‘That’s good,’ he lied, not wishing his friend to give up hope. ‘Now, can you feel your hands?’

Saburo blinked once. No.

‘Hang on in there,’ urged Jack. ‘Miyuki says if you can just survive the night, you’ll make a full recovery.’

Two blinks.

Yori remained at Saburo’s side, deep in prayer. Jack stood and joined Miyuki where she was tying his pilgrim jacket to the bars as a sunshade for Saburo. It was now mid-afternoon, the sun relentless as the pirate ship continued on its southern course. Jack helped her secure the last corner.

‘So how many people have survived fugu poisoning?’ asked Jack under his breath.

Miyuki thought for a moment. ‘One.’

Jack stopped what he was doing and stared at her in disbelief.

‘That I know of,’ added Miyuki hurriedly. ‘It was Soke. That’s how I knew what to do to limit the poison.’

‘So what happens if Saburo stops breathing?’

Miyuki chewed her lower lip, her expression uncertain. ‘If it comes to that, I’ll have to breathe for him.’

Jack furrowed his brow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll blow air into his lungs – hopefully keeping him alive until the poison wears off and he can breathe on his own again.’

Jack had never heard of such a bizarre remedy, but he trusted Miyuki and the mystic healing abilities of the ninja, having benefited from their skills himself.

‘Can’t you also use kuji-in?’ he suggested.

Miyuki considered this. ‘Ninja magic won’t have any effect on the poison … although Sha might keep his heart and organs strong. It’s worth a try.’

Miyuki knelt close to Saburo. Clasping her hands together, she extended the index finger and thumb to make the hand sign for Sha. With eyes shut, she moved her hands in figure-of-eight patterns over his chest and chanted the healing mantra.

‘On haya baishiraman taya sowaka …’

Saburo’s laboured breathing seemed to calm almost at once. Sitting next to Miyuki as she performed the ritual, Jack used his pilgrim stole to waft cool air over Saburo’s prone body while Yori continued to pray, each of them doing what they could to save their friend’s life.

It was too late for the captain, however. Although his body still twitched occasionally, the poison had seeped into every limb and muscle. His eyes flickered around in despair, his life ebbing away with each feeble breath.

‘He’ll be fish food soon,’ the Korean slave muttered. ‘We’re all fish food.’

The gate opened. The pirate boy hefted a large cooking pot, which he dumped in the middle of the cage. A thin gruel of rice water slopped over the sides. The prisoners leapt hungrily at it, feeding like a pack of wild dogs.