Seven Paths to Death

by Dorothy Hoobler

  “It will not be long,” the judge said. “Rofu, you have no objection?”

  Rofu sighed. “It is my only chance.”

  “Then I need only one other thing from you. Tell us where the seventh man, Gaho the gambler, is.”

  “He wanders up and down the Tokaido Road. Occasionally someone will tell me that they saw him in one or another of the station towns. But I learned recently he was on his way to Edo.”

  “How recently?”

  Rofu looked uncomfortable. “Eight days ago he was dealing cards in Yoshiwara.”

  “And does Lady Osuni have that information?”

  Rofu hung his head. “Yes.”

  15

  FEEDING THE FISH

  I think it is time we paid a visit to Lady Osuni,” the judge said after Rofu and Michio had been taken downstairs.

  “Are you going to arrest her?” asked Seikei.

  “I have no proof that she has done anything wrong,” said the judge.

  “Well, Rofu said she gave him the bracelet to learn where the other men with maps are. And several of them have been murdered.”

  “Even if we accept Rofu’s word—and he is obviously an untrustworthy thief who betrayed his friends—it does not prove she is responsible for killing those men.”

  “Do we have to get Kitsune to confess again?”

  The judge smiled. “Are you confident you could do that a second time? Once proved you were brave. Twice might show you are foolhardy.”

  “What can we do, then?”

  “You are impatient,” the judge commented. “Therefore, you think we must take action.”

  Seikei bit his tongue. That was exactly the way he felt. Only, unlike the judge, he didn’t see anything wrong with taking action. He reminded himself to listen respectfully and hope the judge would explain.

  “If the ninja has already gone after Gaho the gambler,” the judge said, “it is too late for us to catch up to him. What we must do is to convince Lady Osuni that she must take action. She may not yet be fully prepared to do so, but we will be.”

  Seikei saw the wisdom in this, but it was difficult to wait when the ninja might already be acting. Before leaving, the judge told Bunzo to place samurai at all entrances to the house. “Keep Michio and Rofu below ground,” the judge said.

  “I will stay with them myself,” Bunzo responded. Bunzo had never spoken to Seikei about what had happened at the jail in Shizuoka, but Seikei knew it bothered him. Bunzo was determined to defeat the ninja if they met again—or die in the attempt.

  Lady Osuni lived in a large mansion near Edo Castle. “Her estate was a gift from the shogun,” the judge told Seikei.

  “I thought he didn’t trust her.”

  “That’s why he wants her to live where he can keep an eye on her.”

  At the gate, two guards noted the hollyhock crest on the judge’s clothing. They sent word inside that Lady Osuni had visitors from the shogun. The guards didn’t seem to show proper respect, Seikei felt. But he knew that the judge wouldn’t take offense. Or at least he wouldn’t show he was offended. He would merely work all the harder to prove Lady Osuni was a criminal.

  At last a servant came to escort them inside, leading through a series of many rooms. The rooms appeared to be simple and sparsely furnished, until Seikei looked closely at what was there. A scroll hanging on a wall bore the calligraphy of a great poet. When Seikei recognized it, he stopped to stare. It was the work of Fujiwara Teika, who had lived five hundred years earlier. The only other place Seikei had seen an example of his writing was in the shogun’s castle.

  Room after room held subtle treasures. A vase with an arrangement of flowers that was so carefully done it must have taken hours to prepare. A piece of pottery shaped and finished so that it resembled a natural object. Silk wall hangings, color prints, carvings . . . Seikei wished he could take time to look at each one. But the servant moved too swiftly for him to pause long.

  The room where Lady Osuni awaited them was unusually bright. Seikei saw that part of the ceiling was covered by rice paper that let in sunlight. Nearly half the room had a bare stone floor that held a shallow tile pool. Lady Osuni, a slight woman with a face lined by age, sat sideways on the edge of it, her knees folded and her feet tucked under a yellow silk kimono.

