NINE

To cross
the moat

For the remainder of the day, Moonshadow was uneasy, half-expecting Katsu to return leading Silver Wolf's men to the inn. As darkness fell, he dutifully recited the furube sutra and then placed a tiny iron wedge in the runner of his door, locking his room. He unpacked his equipment for the mission, spreading his gear out on the matting so he could check each individual piece.

Under his specially hued night suit, he would wear a full-body undergarment of thin wire mesh. The featherweight cousin of chain mail, it offered some protection from part-blunt or light blades. But if forced to deal with multiple guards at close quarters, he would need more protection than it gave. Moon unfolded two strips of lightweight, segmented thigh armour, checking the ties on each strip's joints. The armour was unique to the Grey Light Order, each leg lined with a series of tough leather pouches. Flexible but strong, it reached hip to knee. Inspired by the defences of armadillos and insects like slaters, the leggings could deflect arrows or be used as suddenly rising shields when duelling. Moon donned the mesh, then his night suit and finally, the leg armour.

He examined each of his tools before stowing them in the legging's pouches, distributing their combined weight evenly.

First, his pair of shuko, black iron climbing claws. Usually, shuko were used along with ashiko, strap-on iron foot spikes, but Moon preferred a lighter combination: claws and serrated-sole sandals. He checked that the shuko's prongs were sound, leather palm straps intact. Once over the moat, these claws and the serrated grip of his specially woven sandals would help him scale the wall.

Moonshadow pulled on the draw cords of his night suit's thick cowl, tightening it around his head. Its interior was lined with a special red fabric, the colour of which disguised blood. Should his neck or face be wounded, his enemies wouldn't know they had made him bleed. Even when soaked with blood, the unique red fabric simply looked wet, as if from sweat. Its use among spies had given rise to a predictable legend. Simple folk said that the men and women of the shadows had strange powers, for as gossipping guards throughout the land had said, even when cut, these spies did not bleed.

Moon tied the draw cords and secured the cowl in place with one end of his double-length sash. He wound the long indigo belt around his waist then up over one shoulder, setting clever, open knots in it that could hold his sheathed sword on either his back or left hip. The knotted sash made it easy to move his weapon between the two locations. This would make a certain trick possible.

If facing a good swordsman, he could quickly switch his sword from back to hip then perform a speed draw like a regular duellist. Most samurai guards attacking a spy would be unprepared for such a move, since shinobi usually wore their swords in back-mounted sheaths. Few would expect a lightning draw from the hip instead.

Mantis had shown him the trick, saying at the time with just a hint of bitterness, 'It's a ploy that will surprise even experienced swordsmen. I should know; it worked on me the first time I saw it.' He had then peeled open his jacket and shown his student a thin horizontal scar on his chest.

Into the leggings went Moon's burglary tools. An iron right-angle for lifting heavy roof tiles without a sound. A small iron hook and a series of thin blades used for picking locks. A long, weighted, reinforced cord on a wooden spool. Water in a bamboo phial.

Moon counted his stocks of shuriken and smoke bombs, then turned to his means of transport over the moat. From his pack he drew out eight quarter-circles and two strong crossbeams fitted with foot straps, carved from a certain buoyant timber. He checked that the parts snapped together easily to form a pair of mizu gumo or 'water spiders'. First, the quarter-circles were assembled into two large discs, each held together with cunning, spring-loaded joints. Finally the two crossbeams and their leather straps were slotted in place wholly within each circle. Moon tested the strength of the water spiders then took them apart again and spread their parts throughout his legging pouches.

He smiled as he worked, recalling Groundspider's many failed attempts to use the floating discs. Wearing them like great round shoes, a very light person – one with a typical shinobi build like Moon – could balance upright on mizu gumo and cross a moat or still river. Being unusually big and solid for a spy, Groundspider would invariably flip upside down then thrash about underwater, dangling from the strapped-on floats like a huge drowning bat.

