Текст книги "Island of Exiles "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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had emerged and around which still hovered a slight smoky

haze—large enough to drive an ox carriage through.

For a mine, it was a small operation. Akitada saw no more

than fifty people. About a third were guards. Several of them

were Ezo, bearded and wearing fur jackets, and all were armed

with bows and swords or carried leather whips. Most of the

miners wore few clothes, and chains hobbled their feet so they

could only shuffle along. So much for Kumo’s gentle treatment

of his workers, Akitada thought. Though these men had been

condemned to hard labor for violent crimes, the number of

armed guards seemed excessive, particularly in view of the con-

victs’ miserable and cowed behavior. Indeed, where would they

run to on this island?

At the moment, they sat or lay on the ground, but already

one of the guards was walking about, snapping a leather whip.

One by one, the men stood, chains clinking, heads hanging,

arms slack. A few glanced toward the corpses, but nobody

spoke.

Some of the miners were half naked, and several of the

smallest had rags wound around their knees and lower arms

like little Jisei. Akitada glanced up at the holes in the cliff face.

They must be the badger holes the doctor had talked about.

The guards rounded up the bigger convicts and marched

them back into the smoking cave opening. They resisted briefly,

protesting and gesturing, but the whip soon bit into their backs

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267

and bare calves and, one by one, they disappeared into the

earth. One of the guards followed but returned quickly, gasping

and coughing, to wave another guard in. They took turns this

way, but the convicts only reappeared briefly, dragging charred

timbers or carrying baskets of equipment. The cleanup had

begun.

As the daylight grew stronger, he saw that his knee was still

swollen and the tight skin was an ugly black and purplish red.

But the cooling rain had soothed the throbbing, and after a

while Akitada began to test his leg. He could move foot and

ankle easily, but the knee was too stiff to bend more than a little.

Still, he was encouraged that it would heal in time.

The remaining convicts were fed and put to their normal

tasks. Half-naked, childlike figures with small baskets scram-

bled up the cliff and, one by one, disappeared into the badger

holes, from which they reappeared after a while, bare buttocks

first, dragging out baskets of chipped rock. The baskets were

passed to the ground, where other convicts took them down

the slope toward a curious wooden rig. This appeared to be

some sort of a sluice carrying a stream of water down a gentle

incline. Two men walked a treadmill that raised buckets of

water from a stream to the top of the sluice.

Armed guards watched seated workers who used stone mal-

lets to crush the rock chips into coarse sand before emptying

that into the sluice. Now and then a worker would lift a traylike

section of the wooden sluice to pick through the debris caught

in it before reinserting it for the next batch of ground rock.

Akitada watched this, trying to account for the amount

of effort expended on rock. He had never seen such a time-

consuming and inefficient method of mining. No wonder the

emperor saw so little silver from Kumo’s operations.

Toward noon there was an unpleasant interruption. A

horseman trotted to the center of the clearing, stared at the

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smoky cave opening, then shouted, “Katsu.” One of the guards

appeared from the mouth of the cave, ran forward, and bowed.

“The master’s displeased,” the rider barked. “This is the sec-

ond time in one month. You are careless. How many this time?”

The guard bowed several times and stammered something,

pointing to the corpses.

“Three? Well, you won’t get any more. Put everybody to

work. Guards, too. Your last take was disappointing.”

“But we’re running out of good rock. Just look. We had

to make six new badger holes.”

The horseman slid off his horse and together they went to

the cliff and looked up. The new arrival was short and had a

strange, uneven gait. They stood and watched as one of the

miners backed out of his hole and lowered his basket to the

ground. The newcomer reached in and inspected its contents,

shaking his head.

Akitada could no longer hear what was said, but the horse-

man seemed familiar. He had heard that voice before. Then it

came to him that it had been in Kumo’s stable yard. This was

Kita, the mine overseer who had arrived with bad news that

night. Another fire.

