Текст книги "Island of Exiles "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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robe was still inside, tightly folded as he had left it. He slid a finger inside the collar and felt the stiffness made by the docu-

ments. Satisfied, he tucked the flute inside the robe and closed

the saddlebag. Then he fortified himself with the rice dumpling

offered by the hostess, who was assembling a tray for Osawa,

and went to have a look at Minato by daylight.

This morning Minato sparkled freshly after the rain and

seemed an ordinary, pleasant place after all. Akitada saw no sign

of his shadow from the night before and wondered whether

fatigue and the eerie, misty evening had made him imagine

things. Shops were opening, and people swept in front of their

doors or walked to work. The temple doors stood wide, and a

young monk was setting out trays of incense for early worship-

pers. Only the shrine lay as silent as the night before behind its

grove of trees and thick bamboo.

Akitada turned down the street to the Bamboo Grove. Before

him the lake stretched like a sheet of glistening silver. Fishermen’s boats were plying their trade in the far distance, and closer in

some anglers trailed their lines in the placid waters. And every-

where gulls swooped, brilliant flashes of white against the azure

sky, their piercing cries a part of the freshness of the morning.

To the northwest, Mount Kimpoku loomed, its top bright in

the sun. It reminded him of the tall and striking Kumo, high

constable of Sadoshima, and Mutobe’s choice as arch-traitor.

Kumo’s status and his influence over the local people made

him an obvious leader, and his wealth could finance a military

campaign. And, perhaps most importantly, his family believed

itself wronged.

But the Kumo he had met, while something of a mystery,

did not fit Akitada’s image of a ruthless avenger of family honor

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

169

or of a man driven by hunger for power. According to his

people, Kumo was modest and kind. The man who had allevi-

ated the suffering of those condemned to work in the mines

surely could not have ordered the murder of little Jisei.

Haru’s restaurant was still dark and silent after its late hours

the night before, but in an adjoining shed a man was scrubbing

a large table. All around him stood empty barrels and baskets,

and a strong odor of fish hung in the air. Akitada called out a

“Good morning.”

The man looked up. Of an indeterminate age, he had the

deeply tanned, stringy physique of a fisherman. Seeing Akitada’s

plain blue robe and his neatly tied hair, he bowed. “Good morn-

ing to you. How can I help you?”

“You own the Bamboo Grove?”

“My wife Haru does.”

“Then you must be the man whose catches are famous

hereabouts.”

Haru’s husband grinned. “I may be, but if it’s fish you came

for, you’re too early. The first catch won’t be in until later.

What did you have in mind? Eel, turtle, octopus, shrimp,

abalone, clams, bream, trout, mackerel, angelfish, flying fish,

or blowfish?”

Akitada smiled. “Blowfish?”

“Yes. Fugu. It’s a great delicacy. But expensive.” His eyes swept over Akitada again, estimating his wealth.

“It’s for my master, who’s visiting Minato,” Akitada explained.

The man’s face brightened. “Ah! Of course. Many gentlemen

enjoy fugu here. I can have some for you by evening. How many? You want them prepared, don’t you? My wife’s an expert

at removing the poison. You’d be well advised to let her do it.

Otherwise . . . well, your master wouldn’t live long enough to

thank you for your service.” He paused. “And his family might

accuse you of murder.”

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I . J . P a r k e r

Akitada said, “I hope not. Has that ever happened here?”

“Not with any fish we’ve prepared,” the man said almost

belligerently.

Akitada told him that he would consult with his master. As

he returned to the inn, he wondered if Haru’s expertise with

blowfish had come in question recently.

Osawa was up and freshly shaven but complained of feeling

too ill to leave his room. He handed Akitada the governor’s letter

and told him in a weak voice to deliver it to Sakamoto, making his

apologies. “It’s not as if I were a common messenger,” he sniffed,

“or as if there were any need to discuss anything with Sakamoto.