Despite fleeting moments of nervousness at his looming task, Moon chuckled, picturing Groundspider, drenched to the bone and taking his mizu gumo apart, after a failed moat crossing near the Shogun's fortress in Edo. 'What are you smirking at, kid?' The big fellow had scowled with mock menace. 'I'm better than you at everything else! Besides, this keeps happening only because I'm a ground spider!'

At last Moonshadow fed his short, straight shinobi sword into the knots waiting on his back, slinging beside it the cloth pack which held his day clothes. With his equipment in place, he unlocked the door. He waited awhile, listening carefully to the night sounds of the inn, until satisfied that everyone else was sleeping and no one lurked in the corridor between his room and the rear exit. He opened his door, crept unchallenged from the building and moved through the town's narrow back alleys for the castle.

The midnight bell hummed from Fushimi's largest temple, its deep ring turning butterflies loose in his stomach. Moon crouched in shadow, scanning the front stretch of Momoyama Castle's moat.

Though the night was ink-black, Moon knew the real moon would rise all too soon from behind the distant mountains. True, it would not be a full disc, but a glowing crescent that would still flood the rooftops with a dangerous amount of light. He had to stay ahead of that moonrise, or at the very least be on his way out of the castle when it struck.

Moonshadow passed the temple and crept along the moat's shadowy bank, dotted on the town side with willow trees and lone, twisted pines. His dark blue-purple night suit gave him confidence, for he knew its unique colour was harder to distinguish in shadow or half-light than plain black. But the first hint of real fear was already gnawing at the edges of his mind.

This was no training exercise. This was real: life and death. It was time to take control within through reciting the furube sutra, not dutifully as he did each dawn and sunset, but almost desperately, for now he faced real action.

Furube meant to shake or shrug something off. This 'shaking off' ritual made spies ready to carry out their missions. It cleared the mind, sharpened the senses, helped a shinobi throw off all distractions before going about his work.

In the darkness at the base of a tree, Moon folded his legs and sat on his heels. He narrowed his eyes and whispered the sutra's three verses, the Preparation Verse, the Facing Self Verse and the Verse of One Resolved. He brought his palms together, folding and unfolding his fingers through a series of difficult patterns, forming a different knot or symbol to accompany each line of the sutra.

Gather, tidy and align your doings and their karma.

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

To end this path in happiness, make still your mind.

Back when he was Nanashi, Mantis had made him think a great deal about the second verse's final part. As Mantis had said repeatedly, 'scatter not one grain of life' meant, among other things, never kill if you have a choice. At such times, a strange, wounded look would fill Mantis's eyes. The once-famous duellist spoke often of karma: the consequences of one's actions, the effect that followed every cause. Year by year, he had challenged young Nanashi to stay mindful of the sacredness of life.

It had been hard to believe that this pious man, despite his incredible skills, had ever killed anyone or anything. Then one day, Eagle had revealed quite matter-of-factly that Brother Mantis, 'in the wildness of his youth', had duelled for a living, killing a total of seventy-five men, each in single combat.

Moon drew a slow breath. Scatter not one grain of life. Would he be forced to kill tonight? Would he, like his teacher, begin a journey of many regrets?

Moonshadow widened his eyes. He looked around, took in the moat, the distant bridge across it, the sloping castle walls beyond. He was having real trouble readying his mind. What was wrong with him? The furube had done half its work, for that initial sliver of fear had faded away. No, it wasn't that.

He shook his head as he realised. It was her! She was there, haunting him, on the edge of his thoughts at any given second. Why? Was he somehow sensing her nearby? Had his interest in her become a kind of madness? He narrowed his eyes and recited the sutra again, forcing himself to concentrate harder.

At last the awareness of her also faded, replaced by increasing clarity. His mind grew orderly, an undisturbed pond. He opened his eyes wide and looked up at the walls, beyond which his prize waited. His goal was everything now. Moon was tranquil but alert. Ready, eager, and more than that, fearless.