But he was unprepared for what happened next: Kita turned

his head and Akitada saw his profile. Kita was the bird-faced man

who had followed him to Minato and later to the monastery. He

would have recognized that beaky nose anywhere. Then the

overseer turned fully his way, shading his eyes to see better, and

asked a question. When the two men started purposefully

toward him, Akitada knew that his troubles were far from over.

C H A P T E R S I X T E E N

L I T T L E F LOW E R

When Tora and Turtle returned to his sister’s hostel, they

found several excited children waiting anxiously at the door.

Apparently they looked forward to sharing the remnants of the

dinner the generous guest had paid for.

Tora was no longer very hungry after the noodle soup

but did not want to seem unappreciative of Turtle’s sister,

whose name was Oyoshi, and asked the whole family to join

him. An amazing number of children appeared instantly. They

all sat down on the torn and stained mats of the main room, the

children in their gay, multicolored bits of clothing lined up

on either side of their mother, three girls to one side, five boys to the other. She served Tora and her brother first, steaming

bowls of rice covered with vegetables and chunks of fish. An

appetizing smell filled the room. Tora sampled, while the chil-

dren watched him fixedly, licking their lips. The food was quite

tasty and he said so, inviting the others to join them. To his

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discomfort, Turtle’s sister served only the little boys. She and

the little girls had to wait until the men had eaten their fill.

Nevertheless, it was a cheerful gathering, with Turtle chat-

tering away and the children giggling. But when Turtle men-

tioned their run-in with Wada earlier that day, his sister

suddenly burst into such vicious invective that even he stared

at her.

“Why, what’d he do to you?” he asked when she ran out of

terms of abuse.

“Not me, you fool. Little Flower. She was near to dying on

the street when I heard. I brought her here this morning.”

Turtle’s eyes grew large. “Amida. Not again! And just now.

I should have known bad luck was coming when that crow

cawed at me.”

“Who’s Little Flower?” Tora asked.

“She’s the whore I told you about,” said Turtle, looking

apologetic. “Wada’s girl. They call her that because she’s sort of

small and pretty. He likes them that way.”

“Well, she’s not feeling very pretty now,” his sister snapped.

“That bastard!”

“Damn,” said the Turtle. “I didn’t know. But if she’s laid up,

maybe he’s got somebody else. I can find out.”

“More fool she,” muttered his sister, refilling a boy’s bowl

while three little girls watched hungrily. Only the baby, lashed

to its mother’s back, was uninterested in the food and stared

with unblinking eyes at Tora over its mother’s shoulder. He

wondered where the children’s father was. Having tended to her

sons, Oyoshi looked sternly at her brother. “You stay out of it,

Taimai. He’d kill you as soon as slap at a fly.”

“Could I talk to this Little Flower?” asked Tora, pushing his

half-filled bowl toward the little girls.

Their mother snatched it away and divided the contents

among the boys. Men came first in her household. Having

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

271

reestablished the sacred order, she turned a gap-toothed smile

on Tora and said, “A strapping officer like you doesn’t want a

pitiful little flower. Let me fix you up with a real beauty for the night, Master Tora. Only fifty coppers, and you’ll feel like you’ve been to paradise.”

Her wheedling tone was familiar. Tora had heard such

propositions before and was not too surprised that Turtle’s

sister also worked as a procuress. People did what they had to do

in order to feed a large family. He grinned. “But I like them little and bruised,” he teased.

Her smile faded. She had begun gathering the various

leftovers for herself and the hungry girls, but now paused to

look at Tora dubiously. “Well, she needs the money, but . . . you

aren’t planning to beat her? Because, I tell you, I won’t have it.

She can’t take any more.”

Tora flushed to the roots of his hair. “No. I was joking. I

don’t beat my women. I just want to talk to her, that’s all.”

“Just talk? Hmm,” she muttered, frowning at him. “Well, I’ll

go and ask her.” She left the little girls watching tearfully as one of the boys helped himself to several juicy bits of fish.

