Death on an Autumn River sa-9

by I. J. Parker

  Toyoda positively twinkled with friendliness. “I’m sorry you’ve had a hard time of it. We must try to do better. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, it’s a complicated story. I work for an important official in the capital. He sent one of his clerks down here to deliver a payment. The young man seems to have disappeared without a trace and never made the delivery. I’m here to ask if anyone remembers him.”

  Looking concerned, the postmaster pushed aside the ledger he had pretended to

  work on and said, “You suspect him of a crime? That’s shocking. Hmm. Here’s a puzzle to solve.” Gesturing to a reed cushion in front of his desk, he said, “Please sit down. I’ll do my best to help you. Can you give me some particulars? Like what he looks like and when he was here? We take pride in the service at Naniwa station, and visitors from the capital are particularly noted.”

  Tora took this as a wish to impress his superiors in the capital in case this visitor

  reported to his master. “He arrived in Naniwa six days ago,” he said. “On the fifteenth day of the month. The master thought he would make the delivery later that day or the next. Either he’s run off with the gold or something happened to him before then.”

  “Ah. He may have rented a horse or a boat. What is the clerk’s name?”

  “Miyoshi. First name Sadenari.”

  The postmaster jotted this down. “And the name of the person or place he was visiting?”

  Tora hesitated. He had not thought his tale through very far. “As I said, this is a delicate matter.” He put a finger to his lips and winked.

  The other man sighed. “Yes. Quite so, but it makes it harder.” He called one of the clerks, who went to the shelves of document boxes and brought two to his master. The postmaster riffled through the contents and took a list from each. “Ah, I see,” he muttered, frowning as he compared them. “Yes, a person called Miyoshi called in on the sixteenth day of the month to post a letter. As for renting a horse or boat . . .” He switched to the second list. “Ah, yes. Here he is again. He took a boat to Kawajiri.” He looked very pleased with himself. “Does that solve your problem?”

  It did not. Tora did not have to pretend chagrin. “Looks like the master has been cheated. I don’t suppose you remember any details?”

  The postmaster chuckled. “Maybe. Seeing the list brought it back to me. A young fellow, handsome and well dressed, a little like you, in fact, except he wore no boots and had no sword? He didn’t look at all like a crook. More like a student. You know, good class, well educated, naive. And he was poor. He asked about the cheapest rates and then he counted his coppers very carefully. That’s what made me pay attention. I remember thinking how strange it was that someone of his background should have to be so frugal.”

  It had almost certainly been the clerk. “Hmm. Was he alone?” Tora asked.

  “Well, he came in alone, but I got the impression someone was waiting for him outside.”

  “Did you see who was waiting?”

  “No. But he kept looking over his shoulder and seemed in a big hurry.”

  “Ah. That’s not much to go on.”

  The postmaster’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I hope you find him.”

  Tora was about to take his leave, when the man’s face brightened. “Wait! I seem to remember he posted two letters, the one to the capital and a local one.” He reached into the first box and brought out the list again. “Yes, here it is. Addressed to the Foreign Trade Office, in care of Senior Secretary Nakahara. That sounds very respectable.”

  Tora’s jaw sagged. He went around the desk to look at the list. It was true. Why would Sadenari write to Nakahara? Straightening, he said darkly, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. There’s corruption in the highest places these day. Well, I’d better go there and ask some questions. I wish I could repay you with a cup of wine, but it’s early and you’re at work.”

  The postmaster laughed. “A man in my position can leave at any time. But you needn’t, you know. As I said, we pride ourselves on our service.” He paused. “Still, perhaps just a short one.”

  Tora regretted his generosity, but said, “A pleasure, postmaster.”

  “Call me Toyoda.” The man was up in an instant and led Tora to his favorite wine shop. There the “short one” turned into several long ones. Since Tora had led him to believe that he served a high-ranking courtier, Toyoda questioned him minutely about the sexual habits of those who “lived above the clouds”, forcing Tora to resort to outright lies to satisfy his curiosity.