Just hand the letter to a servant and wait for a reply. Sakamoto

may, of course, rush right over here to apologize for that lout of a servant who turned us away so rudely last night, but I have no intention of moving to his house. I’m very comfortable right here.”

And so he was, sitting in a nest of bedding with a brazier

warming the air, a flask of wine beside him, and the remnants of

his morning meal on a tray. Akitada took the letter with a bow

and departed happily.

This morning there was activity at the Sakamoto house. The

gates stood wide open, revealing a rather weedy courtyard and

dilapidated stables. A groom was walking a handsome horse

around the courtyard. Evidently another guest had arrived. The

professor would be relieved to hear that Inspector Osawa

preferred the inn to his villa. Akitada saw that the horse, a very

fine dappled animal, had been ridden hard. Then something

about it struck him as familiar. Yes, he was almost certain that

this was one of the horses from Kumo’s stable. Had Kumo him-

self followed them to Minato? But Kumo’s groom had told the

mine foreman that Kumo would want to inspect the fire.

“Hey, you!” One of the house servants, a fat youth who

seemed to be eating something, waved to him from the house.

“What do you want?” he demanded when Akitada came to him.

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

171

Akitada held up his letter and explained.

The fat youth took another bite from his rice dumpling,

chewed, and thought about it. “Wait here,” he finally told him,

and waddled off. Akitada walked into the stone-paved entry.

Scuffed wooden steps led up to a long corridor. Somewhere a

door creaked and slid closed. He heard the sounds of conversa-

tion, and then the door squeaked again. The fat youth reap-

peared, followed by the long-faced, middle-aged servant from

the night before. He still looked ill-tempered. Holding out his

hand, he said in a peremptory tone, “You can give it to me. I’m

in charge. I’ll see the master gets it.”

Akitada shook his head. “Sorry. I’m to give it to Professor

Sakamoto in person. Tell him it’s from the governor.”

The long face lengthened. “The professor has guests. You’ll

have to come back later.”

Akitada was intrigued by a conference which was so impor-

tant that Sakamoto could not be interrupted by a messenger

from the governor. Drawing himself up, he said sternly, “Do you

mean to tell me that you did not inform your master of Inspec-

tor Osawa’s visit yesterday?”

Recognition dawned belatedly, and the man flushed. “Oh.

Well, no. There hasn’t been time. The professor did not get back

until quite late.” And then in no condition to take in such news,

thought Akitada. “And this morning we had an unexpected

guest. If you would tell your master, I’m sure he’ll understand.

Perhaps the professor could call on him later?”

This did not suit Akitada at all. He said, “Don’t be a fool, man.

Inspector Osawa is still angry about being turned away yesterday.

He asked me to deliver this personal message from the governor

because he is ill, a fact he blames entirely on being refused shelter by you. The message is bound to be important and urgent. If you

make me go back to him with another refusal, he will return to

Mano and report the snub. Your master will be in trouble.”

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I . J . P a r k e r

That shook the surly servant. He glared at the fat youth,

who was leaning against the wall picking his nose, told Akitada

to wait, and disappeared. Akitada ignored the hulking lout and

sat down to remove his boots. Then he stepped up into the

house.

The corridor led to a room overlooking the lake. It appeared

to be empty. Sliding doors to the veranda and garden beyond

had been pushed back for a lovely view across the shimmering

water to Mount Kimpoku. The garden sloped down to the

shore, terminating in a pavilion which appeared to project out

over the water—the pavilion where the Second Prince had died.

Two men were standing at its balustrade watching the boats

on the lake. One was certainly tall enough to be Kumo. They

were joined by a third. The crabby servant was reporting his

visit to the professor, the shorter, white-haired man. The profes-

sor said something to his tall guest and then hurried with the

servant toward the house.

Akitada hoped that Kumo, if it was indeed Kumo down

there in the pavilion, would stay well away from the house while

he gave his message to the professor.

