The three farmers were treating him with the same wary respect as the night before and Jack could only assume that the girl had kept quiet about their encounter. She now trailed behind, having been burdened with all the cooking utensils, as the five of them trekked out of town and across the Okayama Plain.

With the snow knee-deep, their going was slow and arduous. Jack envied the farmers’ thick straw boots, since the socks and sandals he wore provided little protection from the icy conditions. He stamped his feet as he walked, trying to force some blood back into them, before noticing that the poor girl was barefoot. She trudged on through the snow, bent over with the pack’s weight, her breath puffing out in little white clouds. No longer did Jack feel quite so sorry for himself.

‘Are you sure we can trust him?’ whispered Toge, who forged ahead with Sora. In the still winter air, his voice carried. And Jack, whose hearing was acute thanks to his sensitivity training at the Niten Ichi Ryū, had no trouble eavesdropping on their conversation.

‘We have to,’ replied Sora, his tone despondent. ‘He’s our only choice.’

‘We don’t even know his name,’ Toge hissed.

‘Samurai can be rude like that. They think all farmers are beneath them. Yet where would they be without us, I ask?’

‘But he won’t even show his face. There’s something odd about him –’

At this point, Kunio shuffled up to Jack’s side, interrupting his concentration.

‘Winter’s harsh this year,’ he said, rubbing his hands for warmth.

Nodding, Jack tried to catch the rest of the farmers’ conversation, but Kunio continued chatting.

‘Where have you come from?’ he asked.

‘Kyoto,’ Jack replied.

‘Is it as beautiful as they say? I hear the temples are made of gold and silver!’

‘It’s true,’ said Jack.

Kunio’s eyes went wide with delight and Jack recalled his own amazement when Akiko had shown him the Silver and Golden Pavilions of Ginkaku-ji and Kinkaku-ji.

‘So are you on a musha … musha …’ The boy sought for the correct phrase.

‘Musha shugyō,’ Jack prompted, referring to the warrior pilgrimage that many samurai embarked upon to test their sword skills in life-and-death duels.

‘That’s it! Have you fought anyone yet?’

Jack thought about the time he’d been tricked into a duel with Sasaki Bishamon, a fearsome samurai on a quest for glory. He’d almost been impaled on the man’s sword.

‘Yes, I have,’ replied Jack, an involuntary shiver running through him at the memory.

Kunio stared in awe of him. ‘I’ve never met a real warrior before.’ He glanced down at the swords on Jack’s hip and became mesmerized by the red silk handles. ‘They’re beautiful,’ he said, reaching out to touch them.

‘And deadly,’ added Jack, grasping the hilt of his katana in warning.