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THE HUNDREDTH KILL

John Marco

John Marco is the author of six novels of epic fantasy, many of which have been translated into various

languages throughout the world. His first book, The Jackal of Nar, was published in 1999 and won the

Barnes and Noble Maiden Voyage Award for best first fantasy novel. His most recent novels, The Eyes

of God, The Devil’s Armor, and Sword of Angels, are all available in DAW editions. John writes full time

from his home in Kings Park, NY, a North Shore Long Island suburb, where he lives with his wife

Deborah and his young son Jack. He is currently at work on a brand new epic fantasy project, as well as

a few smaller projects.

TEN-YEAR-OLD CHARLIE Mason had long watched the ships from his spot in Foochow’s harbor,

waiting for his chance to board one of the grand clippers. Along with his lordly father, Charlie had been

on ships before, but now that steamers were taking over, he had never had a chance to board a real

sailing vessel until heading for home. They had always seemed so beautiful to him, like big white eagles,

but now, halfway through his three-month journey, Charlie was bored.

There were no other children his age or otherwise aboard the

Cairngorm, and no one really for Charlie to talk to. His father was already home in England, and his

governess Priscilla—who accompanied him everywhere—was nearly thirty. To Charlie’s thinking, thirty

was very nearly dead, and Priscilla had already worn him out with her stories. Most nights, Priscilla and

Charlie ate with the rest of the passengers, listening to outdated gossip about the goings-on back home,

where a man named Disraeli was struggling as Prime Minister, or to the troubles of the Spanish Queen

Isabella or the American President Johnson. But Charlie wasn’t interested in this talk, and six weeks of it

had left him numb. He missed his tutors back in Foochow, where his father had left him to learn the tea

trade. It was tea that filled the holds of the Cairngorm, and it was tea that was the only reason the

clippers still existed. Charlie understood this and appreciated it, knowing that the slow steamers could not

get the goods back to the home markets quickly enough. Charlie had learned a lot from his year in China,

and it had all been a great adventure. Hong Kong, Macau, Foochow…Charlie had seen them all, but he

longed for home now, and even the swift clipper ship could not speed him back to Wiltshire fast enough.

Each night aboard the ship was like the one before, and when the passengers finished their meals

they talked and played games, and sometimes the men wagered at cards. All of them were kind to

Charlie, and all of them were like his parents. English, mostly, they had purchased passage back to

Britain full of stories, their pockets packed with Chinese wealth. There was only one passenger who

never ate with the others, an Oriental woman who kept to herself and spent almost every evening at the

bow of the ship, sitting in her strange and colorful clothes, knitting or reading, always alone. Her name

was Lady Kita. She had dark hair and dark eyes and she looked different from the women Charlie knew

in China. Priscilla had explained to Charlie that Lady Kita was standoffish and cold, and that was why the

rest of the passengers ignored her. Tonight, however, Charlie had heard his fill of politics, and so left the

supper table before the tea was served. Knowing he could not get lost aboard the ship, Priscilla let him

go with a warning to be careful, then turned back to the charming man named Hawthorne who Charlie

knew she fancied.

Six weeks at sea had made Charlie an expert seaman. He knew the

Cairngorm nearly as well as any of its crew, who had spent hours teaching him about the vessel. He had

no trouble making it across the deck, not even this night, when the sea was choppy and the deck tossed

him about. It was summer, late July, and the sun was just dipping below the ocean, blazing on the

horizon. Waves crashed against the vessel’s hull. The busy crew—there were thirty of them—went about

their usual work, smiling at Charlie but mostly ignoring him as he made his way to the bow.

Lady Kita had taken her usual spot, sitting in a deck chair facing the clipper’s wake. Her hands

were empty, clasped in her lap. She wore a fine robe of patterned silk, cinched around her waist by a

wide, elaborate belt. She wore her hair pinned up in the back. Charlie slowed as he neared her, spying

her. He had explored every inch of the

Cairngorm except for this strange woman, but now he grew afraid of her. Was she a baroness, Charlie

wondered, or a duchess perhaps? She was called “lady,” and where Charlie was from that meant

nobility. His father had spent months in Japan and had dined in the court of the nobles there, but Charlie

himself had never been.

“Come out,” said the woman suddenly, making Charlie jump. He stood very still, hiding himself in

the shadow of a crate. “Come out,” the woman repeated. “It is rude to stare.”

