The Twilight War Read online

  ‘Not that our objectives would be hard to guess,’ Moonshadow shrugged.

  ‘Funnily enough, I wasn’t planning to get captured,’ Groundspider said coolly.

  ‘Let’s hope you also plan no further sad attempts at humour,’ Badger said petulantly. ‘You both need to concentrate on this crucial gear. With it, you can take down guards without getting captured!’ He proudly waved a hand over his creations. ‘I also have colour-matching sets of leg bindings, tabi boots, and waraji straw sandals for you. Oh, and of course, those ashiko foot spikes in case of ice, but first, just look at these!’

  Groundspider and Moonshadow exchanged amused looks. Moonshadow shook his head. Brother Badger was a genius, but of course, whatever he was involved with was much more important than anything else. Or even everything else put together.

  Badger reverently unfolded one of the stealth suits, spreading its components out along the stone bench, fussing with each until finally, to him at least, they looked perfect.

  On top of each suit’s pair of slate-grey hakama pants, Badger carefully laid out two strips of lightweight, segmented thigh armour, designed to reach hip-to-knee. A Grey Light Order design, the leggings could be used to fend off sword cuts and deflect arrows.

  Both the strips of armour and the leather ties holding them together had the look of muddy-brown stone. Under the leggings’ finely finished plates hid a chain of tough leather pockets, compact weapon bays for their shuriken, smoke bombs and tetsubishi.

  Finally, alongside the two jackets, Badger positioned the fish scale-style armoured gauntlets he had promised them. A variant of samurai armour, the slim protective gauntlets were light brown with grey flecks, and long enough to reach to the elbow.

  ‘Don’t forget to wear your full-body wire-mesh undergarments, so you have more than just this armour to protect you. At least you won’t be cold: every garment here is double-lined and finely padded for extra warmth.’ Now Badger sounded like a shrewd marketplace salesman. ‘Go ahead, touch everything; see for yourselves.’

  Groundspider had been keenly eyeing the thigh armour. He eagerly took up a line, flexing the end plate, his big hands straining. ‘It’s lighter than the last lot, but stronger!’

  ‘Well spotted,’ said Badger, his head high. ‘I’m supervising an Edo armourer who was hand-picked by the Shogun. He’s applying a totally new approach to metallurgy. Well, I found it, actually, while translating a barbarian textbook from the Spanish city Toledo.’

  Side by side, the mission team examined the wrap-around jacket, belt and hood. They were all a muddy colour with gold undertones, the hues varying randomly to form subtle, odd-shaped patches that suggested the irregularities of stone. Even in flickering laver-light, the fabric could indeed pass for part of a rocky wall.

  Moonshadow, honestly impressed, smiled at Badger. ‘That actually would fool the eye, even a trained eye. Even up close, if one stayed very still and in deep shadow.’

  ‘Actually would?’ Badger grumbled. ‘Actually would? So you doubted me!’ Showing the palms of his hands, Moonshadow shook his head fast. Badger snorted. ‘Bah! Spare me the youthful lies! Just put these jackets on and tie them in place with the belt, each of you … come on, hurry up, I need sleep!’

  Motto, abruptly woken by the sharp rise in Badger’s voice, let out a wary sigh. Saru and Banken froze mid-combat, then began to watch the unfolding human ritual.

  The mission team quickly obeyed Badger. Once they had donned their new jackets, Moonshadow reached back over one shoulder and patted the strange, rectangular pouch that stretched between his shoulderblades. He had almost overlooked it as he put the garment on; it sat high on the back, camouflaged by its matching rock-toned fabric. He had also misjudged its size, at first thinking it smaller.

  ‘That’s right,’ Badger said masterfully. ‘That’s it! The ninja rock-trick cloak, folded and stowed. Pull the small drawstring at the corner of its pouch – yes there – to deploy it.’

  Moonshadow did. The pouch silently unfastened and the cunningly folded cloak tumbled down his back, opening as it plunged. He looked down. It reached to his ankles.

  ‘You can’t see its colours and textures right now because they’re up against your back,’ Badger said, ‘but the active side of the cloak is a lot like the rest of your suit. Even more convincing to the eye of course, because of the shapes you can form with it.’

