The Betrayal of the Living Read online

  THE BETRAYAL OF THE LIVING

  Nick Lake is an editorial director at HarperCollins Children’s Books. He received his degree in English from Oxford University. Blood Ninja was inspired by his interest in the Far East, and by the fact that he is secretly a vampire ninja himself. Nick lives with his wife in Oxfordshire, protected by booby traps, poisoned darts and a fat, lazy tom cat, but why not pay him a visit on Facebook?

  www.bloodninja.co.uk

  Also by Nick Lake:

  Blood Ninja

  Lord Oda’s Revenge

  First published in the United States in 2012 by Simon & Schuster BFYR,

  an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division.

  Published in hardback in Great Britain in 2013 by Corvus,

  an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

  Copyright © Nick Lake, 2012

  The moral right of Nick Lake to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Hardback ISBN: 978 0 85789 809 8

  E-book ISBN: 978 0 85789 810 4

  Printed in Great Britain.

  Corvus

  An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

  Ormond House

  26–27 Boswell Street

  London

  WC1N 3JZ

  www.corvus-books.co.uk

  This one, like everything, is for Hannah

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  PROLOGUE

  Miyajima Island, the Inland Sea

  1566

  THE KILLING PART was easy, the ninja had always thought. A child could do it. There were so many ways a body could die: sword strokes, blows from heavy objects, poison. It was almost comical how simple murder was.

  No – the challenge was not the killing, at least when it came to people who had taken reasonable precautions against assassination; it was the approach, the strategy of it, the cunning. It required a number of abilities, from agility and impersonation to the capacity to plan far ahead, to anticipate the other’s move. Just as he was now doing, with only half his concentration on the card game taking place on the table before him.

  The ninja possessed all these abilities in abundance. He was a master of disguises, and he had only one mantra: Always be one step ahead. This was why his services were so expensive. Six hundred koku for a life, no negotiation. As a result, he was a very rich man, and this was one of the reasons he was not giving all his attention to the game of cards, whose stakes – while high to the other men around the rustic inn’s table – were nothing to him.

  The other reason was the fisherman sitting at the other end of the room, deep in conversation with the small town’s only geisha, a woman whose time cost almost as much as that of the ninja, but – presumably – with more pleasurable results. It was odd that a woman of such cultivation and beauty, not to mention such exorbitant rates, should be speaking to a mere fisherman, in such a rude hovel as this. Not just speaking to him, but apparently flirting with him, touching him, acting for all the world like she was in love with him. It was very odd. And it was for precisely this reason that the ninja was observing them so closely.

  He had been watching them, in fact, all night. Indeed, it was the need to follow the fisherman that had placed the ninja here, in this inn on the inland sea, playing cards with household servants and the poorer kind of merchant, though in these times, when little cargo could leave or enter the port town, all merchants were more or less pitiful.

  The inn was little more than a room, really, of perhaps fifteen tatami mats in size, lit by whale-blubber candles. It was so close to the rocky shore that the sea could be heard, whispering on the other side of the thin wooden walls. There was no choice of drink, only sake – a rough local variety.

  He glanced down at his hand, then at the player who had just put money in the pot. He raised, then turned back to watch his target. The game continued, in a sequence of murmurs, sighs, bids and counterbids that the small part of his mind engaged on the task could have predicted down to the tiniest gestures of the players.

  Fifty heartbeats from now, the fat rice merchant would fold, nervous, even though he had a better hand. This would leave the ninja free to take the pot.

  Over in the other corner, the target was leaning closer to the geisha, whispering something in her ear. She threw her head back, glossy black hair shining in the light, and laughed prettily. Then she put a hand over the fisherman’s hand. With her other she took from her kimono what looked like a gold necklace. She fastened the necklace around the fisherman’s neck, in the manner of a keepsake, kissed him tenderly, and got up to leave. The fisherman followed her to the door, said good night to her, then returned to his sake with a smile on his face, absentmindedly touching the necklace.

  Forty-seven heartbeats . . .

  Forty-eight heartbeats . . .

  ‘I fold,’ said the fat merchant, a bead of sweat running down his cheek.

  ‘Very well,’ said one of the more senior household servants. He jerked his head at the ninja. ‘I call,’ he said.

  The ninja smiled. ‘As you wish.’ He put his cards down on the table, then scraped the pile of money towards himself, gathering it in a fold of his cloak, not waiting to see the other’s cards.

  ‘Hey!’ said the man who had called him. ‘You haven’t seen my cards yet.’

  ‘I don’t need to,’ said the ninja. ‘I already know them.’

