The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn

by Tom Hoobler

  Seikei walked on and after a time became aware that his fatigue had left him. Now that he was truly on guard, and angry, he realized that his senses were sharper. He kept Tomomi always in view and whenever the actor fell back, Seikei slowed his own pace as well. He discovered that he could keep the actor in the corner of his eye.

  At the same time, Seikei was searching the crowd on the road for another figure. Judge Ooka had said that Bunzo would follow him, and Seikei looked for the komuso with the basket over his head. He felt that it was important for the judge to know about the real sword in Tomomi’s trunk. The threat of its sharp blade hovered over his thoughts. He rubbed his cheek, still smarting from the blow Tomomi had given it, and thought about the scar on Tomomi’s own face.

  Today when they stopped for lunch, the actors did not have to perform for their meal. They had collected plenty of money from the audience for The Double Suicide. Even so, Tomomi approached Seikei with the play sword in his hands. “Like to practice your skills?” the actor asked.

  Seikei dreaded what would happen if he accepted. No doubt Tomomi would humiliate him once more, and the others would have a laugh at his expense. He looked around, hoping that Bunzo would suddenly appear to save him. Then Seikei reproached himself. Tomomi had presented a challenge, and he must accept.

  Seikei put his bowl of noodles aside and drew his sword, keeping his eyes steadily on Tomomi. “That’s right,” Tomomi said with a grin. “Two hands, now, remember. Slowly wave it back and forth to keep me at bay. Don’t think of it as a wooden sword. It’s steel, sharpened to an edge that a fly could not walk on without cutting its feet.”

  Seikei nodded, knowing that whatever happened he would learn something, for Tomomi was a master swordsman. Playfully, Tomomi jabbed his own sword forward, and Seikei sidestepped easily.

  “Good, good,” said Tomomi, “and now... prepare to duck!” He sliced his sword through the air toward Seikei’s head, and Seikei crouched down so that it would miss. But as he rose, the sword came back again swiftly and this time Seikei barely avoided it.

  Tomomi gradually increased the speed of his swings and thrusts, and beads of sweat broke out on Seikei’s face. Yet, to his surprise, he felt a thrill at the sense of danger. His body responded almost before he asked it to, ducking, jumping, and sliding to the side to avoid Tomomi’s blade. Seikei moved in ways that he had not known he was capable of, and he saw Tomomi smile slightly as he too recognized what was happening.

  Seikei knew that he was not really winning— Tomomi was not using all his skill. But then he realized how Tomomi intended to end the fight. Just for an instant, Tomomi’s eyes gave his intention away. He could not keep from flicking a glance at Seikei’s right cheek—the cheek that on Tomomi’s own face bore a scar. At once, Seikei understood that was where his opponent would strike, and when Tomomi feinted to the left, Seikei forced himself not to turn with him. In a flash, Tomomi whirled around in a circle, whipping his blade at Seikei from the right. But Seikei had prepared for this. He lashed out with his wooden sword, feeling it knock against Tomomi’s hands.

  Tomomi’s sword fell to the ground.

  The other actors roared with amazement, and then delight. “He caught you,” they taunted. “The pupil has beaten the master.”

  For a moment, Tomomi’s face darkened, and Seikei felt even greater fear than before. “He let me win,” Seikei stammered, but then Tomomi laughed loudly and dropped to his knees. The actor bowed his head to expose his neck. “Finish me off,” he said. “Preserve my honor and kill me.”

  Seikei stepped back, but the other actors pushed him forward. “Go ahead, go ahead,” they shouted. “It’s bushido, the way of the warrior. You must take his head.” Seikei knew that. It was the only honorable action, for a defeated samurai is already dead. He tapped his sword on the back of Tomomi’s neck.

  “Hai, give him a real knock,” urged one of the other actors. He reached for Seikei’s sword to do it himself, but suddenly Tomomi was on his feet and caught the man’s arm. “This boy has earned the right to kill me, not you,” he said. His voice was full of menace, and the other actor retreated, muttering, “Anyway, he beat you.”

