“I will do as you wish, Father.”
“Do not forget that I rely on you to say the memorial prayers for me for forty-nine days after I am dead.”
Seikei was concerned. “Father, aren’t you feeling well?”
The judge smiled. “Perfectly well. That is why I hope you will value your own safety a bit more.”
9
THE CARPENTER’S SURPRISE
The judge told Seikei to take along copies of the three maps they had already seen. “If you find Korin, ask him if he recognizes any of the landmarks on them. Since it seems one of the seven maps may be impossible for us to recover, we will have to do our best with those we can obtain.”
By the time Seikei arose in the morning, Bunzo had already left to look for the firefighter. Noka fixed a bento box for Seikei to take. He knew it would contain all of his favorite foods.
Though Seikei was sixteen now, Noka still treated him as if he were a child. “Be sure to remember to eat,” she told him.
“I’ll bet you didn’t tell Bunzo to eat when he left,” Seikei said.
“He doesn’t need to eat,” Noka said. “He’s big enough.”
Even the judge’s mind seemed to be more on food than solving the crime. “If you can, bring back some of that green tea,” he said absentmindedly as Seikei was saddling his horse. Shizuoka was famous for its green tea.
Seikei rode off, starting to feel that the judge’s main purpose in sending him to Shizuoka was to get him out of harm’s way. Of course Korin might be there, but he could be in any of a thousand other places as well.
The Tokaido Road, the great highway that connected Edo, Kyoto and Osaka, was crowded as usual. No carts were permitted here, so those without horses had to carry their belongings and merchandise on their backs. Some rigged palanquins that enabled two people, or even four, to share heavy loads. But the majority shouldered boxes of tea, or bags of rice, or whatever else they hoped to sell. Others carried the tools of their trade, and there were, as the judge had guessed, many with the hammers and saws that identified them as carpenters.
From horseback, Seikei glanced down as he passed each group, looking for his only clue: the tattooed numbers ya-ku-za. One barrel-chested man attracted Seikei’s attention because he was wearing gloves. Of course they were only the work gloves that many carpenters used to protect their hands. When the man noticed Seikei staring at him, he asked, “Are you in need of a carpenter, sir?”
Seikei had donned plain clothes because he didn’t want to make it known that he was the son of a high official, but his hair and swords still marked him as a samurai. “No,” he replied, but the man continued as if Seikei hadn’t spoken: “Because I do the finest work. Careful, straight cuts. Small jobs or large. Clean, neat and honest. You won’t need to hide your valuables when I’m around.”
“I really don’t need a carpenter,” said Seikei.
“You know,” the man replied, “that’s when you need a carpenter most, when you don’t think you do.”
Seikei urged his horse forward, but though the carpenter’s legs were short, he could walk fast. And talk at the same time. “The hidden leak in the roof that can cause a tremendous expense if it’s not fixed soon, the termites under the floor, the loose steps that some loved one can slip on and fall . . . You have aged parents?”
Unfortunately the road was too crowded for Seikei to simply gallop off. “I’m looking for someone with numbers between his fingers,” Seikei said, merely to shut the man up.
“Beg pardon?”
“Numbers tattooed between his fingers,” Seikei said. “Seen anyone like that?”
The man’s sudden silence was surprising enough to make Seikei look down. He saw the man appraising him carefully.
“You do know someone like that?” Seikei asked.
“Would it . . . be worth something to you if I did?” he replied, rubbing his chin.
“Well . . . yes.” Seikei had never had to bribe anyone for information. He wasn’t sure how much to offer. “But I’d need to see the person.”
“Oh, you could see him. That would be no problem.”
“Do you happen to know . . . if he has a large tattoo on his back?” Seikei asked.
A look of alarm momentarily passed across the man’s face, and Seikei was afraid he’d said the wrong thing. “Well,” the man said, “it’s better not to mention that, sir. He’s a bit sensitive about it.”
“All right, but when can I see him?”
