Moonshadow (8 page)

The top-right quarter of the map depicted the tangle of drab buildings, massive round, wooden vats and bamboo pipes that made up the sake brewery. Along with the castle to its left, it occupied the highest ground in the area, overlooking the town. A long, high cargo cable was suspended between the brewery and the castle. Lord Silver Wolf, renowned for loving sake, had obviously set this up so he could have barrels of his favourite drink cabled directly into his fortress.

On the bottom-right quarter of the page, the map showed the main road leading into town near a small shrine and a
tori
gate, a simple, three-beamed wooden archway marking the entrance to a holy place.

In the final, bottom-left quarter, his brush-strokes conveyed the grid-like streets of the town itself, sprawling away over a fold between the low hills.

He put down the brush, watching the ink change hue as it dried. The map looked correct, so the procedure now was to check it again, add any last details that came to him, then sit still, staring at it, until he could see it
perfectly
whenever he closed his eyes. If interrupted, or if he sensed another study session was required, he would hide the map in the ceiling of his room in the interim. Keeping it on his person at any time would be too dangerous. If injured, caught and searched, it would be bad enough that his concealed weapons would reveal him as a spy. The discovery of the map would do something far worse: it would help his enemies confirm his mission, making life even harder for any agent replacing him. Once he felt complete confidence in his knowledge of it, he would burn the page and scatter the ashes, since ashes too could be read by a trained eye.

Only one detail would be omitted from the map, in case it
was
discovered: his escape route once the plans were obtained. An unmarked and little-known trail, carefully described to him only as he left the monastery, wound east through the countryside near Fushimi to a gorge where GLO agents would rendezvous with him.

Precisely where that trail began and the day and time of this meeting were crucial secrets he could never commit to paper or speech. He had been told these things at the last possible moment for a good reason. A shinobi might face sudden capture at any time, and the less each one knew, the safer the others would remain. Moon sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes moving over his map again and again.

Abruptly, his warning senses bristled. He turned his head, listening. The babble of voices, the click of chopsticks from the dining area as a distant door opened. Footsteps. No unusual or alarming sounds, and now he could smell the man approaching down the corridor, a man who ate too many
mochi
, the highly addictive rice sweets. Moon knew who owned that syrupy smell in these parts. The innkeeper! After making certain the ink was dry, he quickly folded the map into an intricate flat knot. Next time he checked, he would know if anyone had opened it.

'Thanks Heron,' he smiled fondly. 'Another useful trick you taught me.' As he stood, tucking the knotted map into his belt, Moon remembered Heron once handing him a tiny, perfect paper reindeer. It was a reward. Young Nanashi had maintained neat grooming over the course of an entire week!

Heron would be proud of him now, he thought bashfully. Since meeting the unknown young goddess of the forest, Moon had found himself washing his face more carefully each morning. Taking greater care in tidying and tying his hair, too.

He snatched a deep breath then vaulted from the matting up into a corner of the room, wedging himself like a great insect where two walls and the ceiling met. With one palm jammed against the nearest rafter, his legs spread wide and the soles of his feet pressed to the converging walls, Moon yanked the map from under his belt. He slid it carefully into a cobweb-lined gap between the top of the rafter and a ceiling plank. Lazy knocks made the sliding door tremble. He dropped quietly to the mat, straightening up just as the door started to open.

'Aw! You
are
here.' The innkeeper's flat forehead was beaded with sweet-smelling sweat. He was a plump, friendly fellow whose eyes and movements told Moonshadow he had taken a genuine and kindly interest in him. The innkeeper thumbed over one shoulder.

'Young sir . . . a man awaits you, outside on the street.'

'Me?' Moon frowned. 'How does he even know of me?'

'Who can say?' The innkeeper's voice fell to a whisper. His eyes narrowed. 'He's been questioning all the young men roundabouts. Be careful. I don't recognise him, but I think he may be a policeman. It's . . . it's the probing stare!'

The innkeeper gave a warning scowl and turned away. Moonshadow swallowed. A
policeman
? Just what he needed!

EIGHT
Unwanted
admirer

Moon peered out through the inn's front door. On the porch a small row of flags hung from a ceiling drawstring that was taken down each night. The flags were painted with bright characters that read
Our rooms are cheap, clean and friendly!

A big-boned man waited just beyond the flags, facing away from the inn, hands clasping a long staff behind his back. His frame was so huge, Moon decided, that at one time he might have been a professional wrestler. If that guess was right, if he was an ex-sumo, the stranger had lost a lot of weight since then. He now wore the robes of a town businessman. Moon crossed the porch and the visitor turned as if hearing his approach.

