The Diamond Chariot (87 page)

What method could he suggest to his master? If he was Japanese, it would be quite clear. He had a dagger, and there was more than enough time for a decent seppuku. Tanshin had a short, straight sword hanging at his side, so the master would not be left writhing in agony. As soon as he touched his stomach with the dagger, faithful Masa would cut his head off.

But
gaijins
didn’t commit seppuku. They liked to die from gunpowder.

So that would be it.

Wasting no time, Masa went over to the
jonin
, who was whispering about something with his daughter, while at the same time doing something quite incomprehensible: inserting sticks of bamboo one into the other.

After apologising politely for interrupting the family conversation, Masa said:

‘Sensei, it is time for my master to leave this life. I wish to help him. I have been told that for some reason the Christian religion forbids suicide. Please translate for my master that I would consider it an honour to shoot him in the heart or the side of the head, whichever he desires.’

Then the master himself came across to him. He waved his revolver and said something. The master’s face was sombre and resolute. He must have had the same idea.

‘Explain to him that he shouldn’t open fire,’ Tamba told his daughter, speaking rapidly in Japanese. ‘He has only seven cartridges. Even if he doesn’t miss once and shoots seven Black Jackets, it won’t change anything. They’ll take fright, stop the search and fire the house. They haven’t done that so far because they want to present the Don with my body and they’re hoping to find some secret caches. But if they’re badly scared, they’ll set the house on fire. Tell him I asked you to translate because my English is too slow. Take him to one side, distract him. I need another minute. Then act according to our agreement.’

What agreement was that? What did Tamba need a minute for?

While Midori-san was translating what Tamba had said to the master, Masa kept his eyes fixed on the
jonin
, who finished fiddling with the bamboo sticks and starting shoving them into a narrow kind of case with a large piece of black cloth attached to it.

What weird sort of device was this?

A flag, it’s a flag, Masa guessed, and suddenly everything was clear.

The leader of the
shinobi
wanted to leave this life in beautiful style, with the flag of his clan unfurled. That was why he was spinning things out.

‘Is that the Momochi banner?’ Masa whispered to Tanshin, who was standing close by.

Tanshin shook his head.

‘Then what is it?’

The rude
shinobi
left the question unanswered.

Tamba picked up the cloth with the bamboo sticks inserted in it, threw it across his shoulders and belted it on, and it became clear that it wasn’t a flag at all, but something like a wide cloak.

Then the
jonin
held out his hand without speaking and Tanshin put the naked sword in it.

‘Farewell,’ said the
jonin
.

The
shinobi
answered with a word that Masa had heard once before that night.

‘
Kongojyo
.’ And he bowed solemnly.

Then Tamba walked out into the middle of the attic, pulled a string on his neckband, and the strange cloak folded up, fitting close around his body.

‘What does the sensei intend to do?’ Masa asked Tanshin.

‘Look down there,’ Tanshin muttered gruffly, then went down on all fours and pressed his face to the floor.

So Masa had to do the same.

The floor turned out to have observation slits in it, through which it was possible to observe the corridor and all the rooms.

There were Black Jackets scurrying about everywhere, and the Monk’s head was gleaming in the centre of the corridor.

‘Haven’t you found anything?’ he roared, leaning down towards a hole in the floor. ‘Sound out every
siaku!
⁴
There must be hiding places!’

Lifting his head up from the slit, Masa glanced at Tamba – and just in time.

The
jonin
pressed some kind of lever with his foot and yet another hatch opened, located above the corridor. The old man jumped down, as straight as a spear.

Masa stuck his nose against the floor again, in order not to miss anything.

Ah, what a sight it was!

The
jonin
landed between the Monk and two Black Jackets. They just gaped open-mouthed, but the tricky man with the shaved head jerked to one side and pulled his revolver out of his belt. Ah, but what could he do against Tamba! A short, easy stroke of the sword and the glittering head went tumbling across the floor, and blood spurted out of the severed neck. Without turning round, the old
shinobi
flung his left hand out backwards and gently touched the nose of one of the soldiers: the soldier fell woodenly, without bending, and crashed to the floor. The second man squatted down and covered his head with his hands, and Tamba didn’t touch him.

