Warrior Spirit

“You haven’t heard the half of it. Yes, there are still families in existence. Anyone telling you different is a moron. But along with the overt families who teach the system to anyone who shows an interest, there are also more covert families who still engage in many shady things.”

“Like what?”

“Remnants from the ultranationalistic groups like the Black Dragon Society that dominated the political scene in the latter part of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Their subtle and terrifying manipulation of government affairs earned them lethal reputations that were well-deserved.”

Annja cocked an eyebrow. “And they employed ninja?”

“Absolutely. Not the do-gooders that you read about today, but mercenaries who hired themselves out to the highest bidder. In this case, some of the ninja families had goals in line with their employers. The result was a marriage of sorts that cemented relationships and expanded empires. Much of what occurred in the last twenty years in Japan is due to the groundwork laid by these families immediately after World War II.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Annja asked.

Garin took another sip of his whisky. “You may be inadvertently helping the wrong side regain that artifact. If you’re not completely certain of this man’s identity, then by helping him, you could be undermining the rightful owner.”

Annja looked up as her food arrived. She bit into the eggs and drank down some of the juice. “So, you’re saying Ken may not be who he says he is.”

“So, it’s ‘Ken’ now, is it?”

Annja smiled. “Jealous?”

Garin ignored her. “I’m suggesting you make sure he is the rightful heir before you engage your rather impressive abilities toward helping him, possibly doing more harm than good.”

Annja leaned back again. “What does this have to do with you, anyway? I mean, why are you even concerned about this? Aren’t you the guy who likes to let chaos unfold wherever it may be?”

Garin set his glass down and leveled a hard stare at Annja. “Don’t ever simplify my personal philosophies like that, Annja. They aren’t nearly as neatly labeled as you’d make them out to be.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Garin finished his Scotch and the waitress immediately appeared with a fresh one. If she’d hoped to impress Garin, she was disappointed. Garin took notice of the fresh drink as if he had expected it all along.

He’s so pompous, Annja thought around a mouthful of egg and toast. Still, she had to admit that what he suggested at least made some degree of sense.

“Why would anyone care about the relic anyway? It’s just an antique.”

Garin frowned. “With supposed magical abilities.”

“ Supposed being the key word,” Annja said.

Garin smiled. “You don’t believe it.”

“I don’t know what to believe. I mean, magic? Come on.” Annja shrugged. “I just don’t know if I can buy into that.”

Garin shook his head. “Annja, there are times when that mind of yours truly does amaze me. Equally so, and regrettable even, are the times when your obstinacy nearly numbs me cold.”

Annja set her fork down. “If you’re going to insult me, I’ll ask you to sit elsewhere.”

“It’s my table.” Garin grinned.

Annja stood. “Fine, then I’ll move.”

Garin sighed. “Sit down, Annja.” He paused. “Please.”

Annja sat and resumed eating. If nothing else, she’d take pleasure in stiffing Garin for the bill. Not that he’d even blink. He had more money than he knew what to do with.

“I know the subject of magic is a touchy one. But honestly, the sword—”

“Is not connected to this at all and I’d appreciate you leaving it out of the conversation,” Annja snapped and then stared at Garin. “Please.”

“Very well. But you can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.” Garin took a deep breath. “It’s a part of who you are now.”

“I don’t pretend anything. But neither do I believe everything people say. You and Ken think this thing is magic. Fine. That’s got no bearing on the fact that it’s missing. I also don’t expect it will matter when I locate it. Magic or not, the thing is lost and needs to be found.”

“It does need to be found.” Garin nodded. “As long as it’s found by the right people.”

“So you said.”

Garin finished his second drink. The waitress reappeared. Now Garin looked her over. He spoke a few words to her and she blushed immediately.

Good lord, Annja thought. Tell me I’m not witnessing a seduction here.

Garin stood. “Be careful, Annja. That’s all I’m saying.” He strode out of the restaurant toward the elevator bank. The waitress dutifully followed behind him.

Annja gulped down the rest of her orange juice and then looked down at the table at the tiny slip of paper that had somehow materialized when she wasn’t looking.

Garin hadn’t paid the bill.

7

Annja spent the rest of the day exploring the small shops that surrounded the hotel. While the majority of Tokyo seemed encased in steel and glass, Annja was glad to see that there were still some small stores that carried all sorts of gifts ranging from handmade wooden combs to antique books and scrolls and everything in between. The toughest part of the day was trying to make use of the little bit of the language she knew to make herself understood. As it was, she still came away from her excursion laden with several bags full of unusual souvenirs.

As she jostled the bags and tried to maneuver the crowded streets, Annja couldn’t help feeling that someone was watching her. Twice, she felt the feeling strongly enough to actually turn around and search the crowd for a familiar face. But doing so proved futile. The sea of faces that greeted her held no one she recognized.

“It’s probably Garin,” she told herself. Once he’d finished with the waitress, he’d probably decided it might be amusing to stalk Annja for a while.

Annja frowned and continued her journey.

She grabbed a quick lunch at a noodle stand located by the train station. She’d heard that these small four-seat eateries could serve some of the best buckwheat-noodle soups in Japan and she wasn’t disappointed. Fortunately, she had no trouble explaining what she wanted because the proprietor had taken the time to have an illustrated menu printed up. Annja merely pointed at the appropriate pictures and said thank-you when she was done. The piping-hot soup was served with a cold Asahi beer, which complimented the dish wonderfully.

When she arrived back at the hotel, the ever polite desk clerk bowed and then informed her that she had a message. Annja expected a piece of paper but was instead directed to a small phone in the lobby and told to press several buttons. Ken’s voice purred in her ear.

“Please be in the lobby at six o’clock. Bring your training clothes.”

Annja saw the large clock on the wall behind the reception desk read 5:40. She hung up the phone, raced upstairs and got changed. She hoped that Ken was taking her to see some authentic ninjitsu training.

At 5:58 she strolled off the elevator with her small carry bag. The hotel laundry had cleaned Annja’s sweaty gear. Annja reminded herself to leave a decent tip for the maid service.

Ken leaned against one side of the lobby doors when she exited the elevator. He was dressed simply in jeans and a thin black nylon windbreaker with a T-shirt underneath. He smiled when Annja approached. “Good evening.”

Annja smiled. “Hi.”