by Paul Kidd
Sura and Chiri had disappeared from sight. The reeking, oil-smothered female ninja clambered to her feet. She ran forwards, yelling to her men. All three ninja ran to the end of the street, but could see no signs of the animal spirits out on the road.
There were alleys, houses and yards. The ninja plunged into the narrow lanes, leaping up to peer over fences and into the back of houses. The reeking, dripping female ninja stank horribly of fish. Housecats began to emerge out of hiding, peering at her in interest. The ninja woman tried unsuccessfully to shoo the creatures away.
The three ninja met at a join between three alleyways. There were two full rain barrels beside them, an overturned barrel, puddles and dozens of back fences. The ninja looked at the rain barrels, but there were no tell-tale snorkels jutting up out of the water.
There were no tracks in the dust, nor any sign of the prey on the far side of any fences. The animal spirits had been far too swift – far too agile and too cunning to be caught. The town was in uproar, and Ishigi samurai and law enforcement would be out on the streets in force. There was no choice now except retreat. The ninja woman cursed aloud, chased away the nearest cats, then signalled to her men. The ninja ran rapidly off and away from the town, racing for the safety of the forest.
Daitanishi peered out from under some fallen leaves, made certain that the ninja were gone, then knocked upon the two rain barrels.
Chiri and Sura emerged cautiously from the water. Bifuuko and a fellow air elemental had been sitting over each woman’s face, generating air. The visiting air elemental shook water from its wings and vanished, and Sura waved the creature goodbye. Dripping wet, Sura craned out of her sloshing rain barrel and saw that the coast was finally clear.
Daitanishi landed on her head and preened himself. The fox glared up at the rock, gave a deep sigh, then addressed herself to the problem of getting home.
Ishigi retainers and samurai stood guard at the gateway to Lord Ishigi’s town house. The men stiffened and moved forward to stare as two figures emerged out onto the main road. More and more warriors came running from the gate to stand in the street and gape.
Kitsune Sura and Nezumi Chiri came walking down the road. Dripping wet, naked and bedraggled, each held a rain barrel about their torso. Sura marched with a lofty dignity. Chiri was utterly mortified, staring straight ahead as she walked. The rat was gripped with the hiccups.
The Ishigi retainers began to laugh. Sura grandly lifted her snout, making a great show of ignoring them. Samurai called for their comrades, and the entire Ishigi bodyguard contingent raced to the mansion’s gates to welcome the soggy animal spirits back home.
One samurai gave an elaborate bow of greeting as Sura passed. The fox gave the man a withering glance.
“A man of noble spirit would shut up right about now.”
They stomped on through the gates and into the gardens. Sura hitched up her rain barrel, glowering at smirking maids and retainers. She walked along side by side with Chiri, heading doggedly off towards the baths.
“I still can’t believe we bit a ninja!”
“Yes.” Chiri was not proud of the memory. “It tasted strangely like chicken…”
Dressed, roughly dried and finally back in human form, Chiri and Sura sat with the others upon the mansion’s porch. Reiju remained flushed from her adventure, and still possessively held the recovered sword. Kuno and Tonbo – armed and calm – ensured that everything around them was secure. Tonbo served tea to Reiju, Sura and Chiri, being solicitous in his own strange gruff way.
Sura drank with gratitude. Still damp and ruffled, she had a faint scent of wet dog. Chiri was combing out her own long wet, white hair, while Bifuuko fussed about whirring her wings and putting everything in order. Daitanishi sat in an empty teacup, dozing in a beam of morning sun. The rock seemed intent on catching up with his sleep.
Kuno held out his hands to Reiju, who almost gratefully released her grip upon the covered sword. Kuno carefully unwrapped the weapon, and looked at it in wondering respect.
It was a foot soldier’s weapon – broader in the blade than a horseman’s tachi, and not as dramatically curved. The sheath was covered in a stippled green lacquer. The hilt was of browned iron, carved and pierced to depict a fish swimming past a spray of river reeds.
Kuno held out the sword and bared a few inches of the gleaming blade. The steel was exquisitely watered. Almost blue in colour – it was marvellous to behold. The samurai slowly unsheathed the entire weapon and held it carefully up into the light.
“The Blue Serpent…”
The blade was a marvellous thing to hold – almost alive in Kuno’s hand. Its balance was perfect.
The Blue Serpent was made of a watered steel that almost seemed to flow. The temper line at the edge of the blade was complex and wavering – meandering like an effortless dream. There was a partial second groove carved into the blade – just enough to shift the balance minutely forward. Kuno was deeply, profoundly impressed. He looked at the sword with absolute respect and wonder.
“A masterpiece indeed. I have never seen metal like it.”
There was indeed a tiny mark in the blade at the cutting edge near the point – a scratch that ran almost up into the temper line. There was also a small dot on the temper line far down near the hilt. Kuno minutely inspected every inch of the blade on either side. He then handed it to Tonbo.
“Exquisite. I have never felt a sword as finely balanced!” Kuno absolutely marvelled. “This was a princely gift to give to a friend.”