“Um, there was that little matter of . . .” The man winked.
“Oh, yes. I forgot. How much do you want?”
“Say five ryo? ” the man suggested.
Seikei wasn’t sure if that was too high a price, but he agreed. However, when he saw the man trying to control the smile that spread across his face, he realized it was too much. Still, it would help him carry out his assignment.
At least he knew enough to refuse to give the man the money until he actually brought Korin to Seikei. They agreed to meet that evening at a noodle shop in Shizuoka. The man, who gave his name as Bunji, told Seikei how to get there.
Shizuoka did not appear to be an exciting place. Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, had gone to live there in his retirement. Otherwise, its importance came from its location on the Tokaido Road. Thus, many travelers stopped there for the night. Unfortunately the recent fire had destroyed many of the city’s inns, and most travelers now went on to the next town on the road. It cost Seikei ten ryo in “thank money” to get even a small room in a second-class inn. This was becoming an expensive trip!
After a bath in a wooden tub of not-very-hot water, Seikei set out for the noodle shop. It was in a section of town that catered to rough-living workmen in search of entertainment. Though the sun had barely set, men who appeared to have already had too much sake staggered out of doorways. In front of other establishments, women encouraged customers to come inside for music and other pleasures. Dressed as geishas, these women seemed only shabby imitations to Seikei. He had known truly glamorous geishas while helping solve a case in the Yoshiwara section of Edo. Still, unlike other parts of the city, this neighborhood did a thriving business. There were many carpenters, roofers and masonry workers in the city, and few places for them to spend their wages.
The noodle shop was so crowded that Seikei could hardly squeeze through the door. Though the room held a few low tables and mats, most people simply obtained a bowl of noodles from a serving counter, and stood slurping the broth directly from the bowl.
Seikei followed suit. Though he was hungry, having finished his bento box meal on the road, he was horrified at how bad the soup was. The broth would have been better if it had been merely water. Instead it tasted like . . . Seikei couldn’t actually think of anything this bad that he’d ever tasted before. And the noodles had been cooked so long that they were mushy.
He was distracted when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to find Bunji standing there. “How do you like the noodles?” he asked Seikei. “Delicious, eh?”
Seikei wondered if the man could be serious. Instead of answering, he asked, “Have you brought the man with the tattoo?”
“He wasn’t hungry, so he’s waiting for us outside.” Seikei thought this showed good sense if Korin had ever eaten in the noodle shop before. He set down his own bowl and motioned for Bunji to lead the way.
“Did you bring the seven ryo?” Bunji asked.
“We agreed on five ryo,” Seikei replied.
“Oh, yes, I forgot,” said the man, waving his hand. Seikei noticed he was still wearing his work gloves.
“I have the money,” said Seikei, “but you can’t have it till I see the man.”
“He’s in one of the geisha houses.”
Seikei began to grow suspicious. “I thought you said he was outside.”
Bunji smiled. “It’s hard to keep him in one place. I told you he was sensitive about his tattoo. What do you want with him anyway?”
“I’ll let him kn
ow that when we meet,” said Seikei. “Do you want the five ryo or not?”
“Sure, sure,” said Bunji. “Just follow me.” He started down the street. The trip was farther than Seikei expected. They went beyond the busiest area, and as Seikei looked ahead, all he could see were the remnants of some buildings that had been destroyed in the recent fire. Before he could ask where they were going, however, two men came out of an alley in front of him. Seikei reached for his sword a moment too late. Bunji had grabbed his arm, and in a flash one of the men seized the other.
“Don’t let him draw the sword,” the third man said. He pulled open Seikei’s jacket and began to search him.
“He’s got money, I know it,” Bunji said to his accomplices.
Seikei struggled, but the two men who held him were stronger. Angrily, he lifted his legs to shove the third man away. “Help!” he shouted, knowing that they were probably too far from the crowds for him to be heard.
