two or more armed fighters that involved a quick and fatal outcome. Kata was certainly not training for contests, and Tora appreciated the usefulness of his technique. Having been a soldier, he did not like to play games with a sword.
Stick fighting was another matter, and Tora was remarkably skilled at that. A long bamboo pole could kill if handled a certain way, but it was primarily a weapon of defense. The idea was to disarm the other guy or perhaps incapacitate him by breaking an arm or a leg. In a case like that, a man could afford to toy a bit with an opponent. He saw that Kata’s stick fighters were rank beginners, and an idea began to form in his mind.
An elbow poked his side. “You new here?” asked his neighbor.
Tora eyed the skinny kid. He was maybe twelve, stringy, and wild looking. He probably had no family and lived on the streets on what he could steal from food stalls and shops, or from people’s houses if they were careless enough to leave them unattended. There were thousands of hungry, homeless boys like this in the streets of the capital and they were always a nuisance.
“None of your business, brat,” he growled and turned his attention back to the lesson. Kata being a gang boss certainly made sense. As a training master, he could conduct his business practically under the noses of the authorities. Haseo’s double was absent, but he surely had some link to the organization. Tora smiled with grim satisfaction.
“Bet I could tell you what you want to know,” squeaked the youngster beside him.
His voice was changing and made Tora jump a little and wonder if he had underestimated his age. He turned to look him over more carefully. The boy cocked his head and touched his nose in the manner of someone who has information for sale.
“What could you know? You’re barely weaned from your ma’s tits,” Tora said.
“Hah!” The scruffy youngster stuck out his bony chest and announced proudly, “I work for him,” jerking his head in the direction of the training school. “That’s how I know. Bet you came looking for a job.”
Tora gaped in mock surprise. “How d’you know that?”
The boy grinned. “You’re the type. You like fighting and you look like a soldier out of work. They always come and pretend they’re just watching. Then, pretty soon, they offer to work for food.”
Tora glanced at the students again. The ones in front were practicing the “whirlwind” defense, which involved turning rapidly in a circle while slashing about with the sword. They were coming dangerously close to wounding each other with their wooden swords, wheeling about the training hall like demented tops. He snorted. But the boy might be useful. Tora asked, “D’you think he’d take me on?”
“Might.” The boy squinted at him. “You been in the army?”
“Yes. And I’m better with a sword than those fools.”
“Good. Got a good army record?”
Tora shifted uneasily. “Well…”
The boy grinned and slapped his shoulder. “Don’t worry. That’s good, too. Just so long as they’re not looking for you.”
“They wouldn’t be looking for me here anyway.”
“Where you from then?”
“The North Country.”
The boy clapped his hands. “Kata will like that. He says they’ve got tough fighters up that way. Yes, I’d say you’ve got a good chance. Mind you, he expects loyalty. Me, I’ve worked for him almost two years now. I’ll soon be a regular and get my lessons for free.”
“What sort of work?”
“I’m a runner now. The fastest there is because I know my way around. And I keep my mouth shut. That’s important in this business.”
I bet it is, thought Tora. “You’re a bright kid. You’ll go far.”
The boy nodded. “I know. And I’m not afraid.”
“Well,” said Tora, “if you can help me get the job, I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“You tell me how to act and who to talk to, and if all goes well, I’ll give you some lessons to get you started. I can use a sword and a pole better than any of them.”
But the youngster balked a little. He cast a nervous glance toward Kata, who was shouting at an unfortunate student. “Are you really good?”
Tora jerked his head toward the alley behind the school. “Let’s go back there and I’ll show you.”
The alley was deserted. One side was the mostly blind wall of the training school, and the other a long line of half-broken fencing separating the alley from the backyards of poor dwellings. A few empty sake barrels rested against the wall, and a pile of kitchen garbage had gathered near a wooden shed. Tora waited. In a moment the skinny youngster opened the back door and emerged, carrying two wooden swords.
Tora extended his hand for one of the swords. “Just a little sample. That move your master was teaching just now? It’s called ‘The Whirlwind,’ and it should be done like this.” He demonstrated with an explosion of movement that made his arms and legs a blur, causing the air to whistle around his out-flung sword arm. He finished with a sudden jump that brought the point of the sword against the boy’s throat.
The youngster shrieked and fell backward into the dirt. Tora grinned down at him. “Like that, see? You slash at as many as you can, making some room for yourself, and then you go for the leader. That stops the rest, but if it doesn’t, you kill the bastard and start over again. I’ve never had to do it more than once. By then they’ve got the message and run.”
“Amida.” The youngster got to his feet, his eyes big with wonder. “I’ve never seen Kata Sensei move like that.” Then he added loyally, “But I figure he could.”
Tora doubted that Kata would teach that particular trick, because he had just invented it. The problem with it was that it left your back unprotected when you stopped whirling to attack a single opponent. But the youngster would not know that. So he grinned lazily and perched his backside on one of the upturned barrels. “Now it’s your turn. What’s your name?”
“Kinjiro. And you?”
“Tora.”
“Tora?” The boy looked impressed. “If they call you Tiger, you must be famous.”
Tora said modestly, “Nah. Would I be looking for a job if I were?”
Kinjiro said fervently, “Well, I think you’re great. And if you aren’t famous, you will be.”
Tora nearly blushed at so much admiration and began to wonder if this young sprout of a cutthroat might be salvageable after all. But he doubted that his master would take on another obligation just now, especially one of such dubious promise, and put the thought firmly from his mind. He said, “Thank you. Someday you may have such a name, too. You know a lot already. Speaking of that, can you tell me about a big fellow with a trimmed beard? He was with your boss. Nicely dressed. About forty, I’d say. We had some words. I didn’t like his manner and I doubt he liked mine. Who is he?”
“Uh, oh! I bet you messed with Sangoro.” The boy clapped his hand over his mouth and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t mention that I called him that. He wants to be known as Matsue Sensei.”
“Sensei? Is he a teacher like Kata?”
“Matsue Sensei is a master swordsman. He doesn’t waste his time with ordinary fighters.”
“Or so he says.”
The boy grinned. “Maybe you’ll show him, eh? I don’t like him, because he beats me. But he’s the boss’s friend. Maybe he’s in the business. I wouldn’t know because I’m not allowed in the meetings.” His face lengthened. “Matsue Sensei might make trouble for you. The best thing to do is to talk to the boss when he’s not around. Once you’re in, show the boss what you can do. Matsue Sensei’ll have a hard time getting rid of you then.”
Tora gravely thanked him for the advice.
The youngster asked, “Will you show me how to handle my sword now?”
The impromptu lesson was inconvenient, because someone might come at any moment, but a deal was a deal, and Kinjiro had passed on some useful information. Tora picked up the sword again and showed Kinjiro various stances. His private opinion was that the slight, bandy-legged boy would never develop the muscles, height, or weight needed to handle a heavy sword. But the exercise reminded him that he had become rusty himself. They used to have sword or pole practice every morning in the courtyard-he, the master, and Genba. But lately the
