Death at the Crossroads (Samurai Mysteries)

by Dale Furutani

  Kaze walked out of the camp to the spring where he had made the dragon tracks. He stripped off his kimono and sat in the small pool of water. Its coldness surprised him, but he splashed the water against his body and face to erase the stench of blood. He got out of the pool and dunked his clothes in. As he squeezed his garment, a watery red stain spread in the pool. Kaze wrung out his kimono, and, holding on to it with one hand, he tossed it over his shoulder. Still gripping his sword in the other hand, Kaze casually strolled back to the bandit camp, naked except for his sandals and loincloth, as nonchalant as any man returning from a public bath.

  When he got back to the camp, all the bandits were finally dead. The boy was still crying, and he watched Kaze approach him with wide, fearful eyes. Kaze strolled over to where the tied-up youth was lying, and he squatted down on his haunches. He studied the boy’s face. It was the broad, blunt face of a peasant. Tears streaked down his cheeks and a bubble of snot filled one nostril.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Kaze asked.

  The boy made no reply. He was either too fearful to talk or he didn’t understand Kaze’s question.

  “I gave you your life once, back there on the road,” Kaze said. “Most people would have understood that the life of a bandit was not for them after that incident, but you immediately returned to this camp. Didn’t you understand that you’re not like them?”

  “They never let me be one of them,” the boy blurted out. “I was only allowed to do stupid things, like guard the camp, guide people, run messages, or do the cooking and cleaning.”

  “You had a chance to be one of them when you were supposed to stab me in the back, and you failed.”

  “I didn’t fail!”

  “Don’t try to deny that failure. It’s something to be proud of, not ashamed. That failure was the reason I let you live.”

  “I’d have been as bad as any of them!” the boy shouted.

  Kaze laughed. “It’s a twisted world we live in when a young man tries to claim how bad he is. If I untied you and gave you a sword, would you try to sneak up behind me and stab me?”

  The boy looked at Kaze, confused about what to say.

  “Relax,” Kaze continued. “I’m not going to put you to that test. I’ll risk my life, but I won’t play with it. First I’m going to gather up all the weapons I can see, then I’m going to release you. Then I want you to dig five graves and bury your comrades. If you do that properly, you shall have your life as a reward. This will be the second time I’ve given your life back to you. This time don’t waste it.”

  Kaze spread his wet kimono out on a bush to dry, and, by the time he was done gathering up the weapons scattered around the bodies, the boy had stopped crying. Kaze cut the bounds of the boy and set him to work digging graves while he waited for his kimono to dry. Kaze found a tree limb, trimmed it to his satisfaction, and started carving a statue of the Kannon.

  “What’s your name?” Kaze asked, deftly carving the edge of a robe on the statue he was working on.

  “Hachimmmm,” the boy murmured, making it hard to hear.

  “What?”

  “Hachiro.”

  “The eighth child, or did your parents name you Hachiro as a prank, when you were the first son and should have been named Ichiro?”

  Hachiro looked blankly at Kaze, and suddenly realized the samurai was making a joke. He gave a small, tentative smile. “No, I’m the eighth child. There were fourteen in our family, although only seven lived.”

  “I was a second son, myself,” Kaze said. “Why did you take up the life of the bandit?”

  The boy stopped digging. “There was nothing else,” he said. “Soldiers killed my family. They killed my whole village.”

  “What soldiers?” Kaze asked, not looking up.

  “I don’t know.” Hachiro thought a moment, then he added. “They carried banners that looked something like a spider.”

  Kaze froze, then slowly looked up from his carving. “A black banner, with a white diamond surrounded by eight white bamboo leaves, bent in the middle?” he said softly.

  Hachiro stopped his work and looked at the samurai, surprised. “Yes! How did you know?”

  “There was a tall thin man with a black winged helmet? A helmet with pieces like this?” Kaze put his hands up to the side of his face, still holding the knife with a couple of his fingers. He spread the remaining fingers outward from his face. “He might have had a steel war fan for sending signals to his troops,” Kaze added.

