The Ennin Mysteries: Collected Series 1 – 5 (25 Stories) MEGAPACK
Page 25
I looked all around me, at the countless trees covered in snow, the stunted, frozen bushes and spiked lengths of bamboo. I imagined the harsh breath of the treacherous servant as he attempted to run… Only to then suddenly realize that death was just a few paces behind him…
‘But as for the painting, Kukai – as for that… Had we died, apparent victims of this ‘curse’, that painting would have become one of the most powerful weapons you can imagine. Men – I mean great daimyo, rulers of magnificent and powerful armies – would have gone to any lengths not to offend the person in possession of something so powerful that it caused death if you happened to so much just inadvertently gaze upon it.
‘Forgive any unintended vanity, but were it to be known that the famous Ennin himself – along with his servant – had fallen victim to the painting’s curse (and Sesshu would surely have allowed the poor, stricken, semi-hypnotized Fujiwara to remain alive long enough to spread that particular story) then many otherwise sensible and level-headed men would have believed that they, too, might die within seven days if they happened to gaze upon the late artist Tajima’s most infamous creation.
‘As such, Sesshu could quickly have obtained the loyalty of any number of daimyo, other important figures and such across the entire length and breadth of Japan. For who knew (should they refuse to support Sesshu) if they might enter some room one day, to suddenly find that painting there – and thus the apparent promise of death to come.
‘A painting more powerful than any army; a weapon that would restore Sesshu to ‘prominence’, as it were, in such a short length of time since his escape from that island. A painting that would allow him to attempt, once again, to sit on the Chrysanthemum Throne itself…’
The winter air itself seemed almost to vibrate with the power of my master’s words… Then suddenly he threw himself against me, both of us falling to the ground as something embedded itself into one tree just a foot or so to our left-hand side. Just another step, and my master and I would have been in the direct path of what I saw now was a long knife, still quivering as it stuck in the bark.
‘Quickly, Kukai – run into the undergrowth, hide yourself!’ hissed my master, as he clearly prepared to run in the direction from where the knife had been thrown.
‘Master?’ I returned, the single, panted word perfectly communicating my sudden sense of shock and confusion.
‘Go – just go!’ demanded my master; then, suddenly, he grabbed hold of the collar of my kimono.
‘Hide yourself well, Kukai, as your very life depends upon it. And when I return, I will say ‘Kukai, it is I, Ennin. I have returned’ – those words and those words only. If I say anything else, you are to remain hidden and under no account to reveal yourself. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, master,’ I replied. I wished to go with him, to also chase after this unseen and mysterious assailant. But I had been given my instructions and, as always, these I would obey without further question. So I dived off among the snow-covered bushes, stark trees and bamboo, plenty of cover still to be obtained for the person who wished to hide even though most of the leaves had been stripped by winter.
I crouched in the middle of a bamboo thicket, ringed by thorny bushes. It was freezing but I remained motionless, my leg muscles soon aching with fatigue. It began to snow slightly, the flakes falling with the softest patter onto the already-whitened ground.
How long passed, I have no idea. No way of judging the time, the sun concealed by that grey winter sky…
‘Kukai – where are you, Kukai?’
My master’s voice came suddenly. It was undoubtedly his, although he sounded in trouble, as though he was badly hurt…
I was just about to stand up and shout out to him, when I remembered what he’d told me. That unless he said exactly these words ‘Kukai, it is I, Ennin. I have returned’ I was to remain hidden…
Still, turmoil raged within me, especially when the voice that was so like my master’s continued –
‘Kukai, help me, please… I have been stabbed… I am bleeding…’
Again, I was on the point of standing up. But still something held me back. For these were not the words my master had said he would say. Yet, he sounded badly injured, in dire need of my assistance…
The voice was coming from somewhere in front of me. Then, from some distance behind me, I just caught the sound of stealthy footprints crunching slightly in the snow. Whoever was walking was trying to be secretive, so as not to be noticed by –
Me, I realized.
‘Kukai – please!’
The voice at once sounded entirely false. I could now hear that snake-like hiss behind it; that soft, yet revolting tone I’d last heard within the Imperial Court, when my master had been embroiled in a desperate battle of wits with Sesshu – that evil monk who’d so nearly succeeded in murdering the Empress.
This was Sesshu impersonating my master; that was certain. And the monk who’d escaped from the island to which he’d been banished had an accomplice, stealthily padding around some distance behind me. So I fully realized that my very life depended upon me remaining absolutely still, lest I be discovered by Sesshu and his mysterious accomplice…
How much more time passed in that snowy area of woodland, I have no idea. But finally that wretched, faked voice stopped calling out, and no matter how much I strained my ears I could no longer detect any footsteps crunching in the snow.
Then –
‘Kukai, it is I, Ennin. I have returned.’
Still I hesitated from responding, by now half-frozen with cold and fear. That hideous painting, the poisoned tea, this hiding out in woodland… There was only so much one man could take…
‘Kukai, it is I, Ennin. I have returned.’
