Seven Paths to Death

by Dorothy Hoobler

  “I must,” Seikei responded. “I’m looking for a samurai who may be—” Loyalty to Bunzo made him unwilling to finish the sentence. Bunzo couldn’t be wounded or dead. That was impossible. But then, why had the ninja escaped from his trap? “He’s . . . having trouble,” Seikei finally explained.

  “Everyone back there is having trouble,” the firefighter told him. “The air is filled with poison. If you breathe it, you get sick. Who knows? Maybe die. I dragged two men away from it after they passed out. There may be more back there.”

  “Then I must see if my friend is there,” Seikei said. He touched the hilt of his sword.

  The firefighter, who was not a samurai, shrugged. “I warned you,” he said, and turned his back.

  Seikei took a deep breath and rushed forward. If the air was bad, then he would just have to force himself not to breathe.

  13

  “I CAN TELL WHEN PEOPLE ARE LYING”

  The flames were still licking away at the rear of the building. They made it easier to see, and as soon as Seikei rounded the corner, he spotted a body on the ground. His heart leaped.

  A moment later he realized it was a firefighter, not Bunzo. The man had carried a pail of water, which rested on the ground beside him, still full. He evidently had collapsed slowly, almost as if he had fallen asleep.

  Seikei moved on. It was becoming more difficult to hold his breath. Then he saw what he most feared: Bunzo, lying near the spot where the fire had apparently begun. Next to him, planted firmly in the earth, was a large incense stick. At least that was what it resembled: the tip gave off a thin trail of smoke as it burned without a flame.

  Realizing it must be the source of the poisonous air, Seikei ran back to the side of the building. He fell to his knees and drew in lungfuls of fresh air. He feared he wasn’t far enough away, but he had to breathe. After a moment, he felt slightly dizzy, but not as if he were going to pass out.

  He told himself to think clearly. Bunzo and the firefighter only appeared to be sleeping, but what if they continued to breathe the poisonous air? Seikei realized what he had to do. He ran back to the firefighter and picked up the bucket of water. It was heavy. Firefighters built up the muscles in their arms through constant practice and exercise. Seikei had to half-carry, half-drag the bucket to where Bunzo lay. There he yanked the burning stick from the ground and plunged it into the bucket of water. He heard a low hissing sound.

  Still trying not to breathe, he ran back a safe distance again. He didn’t know how long it would take the poisonous air to disappear, but after a few anxious moments he saw Bunzo begin to stir.

  Seikei ran to his side. “Bunzo!” he cried. “Are you all right?”

  Bunzo shook his head. “Get away from here,” he said weakly. “There’s something wrong with the air.”

  “No, I fixed that.” Quickly, Seikei explained.

  After a while Bunzo got up, rubbing his head. “What happened to the prisoner?” he asked.

  Seikei hung his head. “I lost him,” he admitted. “Kitsune must have him. I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” said Bunzo. “I was the one who was overconfident, not him. I ran back here expecting to fight him. I didn’t even see him—nothing here but a burning stick.”

  “He didn’t defeat you in a fair fight,” Seikei said. “It was a trick.”

  “But we knew ninjas have plenty of those, didn’t we?” said Bunzo. “Next time . . .” He didn’t finish his thought. “For now, we must return to Edo and tell the judge we have failed.”

  When they arrived, the judge saw by the looks on their faces what had happened. He listened to the story without comment, but then said, “You succeeded in the most important thing.”

  “What was that?” said Seikei. He had remembered to buy green tea before leaving Shizuoka. Perhaps the judge regarded that as the most vital part of his mission.

  “You have brought back a copy of the map,” the judge said.

  “Well, yes,” Seikei said, “but Kitsune has that map too. We wanted to keep it away from him.”

  “A pity, yes, but we have learned a bit more about Kitsune,” said the judge.

  “He said that if he had taken a map, it could never be mine.”

