by I. J. Parker
Akitada’s conviction that the youngster was dead increased, and he shuddered at the thought that he must tell his parents. He had made arrangements with the fat manager to leave Sadenari’s bag there for him to pick up when or if he returned. He let the man think that the young man’s absence was no more than a sightseeing trip. The manager nodded, then said, “There was a fellow here, looking for you. I said you’d gone to the harbor.”
Hoping it was Sadenari after all this time, Akitada asked, “What sort of fellow?”
The fat man made a face. “Young and big. A proper thug. He threatened me. Best watch out for that one, sir.”
Not Sadenari then. Could one of the men who had attacked him be so foolhardy as to attack him again? He decided it was not impossible, given the attitude of the local authorities. After all he had been through, it even seemed possible that the governor, the prefect, or Nakahara, singly or in concert, had hired killers to get rid of him.
He thanked the man and went in search of his evening meal while keeping his eyes open against trouble.
He had not gone far when he heard a shout, “Sir, sir!” and turned.
“Tora?” Surprise and pleasure gave way to puzzlement. He could not have made the trip quite this quickly. “Has anything happened?”
Stopping before him, Tora grinned. “All’s well. I was here earlier but you were out. Her ladyship sent me to check up on you.” He chuckled. “I didn’t object. A trip to see the beauties of the river towns was just what I wanted.”
“I’m very glad to see you, but does Hanae know why you’re so eager to be here?”
“No, but don’t worry. I’m a faithful husband these days. Still, no harm in looking, right?”
Akitada gave up. “As it happens, I did send for you this morning. You must have missed my letter. My clerk has disappeared, and I’ve run into trouble in Kawajiri. I should have brought an armed escort, but you’ll do.”
Chapter Twelve
A Flea between a Dog’s Teeth
They had almost reached the restaurant where they planned to eat their evening rice, when someone hailed them. Akitada’s heart sank. It was Otomo again. He glanced at Tora. “It’s the professor I mentioned,” he said.
Tora’s eyes lit up.
No wonder, Akitada thought. A case of a drowned courtesan in Eguchi was just what Tora would like to investigate. Heaven forbid that Sadenari’s fascination with the drowned girl should be reborn in Tora. He could not afford to have another assistant take off and possibly disappear. “Let’s hope he won’t detain us,” he added.
Otomo made his bow and Akitada made introductions.
Tora said immediately, “My master told me the story of the drowned girl, sir. I think we should investigate, find out who she is, and who killed her.”
Otomo blinked at so much enthusiasm. “Your honored master thinks it was an ordinary suicide,” he said cautiously. “I agree. The brothel keeper is married to the local warden. That explains why they don’t want to talk about it. It’s bad for business to have too many suicides.”
Tora said darkly, “I bet that female’s up to no good. I can see it now. Young girls are stolen and forced to work in brothels, and the law does nothing about it because the warden is in the business, too. It’s the perfect set-up. For all we know, there may be hundreds of young women like that in the other towns just like Eguchi. And what happens if the girls don’t obey? Most likely they’re killed. There’s nobody to ask questions because their families don’t know what happened to them.”
Akitada cleared his throat. “We don’t know that, Tora. What we have is one drowning victim and rumors of two or three girls that may have come from Koryo.”
Otomo hung his head and said, “I cannot help feeling a sense of responsibility, but perhaps I have become too involved. Please forget what I said before.”
Akitada could not allow anything to detract him from his assignment, but Tora’s theory had sounded reasonable. He wished he could ask questions about the mansion on the river and about the drowned girl, but he must not encourage Tora and Otomo. He said, “It does you credit that you care, Professor, but as you know, we’re here on duty.”
Otomo nodded. “Yes, of course. Tora’s interest somehow gave me the notion that you would be looking into the case after all. Please don’t concern yourself. I blush to think that you should feel the least obligation. No, no. We shall say no more about it. May I look forward to sharing my evening rice with both of you?”
Akitada thanked him but claimed business. He thought Otomo looked relieved.
Later, over a leisurely dinner at the restaurant, Akitada filled Tora in on all that had happened. He proposed that they work separately to start with.
“While you’re still a stranger here, you can move about and ask your questions without making people suspicious. And you’re more likely to get answers than I.”
Tora had a faraway look on his face. “That goes for Eguchi, too. Someone there knows about those girls. It’s the sort of investigation I’m good at.”
Akitada snapped, “Absolutely not. I have an assignment, and finding Sadenari is more important than enjoying yourself among the harlots of Eguchi. Besides, a drowning in Eguchi is none of our business. I want you here or in Kawajiri. Start at the post station. Ask if they remember Sadenari. He may have arranged to take a boat to Kawajiri. Perhaps he wasn’t alone. If you cannot follow up on that trail, go on to Kawajiri, to the Hostel of the Flying Cranes. It’s the last place where Sadenari was seen and a likely hide-out for pirates.”
After their meal, they walked back to the government hostel to arrange for Tora’s lodging. The fat man raised no objections.
Later, Tora asked Akitada, “Doesn’t that fat bastard feed his daughter? I’ve seen healthier kids among the beggars in the capital.”