When their mother returned a moment later, Tora insisted

that she let the girls eat now and watched as they fell on their food like small savages. Then he followed her to the back of the hostel.

This part of the building looked worse than where Tora’s room

was. The walls leaned at odd angles, water had leaked in and

stained them black, and doors did not shut properly or were miss-

ing entirely. Here and there whole boards were gone, put to use in

other places. He glanced into empty rooms, each no more than

a tiny cubicle, hardly large enough for two people to lie down

together, and passed others, inadequately covered by ragged quilts

pinned up in the doorway, where he heard the grunts and squeals

of lovemaking. Oyoshi opened the last door and said to someone

inside, “Here he is, dear. Mind you, you don’t have to have him.”

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Tora ducked into a dark space. In the dim flicker from his

hostess’s oil lamp, he made out a cowering figure in one corner.

“We’ll need a candle,” he said.

“I have no candles, Master Tora. Too much money,” his

hostess said sadly. “I can leave my lamp, but please bring it back.

Oil’s expensive, too.” She closed the door behind him.

The oil also stank and smoked. He squatted on the floor, and

they looked at each other by the fitful light. Tora thought at first that she was a little girl of ten or eleven. Little Flower was tiny and small-boned, and perhaps she had been pretty once, but

now she looked sick and discontented; her eyes were ringed

with dark circles, her lips pinched, and her thin cheeks unnatu-

rally flushed. She gave him a nod and a tremulous smile.

He saw no obvious bruises on her and said, “I’ve been told

that one of your customers has hurt you badly. Is that so?”

She trembled a bit then, and nodded again. “I can’t lie down

on my back, but I could be on top, if the gentleman liked. Or I

could kneel and—” Her voice, soft and girlish, was breathless

with desperate eagerness to please.

Tora interrupted quickly. “I didn’t come for that.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “I thought . . .”

Tora pulled a handful of coppers from his sash. “I’ll pay for

your time, of course. Whatever you would get from a customer.”

The slender face lit up, and he thought that she had very

pretty, soft eyes. “Thank you, sir,” she said in her childlike voice.

“Would ten coppers be too much?”

“Not at all.” Tora counted out fifteen and pushed them

toward her.

She did not touch the money. “I’m called Little Flower. Does

the gentleman have a name?”

“Tora.”

She smiled again, and Tora was glad that Wada had not

touched her face.

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273

“What shall I do for you, Master Tora?”

“Tell me about Wada.”

Her eyes widened. She shook her head and pushed the

fifteen coppers his way. “No. He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

Tora pushed the money back. “He won’t find out. Can I see

what he did to you?”

She hesitated. A flush spread from her cheeks to her ears and

neck. It made her look prettier and healthier. She got to her feet, clumsily, supporting herself with one hand against the wall.

Tora saw that she wore a wrinkled hemp gown dyed in a blue

and white pattern of flowers. Around her tiny middle was a

brown-and-black-striped sash. It was tied loosely, and when she

undid the knot, it dropped to the floor and her gown fell open.

Underneath, she was naked and, except for small, high breasts,

entirely childlike, since she had shaved off all body hair. Tora’s

skin prickled unpleasantly. He was ashamed for staring.

Turning slowly, she let the gown fall from her shoulders.

Tora felt sick. Muttering a curse, he got to his feet and raised

the oil lamp to look at her back and buttocks. The blood had

dried, but the welts, and there were many of them crisscrossing

each other from the nape of her neck to the back of her knees,

looked swollen and inflamed. He could hardly imagine the pain

she must endure at every move. And she had offered to service

him anyway.

He picked up her gown and placed it very gently around her

shoulders again. “Has a doctor treated you?”

She shook her head.

He opened the door and shouted for the landlady. She

appeared at a trot, dragging two toddlers behind her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked anxiously.

