In Search of Spice (58 page)

Early the next morning Sara and Takeo met on the main deck. The ship scudded on the main sail only, with most of the crew off watch. Suzanne had the dawn watch and she nodded at them from beside the wheel.

Moving to a position out of direct line of sight, Sara drew Lady Strike and saluted Takeo who gripped his own sharkskin handled blade, thicker with less reach.

“Princess, we shall practise the form I taught you. We shall make the first twenty moves and stop. You will tell me which form we follow.”

Sara nodded and Takeo cut at her foot, a blow she blocked, turning the parry into a riposte to his arm, remembering the rigid pattern of moves he taught her. Already she thought she knew and a few more low strikes confirmed her suspicion.

“The Crane in the Morning Mist,” she said, disdaining to stop and continuing the form.

“Excellent,” cried Takeo, increasing the speed of the dance. Sara tried to remember the moves several steps ahead, but found it much harder with speed. They reached the end of the series and she wondered what to do.

“Continue,” said Takeo, “guess the right move. See how long you last.”

Sara slipped into the void, finding it easier now she entered daily. Time slowed, the pattern became obvious and she stopped following the pattern and started to create her own, forcing Takeo into certain moves as the only response to her own swordplay. She cut at his wrist, spun to force him outwards to belatedly see him flow into his own spin, coming round out of reach to smack the flat of his blade against her ribs.

Takeo laughed, for Lady Strike dug into his throat. Sara smiled and started to bow, to go rigid with tension as she realised they were not alone.

Perched on the ship’s rail, with some in the rigging, were Pat, Hinatea, Sung Bai Ju and the entire group under training, level eyes watching them with no expression.

Sara wondered at her inability to sense their arrival, knowing from Takeo’s tension he had missed their appearance as well.

“Your pardon, Sifu Takeo,” said Bai Ju. “My children must learn swordplay. May we learn from observing you?”

Takeo bowed stiffly in acquiescence.

Bai Ju smiled. “May I speak to explain what you do?”

Takeo bowed again, turned back to Sara and spoke, his voice a little cracked and rough. “You did well Princess in creating your own pattern. This is how the great patterns were created. Of course we all learn the counters to each pattern and the counter to the pattern. Now I will show you The Counter of the Frog, which sticks in the throat of the Crane.”

Sara proceeded to lead the Crane in the Morning Mist while Takeo began to force a different response.

Bai Ju’s voice rose to annoy their senses and prevent the entry into the void. “The Tokkaidans are masters of the sword, they learn precise ways of winning, very formal. They hold the blade and make the stroke while placing the body in a particular way and moving in a special direction. This forces the opponent to respond in a way he expects. So the blademaster can lead his opponent to where he wants, and cause him to expose part of his body for the killing blow. If his opponent not know the form, he is dead. If he knows the form, he must follow it and lead the right response. This is what he shows her now, a counter to beat the form. The great masters must learn over one thousand patterns.”

Sara could feel Takeo’s indignation and annoyance through his blade, while at the same time marvelling at the precision of Bai Ju’s description which gave her a fuller understanding of Takeo’s teaching.

“Watch now,” Bai Ju continued, “and later you tell me how you will take an expert swordsman.”

Sara sensed Takeo listening, as he missed a cut. She switched to a new form, Takeo went the wrong way and exposed himself to her lunge, which she pulled at the last moment. Takeo considered her, his face a mask. He bowed and she followed suit. When they came up, their audience had evaporated.

“My apologies, Princess,” he said. “It is a good lesson for me, I must learn to control my pride. The ninja, she knows where to push me. “

“With respect, Sensei, I think she cares not and you create this in your mind. Do you know why?”

Takeo took a moment before he replied, eyes downcast. “I fear her. I am sorry. To nobody else would I admit this, Princess.” He pulled back his silk jacket with a violent motion, exposing a chiselled chest and a nasty scar drifting down from the left nipple to the waist. “In Tokkaido a ninja in the employ of a Daimyo gave me this as a warning. I was a child to his skill. I feel the power in this one, and it is greater.” He let his head fall forward and kept the abject bow. Sara became alarmed.

