The Dragon Scroll

by I. J. Parker

  The reason for the complacent behavior of the two gate guards became apparent. A whole company of guardsmen was drilling, and an official in the sober dark robe of a clerk detached himself from a small group of watchers and came toward them.

  "May I direct you?" he asked, bowing deeply because Akitada's silk robe and stiffened black cap marked him as a person of rank.

  "I am Sugawara Akitada, the inspector, just arrived from the imperial capital," Akitada told him, suddenly glad that he had submitted to Seimei's demands. "You may take me to the governor."

  The other man started, then paled and fell to his knees, bowing his head to the ground. "This insignificant person is the governor's secretary, Akinobu. Your Excellency is expected, but we thought... That is, the forerunner of an official cortege usually arrives well ahead of the dignitary. A thousand pardons for not being prepared to receive Your Excellency with the appropriate honors. I hope Your Excellency had no trouble on the journey?"

  Akitada noted the man's nervousness and took secret satisfaction from their unorthodox arrival. He said breezily, "None at all. I traveled on horseback, accompanied by my secretary, Seimei, and one servant who will arrive later. Please rise."

  Akinobu rose, his thin face a study of alarm and puzzlement, but he said nothing, merely bowed and led them through the main administration hall, a large empty space with beautifully polished dark floors and painted beams supporting the soaring roof. This building, Akitada knew, was for official receptions and public hearings. Beyond the main hall they crossed another wide courtyard and entered a second, somewhat smaller hall, this one divided by tall screens into individual offices, where many clerks were busily copying records, filing documents, and consulting registers.

  "The governor's library," Akinobu said, ushering them into an elegant room furnished with shelves of leather document boxes, handsome lacquer desks, and paintings. The wooden floor was covered with thick grass mats, and several silk cushions rested on these. "Please be seated. His Excellency will join you immediately."

  When Akinobu had withdrawn and they had sat down on the silk cushions, Seimei whispered, "Who would have expected such elegant surroundings in a province?"

  Akitada did not answer. He was looking at a set of very fine scroll paintings of the four seasons displayed on a standing screen. The governor was a man of taste as well as wealth.

  They did not have to wait long. Fujiwara Motosuke bounced in, fluttering his hands excitedly, a wide smile on his face, and cried, "Welcome, welcome, welcome! How glad I am to see you, my dear Sugawara! All safe and sound? What very good fortune!" He spread his arms wide to embrace his guest.

  Akitada was taken aback not only by the greeting but by Motosuke's resemblance to his cousin Kosehira. Though the governor was about twenty years older than Akitada's friend, he had the same short, stout body and, apparently, uncrushably cheerful disposition. There were a few silver threads in his well-oiled black hair and his mustache was thicker and grew downward, but Akitada had an eerie feeling that he was seeing an older Kosehira.

  Seimei knelt, touching his forehead to the mat in the prescribed deep obeisance, but Akitada remained seated and merely inclined his head politely and without smiling. He was intensely aware of being rude, but he could hardly allow this man, who was under heavy suspicion of having diverted three years of provincial taxes into his own pockets, to embrace him like a long-lost brother.

  The governor blinked. Under normal conditions, his rank and age placed him several degrees above Akitada, but Akitada had chosen to assert his temporary status as kageyushi, imperial inspector charged with examining the records of an outgoing governor.

  Motosuke dropped his outstretched arms and seated himself, beginning a nervous spate of more welcoming words and concerns about their journey and probable fatigue.

  Akitada interrupted. "Yes, yes, Governor," he said curtly. "I will take all that for granted and am much obliged for your greeting, but my purpose here is neither personal nor ceremonial. Let us get to business without further delay. This is my confidential secretary, Seimei, who will now present my credentials."

  Motosuke looked shocked but received the scrolls with proper respect, touching their imperial seals to his forehead and bowing deeply before untying the silken cords to read.

  He sighed when he was done. Carefully rolling up the papers again and returning them to Akitada, he said, "It is a great shame to me that these outrages should have been perpetrated during my administration." He paused and gave Akitada an almost timid look. "My cousin wrote that you have great skill in solving puzzles of all sorts. It is my sincere hope that your inestimable experience may allow you to help me find the scoundrels and clear my record before I leave office."

  Akitada frowned. Much as he disliked the role he was forced to play, he had no intention of allowing Motosuke to transform him from official investigator into his personal adviser in the situation. He said coldly, "It will be necessary that we are given access to all your files immediately. You will so instruct your staff. My secretary will keep you informed if the investigation warrants it or if your testimony is required." He rose.

  Motosuke, who had paled at his words, scrambled up also. "Certainly. I shall make all the arrangements," he said, then added timidly, "You ... you will wish to rest. I am having quarters prepared for you in my residence. May I take you there now? You will only have to tell the servants if there is anything, anything at all, that you might require."

  Akitada said stiffly, "Thank you, but I should prefer to stay in the tribunal compound. Surely you have guest quarters for official visitors?"

