In Darkness, Death

by Dorothy Hoobler

  In fact, Seikei could hardly believe the way Tatsuno had overpowered the samurai. “I didn’t know you could fight like that,” he said.

  “Never underestimate an opponent until you’ve tested him,” said Tatsuno, tying his hair up in samurai fashion. “He might know ju-jutsu.”

  “What’s that?” asked Seikei.

  “A style of fighting developed by ninjas,” Tatsuno said.

  The horse shied away from Tatsuno, naturally enough, but it allowed Seikei to take it in hand. After Seikei had ridden it for a while, Tatsuno easily slipped on behind him.

  “At this rate, we should have no trouble reaching Kanazawa by nightfall,” said Seikei.

  “That’s what worries me,” said Tatsuno.

  13

  INTO THE CASTLE

  As they approached the city walls, Seikei dismounted and walked alongside the horse, posing as Tatsuno’s servant. Tatsuno found this more amusing than Seikei thought he should. With Tatsuno dressed in the samurai’s kosode, they blended right in with the crowds in Kanazawa’s streets. Every third person seemed to be wearing the colors of the Inaba family.

  Seikei wanted to go to the castle right away. Tatsuno scoffed at him. “You think we’ll just drop in and get to see Lord Inaba?” asked Tatsuno.

  “I’ve already met him,” Seikei pointed out. “He saw me with the judge and knows I work for him.”

  “Still, it’s better to look things over before we rush into trouble,” said Tatsuno. “Let’s have a good meal for a change.”

  “We’re supposed to be gathering information for the judge.”

  “Inns are the best place to learn things—if you have sharp ears,” said Tatsuno.

  Seikei could not deny that he’d learned a great deal about another case while serving as an attendant in a teahouse. So they stopped at a lively-looking inn. Tatsuno handed the horse’s reins to a stable boy standing outside. Three samurai were having an argument on the porch. Tatsuno and Seikei tried to step by them, but one of them hailed Tatsuno. “Don’t I know you?” he asked. The man’s speech was slurred, and Seikei could tell he was somewhat drunk.

  “I don’t think so,” Tatsuno answered.

  “No, wait,” the other man said. “Didn’t you go with the new lord to Yamato Province last month?”

  “No,” said Tatsuno. “Did you?”

  “Oh, yes, he wouldn’t have gone without me,” said the tipsy samurai. “Strange business out there. Not supposed to say anything ’bout it.”

  “Went to the shrine, did you?” asked Tatsuno.

  “O-Miwa,” the man said with a nod. Then he stopped and gave Tatsuno an ugly look. “I said we’re not supposed to talk about that.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” said Tatsuno. “I apologize. Will you let me buy you a cup of sake?”

  The man nodded. “We were just going inside,” he said.

  But his two companions stopped him. “He’s forgotten,” one of them said to Tatsuno. “We’re just leaving.”

  “Another time,” said Tatsuno.

  “What was that all about?” asked Seikei after they had entered the inn. They sat on mats that faced a long, low table where a woman was serving food.

  “The new Lord Inaba—the son of the dead man—made a trip to the O-Miwa Shrine,” said Tatsuno. “What does that tell you?”

  “That’s the place where the papermaker said the butterfly came from,” Seikei said.

  Tatsuno nodded. He caught the eye of the woman behind the counter, pointed to a kettle of noodle soup and then to some wriggling shrimp in a large bowl. She nodded and looked at Seikei, who asked for the same thing.

  In a flash, two steaming bowls of soup with shrimp were set before them. Seikei stirred his with chopsticks to let the shrimp cook, but Tatsuno immediately raised his bowl to his mouth and sloshed in some noodles and shrimp. He bit the shrimp heads off and spat them onto the table.

  While they ate, Seikei thought about the shrine that the samurai had mentioned. The same one the butterfly came from ... but what was the connection?

  After Seikei finished his soup, he asked Tatsuno, “Do you think Lord Inaba went to the O-Miwa Shrine to buy a paper butterfly?”

  “What use would he have for a paper butterfly?” Tatsuno asked.

