17

THE BODYGUARD

‘I’ve got the job,’ announced Ronin the next morning, triumphantly returning to the storehouse. ‘He’s even paid today’s wages in advance.’

Ronin produced a cloth sack, opening it up to reveal several steaming manjū. While Hana and Jack greedily tucked into their breakfast, Ronin uncorked a fresh bottle of saké and went over the final details of his plan.

‘Best save the two redbean manjū for later,’ Ronin advised. ‘Now, the merchant closes his shop at the Hour of the Rooster, and I’ve learnt he and his wife like to walk along the riverside on their way home. There’s a wooded path that runs from it to their house, so that’s where you two will lie in wait.’

‘Are you certain this’ll work?’ asked Jack.

Ronin stood, neatened his kimono and adjusted his swords. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘Can you see them yet?’ asked Hana as they hid in a ditch beside the path.

‘No,’ replied Jack, beginning to wonder if the merchant and his wife had taken a different route home.

‘Do you think something’s gone wrong?’

‘I hope not,’ said Jack. The sun was close to setting and there was still no sign of them … or Ronin. Their plan would be a lot more risky the darker it became.

‘Perhaps Ronin’s drunk.’

Jack didn’t answer, not wanting to consider that possibility.

The longer they waited, the more impatient Hana became.

‘Do you trust this samurai?’ she asked, digging at the earth with her blunt knife, Ronin having returned it. ‘I mean, you’ve only known him a few days –’

‘They’re coming!’ said Jack, glad the conversation had been interrupted by events. Hana’s concerns were mirrored in his own heart. Ronin was unpredictable and his past history murky, but the samurai was the only option Jack had.

At last, the merchant and his young wife could be seen making their way along the riverbank towards home. As they turned up the woodland path, Jack and Hana jumped out, Jack wielding his staff, Hana her knife.

‘I’ve come to claim what is rightfully mine,’ declared Jack.

The merchant’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘The gaijin samurai! So you were the intruder!’

The wife’s hand instinctively went to her hair. ‘You can’t have it. This pearl’s mine!’

‘It was a gift to me before it was stolen,’ explained Jack. ‘Now I respectfully ask for its return.’

The merchant laughed. ‘What does a foreigner know about respect?’

‘More than a merchant!’ said Hana. ‘You lied to me about its value.’

‘Business is business. Besides, you don’t deserve respect – you’re an outcast, a nobody.’

Fuming at the repeated insult, Hana took a step towards the merchant.

‘Have you met my bodyguard?’ said the merchant, arrogantly clicking his fingers.

From behind the couple, Ronin appeared. Jack and Hana stared in shock, but he displayed no flicker of recognition – just a cold murderous stare.

‘Kill them!’ ordered the merchant.

Hana took one look at this Ronin, no longer a drunken washed-up samurai but a fearsome warrior, and ran. But Jack stood his ground. ‘I’m not here to fight. I just want my pearl back.’

‘That’s not a choice you have,’ said Ronin, drawing his sword.

Like a bolt of lightning, Ronin attacked, his katana slicing for Jack’s head. Barely having time to duck, Jack felt the deadly steel skim past. He thrust his staff in retaliation, but the samurai evaded the strike and cut down across Jack’s chest. Jack leapt away, the blade whistling past his face.

Whatever they’d planned, Ronin was fighting for real.

Perhaps the merchant’s job offer had been more than persuasive. Or maybe the temptation of the reward for his head had finally turned Ronin against him. Whatever, Jack was now fighting for his life …

He blocked the samurai’s thrust for his heart and whipped the end of his staff round at Ronin’s head. Jack had the advantage of the bō’s length, but Ronin proved the more skilful warrior. Dodging Jack’s assault, he brought the hilt of his sword down upon Jack’s fingers. Crying out in pain, Jack lost his grip on the bō before reeling from an elbow strike to the jaw.

Stunned, Jack was left defenceless as Ronin drove his blade straight through his side. He crumpled to his knees. Jack felt no pain, but an ominous patch of dark red instantly stained his ragged kimono.

‘He’s bleeding! He’s bleeding!’ the young wife squealed, in a mixture of horror and delight.

Jack, too shocked to fight back, clutched at his wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow.

‘Behead him!’ she screeched, her beautiful face contorted with murderous glee.

‘Only real samurai deserve such a death,’ replied Ronin.

Jack collapsed to the earth, letting out a last gutteral moan.

‘Is he dead?’ asked the merchant, peering over his wife’s shoulder.

Ronin prodded the body with his toe and got no reaction. ‘Yes,’ he replied, flicking Jack’s blood from his blade before resheathing it.

‘Then what are we waiting for? Dinner’s ready,’ said his wife imperiously.

‘Perhaps we should take care of the body first?’ suggested Ronin as his employer followed his heartless wife.

‘We can do that later,’ tutted the merchant. ‘Just get him off the path. The crows can pick at his remains.’

Ronin rolled Jack’s lifeless body into the ditch. Then he strode after his new master.