The professor’s eyes looked slightly bloodshot, his right

temple was bruised, and there was a deep scratch on one cheek-

bone, mementos of last night’s bender and the tumble into the

ditch. But this morning his beard and hair were neatly combed,

and he wore a clean silk robe, somewhat threadbare but pre-

sentable. He scowled at Akitada.

“What’s all this?” he said, matching a curt nod to Akitada’s

bow. “My servant tells me you have a letter from the governor?

Can you make it quick? The high constable is here.”

The irritable tone was probably due to a hangover. Akitada

bowed again. “I serve as secretary to Mr. Osawa, the governor’s

inspector. Mr. Osawa wished to put His Excellency’s letter into

your hands in person. Unfortunately, we found you absent from

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

173

home yesterday, and today Mr. Osawa is too ill to come himself.

Rather than causing a further delay, he has asked me to deliver

it.” He handed over the governor’s message.

Akitada’s speech caused Sakamoto to narrow his eyes and

look at him more sharply. Then he unfolded the letter and

glanced at it. “Oh, bother!” he grumbled. “I have absolutely

nothing to add to the case. Well, you’d better come along while

I respond to this. I see he expects a reply.”

They went to the room overlooking the lake, evidently

Sakamoto’s study, and comfortably though plainly furnished

with well-worn mats, old bookcases, and a large desk with writ-

ing implements and a stack of paper. Two screens warded off

cold drafts and a large bronze brazier the chill of winter.

Today there was no need for either. The sun shone brightly

outside and no breeze stirred the trees. As Sakamoto reread

the letter, Akitada watched the pavilion. Kumo still leaned on

the balustrade, looking across the lake. It struck Akitada that the pavilion was perfectly suited for plotting treason. It was surrounded by open ground or water, assuring absolute privacy to

anyone in the pavilion. No doubt that was why Kumo and

Sakamoto had been talking there now. Akitada wished he

could have heard their conversation.

Sakamoto gave a grunt, and Akitada took his eyes from the

pavilion. The professor was frowning, almost glowering at him.

“Who exactly are you?” he asked. “Have we met before?

Osawa never had a personal secretary on previous visits.”

Apart from their belligerent tone, the questions were proba-

bly due to Kumo’s visit. Kumo had shown a suspicious interest

in the fact that they were headed for Minato. But Akitada had to

answer and thought it best to stick to the original story. What-

ever Kumo suspected, he could have no proof that Akitada was

not what he pretended to be, or that Osawa’s trip was somehow

connected with what everyone seemed so anxious to hide.

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I . J . P a r k e r

“My name is Yoshimine Taketsuna,” he began, patiently, as

befitted his present status. “I am a convict. His Excellency, the

governor, being short-handed in the provincial archives, heard

that I have skill with the brush and employed me as a clerk. The

governor told me to assist Mr. Osawa because he cannot spare

the inspector for more than a few days. I doubt we can have met

before. We only arrived in Minato last night.”

Sakamoto was still frowning, and Akitada wondered if he

had recognized his voice. “What were you convicted of?” the

professor asked.

Akitada hedged a little. “That is surely not material to my er-

rand, since both the governor and Mr. Osawa trusted me. How-

ever, I’m not ashamed of what I have done. I killed a man who

got in my way. The man was a retainer of Lord Miyoshi.”

“Miyoshi?” Sakamoto’s eyebrows rose. A series of expres-

sions passed across his face, surprise, curiosity, and perhaps

relief. “What do you mean, he got in your way?”

Akitada looked past him. “My object was Lord Miyoshi. I

consider him a traitor.”

Sakamoto cried, “And so do I, though perhaps we had bet-

ter not say so. I am sorry. You have my sympathy. Men like

Miyoshi have few friends here.” He narrowed his eyes. “But it

seems rather strange that Mutobe should trust you under the

circumstances.”

Akitada laughed. “I doubt he knows. I arrived recently and

the shortage of clerks in Mano is desperate.”