  She was feeding koi, fish colored gold and white, who swam over to take crumbs from her hand. Apparently she could tell them apart, for she called each fish by its name.

  She didn’t look up as the judge and Seikei entered the room. When the servant went to her, knelt and quietly announced their arrival, she merely nodded. Only after finishing with the fish and brushing her hands together over the pool did she turn to look at the judge. She ignored Seikei altogether, which gave him a chance to study her.

  Her face was made up in an old-fashioned style: eyebrows shaved and new ones drawn high on her forehead, where her hairline was shaved. White powder covered most of her face and neck so thickly that it nearly filled in the many lines, making it look smoother than it actually was.

  The judge bowed politely, introducing himself and Seikei.

  “I know your reputation,” Lady Osuni said. “You may sit.”

  The judge took the largest cushion, settling himself slowly, and Seikei took a seat on a mat nearby.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be investigating crimes?” Lady Osuni said.

  “Murder is a crime,” responded the judge. “I happened to be in Echigo province when a man was attacked a few days ago.”

  “Is that so?” she asked. “You must be quite busy if you look into such things anywhere in Japan.”

  “I noticed something that made me suspect that crimes worse than murder might be planned. And several other men, it appears, have been killed.”

  She nodded. “Well, unfortunately I have no murdered people to show you today,” she said. “So why are you here?”

  “I believe these men were killed because they had parts of a map tattooed on their backs.”

  “How amusing,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  “I have concluded that you had the men tattooed,” the judge said. “And that now you have sent someone to take the maps.”

  Lady Osuni snapped open a folding fan and put it in front of her face, to hide a smile. It was a modest gesture, but she didn’t hide her eyes, which showed her amusement as plainly as her mouth would have.

  “Believe what you please,” she said. “It is of no concern to me.”

  The judge nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “I have no proof. But I have two of the men in a safe place. So you cannot get the maps on their backs.”

  “Is that so?” she said, sounding unconvinced.

  “However,” the judge continued, “you have a map that I cannot obtain. One that comes from the back of a man named Boko.”

  Lady Osuni merely sniffed at this, as if a bad odor had entered the room.

  “You say these two men with maps are safe?” she asked.

  “Very safe,” the judge responded.

  “You see my fish here?” she asked, waving her fan over the pool. “They think they are safe. I come and feed them. I even pet them. Did you know that fish like to be petted? Mine are pampered, really. I spoil them. But once a week, I will eat one. Their flesh is very rich because they are so well fed. But safe?” She smiled. “Not from me.”

  This time she did not use the fan to hide her smile. In the old-fashioned style, she had used gallnut paste to blacken her teeth. The smile was dark, and, it seemed to Seikei, deadly. Suddenly he wanted to go home to check on Bunzo and the two men he was guarding.

  “I ask you to give me the map that you took from Boko’s back,” said the judge.

  “I call this one Boko,” she replied, pointing to one of the fish. “I’ll send you his bones when I eat him.”

  “I can have your residence searched,” the judge said.

  Lady Osuni sniffed. “I am the widow—and the mother—of a daimyo,”
she said. “You will need the shogun’s permission to search my house. I think you will find he does not like to annoy me too much.”

  “Is your son, the current Lord Osuni, at home? I would like to have a few words with him as well.”

  Seikei thought he saw Lady Osuni’s eyes waver, just for a moment. “He is not at home, and he would answer you in the same way I do.”

  “One can always hope not,” murmured the judge.

  “Have you finished?” asked Lady Osuni. “I’m very busy.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” said the judge as he got to his feet.

  The servant appeared to show them through the house again. Seikei couldn’t help scanning the walls as they went, even more closely than on the first time through. He had always enjoyed looking at the calligraphy of the great masters. It was part of a samurai’s training to learn to make his own handwriting express emotion, and Seikei was reasonably good at it. But these were wonderful examples.

