THE WATCHMAN FROZE.
Taro cursed silently. He and Shusaku could move without noise, almost without disturbing the leaves of the trees, or the air that stirred them. But the others were not vampires – they broke twigs, and they twisted their ankles in holes, and gasped, and bumped into trees.
Just now, even worse, Hana had cried out when a thorn tore her cheek.
They were close enough to the river that they could hear it, babbling its incomprehensible song. The watchman before them was deep into the undergrowth, farther than he should be, his bearing that of a young man anxious to please his superiors. He began to pick his way towards them, suspicion darkening his features, looking from left to right, trying to identify the source of the sound.
Taro looked behind him, but they had inched through thick vegetation, and they would not be able to retreat quickly enough. To their left, the river formed a fast, cold, treacherous barrier.
To their right lay the vast army of their greatest enemy.
Taro saw the others crouching low, as the watchman came inevitably, unstoppably towards them. He held his breath.
That was when Hayao pushed loudly forward through the brush, putting a hand over his mouth as he yawned deep and long. He hailed the watchman heartily. ‘Gods, I hate this camp,’ he said. ‘Get the call of nature and you have to force your way through thorns to relieve yourself!’
The watchman laughed. ‘True,’ he said. ‘Still, could be worse. You almost got a bullet in the gut for your trouble!’
‘Now that,’ said Hayao, ‘would not pass so easily.’
The watchman frowned – he was close enough that Taro could see the wrinkles on his forehead, through the leaves. Then, after a moment, he guffawed. ‘Ha!’ he said. ‘That was a good one.’
Taro still hadn’t breathed out. He couldn’t believe that Hayao had done this – put himself in danger to save them. Nevertheless, the samurai did still wear Lord Oda’s mon. The army might just assume he belonged there – as he had, until his lover’s ghost began to kill him. He would have to hope that no one recognized him from the battle of Mount Hiei.
There had been no time to say goodbye – it had all happened so quickly. Taro sent a farewell with his mind, and at that moment Hayao turned and winked at him, and he was sure his message had got through. He smiled, as he listened to the two samurai chuckling and sharing anecdotes about camp life, their voices getting quieter as Hayao led the watchman skilfully away from the friends.
‘Some day,’ said Shusaku, under his breath, ‘you’ll have to explain exactly what you did for that man. It must have been pretty special.’