The Convict's Sword (24 page)

Tora gravely thanked him for the advice.

The youngster asked, “Will you show me how to handle my sword now?”

The impromptu lesson was inconvenient, because someone might come at any moment, but a deal was a deal, and Kinjiro had passed on some useful information. Tora picked up the sword again and showed Kinjiro various stances. His private opinion was that the slight, bandy-legged boy would never develop the muscles, height, or weight needed to handle a heavy sword. But the exercise reminded him that he had become rusty himself. They used to have sword or pole practice every morning in the courtyard—he, the master, and Genba. But lately the master rarely had the time, and when he did, he practiced with Yori, who had become very enthusiastic about swords. Genba had turned into a lazy slug. Perhaps signing up with Kata was not such a bad idea. There was some small risk that Kata would recognize the ragged, unshaven Tora as the companion of the official who had asked nosy questions about Matsue, but Kata had never seen him close up. Tora felt his chin. Perhaps in a day or so he could grow enough of a beard to be safe. The temptation of getting inside the gang was too much to resist.

“Tora?”

Not much harm in teaching the kid a few tricks. He might need him in the future. “Pay attention, Kinjiro,” Tora said. “There’s more to being a fighter than learning moves. Think about it: Every time two men meet with swords, one will be the winner and one will be dead. Never get into a quarrel lightly.”

“I don’t plan to lose,” said the boy with a toss of the head. “And if I do, I deserve to die. That’s a fighter’s fate.”

“Hmm. Yes. But always keep death in sight. If you forget it, you’ll make a mistake and death will rudely remind you.”

The boy nodded. “That’s very good. I shall remember it. Now show me what I must do.”

Tora sighed and assumed his position. “Watch me. You must train your body to obey you perfectly, and most especially you must think to protect yourself. So, first of all, always stand sideways to your enemy. See? He’s got less to strike at that way.”

The boy watched and followed Tora’s example.

“Crouch down a bit more. Make sure your shoulders are no higher than your enemy’s sword hand. No, put your weight on the forward knee. Right. Now stretch the other leg out behind you. That allows you to lunge, twist, or retreat instantly.” He demonstrated.

The boy grinned and lunged. Tora twisted aside and, lashing up with his sword, easily disarmed him.

“Ouch!” Kinjiro rubbed his wrist. When he tried to pick up his sword again, his hand would not obey.

“What’s this?” drawled a lazy voice behind them. “How dare you injure this child?”

Kinjiro cried out, “It wasn’t like that, Matsue
Sensei.
Tora was teaching me.”

Tora turned and saw two men. Both were tall. One—a stranger—was as thin and lanky as a scarecrow; the other was Haseo’s double. Tora finally had a good look at their mysterious stranger. Matsue did the same with him. His scrutiny was unfriendly. “Tiger?” he sneered. “You look like a mangy cat.”

Matsue bore a certain superficial resemblance to Haseo. It was probably greater at a distance and due to the way he walked and held himself. His face was actually quite different. The eyes were smaller and colder, more calculating than Haseo’s. Haseo had not had much to smile about, but when Tora had met him, the joy of having escaped and the thrill of holding a sword again had lit up his face like the sun. This man’s smile was tight, contemptuous, and spiteful. Tora reacted with instant loathing. He cocked his head and snapped, “I may look like a mangy cat, but I got claws for rude bastards like you.”

Kinjiro pulled his sleeve. “No, Tora. This is the master’s friend, the one I told you about.”

Tora already regretted his rash words and was seeking some way to gloss over them, when Matsue took a step toward the boy, spun him about by the arm, and slapped him so viciously across the face that he flew through the air and landed in a whimpering heap in the dirt.

“Hey, why’d you do that?” Tora cried, clenching his fists.

“He talks too much. People have lost their tongues for doing that.”

The boy uttered a choking moan and crept up to cower behind Tora, clutching his shirt and peering around him at Matsue. “Please, Matsue
Sensei,
” he wailed, “I’ve said nothing I shouldn’t. I only told Tora what a great swordsman you are.”

