In Darkness, Death

by Dorothy Hoobler

  “Because I think you murdered him,” said Seikei.

  “Really? What makes you think so?” asked Kitsune.

  “Because you left a red paper butterfly there,” Seikei said. Kitsune did not reply, so Seikei continued. “And the man who made the paper told me that it had been purchased by the O-Miwa Shrine. The priests here allow you to make the mountain a haven because you are generous to them.” Now Kitsune’s lips were stretched into a thin line.

  “And I even saw the empty place on the string on the simenawa at the base of the mountain, that you took the butterfly from,” Seikei said.

  Kitsune remained silent a moment longer and then said, “If you know all that, then why did you not execute me in the cave?”

  Seikei heitated. “Because I thought you might be Tatsuno,” he said.

  “Tatsuno?” the ninja said with scorn. “Tatsuno is a disgrace, a failure, a ... a ... I would not walk on the same side of the street as Tatsuno.”

  “I saw him act bravely,” said Seikei. “He saved my life.”

  “How much did you pay him?” Kitsune asked.

  “Nothing,” Seikei replied.

  Kitsune threw up his hands. “You see?” he cried. “What kind of ninja is that? And to think he’s my brother.”

  “Your brother?” Seikei was stunned, but then on a second look, he saw the resemblance between the two.

  “Yes,” said Kitsune. “I admit it, but only to you, because you’ll never be able to tell anyone.” He put one hand inside his kimono again. Keeping it there, he began to walk toward the rock where Seikei was hiding. “You know what?” said Kitsune. “I think you didn’t kill me in the cave because you were afraid to. Have you ever killed anyone?”

  “I ... I almost did,” said Seikei. “Once.”

  “Ah,” said Kitsune, “a shame you didn’t kill me when you had the chance. Now you’ll never know what it feels like.” He continued walking, slowly but deliberately.

  “Stay back,” Seikei warned, in a voice that he hoped sounded threatening. Then he realized his dilemma. His weapon, the sword, could defeat Kitsune, but only if Seikei stood up and exposed himself to the ninja’s weapon. Seikei would be cut down by one of the deadly spinning shuriken before he could use his sword.

  Unless he could find something else to throw. Seikei looked around him. If there were any loose rocks, they were covered by snow.

  Then he realized he had a rock right inside his kimono. He looked up. Kitsune was still approaching, but in no hurry. He was far enough away to give Seikei time.

  Seikei stood and pulled out the black-and-green stone. As he drew his arm back to throw it, he saw a look of surprise replace the ninja’s confident smile.

  “Stop!” shouted Kitsune. “Where did you get that?”

  Seikei kept his arm in throwing position, wondering if this was a trick. “Why?” he asked.

  “You’re not supposed to have that. Only a ninja may possess one of those.”

  “What is it?”

  Kitsune’s face changed again. He was calculating now, plotting. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Merely a pretty rock. Don’t throw it. Why don’t you just give it to me and I’ll let you go?”

  Though Seikei would have been relieved to do that, he forced himself to say, “I didn’t come here for that. I came to find out who hired you to kill Lord Inaba.”

  “Aha.” Kitsune nodded. “And if I tell you that, it will be an admission of my guilt. Very clever.”

  “We already know you are the killer.”

  “We?” Kitsune looked around. “Don’t tell me there are more of you. That gofu will only work for the person carrying it.”

  “I’m speaking of my father, Judge Ooka. He sent me to find out who hired you.”

  “Judge Ooka? Hmph. That explains why Tatsuno was so friendly to you. The judge proved him innocent once.”

  “Tatsuno?”

  “Yes. Of course it was only by accident that he was innocent. He intended to steal something, but someone else got there before him. Tatsuno was charged with the crime anyway, just because he was a ninja.”

  A look of sudden understanding came over Kitsune’s face. “And of course it was Tatsuno who gave you the gofu, wasn’t it?”

  Seikei was silent. He wished Tatsuno had told him more about the purpose of the stone.

  “All right,” said Kitsune. “The gofu really belongs to me, you know. Tatsuno stole it. So you should, by right, return my stolen property.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Seikei. “If you claim this stone is your property, then come down and report it to Judge Ooka.”

  “Well, of course he won’t believe me either.”

  “Then tell me the name of the person who hired you, and I’ll give you the stone.”

  Kitsune thought for a moment. “The same objection applies there. Go back and report any name you please.”

  “I cannot do that,” Seikei said. He thought of the writing kit. “Here,” he said. He let go of his sword and took the kit from his kimono. “Use this to write the name of the person who hired you. Sign it. That will be good enough.”

  “This would be the same as my confession,” Kitsune said. “Then I could never leave the mountain.”

  “My father wishes only to know who hired you,” Seikei said. “He will not try to punish you.”

  “How do I know that?” Kitsune asked.

  “You have my word of honor,” said Seikei.

  He tossed the kit to Kitsune, who scooped up some snow and used it on the ink stone to make ink. Kitsune took his time writing the confession. He signed his name with a flourish of the brush, as if he were an artist completing a great work of calligraphy.

  Then he rolled the page up, tucked it back in its compartment, and held out the kit. “Let us exchange New Year’s gifts,” he said.

