The Ennin Mysteries: Collected Series 1 – 5 (25 Stories) MEGAPACK

by Ben Stevens

  The surly ronin patrolling the gardens seemed even more dangerous than they had before, so that I questioned the wisdom of even having them at all. But – assuming that they were sufficiently well-paid – they would no doubt be extremely effective in dealing with any menace which might threaten the fat moneylender.

  But what, exactly, would this menace be, when and if it struck? And for what reason had my master insisted that I stay at Utagawa’s residence?

  As I placed my bag in the small room to which I’d been shown by Utagawa’s servant, I considered what I knew concerning the moneylender’s case. Obviously, this was hardly anything – while what little I did know made nothing any clearer.

  The moneylender was scared of the wind. Of a storm. For the second half of that blood-stained note (which Utagawa had shown to my master under sufferance) seemed to suggest that some threat to the moneylender’s life would arise, during one such storm.

  So ordinarily Utagawa would not even leave his house, confining himself to just a couple of rooms. But when there was foul weather, he stayed in just the one room, the door closed, armed with a knife and beside himself with terror?

  And yet (I remembered now), Yosa the servant had said that Utagawa had seemed strangely nervous – and reluctant to venture outside – even before receiving this mysterious note…

  And now here I was – an unwilling guest at the moneylender’s opulent, guarded residence, while my master was off on some secretive trip I could only assume was to do with this case. My master on this occasion choosing to help someone who was (for some inexplicable reason) apparently holding back the very information which might reveal why, exactly, someone wanted to kill him…

  I could only think that my master had accepted this case out of the obvious challenge it presented to his considerable wits. And, almost as an aside, I considered that rarely had we had a more dislikeable client…

  Yosa came to my room as it grew dark, requesting that I lend a hand shuttering all the windows of the large, but still single-storey house. This took approximately twenty minutes, and looking outside I saw the two ronin who’d replaced the guards operating during the day. They paced the gardens (separately, not together) that lay in front of and behind the house – for a small pathway on one side of the house connected these gardens – their eyes everywhere, the right hand of both men never straying far from the handle of their long sword…

  Clearly, Utagawa had chosen his bodyguards well – so long as he could afford to pay the doubtless high wages they were asking.

  Yosa then left me in the company of the moneylender, explaining that it was he who made dinner along with every other meal. Either Utagawa had dismissed his other staff upon becoming concerned about this apparent threat to his life – or his sole servant had always been the little man named Yosa.

  As we waited for dinner to be served, Utagawa glanced at me with suspicious eyes and did not attempt to make any conversation. Twice I tried remarking upon the beautiful folding-screen that was in the spacious tatami mat room, but being met both times with a disinterested grunt, I soon gave up.

  It was a relief when Yosa returned with the meal. Not that his conversation was any more interesting (either with me or his master), but his cooking was exquisite. We each had a beautiful fish, excellently filleted and boiled in soy sauce, served with autumn vegetables.

  I was only surprised when, having taken a few bites of his meal with his chopsticks, Yosa then passed his plate to his master, and the moneylender did the same vice versa!

  Obviously, Utagawa was so stricken with fear concerning his personal safety, that he even feared his meal might be poisoned! This also seemed to indicate a strange distrust of Yosa – his purportedly faithful servant – who had after all prepared the food…

  The meal finished, Yosa removed the dishes and I was made aware that, as early as it was, it was time to prepare for bed. The two men clearly shared the same room – doubtless Utagawa wanted to be near his dutiful servant for safety’s sake – and so I returned to my own room.

  I soon blew out the oil lamp and lay upon the futon, attempting to drift into sleep. But I could not help but run the strange, bewildering facts concerning this case over and over in my mind. This bizarre fear of the weather, that strange, blood-stained note, the information Utagawa was clearly keeping secret from my master, even at the same time as he turned to him for help…

  And again the question – where, exactly, had my master gone in such a hurry…?

  4

  I arose the following morning, washed and dressed, and made my way to one of the two rooms (they were situated next to each other) occupied by the fat moneylender and his diminutive servant. They were already at breakfast; Yosa briefly disappeared, to return with some food for me.

  As had been the case the previous evening, conversation was at a minimum. The two men instead played dice to pass the time, there inside that large room with the closed sliding doors that was in the centre of the house – so there were no windows. They invited me to play with them (grudgingly, it seemed), but I was soon beside myself with boredom. Again, I wondered why my master had demanded that I stay here. I seemed hardly to be serving any purpose.

  ‘May I go out to the back garden?’ I finally asked the moneylender, desperate for some fresh air.

  With some reluctance (it seemed to me), Utagawa agreed.

  ‘Show him outside,’ he instructed Yosa.

  I was taken into another large room behind the one occupied by the moneylender. (It had previously been concealed by two decorative sliding doors.) Yosa had first to open up another set of sliding doors made of wood and paper, and then a pair of wooden shutters. (I wondered if these weren’t otherwise always just left closed, even when the other shutters were opened each morning.) Then I stepped onto the wooden platform leading out to the garden.

