Moonshadow (12 page)

He carefully swung his feet into the black cavity between the roof and ceiling, about to descend. Out of the corner of one eye, an alarming detail caught his attention. He turned his head, making sure his impression was right. It was! A bead of nervous sweat glided down his spine. The sky to the east was growing lighter. The crescent moon was about to rise. No plans yet, and already, he was almost out of time.

TWELVE
The prize

Once inside the roof cavity, Moon pressed an ear to the ceiling boards. He listened hard for sounds of life in the treasure room below. Nothing.

Moon drew the burglary tools from his leggings. Using the thin blades, he silently popped one wooden ceiling square and slid it to one side. He dangled his head through the opening, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light of the room. A candle in an iron holder burned in the centre of the polished hardwood floor. Another glowed between the only two pieces of furniture he could see: a fancy wooden Chinese chest and a much larger, plainer safe of rough black metal beside it. Each had built-in locks, each a large keyhole. They stood together under the room's only window, which was shuttered and bolted.

It all looked just as Grey Light Order intelligence had predicted. Moon sighed softly. It also looked too easy to be true.

He took the reinforced cord on the wooden spool from a pocket of his leggings. Moon unwound the cord, then lowered its weighted end slowly until it touched the floor. Controlling the line with feather-light pressure, he gently dragged the weight across one floor plank and onto the next. When it had crossed several polished boards, the weight stopped moving freely and Moon, sampling the cord's tension with his index finger, felt it snag. His eyes followed the cord down to the floor, hunting for whatever had trapped it. There it was, just as he had suspected, hiding in the shadows below the candles' glow.

A black wire cable, in fact several thin cables, crossed the floor a hand's width above the boards. They were designed to catch the feet of anyone moving from the reinforced sliding door to the window area. He hung upside down from the gap in the ceiling, turning his head, following the cables. At each end, they were connected to large bamboo chimes that hung in shadow. He set his jaw. There must be a guard – or several – just outside, ready to charge in at the slightest sound from those alarms.

Moonshadow retrieved his sensing cord, then pulled himself up and crept through the roof cavity until he was directly above the Chinese chest. He raised and discarded another wooden square. After judging the distance to the chest below, Moon lowered himself over it. He hung by his fingertips from the edge of the hole he'd made, checked the rest of the room again, then soundlessly dropped to the chest.

On most missions, he would put out the candles before striking, lowering the sensing cord's weight above their flames and running drops of water down the cord. In this particular situation, that light was an ally he needed. He needed to see the cables of the chime traps at all times. He needed to verify the plans before he fled with them, in case Silver Wolf was using a second ruse:
dummy
plans
. At least he'd been prepared. Thanks to Badger, Moon knew exactly what to look for when he examined the documents, how to confirm their authenticity.

He crouched on the chest, too wary of more hidden traps to stand on any part of the floor itself. The very boards might be planed to rub against each other and sing like nightingales, bringing the guards – and death – down on him in the sweetest voice. He recalled Badger's detailed account of an ingenious alarm-floor in the inner corridor of mighty Nijo Castle, where recently a Grey Light agent had sustained mortal wounds after the boards sang beneath the weight of his feet. Leaning forward, working upside down with his small iron hook and thin blades, Moonshadow attacked the built-in lock on the Chinese chest.

When a soft
click
announced that he had beaten the mechanism, he stepped from the lid of the chest and clung to the side of the black iron vault which stood next to it. With one foot, Moon swung the chest open. As its lid rose, there was a faint hiss and a spring-loaded blade shot up from inside the camphor-scented box. Moon closed his eyes gratefully. If he'd been sloppy and careless, standing on the floor and looming unwisely over that chest, the blade now gleaming there would have sliced off his chin.

Still gripping the side of the vault, he leaned out, hovering above the open Chinese chest. Using the iron hook, Moon fished out the chest's only contents apart from the spring-loaded blade trap. It was a plugged tube of polished bamboo, hung from a tough leather thong. Swinging from his burglary hook, it dangled in front of his eyes. Was this the real thing? The packaging looked right.

He needed somewhere to stand so he could use both hands while he checked the plans over. Using one foot, Moon slowly closed the Chinese chest. The spring-loaded blade retracted, automatically folding, and the trap reset itself with a subtle double
click
as the lid came down. He nodded. Should these plans prove fake, he would open the chest again and replace them. Moon stretched, stepping back onto the lid of the chest. He steadied his breathing once more and stowed his tools in his leggings.

Leaning out to catch the light of the candle, he unstoppered the bamboo tube. Gently he pulled a single roll of hand-made paper from it.

Moonshadow unwound the plans and looked them over. At once, every instinct told him they
were
the real thing. A series of technical drawings, with captions in some alien language, showed a peculiar device. It was similar to a musket, though part of its middle, near the trigger assembly, flared out like a water gourd. Lower on the page, a cutaway diagram of the flared section revealed six separate chambers inside it. Each chamber held its own lead ball, shot wad, and gunpowder. A set of cogs at either end meant this gourd-like magazine could be rotated, lining the weapon's barrel up first with one chamber, then with the next.

