The Open Road Page 14

  More monks armed with clubs, sickles and garden rakes came rampaging towards the intruders, yelling like madmen. Tonbo gave a sigh and uncovered his tetsubo, swinging it to smash one of the fence pillars. The charging monks screeched to a halt and beat a panicked retreat.

  Tonbo looked back towards Chiri and shook his head.

  “I was wondering how long Sura would keep in character…”

  A dozen unarmed acolytes came charging around the corner of the temple. Sura blinked and almost vanished under a great mound of biting, scratching monks, while a swarm of monks armed with staves flung themselves at Kuno, trying to drag him to the ground. Sura fought like a wild thing, biting one man on the leg and punching another in the eye, while Kuno struggled to battle a horde of men.

  Kuno fought with a broken staff, wielding the thing like a sword. He cracked the stick into the hand, arm and skull of one man, buckled another monk’s leg, and sent a third man sprawling on the ground.

  Tonbo gave a deep ursine growl and thudded forward, running faster and faster, his tetsubo swinging. With a deafening kiai shout, he slammed the weapon down across two quarterstaves, splintering them into pieces. He swept men’s feet out from under them, sending them crashing to the ground. He took down two men with a single massive punch, by elbowing one behind him and crashing his first into another.

  One monk whipped a long oak staff at Tonbo’s head. Tonbo caught the weapon in one hand, tugged the monk toward him, and head butted the man. The monk fell, and his companions immediately turned and fled.

  Tonbo snarled at the men who had been brawling with Sura. They all scrabbled backwards and ran – apart from the man with the bitten leg, who hobbled away in panic. Tonbo reached down and plucked Sura to her feet. He propelled her hastily towards the exit.

  “Go!”

  The Spirit Hunters ran for the temple gates. Behind them, the temple had finally roused its forces. The temple had a small contingent of armed and armoured monks – men wearing white cowls, black-laced body armour and carrying heavy naginatas. A dozen of them came clashing and clattering from the far depths of the temple. With them came several unarmoured Raiden samurai, and yet more monks armed with garden tools. Chiri halted her flight and flung open her hands, raising them up as a storm of power suddenly shot up from the ground.

  “Little partners of the earth.

  In fit of anger, you were thrown.

  Listen now, come heed my call.

  In anger now return!”

  The yard about the bronze statue was utterly littered with heavy stones. The rocks rose from the ground, swivelled, then flew high into the air. They came raining down onto the heads and shoulders of the onrushing monks and samurai.

  Men crashed to the ground, stunned by the stones. Others fled for cover in the buildings. Chiri raced off after her friends, escaping out of the temple.

  They ran down the deserted road with cicadas singing deafeningly loud above. Sura led them towards the town, then suddenly swerved off beneath the trees. The fox took her friends running up a side path to a little stream, and plunged into cover behind a great thicket of brambles.

  They had hidden their more usual gear here in the hour before dawn. The Spirit Hunters stripped away their disguises, wiping makeup from their faces.

  Kuno took soft soap and a hemp rag, crouching down to wash his face in the stream. He dabbed at a bruise under one eye and flicked a glance at Sura.

  “I am still shocked that you actually own makeup, Sura san.”

  Sura looked back at the man in puzzlement.

  “What makeup? This is just bat guano! It really brings out your natural colour!”

  Kuno looked utterly aghast. “Guano!”

  “Naah – it was makeup!” Sura nudged at the man, fondly shaking her head. “You’re so damned cute when you’re gullible. Right, Chiri?”

  Chiri gave a slight hiccup. As everyone turned to blink at her, the rat hid her blushing cheeks by scrubbing at her makeup with a rag. She emerged rather cleaner, still brushing back her oily black hair.

  “Ah! Yes! Now, we – ah – we possibly have a new lead. The sword hilt on the statue was designed in great detail. Surely it must have been based upon an original model?”

  Tonbo shrugged his way into his heavy green and gold laced armour, settling its beloved weight in place.