Suddenly, something swift and black sped past Seikei’s head. He heard one of the men holding him cry out. A rustle of cloth preceded a cry from Bunji. Seikei felt them release his arms. In front of him, Seikei saw a look of fear cross the third man’s face before he was struck down by what looked like a heavy black pole.
Without knowing what he would be fighting, Seikei started to draw his sword. Then a hand covered his own, and a feeling of calm spread through his body. “No need for that,” he heard a voice say.
Somehow, he believed it, and let his sword fall back into place. Seikei turned to see a face he had hoped never to see again. Smoothing out his black kosode was the ninja Kitsune.
10
WARN FIRST, THEN KILL
Seikei stammered without making sense, for he didn’t know what to say. “How did you—” But then he remembered Kitsune was a master of the martial arts, and now saw him tucking away a hana-neji,a thick, short fighting stick. Pitting him against three carpenters wasn’t fair—for the carpenters.
“Why did you—” Seikei began again. That seemed like a better question.
“Don’t samurai have manners any longer?” Kitsune said. The distinctive yellow eyes flickered in Seikei’s direction. “Or do you just take it as part of your due that people should save your life whenever possible?”
“I think they were only going to rob me,” said Seikei.
“Oh, my mistake,” said Kitsune. He nodded toward the three figures on the ground. “Shall we wake them up and let them continue?”
“No,” said Seikei. “You’re correct. I owe you my thanks. But why—”
“Not out of any affection, I assure you.” Kitsune put his face close to Seikei’s. Numerous scars bore testimony to the life Kitsune had led. “I thought I recognized you, back in Edo, when you were following the monkey man. I saw you once before, on Miwayama, didn’t I?”
Seikei nodded. He might as well admit it.
“You had a gofu to protect you then, as I recall?”
The stone with spiritual power had been given to Seikei by Kitsune’s brother, who owed Judge Ooka a favor.
“But I sense you don’t have one now,” Kitsune said slowly.
Seikei made no response to that.
“Nevertheless,” said Kitsune, “I am a merciful person. Before I kill you, I will give you a warning.”
The ninja moved another step forward. Seikei refused to retreat. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“You cannot defeat me,” Kitsune said.
“Then I will die in the attempt,” Seikei replied.
Kitsune considered this, then shook his head. “There is no reason for us to fight at all.”
“I was not threatening you,” said Seikei.
“You are doing it without realizing it,” Kitsune replied. “For example, what brings you to Shizuoka?”
“Well . . .” Seikei was certain Kitsune knew the answer, but why tell him?
“You are looking for a certain carpenter, who has a tattoo on his back,” Kitsune said. “But do you see the problem that presents for me?”
“What?”
“I want that tattoo, and so you cannot have it.”
“We could both have it,” said Seikei.
If the ninja were capable of a smile, one might have crossed his face then. “Sharing,” he said, drawing the word out so that Seikei felt foolish. “I’ve often had people suggest that to me. One time, a man stole a bag of coins from his employer, a powerful daimyo. The daimyo hired me to recover the money and punish the thief. He didn’t care so much about the money, but the insult to his high status was insufferable. He wanted to set an example.
“The thief was not so difficult to find—for me—and when he learned what I was there for, he offered to share the loot. He was generous. Half of it would be for me. All I had to do was let him go.” He looked at Seikei. “What should I have done?” he asked.
“You said you were merciful,” Seikei reminded him.
Kitsune raised a finger as if scolding a pupil. “But not foolish. Why let him have half when I could take all? Which I did, of course. You see, when people offer to share, I take it as a sign of weakness. I never share. I don’t have to. I brought the thief’s head to the daimyo and told him the man had spent the money. The daimyo was pleased, as I knew he would be. None of his servants ever stole from him again.”
Seikei swallowed hard and said, “But this is a different situation.”
“Oh, it’s very similar, I assure you. My employer wants the maps only for herself. She doesn’t wish to share.” He cocked his head sideways. “But perhaps you have some maps you wish to share with me? How many? Did you get the one from the monkey man?”
