The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn

by Tom Hoobler

  “I heard the temple bell sound the Hour of the Rat,” Seikei began. He went on to describe how the jikininki had waved the glowing red object at him. “I shouted that I was alive,” Seikei said.

  “And then?” said the judge.

  “The jikininki closed the door, because it knew I was alive and it could not eat me.”

  “Or because you were awake and saw it. What then?”

  “I listened for a while, and didn’t hear anything. But then I heard footsteps again.”

  “Jikininkis, being spirits, make no noise with their feet,” the judge pointed out. “Nor would a careful thief, with so many guards around.”

  Seikei struggled to remember. “That’s right. It wasn’t footsteps. The sound I heard was another door sliding back. It made almost no noise, but I was listening hard.”

  “Another door.” The judge nodded. “What did you do then?”

  “I got up and looked out in the corridor.”

  The judge raised his eyebrows. “Weren’t you frightened? You had just escaped being eaten.”

  Seikei nodded. “I was very frightened. But I . . .” Seikei thought the judge, who was a samurai himself, might be offended.

  “Go on,” said the judge.

  “I reminded myself that a samurai is willing to face death without fear.”

  The judge put his hand over his mouth, but Seikei could see that his eyes were twinkling. Seikei felt his own face redden. Like his father, the judge thought he was foolish.

  “Where did you learn that?” asked the judge.

  “I read it in a book,” Seikei said.

  “A book by Daidoji Yuzan?” the judge asked.

  “Yes.” Seikei was surprised. “How did you know?”

  “I read that book when I was a boy. Sometimes I still read it. We need not discuss that now. Stand here at the door, and tell me what you saw in the corridor.”

  Seikei went on with his story. “And when I stamped my foot, the jikininki sank into the floor and disappeared.”

  “Show me where.”

  Seikei led him to the end of the corridor.

  “Stamp your foot like you did last night,” the judge said.

  “I stamped in front of our door, not here,” Seikei replied.

  “I know. Stamp here now.”

  Seikei obeyed. “Now over here,” said the judge. “Again, back there. Try this spot.”

  Judge Ooka heard something and squatted down on the floor. He began to run his hands along the smooth boards. He grunted, and stuck his finger into a knothole.

  The board lifted up. Seikei stared. Underneath was a dark black hole that led down into the earth.

  “Very good,” said the judge. “Take off your kimono so that you will not get it dirty.”

  Seikei felt his body tingle. “You want me to go down there?”

  “As you see, I am too fat to fit inside.”

  “But what if the thief is still there?”

  This time, Judge Ooka did not hide his smile. “How could he do harm to you, if you do not fear death?”

  7: In the Tunnel

  Wearing only his cotton loincloth, Seikei wriggled into the hole, feet first. He slipped downward, and found that it was the entrance to a tunnel. He looked up and saw Judge Ooka’s face. “It goes farther,” Seikei said.

  “Follow it to the end,” the judge said, “and then be sure to come back and tell me where it comes out.”

  Seikei gritted his teeth. The judge did not seem to think there was any real danger. But Seikei was terrified. He moved forward only a step at a time, stretching his arms out to feel the walls of the tunnel. He had to stoop to keep his head from bumping overhead. He was in total darkness, and would be totally unprepared if something suddenly grabbed him with its claws or ripped into his body with sharp teeth.

  In all the stories of samurai Seikei had read, he had never heard of one burrowing under the earth. Some fought monsters under the sea or on lonely mountaintops. Others battled warriors in single combat and rode their horses against the armies of enemy daimyos. None of them crept through the damp ground like a worm. That was probably why the judge made him do it.

  Seikei heard a sound, and realized that it was his own teeth chattering. It was cold here, and he began to think of graveyards and the spirits of the dead. Perhaps he really was pursuing a jikininki that rested by day in some hidden spot and rose at night to seek its victims.

  And what would it do if Seikei disturbed its slumber?