  He had just told a lurid tale about a princeling who had seduced his half-sister, when Toyoda said, “I heard of a good story myself. There’s a great palace on the Yodo River, just outside Eguchi. It belongs to an imperial princess. I think she’s the aunt of the present emperor, an elderly lady.” He chuckled. “She has a taste for young men, and her servants scour the countryside for well-built youngsters. People say she’s very hard to satisfy. If the young men don’t perform to her taste, she gets rid of them. But if she likes them, they live like the blessed souls in paradise.”

  Tora was familiar with such tales and did not believe a word, but the mention of a palace on the Yodo River made him curious. “Where exactly is that place?”

  Toyoda guffawed. “Are you thinking of applying?”

  Tora did not think that funny. “Don’t be silly. I wondered because my boat passed a very elegant pavilion just before we reached Eguchi.”

  Not surprisingly, Toyoda did not know the precise place where the princess entertained her young lovers. But the topic had reminded Tora of the professor’s tale.

  “I expect you know the local pleasure towns quite well,” he said. “Are there any very young Korean girls working there?”

  The postmaster cocked his head. “Korean? Not that I know, and I do know my way around the better houses in all of those towns.” He chuckled and preened himself a little. Seeing Tora’s raised brows, he confided, “My own old lady is the very opposite of the princess. Cold as a fish! If it weren’t for some of the beauties in our river towns, I don’t know what I’d do.” He winked. “I could introduce you to some very charming flowers, if you’re interested. You like them young, did you say? I know where there are some as young as twelve, if that’s what you like. How about it? A man must do what he can to take care of his health, you know, and they do say the young ones have more of the long-life essence in them.”

  Tora disliked the postmaster very much by now. He thought of the dead girl, and shook his head. “Thanks, not for me. My wife’s enough for me. And children don’t appeal to me that way. It’s unnatural. Like sleeping with your own children. I just overheard some talk on the boat coming down. Umm, it’s getting late.”

  But Toyoda did not give up easily. He described a variety of bed partners and their amazing skills to Tora and told him about a barbarian woman from the far north who had some enticing peculiarities.

  In desperation, Tora reminded Toyoda that he had to get back to work, even if postmasters lived more leisurely lives. He paid the large bill, and they walked back to the post station, the postmaster singing a bawdy song, and Tora nursing a headache.

  At the post station, Tora questioned the porters and the two clerks about Sadenari.

  They had no information. Apart from Sadenari’s sending a letter to Nakahara, he had extracted nothing useful in his morning’s work, while his funds had shrunk considerably.

  He was walking glumly from the post station, when his master hailed him. Startled, Tora stopped. The look on his master’s face told him that he had bad news.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Karma

  The journey was rapid and allowed little time for conversation. In Naniwa, as they waited for horses to be saddled, Akitada had read Tora his wife’s letter. They reached home after dark.

  Tora pounded on the gates and called out. A fully armed Genba threw them wide. He knelt, knocking his head on the gravel of the courtyard. “Forgive me, sir,” he cried.r />
  Akitada said, “Get up, Genba. This was not your fault.”

  He and Tora dismounted, leaving the horses to Genba, and ran straight to the main house. Monks chanted in the reception room. Tamako came to meet them, bowed to her husband, and said in a low voice, “He’s very weak. Oh, Akitada, I’m so afraid.”

  It was not a proper greeting, and Tamako was always proper. Akitada took her hand and drew her close as Tora looked away. “Are you and Yasuko well?” Akitada asked, his cheek against her hair. Her familiar scent moved him deeply. All that was precious to him was contained in his home.

  She nodded against his chest. “Genba blames himself.”

  “Why?” demanded Tora suspiciously.

  Tamako gently moved from Akitada’s arms. “He was not here, Tora. Cook had sent him to the market. He thinks if he’d hurried more, he could have stopped them. It’s nonsense, of course.”

  “Yes,” said Akitada heavily. “Come, I want to see Seimei now.”

  He lay in his room, stretched out on his bedding, pretty screens set around, incense wafting from a small brazier, and costly wax candles lighting his pale and rigid face. He was very still; only his breath rattled softly.

