Young Samurai: The Ring of Wind (7 page)

Footsteps from behind alerted him to someone’s approach. But without turning round he could tell by the clink of armour they didn’t belong to a pilgrim.

‘We’re in trouble,’ Jack whispered to Saburo.

A samurai guard strode purposefully up to them. ‘Travel permits,’ he demanded.

Jack kept his head bowed while Saburo pulled out their
n
ō
ky
ō
ch
ō
books.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ said the samurai, giving the permits a cursory glance as he scrutinized Jack’s hunched form.

‘Seasickness,’ explained Saburo, with an apologetic grin.

The samurai snorted, ‘Soft-stomached pilgrims!’

He handed back the
n
ō
ky
ō
ch
ō
and walked on.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Quick thinking, Saburo.’

‘Thanks, but that guard’s bound to get suspicious if we stay here much longer.’

The tension grew with each passing moment, Jack imagining more and more samurai eyes turning towards him. He spotted the same guard pacing along the dock, heading back their way.

‘I think we should go –’

‘No, I see Miyuki,’ said Saburo, pointing to a pilgrim hurrying towards them as fast as she dared.

‘What took you so long?’ asked Jack. ‘And where’s Yori?’

‘He’s at the boat.’

‘You found one!’ exclaimed Jack, trying to imagine what sort of vessel she’d acquired.

Miyuki nodded. ‘There were too many patrols to steal a boat. But we did find one ship sailing all the way to Nagasaki,’ she revealed, although her expression didn’t look particularly jubilant. ‘We must be quick; it’s leaving now.’

Jack and Saburo picked up the canvas bag and followed Miyuki along the dock.

‘Most captains weren’t going that far south or were too afraid of pirates to try,’ continued Miyuki. ‘But, judging by how much this captain is charging, he’s as mercenary as any pirate!’

She slowed before a magnificent cargo ship loaded with barrels of
saké
. Propelled by a single large sail, it had a reinforced hull to bear the weight of the heavy barrels.

‘This looks ideal,’ said Jack, impressed. ‘Even in a storm, she should fare well.’

‘Not that ship,’ said Miyuki regretfully. ‘It’s the next one.’

Jack redirected his gaze and his heart sank. Yori stood beside a single-masted boat similar to the one they’d arrived on, but this vessel was in a sorry state. The square canvas sail was patched up, the rigging frayed, and the hull showed signs of several repair jobs. On top of that, the decks were dangerously overloaded with cargo and she sat worryingly low in the water.

Yet what choice did they have? They were on borrowed time. News of their escape from Tomo Harbour would soon reach the ears of Imabari’s samurai. A patrol was working its way along the jetty at this very moment. Yori waved them urgently on-board, the captain giving the order to cast off. As Jack ran up the gangplank, he glanced towards the stern. There was no protection flag.

Omishima Island

The boat slipped out of Imabari port, its warped deck creaking and its sail flapping like a broken wing. Waves occasionally breached the gunwales, soaking crew and cargo alike. In a vain attempt to keep dry, Jack and his friends perched among the crates of pottery and bundles of bamboo. They were the only passengers on-board and Jack could understand why. Not only did the ship appear unseaworthy but the captain and his deckhands were a surly bunch. None of them smiled and, surprisingly for Japanese people, they were unkempt and unwashed.

The captain, a stout man with rough skin, a ragged beard and bald head, stood at the stern, leaning upon the tiller. His listless crew of four went barefoot and wore only the simplest of kimono or just a plain white loincloth.

‘The captain wants payment upfront,’ said Yori.

‘That’s
all
our money,’ Saburo complained, handing over the pilgrims’ coins and his own funds. ‘We won’t have any for food.’ Then, at the very thought of eating, he lay down and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to fend off the seasickness.

‘But it takes us
all
the way,’ reminded Miyuki.

‘Tell the captain he can have half now and the rest upon arrival, if we make it that far,’ said Jack, eyeing the old sea dog mistrustfully.

Yori clambered over the crates and up a wooden ladder to the stern. The captain grunted his dissatisfaction at the half payment, protesting it was a smear upon his honourable character. Nonetheless, he quickly pocketed the money. They conversed a little longer before Yori fought his way back across the listing deck to sit beside Jack. The captain had informed him the entire voyage could take up to a month, depending upon the tides, winds and weather conditions. He’d also be making a number of stops en route at various islands to deliver and collect goods. Much to Yori’s delight, their first port of call was Omishima Island. They would reach its shores by dusk.

Having been on the run for so long, exhaustion finally took its toll. Stowing the canvas bag out of sight from the crew’s prying eyes, Miyuki and Yori succumbed to the gentle roll of the ship and joined Saburo in sleep. Not far from sleep himself, Jack took one last look in the direction of Imabari. The port was slowly retreating into the distance as their boat sailed north-west through the Kurushima Straits. But the white tower of
Mizujiro
remained on the horizon like an all-seeing eye. Until that disappeared, Jack wouldn’t believe they had truly escaped.

Sensing a shift in course, Jack roused himself from his slumber. The boat was now bearing directly north. Sitting up, he spied the haze of a mountain peak and presumed this was Omishima Island. But he decided against waking the others, since landfall was still some distance off.

Needing to stretch his legs, Jack made his way to the stern’s upper deck, the only spot on the ship that wasn’t crammed with cargo. Lifting the brim of his hat, he scanned the horizon and was glad to discover
Mizujiro
’s keep was no longer in sight. Nor could he see any vessels following a similar course to them.