Tonbo looked the weapon over, admiring its artistry. It was far too light to impress him as a weapon, but the blade itself was a thing of beauty. He laid it out on a cloth before the others, where it glittered subtly in the light.
Chiri leaned forward to look anxiously at the sword blade. The rat spirit was quite mystified.
“It is beautiful, I am sure. But why have so many men been killed for it?”
Sura seized the wooden sheath. She inspected it inside, checking the fittings – rapping upon it carefully. She eyed the lacquer at different angles in different light, slyly thrashing her tail.
“Hmmm, here’s nothing hidden anywhere. No notes, no compartments….” Sura leaned forward, popped the bamboo retaining pin out of the hilt and slipped the handle from the blade. She looked inside the grip, and then managed to untie the silken handle wrappings. But after unravelling the entire length of cord, she had found no secret messages, no cryptic markings, no marks scratched into the underside of the ray-skin handle wrap. The fox sat in the middle of the mess and propped her chin onto her hand.
“No – nothing…”
Kuno took charge of the debris field and began patiently reassembling the sword’s grip. Sura looked at the fittings, the sheath and then the magnificent blade, and gave a scowl.
“How much would a sword like that be worth?”
Kuno skillfully wrapped silk cords about the wooden handle.
“A great deal. Many thousands of koku. But surely no more than any other sword made by the same artist?” Kuno picked up the weapon’s tsuba and gazed at it, frowning. “So why hunt this specific sword? What are they after?”
A small piece of paper had been folded up inside the bundle. Chiri opened the note and spread it out upon the flood boards.
“This is written from the sword polisher to Fukose Genjo.” The rat read the note out to her friends.
“Honoured patron. As per your usual wishes, I have not touched the slight scar on the blade. I humbly thank you for your custom...”
Kuno felt even more puzzled than before. He held the sword in hand and gazed at it, feeling utterly at a loss.
He was still lost and frustrated many hours later. At sunset, Kuno stood in the high point of the mansion’s gardens, looking off along the river gorge. The river stretched off into the distance before him – a great wavering, shimmering band of light. The island temple sat mid-stream, quiet and serene.
The sword lay upon its cloth before him, c
atching the light of the setting sun. Kuno had spent an afternoon in contemplation of the blade. He had read through what little correspondence Fukose Genjo had left behind – but nowhere were there any enquiries about the sword. Sura had questioned local samurai – but none had been aware of the blade.
And so the sword lay in the light of the setting sun, refusing to yield its secrets.
Frustrated, Kuno took up the weapon and sheathed it. He removed his own sword from his belt, and carefully threaded the “Blue Serpent” into place. Kuno knelt quietly, centred his mind, and gently rested his hands upon his thighs.
He drew the sword in one magnificent, glittering streak out if its scabbard. He cut swiftly and precisely to his front, ‘cutting the grass’ to slice for an imaginary enemy’s ankles. He cut twice more – the blade hissing through the air – marvellously precise. He sank down into guard position, shielded himself – rose and made a final cut, concentrating on nothing but the precise, perfect movement of the sword.
He spun the sword about its axis, struck it behind the guard with his right fist, and then reversed and sheathed it in a motion so practiced and elegant that it took no thought. The blade slid home into its sheath – thoughtfully, carefully. Kuno placed his hands back into resting position, and slowly released his breath.
Reiju had quietly arrived, and had been watching Kuno from afar. She came forward, bringing a little food and tea with her upon a tray. Kuno had not eaten lunch, and had been deeply sunk into his meditations all afternoon. Reiju knelt down beside him, bowed, then sat back to gaze thoughtfully upon the sword.
“The Blue Serpent sword….” Reiju set a little platter of food beside Kuno. “Have you had any ideas yet, Kuno san?”
“No, priestess. My mind is inadequate to the task.”
Drawing the sword again, Kuno laid it quietly out beside them. Kuno ate with Reiju, enjoying the woman’s company. They watched the sunset as it lit the crest of the temple isle.
Kuno turned to frown at the sword once more.
“I ask myself – what are the desirable qualities a sword might have? Why might men covet them? This sword is flexible – it struck a diamond full force and did not break, so it is strong. It is a perfect weapon - this gives it monetary value…” The samurai sat back and gave a sigh. “Is all of this death and deceit simply for a common theft?”
Kuno stood. He picked up the sword. He held it erect, looking at the gleaming patterns on the blade.
“It was significant as the symbol of the bond between two friends. That was the one great worth of this weapon. It was friendship’s sword.”
Reiju watched Kuno quietly. She spoke to him – calm and gently helpful.
“Explain the sword to me, Kuno san. Clear your mind. Explain the sword to me as you would to a novice.”
The samurai nodded. He looked thoughtfully at the sword, turning it so that Reiju could see the blade.
“This is a masterwork sword. The iron of the blade may even be meteoric in origin. There will be an iron core – and an outer skin and edge of steel. All the metals will have been carefully alloyed, hammered and folded, over and over, making the metal into a sandwich of thousands of thin layers. This gives the sword its strength. The use of different metals gives the sword its flexibility.