  ‘How exactly do we use it?’ Moonshadow frowned.

  ‘Once you’ve deployed the cloak, grip its bottom corners, swing it up, from behind, and right over your head and shoulders. You should find that overhead flick very easy! As the cloak covers you, drop to one knee or into a crouch, and quickly adjust it around you. You’ll see only blackness until you find the tiny spy-panel. It’s a slit covered with camouflaged gauze. It lets you see out of the cloak.’

  Groundspider deployed his cloak and both he and Moonshadow repeatedly practised dropping into a crouch and becoming, at least according to Badger, a fine pair of rocks. After several attempts, the archivist signalled for them to stand still and wait.

  Badger looked over his shoulder, a crafty smile breaking on his face. ‘Ah, good. The beasts have started ignoring us again. So let’s do a little test. A practical test, too, should it transpire that the Fuma have guard dogs. You two become rocks, in the centre of the sand there, then shuffle – glide if you can – towards the animals. Let’s see what their eyes and ears make of what’s coming at them, neh?’

  ‘These things are brilliant,’ Groundspider said, ‘but I doubt they’ll work on animals.’ He saw Badger’s eyebrows fall. ‘I mean, they might … look, fine, I’ll do it!’

  Intrigued at what might happen, Moonshadow nodded readily. He and Groundspider moved to the centre of the raked sea of sand, gripped the edges of their cloaks, and sank to one knee. There was a soft fluttering sound as each brought their panel of fabric overhead and then down in front of them. As before, everything went black. Spreading the cloak around him, Moonshadow aligned his eyes with the spy-panel.

  There was no need to shuffle or glide closer. The curious animals were already advancing on them, noses twitching. He saw Banken trot closer then spring out of sight. An instant later he felt her weight on his head. Saru bared his fangs, snatched up a handful of sand and threw it haphazardly at both rock cloaks before losing interest and turning away. Where was Motto-san?

  ‘Get away! Fiend! Saboteur!’ Badger started yelling. A commotion broke out, a yelp and then scuffling, which startled both Banken and Moonshadow. The cat leapt clear as he stood quickly, flicking his rock cloak back over his shoulders. Moonshadow blinked, glanced around, and almost doubled up with laughter.

  Motto-san! The powerful animal was skulking away slowly, tail between his legs, deep chest dragging in the sand. Badger was stamping one foot, swatting the air with clenched fists. Groundspider was already out from under his rock cloak, but was holding it, bunched up, away from his body. His face twisted in disgust around flaring nostrils.

  A fresh, dark stain on his cloak said that Motto really had thought it a rock. The great dog had lifted his leg and innocently taken a toilet break at Groundspider’s expense.

  Moonshadow finally composed himself, then just stood and savoured Groundspider’s revulsion. ‘Well,’ he said cheerfully, ‘I’d say they work on animals.’

  With Saru on his shoulder, Badger left his room, crossed the north-south corridor, and entered the darkened archives. Holding a paper lantern out before him, the scholar paced, as he often did, up and down the aisles of his domain, yearning to feel settled enough to sleep.

  The whole monastery was quiet now. Everyone had turned in hours ago, Mantis even foregoing work on his duelling manual. Saru sniffed the humid air and hissed irritably. Badger nodded to show his agreement with the monkey. Their archive, its ceiling roughly patched here and there, still stank of that awful Fuma gunpowder mix.

  First dog urine, now horse dung. What a great night it had been! Badger scowled.

&
nbsp; It had taken him an eternity – well, the best part of an hour, at least – to totally cleanse Groundspider’s ninja rock-trick cloak. It was safe to assume that the Fuma’s senses were typically sharp, so had he not cleaned the cloak, Motto’s toilet impulse could have had fatal consequences.

  ‘Averted, thanks to us,’ Badger told the monkey. Saru raised his matted eyebrows. Why, Badger wondered, couldn’t he sleep? Perhaps any mind so vast was sometimes hard to shut down. He would need to weary himself, that was the answer!