  It was beautiful, full of low hanging trees and with a pond containing carp in its centre. Water flowed ceaselessly from the bamboo chute which fed this pond – I assumed this water came from the mountain situated directly behind Utagawa’s house. For this house lay, some distance from any others, on the edge of the quiet, wealthy town that was surrounded on three sides by mountains so tall that their peaks now lay in the misty autumn clouds.

  I looked at the mountainside that was just beyond the high wooden fence at the rear of this mesmerizing garden. It was steep, dotted in various places with large rocks, bushes and trees. It looked exactly the sort of place where – in silly tales of romance – bandits might choose to hide out…

  And then my blood suddenly ran cold. For perhaps I’d just realized exactly what it was Utagawa the moneylender was scared of –

  Ninja.

  Here Utagawa was, an extremely wealthy man, living with just the one manservant (or so it seemed) in a large, secluded house on the edge of town. Doubtless he had a large amount of money secreted away somewhere inside his home – even that folding screen I’d admired just the previous evening had to be worth several years’ salary to most men. And there were also various statues and such things, clearly all of the finest quality…

  Yes, the fat moneylender was quite possibly scared of being robbed by ninja. For that would explain his absolute fear of storms and similar bad weather. After all, it was common knowledge that ninja often used such inclement weather when they set forth on their missions, breaking into houses, temples and castles, as the wind, thunder and so on masked any noises they might otherwise inadvertently make.

  And yet…

  Ninja hardly advertised that they were intending to break into some place or other! I mean with the type of blood-flecked message Utagawa the moneylender had received. (To say nothing of the fact that Utagawa appeared to have exhibited great nervousness even before receiving this note.) Also, the message had stated distinctly that he was the target – not any money or other treasures that might be located in his luxurious home.

  If this mysterious, would-be assassin was in fact a ninja, then it was one who alrea
dy had some kind of grudge against Utagawa. So much so that they felt obliged to advise him of the fact that he was marked down for death. Apparently to cause him some sort of mental torture, as it were, prior to the actual assassination.

  But if so, then why? And was this the reason why my master had disappeared so suddenly – and when, exactly, could I expect him to return?

  As such fevered questions ran through my mind, standing there in that lovely garden, I felt suddenly sure that eyes were watching me from somewhere on that mountainside which towered up beyond the garden’s furthest edge…

  It seemed as though the moneylender’s bad nerves were catching! Admonishing myself for my cowardly behavior, I still quickly ventured back inside the house and drew both the shutters and wood and paper sliding doors closed behind me.

  Just before I did this, however, I saw one of the ronin walk past – for they patrolled in opposite directions to each other, and never in any sort of familiar pattern. But for all their undoubted professionalism and ability with the sword, if a ninja was at all to pay a visit, then they were just walking dead men…

  As would I be I thought then – abandoned here in this shuttered house with a fat moneylender and his mysterious servant…

  5

  The following morning saw Utagawa undeniably terrified. For upon arising, I’d drawn back the wooden shutters covering the window of my room – and realized that a storm was beginning to gather.

  ‘Come in, quickly, and close the door behind you!’ hissed the moneylender to me, as (a short while later) I entered into one of the two rooms where he slept and ate his meals with his servant. Utagawa was crouched in one corner, his breakfast untouched beside him. Yosa was nearby, appearing not quite as nervous as his master but still clearly concerned.

  Does he actually know the real reason for his master’s fear? I asked myself.

  ‘Where is Ennin – your master?’ demanded Utagawa then, his voice made even more high-pitched and objectionable by his obvious state of terror.

  ‘Ennin-sensei…’ I began, allowing a slight pause to follow the honorific before I continued – ‘Ennin-sensei did not confide in me where he was going. He only requested that I stay here.’

  ‘What is the use in me employing him if… if he is not here?’ Utagawa almost squawked, the fat beneath his chin wobbling with indignation.

  ‘To my knowledge, my master has never once failed any of his clients,’ I said sternly. (This wasn’t quite true – inevitably, my master had had one or two cases that had been less than successful – but I saw no need to inform Utagawa of this.)

  ‘Although, I am fairly certain that no client has ever withheld information from him before,’ I added pointedly.

  At this, Utagawa’s hooded eyes stared balefully at me, and I wondered if I hadn’t perhaps said too much. But I was a little angry at having been forced to stay here, and anyway – it was hardly as though this objectionable moneylender was my master, after all. Indeed, in spite of his wealth, the very nature of his occupation did not place him very high up in Japanese society.

  ‘It’s tonight… Oh, help me – I just know it’s coming tonight!’ Utagawa suddenly wailed; and from somewhere inside of his luxurious kimono he produced a knife.

  I was not as surprised as I might have been. Yosa had, after all, already confided that his master was prone to wielding such a weapon in times of acute mental distress.

  ‘What is this? What are you afraid of?’ I heard myself demanding.

  ‘That is hardly for you to ask!’ returned Yosa, glowering at me. ‘Who do you think you are?’

  I could not hold my tongue –

  ‘I am the person obliged to stay in this house, whose owner is currently wielding a knife and gabbling something about how it’s ‘coming tonight’,’ I said angrily. ‘So I have every right to ask what, exactly, is coming tonight?’