“Ah.” Sakamoto nodded. “It must be, and I expect you

have an excellent education. Such men are very useful in

Sadoshima.” He glanced toward the lake. The irritation re-

turned to his face. He held up the governor’s letter. “Do you

know what is in this?”

“No, but . . .”

“Well?”

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

175

“I heard that the governor’s son has been arrested for mur-

dering the Second Prince. His trial is coming up shortly. Since

the crime took place in your house, it might be that the gover-

nor is asking for information which might help to clear his son.”

Sakamoto made a face. “You guessed it, and it’s an imposi-

tion. He should know I have nothing to tell him that he does not

know already. Unfortunately, I must answer, and answer in

writing. You could not have come at a worse time. The high

constable dropped by and I expect other guests shortly. Could

you return tomorrow for your answer?”

Akitada was instantly and overridingly curious about the

other guests and decided to extend his stay as long as he could

to see who else arrived. The fact that he could hardly insist on

an immediate answer, nor give in too easily after creating a

scene with the servants, gave him an idea. In a tone both regret-

ful and sympathetic, he said, “I am very sorry to put you to this

inconvenience, sir, but I don’t have the authority to make such a

decision.” He paused to make a face. “The problem is aggravated

by the fact that Inspector Osawa is still very unhappy about

being turned away from your door last night.”

Sakamoto looked vexed. “Yes, yes. I heard. Most unfortunate.

Tell him the servant in question has been disciplined severely. Of

course, I shall make my apologies in person. Only not today.”

“If I might make a suggestion, sir? Perhaps I could compose

the answer for you? All I need are a few particulars; then you can

see to your guests while I write the letter for you.”

Sakamoto stared at him. “Really? Could you?” he said, his

face brightening. “Yes. Very generous of you to offer. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you have a cup of wine while I explain matters

to my guest? Then we’ll discuss the letter, and you can write it

out while I tend to business. How’s that?”

It was precisely what Akitada had proposed. With any luck,

he would be kept in Sakamoto’s house long enough to see the

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I . J . P a r k e r

other guests arriving, while trying to find out what the profes-

sor knew of the murder.

After Sakamoto left, the long-faced servant brought a flask

of wine and a cup on a tray. The offended expression on his face

announced that he was not used to serving other people’s

servants.

Akitada greeted him with a smile. “I’m sorry to be such

trouble on a busy day. Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. I gather you

expect guests?”

The servant set down the wine. “Don’t let it bother you,” he

said with a scowl.

“Your master’s household is in capable hands. Please pour

yourself a cup. I’m not very thirsty.”

The surly fellow hesitated, torn between temptation and

the need to show his resentment. The wine won. He poured

and emptied the cup, licking his lips. Akitada nodded with an

encouraging smile. “Thanks,” muttered the servant. “I needed

that. It’s been a long night and a hectic day. Looks like I’m not

getting any sleep tonight, either.”

“That’s terrible.” Akitada shook his head in sympathy. “I

know the feeling. The inspector’s laid up with a cold, or we’d be

in the saddle going to the next inspection, where he’d keep me

bent over my desk all night while he sleeps. Then we start all

over again the next day. Have another cup. Still having people

come about the murder, are you?”

The servant thawed a little and poured himself another.

“Yes. You can’t imagine the trouble that has caused. First the

governor and the police, now all the prince’s friends, and I’ve

got to get rooms ready and arrange for food. They expect

only the best and the professor hates spending money. He em-

ploys only the three of us. Yuki takes care of the stables. That

leaves Tatsuo and me. And you’ve seen Tatsuo. He spends all

his time eating and resting his great hulk. Serving meals and

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

177

refreshments in the lake pavilion is a great nuisance. We’re kept

running and fetching between the lake and the house the best

part of the day and into the night.”

Akitada followed his gaze through the open doors to the

pavilion and the glistening lake beyond. Sakamoto was again in

close conversation with his guest.