  Seikei warily stepped from his hiding place, still holding the rock threateningly. “How do I know you will keep the bargain?” he asked.

  “You don’t,” said Kitsune, “but if ninjas did not do what they agreed to do, they would soon be out of work. Bad for their reputations. We are as honorable as you samurai think yourselves to be.”

  Seikei approached the ninja. He reasoned that at close quarters, his sword would be more effective than Kitsune’s shuriken. He held out the stone. It seemed very warm now. Kitsune offered the writing kit.

  They were exchanged. “And now,” said Kitsune, “you had better get off this mountain, for the gofu was your only protection against the kami.”

  Seikei needed no urging. A feeling of emptiness had overcome him as soon as he had let go of the stone. He turned and walked as swiftly as possible without breaking into a run. At first he feared that a shuriken might come whirling toward the back of his head, but eventually he realized that the ninja wasn’t going to seek that kind of revenge.

  Even so, the mountain seemed if anything more frightening on the way down. Once he slipped and slid into a large pine tree. He looked up to see a deer standing not far away, watching him. It looked like the same deer he’d seen earlier, but who could tell? This time, the deer seemed to view Seikei as an intruder on the mountain. He hurried on.

  Seikei had the feeling that many eyes were watching him now. Creatures he could not see ... stones, trees—all of the mountain was aware of his presence. And that he did not belong here. Time passed. How long, Seikei could not tell. On the mountain, time seemed to go more slowly.

  A wave of relief washed over him when he saw the simenawa with the red butterflies hanging from it that separated the mountain from the world of humans. And there, just beyond, was the judge, waiting. Seikei was deeply touched, for it must have taken a great effort for him to stand there for so long.

  Seikei slipped under the rope and bowed to show his gratitude. “Father,” he said, “I have followed the path you pointed out for me.”

  He handed the judge the writing kit. “The murderer’s confession is in here.” Seikei realized he was shaking, unnerved by his tri
p down the moutain.

  The judge took the kit, removed the paper, and unrolled it. He read its contents quickly and nodded. “Did he tell you what he wrote?” asked the judge.

  “No.” Seikei was suddenly afraid. Perhaps the ninja had in the end had the last laugh by writing some taunting remark.

  “You accomplished not only the task I set for you, but the one you took on for yourself,” said the judge. “The ninja writes that the person who paid him to kill Lord Inaba was ... Lord Inaba’s son Yutaro.”

  23

  A NEW YEAR’S CELEBRATION

  Seikei slurped one of the long, long toshikoshi noodles from his bowl. It was a New Year tradition for the long soba, or noodles, to be served. Eating them was supposed to increase your fortune and luck in the new year.

  Seikei and the judge were back in the governor’s mansion. The governor had insisted that they stay for the New Year’s Day celebration. Actually, he wanted to hear from Seikei the story of his adventure on the mountain. Even though Seikei had told it several times by now, the governor never got tired of it.

  The judge was right, Seikei thought: The governor didn’t think I could climb Miwayama and return alive.

  The governor was, however, a man who clearly enjoyed celebrations, and for this one he set out all the food and drink anyone could want. He had appointed Seikei to be the toshiotoko, or “year-man.” This meant Seikei had to draw the first water of the new year from the well, make tea from it, set out a special breakfast for the household, and finally, lead the offering ceremony to the toshikami—the spirits of the new year. Though it seemed like a lot of work, being toshiotoko was a great honor, and anyway the governor’s cook took care of preparing the breakfast.

  The governor’s own children and grandchildren arrived to join in the day’s festivities. Actors had been hired to disguise themselves as demons and dragons, and they kept popping up to frighten the children, who responded with squeals of laughter. Everyone knew that the real demons were kept out of the house by the simenawa that hung over the doorway. Instead of red butterflies, however, this simenawa was festooned with white strips of paper, like everybody else’s.

  After a while, somebody took the children outside to beat the ground with sticks and sing. This was done every New Year’s Day to drive away birds that might eat the seeds farmers planted. Even though the governor had no crops to plant, the children did it anyway—just as Seikei and his brothers and sisters had, even though their father was a merchant.

  The house was quieter with the children gone, and the governor poured Seikei a cup of plum wine. “There’s something I want to know about your battle with the ninja,” the governor said.

  Seikei sighed and politely pretended to take a sip of the wine. He’d already had two cups, and even though the porcelain cups were hardly any bigger than his thumb, there was still a lot of celebrating to do. Besides, plum wine didn’t taste good with the noodle soup.

  “It really wasn’t a battle,” said Seikei.

  “Oh, it was,” the governor said. “To think, though—you had him in front of you asleep and could have sliced off his head right then. That sword is in good condition, you know. Razor sharp.”

  Seikei glanced at the judge, who winked. Even though the governor didn’t understand why Seikei didn’t kill the ninja, the judge did. That was all that mattered.

  “I thought the most interesting part of his story was Seikei’s meeting the deer,” said the judge in an attempt to change the subject.

  “Why is that?” asked the governor.

  “I suspect that the deer was the kami of the mountain,” replied the judge.

