door slid open again and the huge man motioned for Kenny to follow him. He led the way down a short passage and knelt before another sliding door, which he opened. Kenny went inside and stopped dead in his tracks.
The far wall opposite was a bank of flat television screens, easily ten deep and twenty across. Each was tuned to a different channel and Kenny could see international news bulletins, stock-market updates, documentaries, quiz shows and sporting events among the competing images.
Standing in front of the screens, with hands clasped behind his back, and his shape silhouetted by the ever-changing light, was a Japanese man wearing a white suit. He watched the chaotic medley of programmes for a few more minutes before abruptly snapping his fingers. All of the pictures went dark at once and a large screen slid into position to cover the televisions completely.
The man turned towards Kenny and nodded once to acknowledge him. ‘Kuromori-san,’ he said, ‘welcome to my humble home.’
For a moment, Kenny wondered who the man was addressing. He looked around, but he was on his own. ‘Um, my name is Kenny . . . sir. Kenny Blackwood. I live in Portland, Oregon –’
‘Please, sit.’ The man gestured towards an elegant mahogany table with high-backed chairs. ‘I apologise for the . . . unpleasantness of your arrival to our shores. I had hoped to meet you under more hospitable circumstances, but events overtook me. I am Harashima.’
‘I need to call my dad,’ Kenny said, taking out his phone.
‘In 1942, your grandfather, Lawrence Blackwood, was recruited into British Intelligence because of his skills in the Japanese language.’
‘Say what?’ Kenny’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re the second person to mention my grandad since . . . And that Sato guy called him a thief. And did you just say “British Intelligence”? Are you saying . . . he was a spy?’
‘No, his role was translation and code-breaking, to begin with. In 1945, at the request of the United States government, your grandfather came to Japan to assist the Americans during the period of Occupation.’ Harashima spat the last word as if it stung his mouth. ‘This was a time of terrible suffering in Japan and many people were forced to sell family treasures to survive. Some of these treasures were more . . . significant than they seemed.’
‘Uh, I really don’t know why you’re –’
‘Kuromori-san, your grandfather rescued some of these treasures and hid them away. He sent you here to help find one of them.’
‘No, he sent me here to spend time with my dad, that’s all.’
Harashima arched an eyebrow. ‘Really? Then why did he ask us to keep an eye on you after you arrived?’
Kenny opened his mouth to protest, but then forced it closed. ‘Er, I can see . . . things. Is that a part of this?’
‘What sort of things?’ Harashima’s eyes shone with interest.
‘Well, there was this raccoon thing on the plane, who seems to live here – he’s in the next room – and this huge oni thing at the airport.’ Kenny’s cheeks burned. ‘I know it sounds stupid.’
The man smiled and his body relaxed slightly. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that is, as you say, a part of this.’
A huge wave of relief flooded through Kenny, pushing out more words. It was all still weird, but at least this man was taking him seriously.
‘Really? This guy, Sato, at the airport, he turned my voice off. And, after, when this ninja biker dude was chasing us, he made fire. And this police guy turned into a badger. What’s that all about?’
Harashima looked away and pursed his lips. ‘The word you would use in English isn’t one I would choose, but I cannot think of a suitable alternative, so “magic” will have to suffice.’
Kenny’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Magic?’
‘Please think of a better word to explain what you saw.’
Kenny ignored him, his face reddening again. ‘Where is that biker guy, anyway? You can ask him. The one who brought me here.’
‘After rescuing you and saving your life, yes?’
‘I wouldn’t have been in any danger if he hadn’t come along in the first place.’
Harashima smiled again. ‘Kuromori-san, you would be dead by now if my . . . associate had not helped you. But yes, I should introduce you.’ He clapped his hands once and the biker came in, still wearing the helmet with the mirrored visor. Without his boots, the rider was five centimetres shorter than Kenny.
‘Kenny Blackwood,’ Harashima said, ‘please say hello to my daughter, Kiyomi.’
Kenny stood weakly as the biker removed the helmet and shook out her long black hair.
‘You’re a girl?’ Kenny hadn’t meant it to sound like an accusation, but that was how it came out.
‘Last time I checked, yes,’ Kiyomi said, smiling at his awkwardness. Her almond eyes looked directly into his and he blushed, turning away.
Harashima cleared his throat and addressed Kenny. ‘Your grandfather gave you a message, did he not?’
‘How could you possibly know about that?’
‘Poyo told me,’ Kiyomi said, setting her motorcycle helmet on the table. The visor faced Kenny and he saw his own distorted reflection looking in bewilderment back at him.
‘Who’s Poyo?’ Kenny was floundering; too many new things were happening to him at once and he felt the urge to scream, just to drown it all out.
‘This is Poyo,’ Kiyomi said and the furry animal squeezed through the doorway and scampered up to her. She knelt and gathered it up in her arms. ‘Ooh, you’re getting fat,’ she cooed. ‘Is Poyo missing Mama?’
‘That thing told you?’ Kenny said, struggling to keep up.
‘Mm-hm,’ Kiyomi nodded, tickling Poyo under his chin.
‘The message, if you please,’ her father insisted.
‘I don’t have it,’ Kenny shot back. ‘That Sato bloke took it from me. He’s still got it.’
‘Did you make a copy?’ Harashima said quietly. ‘If I know your grandfather, he would have allowed for this.’
‘A copy? No, with wha–?’ Kenny’s voice trailed away. ‘Wait. Yes. I do have a copy. It’s on here.’ He held out his phone. ‘I took a picture.’
‘Kiyomi-chan,’ Harashima said.
Kiyomi nodded and took the phone from Kenny, her fingertips brushing his. She clicked open a panel on the wall, pulled out a USB lead and plugged in the phone.
‘Poyo,’ she said. The animal waddled over to a shelf, picked up a remote control and tapped the buttons. This may have been the freakiest thing yet, but Kenny said nothing as the wall panel slid aside again and the enlarged snapshot of his grandfather’s letter appeared, spread out over numerous TV screens. Both Kiyomi and her father scanned it quickly.
‘Hm,’ Harashima said. ‘Hardly worth the effort of writing, do you not think, Kuromori-san ?’
Kenny hesitated. ‘I did think it was a bit strange . . .’
‘Didn’t you see the hidden message?’ Kiyomi said.
Kenny blushed again. Not only was the girl very beautiful, but she was also making him feel very stupid.
‘What hidden