Black Arrow (47 page)

The climb through a tight black space, only occasionally lit by air holes in the outer walls, seemed to last forever. The steps twisted, turned, and switched back. Akitada’s sword once clattered against the wall and he caught it. Someone behind him slipped and cursed softly. Sweat trickled down Akitada’s temples, and his fingers cramped around the sword hilt. He tried to listen, but his breathing and the blood pounding in his ears muffled all other sounds. If Hitomaro had encountered a guard, he was already a dead man. And so were they all.

Then he caught a faint whiff of burning oil. Wood scraped on wood and, as he turned a corner, faint light came through a grate just large enough for a man to get through. Hitomaro cowered there, a hulking black shadow, until Akitada saw his face flushed by the light as he removed the grate and slipped through the opening.

“Come, sir,” he said softly, holding out a hand to Akitada. “It’s safe.”

“That was a very foolish trick,” Akitada hissed angrily. “You might have ruined everything by rushing ahead when Kaoru knows the way.”

Hitomaro’s face was expressionless. “Sorry, sir.”

Akitada climbed out into an empty enclosed gallery. The corridor was a little over a hundred feet long, its narrow shutters closed tight against the weather, and the dim space lit at each end by large metal oil lamps attached to beams. It was silent and deserted, but they could hear men shouting outside. No doubt Uesugi’s warriors were getting ready for Takesuke’s attack.

The other two joined them. Akitada said, “Very well. Let’s see about finding Uesugi and opening that gate.” It sounded ridiculously simple to his ears and, standing there in the enemy’s stronghold, he half believed it would be.

“Come and see,” Kaoru grunted and opened one of the shutters a crack.

When Akitada joined him, he looked through a loophole from which an archer could shoot arrows into the lower entrance courtyard. Armed soldiers sat about in small groups. Black-and-white Uesugi banners were everywhere. One man carried equipment to the tower above the gate. Akitada’s heart sank. They could not reach the gate without being cut down in the attempt. Even if the men in the courtyard could be distracted long enough, the watchtower above bristled with archers.

Kaoru closed the shutter and went to put the grate back into place. “We cannot stay here,” he said softly. “Someone might come any moment. Follow me, but remember the place in case you have to run for your life.” They ran down the corridor away from the main house. Akitada chafed at this and at the fact that Kaoru had taken over and was giving the orders, but he submitted. He felt badly out of his depth.

The gallery adjoined another, equally empty, and this led to one of the service areas. Kaoru peered out cautiously. It was the kitchen yard, and deserted. No smoke came from the kitchen hearth. The cooking fires had been extinguished prior to battle. Kaoru crossed the yard, headed for a storage shed. They followed, slipped in behind him, and he closed the door.

“You’ll be safe here for the moment,” he said.

They stood in a small space filled with baskets and brooms, kettles and pails, faggots and oil jars, all the paraphernalia to keep a large household stocked. Akitada’s heart was pounding. He said, “The gate. We must reach that gate. How many men does it take to open it?”

“One, at the most two.”

Kaoru still sounded confident, but Akitada had become all too aware of his own lack of planning. “You’re sure?” he persisted, wondering if two of them could engage the soldiers he had seen, some fifteen or twenty, long enough to let the other two slip past to the gate. With the archers above, it wasn’t likely.

“There’s a counterweight. I can do it by myself.”

“We need to draw some of the soldiers away. What about that fire Koreburo was to start?”

Kaoru opened the shed door and peered out. He closed it again. “No sign of it. He should have done so already. If you’ll wait here, I’ll try to find him.” Before Akitada could protest, Kaoru had slipped out.

Akitada suppressed a sudden panic and motioned to the other two to sit down. They sat, each caught in his own thoughts, and waited in the murky semidarkness of the small shed. The smell of wood and dried grasses hung in the chill air.

Tora’s eyes were wide open and his hands twitched occasionally with suppressed excitement. Hitomaro leaned back against the wall, perfectly still, his eyes closed, his chin on his chest. Looking at them, Akitada reflected how close these two men were to him, and how danger affected them all differently. He remembered Takesuke’s fervent wish that Uesugi would attack the tribunal, while he himself had been weighed down with fears for his family and his people. Takesuke’s high spirits had struck him as irresponsible and bloodthirsty then. Now he wondered if he was the one who was inadequate to his duty. Takesuke, Tora, and Hitomaro were all trained soldiers, while he was an official. What did he know of war? Yet, by accepting this appointment, he had also accepted the possibility of having to fight.

Here he was, in unaccustomed armor and uncomfortable, feeling ambivalent about the violence he was about to face and—worse—to commit. They had gained entrance to the stronghold without being discovered, but the real test still lay ahead, and Akitada doubted that he could pass it.

If Kaoru was caught, he would be questioned under torture. Whether he revealed their presence or not, a subsequent search would find them, and then they would die ignobly here, slaughtered among brooms and braziers. There was no defense against the odds, even if it were possible to swing a sword in these cramped quarters.