  He must not think of that. Death, he told himself again, has no meaning to a samurai. But it was more difficult to believe that now than it was during the night in the inn. There, at least, he could have cried out if the jikininki had attacked him. Many samurai guards had been sleeping nearby. Down here, if Seikei screamed, his voice would be swallowed up in the earth and never heard.

  He stopped. He was breathing hard, although he had not moved fast. Go forward, he told himself. Do not give in to fear.

  Little by little, he worked his way through the tunnel. He lost all track of time. Then he bumped up against a wall of earth. Once more, panic threatened to overcome him, and he fought it off. The tunnel must go somewhere.

  Seikei felt around himself, and realized that there was room to stand upright. Over his head was another hole. He found handholds dug into the walls, and climbed to the top.

  He felt a stone resting over the entrance. He pried his fingers around the edge and moved it to the side. He stuck his head out, breathing the fresh air. The sky had never looked so beautiful to him before.

  As Seikei climbed out, he was astonished to see Judge Ooka walking toward him. With him was a man whose orange robe and shaved head identified him as a Buddhist monk.

  “How did you know where the tunnel led?” Seikei asked.

  “I was not sure of the exact location,” the judge replied. “But your description of the thief gave me an idea. We are inside the temple grounds, where travelers who cannot afford lodging are permitted to rest. This monk has told me that last night, a group of actors put on a play here.”

  “Oh, yes. Michiko and I could hear them from the terrace of the inn. We wished we could see the play, and that was why she told me the story of the jikininki.”

  Judge Ooka put his hand on Seikei’s shoulder. “I think you and I will attend more plays before we have solved the mystery of the ghost in the inn.” He looked at Seikei’s mud-smeared body. “You need a bath, but first let us return to finish this part of the business.”

  As they walked back, Seikei said, “The tunnel was very long. No one could have dug it in a single night.”

  The judge nodded. “You are observant. I think we will find that the theft of the jewel was not as simple as it first appeared.”

  They returned to the room where the others waited. Seikei’s father seemed startled to see his son half-dressed and covered with mud. So did the innkeeper, who moved toward the doorway.

  “Hold that man!” Judge Ooka called out to the guards. Two of them took hold of the innkeeper and forced him to his knees.

  The judge settled himself on the platform. He picked up the jewel that had been found in the paper-seller’s box, and showed it to Lord Hakuseki. “Are you certain that this is the object that was stolen from your room?”

  “Of course. It is a gift for the shogun from my family.”

  Startling everyone, Judge Ooka smashed the jewel onto the wooden platform. It shattered into a thousand pieces. “False,” he said. “A clever imitation made of glass, one that could be part of the costumes of a kabuki theater troupe.”

  Lord Hakuseki looked dazed as he stared at the fragments of red glass scattered on the floor. “But the jewel I had was genuine.”

  “Yes, and you would have taken this false one to the shogun. Imagine what his feelings would have been when he discovered that you had presented him with an imitation.”

  Lord Hakuseki looked around angrily. “Why did this paper-seller have it? Did he take the real jewel?”

/>   “It was only by chance that it was placed in his room,” the judge said. He looked at Seikei’s father. “It would have been discovered in your room, had your son not been awake when the thief opened the door. Instead he went to another room and placed it there, for it did not matter which room it was found in.”

  Judge Ooka looked at Lord Hakuseki. “That was the thief’s plan. He knew that you would discover the theft and immediately raise a cry. The other rooms would be searched, and when the false jewel was discovered, you would be certain it was the real one. No one would look for the thief, since it would be thought he had already been found.”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Lord Hakuseki.

  “This boy set me on the correct way of thinking,” the judge replied. “After that, it was easy to see what really happened.”

  “But who is the thief? And where is my jewel?

  “Those things I have yet to discover,” said the judge calmly. “I think this innkeeper may help me. Bring him forward.”

  The guards dragged the man before Judge Ooka. He looked sullenly at the floor.

  “Why is there a tunnel between your inn and the monastery?” Judge Ooka asked him.

  “I know nothing about it,” the innkeeper said.