'Ah, young sir! Forgive this intrusion. I am Katsu, freelance detective,' the man bowed, a formal smile bending his long moustache. Moon bowed back, regarding him warily. Good hearing, he thought, no bladed weapons that were visible. And he
admitted
to being a private investigator! What was going on here?

'You seem familiar, sir,' Moon lied confidently. 'Are you not a famous wrestler?'

The man's eyes momentarily lit up then seemed to grow fixed and probing. Just as the innkeeper had warned!

'I once wrestled, but that was years ago. You would have been too young to see me fight.' Katsu shrugged, grinning disarmingly. 'Perhaps all sumo types are somewhat alike?'

This fellow, Moonshadow decided, might prove to be quite dangerous. Cool natured and quick-witted, he should be responded to with care. The hasty question about wrestling had been a mistake. It had given the stranger his first insight into Moon, that he was a good – maybe
trained
– observer. A pity he should have learned that so quickly.

Who had sent him? What was he really after?

'Forgive my rudeness, I meant no disrespect,' Moon said. 'A detective, then? How exciting! But surely you can't be after a person like me?' He laughed, gesturing expansively. 'No murderers here! Just a dull, hard-working messenger from Edo!'

'Indeed?' Katsu chuckled, too knowingly for Moon's liking. 'Well, in fact, my current case involves no murders. It's all about a hero, actually, not a villain. I have been knocking on doors enquiring of many a hard-working youth today.' From his robe he yanked a patterned cloth purse.

'You see, I seek a certain brave boy pilgrim. I've been hired by . . . let's just say by a pious client who wishes to remain anonymous.'

'Hired to do what?'

'To honour this daring young man for his charity and valour. My client witnessed his chivalry near Hakone on the Tokaido, and says that Lord Buddha will not let him sleep until the boy is rewarded!' Katsu shook the purse, making its contents jingle.

'Are you he, by any chance? I must observe, you are the right age and height and generally fit the description I have.'

'As many do, I suppose,' Moon said casually. Katsu nodded and shrugged again.

For a split second, Moon wondered if the girl had sent this Katsu. He quickly dismissed the thought.
Her again!
Why did he keep thinking of her? He forced himself to concentrate on the detective. This man – and his story – felt all wrong. Whoever he was, whatever he
really
wanted, he was no ally of the Grey Light.

Katsu's random movements, the vitality in his eyes and his steady, silent breathing told Moon three things. The detective was very physically strong, mentally sharp and highly disciplined. He gave nothing else away, a warning in itself. Only a fool would trust him, for he was definitely a player in this game. But on whose side?

Moonshadow's nimble mind flashed back to a series of lessons Badger had given him on how to deal with authorities like magistrates or the police. It had all seemed tedious at the time, and despite having learned by then to appreciate Badger, he had still come to find those particular sessions as irritating as Saru-San's many fleas. Now he realised their profound worth and felt grateful that he could recall so much of Badger's advice.
Don't just
listen to their questions
, the archivist had warned.
Consider their unspoken strategy: where the questions
are leading
.
They will try to trap you with your own
answers, so choose each word with care
.
Any new
facts you blurt will come back at you like shuriken.
Remember that to mislead them, you must move,
breathe and even glance as one wholly innocent.

'I'm neither the hero you seek,' Moon stretched as if the whole matter was starting to bore him, 'nor even a pilgrim!' He patted the calligraphy on his clothing. 'Just a poor runner of messages between the eastern and western capitals.'

'Hmm,' Katsu nodded amiably, 'and just arrived from Edo, you said?'

Moon sensed the snare in his questioning. 'I said from Edo, yes. But not
just arrived.
I've been in the area several days, delivering letters in both Otsu and Kyoto.' He almost winced. That was too specific. He'd handed Katsu new 'facts'.

'Ah,' Katsu's eyes shone. 'I was in Kyoto myself last week. Along the road facing Nijo Castle, those hedges of kirishima flowers – you know, azaleas – are they not looking magnificent this spring? One type in particular . . . such an outstanding colour.'

'Kirishima flowers?' Moon did his best impression of the stone Buddha outside the local temple. Katsu was watching his face closely. The smallest twitch would betray him.

'Yes, banks of them. One colour seems to have taken over this year.'

Moon's gaze blankly drifted left and right before meeting Katsu's seeking stare. 'What a shame I missed out on them. Sadly, my deliveries took me nowhere near the castle.'

