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Praise for the Young Samurai series:
‘A fantastic adventure that floors the reader on page one and keeps them there until the end. The pace is furious and the martial arts detail authentic’ – Eoin Colfer, author of the bestselling Artemis Fowl series
‘Fierce fiction … captivating for young readers’ – Daily Telegraph
‘Addictive’ – Evening Standard
‘More and more absorbing … vivid and enjoyable’ – The Times
‘Bradford comes out swinging in this fast-paced adventure … and produces an adventure novel to rank among the genre’s best. This book earns the literary equivalent of a black belt’ – Publishers Weekly
‘The most exciting fight sequences imaginable on paper!’ – Booklist
School Library Association’s Riveting Read 2009
Shortlisted for Red House Children’s Book Award 2009
Longlisted for the Carnegie Medal 2009
Chris Bradford likes to fly through the air. He has thrown himself over Victoria Falls on a bungee cord, out of an aeroplane in New Zealand and off a French mountain on a paraglider, but he has always managed to land safely – something he learnt from his martial arts …
Chris joined a judo club aged seven where his love of throwing people over his shoulder, punching the air and bowing lots started. Since those early years, he has trained in karate, kickboxing, samurai swordsmanship and has earned his black belt in taijutsu, the secret fighting art of the ninja.
Before writing the Young Samurai series, Chris was a professional musician and songwriter. He’s even performed for HRH Queen Elizabeth II (but he suspects she found his band a bit noisy).
Chris lives in a village on the South Downs with his wife, Sarah, and two cats called Tigger and Rhubarb.
To discover more about Chris go to www.youngsamurai.com
Books by Chris Bradford
The Young Samurai series (in reading order)
THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR
THE WAY OF THE SWORD
THE WAY OF THE DRAGON
The RING OF EARTH
THE RING OF WATER
For World Book Day 2010
THE WAY OF FIRE
For the Pocket Money Puffin series
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Disclaimer: Young Samurai: The Ring of Water is a work of fiction, and while based on real historical figures, events and locations, the book does not profess to be accurate in this regard. Young Samurai: The Ring of Water is more an echo of the times than a re-enactment of history.
Warning: Do not attempt any of the techniques described within this book without the supervision of a qualified martial arts instructor. These can be highly dangerous moves and result in fatal injuries. The author and publisher take no responsibility for any injuries resulting from attempting these techniques.
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Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
puffinbooks.com
First published 2011
Text copyright © Chris Bradford, 2011
Cover illustration copyright © Paul Young, 2011
Map copyright © Robert Nelmes, 2008
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrators has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-141-96162-0
In memory of Nan and Grandad, always watching over me
CONTENTS
Map: The Japans – 17th Century
The Letter
1 The Amulet 2 Arrest 3 Ronin 4 Robbed of Memories 5 The Riddling Monk 6 The Ring of Water 7 A Troubled Past 8 Tanuki 9 One Dead Samurai 10 Crossroads 11 Shadow in the Night 12 The Thief 13 The Merchant 14 Breaking and Entering 15 A New Plan 16 The Gambler 17 The Bodyguard 18 Onryō 19 Band of Three 20 Drunken Fist 21 Umeshu 22 Inro 23 Kyoto 24 Metsuke 25 By Order of the Shogun 26 Yagyu Ryū 27 Back to School 28 Plum Flower Poles 29 Death Threat 30 Waterfall Duel 31 On a Knife’s Edge 32 Broken 33 Hinin 34 Buddha’s Nose 35 Sasumata 36 Daimyo Sanada 37 The Rules 38 A Game of Go 39 Constellations 40 Life and Death 41 A Parting of Ways 42 Drugged 43 Live Target 44 Bullseye 45 Mount Jubu 46 Mugging 47 All Mad 48 Riddle Me This! 49 The Answer 50 The Lake 51 The Bridge 52 Honour and Sacrifice 53 Washed Away 54 Secret Blade 55 Hana 56 Redemption 57 Ronin Jack
Notes on the Sources Riddle Me This … The Game of Go Japanese Glossary Acknowledgements
THE LETTER
Japan, 1614
My dearest Jess,
I hope this letter reaches you one day. You must believe I’ve been lost at sea all these years. But you’ll be glad to know that I am alive and in good health.
Father and I reached the Japans in August 1611, but I am sad to tell you he was killed in an attack upon our ship, the Alexandria. I alone survived.
For these past three years, I’ve been living in the care of a Japanese warrior, Masamoto Takeshi, at his samurai school in Kyoto. He has been very kind to me, but life has not been easy.
