On the first night, Jack had explored every inch of his cell for a way out – a loose bar in the grating, a weak panel in the door, a crumbling area of plaster in the wall. But his prison was secure, mostly below ground level at the base of the keep, the tiny grate his only view of the world outside.
Music now drifted down from the upper storeys of the fortress. Jack strained his ears to listen to the insistent twang of a shamisen, accompanied by the percussive beat of tsuzumi drums and the click-clack of wooden clappers. Every so often he’d catch bursts of laughter or applause, the joyous sounds seeming to mock his pitiful state. Judging by the night’s frivolity, Jack guessed that the Shogun’s samurai must have arrived and were being entertained by daimyo Kato. The samurai lord would be buoyant in the knowledge that he could demonstrate his loyalty to the Shogun in the highest possible manner – by successfully capturing and delivering the infamous gaijin samurai.
Jack surrendered himself to despair. He’d been in many difficult and desperate situations before, when escape or salvation had seemed impossible. Yet, with the help of his friends, he had survived and overcome each one of those challenges and obstacles. But this time he realized there would be no one saving him – no courageous last stand, no miracle escape. Because there were no friends to rescue him.
All of them were dead, destined to die or long gone.
Jack felt tears run down his cheeks in the darkness. There was no one here to see him cry, so he let them come – all his grief, anger, frustration and sorrow in a single flood. The faces of his late friends swam before his eyes and he begged for their forgiveness. Although the Shogun was truly to blame, Jack felt responsible for leading them to their deaths – for not insisting that he took his perilous journey alone.
As his sobs subsided, he thought of his little sister. He could see her now, standing on the Limehouse Docks in London to welcome him as his ship sailed in.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘but I won’t be coming home.’
Yet the Jess in his mind refused to hear him. She beckoned him on.
Although all logic told him to give up, it seemed as if his heart wouldn’t let him. Jack composed himself. In honour of his friends’ memories, he had to confront his fate like a true samurai. For the sake of the love he held for his family – and needing to return home in his father’s honour – he had to be strong.
Wiping dry his tear-stained cheeks, his thoughts now turned to Benkei – the friend who’d apparently betrayed them. Despite Akiko’s conviction, Jack still found this notion hard to believe, especially after all they’d been through together. The conjuror might be a con artist, possess a silver tongue and be as slippery as an eel, but Jack was convinced he wasn’t in league with the Shogun and his followers. Yet, even if Benkei was loyal, what could he do to help? Jack wouldn’t blame Benkei if he was a hundred miles from Kumamoto and still running. It would be foolhardy for him to attempt any sort of rescue. He was a conjuror, not a trained warrior. He’d have more chance of flying to the moon and back. With its towering walls, complex of winding passages and vast garrison of samurai, Kumamoto Castle was an impregnable fortress. Jack couldn’t see how anyone could breach the castle’s defences – not even a ninja.
With his head in his hands, Jack racked his brains for a way to escape. But he always came back to the same conclusion as before. Confined to his cell, it was only a matter of time before the Shogun’s samurai took him away to Edo … where he was condemned to die.
The door to his cell swung open.
Resigned to his fate, Jack waited for rough hands to grab him and haul him to his feet – either to be beaten yet again or dragged off to face the Shogun.
But no guards appeared.
Instead, out of the inky darkness, a white-faced wraith floated into the room – lips red as blood, eyes black as midnight, pale sea-green robes shimmering like ghostly waves in the barred moonlight.
Jack’s breath caught in his throat. A tremor of shock rippled through him like a chill breeze. But it wasn’t fear that seized him. It was recognition. The face of the apparition was one he now saw only in his dreams, its restless spirit forever destined to haunt him.
‘I … I … tried to save you,’ pleaded Jack. ‘Save you all …’
‘Save me?’ queried the wraith, the corner of its red mouth curling into a smile. ‘Jack, I’ve come to rescue you.’
38
Kabuki Girl
The wraith took a step closer, concern etching its ashen face.
‘Are you all right, Jack? The guards didn’t seriously hurt you, did they?’
With a methodical yet familiar touch, the wraith carefully checked him over for injuries. Up close, Jack could see the waxy white make-up and thick layer of rouge on its lips.
