From a pouch around his neck, the ninja took a coil of silk string, a piece of cloth, and a small bottle. He carefully lowered the string down from the ceiling, holding it with the cloth. The gossamer thread inched downward until it was just a few inches above Kaze’s mouth. Then the ninja stopped.
The stopper on the bottle was specially shaped so it could be removed by gripping it with the teeth, but with a wide guard so none of the bottle’s contents would touch the ninja’s lips. Such an event would be fatal. Using a steady hand, the ninja placed the mouth of the bottle next to the thread and slowly poured the contents onto the thread.
A thin amber liquid clung to the thread and started sliding its way toward the floor. It oozed its way closer and closer to the end of the thread, which was hovering right over Kaze’s mouth. There, the liquid would gather until a drop broke free and landed on Kaze’s lips. This would be followed by a second and third drop until the victim, almost by reflex, would lick his lips. Then he would die.
The amber liquid slid down, and a drop started forming at the end of the thread. Suddenly, Kaze moved his head to the side, mumbling in his sleep. The ninja moved the thread away from Kaze’s head and stopped pouring. He didn’t want a drop to fall on Kaze’s cheek, waking him but not killing him.
Suddenly, Kaze yawned and started to sit up. The ninja quickly pulled up the thread from the room, running it through the folded cloth to wipe it clean of the poison. Then he waited to see what the ronin would do.
Kaze stretched and scratched himself on the belly, smacking his lips contentedly. Then, taking up his sword from the bedding, he got up and sleepily stumbled to the door. The ninja decided that the ronin was answering a call of nature and placed the ceiling slat partially in place so he could peek into the room when the ronin returned. The ninja could be patient, and he would wait until his victim fell into a deep sleep once more.
As he settled down to wait, the ninja quieted his soul and listened to his own breathing. While he was in the midst of administering the poison, his hand had been steady but his heart was racing. He had been told that this man would be hard to kill. Now that his attempt at assassination had been aborted, he had to bring his heart and body in balance so when he made his next attempt, it would be done with a serene mind.
As he meditated, the ninja became aware of a sound in the attic space. His eyes opened and he stared into the murky darkness, which was relieved only by moonlight coming through the lattice in the crest. He heard another small sound. A man not as trained as he would not have detected it, but upon hearing it, he knew immediately what it meant. He was not alone in the attic.
He quickly capped the bottle of poison and put it, the cloth, and the silk string in his pouch. Then, trying to be as silent as the person who was in the attic with him, he started moving toward the lattice opening in the crest.
He kept near the edges of the roof as he made his way from rafter to rafter. If he went into the middle of the attic, he would provide the best target, silhouetted against the light from the lattice, so he avoided this space.
As he scrambled along, he caught glimpses of a dark shape also traversing the rafters of the villa’s roof and also staying out of the faint light. The figure seemed agile and surefooted, and the ninja wondered if it was the sleepy samurai he had observed just minutes before. Then it struck him. If the samurai was answering a call of nature, why had he taken his sword with him? The ninja had chosen poison and the silk thread in recognition of the samurai’s strength, and he wondered now if his quarry was trying to turn him into the hunted.
The ninja reached the end of the attic and moved to the center, just under the crest, and quickly stood up. Speed was now more important than stealth, and he yanked the wooden lattice out of place and quickly scrambled onto the tile roof. He carried a short, straight sword in a scabbard tied to his back. It was a Chinese-style sword, not curved like the swords favored by samurai.
He removed his sword from its scabbard and stood slightly behind and to the side of the opening in the roof crest. When his pursuer emerged from the opening he would be vulnerable. Then the ninja would strike.
Holding his sword above his head, ready to deliver a death blow, the ninja focused all his senses on the dark hole in the roof. He listened acutely for the smallest shuffling and his eyes strained to see the slightest difference in the blackness of the hole, which would indicate the emergence of his pursuer.
Time seemed to pass slowly, but from experience the ninja knew that when one was in a heightened state of awareness, time often did strange things. Sometimes it crawled like the turtle, inching its way forward in slow increments, forcing one to show increased patience while waiting for something to happen. On other occasions, time was lightning, striking forward with an alacrity that was truly frightening. On this occasion, time seemed to slow, and the ninja waited patiently for his pursuer to make it to the hole in the roof and his death.
Suddenly, with the sixth sense of all highly trained fighting men, the ninja knew that he had been fooled. He turned to see the ronin, bathed in moonlight and carrying an unsheathed sword, moving toward him across the tiles of the villa roof. The ronin had realized that the opening was a death trap and had crossed to the other end of the roof, removing the lattice there and emerging to come after his assassin. The ronin was already too close, and the ninja could not drop his guard and throw a knife. Instead, he pivoted and rushed the ronin, determined to take the initiative. His Chinese sword struck the katana, and the clang of steel shattered the stillness of the night, sparks flying from the contact of the two blades.
The slope of the slippery tile roof made maneuver difficult. Kaze braced himself as best he could and watched the ninja closely.
The ninja pressed his attack, but Kaze was able to parry all his blows. The ninja, seeing his attack was ineffective, retreated a few paces. Kaze stepped forward, keeping the pressure on. He didn’t want the ninja to have time to throw a knife or some other weapon, an art they were famous for.
“Oi! You! What are you doing up there?”
Attracted by the noise, the ineffective villa guard was finally drawn to the scene of battle, looking up at the two figures on the roof.
“Get more men,” Kaze shouted. “There is an assassin here.”
The ninja took the occasion of Kaze’s speaking to press another attack, thinking the ronin would let his guard down slightly while he was talking. He was wrong. Kaze parried the blows of the ninja without having to give up ground. Kaze was interested in keeping the ninja alive because he wanted to find out who his employer was. He was curious about who would want him dead enough to pay for a ninja. Was it the same one who had paid for the other assassins? He knew it wasn’t Okubo. If Okubo knew where he was staying, Okubo would simply surround the villa with his men and, if necessary, burn it down.
The ninja, realizing he would soon be surrounded, looked around for the best escape route. Kaze knew immediately why the ninja was looking around and pressed his attack. Moving forward, his foot stepped on a tile that had come loose from its mud base and slipped, throwing him off balance.
With a shout of triumph, the ninja surged forward to take advantage of the mishap. Instead of trying to recover, Kaze let himself fall forward. He brought his sword around as he fell, and it sliced deeply into the ninja’s right leg, cutting the tendons of the knee to the bone. Then Kaze fell to the roof and rolled to its edge. He fell off, but with the agility of a cat he twisted himself around so he landed on his feet. His momentum carried him forward and he did a roll on the ground, springing to his feet as soon as the momentum dissipated.