  Using a side door to slip out into the garden, he wandered the grounds, nodding as he passed each night guard, until finally he began to feel a little weary. Badger re-entered the building via the kitchen’s side door then crept down the east-west corridor. He moved as silently as he could, reminding himself that it was never a good idea to startle sleeping ninja. Woken suddenly, a shinobi might react out of deep conditioning. Such wary creatures, Badger reflected, they even slept on their sides, hearts always closest to the floor, for extra protection. It made them harder to kill if ambushed in their sleep. But as it turned out, Badger wasn’t the only one having problems nodding off.

  As he passed the newly reset door of Moonshadow’s room, the monkey’s head turned sharply. Badger stopped to listen. A muffled voice came from the boy’s quarters.

  He edged up to the door. It was Moonshadow. Badger smiled. The boy couldn’t sleep either, probably too nervous, so he was reciting the furube sutra to calm himself.

  Badger scratched his cheek as he heard Moonshadow intone the sutra’s second part, the Facing Self verse.

  ‘Cleanse any lies made this day, scatter not one grain of life.’

  The scholar inclined his balding, slightly pointed head. Those words were suddenly ironic, and they made him anticipate a potential tragedy: if Moonshadow found proof of Snowhawk’s deceit, he would indeed have to scatter a grain of life.

  One that, from what Badger had seen, possibly meant more to him than any other.

  She would be unlike any target the youth had faced: not a foe, but a dear friend.

  Badger headed back to his room. ‘It’s cruel,’ he mumbled. ‘I’d hate to be shinobi.’ The monkey on his shoulder belched, then sighed in perfect unison with him.

  For the rest of the night Saru snored in a basket at the foot of Badger’s bedroll, while the archivist lay awake, sleep still eluding him. Just before dawn, he heard faint sounds that announced the mission team’s departure. Propped on one elbow, Badger heard Mantis’s voice, light steps in the corridor and finally an outer door sliding shut. He sank back, fingers laced behind his head, very much feeling the empty silence.

  It was still dark when the first birds sang. Badger pictured Moonshadow and Groundspider, silent, grim, sneaking into some rich local merchant’s unguarded stables, stealthily saddling his two best horses, then taking the road north-west out of Edo. They would be disguised, with legitimate travel papers to get them through checkpoints quickly. They had all that training and his brilliant equipment to help protect them.

  The archivist swallowed hard. ‘Just come back to us, boys,’ he said.

  A minute later, exhausted sleep took him.

  Heron rose with the dawn. While the birds outside whistled and chirped and the light grew stronger, she bathed, dressed and hurried to her workroom.

  In one corner lay Eagle, deep in a generous stack of futons lovingly prepared by the household staff who, on her orders, had been checking on him at hourly intervals. Heron had made a decision: she would get one good night’s sleep first, then plunge into her all-important task. And from that moment on, she would refuse to leave Eagle’s side.

  Eagle was in a deep sleep and looked reasonably comfortable, apart from his clammy skin and laboured breathing. But she knew his condition would worsen, until –

  With anxious energy, Heron tied back the generous sleeves of her kimono using a scabbard sash, then tightly bound her hair with a scarf.

  She hurriedly untied her scrolls of poison formulas, hanging them side-by-side on the row of hooks facing her workbench. She arranged the long table’s clay cups, bowls, measuring scoops and her lacquered, labelled trays of dried plants and herbs. Heron laid out her mortar and pestle, wooden sieve boxes and set of knives, then filled her workroom’s kettle with water from an iron pail.

  Pausing to catch her breath, she turned and stared down at Eagle.

  ‘I won’t give you up,’ she told him, her soft, dignified voice immediately breaking. ‘If I could die in your place, I’d beg the Great Void itself to take me. But I can’t, so instead I must crack the secret of their wicked poison.’

  Her proud eyes filled with angry tears.

  A gentle knock at the door made her wipe her face quickly. ‘Yes … please enter.’

  The shoji slid open and Mantis came in. He bowed to the sleeping Eagle, then to Heron. Forcing a serene, cheerful expression, she returned the salute with ladylike poise.

  ‘Please forgive the interruption,’ Mantis said warmly. ‘There was just something I wanted you to know. A source of hope,’ he said with a glance at her equipment. ‘Perhaps.’

  Heron nodded earnestly, her heart fluttering. ‘Then please, tell me at once.’

