The Sword of Kuromori. Jason Rohan

mouth fell open. ‘Are you . . .? But-but can’t you see . . .?’

      The creature, whatever it was, waved a paw at Kenny and placed a finger over its pursed lips. It then yawned and farted. Kenny stared before whipping his head round to see his fellow passengers all watching him.

      ‘Does . . . does anyone else . . . see that ?’ he asked, struggling to form the words and pointing at the furry creature.

      ‘Kid, there’s nothing in there,’ said the peanut lady, measuring each word.

      ‘Poor thing, he must be really tired if he’s hallucinating,’ someone said.

      ‘Probably on drugs,’ another voice added. ‘Kids these days, eh?’

      ‘Oh, come on. Is this some kind of joke?’ Kenny said, his voice rising and eyes searching face after face. ‘Are you really all telling me that you can’t see that . . . thing in there?’

      Rows of blank faces answered Kenny’s question before the passengers lost interest and returned to their pre-landing activities.

      ‘Look, young man, I think it’s time you returned to your seat and got ready for landing,’ Dan said, his voice gentle but firm. ‘You’ve had your fun, but now the joke’s getting a bit old, OK?’

      Kenny nodded, numbly, and took one last look at the furry creature snuggling against his backpack. It blew him a kiss before Dan closed the door on it. He slumped back into his seat, his head spinning, and fastened his seat belt.

      Naoko, the Japanese attendant, came along the aisle. She reached over to take his rubbish and said quietly, ‘That thing you saw. Was it large and hairy, with black eyes like a raccoon?’

      Kenny nodded. ‘Yeah, how did you . . .?’

      Naoko smiled. ‘I didn’t see it, either.’ She winked at him.

      

      Kenny slumped back in his seat, his arms crossed, and ignored the curious looks directed his way. This was not what he was expecting at all. It was bad enough that his grandfather had sent him to Japan of all places, but to spend the next twelve weeks with his dad was worse. And now, to top it all, some weird animal was stalking him.

      He closed his eyes, picturing his room back in the Oregon International School. His room-mate Chad would be home by now in Boston. He would be off soon to Namibia for a safari with his family. Kenny sighed. How nice it must be to have a family.

      The remainder of the flight passed uneventfully and when Kenny went to collect his backpack from the overhead storage, the animal, whatever it was, had gone; he must have imagined it after all.

      He made his way down the walkway into the spacious, ultra-modern terminal building and on towards immigration control. He was feeling much happier to be back on solid ground. His good mood, however, was not to last.

      When his turn came, the uniformed immigration officer beckoned Kenny forward and he handed over his passport and landing card. The official swiped the claret-coloured passport through the biometric scanner, stopped, examined the computer screen intently and then swiped the document again. He waved for his supervisor and the two men spoke briefly. Kenny shifted his weight and thrust his hands into his pockets.

      The supervisor inspected the passport photo and compared it to Kenny’s face.

      ‘What is your name, please?’ the officer said.

      ‘It’s Kenny, sir. Kenneth Blackwood.’

      ‘How old are you?’

      ‘I’m fifteen.’

      ‘You are travelling alone?’

      Kenny nodded, wondering where the questions were leading.

      The official tapped a finger on the landing card. ‘You have British passport, but this address is in America. Is that right?’

      ‘Yes. I was born in England, but I moved to the States when I was eight. My mum was American, so I have dual nationality. Is that a problem?’

      ‘This address is not a house,’ the officer said, reading the card.

      Kenny sighed. ‘No, it’s a boarding school. It’s where I live.’

      The official raised an eyebrow. ‘Boarding school? Like Harry Po–’

      ‘No. Nothing like him. He loves his school.’

      The senior officer studied Kenny, as if seeking the source of the boy’s sudden anger. ‘What is the purpose of your visit to Japan?’ he asked.

      ‘My dad’s a professor at Tokyo University. I’m spending the summer with him.’

      The officer nodded at each answer. ‘I’m afraid we have more questions for you,’ he said. ‘Please, come with me.’

      ‘Is this going to take long?’ Kenny couldn’t help saying. ‘It’s just that my dad’s waiting for me and –’

      ‘Come. Please.’

      The officials ushered Kenny past his gawking fellow passengers, including the peanut lady.

      ‘See? I knew he was on drugs,’ she said smugly.

      Kenny followed the officials to a small office.

      ‘Please, sit,’ the senior official said, gesturing towards one of two hard chairs.

      Kenny sat and drummed his fingers on the table while the two men departed. The door opened and another man entered. He wore a dark suit, sunglasses and his raven hair was slicked back.

      ‘Mr Blackwood,’ the newcomer said, extending his hand to shake. ‘My name is Sato.’ He slid a business card across the table and sat opposite Kenny. ‘I am here to help you. You can trust me.’

      ‘My counsellor says I have trust issues.’ Kenny chewed his lip. ‘What’s this all about, Mr Sato? I thought I didn’t need a visa to visit Japan.’

      ‘You are Ken Blackwood, yes? Son of Charles Blackwood and grandson of Lawrence Blackwood?’

      ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Kenny said, unable to hide his surprise. ‘How do you . . .?’

      ‘Your grandfather is a great man. A hero to some Japanese people. Did you know that?’

      Kenny blinked. ‘Uh, no, sir. Not really.’

      Sato leaned back and steepled his fingers. ‘I am not sure how much of this I should tell you, if any, but I shall try to help you and you will help me, yes?’

      From the corner of his eye, Kenny glimpsed a huge shadow looming over the frosted-glass door.

      ‘Your ojiisan, your grandfather, came to Japan after World War Two, yes?’

      Kenny’s eyes flicked back to Sato. ‘He did tell me that, yeah.’

      ‘And he told you he was here to help the Japanese people recover, after the war?’

      ‘Something like that.’

      Sato smiled. ‘Your grandfather, I’m sorry to say, was a liar, as well as a thief.’

      Before Kenny could respond, there was a light knock at the door.

      ‘Enter,’ Sato said.

      The door swung open and in came another official, followed by an enormous figure, who had to stoop to enter the office. Although the thing was wearing a tailored suit, it was easily three metres tall and heavily muscled. This was alarming in itself, but what really troubled Kenny was the brick-red skin, the tusks growing up from the lower jaw and the two horns on its head. He jumped up, grabbed his chair to wield as a weapon and cowered