by I. J. Parker
“And he’s a pirate?”
Kunimitsu snorted. “Of course not. Yoshi likes to make up stories. He’s just a sailor.”
“He’s got the tattoo,” offered Yoshi.
Kunimitsu glared at him. “So what? Anybody can have a tattoo. You’re gonna give my place a bad name, Yoshi.”
Yoshi muttered, “Sorry.”
Tora said, “So he’s a sailor. I don’t get it.”
“It’s not important. I don’t think he’ll be back.” Kunimitsu took another gulp of wine. “What’s your name and where are you from?”
“I’m Tora.” No point in confusing himself with too many aliases.
“So you’re a tiger?” They grinned at that. Kunimitsu sneered, “If you’re so good, how come you’re looking for work?”
“Got into a fight with my overseer in the capital. He messed with my woman. Had to leave kinda quick.”
They stared at him. “You killed him?” asked Yoshi, his eyes large.
Tora did not answer. “How about that game?”
Kunimitsu fished out the dice and some of his money. The others brought out their coppers. Tora picked up the dice and inspected them. They seemed all right. They played fast and with total concentration. Though Tora watched carefully, he did not see anyone cheating. He won a little and lost a little, and after some time had passed with grunts and moans from the others, he asked, “Who owns the ships here?”
Kunimitsu counted his money. “Watamaro owns most of them in Kawajiri and Kanzaki, and on some of the islands in the Inland Sea. Why?”
“I need a job. I hear the pay is very good on some ships.”
Silence fell. Then Yoshi said, “You’re not a sailor. It’s dangerous work. People get killed on some ships.”
Tora grinned. “Maybe, but if the reward is big enough, I’ll risk it.”
They stared at him. Then Kunimitsu sighed and put the dice away. “It’s getting late.” he said. “You can stay the night because I promised, but if you want to stay alive, don’t meddle in other people’s business.”
The party broke up quickly after that. When the others had left, Kunimitsu looked at Tora. “Who told you about pirates?”
“Oh, come on. All a man has to do is to watch and listen. Someone said this was the place to get in touch with them.”
Kunimitsu shook his head. “You must be mad. Let me show you where you can sleep.”
Carrying an oil lamp, he led the way to a room on the ground level. Unlike the open areas of the hostel, this had wooden walls and a wooden door out to the back of the building. Tora was flattered. “Thanks, Kunimitsu. This is nice.”
Kunimitsu dragged in a roll of bedding. “Well, get some rest. If you haven’t changed your mind in the morning, I’ll ask around.”
Tora slapped his shoulder. “Thanks, brother.”
*
It had been a long day, and Tora was tired. He checked the two doors and found that he could bar them. Then he unrolled the bedding, kicked off his shoes and lay down. He kept his clothes on and his hand around the grip of his sword was asleep in an instant.
Sometime in the night, he became aware of a scratching noise. Rats, he thought, but there was something too persistent about it. He stayed very still and listened. The scratching was accompanied by hissing and seemed to come from the door to the outside. Getting up silently, Tora tip-toed to the door and put his ear against it. Yes, someone was outside, scratching and whispering. He considered, gripping his sword. Then he eased the bar back slowly. The scratching continued, and Tora opened the door a crack.
It was dark, but there was a full moon. Outside his door crouched a creature. Pushing the sword through the opening, Tora asked, “What do you want?”
The creature popped up, and in the moonlight, Tora saw the horrible head of a demon. He slammed the door shut, rammed the bar across, and recited the spell against evil spirits.
After a while, he heard steps receding and crept back to his bedding. It was a long time before he dozed off again, and then he dreamed. He was a pirate and they were attacking a ship. On the ship was a beautiful lady. She screamed when she saw him, but he did not care. He was about to kill her, when he saw that she was Hanae and lowered his sword.
