That set the pattern for moving the wounded across the gorge. When they were safely over, the remaining Kikori followed. Since they were unhampered, they didn’t have to wait for one person to cross before the next followed. Soon a steadily moving line was formed as they stepped lightly across the bridge. Once the Kikori were across, the Senshi warriors began to follow. They didn’t manage the task with as much composure as the Kikori, but by moving carefully, they found three or four could negotiate the bridge at one time and the group waiting to cross quickly dwindled.
Horace waited anxiously. He had now watched three hundred people cross the bridge, so any doubts as to its strength were dispelled. Now he spent the remaining minutes in a fever of impatience, watching back down the path for the first sign of Arisaka’s men.
‘Kurokuma! It’s time!’
The last of Shigeru’s Senshi plucked at his sleeve, indicating the bridge behind them. Horace nodded.
‘Go,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’
He waited until the other man was halfway across the bridge and then stepped onto the planks once more. He settled himself, adjusting to the swooping and swaying motion, then shuffled across, moving his feet carefully, placing them as close to the centre of the footplanks as he could. Still the motion was disturbing and he struggled not to look down. A memory suddenly shot into his mind – of Will at Morgarath’s huge bridge in Celtica, running light-footed across the narrow beams where the footpath was yet to be laid.
‘Wish you were here, Will,’ he said quietly, then shuffled onwards.
He was two-thirds of the way across when he heard the cry of alarm from the far side. Stopping, he twisted his upper body to look back over his shoulder. He could see men running along the track at the rim of the gorge. In another five minutes, they’d reach the bridge. He hadn’t expected them to catch up so soon and the thought struck him that Arisaka must have sent yet another advance party forward at top speed, unburdened by anything but their weapons.
‘Don’t stop, Or’ss-san!’ It was Reito, shouting to him from the far side of the gorge. ‘Keep moving!’
Galvanised into action, he plunged forward, careless now that his motion might set the bridge moving and swinging. He gripped the rope side rails fiercely, almost running to clear the bridge. He could see half a dozen Kikori standing where the handlines and cables that supported the bridge were anchored, axes ready. Behind him, he heard more shouting as Arisaka’s men grew closer.
‘Get a rope ready!’ he yelled. ‘A long rope!’
He lurched onto solid ground and turned to see the first of Arisaka’s men stepping carefully onto the bridge. They hesitated at the wild movement. Unlike the Kikori, they weren’t born and bred in this mountain territory. But they began to advance, slowly.
The Kikori’s axes thudded against the cables supporting the bridge. But the thick rope was braided together and heavily tarred, and the tar had hardened to an almost rock-like consistency over the years. It was going to be a close thing whether Arisaka’s men would make it across before the axemen could sever all four cables.
Horace saw one of the Kikori standing by with a length of rope and beckoned him forward.
‘Round my waist! Quickly!’
The man realised what he wanted and stepped forward, fastening a loop of the rope around Horace’s waist, knotting it securely behind him.
‘Now pay it out as I go!’ Horace said. He shrugged his shield around, ran his arm through the support straps, and drew his sword. Then he took a deep breath and stepped out onto the bridge again. The Kikori who had tied the rope now paid it out slowly, keeping a little slack between them so that Horace’s movement wasn’t impeded. He called for help and three of his companions ran to assist him.
This time, Horace moved with a purpose in mind. Any nervousness he might have felt was overborne by the necessity to hold back the advancing Senshi coming to meet him. Horace knew the real danger on such an unsteady platform would come if he let himself tense up. He had to relax and ride the motion of the bridge. He was a superbly co-ordinated athlete and now he hit upon the way to relax the tension in his muscles.
‘Think you’re on horseback,’ he told himself, and instantly, he found he could attune himself to the swirling, plunging movement of the bridge. He advanced five metres and waited. The first of the Senshi stopped a few metres short of him, looking uncertainly at the tall figure who rode the bridge, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet. The Senshi had no such sense of ease. He was tense and nervous, out of his comfort zone. But he came on, swinging a clumsy overhead stroke at Horace.
