Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky (6 page)

Jack nudged him with his foot. ‘Rise
and shine!’

‘Hey,
nanban
 …’
Benkei groaned, rubbing his eyes. ‘Why did you have to wake me? I was having a
wonderful dream about a banquet served by beautiful
geisha
–’ He yawned
loudly.

‘Well, you’ve got me serving you
instead,’ replied Jack, laying out the rations on a flat rock.

‘And I thought dreams never came
true!’ Benkei shot him a wry smile. He rose, stretched and dunked his head in the
pool, before taking several long draughts of the crystal-clear mountain water. Running
his fingers through his unruly hair, he joined Jack beside the rock and sat down.
Together they tucked into the modest meal.

‘Thanks,’ said Benkei, munching
on a nut. ‘But we can’t live like squirrels all the way to Nagasaki. We need
supplies. Have you got any money?’

Jack shook his head.

There was a brief sigh of disappointment,
then Benkei said, ‘Not to worry. We’ll acquire some.’

Jack became wary. ‘You’re not
going to steal, are you? I don’t wish to attract any more trouble.’

Benkei looked almost offended.
‘I’m no thief! We’ll win it.’

He produced three shells from inside his
kimono and placed them in a row upon the rock. Taking a small nut from their breakfast
pile, he hid it under the middle shell.

‘Follow the nut,’ he instructed
Jack.

Benkei started to slide the three shells
around, switching their places. Jack’s eyes remained fixed upon the one with the
nut inside. Benkei made several more moves before asking, ‘Where’s the
nut?’

Jack smiled. This was too easy. He pointed
to the shell on the left.

‘Are you certain?’ asked Benkei
with a sly grin. ‘Would you bet on it?’

Jack nodded.

‘Then you’d lose,’ he said,
lifting the shell on the right to reveal the nut.

‘Impossible!’ exclaimed Jack.
‘I watched your every move.’

‘Try again. Let’s bet that last
juicy berry on the outcome.’

Agreeing, Jack closely studied Benkei as he
put the shell over the nut and shuffled their places around. He did a couple of
back-switches, but these were easy enough to follow. Without hesitation, Jack selected
the middle shell.

‘Wrong again,’ said Benkei,
uncovering the end shell to show the nut. With a triumphant expression, he popped his
prize into his mouth.

Jack was dumbfounded. There was simply no
way he’d made a mistake. His eyes had never left the nut-containing shell.

‘Third time lucky. Do you want to bet
your swords this time?’ suggested Benkei.

Jack shook his head. He’d never risk
gambling his weapons. The red-handled
katana
and
wakizashi
were forged
by Shizu, one of the greatest swordsmiths to have lived. Moreover, these swords were an
heirloom from Akiko’s father as well as Jack’s last link to Akiko herself.
He treasured them almost as much as he treasured their friendship.

‘Wise decision,’ said Benkei.
‘You see, this shell game is our moneymaker. Merchants and greedy samurai love to
gamble!’

‘But what if you lose?’ said
Jack, doubtful Benkei’s luck would hold.

‘That will never happen.’

Jack gave him a sceptical look.

‘You see, I’m not a gambler.
I’m a conjuror!’ revealed
Benkei with obvious pride.
‘That’s why my friends call me Benkei the Great.’ He jumped to his
feet with a flurry of his multicoloured kimono and bowed. ‘I’m the
greatest
trickster in Kyushu.’

Jack looked uneasy at the idea.

‘Don’t worry,
nanban
.
Your noble conscience will be safe. We’ll only take from those who can afford it –
not
like the
daimyo
and their samurai, who take all they can from
the poor farmers.’

Picking up his three shells and the nut,
Benkei strode off towards a treelined ridge heading west.

‘First stop, Yufuin. It’s the
nearest spa town from here. There’ll be lots of rich merchants and dumb samurai
who need their purses lightening.’

10
 
 

As they descended a rocky mountainside
later that afternoon, Jack could see why Yufuin was such a popular destination for
travellers and
onsen
seekers. The small provincial town sat in a picturesque
green valley, with a sparkling river weaving its way like a silver thread into a
crystal-blue lake. A magnificent double-headed volcano reared up behind the town,
providing a stunning backdrop for the hot springs. Serving the visitors’ every
need, numerous thatched-roof inns, temples and
onsen
lined the streets and
winding alleyways. Even from a distance, Jack could hear the tranquil flow of water and
the meditative chime of temple bells.

‘A genuine heaven on earth,
don’t you think?’ remarked Benkei.

Jack was inclined to agree and felt a sudden
urge to stop running. He wished he could do what his heart really desired and return to
Akiko in Toba. Ever since he’d made that fateful decision to leave her, his life
had been like a cork tossed on the ocean waves. But however much he longed for those
precious times he was duty-bound to his orphaned sister in England.
And
there was no turning back. The Shogun had made certain of that.

Avoiding the main road, they approached
Yufuin from the east, using the trees for cover. The town’s terraced paddy fields
had turned golden in the late afternoon sun, their shallow waters still as dew ponds now
that the farmers had finished working for the day. Benkei and Jack trotted along the
mudbanks, skirting the fields until they came to a group of farm buildings. An old
farmer emerged from a nearby cottage and Jack and Benkei quickly ducked inside a
barn.

‘I can’t go into town like
this,’ said Jack, indicating his blond hair and foreign looks.

‘You’re right,
nanban
,’ replied Benkei, studying him intently. ‘We should put a
bag on your head. That would make you easier on the eye!’

