Assassin's Touch (38 page)

Reiko leapt from her corner as she whipped the knife from behind her. Yugao scrambled to her feet. Howling in rage, she lunged for Reiko. Reiko gave up hope of capturing Yugao. It would be enough if she got herself out of the house alive. She ran for the door, but Yugao sprang into her path and slashed furiously at her. Reiko dodged, jumping sideways, ducking her head, as the knife carved wild swathes through the air and cut her robes. The fabric swished in tatters as she wielded her own knife, parrying Yugao’s slashes. Yugao moved so fast that there seemed to be a hundred blades whizzing around Reiko.

“You could have stopped him!” Yugao screamed. She struck with such ferocious power that every collision of their blades almost knocked Reiko’s out of her hand. “But you pretended not to see. You let him do it. You treated me as if it was my fault!”

She sliced through Reiko’s sleeve. Reiko felt pain sear her upper arm. She faltered. Yugao was a tornado of waving arms, flying hair, and foul curses. Her knife whistled past Reiko’s ear. Reiko felt warm, wet blood trickle down her neck.

“He was mine!” Yugao shrieked. “You took him away from me!”

Insane with fury, she chased Reiko around the room. In her mind Reiko saw the bloody footprints in the hovel. Yugao was reliving the night of the murders. She thought Reiko was her mother and sister.

“You let me kill him. Now you’re going to die!”

33

On the lower roof of the house, Sano thrashed and heaved, trying to throw Kobori off him. Kobori hung on. His hands struck, his fingers jabbed, his knees and elbows gouged Sano in sensitive places where nerves intersected. His energy shot like fireworks exploding along Sano’s muscles. Sano yelled in agony as they jerked and seized. He managed to raise his knee between himself and Kobori. He pushed with all his strength.

Dislodged, Kobori flew backward. He fell, somersaulted toes over head, then sprang upright. Sano staggered to his feet. Every part of him ached. He swayed like a scarecrow in the wind, while Kobori stood poised to attack again.

“So you think you can take me? What are you waiting for?” Kobori taunted him.

Every breath tore the membranes of Sano’s lungs. Unarmed combat had never been his forte, and six months of sitting at a desk hadn’t helped. He recalled how rusty he’d been when he sparred with Koemon, and his friend hadn’t been trying to kill him. Fighting panic, Sano sought to distract Kobori and prevent him from concentrating his body’s and mind’s energy into a death-touch.

“I’m waiting for you to realize that your crusade is pointless,” Sano said. Maybe he could also demoralize and weaken Kobori. “The war is over.

“It’s not over as long as I’m alive,” Kobori said. “You’ll be my biggest conquest.”

They advanced on each other, Sano’s gait hobbled by pain, Kobori’s surefooted and deliberate. Sano raised his hands, preparing to strike or defend as best he could. Kobori curved his back. He moved with his elbows bent, one arm raised, the other hanging loose. His eyes took on a strange sheen. Energy radiated from him like a vibrant, frenetic hum just beyond the range of hearing. Sano could see his face and hands in sharp detail, as if they gave off their own light, in contrast to his black clothes. Only a few paces separated Sano and Kobori, when Kobori leaped into the air. His legs flew at Sano. One foot tapped Sano’s chin just under his bottom lip.

Sano felt his teeth slam together, his head snap back. He reeled and fell to his knees. His vision swam as if the light but powerful blow had loosened his eyes. Kobori was standing in the same spot as before he’d struck. He’d attacked and retreated so fast that it seemed he hadn’t moved at all and he’d projected his image, and his force, at Sano. His energy hummed; his grin flashed narrow and bright.

“Your turn,” he said. “Or are you giving up?”

No matter how hopeless his situation was, Sano refused to yield. He struck out at Kobori. But Kobori slid away from the blow. Sano tried again, and again. Kobori seemed to know what Sano was going to do before Sano did. He was never where he’d been when Sano struck at him. He disappeared, then reappeared elsewhere, as though flashing in and out of existence. Frantic, Sano threw his fist at Kobori’s ribs. Kobori blocked the blow. His knuckles slammed Sano’s wrist.

The breath whooshed out of Sano. His chest caved in. He slumped over, gasping like a fish on dry land, amazed that the blow should affect his body so far from the point of impact. Kobori must have channeled his energy along his nerves from his wrist to his lungs. As he fought for air, Kobori raked his fingers across the skin beside Sano’s right eye. Sano felt momentarily dazed, as if he’d just woken up in a strange place with no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there.

Kobori had struck nerves that impaired his mind.