  “Tomomi wasn’t using all his skill,” Seikei protested again. But Tomomi turned and looked at him with his penetrating eyes. “You won fairly,” he said. “I underestimated you. You learn quickly. But remember, the play will end differently. Then, you must be an actor, not a samurai.”

  Seikei nodded, glad that Tomomi’s anger had cooled so easily.

  As they moved out on the road again, Kazuo fell in step beside Seikei. “That was strange,” he said. “You know, Tomomi never lets anybody win when he practices. He’s too proud. I don’t understand it.”

  Seikei shook his head. He found no joy in the victory. Now that the battle was over, his legs were weak and shaking. He realized that he was leaving himself open to another of Tomomi’s surprise attacks, but he could not recover the feeling of sharp awareness he had earlier.

  But Tomomi made no more attempts to catch Seikei off guard that day. When the troupe reached the Rokugo River, they paid one of the boatmen there to pole them across. Though this was one of the busiest parts of the great Tokaido Road, a bridge had never been built across the river. According to legend, one of the boatmen’s ancestors had rescued Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, when his enemies were chasing him. In gratitude, Ieyasu had guaranteed that the boatman’s descendants would always have the right to ferry travelers across the river.

  After the actors crossed, they walked the last stretch of the Tokaido Road. The sun was just setting when they caught sight of the brightly painted roofs of Shinagawa, the pleasure-quarters on the outskirts of the shogun’s capital.

  A high black gate stood over the road. The shogun’s soldiers were stationed there, questioning travelers, and the actors had to wait. On the left side of the road was a roofed structure that looked like a shrine. Inside, open to view, were many boards with writing on them. These were the edicts of the shogun—warnings and commands to those who were about to enter the city.

  Seikei hardly glanced at them, for his eyes froze on a more frightening sight on the other side of the road. Resting on top of a wooden platform were three heads—from executed prisoners who had violated the peace of the shogun’s realm. Two of the heads were dry and withered. But the third was fresh, and blood still oozed from it, running down the wood in long streams.

  This was a reminder of the shogun’s wrath toward those who disobeyed his commands. Seikei knew without reading the signboards across the road that one of them prescribed the death penalty for Kirishitans and those who sheltered them. His neck tingled as they approached the checkpoint, for he worried about the gleaming sword in Tomomi’s trunk and its scabbard covered with silver crosses.

  But when the soldiers questioned them, Tomomi stepped forward and declared that they were traveling kabuki actors, coming to give a performance. Kazuo opened one of the trunks to show their costumes, and the soldiers waved them through.

  They had come to the end of the road. They were in Edo, the shogun’s city.

  19: The Shogun’s City

  They found lodging at an inn in the pleasure quarters. It was noisy, for this was the first night of the midsummer bon festival. At this time, the spirits of the dead returned to earth. Throughout the country people discarded their everyday cares to welcome their ancestors.

  Seikei thought of what would be happening in his own house in Osaka. Mother would be opening a cask of rice wine to fill the special cups that were used only on this occasion. It was the only time of year when Seikei had ever seen his father drink too much, for he downed cup after cup thanking the spirits of his own father and grandfather for the prosperity of the family business. Even the children were allowed a small measure of sake on this occasion, but mother made sure that they drank only one cup.

  The memory made Seikei ache with yearning for home. Somewhere in this great city, his father must also be staying. If only F
ather knew how Seikei had spent the last few days, what would he think? Seikei shook his head. Perhaps Judge Ooka had reassured Father that Seikei was safe, but it was impossible to predict what the judge might do. On the road Seikei had kept looking for a sign of Bunzo in his disguise as a komuso, but never spied him.

  After they ate, Kazuo suggested to Seikei they go outside to watch the festivities. Seikei hesitated. “I think I must rehearse some more with Tomomi,” he said.

  “Oh, he won’t do any work tonight,” Kazuo replied. “He’s gone off to one of the pleasure-houses already.”

  Seikei looked around. It was true. Tomomi had slipped away from the other members of the troupe, who were busy draining the bottles of sake provided by the innkeeper. Seikei accused himself of being careless. The judge had told him to follow Tomomi, and now the actor had disappeared.