“Send for a doctor,” he snapped. “I’ll pay for it.” Then he

slammed the door in her face and turned back to Little Flower.

She was tying her sash. Her head was lowered, but he could see

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the tears running down her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me

help you down.”

She settled on the floor, carefully, and brushed away her

tears, giving Tora a little smile. “I’ll be all right,” she murmured.

“It’ll heal.”

He stared at her in helpless anger. His familiarity with the

pleasure quarters of the capital had taught him that there were

men who enjoyed sex only when they could inflict pain on their

partner. But this? He asked harshly, “And next time? Will you let

him beat you to death?”

She flinched a little at his tone. “Perhaps he won’t want me

anymore.”

Tora ran his eye over her appraisingly. He liked his women

well padded and lusty. But a man like that bastard Wada proba-

bly got his kicks out of abusing children, and she looked more

childlike than ever, cowering there and wiping at her tears with

the back of her hand. “What if he does?”

She looked away. “Life is hard. It’s my karma because I did

bad things in my previous life.”

He said fiercely, “No. Wada is the evil one, and I’ll make him

pay for this.”

She gave him a startled look, then leaned forward and put

a small, somewhat dirty hand on his arm. “You’re very kind,

Master Tora,” she said softly, “but please do not go near Master

Wada. You’re younger, stronger, and very much more hand-

some, but he’ll kill you.”

Tora threw back his head with a shout of laughter.

“What? That little bug? Listen, Little Flower, you don’t know

me very well. If he weren’t so repulsive, I’d chew him up and

spit him out.”

She started to weep again, covering her face and rocking

back and forth.

“What’s wrong? What did I say?”

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

275

“Oh,” she said, her voice muffled, “you don’t know him.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping you’d explain. See, I

need some information from the bastard. I think he knows

something about someone I’m trying to find.”

She looked up then. A shadow passed over her face. “Is she

someone . . . like me?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s . . . a man. He came here about

a month ago as a prisoner and has disappeared.”

She brightened, but shook her head. “Then he’s dead. Or in

the mines, which is the same thing.”

Tora clenched his fists. “I’ve got to make sure.”

“Is it your father, or brother?”

“No. I can’t tell you. Just talk to me about Wada. Whatever

you know. His habits, the places he goes after dark, where he

eats, his friends.”

She gave a snort. “He’s the head of the police. They have no

friends. His constables are worse than the criminals. Every-

body’s afraid of them. Those who complain are dead a day later.

So nobody complains ever.”

Turtle had said the same thing. “Has it always been this way?”

She frowned. “It’s worse now. Anyway, Master Wada’s got no

friends, unless you count the constables, and most of them hate

him, too. He eats in the best places for free, compliments of the

owners. I don’t know about his habits, except for what he does

to girls like me.”

“He has other women?”

“Sometimes. But he likes me best.” She said this almost

proudly.

“Where were you when he did this to you?”

“At the Golden Phoenix. He sent word for me to come there.

It’s a restaurant near the harbor. There’s a little cottage out back for private parties. He goes there so the other guests won’t hear

the girls scream.”

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Heavy, dragging steps approached their door, and someone

belched grossly. Then the door slid back, and a fat, bald old man

peered in, bringing with him the sour fumes of cheap wine.

“What do you want?” Tora snapped.

“I’m the doctor,” the old man grunted, and squeezed his

bulk in. He put down a medicine box and used his sleeve to

wipe the sweat off his red face and scalp. His robe was dark, like

a doctor’s, but so filthy that it was difficult to guess its original color. Taking a couple of uncertain steps, he sat down heavily in

front of Little Flower. More rancid wine fumes filled the small

cubicle. Tora closed the door and stood against the wall. The

man’s body seemed to fill the space.

“Ah,” the doctor said to the girl, “it’s you again, is it? Same

trouble?”

She nodded. “Yes, Dr. Ogata.”

“Let’s see, then.”