Horace took the blow with his shield slanted, deflecting it rather than blocking it. As a consequence, his attacker felt no resistance to his blow and stumbled forward, off balance. As he tried to recover, Horace made a quick, darting lunge and took him in the left thigh, through the gap in his armour there.
With a hoarse cry of pain, the warrior dropped his sword as his left leg collapsed under him, sending him lurching into the thin web of side ropes. Horrified as he realised he was about to plunge through and fall to his death, he scrabbled for a handhold. The man behind him was impeded by the awkwardly sprawled, struggling body. As he attempted to step past, Horace advanced suddenly, shuffling quickly forward. The Senshi swung an awkward cut at him but once again the shield stopped the blow. The blade bit into the rim and stuck there for a second. As the Senshi jerked it free, Horace’s return side cut hit him in the side.
The Nihon-Jan swords were sharper and harder than Horace’s blade. But his sword was longer and heavier and it crumpled the lacquered leather body armour the Senshi wore, crushing the ribs behind it. The man gasped in pain, lurched against the side rail and lost his balance, toppling over to fall into the massive gorge below them.
The next man hesitated as both he and Horace felt a violent tremor run through the bridge and the left side rail sagged downwards. They faced each other, each waiting for the other to make a move. But Horace knew time was on his side now.
On the brink of the gorge, Shigeru spoke quickly to the men holding Horace’s lifeline.
‘Take a turn round that tree stump there!’ he ordered them. ‘When Kurokuma falls, slow him down before the rope runs out!’
They grasped his meaning instantly and ran the rope around the stump – which was thick as a man’s waist. The axemen were working faster and faster now and the bridge trembled with each blow. Shigeru saw the enemy soldier closest to the far side turn and begin to run back, yelling a warning. His companions followed but they were too late. The bridge suddenly fell clear, spilling Horace and the four remaining Senshi into the drop.
‘Let the rope out!’ Shigeru ordered. He knew if the rope simply snapped tight, Horace would swing against the cliff face with brutal force. But as the rope came tight, the Kikori let it run, using the loop belayed around the stump to slow it and allowing Horace to drop clear into the gorge, below the overhang where the bridge had been set.
Horace felt the bridge go, felt himself drop into space and his stomach rise into his throat. He waited for the sudden snap of the rope jamming tight, then realised what was happening. The rope was tight but yielding. There was no sudden stop so he let himself go limp and tried to turn to face the cliff face, so he could break the impact with his arms and legs.
The overhang, and the belayed rope, saved him. If the cliff had been sheer, he would have swung into it like a pendulum, at the bottom of its arc, moving too fast to prevent himself being injured. But as he began to swing inwards, he was also still moving vertically, and his momentum was being gradually reduced. He hit the rock wall twenty metres down, with enough force to crack a rib or two and jolt the breath out of his body. He cursed as the impact shocked the sword from his hand and it spun away into the giddy drop below. Then he felt the rope tightening under his armpits as the Kikori began to draw him upwards.
As he drew closer to the rim of the gorge, he could see Shigeru’s anxious face among those peering down at
him. He used his legs to fend himself off from the overhang as he reached it and was eventually hauled over the edge, sprawling on the muddy ground. He must look like a landed fish, he thought.
Shigeru seized his arm, then instantly released him as Horace’s injured ribs flared with pain and he cried out.
‘Are you all right, Or’ss-san?’ Shigeru asked.
Horace felt his sore ribs under the mail shirt and grimaced.
‘No. I’ve cracked my ribs. And I lost my sword, damn it,’ he said.
In contrast to the noisy taverns and restaurants they had passed so far, the interior of the ryokan was an oasis of calm and quiet.
Halt, Will and Alyss found themselves in a large entry room, walls and floor finished in polished timber. The sweet smell of beeswax hung in the air, evidence of constant polishing. It was overlaid by a mixture of incense and scented woodsmoke, the latter from a fireplace set against one side wall, where a log fire sent a warm glow through the room. This subdued lighting was augmented by several hanging lanterns, each consisting of a candle burning inside a paper globe. Opposite the fireplace, and set in symmetry to it, a small raised pond sent reflections of light ribboning across the walls.
