by I. J. Parker
Ikugoro’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. “Wha . . . what’s going on here?” he managed. Wada moaned and twisted on the floor, his hand still under Tora’s foot. For a moment, the outcome hung in a delicate balance.
“Well?” growled Tora. “What are you waiting for? I thought you were a man of decision.”
“Kill him, you fools,” screamed Wada. “Kill him now!”
Ikugoro stepped forward. “Er, yes, sir,” he mumbled, looking uneasily from Wada to Tora, “but what happened? Why are you arresting Lieutenant Wada, Inspector?”
“Look around you. Attempted murder—mine and hers— for a start. Now let me see if you have the qualities to uphold the law in Sadoshima.”
Wada shouted, “You idiot. Don’t listen to him.”
Ikugoro glanced at Little Flower, sprawled naked and bleeding on the floor, and made up his mind. “Yes, sir. All right, men. Tie him up!”
The constables stepped forward, unwound the thin chains they carried around their waists to secure prisoners, and glanced doubtfully from Tora to Wada. “Which one, Sergeant?” asked the bravest one finally.
“The lieutenant, you fool. You heard the inspector. The lieutenant’s been at it again, and this time he’s killed the whore. Better put some clothes on him first, though. Knock him out, if you have to.”
Tora took his foot off Wada’s hand and left him to the constables. They actually grinned as they pulled up their cursing, screaming, and kicking commander, put his clothes back on him, and tied his wrists and ankles. Wada’s hand was turning dark and swelling to twice its size. He squealed like a wounded animal at their rough handling. Ikugoro watched the struggle impatiently, then snapped, “I told you to knock him out.”
“Sorry, Sergeant,” grunted the big constable, and slapped Wada so hard that his head bounced off the wall and he crumpled to the floor.
Ikugoro shook his head. “They never liked the lieutenant much,” he informed Tora.
“I see. Thank you, Sergeant. Well done. I’ll see this gets mentioned in my report. Now we’d better get a doctor to see to the girl.”
Ikugoro walked over to Little Flower and bent down. Straightening up, he said, “Not required, sir. She’s dead.”
It was true. Little Flower had lost too much blood, and the already weakened body had been unable to deal with the deep wounds Wada had inflicted. Rage filled Tora, rage against the man who had tormented her and finally killed her as he had promised to do, rage against himself for having come too late. He snatched up his sword and swung around. Ikugoro and his constables watched him uneasily.
Tora took a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said, and slowly tucked his sword back into his sash. “Well. We have a crime scene here, Sergeant. Send one of your men ahead to the coroner. The other two can get a ladder or plank to put the body on and take it to the tribunal. You, Sergeant, will help me here and then transport the prisoner to jail.”
Ikugoro did not question the voice of authority, even if the orders were questionable in the present circumstances. He sent the constables about their duties and then helped Tora go through the motions of observing the evidence of what had happened here. Wada looked much the worse for wear when they turned their attention to him. His lip was split, his nose was purple and bloody, and both eyes were nearly swollen shut. When they asked him questions, he mumbled unintelligibly. Together they dragged him out into the garden. Tora cast a glance toward the back fence. Beyond lay the densely wooded shrine precinct. He hoped Turtle was waiting with the horses.
“Tell you what, Sergeant,” he said. “We don’t want to attract too much attention. You’ve got to make sure the coast is clear. Go out front to wait for your men and post one of them at the gate. Then come back.”
As soon as Ikugoro had trotted off, Tora slung Wada over his shoulder and headed for the back fence. Dropping Wada over like a big bag of rice, he vaulted after, and dragged him off into the shrubbery.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ESCAPE
Akitada lay among the bracken and looked at the tops of gently swaying trees and at the winking stars until he was dizzy. The world was filled with the scent of grass and clover, the clear chirruping of waking birds, the touch of a cool, dew-laden breeze. He had no wish for more.
But Haseo did. “The chains,” he said softly, creeping up. “We’ve got to get the chains off. Do you still have your chisel or hammer?”