Chapter Eighteen
Melons and Courtesans
Akitada’s worries increased during the day. There had been no progress. Tora was in Kawajiri looking for pirates. Neither of them had a full understanding how these men operated. They were the highway robbers of the sea and said to be far more cruel and murderous. And he had already lost Sadenari. He reminded himself that Tora was not Sadenari. Tora knew how to fight and he was shrewd about the underworld.
In the afternoon, he returned to the prefecture. Munata was there, but the governor was still absent.
Munata still looked very distraught and nervous. “I’ve done everything I could,” he assured Akitada, “but His Excellency is a proud man. Besides, I had to inform him of his son’s departure. I don’t think he will come to Naniwa until Yoshiyo is found. Surely you can understand a father’s feelings?”
“No. Enlighten me,” snapped Akitada. “I would have thought that an imperial order takes precedence over the vagaries of adult sons.”
Munata twisted his hands. “An only son. Allow me to explain, sir. His Excellency has had many tragedies in his life. He lost four sons in their childhood. Only Yoshiyo, his heir, survived. If I may explain: the boy was always a dreamer, but he did well at the university, and his father had high hopes for him in government service. Alas, Yoshiyo wished to become a monk. His Excellency was aghast, as you may imagine, and called him home. Since then, they’ve had a great quarrel. Yoshiyo made some wild threats. His Excellency was afraid of pushing his son too far and let him come to stay with me. Now Yoshiyo has run away, and we don’t know where he is. You can see how worried we all are.”
Akitada frowned. It seemed that every time he tried to force compliance from the men involved in the piracy matter, they came up with some convincing excuse why they could not obey. He said, “I am required to report to the Minister of the Right, and I suggest you remind the governor of this. He must learn to handle his family problems without ignoring his duty.”
“I regret, sir, that the governor has departed to look for his son. I have no way of contacting him.”
Akitada just looked at the prefect.
Munata swallowed and added, “My clerks are gathering information about pirate activity and possible local connections, and I have informed the local police to give you every assistance. Besides, I can offer you my own men, in case you should meet with armed resistance. The prefectural guard numbers twenty-five trained men, and I have personal retainers who can raise another two-hundred soldiers. They are at your command.”
The offer was unexpected and extremely generous. Akitada was mollified. Two-hundred armed men was a small army. “Thank you. I shall avail myself of your offer if the need arises, but on the whole I’d like to avoid bloodshed. It always falls heaviest on the innocent.”
The prefect bowed.
“Send a clerk with the paperwork to the government hostel. I’m staying there.”
Munata bowed again.
Akitada had to be satisfied with partial success and decided to speak to the professor again. He was still puzzled by the man’s interest in the dead courtesan.
The professor’s wife, looking pale and worn and dispensing with any effort to hide behind a fan, told him that her husband was down by the river.
A breeze had sprung up, and as Akitada strode down toward the little inlet of the ducks, it seized a crimson maple and scattered its leaves before him like a shower of blood. He shuddered, and an irrational fear gripped him. Surely, his strange moods were due to his recent loss. Seimei gone, leaving a great void, and before him his small son Yori. And Tora was even now walking into the same danger that had swallowed the unfortunate youth Sadenari. Some days he felt that they were all being tossed about as helplessly as the leaves.
He found Otomo in an odd posture of despair. He sat on the ground, hunched over, his elbows propped on his knees and his face in his hands. When Akitada cleared his throat, he came upright and then rose awkwardly to his feet. “Your Excellency,” he said, his voice thick. “I didn’t know you had returned.”
There were tears on the old man’s face. Embarrassed, Akitada said, “I didn’t mean to intrude. We can talk later.”
The professor shook his head with a sad smile. “No, no. I’m glad you came. It’s too beautiful here to have sad thoughts. They say, you cannot stop the birds of sorrow, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair.” He chuckled weakly.
Akitada looked away from Otomo’s reddened eyes and at the river, gilded by the setting sun. The ducks bobbed on the water of the cove, and pines grew close and dipped their branches into the stream. On the opposite shore, the trees wore their autumn colors: shades of green and gold, copper and flame against the fading blue of the sky, more exquisite than the many-layered sleeves of court ladies at an imperial progress. He wondered what troubled Otomo but dared not probe his grief.