  Akitada knew the signs. Death was near. He sank down on his knees beside the old man and whispered, “Seimei?”

  Seimei’s lids flicked open. “S-sir?” It was no more than a breath. Then, with an effort, “I t-tried to stop them.”

  “I know, old friend. Don’t exert yourself. Tora and I came as soon as we heard. How are you feeling?”

  The lips quirked into a smile. “You’re home,” he whispered. And after a pause for a breath, “In time.” Then he sighed and fainted.

  Tora plopped down on Seimei’s other side. “Seimei,” he cried, “Seimei, it’s me, Tora. Speak to me? Don’t die, old man. Not yet. Not without a word to me.”

  “Sssh.” Akitada put his finger to the old man’s neck. “He isn’t gone yet, Tora,” he said softly and got to his feet. “He’s just resting, I think.” He glanced at Tamako. “How bad is it?”

  “He took a blow to the back of the head and lost a lot of blood. At his age . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she wrung her hands. “I’m afraid, Akitada.”

  “Yes,” Akitada said heavily. He looked down at the frail body, the waxen face with its sharp hollows, already like those on a lifeless skull, the hands with fingers that were bones held barely in place by transparent skin. “Yes,” he said again. “Let’s go to my study. Tora, will you stay and call us if he wakes?”

  In his study, he took Tamako into his arms again. “I’m so glad you and my daughter were not hurt,” he said. “That thought was too terrible to contemplate.”

  She clung to him for a moment. “It was you I was worried about.”

  He released her reluctantly. They went to sit on the veranda, and looked at the dark garden where fireflies danced above the moss and over the koi pond. “What exactly happened?” he asked.

  “They came just before midday. Two armed men wearing half armor. Genba had left for the market because cook wanted a sea bream. Seimei opened the gate to their pounding. He thought they’d lost their way and greeted them politely, but they stormed in, flinging him aside. Trouble rushed out, barking, and snapped at their legs. One of them struck him with his halberd and nearly killed him. He’s lame and still very weak. Seimei ran after them and tried to bar their way into the house. That’s when they swung the halberd at his head. A glancing blow, but . . .” She bit her lip. “Cook and Hanae came out of the kitchen and saw it all. When they started screaming, the villains drove them into the kitchen building and locked them in. Then they came to find me.” Tamako gulped and took a deep breath.

  Akitada reached for her hand. She squeezed it and went on. “Yuki and Yasuku were with me in my room. They came in with their weapons ready, and Yuki attacked the first one. I screamed. I was so afraid they’d kill the child, kill us all. But they pushed Yuki at me and only delivered a message. ‘Tell your husband to come home and look after his own, or we’ll be back and you will die.’ Then they walked out quite calmly.”

  Akitada felt a deep anger. “Did they say who they worked for? Who sent the message?”

  “No. I think it has something to do with your work in Naniwa.”

  “Yes. Probably.” Akitada was no closer to knowing what was going on, while the person behind the pirate attacks had evidently felt he was getting much too close. “Come,” he said, “Let me take a peek at Yasuko. Then I’ll go back to Seimei.”

  Yasuko woke.He held the little girl tightly, so tightly that she squirmed while she told him about the bad men and what they did to Seimei and poor Trouble.

  “What’s the matter with Trouble?” Akitada asked his wife.

  “He’s lame. And he doesn’t bark and rarely goes into the courtyard anymore.”

  “Not much of a guard dog, then,” said Akitada, putting his daughter down.

  “Don’t say that. He nearly died defending us.”

  Akitada nodded. “You’re right. It’s only . . . I wish Seimei had been spared.”

  In Seimei’s room he found Tora weeping like a baby and went to touch Seimei’s hands, half afraid he was too late. The hands were cold as ice, but at his touch the old man’s eyelids twitched. He said quite distinctly, “I’m a little cold.” Akitada found another quilt, put it over Seimei, and then sat down to warm his hands between his own. Seimei opened his eyes. “Is it snowing?”