  “How did you know? Who is he? Do you know why he destroyed my village and killed my family?” Hachiro was excited and forgot to be afraid.

  “He is someone in the service of the Tokugawas, and he came to your village because your District Lord was undoubtedly a follower of the forces loyal to the Toyotomis, the late Taiko’s family. As for why he destroyed it and killed, that was simply because it pleases him. He needs no other reason.”

  “Do you know him?”

  Kaze’s face twisted into a look of pure hatred. “Yes, I know him. It was Lord Okubo. He was a boyhood acquaintance of mine.”

  Despite his consuming curiosity, the samurai’s reaction frightened Hachiro. After a slight pause, he bent down to his work again. Seeing the effect he was having on the boy, Kaze fought to control himself. Finally, after struggling to suppress all the rage the conversation raised in him, he tried to change the subject by asking the boy, “How did you end up with the bandits?”

  “They captured me. They told me a farmer’s life was too hard. They said that now the Tokugawas have won, there is no need for new soldiers, so there was no way to better yourself.”

  “Then you should not have bettered yourself. The life of a farmer is hard, but it can be long. The men you’re burying all died because of the life they led. If I didn’t kill them, they would have been killed by someone else. They were ruining this District. Perhaps Lord Manase would have put together an expedition to wipe them out when things finally became intolerable.”

  “Oh, Manase-sama wouldn’t do that.”

  Surprised, Kaze asked, “Why?”

  “Because Manase-sama needed my master, Boss Kuemon, for money. Manase-sama has borrowed money many times.”

  Kaze stopped carving. “How do you know that?”

  “I used to take the money to Manase-sama’s mansion. I was always running errands, exchanging messages, leading people that Boss Kuemon had captured on the road to the mansion, or taking money to Manase-sama.” He stole a glance at Kaze. “Manase-sama may be very mad at you killing Boss Kuemon.”

  “If he is, that will be something I will have to deal with. Right now you have to deal with digging those graves before it gets dark. Hayaku! Hurry up!”

  CHAPTER 18

  The cock thinks the sun

  exists to serve its crow. We

  think we serve our heart.

  “I’ll draw a map of the location of the bandit’s camp. The Magistrate can go there to see if there’s any stolen material that can be returned to its rightful owners.”

  Kaze was sitting on the worn veranda of Lord Manase’s manor. Before him the District Lord sat, practicing his calligraphy. Manase was once again dressed in layers of colorful kimono and he sat with his brush poised over the surface of a roll of fine paper. Next to him was an inkstone with a scene of grasshoppers carved in bas-relief in the head of the stone. In the well of the stone was high-quality ink, freshly ground and mixed with pure spring water.

  Kaze could see Manase’s efforts on the page. It was a practiced hand, but mechanical in its execution. For true practitioners of calligraphy, technique was practiced until it became unimportant; technique was submerged until the practitioner became one with his art. Then true emotion and character could show through in the art. It was similar to what Kaze had been taught in his use of the sword.

  Seeing the mechanical nature of Manase’s calligraphy, Kaze realized that he had been teaching himself the arts he practiced and had not been raised in the style
he so ardently embraced. Although Manase was a natural Noh performer, his other refinements were recent acquisitions.

  “But won’t the bandits object to the Magistrate’s men stumbling into their camp?”

  “The bandits are dead or dispersed.”

  “Dead?”

  “Five of them. The rest have run away.”

  “Who helped you?”

  “No one.”

  Manase laughed. The high-pitched, tittering laugh was brittle and unnatural. “And Boss Kuemon, the bandit leader?”

  “Dead.”

  Manase carefully put his brush down. He stared impassively at Kaze, his deep brown eyes floating like dual dark suns in the white-powdered sky of his face. Finally, he said, “Excellent!”

  Manase shifted position slightly, so he was facing Kaze directly. He gave a slow, graceful bow, which surprised Kaze. “Thank you, samurai-san. This is a wonderful day for this District! Those bandits were becoming very troublesome and bold.”

  “I thought that, too. This will be a more peaceful District now.”

