Seven Paths to Death

by Dorothy Hoobler

  Seikei handed them over, but his reluctance showed. “Perhaps if he saw these, he would be more willing to reveal his,” he said.

  “From the little we have learned so far,” the judge replied, “people think it is dangerous to possess even one of these. I think it better if you avoid that danger for now. Be wary of anyone else who might be following the same path you are.”

  “You mean—”

  “We became involved because a man was attacked. There is no reason not to believe others might be attacked as well.”

  “The man who was attacked in Echigo killed his assailant.”

  “Who, apparently, was a ninja. As you know, ninjas do not act on their own.”

  That was true. When Seikei had last faced a ninja—the man called Kitsune—it was to find out who had paid him to murder a daimyo. Ninjas were trained killers, willing to undertake any task and—some said—possessed of supernatural powers. Seikei shivered as he remembered the odd feeling he had experienced after leaving Rofu’s hideout. He had no wish to encounter a ninja again.

  After leaving the judge, he forced himself to walk steadily down the street. If something was following him, he would outdistance it.

  The street widened in front of the Pure Land Temple, providing a space for entertainers and sellers of goods. Seikei stopped to take in the crowded scene. Three musicians, each with a different-size drum, accompanied by another with a variety of gongs, provided a background theme to the activities. A juggler maintained five balls in the air at one time, and a family of acrobats formed a human pyramid with the youngest child (who looked as if she couldn’t walk yet) at the top. Shoppers thronged the square, examining the merchandise for sale: kimonos, jewelry, fruit, tea, tabi sandals and the bowls of steaming hot noodles that were sold nearly everywhere in Edo.

  Suddenly Seikei saw a monkey scampering around the legs of the people in the crowd. Occasionally it would stop and throw out its hands as if begging. A few people good-naturedly gave it nuts or pieces of fruit. Seikei watched it carefully, however, and saw the monkey slip its hand into a bag held by a woman who wasn’t paying attention. The creature pulled out a coin and ran off, undetected. Seikei tried to follow, but couldn’t get through the crowd as fast as the monkey. It soon slipped out of sight. Seikei could only continue in the direction it had been heading.

  He passed through the densest part of the crowd and looked around. The monkey was nowhere to be seen. To Seikei’s right was a side entrance to the temple grounds. On the left was a dingy little street that seemed utterly deserted. Ahead was a row of shops, but he could see no sign that anyone had traveled that way.

  Then a man appeared at the narrow temple entrance. The first thing Seikei noticed was how short he was. The man glanced briefly at Seikei, but then turned his attention elsewhere. He carried a small knife, but not to threaten anyone. Instead, he cut a pear in two and began to eat half of it. As he did, Seikei could see the now-familiar marks between his fingers. Here indeed was the person he was looking for.

  The sight of the fruit instantly caused a chatter above them. Seikei looked up to the temple roof, spotting the monkey, which dropped into the man’s arms. He gave the monkey the other half of the pear. The animal, as if paying for it, handed him the stolen coin. Contentedly, the monkey settled on the man’s shoulder, enjoying his reward.

  Seikei took a step forward, uncertain how to approach the man. “That’s a clever monkey,” he said.

  The man didn’t reply. His face looked as if he had endured many hardships in his life. The skin hung slackly from his skull, and even his ears seemed to droop. Only his eyes showed a flicker of wariness. Seikei had a feeling that the man was perpetually on guard against some hidden danger.

  “Does he do tricks?” Seikei asked in what he hoped was a friendly manner.

  “If he feels like it,” the man responded.

  Seikei took a coin from his sleeve and held it up. The eyes of both man and monkey followed the motion greedily.

  The monkey had finished its treat by now. All at once it fell to the ground and let out a cry. It began to limp, using one leg gingerly as if he had hurt it.

  Sympathetic, Seikei leaned over to see what was the matter. The monkey reached out in a flash and snatched the coin from his hand. Before Seikei could react, the monkey scampered up the side of the gate and sat on the roof, well out of reach.