  “No. It’s a beautiful autumn night.”

  “Autumn chill turns to winter cold. I’m a little cold, but isn’t snow beautiful?”

  Akitada shuddered, and Tora sniffed audibly, then shuffled closer. “Seimei? Can you hear me? It’s Tora.”

  “Tora? You must try harder with your brush. Then your father will be pleased. Your father loves you.”

  They exchanged a glance across the old man’s figure. “He has us confused,” Akitada said softly.

  Seimei smiled suddenly. “The gods have been good to me. Two such sons! What more could a man want?” His eyes looked from Tora to Akitada, and he grasped a hand of each. Then the smile faded, a distant look passed over his face, and he lost consciousness again. After a while, his breath resumed its horrible rattling.

  They sent for the doctor, but stayed at the old man’s bedside. Seimei did not wake again. The doctor arrived in time to pronounce death.

  *

  Early the next morning, Superintendent Kobe arrived. He was startled and dismayed to find the Sugawara household in mourning. After paying his respects to the dead Seimei, he met with Akitada in his study.

  “I’m very sorry,” he said simply. “I liked him and envied you such loyalty.”

  Akitada, who had sat up all night with the body, nodded wearily and tried to gather his thoughts. “Thank you for coming. The two men who killed him need to be found and arrested. My wife tells me that she has reported their descriptions.”

  “Yes, to the warden. The matter just reached me this morning. Apparently, these men were no ordinary criminals. Robbers in our capital do not carry swords and halberds. They use cheap knives that can be concealed easily. Neither do they wear half armor over figured silk. From their clothes and particularly their weapons, I would say they’re trained warriors attached to some nobleman’s household. That makes the situation serious and difficult.”

  “They may belong to someone in Naniwa. I think they didn’t intend to kill anyone, but rather to warn me away from my assignment in Naniwa. More than likely they are attached to either Governor Oga or his prefect, Munata.”

  Kobe frowned. “Then I doubt I can be of use. Perhaps you’d better report to His Excellency, the minister, and let him handle it.”

  Akitada sighed. “I will, but first I must take care of Seimei’s funeral.”

  Kobe left some of his men to guard Akitada’s residence and departed.

  Akitada returned to the reception hall where Seimei’s body, wrapped in white hemp, rested amidst tall candelabra.
The candles cast weird shadows of the seated monks on the walls, and the draft from the open door stirred the shadows into a ghostly dance, as if the spirits of the underworld had also gathered to welcome Seimei’s soul.

  He closed the door and went to kneel beside the old man. Death had not been kind. The flesh seemed to have shrunken from his face, leaving only yellowed skin stretched taut over the skull. Already, he was a stranger. Akitada suppressed a shudder and reached for Seimei’s hand. Bowing his head, he let his thoughts go back to his childhood. Seimei, who could not have reached fifty yet, had seemed old even then. Akitada recalled kindness rather than embraces. Seimei’s hand on his head or shoulder, or holding his own small hand as they walked through the garden, were the most vivid memories of their closeness.

  Seimei’s hand had guided him into young adulthood. On the day the young Akitada had rebelled against his father’s harshness and left his home, there had been tears in Seimei’s eyes, and his hands had clutched Akitada’s shoulders almost desperately.

  Later, Seimei had fitted himself into Akitada’s young family, being ever present and caring. He had kept the accounts, served as Akitada’s secretary when the young official could not afford to hire one, treated the family’s wounds and illnesses with his homegrown herbs and medicines, taught his young master’s son, and stood by Akitada when the boy had died.

  What would they do now? Who would he turn to for advice?

  Who would fill the awful void that twisted and sickened his belly?

  The candles flickered, and the chanting stumbled briefly. A touch on his shoulder.

  He looked up and saw his wife’s face, her eyes swollen and red from weeping. He rose and together they walked out into the corridor. The monks continued their chanting, and Tamako slipped into his arms and sobbed against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could take away your pain, but I have too much of my own. I loved him as I did my father.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said, grief thick in his throat. “I know.” He had not loved his father. Seimei had taken that place.