“Might.” The boy squinted at him. “You been in the army?”
“Yes. And I’m better with a sword than those fools.”
“Good. Got a good army record?”
Tora shifted uneasily. “Well…”
The boy grinned and slapped his shoulder. “Don’t worry. That’s good, too. Just so long as they’re not looking for you.”
“They wouldn’t be looking for me here anyway.”
“Where you from then?”
“The North Country.”
The boy clapped his hands. “Kata will like that. He says they’ve got tough fighters up that way. Yes, I’d say you’ve got a good chance. Mind you, he expects loyalty. Me, I’ve worked for him almost two years now. I’ll soon be a regular and get my lessons for free.”
“What sort of work?”
“I’m a runner now. The fastest there is because I know my way around. And I keep my mouth shut. That’s important in this business.”
I bet it is, thought Tora. “You’re a bright kid. You’ll go far.”
The boy nodded. “I know. And I’m not afraid.”
“Well,” said Tora, “if you can help me get the job, I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“You tell me how to act and who to talk to, and if all goes well, I’ll give you some lessons to get you started. I can use a sword and a pole better than any of them.”
But the youngster balked a little. He cast a nervous glance toward Kata, who was shouting at an unfortunate student. “Are you really good?”
Tora jerked his head toward the alley behind the school. “Let’s go back there and I’ll show you.”
The alley was deserted. One side was the mostly blind wall of the training school, and the other a long line of half-broken fencing separating the alley from the backyards of poor dwellings. A few empty sake barrels rested against the wall, and a pile of kitchen garbage had gathered near a wooden shed. Tora waited. In a moment the skinny youngster opened the back door and emerged, carrying two wooden swords.
Tora extended his hand for one of the swords. “Just a little sample. That move your master was teaching just now? It’s called ‘The Whirlwind,’ and it should be done like this.” He demonstrated with an explosion of movement that made his arms and legs a blur, causing the air to whistle around his out-flung sword arm. He finished with a sudden jump that brought the point of the sword against the boy’s throat.
The youngster shrieked and fell backward into the dirt. Tora grinned down at him. “Like that, see? You slash at as many as you can, making some room for yourself, and then you go for the leader. That stops the rest, but if it doesn’t, you kill the bastard and start over again. I’ve never had to do it more than once. By then they’ve got the message and run.”
“Amida.” The youngster got to his feet, his eyes big with wonder. “I’ve never seen Kata Sensei move like that.” Then he added loyally, “But I figure he could.”
Tora doubted that Kata would teach that particular trick, because he had just invented it. The problem with it was that it left your back unprotected when you stopped whirling to attack a single opponent. But the youngster would not know that. So he grinned lazily and perched his backside on one of the upturned barrels. “Now it’s your turn. What’s your name?”
“Kinjiro. And you?”
“Tora.”
“Tora?” The boy looked impressed. “If they call you Tiger, you must be famous.”
Tora said modestly, “Nah. Would I be looking for a job if I were?”
Kinjiro said fervently, “Well, I think you’re great. And if you aren’t famous, you will be.”
Tora nearly blushed at so much admiration and began to wonder if this young sprout of a cutthroat might be salvageable after all. But he doubted that his master would take on another obligation just now, especially one of such dubious promise, and put the thought firmly from his mind. He said, “Thank you. Someday you may have such a name, too. You know a lot already. Speaking of that, can you tell me about a big fellow with a trimmed beard? He was with your boss. Nicely dressed. About forty, I’d say. We had some words. I didn’t like his manner and I doubt he liked mine. Who is he?”
“Uh, oh! I bet you messed with Sangoro.” The boy clapped his hand over his mouth and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t mention that I called him that. He wants to be known as Matsue Sensei.”
“Sensei? Is he a teacher like Kata?”
“Matsue Sensei is a master swordsman. He doesn’t waste his time with ordinary fighters.”
“Or so he says.”
The boy grinned. “Maybe you’ll show him, eh? I don’t like him, because he beats me. But he’s the boss’s friend. Maybe he’s in the business. I wouldn’t know because I’m not allowed in the meetings.” His face lengthened. “Matsue Sensei might make trouble for you. The best thing to do is to talk to the boss when he’s not around. Once you’re in, show the boss what you can do. Matsue Sensei’ll have a hard time getting rid of you then.”
Tora gravely thanked him for the advice.
The youngster asked, “Will you show me how to handle my sword now?”
The impromptu lesson was inconvenient, because someone might come at any moment, but a deal was a deal, and Kinjiro had passed on some useful information. Tora picked up the sword again and showed Kinjiro various stances. His private opinion was that the slight, bandy-legged boy would never develop the muscles, height, or weight needed to handle a heavy sword. But the exercise reminded him that he had become rusty himself. They used to have sword or pole practice every morning in the courtyard-he, the master, and Genba. But lately the master rarely had the time, and when he did, he practiced with Yori, who had become very enthusiastic about swords. Genba had turned into a lazy slug. Perhaps signing up with Kata was not such a bad idea. There was some small risk that Kata would recognize the ragged, unshaven Tora as the companion of the official who had asked nosy questions about Matsue, but Kata had never seen him close up. Tora felt his chin. Perhaps in a day or so he could grow enough of a beard to be safe. The temptation of getting inside the gang was too much to resist.
“Tora?”
Not much harm in teaching the kid a few tricks. He might need him in the future. “Pay attention, Kinjiro,” Tora said. “There’s more to being a fighter than learning moves. Think about it: Every time two men meet with swords, one will be the winner and one will be dead. Never get into a quarrel lightly.”
“I don’t plan to lose,” said the boy with a toss of the head. “And if I do, I deserve to die. That’s a fighter’s fate.”
“Hmm. Yes. But always keep death in sight. If you forget it, you’ll make a mistake and death will rudely remind you.”
The boy nodded. “That’s very good. I shall remember it. Now show me what I must do.”
Tora sighed and assumed his position. “Watch me. You must train your body to obey you perfectly, and most especially you must think to protect yourself. So, first of all, always stand sideways to your enemy. See? He’s got less to strike at that way.”
The boy watched and followed Tora’s example.
“Crouch down a bit more. Make sure your shoulders are no higher than your enemy’s sword hand. No, put your weight on the forward knee. Right. Now stretch the other leg out behind you. That allows you to lunge, twist, or retreat instantly.” He demonstrated.
The boy grinned and lunged. Tora twisted aside and, lashing up with his sword, easily disarmed him.
“Ouch!” Kinjiro rubbed his wrist. When he tried to pick up his sword again, his hand would not obey.
“What’s this?” drawled a lazy voice behind them. “How dare you injure this child?”
Kinjiro cried out, “It wasn’t like that, Matsue Sensei. Tora was teaching me.”
Tora turned and saw two men. Both were tall. One-a stranger-was as thin and lanky as a scarecrow; the other was Haseo’s double. Tora finally had a good look at their mysterious stranger. Matsue did the same with him. His scrutiny was unfriendly. “Tiger?” he sneered. “You look like a mangy cat.”
Matsue bore a certain superficial resemblance to Haseo. It was probably greater at a distance and due to the way he walked and held himself. His face was actually quite different. The eyes were smaller and colder, more calculating than Haseo’s. Haseo had not had much to smile about, but when Tora had met him, the joy of having escaped and the thrill of holding a sword again had lit up his face like the sun. This man’s smile was tight, contemptuous, and spiteful. Tora reacted with instant loathing. He cocked his head and snapped, “I may look like a mangy cat, but I got claws for rude bastards like you.”