Only a Shadow (3 page)

4.

Iga Genbei was no taller than his father, with forearms as strong as a bull's shoulders and a belly round enough to prompt jokes about when his baby was due. He was not slothful; the belly, which came naturally enough after a life spent sitting and knotting nets, also served as a disguise. No one saw a short balding fat man as dangerous, and that alone had ruined more than a few foes of the Iga. He wore midnight blue and a three-day beard, and his black eyes gleamed with the same intensity as his mother's. She'd been Jujiro's fourth wife, on whom he'd fathered three girls before she gave him Genbei.

Genbei bowed and said, “Good evening, my lord father. Thank you for seeing me.”

Jujiro inclined his head. “It's nothing.
Mugi-cha?
”

“I wouldn't want to trouble you.” Genbei's voice carried an undercurrent of tension. The boy had always been nervous around his father—and hardly a boy anymore, Jujiro told himself; little Chieko's already of marrying age—but this was something different.

“You wish to speak to me about the boy,
neh
? This Tadanao?”

“I do.” Even a simple declaration like that quivered in the air. Genbei's frustration was almost palpable. “He spoke to me of you, last night in private. He asked whether I thought the clan ought to relieve you of the burden of stealing Lord Hirata's Inazuma blade.”

“Did he now?” Jujiro poured two cups of tea from his little bamboo-handled teapot. Genbei bowed until his forehead brushed the floor, took up the cup in two hands, bowed again, and sipped. Jujiro enjoyed a sip himself, giving his son time to simmer down. Then he said, “Tell me, what do you make of young Tada-san's proposal?”

“He might just as well have asked me if I thought you'd outlived your usefulness to the clan. I should have stabbed him through the gullet for an insinuation like that, and again through the heart for sheer impertinence.”

Jujiro shrugged. “He is a prideful boy. Headstrong. Nothing more.”

“He insulted you.”

“He thinks he holds answers to all the world's questions. So did you at his age. I imagine I did as well, if only I could remember back that far. Good tea,
neh
?”

“Yes.” Even in the dim light, even as old as Jujiro's eyes were, he could see his son's jaw muscles tensing.

“What should I do with him?” asked Genbei.

“Not stab him through the gullet, for one thing. Think how mad Sumiko would be if you splattered the boy's blood all over your tatami. She and Chieko would be scrubbing it up for days.”

Now Genbei's knuckles flexed as well as his jaws. “My lord father, I beg you, be serious.”

“I am serious. What would you have me say? He is the right man for the work. We will proceed as planned.”

“He is contemplating betrayal. I see it in him. He questions your ability because he seeks to claim the Inazuma for himself.”

Jujiro chuckled at that. “I rather expect he is sleeping after a long day's work in the sun,” he said. “And the boy has much more to do tomorrow; when do you expect him to plan his treachery?”

“He is young. I do not think he plans anything in advance.”

“Nonsense. His plan for bedding your daughter is progressing quite smoothly, don't you think?”

Genbei's mouth became a thin line. His empty teacup clacked when he set it on the table, louder and more forcefully than was proper. I should have raised this one with a firmer hand, thought Jujiro. He never learned to master his emotions. “He's progressing too well,” said Genbei. “I allow Chieko more freedom than I should, hoping the boy will overstep his bounds so I can kill him.”

Old Jujiro clucked his tongue. “It's taken you much too long to learn this, my son:
we're criminals
. Do you know what would happen if we killed all who annoy us? All who contemplate betrayal? Who would be left for us to employ? The boy is headstrong and he has designs on deflowering your daughter. That's no reason to kill him.”

“What of treason? Is that reason enough?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not. I asked him whether he has the wisdom to know when to double-cross, and when not to. His test will come soon. We can only wait to see whether he is ready for it.”

5.

A lightning line in the southeast marked the border between sun and sky, and only the brightest stars were still visible when Tada reached Gyomin's weather-beaten hut. He and Gyomin gathered all they needed and heaped it into Gyomin's little rowboat, and Tada pushed them out to sea while Gyomin sat in the bow, rocking with the surf.

The oars flicked cold spray on Tada's sunburned forearms, but his cheeks flushed hot when he thought of last night's talk. He should never have approached Chieko's father. His efforts there fizzled out like a dying ember in the rain. Old Jujiro's plan was progressing too quickly for Tada to try reaching the elders again. Unless he found a way out, the hammer would strike tonight at moonrise.

And there was work enough to keep Tada occupied until then. By the time the sun rose high enough that Tada could see his own shadow inside the boat, he and Gyomin had feigned at fishing for several hours. The sun blazed on their shoulders and still they had no fish.