He leaned forward slightly and then ran, slowly at first, but picking up speed all the time, towards the wide-open door with the precipice beyond it. A whole crowd of pursuers dashed after him, shouting and yelling.

Masa was in ecstasy. What a fine idea! To take a final stand on the little bridge above that abyss. First, no one would attack from behind and, secondly, it was so beautiful! And then these Black Jackets didn’t have any guns, they had been left outside. Oh, old Tamba would really pulverise them right at the end!

He heard a rustling sound beside him. It was Tanshin jumping to his feet and dashing to the window. He wants to see his master’s final battle, Masa realised, and dashed after him as fast as he could.

The little bridge was clearly visible through the wooden grille. The moon peeped out, and the wooden planking turned silver against the black precipice.

There was the
jonin
, running out on to the little bridge at a furious pace, the sides of his cloak jutting out like the wings of a bat. Still running, Tamba pushed off hard with his foot and jumped into the precipice.

But what about the final battle? Masa almost cried out.

He could have killed a dozen or two enemies and then dropped over the edge of the abyss like a stone.

But Tamba didn’t fall like a stone!

The Black Jackets crowding on the little bridge howled in horror, and fine drops of cold sweat stood out on Masa’s forehead too. And for good reason …

The leader of the Momochi clan had turned into a bird!

The huge black hawk soared above the valley, cutting through the moonlight and slowly descending.

Masa was brought round by a slap on his shoulder.

‘Now we have to act quickly,’ said Tanshin. ‘Before they can recover their wits.’

Midori-san and the master were already clambering through a hatch on to the roof. He had to catch up with them.

Tiles grated under his feet and a fresh wind blew into his face. Masa turned towards the precipice for another glimpse of the magical bird, but it wasn’t there any more – it had flown away.

They crawled the last few steps on their stomachs so that the Black Jackets in the cordon wouldn’t see them.

They needn’t have been so cautious – the torches were burning in the clearing, but the sentries had disappeared.

‘Where are they?’ Masa asked in a whisper.

He guessed the answer himself: they had all gone dashing into the house. But of course! The commander had been killed, the head ninja had turned into a hawk. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.

There was no cordon, but what good was that to them? If they jumped down, they’d break their legs, it was four
ken
⁵
here. But Midori-san waved her hand just before the ridge of the roof and a gentle ringing sound filled the emptiness. A thin, transparent cable was stretched from the house out into the darkness. Midori-san took off her belt and threw it over the cable, tied a knot and showed the master how to put his elbows through it. But she herself managed without a strap – she just took hold with her hands, pushed off and soared over the clearing in a single sweep. The master didn’t waste any time either: he took a firm hold of the belt and flew off, setting the air rustling.

It was Masa’s turn. Tanshin prepared the strap for him in a second and pushed him in the back.

Rushing through space above the brightly lit clearing and the blazing flames was scary but enjoyable. Masa barely managed to stop himself whooping in delight.

The flight could have ended better, though. The trunk of a pine tree came flying towards him out of the darkness and if the master hadn’t grabbed his servant by the arms, Masa would have been flattened. As it was, he hit his forehead hard enough to set sparks flying.

There was a small wooden platform attached to the tree, and he had to climb down from it by feeling for branches with his foot.

As soon as he jumped down on to the ground, Masa saw that Tanshin had stayed on the roof – from here, on the other side of the clearing, his black silhouette was clearly visible.

There was a glint of steel, and something rustled in the air. Midori-san picked up the transparent rope and pulled it towards herself.

‘Why did he cut the cable?’ Masa exclaimed.

‘They’ll climb up on the roof, see the cable and guess everything,’ the mistress replied briefly. ‘And Tanshin will jump down.’