He said instead, “You’re to be envied for this place. It is indeed like a small corner of paradise. But since you don’t mind, I do have a question. When I called on the prefect, I met the governor’s son. I think you mentioned that he was your pupil at one time?”
Otomo nodded. “Toshiyo? Yes, I taught him. A very bright boy, and a nice one. I had no need to lie to his father. I hear he did very well at the university.”
“I’m sure he’s a credit to you, but Munata seems to think the young man is about to do harm to himself or to someone else. What do you think? Is he the type?”
Otomo stared at him. His lips worked, but he said nothing for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Oh, dear! That doesn’t sound at all like Toshiyo. What can have happened? He was always a happy boy when I knew him. Perhaps Munata exaggerates?”
“Perhaps. I hoped you could throw some light on it.”
Otomo turned away to look out over the water. His voice sounded strained. “I wish I could. I’m fond of him. It’s true that Yoshiyo was always a very sensitive child. Sometimes I think he has too soft a heart for someone of his birth. Young people are so easily hurt.” He sighed deeply, and murmured, “And we are helpless to protect them.”
“So you think the young man has committed some offense?”
Otomo’s head came up. “Oh, no, I don’t believe that. I was speaking in general terms only.”
His comments had lacked the detachment of someone speaking in general terms, and he seemed near tears again. Akitada decided to let it go and changed the subject. They chatted about the ducks and fishermen, about the tastiest fish found locally and how to prepare them, but the professor’s mind seemed to be on something else.
On an impulse, Akitada said, “I find I have a little time on my hands, and it occurs to me that I might spend it looking into your mystery of the Korean girls. If you like, we could go to Eguchi tomorrow and ask a few questions. I’ve been feeling guilty about that poor young girl with the amulet.”
Otomo gasped, then he shook his head violently. “Oh, no. No, that isn’t at all necessary. It was a mere whim of mine. I shouldn’t have troubled you. You were quite right. It was all my imagination. I would not dream of troubling you.”
“Nonsense,” said Akitada, astonished by this sudden about-face. “I may pick up some information about piracy while we’re there.”
Otomo became more agitated. Wringing his hands, he said, “Better not, sir. You never know what trouble may ensue. Please do not pursue this matter.”
“Why not? What has happened to change your mind?” Akitada was becoming irritated.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just . . . this is all becoming too much . . . please excuse me.” He turned away, his shoulders shaking.
Akitada said nothing for a while. When Otomo did not seem to gain control again, he spoke more gently. “Well, never mind. We can talk about it tomorrow. I’m a little tired and will say ‘Good night’ for now.”
*
Back at the hostel, he lay awake for a long time wondering about the puzzling behavior of the people he had dealt with that day. The most perplexing had been the professor. Something must have happened to change his mind and upset him to such a degree. He had decided not to give him the amulet just yet.
And what had the governor’s son done to send the father after him in such a rush? Or was the son merely a pretext, and Oga was in the capital, busily causing trouble for Akitada?
He finally fell asleep and slept well.
When he returned to the Otomos the next morning, dressed for the trip to Eguchi, the professor’s wife received him. Her eyes were reddened and her hands shook as she apologized for Otomo’s absence, saying, “My husband is distressed that he cannot see you today. He became quite ill last night and keeps to his bed.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Akitada. “Is it serious? Should I go for a doctor? Please tell me how I can be useful.”
She bowed. “You’re very kind, sir, but it is merely some trouble with his belly. Something he ate, he says. He took a laxative.” She blushed. “I hope Your Excellency is not inconvenienced?”
Akitada looked at her. She seemed more upset than her words suggested. “Not at all. I trust your husband will soon be better. Please tell him that my business will take me out of town, but I should be back tonight or tomorrow.”
