But he needn’t have worried. The samurai was drunk and more intent on reaching the next inn to care any further about Jack.

Up ahead a shoji flew open and three men were ejected from the hostelry. A roar of laughter followed as they landed face first in the snow.

‘And don’t come back!’ shouted the innkeeper, wiping his hands of them before slamming the door shut.

The three men picked themselves up and despondently dusted themselves down. Dressed in threadbare smocks and trousers, they looked like beggars or impoverished farmers. Whoever they were, it was clear to Jack that this town had no sympathy for vagrants.

While Jack considered the few options he had left, the three men headed towards him. Although they didn’t look like fighters, they outnumbered him and, given his weakened condition, posed a threat. As they drew closer, Jack’s hand instinctively went to his swords. His frozen fingers could barely grip the handle of his katana and Jack wondered if he’d even have the strength to fight them off.

‘Go on!’ said the apparent leader of the group, a sour-faced man with hollow cheeks and thin weathered lips. He shoved the youngest forward.

Jack stood his ground.

The young man, a nervous individual with a missing front tooth and jug-like ears, asked, ‘Are you a … ronin?’

Jack simply nodded that he was a masterless samurai and made to walk on. But the young man stepped into his path. Jack tensed in readiness as his challenger summoned up the courage to make his next move.

Taking a deep breath, the young man blurted, ‘Do you want a job?’

2 Rice

2

RICE

Jack was dumbfounded at the suggestion.

‘We can pay you,’ said the third and eldest man, who possessed only a few strands of hair on his otherwise bald head.

Jack hesitated. He certainly needed the money. But looking at their dishevelled appearance, he wondered how they could afford to pay anyone. Even if they could, taking a job was too much of a risk. How could he trust them? His identity was bound to be discovered. His journey would be delayed. Besides, their offer was most probably a trap.

Shaking his head, he walked away.

‘Please … hear us out,’ the old man insisted, an imploring hangdog expression on his wrinkled face. ‘At least join us for supper. We’ve freshly cooked rice.’

Jack’s stomach growled at the thought. And the old man’s desperation appeared genuine. What had he to lose simply by listening? His need for food outweighing his better judgement, Jack agreed. ‘But I’m not making any promises,’ he added.

‘We understand,’ said their leader, bowing in acknowledgement. ‘Come this way.’