Seven Paths to Death

by Dorothy Hoobler

  Abruptly Rofu rose to his feet. Seikei tensed, feeling how helpless he was.

  But Rofu only bent over and showed Seikei his hands. “Did he have marks like these?” he asked.

  Seikei saw the numbers tattooed between Rofu’s fingers: ya-ku-za. Slowly, he nodded.

  Rofu seemed satisfied, for the time being. He returned to his mat across the room and sat. Though his eyes were on Seikei, they seemed focused on something else. The candles flickered as if a breeze had blown through, but that was impossible.

  After a while Rofu seemed to have made up his mind. “The judge must know that it is dangerous to possess that map,” he said.

  Seikei didn’t reply. He was pretty sure that the judge had not told Kita that the tattoo was part of a map.

  “Otherwise,” Rofu continued, “he would not have taken it from you.”

  “Or he didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands,” Seikei suggested.

  Rofu smiled, revealing that he had several missing teeth. “You have paper and a brush in your sleeve,” he said.

  Seikei was a little startled till he recalled that he had been searched. Resentful, he refused to reply, but Rofu went on: “Was it you who made the copy of the tattoo?”

  Seikei kept his silence, but Rofu nodded. “I am going to show you something,” he said. “Something I usually go to great lengths to conceal.”

  Seikei looked around the underground room, expecting to spot a strongbox or locked chest in which Rofu kept precious objects.

  Instead, Rofu moved the candles closer to himself, lining them up carefully in two rows. Then he turned his back on Seikei and untied his kimono. As the back of the garment slid down, Seikei’s jaw fell with it.

  Rofu’s back held another tattoo, the colors just as shimmering as the other, even in the candlelight. It was not exactly the same as the first one, Seikei saw. There were different landmarks, though the path still led from one side of the image to the other. But the strange symbol that pointed out the direction one should travel was here too.

  “Was the tattoo you saw before like this one?” Rofu asked.

  “Yes,” Seikei admitted.

  “Kita told me,” said Rofu. “It hardly seemed possible. After what happened to Boko, the rest of us understood that it was dangerous to let people know what was on our backs.” He pulled up the back of his kimono and turned to face Seikei again.

  “Who is Boko?” Seikei asked.

  “Someone else who had one of these tattoos,” said Rofu. “He’s dead now. Did you see this other tattoo on a dead man?”

  Seikei hesitated before deciding it was all right to answer. “He was not dead, but unconscious. He had been attacked.”

  Rofu fell silent, as if pondering what Seikei had told him. “Was this in Edo?” he asked finally.

  “No. It was in a farm village in a northern province.”

  “That must have been Tatsuo. He was the only one I lost track of completely. Did he have a joint missing from his left little finger?”

  “Yes.”

  “He lost it in a wager. I wonder how she found him.”

  “The person who attacked him was a man,” said Seikei. “His body was found later.”

  Rofu shook his head as if that didn’t matter. “Would you like to make a copy of my tattoo, as you did Tatsuo’s?”

  The offer surprised Seikei. “I thought you said it was dangerous to let people know about the tattoo.”

  “Well, you already know, don’t you? I suppose you would want to show it to your father?”

  Seikei nodded.

  Rofu smiled again. “Very good. Most people would have lied to me. Now, there’s just one other thing.”

  Just one? Seikei had a hundred questions he wanted to ask.

  “Obviously I must untie your hands so you can draw,” said Rofu. “So I must have your promise that you will not try to use your swords instead of your brush.”

  Seikei thought. “My father will want to question you,” he said.

  “I suppose he will,” said Rofu. “You can always bring him back here.”

  Somehow Seikei suspected that if he did, Rofu would have departed.

  “The alternative,” Rofu said, “is that I leave now, and you will not have the opportunity to copy the tattoo.”

  “And perhaps no one will find me,” said Seikei.

  “With time, you will work your way out of those bonds. I can see you straining at them already.”