Akitada knew he did not, but he sat up and felt his clothing. “I lost them somewhere inside.” He looked at the dark form of his companion and felt ashamed and irresponsible. “I’m sorry. That was careless,” he said humbly. “I should have remembered.” All that work and now they would be caught because the chains would keep them from getting away from the search parties which would soon start combing the mountainsides. He glanced at the sky again. There was a faint but perceptible lightening toward their left. The east. As far as he could make out, they were on the far side of the mountain, well above and to the back of the cliff with the badger holes. This was good, because they could not be seen or heard from the work site.
Haseo sighed. “Never mind. I lost mine, too. Look, maybe you’d better tie up my leg. I’m getting a bit faint. Here. Tear up my shirt.”
Akitada could not see much of Haseo, but he felt the fabric thrust at him and groped for Haseo’s leg. His fingers touched blood, lots of it, warm and slick under his touch. He ripped the shirt into strips, folded a part of the fabric, and told Haseo to press it over the wound, then tied it into place as firmly as he could.
“Stay here,” he told Haseo, “while I look for a rock to work on those chains.”
After much trial and failure, they found that draping the chain over a rock outcropping and then hammering away at it with a loose stone would eventually break a link. The small chinking noise terrified them in case someone should hear, and they paused many times to listen. All remained quiet, and they decided finally that they were too far from the mine entrance to be heard. But they were both exhausted by the time they had freed themselves.
And it was no longer night. The light had changed to a translucent gray, and the mountainside around them was filled with ominous dark shapes and obscure forms. They were far from safe, for with daylight their pursuers would find them gone. All around rose other peaks, wooded and rocky. Night still hung over the west, or they might have seen the sea. They would have to make their way down this mountain and get as far away from the mine as possible. The trouble was that neither knew exactly where they were. Haseo explained apologetically that he had not thought of escape when he was brought here, and Akitada had been unconscious.
Akitada looked curiously at Haseo in the growing light. He noticed for the first time how much thinner he had become since they had met inside the harbor palisade. Haseo was looking him over also and smiled. No doubt, thought Akitada, I look a great deal worse than he, even without a blood-soaked bandage around my leg. Two less likely creatures to make a successful escape from the top of a mountain guarded by Kumo’s men could hardly be imagined. But they were free and had a chance, and that was wonderful. He chuckled.
“Why do you laugh?” Haseo asked.
“We look terrible, but by heaven, we will make it,” said Akitada, and raised a grin on Haseo’s drawn face. “Your leg still bleeds. Can you walk?”
Haseo got up and took a few steps to look down the mountainside. “Come on,” he said. “This way. It’ll stop bleeding, and if it doesn’t, I’ll at least put some distance between myself and those bastards before I collapse.”
As the sun slowly rose over the mountains, they scrambled through gorse, brambles, and shrubs, sliding part of the way on their backsides, until they reached a small stream. It bubbled and splashed downhill, making its way around rocks and over them until it reached a small basin, where it pooled, clear as air, before washing over a rock outcropping in a small waterfall. Here they drank thirstily and then washed themselves. The water was cold, but it removed layers of dust, sweat, and dirt
and made both of them feel nearly human.
It was such a pleasant place, and so peaceful—the only sign of life a rabbit, which scampered off—that they paused to tend to their injuries. Akitada tore up his shirt and replaced the blood-soaked bandage on Haseo’s leg. The bleeding seemed to have lessened, but Haseo was pale and shivered even though the day was warming and they were sitting in the sun.
“I’m going to slow you down,” Haseo said, when he got to his feet.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m limping myself.” Akitada’s knee had not taken well to the hurried descent. It was painful, and Akitada feared it would swell again.
Haseo glanced at it and chuckled weakly. “Two cripples.”
They smiled at each other, though there was little to smile about, and followed the stream downhill. Akitada liked Haseo’s cheerfulness. The silent, glowering prisoner in the stockade had been a different man. This Haseo had both courage and a sense of humor. And he spoke like an educated man.
“Why weren’t you speaking when we first met?” Akitada asked after a while. “I thought you hated us.”
