No sword

Buddha to Mahakasyapa.

18.Meanwhile, back at the monastery

Penelope did a quick head count. 'I think we have everyone,' she said.

Mr Cwej's face was quite calm. Almost blank. 'Right,' he said. 'Up the hill as fast as we can go, and in through the secret entrance. I'll take it up in the cart,' he told Penelope. 'You can ride shotgun.'

'What about you?' Penelope asked Talker.

'We'll fly up,' said the Kapteynian, jerking her wing at the sky. 'And meet you there.'

'Shall we run ahead of you, O-samurai O-samurai?' Mikeneko asked Mr Cwej. The woman's voice trembled with exhaustion and suppressed grief.

'No,' said Mr Cwej. 'We'll all stay together. Put the wounded and the kids into the cart, as many as you can fit.'

There were perhaps two dozen surviving villagers.

Penelope helped Mikeneko cram the cart. Five children, a man who'd been knocked to the ground by a samurai's pa.s.sing horse, a woman who'd been shot through the arm. Penelope had been glad of the ointment and bandages she had brought along.

Three more children clambered into the cart, chattering, watching the Kapteynians take flight. Black wings flapped amongst the trees for a moment, and then they were gone.

Penelope sat beside Mr Cwej in the driver's seat. As they started moving, she glanced back to make sure the children were hanging on safely. She couldn't help smiling. One of them had caught a Kapteynian feather, and they were pa.s.sing it around, fascinated. There was life left in some of the inhabitants of Hekison village, at least.

She glanced at Mr Cwej. The young man was still so calm. It couldn't be helped. There was no time to deal with what had happened now. First they must reach safety.

Behind them, in a clearing deep in the forest, there was a grave. It was not marked with any headstone, not even a cross of twigs.

163.

Mr Cwej had dug it for the pod. It had taken five of them to pull the mysterious object clear, once it had miraculously uncovered itself.

They had lowered the Doctor's body into that shallow resting place. Penelope had removed the arrow from his shoulder, and taken off his jacket and hat. There was no shroud, no priest, nothing but the need to quickly put him to rest so that they could make all speed to safety.

Mr Cwej had seemed paralysed. Once he had helped her lower that small body into the grave, he stood by the side, neither speaking nor moving, clutching the Doctor's jacket in one hand, the collapsible shovel in the other.

Penelope had awkwardly arranged the Doctor's hands on his breast. He looked so cold in his shirtsleeves. She wished for something to cover him with. But there was nothing but soil.

She stepped up out of the shallow hole. Mr Cwej held the shovel, still rigid, his eyes locked on the corpse.

Penelope put her hand on the shovel. 'I will do it,' she said.

'No,' he said. The word was tiny and flat. He thrust the jacket into her hands. She was surprised by the weight of it the pockets were filled with objects. There was something ghoulish about retaining it, but who knew what might be of use to them? Penelope bowed her head.

And Mr Cwej had begun to shovel the scattered dirt back into the hole.

The battlefield was quiet.

Te Yene Rana sat on the daimyo's war stool, whistling while she replaced the power pack of her laser rifle. Umemi's headless body was a little distance away, being fussed over by his advisers.

She had a great view of the plain from here. It was jammed with bodies, men and horses, a great pile of meat. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands.

Te Yene Rana was fond of sims of primitive violence, but they seldom showed this part of the battle, when the bacteria and the carrion birds were the only moving things.

Shame none of the cadavers were Kapteynian. On the other hand, it meant she'd get another crack at them. Especially that d.a.m.ned Gardener. This time there wouldn't be any of this cutesy personal-combat stuff. She'd blow the d.a.m.ned chattels into the middle of next week, first chance she got.

She supposed you could call Gufuu-sama the winner of this little skirmish.

He was still alive, after all, and more of his warriors had survived. Mind you, even he was holding his ground, waiting for reinforcements before he proceeded to the monastery and his rightful prize.

She looked up at the great craggy rock, crowned by Doa-no-naiheya Monastery. No doubt, in all the confusion, the Doctor and his company had 164 made it up there by now. If Gufuu-sama wanted the 'Pod', he'd have to lay siege to the monastery.

No doubt he could use an additional warrior.

She slung the laser rifle over her arm and started picking her way through the bodies, heading down the ridge. If the samurai saw her, they took no notice.

A gold pocket watch which tinkled like a music box when you opened it.

Kadoguchiroshi was watching the proceedings in the monastery courtyard.

He didn't seem surprised, even though the place was full of peasants and aliens, and there was a large Penelope-shaped hole in his vegetable garden.

Kame had bowed to him with great deference, and as it turned out had once been his student. He explained the situation while Mr Cwej made sure the peasants were fed and their wounds treated.

A transparent, folding wallet, filled with nonsensical business cards.

A group of shaven-headed monks and the Kapteynians were carefully unloading the pod from the cart. Two more were leading the weary horses away.

The monks were trying hard to look as nonchalant as their Roshi, even though they were surrounded by giant, chattering black chickens.

A hand-knitted toy bear.

They carefully laid the pod on the ground.

The Kapteynians crowded around it.

Mr Cwej said to Talker, 'Now what?' His voice was as tight as a bowstring.

'Now nothing,' said Talker sadly. 'Technician is dead, and he was the only one who could have opened it. Except. . . '

Penelope put down the tweed jacket, and carefully began arranging the objects she'd found in its pockets. 'OK,' said Mr Cwej. 'We'll have to think of something. For a start: what is it?'

Talker shook her head. 'I can't tell you.'

'Why not?' Mr Cwej's voice was getting quieter. 'After all the people who've died because of it, I think we deserve an explanation.'

Talker stood up. 'We'll have to know one another far better first.'

'Come on, Talker,' said Penelope. 'Surely you know you can trust us?'

