The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn by Tom Hoobler

Seikei
leaped forward to take it back. As Tomomi turned aside, Seikei
grabbed at the actor’s robe, tearing it open.
    Next to Tomomi’s chest, on a
silver chain around his neck, were two crossed sticks with the body
of a man nailed to them, arms outspread. Seikei blinked. He knew
what this magic charm meant. “You are a Kirishitan!” he
exclaimed.
    Tomomi hastily pulled his robe
together. Just then, two burly men came through the door. “No
fighting!” they shouted. One of them pointed at Seikei. ‘You! Out!”
He picked Seikei up and slung him over his shoulder. Seikei saw
Tomomi strike the other man with the wooden sword, but the blow
only enraged him. He grabbed Tomomi by the scruff of his neck and
shoved him out of the room.
    In a few moments, the men had
tossed them onto the street outside. Kazuo followed, hustling out
the door on his own feet. “You’re an idiot!” he shouted at Tomomi.
“You broke your sword, and now I’ll get blamed.”
    Tomomi brushed himself off. He
swayed slightly, and Seikei saw that he must be drunk from the
wine. “But I have another sword now. This one.” He held up the
wooden sword.
    “That’s mine,” cried Seikei. “Give
it back.” Tomomi grinned. “I took it from you in combat. Now it’s
mine. And must I remind you of the proper action for a samurai who
loses his sword?”
    Seikei felt his knees weaken. He
knew what a disgraced samurai must do—kill himself in the ceremony
known as seppuku.
    He swallowed hard. “I have no
sword with which to kill myself,” he said. “Will you give me
one?”
    Tomomi laughed again, sending
echoes down the dark street. He clapped Seikei on the back. “Hai!
You do indeed have honor in your bones. A lesser man, not to
mention a boy, would shrivel and whine that he was not a samurai at
all. And you are not, are you?”
    Seikei shook his head. Everyone
could tell he was merely a merchant’s son. “All the same, I must
return my sword to my master. He entrusted it to me.”
    “He did well,” said Tomomi. He
shot a sly look at Seikei. “But before I give it to you, you must
serve me. Are you willing?”
    Seikei hesitated. What would the
judge think when he did not return to the inn? “I will not do
anything dishonorable,” he said.
    Tomomi nodded. “I can see you
won’t.”
    “What is it you want me to do?”
asked Seikei.
    “I’ll let you know in the morning.
Come with me now, and let us get some rest,” said Tomomi. Seikei
followed him and Kazuo down the street. Somewhere in the darkness
behind them, he could hear the eerie sound of a flute
playing.

12: An Offering to
Amaterasu
    Seikei opened his eyes and saw a
man juggling swords. As they flashed through the air, he counted...
three, four, five of them! The juggler’s hands hardly seemed to
move, yet he kept the swords whirling around his head in an endless
circle. He glanced down at Seikei. “Awake at last, sleepyhead? I
hear you were out all night with Tomomi.”
    Tomomi! Seikei remembered
everything that had happened the night before. Tomomi had brought
him back to the common hall, where pilgrims were allowed to sleep
for free.
    Seikei wondered what the judge
must have thought when he did not return. And worse...Seikei felt
the empty place at his side, remembering the lost sword.
    He got up and looked around the
large room, which consisted of little more than a roof and a floor
covered by thin straw mats. A monk was distributing bowls of rice,
and a few dozen men and boys were eating the simple breakfast.
Seikei recognized some of them as actors who had been in the
play.
    The scent of the steaming rice
reminded Seikei that he was hungry. But that could wait. Where was
Tomomi? Where was his sword? Tomomi had promised to return it, but
if he did not, Seikei could never face the judge. He was starting
to compose a poem to express his misery, when someone tapped him on
the shoulder.
    It was Kazuo, holding out a bowl
of rice and a pair of chopsticks. “I saved this for you.