  “Well ... perhaps he was the one who left it next to his father’s body.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I don’t know. You told me it was meant to drive off evil kami. That sounds like something a person who loved his father would do. Why would the killer want to do that?”

  Tatsuno tilted his bowl to drain the last of the soup into his mouth. “Because the ninja is a person close to the kami,” he said.

  This so annoyed Seikei that he was provoked into being rude. “It seems to me that ninjas are just criminals,” he said.

  Tatsuno looked at his empty bowl as if considering whether to order another. Then he turned to Seikei. “Perhaps that is because you have never had to suffer injustices or had your land taken, or your daughter kidnapped and no one would raise a hand to help you ... except a ninja.”

  “That’s not true!” Seikei said. “I am helping those people, and I’m not a ninja.”

  The retort drew a smile from Tatsuno. Seikei couldn’t remember him smiling before. “Well, then,” he said, “let us finish our business as quickly as possible. I take it you still want to deliver that list of complaints to the new Lord Inaba?”

  “Yes,” said Seikei, getting to his feet. “And then you’ll see how an honorable samurai lord acts. When he learns of the suffering of those who depend on him, he will take action.”

  “I’m sure he will,” said Tatsuno.

  They made their way through the crowded streets toward the castle. It occurred to Seikei that the people of the city showed a lack of respect for their recently deceased daimyo. There was no sign of the mourning period that should have been observed for forty-nine days after his death. Street entertainers—jugglers, acrobats, musicians, and wrestlers—were performing for the passing crowds. Even those who wore the swords of samurai were laughing, talking loudly, and playing games such as Go or utagai.

  At the castle, Seikei and Tatsuno had no trouble entering. They passed through a gate in the stone wall that surrounded the grounds, and then over a bridge that spanned a moat, without a challenge from the guards. Apparently Tatsuno’s outfit was enough to convince the guards that he had come on business.

  The castle itself was impressive. It rose seven stories high, with many crested roofs jutting out over different parts of the building. High above, Seikei spotted observation posts where guards watched those who came and went. The shogun’s castle in Edo was the only one Seikei had seen that was larger than this.

  Getting to see Lord Inaba was more difficult than entering the castle. Inside, they encountered a chamberlain. A gray-haired man who looked as if he had been sitting there since the castle was built, he asked what their business was.

  For once Tatsuno was silent. He looked at Seikei with a raised eyebrow. “I ... I have a message for Lord Inaba,” Seikei said. “An important message.”

  The chamberlain held out his hand. “Leave it with me,” he said.

  Seikei shook his head. “No,” he said. “I can only deliver it to Lord Inaba personally.”

  The chamberlain gave him a withering look. “Who do you think you are?” he said. “Lord Inaba is a busy man. He has no time to listen to the babblings of every small boy who comes to the castle.” He turned to Tatsuno. “Why did you bring him in here, anyway?”

  Tatsuno shrugged. “He can tell you what he told me, if he likes.”

  The chamberlain looked back at Seikei. “Well?” he said. “I’m a busy man too.”

  Seikei took a deep breath. “I am the son of Judge Ooka, an official representative of the shogun. I have been sent here to investigate conditions in Etchu Province. I wish to report my findings to Lord Inaba.”

  The chamberlain stared at him for a moment, then exchanged glances w
ith Tatsuno. Tatsuno said nothing. Fine help you are, Seikei thought.

  Finally the chamberlain said, “All right, come with me. But if you’re lying, I’ll make sure you regret it deeply. ”

  Motioning for Seikei to follow, he started up a flight of stairs. As Seikei trailed behind, he looked back over his shoulder. Tatsuno was nowhere to be seen. Either he had gone back through the entrance, or he’d become invisible, Seikei thought. No matter. Seikei was determined to keep his promise to the farmers.

  14

  WAITING FOR THE EXECUTIONER

  Lord Inaba didn’t keep them waiting long. He didn’t seem that busy, nor did he appear to be in mourning for his father. He was in fact playing a game of Go with a samurai retainer, while a geisha plucked a samisen. The room was a bright one at the very top of the castle. Seikei caught a glimpse of the view from one of the windows. From here, one could see all the way to the edge of the city and even the fields beyond. It was a view designed by a poet, Seikei thought. Then he realized that it was also designed to give the master of the castle warning when his enemies were approaching.

