Death at the Crossroads (Samurai Mysteries)

by Dale Furutani

  “It’s about time you came,” she said.

  A silence. Undoubtedly the serving girl was making profuse apologies.

  “So don’t just sit there, bowing at me,” said the loud woman. “Help me off with my sandals and take me where I can get some tea.”

  Another few seconds of silence.

  “How much is a room for the night?”

  Silence.

  “How much? That’s outrageous!”

  More silence.

  “Well, yes, just get me the owner of the inn. I want to talk to him about his prices. No, not now. First take us into a room and get us some tea.”

  In a few seconds the serving girl appeared back in the common room where Kaze was sitting. She seemed flustered and not at all sure what to do about her loud and assertive guests. Kaze was surprised to see that in fact there were three guests. In the lead was a woman old enough to be a grandmother, with hair shot with silver and pulled back in a bun. Across her forehead she had a white headband, and painted on the headband was the kanji character for “revenge.” She wore hakama pants and a traveling coat just like a man. Stuck into her sash were a man’s swords, and she strode into the room with all the power and arrogance of any real samurai.

  Immediately behind her was a very old man. Where the woman was as sturdy as a sake barrel, the man seemed as ephemeral as a reed screen. His face was gaunt and cadaverous and his shoulders, elbows, and hipbones poked at his kimono. Kaze felt that he looked very much like a walking skeleton instead of a real man.

  Immediately behind the old man was a young boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen. On the back of the boy was a large wicker pack stuffed with cloth-wrapped bundles, and hanging on the outside of the pack was an assortment of pans.

  The odd trio entered the room and occupied one of the corners of the common room. In politeness, Kaze shifted his position so that he was not looking directly at them. Under normal circumstances, Kaze’s actions would erect an invisible wall between him and the other party, and he and the other party could each go about their business as if they were the only ones in the common room. This old woman, however, did not allow the invisible walls erected by polite Japanese society to deter her.

  After ordering the old man and the young boy to sit in the corner, the old woman marched across the common room and actually tapped Kaze on the shoulder. Touching a stranger was extraordinarily rude, and Kaze considered how he should react. Should he treat her with the deference due to her because of her age? Or should he simply turn his back to her completely, snubbing her rude overture? Since he had been taught to indulge both children and old people, Kaze’s distaste for being touched was overcome by his need to be polite to an elder.

  “Yes, Obaasan, Grandmother,” Kaze said politely.

  “Are you the only other person in the inn?” the old woman asked.

  Kaze shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, have you seen a merchant?” the woman persisted.

  “No, not at this inn.”

  “If you see a merchant, you tell me,” the woman said.

  “Any merchant?”

  “No, of course not. The merchant we’re looking for travels the Tokaido road, but you never know where such vermin may be found. We’re on our way to the Tokaido now to see if we can find him. We are on an official vendetta. We have registered our grievance with the new Tokugawa government, and now we are looking for a certain merchant so that we can bring retribution and revenge upon his head.”

  “Those are two very weighty attributes for you to bring upon anyone’s head, grandmother.”

  “I’m not here to do it alone,” she declared proudly. “I brought with me my servant,” she used her chin to point toward the gaunt old scarecrow, “and one of my grandchildren,” she again used her chin to point, but this time at the young boy.

  “Then surely that merchant must have a lot to fear and will not escape heaven’s retribution.”

  The woman grimly nodded at Kaze’s assessment of the ragtag trio arrayed against the unknown merchant. An official vendetta was no laughing matter. That meant the authorities had given the motley trio the power to hunt down and kill someone who had aggrieved their family. Before Kaze could get the details of the vendetta, the serving girl brought the owner of the inn into the common room, and the old woman focused her attention on the hapless inn owner.

  The owner could barely get a greeting out of his mouth before the woman was assailing him on the quality of the accommodations and how he could have the effrontery to even charge one sen when weary travelers such as herself and her party were looking for accommodations more in keeping with what they were used to.

