The Wrath of Silver Wolf (6 page)

A demonstration of dark shinobi arts that he
had once watched in his castle came back to him
in vivid detail. Silver Wolf glanced at the corridor.
Forget the mousy innkeeper. A more practical –
and entertaining – idea was forming.

But there were other matters to deal with first
if the mission was to be launched on time.

'Katsu!' the warlord demanded. 'What of
the support for this man that I charged you
with organising? Before we call in the other . . .
help
. . . brief me on that!'

'At once, my lord.' Katsu bowed. 'On his way
north, Chikuma-San will be met by Wada, an old
sumo training partner of mine who now works as
a very successful bounty hunter. Put simply, the
fellow is special. He feels virtually no pain. No
one knows why.'

'No pain at all? Is that a good thing?' Chikuma
narrowed his eyes.

Katsu gestured expansively. 'It is if you're a
fearless human battering ram.'

'Good.' Silver Wolf folded his arms. 'Inventive,
I like it. But, detective, what of my requested
candidate? Did you find
her
?'

'Yes indeed, great lord. As you bade, I sought
out the lady . . . Kagero.'

The two samurai guards tensed at the mention
of her name.

'As a freelance assassin and bounty hunter,'
Katsu said, 'her reputation is second to none.'

'True!' Chikuma volunteered. 'Though she's an
"independent" these days, the lady Kagero is well
regarded by we of the House of Fuma. Originally she
was
a Fuma agent. But after arranging a lucrative
ongoing contract for our masters, she successfully
negotiated . . . leaving us. Such arrangements are
rare, and offered only to the best.'

Silver Wolf nodded. He had learned something
new: shadow clan members could buy their
freedom! Even their proud, ancient houses were
swayed by money in the end. But only the elite
could hope for that; deserters and failures . . . Well,
everyone knew what happened to them at the
hands of the very people who had trained and
often raised them.

Katsu blinked delicately. 'She was expensive,
lord.'

Silver Wolf nodded, staring mildly back at
Katsu. He had expected that.

At their meeting last year, Lord Akechi had
told Silver Wolf of her. 'Kagero is some kind of
sorceress,' Lord Akechi had said, eager to impress
with his recently acquired knowledge of contract
killers and catchers. 'And middle-aged or not, she
slew the great Kaiho Shundai of Edo. Without a
sword. She never uses one.'

'How then?' Silver Wolf had asked, lowering
his sake cup. 'Kaiho was strong.'

'No one knows,' Akechi had answered. 'The
swordsman's wounds – and there were many –
were unique.'

Silver Wolf's mind returned to the present,
and the order of business. He sneered. Business.
A real
age of peace
word. Now even preparing for
war had become business, a series of barter-and-promise
meetings. Help me do
this
. . . I'll later
give you
that
. Some wanted money. Others land.
A few simply craved vengeance. But the old ways
were the best, for they were the ways of the true
warrior; of pride and courage, of sword and bow
and horse! That was how disputes were settled and
rulers decided, and he had to steer this country
back to that while it still had a soul.

When all his alliances were in place, when
this temporary, foolish Shogun's spies – the real
tetsubishi in his sandal – had been swept aside,
then he would take this land. And with it, his
birthright to power. He would take it the old
way. Through a forest of spears, on a mountain
of corpses, down a river of blood if necessary, he
would hack and smash and capture his way to the
real
throne of the empire. It was his destiny!

Akechi and the greedy merchants were either
soft, or lost in the era's pathetic new school of
thought – business, money – but they were still
proving keen allies.

True, they didn't care about destroying the
Grey Light Order as much as he did; for them, that
little war wasn't
personal
. But they were happy to
help him remove all who stood with the Shogun,
convinced that once in office, Silver Wolf would
indeed reward them with land and titles, money
and payback, just as he had promised. He half-smiled.
When the time arrived, maybe he would.
And maybe he'd simply have his huge, unified
army destroy them. After all, if they'd betray one
Shogun, they might later betray
him
. For the future
stability of his empire, they might all be better off
dead . . .

'Well, Katsu, we shall speak of the price of
Kagero's help later.' The warlord gave his hireling
a shallow nod. 'For now at least, everything else
seems to be in place. I am particularly pleased with
how you handled our grand opportunity – the one
that brought us such pivotal, rare information.'

