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First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Egmont UK Limited
The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN
Text copyright © 2015 Jason Rohan
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
First e-book edition 2016
ISBN 978 1 4052 7061 8
Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1456 3
www.egmont.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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For my father, who would have been proud.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
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42
Glossary
Back series promotional page
‘Hurry up!’
The covered lorry rumbled along Honan Dori in low gear, heading east towards central Tokyo. Kenny Blackwood snatched at the outstretched hand and missed. He swore and started running at full pelt after the vehicle.
Kiyomi leaned out over the tailgate and extended her arm further. ‘Not this again!’ she grumbled. ‘Move it!’
Kenny lowered his head, pumped his fists and threw himself forward to catch the departing truck.
‘Oyama, yukkuri shiro!’ a man’s voice ordered from inside the canopy and the lorry stopped immediately. Kenny, caught by surprise, thwacked into the rear bumper and bounced on to the tarmac.
‘Ow. You could’ve warned me,’ he said, rubbing his bruised behind in the red glow of the brake lights.
‘Are you hurt?’ Kiyomi asked, jumping down and hauling him to his feet.
‘Only my pride,’ Kenny said. ‘Where are we going?’
Kiyomi’s father, Harashima, peered out of the truck. ‘Kuromori-san, you’re holding us up. Get in and then talk.’
Kenny climbed into the back and nodded in greeting to the fourteen men who were waiting inside. Their faces were familiar from when they had all fought together to stop a crazed attack against America’s West Coast barely two months ago. They were dressed in black, armed with automatic weapons and wore expressions of grim determination.
The lorry picked up speed and Kenny found a space opposite Kiyomi. She leaned back, her eyes closed.
Watching her, Kenny felt his heart skip. She was still beautiful, but the deep shadows under her eyes and the creases on her forehead worried him. They had met only recently, but so much had happened in such a short time that it felt longer, like they had been friends for years. Only something had changed. Something was wrong. Kenny could sense it, deep in his core, though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
He lightly bumped the toe of his trainer against Kiyomi’s leather boot. Her almond eyes flicked open and she scowled at him.
‘What now?’
‘You’re looking really tired,’ he said.
‘Like, duh. Why do you think I’m trying to nap?’
‘No, I mean – Is everything OK with you? You haven’t been the same since . . .’
‘God, why does everyone keep going on about that?’ Kiyomi snapped. ‘Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I’m hacked off. Yes, I’m sick of everyone tiptoeing around me like I’m made of glass. Get over it, will you?’
Harashima stood up, gripping a nylon strap for support in the swaying truck. A flash of concern crossed his face as he took in Kiyomi’s rant, but he set his jaw and addressed his men: ‘Not long ago, we fought together in Kashima to stop an atrocity. Akamatsu, fool that he was, sought to tip the balance through his control of the dragon Namazu.’
Heads nodded and feet shuffled. The ripple of discomfort came as no surprise to Kenny. Many of the passengers in the truck had been injured that day, and some had buried friends.
‘But, with the help of Kuromori-san, champion of Inari, we succeeded.’ Harashima nodded towards Kenny, who smiled sheepishly. ‘However, before we set off for Kashima, we were exploring the sewers beneath Tokyo, hunting for the dragon’s lair.’
‘Yeah, that was your bright idea,’ Kiyomi muttered to Kenny. ‘Genius move.’
‘We know now that we were searching in the wrong place, but we did find something before we left,’ Harashima said. ‘Here.’ He handed out a thin dossier which each man flicked through and passed down the line.
When the folder came to Kenny, Kiyomi leaned over to observe. It took a moment for Kenny to register what he was seeing – and then he fought the urge to be sick.
‘The first picture was taken back in July,’ Harashima said. ‘The others are more recent.’
‘Let me see that,’ Kiyomi said, taking the folder from Kenny’s limp fingers.
‘As far as we can tell, those are the remains of three men,’ Harashima continued. ‘Probably homeless, taking shelter in the outflow tunnels.’