Black rope lay coiled at Tada's feet, and he was tying one of Old Jujiro's knots in it. It was the sixtieth knot he'd tied in a row, each one abutting the last, and he was less than halfway through. The rope was braided of strong silk, its length exactly half the height of Toba castle's central donjon. Tada shook his head as he tied another knot, watching the other fishing boats bobbing about on the waves. He couldn't decide who had it worst. Was it better to be entangled in a careless plot to steal an Inazuma blade, or to be an ignorant fisherman who believed not only in magical swords but also in demons, sea spirits, and hungry ghosts? These commoners thought of
shinobi
as magic men, but so much of the magic was just careful thinking, like the mathematics of calculating a tower's height from afar.

As he tied the knots, Tada pumped a bellows with his foot, while Gyomin manned the oars to keep their boat in place. The bellows connected to what looked at first glance like a massive snake. In fact it was long stretch of oilcloth stitched to fashion a hose, shrouding a treated pig's intestine that ran the whole length of it. The snakelike hose ran over the gunwale and then several body-lengths under the water, and so every time he stepped on the bellows, a flock of bubbles should have come swimming up in a flutter. But no matter how many times he pumped the bellows, no matter how much air he forced below, none returned to the surface. At least the material components of Old Jujiro's plan were functioning correctly. Whether Tada would survive long enough to make use of them was a different question.

Tada wore only a white loincloth and a sheen of sweat. Gyomin was dressed identically. Tada marveled at his wrinkles and scars. The old fisherman had powerful arms and hands, but even so, his skin was like crumpled brown
washi
. Tada had never spent much time thinking about the blessings of youth. His own body was sleek, strong, and lithe, a weapon forged by endless
taisabaki
and yogic secrets stolen from the mainland by past masters of the clan. Baking under the hot sun, Tada watched the shadows ripple across Gyomin's corded forearms as he plied his oars.

At long last Gyomin told him to stop tying his knots. Tada dropped his rope, dove into the water, and swam down to the end of the oilcloth hose. Kicking off the sea floor, he returned the hose to the boat. The water was cold relief; Tada lingered before clambering back aboard.

Gyomin rowed south, away from the castle. When at length he dropped his oars, he and Tada picked up something that any distant observer would take for a wide, round fishing net. The broad disc was not of mesh but of carefully treated leather, though it was weighted around its diameter just as a fishing net was. These weights were different, though: they were much larger and heavier than usual, not small leaden balls but mesh sacks on short tethers. Any one of the weights was heavy enough by itself to bring the leather disc down to the sandy ocean floor. Each sack was filled with the weed-covered stones Tada had spent the whole previous day collecting.

Though it hadn't occurred to him then, this morning Tada found himself wondering how fortuitous it was that Gyomin had spent so many years cultivating the peculiar kind of seaweed that Old Jujiro needed to pull off this theft. Did Jujiro have fishers and farmers in place all over the Kansai, growing this plant and that in case one should be needed someday? Or had he first started planning to steal the Inazuma years ago, and asked Gyomin to start his crop of seaweed way back then?

They threw the false fishing net and it sank immediately. Then Gyomin took up his oars again, sculling back and forth to maintain the boat's position against the drift of the waves. Tada dumped himself overboard with a splash. The water was so refreshing that his dry mouth welcomed even its salinity. Gyomin handed him a mesh bag full of rocks, these too covered in the seaweed, and Tada used the rocks' weight to help him dive down to the ocean floor.

A ripple effect of shivers traveled the length of Tada's body as he approached the broad, weighted disc he and Gyomin had cast. Lacing a foot through the mesh bag kept Tada anchored to the bottom, leaving his hands free to work. He arranged the rocks that weighted the treated leather disc so that they all touched each other in a neat little circle, then fixed the oilcloth hose so its mouth was firmly under the center of the disc and could not wander. Then he pushed off and swam hard for the surface.

Tada climbed back into the boat and resumed his knot-tying and bellows-pumping. He and the ancient fisherman had done this half a dozen times already, and they would spend the entire afternoon repeating the process. Tada was long since weary of it, all the more so because the more he thought about stealing the Inazuma, the more certain he became that the scheme would fail. Tada needed a distraction in order to make his most important move. Old Jujiro was supposed to provide it. And instead, he would leave it to Lord Hirata to decide whether he would be distracted or not. It was idiocy. Lunacy. Any number of other methods would have worked, and the old man chose this one.

And now that Tada had voiced his doubts about the plan, he could not do so again. He was lucky Old Jujiro still painted him into the picture at all. Tada's only options now were to walk away from the scheme entirely or to stake his life at the gambling table. And the fact that he was out on the water with Gyomin meant he'd chosen not to walk away.

