by Adam Baker
She climbed creaking stairs and examined the rooms above the main storehouse. She pulled a candle stub from her pocket, struck a flint and sparked a flame. She held up the candle and looked around. Sloping roof beams. Coiled rope, stacked baskets, piles of burlap sacking. Dust and webs. It looked as if no one had visited the upper storeroom for a long while. It had become a dump for unwanted supplies.
She found a locked door, bent and put her eye to the keyhole. It was too dark to see inside. She checked nearby beams until she found a protruding nail. She pulled it free and used it to probe the keyhole. She twisted the nail until she heard the clack of a latch release.
She opened the door, candle held high. An empty room. Dust-matted boards suggested the room had been empty for years. Another sign the castle could hold more men than were currently in residence. Maybe it was another symptom of the general’s anxiety. He couldn’t trust a larger force. Only his most clan-loyal cadre was allowed within the fortress walls.
The room would make a useful bolt-hole. A place within the castle compound she could secret herself without fear of being disturbed. The girl shut herself inside.
She sat on the floor and set the candle beside her. She pulled a folded packet from her sleeve. A scroll of blank paper and a stick of charcoal. She spread the paper on the floor and began to draw a precise plan of the castle – storerooms, stables and barracks. She drew the courtyard and the perimeter walls and etched details of the outer defences. She sat back and inspected her work. A good survey of the fortress. Walkways, external stairs, sentry lines-of-sight, blind-spots. Good, apart from the interior of General Motohide’s stronghold, the central bailey, which remained an unknowable blank.
* * *
Later that afternoon she tried to enter the base of the tower. She walked past two sentries carrying a broom. She tried to walk with a purpose like she had been sent on an errand. The sentries guarding the main door let her through.
She explored dark, low-ceilinged passageways. The bottom two floors of the tower were largely empty. But when she climbed a spiral stairwell towards the third floor she found her path blocked by sentries who lowered their naginatas and shouted: ‘What are you doing?’
She held up the broom by way of explanation.
‘Get out of here,’ they bellowed and drove her back down the stairs.
* * *
That night she slept on the kitchen floor next to the cooling clay stove. She curled on straw next to a cat and tried to decide how best to gain entry to the upper floors of the tower. What would the samurai say if he were here? What would be his approach? Would he climb onto the roof, lift tiles and lower himself inside? No. Immediate discovery. A person trying to enter via the roof would most-likely be run-through by soldiers in the room below. Slumped dead in the tile-hole, half in, half out. She would have to find an alternate route.
She heard the kitchen door creak open. Probably the old man, the cook’s assistant, a miserable wretch who spent his days washing pots and hauling water. Maybe he thought the lone, mute girl was fair game. She crouched beside a couple of rice sacks with her knees pulled to her chin while the old man searched the darkened kitchen. He tripped over the sleeping cat and hit his knee on a table. He cursed, lost interest and left.
* * *
Later that night the girl was woken by the clatter of hooves in the courtyard outside. She pushed the kitchen shutter ajar and watched a cavalry patrol dismount.
The cavalry patrol climbed the mountain road at midnight, torches held aloft to illuminate the precipitous track. Horses stumbled and shied once in a while, threatening to tip their riders over the precipice, skittering stones pelting riders down below. The lieutenant commanding the patrol had wanted his men to camp on the valley floor then make their way to the castle at dawn but Raku insisted they make the nocturnal journey, adamant his warning for the general could not wait until sunrise.
The upper slopes of the mountain were wreathed in mist. Vapours charged almost phosphorescent by moonlight curled round the rocks. A cascading torrent of cold air. The riders huddled in their furs.
The commander couldn’t grip reins or hold himself in the saddle so he was forced to double up with one of the cavalrymen. He sat in front of the rider, propped in position like a child or a woman. He endured the humiliation with equanimity, no thought but the necessity to reach the castle quick as he could and deliver his message.