‘But, sir,’ Kenny said, struggling with the words. ‘One of them . . . it looked like . . . he was bitten in half?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What could do that?’
Harashima softened, seeing the revulsion on Kenny’s face. ‘There are many things, Kuromori-san, that live in darkness and feast on human flesh. You have met some of them already.’
‘And we’re going . . .?’
‘North to Kasukabe, to the Shutoken Gaigaku Hosuiro, the world’s largest drainage system, also known as the G-Cans Project.’
Kenny knew he was going to regret the answer, but he had to ask. ‘Why are we going there?’
‘Because tonight the hunter becomes the hunted. A yokai has crossed the line and it is our sworn duty to stop it.’
Kenny’s gaze swept round the back of the lorry. ‘No offence, sir, but do you have enough men for this?’
Harashima smiled. ‘Of course, Kuromori-san. We have you.’
Ninety minutes later, Kenny’s footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell leading into the depths of the earth.
The truck had pulled up at the entrance to the G-Cans Project and the chief engineer had greeted them. Harashima made the introductions and, while Kenny could only understand a few words of Japanese, he heard the name Sato mentioned. Kiyomi’s uncle was with the Japanese Secret Service; if anyone could get a group of armed men into a government facility with no questions asked, it would be him.
‘Oh, wow,’ Kenny said, looking out over the low concrete wall adjoining the stairs. ‘You’ve got to see this.’ He placed his hands on the damp stone and took in the view, while Kiyomi inched her way down. She was taking her time, moving with uncharacteristic reluctance. Kenny sympathised; after all, the last time they had ventured underground, it had cost Kiyomi her life. Anyone would think twice about clambering into the cold, wet darkness, not that Kiyomi would admit to any misgivings.
‘Is that a cloud? Underground? Inside a room?’ she said, standing alongside Kenny.
Stretching out before them was an enormous concrete-walled water tank, as long and as wide as Westminster Abbey and as tall as Buckingham Palace. Immense concrete supports thrust upwards, like columns in a vast cathedral. Water lapped the pillars and vapour swirled in ghostly wreaths.
‘Looks like it,’ Kenny said, continuing downwards. ‘This place is big enough to have its own climate.’ He shivered in the damp. ‘Where are the others?’
‘If your Japanese was better, you’d have heard Papa explain. There are five other water tanks, connected by over six kilometres of pipe, each eleven metres wide. We’re putting two guys in each tank and the rest are checking the tunnels. We’ve all got motion trackers, locator beacons and radios. The plan is to find the thing, summon help and get out fast.’
Kenny pondered this and his eyes grew wide. ‘Whoa. You mean we’re on our own?’ His voice echoed back, sounding no less worried.
‘What? Are you scared? You’re the one with the sword.’
‘Yeah, it’s just . . . You’ve seen The Lord of the Rings, right? This place is just like the dwarven halls, when all the goblins come creeping down from the ceiling.’ Kenny squinted up into the darkness, scanning for any sign of movement.
‘Thanks. Like this isn’t creepy enough already?’ Kiyomi shuddered. ‘I hate being underground.’ She dug out a torch and thumbed the switch, sending a powerful beam into the haze.
Kenny splashed down into the chilled, waist-deep water. ‘Ugh. Wrong day for trainers,’ he groaned.
Powerful spotlights shone down from above, each trained on a giant pillar. The reflections off the pale, rounded stone made it seem like stalactites of light were piercing the low mists.
‘This is all your fault,’ Kiyomi grumbled as they waded into the chamber.
‘What have I done now?’ Kenny said, his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering.
‘If you hadn’t sent Papa’s men down here, looking for Namazu, then they wouldn’t have found the . . . you know? Leftovers.’
‘How does that make it my fault?’ Kenny protested. ‘It’s not like I knew this was here.’ Annoyed, he changed the subject. ‘What’s the point of this place, anyway? It’s just a drain.’