“It worries me, too. He makes her work, carrying heavy bags for guests and then, I think, he collects her tips. Poor child.”
“Hah! I’ll see about that while I’m here.”
“No, Tora. Get some sleep and then look into Sadenari’s whereabouts. Besides, we cannot interfere between a parent and child.”
Tora nodded, but he had his familiar stubborn look that told Akitada that he would find ways to do both.
*
Early the following morning, Akitada went to speak to Nakahara again. Apparently, apart from removing the confiscated goods from Nakahara’s office, business was conducted in the same casual manner. No one stopped him, and he walked in unannounced.
Nakahara was dictating. Typically, it was Tameaki who sat beside him, taking down the letter while Nariyuki lounged nearby, looking bored.
Nakahara started up like a frightened rabbit. “You’re back,” he gasped, flinging out an arm that upset Tameaki’s ink stone and scattered papers.
Akitada eyed him suspiciously. “Yes, I’m back. Sorry to interrupt, but as you know, I’m under orders from the Minister of the Right. I keep hoping you’ll take his Excellency’s instructions to heart. Dismiss your clerks.”
Tameaki and Nariyuki left with bows to Akitada. As Akitada sat down on a cushion, Nariyuki’s voice could be heard from the corridor, proposing a quick visit to the market for a bowl of noodles.
Nakahara’s hands were shaking.
Good, thought Akitada. He deserves to tremble. That is what happens to officials who shift their allegiance to local strong men and ignore the wishes of the court. He looked into the other man’s face, saw the flush of shame, the tightening of the lips and said, “I have made my report to His Excellency. He will be displeased that I met with obstruction from you and the local officials when I attempted to carry out my orders.”
Nakahara made a jerky gesture of entreaty. “You must understand that I find myself in a difficult situation here. The court is a good distance away. Different rules apply.”
Akitada snapped, “For a loyal servant of His Majesty only His rules apply. How dare you tell me that you work for another master?”
Nakaha
ra cried, “You misunderstood. I would never serve anyone but His Majesty. I only meant that things work differently here. This is not the capital, and I have no resources to fight crime or even to protect confiscated goods. I have nothing. So I must call on the prefect and the governor whenever there’s a need for assistance. I have no choice but to work with them.”
“That is not at all the same thing as opposing an imperial investigator sent here specifically to check into irregularities because the investigation may prove uncomfortable for Oga and his lapdog Munata. Both officials have gained nothing from their behavior but my suspicion that their hands are dirty. And mind you, that was not what I expected when I first arrived. At that time, I considered all of you innocent. But I found that you, Nakahara, have either been following their orders by choice, or they are holding something over you that allows them to dictate your actions.”
“No, oh no! Nothing of the sort.” Near tears, Nakahara waved his hands again. “You’re wrong about them, about me. It’s just . . . a matter of friendship. Of loyalty. Nothing more. We are congenial. My son works in the provincial administration, and Governor Oga has been very kind to him.” Nakahara paused, then confided, “His Honor has even mentioned that one of his daughters is coming of age, and that he might not be averse to a connection between the families. That would indeed be a great honor and a blessing for a man of my lowly status. I’m not what you would call a successful man.” He paused, then added, “And I’m a father.” He heaved a sigh and added in an aggrieved tone, “My poverty is proof enough that I haven’t enriched myself in my post.”
The situation was a common enough. Provincial lords and court appointees tried to obligate local officials and wealthy landowners by offering favors and forming alliances through marriage. It was a dangerous practice. No one in the central government knew precisely who owed what to whom and what obligations would be called in when a local lord decided to rebel. Nakahara’s situation smacked of conspiracy, but it did not constitute criminal behavior.
“What do you propose to do to clear yourself of the suspicion that has fallen on you?”
Nakahara looked at Akitada dumbly and shook his head.
They were wasting time. Akitada rose. “From what I have seen, the paperwork of your office has been careless. Put your clerks to work-both of them-getting documents in order. I shall examine them again before I return to the capital. Now I’m going to call on the governor and the prefect to see what they have to say to the matter. Where exactly is Munata’s residence?”
Nakahara looked relieved that nothing worse had happened. “Munata has a manor outside the city. It’s on one of the smaller arms of the river. He has rice lands there and also works fields belonging to the governor’s family. But the governor is not there any longer. His Honor has returned to the provincial capital.”
Akitada muttered, “Inconvenient,” and decided to call in at the prefecture. As he rose, Nakahara said. “Oh, this came for you during the night.” He held out a letter. “By special courier.”
Akitada recognized Tamako’s elegant, spidery hand.. He snatched it from Nakahara’s hand, muttered a “Thanks,” and rushed out. At the door, he almost collided with Tameaki carrying a huge stack of documents.
He tore open the folded letter in the hallway.
It was trouble.
Chapter Thirteen
The Bawdy Postmaster
Tora, had set out even earlier, dressed in his neat blue robe and white trousers. These, along with the black hat and boots and the sword pushed through his black sash, were typical for upper servants in noble houses. He planned to have his morning meal before tackling the post office.
