by I. J. Parker
Tameaki sat down. “I try to keep things in their proper places, and I write notes to remind the director of the subjects and which is most urgent.”
“I see.” Akitada felt that this was something that should not be left to a young clerk. Here was another example of Nakahara’s carelessness with classified materials and private letters. Somewhere in those stacks were the documents he had delivered yesterday. “You must have earned your superior’s confidence. That speaks highly of your abilities.”
Tameaki looked modest. “It is very kind of you, sir, but I’m afraid it’s more a matter of who is available to do the work.” He shot Akitada a glance. “Not that I don’t enjoy the work and feel the greatest gratitude to Director Nakahara for allowing me to help.”
It all sounded very praiseworthy, but Akitada felt uneasy about the industrious Tameaki. Perhaps it had to do with his real errand here. Anyone working here could be passing information to the pirates. He looked around.
“I assume Director Nakahara keeps some documents securely locked away?”
“Oh, yes.” Tameaki patted a wooden box on the desk. It had the metal bands and lock of a small money chest. Its key was in the lock.
At that moment, Nakahara himself trailed in. His skin looked pasty, and his eyes were blood-shot and puffy. Akitada hoped he looked better than that.
“Oh,” Nakahara said. “Very sorry to be late. Something I ate didn’t agree with me. I hope you slept well, Sugawara?”
“Yes. Thank you. Our quarters are very comfortable. Allow me to thank you for the fine entertainment last night.”
Nakahara blinked. “Was it fine? I don’t remember much. They had to carry out Watamaro. He and the governor went home in the governor’s carriage.” He shook his head and winced. “That wine was very strong. How are you, Tameaki? All bright-eyed and eager, as usual?”
“Yes, sir,” said Tameaki, getting up and bowing. “I straightened your desk. Do you have any other work for me?”
The director made it to his seat and waved Tameaki away. “No, nothing. Go do some filing or whatever.” He collapsed on his cushion and groaned.
Tameaki’s footsteps faded. Akitada got up and looked behind the piles of goods. But Tameaki was really gone, and Akitada closed the door to the hallway. When he was seated again, he said, “It was very good of you to introduce me to the local notables last night. Do you suspect one of them of being involved with the pirates?”
Nakahara looked shocked. “Good heavens, no! The governor happened to be in town. He usually stays on his estate upcountry. Watamaro, of course, I invited because he can be useful to you. He knows all there is to know about shipping routes. Munata was included because the governor stays at his house when he’s here, and the professor knows a lot about foreigners. He’s descended from them himself, you know.”
Akitada took this for proof that his fellow countrymen did not accept immigrants readily or forget the origin of their descendants. He said nothing about it, however. Instead he asked again, “So you trust them all?”
Nakahara twitched uncomfortably. “I don’t know that I trust you,” he said, half-joking. He rubbed his face. “I beg your pardon. This has been a worrisome business. What exactly are you going to do about it?”
Akitada did not know and ignored the question. He said, “I’m anxious to get to work on the reports. It was good of you to make a room available, but my clerk seems to have disappeared again. I suppose, I’ll have to write them myself. Perhaps you can let me have the lists requested by the controller’s office.”
“Oh, you can borrow Tameaki,” Nakahara said generously. “He’s irritating but efficient.”
“Thanks, but I like to keep myself informed. Perhaps later, if Sadenari hasn’t returned by then.”
The reports of foreign goods shipped from the Dazaifu, the clearing office in Kyushu, and of tribute goods from the western provinces were the ostensible reason Akitada was sent here. The government was mired in paperwork, and in this case only a legal expert could understand the tangled laws, permits, authorizations, shares paid to local administrations, and special exceptions. Akitada did not look forward to this work, especially since he fully expected a lax administrator like Nakahara to have mislaid crucial documents.
Somewhat to his surprise, Nakahara came up with most of the required information, perhaps thanks to the orderliness of the underappreciated Tameaki.
“What do you plan to do about the other matter?” Nakahara asked again, though his expression suggested that he would rather not know.
