The Wrath of Silver Wolf (8 page)

'You're quite sneaky.' Snowhawk creased her
nose. 'I'll remember that.'

They stared at each other. Her eyes grew
softer. He felt his stomach flutter, his face blush.
Snowhawk blinked suddenly and turned away,
fussing with her hair. Gesturing once for Moon to
follow, she paced off quickly into the town.

He trailed her, shaking his head. Girls.
So
strange. Hard to figure out, because they seemed
to say one thing but feel another. Snowhawk
had said she was proud of him, but the way she'd
acted also made him feel like a reckless showoff.
Why else mention Groundspider? It was
confusing. So did she admire what he had just
done, or not?

As he caught up to her, a droning temple bell
from the far end of town announced that it was
midday, halfway through the Hour of the Horse.

Closely packed buildings lined the main street
all the way to the heart of the town, where the
road flared into a central square around a circular
stone well. Rows of folding booths, partially
covered stalls, were arranged along the outer lines
of the square. Most displayed a string of coloured
flags above the counter or table of their selling
area. The flags were marked with large characters
describing what they sold, what was
on special
.

Between the stalls and the well, more vendors
had set up banks of trestle tables or rugs on the
square's packed gravel floor. Along each, their
products were neatly laid out.

Local peasant farmers and townsfolk were
pouring into the square now, a few selling produce,
most just shopping. Hearing an Edo accent, Moon's
head turned sharply.

He and Snowhawk followed the voice to a table
selling winter quilts shaped like giant kimonos. A
stodgy, one-eyed man haggled energetically with
a young woman carrying a baby in a sling on her
chest. They watched him, then traded frowns. No,
probably harmless. Not everybody up here from
Edo was a spy. Moon smiled. Just them.

A set of flags read 'Doctor Fish can make you
young'. Moon and Snowhawk exchanged curious
grins then approached the stall. Below the flags,
it contained only a skinny, open-faced peasant
behind his counter, a large iron pot filled with
water, and a hanging abacus for calculating payment
rates. While they looked on, an elderly
lady used the stall's services. She bowed and paid
Doctor Fish. He smiled and gestured. She plunged
her hands into the pot. Moonshadow shuffled
closer, watching intently.

Something teemed in the cloudy water in a
frenzy of tiny bubbles.

The lady flinched twice, then, urged by the
vendor, withdrew her hands. They gleamed in
places, pink and shiny. Doctor Fish can make
you young? It was sort of true; the woman's hands
no longer matched the rest of her skin. They
looked . . . younger.

'Thousands of tiny fish.' Snowhawk shook her
head. 'They eat the dead skin off.'

Moon grinned in fascination, then moved to
the stall next door, where two soft-eyed women,
a mother and daughter perhaps, were selling
handmade water containers fashioned from cells
of giant bamboo. A dense little crowd surrounded
their table.

Somebody pushed Moon from behind, quite a
hard shove. Moon hung his head and hissed with
irritation. Were those stupid bullies trying for a
rematch? Or was Snowhawk playing a prank on
him? If so, now
she
was acting like Groundspider!

He whirled around, his eyes lining up with the
biggest chest he had ever seen in his life. Moonshadow
gasped. After blinking with astonishment,
he took in its owner.

A mighty fellow, obviously a sumo wrestler,
loomed over him. His great arms looked impossible,
thicker than any human limbs should be. His
massive body had the girth of a young cedar tree.
The giant wore a sky-blue jacket and matching
pants that were tied at the knees. Moon stared up
at the man's face. Clean-shaven and dull-eyed, his
features were as meek as his form was powerful.
Moon glanced down at his sandals. They held
enormous, ogre-like feet the size of water barrels.
Like his forearms, the man's ankles and shins were
covered in bruises and scars. Some looked to be
very recent.

He seemed to have no weapons. But why would
he need one? He
was
one.

The wrestler shoved Moon again, his massive
fingers digging into one shoulder. Moonshadow
stepped back and found himself trapped against
the stall's table. He gripped the instant throbbing
in his shoulder, glowering up at the sumo.

'What's the idea, high-pockets?' he sneered.
'That hurt! You ought to think about your size
compared with others before you go doing that.
What's the matter? Did I push in front of you?'
Moon gave a wary bow, keeping his eyes on the
man. 'Forgive me.'