Haseo’s face darkened. “I did. I found that when the constables and guards heard me speak, they were quite likely to use the whip on me. Mind you, it took me a while to work this out. I used to think that a man with my background might make a difference in the way the prisoners were treated. But my suggestions and comments were not well received by either the guards or my fellow prisoners. When one of the other prisoners ratted to the soldiers that I planned to complain about their brutality to the next official I encountered, I learned my lesson. My back’s a constant reminder not to trust anyone. So I stopped talking altogether.”
“But you spoke to me in the mine.”
Haseo smiled crookedly. “By then I knew you were like me. Too clever to know when to shut up. Who are you, by the way?”
“Sugawara Akitada. I’m an official on temporary assignment in Sadoshima.”
“Sugawara?” Haseo raised his brows and whistled. “And an imperial official! But you mean you used to be. What crime did you commit?”
“None. I’m neither a prisoner nor an exile. I’m a free man.”
Haseo fell back into the grass and burst into helpless laughter. Akitada stopped and chuckled.
“Well,” he corrected himself, “I’m theoretically a free man. The problem is getting back to provincial headquarters in Mano to establish my identity. And the gods only know what will await us there.”
Haseo stopped laughing and sat up slowly. “You are serious? But what happened?”
Akitada bent to give Haseo a hand and winced at the pain in his knee. “It’s too long a story. Let’s keep moving and I’ll try to tell you some of it on the way.”
But when he turned, his eyes caught some movement on the other side of the stream. A large furry animal of some sort? Perhaps, but he did not think so.
“Take cover,” he whispered to Haseo, and crossed the stream. His knee hurt, but he had to find out if they had been seen.
He caught sight of the squat brown figure almost immediately. Resembling some lumbering bear with a curly mane from this distance, the goblin was hurrying uphill with two buckets of water. Akitada scanned the area. Could they be that close to the mining camp? The hillside was empty, but evidently the stream was where the goblin got the water to cook with. Dear heaven, what if she had seen them? He could not take that chance.
The Ezo woman was not particularly agile at the best of times, and the full buckets hampered her. When she stopped to look back, Akitada was certain. He made a dash and seized her shoulders to swing her around. Water splashed from the buckets, and she gave a little cry.
Now that he had caught the woman, Akitada did not know what to do with her. Prudence suggested killing her, or at least tying her up to gain them a little more time, but he remembered the extra food she had brought him and could not bring himself to do either.
She looked up at him with an expression that was part fear and part joy. He dropped his hands, and she set down the buckets and smiled the familiar gap-toothed grin. “You safe,” she said, nodding her head. “Good! You go quick now.” A dirty brown hand gestured downhill. When he did not move, she said, “They looking in mountain.” Her arm swept upward and waved a circle around the mountain looming above to indicate that the search had not progressed from the mine yet.
Haseo came up behind him. “We cannot let her go,” he said softly.
Akitada swung around and hissed, “No. She won’t tell.” He wished he were as certain as he sounded. Her words had implied that she would not, but what if she had lied to save her neck? It was a terrible risk to take, and he was risking Haseo’s life also.
Haseo shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. She’s the enemy. I’ll do it, if it bothers you too much.” He brought his hand forward and Akitada saw that he was clutching a large rock.
He stepped between Haseo and the woman. “No. She saved me from the fire and was kind to me. I cannot repay her by letting you murder her.”
They spoke in low voices while she watched nervously. Someone shouted in the distance, and she cocked her head. “You go now. Quick or they kill!” she said urgently, gesturing toward the valley.
Akitada put his finger to his lips, and she nodded. He turned and took Haseo’s arm and pulled him back into the trees.
Haseo dropped the rock. “That was foolish. They’ll be after us faster than you can blink an eye. You should have left her to me. I would have made sure of her.”
Akitada just shook his head.
They struggled on, following the stream down the mountain as fast as their legs could carry them while listening for sounds of pursuit. Fearful of being seen from above, they stayed under the cover of trees, though it slowed them down.