  ‘What else could I have done…’ intoned the moneylender, his pig-like eyes now inward-looking. He appeared almost to be in some sort of trance. ‘Tell me that – what else could I have done?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I cried. ‘What happened, to put you in this position?’

  ‘That is none of your affair!’ said Yosa; but I’d caught the split-second look he’d given Utagawa. It had been one of confusion – and then I understood that whatever it was the moneylender was afraid of, it was as much a mystery to Yosa as it was to me.

  I have no idea how this situation might have ended. But at that moment, there came a loud knocking on the wooden shutters of the room that was behind the one we were currently in. The room, I mean, that led out to the back garden.

  ‘Yosa…’ croaked Utagawa, his eyes wide with fear. ‘Take this knife… Go and see who it is…’

  ‘Give me that!’ I said brusquely, snatching the weapon from out of the man’s trembling hand. I carried a dagger of my own – secretly – at all times inside my kimono; but I felt disgusted by his cowardice. No matter what the circumstances, no man should behave as he was now.

  Yosa opened his mouth to say something – but possibly my look silenced him, for he then said nothing. I had had just about enough of this. I felt almost as angry towards my master at leaving me in this wretched place, as I did towards the repellent moneylender and his strangely dutiful servant.

  In such a mood, I was determined to discover just who it was knocking on the wooden shutter. And the knocking was coming louder, now – almost insistent.

  I opened the double-doors leading to the room by the garden.

  ‘For pity’s sake – close them behind you, quickly!’ yelped Utagawa.

  I did so, albeit with some ill-grace. As much as I instinctively disliked the fat moneylender, there was no denying the fact that he was plainly terrified.

  I stalked across the next, tatami-matted room and opened first the sliding, latticed doors of wood and paper and then the thick wooden shutters. I still had the knife in my hand, lest I might suddenly come face-to-face with –

  My master. Unshaven, distinctly haggard in appearance and clearly exhausted. In several places, his kimono was stained in places with dried mud.

  ‘Quickly,’ he said, ‘let me come in and then close the shutters again. So far my entrance here has not been observed – of that I am certain. As for where the ronin have disappeared to, I will explain shortly. And as for the person who intends to kill Utagawa… He was still asleep, when I checked just a short while ago. The poor man is almost beside himself with exhaustion, and I fear greatly for his health.’

  I virtually staggered back, so shocked was I at what I was seeing – and hearing.

  ‘And put that knife away, Kukai, before you hurt someone – quite possibly yourself,’ said my master then, as he entered inside the room and quickly closed the shutters behind him.

  6

  In the next room, my master surveyed the crouching moneylender with a stony expression.

  ‘So you have returned, Ennin-sensei,’ declared Utagawa, looking up at my master with curiously defiant eyes. ‘Tell me – whose story do you believe?’

  ‘Silence,’ returned my master, his voice cold. ‘You will listen to me from now on, if you wish to live.’

  Utagawa’s face was briefly indignant; and then he looked down at the floor and nodded. I caught Yosa’s bewildered expression, which was doubtless mirroring my own.

  ‘Your bodyguards have gone,’ said my master then. ‘I gave them a large sum of money – considerably more than you have been paying them – and told them to make themselves scarce. Both the ones who patrolled during the day, and the other two during the night.’

  The color seemed suddenly to drain from the moneylender’s fleshy face.

  ‘What?’ he murmured. ‘Why did you do such a thing? Are you mad? Do you not realize – ’

  ‘I said silence,’ said my master. His eyes were hard as he continued to stare down at the moneylender. ‘Only a fool employs ronin and expects that they will show him any loyalty – should someone else offer them ev
en one extra sen in payment.

  ‘In any case, they would only obstruct what will – I trust – take place this evening. When, I have no doubt, this coming storm will blow at its strongest. I will go now with my servant, and return here later. I will knock upon the front entrance three times – do you understand?’

  Utagawa was staring up at my master, clearly bewildered. It was Yosa who answered –

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There is also a delivery coming here soon. A large chest. Two men will carry it in. You have nothing to fear and you will not look at the contents of this chest until I return. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Yosa again.

  ‘When I do return, it is imperative you do exactly as I say, no matter what you may think of it. There is no more time to waste on silly games – if you wish to remain alive.’

  My master’s last statement was directed wholly at the moneylender, who gave a nod in return. He seemed unable to meet my master’s eye.

  Yosa showed us to the front entrance of the house and we walked through the garden and out into the street. A strong wind was already blowing, the clouds above swirling.

  There were a multitude of questions I wished to ask my master. But I knew that now was not the time. Instead we walked briskly along, leaving the street (in which there was only one other large house, sited some distance from the moneylender’s own and similarly hidden behind a high wooden fence) and heading towards the mountain that was behind Utagawa’s rear garden. A track led us there, becoming ever narrower and steeper the closer we got to the mountainside ahead.

  ‘I fear you have some lonely hours ahead of you,’ declared my master. ‘I will show you where you must sit – and wait.’

  This proved to be behind a large rock that was surrounded by some bushes. By peering through a small gap between two such bushes, it was possible to see the rear of the moneylender’s house, and so also the garden, some way off – staring diagonally across and down the mountainside, as it were.