The decor of the room was sparse but elegant. A large table faced them, with two beautifully lacquered boxes, one at either end, and a heavy journal in the centre. Writing implements were arranged neatly beside the journal. Behind it was a framed wall painting – not a picture, but a large Nihon-Jan ideogram. To the left, a timber staircase ascended to the next level, and a wooden railed gallery ran round four sides of the open space above them. Halt, glancing round, assumed that access to the guest rooms led off from this gallery.
There was a single step in front of them, so that the main area of the room was slightly higher than the entry. Will went to step onto the raised area and approach the table, but Alyss had noticed several pairs of sandals ranged along the lower part of the floor. She recalled an item from George’s background notes on Nihon-Jan customs and stopped him with a hand on his arm.
‘Just a moment, Will,’ she said. ‘Your boots.’
‘What about them?’ he asked but Halt had noticed the discarded sandals, and a shelf of soft slippers set to one side.
‘Take them off,’ he said.
‘It’s a Nihon-Jan custom,’ Alyss explained. ‘They don’t wear boots inside.’
Halt was already stripping off his boots and placing them against the shelf. He looked appreciatively at the polished wood floor, the colour of dark honey in the fire and lantern light.
‘With floors like these, I’m not surprised,’ he said.
Will and Alyss followed suit. They stepped up onto the raised platform and selected slippers. They all seemed to be the same size, but they were a simple slipover style, with a matting sole and a soft felt band that stretched over the instep of the foot to hold them in place.
‘Just as well Horace isn’t here,’ Will said. The young warrior’s big feet would have overhung the compact slippers. The others smiled at the thought. Then, as if he had been waiting for them to don the slippers, a man emerged from a curtained doorway behind the long table. He stopped and bowed. The three of them approached the table and bowed in return. It seemed a lot of bowing went on in this country, Will thought.
‘How may I serve you?’ the man said. His voice was soft and slightly sibilant. Alyss glanced at Halt. The man had spoken in the common tongue and she assumed that Halt would conduct the conversation with him. He nodded briefly to her.
‘We would like rooms,’ he said. ‘For two nights, possibly three.’
‘Of course. That will not be a problem. You are from the foreign ship that entered the harbour today?’
Halt nodded and the man opened the large book on the table. He picked up what Will had assumed to be a pen but now saw was a fine brush. He dipped it in an inkwell made from polished blackwood and made two neat entries in the book – which was obviously the register of rooms available.
‘Did you want to dine?’ he asked. ‘There is a dining room downstairs, or we can serve your meal in one of the rooms.’
‘I think in the room upstairs,’ Halt said. He indicated Will. ‘My assistant and I will take one room and the lady will have the other. You can serve the meal in our room.’
The man bowed slightly. ‘As you wish. Is there anything else or shall I show you to your rooms now?’
Halt exchanged a quick glance with Alyss. He wondered if the man already suspected the reason behind their visit. After all, this was where George had spent several nights before he left Iwanai. He came to a decision and leaned forward, lowering his voice a little.
‘We were told that we might find a friend here,’ he began. ‘A man by the name of Atsu. He came –’
He was interrupted by the sound of the door slamming back on its hinges behind them. They all turned as two Senshi strode into the inn, their boots ringing loud on the wooden floor. Contemptuously, they ignored the slippers and stepped, hard-shod, onto the raised inner platform. One, obviously the leader, was a pace ahead of the other. The innkeeper’s eyes flickered briefly with annoyance but he quickly recovered and bowed to the newcomers, his hands tucked inside his sleeves.
‘Bow,’ Halt muttered to his companions. He’d felt a momentary surge of apprehension, wondering whether the innkeeper might inform the Senshi that they were inquiring about Atsu. But it was obvious that the man was no friend to Arisaka’s soldiers.