Terror bit deep and hard into Sano. Every attack he launched came back at him. The only time he made contact with Kobori was when Kobori parried one of his blows and simultaneously dealt him another. Sano staggered while Kobori kicked his legs, jabbed his back and shoulders. With each strike Kobori uttered an explosive breath, like the
whup
of burning tinder dashed with kerosene. Nausea and vertigo accompanied the pain that flared throughout Sano’s body. He took a swipe at Kobori and knocked himself off balance. As he careened down the roof, Kobori snatched his wrist. He whipped Sano around, and hit him below his navel.

Sano’s heartbeat accelerated to a fast, frenetic drumming. Pressure swelled inside his head, as though it would burst. He shouted above the roar of blood in his ears.

Yugao slashed her blade at Reiko. Reiko whirled, darted, and lashed back, but although she’d won many other battles, she’d never fought anyone like Yugao. Compared to her past opponents, Yugao was an amateur, no match for Reiko’s training or experience. But what she lacked in combat skill, she compensated for with recklessness and determination. Reiko cut Yugao’s arms and face, but Yugao seemed impervious to pain, unaware of her blood spattering the floor as they fought.

Thumps and crashes against the roof punctuated their cries. Reiko was drenched with sweat, panting from exhaustion while she ducked and slashed, pivoted and swung. As Yugao attacked her with undiminished, maniacal strength, Reiko stepped on a loop of cloth that hung from her torn sleeve. It caught her foot. She tripped and sprawled on her back. Yugao came flying at her, the knife raised in her hands. Her face shone with ferocious, unholy triumph. She threw herself toward Reiko. As the knife slashed a downward arc aimed at her face, Reiko grasped her own weapon tight in her fists and lunged up to meet Yugao.

Yugao ran straight into Reiko’s blade. Reiko felt it slice through flesh. Yugao uttered a terrible, piercing, agonized scream. Her eyes popped wide; her hands released her knife and waved frantically. Then she fell on Reiko.

Her weight knocked Reiko flat. The blade sank up to its hilt inside Yugao. Reiko exclaimed as she felt her hands pressed against Yugao’s body, the awful sensation of internal organs cut, and the wet warmth of blood.

Yugao flung out her arms, which broke her fall. For a moment her face was close to Reiko’s. Yugao stared at Reiko, her expression marked by shock, pain, and fury. She pushed herself off Reiko and sat, legs outstretched. Reiko clambered to her feet, her heart thudding, ready to run or fight again if need be. She snatched up the knife that Yugao had dropped.

At first Yugao didn’t move. She gazed open-mouthed at the knife embedded in her abdomen and the blood on her robe. She grabbed the hilt. Her hands trembled, and her breath rasped quick and shallow. With a hoarse groan, she pulled out the knife. A fresh gout of blood spilled. Yugao raised her head and met Reiko’s gaze. Her complexion had gone dead white, and blood drooled from her lips, but she glared with unforgotten rage. Clutching the knife, she dragged herself along the floor toward Reiko. Gasping and weak from pain, she collapsed. She feebly hurled the knife at Reiko. It landed far short of her. Yugao lay curled around her wound.

“Kobori-
san
!” she cried. Sobs wracked her body.

More thuds quaked the roof. Reiko shook her head, too overwhelmed to know exactly what she felt or thought. Under her relief churned a lava of emotions. Footsteps racketed along the passage toward her. Detectives Marume and Fukida burst into the room, accompanied by Lieutenant Asukai and her other guards. Hirata trailed in after them.

Marume exclaimed, “Lady Reiko!” He and the other men gaped in surprise at Yugao, who lay weeping on the floor, calling for her lover. They stared at Reiko, who realized she was dressed in rags and covered with blood from Yugao, Tama, and her own countless minor but painful cuts.

“Are you all right?” Fukida said anxiously.

“Yes,” Reiko said.

“Where’s Chamberlain Sano?” Hirata demanded.

“He’s on the roof, fighting Kobori.” The words slipped unbidden from Reiko. As soon as she spoke them, she knew they were true. Every instinct told her that the noise she heard was her husband and the Ghost embroiled in combat, and that Sano was in mortal danger. She cried, “We have to help him!”

The men rushed from the room. She followed their stampede down the corridor.

Dizzy from pain, Sano flung wild, desperate punches at Kobori. Kobori smote his ribcage. A fit of shaking seized him. He fell, his body twitching uncontrollably as Kobori stood over him.

“I’ve heard that you’re a great fighter. I’m disappointed in you,” Kobori said.