'No. No forgiving,' the wrestler said slowly. 'You
are my enemy.' He brought his hands together in
front of Moonshadow's face and loudly cracked his
sizeable knuckles.

The crowd around Moon and the sumo quickly
broke up. Whispers filled the air.

'Do you give up?' the wrestler asked patiently.
'You
should
give up.'

Moon couldn't stop his mouth falling open.
This was too bizarre. He was being threatened,
challenged in fact, in the mildest, flattest, least
angry voice he'd ever heard.

'Give up now,' the sumo persisted nonchalantly.
'You will be my prisoner.'

The man's entire manner was ridiculously
calm, almost lethargic, which provoked Moonshadow
to laugh. He fleetingly took his eyes from
the sumo to hunt for Snowhawk. Where was she?
Before that first shove she'd been right –

As he glanced back at the wrestler, a high-pitched
scream broke the even gaggle of marketplace
voices. Moon's head snapped in its direction.
Between jagged ranks of fleeing peasants, he saw
Snowhawk ducking low. Then he saw a man with
his arm extended. He'd just thrown something
at her.

A scruffy man . . . who he recognised at once.

'Jiro,' Moon breathed. 'The shuriken gangster.'
So he
was
still alive.

He let out a startled cry as huge hands clamped
his ribs, and his feet left the ground. The sumo
wrestler yanked his victim up to his own eye level,
holding Moon out at arm's length as if he was
unclean. It appeared to be absolutely no effort for
him.

'Will you give up then?' the giant asked placidly.
Moon snarled and shook his head. The sumo
wrestler sighed. 'Very well, then. It's your fault.'

Moon opened his mouth to retort but the
wrestler, moving with blinding speed, hoisted him
overhead.

'Stop! Wait!' Moonshadow roared, looking
down at the top of the fellow's head.

He felt a nauseous rush and suddenly he was
flying, tumbling head over heels.

SIX
Enemies old
and new

Moonshadow landed on a fleeing group of
farmers, banging heads with a man in a
conical straw hat before dropping to the ground,
stunned.

Despite his insulating bedroll, the hand guard
of his hidden sword ground into his spine. Moon
groaned, sat up, shook himself hard. People rushed
away in all directions. Vendors unwilling to leave
their stock behind were cowering inside their
stalls. One man, desperate to protect his exquisite
white pottery, was stubbornly kneeling in front of
his rug of wares.

With a wince Moon realised that his ribs were
badly bruised from the giant's grip. He clambered
to his feet, looking about for Snowhawk. He could
neither see her nor sense her presence nearby.
Gravel crunched. Sharp, closing strides made
him turn.

Side by side, they came towards him: the slight,
limping Jiro, and dwarfing him, the bull-necked,
towering wrestler. Frightened locals dodged past
them, then ran.

Moonshadow's head was still light from
becoming a human cannonball. He couldn't let
that happen again. He stared at the approaching
sumo's enormous hands. Nor fall into
those
bone-grinders
once more.

If he was grabbed, nothing less than his sword
would stop the giant tearing him apart. In a place
this
public, drawing any blade was out of the
question. Moon cursed under his breath.
Even
if his enemies did.
He tracked Jiro, watching the
gambler's hands.

The wrestler and Jiro stopped, about ten paces
away. They glanced at each other. The huge sumo
motioned for Jiro to do the talking.

Jiro greeted Moon with a cackle. 'I love
reunions! Remember me, kid? We have unfinished
business, you and me. Don't bother looking for
your little girlfriend. Sweet that she's stuck with
you.' He gave a cruel sneer. 'But I just stuck her
with one of
these
!'

His hand flashed in and out of his jacket. He
held up something black. A bo-shuriken. What a
nasty surprise. So since their last encounter, Jiro
had upgraded to this oldest style of shuriken, the
classical straight design with a grip.

They were the hardest of all to throw. But they
did the most damage.

The crook was lying about Snowhawk, Moon
decided. She was no easy kill. She'd gone to
ground, that's all. He swallowed – hopefully.

Jiro waved his new weapon. 'Oh, don't look so
amazed.' The gangster sniffed. 'Think it's just you
cockroaches of the shadows who train to better
your crafts?' He thumped his chest so hard the
wrestler flinched and looked at him. 'Well even
the likes of
me
can want that!'