‘What do you mean, “just a drain”? Do you have any idea how important this facility is?’
Kenny switched on the hand-held motion tracker, which resembled a satnav. ‘Uh, actually, no.’
‘You know what a typhoon is? A hurricane with wind speeds of at least a hundred and twenty kilometres an hour and up to a metre of rain in a day. Tokyo used to flood regularly and thousands drowned, so this was built. The five giant cans take the extra water out of five rivers, like a massive storm drain. This tank we’re in now is the final overflow. From here, the floodwater gets pumped into the Edo River. Without it, parts of Tokyo are underwater, so it does matter.’
‘Fine, OK, I get it,’ Kenny said, stooping to sniff the shimmering surface. ‘So this is basically just rainwater, right? No sewage or floating poo to worry about?’
‘No, not unless you get so scared – YAAAAAHH!’
Kenny jumped so hard, he nearly dropped the motion tracker. Kiyomi’s torch picked out a furry lump disappearing back into the fog.
‘What the heck was that about?’ Kenny gasped.
‘A rat,’ Kiyomi said, shivering in disgust. ‘Ugh. A big one too.’
‘So why didn’t it show up on this thing?’ Kenny held up the tracker. ‘Is it broken?’
‘No, it’s calibrated for large objects only, otherwise every rat and roach would set it off.’
‘Big things? What, like this blue blob here?’
‘Let me see that.’ Kiyomi snatched the tracker from Kenny’s grasp. ‘You’ve got to be kidding! Kenny, we’re out in the open. Get back – fast!’
‘Why? What is it?’
From out of the mist, a shallow surge rippled forward. Behind it came the frantic squeaking of hundreds of rats.
‘Oh my God.’ Kiyomi threw herself into the water and was gone.
Kenny spun on his heel, ducked down and felt tiny feet and claws scramble over his back, shoulders and head as the wave of screeching rodents broke over him. Still cradling the motion tracker, he opened one eye and squinted at it while the rats dispersed and swam away in all directions, leaving a large blue blob closing in on him from behind.
Kenny whirled round as the water exploded before him. With a thunderous roar, a huge white shape launched itself out of the mist, its cavernous jaws edged with long jutting teeth.
Time froze as Kenny’s brain recognised what he was seeing, but simultaneously refused to accept it. The effect was paralysing and the shadow of a giant albino crocodile slid over him as its jaws snapped at his chest.
Leaping from the water, Kiyomi flung herself at Kenny, barging him aside. The shock of cold water snapped Kenny back into the moment. He kicked out frantically and swept his arms in long strokes to put distance between himself and the monster reptile, stopping only when he reached the nearest pillar.
‘Kiyomi!’ he yelled into the void.
‘Over here,’ she responded, flashing her torch from behind another support.
‘What do we do?’ Kenny shivered in the cold, eyes searching the dark waters. ‘Where is it?’
‘Probably circling for another att– Look out!’
Kenny reacted without thinking. Leaping backwards, like an Olympic gymnast, he launched himself six metres into the air. The giant reptile thrashed beneath, pushing out a great bow wave, and vanished again.
With an ungainly splash, Kenny sprawled in the water. His mind’s eye had captured a snapshot of the monster, white as bone, with dead eyes and rows of tiny ivory pyramids along its back.
‘A plan would be good right about now,’ Kenny said, summoning forth Kusanagi, the sacred sword. The blade felt good in his hands.
‘OK. You keep it busy. I’ll do the rest.’ Kiyomi flicked off the torch, vanishing into the gloom.
‘What kind of plan is that?’ Kenny yelled. ‘Why don’t you keep it busy while I . . .?’ He waved the sword in front of him. ‘Kiyomi? Oh, great.’ He peered into the darkness, scanning for telltale bubbles or ripples. ‘Here, fishy fishy. Come to Kenny. I’ve got a surprise for you.’