‘You’re alive!’ he gasped.
‘Of course I am,’ said the wraith, satisfied Jack was still in one piece, if a little battered. ‘Now stop your mad act and let’s get out of here.’
‘But … Miyuki … you drowned,’ Jack spluttered, unable to comprehend her miraculous resurrection.
‘Do I look drowned?’ she said, giving him a tender yet impatient smile.
Shaking his head, Jack stood and embraced her. ‘I thought I’d lost you forever.’
‘It’ll take a lot more than a storm to lose me,’ she whispered, hugging him with equal affection. ‘Now get dressed.’
She grabbed a pile of clothes from the doorway and laid them at his feet. Still in a daze, Jack picked up the first garment – a pretty pink obi with a cherry-blossom pattern. He rummaged through the rest of the items. A rose-coloured underslip, a bold red kimono with yellow and magenta chrysanthemums and long dangling sleeves, a set of white gloves, several ornate hairpins, a large ivory haircomb, two white tabi socks and a pair of wooden geta for his feet.
‘But these are girl’s clothes!’ he exclaimed.
‘Exactly,’ said Miyuki, producing a black wig and fitting it on to his head. ‘The perfect disguise for a ninja. You already know the art of Shichi Hō De, “the Seven Ways of Going”. Well, this is the eighth! A kabuki girl.’
Miyuki held up the rose-coloured underslip for him to wear and averted her eyes. ‘Hurry! We don’t have long.’
Jack began to dress, then stopped. ‘We have to find Akiko first … if it’s not too late.’
He bolted for the door, but Miyuki grabbed him.
‘I already did,’ she revealed.
‘Then why isn’t she here?’ asked Jack, beginning to expect the worst.
Miyuki looked at him as if the reason was obvious. ‘Because she’s putting on her make-up.’
For a second Jack thought Miyuki was joking. Then it dawned on him Akiko was safe. Jack’s heart almost burst with joy at the news. Only a short while before he’d been drowning in despair. Now he’d discovered both Miyuki and Akiko were alive and well. He grabbed his new clothes, impatient to be reunited.
‘I found her in the first cell I looked in,’ explained Miyuki as she helped Jack into the rest of his costume. ‘She’s just finishing off her disguise.’
‘The kimono’s rather … tight,’ complained Jack, stiffly moving his arms.
‘I’m afraid Okuni didn’t have anything larger in her wardrobe.’
‘Okuni?’ gasped Jack, as Miyuki tugged hard on the obi around his waist and tied it off in a willow knot.
Miyuki nodded. ‘She and her kabuki troupe are upstairs performing to the daimyo as we speak.’
‘They’re helping us escape?’
‘You’ve become a folk hero to them after everything you did to save their star performer,’ she revealed, inserting the pins and comb into his black beehive of a wig. ‘Next, we need to do your make-up.’
Miyuki took out a wooden box from her sleeve pocket and opened it to reveal a number of compartments. Each was filled with a different coloured powder or paste. Beside this, she placed a small jar of milky-coloured wax, several bamboo brushes, a piece of charcoal and a bowl into which she mixed some
white powder and the remains of Jack’s slimy water.
‘Close your eyes,’ she instructed, warming a dollop of wax between her hands and rubbing a thin layer over his face and neck. Then she loaded a bamboo brush with the white make-up and painted his exposed skin until it was as featureless as a snowdrift.
‘That’s the foundation layer done,’ Miyuki explained, blotting the excess moisture with a sponge. She picked up the piece of charcoal. ‘Don’t move or even blink. I can’t afford to make a mistake here.’
Jack sat still as a statue as she redrew his eyebrows, high on his forehead, in an expression of permanent astonishment – which was exactly how he felt at seeing Miyuki again. He was bursting with questions, desperate to know how she had survived, how she had found him and, most importantly, whether she knew the fate of Yori or Saburo. But he understood there’d be time for answers later, once they had escaped daimyo Kato’s clutches.
Jack gasped as he remembered the rutter.
‘Stay still,’ tutted Miyuki, trying not to smudge the charcoal line.