  The judge turned to Lord Hakuseki. “Have you ever seen this man before? Think carefully.”

  The daimyo frowned. “I cannot remember. Of what importance is he to me?”

  Judge Ooka looked at the daimyo. “You may have done him some injury.”

  “What of it? He is not a samurai. I have power over many people, all those who live on my lands. I can treat them as I wish. Show me that he has stolen my jewel, and I will order one of my men to kill him instantly.”

  “He is my prisoner, and you will not touch him,” said the judge. “I speak with the authority of the shogun, for I am one of his officials.” He nodded toward the guards. “Take this innkeeper away, and use methods to persuade him to speak.” Seikei saw a look of fear appear on the man’s face.

  When they were gone, Judge Ooka sat thinking for a while. “The solution to this mystery will take time.”

  “I have no time,” snapped Lord Hakuseki. “I am to appear before the shogun in four days.”

  “Then you should be on your way,” said the judge. “I will arrive in the shogun’s castle by that time to report what has happened.” He turned to the other guests. “You are all free to go as well. But this boy must remain with me for the present.”

  Seikei’s father spoke up. “He cannot have had anything to do with the theft, Lord. You said that yourself.”

  “He was a witness,” said Judge Ooka. “And he is a bright, brave boy. I need his help.”

  Seikei’s father put his hand to his head. “How can he possibly help you? I must warn you about him—”

  “Put your mind at rest,” said the judge. “You are on your way to Edo too? I will return him safely to you there.”

  Seikei’s father shot a final look of warning at his son, and then left. Michiko came up to Seikei. “I owe you more than I can possibly repay,” she said. “You saved my father and me from being tortured.”

  “I only told the truth,” he said.

  “Many people would have held their tongues,” she told him. “You had no reason to risk your own safety.”

  “It is honorable to speak the truth without regard for the consequences,” Seikei said.

  Judge Ooka overheard him. “I see you remember that book well,” he said. “Now come along. Have you ever ridden a horse?”

  Seikei gasped. “Never, Lord.”

  ‘You must now. We are going to chase the thief.”

  8: A Sword for Seikei

  Outside the inn, Judge Ooka and his men mounted their horses. The innkeeper, hands bound behind his back, was tied to a rope and forced to walk behind them. The judge turned and said to one of his guards, “Bunzo, teach this boy to ride a horse.”

  Bunzo reached down and deftly swung Seikei onto the back of his saddle. Seikei threw his arms around the samurai and held on tightly. Even though they rode slowly, he bumped up and down hard. He thought that he would never be able to survive a long journey this way.

  Fortunately, Judge Ooka’s house was just outside the town, surrounded by a high stone wall. Inside the gate, they dismounted in a large courtyard. As the judge’s men led the innkeeper away, Bunzo took Seikei to the stables.

  Bunzo was a burly samurai with a mustache. Like all samurai, he had shaved the hair above his forehead, and tied the top of his hair into a narrow roll. His clothes were spotless and neatly pressed. “Never rode a horse, eh?” Bunzo said.

  Seikei shook his head.

  Bunzo brought Seikei a plain brown coat, short pants that ended at the knee, black leggings that covered his legs and feet, and a pair of leather sandals. The leggings were tight and their thick rough cloth scratched Seikei’s legs. As he walked gingerly about, Bunzo grinned. “Merchant’s son, aren’t you?”

  “How can you tell?” said Seikei.

  “You’re used to soft clothes. That’s what merchants wear. They get rich by selling at high prices, cheating people.”

  Seikei hung his head. That was why everybody looked down on merchants. They didn’t grow food, like the farmers, or make things, like Michiko and her father did. They only sold goods.

  Bunzo led a gray mare out of its stall. He showed Seikei how to saddle it. “This horse won’t run,” Bunzo said. Too old. If you hit her to make her go fast, she’ll just stop. All you have to do is stay on her.”

  He helped Seikei get into the saddle and showed him how to place his sandals in the stirrups. “If you want to turn right or left, just tug the reins a little bit,” Bunzo said. “This horse has been riding a lot longer than you. She’ll know where to take you.”