He swallowed. There it was; he'd formed the thought now and now it would remain, as inescapable as his own heartbeat. He'd staked his life on an old man's failing judgment. If senility skewed Jujiro's predictions, then Tada's only options were to die attempting to steal the sword on his own, or else to flee. In neither case could he go back to his life as he'd known it. That path had closed to him as soon as he stepped in the boat this morning.

Unless there was a way to cheat at the gamble. Steal the sword
and
have it known that it was Tadanao, not Old Jujiro, who accomplished the impossible theft. If it were Tada who infiltrated the impenetrable fortress, Tada who claimed Lord Hirata's prize and honor, then Tada would be the next legendary veteran of the Iga. Then Chieko would have him no matter what her father said. Old Jujiro's incompetence would be exposed for all to see, and a word from Tada might be the only thing that could save her grandfather from disgrace. “I tried to warn you,” he could tell the elders. “It was Jujiro's own son who prevented me.”

Tada's heart was racing. He was thankful to dive in the water again, to conceal his face from Gyomin. He had been contemplating treason. Had any hint shown through his eyes? If so, Gyomin would report back and that would be the end of him. But by the time Tada resurfaced, he was certain the wizened fisherman had seen nothing. Tada had spent long years mastering his every muscle; his face was a stone mask unless he willed it otherwise.

He allowed Gyomin to see him smile now. Outwardly his smile reflected only a young man's pleasure in cool water on a hot afternoon. Inwardly his thoughts ran in a very different direction. Chieko would have him, for every man she admired was an accomplished
shinobi
, and after tonight Tada would be counted among them. Not only would he steal the sword from Hirata, but he would arrange to steal it even from Old Jujiro. That would show his cunning. That would show he was right about the old man's senility.

Climbing back into the boat, he thought, I'm sorry, Jujino-sama. I truly am. But I have no choice. For your granddaughter, for the clan, and yes, for me, I have to do this.

6.

“You're quite sure, now?” Jujiro asked. He sat with young Tadanao in his study. Old Jujiro wore his most expensive finery, red embroidered on black. The boy wore clinging garments of the darkest gray. He watched as the boy strapped a hollow reed to the side of a long case of waxed leather, which he then slung over his shoulder. Tadanao packed his cloth bag next. The knotted black rope took up most of the pack's volume. On top went a length of oilcloth, a collapsible grapnel bound in sheepskin, a second silk rope, the steel claws, the wooden shoes. Last was a small parcel wrapped in paper and smelling of horse dung, and a little metal box bound in thick leather, with the faintest smell of smoke seeping from the holes punched in its lid. The parcel and the metal box went into separate compartments. Old Jujiro was glad to see the boy handled them with the proper care. “You do understand those are not to be used except in uttermost need,” he said.

“Of course,” said Tadanao. “I understand the plan, Jujino-sama.”

Once the boy had secured everything, Jujiro got up from behind his table and opened the
shoji
. A salty breeze caressed his face, and in the distance he could see the north-facing side of Gyomin's little hovel, blurred though it was by his aging eyes. “Your part of the work requires youth,” he continued, enjoying the rumbling of the waves. “Otherwise I might have asked my old friend Gyomin to do it. But it may seem to you that you are doing rather more than I am. My role is to walk in through the front gate, look at the sword, and walk out again. You have already done more than that, with more still to come.”

“Only if Hirata lets you inside,” said the boy. “How can you be so sure he'll not kill you on sight?”

Old Jujiro shrugged. “Pride. He will relish allowing me to stand before the treasure he knows I cannot steal. If I ask him to see it, I expect he will escort me himself—surrounded by a host of samurai, no doubt. No, I think my task will be simple enough. Yours is more complicated. I would not want you to feel your energies were being overtaxed.”

“I am up to the task.”

“Then let us be off. Remember, you are to come back here straightaway. Your work is not done once you've acquired the sword. Come right back to this spot to speak with me.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Jujiro looked at the young man. There was no hint of betrayal in Tadanao's eyes. His voice did not quaver as a liar's might have. Jujiro slowly made his way onto the veranda, and from there to the sedan chair waiting before the house. “It is a long way to the castle for an old man,” he said as the two of them walked side by side. “Not so far for a young one like yourself. I will see you again when the moon is high.”

He accepted a steadying hand from Tada and settled himself in the chair, which the four bearers—Gyomin's grandsons—picked up by long, stout, unpolished beams. In moments the village was behind him, the enemy from his past growing closer with every step.

 * * * 

Tada slipped back inside the hut for only a moment. Then he was on his way to see the Tiger on the Mountain.