  “Tsuba makers are skilled artisans. If one was here twenty years ago, his family may still be here now.” The big man turned and looked about the forest. A trail led off to the farmland west of the castle. “If we are careful, I can get us in and out of the artisan’s quarter unseen.”

  Sura looked up in delight.

  “Oooh! Wait – we can disguise ourselves as a traveling comedy troop! I saw some cool straw – I could make Kuno a wig!”

  Kuno glowered at the fox.

  “Let us just allow Tonbo to handle stealth in his own way.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  Sura changed into fox form. The ash and flour she had used to colour her hair hung briefly in the empty air, then blew away in the breeze. Sura shook out her red fur and then trotted over to her usual clothing. She wriggled her way inside, and with a flash, transformed back into human form. She flicked back her newly cleaned hair, and began happily tying it back into its usual long pony tail. She flicked it flamboyantly back behind her, then seized hold of her beloved spear.

  Chiri stood and was about to change form. Sura saw what she was up to, and bustled over to Chiri’s side.

  “Wait wait wait! Your hair stuff’s oily!” She held her friend by the waist. “OK – go!”

  Chiri rippled and transformed into a fine white rat. Her disguise fell, to be caught and whisked away by Daitanishi and Bifuuko. Sura held the little white rat in her hands as the mass of oil and soot that had disguised Chiri’s long hair was suddenly left hanging in mid air. The goo spatted down to the ground in an untidy mass. Sura brushed at Chiri’s beautiful sleek fur, then carried the rat over to her clothes.

  Chiri changed back into human form inside her clothing, emerging clean and hearty. Kuno watched, and drew his brows into a frown.

  “That must speed up bath time considerably.”

  Sura gave a shrug.

  “You’d think. But you still kind of have to wash your actual fur in each form. Can take ages!” She fetched her spear. “Right! Are we going?”

  “We’re going.” Kuno indicated to Tonbo that the man had the lead. The big samurai nodded, and then headed off down the trail.

  The Spirit Hunters walked towards the town. Sura hung back briefly, turning to look back into the woods, her tall ears high. Something seemed to prickle slowly along her skin.

  A dark mist was in the woods further up along the hillside: brooding and watchful, as though biding its time. As Sura watched, the mist drew deeper back into the shadows, and utterly disappeared.

  The fox tucked her spear beneath her arm, and hastened off after her friends.

  Chapter 4

  Even in the heat of mid-day, the town’s streets thronged with traffic. Sweating peasants brought well shaded vegetables, pickles and supplies to the inns. Porters struggled to carry hefty sakē barrels that were slung between long poles. Handcarts brought hay and fodder for the horses. A few food vendors had opened little stalls, and were serving fruits, cold tea and lunchtime snacks to passers-by. But the sun was searing hot, and the traffic moved with growing lethargy. Townsfolk moved about, trying to finish their day’s business before the coming of the long, hot afternoon.

  Down beside the riverbanks, at the place furthest from the castle, the oldest buildings of the town dozed beneath the shade of great, broad trees. The houses here were comfortable and solid. Artisans were at work in several of the open shops: a sword polisher ground carefully at a long, gleaming blade, while an armourer hung up lacquered segments of armour to dry in the shade. Eta delivered leather to a saddle maker – being made to wait out in the street for their payment. The careful chip and tap of chisels and awls made a consta
nt background noise.

  Tonbo – minus his armour – hauled a handcart piled high with hay through the winding street. He wore a straw hat and a plain old robe, looking like just any other farmhand on a hot, still day.

  Tonbo pulled the cart over to a street stall. He pushed back his hat and spoke to the stall owner, asking a few questions about the local artisans. An old sakē merchant came hobbling over from the next stall, and nodded his head up and down. He pointed Tonbo towards a long, rambling building at the far end of the road – a house shadowed by a gnarled old pine.

  Tonbo hauled the cart up along the street, finally pulling it into an alley beside the twisted pine. He rapped three times on the side of the cart, and the hay pile suddenly thrashed.