She got to her feet and repeated the disrobing process, turn-

ing her lacerated back toward Ogata. He gave a soundless whistle.

“Girl,” he said, “you won’t survive the next one. I told you to

come live with me.”

At this Tora lost his patience. “You filthy old lecher,” he

growled. “Passing yourself off as a healer when you’re a drunk.

And then you want to get the poor girl in your bed before you’ve

even treated her back. Get out of here. I’ll send for a real doctor.”

Little Flower cried out a protest, but the doctor just turned to

stare at Tora. He chuckled. “Well, well, girl, that’s more like it. A handsome fellow, and considerate. Not like that animal you’ve

been consorting with. Take my advice and stick with this one.”

Tora glared at the fat man, and Little Flower flushed scarlet

and averted her face. She pulled the gown around her and

murmured, “He just wanted information. Nothing else.”

“Hmm.” Ogata looked from one to the other, scratched his

bald head, and grinned at Tora. “Sit down, young man, or step

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

277

outside. You’re making me nervous, hanging over me like a moun-

tain. Now, as to my fee, you can pay me five coppers or two flasks

of wine, whichever you prefer. You don’t want the other doctor. He

knows nothing about the way these girls must live and would

make trouble for her.” Turning back to Little Flower, he said, “All right. You know the routine. Lie down. It’ll hurt this time, but

you’ve waited too long and I must clean some of the poison out.”

“What poison?” demanded Tora suspiciously, as Little

Flower spread her robe and stretched out on it. “Did the bastard

rub poison on her back after beating her half to death?”

“No, no.” Ogata was peering closely at the welts, pressing

them with his fingers from time to time. “Leeches,” he muttered.

“That’s what we need. Well, I don’t have any, but I’ll do the best

I can.” He turned to Tora. “Don’t you know anything? Miasma

are all about us, in the air, on the ground, in our clothing, just

waiting to enter our bodies. The dead rot because of the poi-

sonous miasma about us. Sometimes even the living rot if the

poison gets into their wounds. Miasma are why the gods warn

against touching the dead and demand we cleanse our hands

and mouths before addressing them in prayer. In her case,

they’ve invaded some of the cuts and poisoned them. Leeches

would suck out the poison, but there are other methods. Go

fetch some warm water and two or three eggs.”

Tora’s skin itched. He retreated nervously. Miasma? Eggs?

Afraid to show more ignorance, Tora did not ask. He found the

landlady and relayed the doctor’s instructions, then asked wor-

riedly, “Are you sure that fellow’s any good? He’s drunk and looks

filthy, quite apart from being old and not too healthy himself.”

To his surprise, Oyoshi glared at him, “Around here people

better watch what they say about the doctor. He may not look

like much, but he’s saved a lot of poor girls, and men, too. Often

he doesn’t charge them anything. Besides, he’s the coroner,

which means he’s smart. The government pays him a salary for

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that and for treating the prisoners. Maybe if people had to see

the things he does, they’d drink, too.”

She left him standing in the hallway to get the water and

eggs, still muttering to herself.

Tora was astonished at her outburst, but even more sur-

prised that the fat drunk was the coroner. And he looked after

sick prisoners. Forgetting all about noxious miasma, Tora

turned on his heel and plunged back into the small room so

suddenly that he bumped into Ogata’s formidable backside. The

physician had been standing bent over his medicine case and

tumbled forward, causing Little Flower to cry out.

“Sorry,” Tora cried. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. Please don’t worry,” Little Flower said with an adoring

look. “You’re very kind and generous, Master Tora.”

“Speak for yourself, girl.” Ogata straightened up, rubbing his

posterior, when he caught her expression. He turned to look

Tora over. “A soldier, eh? Not from around here, are you, son?”

Tora, the newly promoted lieutenant, considered this some-

what condescending from a drunken quack, but under the cir-

cumstances he swallowed his pride, and said, “No. On temporary

assignment from Echigo.”