“The edge is almost as hard as a diamond. To temper such a weapon, the smith coats the blade in clay, scraping it off along the edge. When quenching the weapon, the clay insulates the blade so that the edge cools first, then the metal under thin clay, then finally the metal under the thickest clay. The edge becomes hard – the back is flexible.” Facing the river with the sunset at his back, Kuno held the sword carefully in both hands. He looked along the wavering temper line of the blade. “See – this is what gives the edge this wavering pattern. It is the hamon. The temper line…”
Suddenly Kuno saw the secret of the sword.
He stared at the sword, and at the gleaming river. The man seized hold of the sword’s scabbard and sheathed the weapon, running excitedly into the house. He instantly returned, bowed to Reiju, then took her by the hand.
“Come come come come come.”
Sura was in the kitchens, hungrily watching the cooks as they roasted pheasant, woodcocks and a great smoking haunch of venison. She was just about to mooch a pheasant leg when Kuno raced in, seized her by the sash and propelled her swiftly out of the room. He reappeared an instant later, arranged for dinner to be brought onto the porch, and sped off again upon his work.
Kuno gathered his friends out on the balcony with dinner off to one side, and even a flask of plum wine for Sura. He laid the Blue Serpent sword out before the eyes of Tonbo, Reiju, Chiri, Sura and the two elementals, and then triumphantly unrolled a fine painted map of the river borrowed from the mansion hall.
“It is a map. The Blue Serpent sword is a map.”
The sword was placed beneath the painted map of the river. The ripples and twists of the hamon exactly mirrored those of the river itself. The dot above the hamon line matched the position of the island temple.
Kuno waved a hand out over the map.
“They were fishermen. The sword maker knew this river intimately. And he made this sword as a map. See here – the island temple…” Kuno then pointed out the scratch near the tip of the blade. “And here. Here is the purpose of the map.”
Chiri blinked.
“But the sword was nicked before Genjo san and the sword maker were really friends.”
“Yes. But that nick has been very carefully preserved ever since their meeting. It is the only thing added to the blade since its creation.” Kuno stroked at his moustache. “I believe that something has been hidden here, where the blade edge is notched. Something that the Ninjas’ masters want very, very much.”
Sura was quite overjoyed. She rubbed her hands together, her green eyes alive with delight.
“A treasure map! Cool! Let’s go look!”
Reiju looked from the sword to the map and back again, carefully matching the curves and wavers of the temper line with the changes in the river.
“This is an un-navigable part of the river. There are a great many rapids, and the river gorge becomes deep.”
Chiri stroked Daitanishi as she contemplated the map.
“The ninja will surely be watching this house. Should we perhaps summon all of the Ishigi samurai and go in force?”
Tonbo looked quietly left and right, then leaned in close to the others. He kept his voice low.
“No. We cannot be certain that Lord Ishigi is not somehow involved in the plot.” The big man casually kept an eye out for eavesdroppers. “The sword maker and Genjo both kept this a secret even from their lord…”
Sura was already looking over the map and confidently hatching schemes.
“Ha! I can get us out! We’ll get carried out in sakē barrels! Or in disguise! Or maybe inside disguised sakē barrels…!” The fox suddenly struck upon a joyous idea. “Or in coffins! We stage our own suicides….”
The fox was in a happy little world of her own. Chiri leaned in to quietly speak into Reiju’s ear.
“Has Sura san changed much since you were in school together, Reiju san?”
“No.” Reiju gave a faint little shrug. “Though she does seem a little calmer and more controlled…”
Sura had a sudden wonderful thought. She stood bolt upright.
“…I know! We dress up inside this enormous Chinese carnival dragon…!”
Ignoring the fox for the moment, Kuno quietly conferred with Tonbo. They examined the map side by side.
“Tonbo san, you are our trail expert. Have you any ideas?”
The big samurai nodded.
“Wait until dark. Then swim down the garden stream and exit at the river. Take a path through the forest upstream.”
Kuno looked over at Sura, who was pantomiming her dragon costume idea for the benefit of Reiju and the elementals.
“Will you tell her, or shall I?”
Tonbo watched Sura happil
y pouring wine for her friends, and gave a sigh.
“I’ll do it after dinner. Food will lessen the blow.”
Chapter 6
A cold, shallow stream ran through the Ishigi mansion’s garden, splashing over rocks and down past a stand of camellia trees. It flowed out of the walls through an iron-barred grate, off and away into the river.
At night-time, the trees formed a deep, dark wall of shadows. Sura, Chiri, Tonbo and Kuno slipped silently through the darkness, finally hiding deep amongst the trees. Reiju and two priests from her shrine came quietly behind them.
Kuno and Tonbo had stripped down to loincloths. They carried their weapons and armour, all wrapped in oilskins inside wooden tubs. Tonbo kept his massive tetsubo firmly in hand. The two men slipped into the water, lying down in the icy stream. Reiju and her priests quietly passed the two men their equipment, looking warily about at the shadows.
Chiri and Sura came last, scanning the area to make certain all was well. The two little elementals slid silently through the nearby shrubbery, keeping a sharp eye out for ninja spies.