Jack was slumped on the cold stone floor of his cell, his head hanging between his knees. While he appreciated his friends’ attempts at humour, his heart was too heavy. They hadn’t even been in England a day and they were prisoners in the city gaol, awaiting trial for crimes they hadn’t committed. They could be incarcerated in this hell-hole for days, weeks … even months before they were brought before a court. Would he ever see his sister?

‘I’m so sorry for dragging you all the way to England,’ he mumbled. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you to come.’

‘Forever bound to one another,’ reminded Akiko with a weak smile.

Yori jangled the heavy iron shackles round his wrists. ‘You can say that again!’

Like Yori, Jack was also shackled to a wall, but Akiko, being a girl, had been spared such undignified treatment. ‘You must think England is a living hell,’ he said.

‘It’s … not exactly what I’d pictured,’ Akiko admitted kindly. ‘But I’m with you, and that’s what matters.’

Jack looked across to her prison cell. Weak sunlight squeezed through the bars of the tiny window above, casting a pale glow across her delicate features. He loved Akiko for her unwavering loyalty to him, but, despite that, she couldn’t hide in her eyes the dismay and disbelief at what they’d experienced since arriving in London. And who could blame her! Jack, too, was astounded at the sheer savagery and uncivilized nature of his fellow countrymen, as well as repulsed by the primitive living standards compared to those in Japan. No wonder the Japanese considered Westerners to be barbarians. After seven years away from home, Jack no longer recognized his country. He was a stranger in his own land.

‘How’s your shoulder?’ he asked, feeling guilty not only for dragging Akiko to this sorry country but for embroiling her in a duel.

She peeled away the silk of her kimono, the blood now dry, and peeked at her wound. ‘It should be fine,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘although it’s a little painful. How about you?’

‘All good,’ lied Jack. In fact, he hurt all over; the numerous puncture wounds from Sir Toby’s rapier still smarted as if he’d been rolled through a steel thorn bush. To add to his bleak mood, he couldn’t forget that he’d been defeated in the duel. Never would he have believed that the samurai sword could be bettered, yet Sir Toby’s rapier had proved an exceptionally nimble and effective weapon. His opponent had scored multiple strikes before Jack had managed to find any sort of weakness in his swordplay. If the rapier hadn’t broken, Jack was convinced that Sir Toby would have run him through.

‘Nam-myoho-renge-kyo-nam-myoho-renge-kyo …’ Yori had begun chanting to himself, his shackles clinking in rhythm. Jack knew his friend was meditating, trying to distance himself from their dire circumstances.