“Takeo, my friend, she is not a ninja. She is a monk. In her country they do not have ninja.”

“She is same thing.” His voice sounded muffled.

“She is on our side. She is my tool to use. She will not harm you.” Sara hoped this was true.

High in the rigging Pat’s Elite Royal Scouts, as Suzanne had dubbed them to his annoyance, gathered in their favourite aerial formation. A ball, with their sifu, their trainer, in the middle so all could hear her words.

“So, who will tell me how to take a samurai?”

Hinatea shifted imperceptibly, enough for all to turn their eyes to her. “He was distracted by your words. This gave Sara the opening. So I would distract him.”

“How?”

“Must be unexpected. So I fight with clothes on. Then when sword come close, I stagger and tit fall out. Then he look and I kill him. One movement. Tit out, blade in.”

“Make sure he not too good or you dead. If he in the void, he not see tit. Don’t let him in void. You must become much better with sword before works. Who else? Maru?”

“We work as team,” said Maru, his voice deep and thoughtful. “We never get good enough with sword to kill samurai. But I can defend, better than Wiwik. I keep his attention, Wiwik go round behind, when he ready I start form that Samurai knows will expose me. “ He stopped and Wiwik picked up the narrative.

“I know the form, so I watch his muscles. When he starts the movement to kill Maru, I strike. He cannot stop his movement to save himself, not see me.”

“Good! Will work, but not if he is in void. Not let him in void first. Which form you use?”

Both boys were silent, then Maru suggested, “The Mouse that Roars?”

“Later I show you variation. Good. Who else?”

“Why fight him?” asked Rat. “I would throw a knife or shuriken at him, or have Pat shoot him with his bow.”

“Samurai very, very fast. Especially if in void. Knife or shuriken too slow, he can hit away with his sword. If not in void, Pat can kill him with arrow.”

“So we distract him, either with Maru or one of the girls, and kill him from behind.”

“Stiphleek starts singing, and I kill him with my axe while he covers his ears,” offered Esbech without the slightest hint of a smile.

“Let Esbech get close, he will die from the smell,” countered Stiphleek.

“You make fun, but truth in your words. We use many senses, and we can distract with all of them. Wilhelm sings, Andreas smells, Hinatea take tit out, Ratty throw knife, Pat shoots arrow, Maru defends, Wiwik attacks, he very distracted for sure, cannot enter void.”

Pat smiled at the conversation. Once Rat would have hesitated at the idea of killing from behind. He felt his Scouts were ready now, though he knew battle would refine their skills. The quicker the enemy died, the less of his own would die.

The Queen Rose sailed to the north, where a great mass loomed off the starboard bow. They passed a vast land, full of people, but all small villages which on Taufik’s advice they ignored. Fish traps were everywhere, great square structures of bamboo dotting the ocean, sometimes with a fisherman squatting curiously on the top, gazing at the ship and ignoring the waves of the sailors.

Sails constantly appeared now, the largest no more than half the size of the Queen Rose. They followed these into a river mouth, which opened up into a huge bay as five rivers flowed into it, three from the north and two from the south. Slow, turgid rivers, with a mass of small boats going every which way, crammed with people all staring at the Queen Rose. These ones waved happily. This was the Malabar Coast, and up this river should be Kochin, according to Taufik.

A small boat came along side and a dark brown man scrambled up the rope ladder, grinning toothily, dressed in a dirty white robe. Taufik went to meet him, and haggle over harbour fees and where they could anchor. Captain Larroche refused the opportunity to tie up at a wharf.

The pilot guided them up the southern, inland river to a sheltered point where they anchored. Taufik questioned him at length, before he boarded his boat and left them.

