“Left wheel! Shoulder arms!” shouted Sergeant Hankei.

Jimmu knew that he could stand the drilling, but being patient was going to be difficult. Nichiren had honed him like a weapon, and he was eager to rid the world of Lord Ankan’s evil influence.

One of the skills that Jimmu had acquired was the ability to sleep for precisely as long as he chose, and now he woke himself in the middle of the night. While his eyes slowly accustomed themselves to the gloom, his ears sifted the air. He heard the breathing and snoring of the other men around him, a rush of wind beneath the eaves, the eerie call of a night bird.

Jimmu had willed himself to wake because he wished to explore Mitsukage Castle in secret. Nichiren had drummed the castle’s layout into him so thoroughly that Jimmu could sketch it from memory, but he was keen to see the reality for himself, and discover what changes might have been made over the past seven years. In particular, he wanted to familiarize himself with the route to Lord Ankan’s apartments.

“The cost of perfection is constant practice,” Nichiren had told him on countless occasions. “Practice until you no longer have to think about what you’re doing. Practice until it becomes as natural as breathing.”

Tonight, Jimmu intended to practice the killing of Choju Ankan.

But what if I’m found out? he thought. What if a member of the night watch challenges me?

Excitement and fear caused Jimmu’s heart to beat faster.

I am a hunter in the night, he thought. My footstep is silent, my body is invisible.

When he was calm, Jimmu felt for the dagger he had wrapped in a black sash and hidden under his sleeping mat. He got up and stealthily picked his way between the slumbering guards. Outside in the corridor, he slipped the dagger inside his shirt, and tied the sash around his head so that only his eyes showed. At the end of the corridor, he mounted a staircase to the upper floor and paused. Somewhere to his left lay the private quarters of the Choju family. In his imagination, Jimmu pictured himself hurrying in the opposite direction, his hands still wet with Lord Ankan’s blood, uncoiling a length of rope from around his waist. One end of the rope was attached to a grappling hook, which he secured to the base of a window frame. Then he lowered himself down the outer wall of the castle, plunged into the moat, swam across, and . . .

The vision faded away. It was nothing more than a sour joke. There was no escape from Mitsukage Castle, and Jimmu did not expect to leave the place alive.

The sound of approaching footsteps made Jimmu spring across the corridor. He pressed himself tightly against a wooden pillar and kept as still as possible. The footsteps drew closer; Jimmu held his breath.

A guard passed by, muttering to himself.

“Night duty!” he grumbled. “I ought to be taking it easy at my age.”