At the bottom of the single sheet, the plans carried an odd stamp-mark Moon had been told to look out for, the trademark of the black market broker Silver Wolf had used. So these
were
the real plans.

Moon swallowed. He had known that his mission was to intercept plans for a weapon that would give Silver Wolf a tremendous advantage. An unacceptable advantage in the hands of one plotting rebellion. But
what
a weapon! Now, confronted with its details, the implications of this terrible device shocked him.

Warfare, the ancient craft of Japan's ruling class, would never be the same again. Every soldier toting a gun like this would get six shots, in rapid succession, before needing to reload it. That was enough firepower to bring down charging cavalry or rows of armoured men. He shook his head, picturing a long line of such shooters. Then he imagined a whole army of them.

This weapon would dictate who ruled the country. Skill in combat would lose all importance, and what about rules of honour on the battlefield? The
old way
was to pick your opponent, declare your name, make a challenge, and duel him! It took courage to see a man's eyes as you fought him up close.

To fire on a distant, faceless foe, no manners, honour or courage would be required. Silver Wolf not only intended to plunge the country back into war. He would bring
future war
, using ugly new science Japan had never known.

There was only one way to take this wicked advantage from the rogue warlord: make sure that either nobody
or everybody
had these plans. Moon stared at the inner workings of the doomsday musket. It was up to him to stop this nightmare in its tracks.

He rolled up the plans and eased them back into the bamboo tube. He slung the thong around his neck then fed the tube carefully into his jacket, sliding it under both his night and mesh suits. The tube would keep the plans dry should he have to use the moat to escape. But was swimming out even an option now? His eyes flicked to the window. The glow behind those shutters was unmistakable. Moon cursed. The sky was growing brighter still. Escaping via the moat was out of the question because very shortly the crescent moon would turn that shadowy moat into an archer's shooting gallery.

He stood tall on the chest then bent his knees and made ready to launch himself upwards for the second gap he had made in the ceiling.

In the distance, a conch shell horn sounded, the type used to send signals in battle. Moon's stomach churned, his heart sprinted into a flutter. What was happening? He hadn't set off any traps! He looked around frantically. Or had he? An alarm gong pealed from the castle's outer rectangle. Surely they were not under attack? Not at this hour!

Warning shouts came from somewhere far below in the castle grounds. He heard the urgent thrumming of feet on wooden stairs.
Guards, and
lots of them
. They were inside the keep, on the next level down but rising fast. How, how had he been detected?

'They see him!' A fierce voice relayed the report in the corridor outside the treasure room. Moon flinched hard. 'The intruder's climbing down again!'

No he wasn't! Moon tilted his head to one side, bewildered. The fellow outside was bellowing about something he hadn't done yet! Unless –

He blinked hard. Unless they had seen
another
intruder?

A muffled
meow
came from the roof above him, echoing through the ceiling cavity. 'Great timing,' Moon grumbled.
Now
the cat wanted to renew their friendship! There was another
meow
, a
thunk
, then a scraping sound as the roof tiles he had balanced collapsed into the hole he'd made. Moon listened as the scraping turned to grinding then stopped sharply. That damned cat! It had tried to follow him into the ceiling, setting off the tile-trap and blocking his escape hole! On the roof above, the animal began mewing, complaining because now it couldn't join him.

'Check the treasure room!' A guard's deep voice growled nearby. 'There could be more!'

Moon glanced at the door, then back up at the ceiling, momentarily confused. He was trapped! What to do? The keep's corridor floorboards pounded, the noise approaching fast. There were scuffing sounds, a sharp creak, then a tremble went through the treasure room's heavy sliding door. Moon crouched low on the Chinese chest, holding his breath. The reinforced door flew open.

A dozen samurai stood outside, long swords already drawn. Moon's hand slid into his leggings, probing for the high pocket where his shuriken and smoke bombs lay.

'There's one!' A powerful-looking swordsman pointed. 'Take him!'

Roaring as one man, the twelve rushed in.

THIRTEEN
Detected

He hurled a smoke bomb at the floor then leapt for the opening above him.

With a low hissing, white smoke quickly filled the treasure room. The samurai plunged into it, stumbling over the low black cables, setting off chime traps as they ran for where they had last seen Moonshadow.

'Don't swing till you see him!' The swordsman leading them yelled. 'Don't cut each other!'

The boards shook, the chime traps warbled. Moon dangled from the ceiling, swinging his legs. Below him, inside a white cloud, the guards collided with one another around the Chinese chest. Momentarily, they became a tight crush. Moon swung himself hard and dropped, aiming his feet for the shoulders of the man nearest the door. The samurai snarled as Moon landed on him, the impact sending him reeling backwards.

Moon sprung from the staggering samurai to the floor, bounded through the doorway and twisted around fast. He quickly slid the reinforced door shut, snapping its wooden locking pin into place as the weight of twelve bodies shook it from the inside. Moon ran along the corridor until he came to a window. Its shutters were open. He leapt up onto its sill, fished for his claws and put them on, then hurriedly lowered himself onto the keep's wall outside. As he cleared the window and started down the side of the keep, the corridor he had just left echoed with the sounds of more shouting, running men. He descended faster.