“Nothing for the time being,” said Akitada. “I have a job to do. Perhaps your documents will provide some insight on who benefits from the pirate attacks.”
Nakahara shuddered. “I doubt it. A very unpleasant business.”
Akitada spent the rest of the morning in a small eave chamber on Nakahara’s papers. Apart from the totally absent shipments that had fallen to the pirates, they seemed to be mostly correct. There was the usual pilfering by ships’ captains and warehouse supervisors, but this was normal and the government did not concern itself with it. Nothing he had read suggested who was behind the pirate attacks.
The sun was past its zenith, and his back was stiff when it struck him that Sadenari had not yet returned. He got up to stretch. Really, he must send the youth back in disgrace and request a replacement. Angrily, he strode down the hallway to Nakahara’s office. Nakahara was dictating to Tameaki while the other clerk, Yuki, sat nearby transcribing something.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Akitada said, “but I’m still looking for my clerk. I was told that he left early this morning with, er, Yuki. And I see Yuki has returned.”
The friendly Yuki jumped up and bowed. “Sadenari only required my help for a little while. Once I had explained about the harbors and how to get to Kawajiri, he said he was able to handle his assignment alone and sent me back.”
“Kawajiri? Assignment?” Akitada asked blankly, getting a hollow feeling in his stomach.
“He wished to gather information about the pirates, sir. I told him about the docks and the wine shops frequented by sailors.”
Nakahara cleared his throat. “Was that entirely wise, Yuki? There are some very rough characters on the waterfront.”
Tameaki sniggered.
Yuki looked at Akitada uneasily. “He insisted he was acting under your instructions, sir. I tried to be helpful. I hope I haven’t done wrong.”
Tameaki said snidely, “And Yuki is very knowledgeable about those low places. Sadenari asked my help also, but I left it to Yuki’s expertise to give him assistance.”
Akitada found his tongue. “Thank you. There may have been a misunderstanding. I’d better go after him.”
Yuki cried, “Oh, allow me, sir. That is, if Director Nakahara can spare me?”
Nakahara said, “Of course.”
But Akitada was already heading for the door. “No, thank you. We have taken up too much of your time. I understand it isn’t far. I believe I shall manage. No doubt we’ll both be back by nightfall.”
To avoid further argument, he left quickly. He did not want witnesses to the dressing-down he intended to give Sadenari before packing him off on the next homeward-bound boat.
*
Down at the dock, he found a boatman eager to take him to Kawajiri. Once the fee was agreed upon, he went about his business of poling them along efficiently enough, but because the labor was hard for one man, he was disinclined for conversation.
The journey took them along several canals through a flat landscape of reeds, marshes, and swamps. The reeds were tall and golden this time of year. Akitada gazed at this confusing watery world and felt out of his depth. People engaged in the water trade lived here in this warren of marshes, small islands, sandbanks, and fishermen’s huts hidden deep in the reed beds. They navigated the obscure waterways the way farmers knew the tracks and byways of their villages. They were desperately poor people, the men working as sailors or fishermen. It was likely th
at poverty drove them to piracy and prostitution. Piracy was the local equivalent of highway robbery. Pirates attacked the big ships in the open waters of Naniwa Bay and the Inland Sea beyond, and then hurried back into their hideaways. Still, no desperately poor man could afford a ship. Someone was financing the attacks.
Here and there on a river bank, a group of fishermen’s huts appeared and disappeared. Once he saw that the land rose in the distance, and ordinary farm houses appeared on higher ground, shaded by groves of trees. Then the landscape changed. The waterway widened and bridges crossed it. There were more boats boat and barges.
Sweat poured off the boatman’s back as he maneuvered expertly between other vessels. Buildings crept closer to the shores, and in the distance pagodas above roofs. Before Akitada’s eyes, the scene opened up to the bay again. Many large ships lay at anchor, their square sails white against the immense blue of sea and sky.
Lumber yards encroached on the shoreline. Barges carried boards and beams, and large rafts of tree trunks, tied together with vines or hemp ropes, bobbed on the river.