The Senshi made a derisive noise in his throat as they bowed deeply to him. He disdained to return the compliment, then turned and fired off a stream of rapid Nihon-Jan at the innkeeper. Will heard the word ‘gaijin’ used several times. He glanced at Alyss and saw she was frowning slightly as she tried to keep pace with the conversation. The innkeeper replied courteously, withdrawing a hand from the sleeve of his robe to indicate his guests with a graceful gesture.
The Senshi turned to them. Singling out Halt as the leader, he stepped closer to him – too close for politeness – and stood, feet apart and hands on hips, studying him. Will noted the symbol on the breast of his robe – a red owl. They had learned that this was the mark of Arisaka’s clan – although Will felt they could also be identified by their overbearing, arrogant manner.
Halt, who could appear deceptively obsequious if the occasion demanded it, dropped his eyes from the direct, challenging gaze of the Senshi. The man grunted again, seeing the simple action as an act of weakness.
‘Gaijin!’ he said abruptly, jabbing a forefinger at each of them in quick succession. ‘From the gaijin ship?’
Halt inclined his head. ‘That is correct, lord,’ he said. He was sure the Senshi was anything but a lord but it would do no harm to call him that.
‘Uncover your face in front of a Senshi!’ the man ordered. He reached forward and slapped the cowl of Halt’s cloak back from his face with the back of his hand. Will drew a sharp breath, sure that Halt would react explosively to the insult. But the bearded Ranger merely bowed his head again. The hand had made no contact with his face, merely catching the brim of the cowl and knocking it back. The Senshi nodded to himself in satisfaction, then turned to Alyss and Will.
‘You and you! The same!’
They pushed back their cowls. Alyss bowed as she did so and Will followed suit, glad that his lowered head would mask the anger that he knew was showing in his eyes.
When he had recovered his equanimity, he straightened again.
‘Why are you here?’ The Senshi had turned his attention back to Halt.
‘We are here to trade in precious stones,’ Halt replied. It was the answer Gundar had given earlier in the day to the harbour official. Trading in precious stones explained the lack of large cargo space on board the ship, and went some way towards explaining her speedy lines. A ship with a cargo of jewels would need to be fast, after all. But the Senshi reacted angrily to his answer, stepping even closer to shout in his face.
‘No! No! No! Why are you here?’ He stamped his
foot, scuffing a mark into the soft polish, and pointed at the floor. ‘Why in this ryokan?’
The innkeeper intervened with an explanation in Nihon-Jan. His voice was low and respectful and he kept his gaze lowered, avoiding eye contact with the angry Senshi. The warrior listened to the explanation, then turned his gaze on the three Araluans and made a comment to his comrade. They both laughed and then, with a contemptuous gesture, the Senshi indicated that he had no further interest in the foreigners. The two men turned and stumped out of the ryokan, slamming the door shut behind them.
‘And what was that all about?’ Will asked.
He had addressed the question to Alyss but it was the innkeeper who answered. ‘I told them you had come for the baths. The ryokan is built over a hot spring. The Senshi check on the movements of all foreigners in the town – they enjoy showing how important they are. Someone must have seen you arriving here and reported it. There are informers everywhere these days,’ he added sadly.
‘That could make travelling north a little difficult,’ Halt said thoughtfully, and the innkeeper nodded agreement.
‘It won’t be easy.’
‘Actually, after so long at sea, a hot bath sounds like a good idea,’ Halt said. On the journey, with fresh water at a premium, they had been forced to use seawater for bathing.
‘And what was Mister Smileyface’s closing sally?’ Will asked. ‘It seemed to put them both in such a good mood.’
‘He said, judging by the way we smell, we need a bath,’ Alyss replied. Will raised an eyebrow at the insult but Halt uttered a short laugh.
‘If it wasn’t so true, I might be insulted,’ he said. He turned to the innkeeper.
‘Perhaps we might use the baths first, then eat?’ he suggested.
The innkeeper nodded. ‘I’ll show you the way,’ he said. ‘And while you’re relaxing, I’ll send a messenger to see if Atsu is still in Iwanai. He comes and goes.’
The Emperor of Nihon-Ja Page 17