  That was why one stood out from the others as Seikei passed it. For it was not only unlike the work of a master, but remarkably sloppy. He started to draw the judge’s attention to it, but realized both he and the servant were several steps ahead. Seikei had to hurry to catch up.

  After they left, Seikei wanted to ask if the judge would now ask the shogun’s permission to search Lady Osuni’s mansion. Before he could, the judge began to speak, half to himself, half for Seikei’s benefit: “Lady Osuni’s son, though he has inherited the title, is rumored not to be in possession of all his wits. That makes his mother’s ambitions all the more puzzling, except of course that a powerful daimyo—no matter how incompetent—can surround himself with wise advisers. Even his mother.”

  He looked at Seikei. “What kind of business would this young lord be allowed to conduct without his mother’s supervision?”

  “I can’t think of any,” Seikei replied.

  “Nor can I,” said the judge. “So it must be pleasure that has drawn him out of the house. I wonder if the young lord likes to gamble.”

  16

  A GAME OF CARDS

  Seikei and the judge crossed the bridge into Edo’s pleasure quarter, Yoshiwara. It was called the floating world, not only because it was built on what was once a swamp, but because the cares of everyday life drifted away here.

  Seeing that it was impossible to suppress the various pleasures that people liked to indulge in, an earlier shogun had set aside this area for them to enjoy themselves. It was sometimes said that there were no rules in Yoshiwara, but that wasn’t true. Seikei had worked in a teahouse here to help the judge find out who was setting fires in Edo. He knew that Yoshiwara had its own rules.

  Seikei felt more secure now about the two men in the cellar of the judge’s house. After leaving Lady Osuni’s, the judge had gathered a squad of firefighters and stationed them around his house. Three men were even on the roof, ready with buckets of water. The ninja would have trouble if he tried to set another fire to drive out his quarry.

  Bunzo and a dozen other samurai would keep him from entering the house. The guards were impressive, and Seikei felt a tiny bit disloyal to be wondering if the ninja could somehow overcome them anyway.

  He and the judge were dressed in plain brown kimonos. Like all samurai, they were required to leave their swords at the entrance to the pleasure quarter. There might be fights in Yoshiwara, but they were seldom deadly.

  Virtually every building here was devoted to pleasure of some kind. Pretty women stood in front of most doors, urging people to come inside. Some were kabuki theaters. Others were teahouses, where talented geishas offered music, dance and witty conversation along with the tea (or sake, if that was your preference). Still other places specialized in gambling and games of chance. There were too many of these to search each one, so Seikei wanted to see how the judge would choose which to enter.

  They walked slowly, listening to the music that drifted faintly from some of the houses. It was still early, so there were as yet no stumbling men who had drunk too much. Seikei knew that despite Yoshiwara’s festive appearance, it was really a sad place. Most of the women who worked here had been sold by poor families who couldn’t afford to support all their children.

  The judge stopped in front of one of the establishments where a banner proclaimed TEST YOUR SKILL.

  “What is different about this place?” the judge asked Seikei.

  It didn’t take long for Seikei to answer. “The man standing at the front door doesn’t look as if he wants anyone to enter.” The burly man, his arms folded, shot them an unfriendly look.

  “Yes,” said the judge. “Very interesting. I think we should investigate.”

  As the judge stepped onto the porch, the man moved to block his way. “Private party,” he muttered.

  “I am one of the shogun’s officials,” the judge replied. “I am here to inspect this establishment. Anyone who interferes with my duties is subject to arrest.”

  The man frowned. Seikei admired the way the judge could change his voice to make people do exactly what he wanted. He stepped past the man, motioning for Seikei to follow. The man did not resist.

  Inside, a sickly sweet odor filled the room. Four men were seated around a low table, playing cards. Two of them looked up, seeming surprised to see newcomers enter. They made no objection, however. Off to one side, two older men were playing a game of go.Both of them were smoking pipes. Seikei realized they were the source of the sweet smell.