In the harbor, several large ships were tied up at docks. On land, warehouses stood in rows, many more than in Naniwa, also built on tall stilts to protect the goods from storm tides. A steady flow of porters went between them and the docks, loading or unloading cargo.
Akitada felt a surge of pride at the sight of so much healthy commerce. His was a great nation, and his people were surely the most industrious on this earth.
Goods used by the court, fine utensils and art works displayed in the great temples, the sustenance of nobles and commoners came this way. Kawajiri was the end of the sea route from Kyushu and the western provinces. Tribute and tax goods, as well as goods and people from foreign countries sailed across the waters of the Inland Sea to this place.
When he set him ashore, his boatman looked exhausted. Akitada paid him with the agreed upon government token and a handful of coins from his own funds. The man bowed deeply and raised his hands to his forehead, then jumped back into his boat to pick up another customer for the return trip. Akitada looked after him and marveled at how hard the man worked for a few coins.
He walked along the crowded harbor, stopping from time to time to ask if anyone had seen Sadenari. Not surprisingly, he had no luck at all. One of the ships had the colorful name Black Dragon and a painted carving of a black dragon with red eyes, white teeth, and red flames shooting from its body at its bow. He admired more ships with names like Great Phoenix, Flying Crane, Cloud Falcon, and Curling Wave. Sailors had poetic souls, it seemed, but he detected signs of hostility whenever he asked his question. Tora would have handled this better. Akitada felt humble.
When he had his fill of the smells of tar and fish and the often incomprehensible language, he turned inland. Bales and cases were stacked along the docks, and two-wheeled carts waited to be loaded. The warehouses stood in enclosures, no doubt for security. He noted watchmen and red-coated police at the open gates. Clearly, theft was much easier before the ship reached this port.
“Who owns all the warehouses?” he asked a porter, who stood waiting beside his cart.
“The ones with the flags belong to the emperor,” he said in a broad dialect. “It’s part of the palace storehouses. The others are mostly Master Watamaro’s or belong to temples.”
“Watamaro? He must be a rich man if he owns so much.”
The man rolled his eyes. “He’s very rich. Richer than the emperor maybe, but a lot more generous to the poor.”
Akitada was taken aback by the comparison but let it go. It was past the time of the midday rice and his stomach growled. Turning his back on the harbor, he took one of the narrow streets beside the customs house. It led into town and was crowded with signs and paper lanterns belonging to small wine shops and eating places. They were much smaller and more modest than the crab restaurant Nakahara had taken him to, but Akitada was ravenous. He chose a restaurant that seemed busier than the rest, perhaps because of the delectable smell of fried fish and a sign that promised “delicacies to make the gods smile”.
Inside, he found a wooden platform extending toward the back where a fat cook dipped into a large cauldron for golden nuggets of fish. Nobody seemed to mind the heat. A number of guests sat near the open doors singly or in small groups. They looked like small tradesmen and travellers. He threaded his way past them and found an open space where a slight breeze from the doorway made the heat seem less oppressive. It was too warm for comfort, and the smells coming from the cauldron made him slightly nauseous .
A waitress came with wine and recited a selection of seafood. Akitada turned down the wine with a shudder and asked for something simple, soup for example. The waitress frowned but said they had noodle soup with fish and vegetables. Good enough.
She left and returned with a large bowl of soup. Akitada paid a modest sum and tasted the broth. It was good and settled his delicate stomach wonderfully. He wolfed down the rest, using his fingers to catch the slippery noodles and chunks of fish.
The cook had watched him, and when Akitada put down the empty bowl, he caught the man’s eyes and gave him a nod, holding up a finger for another serving. The cook’s sweating red face broke into a wide smile. The next bowl arrived with particularly large and tasty bits of fish.