‘I am here, master,’ I then replied, raising my voice so that he might hear it. He was somewhere in front of me, his voice seemed some distance away – and yet suddenly there he was, beside me. I realized that, had I replied to the voice I was now certain had belonged to Sesshu, my life would have been snuffed out just a few moments later.
I informed my master of what had happened, while I waited for his return.
‘Yes, Kukai,’ he replied gravely. ‘Forgive me – I attempted to chase Sesshu, while knowing that I was probably playing exactly into his hands. That is, again doing just as he wished, as I had when we first went to visit Fujiwara the samurai.’
‘It is likely that the other person you heard – the owner of those feet crunching in the snow – was Jubei, the erstwhile ‘Demon King’. It would seem as though he and Sesshu have already rejoined forces, doubtless with the ultimate aim of taking control over the whole of Japan, while along the way ensuring my destruction – and thus yours, Kukai.
‘Still, on this occasion they have failed, regardless of the fiendish brilliance of the ‘cursed painting’, which, as I have said already, could have become a weapon more powerful than any army…’
My master slowly bid me to rise from my hiding place.
‘They are gone, Kukai,’ he told me. ‘I followed their tracks for some distance before realizing that they really did intend to double-back, and kill my servant as some small recompense for the failure of their plan concerning Fujiwara and the painting…’
‘I am sorry I would only be of such minor compensation, master,’ I said tightly, my exhausted nerves not responding well to this talk of my being ‘small recompense’.
My master looked at me, and ruefully shook his head.
‘No, Kukai, it is I who am sorry,’ he said sincerely, those eyes above the strangely high cheekbones at once as dark and dangerous as ever I’d seen them.
‘I’m sorry that an old friend of mine was used, and ultimately destroyed, by such a foul and malignant being as Sesshu. Sorry that my faithful friend and servant was forced to hide out here in the freezing snow, as he was hunted by that wretched monk and the fallen daimyo Jubei.’
As cold as it was, still it somewhat warmed my heart to hear my master describ
e me as being his ‘faithful friend’. Some small ‘recompense’, as it were, for the frequent life of danger I was obliged to live alongside him.
‘I have previously defeated Sesshu, as well as Jubei,’ continued my master, staring at the low grey sky as though it contained some vision of the future only he could see.
‘Yes, I have defeated them – and both times I have allowed others to decide their punishment, and both times this punishment has been banishment rather than death.
‘But no more! Now, on the soul of my late friend Fujiwara, and for the sake of all Japan, I swear that I, Ennin, will not rest until I have tracked them down – and destroyed them both, once and for all.’
My master nodded firmly, as though confirming the veracity of his own words…
And then we began to walk.
Buddha’s Hammer
1
There was no face – it had been completely destroyed. It turned my stomach to gaze upon such a hideous injury, the corpse of the Chinese merchant sprawled out on top of the straw and dried mud in the stable.
As he spoke, the owner of the luxurious inn to which this stable belonged looked alternately at my master, and then at the magistrate of this area.
‘I heard the horse leave early this morning, and so naturally assumed that Guo-san was riding it. He often set out so, riding to the harbor town named Aoyama that is fifty ri or so from here.’
‘I assume he did business there?’ questioned my master.
The innkeeper, a portly man in his fifties, gave a small shrug.
‘I assume so, although Guo-san was never one to talk much about himself or his business. A very private individual. That he was some sort of merchant was obvious, however, and he was clearly very wealthy. I’ve no doubt that he could have purchased a sizeable house of his own, but for whatever reason he chose to occupy, long-term, the finest room I have at my inn.
‘Now that he’s gone…’
The merchant’s voice tailed off and he gave a rueful shake of his head, doubtless regretting the sizeable loss of income caused by the death of this Chinese merchant.
The magistrate cleared his throat, and looking at my master said –
‘Well, I don’t think there is any great mystery here. Clearly this man named Guo inadvertently startled his horse in some way – perhaps while bending down to dig out a stone from one of its hoofs, or something of the sort – and so received a fierce kick from the creature that caused the…’
The magistrate paused, and indicated the ruined face with his right hand while at the same time avoiding looking at it.
My master nodded; and I also reflected that this was, indeed, a quite possible explanation.
‘Yes,’ said my master. ‘And then the horse simply bolted. That could happen...’
I saw the magistrate swell slightly with pride, my famous master having just acknowledged the soundness of his theory. But then my master bent down, and peered closely at the left hand of the corpse.
‘This ring…’ said my master, addressing the innkeeper as he indicated the expensive-looking item of jewelry that looked to have been made from blue sapphire. ‘Did you happen to notice whether this merchant named Guo always wore it?’
The magistrate looked curiously at my master, as the innkeeper replied –
‘Yes, he did, right from the time he moved into the room he occupied in my inn – and that was nearly four years ago, now.’
‘You must excuse me, but…’
So saying this, my master attempted to pull the ring from off the corpse’s finger! Then he shook his head; it was obvious that the ring was stuck tight on the digit.