  “Apparently because he removes the skin that holds the map,” said the judge. “A sloppy procedure, I might add. It was correct of you to think you should keep the carpenter away from Kitsune. Too bad the carpenter didn’t see the wisdom of it.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me who he was in the first place?” Seikei asked.

  “Fear,” said the judge. “The men who carry these maps have an idea what fate has in store for them. When they allowed themselves to be tattooed, they saw only the money that was promised. They didn’t understand that the path shown on their backs would one day lead to death.”

  “And now they do,” Seikei said. “But what about Boko, the first one to die? We don’t have his map, and can’t get it.”

  “A difficulty, to be sure,” the judge said. “But we have two maps that Kitsune does not have.”

  Seikei was surprised, but then began to think about it. “The firefighter,” he said. “Bunzo told me you found him.”

  “Yes. He’s here in my house. In a little while you will copy his map.”

  “Who is the other? Did you find the gambler too?”

  “Not yet. But while you and Bunzo were gone, I did a little work myself.” He smiled. “Not physical work, to be sure. But I sent two trusted men to a place you and Bunzo had visited before.”

  “Where was that?”

  “The hiding place of the thief named Rofu. And look what they returned with.” The judge tapped a small gong, and two samurai entered the room, holding a chastened Rofu between them. When he looked up and saw Seikei, his knees buckled.

  “Let him go,” said the judge. “I think he understands that he cannot escape.”

  Rofu fell to his knees and then prostrated himself in front of the judge.

  “Rofu,” said the judge, “I believe my son told you I would like to ask you some questions.”

  A muffled sound came from the floor.

  “Come, come, Rofu, sit up so we can hear you,” said the judge.

  Slowly Rofu rose, but he remained kneeling. His eyes flicked around the room, noticing everything, including Bunzo and the guards. Though he tried to appear as humble as possible, it was clear he was calculating what story would be most likely to get him out of trouble.

  “Rofu,” the judge said in a tone that immediately brought Rofu’s eyes to him. “I want you to know something.”

  “Yes, your honor,” Rofu said, all attention and respect.

  “I can tell when people are lying to me.”

  Rofu nodded and attempted to smile. The expression on his face was more like that of a person suffering from gas. Seikei had to carefully hide his own smile. The judge had told him people were more likely to betray themselves if they thought he could detect their lies.

  Once, when the judge was a young man, he had to discover who had stolen some money that an old woman had hidden inside a pickle jar. The household had many servants, but all denied being the guilty party. The judge had gathered them together and announced that he intended to smell their hands since the thief had dipped his fingers into the pickle brine.

  “Now, the theft had taken place two days earlier,” the judge had told Seikei. “So the odor of pickles would probably have faded. But I watched carefully as I made my announcement, and one man in the back lifted his hand to smell his fingers. That was the thief. Knowing that made it easy to get him to confess.”

  In the same way, now that Rofu believed the judge could tell when he was lying, he would be much more nervous if he tried to lie.

  “Let us begin again,” said the judge. “You do remember that my son said I would like to ask you some questions?”

  “Yes,” admitted Rofu.

  “Then why did you hide when my assistant Bunzo came to visit?”

  Rofu
looked at Bunzo. “Is that who—I mean . . .”

  “Bunzo found some things in your hiding place under the street,” the judge continued. He motioned for Bunzo to display them. Rofu’s mouth twitched as Bunzo brought out the two Buddhist figurines and the chest of silk kimonos.

  “Merchandise,” Rofu said finally. “I am a merchant.”

  “Where did you obtain this merchandise?” the judge asked.

  Rofu waved his hands vaguely. “People bring these things to me. I pay for them. I paid for everything you have there.”

  “Would it surprise you to learn that any of these items had been stolen?”

  Rofu licked his lips. “If they are, I had no knowledge of it. A merchant must deal with the people who come to him to buy and sell.”

  “Even if the merchant lives in a hole in the ground,” the judge added dryly. “Why do you have such an unusual place of business?”

  “I find it safer there,” Rofu replied.

  “I have one other item that Bunzo found,” the judge said. He held up the gold bracelet set with glittering gems, which Bunzo had thought too expensive for a petty thief to possess.

