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Tora scooped his sword up with his right hand and seized Dragon Tattoo’s topknot with his left. Jerking his head back as hard as he could, he cut the other man’s throat. The pirate fell forward, made a horrid gurgling sound, kicked out once and then lay still. Tora wiped the sword on the man’s back, and stepped out into the night.

All was still. Behind him, the feeble oil lamp still glimmered. He moved away from the cave entrance and headed toward the edge of the woods as quietly as he could. He needed to reach the cover of the trees. The moonlight was weak, but a man moving across the open space and the rock face would be visible to a watcher.

He remembered the look-out who had hailed the ship. Surely, they posted men at night also. He realized he had not planned as well as he thought. Too late!

As he ducked under the low branches of a pine, a voice rang out, “Who’s there?”

Tora froze. He did not know their names, and besides, the watcher would recognize a voice. His heart hammered so violently that he was confused when someone close to him answered the watchman’s challenge.

“Masaji. Just having a pee.”

Laughter. “Weak bladder or too much wine?”

“Too much wine.”

“Come up here and talk to me.”

“Sorry, Koshi. Can’t keep my eyes open.”

Under cover of this shouted exchange, Tora moved away cautiously. He stepped on a few crackling branches and once skidded on a loose stone.But he thought he was clear and had put some distance between himself and the two pirates when a voice right behind him hissed, “Not that way. You’ll fall to your death.”

He stopped and turned slowly. The man who stood behind him looked familiar. Yes, he was the one he had kept from going overboard during the storm. He had not given the alarm, and Tora did not want to kill him. “What’re you going to do?” he asked in a low voice, thinking that, one way or another, his life was probably over. Even if the pirates did not kill him, they would find Dragon Tattoo. He would die for murdering one of their own.

“I’ll show you the way,” said the other man. “Follow me.”

Not having a better option, Tora followed him along a narrow path that descended steeply to the small harbor. They clambered down without speaking. When they reached the last trees, his guide put out a hand to stop Tora.

“Wait here and watch for my signal,” he said. “They’ve a watch posted on the ship. Rokuo was pretty drunk, but you never know.”

He strolled out on the sandy strip where the fishing boats lay pulled up. Peering toward the ship from time to time, he busied himself with one of the boats, pushed it into the water, and then jumped in. Taking the oars, he started rowing toward the far end of the harbor, gesturing to Tora to meet him there.

Tora kept as much as possible inside the tree line and clambered over several rocky outcroppings. He wondered what the pirate thought he was doing. The man was clearly helping him to escape, and that was a very dangerous thing to do.

They met near the entrance to the secret harbor. The other man was sitting in the boat, which bobbed slightly in the water, and looked impatient. Tora had taken some unlucky turns and backtracked a few times.

“Sorry,” he said, wading out and getting in the boat. “Who are you and why are you helping me?”

“I’m Masaji.”

Masaji was small but very muscular, perhaps from the hard life he had led as a sailor. He did not look like a pirate. There was something smooth and friendly about his round face, and the smile he gave Tora was childlike and innocent. “You saved me,” he said, giving Tora a look of melting adoration from his brown eyes. “You are my bodhisattva.

Tora had guessed at the first part of that explanation and found even this astonishing in a pirate. The bodhisattva business took his breath away. He sat staring at Masaji, who started rowing vigorously toward the entrance of the harbor and the open sea beyond.

“Take the rudder,” said Masaji.

“You’re coming with me?”

Masaji nodded.

Tora had no experience with boats, but he did his best to steer. They did not talk for a while. Masaji was pulling hard at the oars, at first to get away from the harbor, and then to contend with the rougher waters of the open sea. Tora had planned to steal one of the boats and escape by himself, but he could see now that his lack of experience and skill would have led to recapture or death on the open water. Boats were not very stable, and he would have overset it, trying to steer and work the oars at the same time. It was another failure in planning. His gratitude to Masaji grew.

Steering was simple enough as soon as the first light appeared on the horizon. Tora’s mood lifted. Already the rocky outlines of the pirate isle receded, and the softer contours of a much larger land mass approached. They could do it. He considered what to do about Masaji. The man had saved his life. He could not just abandon him to the vengeance of the pirates or the punishment of civil authorities.

Masaji said, “Steer toward the rising sun now.” Tora obeyed, and Masaji rowed, his round face alight with happiness, his lips moving.

“Are you praying?” asked Tora.

Masaji bowed his head to him. “Yes. I’m filled with great joy, Reverent Master. I’m giving thanks to Amida that a humble man like myself has been given such a miracle.”

“It’s not a miracle, and we’re not safe yet.” Tora glanced at the approaching land. “And there’s no need to call me Reverent Master. My name’s Tora.”

Masaji rowed and laughed. “There’s a halo all around you, Tora. I can see it. If you aren’t a bodhisattva, then you must be Bishamon.” Pulling in the oars, he knelt and bowed his head until it touched the bottom of the boat.

Halo? The man had gone mad. Tora turned and saw the red orb of the rising sun against a bank of dark clouds, its strange color gaining rapidly in brightness. Turning back, he said, “You’ve been looking at the sun behind me, that’s all. Best pick up those oars again.”

Masaji obeyed with a smile. “I saw what I saw, and I know what I know, Master. I’m a changed man. You have saved me from my evil life.”

Tora sighed.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Treading on the Tiger’s Tail

They sailed westwards. Akitada and Watamaro reclined on cushions in the cabin. Watamaro had poured wine and offered refreshments, but Akitada was too impatient and sick with worries to do more than take a sip or two.

Watamaro was cheerful and reassuring. “My men know the area well. We should reach Azukishima by midday, and then we’ll simply call at every island in the vicinity until we find them. We may find them sooner, if the storm has damaged the ship.”

“Thank you.” Akitada frowned. Watamaro seemed very sure. But then the man must be thoroughly familiar with the Inland Sea. “How is it,” he asked, “that you have not been able to stop these pirates? A man with your means and knowledge of the sea routes surely is in the best position to do so?”

Watamaro chuckled. “Nobody has asked me to do so, and a man in my business cannot afford to act on his own. People would never forgive me.”

Astonished, Akitada asked, “Your people would not forgive you? I don’t understand. These pirates are men of no mercy who kill and steal at will. Surely, by capturing them you would win praise and gratitude.”

“Ah, but the pirates are our people, my Lord. They are the fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons of people living around the Inland Sea. Most were poor fishermen who turned to piracy when they couldn’t earn a living catching fish.”

Akitada shook his head. “Thieves are thieves. The ones in the capital may be said to be of the people also, and most are poorer than your fishermen. Our country has been blessed with rivers, lakes, and oceans that provide our food in great abundance. There is no excuse for not reaping the harvest when others starve.”