'It was nothing I did, lord.' Katsu averted
his eyes. 'He was an old travelling monk, in the
process of losing his mind to age. Plying him with
sake and tricking him into revealing such a vital
secret was no feat of skill on my part. Verifying his
information was actually more taxing! In all truth,
my master, we were simply lucky!'

'Perhaps so,' Silver Wolf smiled malevolently.
'But what you chanced upon through him now
helps me strike down the dogs who guard my
enemy's gate!'

He drew in a deep breath. Katsu thought it
mere luck, but the detective's chance encounter
with an ancient, half-mad pilgrim up north had
proved no idle twist of fate. It all confirmed that
Silver Wolf's path was, in the end, a glorious
destiny. He thrust out his full chest. Yes, he had
been born to save Japan, to purge her, wash her
clean – in blood.

Katsu dipped his chin, revelling in his master's
favour. 'Thank you, lord. Those violators of your
privacy will soon be as hapless as your other sworn
enemies.'

'Well said!' The warlord rubbed his hands
together. 'Now, a final matter.' He looked around
commandingly. 'I have funded one more specialist
to support this mission. This one I included for
several reasons. He is totally disposable. He is
not samurai and therefore brings no house into
disrepute if captured then disowned. And he has
relentlessly petitioned me to re-employ him – at
very low rates – owing to his personal vendetta
with an agent of the Grey Light Order. With which,
of course,' he grinned, 'I heartily sympathise. And
don't mention the limp.'

Silver Wolf gestured to his younger bodyguard.
The samurai gave a sharp whistle.

From down the corridor came the innkeeper's
voice. 'Sir, they call for you!'

A familiar scruffy man limped into view in
the doorway. Silver Wolf took in the fellow's
wily eyes and long, unkempt hair. Jiro, gangster
and throwing-knife expert. He hadn't changed
much. Still that same thick, untidy beard and loud
patterned jacket denoting an urban gang member.
The warlord squinted. Something
was
different.
Jiro's neck and forearms had always been covered
in red and green tattoos of textured dragons and
carps. Now the artwork had spread to his face.
Calligraphy ran down one cheek.

'Great lord.' Jiro bowed, a little awkwardly. 'An
honour to serve you again.'

'Welcome.' Silver Wolf eyed him. 'What is that
writing on your face?'

Jiro straightened up. A wince implied his bad
knee was bothering him today. 'It reads,
pledged
to avenge
.' Fire filled his eyes as he added, 'It's a
lifelong commitment.'

Silver Wolf smiled. Perfect! Jiro
had
changed,
and not just in appearance either.

When first in the warlord's service, Jiro had
been injured during an encounter with the Grey
Light Order agent called Moonshadow. Silver
Wolf knew only that Jiro held this Moonshadow
responsible for his ruined leg.

Perhaps he'd been stewing on it throughout
his recovery. There was a new sense of steel to
Jiro now, a single-minded determination. Had the
urge to get even driven him to develop as a killer?
Maybe, the lord nodded. He'd seen that process
before in men, many times. Hate was a powerful
poison. It helped drive
him
too.

His eyes flicked left and right and Silver Wolf
caught his bodyguards scowling. That was to
be expected. Samurai despised gangsters, took
offence at sharing the same air as them. These two
were no doubt disgusted by the prospect of serving
alongside one.

Chikuma turned and examined Jiro, then
caught Silver Wolf's attention.

'Yes?' the warlord inclined his head. 'What is
it? You may speak freely.'

'Great lord, a gangster with a gammy leg? In a
small strike force, the potency of every member is
crucial. I seek no trouble here, but . . . what can
he
contribute?'

Silver Wolf glanced at Jiro. So much for
don't
mention the limp
. Chikuma obviously cared little for
diplomacy and already the gambler was simmering
with anger. This could prove
very
entertaining. He
just needed to keep a rein on things, set limits so
that nobody died or was maimed. Hirelings were
expensive; it was frivolous to waste their peculiar
talents by making them fight like dogs on some
whim. Tempting, though.

No, he sighed. Nobody here could die yet.
There was work to do, people to kill.