This time they
had
made it.

With the mountain and several smaller islands surrounding them, it was relatively easy for Jack to judge the boat’s progress. Compared to the vast emptiness of the open ocean, the Seto Sea was blessed with numerous navigational markers. If the southwesterly breeze held, they were little more than an hour’s sail from their first destination.

But Jack knew the presence of land brought its own set of problems. For the inexperienced pilot, a ship could run aground on a hidden sandbank or strike an underwater reef. Sudden changes in wind direction caused by a nearby land mass could capsize a boat. And he was already aware of the major influence that tidal currents played in this region. Jack wished he had a pen and ink, so he could note down his observations in the
rutter
. This seafaring knowledge could prove invaluable with time. He remembered his father always jotting down notes in the logbook wherever they sailed. It was second nature to him.
Observe, write, remember
, he would always say. Jack felt compelled to follow his father’s lead and tried to commit his observations to memory.

‘Bit of a seaman, are you?’ grunted the captain, noting the ease with which Jack rode the pitch and roll of the deck.

‘I … sailed with my father,’ replied Jack, hastily adjusting his hat to shield his face.

‘A fisherman, eh?’

‘No. A navigator.’

‘Hmm,’ said the captain, reassessing the pilgrim before him. ‘What’s our current bearing?’

‘North,’ replied Jack. ‘And before that, north-west.’

The captain smiled for the first time. ‘Take the tiller,’ he ordered.

Before Jack could protest, the captain let go and strode over to the guardrail. ‘Hold her steady!’ growled the captain as he relieved himself over the side.

Jack leant his weight against the long arm of the rudder. He could feel the rush of the sea vibrate up the wood and the power of the wind as it thrust the boat through the waves.

Turning back, the captain caught a glimpse of the wide grin on Jack’s face.

‘The
Golden Tiger
may not be much to look at, but she fair flies with the wind, eh?’ he said with pride.

Jack nodded, although he feared the ship would disintegrate in anything more than a strong breeze.

‘Why doesn’t the
Golden Tiger
carry a flag?’ Jack asked.

‘Pirate tolls are costly,’ replied the captain indignantly. ‘Besides, her looks make her an unappealing prize.’

Considering the sheer amount of cargo on-board, Jack wondered if the boat’s poor condition wasn’t more of an
incentive
to a pirate. But he sensed that the captain was more interested in profit than protection. Fortunately, there were no pirate ships in the vicinity. The forested slopes of Omishima’s mountain drew ever closer. Surveying its rocky shore, Jack couldn’t see any obvious harbour.

‘Bear north-west,’ ordered the captain, pointing to a gap between the headland and a nearby islet. ‘Beware that outcrop, though. There’s a vicious current that’ll drag you across if you’re not careful.’

Jack leant on the tiller until the
Golden Tiger
’s prow was aimed dead centre of the gap. The lead edge of the sail started to flap in the wind.

‘Shouldn’t your crew trim the sail?’ Jack suggested, knowing that a new tack required an adjustment to take best advantage of the wind.

‘My crew are a useless bunch,’ snorted the captain. ‘They wouldn’t know the wind’s direction even if it farted in their faces!’

He shouted at them to tighten the sheets. Wearily, the deckhands did their duty. The sail stopped flapping and the
Golden Tiger
picked up speed.

‘Why hire them if they can’t sail?’ asked Jack in amazement.

‘They’re cheaper than real sailors!’ laughed the captain, taking over the tiller as the boat rounded the headland.

A sheltered cove came into view. The wind dropped and the
Golden Tiger
coasted towards a long wooden pier that jutted out from the beach. Bizarrely, the pier was covered by an ornate green-tiled curving roof with bright red pillars. Jack was surprised that a humble fishing port would have such a grand jetty.

Then he heard Yori gasp in rapture.

Upon the headland, overlooking the bay, was a magnificent red and gold temple.

Warrior Spirit

‘Aren’t you going to pay your respects at the shrine?’ enquired the captain, wondering why his passengers hadn’t disembarked. ‘We may be some time unloading.’

Reluctant as they were to leave the ship, Jack and his friends had no choice but to follow custom. They couldn’t appear anything less than devout worshippers, otherwise they would arouse suspicion. In spite of their misgivings, Saburo welcomed a return to dry land and Yori was delighted at the opportunity to visit such a renowned temple.

‘Oyamazumi is one of the oldest Shinto shrines in Japan. Some monks call it “the seat of the gods”,’ he recounted excitedly as they left the pier and passed through the first
torii
gateway. ‘Sensei Yamada insisted that I visit here at least once in my lifetime.’

Climbing the stone steps up the mountainside, Jack was equally awed by the shrine. Tucked into the forested side of the headland, the temple sat like an ancient god within the throne of the cove. The walls – painted bright red and studded with large iron bolts – resembled the armoured breastplate of a warrior. Its gilded eaves glistened in the late evening light. And crowning the main Hall of Worship was a green gabled roof with golden
shachihoko
adorning each corner – these gargoyles had the body of a carp and the head of a dragon.

The four false pilgrims wound their way up the wide path towards the shrine’s courtyard. At its heart was an immense camphor tree, its ancient trunk twisting skyward to where a lush green canopy revealed a mass of white flowers emerging for spring. As they passed beneath its branches, Yori whispered in a reverential tone, ‘This tree was planted by Jimmu Tenn
ō
himself – the first Emperor of Japan!’