The blade struck out like a bolt of lightning, thrusting for Jack’s heart. Jack spun to one side, evading the blade. Then he sliced with his own katana across the ninja’s neck. The ninja leant back, bending like a reed in the wind, the steel edge of Jack’s sword passing within a hair’s breadth of his mask. Whirling round, the ninja then cut for Jack’s legs. Jack jumped high into the air before bringing his own sword down as if to cleave the ninja in two. His attacker dived aside, rolled out of harm’s way and effortlessly sprang back to his feet.

‘Who sent you?’ growled Jack, his frustration at the ninja’s agility increasing with his concern for Akiko. The fight in the hallway had gone ominously quiet.

The ninja’s continued silence was equally disturbing – just as he probably intended. The only conversation was the conversation of blades as they fought through the length of the gallery and into the Great Hall. The masked ball had been abandoned. The musicians were gone, the stage was empty, the great banquet left to spoil and go to waste. All the guests, the servants – everyone, in fact – had run away, no one willing to risk any possible exposure to the plague.

With the Great Hall deserted, the only sounds came from the roaring of the fire in the hearth and the battling of the samurai and the ninja. Their katanas engaged in a deadly dance; steel against steel singing out. Jack soon found himself pushed to the limit of his skills. The ninja seemed to have a counter to his every attack, an answer to his every riposte, almost as if he could read Jack’s next move.

Jack realized he had to do something different, something unexpected – just as he had in his duel against Sir Toby. But before he could work out what, the ninja struck the back of Jack’s blade twice in quick succession. The sudden double hit disarmed Jack of his katana and it clattered to the floor. An instant later the razor tip of the ninja’s sword was pressed to his throat. Jack stood stock-still, feeling his racing pulse pump against the sharpened steel. An ounce more pressure and the blade would pierce his artery and he’d bleed to death like a stuck pig.

But Jack was more stunned at the ninja’s sword technique than his own imminent demise … Autumn Leaf strike.

Somehow the ninja knew Masamoto’s Two Heavens!

‘Before you kill me, at least tell me who you are,’ begged Jack, staring into the dark hooded eyes of his assassin.

Keeping the kissaki firmly to Jack’s throat, the ninja turned the blade with his left sword hand. Firelight rippled along the steel’s hamon, guiding Jack’s gaze to the sword’s bronze tsuba, where the rays of a sun kamon could be seen, glinting.