Summer was almost over, but nevertheless, by midday the forest was sweltering. Buzen, a bandit with a bad squint, kept watch, while the others lazed about, chatting or dozing. A few would have loved to crack open a cask and celebrate, but Toshiro had forbidden it and no one dared to disobey.

The driver was seated with his back against one of the cartwheels. He was a skinny man, with a straggly black beard and bulging eyes. The corners of his mouth were pulled down, giving him an expression of pure misery. A rope had been wound around his chest to bind his arms tightly against his sides. Every now and then he rocked forward and back, as if he were trying to comfort himself.

“You won’t kill me, will you?” he whined, to no one in particular. “I don’t deserve to die! Just let me go. I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

Kichi, a stubble-faced thug who was lying near the cart, aimed a kick at the driver.

“Be quiet!” said Kichi. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, sir!” the driver squeaked. “I won’t speak again. I’ll be so quiet that you’ll forget I’m here, so quiet that—”

He broke off when he saw Kichi point to the dagger at his waist.

Toshiro sat slightly apart from the others. He was pleased, and his smile resembled the smile on a statue of Lord Buddha. His mind was busy with magic, transforming wine into rice, salt, warm clothing, and blankets. He would have liked to buy horses so that the gang could range more freely, but horses were too expensive. Perhaps the gang would be able to steal some mounts on their journey north to their winter hideout in the mountains.

“Someone’s coming!” Buzen hissed urgently.

Several of the gang sat upright.

Toshiro’s hand clutched the hilt of his sword.

“How many?” he asked.

“One man on foot, alone.”

Toshiro relaxed.

“One man?” he said. “He’ll probably run like a hare as soon as he sees our ugly mugs, eh, boys?”

A few chuckles greeted his words.

Toshiro relaxed even more when the solitary stranger appeared at the edge of the clearing, because he was a boy of sixteen or seventeen. When he caught sight of the gang, the boy stopped dead in his tracks.

Toshiro slowly stood up and took a good look at the intruder.

The boy was tall and slender. He wore a brown cotton kimono that was faded and travel-worn, and carried a sword in the sash around his waist. The sword had a red lacquer scabbard. The boy’s hair had been tied back, revealing a face that was striking rather than handsome. His dark, watchful eyes glanced around the clearing, taking in the bandits, the cart, the captive driver.

Since Toshiro had time on his hands, he decided to have a bit of fun with the lad, who did not seem to pose any threat.

“Lost your way?” Toshiro said.

“No,” said the boy. “I’m going to Mitsukage Castle. I was told that I could take a shortcut through this forest.”