The bird looked at her with black eyes. 'I've seen what kind of people you are,' she said.

And how do you answer that?

Kame had been carefully cleaning and checking his sword and armour. The sword was in the same superb shape as when he had first received it, the only part of his equipment issued by his lord. Despite the number of lives it had 165 taken, the armour and bones it had sliced through, the edge was unnotched and perfect.

The rest of his equipment was not in such good condition. Straps were worn, several of the narrow strips of metal making up the breastplate were dented, and the lacquer definitely needed the attention of an expert.

Kame laughed at himself, softly. He had just been thinking how his armour was quite adequate for now, since it was unlikely he would survive the battle to come. But then, were he struck down, Kannon would simply resurrect him it was a strange mercy, to feel the blade or the shaft bite deep, to feel the overwhelming moment of blackness, and then to find yourself struggling back to life, like a man dragging himself from the pit of despair to fight on.

Kuriisu-san walked over and sat down next to Kame, silently. His strange blue eyes seemed misty, like the sky seen through the haze of distance, almost as though he was meditating. Kame had seen the look before, in the eyes of those who had been defeated in battle. And yet there was no way out for the brave-hearted foreigner, no seppuku seppuku to escape shame or enemy capture. He had to keep fighting on and fulfil his duty. to escape shame or enemy capture. He had to keep fighting on and fulfil his duty.

'When I was a young man. . . ' the ronin said gruffly.

'Chiyono's dead,' said Kuriisu. 'Did you know her? When you were here?'

'The nun? I remember her, though I never spoke to her.'

Kuriisu fell silent once more. After a while, Kame started over again. 'When I was a young man, I thought that losing my master was the worst thing that could possibly happen. Before I had entered his service, I was living in a chilly hut with eight brothers and sisters, lucky if my belly was filled with millet twice a day. I would have nightmares about my lord being slain in battle, wake up at night grasping blindly for my sword while my wife sleepily asked what the fuss was all about.' He barked a laugh. 'Once it had actually happened, though, it did not seem so terrible.'

Kuriisu-san didn't answer, though Kame could tell from his face that he was listening. 'It's true, I almost decided to follow my master into death. I lost nearly everything, but I did not lose everything. I kept my life, my health, my honour. And I found useful work, work that required courage and intelligence.

It was a matter of rethinking my views on life, as we all must do from time to time.'

'I'm thinking,' said Kuriisu-san. Kame was taken aback by how pale and calm the young man's voice had become.

'What are you thinking about?'

'I'm thinking about all the worlds that are going to die because he's not there to save them. All the people that are going to die because I'm not him.'

'There is nothing for it,' said Kame firmly. He bowed to Kuriisu. 'You are our leader now, and you will carry on.'

166.

The young man didn't answer. Kame did not show his worry, but it seemed as though Kuriisu was drifting away, to some far island where their present troubles were nothing but an unpleasant memory.

Someone shouted, nearby.

'What was that?'

said Kuriisu-san, looking around.

'Flying heads!' cried a novice monk, running up.

'Oh no,' said Chris. He blinked, and suddenly his eyes seemed normal again, alert. Kame relaxed a little. 'Again with the flying heads.'

Penelope's eyes moved from Mr Cwej to the drone drone and back again. 'What are they, precisely?' she said. and back again. 'What are they, precisely?' she said.

Mr Cwej had picked up a heavy piece of firewood. He swung it at one of the Caxtarid's drones drones as it shot past him with a rush of air. The machine stopped and hovered, just high enough to be out of his reach. as it shot past him with a rush of air. The machine stopped and hovered, just high enough to be out of his reach.

'It's kind of hard to explain,' said Mr Cwej. 'Do you have cameras in your era?' He waved the tip of the stick, as though daring the staring drone drone to descend on him. 'The Caxtarid can see through its eyes.' to descend on him. 'The Caxtarid can see through its eyes.'

Penelope glanced over at the pod. The Kapteynians were watching the flock of heads warily. Now and again one of the little machines tried to get a better look at the pod, and a Kapteynian would brandish its laser rifle, frightening the machine away. Penelope wondered if the drones drones were controlled by the Caxtarid, or if they somehow operated of their own volition. were controlled by the Caxtarid, or if they somehow operated of their own volition.

'Miss Gate,' said Mr Cwej, 'tell me something.'

'What do you want to know?' she said carefully.

'Do the Kapteynians have translators? Like Joel's?'

Penelope thought for a moment. 'I suppose they must,' she said. 'We were able to understand one another perfectly.'

'Find out,' he said.

Penelope nodded and marched over to the birds, ducking a low-flying head on the way. The Roshi had ordered the monks inside during the bizarre attack.

Puzzled eyes watched her from nearby doorways.

'Talker!' she said. The bird didn't take her eyes off the meandering drone drone she was watching, her weapon ready in her hands. 'How is it I can speak your language?' she was watching, her weapon ready in her hands. 'How is it I can speak your language?'

'That's easy,' she said. 'You must have a translation device.'

'You have none of your own?'

'Wish we did.'

Penelope went back across the courtyard. A flying head circled her lazily.

The component beneath its 'eyes' looked alarmingly like a mouth. She found herself tucking her hands under her arms to prevent it biting her fingers.

167.

At last the metal creature drifted away, and she strode back to Mr Cwej, who was still holding his bizarre confrontation. 'They do not have translators,' she told him.

'OK, so how could you understand one another?' Penelope realized the question was rhetorical; Mr Cwej was cogitating aloud. 'Through the TARDIS?

It'd be a first. Should only be the Doctor and me. Something else, then.' He glanced at her, his eyes flicking instantly back to the drone drone. 'You haven't gone and invented a translation machine, have you?'

'No. You're worrying me. It is as though some external instrumentality took it upon itself to facilitate our colloquy.'