  There was nothing to do but follow Kazuo into the street. It was crowded with revelers celebrating the bon festival. A line of men and women, accompanied by musicians playing drums and samisens, danced through the street as onlookers clapped and sang. Many of the people, Seikei noticed, had been drinking too much sake. Some called out the names of relatives, begging favors from the spirits who had returned from the land of the dead.

  Suddenly, a flash of blue silk caught Seikei’s eye. One of the dancers moving past the inn was wearing a familiar kimono. Seikei took a step forward, craning his neck to see above the crowd. The flash of blue reappeared—just the sleeve of a kimono, but it drew him forward and then he was running to keep up with it.

  It looked very much like the kimono that Tomomi had worn in the play the night before. Seikei could not be certain, but if it was, he had to follow.

  The procession of dancers moved down the narrow, twisting street and Seikei, trying to keep up, continually bumped into the people watching from the side. A fat man, laughing, gave him a rough shove, sending Seikei tumbling to the ground.

  Jumping up, he touched the hilt of his wooden sword. But he remembered Tomomi’s advice not to fight when he was angry. Controlling himself, he ignored the laughing man and rushed after the procession. Now the blue silk kimono was nowhere in sight. As the dancers reached a teahouse, young women came out to offer cups of sake, and Seikei watched closely as the dancers came forward to accept them.

  The hair on the back of his neck tingled as he saw the figure in the blue kimono step forward. Seikei recognized the pins in the dancer’s hair, for he had seen them twice before.

  Taking the cup, the blue-clad figure turned to face the crowd. Her smiling face was painted white, with vivid red lips and black eyebrows high on the forehead. Only Seikei knew it was not a woman. The figure raised the cup of sake and then poured it on the steps of the teahouse. This gesture brought murmurs of approval from the crowd, for it was meant as an offering to the spirits of the dead.

  Tomomi—for it was indeed he, though again assuming not only the clothes but the mannerisms of a woman—then bowed delicately to the teahouse woman, holding out the cup, which she promptly refilled. Tomomi once more turned, confident that all eyes were on him now, and raised the cup to his lips, drinking the liquid down.

  The owner of the teahouse could not have wished for a better advertisement. The revelers surged forward to accept their own cups of sake from the women distributing them. Seikei remained where he was, keeping his eyes on the figure in blue. The actor had skillfully caused a scene of confusion in order to make it difficult for anyone to follow him.

  Sure enough, as the crowd filled the entrance to the teahouse, Seikei saw Tomomi slip off the steps. In a flash, he disappeared around the corner of the building.

  Seikei realized with alarm that he could not push his way through the crowd in time to catch up with Tomomi. He glanced around, and saw another alley on this side of the building. With luck, it might lead to Tomomi.

  Seikei ran through the alley, seeing nothing but darkness ahead of him. At the end, his sandals splashed through a stream of foul-smelling water. On either side of him, Seikei could see only a few dim lanterns hung at the back entrances of the row of houses. Which way had Tomomi gone?

  Seikei strained to listen. The only sound came from revelers singing inside the houses. Then, at the far end of the deserted little street, he thought he saw another flash of the blue kimono, passing under a lantern.

  He ran in that direction, trying not to let his sandals slap against the pebbles on the ground. The street came out into a larger road. It too seemed deserted, but up ahead was a cluster of lanterns that marked a guardhouse. Tomomi must have passed by it already, for he was nowhere to be seen.

  As Seikei rushed up to the guardhouse an elderly man tottered out. “What business do you have in this part of the city?” he asked.

  Swallowing hard, Seikei replied, “I am in the service of the samurai Judge Ooka, one of the shogun’s officials.”

  The guard’s eyebrows went up. “Ooka, you say?” he said. “I thought he was now the magistrate in Kameyama. ”

  “He is pursuing a criminal who has fled to Edo,” said Seikei in what he hoped was a confident voice. “The criminal may have come through here just a moment ago.”

  The old man shook his head. “No one has passed by except a woman from the pleasure quarters, on her way to a daimyo’s house.” With a wink, he added, “Such great men do not lower themselves by going to that part of the city.”