  Beads of perspiration on his brow, Motosuke was wringing his hands. He sputtered, "Yes, of course. How stupid of me! Only, the guesthouses are not nearly so comfortable. And it is getting cold. A very uncongenial season, winter. I wish you had come earlier. We could have given you some excellent hunting and fishing. Still, I hope I may introduce you to some of the important persons in town. You will not like the tribunal food. It is for the soldiers and prisoners only. My personal kitchen, my servants, and my stables are completely at your disposal." He was babbling and looked so distressed that Akitada softened.

  "Thank you," he said with a formal bow. "You are very kind. I shall be honored to make the acquaintance of the local dignitaries. Now, perhaps, you might show us to the archives. My secretary and I should like to meet your clerks."

  They spent the day in the archives, talking to clerks and making a superficial inspection of the records. Akitada was favorably impressed with the efficiency of the staff and the neatness of the paperwork, but he avoided questioning anyone about the missing taxes. When he had seen enough of the provincial recordkeeping, a servant led them to their quarters. It was getting dark, and a chill wind blew across the tribunal compound. The guest pavilion with its covered veranda turned out to be spacious and pleasant and had its own walled courtyard. Seimei gave their quarters a cursory glance and asked the servant for the way to the bathhouse.

  "It's still early," protested Akitada. "I wanted to walk around the tribunal first."

  "You forget the dusty archives," said Seimei. "Besides, who knows, the governor may call on us to make certain we are comfortable. He strikes me as a most polite gentleman."

  Akitada thought so, too, but would have preferred a less likable host.

  The tribunal bathhouse was large and empty except for a burly, nearly naked servant, who stoked the fire and assisted with their bath. Akitada submitted to a thorough scrubbing and then went to soak in the deep cedarwood tub filled with steaming water. They could not discuss the governor in front of the attendant, so he emptied his mind gratefully of all his doubts and worries and relaxed.

  When they returned to their room, they found letters from the capital and a pot of fragrant tea with a note from Motosuke. It was brushed in beautiful calligraphy on a sheet of thick mulberry paper and explained that tea was not only refreshing to the soul, soothing to the throat, and invigorating to the stomach, but wou
ld also ward off illnesses and lift the spirit.

  Seimei was delighted. Though wine was the common drink, he had tasted tea from China and believed in its medicinal powers. Filling two dainty porcelain cups, he handed one to Akitada. "You should not have spoken so rudely to the governor," he said disapprovingly. "He is clearly a very superior sort of person, not just in rank, but in his gentlemanly manners also. I was quite shocked." Akitada, who still felt deeply embarrassed by the incident, said nothing. "Ah!" cried Seimei, tasting the tea. "It is very bitter. Drink. Drink. Remember the peddler! No doubt the dirty person had all sorts of nasty diseases."

  "It was thoughtful of the governor," Akitada said. He sighed and set down his cup untasted. "I may have been too abrupt. He offered us welcome and hospitality, and I treated him with cold formality--as if he were a proven criminal. Oh, Seimei, I must either clear him or place him under arrest. How am I, a mere junior clerk of the lower eighth rank, to arrest a Fujiwara who is not only older than I, but who far outranks me?"

  Seimei was unconcerned. "You are sent by the emperor. That gives you the power to act on His Majesty's behalf. The governor was very properly humble. Besides, you are very good at solving mysteries and will undoubtedly clear His Excellency."

  Akitada shook his head. "There was talk at home that they sent a junior clerk because they wanted this investigation to fail. The captain in Hakone thought so, too. I shall certainly be blamed if I fail, but it may be worse if I succeed." He reached for the letters. One was from his mother; he put this aside. The other was from his former professor. "Heavens," he muttered, reading, "Tasuku is taking the tonsure?"

  "Tasuku? Is that the very popular young gentleman who was always reciting poems?"

  "Yes. Love poems. Tasuku had a reputation among the ladies. That is why this news seems so shocking. The professor does not know what happened. Apparently, it was all very sudden and secretive." He had seen Tasuku last at his own farewell party, where his handsome friend had drunk too much, then made a scene, breaking his elegant painted fan, and stormed away. That, too, had not been like him, but it was nothing like this.

  Shaking his head, Akitada was reaching for his mother's letter when he noticed a red leather box next to the tea things. "I suppose the tea was meant to keep us awake while we study the first batch of Motosuke's accounts," he grumbled.

  "Not tonight," protested Seimei. "Even the strongest ox needs his rest after a long journey."

  But Akitada had already flipped back the lid. For a moment he stood transfixed. Then his face darkened with fury.

  "What is it?" asked Seimei.

  "Ten bars of gold," said Akitada in a choked voice.

  * * * *

  THREE

  BLACKBEARD

  Tora sighed with relief and pleasure when the girl with the tantalizing hips paid for her radishes and turned around. Her face was beautiful...and terrified!

  Two saffron-colored backs moved to block Tora's view. The monks.

  Mindful only of the panic on the pretty girl's face, Tora did not pause to think that monks took vows of chastity and nonviolence. If she was afraid of the two monks, that was enough for him to rush to her aid.