  ‘I spoke with our juniors just before they left, and gave them a second mission objective, based on an afterthought I had. If they do end up entering Fumayama, they are to steal a Fuma chemistry manual. Such a text might contain an antidote to this poison.’

  Heron was grateful for his caring, well-intended idea, but knew at once that it actually offered almost no hope, and so little comfort.

  She stared at Mantis’s sincere, concerned face. Should she tell him the truth?

  Moonshadow and Groundspider might not get to Fumayama. If they did, they might not make it out again. Even assuming they escaped, by the time they made it home, judging by his symptoms today, Eagle would have already crossed the River Sai and entered the land of the dead. Her stomach knotted at the thought of it. Death was natural, part of any samurai’s life, but Heron knew she wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not to this man.

  She wanted to believe in Mantis’s idea, but her extensive knowledge of toxins told her otherwise. This poison was very slow-acting – that was the unique cruelty of its nature – but no fatal poison moved quite as slowly as Mantis’s plan required.

  Eagle was running out of time. She watched Mantis stare at their suffering friend.

  Then she took in Mantis’s face. Wrong or not, he was so earnest, trying his best, that it would be unseemly to shatter his personal harmony by revealing the hope-crushing truth.

  ‘Thank you so much for telling me.’ She bowed low. ‘I am encouraged.’

  Mantis’s stern face lit up. He returned her bow in kind and left.

  Heron afforded herself a modest smile. At least he seemed encouraged.

  She knelt beside Eagle, tracing the outline of his strong face with her long fingers.

  ‘Mantis meant well, may all the kami bless him,’ Heron said sadly, ‘but I too am samurai, and can face the truth.’ She set her jaw and sat very upright, rallying her willpower. ‘Saving you is up to me, and though the demon lords of Koga take me, somehow, save you I will!’

  The new day had turned out clear, the humidity mild; perfect for fast travel. Groundspider nodded with satisfaction as he looked back, his black stallion thundering ahead of Moonshadow’s white mare.

  As he was sure everyone knew, he was the most gifted horseman in the Grey Light Order, and those lessons he’d been giving Moon at the Shogun’s racetrack were now paying off. The kid was finally becoming a skilled rider! If they survived this mission, next he would teach him how to fight on horseback.

  The merchant’s stable they had intended to raid had proved empty, so at Groundspider’s insistence, they had run to a samurai part of town and stolen war horses. Time had been lost, but at least now they had the finest of beasts under them! Hearty, obedient, fast, with enormous stamina, these samurai mounts usually bore heavily armou
red riders into battle, while wearing armour of their own. Today, hauling far lighter burdens, they almost flew, and travelled surprisingly far before needing to rest, water and graze.

  On the plain and in the lower foothills, the duo passed through towns encircled by rice fields. As they climbed higher the road thinned, forcing them to ride in single file. In the high foothills, the settlements became a chain of ever-smaller thatched-roof villages, flanked by forested gullies of pine and cedar. Waterfalls and rocky streams split the hillsides. As the first real mountains appeared, all humidity vanished.

  They watered and rested their horses briefly at the last village on their map, then, driving their mounts relentlessly under a pale blue sky, the pair swung due north for the line of distant mountains.

  In defiance of the sweaty, humid summer, the highest visible peaks shone with white snow caps that never completely melted. One of them had to be Fumayama.

  The pair were disguised as young, wealthy samurai brothers. Groundspider, naturally, acted as the newly appointed head of their fictional clan. They each wore striped indigo kimonos, travelling headscarfs of the same colour – to hide the absence of proper noblemen’s hairstyles – and a katana, a long sword, all from Badger’s stores beneath the monastery.

  On route to the high foothills, they passed through two fiefdoms, but clearing the checkpoint barriers proved effortless, thanks to the unique travel papers that the Shogun, on Badger’s suggestion, had recently supplied in preparation for just such a mission.

  Every Grey Light Order agent now had their own all-purpose barrier pass. Carried in a leather pouch, the oiled, folded document contained a detailed description of each shinobi’s face, peculiar scars, and build. It also carried the Shogun’s seal, and warned anyone reading it not to hinder or delay its bearer, record their passing, or discuss them with anyone. The document even outlined the mildest penalty a person breaching one of these rules could hope for: public beheading, preceded by the burning of their house.