Charlie’s face grew hot. “Sorry,” he stammered. He stepped out from his hiding spot. “I wasn’t

staring. Honest.”

“What were you doing, then?” The lady finally turned to face him. Charlie didn’t know how to

answer.

“We were having supper. My governess is waiting for me…”

Lady Kita pretended to look around. “I don’t see her.”

“She’s back in the galley,” Charlie managed.

“Where you should be,” said the lady, not unkindly. “Never mind. It is good to see you. You are

Charlie Mason.”

“Yes,” said Charlie brightly. “How do you know that?”

“There is little to do onboard. I learned the names of everyone.”

She spoke in a courtly voice, with the hint of an accent. Charlie was used to the Chinese women

and the way they spoke, fast and loud. Lady Kita’s voice was neither of those things. She reminded

Charlie of the women back home.

And then, to Charlie’s great surprise, she invited him to sit. Since the lady occupied the only chair,

Charlie took to the deck, captivated by her. She seemed to sense his boredom, something that they

shared, perhaps.

“Do you like this ship?” she asked. “I have seen you with the crew, full of questions for them.”

Charlie nodded. “It’s my first time on a ship like this. I’ve traveled with my father before, but only

on a steamer. This is better. It’s faster.”

“For now,” said the lady. “The world is changing.”

Her expression darkened. Charlie puzzled over her words.

“You’re Japanese,” he pronounced. “I can tell. My father went to Japan. He met the emperor.”

Lady Kita raised her brows. “Did he? That is wonderful.”

“It is,” said Charlie proudly. “My father told me about him. He went all over Japan meeting

important people. He’s a diplomat.” He looked at her. “Do you know what that is?”

“Yes,” said the lady, smiling. “How much do you know about Japan, Charlie? I can tell you stories

if you like. Do you like stories, Charlie?”

Charlie loved stories. Best of all, he loved stories of places he had never been before.

For the next week, Charlie went every night to Lady Kita’s side. Sometimes she had treats for

him, strange confections from her homeland that she had lovingly packed for her long journey. She

regaled him with tales of the emperor, explaining to him about the warlords she called

daimyos and how they had battled with the emperor for control of Japan. Japan was changing, she

explained to Charlie, and this she told him over and over again. The old ways—the things she

cherished—were quickly fading. But Lady Kita kept them alive, at least onboard the Cairngorm, bringing

them to life with her stories. Most of all, Charlie loved to hear her talk about the samurai, the warriors of

Japan, and that strange group of mysterious men she called the nin-sha.

“They are shadows of the samurai,” she had explained to him. “We have words for them. We call

them

shinobi-no-mono. That means they are the unseen people. But you know Chinese better, Charlie, so we

will say what the Chinese call them. Nin-sha.”

Now Charlie was truly fascinated. Lady Kita’s stories about the samurai were good, but her tales

about the nin-sha were astonishing. She had filled his mind with tales of the nin-sha so that Charlie could

barely sleep, so excited was he to hear more. This night, as they settled in to their deck chairs over a pot

of steaming tea, Charlie insisted she tell him more.

“Where did the nin-sha come from?” he asked. That was still a mystery she had left unsolved.

Charlie knew she had deliberately held back the best bits of her story. Just as she had explained

everything about the daimyos and their samurai, he wanted now to know everything about the nin-sha.

Lady Kita held her teacup in both hands, savoring its warmth, her white face lit by a nearby

lantern. “A long time ago, when my country first began, there was a man named Jimmu who wanted to be

emperor. Jimmu was a powerful man. He had armies, but he had enemies, too, and he needed the favor

of the gods to defeat them. Jimmu prayed mightily for help, and the gods answered him. They told him to

fetch some clay from the holy mountain of Amakaga, but Jimmu could not do this alone. He needed help

from men who could sneak their way past his enemies and reach the mountain.”

“Nin-sha?” asked Charlie excitedly.

“The first of the nin-sha,” the lady explained. “Their names were Shinetsuiko and Otokashi. They

dressed themselves up as peasant women and sneaked past Jimmu’s enemies to reach Mount Amakaga.

They fetched the clay from the holy mountain and returned it to Jimmu, who fired the clay into a bowl as

an offering to the gods. The gods were pleased with Jimmu and gave him victory over his enemies. He

became emperor.”

“What about the other two? What happened to them?”

“Shinetsuiko and Otokashi disappeared into the mountains. They taught others what they had

learned. And Shinetsuiko established his clan.” The lady paused. “Do you know what a clan is, Charlie?”

