“Don’t be greedy!” snapped Tora, walking away.

“You want to find the skirt, don’t you?” wheezed the beggar.

Tora went back. “Tell me first. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Heh, heh. Neither was I.”

Tora took another look. The beggar sat on a basket, one bandaged leg stretched before him, the other a naked stump with grisly scar tissue where the knee should have been.

With a muttered curse, Tora reached into his sash and counted five coppers into the empty bowl.

The beggar shoved bowl and coppers into the breast of his ragged robe, said “Follow me!” and stood up.

Tora stared. The cripple was standing on two thin legs, both perfectly good, though bent like tightly strung bows. He tucked the stump, apparently a piece of painted wood, into his shirt before scooting away down the street in a lopsided scurry.

“Hey!” Tora got over his astonishment when the old rascal disappeared around the corner and went after him in hot pursuit. Five coppers were nothing to sneeze at, and besides, he refused to be hoodwinked.

The beggar moved with amazing speed on his bowed legs; he knew his way around. They passed rapidly across a deserted courtyard, past several storage houses and through a creaking gate into a back alley, which led to a small grove of trees and a Shinto shrine. Past the grove, the shrine, and its red-lacquered torn’ gates, they reached a deserted street of warehouses and walled compounds. Here the beggar stopped and waited for Tora.

“What did you run away for?” gasped Tora, skidding to a halt.

The beggar pointed at a long single-story building resembling a merchant’s warehouse. “Go there and tell them the Rat sent you!”

Tora growled and seized the beggar by his ragged shirt, lifting him a couple of feet off the ground. “Oh, no, you don’t! I’ll walk in there and they’ll slit my throat, and you’ll split the proceeds. I’m not so green I don’t know the games they play with strangers.” He pushed his face close to the beggar’s and snarled, “You fooled me once with that false stump of yours and got your five coppers. Now you either produce the girl or give them back. If you don’t, I’ll make an honest cripple out of you.” He gave the Rat a shake that made stump, bowl, and coppers fly from his shirt and scatter in the street.

“No, no!” whined the Rat. “You got it wrong. Let me go, fool. I tell you, it’s not safe to make a scene here. Those monks are still after the girl, and they won’t forget you either. Go in there and tell them what happened.”

Tora set him back on the ground and released him. “You saw what happened?”

The Rat nodded. “I keep an eye on her. Now go! Remember, the Rat sent you!” He ducked, scooped up his things, and scurried away.

Tora looked at the building. It had a steeply pitched, thatched roof, but no windows. A double door was in the center, and a red sign proclaimed in large black characters that this was Higekuro’s Training Hall in Martial Arts.

Tora walked up to the door and pushed it open. Inside was a vast, dim hall. A few thick mats lay scattered on the floor, and a rack of oak and bamboo poles used in stick fighting stood against one long wall. Another wall held archery targets of varying sizes. Bows and quivers of arrows were hanging from pegs. There was nobody about.

Tora saw another, smaller door in the rear wall and went through it into a dirt courtyard. It was empty also, but a short bamboo fence separated this area from a kitchen yard adjoining a neighbor’s tall plastered wall. When Tora peered over the fence, he saw the girl. She had her back to him and was bending over a basket of cabbages. He would have recognized those shapely hips anywhere. Calling out a greeting, he vaulted over the fence and came up behind her.

She paid no attention to him until his foot kicked over a pail of water that spread quickly toward her. When it reached her foot, she spun around and stared at him. He repeated his greeting. Her eyes were quite large and very beautiful, but she made no sound and it suddenly occurred to Tora that she might be mentally deficient.

“Don’t be afraid, little sister,” he said slowly, smiling at her. “I am Tora. The Rat told me where you live.”

She shook her head and backed away.

“Stop running away.” Tora was losing his temper and glowered. “Why don’t you answer me? You’d think you could at least say thank you.”

She looked frightened and turned to run toward the house. Tora reached for her shoulder, but before he could stop her, his other arm was seized violently and he was pulled off balance; he received a very painful kick to the back of his knee and a sharp blow to his lower spine, and was then lifted, spun about in the air, and tossed. He landed against the trunk of a tree with a thud. By sheer instinct, he rolled and prepared to launch himself against his attacker, a dimly perceived shape coming at him. His lunge was met by a raised foot. The heel caught him squarely on the chin, knocking his head back against the tree, and turning day into sudden night.

When he came to, he felt, through a painful haze, gentle hands on his face. A cool, wet cloth was pressed to his lips. He licked them, tasted salty blood, and opened his eyes.

He was propped against the tree, and a girl was bent over him, not his girl, but a stranger. He looked past her for his attacker. There was no one else around.

“I am very sorry about this,” the girl said in a strong, clear voice. “I thought you were annoying my sister. I keep an eye on her because she cannot call for help.”

Tora recalled the ungrateful wench and glared. “What do you mean, she can’t call for help? There was no need. I called out to her several times. I introduced myself. She knew me. Not to mention that I had just saved the silly skirt from being raped. Why the devil should she call for help? What’s the matter with you people? And...” Tora pushed her roughly out of his way and got to his feet. “And who knocked me out? What, by all the demons from hell, is going on here?”

There was no sign of his attacker, but he picked up a handy length of bamboo just in case.

“I said I was sorry.” The girl bit her lip. “My sister, Otomi, is a deaf-mute. That is why she cannot hear or speak. I am called Ayako, and our father is Higekuro. He teaches martial arts, and we get a lot of rough characters walking in here because of our business.”

Tora noted that she was good-looking, though not the beauty her sister was. But at the moment he was too enraged to care. “Oh, so I’m a rough character now!” he snapped. “Thanks a lot! Well, you can tell your father it’s customary to inform a man of the reason before knocking him out. Jumped at from the back, too! No wonder you get thugs here. No honest man would fight that way.” He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “And to think I listened to someone called the Rat!” The girl flushed and rose to her feet. She opened her mouth to say something, but Tora was just hitting his stride. He was outraged. “And what’s more,” he shouted, “you would both be better employed looking after the poor girl than sending her alone to the market where any villain can lay his hands on her. Two bastards in monks’ outfits grabbed her from a vendor’s stall and carried her off for their pleasure. I caught up with them just in time. She could’ve been gang-raped by a whole cursed monastery for all you cared.”