But all remained quiet, and eventually, out of breath and unable to run anymore, they reached the valley. The stream had widened and the mountains receded on either side of them. They saw the first signs of human habitation, small rice paddies or vegetable patches tucked on narrow plateaus. Haseo helped himself to a large radish and a half-ripe melon at one of these, and they stopped briefly to devour the food and wash it down with water.
Later they skirted a few small farms, cautious about being seen, even when the buildings looked like abandoned shacks. Akitada feared that the peasants were loyal to Kumo and would report to him the sighting of escaped miners. Walking became more and more difficult. They needed rest, but fear of their pursuers kept them plodding on doggedly.
The sun was setting when they staggered down yet another hill and found a road.
“I cannot go any farther,” said Akitada, dropping down under a fir tree, one of a small copse, and rubbing his painfully swollen knee. “How is your leg?”
Haseo stood swaying. He looked terribly pale. “Bleeding again, I think,” he mumbled. “Don’t really want to know.” Then he collapsed into the deep grass.
Akitada waited for him to sit back up, but Haseo had either fallen asleep or passed out. He crawled over and checked. The bandage was soaked with fresh blood. But Haseo was breathing normally, his mouth slack with exhaustion. He needed rest and a doctor’s care.
A small stream passed nearby, and Akitada slid down to it. Pulling up some moss, he soaked it in the cold water and held it to his knee. He was faint with hunger and worried about Haseo. He had no idea where they were, but assumed the road in front of them led eventually to Mano. Moving southward should bring them to the sea. But roads were traveled by people, and they would attract attention. It struck him for the first time that they had a choice between risking recapture or dying from their injuries or lack of food in the wilderness.
When his knee felt a little better, he gathered more moss and wetted it, then crawled back to where he had left Haseo.
But Haseo was no longer alone.
Peering down at his sleeping figure stood a youngster of about ten who had a load of kindling tied to his back. He wore only a ragged shirt and did not look much
better than they. Perhaps that was why he did not run away when Akitada approached.
“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, pointing to Haseo’s bloody bandage.
“He got hurt coming down the mountain,” said Akitada, busying himself with undoing the bandage and packing the wound with the wet moss instead. “Do you live around here?”
“In the village. If he’s hurt, you should take him to Ribata.”
Akitada stopped what he was doing. “Ribata? The nun Ribata?” he asked the boy, dumbfounded. “Do you know her?”
The youngster made a face at such stupidity. “Of course. She lives here, doesn’t she?”
Akitada stood up and looked around. “Here? Where?”
The boy pointed up the mountain on the other side of the road. “Up there. You can see the smoke. That means she’s home. Sometimes she goes away.”
Akitada regarded the child dubiously. Why would the nun live here on a mountain? Yet the more he thought about it, the more he was inclined to believe. He squinted at the thin spiral of smoke rising above the tall cedars halfway up the mountainside. Both nuns and priests withdrew to lonely mountain dwellings to spend their days in prayer and meditation. And they were probably not far from Mano. He asked the boy, “How far is it to Mano?”
The youngster pursed his lips and looked at the sun. “You might get there by night, maybe, but you’d better have her look at your friend first. She set my arm after I broke it last year.”
In the distance a temple bell rang thinly. The boy straightened his load. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and trotted away.
Akitada looked at the sleeping Haseo and decided to move him a few feet into some shrubbery out of sight from the road. Then he crossed the road and a field of tall grasses and began his climb through the forest toward Ribata’s hermitage. He found a footpath after a while, but it was steep and when he finally emerged from the forest path into the small clearing, he was drenched in sweat and could not control the trembling in his legs.
A tiny wooden house, covered with morning glory vines and surrounded by a small vegetable plot, stood in the clearing. Below lay the grassy valley and beyond rose another wooded mountainside. A few feet from him was an open cooking fire with a large kettle suspended from a bamboo tripod. An appetizing smell drifted his way. Ribata’s hermitage was simple but adequate and resembled many such places in the mountains around the capital. Only an abundance of flowers, the blue morning glories which covered its roof, the golden bells of day lilies, yellow rape, and purple asters, suggested that the hermit was a woman of refined tastes. The small place was so well hidden among the trees and vines that only those who knew of its existence would find it.