“A family,” Charlie replied.

“Yes,” said Lady Kita brightly. “Shinetsuiko’s clan was the first nin-sha family. They settled in Iga,

where Shinetsuiko was born, and they became the finest of the nin-sha clans. There were many clans

once, but none were as fine as Shinetsuiko’s. They were a proud people. They made schools, like you

go to school, Charlie.”

“I have tutors,” Charlie corrected.

“But you learn, yes? And so others learned what Shinetsuiko and his clan taught them, and the

knowledge was passed on. And they cherished the bowl that Jimmu had made from the holy clay. It was

their symbol. It was their strength. It was not fabulous to look at, and those who saw it said it looked like

the work of peasants.” Lady Kita laughed. “But it was made by an emperor! It gave Shinetsuiko and his

clan power. The nin-sha became like magic folk.”

“They can pass through walls, that’s what you said. Tell me about that.”

“Some nin-sha can do these things, it is true. Some nin-sha are very powerful.” Lady Kita leaned

forward over her teacup. “Some nin-sha are not people at all.”

Charlie blanched. “Not people? What are they?”

“Ghosts,” said Lady Kita.

Charlie laughed. “There’s no such thing!”

“But there is, Charlie. In my country there are many spirits, and many things that the outside world

does not know or understand.”

“My father never saw any ghosts in Japan.”

“And how would he see a ghost anyway?” asked the lady tartly. “Nin-shas are never seen or

heard, not unless they choose to be.”

“But I thought they were men,” Charlie protested. “How can they be ghosts?”

“Not all were ghosts, Charlie. Only the best of them ever became ghosts.”

Charlie’s mind began to reel, and he knew that his father would never believe these tales. But

Charlie believed, because he trusted Lady Kita. She had no reason to lie to him.

“Are there still nin-sha?” he asked.

“Some,” replied the lady. “In old Japan there were many, but the daimyos are fading now, and

with them fade the samurai and nin-sha, too. There are masters, though, who still keep nin-sha as their

servants.” Lady Kita smiled. “But that is a tale for tomorrow night.”

That night, Charlie dreamed of the nin-sha ghosts Lady Kita had told him about, and all the next

day he waited to find out more. He rarely saw Lady Kita in the daytime, and, besides, he didn’t want to

share her with anyone else. He spent time with Priscilla and the other passengers, and sometimes with

members of the crew, because Charlie knew his lordly father wanted him to take every opportunity to

learn and would ask him questions when he returned home. Nighttime, though, was Charlie’s great

respite from the drudgery of day. He rushed through supper with the others in the galley, begged off the

desserts offered by the staff, and made his way to the bow of the ship where, as usual, Lady Kita was

waiting. This time, though, the woman’s demeanor was different. She smiled when she saw Charlie, as

though he was a ray of sunlight striking through some gloom. She had dressed beautifully, too, more so

than usual, in a dazzling robe of red and blue that Charlie had never seen before.

“What’s the matter?” Charlie asked.

Lady Kita stiffened. “I have been thinking, Charlie, about the stories I have told you. They make

me sad, these stories.”

Charlie did not understand. “But they’re great stories. I love your stories, Lady Kita.”

“You are a little boy, Charlie. When you are old like me, stories will mean more to you.

Sometimes, they will be all that you have left.”

Charlie sidled closer to her, wanting to comfort her. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, “about what

you told me about the ghost nin-sha. I’m not afraid of them.”

Lady Kita broke into a smile. “No?”

“No. I know they kill people and all, but they’re not bad. That’s right, isn’t it? You told me that

nin-sha aren’t bad people.”

“That’s right, Charlie. The nin-sha were as good as the samurai. Better, even. A samurai might kill

for the pleasure of it. A nin-sha would never do such a thing.”

“I like them better,” said Charlie. “Will you tell me more about them?”

“Yes,” said Lady Kita, “but first, why don’t you tell me a story?”

“Me?”

“Yes. I have told you a story every night for weeks now. It is your turn.”

Charlie thought hard about this. “I can tell you about my father.”

Lady Kita brightened immediately. “Yes. Yes, that would be good.”

So Charlie told the lady about his father, Sir Ernest, the diplomat and traveler, who had made a

fortune importing tea and who insisted that his young son learn the trade. His father was an important

man, Charlie told the lady, and had been to many foreign lands. He had been to Japan to meet the

emperor, of course, and he had lived among the nobles who had taken him into their homes. One of

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