising position.

  ‘We’re not here to rob you,’ Jack explained quickly. ‘We just … want to look at the inro.’

  With trembling hands, the merchant passed Jack the carrying case. Although the netsuke was a beautifully carved lion’s head, the inro was decorated with a cedar, not a sakura tree.

  ‘My apologies, this isn’t mine,’ said Jack, returning it guiltily.

  ‘Of course it’s not,’ fumed the merchant. ‘I bought this only yesterday in Kyoto!’

  The three of them backed awkwardly away, leaving the merchant to finish his business. Once on the road, Jack felt his frustration explode.

  ‘I can’t believe you led us on that wild goose chase!’

  ‘But you said the inro looked like yours,’ replied Ronin tetchily.

  ‘I didn’t get a clear view and now we’re halfway back to Kizu again!’

  Furious, Jack kicked a branch from his path and pointed accusingly at Ronin.

  ‘If you hadn’t drunk so much plum wine, we wouldn’t have wasted an entire afternoon and got sidetracked by that merchant. It’s all your fault!’