It was early afternoon, and Captain Larroche noticed many of his crew looking shorewards with anticipation. As the ship swung at anchor, the slight wind dropped and the heat became oppressive. He noticed the wash raft being hauled up from the hold and called the Bosun over.

“Bosun, ensure everyone knows this river is polluted. This river flows through a city of a good 20,000 souls who all shit in it. Touch that water and you are touching shit.”

“Beg pardon, Captain, but I fear you are wrong.” Taufik spoke loudly. “There must be 50,000 people in the city.”

The men pulling up the wash raft glanced at each other, and started to put it back.

“I trust we have plenty of good clean water in the barrels, Bosun?”

“Aye, aye Sir. No worries.

“Brian! Keep everyone occupied, nobody allowed aboard and nobody on shore without special leave. Send Lieutenant Starr to my cabin, Delarosa as well. Taufik, come with me.”

When they came in, Captain Larroche was considering his drinks cabinet, morosely deciding it was not a good idea to drink brandy in this temperature. The cabin was sweltering. Thank heavens for the silk uniforms, he thought to himself.

“Ah, Sara. Have you decided what you want to do yet?”

“After hearing Taufik’s report on Kochin, I have little confidence there is anything here for us, in trade or anything.”

“There is pepper,” Taufik nodded sadly. “It may be they have resolved their problems with Kalicut.”

“Even so, I think it would be good practice for us to contact the Sultan.”

“I think it is vital, and we must make a serious impression,” contributed Suzanne. “You can be sure the story of what happens in the next few days will be up and down the coast in no time.”

“Do you want to be the Princess?” asked the Captain of Sara. “How much influence will the Spakka and Havant have here? They will capture you if they can.”

“The Spakka are not known here, sir,” said Taufik. “But the Umayyad and Havant are important. They are major traders in the area and take much of the exports. The Sultan likes them for the money they bring, but he doesn’t like their religions. Do not trust the Umayyad. They will catch you if they can, and sell you to the Spakka. Here in Kochin the Sultan may try and sell you to them.”

“That will take time to organise, so let’s make sure we don’t stay here too long. How do I get to see the Sultan, Taufik?”

“I am sorry, Lieutenant Starr, but I do not know. I was a simple seaman, these people live their lives in their palaces and there is no way I would ever see them. Merchants, I met and dealt with. Royalty, never.” He hesitated.

“What is it, Taufik? You want to say something? Come on, I won’t be offended.”

“Mistress Sara, you were clever with the Pahippians and the kai Viti, but these people are different. I mean no disrespect to the islanders, but this city existed here for longer than man has memory, thousands of years.”

“There is something you are not saying. What? Are you saying not to trust them?”

“It is not for me to say, but when we are trading, we agree a deal and know they will not send what we agreed, and we will have to turn away the goods they send to us, and not give them our goods till after we have seen and have checked theirs. Eventually we will get what we agreed, but it is like a game with them, to try and get the better of the deal. They need to try, it seems, and are not bothered what you think of them.”

“Tell me what you know of the Sultans, do they dress well, do they like ceremony? Are they fat, and eat a lot? Or do they fight and hunt?”

“Both, all are different. They dress well, and like to show off their wealth. Always they are covered in jewels. When they fight, they dress like a peacock and parade with all their troops, and like the troops which look the best. Usually they shout insults and there is not much fighting, perhaps a few heroes fight in front of the armies. I have not seen, you understand, just what I hear.”

Sara thought about this for a moment.

“What’s a peacock?” asked Suzanne.

“So sorry, it is a big chicken, with a bright blue front, a headdress and a huge tail, maybe ten paces across, with lots of fake eyes in it. It holds it up like a fan and looks very fine. You will see tame ones in their gardens, they like to keep animals. You will understand what I mean when you see one.”

“So they like drama, here?”

“Drama? I don’t understand.”

“Theatre, acting like your peacock, making ourselves look important and rich.”

“Ah, yes, very much so. What you look like is very important to them. You must have lots of jewels or you are nothing.”