  The flustered innkeeper bowed constantly, trying futilely to get a word in edgewise in the midst of the old woman’s tirade. In desperation he looked at Kaze as if asking the samurai to come in as reinforcements against the old woman’s assault. Kaze wryly shook his head, greatly amused at the scene playing out before him, but much too smart to get involved with this formidable woman.

  Finally, in complete collapse, the innkeeper said that everyone in her party could stay at the inn for two sen instead of the normal five. The woman snorted that she would permit herself to take advantage of the inn’s totally inadequate hospitality, but that even at two sen her servant and her grandson could sleep outside. She said it was the innkeeper who should be paying her for having to stay at such a flea-bitten hovel. The innkeeper retreated in disarray and confusion, leaving the servant girl to deal with his difficult guests.

  Kaze enjoyed the spectacle but ate the rest of his dinner without talking to his weird companions in the common room. The trio did very little talking themselves, once the food was served. Kaze wondered what their vendetta was, especially since the woman’s headband said revenge, but he had had quite enough conversation with the aggressive old crone and therefore did not ask for details about the vendetta.

  As he was finishing his meal, the serving girl brought another guest into the common room. Before they had completely entered the room, Kaze was already on his feet with his hand on his sword.

  “You!” the new guest screamed in anger.

  The startled serving girl took a step back, and the trio in the corner looked up in surprise. Kaze simply gave a nod of his head.

  The young samurai that Kaze had marooned on the island placed his hand on his sword hilt. “I demand a duel with you, and none of your ‘no sword’ tricks!”

  Kaze studied the young man for a moment, then he said, “I’m sorry if I tricked you. It’s in my nature to play such games.” He dropped to one knee, taking the posture of a soldier reporting to a general. “I humbly apologize for offending you.”

  “You dog’s offal! You coward!” the young samurai said.

  Kaze made no reply. Instead he remained in a humble position.

  “No, it’s not good enough to apologize,” the young samurai said haughtily. “I insist on a duel. You have not only insulted me, you have insulted the entire Yagyu school of fencing. Such an insult can only be washed away with a duel.”

  “All right,” Kaze said, “But let’s use wooden swords instead of steel. Since you want to demonstrate your swordsmanship, steel swords are not necessary.”

  The young samurai looked at Kaze with contempt, branding him a coward. Still, he said, “Fine! Wooden swords only. Let’s do it right now and right here!”

  “Let’s do it outside,” Kaze said quietly. He looked at the serving girl and said, “Fetch us two wooden staves, as long as katana. We’ll be outside.”

  After looking at the two samurai fearfully, the serving girl scurried off to find two sticks of the proper length.

  Kaze walked past the young samurai and made his way to the front of the inn. He put on his sandals and stepped outside into the dusty street. Behind him, the young samurai, the old woman, the servant, and the young man followed.

  The girl quickly reappeared with the inn owner and his entire family in tow. She had two wooden sticks that she ha
nded to each samurai with a bow. Kaze looked at his stick and took out his sword to cut down the handle into something resembling a real sword hilt. The young samurai took a strip of cloth and quickly tied up the sleeves of his kimono, crossing the strip across his back and looping it around each shoulder. He did this with a great deal of flash and panache, generating a few murmurs of approval from the small crowd. Smiling, he turned to face Kaze.

  Kaze put his real sword into his sash and gripped his wooden stick with both hands. He took a formal fencing stance, with his eyes on the young samurai. The young samurai moved aggressively toward Kaze with a small shout, but Kaze stood his ground, his wooden sword not wavering.

  The young samurai, a bit perplexed by Kaze’s lack of reaction to his feint, stood for a moment, figuring out his next move. Suddenly, with a loud shout, he attacked with all the quickness and fury that youth can muster, bringing his stick down in a slashing blow. Kaze met the blow with his own stick, and both men executed a kiri-otoshi. With the kiri-otoshi, the blocking of the opponent’s blow and the attacking counterblow are one motion, not two separate actions. The young samurai tried to counter with a kiri-otoshi of his own, jumping away from Kaze’s cut.