“That’s where it happened, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Were you

there?”

“No. We had already served. They send us away while they’re

talking. And they wouldn’t let us touch the body afterwards.

They put him on a litter and covered him up before they let Yuki

and Tatsuo carry him to the doctor’s house. I guess our hands

weren’t fine enough to touch him, or our eyes to look on his

dead face.”

Akitada shook his head. “And then you had to do the clean-

ing up. I heard a dog got to the dish of poison?”

The servant sighed. “My dog. Poor Kuro. I was really fond of

him. We always let him eat the leftovers. That dirty scoundrel of

a killer!”

At the bottom of the garden the two men started toward the

house.

“Uh-oh,” muttered the servant. “They’re coming back. I’ve

got to run. Thanks for the wine.”

For a moment Akitada was tempted to make himself scarce,

too. Dealing with Sakamoto had been one thing, but Kumo was

suspicious. Well, he would just have to bluff it out.

When the two men entered from the veranda, Akitada rose

and bowed deeply.

“So we meet again,” drawled Kumo, his eyes passing over

Akitada as if he wanted to memorize his appearance. Today he

wore a hunting robe of green brocade with white silk trousers, a

costume suitable for riding and handsome on his tall, broad-

shouldered figure. He smiled, but his eyes were cold.

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I . J . P a r k e r

Akitada smiled back. “I had not expected to meet you again

so soon, sir. We left you only yesterday.”

Kumo’s smile disappeared. “Yesterday you were a mere

scribe. Today, I understand, you claim to be the governor’s

emissary, empowered to gather new evidence which might clear

his son in the murder of the Second Prince? You are a change-

able fellow, Taketsuna.”

The bluntness of that left Akitada momentarily speechless.

“I . . . I beg your pardon?” he stammered. “Inspector Osawa

entrusted me with a letter because he is too ill to bring it him-

self. I never claimed anything else.”

Again that fleeting, mocking smile, and Akitada fought the

uneasy feeling that he might be out of his depth with this man.

“So you kindly offered your talents to assist the professor in

his response,” Kumo said. “I must say I am sorry I did not take

the time to chat with you at my house. Your background is

interesting. How exactly did you become involved with Lord

Miyoshi?”

They were still standing. Sakamoto fidgeted, clearly uncom-

fortable with the tone of the interrogation. Akitada controlled

his nervousness and offered up the tale that had been concocted

at the time of his assignment, hoping that the gentlemen from

the sovereign’s office had not made any glaring mistakes, for he

did not doubt for a minute that the high constable had kept

himself thoroughly and minutely informed about the factions

in the capital.

If Kumo found fault, he did not say so. When Akitada had

finished, he regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments and

then said, “My sympathies are entirely with any man who would

oppose Miyoshi in this dispute. But I had better leave you both

to your chore.”

Akitada, more puzzled than ever about Kumo, bowed and

murmured his thanks.

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

179

“Well,” said Sakamoto, when they were alone, “we’d better

get started. Please sit down. Here at my desk. And make use of

my writing things. Now, what shall I say?”

Akitada picked up the letter and scanned it. “The governor

asks if you recall any odd happenings before or after the tragic

event. Perhaps we can start with that.”

“Tell him no.”

“You want me to say that nothing out of the ordinary hap-

pened during the days preceding the prince’s visit?”

Sakamoto frowned. “Nothing really strange. He sent a letter

asking that the food not be too spicy. He had a delicate stomach,

but I knew that. I must say I was surprised he ate the stew young

Mutobe brought. I could tell it was highly spiced. That’s why I

didn’t worry when he complained of a bellyache. Of course,

now we know it was the poison.” Sakamoto shook his head.

“The prince always trusted too easily when it came to young

men who captured his fancy.”

That remark startled Akitada. But he decided the professor

was merely venting his ill humor again. “And after the prince’s

death? Anything out of the ordinary then?”

