Free The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn by Tom Hoobler Page B

“Come closer.”
    Seikei felt himself drawn forward
by Tomomi’s voice. Earlier, in the theater, he had felt the actor’s
power from a distance. Now, face-to-face, Tomomi seemed like a
demon who could cast a spell over him.
    “That’s a beautiful piece of
wood,” Tomomi said, looking at Seikei’s wooden sword. “Where did
you get it?”
    “From my lord,” said Seikei,
without thinking.
    “And he sends you to me with a
message? What is it?”
    Seikei struggled to think what his
answer should be. “He . . . admired your performance,” he
stammered.
    Tomomi grinned and cocked his
head. “Is that so? He sent you merely to say that? What is your
master’s name?”
    Seikei hesitated. Should he tell
the truth? The judge had not told him what to do if he found
Tomomi. But Tomomi’s eyes compelled him to speak.
    “The samurai Judge Ooka,” he
said.
    Tomomi threw back his head and
laughed. The sound rattled through the house, shaking the paper
screens that divided the rooms.
    “That fat old fool,” Tomomi said,
wiping his eyes. “He sends a boy to find me?”
    Seikei was angry and embarrassed.
He let his hand drop to the hilt of his sword.
    “Aha!” Tomomi said, seeing the
gesture. “You will fight, then? A trained samurai, are you? Raised
from birth to follow the way of the warrior?” He sat up, lazily,
like a cat, and reached for one of his own swords, the long one.
“Let us test each other, then.”
    “His sword isn’t real,” Kazuo
murmured softly to Seikei. “Just a prop for the stage.”
    “Not real?” Tomomi said. “Real
enough, for in a samurai’s hand it can deliver a blow and draw
blood.” He stood up now, sword in hand, bracing his feet for
combat. The three women around him gasped and drew away, looking at
each other. One moved forward and put her hand on Tomomi’s arm, but
he shook her off.
    Tomomi’s eyes were taunting
Seikei. “Are you willing to defend your honor?”
    Seikei nodded grimly, though his
hands were shaking with fear. It would be a disgrace to decline
such a challenge. He drew his sword from his obi, knowing that when
a samurai unsheathed his sword he must use it.
    Seikei bowed, remembering the
proper way of accepting a challenge to combat. “I am Seikei, the
son of Konoike Toda, and a retainer of the samurai Ooka. Come take
my head if you can.”
    Tomomi’s eyes shone. “So
honorable! So beautifully innocent! I feel compelled to imitate
you.” Then he too bowed. “I am Genji, the son of the daimyo
Takezaki Kita. Descendant of a noble house, I am reduced to a
homeless actor who calls himself Tomomi.”
    Tomomi looked around the room and
his voice rose almost as if he felt himself on stage. “Yes, that is
my true origin,” he declared to the three women, who were cowering
in a comer. Tears began to fall from Tomomi’s eyes. “See me now!
Disgraced, but pledged to avenge my honor.” He touched his face and
rubbed off the white makeup he had worn on stage.
    Seikei saw the scar. Tomomi was
indeed the man he had seen on the Tokaido Road, taunting Lord
Hakuseki.
    Tomomi traced the scar’s outline
on his cheek. “To avenge this, I have pledged my life. And see—they
send a boy to fight me!” Suddenly, with a loud cry, he raised his
sword above his head and lunged forward.
    The actor’s sword whistled through
the air, aimed at Seikei’s head. Without thinking, Seikei raised
his wooden sword to ward off the blow. The metal sword struck
his—and shattered. Pieces of it flew around the room. The women
shrieked and ran for the doorway.
    Seikei still stood with his sword
raised, not quite realizing what had happened. Tomomi looked at the
shattered stump in his hand. He threw it aside and grabbed Seikei’s
sword with both hands. Seikei was thrown backward, but he held onto
the sword with all his strength.
    Yet Tomomi was much stronger. As
Seikei struggled with him, he felt the man’s power. He was like a
demon! Tomomi wrenched the sword out of Seikei’s hand, and