An assassin, a ninja known as Dragon Eye, was hired to steal our father’s rutter (you no doubt remember how important this navigational logbook was to our father?). The ninja was successful in his mission. However, with the help of my samurai friends, I’ve managed to get it back.
This same ninja was the one who murdered our father. And while it may not bring you much comfort, I can assure you the assassin is now dead. Justice has been delivered. But the ninja’s death doesn’t bring back our father – I miss him so much and could do with his guidance and protection at this time.
Japan has been split by civil war and foreigners like myself are no longer welcome. I am a fugitive. On the run for my life. I now journey south through this strange and exotic land to the port of Nagasaki in the hope that I may find a ship bound for England.
The Tokaido Road upon which I travel, however, is fraught with danger and I have many enemies on my trail. But do not fear for my safety. Masamoto has trained me as a samurai warrior and I will fight to return home to you.
One day I do hope I can tell you about my adventures in person …
Until then, dear sister, may God keep you safe.
Your brother, Jack
P.S. Since first writing this letter at the end of spring, I’ve been kidnapped by ninja. But I discovered that they were not the enemy I thought they were. In fact, they saved my life and taught me about the Five Rings: the five great elements of the universe – Earth, Water, Fire, Wind and Sky. I now know ninjutsu skills that go beyond anything I learnt as a samurai. But, because of the circumstances of our father’s death, I still struggle to fully embrace the Way of the Ninja …
1
THE AMULET
Japan, autumn 1614
For one terrifying moment Jack remembered nothing.
He had no idea where he was, what had happened to him, what he was supposed to be doing. He didn’t even know who he was. Desperately, like a drowning man, he clung on to any memory he had.
My name is Jack Fletcher … from London, England … I’m fifteen … I have a little sister, Jess … I’m a rigging monkey on-board a trading ship, the Alexandria … No! I’m a samurai. I trained at a warrior school in Kyoto … the Niten Ichi Ryū …BUT I’m a ninja too … That can’t be right – the ninja Dragon Eye killed my father!
Jack’s head throbbed and he felt himself blacking out again. He tried to fight the sinking sensation, but didn’t have the strength to resist. His fragmented mind was slipping away, dragged back into unconsciousness.
An incessant drip … drip … drip of water brought him round. Through the dense fog clouding his mind, Jack became aware of rain. Heavy rain, pummelling the wet earth and drowning out all other sounds. Forcing his eyes open, Jack discovered he was lying on a rough bed of straw. Water was seeping through a thatched roof and falling on to his face.
The drip was infuriating. But Jack’s body ached so much he struggled to shift himself out of the way. Turning his head to one side, he groaned with pain and came face to face with a cow. Chewing morosely on some cud, the animal stared back at him, clearly begrudging the fact that she had to share her lodgings. As far as Jack could tell, the cow was the only other occupant of the small stable.
Painfully easing himself up on one elbow, the room swimming before his eyes, Jack felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He retched on to the straw-strewn floor, green bile spewing from his mouth. The cow was even less impressed by this undignified display and moved away.
Beside the improvised straw bed, someone had left him a jug of water. Jack sat up and gratefully had a drink, washing his mouth out before taking a large gulp. Swallowing proved difficult. His throat was raw, the acidic contents of his stomach having burnt their way out. He took another sip, more carefully this time, and the pain eased a little.
Jack realized he was a mess. His lower lip was split, his left eye swollen. Dark bruises covered his arms and legs, while his ribs felt sore, though on inspection thankfully not broken.
How did I get like this?
He was dressed in a dirty ragged kimono that certainly wasn’t his. The last time he could recall he was wearing the blue robes of a komusō, a Monk of Emptiness, as part of a ninja disguise allowing him to pass freely through Japan. He’d been making his way to the port of Nagasaki in the south, hoping to find a ship bound for England and home to his little sister, Jess.
Panic overwhelmed him. Where are all my belongings?
Jack’s eyes darted around the stable in search of his swords and pack. But, apart from the cow, a pile of straw and a few rusty farm tools, they were nowhere to be seen.
Calm down, he told himself. Someone has been kind enough to leave me water. That someone may also have my possessions.
With a trembling hand, Jack took another swig from the jug, hoping the drink would clear his head. But try as he might he had no memory of the last few days. Jack knew he’d left the ninja village in the mountains and was sure he’d managed to reach the borders of Iga Province unopposed. But beyond that he had no recollection.
Outside, through the open doorway, Jack noticed the rain was letting up. He assumed it was morning, although the sky was so dark with thunderclouds it could easily have been the evening. He had a choice – he could wait for whoever had given him the water to appear, or he could take action and find his possessions himself.
