Jason Rohan - The Sword of Kuromori

The driver again stamped on the brake pedal, but it was loose. He looked at Kenny in the rear-view mirror and shrugged apologetically. ‘ Dameh da ,’ he said.

Up ahead, the black rider pulled alongside Sato’s police car. He lobbed a small canister in through the passenger window and moved clear. There was a flash and white smoke filled the car. The driver immediately braked, pulling the car on to the hard shoulder so that he and the other police officers inside could burst free from the choking fumes and fall to their knees, retching.

Kenny’s mouth was dry, his pulse was racing and his chest was tight. Here he was, trapped in a police car without a voice, careening along at eighty kilometres per hour with no brakes. And, to top it all, it seemed like he was being hunted by a mad ninja on a motorbike who had just totalled three police vehicles and was coming to finish the job.

The driver pumped the brake pedal one last time before giving up. ‘No brakes,’ he shouted to Kenny. ‘You must jump before crash. Gambatte, ne ?’ And with that, his features melted away and his empty uniform sagged on to the seat.

Kenny stared in mute shock. A striped, furry nose poked from the trouser waistband and a brown badger shrugged out of the clothes, clawed open the door and dived out on to the road, clear of the speeding car.

‘ Okubyomono! ’ shouted the police officer next to Kenny. He jumped forward to hold the steering wheel steady with his free hand; the other tugged at the handcuff anchoring him to Kenny, until his wrist stretched like putty and the hand slipped out.

Kenny had completely forgotten about the creature wrapped round his middle until he felt it now loosen its hold and begin to grow thicker as it unflattened itself. It oozed out from under his shirt and dropped to the floor of the squad car, just as the black motorcycle drew up alongside, its speed matching the car’s, and took up position by Kenny’s door. The rider drew a symbol in the air and Kenny felt a twitch in his throat. Before he could wonder about this, he saw that the rider had unsheathed the sword again and was taking aim at him through the window.

Kenny yelled and hurled himself across the back seat as the sword came down. There was a clang and the door fell away completely, cut from its hinges. It cartwheeled down the road behind them.

‘Not good!’ shouted the police officer steering the car.

Kenny looked up and saw a bright row of lights across the road in front: toll gates. In about twenty seconds, the car was going to smash into the waiting traffic ahead. He had to get out quickly.

The furry animal evidently had the same idea as it was now jumping up and down, tugging Kenny’s collar and pointing in the direction of the black motorcycle. Kenny glanced up and saw that the rider was holding out a hand, gloved fingers beckoning him to take hold.

‘No way!’ he cried and then realised that his voice had filled the car. His voice! It was back, and that meant the rider had– There was no time for that.

‘Trust me!’ the rider said, his voice filtered through a speaker.

Kenny saw the line of parked cars looming closer. There were mere seconds left. He grabbed his backpack lying on the seat beside him, scrambled across the car and tried not to look at the gritty blur of speeding tarmac below. He reached for the outstretched hand. The bike wobbled, moving out of reach. Kenny slipped and almost fell. He steadied himself and reached out again. The rider’s strong grip closed round his and Kenny was about to jump when he felt a sharp tug on his jacket. The police officer was holding on tightly and pulling him back.

‘You, prisoner!’ the officer yelled. ‘Under arrest!’

‘No! Let go!’ Kenny shouted.

The line of tollbooths grew larger and a truck was parked directly in front.

Kenny saw a flash of red-brown fur and the police officer shrieked as the animal sank its teeth into his arm. His grip loosened, Kenny jumped and the motorcyclist swung him on to the pillion. The bike peeled away from the police car which ploughed into the back of the truck and exploded.

Kenny stared numbly as the flames licked the back of the trailer, shocked at how close he had come to a fiery end. A blur of movement drew his eye and he saw the furry creature bounding after him. The bike slowed and the animal scampered aboard, its fur smoking, and tucked itself between Kenny and the rider.

The motorcycle slipped through a toll gate and moved silently towards Tokyo.

Kenny kept his arms around the leather-clad rider, with the furry animal pressed warm against his belly. He was tired, but his mind was abuzz with too many questions – and there was something weird about the motorbike, but he was too sleepy to pinpoint what it was. Still, he was fairly sure that neither the odd creature nor the rider meant him any harm, not yet at least, so that was something.

From time to time, he opened his heavy eyes to see road signs flash overhead in Japanese and English, plus bright, shining skyscrapers in the near distance; once, he even thought he glimpsed an orange and white painted Eiffel Tower lit up against the darkening sky. The only thing he was sure about was that the bike was keeping to the back roads.

At one point, the rider stopped and pulled over at the sound of approaching sirens, but when it became clear that the police cars weren’t stopping, they resumed their journey.

After what seemed to Kenny like more than an hour, the motorcycle slowed and circled a large plot of land protected by a high stone wall. Satisfied that the way was clear, the bike approached the iron gates, which were ornamented with two fighting dragons, claws raking at one another. A man in a dark suit watched the bike draw closer and signalled to another to open the gates. Sliding silently on well-oiled runners, the dragons withdrew from their brawl.

The bike glided in and eased up the long driveway towards the magnificent house at the centre of the plot. Kenny stirred himself enough to see gracefully curved gable roofs, black wooden beams, slate-coloured tiles and soft light filtering out through the windows.

Parking the bike to one side, the rider dismounted and strode towards the main doors.

‘Hey! Wait up,’ Kenny called. ‘Where am I? Who are you?’

The rider disappeared into the house.

‘Great. My turn to be invisible,’ Kenny muttered.

The furry creature slithered from the bike and waddled after the rider. Kenny climbed off the seat, winced, and squatted to loosen the stiffness in his legs and the numbness in his backside. With both hands on his lower back, he flexed his hips. Feeling something tugging at his leg, he looked down to see the small animal impatiently pointing towards the house.

‘OK, I get the idea. Let’s go see what this is all about,’ Kenny said, and he followed the creature through the open front door.

The hallway inside was softly lit by recessed lighting. The walls were papered in sage green and on one hung a scroll with large Chinese characters written upon it. There was no sign of the biker, but a huge Japanese man stood in the entrance, holding out a pair of white slippers in his plate-sized hands.

Looking down, Kenny saw that he was standing in a kind of shallow pit. The biker had left his boots there, neatly placed side by side, the toes pointing to the door. Small feet , Kenny thought, before he shrugged, kicked off his trainers and took the slippers from the giant of a man.

‘Thank you,’ Kenny said. ‘I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what –’