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and Kenny spun round, pushing away from the massive column. The crocodile surged past, but a swipe of its powerful tail whacked Kenny off his feet. Instinctively, he let go of the sword as he fell into the water. The monster cruised around a pillar and churned towards him again. Kenny scrabbled for the sword in the black water. The crocodile’s jaws gaped wide and it almost seemed to smile as it homed in.
‘Kenny, now!’ Kiyomi cried, leaping from a support to land on the creature’s back, tanto in hand. She raised the short sword to strike a killing blow.
In the same instant, Kenny abandoned his search and channelled his inner spirit – his ki – into his right hand. Ribbons of energy laced his knuckles. The crocodile was so close he could feel its rank breath.
‘Chikara!’ Kenny cried. He sidestepped the onrushing jaws and slammed his fist down, punching a crater clean through the crocodile’s skull. It stopped as suddenly as a car hitting a wall and its body somersaulted, pitching Kiyomi across the chamber.
Kenny grimaced, extracted his arm, shook off the greasy brain tissue and went in search of Kiyomi. He needn’t have bothered.
‘You idiot!’ she screamed, rising from the water. ‘I had it! I was about to kill it and then you – you went and did that!’
‘I dropped the sword. What else could I do?’ Kenny said, holding his hands out in apology.
‘And you’re lucky I dropped mine, otherwise I’d gut you right now,’ Kiyomi snarled, shoving him aside as she headed for the stairs.
‘Jeez, what’s all that about?’ Kenny muttered under his breath. ‘And since when can you see in the dark?’
‘That was a trap!’ Kiyomi railed, thumping her fist on the table for emphasis.
‘What makes you so sure?’ Harashima asked. ‘I’m confident that our information was good.’
‘Oh, come on, Papa, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that whole crocodile-in-the-sewer urban myth?’
They were back at the Harashima residence, in the main room, two hours after leaving Kasukabe. Kenny was sitting in a bathrobe, sipping a hot chocolate, and trying to keep up with the exchange.
‘One, crocodiles are cold-blooded. There’s no way it could live for long in that water. Two, it would need a lot more food than it could find in the river.’ Kiyomi held up her hand while counting off the reasons. ‘Three, how would homeless guys find their way into the G-Cans Project to end up as dinner? And, four, what are the odds of us finding the ugly sucker when no one else could? It was definitely a set-up.’
Harashima turned to Kenny. ‘Kuromori-san, what do you think? Was this creature natural or yokai?’
Kenny pursed his lips. ‘It seemed normal enough, although Kiyomi’s right, this whole thing stinks.’
‘Very well.’ Harashima nodded. ‘I will have the body recovered and we will look closer.’ He clapped a hand on Kenny’s shoulder. ‘You did well, Kuromori-san, very well indeed.’
‘Hey, what about me?’ Kiyomi snapped. ‘I saved Kenny’s butt – again – and I was ready to finish off the croc until Mr Show-off here decided to get cuddly with it.’
‘Cuddly?’ Kenny retorted. ‘What, are you jealous because I’m better at this magic stuff than you are?’
‘Hah! Me, jealous of you? In your dreams!’
‘Enough!’ Harashima barked. ‘Kiyomi-chan, go to your room. Now.’
Kiyomi glared before storming out. Harashima closed his eyes, took a deep breath and held it. After ten seconds, he exhaled slowly.
‘I put you two together today for a reason,’ he said to Kenny. ‘How would you describe Kiyomi-chan’s . . . emotional state tonight?’
‘Uh, well . . .’ Kenny ran his fingers through his damp hair to buy time. He didn’t want to get Kiyomi into any further trouble with her father, but at the same time, she had been acting really weird.
‘As I thought,’ Harashima said. ‘She has anger-management issues, as they call it these days.’
‘You can say that again,’ Kenny agreed. ‘She’s always been a bit fiery, but lately it’s been off the chart.’
