Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky (37 page)

The guard nodded gravely at such honourable
sacrifice.

‘What are you waiting for?’
challenged Akiko. ‘Send out a detachment
immediately
!’

She gave the command with such authority
that the guard jumped.

‘And be warned,’ she added,
‘the bandits are disguised as the Shogun’s samurai.’

The guard’s eyes widened in shock at
this news. He bowed in acknowledgement of the order, then waved them on. The farmers
bore the palanquin through the gate and into the port.

60
 
 

Jack had finally arrived.

After more than a year of running, hiding
and fighting for his life, he’d reached his destination. Nagasaki. He just hoped
that it would offer the salvation he’d been praying for all this time.

As he peered out from the palanquin, he
caught glimpses of the bustling port. They were heading along the main street towards a
bridge that spanned the Nakashima River. Women in brightly coloured kimono hurried to
and fro. Traders called out their wares – exotic spices from Java, ivory from India,
silk from China and foods from all four corners of the known world. There was a lively,
relaxed atmosphere to the place, as if the outside influence of foreigners had diluted
the traditional Japanese formality and injected a vibrant, almost rebellious spirit.
Jack even spotted a Catholic church, although its doors were boarded up.

‘That was clever of you, Akiko,’
remarked Saburo. ‘If we’re lucky, that ploy should delay the Shogun’s
samurai.’

‘It might even give
us
a
chance to escape once Jack’s on-board his ship,’ said Benkei with a
grin.

‘Don’t speak too soon,’
replied Akiko, hearing a shout from behind.

‘STOP! THIEVES!’

A portly aristocrat with four panicked
bearers came lumbering down the hill towards the gate.

‘THAT’S MY PALANQUIN!’

The gate guards spun round and glared at the
disappearing entourage. Several immediately gave chase.

‘GO!’ cried Saburo.

The farmers pumped their legs, clattering
across the wooden bridge. Jack was thrown around inside the palanquin as they barged
through the crowd. But the streets were thronging with people, and, even with Akiko on
her horse, their progress was hampered. The guards, on the other hand, wielded their
swords with abandon, scattering the crowd and clearing a path through.

‘Get out, Jack!’ Akiko ordered,
quickly dismounting Snowball, realizing she was too visible.

The farmers dumped the palanquin on the
ground and Jack leapt out. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll draw
the guards away,’ said Takumi.

‘Then take Snowball to attract their
attention,’ Akiko suggested, handing Takumi the reins as Jack and the others
snatched their packs from the saddle. ‘But I’ll be back for him.’

Bowing a hurried farewell, Takumi and the
four farmers disappeared down a side street with the stallion in tow. In an attempt to
throw off the guards, Jack and his friends went the opposite way, taking to the warren
of alleys that circled the harbour. They switched right, then left, before cutting
across another bridge. Behind, their pursuers were shouting for them
to stop. They passed beneath a fire-red gateway, golden dragons adorning its
green-tiled eaves. Hundreds of yellow lanterns festooned with red streamers floated
above their heads. As they ran, Jack noticed all the inhabitants in this district were
Chinese. Their eyes widened in shock as the five fugitives careered past.

Akiko broke left and darted inside a temple.
The chaos of the port was suddenly replaced by the tranquil chime of bells, heady wafts
of incense and the incantation of praying monks. Respectfully avoiding the central
shrine, the five of them dashed through to a backstreet. They crossed a small stone
bridge out of Chinatown and headed for the harbour. But the alley they chose came to an
abrupt end. Backtracking, they heard the shouts of their pursuers drawing closer. They
ducked inside a darkened warehouse and waited for them to pass.

No one spoke, their hearts racing and lungs
burning.

The guards shot by.

Bolting from their hiding place, Jack and
his friends took the opposite alley, then bore right. A few turns later, they emerged by
the harbour side. The quay was crammed with fishing boats, Chinese junks and cargo
ships. Warehouses swarmed with deckhands and port workers loading and unloading barrels.
The hubbub of activity meant that their sudden appearance went unnoticed. Jack’s
eyes scanned the port for the galleons. The enormous multi-decked ships were easy to
spot. Their distinctive castle-like design, heavy cannon and square-rigs set them apart
from the Eastern-style flat-keeled boats with their batten sails. Jack spied three
galleons in the bay almost immediately.

But his heart sank like a stone. None flew
the British flag.
They all boasted the stark white rectangle and
golden coat of arms of his country’s sworn enemy, Portugal.

Jack collapsed to his knees in despair.
Benkei had been right.
Only
the Portuguese traded out of Nagasaki. He was
doomed. All his friends’ efforts and sacrifices were for nothing, his dream of
returning home to Jess no more than that – just a futile dream.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked
Akiko, kneeling beside him. ‘They’re galleons, aren’t they?’

Jack nodded. ‘But they fly the
Portuguese flag,’ he explained. ‘They’d sooner take me prisoner than
take me home.’

Yori looked out beyond the mouth of the bay
towards the distant sea. ‘An English ship will turn up soon,
Jack … I’m sure of it.’

‘Yes,’ Saburo agreed readily.
‘And we can protect you until one arrives.’

Jack turned to his friends, their unwavering
belief in him only highlighting the cruel truth.

‘That could be years,’ he said,
resigning himself to his fate. ‘This is the end of the road. You got me here,
alive, and I’m grateful for that. But you can’t hide me from the
Shogun’s samurai forever. And I can’t allow you to keep risking your lives
for me.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Yori, defiant
tears brimming in his eyes. ‘We’ll find another way. Another ship
–’

‘What flag’s that?’
interrupted Benkei, pointing towards a mast at the far end of the quay.

