Part One: Chapter 1

Chapter 1






Rain poured down in torrents, soaking everything. The city streets became swampy, and mud oozed between Yoshimo’s toes, turning his sandal-clad feet brown. He scanned the nearby buildings, looking for shelter. An alley way served his purposes well enough, keeping most of the wind off of him, though the rain still found him. All in all he was a muddy, miserable mess, but he cared little for that.
What he really cared about was his growling stomach. He hadn’t eaten in two long days, and though he had been able to find water enough to quench his thirst that wasn’t enough. He had no money though and nothing he could trade to buy food except his katana, and without that he would be nothing more than the rest of the rabble that roamed the mud-slick streets.

He peered out of the alley watching as crowds of men and women hurried by, heedless of the rain and wind. Some were merchants, taking their goods indoors to protect them from the sudden summer shower, others were messengers, servants and armed samurai going about their business. A few others, outcasts like himself, shied away from the throng of people, hiding from the weather and the heartless, hateful gazes of the masses. No one liked a beggar. No one respected a ronin. Yoshimo was all too conscious of that.

His wary eyes kept track of the other street trash, watching them as they went about their business. He noticed how their eyes followed those who dressed well, but carried no swords. Those were their targets, and so they would be his targets too. The fat, complacent merchant men, the careless message boys, they were the ones to strike. He watched for techniques too. He saw how they worked in pairs, one distracting the victim while the other picked his pockets. They worked alone too, though he guessed that was more dangerous, but more profitable too. If he worked alone he wouldn’t have to share the profits with anyone. The money that paid for food and shelter for two would go farther for one, and he had no desire to rely on anyone. They could not be trusted.

He watched the flow of traffic for an entire day, his stomach growling. It would be safer to work under the cover of dark. If he was found out he didn’t want any pursuers would have to contend with the dark to find him –and there would be pursuers, that he was sure of.

The rain was still pouring down by the time the sun had set and the Yoshimo left his alley to search out a target. People still swarmed the streets, despite the rain, and in the parts of the city where brothels and bars clustered together they were as thick as flies over a corpse. It was to these places that Yoshimo went; a drunken man would be easier to steal from than someone who was sober. Those who were so far into their cups that they couldn’t tell that they had been robbed deserved what they got.

He found a good place to hide, out of the wind and rain, and waited for a good target to pass.

The hours went by, and even this place became nearly deserted, but still Yoshimo hadn’t seen anyone worth robbing; only poor, filthy men. They probably needed the money more than he did. He would have to steal from ten such men to get a decent meal.

Then his eyes fell on a lone man, well dressed, but swaying slightly. He didn’t seem as drunk as many of the others that wandered this street, but he was alone. The Yoshimo crept out of his hiding place and followed behind the man at a distance. He stepped out of his hiding place and managed, with some difficulty, to keep his target in sight.

Suddenly the man vanished, and though he scanned the crowd in earnest, Yoshimo could find no sign of him. With a weary sigh he continued down the street until he found another dark hiding place, a three-sided box made by two buildings and a garden wall. He sighed and his stomach rumbled -it was beginning to look like he would go another night without food. He turned his eyes toward the street again just in time to see a dark shape block his view. He scrambled to his feet, but not quickly enough, for he felt himself being lifted by the front of his clothes and thrown hard against the garden wall and held there.

“What did you think you were doing, eh kid?” It was a man, and his voice carried the stink of alcohol. “Did you think you could rob me?” He slammed the Yoshimo against the wall again. “Did you!? You know the punishment for theft, don’t you?” The man demanded.

Yoshimo nodded, unable to squeeze an answer out. His head ached where it had struck the wall. He was lucky he was still conscious.

The man held Yoshimo in the air with one hand and disarmed him. He examined the katana, holding it up to the dim light coming in from the street. He bashed the sheathed blade across the side of Yoshimo’s head and then held it with the hilt sticking into the soft flesh on the under side of his jaw. “Fallen from grace, have we, little samurai? When the Shogun’s men strip the titles from your family I’m going to be smiling, and when they execute your parents and siblings I’m going to laugh. Do you have any sisters, boy? Maybe I’ll get some compensation from them before they die.”

Yoshimo snarled and tried to fight the man’s grip, but the man jabbed the hilt of Yoshimo’s katana into his throat. “I don’t… have… a family!” Yoshimo gasped.

The man laughed harshly. “Then no one will miss you, will they? Then, I’m thinking that no one would anyway -some third son’s third son, by a cheap concubine. They wouldn’t miss you even if I left your guts and your head on the doorstep of their stinking pigsty.”

Yoshimo kicked the man in the knee and then punched him in the stomach hard enough that the man let him go and stumbled backward clutching his midsection. The man dropped Yoshimo’s katana in the mud, and Yoshimo grabbed it up. He tried to slip out of the alley, but the man blocked him, still hunched over but grinning. Yoshimo tried to get past him again, put the man snaked a hand out and grabbed his arm. Yoshimo went with the man’s pull and punched him solidly in the jaw.

“You’re strong for a scrawny little boy,” the man said, grabbing Yoshimo by the collar again and bashing him against a wall again –a different wall this time, Yoshimo appreciated the variety. He punched Yoshimo in the stomach and kicked him in the knee. “Fair’s fair, right?” the man said maliciously. “I’m not such a bad man, you know,” he went on pressing his free forearm into Yoshimo’s throat. “I could kill you now,” he pressed harder, and Yoshimo struggled, unable to breathe. The man let up. “Or I could let you live. You could be useful to me.” The man smiled wolfishly. “In exchange for your life, you become mine –my pupil. I get your life, you get everything I know… fair’s fair.”

“What?” Yoshimo wheezed.

“Yes or no, make up your mind or I’ll squeeze the life out of you. Agree and you live, decline and…” he chuckled, “I’ll squeeze the life out of you.”

Yoshimo managed a bitter laugh, “Not much of a choice, is it?”

“No,” the man said with a cruel grin, “not really.”

Yoshimo didn’t even have to think about his choice. “I agree,” he said.

The man dropped him and tossed his katana at him. “Good. Follow me.” He started out of the alley and then paused, turned back and said, “And don’t even think of running off. I’ll find you no matter where you go and then I’ll make sure your death is slow and very, very painful.”

Yoshimo swallowed hard and, clutching his katana nervously, followed.