  The chamberlain stood waiting silently as Lord Inaba pondered his next move in the game. Finally sliding one of the white disks onto an adjacent square, the young lord picked up a black disk and looked up. He glanced over Seikei with mild curiosity and then said to the chamberlain, “Why are you disturbing my concentration?”

  The chamberlain bowed. “Lord, this boy claims to be the son of Judge Ooka, with a message for you.”

  “Oh?” The daimyo’s eyebrows rose. “You were with Ooka in my father’s castle in Edo, weren’t you? Well, did he discover who the assassin is?”

  “No,” Seikei replied. “Or at least I don’t think so.”

  “Then why are you bothering me?”

  Seikei swallowed. “I have a petition from some of the farmers within your domain.”

  Seikei became aware that not only the young lord but also the samurai across the Go board and the chamberlain were all staring at him.

  “Your lordship, I did not know,” said the chamberlain.

  Lord Inaba waved a hand to silence him. He looked at Seikei and said, “Show me this petition.”

  Their reaction made Seikei nervous. Too late, he started to consider Tatsuno’s warnings. He pressed his lips together in determination. “First,” he said, “I would like to know whether you are aware they have to pay taxes even though their crops have failed.”

  Lord Inaba turned to the samurai across the game board. “Take the petition from him,” he said.

  Seikei struggled, but the samurai was much stronger. Unfortunately, Seikei had not stored the petition inside the writing-kit drawer. The samurai took the sheets of paper from Seikei’s kimono, tossing Seikei to the floor.

  Lord Inaba scanned the papers quickly. “This appears to be a list of names and complaints,” he said quietly. “All of it in the same handwriting. Cannot these peasants even write their own names?”

  “I wrote them down as they gave them to me,” Seikei said.

  “That was kind of you. Why did you do that?” Seikei wanted to think of a good answer. “Because I saw how they were suffering. I wanted to help them.”

  “I assume that Judge Ooka must have sent you here for that purpose.”

  “No, not exactly,” said Seikei, deciding that the judge might not want his real purpose known.

  “He sent you here to spy on me, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, no!” Seikei said. “He doesn’t even know I came here to your castle.”

  Lord Inaba looked at the chamberlain. “How did this boy gain entrance to the castle?”

  “A samurai brought him, Lord.”

  “One of my samurai? Do you know his name?”

  “No, Lord. He was not familiar to me.”

  “Find it out,” Lord Inaba snapped. He returned his gaze to Seikei. “I want to know if it’s true that no one knows this boy is within my control. In the meantime, put him in the dungeon. Don’t harm him—yet.”

  Seikei started to protest. “You cannot do this! I am here on business for Judge Ooka!”

  “Silence! ” roared Lord Inaba. “I am the master here now!” He handed the list of names to the samurai he had been playing Go with. “I have a simple task for you. Find the rebellious traitors whose names are on this list and kill them.”

  Seikei had made the mistake of resisting again. This time his reward had been a hard knock on the head. When he awoke, he found himself lying on a cold stone floor with a headache. The place he was in was pitch dark. It was impossible to see farther than his hand in front of his face. The only light came through a grating high above. So he was startled when a voice came out of the darkness.

  “Awake already? They must not have hurt you too badly.”

  “Badly enough,” said Seikei, feeling his head and finding a lump the size of a pigeon’s egg behind his ear. As he checked over the rest of his body, he found that his wooden sword was gone too.

  With a shock, he remembered Lord Inaba’s instructions to the samurai. “How long have I been here?” Seikei asked.

  “Oh, not too long,” said the voice, which sounded as if it belonged to an old man. “They’ve only let down one basket of food since you came, so it’s less than a day. I ate your portion. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it might spoil.”

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” said Seikei. He had to warn Dr. Genko and the farmers that Lord Inaba was going to kill them.

