Only a Shadow Read Free Page B

entire fortress stood atop a sloping stone foundation at least twice the height of a man, and when the sun was at the right angle one could see the gleaming armor of patrolling archers, even from as far away as the fishing village.
    There were other defenses too, invisible from this distance. Tada had heard of them, and had once stolen through the forest up there to see them for himself. A moat of soupy mud ringed the castle on three sides. Swimming the moat was not an option: the mud would pull him under. Scaling the one side that the moat did not protect was even more dangerous. Even a climber strong enough not to be knocked off by the waves would still be an easy target for arrows or musket balls. And every obstacle to a burglar was an obstacle to one trying to break out of the castle as well.
    Unapproachable, inescapable, and worse yet, Tada was certain Old Jujiro's plan could not succeed. He’d learned most of the details from Old Jujiro himself, and gleaned a bit more here and there in passing conversation with Gyomin. The rocks they gathered—and more important, the seaweed that enfolded them like so many little green nets—were a vital element of the plan, and that alone left Tada feeling uneasy. He could see nothing special about the weed, though he understood full well that his eyes were not the ones that needed to take note of it for the plan to work.
    But that was for a later stage of the plan, and Tada’s real concern would come early on. It was cunning, Old Jujiro's scheme, so cunning that Tada had to admit he never could have devised it himself. But it turned on a weak hinge, a single decision left in Lord Hirata’s hands, a decision only the most naïve would entrust to the enemy. Dying on a Hirata samurai’s blade was no way for Tada to make a name for himself, but because of that one simplistic element of the old man’s plan, that now seemed to be his destiny. His and Jujiro's too. Two lives of dedication and discipline, snuffed out in needless ignominy.
    The Iga clan needed one like Old Jujiro, one it could look to for the impossible tasks. As much as Chieko might not like to admit it, her grandfather could not be that one anymore. Someone else had to take up the role—and if so, why not Tada himself? The old man had placed faith in him. Others among the elders must have done the same, or else Tada would never have met Old Jujiro face-to-face. And if they all believed in his ability, then for all intents and purposes hadn’t Tada taken up Iga Jujiro's mantle already?
    Yes. Maybe that was why the elders had recommended him to Old Jujiro. They’d watched their veteran lose his edge. Sooner or later even the most powerful warhorse had to be put to pasture. And why should the grand old warhorse feel shamed if someone recommended that he be retired? Hadn’t he earned a life of comfort, a life free from labor?
    Yes. Tada was certain. He would tell the elders the truth—a truth they knew already—and they would reward him for it. And Chieko would too. He wouldn’t say her grandfather was old and dying. No, he’d proclaim Iga Jujiro a venerated hero who had earned the right to enjoy his winter years. Far from calling attention to his frailty, Tada would spare him an ignoble death. How could Chieko not forgive him after he saved her beloved grandfather’s life?

4.
    Iga Genbei was no taller than his father, with forearms as strong as a bull’s shoulders and a belly round enough to prompt jokes about when his baby was due. He was not slothful; the belly, which came naturally enough after a life spent sitting and knotting nets, also served as a disguise. No one saw a short balding fat man as dangerous, and that alone had ruined more than a few foes of the Iga. He wore midnight blue and a three-day beard, and his black eyes gleamed with the same intensity as his mother’s. She’d been Jujiro's fourth wife, on whom he’d fathered three