‘When the time is right,’ declared the poet. ‘Upon rising, the great tidal streams flow in from both east and west and meet just offshore from Tomo. When falling, they recede again in both directions – taking us and every soul upon this boat along with them. Tomo Harbour isn’t merely a stop-off upon a journey, it’s a place to wait for the “tide of life” to turn.’

At that moment, the samurai burst out of the brewery. They began to accost any pilgrim wandering along the harbour. Some soldiers backtracked into the village, while others worked their way towards the jetty. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, Jack and his friends could only sit and watch as the samurai advanced. Jack realized this was a turning point in his life. He and his friends would either escape or die, their fate seemingly dependent upon the pull of the moon.

Two of the samurai had already boarded the first boat in line, when the captain of the pilgrims’ ship gave the order to unfurl the sail and cast off. Jack felt the sweat on his brow as he prayed their captain wouldn’t notice the disturbance further down the dock.

The samurai were now running along the jetty to stop any more vessels leaving. On-board their ship, Jack exchanged a worried look with Miyuki. At this rate, they had no hope of escaping. The soldiers were halfway down the jetty when the boat eased away from the harbourside, the breeze filling the sail.

But its progress seemed excruciatingly slow to Jack and his three anxious companions. Shouting to the captain, the samurai were sprinting headlong to draw level. Luckily, the wind buffeting the sail muffled their cries and the captain remained focused on navigating through the narrow mouth of the harbour. All of a sudden, their boat picked up speed. Caught by the ebbing tide, Jack and his friends were carried out with the current and into the haven of the Seto Sea.

For the first time in over a year, Jack truly felt at ease. They’d escaped the samurai and he was back at sea. Saburo was fast asleep, snoring, his face shaded from the bright spring sunshine by his pilgrim hat. Yori was exchanging haiku with the poet, while Miyuki, vigilant as ever, was keeping a watchful eye in case a boat followed them from Tomo. But their vessel was making such headway that Jack knew it would be impossible for the samurai to catch up now.

Jack sat upon the prow as their boat cut through the waves. Every so often he risked a glance up, relishing the breeze upon his face, and breathed in a deep lungful of sea air. The boat’s constant pitch and roll was as comforting as a mother’s arms. And the rushing lap of water against the hull sent a familiar thrill through him. He was back in his element.