Moon felt daunted. Jiro had changed. A darker
fire drove him now. 'Congratulations,' he told the
gambler, concealing his reaction. 'So what do you
want?'

'Can you guess, kid?' Jiro's mouth quirked to
one side. He limped a step, pointing down. 'I'm
not blaming you for this, not any more. People say
I do, but I'm over it.'

'No blade of mine did that to you,' Moon
replied coolly. 'As well you know.' He looked
Jiro up and down with open disdain. 'I even left
money for them to get you fixed.'

'Sweet of you, kid, but it must have been spent
on someone more valuable. Anyway, forget my bad
knee. Know why I'm still riled at you? You ruined
my record. You and the girl were the only targets
ever to escape me! Let's fix that, shall we?'

The sumo patted Jiro's shoulder with one finger.
'Who is he again?' he asked.

Jiro made an irritated sound. 'Moonshadow,
they call him, just like the sword move.' He rolled
his eyes. 'You see, kid, my large friend here, for
some reason, is a stickler for manners. So he
wants
introductions
before he crushes you into
the dust.'

'You should just give up,' the giant said slowly,
'be my prisoner. Then you won't get hurt, just tied
with rope. I am Wada. Once sumo, now bounty
hunter. Just, uh . . .'

'Just give up,' Moon prompted impatiently.
Wada returned a slow, earnest nod.

With one hand on his hip, Jiro eyed the giant.
'Happy now? Good. Then
get him
!'

At once Wada leaned forward, lowered his
head and broke into a fast, accelerating charge.
Moon shadow felt each impact of the wrestler's feet
through the small stretch of ground that separated
them. In two or three seconds Wada closed the gap.

Moon bent his knees and swung his arms hard
at his sides, pushing off into a leap, straight up.
Once airborne he curled his spine and raised both
knees to his chest.

Wada's scalp of closely cropped hair brushed
the soles of his sandals. The sumo thundered
below him, moving too fast now for a controlled
stop. As Moon's feet hit the ground there was a
commotion behind him: a terrified scream, the
shouts of bystanders, splintering wood and tearing
fabric. Wada was ploughing into a stall like a
runaway bull.

Moonshadow looked over one shoulder. What
had been a little folding shopfront, trading in
charms for safety and good luck, was now a tangle
of broken planks, torn flags and snapped cords.
Tiny charm packets were scattered far and wide.
An ashen-faced, middle-aged lady was being
hauled from the rubble by the back of her pink
kimono. By Wada.

With one hand, he set the shocked woman
down next to her destroyed stall.

'Uh. Sorry,' Wada said sluggishly. Moon
squinted. Wada's shoulder bled, but he appeared
not to know it. He thumbed in Moon's direction.
'His fault,' Wada murmured.

Moonshadow was turning back to face the
gangster when he heard the sound. A sharper hiss
than circular GLO shuriken made, growing ever-louder.
He twisted, evading quickly. The whirling
bo-shuriken passed so close to his eyes that its wake
stung them. Moon cursed. That was a
good
throw!
An accident, or had Jiro markedly improved?

A warning tremor shook the ground behind
him. Moon cartwheeled to one side and Wada
tore past, head and shoulders down, grunting,
flicking up grit and stones. Jiro had to scramble
out of his way. The wrestler changed course just
in time to avoid trampling the terrified man
relentlessly guarding his clay cups and jugs with
his own body.

Jiro let out a shriek and grabbed the back of his
own head. A small rock danced across the ground
behind the gangster's feet. Snowhawk, another
rock in her palm, stalked up behind him. Moon
noticed that she held something behind her back.
But what?

'Oi! Jiro! See what happens when you throw
things?' Her tone and eyes were icy.

The gangster turned around, blurting a startled
curse. 'So I missed you!' He chuckled. 'Never
mind. Let's try again!'

He drew a pair of bo-shuriken from his jacket
with alarming speed. The remaining onlookers and
vendors cringed at the sight of the twin throwing
knives. A young girl started screaming. Taking a
short step forward, Jiro let fly at Snowhawk.

A blurring circle of death hissed sharply across
the marketplace. Moon opened his mouth to
shout a warning but out of the corner of one eye
he saw Wada charging at him. This time there was
a little more distance between them; thus more
time to think.