  Rofu’s face paled, and he started to reach for the bracelet before he caught himself. “That’s . . .” he began to say, but changed his mind and said, “You must be mistaken. I’ve never seen that bracelet before.”

  The judge sighed. “Didn’t I say I could tell when you were lying?” Seikei smiled, for even he could tell this was a lie.

  But Rofu was stubborn. “Anyone could have left it there.”

  Seikei thought the judge would press him further. Instead, he took another path entirely.

  “The tattoo on your back . . . You allowed my son to copy it, when you could easily have gotten away. Why was that?”

  “What harm was there in that?” Rofu’s smile was very weak now. “He said you wanted a copy. I always cooperate with the shogun’s officials when I can.”

  The judge shook his head. “You said you had a reason. I believe the reason was that you intended to put him in danger.”

  Rofu’s hands began to tremble. He realized it, and put them flat on the floor so they wouldn’t move. “I would never do that, your honor,” he said.

  “No?” the judge said. “Suppose I just let you go now, and allow you to walk home?”

  Seikei looked at the judge to see if he was joking. But he appeared sincere. However, the offer had the opposite effect from what Seikei expected. Rofu lay flat on the floor again, pleading, “Sir, your honor, I beg you, don’t do that to me.”

  14

  THE SCARRED MAN

  What are you afraid of?” the judge asked Rofu. “No one here has harmed you. I have not even threatened to torture you, which as you know I very well could. Yet you seem fearful when all I offered to do was set you free.”

  “You know why,” Rofu said after a pause.

  “Well, if I already know why,” said the judge, “then there is no reason for you not to tell me. Come, look at me so we can speak.”

  Rofu sat up again, but looked nervously at Seikei, not the judge. “Nothing happened to him, so it’s all right,” Rofu said. Seikei realized Rofu meant him.

  “No, he is safe,” said the judge. “But when you sent him outside your hiding place, you thought a ninja might attack him, didn’t you?”

  “No, I swear I didn’t. You see, if he—your son—had a copy of the map, then the ninja would only have to take it from him. No reason to hurt him at all.”

  “Whereas if the ninja took it from you . . .” the judge began.

  “. . . he would kill me,” Rofu said with a shudder.

  “Of course, he might just as easily have killed my son,” the judge pointed out.

  Rofu had no answer for this. Seikei remembered Kitsune saying that copies of the maps were not what he was seeking. Fortunately for Seikei.

  “So you were, at least, certain that a ninja was nearby,” the judge said.

  “I had heard he was . . . collecting the maps,” said Rofu.

  “Is that how you got the bracelet?” the judge asked.

  The question startled Rofu. He couldn’t hide it.

  The judge picked up the bracelet and displayed it. “The jewels on the side form the shapes of irises,” he said.

  “The iris is part of the family crest of Lady Osuni. Did you obtain it from her? Shall I ask her if it was stolen?”

  Rofu swallowed hard. Seikei could see him thinking again.

  “No lies, Rofu,” the judge snapped.

  “It . . . it wasn’t stolen,” Rofu said.

  “How then did you—”

  “She sent it to me,” Rofu said.

  “Is that so? A lavish gift for one of Japan’s richest women to present to a man who lives in a hole in the ground.”

  “She wanted something from me in return,” Rofu said.

  “It must have been important to her.”

  “It was.”

  Silence fell as the judge waited for a fuller answer. At last he said, “It is important to me as well, Rofu. But I have no gifts to offer you—except your life.”

  Rofu nodded. He understood. “She wanted me to tell her how to find some of the others who carried the maps.”

  The judge nodded, and Seikei remembered that Ito had said Rofu had suggested they all keep in touch. Rofu was selling that information to Lady Osuni.

  “I kept track of them, or tried to,” Rofu said. “In my business, I have friends in many places who keep me informed.”

  “Your business as a thief and dealer in stolen goods.”

  Rofu spread his hands. “Everyone has to earn a living,” he said.

