Then the master himself came across to him. He waved his revolver and said something. The master’s face was sombre and resolute. He must have had the same idea.
‘Explain to him that he shouldn’t open fire,’ Tamba told his daughter, speaking rapidly in Japanese. ‘He has only seven cartridges. Even if he doesn’t miss once and shoots seven Black Jackets, it won’t change anything. They’ll take fright, stop the search and fire the house. They haven’t done that so far because they want to present the Don with my body and they’re hoping to find some secret caches. But if they’re badly scared, they’ll set the house on fire. Tell him I asked you to translate because my English is too slow. Take him to one side, distract him. I need another minute. Then act according to our agreement.’
What agreement was that? What did Tamba need a minute for?
While Midori-san was translating what Tamba had said to the master, Masa kept his eyes fixed on the jonin, who finished fiddling with the bamboo sticks and starting shoving them into a narrow kind of case with a large piece of black cloth attached to it.
What weird sort of device was this?
A flag, it’s a flag, Masa guessed, and suddenly everything was clear.
The leader of the shinobi wanted to leave this life in beautiful style, with the flag of his clan unfurled. That was why he was spinning things out.
‘Is that the Momochi banner?’ Masa whispered to Tanshin, who was standing close by.
Tanshin shook his head.
‘Then what is it?’
The rude shinobi left the question unanswered.
Tamba picked up the cloth with the bamboo sticks inserted in it, threw it across his shoulders and belted it on, and it became clear that it wasn’t a flag at all, but something like a wide cloak.
Then the jonin held out his hand without speaking and Tanshin put the naked sword in it.
‘Farewell,’ said the jonin.
The shinobi answered with a word that Masa had heard once before that night.
‘Kongojyo.’ And he bowed solemnly.
Then Tamba walked out into the middle of the attic, pulled a string on his neckband, and the strange cloak folded up, fitting close around his body.
‘What does the sensei intend to do?’ Masa asked Tanshin.
‘Look down there,’ Tanshin muttered gruffly, then went down on all fours and pressed his face to the floor.
So Masa had to do the same.
The floor turned out to have observation slits in it, through which it was possible to observe the corridor and all the rooms.
There were Black Jackets scurrying about everywhere, and the Monk’s head was gleaming in the centre of the corridor.
‘Haven’t you found anything?’ he roared, leaning down towards a hole in the floor. ‘Sound out every siaku! [xxiii] There must be hiding places!’
Lifting his head up from the slit, Masa glanced at Tamba – and just in time.
The jonin pressed some kind of lever with his foot and yet another hatch opened, located above the corridor. The old man jumped down, as straight as a spear.
Masa stuck his nose against the floor again, in order not to miss anything.
Ah, what a sight it was!
The jonin landed between the Monk and two Black Jackets. They just gaped open-mouthed, but the tricky man with the shaved head jerked to one side and pulled his revolver out of his belt. Ah, but what could he do against Tamba! A short, easy stroke of the sword and the glittering head went tumbling across the floor, and blood spurted out of the severed neck. Without turning round, the old shinobi flung his left hand out backwards and gently touched the nose of one of the soldiers: the soldier fell woodenly, without bending, and crashed to the floor. The second man squatted down and covered his head with his hands, and Tamba didn’t touch him.
He leaned forward slightly and then ran, slowly at first, but picking up speed all the time, towards the wide-open door with the precipice beyond it. A whole crowd of pursuers dashed after him, shouting and yelling.
Masa was in ecstasy. What a fine idea! To take a final stand on the little bridge above that abyss. First, no one would attack from behind and, secondly, it was so beautiful! And then these Black Jackets didn’t have any guns, they had been left outside. Oh, old Tamba would really pulverise them right at the end!
He heard a rustling sound beside him. It was Tanshin jumping to his feet and dashing to the window. He wants to see his master’s final battle, Masa realised, and dashed after him as fast as he could.
The little bridge was clearly visible through the wooden grille. The moon peeped out, and the wooden planking turned silver against the black precipice.
There was the jonin, running out on to the little bridge at a furious pace, the sides of his cloak jutting out like the wings of a bat. Still running, Tamba pushed off hard with his foot and jumped into the precipice.
But what about the final battle? Masa almost cried out.
He could have killed a dozen or two enemies and then dropped over the edge of the abyss like a stone.
But Tamba didn’t fall like a stone!
The Black Jackets crowding on the little bridge howled in horror, and fine drops of cold sweat stood out on Masa’s forehead too. And for good reason…
The leader of the Momochi clan had turned into a bird!
The huge black hawk soared above the valley, cutting through the moonlight and slowly descending.
Masa was brought round by a slap on his shoulder.
‘Now we have to act quickly,’ said Tanshin. ‘Before they can recover their wits.’
Midori-san and the master were already clambering through a hatch on to the roof. He had to catch up with them.
Tiles grated under his feet and a fresh wind blew into his face. Masa turned towards the precipice for another glimpse of the magical bird, but it wasn’t there any more – it had flown away.
They crawled the last few steps on their stomachs so that the Black Jackets in the cordon wouldn’t see them.
They needn’t have been so cautious – the torches were burning in the clearing, but the sentries had disappeared.
‘Where are they?’ Masa asked in a whisper.
He guessed the answer himself: they had all gone dashing into the house. But of course! The commander had been killed, the head ninja had turned into a hawk. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.
There was no cordon, but what good was that to them? If they jumped down, they’d break their legs, it was four ken [xxiv] here. But Midori-san waved her hand just before the ridge of the roof and a gentle ringing sound filled the emptiness. A thin, transparent cable was stretched from the house out into the darkness. Midori-san took off her belt and threw it over the cable, tied a knot and showed the master how to put his elbows through it. But she herself managed without a strap – she just took hold with her hands, pushed off and soared over the clearing in a single sweep. The master didn’t waste any time either: he took a firm hold of the belt and flew off, setting the air rustling.
It was Masa’s turn. Tanshin prepared the strap for him in a second and pushed him in the back.
Rushing through space above the brightly lit clearing and the blazing flames was scary but enjoyable. Masa barely managed to stop himself whooping in delight.
The flight could have ended better, though. The trunk of a pine tree came flying towards him out of the darkness and if the master hadn’t grabbed his servant by the arms, Masa would have been flattened. As it was, he hit his forehead hard enough to set sparks flying.