  Sura thrust her head up from the hay pile, shoving up from beneath a layer of sacking. She looked swiftly about then jumped from the cart, retrieving her beloved spear from underneath the hay.

  Daitanishi popped up out of the cart and sped to the end of the alleyway, peeking about to make certain that they were all unobserved. Chiri and Kuno clambered awkwardly out from beneath the hay, sneezing and slapping irritably at their clothes. Bifuuko whirred up to tend to Chiri’s hair as Kuno passed Tonbo his heavy tetsubo.

  Kuno nodded towards the rambling old house.

  “Tsuba maker?”

  Tonbo grunted and gave a nod.

  “Tsuba maker.”

  “Excellent. Let’s be off.” Sura quirked up one eyebrow, then dug into her sleeve to find a field mouse trapped inside her robes. She put the little creature back in the hay. “You! Stay here and guard the cart!”

  Daitanishi floated back to Chiri’s side, satisfied that the coast was clear. The four Spirit Hunters moved onto the main street, then swiftly into the tsuba-maker’s yard.

  They passed into an entry way that was utterly deserted. Sura shucked off her sandals and walked up onto the house floor, looking about. The room beyond was dusty, with drawings of sword hilt patterns all over the walls and piled mightily upon old bamboo shelves. A table was covered with metal shavings, tools and beeswax, and a set of other workbenches lay beyond. A large striped fly buzzed slowly about the room, idly batting its head against the paper frames in the walls.

  “Hello? Excuse me – hello?”

  Something stirred over at the far side of the room. A thin, utterly ancient little man had been laying on the floor behind a work bench, fanning himself idly in the heat. The man waved his fan at Sura without bothering to look at her.

  “We’re closed! No business today! The gods bring the heat to tell us to lie down and relax.” The old man cracked his folded fan into his hand, muttering to himself. “Not that any young folk listen to good advice anymore. Lack of filial piety – that’s what’s wrong! No deference to age. Everyone just wants mass-produced sword guards… No eye for craftsmanship any more…”

  Kuno, Chiri and Tonbo came into the room, peering about themselves. Kuno saw the old man. The handsome samurai walked forward and gave a deep, respectful bow.

  “Venerable one – we have come to ask for your recollections on a matter of great art. We hope that you will help us.”

  The old man immediately sat up.

  “Art, is it? Excellent! I am your man!”

  The old man arose – remarkably spry and active for his eight or nine decades. He bobbed and bowed to one and all. “Ah – true connoisseurs! The Raiden samurai are a coarse lot. But real connoisseurs! Would you care for some tea, samurai?” The old man squinted up at his visitors. Suddenly he caught proper sight of Sura. The old man was instantly alive with delight.

  “Ooooh – a fox!” The old tsuba maker gave a great, heartfelt sigh. “Ah – I was in love with a fox once. A trial to live with, but a treat beneath the sheets! She aged me twenty years in twelve months, and I don’t regret a minute of it!” The man sidled past and patted Sura on the hand. “If you are interested, my dear, I should be more than happy to take you on as a concubine. An artist can never have too many concubines!”

  Sura reached for her hat.

  “Well – he’s obviously senile! Time to go!”

  Kuno favoured the fox with a patient glare. “We came to ask about the sword hilt.”

  “Yes! Well – alright.” Sura raised her voice to speak to the tsuba maker. “Hey! Um, honoured revered artisan guy! Look, we have a problem. We’ve seen a picture of a particular sword hilt. We think that it’s local. We were wondering if you could help us find out who owns it, so we can see it up close?”

  The old man fussed about his work table, brushing a heap of old metal shavings to one side.

  “We have been in business here for a while now, father and son. But is it truly a piece of ours? I may have to rouse my father – and he is getting on a little in years.” The old man wagged a finger. “Do you have this picture of this sword hilt?”

  Chiri had used paper and charcoal to draw a rough sketch of what she remembered. The rat drew forth the carefully folded paper, and spread it out upon the work bench.