*
Akitada did not believe that the professor suffered from an upset stomach. Most likely, he wanted to avoid going to Eguchi with him. This sudden change of mind was extremely irritating, and Akitada thought he deserved a dose of laxatives.
He returned to the harbor and purchased passage on one of the regular boats between the river towns. The weather was still clear, but there was a new chill in the air, and the cries of flying geese overhead told of the coming cold season. Akitada was glad that the oppressive heat of the last weeks had gone. The cool air seemed to give him new energy.
Even at this relatively early hour, Eguchi’s main street was already busy. Akitada tried in vain to suppress his distaste for this particular crowd. Slatternly older women swept before the doors of the brothels, while the younger inhabitants emerged to trip off to the temple up the street. The religious fervor of females in this profession was legendary. They were superstitious, worshipped phallic gods, prayed to the Buddha to cleanse them of their sins and send them wealthy patrons, and lived forever in the hope of miracles. The wine shops were mostly still closed, but a few drunks still lay around in doorways, snoring or eyeing the day blearily. Food vendors did a good business, shouting out their dumplings and noodles and greeting the passing harlots with obscene comments.
Somehow all this did not match up with his image of the young, beautiful, and very dead girl. Shaking his head, he turned his steps toward the bamboo grove and the shack of Furuda and Harima.
He heard the clucking of chickens before he got to it, and when he emerged from the bamboo thicket, he saw that there were many more fowl than last time. The garden, too, had doubled in size. A new section was freshly dug, and already some young plants were growing in rows.
“Harima,” he called out, and she came to the door of the shack. Her face broke into a smile, quickly hidden behind a hand as she came to greet him. He admired again that inimitably graceful, swaying walk of the great courtesan. “I came for a little visit,” he greeted her.
She bowed deeply. “Welcome, my Lord. Oh, how I wish Furuda were here! He’s delivering melons and vegetables in town. Oh, sir, you were so right. We are doing a lot of business with our garden. Did you see the new garden with the little cabbages and radishes and turnips? Please come sit under the tree. I’ll fetch a cushion, and if you’ll stay a little while, Furuda may return.”
Akitada laughed. His heart warmed to this old couple all over again. “I’m very happy to hear you’re both well. By chance, might there be a melon left?
”
“For you, of course. Oh, sir, we owe it all to you.” Her eyes shone and she forgot to cover her mouth as she smiled at him. “A moment, sir.” Hurrying back to the shack, she returned with a cushion for him and went to cut a melon.
Akitada sat under the tree, watched the chickens scurry out of her way, noted that the shack had a new roof and a door, brushed aside a late bee, and felt cheerful.
The melon was as sweet as last time. He asked her to share it with him, but she shook her head. “It would not be seemly. May I offer you something else? We have no wine here, I’m afraid. Furuda has sworn off it. But I could run to town and be back very shortly.”
He could not imagine making someone of her age run such an errand for him. She was in her seventies, surely, and while she was still slender and moved with great grace, she also moved slowly. He thought of Seimei and how painful had been his final years because of the many chores he had insisted on performing to the end. Tears rose to his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, “but I don’t drink wine this early and I don’t want you to deprive me of your charming company.”
She smiled at him with her eyes and acknowledged the compliment with a little bow, still so practiced that he felt subtly flattered. by her attention. She had moved close to him to serve him bites of melon. It was ridiculous to feel attracted to a woman old enough to be his mother, or even grandmother, but so it was.
Putting his mind firmly to the purpose of his visit, he said, “You’re very kind, Harima. That’s why I came to ask you a favor.”
“If it is in my power, sir, I shall do it.”
“I need some information. Your past life has given you knowledge about the way the local brothels are run.”
She flushed and turned her head away. “It has been a very long time since I was a part of that, but please ask your questions,” she said.
Inwardly cursing his blunt language, he said, “The day before I came here the first time, a young girl had drowned in the river. Do you remember?”
She nodded, her face sad. “Yes. She was very young. It can be a difficult life for the young ones. I grieved to hear of it.”