Wada the bounty hunter was extraordinarily
tough, but once he hit full speed, controlled stops
seemed hard for him. That was something to
work with.

Moonshadow turned and ran, a town watchman
and a pair of woodcutters scattering out of his way.
The giant followed, pounding up behind him,
gaining at a scary pace. Moon glanced to his side
to check on Snowhawk. She was running in a
zigzag near the well, a tin-lined tea-serving tray in
one hand. It was pierced through the centre with
Jiro's knife and now he was lining up for another
throw. Moon changed course and led Wada, right
behind him now, straight between Jiro and his
flitting target.

'Madness!' shouted an old man with a stick as
Moonshadow tore past him. 'Lunatics! You wreck
our town!'

Jiro swore as Wada's thunderous passing blocked
his field of fire. Moon heard heavy breathing at
his back and knew that the giant had closed the
distance between them. He changed direction
sharply and vaulted for the centre of a wide
stall table.

It was strewn with farming implements such as
hand sickles and rice-bale chains, the kind shinobi
clans often converted into weapons. No licence to
grab one today, however.

Moon plunged for the tabletop. As soon as his
feet struck it, he launched himself again, aiming
for the roof of the tent-stall next door.

He landed against its angled fabric on his
side, rolled off before his weight could tear it and
dropped to the ground in a crouch as the stall next
door was noisily destroyed.

Wada's headlong impact snapped the table
in half, flinging tools into the air. Moon glanced
up. A scattered shower of blades and hooks was
about to fall. He skipped instinctively to one
side. A spinning sickle dug into the earth beside
his foot. A young farmer let out a strangled croak
on the other side of the wrecked stall. Moon saw
him struggling to free a chain that had been flung,
whirling, and wrapped around his neck.

The sumo wrestler picked himself up out of the
debris, mangled planks and a narrow digging tool
sliding off his vast back. Blood ran down one of his
cheeks and there was a nasty tear in his left ear.
As before, he didn't seem aware that he'd taken
damage.

Wada shook his head several times as if waking,
then mumbled, 'Sorry . . . sorry.'

Moon looked about. Snowhawk was backing up
to the well, brandishing the tea tray's flat tin base
between her hands. Jiro faced her.
Two
throwing
knives now stuck from the tray. No wonder she
disappeared earlier, Moon thought. She'd quickly
hunted down the right counter-device for the job,
one offering protection without disclosing shinobi
skills. She was amazing! He ran to her side. Jiro
drew two more shuriken from his clothes.
Jiro
!
He'd forgotten that this gangster always brought
so much
ammunition.

The four faced off. Moonshadow locked his
gaze on Wada, who stood hunched, panting as he
stared back, blood dripping from his chin. He was
not going to quit.

Snowhawk's eyes were bright with challenge as
she held up the tray, baiting Jiro with a teasing
smile. He loosened his wrists and squeezed the
bo-shuriken's grips.

Moon tensed. What if Jiro could throw two at
once with the same accuracy?

Jiro lunged forward and hurled the first knife.
Simultaneously, Wada dropped his huge head and
accelerated at Moonshadow.

Moon cursed the timing. What if Snowhawk
took a hit? He glanced sideways fast. She snapped
the tray up in front of her face just as the bo-shuriken
slammed into it with a
thunk
. His eyes flicked back.
Already, Wada was only a breath away, coming at
him with amazing speed, his huge body low to the
ground.

With a growl of effort, Moon somersaulted
backwards up onto the lip of the well. As he
landed, a tremor shook the stones under his feet.
Moonshadow caught his balance and looked
down.

The stones were cut and fitted but not mortared
and the well wall had come apart. Wada's head
and shoulders were wedged between two sections
that had held. Moon heard dislodged stones
tumble into the inky funnel, clicking off the walls
until loud splashes echoed from far below. The
pinned sumo let out a strange groan. Surely he had
felt
that
?

Moonshadow looked up quickly at Jiro.
Someone was approaching behind him. Another
attacker? A woman, one of the locals, so probably
not. She was middle-aged and wore a pink kimono.
Just as Snowhawk had, she was hiding something
behind her back.

Jiro cackled, tapping his second bo-shuriken
on the palm of one hand. 'Aw . . . Moonshadow.'
He grinned, displaying yellowed teeth. '
You
have
no shield!'