John Fletcher, now restrained by one of the other shadows, stopped struggling against his garrotte, the unexpected demand momentarily bewildering him.

‘Rutter?’ repeated the green-eyed shadow, unsheathing the sword strapped to his back and aiming its sharpened tip at Jack’s heart.

‘Leave him… he’s just a boy!’ spluttered his father, rising to attack.

John Fletcher’s eyes flared with anger. He writhed against the garrotte, reaching out to his son, but it was futile. The shadow yanked back hard. John gagged and gradually all the fight in him ebbed away. Defeated, he went as limp as a rag doll.

‘Cabin… in my desk…’ he wheezed, pulling out a small key from his pocket and throwing it upon the deck.

The green-eyed shadow didn’t appear to understand.

‘My cabin. In my desk,’ repeated John Fletcher, pointing first to the key and then in the direction of his cabin.

The shadow warrior nodded to one of his men, who picked up the key and disappeared below.

‘Now let my son go,’ pleaded Jack’s father.

The green-eyed shadow gave a throaty laugh, drawing back on his sword to deliver the killing strike…

Screaming as his eyes snapped open, Jack’s heart pounded.

He looked frantically around the room. A single candle flickered in the corner. A door slid open and the girl came and knelt beside him.

‘Aku rei. Yasunde, gaijinsan,’ said the girl with that same gentle voice he had heard previously.

She once again placed the cool cloth to his forehead and settled him back down.

‘What? I… I… I don’t understand,’ stuttered Jack. ‘Who are you? Where’s my father…?’

The laughter echoed on.

Jack’s father exploded with rage as he realized the shadow was intent upon killing Jack.

John Fletcher flung back his head, striking his captor in the face and breaking his nose. The garrotte loosened and fell away. John threw himself at his knife lying on the deck and, in one last desperate attempt to save his son, seized the blade and slammed it into the green-eyed shadow’s leg.

The shadow grunted with pain before he could deliver the killing blow and Jack, released from his choking grip, collapsed in a barely conscious pile. Whipping his sword round, the shadow flew at his attacker.

With a battle cry of ‘KIAI’, the green-eyed shadow drove his weapon down into John’s chest…

7

SAMURAI

Spotlessly clean, the floor of the small, unadorned room was covered in a geometric pattern of soft straw mats. The walls were squares of translucent paper that softened the daylight, lending the air an unearthly glow.

Jack lay on a thick futon, covered by a quilt made of silk. He’d never slept under silk before and its touch on his skin felt like a thousand butterfly wings.

After so long at sea, the nauseating motionlessness of the floor made his head spin as he tried to sit up. He moved to steady himself, but a sharp jolt of pain shot through his arm.