  The governor glanced at Seikei. “If so, your son was fortunate. Many people say that the sight of a kami can be enough to kill a person.”

  “That is why it took the form of a deer,” said the judge. “And besides, Seikei had something to protect himself.”

  “Do you mean the stone?” asked Seikei. “The one that Kitsune wanted so badly?”

  The judge nodded.

  “The kannushi called it a gofu,” said Seikei. “What did he mean?”

  “A gofu,” said the judge, “is a talisman, a lucky charm, some people say. A few shrines, especially very old ones like O-Miwa, sell gofus to people who believe they have magical powers.”

  “Maybe if you’d kept it,” said the governor with a chuckle, “you could have made yourself invisible.”

  Seikei thought it more likely that it had enabled him to see Kitsune as a man and not a fox. He looked at the judge. “Do you believe the gofu had magic powers?” he asked.

  “It worked well for you,” the judge said with a smile. “You said that Lord Inaba was your enemy, remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was afraid you had overlooked the fact that I sent you to find the enemies of the old Lord Inaba. You returned as a foe of the new one. As you discovered—and proved with the ninja’s confession—the greatest enemy of the old Lord Inaba was the man you regarded as your enemy, his son. I suspect the father may have learned how his son was treating the people of the domain, and was planning to disinherit him. But the son acted first.”

  “What will happen to him?” Seikei asked.

  “The governor has already sent a message to the shogun in Edo,” said the judge. “It tells what you have discovered. I added my conclusion that the current Lord Inaba is responsible for the death of his father.”

  “Will the shogun punish him?”

  “Perhaps the shogun will allow the new Lord Inaba to choose an honorable way out of the situation.”

  Seikei knew that meant the daimyo would be compelled to kill himself rather than face public execution or disgrace. Compared to what he had done to others, it was too mild a penalty to pay.

  “And Kitsune?” asked Seikei. “Do you think there should be no punishment for him?”

  “Oh, I think you punished him thoroughly,” said the governor. “He’s not accustomed to defeat. In fact, you should watch out that his path doesn’t cross yours again. Don’t be fooled. He’s a ruthless man.”

  “Is it true that Tatsuno is his brother?” Seikei asked the judge.

  “Yes,” the judge answered. “And equally true that I concluded Tatsuno had been falsely accused of a crime. What Kitsune did not tell you was that hewas the person who actually committed the crime.”

  “He did? And he would have let his brother be punished for it?”

  “He intended for his brother to be punished for it. That was when I learned how difficult it was to capture Kitsune. I was unable to do it.”

  Seikei raised his soup bowl to get the last of the broth. He found one more noodle, and as he lowered the bowl, part of it was hanging from his mouth.

  “Look at that,” said the governor, sounding envious. “You got the longest noodle. That means the most good fortune will come to you this year.”

  “You have earned it,” the judge said.

  Seikei slurped the last of the noodle into his mouth. The judge’s praise warmed him as much as the broth. But Seikei still remembered with sorrow those he had failed—Dr. Genko, Sada, Joji, the farmers. It had not been the will of Heaven for Seikei to die on the journey. But those others ... he had been unable to prevent their deaths.

  The judge had told him it was impossible to thwart the will of Heaven. Perhaps if Seikei had never taken down their complaints, they would not have died. But then, what would life be if we did not struggle to make ourselves better? In the new year, Seikei resolved, he would try harder to be worthy of the title of samurai. Perhaps he could begin by returning to Kanazawa and rescuing the prisoner who had spoken to him in the dungeon....

  “The children will be back soon,” the judge said. “Why don’t we have a few more moshi-moshi before they get here and eat them all?”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  We received a letter from a girl in Wisconsin who read The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn while traveling in Japan. She pointed out that we had Seikei turn north to get to the sh
rine of Ise from the Tokaido Road, when he really should have turned south. So, like Seikei, we’ll try to do better in the future.

  In this book, we have used the names for Japanese provinces as they were in the year 1736, or as Seikei would have written, the twenty-seventh year of the reign of the Emperor Nakamikado. What was then called Yamato Province is today’s Nara Province. Etchu Province is now Toyama Province, and Shinano Province is now Nagano Province.

  There is an actual castle town named Kanazawa, but it was the headquarters of the Maeda family, not the imaginary Inaba family of this story. The O-Miwa Shrine does exist, more or less as we have described it, to honor the kami of Miwayama (or Mount Miwa). And no, you can’t go onto the mountain even today.

  According to one source we consulted, the word origami-meaning “paper folding”—was not used until the 1880s. Previously, the term was orikata. However, we used origami because it will be more familiar to our readers.

  The quotation from Basho’s travel diary is adapted from the translation by Donald Keene: The Narrow Road to Oku (Kodansha, 1996).

  As readers of The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn and The Demon in the Teahouse know, Judge Ooka was a real person whose reputation for wise and honest decisions won him promotion to high office. He served Yoshimune, the eighth shogun of the Tokugawa family, who ruled Japan between 1717 and 1744. Tales about Judge Ooka have remained popular, causing some to call him the Sherlock Holmes of Japan. This story, and the character of Seikei, came from the imagination of the authors.