  “So why should you let me copy your tattoo at all? Why not just leave?”

  “Let me say only that I have a reason. Perhaps you will discover it,” Rofu said. “For your sake, I hope not.”

  4

  A DISHONORABLE WEAPON

  When Seikei emerged from the trapdoor in the street, he was surprised to find that it was still light outside. Below ground it had been impossible to tell how much time had passed. He headed in the direction of the shogun’s palace, eager to report to the judge.

  Unfortunately, Rofu had refused to answer any more of Seikei’s questions. All he would say was, “I think you will find that too much information is dangerous.” A puzzling statement, Seikei thought. Wouldn’t it be safer if he knew who wanted the men with these maps, and why? That way he could discover where the danger came from. In response to all these arguments, Rofu had merely smiled.

  But now, as Seikei made his way through the streets, he had a strange feeling. He reached inside his sleeve to make sure the rolled-up copy of the tattoo he had just made was still there. He looked over his shoulder, but no one behind him seemed to be observing him. Yet the feeling remained—a very distinctive one, like the taste of something eaten only once, but never forgotten.

  Where had he felt it before?

  When the memory came back to him, he stopped in his tracks.

  It had been on the sacred mountain of Miwayama, above the O-Miwa shrine. The monks who tended the shrine had allowed Seikei to climb the mountain to find the ninja who had killed Lord Kira. To do so, he had followed the tracks of a fox to a cave where the ninja was sleeping. Seikei had felt then the way he did now.

  He hurried on, faster now, though he knew that if it was Kitsune the ninja who pursued him, Seikei could not escape by hurrying.

  Soon, though, the feeling disappeared, like a cloud that darkens the sky for a moment and then moves on. Perhaps it was just the excitement Seikei felt at helping solve another case that had awakened that memory.

  Perhaps.

  At the shogun’s castle, Seikei passed through the entry-way quickly, for the guards recognized him as the judge’s son. It was still a long walk to the hunting grounds, for the castle complex consisted of many buildings. It was not only the residence of the shogun Yoshimune and his family, but also the home of hundreds of samurai retainers and guards. The stables alone had space for more than five hundred horses.

  The grounds were also crisscrossed with moats, created long ago to keep out invading armies. In fact, in the decades since the current shogun’s ancestor Tokugawa Ieyasu had made the castle his headquarters, no one had successfully attacked the castle. Though the emperor in Kyoto was officially the ruler of Japan, the shogun’s bakufu, military government, held the real power.

  Beyond the castle complex was a garden that provided a place for the shogun’s family to enjoy views that changed with the seasons. Seikei passed that, for the trees were still bare this early in spring, and came to a wilder area. Here the grass was left to grow long, and trees provided a habitat for the birds, deer and other animals that roamed here. These were the private hunting grounds of the shogun and his guests.

  Seikei spotted the judge, his chief aide Bunzo and another samurai standing in a cleared space. As he drew nearer, he saw that the third man held a strange-looking object. It seemed to be a long metal tube with a wooden handle at one end. Though Seikei had never seen such a thing before, something about it seemed familiar. Then he realized it was shaped like the unusual symbol on the maps that pointed the way to some destin
ation.

  The judge smiled when he saw Seikei approach. “I can see that you have news for me,” he said.

  Seikei realized the look on his face showed his eagerness. “I found a second person with a map on his back,” he said. No need to add, at least while Bunzo was here, that he had been bound and helpless when he made this discovery. He took the copy of the map from his sleeve and unrolled it.

  After a brief examination the judge said, “It appears that there must be more of these. The edges of this one do not merge with the other map.”

  Seikei nodded. “Rofu, the man with this one, told me the name of a third person who had one. But that man is now dead, and Rofu didn’t tell me how many there were originally.”

  “Where is this Rofu?” asked the judge.

  “He was in a . . . room underneath the street near the waterfront,” Seikei replied. “I could not persuade him to come with me.”