Sakamoto snorted. “Don’t be daft, young man. Everything

was out of the ordinary then. We watched the prince die, Taira,

Shunsei, and I. It was horrible. I was completely distraught. We

were near the house when we heard him cry out and turned to

see Toshito strangling him. At least that’s what it looked like. We rushed back, but the prince had already expired. Taira attacked

Toshito, calling him a murderer. Toshito claimed he was helping

the prince breathe, but I think he didn’t trust the poison and

was making certain the prince would die.” Sakamoto shud-

dered. “It was a vicious crime against a son of the gods. Anyway,

we called for a litter and had His Highness taken to Nakatomi.

He lives nearby and is the prince’s physician. He looked at the

body, and later at the dead dog who’d licked the bowl, and said

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I . J . P a r k e r

the prince had been poisoned. Taira had young Toshito arrested

and charged with murder.”

“It must have been very upsetting to have this happen in

your house and after one of your dinners. No doubt you were

glad that the dog licked the bowl.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Akitada met Sakamoto’s frown with a bland face. “Nothing

at all, sir. Since the source of the poison was quickly found, the

local authorities could not suspect your kitchen staff. Or ask

questions about the dishes you served. For example, was there

anything with mushrooms? Or perhaps that local delicacy,

blowfish?”

“There was certainly no blowfish. I cannot afford such ex-

travagance. And all the dishes were perfectly wholesome. We all

ate of them, except for Mutobe’s stew.”

Well, that took care of the blowfish theory. Akitada asked,

“Who did the postmortem?”

“Nakatomi. There was no time to wait for Mutobe’s disrep-

utable coroner. In the summer, a body decomposes quickly. And

Nakatomi is a very able man, in my opinion. He wrote out the

report himself and hand-delivered it to the governor.”

“And then?”

“We had a fine Buddhist funeral. No expense was spared.

The prince’s funeral pyre was twenty feet high.”

Akitada wrote.

“The other information the governor asks for concerns

those who attended the dinner. That would be Taira Takamoto

and a young monk called Shunsei? Is there any chance, even a

remote one, that either or both had a hand in this?”

“Certainly not. Lord Taira is a man of superior learning

and of absolute loyalty to the prince. He’s an old man now,

older than I am. When he was appointed tutor to Crown Prince

Okisada, he was the most brilliant man in the capital. He loves

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

181

the prince, and the prince’s death devastated him. In fact, he

withdrew from all matters of this world until today.”

So Taira was expected. “And Shunsei? How is he connected

with the prince?”

Sakamoto frowned. “Shunsei belongs to the Konponji

Monastery near Tsukahara. The prince enjoyed religious cere-

monial. Being impressed with this young man’s devotion, he

took him under his wing.” He bit his lip. “Perhaps he needed

spiritual stimulation and was inspired by Shunsei’s fervor.”

Apparently Shunsei had been tolerated only because Okisada

had insisted on his presence. In fact, Sakamoto’s manner implied

that Okisada had preferred men, or boys, to women. There had

been gossip in the capital, and perhaps that had had something

to do with Okisada’s being replaced as crown prince. More to the

point, such a relationship might have considerable bearing

on the prince’s death. Akitada asked, “Were you surprised at the

attachment?”

Sakamoto met his eyes, looked uncomfortable, and shifted

on his cushion. “Not surprised, really. Need you write all that to

the governor? Shunsei was with us when the prince died, and

none of us sat close enough to put anything in his food. All that

is well-known evidence.”

“Thank you. The final question concerns any friends,

females, or business associates, anyone else who might have had

a motive to kill the prince.”

Sakamoto was becoming impatient. He said testily, “We

have been over all that with that police officer, Wada. As you

may imagine, Prince Okisada associated with very few people,

basically those of us who attended the dinner and the Kumo

family. Kumo was not here, and besides, he had no motive.

There were no women in Okisada’s life. And he had no interest

in business. He lived on the allowance made to him by the

court. And now you really must excuse me.” He stood up. “I

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I . J . P a r k e r

shall return after a while and sign the letter.” With a nod he left the room.