  “That was a trick,” said the man.

  Seikei didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. “That monkey could get you into trouble,” he said.

  “Why?” asked the man.

  “Because stealing is a crime.”

  “Tell that to the monkey.”

  Seikei looked up. The monkey grinned at him.

  Time to start over. “I guess you must live in the temple grounds here,” Seikei said.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “No harm in that either. When I have an extra coin or two, I donate it to the monks.”

  “Do they know the money is stolen?”

  “If it is or not, I didn’t steal it.”

  “Maybe you have something that you could sell and live . . .” Seikei was going to say “honestly,” but changed his mind. “. . . differently.”

  “I have nothing to sell,” said the man. “The monkey doesn’t belong to me.”

  “Whose is he?”

  “He’s just a monkey. He’s my friend. Would you sell your friend?”

  “I didn’t mean that you should sell it,” said Seikei. “I was thinking of something else.”

  “What?”

  “How about that tattoo you have on your back?”

  The little man’s reaction was swift and unexpected. He turned and ran down the narrow street opposite the temple entrance.

  It took a moment for Seikei to recover and run after him. “Wait!” he called. “You have nothing to fear from—”

  Something slipped between Seikei’s ankles and he tripped, spreading flat on the dusty street. Scrambling to his knees, he realized that it had been the monkey who had tripped him. The creature now sat atop a pole holding a shop banner, still grinning. Seikei wished he had something to throw at it.

  He brushed himself off and saw that the monkey’s “friend” had disappeared. There was nothing to do but return and tell the judge of his failure.

  No. An idea came to him. He walked back to the main street, looking for a shop that would have what he needed. Soon he entered one, made a purchase and emerged. The monkey, luckily, was still overhead, watching Seikei curiously.

  Seikei took another coin from his pocket, held it up and walked in the direction of the monastery. It didn’t take long for the monkey to appear in front of him, falling on the ground, playing the “hurt monkey” trick again. Seikei was insulted that the creature thought he would fall for that a second time.

  Still, he leaned over, making sympathetic sounds, drawing closer to the monkey. This time, when the creature’s hand shot out for the coin, Seikei was ready. He threw his brand-new fishing net over the monkey’s body. Startled, the creature’s first reaction was to try to jump into the air. That only encircled him further in the webbing, and Seikei pulled it tight.

  The monkey screeched with rage and tried to bite Seikei, but he was well trapped. “Now,” Seikei said, “let’s see how badly your friend wants to have you back.”

  6

  SEVEN MEN, SEVEN MAPS

  Did you bring something for your dinner?” Bunzo asked. Seikei carried the netted monkey into the official residence the judge used in Edo. He had a larger, more comfortable estate outside the city, which he preferred. But his duties required him to stay here most of the time.

  “This is a monkey that has been trained to steal,” Seikei said. He set it on the floor. “I’m hoping its owner—that is, the man who uses him—will come looking for it. I told a monk at the temple where he stays how to find me.”

  “You can’t keep it in that net,” Bunzo commented. “Monkeys die if they can’t get exercise.”

&nb
sp; “Well, how else can I stop it from running away?” Seikei asked.

  Bunzo went somewhere and returned with a long strip of leather. He squatted down by the monkey, which cringed as if it feared the massive samurai. “Don’t worry,” Bunzo said. He scratched the monkey’s back. “I won’t hurt you.”

  To Seikei’s amazement, the monkey sat quietly as Bunzo fashioned a collar from the leather and slipped it around the monkey’s neck. He lifted the net and the monkey scampered toward the doorway. However, it stopped when it reached the end of its leash. “Not so fast,” Bunzo said. “You’ll have to be our guest for a while longer.” He looked at Seikei. “We could just let him go, and follow him back to the man you want.”

  “Over the rooftops?” asked Seikei. “No, this man is a slippery one, and if you want to know the truth, Bunzo, I need you to capture him.”

  “What will we do with him?” Bunzo asked, taking it for granted that apprehending the man would be a simple task.

