by I. J. Parker
Feng folded his body into another deep bow. “Certainly, your Excellency. If you are quite comfortable here, perhaps this poor room is as good as any?”
The strong scent of incense was giving Akitada a headache, but he said, “Of course. Sit down.”
Feng bowed again and moved another chair up for Tora.
“I’ll stand,” growled Tora. Akitada knew from his tone that he did not care for Feng any more than he did.
Feng bowed again and sat down himself. “May I call for some refreshments? Wine? Tea? Sweets? Or something savory?”
Akitada waved this aside. “Nothing at all, thank you. It has been brought to our attention that my predecessor, Lord Tachibana, who left Hakata more than a month ago, never reached his home in the capital. Neither did he take ship as planned, it seems. We are forced to assume he is still here. Naturally, this raises concerns both here and with His Majesty’s government in Heian-kyo.”
Feng’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t say. How very troubling! Please continue.”
“I am told you had a longstanding relationship with Lord Tachibana. Is this correct?”
“His Excellency honored my store with his business during the time he was here. It was, of course, a business relationship. I’m merely a humble shopkeeper.”
“He was a good customer?”
“Yes. Lord Tachibana had a great admiration for the arts of my homeland. Let us say, our dealings were mutually rewarding.”
“About how much gold did he spend on art while he was here?”
The directness of the question gave Feng pause. He had been very much in control of himself so far. Now he hesitated. “I would have to consult my accounts. Alas, I do not keep them here.”
“Come, Feng, you must have a rough notion.”
Feng spread his beringed fingers. “Forgive me, but your questioning suggests an investigation. Since you tell me Lord Tachibana has disappeared and therefore cannot speak for himself, I would like to be precise. I can consult my accounts and transmit my answer to your Excellency in writing.”
The tone of the conversation had changed subtly. It was not unlike a first meeting between two armed warriors trying to gauge each other’s weaknesses. Behind him, Tora shifted. Perhaps he, too, recognized the tension in the room.
Abruptly, Akitada rose. “It is regrettable that I cannot get the support of the local people,” he said coldly, “but my duty is clear. I take it you have no information about Lord Tachibana’s whereabouts?”
Feng was also up, bowing deeply. “None at all, Excellency. If his Excellency took a small detour to some pleasant island, I trust he turns up soon. His unaccountable disappearance throws suspicion on many.”
Akitada stared at him. The man was very clever. “Send me a list of Lord Tachibana’s purchases from you or through you, dated and with the descriptions of the items and the payments.” He turned and walked out, followed by Tora.
As they crossed the forecourt to the gate, Tora muttered, “We’re being watched. I can feel it.”
“Of course, we’re being watched,” Akitada said irritably. “Word has spread the governor has called on their master.”
“And without an escort. You really shouldn’t take such chances, sir. Especially when the last governor has disappeared.
Akitada did not comment. Tora was right, and he had a family to consider. But he detested traveling with pomp and circumstance, having his every move observed and being stared at by crowds of people.
“And that reminds me,” Tora said. “Mrs. Kimura saw just such a man as Feng with Governor Tachibana. It may have been the day he disappeared.”
“How sure is she?”
“Well, it was getting dark.”
Akitada humphed. He had little faith in the memory of old ladies.
“What next?” Tora asked as soon as they were on the city street again.
“The harbor office. I want to see their records.”
Their arrival and demands caused consternation among the clerks and scribes busy among their ledgers and documents. Their supervisor, an official appointed by Lord Tachibana, turned out to be stubborn. He had never laid eyes on Akitada, doubted his assertion he was the rightful governor of Chikuzen, ignored Tora’s angry threats, and withdrew to his office, leaving them standing among the rest of the staff and assorted merchants and ship owners or their representatives.
Tora was for calling Maeda and his constables, but Akitada shook his head. “Time enough for other methods later. It may make the supervisor more cooperative if he fears repercussions.”