As Jack sat there, summoning up the energy to stand, he vaguely became aware of something clasped in his left hand. Opening his fingers, he found a green silk pouch, embroidered in golden thread with the emblem of a wreath and three kanji characters:
. Inside the little bag was what felt like a rectangular piece of wood. Jack recognized the object, but for a moment its name eluded him …An omamori. That’s it! A Buddhist amulet.
Sensei Yamada, his Zen philosophy master at the Niten Ichi Ryū, had given him one before he’d set off on his journey. It was meant to grant him protection.
But this wasn’t his omamori. His amulet had a red silk bag.
So whose was this?
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2
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ARREST
Jack staggered out of the stable. Swaying with the exertion, his legs gave away beneath him and he collapsed into the mud. For a while he just let the cool rainwater wash over his face until he felt revived enough to try again.
The stable backed on to a simple wooden building, one storey high, with a thatched roof and bamboo walls. There was a single doorway at its rear and Jack made this his next goal. Pulling himself to his feet, he stumbled and half fell towards the entrance. With a final lurch across the yard, he reached the shoji door, hanging on to its frame with relief.
Why am I so weak? Jack wondered as he recovered his breath.
Sliding open the door, he stepped inside a tiny kitchen. A pot of fish-noodle soup simmered away over a fire. Ahead was another doorway in which hung a white cotton curtain, split vertically down its centre. Peeking through the gap, Jack saw he was in a roadside tea house. Straw mats were laid upon a raised floor and immediately before him was a counter stocked with green tea and rice wine. There were a few low wooden tables, but otherwise the establishment was unfurnished and basic. One wall was open to the elements, protected solely by a large curtain. The wind rippled in waves along the sodden cloth.
In the far corner Jack spotted an elderly man in an apron, presumably the owner. Short with spindly legs and thinning hair, the man was haranguing a customer who looked rather the worse for wear. In a plain black kimono marked only with the mon emblem of a white camellia flower, the customer had a ragged beard, wayward dark hair and bloodshot eyes. On the floor next to him were a wide-brimmed straw hat and two battleworn swords – a katana and a shorter-bladed wakizashi. Though they weren’t Jack’s, he knew that the pairing of swords, a daishō, signified the customer’s status as a samurai.
‘You must pay up and go!’ the owner was saying in a firm tone. But judging from the way he was wringing his hands he was scared of the warrior. And rightly so – the samurai were the ruling class in Japan, and the old man, as a lowly tea-house owner, could easily have his head cut off for not showing the appropriate respect.
Ignoring him, the samurai took an irritable swig from his cup.
‘I’ll summon the local dōshin officers,’ the owner threatened.
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The samurai, mumbling something incoherent, slammed a coin on to the table.
‘I’m afraid … that’s not enough,’ said the owner, his voice wavering as his bravado almost broke. ‘You’ve had three jugs of saké since last night!’
Grunting, the samurai fumbled in his kimono sleeves for more money. Another two coins were produced, but he lost his grip on them and the money rolled across the floor. Snatching up the coins, the owner turned back to the samurai. ‘Now you must leave.’
The samurai scowled at him. ‘I’ve paid … for my drink,’ he slurred, clasping a saké jug to his chest. ‘I intend to finish it … all of it.’
The owner appeared unhappy, but the thunderous look in the samurai’s eyes dissuaded him from pressing the matter any further. Retreating with a scant bow, the owner hurried away to serve the only other customer in the establishment, a middle-aged man with a moustache.
Jack was wondering how to get the attention of the owner when he heard a shocked gasp. A girl, not much older than fourteen, had appeared beside the counter and was staring at him in wide-eyed alarm. Slim-faced, with dark hair tied into a bun, she held a tray of teacups that shook audibly in her trembling hands. Jack remembered how appalling he must look and tried to reassure her with a smile. But it hurt his face to even do that.
The girl, putting down the tray, soon recovered herself. She beckoned Jack to enter and sit at a nearby table. Jack was reluctant, concerned about revealing his presence to the samurai. But she was insistent and led him to his seat before disappearing into the kitchen. Jack needn’t have worried about the samurai. He was so drunk he didn’t even look up. The other customer glanced over in surprise, not so much at Jack’s dishevelled appearance as at his foreign blond hair and blue eyes. But with typical Japanese discretion, he merely gave a curt bow and continued his conversation with the owner.
The girl returned with a steaming bowl of noodle soup. Despite the nausea he’d experienced earlier, Jack was ravenous and needed the food to recover his strength.