  “Take him to the judge for questioning,” Seikei said. “And possibly look at his back.”

  “Another of these fellows with the maps, eh?”

  “I think so,” said Seikei. “He ran away when I mentioned it.”

  “By the way, I went back to the place where you found the second man with a map,” Bunzo said. “He had already fled, as we thought he would. But what I found in his hiding place indicates he was a small-time thief.”

  “What did you find?”

  “A number of objects that seemed out of place. Some carvings from a Buddhist temple. Several kimonos made of fine silk that were much too good for that neighborhood. Strangest of all, there was a gold bracelet with some precious gems set in it.”

  “Why is that so strange? I mean, since you think Rofu is a thief anyway?”

  “Much too expensive for a thief who lives in a hole in the ground. If he came across such an object, he would sell it at once.”

  “Maybe he stole it recently.”

  “No. It would have been reported. The judge would know by now.”

  “Why didn’t Rofu take it with him if it’s so valuable?”

  “Too dangerous to carry around, is my guess.”

  Seikei recalled what Rofu had said when he let Seikei copy the map. “I have a reason. Perhaps you will discover it. For your sake, I hope not.”

  Mulling this over, he sat down to a light meal of rice and shellfish. He was tired and knew Bunzo could be trusted to keep watch all night if necessary. Even when Bunzo did sleep, Seikei thought he did it with one eye open. After reporting to the judge why there was now a monkey in the house, Seikei went to his room, removed his outer clothes and lay down to sleep.

  It seemed as if he had just closed his eyes when shouts awakened him. He threw on a kimono and ran to the court-yard in back of the house. The moon was high in the sky, giving enough light for Seikei to see. Bunzo was holding the owner—the friend—of the monkey. The man’s protests were of no avail—just like his efforts to run, since Bunzo was holding him high off the ground.

  “I’ve done nothing! Let me go!” the man shouted. The monkey was at the end of its leash, screeching and apparently ready to help his friend escape from Bunzo’s grasp.

  Just then, the judge arrived, carrying an oil lamp. “Silence!” he shouted, and even the monkey turned meekly quiet.

  “I am Judge Ooka,” Seikei’s foster father announced. “May I ask who you are and why you have invaded my home?”

  Seikei saw the man cringe when he learned whose house this was. “My . . . my name is Ito,” he said. “I only came here to rescue Bula.”

  The judge’s eyebrows went up. “This is Bula?” he said, gesturing toward the monkey.

  Ito nodded.

  “I understand you use him to steal,” the judge said.

  “He’s . . . mischievous,” Ito muttered.

  “We can discuss that later,” the judge replied. “Right now, I would like to see what is on your back.”

  Ito reacted as if he wanted to run again, but Bunzo had a firm grip on him. “What for?” he cried helplessly, his feet wriggling in the air.

  “I am the shogun’s officer,” replied the judge. “I do not have to explain my reasons to you. Bunzo, remove his garment.”

  Ito’s struggles only delayed the inevitable. Bunzo was twice his size, and picked him up as easily as he had lifted the monkey. “This isn’t right!” Ito shouted. “What gives you the right to do this?”

  “The shogun,” said the judge. “The shogun decides what is right and what is not.” He motioned to Bunzo, and in a moment Ito’s jacket was off. They could see the tattoo, which was unmistakably a match for the others.

  “Get your brush and paper,” the judge told Seikei.

  By the time he returned, the judge had begun to question Ito. The monkey-keeper sat on the floor now, though Bunzo stood by in case he should attempt to flee.

  “Why would you allow something as elaborate as that tattoo to be put on your body?” asked the judge. At his direction, Seikei sat behind Ito and began to copy the tattoo. He glanced occasionally at the judge’s face, wondering how angry he really was.

  “We were paid to do it,” Ito said simply. “If I were a gardener, I would plant flowers for anyone who hired me, without asking why.”

  “This seems considerably more drastic than planting flowers.”