As soon as she said it, men climbed out on to the roof from below, a lot of men. They saw the
shinobi
poised on the very edge, started clamouring and ran towards him.

But Tanshin huddled down, jumped up, turned over in the air, and a moment later he was down below. He rolled across the ground like a ball and jumped to his feet.

But they were already running towards him out of the house.

‘Quickly! Quickly!’ Masa whispered, squeezing his fists tight.

The ninja reached the middle of the clearing in a few bounds, but he didn’t run into the forest – he stopped.

He doesn’t want to lead his pursuers to us, Masa guessed.

Tanshin pulled a torch out of the ground, then another, and rushed at his enemies. The Black Jackets first recoiled from the two furiously swirling tongues of flame, but then immediately closed back round the
shinobi
.

Someone’s clothing burst into flames and someone else ran off howling, trying to beat the flames off their burning hair. The fire swirled about above the crowd, stinging, scattering sparks.

They had to get away from there as quickly as possible, but Masa was still watching the beautiful way Tanshin was dying. A fiery death framed in glittering sword blades – could anything possibly be more beautiful?

The master pulled Midori-san into the thicket and pointed in the direction of the crevice – he must be pointing towards the hoist.

Masa had to explain to the bird-man’s daughter that they couldn’t get away through the underground passage. The Monk must have left sentries at the bottom of the crevice: they wouldn’t let anyone get down – they’d shoot them.

‘Better to sit it out here, in the forest,’ Masa concluded.

But Midori-san didn’t agree with him.

‘No. The Black Jackets have let my father get away, and now they have to find your master at any cost. They won’t dare report to the Don without his head. When they finish searching the house, they’ll start combing the forest again.’

‘What can we do?’

The mistress was going to answer, but then the master butted into this important conversation at just the wrong moment.

He pulled Masa aside and said in his broken Japanese:

‘Lead away, Midori-san. You. Trust. I here.’

Oh no! Masa didn’t even listen. He objected gruffly:

‘How can I lead her away? I’m not Tamba, I can’t fly through the sky.’

He flapped his arms like wings to demonstrate but the master, of course, didn’t understand. How could Masa possibly explain anything to him when he had no language?

The Black Jackets flocked round Tanshin’s body, arguing about something in loud voices. Many of them had been killed, including the commander, but there were even more left. Thirty men? Forty?

Masa had always been good at mental arithmetic, and he started counting.

The master had seven bullets in his little revolver. Masa could kill three. Or four – if he was lucky. Midori-san was a ninja – she’d probably polish off ten.

How many did that make?

Midori-san prevented him from finishing his calculation.

‘Wait here,’ she said. ‘My father will come back for you.’

‘Are you really going away, mistress?’

She didn’t answer and turned to the master.

He also asked something in a tense, halting voice.

She didn’t answer him either. At least, not in words.

She stroked his cheek, then his neck. A fine time she’d chosen for lovey-doving! A woman was always a woman after all, even if she was a ninja.

Midori-san’s hand slipped round to the back of the master’s head, the white fingers suddenly closed firmly together – and his round
gaijin
eyes turned even rounder in amazement. The master sat down on the ground, slumping back against a tree trunk.

She had killed him. The accursed witch had killed him.

With a fierce growl, Masa aimed the fatal
kubiori
blow at the traitor: it should have ripped her scurvy throat out, but a strong hand seized his wrist.

‘He’s alive,’ the
shinobi
woman said quickly. ‘He simply can’t move.’

‘But why?’ hissed Masa, wincing in pain. What a grip!

‘He wouldn’t have let me do what must be done.’

‘And what is that?’

She let go of him, realising that he would hear her out.

‘Go into the house. Go down into the basement. There’s a barrel of gunpowder there in a secret place. The charge is calculated to make the house collapse inwards, crushing everyone in it.’

Masa thought for a moment.

‘But how will you get into the house?’