Terror compressed Sano’s vision and shrank the world. All Sano could see was Kobori, his face radiant, eyes afire with dark light. Sano’s physical strength was all but gone. Struggling to collect his wits, he dimly remembered what the priest Ozuno had said to Hirata:
Everyone has a sensitive spot. I was never able to find Kobori’s, but it’s your only real hope of defeating him in a duel.

“I’ve heard about you, too,” Sano said, barely able to think, speaking on instinct. He swallowed blood and mucus; he pushed himself upright. “From a priest named Ozuno. I understand he was your teacher.”

A beat passed. “What did he say?” Kobori’s tone was indifferent, but Sano could tell he was only pretending he didn’t care what Ozuno thought of him.

“He said he disowned you,” Sano said.

“Never!” Kobori spoke with such haste and fervor that Sano knew Ozuno’s rejection of him still hurt. “We had a difference in philosophy. We went our separate ways.”

Sano praised the cosmos for blessing him: He’d found Kobori’s sensitive spot. It was Ozuno himself. “You joined Yanagisawa’s elite squadron,” Sano said. “You used your skills to commit political assassinations.”

“That’s better than what Ozuno and his brotherhood of old geezers did,” Kobori said. “They were content to preserve the knowledge for posterity. What a waste!”

Sano was glad to feel Kobori’s energy diverted from himself. His strength revived, and although he was still dizzy, he managed to regain his feet. “I understand. You wanted more than you could get from the brotherhood.”

“Why not? I didn’t want to be a provincial samurai and spend my life guarding the local
daimyo
’s lands, keeping bandits away and the peasants in line. Nor did I want to dedicate myself to Ozuno’s obsolete traditions. I deserved more.”

“So you sold yourself to Yanagisawa.”

“Yes!” Kobori hastened to justify himself: “Yanagisawa gave me a chance to be somebody. To move in bigger, higher circles. To have a purpose in life.”

Sano comprehended that Kobori’s motives went beyond the usual Bushido code of obeying a superior. They were personal, and so must be his reasons for his crusade against Lord Matsudaira. “Well, now that Yanagisawa is gone, so is your purpose. Without him, you’re nothing again.”

“He’s not gone forever. I’m creating such a panic in Lord Matsudaira’s regime that it will soon fall. My master will return to power.”

And then, Kobori believed, he would regain his own status. Sano saw that Kobori was only waging war for Yanagisawa because their interests coincided. Kobori’s personal pride, not the honor that bound a samurai to his master, was at issue. As a fighter he was invincible, but his pride was his weakness. It had suffered a huge blow when Ozuno disowned him, and another when Yanagisawa had fallen and taken him down, too. Now it needed one more, decisive blow.

“Do you want to know what else Ozuno said about you?” Sano said.

“What do I care?” Kobori said, annoyed as well as clearly eager to know. “Save your breath and maybe you’ll live a little longer.”

Sano thought that the longer he kept Kobori talking, the better his chances of survival. “Ozuno said you never completely mastered the art of
dim-mak
because you didn’t finish your training.”

Indignation tinged Kobori’s expression. “I quit when I’d learned everything I could from him. I surpassed him. Did he mention that he tried to kill me and I beat him up?”

“He said you’ll never fulfill your potential,” Sano said, putting more words in Ozuno’s mouth. “You could have been the greatest martial artist in history. But you’ve wasted your training and your talent and your life. You’re nothing but one of a thousand
rōnin
outlaws.”

“I am the greatest martial artist! I’ve proved it tonight. Tomorrow he’ll know he was wrong about me. He’ll smell the smoke from the funeral pyres of all the men I’ve killed here.” Goaded into a rage, Kobori shouted, “And he’ll breathe your ashes along with theirs!”

He lunged at Sano, multiplying himself into an army that struck Sano repeatedly from all directions. But even as Sano jerked, spun, and cried out in pain, he perceived that Kobori had lost self-control. The insults to his pride, and his fear that his crusade would indeed fail, had gotten the better of him. He struck without caring whether he hit lethal points, venting his anger at Ozuno on Sano. His breaths now sounded more like sobs than like flames igniting. Sano sensed that Kobori wanted to torture him more than kill him. He forced himself to endure and suffer, biding his time.

Kobori slowed his movements, confident now of his victory over Sano, if not his future. Sano deliberately fell onto a gable that jutted from the roof. Kobori reached down to grab him. Sano’s eyes were so awash in blood and sweat that he could barely see. Guided by blind instinct, he shot out his hand and locked it around Kobori’s wrist. His fingers found two indentations on the bone. He squeezed with all his might.