He turned to one of the clerks and asked, “Would you be willing to explain the workings of this office to me? I’ve seen the reports sent to the provincial tribunal as well as those in Dazaifu, but I’m wondering if you keep track of arrivals and departures for any of the boats traveling the Inland Sea.”
The clerk cast several glances over his shoulder toward the back, perhaps hoping his superior might reappear and relieve him of making a decision. Akitada’s mention of having seen harbor office reports made him uneasy. In the end, the possibility that this stranger with his glowering attendant might indeed be the new governor won out.
“Yes, sir, er, your Honor. We do keep track of who comes and goes by listing the owners or captains of the boats and their home port.”
Akitada gave him an encouraging nod. “Excellent! Could you check to see what ships departed the same day as the former governor’s ship. It would have been the middle of the second month.”
After a slight hesitation, the clerk left. Akitada turned to study the people and their dealings with various clerks and scribes. They had lost interest in him. Evidently whatever business had brought them here was foremost in their minds.
One man was the exception. He had apparently come in after them and now lounged against the wall next to the door. Akitada had the impression he had been watching them and turned his head away only a moment before Akitada looked at him. Turning back, Akitada said to Tora, “The man by the door. See where he goes when he leaves.”
The clerk returned with a fat ledger. This he opened and held toward Akitada. “The fourteenth day of the second month, sir. As you can see, there were four ships leaving Hakata harbor. His Excellency’s ship was the Phoenix. Its captain is called Ueda.”
Akitada peered at the ledger and saw one of the ships was indeed the Phoenix. “How do you know this was the ship?” he asked astonished.
“I served His Excellency’s captain myself. I know him. He was very angry when he got the message to go on without his Excellency and came here to ask what he should do.”
“You’re a remarkable man,” Akitada told the clerk with a smile. “By any chance, do you also know who brought him the message?”
“No, sir.” The clerk closed his ledger. “The captain said it was one of the governor’s own men. Still, he thought it strange and waited for his Excellency until the last moment before the tide turned.”
“I see. Thank you. Your memory does you credit.”
Akitada studied the ledger again and asked about other boats Lord Tachibana might have taken passage on. There were only two, and both had since returned and left again. Apparently neither captain had mentioned giving passage to the ex-governor. And that was unlikely.
When Akitada turned to leave the harbor office, he saw Tora was gone. So was the man who had stood beside the door. Outside, it was turning dark. Suddenly a strong feeling of danger seized him. It was not altogether irrational. For all they knew there might be more than just one man watching them. If the last governor had met with a violent end, he could well be next. The faces of his family flashed before his eyes. He had no right to take such risks. He had come to Hakata without armed men, and now he had sent Tora after someone who had probably been watching them. He wished he had at least worn his sword, regardless of propriety.
For a moment, he debated what to do next, then he walked away from the harbor office as quickly as he could without attracting more curiosi
ty. He reached police headquarters safely, though out of breath and ashamed of his panic.
There he left a message for Tora to return to the tribunal, swung himself on his horse, and left Hakata.
20
THE CARTER
When Tora had not returned by nightfall, Akitada was concerned but not overly so. He mentioned the watcher in the harbor office to Saburo, who stopped by before leaving on his own assignment.
Saburo listened and said, “Tora knows how to handle himself. He may have decided to have another look at the willow quarter to ask questions about Fragrant Orchid.” He smirked. “He was really interested in her.”
Given Tora’s past among the flowers of the floating world, it was likely, so Akitada nodded, dismissed Saburo, and went to bed.
This time Saburo had taken pains with his preparations. Not only was his homemade beard in place, but he had opted for his patched and stained black clothes with the clever pouches for assorted weapons and tools. The brown jacket he wore over it to hide its peculiarities was new. He had lost its predecessor in the capital, but a seamstress he knew had constructed a new one to his specifications. It was also brown, since he had a fondness for that color. The previous jacket with its full sleeves and loose fit had to be taken off before making a climb to a roof and into someone’s house. This was how Saburo had lost it.