  Outside, the ninja followed the geisha down a dark alleyway that gave out onto a small crescent beach. He looked down, saw her footprints lit by moonlight, head
ing towards rocks at the far end of the bay. He followed, one eye on the sea, which even he could appreciate was beautiful. The moon was low and fat in the sky, shining a path on the still water, perhaps a path to takama ga hara, where the gods lived in the sky. Round the headland, he could just see one of the supporting beams of the famous torii, a shrine in the form of a great red gate, its swooping roof like a gull’s wing, that stood in the shallow water of the next bay along – it was a famous pilgrimage site and one of the wonders of Japan.

  But it wasn’t what had brought him to this part of the world.

  No – what had brought him here was before him, perhaps two ri from the shore. A small, steep-sided island, which the locals avoided even looking at. Not out of superstition, but out of plain self-preservation: for the island was the haunt of much-feared pirates, who in recent months had grown more and more bold, to the point of halting trade from the port. That was why the ninja had come. To kill the leader of the pirates; a job that even his employer had told him was impossible. An impossible assassination! It seemed tailor-made to whet his appetite. Even now that he had planned it all out, he was aware of the possibilities for failure, and he knew that even if he managed to get over to the ferociously guarded island, and past the vicious pirates who lived there, to kill their king, he would probably die immediately afterwards.

  But he didn’t mind. If he died in the execution . . . well, it would still be his greatest coup, the crowning glory of his life as a ninja, and if no one ever heard about it, well, that didn’t matter either. He’d killed very important people and made their deaths look like illness, or accident. He didn’t do this for the notoriety. He did it for the pleasure of winning the game.

  He didn’t know who had hired him, and he didn’t care. There was a system – they would leave a letter for him at a certain shrine, along with instructions for where to find the money. It was best that way: better for him and better for them that he not see their faces.

  He reached the rocks, drawing into the shadows out of habit. He silent-walked on the hard-packed, wet sand, one hand ready to draw his weapon. Two heartbeats later and he was behind the geisha, who was looking out to sea. He cleared his throat.

  The geisha turned, gasping. Her hands went to her mouth – a classic gesture of fear in a woman, which fools might see as weak. The ninja wasn’t a fool, though – always be one step ahead – and he knew the movement for what it was: a human instinct acquired through millennia of violence, an urge to protect the neck. Not, in fact, a bad idea. Of the many comically simple ways to kill a person, punching or slitting their neck was the easiest. It was absurd, really, how close the artery was to the skin. Death was a constant companion to all people, and it was as close to them at all times as the artery in their neck.

  In this case, of course, the geisha’s protective response seemed especially appropriate. In other circumstances, he’d have been tempted to drink her blood right there and then, drain her dry and leave her body here to be further leeched by the sea. But he wasn’t ready to drink quite yet, even though she was very attractive, and he could smell and hear her blood ticking through her veins.

  Slowly, she lowered her hands. ‘You startled me,’ she said.

  ‘Evidently.’

  She half smiled and dropped her eyes, eyelashes long and dewy. He had to admire her training. Every fibre of her body must be screaming for her to run – people feared vampires, could sense they were not human, even if they didn’t know why – but she was still playing the geisha, still going through the routine of charm.

  ‘You gave him the necklace, I saw,’ he said. ‘But tell me: What did you learn?’

  ‘I learned that fishermen’s mouths taste of fish,’ she said, crinkling her nose. Then she laughed at his expression. ‘Don’t worry. I found out everything you need to know.’

  He dug his nails into his palms, not wanting to hurt her. ‘Then tell me,’ he said, with infinite patience.

  ‘There’s a small warehouse,’ she said. ‘Close to the inn, with a red lantern outside. That’s where he stores the rice and so forth for the island. Every week, the fisherman rows across from here to the island, with supplies. He’s due to go tonight before dawn.’

  ‘I know,’ said the ninja. ‘That’s why I’m here now. What about the signal?’

  ‘You were right,’ the geisha replied. ‘He has a lamp that he takes on the boat. Dutch design, I gather. When he comes near to the island, he does three long flashes of the lamp. That tells them it’s him, so they let him land without firing on him.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then he leaves the rice on the beach and rows back to the mainland.’

  ‘Good,’ said the ninja. ‘That’s good.’

  The geisha glanced back towards the town. ‘I must return. The madam will be waiting.’

  ‘We said six hundred koku, I believe,’ said the ninja.

  The geisha nodded, holding out her hand.