  “There are many tunnels there to provide drainage at high tide,” the judge said. “Criminals frequently use them as hiding places.”

  “He had the ya-ku-za tattoo between his fingers,” said Seikei. “Do you think the map might show where these criminals hid their loot?”

  “If that was all it showed, I would not have bothered with it,” said the judge. “I fear it is the key to something far more troubling.” He pointed to the mark on the map and then to the odd-looking object the other samurai held. “You see the resemblance between these two things?”

  Seikei nodded. The judge turned toward the other samurai, a tall thin man with lined hollows in his cheeks, and said, “Reijo, may I present my son to you.” Seikei bowed as the man acknowledged him with a nod.

  “Reijo is the shogun’s keeper of arms,” the judge explained. “He is going to demonstrate the use of this instrument. It is called a musket.”

  They were standing at the top of a grassy slope. At the bottom, Seikei saw, was another man with a cage of birds. At Reijo’s signal, the man took one of the birds from the cage and tossed it into the air.

  Freed, the bird spread its wings and tried to fly off. Reijo raised the musket, and almost at once it made a loud noise that caused Seikei to clap his hands over his ears. Evidently it disturbed the bird as well, for it stopped flying and fell to the ground.

  Reijo led the way as the four of them walked to the spot where the bird lay. Seikei was astounded. It was dead, bleeding from a wound. “How did—?” he began, but then realized Reijo would explain.

  The samurai opened a small leather bag tied around his waist. It was full of metal pellets. He took one and, using a thin rod attached to the musket, forced it into the bottom of the metal tube. Then, from another bag, he took a small paper capsule and slipped it into a hole in the top of the tube. Finally, he poured a small quantity of black powder into a small shallow cup on the side of the tube.

  He turned to Seikei and pointed to a small curved stick along the side of the tube. “Notice,” Reijo said, “that the tip of it is burning.” Seikei nodded, seeing the slight trail of smoke that arose from it.

  “Now,” said Reijo, “when I pull this small lever under the barrel, it releases the part with the burning tip. When it touches the powder, it burns more quickly and the fire spreads inside the barrel, causing an explosion that sends the pellet out of the barrel at a high speed. So fast you cannot even see it.”

  “That was how you killed the bird?” Seikei asked.

  “Yes. It is not so easy as it first seems, however. It requires practice to hit something as small and swift as a bird. Muskets are much better suited for battle, where your opponent is large and slow.”

  “You mean . . . this could kill a man?” The metal pellets seemed so tiny.

  “Most certainly,” said Reijo.

  “From a distance as far as you were from the bird?”

  “Or even farther. Farther than an ordinary man could shoot an arrow.”

  “What a dishonorable way of fighting that would be,” said Seikei. “Not to face your enemy, but to sneak up on him like a thief.”

  Reijo looked uncomfortable and glanced at the judge, who seemed to be trying to conceal a smile. “Actually, Seikei,” the judge said, “the shogun’s ancestor Ieyasu armed some of his men with muskets like this one.”

  Seikei felt his face redden. “I did not know that,” he admitted. “But why do we not use them now?”

  “After taking control of Japan, Ieyasu felt that such weapons were . . . perhaps too powerful. They were originally brought here from the barbarian nations.”

  “The ones whose ships are allowed to land only at Deshima?”

  The judge nodded. “Apparently in the countries from which these ships come, warfare using such weapons is quite common.”

  “Truly, they are barbarians.”

  “And that is one reason why the shoguns ever since have carefully restricted any trade with those countries. However, as you recall from our trip to Osaka, there are smugglers who violate the shogun’s laws.”

  Seikei had helped the judge expose a band of these smugglers, although ultimately they escaped. “You think Captain Thunder and his men are smuggling these muskets?” Seikei asked.

  “I don’t believe so,” the judge said. “They were working merely for money. What we are seeing now is far more dangerous. For years there have been rumors that one or more of the daimyo lords have secretly been purchasing these weapons from barbarians. Some of the outer lords—those who were among the last to surrender to Ieyasu—never became truly loyal to the shogun.”

