“‘To serve,’” said Benny. This time he tried the same fake, but instead of retreating, Tom stepped in, parried his blade, and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Blood is now pouring out of a hole where your arm used to be.”
“Yeah, yeah, and when I come back as a zom, I’m going to eat your brains.”
Tom laughed and swung another cut, but Benny blocked it, and Benny blocked the next dozen attacks.
“You’re taking it easy on me,” Benny said.
“You have to work up to full speed.”
“I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No, you—Oh, hell.” Tom moved forward and to one side, and just like that moment back in Harold Simmons’s house, Benny saw his brother’s body blur as Tom moved with incredible speed. His sword seemed to vanish, but then there was a loud TOK!, and Benny’s bokken was flying out of his hands and the world was tilting. Somehow the grass was under his back, and Tom was kneeling on him with his sword pressed into the soft flesh beneath Benny’s Adam’s apple.
“Okay,” Benny croaked. “Fair enough. I’m not ready. Get off my nads.”
Tom raised his knee. “Sorry. Meant to pin your hip.”
“You missed,” Benny said in a tiny voice. “Ow.”
“Really,” Tom said. “Sorry.”
He stepped away and let Benny climb to his feet.
“That was cool!”
Benny turned to see Morgie, Chong, and Nix grinning at him from the other side of the garden gate.
“Hit him again,” said Morgie.
“Yeah,” agreed Nix. She didn’t smile as broadly as Morgie, and there was an edge to her voice.
“Kneel on his nuts some more,” suggested Chong. “I don’t think that’s ever going to get old.”
Benny wheeled on Tom. “Why are they here?”
“Suffering is easier to endure when shared,” said Chong as he lifted the gate latch.
“What?”
“They’re here for lessons,” said Tom. “I invited them.”
“Why? And remember that you can’t defend yourself if I smother you in your sleep.”
“Actually, I can. And I lock my bedroom door,” Tom said over his shoulder as he knelt down by the ancient black canvas bag in which he kept his equipment. He removed three battered but serviceable bokken. “I figured you’d learn better in a class setting. You know … with your friends.”
Benny looked at his friends. Nix was staring acid death at him. Morgie had his hands cupped around his groin, pretending to scream in pain. Chong smiled thinly at him and drew a finger slowly across his throat.
“‘Friends’?” Benny echoed.
Three hours later the four of them stood on trembling legs. Sweat poured down their bodies. Their clothes were pasted to them, their hair hung in rat tails on their foreheads and the backs of their necks. Morgie could barely lift his wooden sword. Chong’s face had lost its smile a while back. Benny was wondering if it was okay to wish for a coronary. Only Nix looked relatively alert. She was as flushed and sweaty as the others, but her hands didn’t tremble as she raised her sword for the last drill.
Tom looked like he just got up from a long nap in a hammock under a shady tree.
“Okay,” Tom said. “Pair up. We’ll run through the same attack and defense we just did, but let’s see if we can take it up a notch. Don’t really try to hit one another, but make the attacks as real as you can safely manage.”
Morgie pushed Chong out of the line, and they settled into stances. Chong was only slightly better than Morgie. He was faster, but Morgie was light on his feet for a stocky kid; he was at least twice as strong as Chong.
That left Nix and Benny as partners. Benny had avoided this all afternoon, but Nix seemed to find the pair-up faintly amusing. They squared off, raising their swords in the ritual salute and settling into their stances.
Tom called, “Hajime!” (Japanese for “Begin!”), and Benny lunged forward to deliver his attack. Nix slapped his sword aside and rapped him hard on the head. Benny saw stars.
“No,” said Tom. “We’re trying not to make contact.”
“Oh,” said Nix distractedly. “Right.”
22