Jack baulked at the idea, unsure whether he
was being serious or not.

Benkei laughed at Jack’s offended
expression. ‘Only joking! Here, wear this.’

He’d found a straw hat discarded upon
a pile of rotting hay. The hat was old and tattered, but its rim was broad enough to
cover Jack’s face and hair.

‘It stinks of dung,’ said Jack,
trying not to grimace as he put it on.

‘Beggars can’t be
choosers,’ smirked Benkei and held his nose against the reek. ‘At least no
one will go near you!’

After the farmer had gone back inside, they
slipped out of the barn and entered town. Keeping to the backstreets and alleys, they
passed walled gardens, several bubbling
onsen
and a noisy kitchen. The inviting
smell of cooked rice wafted
under Jack’s nostrils, and his mouth
began to water and his stomach tighten. He suddenly realized how critical it was that
Benkei succeeded in his scheme.

Forcing all thoughts of hunger aside, Jack
followed Benkei down a narrow alleyway. They heard the clack of wood, followed by the
rattle of rolling dice and several disappointed groans. Through a gap in the boards,
Jack spied a group of men sitting cross-legged beside varying piles of wooden tokens.
With an almost desperate excitement, the men began slapping down the tokens and calling
out ‘odd’ and ‘even’.

‘It appears Yufuin isn’t just
about soaking in hot springs,’ whispered Benkei, raising his eyebrows knowingly.
‘All the better for us.’

They continued to make their way through the
backstreets until they reached a small square in the centre of town. A steady flow of
foot traffic passed along the two roads leading off from it. Kimono-clad women,
sword-bearing samurai and finely dressed merchants browsed shops, frequented tea houses
and entered the numerous
onsen
establishments.

Remaining in the shadows of the alley,
Benkei turned to Jack.

‘This spot is ideal. Now your job is
to act as lookout,’ he explained. ‘If you see any
dōshin
or patrols
coming along, whistle twice like this.’ He put his fingers in his mouth and
sounded two high-pitched notes like a cuckoo. ‘Got that?’

Jack nodded.

‘Wish me luck!’ he said,
brushing his wild hair up into spikes. ‘Not that I need it,’ he added with a
wink.

Benkei marched out as if he were an actor
taking to the stage. He strode across the square, his colourful garb drawing
the attention of passers-by. Setting himself up on a flat bench by a
street corner, he quickly gathered a small crowd.

Jack remained hidden in the alleyway, from
where he had a clear view of Benkei and the main thoroughfare.

‘
Double your money!
’
Benkei promised the intrigued onlookers, beckoning them closer.

A merchant laid a confident bet upon a
shell. With a flourish, Benkei revealed the actual location of the nut and the merchant
cursed his misfortune. Benkei claimed his winnings. Another bet was made and promptly
lost, and the crowd gasped in astonishment, many convinced they’d known where the
nut was. Benkei pocketed his takings. After a third round was lost by a portly samurai,
mutterings of disgruntlement arose and a few people drifted away. Then a cry of delight
went up as an old woman won a small bet on the shell she’d chosen. Immediately
there was a flurry of gambling.

Jack had to admit Benkei was good. His
artful skills made winning appear possible, enticing people to lay bigger bets. But, as
Jack knew from experience, they had no chance – unless Benkei wanted them to.

‘People’s greed is their
downfall,’ he’d said, and he was right.

As the crowd grew bigger and the money
rolled in, Jack noticed two men dressed in black
haori
jackets, tight-fitting
trousers and dark-blue
tabi
socks heading down the road. They each wore thin
white
hachimaki
across their foreheads and carried a
jutte
in their
belts. The distinctive iron truncheons were the trademark weapon of the
dōshin
– the Shogun’s recently appointed enforcement officers.

Jack whistled twice and Benkei looked up in
alarm.

All of a sudden Jack felt a hand clamp on to
his shoulder.
The fingers dug in, pain rocketing through his body as
pressure was applied. His legs were kicked out from under him and he buckled to his
knees. Struggling to break free from the grip, Jack twisted away. At the same time, he
grabbed his attacker’s wrist and wrenched the arm into
sankyo
. This
powerful wristlock would dislocate his attacker’s arm, or at the very least throw
the person to the ground. But his assailant swiftly countered by flipping through the
air and turning the lock back on to Jack’s own wrist.

‘How dare you resist me!’
exclaimed his attacker.

In a white-out of pain, Jack was driven into
the earth. His head struck the side of the building and his hat fell off. Unable to roll
away, his ligaments were stretched to their limit, the agonizing force of the lock
threatening to break his arm. But at the last second the attack was halted.

Still immobilized by pain, Jack managed to
twist his head for a glimpse of his attacker. His eyes widened in disbelief.

11
 
 

A diminutive man with black specks for eyes
glared down at Jack. He had a pudgy nose – broken many times in battle – and a thin
unsmiling mouth, above which sat a greying tuft of a moustache. In spite of his tiny
stature and age, every muscle was toned as hard as granite beneath his crisp
dōshin
uniform.

‘Sensei Kyuzo,’ gasped Jack,
both shocked and relieved to see his old
taijutsu
master again.

But Sensei Kyuzo didn’t release the
excruciating wristlock and his expression remained inscrutable.

‘It’s me! Jack!’

‘I know who you are,
gaijin
,’ he hissed, ‘but you
don’t
know
me.’

‘But, Sensei –’ Jack’s
wrist flared once more in agony.