'Nnng,' the detective's face hinted at a smile, 'indeed, a great pity.' He bowed to Moonshadow. 'I apologise for wasting your time. A good day and a safe visit to you!' He turned and lumbered off down the street, swinging his staff, whistling.

Carefully Moon watched him. Katsu never looked back.

'I haven't seen the last of
you
, have I?' Moonshadow muttered. This fellow's arrival was a bad development. Things had been going quite smoothly, but now he was under suspicion. Another day's scouting and preparation would have been ideal, but with Katsu prowling the town, the wisest course was to waste no time. What if the big man reappeared tomorrow with fifty local samurai at his back?

Moon glanced towards the castle. Yes. He'd go in
tonight
.

He turned to cross the porch then decided to quickly check for other potential threats. While pretending to inspect the porch flags Moon examined everyone in sight out of the corners of his eyes.

Other than the hulking form of Katsu, there were around twenty people on the street. By their faces or walks he was quickly able to eliminate each one from the category of possible problem. Soon only one remained. A flower-seller, fifty paces away, hunched over her tray of colourful kirishima flowers . . . the very azaleas of which Katsu had spoken. The beauty of the flowers swept his thoughts back to the girl once more. Suddenly he found himself wondering if
she
was especially fond of azaleas, the way Heron was.

'Get out of my head,' Moon whispered good-naturedly. 'Every time you bob up, things get cloudy. I'll start making mistakes.'

He quickly looked the flower-seller over. Her head was shrouded, face hidden, by a brightly coloured scarf. Moon watched her shoulders move as she sorted azaleas, studied the line of her slightly hunched back.

'No, too old.' He returned to the inn. 'No one I should worry about.'

Snowhawk looked up as the boy left the porch. She had felt his eyes glide over her. Now she was grateful that apparently, from the way he had just turned and disappeared, her disguise had fooled him. He'd believed her an old, hunched woman. Her thorough training had proved itself again; it appeared she could deceive almost anyone.

Whoever he was, though, he was still pretty sharp. Snowhawk had watched him handle the nosy private detective. Even at this distance, it had been obvious that he had read the fellow as easily as a scholar might discern a cheap, unreliable travel guidebook. Having had time now to study this boy, Snowhawk was convinced of a few things.

She had been right to return to this spot and watch for him after chancing down the street earlier and seeing him in his new disguise, striding from the inn. Regardless of that disguise, she had recognised him with absolute certainty. His balanced grace and his eyes had given him away. It was
him
: the same brave stranger who, dressed as a pilgrim, had rescued her and the farmers on the Great Road. Snowhawk gave a slightly smug grin. The gullible farmers she had used for travel cover. The way he had looked at her in the forest, it appeared he had done it for her. The farmers had been incidental. Knowing he liked her could prove useful later on.

There should be no underestimating him, however. This plucky lad had many skills. Subtle combat. Changing his appearance. Handling the suspicious interrogator now striding off down the street. The boy was clearly a professional. But a
warrior monk?
Snowhawk laughed. His trainers might have included a few perhaps, but no, he himself was no staff-carrying chanter. Her face tightened.

He was like her. He was shinobi. A spy, and clearly a gifted one.

Not perfect, though: he'd just failed to notice her, right under his nose. Some spies were good at sensing each other's presence. He appeared underdeveloped in that area. She nodded. That too was worth remembering.

Watching him in action back on the highway had impressed her. He was an outstanding warrior, fast and agile. Snowhawk stared thoughtfully at the porch of the inn, at the exact spot where she had last seen him. In all likelihood, this boy was the male version of her. If that were so, then he too was here to get the plans.

Had the shadow clan
he
served perceived the same grand chance for profit as her masters? Did they too intend to steal, then secretly auction Silver Wolf's new asset among the faithless, opportunistic warlords? Perhaps. A creature like herself or not, that made him her rival.

Here was the kind of complication she had never thought about. Snowhawk sighed deeply. She would love to speak with the boy, maybe even get to know him. Ask him questions about all they had in common. From up close, look into that bold, interesting face, those sharp eyes. He might just be the first person she had ever met who could understand her privileged, lonely life. The honour, the pride and the
burden
of being shinobi. As her trainers had said for as long as she could remember, one selected to do great deeds in secret, topple princes, alter the course of history. One who could do things others could not.

She closed her eyes. One destined to walk alone, friendless and often fearful, never daring to fail. Who but her own kind would comprehend such a destiny?

Yes, he could very well be her mirror image. She hung her head. Mirror image or not, she might end up having to kill him.