Protruding above the roofline of a large
warehouse were four tall masts – another galleon. Atop the main fluttered a banner with
red, white and blue horizontal stripes.

Jack stared in astonishment.
How could he
have missed it?

‘That’s a Dutch flag!’ he
cried, jumping up and hugging Benkei with joy. ‘That’s a Dutch
flag!’

He raced along the harbour, his friends
following in his wake. As they rounded the warehouse and came alongside, they slowed to
a halt, awed by the sheer size of the colossal ocean-going vessel.

‘This floats?’ said Saburo,
utterly astonished.

‘A ship like this can sail around the
world. All the way to England!’ Jack declared, heading towards the gangway.

‘
Ahoi, aan boord!
’ he
cried, recalling the Dutch he’d learnt from his fellow seaman Ginsel.

A crewman with a sunburnt face, thick beard
and sharp blue eyes leant over the side. ‘
Wie ben jij?
’

Jack threw off his hat to reveal his blond
hair. ‘
Mijn naam is
Jack Fletcher.
Ik ben Engels!
’

The crewman looked astonished.
‘
Kom aan boord! Kom aan boord!
’

Jack and his friends hurried up the gangway
and on to the deck before any of the gate guards appeared. The bearded crewman and
several other sailors greeted them with bemused expressions. They were unsure what to
make of the kimono-clad, sword-bearing English boy and his bizarre retinue of a Japanese
warrior girl, a young samurai, a tiny monk and a patchwork clown.

‘
Kapitein!
’ called the
bearded crewman.

A tall Dutch man emerged from the main cabin
and approached. Despite the heat, he was dressed smartly in a brown leather jacket,
waistcoat and linen shirt with a lace collar. He wore wide black breeches with
knee-length white
socks and polished buckle shoes. His light auburn
hair was a thick carpet of tight curls and he sported a trimmed beard and moustache.

‘I’m Captain Hendrik Spilbergen
of the
Hosiander
,’ he announced in slightly accented English. He looked
Jack up and down. ‘And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?’

‘Jack Fletcher of the
Alexandria
,’ he said, bowing.

The captain’s face blanched slightly,
as if he’d seen a ghost. ‘The
Alexandria
?’

‘
Hai
 … I mean
yes,’ replied Jack, nodding. He was so used to speaking Japanese that it was a
shock to converse in English after so many years.

The captain shook his head in disbelief.
‘We believed you all to be dead.’

61
 
 

‘You needn’t worry,
Jack,’ assured Captain Spilbergen, raising a crystal glass of red wine to his
lips, ‘you’re safe on-board the
Hosiander
. This is Dutch
territory.’

Jack was greatly relieved to hear this and
told his friends the good news. They sat round a large oak table in the captain’s
quarters. Upon his insistence, they’d all been tended to by the ship’s
doctor before joining him and his officers for dinner. Akiko now looked more her normal
self, having regained some of her colour and had her arrow wound dressed properly and
her bloodstained kimono changed for a fresh one. Jack felt better too, the worst of his
cuts stitched and bandaged. Yori had soaked his blistered feet in brine, while the only
medicine Saburo required was food. Benkei had passed the time making friends with the
ship’s cat and she now sat on his lap, purring loudly.

The setting sun spilled in through the
gallery windows and bathed the table in golden light. There was a feast of coarse bread,
dumplings and pottage. His mouth watering, Jack wondered what his Japanese friends would
make of the thick steaming stew; they were already bemused enough by the conversations
in English.

He shifted in his seat. It felt strange to be
on hard wooden chairs after being used to sitting cross-legged on floor cushions for so
long.

‘I met your father once,’
revealed Captain Spilbergen. ‘John Fletcher’s regarded as one of the
greatest pilots to sail the Seven Seas.’

Jack felt a flush of pride at his
father’s memory.

‘Which is why the Dutch East India
Company – who funded both your father’s and my trade expeditions to the Far East –
was so surprised that his ship didn’t return. After a few years, we could only
assume you’d all perished.’

‘The
Alexandria
was
shipwrecked in a typhoon,’ Jack explained. ‘But my father navigated us
safely to shore.’

‘So where’s your father and the
rest of the crew now?’

Jack shivered at the dark memory. ‘All
dead. Killed by
wako
. My father too.’

Captain Spilbergen nodded solemnly.
‘I’m grieved to hear that. You certainly look like you’ve been through
the wars. How have
you
survived all this time?’

Jack looked to Akiko, then at Yori, Saburo
and Benkei. He thought of Yamato and of Miyuki.

‘I have my friends to thank for
that.’

Over dinner, he gave a brief recount of his
adventures since landing in Japan: his rescue and adoption by the swordmaster Masamoto;
his training as a samurai warrior in Kyoto; his deadly clashes with the ninja Dragon
Eye; and his escape from the Battle of Osaka Castle. The captain and his officers
listened rapt, alternating between disbelief, shock and admiration. While Jack spoke,
Saburo devoured his stew and polished off the dumplings. Akiko and Yori were slightly
less enthusiastic
about the European-style meal, not being familiar
with such rich and fatty foods. But, like Benkei, they ate as much as they could,
encouraged by hunger and good manners, before discreetly passing the remainder to
Saburo. Every so often Captain Spilbergen would ask a question and Jack would reply,
taking the time to translate for his friends’ benefit. The captain and his
officers were astounded by his fluidity in the impenetrable language.