The new jacket was an invention of his and did not have this disadvantage. It had two sides. The outer brown side was fuller than the inner black one. All he had to do was to turn the jacket inside out, and it became black as the night and fitted snugly enough not to snag on things when climbing.
He looked like a poor working man as he made his way on foot into Hakata. It was a nuisance to have to walk so far before reaching his objective, but like his master and Tora, he needed the exercise to get in shape. Tired and footsore by the time he reached Hakata harbor, he surveyed the craft tied up at the docks. The ship where he had first seen Fingers was gone.
He next turned down the street to the wine shop where Fingers had met with his cohorts before following the children. He hoped it was their regular meeting place. It was unlikely they would recognize him. Bearded men were common here, and last time he had worn his good clothes and a hat. Now he looked like the regular customers.
The Dragon’s Lair was crowded, and the smells of smoke, oil, and sour wine were thicker than last time. Saburo stopped at the door and scanned the room. His quarry was not here, but to his surprise he saw the pimply-faced salesclerk from Feng’s shop. He wore old clothes, and Saburo might not have noticed him if he had not raised his head to look toward the door. He gave no sign of recognition, however, and lowered his head again. He sat alone in a corner near a torch light, reading a book of some sort and sipping from a cup of wine.
Saburo found a place as far away as possible from Feng’s clerk while still within sight of him. The man had looked to see who had come in; this suggested he was waiting for someone.
A waitress appeared by Saburo’s side. He ordered some cheap wine and relaxed. Like last time, the crowd consisted of rough laborers and sailors. Feng’s clerk definitely did not belong. Saburo decided to have a closer look at the store later on.
Just before it became necessary to order another flask of the sour wine, another man entered and looked around. He was a young, clean-shaven but dirty, and of the same laboring class as the rest of the Dragon’s Lair’s customers. When he saw Feng’s clerk, he grinned and went to join him.
Well, he was not Fingers, but Saburo decided a meeting between the clerk and this laborer was still interesting.
The young man sat down uninvited. The clerk frowned at him, wrinkled his nose, and turned down the corners of his mouth. He asked a question, got another smile, and an emphatic nod. The young man leaned closer and spoke at some length. The clerk nodded and reached into his robe to pull out a small but weighty bag. This he pushed toward the young man, who snatched it up and peered inside. He looked very pleased, tucked the small bag inside his dirty shirt, and called for wine. The clerk, looking disgusted, rose and left the Dragon’s Lair without another word to the laborer. He had done what he had come for and had clearly not enjoyed the errand.
Not long after, the young laborer paid for his wine, gulped it down quickly, and also left.
Saburo had been so engrossed in the meeting he had not noticed the waitress hovering by his side with another flask of wine.
“No, thanks,” he growled, getting up. “Your rot gut has given me a belly ache.”
Outside, the young man was just picking up the handles of a handcart. Without a backward glance, he trotted off down the street toward town. The cart made enough noise to drown out footsteps, and the effort of pulling it meant he could not easily turn his head to look behind him. Saburo followed. Possibly the man’s errand had involved nothing illegal after all, but there had been the bag of money, large enough to suggest Feng’s clerk had paid the man for more than a simple delivery.
The cart was nearly empty. As they passed a lighted doorway, Saburo saw it contained only some ragged blankets that had perhaps been used to protect an earlier cargo.
Gradually they left behind the gaudy lights and noise of the harbor dives and brothels and passed through streets with shops that were shuttered at this hour. It was quiet here and the wheels of the cart seemed very loud. Saburo kept in the shadow of buildings, but the carter did not pause to look behind him. Soon they were crossing the river and heading into a residential quarter. The man and his cart made for a rundown area. Some of the houses had been abandoned and were falling to ruin. Saburo guessed they were near the shrine where the children had kept their birds.
The cart came to an abrupt halt next to a broken wall. Saburo melted into the shadow of a large tree. For the first time, the carter seemed to become cautious. He looked all around and listened. When he was satisfied he was alone, he reached under the rags in his cart and pulled forth a bundle. With this under his arm, he climbed over the rubble of the broken wall and disappeared.
