She could curl up under a blanket on one side of the small room, while he kept watch. “You will be less comfortable,” he told her, “but you will be safe.” “I don’t think there’ll be any trouble, Ki. Really,” said Jessie. “And you’ll be right next door.” Ki pushed the point, but in the end Jessie won out—promising to keep a revolver handy and pound the wall if she needed help. After a quick dinner she didn’t enjoy, she let the porter make up the room and locked the door behind him. She knew, of course, that it made little difference whether Ki was with her, or just behind a wall. Even when there was little chance of trouble, he’d be on guard. Ki slept, but it wasn’t what she called sleep at all; at the slightest hint of danger, his mind and body would be instantly alert. She didn’t pretend to understand how he did this; she simply accepted it for what it was. It was a part of Ki. A part of kakuto bugei, the true samurai way. And a samurai, she knew, was as likely to let himself fall into a deep, snoring sleep on guard as he was to dig for worms with his precious katana longsword.