  Seikei heard a sound like a seagull’s cry, and then realized that the man in the cell was laughing. “Don’t be in such a hurry,” he told Seikei. “No one bothers with you here as long as you’re quiet. And they give you food, which is more than you might have on the outside. People are starving, you know.”

  “I know,” said Seikei. “I brought a list of complaints from a group of farmers to Lord Inaba.”

  “And you’re still alive? My, he must have something special in store for you. Maybe a crucifixion. You know, the way they execute Kirishitans and leave their bodies on the crossed sticks on the highway as a warning to others.”

  “He wouldn’t dare execute me,” said Seikei.

  More seagulls’ cries, a little louder this time. Seikei thought about what he’d said to Lord Inaba. It had been foolish to let him know that no one knew Seikei had come to the castle.

  Someone did know, however: Tatsuno. If he told the judge where Seikei was, then the judge would arrive to free him. But the judge had told them to meet him at the governor’s house in Yamato Province. That was far away; it would take Tatsuno days to get there.

  If he cared enough to go at all. Tatsuno seemed to be trustworthy only as long as somebody kept an eye on him. And even then, he was likely to come up with a lie.

  But if Tatsuno doesn’t save me, Seikei thought, who will? Seikei would have to find a way out by himself.

  “How often do they bring food?” he asked the voice in the darkness.

  “Twice a day. Or at least I think it’s twice a day. The light at the grating above dims for a while, and I suppose that’s because it’s nighttime.”

  “Who brings the food?”

  “Don’t bother yourself with all these questions,” the man said. “They’ll only take you out of here to execute you. If they were going to torture you, they would have done it already. They must not need any information from you.”

  Yes, thought Seikei bitterly. I brought it to them voluntarily without being tortured.

  “What about you?” asked Seikei. “Are they going to execute you?”

  “I think they’ve forgotten about me. The last person who was here—before you—said that Lord Inaba had died. Is that true?”

  “Yes. He was killed in his castle in Edo.”

  “What a shame. Who would have done such a thing?”

  “How can you say that when you’re waiting here to be executed?” asked Seikei. “What did you do to deserve that?”

  “I was hired to build a wall on one
of Lord Inaba’s estates. I did a poor job, and it fell down.”

  “For that you’re going to be executed?”

  “Well, I deserved it, didn’t I?”

  “I think it’s a very cruel punishment for a minor offense,” said Seikei.

  “That’s what my wife said. She was going to appeal to Lord Inaba for mercy. He was such a kind man, you see.”

  Seikei’s head began to hurt even more. “That makes no sense,” he said. “I spoke to some farmers in the southern part of Lord Inaba’s domain. They told me that Lord Inaba took their stored rice for taxes, even though they hadn’t been able to grow anything in two years. Now they and their families are starving.”

  “Oh, yes,” said the man. “That’s true all over the province.”

  “Then how can you say Lord Inaba was a kind man?”

  “Why, because he knew nothing about the people’s suffering. If he had, he would have taken steps to ease it.”

  Seikei was exasperated. He could hardly believe the man’s stupidity. “Of course he knows—or knew. It’s his domain.”

  “No, the chamberlain is the one who’s in charge of enforcing order,” the man said. “And it was Lord Inaba’s son who gave the order to collect taxes from the farmers, even when they couldn’t pay.” He sighed. “I guess the son is the new lord. That means as soon as someone remembers about me—”

  “How do you know this?” Seikei demanded.

  “Working on the wall, I heard things,” said the man. “One day I heard Lord Inaba’s son and the chamberlain talking. They were worried that Lord Inaba himself would find out what they were doing.”

  “Why didn’t you tell—”

  “Shh, shh,” the man whispered. “Listen.”

  They heard footsteps high above them, near the grating.

  “The guards are bringing food,” said the man. “Either that or—” He didn’t finish, but Seikei knew what he meant. Either that or they were coming to execute someone.

  15

  ON THE NIGHTINGALE FLOOR

  The grating slid back and two faces peered down at the prisoners. Seikei didn’t recognize either one of them. “Hai!” one of them shouted. “Old man! Did the boy wake up yet?”