Saburo approached the opening but could see nothing. Hearing the receding footsteps of the man, he scaled some of the rubble to reach the top of the wall. In the dim moonlight, a deserted courtyard lay before him. All around were more ruins and remnants of buildings. It had either been a small temple or monastery once, or perhaps an official’s house. No one had lived there for a long time.
The carter had not gone far. In the center of the courtyard stood a group of trees and under the trees seemed to be more rubble. Saburo could not see what the man was doing because the darkness was dense under the trees. He heard a strange scraping noise, a pause, and more scraping.
The carter emerged from the darkness, wiping his hands on his clothes, and strode back toward the street. He no longer had the bundle.
Saburo jumped down and hurried back under his tree just in time to see the carter emerge, look up and down the street, then take up the handles of his cart, and trot off.
There was no time to inspect the ruined courtyard, but Saburo thought he could easily come back later. He followed the cart to see where it would take him.
It took him to the quarter where the children now lived with the kind Mrs. Kimura. Saburo had visited and knew the quarter. His quarry pulled the cart down a dark alley. When Saburo reached the alley, he had disappeared into one of the houses, leaving the cart next to a fence.
Now what?
His suspect’s proximity to the children made Saburo unhappy. While he was not Fingers or one of his cohorts, he might have some connection with them. After a moment’s reflection, Saburo felt his way down the dark alley to the cart. It was too dark to see much. Houses and trees blocked whatever little moonlight there was. He felt around in the bed of the cart, but found nothing but stinking rags.
Leaving things as they were, he followed the alley to the street. There he walked to the next corner and looked down the line of houses backing onto the alley. And there, in the middle, was Mrs. Kimura’s house. If he had
counted correctly, the carter had gone into the house next door.
This was very worrisome, but as it was the middle of the night, and Mrs. Kimura’s house was dark, Saburo turned back and retraced the route to the abandoned ruin.
There he made his way to the clump of trees and looked for the bundle the man had left. He did not see it, but while groping about, he caught his toe on a loose board and heard the same scraping noise the carter had made. Reaching down, he found the board was part of a wooden rectangle and heavy, since it was weighted down with rocks. He removed these and flung the board back, nearly tumbling head first into a black, stinking hole the board had covered.
He had found an old well, and the bundle must be down there along with rotting garbage. It was much too dark to investigate further. That had to wait for daylight. He replaced the cover and the rocks, and left.
Somewhere a watchman called out the hour. He had another two hours until dawn. By now he was very tired and his feet hurt quite badly, but his master had expressed an interest in Fingers, and Saburo had not found him yet. He made his way somewhat painfully toward Feng’s store.
To his surprise, he saw a faint light behind one of the grilles covering the windows. It seemed to come from somewhere far in the back of the store. His spirits lifted. Having surveyed the lay-out on his recent visit, he guessed someone was in a backroom kept for storage or paperwork. He slipped around the building, took off his loose jacket and turned it inside out. Putting its black version back on, he smeared a handful of dirt over his face, then climbed the tall wall at the back of the premises and jumped softly down into a yard. This service area was filled with boxes and packing materials but otherwise empty. He studied the building. No light at all showed on this side. The back wall of the store had only one opening, a pair of wide doors. The tiled roofs clearly defeated even the cleverest burglar or spy.
With a sigh, he crept up to the door. It was heavy and well-made. The lock looked massive and well-oiled. What he was about to do was dangerous, but he had no other options. Saburo felt through the various pouches of his clever garments and extracted a small set of metal hooks and slides. With these, he began to work on the lock mechanism, cringing at every scrape and click. It was a mechanism foreign to him, so it took trial and error before he finally heard something move. Tucking his implements away, he used his fingertips to move the left panel of the door very slightly. To his relief, the person who had installed such a fine and complicated lock had also oiled the hinges on the door. The heavy panel moved softly and silently.