But on his way out, he found the skinny girl crouching just inside the door, looking hungrier and paler than any child should. Her fat lout of a father was nowhere in sight. The sight of the child took his appetite away.
“Hello, there,” he said with a smile.
She stared back and said nothing. He wondered for a moment if she was mute but then remembered hearing her talk to her father.
“I’m just on my way to have a bite to eat,” he said. “Have you had your morning gruel?”
She shook her head. The tip of her tongue appeared briefly and she swallowed. The sight twisted Tora’s heart. “Don’t they feed you, then?”
No answer, just that hungry, hopeless look.
He said, “Don’t go away. I’ll bring you something.”
He hurried from the hostel and almost immediately came across a man who was selling hot stuffed dumplings from a steaming kettle. Tora bought a generous helping and carried it back, wrapped into oiled paper.
The girl had moved to the door and watched him as he came running back.
“Here,” he said, out of breath. “They smell good. Eat!”
She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder, then held out her hands.
“Careful. They’re hot.”
She took the food, flinching a little, bowed her head in a nod, and dashed inside.
Tora looked after her, a silly smile on his face. Poor little one, running off to eat in some corner so no one could snatch the precious food away. Then he heard a masculine roar and the sound of a slap.
“Stupid little bitch! Look what you did!”
Tora went in. The fat manager sat at his desk, chewing. The savory dumplings lay before him. There was a greasy stain on his ledger. The little girl cowered in a corner, holding her cheek.
“What the devil?” roared Tora. “I bought the food for her, not for you, you lazy bastard. Give it back to her!”
The man’s mouth dropped open, dribbling bits of dumpling and stuffing down his chest. “Umm,” said and swallowed. “She’s my daughter. She’s a good girl and gives her father what she gets. That’s only proper. Honor your father and mother!What’s it to you, if she shares her food?”
“You’re not sharing, and you hit her. I heard you.”
“Stupid girl made a mess on my ledger,” he said, wiping his chin with his sleeve and dabbing at the stain on his robe. “She’s a bit slow.” He touched his head. “I’ve got to be after her all day long. It’s a great trial, raising a backward child. You got to knock some sense into them.”
Tora took a large step forward, grabbed the neck of the man’s shirt, twisted, and jerked him forward until their faces nearly touched. “If I catch you beating her again,” he snarled, “I’ll make sure you get a double dose of that medicine. Now give the food back to her. She looks starved.”
The manager’s face turned red, and he made choking sounds, but he nodded his head. Tora released him.
“Here, Fumiko,” the man said to the child. “You should’ve told me that it was yours. Thank the gentleman and then go into the kitchen and eat it.”
The girl slunk forward, bobbed her head at Tora, snatched the food, and ran.
Tora nodded. “Good! And remember what I said about hitting her.” Then he walked out of the hostel.
Still very upset, he made for the harbor. He liked harbors. There was always business there, people coming and going, some waiting for boats to arrive, others waiting to leave on far journeys. One could learn things because people liked to chat while they waited. Besides, there was also a sense of excitement in the air. What would the next boat bring? What would the travelers find at their destination?
But it was still early. The gates of the post station were closed. He wandered about for a while, stopping for a bowl of noodles, eyeing the boats, chatting with a porter about loading and unloading goods and with a sailor about his home port and the places he had visited.
Eventually, the large gates of the post station opened. The large compound was marked by a fluttering banner and conveniently located between the harbor and on the main road inland. It served as one of the government barriers where travelers had to show permits and pay tolls. An office, stables for post horses, and fields for the horses to graze made up the whole.
The bulletin at the gate listed the services and fees. A
part from renting horses, people could book passage on boats between Naniwa and the capital or the port of Kawajiri on the Inland Sea. In the yard, a groom was saddling a horse as a messenger stood by. Tora also saw armed guards. Post stations took great care not only of the post, but also of their animals and foot messengers. Several of these runners, in loincloths and short jackets, squatted beside the door, waiting for assignments. Tora walked past them into the office.
Two scribes sat bent over low desks, working on papers. Near them, stacks of parcels waited to be posted or delivered locally. Two more men in loin cloths crouched beside the parcels, ready to carry items to their recipients or to one of the boats. There seemed to be no other customers, and one of the clerks sprang to attention with a bow.
Tora looked past him into the next room. A solitary official sat at a desk: the local postmaster. Postmasters were appointed by the central government in the capital and held to strict account, because official messages, news, and orders from the capital passed through their hands and because post stations regulated travel throughout the country.
Tora told the clerk, “I’ll have word with your boss,” and walked into the postmaster’s office.
He was a middle-aged, plain man with thinning hair who pretended to be busy. Tora cleared his throat.
“Yes?” The postmaster raised his eyes to give him an appraising look.
Tora, neatly dressed and with a black cap on his shapely head, smiled. “Good morning, sir. May I have a word, if you’re not too busy?”
The postmaster smiled back. “I’m always happy to be of assistance. My name is Toyoda.”
“That’s very good of you, Toyoda.” Tora approached. “I’m Tora, from the capital and a stranger here. You’re the first person to show me a friendly face.”