I. Parker - Black Arrow

Never mind. They were not headed to the north pavilion but to the gate. They had to open the gate to let Takesuke in before they did anything else. The problem was how to get there from here. He had spoken to the servants in a courtyard not unlike the one they were in. For that matter, where were the servants? Some must be in the kitchen, even with the fires out. Had they all been pressed into defending the manor?

“Tora,” he said, opening his eyes, “where did they take you during the banquet?”

“One of their barracks. They fed me. Seemed decent fellows.” Tora grimaced.

Akitada guessed that Tora did not like the thought of killing such hospitable men, or being killed by them. “But where were the barracks? In relation to the gate and the main house?”

“Between the house and the gate. Why?”

That accounted for one of the courtyards. “I’m wondering if we can find our way to the gate without Kaoru. Takesuke’s men are preparing to attack. We cannot wait much longer.”

“Then let’s go, sir.” Hitomaro was on his feet. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Akitada sighed and rose. “Yes. Something must have gone wrong. We have waited long enough. Take another look outside and tell me if you see any smoke anywhere in the compound.”

Hitomaro reported, “Nothing, sir. They must’ve caught both of them.”

Akitada looked around the shed. “Very well. Since the materials are at hand, we’ll make the fire here. Pile up all the baskets, brooms, and kindling against that wall over there. Then we’ll pour the lamp oil over it and light it.”

Tora grinned. “Good idea. The kitchen next door has a thatched roof. That should get their attention.”

Hitomaro nodded, and they fell to work. Akitada emptied baskets and tossed them on the pile. “We are going back the way we came,” he said as he worked. “That gallery should take us to the main house, and from there we’ll get to the gate.”

“They’ll be coming that way when they see the fire,” Hitomaro muttered.

“We’ll just have to be fast,” said Tora happily.

Akitada thought it likely that they would be seen even before the smoke attracted notice. He dragged one of the huge earthenware jars full of oil across the dirt floor. Hitomaro came to give him a hand. Together they lifted and emptied the dark, viscous liquid over the pile. Their enemies had thoughtfully supplied an assortment of flints, wicks, and spills to keep the manor’s oil lamps lit, and in a moment eager flames licked upward, joining others with a cheerful crackle, and cast a flickering red light on their faces. Smoke rose.

They looked at each other. Tora’s grin looked more like a demon’s snarl in the firelight. Akitada tried to shed the image of hell, and said, “Good. Let’s go.”

Just as they burst from the shed, Akitada in front, a woman cried out. The kitchen door stood open, and two maids goggled at them and at the inferno behind them. Ignoring the maids, they crossed the courtyard at a run and entered the enclosed gallery. Miraculously, it was still empty. Midway, Akitada checked his speed and opened one of the loophole shutters. The scene below had changed. The watchtower, almost on a level with the gallery, now bristled with archers and the men in the courtyard were on their feet, swords and halberds at the ready. Judging from the sounds of high-pitched whinnies and scuffling of hooves, there were horses, too. Akitada estimated thirty men below and twenty on the tower, and more were probably out of sight or waiting in other courtyards. Those he could see had their backs to him, their attention on what was going on outside the gate. And now he heard it, the sound of approaching battle drums.

Takesuke had arrived, and they must move, but attempting to open the gate would be certain suicide. When would the enemy notice the fire? And would they care enough about a fire in a kitchen yard to abandon their watch on the gate? But fires spread. They could not ignore this. At least some of the men in the courtyard would rush to put it out.

One of the archers on the watchtower finally turned his head and saw it. “Fire!” he screamed, and again, “Fire!” his arm pointing. Akitada stepped back from the shutter. The men in the courtyard turned, cried out, and after a moment’s consternation, an officer shouted orders, and they began to run in all directions. Tora came to look and laughed out loud.

Akitada slammed the shutter. “Come on.”

They ran to the end of the corridor and into an open gallery crossing a walled interior garden. Sleet had driven in to gather against the walls and whiten the few shrubs and rocks. A gate led from the garden. Akitada found the stairs, and they ran down. Just as they reached the small gate, it burst open and a warrior came rushing through. He saw them, cried, “Tell his Lordship there’s a big fire in the kitchens. Lieutenant Imazu has gone to put it out.” He turned, then paused and swung back, puzzled. “Who are you?”

Hitomaro’s blade flashed. There was a sickening sound, and the man’s head rolled into the shrubbery, his blood spurting over Hitomaro and Akitada as the body sagged at the knees and fell across their path. Hitomaro stepped over it to the gate. Akitada gulped and wiped at the warm wetness on his face.

“Go on, sir,” urged Tora behind him, and Akitada gripped his sword, stepped over the fallen man, and followed Hitomaro through the gate and down more steps. He saw that they were in the barracks courtyard now and no longer alone. Soldiers ran this way and that, shouting to each other. Nobody paid attention to three armed men coming from the direction of the main house.

They moved quickly and purposefully and passed unhindered through the inner gate, down more steps and into the gate courtyard.

Here there were fewer soldiers than before, though the watchtower was still fully manned with archers who sent volley after volley of arrows down at Takesuke’s men outside. The arrows found their targets. Screams came from outside, and triumphant shouts from above. Akitada thought of the narrow space outside and how any attempt on the closed gate meant almost certain death.

He hurried, trying to remember what Kaoru had said about the gate-something about its being counterbalanced so that one man could open it. There was another bloodcurdling scream, and he broke into a run. Tora and Hitomaro followed. Someone shouted at them, but all three made it under the gateway, and there, in the shadows, Akitada saw the ropes and pulleys. Huge stones hung suspended by ropes that ran over wheels. The gate itself was massive, iron-studded, and barred with an enormous horizontal timber. He could faintly hear the sound of battle-axes against the many layers of wood-Takesuke’s brave men dying in a shower of arrows from above-and felt defeated by the massiveness of the structure. Where was Kaoru? Tora was already pushing at the bar, and Hitomaro ran to give him a hand. The bar did not budge. Akitada turned to look up at the ropes and stones, trying to trace their path, hoping to understand the crude but effective mechanism. Three of Uesugi’s men rushed in, shouting questions. Akitada grunted something in answer, but it was no good. They had realized the truth and attacked. One of them, a big, bearded man, ran at Akitada with the wicked steel blade of the halberd aimed at his belly. Akitada moved aside, felt the blade slice through his trousers, took his sword in both hands and swung down, severing the halberd’s wooden handle-a foolish move, because his attacker simply dropped it and drew a short sword instead. For a moment they grappled. The other was bigger and stronger and forced Akitada back against the wall. Another soldier appeared behind him, grinning too soon, because suddenly Kaoru was there beside Akitada and slashed at the man’s legs. As he fell screaming, Akitada managed to break free and shove his sword into the man’s chest with such force that it disappeared nearly to the hilt. An almost comical expression of surprise passed over the bearded face, then he sagged, skewered, a dead weight on the sword. Akitada had to put his foot on the dead man’s body to pull out his weapon. He turned away, dazed by the violence.