  “But isn’t that why they must live in Edo with their families one year out of every two?”

  The judge nodded. “It helps to ensure their loyalty. But that may not stop some from plotting against the shogun anyway. When I first saw the tattoo on the back of the unconscious man in Echigo province, I was struck by the mark used to point out what direction the path followed. I had seen muskets before. But an ordinary person, even a criminal, would not know what a musket is. Whoever put it on the tattoo must have had a reason.”

  Seikei thought. “Kita, the tattoo artist, told us the man who drew the tattoo is now dead. Do you believe him?”

  “Believe no one until you have confirmed what they say,” the judge replied. “Which is what we will try to do now.”

  5

  THE MONKEY THIEF

  After Seikei explained where Rofu’s hideout was, the judge sent Bunzo to take him into custody, if possible. “Likely not,” the judge admitted. “Since he refused to answer your questions, he will try to elude us. As will Kita. We can get no more information from him. Yet Bunzo is resourceful, and may find something of interest.”

  Seikei then told the judge the whole story, admitting that for a while he had been Rofu’s prisoner. “All the more reason why he would not want to fall into my hands,” said the judge. “You and I have another errand.”

  Seikei followed as the judge made his way to the section of the city where Kita had said Shotaro worked. In the first tattoo parlor they entered, the proprietor said that Shotaro was no longer in business. “I can do a better job than he,” the man said. “What kind of tattoo did you want?”

  “It’s not for us,” the judge said. He nodded, and Seikei unrolled the copies he had made of the two tattoos.

  “That’s Tengen’s work,” the man said. “He was truly an artist.”

  “We understood that Shotaro was his apprentice,” said the judge.

  “True enough, showing only that one can be a great artist and yet not a good judge of others’ talent. He was unable to pass his skills on to Shotaro.” The man took another look at the two copies. “You know,” he said slowly, “I think I’ve seen another tattoo like these. They seem to be part of a series, don’t they?”

  “We believe so,” said the judge. “Where did you see this other tattoo?”

  The man hesitated. “I’m not . . . I’m not really sure it was what you are looking for.”

  “If it’s not, no harm done,” said the judge pl
easantly. “There may be a reward for the man who has it, however. Tell us what you know.”

  “A reward? Are you sure? You see, the person who has it . . . wouldn’t want to get into trouble.”

  “There’s no crime in having a tattoo,” said the judge.

  “No, but there seems to be some fear that this one can bring trouble,” the man said. “Truth is, the only reason I know about it is that the person came to me to see if it could be removed.”

  “The tattoo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No. He was very secretive about it. Just said it was a reminder of a time he wanted to forget. I thought that was peculiar. Because if it’s on his back, he never has to look at it, does he?”

  “Perhaps he’s married now, has children.”

  “Not this fellow. He’s a street entertainer, sleeps at a Buddhist temple, where he gets something to eat as well.”

  “Where is this?”

  The man hesitated, looking at the judge’s swords. “Excuse me for speaking frankly, sir, but he’ll be wary of you.”

  “Because I’m a samurai? Edo is full of samurai.”

  “Rather because you are an official of the shogunate.” The judge’s kimono was decorated with the shogun’s hollyhock crest. He turned to Seikei, who wore only a plain outfit. “It seems that you would be more persuasive than I,” the judge said. “I hope this time you won’t need to be captured to obtain what we are trying to find out.”

  “I’ll be careful,” said Seikei. He turned to the tattooist. “What does this man look like?” he asked.

  “He has a monkey,” the man replied. “Usually they perform down the street where the Pure Land Temple is.”

  “And does he have tattoos between his fingers?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “He’s part of a club.”

  Outside, the judge told Seikei to return to the judge’s mansion after he questioned the man. “If you can persuade him to talk, ask him how many maps there were originally. And you’d better give the two copies to me before you go.”