  After the clack of the wooden swords, the young samurai looked at Kaze with both respect and surprise. “You’re a superb swordsman!” he exclaimed.

  “Thank you,” Kaze said with a short bow. “Is your honor satisfied now?”

  “Well, it was a draw, but I supposed I can be satisfied with that,” the young man said.

  Kaze paused, then said, “All right then. Let us call it a draw.”

  “You don’t think it was a draw?” the young samurai said.

  “If your honor is satisfied, then that’s what is important.”

  “Are you saying it wasn’t a draw?”

  “It was a draw.”

  “You are saying that, but do you believe it was a draw?”

  Kaze said nothing. The young samurai threw his stick on the ground. “My honor is not satisfied,” he said. “I insist we have a rematch, but this time with steel!”

  “Please, let’s not fight with steel swords. A rematch with wooden swords will do to settle the point.”

  “So you are a coward after all,” the young samurai said.

  “If you wish to believe so,” Kaze answered.

  “Fight!” The young man drew his sword. “Fight or I’ll cut you down where you stand.”

  Kaze dropped the stick and drew his own sword. “I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Kaze said. Instead of answering, the young samurai advanced on Kaze, his sword held at the pointing-at-the-eye position. Once again Kaze stood his ground, waiting for the young man’s attack. The young man came to within attack distance and warily watched the older samurai. He was waiting for a lapse in concentration, some momentary interruption that would give him an opportunity to push past Kaze’s guard and strike a fatal blow. He saw none. The seconds crawled past, with the onlookers as mesmerized by the duel as the two participants. Suddenly, the young samurai attacked again, rushing forward with a great shout as he first raised his sword and brought it down in a blow designed to slash Kaze’s neck.

  Once again, Kaze did a kiri-otoshi, but this time the sword bit into the flesh of the young man. Surprised, the young man staggered back and looked down at his side, where a crimson stain was now spreading. He dropped his sword and clutched at his side, swaying slightly, then dropping to his knees from pain and weakness.

  “Baka! Fool!” Kaze shouted. “You’re too young to play with your life as foolishly as I do! You’re also too stupid to play such dangerous games, challenging strangers to duels when you lack the judgment to see if you would win or lose in a mock conflict with wooden swords. The difference between victory and death in a sword duel is in the blink of an eye or the width of a finger. It’s too fine a difference to judge if you have no experience. I pray to the Kannon that I haven’t struck a vital organ with my cut. I tried to pull back so you would be wounded and not killed. I’ve killed enough in this district, and I’m sick of it. I especially don’t want the killing of any more youngsters like you, who are too young and too stupid to know their own limitations and lack of skill.”

  Kaze looked at the landlord and the maid. “Take him into the inn and get him a doctor. He should live if we stop the bleeding now, so hurry.”

  The maid and the innkeeper rushed forward as ordered and helped the young samurai, now pasty white from loss of blood and shock, into the inn. Kaze wiped his blade on the sleeve of his kimono and stomped into the inn after them, with the old woman and her two companions bringing up the rear.

  Kaze returned to the inn and picked up his bowl to resume eating. The other three guests did the same, but this time the old woman was not anxious to disturb Kaze’s privacy. At the end of the meal, as the servant girl was taking away his tray, she leaned into him and whispered conspiratorially, “That duel was superb! When all are asleep, I’ll come to your room tonight. I still want to repay you for what you did for me.”

  Kaze made no reply, and the girl busied herself by gathering up the dishes on a tray and leaving the room. Kaze went to the room that was assigned him and found a futon already laid out on the floor, as well as a wooden head block, which was used as a neck rest. A single candle in a paper lantern lit up the austere room. As with every room in Japan, this one was laid out to a constant unit of measurement, the size of a standard rectangular tatami mat. He was in a four-mat room, which was small, but still large enough for one person.