He kept his breathing even as he stood up and stretched. The banks of the moat were quiet, but a splash made him turn. Moon listened, his eyes moving back and forth over the water. There! Giant carp were nosing the surface not far from the bank. They dived skittishly with more splashing, becoming long grey shadows for an instant before they vanished.

Murmuring drifted across the water. Guards' voices. Moon heard another carp splash in the moat as it took a swimming insect. He frowned hard. Light as he was, if just one of those great fish nudged his water spiders, he too would flip over and hang in extreme peril. As he watched he realised that the moat teemed with carp, many of them the length and girth of his leg.

He glanced at the top of the curved wall. A faint glow above the massive stones marked a guard post's cooking fire. Silver Wolf's confident, aggressive men at the Hakone Barrier were amateurs compared with what he could expect here in Fushimi. These castle samurai, charged with protecting their master, would be the best of the warlord's fighters. If he was detected and forced to engage them, he'd be up against men chosen not only for their strength and speed, but for their willingness to lay down their lives for their liege lord. He felt his chest tighten in anticipation.

Moon stared down at the moat, smelling its water and mud. If he capsized out there he had two choices, both of them nasty. He could dangle silently until his held breath ran out and he drowned. Or he could free himself of the floats and swim away frantically, a noisy process on a still night like this. He lifted his eyes to the castle. If that happened, no matter how far he swam submerged first, dozens of arrows would fly from the top of that wall, probing the moat relentlessly until they found him.

Perhaps that glow wasn't really a cooking fire. Maybe the castle was on high alert already, and the guards were prepared to launch fire arrows at the first suspicious sound they heard. He felt his breath quicken. Fire arrows were a triple hazard. They broke the darkness, neutralising night suits. If their tips were bound with oiled cloth, they could even carry light a short distance underwater, revealing a submerged intruder. Worst of all, if they actually pierced their intended target while still burning . . .

He forced that image from his mind. Moonshadow crept into the shadows of a willow overhanging the moat. At the very edge he assembled and fitted the water spiders, then used dangling branches to help him stand and stabilise himself. As he released the willow branches, Moon glanced down at his hands. His fingertips were trembling.

Once he felt in control of the bobbing floats, Moon slowed his breathing again and began taking the long, rhythmic strides which would propel him out over the water. He moved through the darkest shadows, careful not to be seen. A special diet throughout his training had given him exceptional night vision. By halfway across, he could make out fine details on the castle wall.

Torches atop the huge stones lit up the moat with fingers of light. Moon zigzagged forward slowly, keeping to the darkest shadows, arms outstretched at either side as he padded along uneasily on the water. Each wooden float hovered and slid just under the surface. Cold water stung through his sandals and the split-toed cotton boots beneath them. Soon his toes were numb and the chill was climbing up through his ankles. Walking on water was nerve-wracking and awkward, but the technique worked. Trying not to become tense, Moonshadow silently mouthed comforting words: if only Groundspider could see this.

He neared the curved, damp wall and made for his target: a small drain outlet breaking the smooth stones roughly ten paces above the moat. A thin stream of water ran from it constantly, making the stones below it shine. It was a narrow duct. The shuko, his claws, and the grip of his sandals should get him up there, but then would come the hard part.

To fit into that drain, he would need to dislocate his left shoulder. If he could manage that tonight as well as he had in training, he could slide through the castle's under-floor drains to the kitchen or laundry. According to Badger's charts of Momoyama Castle, this particular drain outlet did not come from the latrines.

But what if that was a mistake? He nearly shuddered at the idea. If only he could be sure those charts were unspoiled and accurate! There was a risk that the crucial brushstroke he was relying on had actually been a streak of monkey's dung.

He heard some guards bantering, the sounds of a fire being stoked, more general bustle suggesting a large group of men further along the wall. Why so many on the walls tonight? His heart skipped a beat at the thought that he might be expected. So many samurai up there. What if he was caught?

He had heard what warlords did to spies and would-be assassins caught within their castles. Yes, they were executed . . . eventually. First, patient attempts were made to learn who they served, who had trained them, what their objectives were. Thoughts of how this information was extracted made his blood run cold.

