‘Just another tree in the forest,’ Yori murmured under his breath, as Jack parted two leather-bound tomes to create space on the shelf. The rutter’s oilskin cover was similar enough to the bindings of Sir Henry’s books and would blend in easily.

What better place to hide a book than in a library? thought Jack. He didn’t want to risk losing his father’s precious logbook to the authorities if he was caught again. As he slid the rutter into the gap he’d made, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled and he was seized by the unsettling sensation of being watched. He spun round. But there was no one there. His friends, still clustered by the door, were no longer even looking his way.

Yet Jack couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling. His gaze swept the library … the empty fireplace … the vacant chair … the row upon row of books … until it finally settled on the window overlooking the street. The sun had long since set and the thoroughfare had become a murky underworld lit by the faintest of moonlight. Jack peered out into the night and what he saw made his heart stop and his blood run cold.

A shadow stood in the darkness. Black against black. Unmoving. A silhouette of a man, sinister and spectral.

Jack couldn’t speak … couldn’t scream … could barely even breathe. Against all reason, he saw Dokugan Ryu – Dragon Eye – the ninja who’d killed his father, who’d hunted him mercilessly, who’d dragged Yamato to his death.

Yet that was impossible. The assassin was dead. So too was his kagemusha, his successor and doppelgänger. Then Jack recalled the final words of Dragon Eye’s shadow warrior: ‘I’ll haunt you to your grave, gaijin.’

A shudder ran down Jack’s spine. For what he saw was more terrifying than any ghost.

Jack flinched as the door to the library rattled and Akiko and the others threw their full weight against it.

‘Muss be locked,’ slurred Sir Francis on the other side.

‘I’ve had enough of this drunken nonsense!’ growled Sir Toby. ‘Back to the party.’

The footsteps receded down the corridor and, when all was silent, Akiko peeked out. ‘They’re gone,’ she whispered.

When Jack turned back to the window, the shadow was gone too.

18: Prophecy

The sun had barely risen above the horizon when Jack and his friends left the city through Newgate and headed west along the old Roman road. Sir Henry’s stable boy, yawning and rubbing his eyes, had provided them with horses, saddles and some basic provisions. Even at this unearthly hour in the morning, the highway was bustling with traffic: messengers in their riding gear, farmers driving their cattle into market, travellers in their carriages bound for Oxford. But the further they left the capital behind, the more the traffic thinned out until they were seemingly the only ones on the road.