  Bunzo handed Seikei the reins. Nothing happened. The horse turned its head and looked at Seikei. Even this horse knows I’m not a samurai, Seikei thought.

  “Tell her to go,” said Bunzo. “Move forward in the saddle.”

  “Go, go,” shouted Seikei. The horse began to walk back toward the stable.

  “Turn her now,” said Bunzo. “Use the reins like I told you.”

  Seikei yanked the reins—too hard, for the horse jerked her head and shook her back so roughly that Seikei lost his balance. He let go of the reins and grabbed the horse’s neck to keep from falling off.

  Bunzo took hold of Seikei’s coat and pulled him upright. “Sit with your back straight,” he said. “Think of yourself as part of the horse. When she moves, you move with her.”

  Seikei began to get the idea. After some more practice, he was able to turn the horse. It was exciting to sit up here, high above the ground. He closed his eyes for a second, imagining himself in the armor of a samurai. Then the horse turned suddenly when he did not expect it, and Seikei fell off.

  Bunzo walked over and picked Seikei out of the dust. He plopped him back into the saddle.

  ‘You know, Judge Ooka is a very wise man,” Bunzo said. “No criminal ever escapes him. He sees things that others do not notice. But once in a while, even he makes a mistake.”

  Seikei blushed. He knew who the mistake was. He gritted his teeth and resolved that he would never lose his balance again.

  Judge Ooka appeared in the courtyard. “How is the training coming along?” he said. “You know, Bunzo, this young man wishes he could be a samurai.”

  Bunzo rolled his eyes and said nothing.

  “He needs a sword, don’t you think?” the judge said.

  Seikei held his breath. Only in his dreams had he dared imagine anything like this.

  “He is not a samurai,” Bunzo said disapprovingly.

  “Perhaps a wooden sword,” said the judge.

  Bunzo shrugged. “At least he would not cut himself.”

  “Let us go find one,” said the judge. He turned to Seikei and said, “Perhaps you would enjoy a bath right now.”

  Seikei realized that he was still muddy from
his trip through the tunnel, and that after the lessons he also smelled of horse.

  The judge pointed. “Go around to the back of the house and you will find the bath. I will join you there.”

  Seikei left the judge talking with Bunzo. He found the bathhouse, removing his sandals before entering. An older woman met him inside the doorway. “Judge Ooka told me to wash myself,” Seikei told her shyly.

  She motioned toward a large shallow pool lined with green tiles. It was empty, but the woman pointed to a bamboo tube plugged with a cork. “Open that, and water will come,” she said. She closed the door, and Seikei undressed and sat down in the bath. He pulled out the cork, and water began to flow out of the tube. To his surprise, it was warm. In his home in Osaka, his family heated water on the cooking stove when they wished to take warm baths. He sat back and enjoyed feeling the water flow over his body.

  Soon afterward, the judge arrived. He joined Seikei in the bath, which was large enough to hold at least ten people without crowding. Unless all of them were as large as Judge Ooka. As he settled into the bath, the level of the water rose enough to flow over the sides.

  “Why is a hot bath such a pleasure?” the judge asked.

  Seikei had never thought about it. “It just feels good,” he said.

  “Perhaps that is the best answer,” said the judge. ‘To enjoy, and not question it. But as I grow older, my mind becomes more restless. I seek out answers to things.”

  “Why is the water so warm?” asked Seikei, thinking that the judge would be pleased with another question.

  He was, nodding approvingly. ‘There is a hot spring nearby,” he explained. “When I heard of it, I realized that its water could be channeled here through bamboo tubes. Much easier than heating water on a stove and carrying it in buckets.”

  The judge closed his eyes and sunk deeper into the water. “I regret that we cannot stay here for long. We must soon pursue the thief.”

  Seikei had been wondering about that. It seemed to him that while they delayed, the thief must be getting farther away. But Judge Ooka must know something about the thief by now.

  “Did the innkeeper confess?” asked Seikei.