Akitada started rubbing more ink, his mind weighing what

Sakamoto had said. If the professor was involved in the plot, he

had handled himself very well just now. But last night he had

been drunk and babbled wildly. Such a man was a risky confi-

dant. Perhaps he really knew nothing. He seemed to have a good

reputation. Even Mutobe had not made any adverse comments

about him. If the prince had been murdered by someone other

than Mutobe’s son, that only left the young monk and Taira as

possible suspects. And, of course, the murder could be unre-

lated to the political issues. He was not really getting anywhere.

Taira, the man closest to the victim, was a complete enigma

to Akitada. He must be nearly seventy by now and had once

been favored by fortune. He had had a reputation at court as a

superb diplomatist. Taira was in the prime of his life when he

was appointed as tutor to the crown prince, a certain signal for

a rapid rise in the government hierarchy. Then Okisada had

been replaced by his half-brother, ending not only the prince’s

future, but Taira’s career also. To everyone’s astonishment, Taira

had followed Okisada into exile, although he was never clearly

implicated in the prince’s rash action against his brother. Such

loyalty became legendary. Would Taira murder the prince he

had served so devotedly?

Akitada hoped that Taira would make his appearance soon,

but the house remained silent, and he put his brush to paper to

write Sakamoto’s reply to Mutobe.

When he reached the reference to Shunsei, he paused. Sexual

relations between men were not uncommon either at court or in

the monasteries, but as a staunch follower of Confucius, Akitada

held strong convictions about family and a man’s duty to con-

tinue his line, and therefore he disapproved as much as

Sakamoto. However, such an affair was not so different from a

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

183

man’s relations with a woman. It also involved lust, passion, pos-

sessiveness, and jealousy—all motives for murder. He looked

forward to meeting this Shunsei.

The long-faced servant came in again. “The master asks if

you’re finished. He’s in a hurry.”

Akitada looked out into the garden. The groom was run-

ning down the path toward the pavilion with a broom and rake.

“Just finished,” he said, laying down his brush and getting

up. He gestured toward the garden. “After what happened, isn’t

your master afraid to entertain his learned friends in the pavil-

ion again?”

“Well, you’d think so,” said the servant. “It certainly gives me

the chills. It’s not as if it were in good repair, either. It’s going to rack and ruin.”

“The setting is beautiful. I suppose the view inspires poetry.”

The servant grimaced. “I don’t know about poetry. They

always talk a lot and keep us running, but we’re not allowed to

stay and listen. I doubt it’s poetry though, because mostly it

looks more like they’re arguing. Especially Lord Taira. He’s got a

terrible temper. I’ll tell the professor you’re done.”

Akitada walked out on the veranda. The sweeping of the

path and the pavilion completed, the fat servant was staggering

down the path with a stack of cushions in his arms. Four. Kumo,

Taira, Sakamoto, and one other. Shunsei? Like the disgruntled

servant, Akitada doubted it would be a social gathering and

wished again he could eavesdrop.

It was interesting that the servants were warned away

between servings. It meant confidential matters were being dis-

cussed. It was impossible to approach the pavilion unseen.

Or was it?

Akitada was wondering if he could stroll down there for a

closer look without causing undue suspicion when Sakamoto

rushed in.

184

I . J . P a r k e r

“Finished?” he cried. “Good.” He ran to the desk, snatched

up the letter, skimmed it, nodded, and signed. As he impressed

his personal seal next to the signature, he said, “My compli-

ments. An excellent hand and the style is acceptable.” Letter in

hand, he told Akitada, “I wish I had more time to talk to you. A

man like you could be very useful. I shall speak to the high con-

stable about you tonight.”

Akitada bowed. “Thank you, sir, but the high constable is

aware of my abilities.”

“As you wish.” Sakamoto handed the letter over. “Well, good