  “Honoured artisan – as my poor memory recalls, the tsuba was decorated with a pattern of birds. There was a phoenix – like this – intertwined with a sparrow.”

  The old man immediately bustled forward and seized the drawing, looking for a stick of willow charcoal.

  “No no no no no! A phoenix – a sparrow, yes? But there is a tiny phoenix and a tiny sparrow under the wings of the main birds. The family – you see?” The old man drew in the two extra small details. “Yes – a splendid piece! Such a nice fellow he was. My father laid down the rough work, and I myself created the inlay. It was for a master sword – brand new. A piece destined to be an heirloom.”

  The old tsuba maker fetched down a dusty folder. He flipped back pages of drawings and rubbings, then triumphantly laid out the proper page before his guests. The phoenix and sparrow sword guard was pictured there in all its glory.

  “Yes – for the short sword only. The short sword guards a samurai’s heart and honour, you know! He knew that, you see!”

  Sura cocked an ear. “He?”

  “The nice young samurai. The one that went to find his friend who was banished. Very sad. The banished friend died, you know. But he buried him. Buried him well. Did all that was proper. Looked after the man’s wife.” The old tsuba maker shook his head. “You don’t find young people with that type of dedication these days. The world’s going to pot. Now once upon a time, you could find…”

  He was off and muttering. Sura irritably tried to drag the man back onto the right subject.

  “Now look…!”

  Kuno held up a hand to interrupt the fox. He moved before the old man and spoke to him with respectful patience.

  “Honoured artisan - What was the name of the samurai who owned the sword? Is it in the book? Do you recall?”

  The old man scratched at his head. “Dear me. I am ninety years old, my dear sir. Details slip a little…” The man gave a frown of annoyance. “Bah. It’s gone! He died, you know. But the sword – It was our masterpiece! Never would I forget that sword! It was a Yusashi original! Perfectly even temper lines.” He jerked his thumb towards the sword polisher’s house next door. “My son polished the sword himself only just last week.”

  Sura eagerly pricked up her ears.

  “It is still here, in town? We might view it?”

  “As to that, traveller, who can say! The castle lord has a great many things pressing upon his time.”

  Chiri drew in a breath of realisation.

  “The lord!”

  “Yes yes. The young lord. He owns it now.” The old man nodded, beaming as happy memories flowed. “A masterpiece. A perfect blade. Such a pleasure to pass such a thing from father to son. He has taken good care of it. You see – not all filial piety is forgotten. You young folk could learn a thing or two!”

  Sura swirled her tail.

  “Father to son...” She took up the drawing. “Big sparrow, little sparrow. Big phoenix, little phoenix.”

 
Chiri looked towards the castle.

  “Lord Tado is the son of the reviled samurai? Is it possible?”

  Kuno gave a nod.

  “He is an adopted son of a Raiden vassal family. Yes – it is quite possible he was adopted after the death of his real father.”

  Tonbo caught Sura’s eye.

  “I met a ‘Little Sparrow’. An Eta girl – about twenty.” The man scratched his chin. “Little Sparrow’s mother lies restless in her grave.”

  The fox bowed. “Then I shall speak to Little Sparrow.”

  It had been a very satisfactory visit. Kuno took a small sum of money and subtly placed it upon the old man’s work table, giving a decorous bow.

  “Honoured grandfather – please accept this small sum of silver to preserve us from the labour of carrying it.”

  The old tsuba maker cocked an ear, seeming utterly confused.

  “Eh?”

  Sura rolled her eyes and leaned in to speak loudly into the old man’s ear.

  “He’s giving you cash to say thank you! For your time and skill.”

  “Oh – well why didn’t he say?”

  “Because he’s obtuse.”

  Daitanishi had been peering out of a screen door and watching the street outside. The little floating rock came flitting back to Tonbo’s shoulder and nudged at the man. The big samurai looked quietly through a gap in the screen and saw one of the samurai from the brawl at the Buddhist temple standing in the street. The man had come with four foot soldiers for company – all of them armed and armoured. They were walking carefully along the street, looking into the yards and alleys.