  The judge took a seat on a mat next to the card game. Seikei squatted behind him and looked over his shoulder. Three of the men at the table had the distinctive haircuts of samurai. Though they wore no swords, their arrogant expressions also marked them as being among the elite citizens of Edo.

  One of them seemed to be the leader, even though he spoke slowly, as if it were difficult for him to think up words. His nose was so flat Seikei thought he must have fallen on it when he was a baby. Yet when he said something intended to be amusing, his companions laughed. Seikei noticed that although most visitors to Yoshiwara donned plain clothing to hide their identities, this man flaunted his. He wore a silken kimono with embroidered irises. Almost certainly, he was Lord Osuni.

  The fourth man, who was gathering cards for a new game, was wiry and wore a stone-colored kimono with a pattern of white squares. He glanced at the judge and said, “Two ban.” The judge nodded, took two coins from a pouch and placed them on the table. Seikei saw that all the other players sat behind stacks of coins.

  The dealer spread the cards facedown on the table, making a fan. When his hands were flat on the surface for a moment, Seikei saw the tattooed symbols between his fingers: ya-ku-za. One was partially hidden by a ring, but this was clearly the man they were looking for. Seikei tried not to show his excitement, but the dealer wasn’t looking at him. He was staring across the table at one of the three samurai, the one who seemed most important.

  The dealer deftly flipped the fan of cards over, showing their faces. Each carried a number from one to ten. As Seikei remembered the game, there were fifty cards in all, five of each number.

  The dealer picked the cards up and began to shuffle them. Each of the three men placed two coins on the table. The dealer flicked a single card facedown in front of each player, as well as himself.

  The players looked at their cards. Seikei peeked over the judge’s shoulder, trying to see his. But the judge kept it well hidden.

  Seikei looked at the other three players. Their expressions varied. One had frowned after looking at his card; a second man smiled slightly. But Seikei recalled that his brother’s card-playing friends often deliberately put deceptive expressions on their faces.

  The dealer’s face, not surprisingly, was blank. Just his eyes moved, flitting from one of his opponent’s faces to another.

  Only the samurai who seemed to be the leader of the group showed real emotion after looking at his card. He looked quite satisfied with his new possession, like a pampered child. Clearly he was a
person accustomed to getting his own way, and fully expected to now. Seikei glanced at the pile of coins in front of him. It was larger than anyone else’s. Obviously, the evening had been a good one for him.

  The dealer slid two more ban into the center of the table. The other players did likewise—their fee for seeing a second card.

  Once again, he dealt each player a card, facedown like the first one. All the men glanced at what they had. The dealer again started the betting—this time with a koban,a larger coin than the ordinary ban. The man on his right shrugged and pushed his cards forward, indicating they weren’t worth a bet. The dealer nodded and looked at the next man, the arrogant one. He slowly counted out a stack of coins, pushed them to the center of the table and announced, “Ten kobans.” That was too much for the next player, who signaled his surrender.

  All eyes went to the judge. To Seikei’s astonishment, he matched the ten-koban bet. Seikei had often heard him condemn gambling, saying that the only people who could afford to lose money in such a fashion were the rich. “And if they are that rich,” the judge continued, “they should share some with the poor.”

  “People gamble because they want to win,” Seikei had timidly suggested.

  “The gamblers who provide places to play and who supervise the games—why do they do that?” responded the judge.

  “Why . . . I guess they want to win too,” said Seikei.

  “And who knows how to play better? Those who make it their occupation? Or those foolish people who come with full pockets thinking they will enrich themselves at a gambling table?”

  Seikei saw the point. Yet now the judge was risking—betting!—ten kobans, a considerable sum, on a hand of cards.

  The dealer, who had shown no emotion before this, wagged his eyebrows as if he too were surprised. But he followed that up by putting his own coins on the table, matching the samurai’s bet.