The Shogun’s samurai were proving relentless in their hunt for Jack. As a foreigner, a gaijin, Jack had been banished from Japan. But he was also a samurai warrior. Having fought against the Shogun in the Battle of Osaka Castle, he’d been accused of treason. It didn’t matter that he was a mere boy of fifteen. There was a price on his head and, as a gaijin samurai, he was wanted dead or alive.

The dirt track ahead looked deserted. There was no movement among the bushes, nor any sounds to betray a hidden enemy. But Jack trusted Miyuki’s instincts. Being a ninja, her senses were highly attuned to danger.

‘Ten or so men passed through here,’ Miyuki whispered, studying a patch of downtrodden grass. ‘Less than an hour ago.’

‘Which way were they headed?’ asked Jack, not wishing to cross their path.

‘That’s the problem,’ she replied, her dark eyes narrowing. ‘They went in all directions.’

At once, Jack understood what she was implying. An ominous feeling like the tightening of a noose seized him. His awareness heightened by the potential threat, he scanned the undergrowth a second time. Having trained in the Art of the Ninja himself, he knew what signs to look for. Almost at once, he spotted several broken stems among the bushes as well as debris disturbed underfoot. He then realized the forest was too quiet and the birds had stopped their singing.

‘We have to get out of here!’ said Jack, shouldering his pack to run.

But it was already too late.

A flutter, like the wings of a startled sparrow, heralded the ambush. Ducking at the very last second, Jack dodged the steel-tipped arrow targeted for his head. It clipped his straw hat before embedding itself in a nearby tree trunk. A moment later, a troop of fully armed samurai burst from the bushes on all sides and charged towards them.

Instinctively, Miyuki, Saburo and Yori formed a protective circle round Jack.

‘We won’t let them take you,’ Yori promised, holding his shakujō in both hands. The wooden staff with its pointed iron tip and six metal rings was the symbol of a Buddhist monk. But it was also a formidable weapon. The rings jingled as the fearful yet valiant Yori braced himself for the fight.

‘And I won’t let them harm you,’ said Jack, knowing that Yori as a monk preferred to avoid confrontation.

He drew both his katana and wakizashi. A parting gift from his closest friend Akiko, their perfectly balanced razor-sharp blades glinted in the early morning light as he raised them into a Two Heavens guard. Likewise, Saburo unsheathed his katana in preparation to do battle. Although he’d trained at the Niten Ichi Ryū with Jack, he hadn’t been taught the legendary double-sword technique.

‘At least the odds are better than last time,’ Saburo quipped, referring to the forty bandits they’d confronted in Tamagashi village the month before.