The patrol reached the top of the mountain road and came to a halt in front of the castle gate.
‘Hey,’ shouted the lieutenant. ‘Hey, open up.’
They heard feet hurry along the wooden walkway above the gatehouse. Archers took position, ready to cut them down if the captain of the watch gave the word.
A voice from one of the darkened ports above them:
‘Identify yourself.’
‘Lieutenant Okitsune with Commander Raku, here on urgent business.’
A long pause then the heavy rasp of the restraining beam being withdrawn. The gate was pushed open a fraction and a single soldier emerged holding a torch above his head. He approached Lieutenant Okitsune and checked him out, examined his face and livery by torchlight.
‘Urgent business,’ repeated Okitsune. ‘We need to get inside.’
The captain of the watch was distracted by the twin riders on the horse next to Okitsune. A guard supporting a cowled figure in the saddle. He raised his torch and tried to see the face of the cowled figure. The stranger lifted his head and the captain glimpsed a painted visage beneath the hood: chalk-white flesh, dark eye holes. Nothing to suggest the figure was alive apart from plumes of steam-breath from between the mask’s painted lips. The captain took an involuntary step backward.
‘We need to get inside,’ barked the lieutenant. ‘We have urgent business with the general.’
The captain turned and shouted to the men in the gatehouse: ‘Open up.’
The gates were pushed wide and the cavalry patrol entered the castle courtyard. A couple of soldiers helped Raku from his horse. He turned and addressed the captain of the watch:
‘I need to see General Motohide right away. Wake him up. His life hangs in the balance.’
The captain hesitated to take orders from the man in the mask.
‘The general,’ bellowed Raku. ‘Wake him. Now.’
The captain dispatched a guard to wake the general. Chisato dismounted from a horse.
‘Thank you,’ said Raku, laying a stump on the farmer’s shoulder, ‘for all your help.’
Raku turned back to the captain of the watch.
‘This man has given good service. He is to be paid ten gold Ryō. And give him a horse and a cart. Make sure it’s a good horse.’
The captain nodded and Chisato was led away to get paid.
Raku began to stride across the yard towards the tower but then his legs gave out and he toppled backward. Cavalry men ran to his aid and caught him before he hit the cobbles.
* * *
The girl watched from the kitchen window. She saw the cowled figure collapse. She saw the stumps of his arms and the porcelain-white mask with its painted lips and black eye holes. She watched as the unconscious man was carried away.
* * *
Raku woke on the floor of a dormitory cell reserved for officers, lying on a straw futon, his head supported by a wooden pillow. He looked to see if there was a chink of daylight between the shutters and saw it was still night.
‘I’m sorry for your injuries.’
A grey-haired soldier knelt beside him. The man was older than most of the troops stationed at the castle. He was clearly the garrison physician.
‘You did well to avoid a sickness,’ he said, gesturing to Raku’s stumps as he inspected pinched flesh, crusted blood and scar tissue. He held the commander by the chin and tilted his head to examine the crudely stitched gash bisecting the man’s face.
‘In fact, you did well to survive at all.’ He probed scabbed blood. ‘I think it’s time these stitches came out.’
He unlaced a canvas roll of medical instruments and spread it on a low table. The physician heated a knife and tweezers over a candle flame.
‘I must see the general,’ said the Raku, struggling to lift himself upright.
The physician pushed him down. ‘You’re injured. You need treatment.’
‘A cup of saké and I’ll be fine. I have to see the general. It’s vital.’
‘They are rousing him as we speak. He will be ready to receive you in a while. In the meantime, let me remove those stitches. After that we can get you washed and dressed. You should see yourself. Your hair. Your beard. You look like an apparition.’
* * *
An adjutant nervously pulled back a screen and entered the general’s bedchamber holding a lamp. Motohide was asleep next to his wife.
