Jade Palace Vendetta

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What do you want me to cut?”

The drunken samurai got unsteadily to his feet. He swayed from side to side, as if the platform beneath him were the rolling deck of a ship instead of the floor of a roadside teahouse. Pulling his katana, his long sword, from its scabbard, he held it before him like a necromancer’s divining wand, waving vague circles in the air as he waited for spiritual inspiration.

His companion sat on the tattered tatami mats of the common room’s floor. He was also a samurai, dressed in a creased gray kimono and holding a square wooden sakè cup in one hand. He looked about him, searching for a target for his friend’s wavering sword blade. With a burst of drunken inspiration, his gaze fixed on the sakè cup.

“Cut this,” he said, holding up the cup.

“The cup?”

“Yes, let’s see you cut this. I’ll toss it in the air and you slice it in half.”

“In the air?”

“Of course! It’s no challenge if I put it down.” He gave a grin that revealed crooked brown teeth. “Wait a minute,” he said, bringing the cup to his lips so he could drain it of the last dregs. The smell of the fragrant wooden cup enhanced the taste of the cheap, milky white rice wine. “Ahh, that was good.”

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