  Manase stood and went to the door. He slid it open and called out to a serving girl who was walking by. “You! Call the Magistrate and some of the men immediately!” He returned to his position by Kaze and said, “So the bandits are all dead?”

  “As I said, only five of them. The rest have run away.”

  “And their camp?”

  “If you will lend me your brush and give me a piece of paper, I’ll draw a map so they can find the camp.”

  Manase slid the inkstone, brush, and a fresh sheet of paper to Kaze. Kaze picked up the brush but hesitated for a second.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This is a very fine piece of paper. It seems a shame to waste it on a map.”

  Manase waved his hand, as if sweeping dust off a counter. “Nonsense! Please use this paper for your map.”

  Kaze shrugged and quickly drew a map to the bandit’s camp on the paper. By the time he was finished, the puffing Magistrate had appeared.

  Manase picked up the map and looked at it briefly, then he handed it to the Magistrate. “Here,” Manase said.

  Looking a bit befuddled, he took the map and looked at it.

  “That is a map to the bandit camp,” Manase continued. “This ronin was able to do in a few days what you have failed to do for two years. He has killed the bandits or driven them away, and he did it by himself. It makes me wonder what you have been doing all this time, besides collecting a salary from me!”

  The Magistrate handed back the map to Manase. Instead of taking it, Manase said, “Fool! Take the map and go to the camp. Search the camp and see if you can recover some of the stolen goods.” Manase looked at Kaze and said, “Lately, even I have been a victim of those ruffians. Materials and supplies meant for me were stolen, along with all the other things they took.” Manase returned his attention to the Magistrate. “Well?”

  Gritting his teeth, the Magistrate got up and left the veranda. Manase clapped his hands, and soon a serving girl appeared. Manase looked at her and said, “Bring me the second drawer from the cedarwood chest.” The servant scurried out of the room.

  “I must think of an appropriate way to reward you,” Manase told Kaze. “Perhaps a banquet or maybe a Noh performance. If that fool finds any money in the bandit camp, I can afford to hire professional musicians and give a proper Noh performance. It will be good to have someone in the audience who can appreciate my art.”

  The servant returned with a flat wooden drawer from a wooden chest. In it were several fine kimonos. They weren’t as fine as the sumptuous kimonos and robes worn by Manase, but they were clearly expensive and much finer than the kimono Kaze was wearing. Manase paused for a moment, then picked out a kimono with an elegant pattern of pine boughs, hand painted in indigo blue with a red splash of color on the head of a small bird sitting on a limb.

  He lifted the folded kimono out of the drawer and set it in front of Kaze. “This is for you,” Manase said.

  Kaze glanced at the kimono. A samurai being given clothing by a Lord was a special and personal reward. It implied that a ronin like Kaze could join Manase’s household, if he wished. Kaze placed both hands before him on the mat and gave a formal bow to Manase. He slid the kimono back to the District Lord, then he bowed again.

  After a pause, Manase said, “I see. Too bad.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kaze said.

  “No matter, it will still add some excitement to this dreary place to organize the celebrations. Please leave now. I have to plan the program of entertainment.”

  Kaze bowed and left Manase’s study. He walked to the front of the manor house, put on his sandals, and started walking down the path. He didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER 19

  Gray of steel, not fog.

  Life seen through cunning old eyes.

  Fearsome grandmother!

  Kaze took the road to Higashi village again, passing the spot still guarded by the Kannon where he had killed the first two bandits, and he arrived in the neighboring village by early afternoon. There was just one inn in the village, and Kaze stopped where he had intervened between the inn’s owner and the maid. If the owner remembered the incident, he gave no sign in the profuse greeting he gave Kaze. Since the inn was still deserted, Kaze could understand the man’s effusive greeting.

  In deference to his dwindling purse and the deserted inn, Kaze elected to sit in the common room instead of a private room. Since he was the only guest, it amounted to the same thing. As he relaxed on the ratty tatami mats of the inn, the serving girl he had aided came in with tea and a hot towel. Upon seeing Kaze, her rough peasant’s face broke out into a grin.