‘General-sama,’ whispered the adjutant as he knelt beside the general. He got no response. He wanted to nudge Motohide awake but didn’t dare touch the man. ‘General-sama,’ he said, louder. Motohide woke and rubbed his eyes. ‘Commander Raku has returned from Kyoto. He asks to see you. He says it is very urgent. He says it won’t wait until morning.’
The general threw off the bed cover and got to his feet. The adjutant helped him into a silk kimono. The general knotted the sash round his waist.
‘Bring him to me.’
‘Forgive me, General-sama, but I feel compelled to warn you Commander Raku has sustained significant injuries.’
‘Such as?’
‘He has lost both his hands.’
Motohide looked shocked.
‘Has the physician attended him?’
‘Yes,’ said the adjutant. ‘And I must further warn you that the commander also suffered a blow to the face.’
‘What kind of blow?’
The adjutant searched for appropriate words to describe Raku’s disfigurement.
‘He will not be how you remember him.’
The adjutant pulled back the shoji and the general entered the adjacent reception room. Lamps were hastily lit and a jug of water was brought. He knelt on a zabuton with a fan in his hand and composed himself. He sipped water. He gave the nod. The screen was pulled back and Commander Raku entered the room. The general looked his old companion up and down, hiding his unease at the blank mask looking back at him. Raku knelt and bowed, forehead to the floor. The faint click of wood-on-wood as his mask touched the boards.
‘Sit,’ commanded the general. ‘Take off that mask.’
Raku pushed back the mask with his stumps. Motohide hid his revulsion as he gazed at the monstrous, bifurcated face. He studied the eyes staring back at him from a mess of twisted flesh, studied a long while until he recognised his friend.
The general gestured with his fan. The adjutant handed Raku a cup of water. Raku drank. The sleeves of his robe slid back as he raised his arms, revealing stitched stumps. The General watched with a mix of pity and horror.
‘So what do you have to tell me?’ asked Motohide.
‘The Emperor’s mother has sent assassins to kill you, General-sama. A team of men. They’ve been running ahead of me, trying to reach the castle before I could warn you of danger.’
‘How many men?’
‘Four. Three ex-convicts led by crippled samurai.’
‘You know the samurai’s name?’
‘No. Nobody does. His identity is a secret.’
The general gestured to Raku’s stumps.
‘He did this to you? This cripple?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll have him flayed,’ said Motohide. ‘I’ll strip his skin then bathe him in vinegar – make it last days.’
Raku shook his head.
‘Don’t you want to hear him scream?’ asked the general.
‘He’s a soldier. Like you. Like me,’ said Raku impatiently, dismissing fantasies of revenge. ‘We need to take steps to secure your safety. The assassins are here. Right now. I know it.’
‘Inside the castle? Impossible.’
‘Do not underestimate this man. I may not know his name, but I’ve looked him in the eye. He is relentless. If there is the slightest weakness in the defences of this castle he will find and exploit it.’
The general took a sip of water.
‘I received an Imperial envoy a couple of days ago. They discussed a non-aggression treaty and discussed future trade arrangements at length.’
‘A transparent ruse,’ said the commander.
‘A transparent ruse,’ agreed the general. ‘Nevertheless, I had hoped to avoid war.’
‘We need to search the castle. The assassins almost certainly arrived ahead of me. They could be here now, within the walls. They will be anxious to exploit our complacency, our sense we are invulnerable behind these stone fortifications. We need to search. We need to go room by room, check every alcove, check every sack, box and barrel. And we need to do it right now.’
* * *
Motohide and his wife stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard.
‘You shouldn’t stand here,’ warned Asaji. ‘It’s too exposed. A single arrow. That’s all it would take. You should go back inside.’
‘I will not be ruled by fear.’
A walkway sentry rang the brass muster bell, the harsh tocsin ringing out over the moonlit courtyard. Groggy troops stumbled out of the barracks, buckling armour. The captain of the watch split the troops into teams. He shouted orders. Torches were lit. The search squads began to scour the castle for intruders. Stables and storerooms. Domestic quarters.