'Call the innkeeper!' he ordered his samurai.
The strapping youngster bowed neatly. As before,
a hasty summons was issued in the form of a
whistle.

The small man quickly appeared, hunching in
the doorway with eyebrows raised.

'Bring me two plain, cheap fans. Run out and
buy them if you must. Hurry!'

'My lord,' the innkeeper swooped into a low
bow, 'I think I have just what you need.' He turned
and scuttled away down the corridor's cherry wood
floorboards.

'Jiro,' Silver Wolf said. 'When he returns with
the fans, I propose a demonstration. Chikuma-San
here will open each fan, then throw them into the
air without warning. Bring them down, without
leaving a mark
anywhere
in this room.'

Chikuma's face contorted with surprise. 'Is he
really that good?'

'You'll see, pretty boy,' Jiro mumbled.

'So you accept this challenge?' Silver Wolf
asked. 'Think you can do it?'

The gangster gave a half-nod, half-bow. 'Yes,
lord.' His wrists crossed, both hands disappearing
between the lapels of his bright, loose jacket.
Along with the bodyguards, Silver Wolf flinched
involuntarily. The oldest samurai took a short step
towards Jiro.

'As you will see,' Jiro sniffed, 'I have taken my
craft to a new level.'

Jiro drew out a bo-shuriken in each hand,
apparently from twin concealed holsters. The
warlord stared at the uncommon straight
throwing knives. Each was black, cast from iron,
about the length of a man's hand, fingertip to
wrist. A tapering grip lay between the double-edged
spear-like blade at one end and the small
ring at the other.

Silver Wolf scratched his jaw thoughtfully. Jiro
had formerly used circular, star-shaped shuriken.
Converting to this very different design was no
small accomplishment.

Bo-shuriken were the hardest kind to use; they
were bladed at one end only, so if the spinning
throw was mistimed, the ring end hit the target and
the knife merely bounced off it. Their advantages?
Bo-shuriken had a proper grip, so if used deftly,
were ideal for stabbing in a close-range fight. The
ring on the end could be used as a tiny club. It was
also a tying point when securing the black knives
in spring-loaded or rope traps.

The innkeeper slid into view in the corridor,
a plain folding fan open in each hand. Silver
Wolf stared at them: oiled, unmarked white paper
and dark wooden spokes. Simple and light.
Ideal
.
Holding the fans up, the innkeeper smiled warily.

'Well done!' Silver Wolf nodded. 'Now, close
the fans and give them to
him
.' He gestured at
Chikuma.

The innkeeper shut the fans and bowed low,
then approached Chikuma like a crab, shuffling
in a series of tight little sidesteps, avoiding eye
contact with the shinobi. Keeping his face turned
away, the innkeeper leaned, his outstretched hand
trembling as he passed Chikuma the fans. The
agent took them with a wry, knowing smile. After
shuffling back to the door, the little man bowed
hurriedly and made his escape.

Remarkable, the warlord observed. Even a
lowly, untrained peasant sensed something fearful
in Chikuma of Fuma. He couldn't wait to find out
what it was.
Soon
!

'Are you both ready?' Silver Wolf looked from
Jiro to Chikuma and back. Each man nodded.
'Good. One fan at a time, I think. Begin!'

Chikuma flashed Jiro a sceptical glance, then
opened the first fan and threw it up.

It wheeled and fluttered unevenly into the
centre of the room at about head-height. There
was a sharp
hiss
, startling Katsu, Silver Wolf and
his guards, as a dark blur streaked across the room
from Jiro's hand into the white, tumbling triangle.
The bo-shuriken's impact swept the fan across
the room. It flailed to the matting like a wounded
bird. The warlord stared down at it. That black
iron throwing knife had pierced paper
and
wood,
buckling the fan while bringing it down. So these
bo-shuriken had another advantage: they were
heavier than the circular kind, striking harder,
cutting deeper.

Most impressive!

The guards blinked at Jiro, their faces betraying
a new, reluctant respect. Katsu stared at the fan,
his nose creasing. Even Chikuma of Fuma nodded
admiringly.

Jiro's eyes gleamed. He turned and stared at the
shinobi. It wasn't a friendly look. 'Oi, pretty boy!
I'm warmed up now, see? Throw the second one
up –
closed
.'