‘Something is wrong, Kuromori-san,’ Harashima said, his brow furrowing. ‘You know that my family is sworn to hold the balance, to keep the forces of chaos from dragging Japan backwards, to keep the yokai in check.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Kenny said.
‘I do not know how I can do that if my own family is tearing itself apart. Kuromori-san, I want you to make me a promise.’
Kenny had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t going to like what came next, but nor could he refuse. ‘OK.’
‘If anything was to happen to me and I could no longer lead this organisation, I would want you to take over as commander to my men.’
Kenny blinked. ‘I-I can’t do that, sir. I’m just a kid. I’m a gaijin. They’d never accept me. Surely your brother is a better bet. Besides, nothing’s going to happen to you.’
Harashima gave a low bow. ‘Kuromori-san, sooner or later, everyone’s time comes to an end. My hope was that Kiyomi-chan would take my place, but as she is now . . .’
A quiet tap on the door signalled that Kenny’s lift home was waiting.
By the time Kenny got back to the two-bedroom flat in Shibuya he shared with his father, it was midnight. He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door gently.
‘Kenny? That you?’ his father called from the main room – a combined living and dining area with a kitchenette.
‘Yeah, Dad.’ Kenny kicked off his soggy trainers and went inside.
Charles Blackwood stood up from his computer desk in the corner, stretched and came over to give his son a hug.
‘Whew, you’re damp,’ Charles noted. He sniffed Kenny’s hair. ‘And you smell like a swamp. You should have a bath before bed.’
‘OK, OK.’ Kenny yawned. ‘And I’ve got school tomorrow.’
‘Is your homework done?’
‘Not yet. I’ll do it on the train in the morning.’
‘That’s hardly ideal. You want anything to eat? Hot drink?’
‘No, I had something over at Kiyomi’s.’
Charles folded his arms. ‘So? How was work?’
‘You know I can’t talk about that, Dad. For your own safety.’
‘Well, what can you talk about?’ Charles appraised his son’s dishevelled appearance. ‘Kenny, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like hell.’
Kenny laughed. ‘Woo, good thing you cushioned that one.’
‘I mean it. I’m not dismissing the importance of what you do, but . . . you’re making it very hard for me to be a father to you, which is kind of the whole point of you being here. I hardly see you. If you’re not at the Harashimas, you’re in school. When do we get some time together?’
Kenny slumped in the doorway. ‘Yeah, I know. Tell you what, Dad, I’ve got football trials tomorrow after school. Come see me try out for the team and then we can go for food afterwards.’
‘You’re on. I’d like to see you play.’
‘Thanks, Dad. Oh, and one other thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Is it just me or are all girls nuts?’
Charles chuckled. ‘What’s Kiyomi done this time?’
‘Nothing, it’s just . . . I’m worried about her, Dad. There’s something wrong. I can feel it.’
Charles frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Kenny’s voice was small, as if he was afraid to say the words. ‘It’s like with Mum. I think she’s ill. Really ill, as in . . . maybe dying.’
Kenny carried his meal tray to an unoccupied table in the school lunch hall and sat down. He’d been the new kid at school enough times to know how it worked. Everyone was nice enough, but they still waited to size you up. Who were you going to be: the clown; the nerd; the smart alec; the sporty one; the cool kid; the punching bag; the teacher’s pet? Every class had its own cliques and factions. Kids in those didn’t need anyone new; their groups were self-contained. That left the outsiders, those who had to fend for themselves. They would gravitate towards any new student, hoping to find an ally.
The problem was that Kenny had learned to be on his own. He had stopped trying to make friends long ago because what was the point? You always had to move on. Better not to have any at all and avoid awkward goodbyes. Except this time was different. Now he was enrolled at the American School in Japan and it was meant to be for a few years. That was going to take some getting used to, but he had been told – by a goddess no less – that he had to reach out to others or he would be emotionally stunted and never fulfil his potential.