The Samurai's Daughter Read Free Page B

wide with fear in his sunburnt face, but he was scowling with determination. He’d had the advantage of surprise but now it was obvious he didn’t have a chance against the brawny samurai.
    Fujino was chewing her lower lip and frowning in concentration. She handed the sword to Kiharu, raised her dagger and paused, her arm above her head. Fearless though her mother was, Taka had never known her draw blood. Fujino took a breath and brought the dagger down, straight into the samurai’s exposed shoulder. As she wrenched it out, blood spurted, staining her lavish skirts. She was quivering with horror.
    The man yelped and grabbed at his shoulder; the blow had slowed him down but hadn’t disabled him. Fujino jerked her head imperiously and the boy leapt out of the way, then she threw herself on top of the samurai, shoved him to the ground and plumped down on his back in all her enormous bulk. Tiny Aunt Kiharu sat on his legs. The two women were panting and their cheeks were flushed but their eyes were afire. The samurai writhed and pounded the floor and emitted muffled yells, but to no avail.
    Anxious faces appeared at the door – a tubby officious-looking middle-aged man rubbing his hands nervously, and two burly policemen with stern faces and smart buttoned uniforms. In the hubbub no one had noticed them approaching. The policemen pinioned the samurai’s arms and Taka heard him gasp for breath as Fujino heaved herself to her feet. She smoothed her skirts, examining them ruefully.
    ‘So sorry, your ladyship, so sorry,’ said the tubby man, whom Taka took to be the restaurant owner, wringing his plump hands. He fell to his knees, bowing again and again. Other faces appeared, peeking round the door, eyes huge like frightened rabbits – the rickshaw boy and the grooms. They threw themselves to their knees in front of Fujino and blurted excuses, beating their heads on the ground.
    Their rescuer was standing uncertainly in the hallway. He was a thin-faced urchin, not much older than Taka, tall and gangly, with a long neck and prominent nose. His face was blackened as if he’d been working in the rice fields and there was fuzz on his upper lip. He was wearing a most peculiar assortment of clothes. Taka had to stop herself smiling as she realized he was wearing a girl’s kimono jacket with the sleeves shortened. His narrow black eyes darted curiously. Taka looked around, following his gaze, and saw the overturned chairs and mounds of meat scattered on the floor. The tables with their buckets of glowing charcoal were miraculously still upright.
    Fujino turned to him.
    ‘You came just in time, young man,’ she said gravely, settling herself on her knees. ‘We are in your debt.’ The boy dropped to his knees too and bowed, shuffling uncomfortably.
    ‘Excuse me,’ he said, staring at the ground. ‘I didn’t do much of a job.’ There was a rustic twang, a hint of a dialect of some sort underlying his Edo speech. He glanced around as if he was eager to escape.
    ‘Nonsense,’ said Fujino briskly. ‘You saved us.’
    ‘He was just passing by, your ladyship,’ said one of the rickshaw boys, bowing frantically and baring his teeth in an embarrassed grin. He grabbed the boy’s arm and gripped it firmly. ‘It was us, we stopped him. Our ladies are in trouble, we said, and told him to go for help. A robber’s burst in, we said, one of those ronin, a Satsuma man by the looks of it. We hadn’t dared ask any of the diners, they all looked too important. But he just pushed us aside and rushed straight in.’
    ‘I didn’t do anything, your honour,’ the boy mumbled. ‘There was only one of him and I couldn’t even hold him back on my own. I’m sorry I failed you. Anyway, I’ll be on my way.’ He bowed again and backed on his knees towards the door.
    Fujino put her hand to her waist where her obi should have been, as if she’d forgotten she was wearing a western dress. She reached for her purse then looked at the boy and