  “Yes,” replied the judge. “Now let us see if we can combine our information.” He signaled to Bunzo, who left the room and soon brought back a man as large as he was. This man, however, had terrible scars on his face and arms.

  Rofu gasped when he saw the man, who looked at him and nodded. “I thought you were dead, Rofu,” he said calmly.

  “Michio, I was only buried, not dead,” Rofu replied.

  “I see introductions are not necessary,” said the judge. “Have you been comfortable here, Michio?”

  “Yes, your honor, but I’d rather be with my comrades fighting fires,” Michio replied.

  “If we are successful, you may do just that,” said the judge. “Would you please show us your back now?”

  Michio tried to hide a smile as he turned and removed his kimono. Of all the men whose tattoos Seikei had seen, Michio had been the most successful in concealing his. Countless fires had scarred his skin, leaving a network of welts and old burns that made the map almost invisible.

  “You haven’t taken good care of your map, Michio,” the judge commented.

  “Didn’t think it was likely to take care of me,” the firefighter replied. “I was sorry that I ever let them put it on me. It was like becoming someone’s servant for life.”

  The judge set Seikei to work, making as clear a copy of the map as possible. When he finished, the judge had him spread all the maps out flat on a low table. “Rofu,” he said, “what can you tell us?”

  “Well,” Rofu replied, “three of them fit together.” He arranged the maps so that the edges lined up. “Like this.” He pointed to the one from his own flesh, which didn’t fit with the other three. “I have been told that this is the second-to-last of the series.” He picked up the one that had been on Korin’s back. “Was part of this blue?” he asked Seikei.

  “Yes,” Seikei replied.

  “It must be the first map in the series, for that should be the seacoast.”

  The judge pointed to some unusual marks that appeared on all five maps. “What are these supposed to represent?” he asked.

  Rofu hesitated. “I was told that they are soldiers guarding the path.”

  The judge’s eyebrows went up. “Soldiers who never move?”

  “I have not seen them,” said Rofu. “I only know what I was told.”

  “Wer
e you told the location of the place shown on the maps?”

  Rofu shook his head. “I always assumed it was within the Osuni family domain. But that is a vast territory.”

  “Along the seacoast at the western end of Honshu,” the judge said. “Far from here. And I understand there were seven maps.”

  Rofu nodded.

  “One of the remaining two maps is said to have been on the back of a man who is now dead.”

  “You’ve heard about Boko, then,” said Rofu. “So you know you can never assemble all the maps.”

  “I also know,” said the judge, “that as long as I can keep you and Michio safe from the ninja that he cannot possess all the maps either.”

  A silence fell. The judge seemed to be waiting for Rofu to reply. Yet Rofu only twitched nervously and looked miserable.

  “Don’t you trust me to do that?” asked the judge.

  “You don’t know this ninja,” said Rofu.

  “Actually, I do,” replied the judge. “Perhaps it will surprise you to learn that my son defeated him. He forced Kitsune to tell us who hired him to commit a murder.”

  Rofu stared at Seikei. “Where was this?” he asked.

  “On Miwayama,” said Seikei. “The mountain at the O-Miwa shrine.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Rofu. “If you had been underground—perhaps. Even so . . .”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Seikei.

  “Because you’re barely more than a boy. Even a samurai like him”—his eyes went to Bunzo—“would never be able to defeat him.”

  “No, I meant why do you think it would have been possible if I had been underground?”

  Rofu made a gesture with his hand as if to say the answer was obvious. “His power comes from the kami of the mountain, its spirit. That is why he must return to it once a year, at least. And it was also why I was safe from him underground.”

  The judge nodded. “You believe his power is weakened there.”

  “I know it,” Rofu insisted. “Why do you think he couldn’t come after me?”

  “Then you should be perfectly safe in the cellar of my house,” said the judge.

  Michio, who had been silent till now, shook his head. “I don’t want to stay in a cellar for the rest of my life, like a mushroom. I’d rather take my chances fighting fires.”