“Echigo, eh? Been here long?”

“I arrived today.”

“Really? Staying long?”

If it had not been for the fact that Tora had his own ques-

tions for the doctor, he would have balked, but he only said,

“As long as it takes. Tell me something, please. How can you

people let an animal like that Wada terrorize decent citizens?

Where I come from, there are laws to protect people against

bad officials.”

The physician snorted. “So they say. And some have died

proving it. You can’t blame the rest of us for postponing the

experiment a little while longer.”

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

279

Oyoshi bustled in with a bucket of water and two eggs in a

small bowl. “Sorry,” she said, catching her breath. “Had to run

across the street for the eggs. They cost a copper apiece.”

Tora fished the coins from his sash and paid her. He won-

dered if he had paid for the doctor’s snack, but Ogata took the

eggs and sat down next to Little Flower. Tora and the landlady

watched as he gently washed the lacerated skin, occasionally

squeezing swollen areas, while Little Flower bit into the sleeve of her gown to keep from crying out. When he was satisfied that he

had cleaned out most of the poison, he broke the eggs and

dabbed egg white over the wounds.

“Lie still and let it dry,” he told the girl.

“What’s the egg for?” Tora wanted to know.

“Draws out the poison.”

They sat and waited. Tora studied Ogata and finally said, “I

hear you’re the coroner.”

Ogata nodded.

“So you know all about the murdered prince, I suppose?”

Ogata shifted a little to look at him. “That have anything to

do with your business in Sadoshima?”

Blast the man. He answered questions with more questions.

Tora said, “No. I was just curious.”

“I did not see the body. The prince’s own physician did that.

You’ll have to ask him.”

“What happened at the hearing?”

Ogata cocked his head. “Sure you’re not officially interested?”

Tora flushed. “I went to see the governor today. He men-

tioned that his son escaped.”

Ogata nodded. “Yes. Smartest thing he could do. Took his

girl along. Or maybe it was the other way around.” He leaned

forward and tested the drying egg white on Little Flower’s back.

Then he reached into his medicine case for a twist of paper and

sprinkled some white powder over her back. “Since you’re going

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to ask me anyway, this is powdered oyster shell. It dries out the

wounds.” He started to close his medicine box. “Well, girl,” he

said to his patient, “stay off your back for a few days and you

should do all right. I’ll look in again tomorrow.”

Tora got up and fished more coins from his sash. “If your

work’s finished for the day,” he said, handing over the fee, “I’d

like to stand you that wine, too.”

“A man with a generous heart,” Ogata said cheerfully. They

started to leave the room, when Little Flower called out to Tora.

She was kneeling, clutching her robe to herself. “Would you

help me with this, please?”

Tora helped her up and took the robe from her. She was so

pitifully thin, her small hands fluttering as she tried to cover

her nakedness, that his heart contracted with pity. He placed

the robe gently around her shoulders, then tucked each small

arm into the full sleeve, when she reached up and pulled his

face down to hers. “Please don’t go,” she whispered. “I feel quite

well now.”

He disentangled himself, flushing with embarrassment

because he did not desire her. “Shame on you, Little Flower,” he

said lightly, bending for her sash. “You heard the doctor. You

have to lie down now and get some rest.”

Tears rose to her eyes and spilled over. She looked exactly

like a forlorn little girl. He pulled her gown together, then

draped the sash loosely about her small waist and tied it in a

clumsy bow.

“Will you come back?” she pleaded. “It won’t cost anything.

Just come back, please?”

“I’ll come back,” he said, taking pity, and left quickly.

The wine shop was a few streets away and crowded with

poor laborers and small tradesmen. Tora’s military garb got him

hostile stares instead of admiring glances. “You hang around

with a low crowd,” he told the doctor sourly.

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

281

Ogata ignored the comment and sat down near the wine

barrels. He ordered a large flask of their best from the waiter

who rushed up eagerly.

