opposite: a reckless act of defiance, in which he'd risked his entire mission for a bunch of farmers? His mouth tightened. Or was it actually worse than that? Hadn't he really taken this huge gamble over a girl?
If Brother Eagle was standing here now, there'd no doubt be sharp rebukes for bending the No Overt Combat rule. He frowned thoughtfully. Mantis, however, might actually praise him for showing kindness to strangers, chivalry in defending the weak and helpless. Groundspider, of course, would just revel in the thrill of the fight! Badger – as always – would agree with Eagle, while no doubt ponderously quoting some ancient Chinese sage, and Heron, well, she could go either way. It was all so confusing! He looked the bandits over again, thought of the girl and then filled his chest with air. No. His inner voice had bade him act. Like Eagle himself, who had spared his Iga interrogators so long ago, Moon had made a fast decision based on his own instincts. Whatever he had just done, he didn't regret it. He would live or die with its karma, its reward or its punishment.
Moon checked downhill again. No sight or sound of the farmers now, nor hints of dust rising from the highway. He grinned with satisfaction. They had made good their escape. Which meant she had.
He looked back to the stricken bandits, feeling a little cheated. Moon thought about frightening them with a smoke bomb vanishing illusion. Such a feat would leave the rogues convinced that a tengu , a long-nosed, tree-dwelling mountain devil, had attacked them disguised as a pilgrim boy.
Moonshadow grumbled to himself. Why waste the smoke bomb? Even if the trick worked splendidly, so what if he scared them? That too would be a waste. None of them could run anywhere. He sighed. He would end up having to just stand around and listen to them scream. Watch them thrash about on the ground or stumble hopelessly as they tried to flee the tengu smoke.
'Some other time,' he mumbled. Moon turned and scurried downhill.
SEVEN
Enemy territory
The drizzle had finally stopped, though the sky remained overcast. Heavy grey clouds, along with the towers and roofs of Momoyama Castle, loomed over Fushimi.
Moon squeezed through the inn's small, crowded eatery, the box containing his new writing kit under his arm. Before closing the sliding door between the noisy diners' lounge and the corridor to his tiny room, he scanned the seated, feasting lunch patrons. Three married couples, two travelling hawkers, an old lady pilgrim, a middle-aged samurai and five townsmen whose jackets said they worked for the local sake brewery. Near the door, a family with three noisy toddlers.
No. The goddess of the forest was not among them.
After defending her and the farmers, his remaining days on the road had passed without incident, perhaps mostly because heavy spring rains had settled in, forcing everyone on the highway to seek shelter or move along faster.
Just before dawn that morning he had crept into Fushimi, inspecting the town from the vantage point of the highest roof he could find. He had scanned its layout until confident the depths of his mind would retain the details of what he had seen. Then, after stealing a new disguise from a back courtyard's drying pole, he had checked into this, the cheapest looking inn.
Moonshadow was now dressed as a long-distance mail boy, complete with a small wooden post-box-backpack and a faded running jacket marked Messenger in large script. He frowned as he paced down the corridor, smoothing wrinkles from his jacket. Some believed it bad luck, taboo, to ever kill a messenger. Probably not his enemies, who were most likely both close and numerous. But he would not concern himself with them yet.
It was time to prepare, to draw up a sound operations chart, not worry about who might be on his tail. Let them show themselves first, as foes with less training always did. In the meantime, he had to ensure the silver coins he had just spent weren't wasted.
If Brother Eagle was standing here now, there'd no doubt be sharp rebukes for bending the No Overt Combat rule. He frowned thoughtfully. Mantis, however, might actually praise him for showing kindness to strangers, chivalry in defending the weak and helpless. Groundspider, of course, would just revel in the thrill of the fight! Badger – as always – would agree with Eagle, while no doubt ponderously quoting some ancient Chinese sage, and Heron, well, she could go either way. It was all so confusing! He looked the bandits over again, thought of the girl and then filled his chest with air. No. His inner voice had bade him act. Like Eagle himself, who had spared his Iga interrogators so long ago, Moon had made a fast decision based on his own instincts. Whatever he had just done, he didn't regret it. He would live or die with its karma, its reward or its punishment.
Moon checked downhill again. No sight or sound of the farmers now, nor hints of dust rising from the highway. He grinned with satisfaction. They had made good their escape. Which meant she had.
He looked back to the stricken bandits, feeling a little cheated. Moon thought about frightening them with a smoke bomb vanishing illusion. Such a feat would leave the rogues convinced that a tengu , a long-nosed, tree-dwelling mountain devil, had attacked them disguised as a pilgrim boy.
Moonshadow grumbled to himself. Why waste the smoke bomb? Even if the trick worked splendidly, so what if he scared them? That too would be a waste. None of them could run anywhere. He sighed. He would end up having to just stand around and listen to them scream. Watch them thrash about on the ground or stumble hopelessly as they tried to flee the tengu smoke.
'Some other time,' he mumbled. Moon turned and scurried downhill.
SEVEN
Enemy territory
The drizzle had finally stopped, though the sky remained overcast. Heavy grey clouds, along with the towers and roofs of Momoyama Castle, loomed over Fushimi.
Moon squeezed through the inn's small, crowded eatery, the box containing his new writing kit under his arm. Before closing the sliding door between the noisy diners' lounge and the corridor to his tiny room, he scanned the seated, feasting lunch patrons. Three married couples, two travelling hawkers, an old lady pilgrim, a middle-aged samurai and five townsmen whose jackets said they worked for the local sake brewery. Near the door, a family with three noisy toddlers.
No. The goddess of the forest was not among them.
After defending her and the farmers, his remaining days on the road had passed without incident, perhaps mostly because heavy spring rains had settled in, forcing everyone on the highway to seek shelter or move along faster.
Just before dawn that morning he had crept into Fushimi, inspecting the town from the vantage point of the highest roof he could find. He had scanned its layout until confident the depths of his mind would retain the details of what he had seen. Then, after stealing a new disguise from a back courtyard's drying pole, he had checked into this, the cheapest looking inn.
Moonshadow was now dressed as a long-distance mail boy, complete with a small wooden post-box-backpack and a faded running jacket marked Messenger in large script. He frowned as he paced down the corridor, smoothing wrinkles from his jacket. Some believed it bad luck, taboo, to ever kill a messenger. Probably not his enemies, who were most likely both close and numerous. But he would not concern himself with them yet.
It was time to prepare, to draw up a sound operations chart, not worry about who might be on his tail. Let them show themselves first, as foes with less training always did. In the meantime, he had to ensure the silver coins he had just spent weren't wasted.
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