Daigoro joined him. When they reached the beach, black crabs skittered away from them, vanishing into their holes or taking refuge in the surf. “You don’t believe in the power of the knife, do you, Goemon?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“No. The only thing that matters here is that very powerful, very gullible people are willing to give you what you want.”
Tiny orange pinpricks marked watch fires and paper lanterns on the far side of the bay. The wind had calmed a bit and the waves were flat enough to skip stones. Daigoro and Katsushima did just that. Daigoro absently wondered why such a childish pastime should still have the power to entertain him as an adult. He wondered if he would live long enough to see his child grow up to walk on the beach and skip stones.
“Why should you care what I believe?” Katsushima asked. “You’re your own man; keep your own counsel.”
“Well, you’ve got to earn your keep somehow. You haven’t taught me any kenjutsu in weeks. So if you’re not going to be my sword master, you may as well give me some kind of advice. Otherwise, what are you good for?”
Katsushima laughed out loud and Daigoro joined in. It felt good. There was too much gloom in his life these days.
It was his own fault they hadn’t done much kenjutsu of late. Daigoro still did footwork drills on his own, but it was hard to accomplish much in the way of swordsmanship if he couldn’t hold a sword. Daigoro’s hands had been on the mend for the last month. And “what are you good for?” was an unfair question to ask of a man who had killed four men for him that very night.
Katsushima found a stone as large and flat as his palm, and skipped it seven times before the darkness swallowed it up. “I’ll tell you why it doesn’t matter what I think, Daigoro: because sometimes you are only what you can make yourself believe you are. No one else can do that for you.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Hm. Have I ever told you about the dog on my family farm?”
“I didn’t even know your family had a farm.”
“Oh, yes. My father was a lowly jizamurai. Not even forty koku to his name. But that doesn’t matter; what matters is the watchdog. His name was Kane, and he was a massive beast. I’d say he weighed as much as you do. Any time a neighbor would come by, he’d growl and bark like he’d lost his mind. But it was all bluster, neh? Kane was a friend to everyone. The only reason he was any good at chasing off rats or burglars was that they didn’t understand he was running them down to play with them.”
Daigoro collected a few more stones. “I don’t see your point.”
“Patience. One day a tiny brown tree squirrel came into the house. I suppose it must have smelled something good in the kitchen. I don’t know. It comes in, it looks around, it makes sure the coast is clear. Then it goes rooting through my grandmother’s vegetables, and it knocks a big, fat daikon to the floor. In comes Kane, barking like the world is ending. The squirrel bolts, but Kane cuts him off.”
He laughed and skipped another stone. Daigoro had never heard Katsushima talk about his childhood before, and he’d never seen him so excited. “So there’s the squirrel, cornered. Kane outweighs the poor bastard two hundred to one. He tries to catch it in his mouth and—pop!—the little thing bites him right through the nose.”
Katsushima found this hilarious. He unleashed a laugh so loud that it echoed off the water. Daigoro looked over his shoulder, worried that Nene’s soldiers might come back if they heard voices behind them. Keeping his voice rather lower than Katsushima’s, he said, “I can’t imagine your grandmother was happy to find a dead squirrel on her kitchen floor.”
Katsushima laughed again. “Are you kidding? That dog ran for his life. He was a playmate, not a predator. No, it was the squirrel that showed the samurai spirit that day. Arrogance in the face of impossible odds. That’s the way to win a fight.”
Daigoro nodded and tried to smile. “So which am I? The watchdog or the squirrel?”
“That’s my point, Daigoro: you’re whichever one you believe you are.”
“Oh.”
Daigoro wasn’t sure what to make of that. He knew he had the squirrel’s spirit in him. Coming here was proof of that. But he felt