  “Was she wearing a blue kimono?” Seikei asked.

  “That she was. A beautiful piece of silk. Must have been a gift from her patron. But she’ll prosper only while her looks endure. After that... “ He shrugged.

  Seikei tried to conceal his impatience. “What was the name of the daimyo she was going to visit?”

  “Lord Hakuseki.”

  Seikei blinked. Why would Tomomi be going to the house of the man whose jewel he had stolen? To rob him again?

  “I must go there,” Seikei said. “It is urgent. Can you tell me the way?”

  “Just follow this street,” the guard said. “It’s a grand house, one of the largest in Edo, excepting the shogun’s castle, of course. Do you know the Hakuseki crest?”

  “Yes. A red fish with a box around it.”

  “Go ahead then. You’ll see it on the gate. But you won’t get past his guards with the story you’ve told me.”

  Seikei could not keep himself from asking, “Then why are you letting me pass?”

  The guard’s wrinkled face broke into a smile. “Because you mentioned the name of Ooka. He saved me from disgrace once. When you see him, tell him that Itagawa Yokio has not forgotten him.” He bowed, an action that Seikei knew was meant for the man he served.

  Seikei returned the bow and hurried on down the street. The moon had risen, giving enough light for him to find his way. But high stone walls shielded the houses on either side, and the wooden gates were tightly shut. If there were any celebrations of the bon festival in this part of the city, they were private ones.

  Seikei felt the presence of the spirits of the dead all around him. Some, it was said, came back to avenge wrongs that had been committed against them in life. Seikei wished he were home in Osaka now, where the only spirits were the benign ones of his ancestors, welcomed back to the home they had helped to build.

  I need fear no spirit, Seikei reminded himself. Then a breeze from nowhere ruffled his hair, eerily, like someone touching him.

  For some reason, Seikei remembered the innkeeper back in Kameyama, where all this had begun. He had given a room to Seikei and his father. That had been the man’s misfortune, because it was Seikei’s sleeplessness that helped the judge to discover the tunnel under the inn. That in turn had caused the innkeeper to kill himself rather than confess. Seikei closed his eyes, but that did not blot out the image of the man’s face. I am sorry, he thought. I did not know what would happen to you.

  Suddenly afraid, he hurried on, though he knew it was impossible to move faster than a spirit. He heard hoofbeats on the road in front of him and moved to the
side just in time, for a mounted samurai galloped by in a hurry. Seikei knew that the man would have ridden over him without a backward glance.

  Seikei straightened his back. I too have a duty to perform, he thought. Still, he shivered as the hoofbeats died away, for the street seemed more silent than before. All the house-fronts had their shutters slid tightly closed, and the gates were tied shut with ropes on which bells hung to waken the occupants if anyone tried to loosen them. There were no lights to be seen, for people feared starting fires that could spread rapidly through houses made of thin pine and paper walls.

  Seikei stopped suddenly. Somewhere behind him he had heard a footstep. Or had he? There was no sound now, except the whisper of leaves brushing against each other. Or perhaps the innkeeper’s spirit, still pursuing him.

  There was nothing to do but go on. The road wound through the city, and smaller streets led off of it. The guard had not mentioned those, and after a while Seikei began to wonder if he had lost his way.

  Then the wind rose and he heard a sound like the flapping of the wings of a great bird. Instinctively, Seikei covered his head with his hands. After a moment he peered cautiously into the sky. At the top of a hill, the moon shone on a fluttering banner with a red fish with a box around it—Lord Hakuseki’s crest.

  As Seikei cautiously approached, he was awed by the size of the house. Indeed, it was not a single house, but a yashiki, a large group of buildings where the daimyo’s samurai and family lived. A high wall with glistening tiles surrounded the yashiki. Seikei could dimly make out the figures of guards on watch at the top. He ducked into the shadows at the base of the wall.

  It was clear that nothing Seikei could say would gain him admission to the house in the middle of the night. But Tomomi must have entered, perhaps because he was dressed as a geisha. If Tomomi had truly made up his mind to get inside, nothing would stop him.