‘Arigatō gozaimasu,’ he said, bowing and thanking the girl.
Her mouth fell open in astonishment. ‘You speak Japanese?’
Jack nodded. He had his best friend, Akiko, to be grateful to for that. After being stranded in Japan, he was first taught the language by a Portuguese priest, Father Lucius. But the man died not long after his arrival and Akiko took over his lessons. Jack had spent many hours with her beneath the sakura tree in her mother’s garden in Toba, learning about the Japanese way of life. And although he’d lost his memory of the last few days there were some things he would never forget – Akiko’s kindness was one of them.
Looking at the bowl before him, Jack said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have any money.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said the girl, placing a wooden spoon on the table.
‘Thank you,’ he replied, savouring the soup’s mouth-watering aroma.
The girl turned to leave, but Jack stopped her.
‘Please …’ Jack called, so many questions rushing into his head at once, ‘did you leave me the jug of water?’
Offering a shy smile, the girl nodded.
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‘You’re very kind. Perhaps you can tell me where I am?’
‘Kamo,’ she replied, and, seeing the bewildered expression on his face, continued. ‘It’s a village on the banks of the Kizu River. We’re not far from the main town of Kizu itself.’
‘Am I still in the Iga mountains?’
‘No, they’re some two days’ walk east. This is Yamashiro Province.’
At least Jack knew he’d made some progress on his journey home. ‘Did you find me like this?’ he asked, indicating his injuries.
‘No, my father did,’ replied the girl, glancing over at the tea-house owner who now stood behind his counter, observing Jack. The previous customer with the moustache had departed.
‘He found you yesterday morning, left for dead beside the river.’
She looked at Jack’s swollen eye and split lip with concern.
‘I’m OK,’ said Jack, putting on a brave face for her benefit. ‘Do you know if your father has any of my belongings?’
The girl shook her head apologetically. ‘It was just you.’
‘Junko!’ called her father sternly. ‘The soup’s boiling over.’
Bowing to Jack, Junko smiled. ‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ she said, before hurrying into the kitchen.
Alive, yes … but for how long? thought Jack.
He had nothing. No money to buy food. No clothes of his own. No disguise to elude his pursuers. No friends to help him. No swords to protect himself with. And he couldn’t rely on this girl and her father’s charity for more than a few days. After that, he’d be on his own.
Jack took some mouthfuls of soup, wincing as his cut lip stung. But the food’s nourishing warmth began to revive him. By the time he finished the meal, he was feeling a little better, and much stronger.
With some more rest, he thought, I might remember what happened to me.
His most distressing concern was the loss of his father’s prized possession, the rutter. This logbook was the only means of navigating the world’s oceans safely and therefore a highly valuable item. His was one of the few accurate rutters in existence, and its importance reached far beyond its use as a navigational instrument. The country in possession of such a logbook could in effect rule the seas by controlling the trade routes between nations. His father, the Pilot of the Alexandria, had warned him never to let the rutter fall into the wrong hands and Jack had spent the last three years protecting the logbook with his life. It had been stolen once and recovered at great cost, his good friend Yamato sacrificing his life to get it back from the villainous ninja Dragon Eye. So, whatever had happened to Jack this time, the logbook was most definitely in the wrong hands. The question was whose hands?
The only clue to his predicament was the amulet. He studied its green silk pouch. The wreath logo meant nothing to him and, although Akiko had taught him some kanji, his mind was still so addled he didn’t recognize any of the symbols.
Junko brought him a second bowl of soup, which he devoured with equal relish. Draining the last of its contents, Jack decided to ask her about the omamori. It was most likely Junko’s or her father’s, a charm they’d given him to encourage healing. But if it wasn’t then she might know who the amulet belonged to and this could lead him to his possessions and the rutter.
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As he went to beckon Junko over, the curtain shielding the tea house from the road was pulled aside and four armed men entered, followed by the moustached customer. They were dressed officially in black haori jackets, tight-fitting trousers and dark blue tabi socks. Around their heads they wore hachimaki, bandanas reinforced with metal strips. Each man bore a sword on his hip and in his left hand carried a jutte, an iron truncheon with a small prong parallel to the main shaft.
Despite their ominous presence, the owner appeared pleased to see them. ‘I didn’t really think any dōshin would come for him. Not in this weather,’ he said to his daughter. Then, pointing, the owner declared, ‘He’s over there.’
‘We’re not here for him,’ snorted the dōshin leader, looking down his nose at the drunken samurai who now lay sprawled across his table. Nodding in Jack’s direction, the dōshin announced, ‘We’ve come to arrest the gaijin.’
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