Moonshadow concentrated on the drain. It was dead ahead now, quite close, but a strip of well-lit water lay between him and the dim wall beneath it. He stopped, still in shadow, looking up, hovering as he weighed the problem facing him.

A high parapet overlooked his escape route and, from time to time, voices came from it. Moon shook his head. Great stones beside the observation niche blocked his view into it. Was the parapet empty now or not? There could be guards up there, watching in silence. If so, once he moved forward into that brighter patch of water, he'd be seen. Quickly thereafter, he'd be dead.

He had to make a decision. If the parapet was empty right now, he was already wasting valuable time. If he bobbed around out here for too long, the moon would rise and make him a target even a one-eyed archer could hit. Moon glanced in all directions. Forward now, or not? Moon bit his lip, ordering himself to stay calm. But calm was escaping him now. A huge carp noisily broke the surface to his left. Great! This was all he needed . . . an oversized fish to draw attention to him, even in the shadows! At least there was only one.

Another splash. He looked about quickly. A huge school of giant carp was surfacing all around him, perhaps curious about his water spiders. What if their splashing made the guards investigate? What if, any second, one of these stupid fish tipped him over?

Heron knelt alone on a reed mat in the monastery's small kitchen, staring into the teacup between her palms. The kitchen door slid open behind her. She turned to it.

'So,' Eagle nodded, 'it was you I heard. Such light steps. For a moment there, I wondered if a skilled intruder was loose within our walls . . .' he scratched his neck and muttered, '. . . if my time had finally come.'

'Forgive me,' Heron said, returning her gaze to the steam rising from her tea.

'Did it happen again?' Eagle knelt down beside her. 'Another prophetic dream?'

She looked at him anxiously. 'I saw Moonshadow. I saw him standing, balancing on the white-capped waves of a raging sea, dragons rising all around him. Yet he crosses no oceans on his mission. What could the image mean?'

Brother Eagle shook his head. 'Who can say? But the White Nun warned you last year, when you began the lessons with her, did she not? What were her words? Until long into the training, you would foresee true nonsense: a mix of fact and lies.'

'Yes. As if inks of two different colours had spilled together.'

He smiled tenderly. 'Don't let the murky result scare you.'

'But the White Nun also bade me take careful note of what I sensed on waking, remember? Those impressions, the strings of words, have always been far clearer.'

Eagle gave a single nod. 'Indeed. Those riddle-phrases of yours, as I have called them . . . it's true that so far, as best we can judge them, they have come to pass. So what strange words came to you this dark morning? Were they also about our young Moon?'

'Yes.' Heron gave him a frightened glance. 'As I woke, this formed in my mind: he will not return, or he'll return with another prize. One for which he'll bleed.'

'How confusing,' Eagle huffed in frustration. 'Does it mean that if he survives, he'll bring back something other than the prize we sent him after? Or that he'll fetch the plans and some further asset Silver Wolf hoards, one we don't know about?'

Heron shrugged. 'I'm sorry, but I have no idea. In poison, smoke or pole-blade, I am the assured teacher. In matters of this science, but a floundering student.' She fixed Eagle with a pleading stare. 'But I fear for him, how I fear for him now!'

Eagle reached out and, with the back of his hand, gently brushed her cheek. 'Then even though your latest riddle is a tangled forest indeed, I shall act on it.'

'How?' Her face brightened. 'What can you do?'

'Groundspider left with orders to collect three other field agents and then meet the boy when his mission was done. In the light of your – our – new concerns, I'll despatch a rider to our safe inn on the Tokaido near Fushimi. He'll carry coded orders for Groundspider to double the number of men who'll escort Moon home.'

Heron took his hand and kissed it, her eyes shining as she held back tears.

'After all,' Eagle shrugged, 'we might need several agents to help carry this other prize.' His face suddenly darkened and he shook his head. 'Let's just pray it doesn't turn out to be something like the warlord's pet tiger.'