Segaki Read Online Free PDF Page B

line they drew back from the wall, as though they hadcome to watch a bonfire that was suddenly too warm. It was they now who made the noise. The wood was desperately still.
    Behind Muchaku the rustling began in the grasses again. A black mass heaved up and charged. Despite himself he jumped. But as the object hurtled forward, it became suddenly that whipped hound. The hound began to bay. The monks turned, terrified. Now they were being attacked from the rear. They did not even see Muchaku. They hissed and murmured. The dog circled them, ran to the edge of the wall, barked, bayed, but mostly whined, pawing the stone edge of the parapet frantically, trying to make up its mind, pattering up and down, looking for some more favourable place, then squatting on its haunches and baying again.
    It was impossible to tell from whom the first stone came. It was an unsure stone, and the first shower of pebbles was tentative. Then fear and hatred found an outlet, and the stones became heavier. They struck at Muchaku, but he scarcely noticed. He was watching the dog. The dog did not notice either. It winced when a bigger stone hit its rump, let loose an agonizing yelp, and pawing at the coping again, launched itself into space.
    Muchaku hurried forward to where it had stood. The dog landed with a splayed flop, righted itself, and charged limply towards the silent wood. The shrubs rustled, but there was no other sound. The dog seemed to know exactly where to go, and the barrier of undergrowth healed behind it with a shocking vaginal suck.
    The moment was suspended. The monks saw Muchaku now. He paid no attention to them. Still holding up his skirts, he stood on the extreme edge of the wall. He wasreally angry. That leap must have hurt the dog. And that was true. As the wind shifted, he could hear it whimpering . But it was with someone, and someone it trusted and loved, for the whimper had a companionable sound.
    Again he caught, incautiously, that silvery glint. “You there,” he ordered. “Come out of there.”
    There was no answer. The monks drew back out of sight. He glanced at them contemptuously. “I said come out. Are we anything to be afraid of? Look at us! Are you ashamed to be seen? What is it you want?”
    With a dewy shake, the branches parted, and a figure lumbered heavily and drunkenly out, followed by the dog. It was a Samurai. He had his helmet well down. It was impossible to see his face. His armour was heavy and clacked with every movement. The figure was chunky and squat, and absurdly, involuntarily graceful, like a man dancing on his toes on ground suddenly hot. He could not keep still, but pranced up and down like an agitated beetle. His draped trousers, cut too full in the old style, were gorgeous stuff, but ripped, fouled, and torn, and his felt boots were as battered. Then he began to gibber and howl again, his voice an enormous lethal moan.
    “What is it you want? How long have you been in the woods out there?”
    The man’s voice rose to an anguished shriek. “I don’t want anything,” he howled. “Not anything.”
    “Are there others with you?”
    “Dead. All dead.”
    Muchaku squinted in the sun. He recognized the man’s crest. It was the Noto chrysanthemum. “Has the Lord of Noto sent you here?”
    “I have been here for two days.”
    “If you don’t want anything, why are you here?”
    “Because you have nothing to give me,” shouted the man. Muchaku had the impression of two startled grey eyes, bulging with terror. “Have you?”
    This last was a scream. It fluttered through the brisk mountain air like torn paper.
    Muchaku frowned and turned to the monks. “Open the gate and let him in, and the dog too. Put him in the guest house,” he ordered.
    The monks neither answered nor stirred, but they dropped their eyes to the ground.
    “I will do it,” said Oio, with a withering glance at the monks. “You other cowards can cook his food.”
    Muchaku smiled. “Find out who he is and what he