  Kaze sat for a minute and wondered if the room was big enough for one man and one serving girl. He leaned over and blew out the candle but didn’t crawl onto the futon. Instead, he waited a few minutes until his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he stood up and slid open the shoji screen. He walked outside the inn onto a veranda and made his way to the corner of the inn where the men’s urinal was.

  The urinal was an area off the corner of the veranda with two bamboo screens. On the dirt floor fresh pine boughs had been laid. To use the facilities, a man stood at the edge of the veranda and made his water onto the pine boughs. Every few days, the pine boughs would be removed and fresh boughs would be added to keep the pine scent strong. Men only would use this facility, although Kaze was not too sure that he wouldn’t be elbowed aside by the gruff old grandmother on the vendetta. Women would have to go to the privy, as would men when they wanted to do more than just pass water.

  As he made his way back along the veranda, he saw two bundles sleeping on the ground behind the inn: the old woman’s servant and young grandson. Kaze thought a moment, then walked over to the smaller of the two bundles and squatted down next to it.

  “Sumimasen,” Kaze said. There was a sleepy grunt of response.

  “I’ve decided I don’t want my room,” Kaze said, “I’d rather sleep here in the fresh air. Would you like to sleep on a futon tonight, instead of the ground?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you, samurai,” the teenage boy said sleepily.

  “Well, then, follow me,” Kaze said, leading him back into the inn and to the room that he was supposed to occupy. “Just climb in the futon and stay warm,” Kaze advised the boy, “and try to have a good night’s sleep.”

  Smiling, Kaze slid the shoji screen closed behind him, walked outside, found a comfortable spot, and stretched out for the night, wrapping his kimono tightly around him and sleeping with his sword hugged in his arms.

  The next morning, when Kaze went into the inn for his breakfast, he saw the old woman, the servant, and the young man already finishing up theirs. The woman was scolding her grandson.

  “What is wrong with you this morning?” she said sharply. The boy looked up over his bowl of miso soup with a strange smile plastered across his face.

  “Nothing, Grandmother,” he mumbled.

  “Well, you’re acting most peculiarly,” the old woman said.

  The boy made no response but just continued to give a small smile.

  As Kaze sat down, th
e serving girl came in and slammed a tray with his breakfast down before him. She had a look on her face that was both angry and accusatory. Smiling, Kaze tucked into his breakfast with a hearty appetite.

  Before the strange trio left the inn, the boy came up to Kaze and thrust something into his hand. It was a scrap of cloth wrapped around something light.

  “It’s just senbei, rice crackers,” the boy said, “But I wanted to thank you for letting me sleep in your bed last night!”

  Kaze took the meager gift and put it into the sleeve of his kimono, where most things were carried, and forgot about it.

  CHAPTER 20

  A dead chick that had

  no chance to preen or fly south.

  Life’s a precious gift.

  It was a fine day. The birds were singing deep in the woods, and a light breeze ruffled the fragrant pine needles on the trees lining the road. Kaze was walking slowly down the road, using his hunter’s senses to scan the periphery. He was looking for hoofprints that led off the road or some other sign of activity.

  It didn’t make sense to him that anyone, human or demon, would take the road from Suzaka to Higashi and then back to the crossroads. Yet, he was also convinced that the man strapped to the horse of the “demon” was probably the dead man he found at the crossroads. The dead man was dumped at the crossroads, the timing was too close to be otherwise, and the stripe of blood found on the dead man’s back, which ran parallel to his spine, could have been caused by the body’s lying over the back of a horse.

  Kaze was convinced that something along the road from Higashi to the crossroads was the reason for the roundabout route from Suzaka to the crossroads. Maybe the demon met someone along this road or maybe there was some other reason. Despite his desire to push on to Rikuzen to see if his quest to find the young girl might end there, he decided to spend the morning walking the road from Higashi to the crossroads.