“Their best probably tastes like dog piss,” grumbled Tora,

but he asked the waiter to bring some pickled radish to go with

the wine.

Ogata smiled with approval. Wine and radish appeared, and

Tora paid, while the doctor poured himself a cup, gulped down

the wine, refilled the cup, and emptied that also.

“Bad manners, I know,” he said, pouring the next cup for

Tora and passing it over, “but I needed that. That poor, miser-

able girl. I offered her a job as a maid, but I can’t pay her what

she makes as a whore, and she sends all her earnings to her

mother and grandparents.” He heaved a sigh. “Ah, well. That’s

better. Now, young man,” he asked, “what is it that you want

from me?”

Tora stared, then grinned. The shrewd old codger!

“Well,” he said, “I want information about Wada. And about

the prisoners you may have seen lately. One called Taketsuna

in particular.”

Ogata raised his brows, then nodded. “Oh, Taketsuna. Yes, I

remember him. I’ve wondered. He’s disappeared, you know. So

that’s why you’re here. And you think Wada is responsible for

his disappearance?”

This was almost too easy. Tora leaned forward eagerly. “Yes,

I do. I just don’t know the reasons and the means, and what he’s

done with him. What can you tell me about Taketsuna?”

Ogata looked at him, then lowered his eyes to his empty cup

and was silent for a long time. Finally he said, almost sadly, “I

don’t think I can help you, Tora. Take my advice and go home.

If you go on with this, you’ll come to harm. Like Taketsuna.” He

reached for the wine flask, but Tora clutched his hand hard.

“Ouch. Let go! I need my hands.”

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Tora let go, but fear and anger overwhelmed him. The old

crook was playing games with him. “Tell me what you know,

you old drunk!” he shouted. “We had a deal. I paid up. Now it’s

your turn.”

The room fell silent. Then there was a general shuffling as

some of the guests got up and joined them.

“You need any help, Doctor?” asked a tall, broad-shouldered

man with a scarred face.

“Yes,” piped up a small man, “we’ll teach him about re-

spect, show him what’s what.” He stuck a scrawny fist in

Tora’s face.

Ogata raised his hands. “It’s all right, friends. He got some

bad news, that’s all. Thanks, but go sit back down. It’s a private

conversation.”

Tora watched the men shuffle off, muttering and casting

suspicious glances over their shoulders. He was spoiling for a

fight, but thought better of it. Turning to Ogata, he said fiercely,

“I came here to find Taketsuna and I will do so or die. And if I

find he’s dead, I’ll go after his killer. Neither you nor your

friends can frighten me off.”

Ogata refilled his cup and drank. “Better order another flask,”

he said. “All right, I saw Taketsuna the day after he arrived. The

governor sent me to have a look at him. He was with some other

prisoners in the harbor stockade and had a few bruises from

the welcome Wada’s constables had given him, but he was other-

wise well. I could see he was no commoner, so I convinced the

governor to take him on as a scribe. He was put to work in the

archives and stayed with the prison superintendent Yamada

and his daughter. Then one day he was gone. I know the Yamada

family well, and the girl told me he had left with the tax inspector Osawa for an inspection tour. That’s all I know. I never laid eyes

on him again.”

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

283

Tora was not satisfied. “Why do you think something bad

happened to him?” he demanded. He could not bring himself to

mention death.

The doctor sighed. “Young man, I do not know who you are,

and I did not know who Taketsuna was, except that he was one

of the good people and had no idea what he was getting into.

Maybe he was a convict, but there was something about him

that made me wonder. Just as I’m wondering about you now.

You both look and act like men bound for trouble, and I think

Taketsuna found it. Me, I avoid trouble at all cost.” He started

to rise.

“Wait!” Tora put a hand on the doctor’s arm. “I think you

told me the truth,” he said. “But you’re wrong. Trouble will find

you wherever you are. You’re a learned man and you get to talk