Although he hadn’t seen daimyo Kato presented with his pack, the rutter was undoubtedly in the samurai lord’s possession. And, in a castle this size, Jack could have no idea where it was being kept. With a sinking heart, he realized he had no choice but to leave his father’s precious rutter behind.
‘Keep your head up,’ instructed Miyuki, carefully outlining his eyes in black.
Chewing on her lower lip as she worked, Miyuki then selected a thin rabbit-hair brush and highlighted the corners in a garish red hue.
‘Purse your lips like this,’ she told Jack, forming her mouth into a pout and looking like she might kiss him.
Jack mirrored her pose and she laughed.
‘Not so fast, English boy,’ she teased, dipping the brush in the same deep red paste and painting his mouth into the shape of bee-stung lips.
Dressed in girl’s clothes and plastered in make-up, Jack had to admit he was feeling a little self-conscious. But, as a means of escape, he realized Miyuki’s plan was both daring and their only chance. With so many sentries posted on the castle walls, Jack had to be invisible – or, at least, unrecognizable.
Miyuki took a step back to admire her handiwork and grimaced at what she saw.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Jack.
‘I’m afraid that’ll have to do,’ she sighed.
A burst of giggles made them both turn round. Akiko stood in the doorway, dressed in a glorious mauve kimono with an ivory-coloured design of herons in flight. Like Jack, her face was painted white, her delicate features highlighted in black and red. But, unlike Jack, she looked divine.
Clapping a hand to her mouth, Akiko tried to suppress her laughter.
‘Shh!’ warned Miyuki, shooting her an annoyed look as she hurriedly repacked the make-up box.
‘Sorry,’ Akiko whispered, ‘but I’ve never seen Jack look so …’
‘Pretty?’ suggested Jack, tilting his head to one side and batting his eyelids.
‘Pretty ugly more like!’ smirked Miyuki. ‘But as it’s dark you should fool the guards.’
Jack squeezed his feet into the wooden geta and clip-clopped over to Akiko. ‘I was so worried. I thought the daimyo had …’
Akiko took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. ‘The guards didn’t lay a finger on me. The daimyo had other plans for my fate. I was more worried about you.’
‘And everyone will be worried about us, if we don’t get moving,’ interrupted Miyuki, purposefully passing between them to reach the door. ‘The kabuki show must be almost over by now.’
Akiko stiffened slightly at Miyuki’s ill-mannered barging, but said nothing. Though neither girl liked the other – the rivalry of samurai and ninja running deep – they at least shared a healthy respect for each other’s skills.
Alert to the danger they now faced, the three of them cautiously made their way down the darkened corridor. Four unconscious guards lay sprawled on the floor. Half-drunk cups of saké were discarded on the stone slabs next to their lifeless hands.
‘A sleeper drug,’ explained Miyuki as she cleared away the evidence.
A ninja’s presence should be like the wind – always felt but never seen, thought Jack, remembering their training together under the Grandmaster Soke. Miyuki’s cunning, expertise and thoroughness were only some of the reasons why he admired her so much.
They hurried along to the bottom of the stairwell, Jack tottering on his wooden clogs. The tight kimono restricted his movements and he stumbled over a stone slab. Akiko and Miyuki caught him on either side and they both exchanged a look of concern.
‘Let’s just hope we don’t have to make a run for it!’ remarked Miyuki.
39
Mie
‘You’re cutting it fine,’ said Okuni under her breath, as Jack, Akiko and Miyuki joined her at the edge of the stage. She arched her painted eyebrows at Jack’s vastly altered appearance, but made no comment. ‘The final act’s about to go on.’
Junjun and six other girls, dressed in a collection of flamboyant kimono, waited in the wings for the previous act to finish. Jack peeked through a gap between two side screens. Daimyo Kato and his guests reclined on silken cushions in the keep’s main reception room. It was a magnificent chamber with a gold-panelled ceiling of painted flowers and silk-screen walls adorned with exquisite scenes of blossoming trees and mist-shrouded mountains. The samurai lord took prime position in the centre of a large raised dais. He clasped his iron fan in one hand, tapping to the rhythm of the music played by three musicians on the stage. Ten high-ranking officials, their silk robes as grandiose as their status, sat either side of him. Four bore the kamon of the Shogun – a trio of hollyhock leaves in a circle. And, around the chamber, another thirty armed samurai of the Shogun’s personal guard knelt watching the show.