  Ito shrugged. “We were young. The others seemed to think it was a good idea. I went along. We had already put these ya-ku-za tattoos on our hands, to show that we didn’t care what others thought of us. Getting the tattoos on our backs was like that, only bigger. My friends would have made fun of me if I hadn’t done it. It was kind of a dare. I didn’t know . . .” He trailed off.

  “How many of you were there?” The question was asked casually, but Seikei knew it was an important one.

  Ito hesitated. “You’ll never find them all,” he said.

  “Thank you for your concern,” said the judge. “How many?”

  “One of them is dead.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Well . . . there were seven of us, at the beginning.”

  Seven, Seikei thought. And this was the third map he’d copied. One man was dead. That left three more. But what if it was necessary to have all seven maps to find the hidden weapons?

  The judge nodded. “Very good,” he said, as if Ito was a schoolboy who had passed a test. Seikei expected him to ask now for the names of the other men who had tattoos.

  Instead, he said, “Who paid you to let your back be used this way?”

  Ito shook his head. “We were warned that to reveal that meant death.”

  “How long ago was this?” the judge asked.

  “Ten years.”

  “Perhaps the need to keep the secret has lessened with time.”

  “The person who warned us is still alive, if that’s what you mean.”

  The judge nodded. “However, he is not here.”

  Ito raised his head as if he were going to say something, but then decided to keep his mouth shut.

  “I am here,” the judge continued. “You are my prisoner. I can have Bunzo use other methods to persuade you to talk. He can be quite forceful.”

  Seikei was a little surprised to hear the judge’s threat. He often told Seikei that torture was useless in obtaining the truth, for a prisoner might say anything to halt the process. “They would only tell me what they think I want to hear, or expect to hear,” the judge had said.

  Of course Ito didn’t know the judge’s true feelings, but clearly he seemed more afraid of the person who had warned him. He only shook his head slightly in the face of the threat.

  “Why did you try to have the tattoo removed?” asked the judge.

  “How did you—” Ito began, but then realized that the tattoo artist must have spread the story. He sat, silent, while the judge waited patiently. Seikei saw beads of sweat break out on the man’s back, even though the evening was a cool one.

  Seikei put his brush
down. “Are you finished?” the judge asked him.

  “Yes,” Seikei said.

  “Again, I ask you for the name of the person who paid you,” the judge said to Ito. “I cannot wait all night.”

  “Whatever you do to me,” said Ito, “it will be no worse than my fate if I tell you.”

  “His name?” repeated the judge. Ito shook his head.

  The judge pressed his lips together. “You are a brave man,” he said, “but I wonder if you are willing to let your little friend suffer. Bunzo, take this monkey and—”

  “Wait!” Ito cried as Bunzo stepped forward. “It . . . it wasn’t a man who paid us.”

  “No?”

  “It was a woman. A powerful woman. One you won’t be able to . . . She’ll destroy you.”

  “Then it’s even more important to me that I know her name,” the judge said.

  “Lady Osuni.” Ito spat it out like a challenge.

  Seikei recognized the name. The Osunis were among the most powerful of the outer lords, the noble families who were among the last to surrender to Tokugawa Ieyasu, the shogun’s ancestor. For that reason, the Tokugawas had always been particularly distrustful of them.

  “It was ten years ago,” the judge said softly, “that Lord Osuni died. It was a strange affair. He was drowned while fishing.” He stopped to think. “But afterward, his body was carried off by some wild creature. Or so the story went.”

  “Lady Osuni thought the shogun was responsible,” Ito replied. “She swore revenge. Her son was then only twelve years old, and she had to make sure he would someday inherit the Osuni lands. There was a map . . .” Ito paused and shook his head.

  The judge finished the story for him. “Showing where one of the earlier Osuni lords had hidden a cache of weapons, preparing for the day when they would stage a rebellion against the shogun.”

  Ito stared at the judge as if he had suddenly sprouted wings and begun to fly. “How did you . . . ?”

  The judge waved his hand. “I saw the mark on the map. Once I heard it was Lady Osuni’s map, the rest was obvious.”