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grip, Jack twisted away. At the same time, he
     grabbed his attacker’s wrist and wrenched the arm into
sankyo
. This
     powerful wristlock would dislocate his attacker’s arm, or at the very least throw
     the person to the ground. But his assailant swiftly countered by flipping through the
     air and turning the lock back on to Jack’s own wrist.
    ‘How dare you resist me!’
     exclaimed his attacker.
    In a white-out of pain, Jack was driven into
     the earth. His head struck the side of the building and his hat fell off. Unable to roll
     away, his ligaments were stretched to their limit, the agonizing force of the lock
     threatening to break his arm. But at the last second the attack was halted.
    Still immobilized by pain, Jack managed to
     twist his head for a glimpse of his attacker. His eyes widened in disbelief.

11
  
Bugyō
    A diminutive man with black specks for eyes
     glared down at Jack. He had a pudgy nose – broken many times in battle – and a thin
     unsmiling mouth, above which sat a greying tuft of a moustache. In spite of his tiny
     stature and age, every muscle was toned as hard as granite beneath his crisp
dōshin
uniform.
    ‘Sensei Kyuzo,’ gasped Jack,
     both shocked and relieved to see his old
taijutsu
master again.
    But Sensei Kyuzo didn’t release the
     excruciating wristlock and his expression remained inscrutable.
    ‘It’s me! Jack!’
    ‘I know who you are,
gaijin
,’ he hissed, ‘but you
don’t
know
     me.’
    ‘But, Sensei –’ Jack’s
     wrist flared once more in agony.
    Sensei Kyuzo forced Jack’s face into
     the dirt as the two
dōshin
came running over.
    ‘Did you get the other one?’ he
     barked.
    ‘No … he disappeared into
     the crowd,’ explained one of the officers sheepishly.
    ‘Idiots! How could you lose a suspect
     dressed like a clown fish?’
    ‘Sorry, Renzo. He was too
     slippery.’
    Renzo?
thought Jack.
Have I
     mistaken the man?
    Spitting dirt from his mouth, Jack tried to
     catch another glimpse of his captor. The man certainly looked like his
taijutsu
master. His voice had the same rough edge to it. And his attitude was as harsh and
     unforgiving as ever. Then there was the wristlock he had him in:
tekubi
     gatamae
. It was classic Sensei Kyuzo, and Jack could never forget the distinctive
     pain his teacher was capable of inflicting. Always selected as his
uke
,
     demonstration partner, at the
Niten Ichi Ryū
, Jack had suffered many agonizing
     sessions being locked, thrown, grappled, kicked and punched by his teacher – all for the
     purposes of
authentic
technique. Pinned helpless to the ground now, Jack was
     left in no doubt that this
dōshin
was Sensei Kyuzo.
    The other two officers stared in
     astonishment at their prisoner.
    ‘You’ve captured the
gaijin
samurai!’ cried the
dōshin
in unison.
    ‘Yes,’ snapped Sensei Kyuzo
     impatiently. ‘Now quit gawping and hand me your
hayanawa
.’
    The
dōshin
obediently passed him a
     short rope with a small loop on one end. Snatching it from the officer’s grasp,
     Sensei Kyuzo dropped his full weight on top of Jack. With a knee pressed painfully into
     the small of his back, Jack was swiftly relieved of his swords and pack. Then, in a
     matter of seconds, he was trussed up with the
hayanawa
. His hands were bound
     behind him and the rope secured round his neck, so that if he struggled the
hayanawa
would choke him. Although still able to walk, Jack was otherwise
     powerless to fight back.
    Sensei Kyuzo dragged him to his feet.
    ‘Let’s go,
gaijin
!’
     he ordered, shoving Jack down the road.
    ‘Where are you taking me,
     Sen–’
    Sensei Kyuzo jabbed his thumbtip between
     Jack’s ribs, sending a shockwave of pain through him.
    ‘Less talking and more
     walking.’
    As Jack recovered his breath and hobbled on,
     he finally figured out why his teacher was being so brutal in silencing him. Benkei had
     mentioned that certain samurai warriors who’d opposed the Shogun were being hunted