Jason Rohan - The Sword of Kuromori

Harashima looked away and pursed his lips. ‘The word you would use in English isn’t one I would choose, but I cannot think of a suitable alternative, so “magic” will have to suffice.’

Kenny’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Magic?’

‘Please think of a better word to explain what you saw.’

Kenny ignored him, his face reddening again. ‘Where is that biker guy, anyway? You can ask him. The one who brought me here.’

‘After rescuing you and saving your life, yes?’

‘I wouldn’t have been in any danger if he hadn’t come along in the first place.’

Harashima smiled again. ‘Kuromori -san , you would be dead by now if my . . . associate had not helped you. But yes, I should introduce you.’ He clapped his hands once and the biker came in, still wearing the helmet with the mirrored visor. Without his boots, the rider was five centimetres shorter than Kenny.

‘Kenny Blackwood,’ Harashima said, ‘please say hello to my daughter, Kiyomi.’

Kenny stood weakly as the biker removed the helmet and shook out her long black hair.

‘You’re a girl?’ Kenny hadn’t meant it to sound like an accusation, but that was how it came out.

‘Last time I checked, yes,’ Kiyomi said, smiling at his awkwardness. Her almond eyes looked directly into his and he blushed, turning away.

Harashima cleared his throat and addressed Kenny. ‘Your grandfather gave you a message, did he not?’

‘How could you possibly know about that?’

‘Poyo told me,’ Kiyomi said, setting her motorcycle helmet on the table. The visor faced Kenny and he saw his own distorted reflection looking in bewilderment back at him.

‘Who’s Poyo?’ Kenny was floundering; too many new things were happening to him at once and he felt the urge to scream, just to drown it all out.

‘This is Poyo,’ Kiyomi said and the furry animal squeezed through the doorway and scampered up to her. She knelt and gathered it up in her arms. ‘Ooh, you’re getting fat,’ she cooed. ‘Is Poyo missing Mama?’

‘That thing told you?’ Kenny said, struggling to keep up.

‘Mm-hm,’ Kiyomi nodded, tickling Poyo under his chin.

‘The message, if you please,’ her father insisted.

‘I don’t have it,’ Kenny shot back. ‘That Sato bloke took it from me. He’s still got it.’

‘Did you make a copy?’ Harashima said quietly. ‘If I know your grandfather, he would have allowed for this.’

‘A copy? No, with wha–?’ Kenny’s voice trailed away. ‘Wait. Yes. I do have a copy. It’s on here.’ He held out his phone. ‘I took a picture.’

‘Kiyomi- chan ,’ Harashima said.

Kiyomi nodded and took the phone from Kenny, her fingertips brushing his. She clicked open a panel on the wall, pulled out a USB lead and plugged in the phone.

‘Poyo,’ she said. The animal waddled over to a shelf, picked up a remote control and tapped the buttons. This may have been the freakiest thing yet, but Kenny said nothing as the wall panel slid aside again and the enlarged snapshot of his grandfather’s letter appeared, spread out over numerous TV screens. Both Kiyomi and her father scanned it quickly.

‘Hm,’ Harashima said. ‘Hardly worth the effort of writing, do you not think, Kuromori -san ?’

Kenny hesitated. ‘I did think it was a bit strange . . .’

‘Didn’t you see the hidden message?’ Kiyomi said.

Kenny blushed again. Not only was the girl very beautiful, but she was also making him feel very stupid.

‘What hidden message?’ he asked.

‘Take another look,’ she said. Her spoken English was flawless, with a slight American accent. ‘Your grandfather typed this up in a cute font and it’s all nicely done, right?’

Kenny stared at the letter, grateful for something else to focus on. He nodded. ‘Yeah . . .’

‘ Bzzt ! Sorry, wrong answer. Thank you for playing.’

‘Huh?’

‘Look, Ken -chan . Look harder.’

Kenny looked again, as carefully as he could, searching for hidden shapes and patterns. ‘I don’t see anything.’

Kiyomi walked up to the screens and pointed. ‘Didn’t you notice the wonky letters? Some of them are in italic. Look. Here, the “p” in “place” leans to the right. Two lines down, the “h” in “that” and then the “l” in “feelings” are irregular. Do you see it now?’

Kenny stared again. ‘Oh, wow,’ he said, as the pattern became clear, like a 3D Magic Eye picture coming into focus. ‘You’re right. I never saw any of that before.’

‘That’s because your brain irons out the wrinkles,’ Kiyomi said. ‘Here, let me underline the italics.’

‘It’s an old trick from World War Two,’ Harashima said. ‘Prisoners would send hidden messages this way in their letters home.’

‘So,’ Kiyomi said, arms folded in a teacher-like pose, ‘what does it say?’

To my dearest grandson, Kenneth,

Yes, I know you hate being called ‘Kenneth’ but it could have been worse – your grandmother wanted to name you ‘Aloysius’.

If all is well, you will be reading this upon an aero plane high above the Pacific Ocean, making your final approach to Japan, where I have arranged for you to spend the summer with your father.

I remember what it was like for me, travelling alone to a strange and unfamiliar place, but, once I adjusted to the local customs, I found it a place of magical wonder. I suspect that you too may be embarking on a similar journey of self-discovery.

If I have any advice for you, it is this: believe in yourself; trust your feelings; do what is right, especially when it is most difficult; and always carry a cucumber near fresh water.

With all my love,

Your grandfather, Lawrence

Kenny read down quickly. ‘It says . . . open . . . the . . . enve . . . lope. Open the envelope. Open the – Hey, I already opened it, otherwise how would I have got the letter out? This is stupid. It makes no sense.’

‘Do you have the envelope?’ Harashima asked.

Kenny patted down his pockets, heard the paper rustle and took it out. ‘Yes, here it is. They took the letter, but left this.’

‘May I?’ Harashima drew closer and held out his hand to take the paper. It was then that Kenny noticed that the last joint was missing from the man’s little finger. He stared for a moment, trying to remember what that signified. Harashima gave no indication that he had noticed.

‘Kuromori -san , your grandfather went to a lot of trouble to tell you to do something you have already done. Is that not so?’

Kenny nodded. He was feeling stupider and stupider, and getting weary of everything being phrased as a question.

‘Except you have not done as he instructed.’ Harashima carefully ran his fingertip under the sealed edges of the envelope, gently lifting as he went, and flattened it into one large sheet of paper. ‘Now it is opened,’ he said, sniffing at the paper and holding it up to the light.

He took a silver cigarette lighter from his jacket and struck the flint. He ran the flame beneath the envelope, scorching it in spots, trying to avoid burning his fingers. ‘Lemon juice makes a good invisible ink,’ he said. ‘So do onion and vinegar, but the smell gives them away.’

When he had finished, he snapped the lighter shut and handed the paper to Kenny. There, clearly written in brown lines, were the symbols:

N/Ca Al:Fm

Harashima smiled. ‘Your grandfather has done well to narrow it down. It is as we thought.’