The crescent moon was clearing the mountains now, splashing light over the tiles and beams of the castle's roofs. Shadows darting across the courtyard below and more frantic shouts from above suggested that an army of guards now converged on the keep and its treasure room.

Good, Moon nodded. Let that diversion last as long as possible while he found his way out of here! He dropped smoothly to the rain roof, looking in all directions. He was now halfway back down the solitary tower. What was the fastest route out of this castle? He stared past the rain roof's chimney to the deserted archer's platform. That walkway would take him straight to the outer rectangle.

Hunching in shadow, Moon stowed his claws, then listened and watched the walkway. No signs of life. The din of a panicky search continued to come from high up in the keep, but all was quiet in this little fold of the castle. He gave a sharp nod. Seize the advantage while it was there! Moon stood up and scurried low across the rain roof.

Passing the chimney, he immediately sensed someone close behind him. Moon spun about, but the foe was already springing from the chimney's tiny roof. Knuckles glanced off the side of his head. Moon reeled backwards, catching a glimpse of his attacker: a slender figure, dressed like him in a dark night suit, wearing a back-mounted sword. So there
was
another spy!

Moon cartwheeled away to turn around in a strong upright stance, one hand on the grip of his sword. His mouth fell open. The rooftop was empty. Where did he go?

A knee slammed into his back from behind. He stumbled and groaned. This enemy could really jump! Moon twisted about, brought his fists up and used a scissor action to block a powerful incoming punch aimed at his throat. His agile enemy changed position with ease to sweep his feet out from underneath him. He crashed sideways to the tiles, forced to use his arms to break his fall. Seeing Moon's guard down, his unknown foe pounced, dropping on top of him and revolving nimbly to elbow him hard between the eyes. The force of the blow jolted Moon's head back. The rooftop around him instantly grew hazy. He tried to rise. His limbs were numb. He gasped, realising his attacker's cunning nerve-strike had paralysed him. He was an easy kill now. Moon willed his feet to move. They felt dead. The foe loomed over him, studying his night suit.

Crumpled against the tiles, Moonshadow waited for a sword's tip or edge to find him. Neither came. Instead of drawing a blade, his assailant crouched low and rammed one hand down the front of Moon's jacket; long, thin fingers probing for the bamboo and the plans. Moon tried to move his feet again and this time felt them respond. He summoned up his strength and rolled, trapping his foe's legs, dragging the enemy to the rooftop beside him. Sustaining the roll, Moon seized the stranger's wrist and twisted it fast, breaking the hold his opponent had taken on the leather thong around his neck.

Now Moonshadow further tangled the attacker's arms and legs with his own, gripping tightly as he rolled for the roof's edge. He sucked in an anxious breath. If he had rightly calculated the distance to the edge, momentum would help him fling his enemy from the roof. They'd have to abandon their attack to save themselves from falling. If he had figured the distance poorly, that edge would arrive too soon and they would both plunge over it, and anything could happen.

His sheathed sword dug into his back as he reached the final row of tiles. With a twist of his hips Moon released the attacker, flicking him from the roof. Soundlessly the stranger fell. Moon scrambled back from the edge, lungs heaving for air. He checked the leather thong, then patted the centre of his chest. The bamboo tube was still in place. He carefully leaned from the roof, eyes hunting for signs of the other intruder on the face of the keep. His assailant hadn't tried to kill him when he could have, so Moon hoped he had snatched a hold or found a landing point on the way down. But he saw nothing.

Moon shuddered. His attacker had simply vanished. There was no hint of him clinging anywhere below the rain roof. No dangling rope, nor claw marks in the growing moonlight.

Had he overdone it, had the fall slain him? His eyes probed lower. Nothing: no blood down the side of the building, no corpse at the bottom. He shook his head. Whoever his competitor was, his style was very different but he was
good
. His distinctive moves looked so light and crisp, yet were deceptively powerful. Moon clambered to his feet, glanced around warily, then focused on the walkway connected to the rain roof.

Someone else had found him, someone a little friendlier. Unable to help himself, Moonshadow grinned. The temple cat was crouched halfway along the walkway, head to the floor, apparently studying something trapped between its paws. His sense of relief started turning to elation, but years of training quickly cut in, warning him:
this was
no time to relax
. Moon glanced over his shoulder. He had dealt with an unexpected complication, managing to survive it. But the real threat still lay ahead, the one he was always going to have to face: Silver Wolf's best guards, his finest castle samurai. And given the way the night had gone so far, who knew what else? Moonshadow licked dry lips.

He started forward onto the walkway. The cat looked up, glanced left and right, then leapt to its feet and ran to the edge. Moon stopped as it jumped from sight into the darkness around the long archer's platform. He narrowed his eyes, peering further along the walkway.

Yes. There was a man, standing alone in shadow, blocking the path to the outer rectangle. A moment after seeing him, Moon heard sounds from behind.

Men, approaching stealthily
.

Then the crescent moon burst above the castle's skyline and the whole suspended gallery was streaked with fingers of light.

Moonshadow slowly turned a circle. He was surrounded.