The Sword of Kuromori. Jason Rohan

Try not to think about being strapped into a pressurised metal tube that weighs a thousand tonnes, is eleven kilometres above the ground and travelling at a thousand kilometres an hour. All perfectly safe.

      The airline steward, whose name badge read Daniel Mayer, rested on one knee in the aisle beside him and patted the boy’s tensed arm. ‘Nervous about flying?’ he asked, with a practised smile.

      Kenny shook his head, which wasn’t easy with a stiffened neck. ‘No,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Only about crashing. Why is it there’s only turbulence when you serve food? Is that deliberate, to spill everyone’s drinks?’

      Dan smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve flown this Seattle–Tokyo route a hundred times and I’m still here. Besides, we’ll be there soon.’ His eyes flicked to the empty seat beside Kenny. ‘You travelling alone?’

      Kenny nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m meeting my dad. He works out there. I’m staying for the summer.’

      ‘You don’t sound too happy about it.’

      Kenny shrugged. ‘Well . . . it’s complicated.’

      Dan patted Kenny’s arm again and rose to his feet. ‘Is this your first time in Japan?’

      The boy nodded.

      ‘You’re going to love it. It’s an amazing place. Super high-tech on the one hand and super traditional on the other.’

      ‘Kenny Blackwood?’ said a female voice.

      Kenny and the steward both looked up to see a Japanese flight attendant standing in the aisle, an envelope in her white-gloved hands. Her badge said Naoko Iwamoto.

      ‘Seat 57C? Kenny Blackwood? Is that you?’ she said again.

      Kenny nodded.

      ‘I was asked to give you this, before we land,’ Naoko said and handed him the envelope.

      Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘Since when do we play mailman?’ he muttered.

      Naoko smiled at him and moved on.

      Kenny turned the envelope over in his hands; it was blank, sealed, but he could feel the edges of a folded sheet of paper inside and a small cylindrical object, about the size and shape of a lipstick.

      Weird, he thought. Who’d be sending me a letter on a plane? More to the point, who would even know where to find me?

      He slit open the envelope using the plastic knife from his meal tray and took out a single typed page, which he began to read:

       To my dearest grandson, Kenneth,

       Yes, I know you hate being called ‘Kenneth’ but it could have been worse – your grandmother wanted to name you ‘Aloysius’.

       If all is well, you will be reading this upon an aero plane high above the Pacific Ocean, making your final approach to Japan, where I have arranged for you to spend the summer with your father.

       I remember what it was like for me, travelling alone to a strange and unfamiliar place, but, once I adjusted to the local customs, I found it a place of magical wonder. I suspect that you too may be embarking on a similar journey of self-discovery.

       If I have any advice for you, it is this: believe in yourself; trust your feelings; do what is right, especially when it is most difficult; and always carry a cucumber near fresh water.

       With all my love,

       Your grandfather, Lawrence

      Kenny scowled at the paper. His grandfather was in his nineties, a former Professor of Oriental Studies, now retired and living in Buckinghamshire. He was also famously eccentric, but this was bizarre, by anyone’s standards.

      After turning the paper over, Kenny looked in the envelope again. Inside was a small square of translucent paper, about the size of a large postage stamp, and a small wooden whistle.

      He took the paper out first and held it up to the overhead light. Some more writing was on it, which read:

       Make a copy of the letter. Use the whistle only in emergencies. Now eat this note.

      Kenny had to smile. His grandfather had always been fond of mysteries, puzzles and codes. In fact, the previous summer, he had insisted Kenny fly out from the States to join him on an elaborate treasure hunt.

      This was obviously another sophisticated game he was playing. Kenny shrugged to himself, picked up his phone and took a photograph of the letter. He then nibbled one end of the pearly paper. It dissolved on his tongue like a wafer. Rice paper, he thought, before popping the rest into his mouth.

      That left the whistle. It was a short length of bamboo, with a slot to blow through, a square opening on the top and a drilled hole at the end. Underneath was a carving:

      Kenny poked his nose up over the headrest to check that no one was looking and then gave a gentle blow on the pipe. Pfft. No sound came out. Kenny tried again, this time blowing harder. Pffftt. As before, all he could hear was his own breath rushing through the tube. Thinking it must be a trick, he gave it one final blow, with all the force his lungs could muster. Pfffff–

      He stopped, mid-puff, as a furious knocking came from the overhead storage compartment. Kenny froze, the whistle to his lips, and listened. The knocking stopped, to be replaced by a scratching noise from the same place. That is totally freaky. He felt goosebumps rising on his arms as he sat there, unsure of what to do.

      The cabin address system pinged, making Kenny jump, and the purser said, ‘We are now commencing our final approach to Narita International Airport.’

      As passengers took this cue to move around, making last visits to the bathroom, stowing bags in the overhead bins and under seats, stretching and yawning, Kenny stood and stared at the door to the locker above his seat. He wanted to open it, to look inside, but he was afraid of what he might find. Instead, he rapped twice on the door. Instantly, a tap-tap came in reply. He took a deep breath, opened the door slightly and peered in.

      Staring back at him were two round, liquid eyes. Kenny yelled in surprise and fell backwards, landing on an extremely large lady who was munching on a packet of peanuts.

      ‘Watch what you’re doing!’ the woman said, as peanuts sprayed across the cabin.

      ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am,’ Kenny mumbled, backing away from her, but keeping his distance from the half-opened locker.

      Dan, the steward, reappeared. ‘Can I help anyone?’ he said.

      Kenny pointed at the overhead bin. ‘There’s a . . . There’s a . . . thing, in there,’ he said.

      ‘A thing? What sort of thing? Has something happened to your bag?’

      ‘No, some kind of . . . animal,’ Kenny said, his voice small.

      ‘Isn’t it a bit late for pranks? Listen, I know you’ve had a long flight, but we’re almost there now and you’ll soon be off the plane,’ Dan said.

      ‘I’m telling the truth,’ Kenny said, his voice shaking. ‘There’s an animal in there. Really. I saw it.’

      ‘Animals aren’t allowed on flights,’ the peanut lady said. ‘Everyone knows that. I’ve never heard such garbage in my life.’

      ‘OK, OK,’ Dan said, reaching up for the handle. ‘Let’s have a look in here and see what all the fuss is about.’

      Kenny stood behind the steward, peering round him. The door swung upwards and there, sprawled in the wide bay, leaning against Kenny’s backpack with legs crossed, was a fat, furry animal, about the size of a badger. Its face was foxlike, with a long narrow nose, and its thick hair was reddish-brown.