Jack thought he couldn’t go any deeper into the lion’s mouth without being swallowed whole.
Taking centre stage, a juggler in a multicoloured robe was performing the climax to his act. Juggling five eggs at once, he tossed them so high into the air that they almost hit the precious gilded ceiling. As he caught then threw one of the eggs, it miraculously transformed into a tiny sparrow that fluttered away. Each consecutive egg did the same until the room was filled with the sound of twittering birds.
‘I don’t believe it!’ exclaimed one of the officials. ‘He turned the eggs into suzume!’
The audience burst into astonished applause. Even daimyo Kato put down his fan to join in the clapping. The spiky-haired performer gave a flourishing bow, then bounded off the stage.
‘You were amazing!’ fawned Junjun. ‘How on earth did you make that happen?’
‘A good conjuror never reveals his tricks!’ he replied, grinning from ear to ear at his enthusiastic reception.
‘Benkei!’ whispered Jack, both delighted and relieved to see his friend safe and sound. He wasn’t a traitor after all. He was one of their saviours.
Turning, Benkei did a double-take, then laughed, ‘You scrub up well, nanban.’
‘Careful what you say!’ hissed Miyuki. ‘Anyone could be listening.’
Benkei immediately sealed his mouth, pretending to sew his lips together with a finger, as the musicians struck up a new song and Junjun and her dancers swanned out on to the stage for the finale.
‘You have to watch this,’ urged Benkei, too excited to keep quiet. ‘Junjun is simply outstanding.’
Encircled by the other dancers, Junjun began to twirl and twist as if performing a Buddhist prayer dance. The shamisen twanged to the intense beat of the tsuzumi drums and the wooden clappers accentuated her movements. Floating in short dainty steps around the stage, she bobbed and weaved like a feather caught in the wind. Her hands flowed in complex patterns, seeming to press and lift the very air around her.
‘I hope this dance is short,’ mumbled Miyuki under her breath. ‘We’re living on borrowed time.’
Like the rest of the room, Jack was dazzle
d by Junjun’s display, but he also felt Miyuki’s agitation. Their breakout could be discovered at any moment – a change of guards, a spot check, or even the alarm being raised if one of the comatose samurai recovered.
Junjun continued to flutter across the stage, teasingly exposing her wrists and displaying her painted neck. At the height of the music, she struck an unexpected pose. Stamping her left foot powerfully to the floor, she stood stock still, her right hand outstretched and flat towards the ground and her left pointing directly skywards. Her red-tinted eyes were opened so wide, they seemed to fill her doll-like face. The effect was so sudden and overpowering that many of the officials gasped in shock. Jack had never seen anything like it. Nor, apparently, had daimyo Kato and the other samurai. They all sat transfixed, their mouths hanging open like stunned goldfish.
‘Junjun has cut a mie pose,’ explained Okuni in hushed tones. ‘I created the technique to draw attention to the emotional climax of the dance. This is what makes my kabuki show stand out from all others.’
The shamisen, drums and clappers reached a fever pitch, then ceased abruptly. The silence that followed was almost as deafening. While Junjun hesitantly bowed, the audience remained thunderstruck. The samurai all awaited the reaction of the daimyo to this dramatic and sensational display. Then, just as the lack of reaction was becoming unbearable, daimyo Kato smiled and began clapping and the whole room exploded into fervent applause.
Junjun gave another bow before Okuni joined her on stage and presented her star performer to the daimyo himself. After the necessary formalities, Okuni and Junjun took their leave and joined the rest of the troupe backstage. Junjun was immediately swamped by well-wishers, but Okuni shooed them away and set everyone to work packing up the show’s clothes and props. To blend in with the troupe, Jack, Akiko and Miyuki did their best to help, while Benkei spent most of his time engaged in charming Junjun.
‘How much longer do you think we have?’ Jack whispered to Miyuki.
Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky Page 15