Matsue lost some of the cold fury that had marked his attack on the youngster. He growled, “What business is that of his? Your job is to send scum like him on their way.”

“But, Master, he wants to sign up. He’s from the north and a very great fighter. He’s almost as great as you.”

Silence fell. Tora was still glaring at Matsue, aware only of an intense, burning hatred for the man. He strove for self-control, forcing his breathing to become shallow and gradually relaxing the tension in his body.

Kinjiro’s words had caused Matsue to shift his attention to Tora. As they locked eyes, Tora almost lost his control again. He felt a strange shock and thought: He can see right into my head with those mean eyes. He knows what I’m thinking. He knows what I’m here for. Maybe he’s the one that killed Tomoe.

Matsue broke the spell first. He spat. Then he drawled, “Let’s go inside and see how good you are, mouse catcher.” He turned toward the training hall and held open the backdoor for Tora to enter.

Tora hesitated. Matsue was heavier, especially in the shoulders. That should make him slower, but his strokes would carry all his weight and would be hard to parry. Besides, Matsue had a reputation as a swordsman, and Tora had little training, had only used a sword in battle, and was badly out of practice. On the other hand, here was his chance to show the bastard who was the better man. In front of Kata and his men. In front of a crowd who believed Matsue superior. It was tempting, but Tora knew he must not do this if he wished to gain information.

Kinjiro gave him a little push from behind. “Go on. Show them what you can do. You’ll be in for sure.” The boy’s cheek was red and swelling. Tomorrow he might even have a black eye. Tora remembered the bean-filled rice cake in his sleeve. No telling when he’d get home. He fished it out and handed it to the boy. “Here. I’m sorry you got hurt on my account.”

Kinjiro looked surprised. “Thanks. It was nothing,” he said and took a large bite.

Tora walked quickly past Matsue and the thin man into the hall.

Matsue interrupted class.

Kata frowned. “What’s this?” he demanded, staring at Tora, who still held his sword. “Since when do we invite vagrants to join a class?”

Matsue said, “This one’s been outside talking to the kid. Apparently he’s been bragging that he’s some great fighter from the north. I thought he might show us his stuff.” He gave a derisive snort.

Kata eyed Tora. “Have I seen you before?”

“Maybe. I came once just to watch a little. I’d heard about you in the market, Master Kata. Thought I’d ask for a job, but you were busy.”

Kata’s eyes narrowed. “In the market? Who sent you?”

“I don’t know his name. A beggar. I tripped over him near the tower.”

One of the students guffawed.

Kata relaxed. He nodded, smiling. “We know him.”

“He can start with the students,” Matsue said. “That should give them some confidence.”

Kata turned to one of the students. “You, Seijiro. You can use the practice.”

Seijiro flushed. Younger and smaller than the others, he looked nervous, but took his stance. Tora eyed him and decided that he had been matched against the weakest student in the school. Feeling the insult, he crouched and attacked, disarming the other fellow almost instantly.

Turning to Kata, he said, “You haven’t got very far with this batch, have you?”

Kata did not answer. He called a name, and another student assumed his position.

This time Tora toyed with his opponent. He let him attack, offering openings that the other man did not see and bungled. In the end, Tora disarmed him without much effort. “Come on,” he said impatiently, “how about a better opponent,
Sensei?
”

But Kata, after exchanging a glance with Matsue, shook his head. “They need the practice, and I can see how you handle yourself with them. If you do well, I may give you work.”

Matsue was leaning against a wooden trunk, looking bored. He was the opponent Tora wanted, but there was nothing he could do about it if he wished to be accepted by Kata. He decided to put on a good show.

His third opponent was quick. Tora found himself moving a great deal with this one. Jumping about and twisting in this warm air made him sweat. The fellow eventually tried the new whirlwind move, and Tora ducked under the flailing sword, tripped him, and placed his sword against his throat. “Always wait until the master has taught you the right defensive action in case the whirlwind doesn’t blow away your opponent,” he admonished his victim with a grin.