‘This ring could only be removed by cutting it off with some kind of file or metal saw,’ declared my master. ‘The victim had indeed worn it for quite some time…’
‘I see your line of thinking, though,’ said the magistrate eagerly. ‘So severe are the facial injuries here, that we have no way of being completely certain that this is indeed the merchant named Guo. Another man could have been dressed in his kimono, had this identifying ring somehow placed upon his finger – before then being murdered.’
My master looked at the magistrate with the faintest gleam of amusement showing in his eyes. The magistrate was entirely oblivious to this, however, as with the skin of his high forehead puckered with thought, he continued with this new line of conjecture –
‘Yes… Perhaps the merchant wanted everyone to think he was dead… To start again somewhere else…’
Looking at the innkeeper, the magistrate then demanded –
‘Does he owe you a large sum? For the room he rented; his meals and such?’
The innkeeper looked a little startled by the sudden question.
‘No – not at all,’ he replied. ‘This customer paid his bill monthly; and, I might say, promptly. Never once, in four years or so, did I have to ask several times for payment, as is almost normal with many other guests.’
‘And had anyone been around here recently, seeking to talk with the merchant? Did you see or hear any arguments between the deceased – that is, the person we believe to be the deceased – and anyone else?’ persisted the magistrate.
‘No – like I say, my customer kept himself very much to himself. He associated with no one around here that I knew of, ate his meals in his room and so on. Maybe he had more associates in Aoyama, where he went frequently, but otherwise…’
The innkeeper paused, and then looking slightly thoughtful added –
‘Well, there was that incident with the beggar a week or so ago…’
‘A beggar?’ repeated the magistrate, as my master’s eyes suddenly showed his renewed interest in these proceedings.
‘Yes, a beggar,’ nodded the innkeeper. ‘A Chinese man with no hands.’
‘No hands?’ demanded my master, so that the magistrate glanced in surprise at him.
‘So it appeared, in any case,’ declared the innkeeper, his tone of voice and expression almost defensive. He was clearly feeling a little nervous under this close questioning from my master and the magistrate. His brow, I noticed, was showing beads of sweat although it was not a hot morning. And so, quite suddenly, I thought: Does this man have something to hide? Some involvement with this body lying on the floor of the stable?
“So it appeared’?’ repeated my master brusquely. ‘Could you say exactly in what way you decided this beggar had no hands? And how did you know he was Chinese?’
The innkeeper took a deep breath, wilting somewhat under the combined stares of my master and the magistrate, and then replied –
‘Guo-san was often in the habit of taking walks around this town. I might say he was scrupulous about maintaining his health; he ate well, and drank hardly any alcohol. He did not smoke. And he took exercise by walking.
‘It was upon his return from one of these walks, as he neared my inn, that he was accosted by the Chinese beggar. I heard my customer raise his voice while speaking what was obviously his own tongue; and the beggar, clearly dismissed, walked away.
‘As for the matter of his hands,’ continued the innkeeper quickly, ‘both sleeves of his old, dirty kimono had been sewn up, clearly to indicate the nature of his disability. And it was Guo-san himself (after I’d asked him whether everything was all right, following his return to the inn) who informed me –
“Just a beggar, asking me to give him a few coins. Somehow he recognized me as also being Chinese, and so assumed I’d spare some money just because we happen to share the same nationality. I gave him short shrift, before sending him upon his way.’’
The magistrate raised his eyebrows.
‘A man with no hands, and from his own country, asked this wealthy Chinese merchant for a few coins, and he said no?’
‘That is what he said,’ replied the innkeeper simply.
‘Strange, that a Chinese beggar should even be around here…’ said my master almost idly.
The innkeeper puffed out his chest with slight indignation.
‘Yes, yes, I’ve no doubt,’ returned my master in a calming tone. Then, addressing the magistrate, he continued –
‘Well, I’m all but certain that your original theory was the correct one. The killer of this Chinese merchant is no doubt currently galloping away somewhere upon its four legs… Really, there seems to be little else to say.’
‘But that ring, Ennin-sensei,’ replied the magistrate almost excitedly. ‘You said it could have been put upon another man’s finger, the facial features utterly destroyed by the vicious injuries which – ’
‘I said no such thing,’ interjected my master mildly. ‘That was your own supposition. I merely declared that this ring could not easily be removed – something which leads me to suspect that this body lying on the straw is indeed the Chinese merchant named Guo.’
The magistrate nodded, and shrugged.
‘Your reputation is such that I am inclined to accept what you say,’ declared the magistrate, adding quickly – ‘Which in any case concurs with my own theory concerning this merchant’s death.’
‘A tragic accident,’ said my master, a poker-expression upon that face with the thick lips and almost strikingly high cheekbones. And yet – I thought I detected a slight shine of excitement to the eyes; that sudden shrinkage of the pupils which I knew so well…
‘I assume – from your conversations with your loyal customer Guo the merchant – that he could speak Japanese well?’ my master asked the innkeeper then.
‘He was almost fluent,’ returned the innkeeper. ‘Although, when he first took occupancy of his room, he spoke only very little.’
‘So, clearly he’d arrived only very recently in Japan, yet he was already financially secure,’ said my master in a musing tone, his eyes abstract for a moment.