It wasn’t going to be easy at all.

* * * *

TO THE DEATH

kitada did not want to wait for death.

Neither did the others. Tora broke into his thoughts impatiently. “Where in hell is Kaoru? He has nerve, telling us to sit here and wait for him. Who does he think he is? I don’t like it. We’re stuck here like rats in a box.” He stood up and walked to the door, opening it a crack.

Hitomaro went to join him. “It’s too quiet,” he said.

Tora asked, “What if it’s a trap, sir? To my mind the fellow’s just too well informed about this place for a mere woodsman.”

Akitada hated the inactivity, but he shook his head. “No, we must trust Kaoru. He’ll be back any moment.”

Hitomaro closed the door and paced. Tora grunted and sat down.

Akitada thought he could find the way to the gate from what he remembered of his earlier visits. They had been taken from the gate to an inner courtyard. From there, Akitada had gone into the main house. The trouble was, he was not sure where they were now. He closed his eyes and pictured Kaoru’s sketch of the secret entrance. He must somehow get back to the main house. The gallery from which he had seen the north pavilion had been on the west side, but they had gone there through another gallery that served as an armory.

Never mind. They were not headed to the north pavilion but to the gate. They had to open the gate to let Takesuke in before they did anything else. The problem was how to get there from here. He had spoken to the servants in a courtyard not unlike the one they were in. For that matter, where were the servants? Some must be in the kitchen, even with the fires out. Had they all been pressed into defending the manor?

“Tora,” he said, opening his eyes, “where did they take you during the banquet?”

“One of their barracks. They fed me. Seemed decent fellows.” Tora grimaced.

Akitada guessed that Tora did not like the thought of killing such hospitable men, or being killed by them. “But where were the barracks? In relation to the gate and the main house?”

“Between the house and the gate. Why?”

That accounted for one of the courtyards. “I’m wondering if we can find our way to the gate without Kaoru. Takesuke’s men are preparing to attack. We cannot wait much longer.”

“Then let’s go, sir.” Hitomaro was on his feet. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Akitada sighed and rose. “Yes. Something must have gone wrong. We have waited long enough. Take another look outside and tell me if you see any smoke anywhere in the compound.”

Hitomaro reported, “Nothing, sir. They must’ve caught both of them.”

Akitada looked around the shed. “Very well. Since the materials are at hand, we’ll make the fire here. Pile up all the baskets, brooms, and kindling against that wall over there. Then we’ll pour the lamp oil over it and light it.”

Tora grinned. “Good idea. The kitchen next door has a thatched roof. That should get their attention.”

Hitomaro nodded, and they fell to work. Akitada emptied baskets and tossed them on the pile. “We are going back the way we came,” he said as he worked. “That gallery should take us to the main house, and from there we’ll get to the gate.”

“They’ll be coming that way when they see the fire,” Hitomaro muttered.

“We’ll just have to be fast,” said Tora happily.

Akitada thought it likely that they would be seen even before the smoke attracted notice. He dragged one of the huge earthenware jars full of oil across the dirt floor. Hitomaro came to give him a hand. Together they lifted and emptied the dark, viscous liquid over the pile. Their enemies had thoughtfully supplied an assortment of flints, wicks, and spills to keep the manor’s oil lamps lit, and in a moment eager flames licked upward, joining others with a cheerful crackle, and cast a flickering red light on their faces. Smoke rose.

They looked at each other. Tora’s grin looked more like a demon’s snarl in the firelight. Akitada tried to shed the image of hell, and said, “Good. Let’s go.”

Just as they burst from the shed, Akitada in front, a woman cried out. The kitchen door stood open, and two maids goggled at them and at the inferno behind them. Ignoring the maids, they crossed the courtyard at a run and entered the enclosed gallery. Miraculously, it was still empty. Midway, Akitada checked his speed and opened one of the loophole shutters. The scene below had changed. The watchtower, almost on a level with the gallery, now bristled with archers and the men in the courtyard were on their feet, swords and halberds at the ready. Judging from the sounds of high-pitched whinnies and scuffling of hooves, there were horses, too. Akitada estimated thirty men below and twenty on the tower, and more were probably out of sight or waiting in other courtyards. Those he could see had their backs to him, their attention on what was going on outside the gate. And now he heard it, the sound of approaching battle drums.

Takesuke had arrived, and they must move, but attempting to open the gate would be certain suicide. When would the enemy notice the fire? And would they care enough about a fire in a kitchen yard to abandon their watch on the gate? But fires spread. They could not ignore this. At least some of the men in the courtyard would rush to put it out.

One of the archers on the watchtower finally turned his head and saw it. “Fire!” he screamed, and again, “Fire!” his arm pointing. Akitada stepped back from the shutter. The men in the courtyard turned, cried out, and after a moment’s consternation, an officer shouted orders, and they began to run in all directions. Tora came to look and laughed out loud.