  He bounded into the street, dodged a passing bullock cart, made way for a pair of elderly women, jumped over a stray dog, and collided painfully with a bamboo cage full of songbirds strapped to the back of a passing vendor. Birds and man set up a loud protest that attracted a crowd, and Tora was detained until it had been confirmed that cage and birds had taken no harm.

  By then the girl and the monks had disappeared. Only the vegetable vendor remained, staring thoughtfully toward the nearest street corner.

  "Where did they go?" Tora cried, shaking the man's arm to get his attention.

  "Oh, are you a member of the family?" the man asked. "So sorry about the young woman. The reverend brothers explained and took her with them."

  "Explained what?"

  That was a mistake. The vendor frowned and asked, "Who are you? What business is it of yours?"

  Tora cursed and ran to the corner. It opened on a narrow alley, made nearly impassable by the many baskets, crates, and piles of refuse that had accumulated from the market stalls; lined by a warren of tiny shops, small houses, and fenced yards; and crowded with small children playing among the debris, shop boys running with parcels, and market women hauling baskets of produce. The monks and the girl had vanished.

  Taking a chance, Tora plunged in, dodging human and inanimate obstacles at a run, pausing only to peer down each cross alley as he came to it.

  At the third intersection he was in luck. He saw a patch of saffron yellow disappearing around the far corner and he put on speed. When he turned that corner, he saw them. The slip of a girl was struggling frantically between her two brawny captors. One of them slapped her viciously across the face.

  Tora roared and leapt. Seizing both men by their collars, he heaved backward. Caught by surprise, they ended up on the ground in spite of their size. Tora delivered a sharp kick to one monk's ribs, then grabbed the other by his robe and raised him just enough to punch him in the face. The man collapsed without a sound. But when Tora turned to deal similarly with his companion, he saw him take to his heels, yellow robe raised to his knees and sandals flapping at the ends of his long legs.

  The girl was huddled against the wall of a shack, the corner of a sleeve pressed to her bleeding lip.

  "Are you all right?" Tora asked, walking over to her.

  She nodded slowly, looking at him with wide tear-filled eyes.

  What a beauty she was! Tora put on his most fatherly manner. "It's all right now, little love. I'll look after you. Why didn't you scream for help? What were those bastards trying to do?"

  She shook her head. Suddenly her eyes looked past him, widening in panic. Tora whirled about. The vicious blow, intended for his head, landed on his arm, but the pain momentarily stunned him. The monk he had knocked out had regained his senses and decided to turn the tables. Tora jumped aside and retreated to draw the man away from the girl. Then he stopped and crouched. They faced each other, the monk with a broken board in his right hand. Tora bared his teeth and roared again. Then he charged. The monk dropped his board and took off after his companion.

  Shaking his head at such cowardice, Tora turned back to the girl, but found her gone, too. His disappointment was palpable. He had looked forward to showering the pretty little thing with care and attention after demonstrating his manly prowess. Impatiently he walked a little this way and that, calling out, "Hey, girl! Come back here. It's all right."

  The street was in a poor quarter of one-story laborers' houses, their small storage shacks and vegetable patches enclosed by tattered bamboo fencing with dingy laundry drying on it. There were hiding places everywhere, and not a soul was in sight who might have seen the girl.

  Relieving his disgust with a string of colorful curses, Tora turned back toward the market when he heard a wheezing sort of cackle, and a skeletal hand, holding an empty wooden bowl, shot out of the dark corner between a shack and a broken fence.

  Tora recoiled, then peered cautiously into the dim recess. An old man, bent, decrepit, and filthy, looked back at him with beady black eyes and a toothless grin.

  "Strong words, stranger!" The beggar's voice was accompanied by the same whistling sound as his laughter. "It'll cost you five coppers!"

  "Don't be greedy!" snapped Tora, walking away.

  "You want to find the skirt, don't you?" wheezed the beggar.

  Tora went back. "Tell me first. I wasn't born yesterday."

  "Heh, heh. Neither was I."

  Tora took another look. The beggar sat on a basket, one bandaged leg stretched before him, the other a naked stump with grisly scar tissue where the knee should have been.

  With a muttered curse, Tora reached into his sash and counted five coppers into the empty bowl.

  The beggar shoved bowl and coppers into the breast of his ragged robe, said "Follow me!" and stood up.

&
nbsp; Tora stared. The cripple was standing on two thin legs, both perfectly good, though bent like tightly strung bows. He tucked the stump, apparently a piece of painted wood, into his shirt before scooting away down the street in a lopsided scurry.

  "Hey!" Tora got over his astonishment when the old rascal disappeared around the corner and went after him in hot pursuit. Five coppers were nothing to sneeze at, and besides, he refused to be hoodwinked.

  The beggar moved with amazing speed on his bowed legs; he knew his way around. They passed rapidly across a deserted courtyard, past several storage houses and through a creaking gate into a back alley, which led to a small grove of trees and a Shinto shrine. Past the grove, the shrine, and its red-lacquered torn' gates, they reached a deserted street of warehouses and walled compounds. Here the beggar stopped and waited for Tora.