Jack glanced up to see a burly dockhand, flanked by two other young brutish lads. They wore shirts and breeches and had a rough unkempt look born of a hard life lugging cargo.

‘It’s not a skirt – it’s a hakama,’ Jack corrected, standing up straight and allowing the full length of his black wide-pleated trousers to show.

The dockhand smirked. ‘Looks like a skirt to me.’

Jack bristled, his hand coming to rest on his samurai sword. Unabashed, the dockhand now eyed Yori in his saffron robes and over-sized straw-bowl hat. ‘And what are you supposed to be?’

Yori frowned. ‘I’m not supposed to be anything. I’m a monk.’

‘You look like a mushroom!’ the dockhand said with a snort.

His two friends laughed raucously. Then the dockhand’s eyes fell upon Akiko in her shimmering silk kimono, her long dark hair straight as an arrow down her back. ‘’Ello, and what do we ’ave ’ere?’ He swaggered up to her. ‘You’re a precious piece of cargo.’

‘Don’t you dare touch her!’ warned Jack.

The dockhand shot him a sidelong look as he took hold of Akiko’s hand and drew her to him. ‘Why? What are you going to do about it?’

‘Nothing,’ Jack replied coolly. ‘It’s what Akiko will do to you.’

All of a sudden, the dockhand’s eyes flared wide in shock and pain as Akiko twisted his arm into a nikyo wrist lock. The lad dropped to his knees, gasping in agony.

‘Help me!’ he cried to the others.

Fists clenched, the two other boys rushed to attack, but Yori stepped aside to let them pass and nonchalantly stuck out his ringed staff, catching one of them by the ankle.

‘Oops!’ said Yori, watching his victim tumble over the quayside and into the water. The boy was swiftly followed by his friend, as Jack grabbed the second boy by the lapel of his shirt and executed seoi-nage, the shoulder throw, sending him sailing through the air and into the Thames with a splash.

The dockhand remained on his knees, confounded by Akiko’s apparently miraculous strength. Jack knew it was all in the technique. He strode up to the ill-mannered dockhand and took over nikyo from Akiko.

‘Show some respect to our guests,’ said Jack. ‘In Japan, it is polite to bow.’

He applied more pressure to the wrist lock, and the dockhand, grimacing with pain, lowered his head until his face was buried in the pile of horse dung. Akiko raised an eyebrow at Jack. ‘I think he’s learnt his manners now.’

Reluctantly Jack let the dockhand go and the lad slunk away, spluttering and retching. After throwing a line to the two boys still floundering in the water, Yori approached Jack with a wry smile.

‘What a warm welcome to England!’

2: Cheapside