“Did you kill him?” Seikei asked.
Kitsune waved away the question. “That is water under the bridge, if you catch my drift.”
“You didn’t have to kill him.”
“That was part of the agreement he made.”
“What agreement?”
“He, along with the others, was paid to carry a map on his back. They all knew that someday they would be required to give up the map. Now, wouldn’t you know, they’re making it difficult. That’s why I was brought in.”
“Was it you who stripped the skin from the man who was attacked in the rice field?”
“Are you looking for me to confess to crimes again? Because I am well aware of who your father is.”
“Why not just draw a copy of the map? Why take the skin?”
“Is that what you’re doing? Drawing? How many do you have?”
“Enough,” said Seikei.
Kitsune sneered. “Who are you trying to fool? I’m insulted now, I really am. In the first place, you waste time making drawings. If someone is running away from you, which is more efficient, drawing him or killing him? Second, the drawings may not be accurate. How do you know what’s important and what is only a mole, a scar, a mosquito bite? I’ll wager you don’t even know where the place is that’s on these maps.”
He eyed Seikei, who realized he was being tested and tried to appear knowledgeable.
“Finally,” Kitsune continued, “you cannot possibly assemble all the maps. I have good reason to know. Once I have a map, it can never be yours. So your task is hopeless.” His yellow eyes blazed like lanterns. “Go home. Play with your toys. Stay out of my way. That is your warning.”
He looked down. “And you’d better start now, because your friends are starting to come to.”
It was true. The three thieves were moaning softly. “I don’t think they’ll put up a fight,” Seikei said. But he realized he was talking to the air. Kitsune had dissolved into the night, and Seikei knew it was useless to try to follow him. He drew his short sword, which was sharp enough to frighten the trio.
“I could kill you if I wished,” Seikei told Bunji and his accomplices. They knew he spoke the truth. Any samurai could take the life of a common workman. The fact that they had attacked him was reason enough to do so. They sat rubbing their heads and looking warily at Seikei.
“Tell me one thing and I may be merciful to you,” Seikei said, hoping he sounded as menacing as Kitsune.
“What is that?” asked Bunji.
“Tell him anything he wants, you fool,” said one of his friends.
That was what Seikei was afraid of—that they would tell any lie to get him to let them go free.
“I want to know where to find the carpenter with the tattoo on his back.”
Bunji didn’t reply. Seikei saw the calculating look on his face again. Whether he was figuring out a convincing lie or wondering if he should betray the man with the tattoo, Seikei didn’t know.
The friend started to speak. “He’s—” But Bunji interrupted.
“He’ll be helping to rebuild the Rinzaiji Temple,” Bunji said. The other two man looked at each other, making Seikei suspicious.
“All right,” said Seikei. “Now get up. I’m going to take you to the local magistrate.”
“What?” the other man exclaimed. “You said you would let us go.”
“I said I would be merciful,” Seikei replied. “The magistrate will detain you for only a day or two. I can’t have you warning this man that I’m looking for him.”
“He already—” the other man began, but Bunji hushed him with a wave of his gloved hand. That was bad, Seikei thought, because it meant his quarry would be on guard.
The trio continued to protest, but Seikei had the sword, and they obeyed.
When they reached the local magistrate’s headquarters, it turned out that the man knew Judge Ooka, and was cooperative. “I can hold them as long as you wish,” he told Seikei.
“A couple of days should be fine for my purpose,” Seikei told him. “But they’re thieves.”
“I’ll make sure they leave town when they are released,” said the magistrate.
Seikei accepted the magistrate’s offer of a room for the night and in the morning set out for the Rinzaiji Temple. In this part of town, the fire had burned most fiercely, and whole blocks of buildings were nothing but flat, charred ruins. When he approached the temple, however, he saw that some of the structures were still standing.
Seven Paths to Death Page 6