“I have tutors,” Charlie corrected.

“But you learn, yes? And so others learned what Shinetsuiko and his clan taught them, and the knowledge was passed on. And they cherished the bowl that Jimmu had made from the holy clay. It was their symbol. It was their strength. It was not fabulous to look at, and those who saw it said it looked like the work of peasants.” Lady Kita laughed. “But it was made by an emperor! It gave Shinetsuiko and his clan power. The nin-sha became like magic folk.”

“They can pass through walls, that’s what you said. Tell me about that.”

“Some nin-sha can do these things, it is true. Some nin-sha are very powerful.” Lady Kita leaned forward over her teacup. “Some nin-sha are not people at all.”

Charlie blanched. “Not people? What are they?”

“Ghosts,” said Lady Kita.

Charlie laughed. “There’s no such thing!”

“But there is, Charlie. In my country there are many spirits, and many things that the outside world does not know or understand.”

“My father never saw any ghosts in Japan.”

“And how would he see a ghost anyway?” asked the lady tartly. “Nin-shas are never seen or heard, not unless they choose to be.”

“But I thought they were men,” Charlie protested. “How can they be ghosts?”

“Not all were ghosts, Charlie. Only the best of them ever became ghosts.”

Charlie’s mind began to reel, and he knew that his father would never believe these tales. But Charlie believed, because he trusted Lady Kita. She had no reason to lie to him.

“Are there still nin-sha?” he asked.

“Some,” replied the lady. “In old Japan there were many, but the daimyos are fading now, and with them fade the samurai and nin-sha, too. There are masters, though, who still keep nin-sha as their servants.” Lady Kita smiled. “But that is a tale for tomorrow night.”

That night, Charlie dreamed of the nin-sha ghosts Lady Kita had told him about, and all the next day he waited to find out more. He rarely saw Lady Kita in the daytime, and, besides, he didn’t want to share her with anyone else. He spent time with Priscilla and the other passengers, and sometimes with members of the crew, because Charlie knew his lordly father wanted him to take every opportunity to learn and would ask him questions when he returned home. Nighttime, though, was Charlie’s great respite from the drudgery of day. He rushed through supper with the others in the galley, begged off the desserts offered by the staff, and made his way to the bow of the ship where, as usual, Lady Kita was waiting. This time, though, the woman’s demeanor was different. She smiled when she saw Charlie, as though he was a ray of sunlight striking through some gloom. She had dressed beautifully, too, more so than usual, in a dazzling robe of red and blue that Charlie had never seen before.

“What’s the matter?” Charlie asked.

Lady Kita stiffened. “I have been thinking, Charlie, about the stories I have told you. They make me sad, these stories.”

Charlie did not understand. “But they’re great stories. I love your stories, Lady Kita.”

“You are a little boy, Charlie. When you are old like me, stories will mean more to you. Sometimes, they will be all that you have left.”

Charlie sidled closer to her, wanting to comfort her. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, “about what you told me about the ghost nin-sha. I’m not afraid of them.”

Lady Kita broke into a smile. “No?”

“No. I know they kill people and all, but they’re not bad. That’s right, isn’t it? You told me that nin-sha aren’t bad people.”

“That’s right, Charlie. The nin-sha were as good as the samurai. Better, even. A samurai might kill for the pleasure of it. A nin-sha would never do such a thing.”

“I like them better,” said Charlie. “Will you tell me more about them?”

“Yes,” said Lady Kita, “but first, why don’t you tell me a story?”

“Me?”

“Yes. I have told you a story every night for weeks now. It is your turn.”

Charlie thought hard about this. “I can tell you about my father.”

Lady Kita brightened immediately. “Yes. Yes, that would be good.”

So Charlie told the lady about his father, Sir Ernest, the diplomat and traveler, who had made a fortune importing tea and who insisted that his young son learn the trade. His father was an important man, Charlie told the lady, and had been to many foreign lands. He had been to Japan to meet the emperor, of course, and he had lived among the nobles who had taken him into their homes. One of them, a man named Okaga, had once been a friend to Charlie’s father.

“Okaga is well known in Japan, Charlie,” said Lady Kita. “He is a daimyo. Do you remember? He is one of the great men. He has a castle in Iga, where the nin-sha come from.”

“I remember,” said Charlie. He remembered every small detail of Lady Kita’s tales. “Is Okaga a nin-sha?”

“No,” said the lady flatly. “He is Lord of Iga, but he is no nin-sha. He is just like other powerful men of his kind. Like the samurai class, Charlie. It is Okaga’s birthright to rule Iga, that is all. And he is loyal to the emperor.”

Charlie didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad. Not all the daimyo were loyal to the emperor, he remembered. But Okaga had once been his father’s friend. “My father is only friends with good men,” said Charlie. Then, his expression flattened. “He hasn’t been to Japan for a long time, though. He doesn’t talk about it much anymore, or about Okaga.”

Lady Kita took note of this, then urged Charlie to tell her more. Charlie continued with his story, telling of the gifts Okaga had given his father, all of which had been taken home to Wiltshire where they adorned Charlie’s house in the country. Charlie missed the house, but he missed his father more.

“My father left me in Foochow to learn, and I have learned,” he insisted. “I learned from my tutors and the men aboard this ship, and I’ve learned from you, Lady Kita.” He smiled, hoping to coax her into finishing her tale. “Will you tell me more about the ghosts?”

Lady Kita smiled. “Yes, I will tell you. But you must listen closely, so that you understand everything. Make me that promise, Charlie.”

Charlie promised without really knowing why, then settled comfortably into his deck chair. Night had fallen quickly and they were alone on the bow, the perfect setting for a ghost story.

“All of the nin-sha come from their own clans,” the lady began. “They do the bidding of their masters. And sometimes, the best of nin-sha remain here after they die, and are bound to their masters. Do you know the story of Aladdin and his magic lamp, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded. “The lamp with the genie.”

“Yes, that is right. It is like that for some of the nin-sha. They are like the genie of the lamp. They remain with their masters and they cannot be freed until they do his bidding one hundred times.” Lady Kita grimaced. “That means one hundred kills, Charlie. They may kill ninety-nine men for the master, and still be forever in his service. Until they kill that hundredth person, they can never leave this world.”

Charlie’s jaw went slack with awe. “Why do they have to serve their masters?” he asked. “Why are they servants?”

“Mostly because they were sold into it,” said the lady sadly. “The daimyos have always been powerful. And the nin-sha clans were always poor. Sometimes they give away things that are precious to them so that they may be protected by the daimyo. Sometimes the things they give away are people. Sometimes not.”

“But they don’t have to serve forever,” Charlie pointed out. He pretended to wield a sword, waving it in the air before him. “They could kill a hundred people easily!”

“No,” laughed the lady. “That is not the way of things. The master must give the order, Charlie. Remember what I told you? The nin-sha are not like samurai. When they were strong, the samurai trod the earth like princes. They enforced the law however they wished. Woe to you if you displeased them, Charlie! The nin-sha, though, they were not like that. They were not butchers. They would not kill for the sport of it.”