At that moment, a group of men got up to leave, and Akitada’s gaze fell on a strange-looking creature who huddled in a dark corner some ten feet away. He was about fifty, thin to emaciation, and poorly dressed. When he turned his head, Akitada almost recoiled. He was horribly disfigured. One of his eyes looked upward, showing the white of the eyeball, and a scar carved a jagged cicatrice across his face, having taken part of his nose. The wound had been deep and when it healed, it had caused his thin-lipped mouth to twist downwards in a permanent sneer.
The ugly man was also staring, but his eyes were on Akitada’s bowl of noodle soup. He licked his lips, then caught Akitada’s glance and looked away quickly. Akitada saw the man’s threadbare, patched gown and felt pity.
After a moment, the other man glanced back and read Akitada’s expression. The scar on his face darkened. He inclined his head and got up to leave.
On an impulse, Akitada called out, “Could you spare me a moment of your time?”
The other man, even thinner than before now that he was upright, glanced over his shoulder to see if someone else was meant, then approached slowly. “Were you addressing me, sir?”
The formal words did not match his appearance. Akitada adjusted his own tone. “Yes. If you would have the goodness to join me, I need some information. Perhaps you would allow me to order you some wine?”
The scarred man bowed, then knelt. He hesitated. The scar flamed red again, and he said, “No wine, thank you. But I could join you in a bowl of noodles.”
“You would do me an honor.” Akitada gestured to the waitress.
The ugly man bowed again. “Thank you. My name is Saburo. I’m at your service, sir.”
Close up, the face was even more frightful. The scar was puckered and pitted. Normally nearly white against the dark tan, it seemed to change colors with the man’s moods. Akitada wondered how he had become so disfigured. The eye, of course, he might have been born with, though more small scars suggested an accident of some sort. Such disfigurements were not uncommon among the poor, but they frightened small children and made adults look away.
Life was often unfair.
Akitada smiled at his guest. “My name is Sugawara. I’m not from here, and you look like a local man who knows his way around this part of town.”
Saburo’s soup arrived, set down so carelessly by the waitress that some of the broth splashed on Saburo’s patched robe.
Akitada paid and snapped, “Next time watch what you’re doing.” The waitress slunk off with an apology.
Saburo brushed at the stain. “They would rather not serve me here. I make the guests uncomfortable.”
“Nonsense.”
Saburo gave Akitada a
lopsided grin and raised the bowl to his mouth. He took a small bite, chewed, then set the soup back down. “I’m not from here either,” he said, “but I’ve stayed long enough. Please feel free to ask me whatever you please.”
By now Akitada had such trouble putting the man’s appearance together with his educated speech and courteous manner, that his first question was, “What happened to you?”
Saburo lowered his head and studied the food in his bowl.
Ashamed, Akitada said quickly, “Forgive me. I had no right to ask.” He recalled the old waiter in Eguchi. He, too, had been shockingly reduced to poverty and abuse.
The ugly man’s face contorted into a grimace. “There is nothing to forgive. I made a mistake and bad things happened. They say when the gods want to send disaster, they first give a man some good luck to confuse him and blind him to what is to come. I was too sure of myself.”
It was no answer, but Akitada accepted it. The man’s bitterness did not astonish him. He must have fallen far indeed from his good luck. He gestured at the half-filled bowl, and said, “Please eat or this good soup will get cold. Meanwhile I’ll explain. I came to Naniwa yesterday on business for my ministry. My young clerk disappeared this morning. Apparently he came here for a visit. He is rather young, and he told another clerk that he could manage on his own. I’m worried about him and need to find him quickly. What is your advice? Where should I look? Whom should I ask? He takes an interest in ships and sailors, but I had no luck in the harbor.”
Saburo had been eating and listening. Now he put down his bowl again. It was empty. “Why do you need to find him quickly?”
Akitada prevaricated. “Well, he’s away from his home in the capital for the first time and very inexperienced. I lost him once before in Eguchi. There he just got drunk and spent all his money.”
The other man nodded. “Frustrating. But it’s only afternoon. Why the urgency?”
Akitada could not tell this stranger the truth about his assignment and his fears that Sadenari would talk too much. He said lamely, “He may run into serious trouble in a port city. And it will soon be night.”