His adversary knew exactly what he was doing: body open but side-on, feet planted wide, blade hidden behind the torso, only the pommel of the sword visible. In such a stance, Jack couldn’t see the length of his opponent’s sword and therefore wasn’t able to safely judge the range of its attack. Furthermore, with the sword concealed, he couldn’t see the orientation of the blade, so had no clue as to his opponent’s intended first cut.

Seizing upon Jack’s momentary hesitation, the plague doctor struck. His blade arcing through the rain like a lightning bolt, the sheer speed of the attack took Jack off guard. He barely managed to slip aside and deflect the cut with the edge of his own blade, before being driven back on to the bridge with a second slice upwards. Jack jerked his head away, but not quickly enough. He felt the sting of steel as the tip of the katana just caught his chin. The cut wasn’t deep but it bled freely.

Fired up by the indignity of first blood against him, Jack retaliated with his own series of slices and slashes. But the plague doctor proved to be a formidable opponent. Every cut was met with steel; every thrust evaded with catlike agility; every slice ducked, dodged or deflected. Jack fought with fury, calling on all his skill as a samurai. Still the plague doctor matched him, strike for strike, cut for cut.

Suddenly the whole bridge shuddered. Debris in the water below had struck it, and Jack lost his footing on the slippery planking, falling backwards. The plague doctor wasted no time in taking advantage of Jack’s misfortune. Standing over him, he held his katana to the heavens, ready to drive the steel straight through Jack’s undefended chest.

But then, like a battering ram, a tree trunk carried by the surging river smashed into the bridge, taking out the central supporting posts and splitting the structure in two. The plague doctor leapt back on to the bank, to avoid tumbling into the raging waters below. Jack, stranded on what was left of the far end of the bridge, desperately reached out, clinging on to a plank for dear life. He dangled over the churning river, one hand gripping the collapsing structure, the other still holding on to his sword.

He would have to make a choice: either drop into the flood waters … or let go of his precious katana.

From the bank, the plague doctor watched, wordless and wicked, relishing Jack’s predicament. But in the end Jack didn’t have to make that choice. A hand reached down and took his arm.

‘I told you you couldn’t do it alone,’ said Akiko, pulling him to safety. Together they raced for the bank as the remains of the broken bridge were swept away, victims of the swollen river.