  The money he had promised her was the same as his fee – he was not motivated by money, had too much of it already, in fact. In some ways, really, his services were even something of a bargain. Six hundred koku was a fortune if the person you wanted dead was not heavily protected. But he charged the same for any job, and the same fee was a steal for the murder of a well-guarded daimyo in a castle, or a pirate king on an inaccessible island. In this particular case, he would have been happy to do the job for free, just for the thrill of it.

  He would have been happy to do it for free – but there was the matter of his strength, and his hunger. He would need to be in peak fighting condition before the sun rose. He opened his mouth, revealing his sharp canines.

  The geisha backed away. Her already large almond eyes went wider, and her mouth turned to an O of surprise. To her credit, she didn’t scream – there wouldn’t be any point, this far from town – and he admired her training once again.

  ‘I’ll be missed,’ she stammered. ‘They’ll find you.’

  ‘No,’ he said, almost sadly. ‘Didn’t everyone see you talking to that fisherman all night? And then, when he goes missing too . . . An open-and-shut case, I think. Elopement, or murder-suicide. It doesn’t really matter which. It just depends on whether they find your bodies.’

  That was when the fear really entered her eyes, and she did scream then – it was quite gratifying, really.

  He moved in a flicker and he was on her; he knew that for her it would seem as if he crossed the space between them at the speed of thought, and in fact that was not far from how vampires moved. His teeth found her neck, and he bit down, and then he was flooded with the heat and savour of her blood.

  Afterwards, he pushed her body into a crevice in the rocks, ready to take it with him later and dump at sea – just as if the fisherman had taken her out on his boat.

  He smiled.

  Always be one step ahead.

  A couple of hours later, he shipped his oars as the little rowing boat neared the sheer-sided island. He could see the break in the cliff ahead of him, the natural haven in which supplies were landed for the pirates. He lifted the lamp he had procured – ironically, for not much less than he’d promised the geisha, but then he wasn’t doing this for the money – and covered, then uncovered the flame, once, twice, three times. There was no response, but he hadn’t expected any. The signal was just to make sure he would not be shot through with an arrow before he could even get near.

  Bringing the boat up onto the beach in a susurration of wood against sand, he jumped nimbly over the side. As soon as he was on dry land he was running, keeping his profile low, making for the forested darkness ahead of him. He dropped behind a tree, caught his breath.

  He waited for several heartbeats, watching for movement, for lanterns coming down from the heights of the island. But there was nothing, as yet.

  He waited for longer. He could be patient. It was one of the abilities for which he was paid.

  Some time later the ninja saw, from the sea just beyond the little harbour
, three flashes of light. The fisherman was arriving, with the real shipment for the pirates. He would have to hurry now.

  He listened.

  From above him, the inevitable commotion. A lantern flared into life – another, another. Voices shouting, the alarm being sounded. They would have been expecting one signal – now that there had been two, they would know that an interloper had come to the island. If he had killed the fisherman, they would never have suspected.

  But he wanted them to suspect, he wanted them on guard. In fact, he was counting on it.

  Drawing his short-sword, he ran up through the trees, finding a rough path that could have been an animal track, but that he hoped would lead up towards the pirate lair. He could hear bodies crashing through the foliage, could see lights dancing among the trees.

  Shouts from the beach. The fisherman had been apprehended, he saw when he glanced back.

  He turned back again, continued running.

  He had made it maybe a quarter of a ri up the hillside when two men, one armed with a matchlock rifle and the other with an axe, stepped out from behind the trees ahead of him, barring his way. He darted forward, sword in hand, and that was when he heard the voice from behind him.

  ‘Drop the weapon,’ it said.

  The ninja glanced behind him to see more guns pointing in his direction. He was smart enough to know that all those lead balls flying through the air would tear him apart, no matter how quickly his vampire skills might allow him to move aside. He raised his hands, dropping the wakizashi.

  Seizing him roughly, the men fastened his arms behind his back and dragged him uphill.

  He was on his knees in a natural arena, carved from the rock by ancient seas. Ahead of him, sitting on an outcropping of stone, was a hooded figure he took to be the leader of the pirates – the man he’d been paid to kill. Around him stood dozens of men, some of them hooded too, as if they wished to conceal their identities. All were armed.

  He looked to his left and saw the fisherman sneering at him. The man had been restrained, at first, but when the pirates saw that he was the same man who usually brought their food and sake, they had untied him and concentrated their anger on the ninja instead. For all that, though, they were still standing close to the fisherman, their weapons in their hands. And his goods – the barrels of rice and sake – were laid out on the floor of the cavern, held, like their carrier, in uneasy suspicion until the whole situation had been resolved.