Kinjiro applauded enthusiastically, but Kata shouted, “Silence!”

A fourth student stepped forward. Tora wiped the sweat from his face and saw with relief that this man was considerably older. Surely he would not jump about like a mad flea.

He did not. But he was a very deliberate defensive fighter, and this bout lasted four times as long as the last. When he had finally disarmed the man, Tora was tired. He realized he was badly out of shape, but expecting him to fight one opponent after another without allowing him rest periods between bouts struck him as unfair. By now, his thin shirt and trousers were glued to his sweating body, and he kept having to wipe his sword hand on his clothes to get a firm grip. He saw with some satisfaction that the students he had fought looked worse than he.

The last student was his own age. If the past performances had been anything to judge by, this must be the star pupil. He was. The student executed several aggressive moves perfectly. Tora decided to use caution. He concentrated and paid attention to his defensive moves while waiting for an opening for a surprise attack. This paid off, because he managed to trick his opponent into an ill-considered lunge, which allowed Tora to twist and seize the other man’s sword hand, bending it back at the wrist. The student screamed and dropped his weapon.

As he bowed to his shamefaced opponent and then to Kata, he heard Kinjiro applaud again. This time, reluctantly, a few students joined in.

Tora expelled an audible sigh of relief. He was drenched in sweat, and the muscles in his calves and shoulders ached and throbbed unpleasantly. “Well,
Sensei
?” he asked Kata with a grin. “Are you satisfied? Will you take me on? I work cheap. Food and shelter to start with. But I can use some sword practice, so I’d like a few private lessons, too.”

“Do you now?” Kata cocked his head. “And what other sorts of work can you do?”

“Well,” said Tora with a laugh, “I draw the line at sweeping up after everybody, but as I’m pretty good with my sword, I could take care of any troublemakers, or collect money that’s owed to you, or generally just keep an eye on you and your business.” He went to place his practice sword on the trunk Matsue was leaning against.

Matsue straightened up and seized Tora’s wrist. “Not so fast, mouse catcher. Maybe you did scare a few of the little pests, but I’m not done with you. After the tiger roars, he’d better prove that he has teeth and claws. You call yourself Tora; let’s see if you can fight like a tiger.”

Tora stared at him. He had just fought five bouts and was exhausted. Sweat was pouring off him. He said, “I’m tired. Some other time. Tomorrow, maybe? Or later tonight?”

Matsue smiled unpleasantly. “What? Are you no tiger after all? After filling the boy’s ears with your boasts, you now claim fatigue because some puny students practiced their pathetic skills on you? And you expect to become a useful member of this training school? Pah!”

Tora flushed with anger. Matsue had planned this from the beginning. He bowed. “As you wish.”

Matsue took another practice sword from the wooden box. It was beautifully tapered, slightly longer than Tora’s, and almost black in color. He performed a couple of sharp slashes, then assumed his position.

When Tora had taken his place, Matsue, small eyes flickering with malicious joy, bowed. Tora returned the bow. His hand and the grip of his sword were slippery with his sweat, but he made an effort to put this complication from his mind and think positively. He would not allow Matsue to taunt him into confusion or, worse, fear. Instead, he would make his move quickly and end the contest before it was too late.

Focusing his eyes on Matsue’s center, he waited. When Matsue lunged, Tora parried, saw his chance, and instantly took a large step forward to side kick Matsue’s leg. It was a soldier’s trick of overcoming an attacking adversary quickly. But the move failed miserably. As Tora’s leg shot forward for the kick, the foot carrying his weight slid out from under him. He slipped on the wet boards where one of the students had tumbled earlier and was already falling when Matsue’s sword came hissing down.

A fierce, hot pain exploded in Tora’s skull, and the world disappeared.

CHAPTERTWELVE

THE BEAUTIFUL LADY YASUGI