'Justine； it's Nick。〃 There was some movement now from the back of the house。
He was beginning to feel as if； having once been surrounded by confetti floating through the air； he was being confronted by a slowly emerging pattern as the scraps fell to the ground。
And what he saw shook him to his core。
Justine became visible； limned in the light from behind her； sweeping through the half…open bedroom door。
'What are you doing here？'
'Justine？' He knew it was she； just did not believe her tone of voice。
'Why did you e？'
'I told you to stay at my house； away from here。' He tried not to think of the black furry thing full of blood on her kitchen floor。 Tried to calm himself； to ignore the fact； as mere coincidence； that it was an animal used by ninja as a ritual warning。 It did not work。
'I got claustrophobic； all right？ I told you I get that way every once in a while。'
'It's not safe here。'
'What are you talking about？ I'm fortable here。 This is my house。 My house； Nick。' With the light bursting through all around her like an aurora； he could not see her gestures。 He did not need to。
'I don't think you understand。'
'No；' she said sadly。 'I'm afraid it's you who don't understand。' She took a step forward。 'Why don't you leave。 Please。'
'What's happened？'
'There's … just nothing to say。'
'There has to be。'
'I don't want to talk about it； that's all。'
'You're not the only one who's involved here now。〃
'Nick … nobody's involved。'
'You know what I mean。'
'Yes； I do。 That's why I'm saying this。 I'm … just not ready for anything like this。'
'Like what？'
'Don't force me to spell it out。'
'I just want to know what the hell's got into you。'
'It's just … you don't know me at all。 I'm like this。 Changeable。 Erratic。' She sighed。 'Please go； Nick。 Don't make a scene。'
He raised his hands； palms outward。 'No scene。' He walked towards her。 'I just want some answers。'
'You won't find any here。 Not today； anyway。' She began to turn away from him； back into the light。
'Justine； wait！' He reached out； touched her arm。 ； 'Get away from me！' she cried； hands pushing at him。 And
then calmly whispered； 'Get away from me。 I mean it； Nick。〃 He turned and left her standing there； a silhouette。
Click。 Click…click。 Pause。 Click…clack…click。 Hail
As they moved back and forth along the thin line； the diameter of a predetermined circle； Terry felt the fear of an opponent for the first time in his life。
As a master； a sensei； fear in kenjutsu was an unknown thing to him。 Until now。
It was not so much the fear of defeat … even he had； once or twice； been defeated … though he knew from the opening moments that this man could quite probably take him。 No； it…was something more subtle than that。 It was the manner in which this man … this Hideoshi … fought。 Style was imperative in kenjutsu； one could tell much about an opponent by the way he fought。 Not only where he had studied and with whom but； on a wider scope； just what kind of man he was。 For style was also philosophy and； yes； religion。 What one respected and what one held in contempt。
。Terry was concerned now because he saw in the other's martial philosophy a lack of regard for human life。 Ei had been right on target when she had suggested that the man had the eyes of the dead。 They were lustreless and as shallow as glass。 Nothing； it appeared； resided behind them。 Certainly no feeling。 And this worried Terry。 He had heard of and had read accounts of samurai in feudal Japan … during the i6oos； just after leyasu Tokugawa unified the warring daimyo by founding the Tokugawa shogunate； which would last two hundred years … who cared little or nothing for human life。 They were killing…machines； sent out to do their lord's bidding； loyal to him and to bushido only。 Yet the code of bushido had within it the core of passion； rigid and unassailable though it was。 A core these men chose to ignore。 He had often wondered what it was that had so corrupted them。
It seemed oddly fitting that； now； he should be confronted by just such a man。 It was as if he had stepped out of another age。 Karma； Terry thought。
He moved to his left； attacking； but was at once balked。 Now their boftfen whistled through the air； moving so swiftly
that； to the untrained eye； it might appear as if the two batants were wielding enormous fans； so blurred were the weapons' movements。
Terry moved to one knee； sweeping his bokken horizontally； but the other used a vertical block。 A less experienced swordsman might then have gone for the kill； using the two…handed vertical sky…to…ground sweep。 This would have brought instant disaster； for Terry need only have lunged forward several inches； the point of his weapon piercing the attacker's stomach； to vitiate that lethal blow。
Instead； the other stepped back； forcing Terry to regain his feet to continue the match。 There had already been two draws and； as the hour was drawing to a close； this would be the last match。 Yet； as he blocked several lightning thrusts； Terry had the unfortable feeling that he had not seen this man's plete repertory of strategy。 Truth to tell； he felt as if the other had been toying with him for all the forty minutes they had been at it。
Annoyed； he struck and struck again。 But instead of directly countering； the other's frozen cleaved to his as closely as a shadow； moving in concert； always touching。 Then they were close together and Terry had his first good look at the other's face。 It was just the flicker of an instant； perhaps a tenth of a second when his concentration； his zanshin … that is； physical form bined with mental concentration and alertness …wavered。 Almost contemptuously； the other flicked at Terry's bol（kfn with his own weapon。 There was not enough time to react fully and； with the other's bokken at his throat； Terry was defeated。
When Justine came out of the bedroom to make herself a drink； it was near sunset。 However； looking out of the windows at the front of the house； she saw only thick banks of grey clouds； trailing like streamers left over from a wild party； tattered； shredding in the winds aloft。 The wan light bleached out all the colour from the land。 The sand looked solid and lumpy like cooling lead。
She stopped； one hand around the neck of the bottle of rum。 There seemed to be a shadow on the porch。 Letting go of the
bottle； she moved slowly to her right to get a better view。 She moved past the centre beam between the two picture windows。 Curtains fluttered； further obscuring her view。 She moved farther to her left and stopped dead still。 The shadow had bee a silhouette。 Someone was out there。
She felt a nameless fear flood her body and； unconsciously； she put a hand up to her throat。 Her heart beat like a triphammer and Nicholas's words abruptly came to her。 /*'* not safe here。 Is this what he meant？ She wished now that she had paid more attention to what he had been saying； but she had been solely intent on pushing him away； had heard only her own words。
Now she wondered wildly whether she had locked the door after he had left。 She thought not but could not be certain。 Yet she dared not attract attention by moving to it。 She would have to pass directly before the windows。 She thought of crawling but was too frightened of making some noise。
Then she thought of the phone。 Keeping her eye on the silhouette； she backed up slowly into the hall。 She reached down convulsively； almost knocking the receiver to the floor。 She went to her knees to retrieve it。 She dialled Nicholas's number； closing her eyes； praying he was home。 Each solitary ring was like an icicle through her heart。 She felt chilled； her flesh raised in goose…bumps as she cradled the phone。
She went silently； on dancer's feet； out to the living…room； sitting on the arm…rest of the sofa； staring at the silhouette。 She considered creeping out at the back door。 But then what？ Pound on a neighbour's door？ And say what？ That she was afraid of a shadow？
Abruptly； she felt idiotic； like a madwoman trapped within the nightmares of her own mind。 And； after all； there had been no movement of the silhouette since she had first glimpsed it。 It could be a chair…back or …
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