‘We’ll burn torches and braziers each night,’ said the general. ‘We won’t leave a single shadow. And we’ll bring troops from the valley and double the watch. The walls will be manned full strength, night and day. And the gate will stay closed. Anything we need, supplies, courier messages, can be hauled up the wall by rope. If emissaries come, messengers from the Kyoto, they can stay in the village. Written communication only. Nobody comes within these walls.’
‘The arrangement can’t be maintained indefinitely,’ said Asaji. ‘If you don’t exercise day-to-day control of your territory, someone else will.’
‘We will remain here until this assassin is smoked out. He will be given a public execution in the most severe manner I can devise. They will hear his screams all the way to the Imperial palace. Then the Emperor and his court will finally understand I am here to stay.’
‘You should make an exterior inspection of the walls,’ said Asaji. ‘Look for the slightest sign anyone has tried to place a ladder or hang a rope.’
Motohide nodded looking beyond the torches lining the perimeter walls, beyond the ring of light and out into the darkness of the mountainside. He was overcome by skin-crawling unease and suppressed a shiver.
‘Maybe fear is the assassin’s greatest weapon,’ said Asaji, trying to build her husband’s courage. ‘Maybe he wants us to scare ourselves, run around like frightened children.’
‘Commander Raku was the finest swordsman I ever knew,’ said Motohide, refusing to be consoled. ‘Look at him now. Sliced up. Butchered like a pig. We have every reason to be anxious.’
* * *
Raku stood in the corner of the flame-lit courtyard pacing as the captain of the watch shouted orders and directed his men. Soldiers glanced at Raku in apprehension, flinched in fear each time the porcelain-white mask turned their way.
He watched as the soldiers ran building to building and conducted a search of the dormitories and armoury. He heard horses shift uneasily in their stable stalls as mounds of straw were probed with naginatas. A couple of carts stood in the courtyard. Troops pulled back oil cloth, prised open barrels and inspected the contents. Soldiers hurried along the upper walkways to join sentries watching the moonlit slopes of the mountainside for any sign of sneak attack.
No mind had been a phrase repeated by Raku’s instructors as they schooled him in bushido as a child. The need to drill combat techniques until they become instinctive. No point facing an enemy with a pre-rehearsed sequence
of moves. An easy way to get killed. Best to clear your head. Come at your enemy like wind or water, something elemental. Raku cleared his mind, centred himself, became still and calm. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that everything they were doing, reinforcing the sentries, sealing the gate, would have been anticipated by the samurai. His gut told him they were playing into the assassin’s hands.
The captain of the watch reported back. ‘We’ve searched the castle, inspected every room. Nothing.’
Raku nodded. ‘Begin the search again.’
Masaie lay in his lean-to shelter, weak morning sunlight shafting through the branches and leaves above his head. He tried to remember who and where he was.
He was on a mission. He was hiding in the woods. He was beset by daemons.
He was overcome by claustrophobia. The twigs above him felt suffocatingly close. He crawled from the shelter and shielded his eyes from daylight. A fierce thirst. He gulped water from his flask. Water splashed his face and his shirt. He drank deep then lay back and wiped his face with his sleeve.
‘Good morning,’ said the rabbit.
The gutted remains of the rabbit lay next to the extinct fire. The creature’s head, skin and giblets.
Masaie sat cross-legged a while. He tried to summon the energy to stand, walk a little way from the camp and piss. He tried to gauge the temper of the sky, the chances of rain.
‘Why fight?’ asked the rabbit, voice dripping false sympathy. ‘Two more days. Two more days before the team attack the castle. You’ll be long dead by then. Why drag it out?’
‘Maybe I’ll last. Maybe I won’t.’
‘It’s not your fault. None of it. You didn’t ask to take part in this escapade. Nobody asked your opinion. Nobody gave you a choice. And your current sickness. A cut which turned bad. It could happen to anyone, anytime.’