  “Samurai-sama! You left so suddenly last time that I didn’t have a chance to appropriately thank you for your help!”

  Kaze said nothing, but he shifted uncomfortably. He judged that he would have to do some deft maneuvering before the night was over. He liked the company of women, but he also liked to select which woman. He also had an aversion to paying for services, although he had no doubts that tonight’s services would be free.

  The serving girl placed the tea before him and left to fetch some food, giving him a saucy look before she left. Kaze sighed. He reflected that the pleasure he got from righting small wrongs sometimes carried an unforeseen price.

  The girl returned with a bowl of okayu with chunks of sweet potato in it. Kaze shoveled a generous portion into his mouth, sucking in cold air with it so it wouldn’t burn. The girl sat a proper distance from Kaze, but she was gazing at him with proprietary fondness.

  “Nani? What?” Kaze asked.

  “Nothing, samurai-sama. I just didn’t expect to see you again.”

  Kaze grunted a noncommittal response.

  “When you left I thought that if the demon didn’t get you, for sure the bandits would get you,” the girl continued.

  “The bandits shouldn’t be a concern anymore.”

  Puzzled, the girl asked, “Why?”

  “Because Boss Kuemon is dead, and his men are either dead or scattered. It should be peaceful around here, at least for a while. Maybe business will pick up.”

  “Really? Boss Kuemon is dead? Truly?”

  “Yes, truly.”

  The girl got up, saying, “Excuse me. I have to tell my master this. He’ll be so happy!”

  Kaze nodded and continued eating his okayu. A few minutes later the master of the inn returned with the serving girl. “Is it true?” the innkeeper said. “Boss Kuemon is dead?”

  “Yes,” Kaze answered.

  The innkeeper broke into a huge grin. “What great news! The food is no charge, samurai-sama! This is wonderful for this District. Lord Manase has finally gotten some men together and taken care of that Kuemon.”

  “Yes, he did,” Kaze said.

  “He must have hired troops from outside to do this. That ridiculous Magistrate couldn’t have taken on the likes of Boss Kuemon.”

  “I suppose so,” Kaze sai
d.

  “Well! Excuse me, samurai-sama, but I have to hurry and tell the rest of the village the good news.” The innkeeper scurried out of the room, leaving the serving girl.

  “Well, if the food is free, I’ll have another bowl,” Kaze said.

  The smiling serving girl took his bowl and rushed off to refill it in the kitchen. When she returned, she reclaimed the spot where she could goggle at Kaze, making him feel uncomfortable. To make conversation, Kaze said, “Have you seen that demon again?”

  “No, not since that night. That’s why I was so worried about you when you returned to Suzaka village.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Why, because the demon was on the road coming from Suzaka village.”

  The question of which road the demon was seen on had never occurred to Kaze. “Was he going to Suzaka village or coming from it?”

  “Coming from it. Why?”

  “Curiosity is a fault of mine. Indulge me. And you say there was a man strapped to the horse?”

  “Oh yes, we could all see that.”

  “Was the man alive or dead?”

  The girl considered that for a few seconds. “I don’t know, samurai-sama,” she finally said.

  “Was he moving or screaming?”

  “No, samurai-sama.”

  “Then he would be very calm for a man being hauled off by a demon.”

  The girl cocked her head and gave Kaze a puzzled look. Kaze didn’t bother to explain his sarcasm. Instead, he asked, “Did anyone see where the demon went?”

  “He went toward the road to Rikuzen prefecture.”

  “But that road is also joined by the road that leads back to the crossroads from Uzen prefecture,” Kaze said.

  Frowning, the girl asked, “Why would anyone coming from Suzaka want to take that route if they were trying to go to the crossroads?”

  “Why, indeed,” Kaze said.

  “Hey, is anybody here?” a voice called out from the entrance of the teahouse. It was a female voice, but gruff and very loud.

  The serving girl had a surprised look on her face because of the appearance of new guests. She quickly got up and left the room to greet them. The girl spoke softly, but Kaze could hear the loud voice of the woman carrying on a one-sided conversation.