Текст книги "Island of Exiles "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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But the guard’s eye was on Taketsuna. “You,” he barked. “Get

up. You’re to see the doctor.”

Taketsuna rose and followed him into the building, past

disinterested guards, and into the far corner of the open space,

where two screens of woven bamboo had been set up to

create some privacy. The arrangement astonished the prisoner,

but he was grateful for it. His present condition was still so novel that he found it difficult to put aside past habits of modesty.

The doctor proved, on closer inspection, less confidence-

inspiring. The black gown was covered with stains, his finger-

nails were dirt-rimmed, and his eyes bleary and bloodshot.

“Harrumph,” said the doctor. “I’m Ogata, physician and

medical officer for the prisoners. Was told to have a look at you.

You’re Taketsuna? No family names here, I’m afraid. Strictly for-

bidden. You don’t look too good. What happened?”

“I’m all right. We ran into a storm coming over, and I’m not

used to sailing. But there’s a man outside whose wounds have

become infected.”

The doctor nodded, then stepped closer to peer at Taket-

suna’s face. A strong smell of sour breath and wine assailed the

prisoner’s nose and made him flinch.

“Hmm. I suppose the welcoming committee issued its usual

warning,” the physician said, probing Taketsuna’s cheekbone

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and jaw with surprisingly gentle fingers. “Open your mouth.”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Eating will be a bit

painful for a while, but you should get over that.”

Taketsuna smiled a little, painfully. “So far there has been

no food. Only water. I could eat raw greens at this point.” He

wondered if the physician had heard his comment about little

Jisei.

The physician cocked his head. “When did they feed you

last?”

“A bowl of gruel on the ship after the storm. It was all the

food I’ve had in three days. I was seasick.”

“No wonder you’re swaying on your feet. Never mind. You’ll

get fed. And, as soon as I’ve checked the rest of you, you can sit

down. Take off those filthy rags.”

The prisoner glanced at the doctor’s stained gown and

smiled again, but he complied without protest.

“Heavens,” muttered the physician, stepping back and walk-

ing around the patient. “You’ve got muscles. Ever do any

wrestling?”

“Just for exercise.”

“They’ll put you to hard labor if they see that. You’d bet-

ter keep your clothes on at all times and slouch a bit when

you walk.”

“What sort of labor?”

The physician was feeling the bruised ribs. “Roads. Dikes.

Mines. Lifting and carrying rocks. Not healthy unless you’re

used to it.” He moved around to the prisoner’s back and pressed

near the lower spine. “Does this hurt?”

The prisoner shook his head, and the physician came

around to face him again, prodding about the abdomen, asking

about pain. Again the prisoner shook his head.

“You can get dressed now,” the doctor said, digging about in

his medicine case and pulling forth a stoppered flask. “My guess

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

35

is . . .” he said, pausing to take a long swig from the bottle before extending it to Taketsuna, “that you have never done a day’s

hard physical work in your life, and the sort of forced labor the

stronger prisoners do here will cripple or kill a man like you.

Have you any skills?”

Taketsuna was holding the flask dubiously. The contents

smelled like wine, and he wondered what it would do to his

empty and painful stomach. “I can read and write,” he said. “I

could do secretarial work or bookkeeping, I suppose.”

“If you’re not going to drink, give it back,” the doctor

snapped crossly, extending his hand.

Taketsuna took a deep swallow and doubled over, coughing.

The wine, if that was what it was, packed an incredible punch.

“Hmph,” commented the doctor, “not much of a stomach,

either. Can’t imagine why they put someone with your back-

ground on the hard labor detail. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

He raised the flask to his mouth and drank deeply, waving the

prisoner out.

◆

An hour later, when Taketsuna was sitting with the others in the

shade of the wooden palisade again, the doctor emerged from

the guardhouse in the company of the officer. The doctor’s gait

was unsteady and his path less than straight, but he made his

way over to them.

“That doctor’s as drunk as a frog in a sake barrel,” muttered

one of the pirates.

Jisei smiled. “That’s never stopped him before. He’ll look at

me now. And maybe he’ll get us better food, like last time.”

The physician ignored Jisei’s eager greeting and merely

looked at each man blearily, had them open their mouths and

perform some simple actions, before moving on to the next

man. When it was Jisei’s turn, he frowned at the wounds on his

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I . J . P a r k e r

knees and arms and pursed his lips. But even here, he made no

comment, merely digging a small earthenware jar from his

medicine chest. Turning to the guard officer, he said, “All these

men look filthy. Have them bathe, and then put this ointment

on this man’s wounds.”

The officer stepped back, affronted. “What, me? You’re

drunk! They’re prisoners, not honored guests.”

The doctor handed the ointment to Taketsuna. “Here,

you do it.” To the guard, he said, “If you don’t keep these men

clean and well fed, they’ll sicken and die, and nobody will get

any work out of them. Do you want me to report you to the

governor?”

“My men won’t like it,” grumbled the officer. Seeing the

doctor’s implacable silence, he relented. “Oh, very well. They

can have a bath if they heat the water and clean the bath

afterwards.”

“And food!”

“Of course, Master Ogata. We’ll sauté some kisu fish

for them, with ginger shoots and sesame seeds,” the officer

sneered. “Perhaps you can spare some of your wine for their

banquet?”

The fat physician hunched his shoulders, then turned his

back on them and staggered off.

◆

But they got their bath and a hot dinner. Taketsuna appreciated

both far more than the others and was grateful for the drunken

physician’s visit. From snatches of conversation among the pris-

oners, he gathered that forced labor could be brutal and hoped

he might be spared that. Not only Jisei, whose wounds he had

tended after the bath, bore the scars of his toils. There was

also Yoshi’s missing eye, lost when a guard’s whip caught him

across the face instead of the back, and Kumaso’s crooked ankle,

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

37

broken and badly set after a rock fell on it. And the bath had

revealed that the silent Haseo’s back was so heavily scarred by

crisscrossing stripes and welts that he must have been near

death after his punishment.

With darkness they drew closer together against the night

chill. Kumaso and Yoshi engaged in a game of “rock, scissors,

paper” like two carefree children. Taketsuna thought with long-

ing of his distant family.

The stars above were particularly clear tonight. He lay back,

his arms folded under his head against the sharp bits of gravel,

and wondered if he would get used to his new life, used to sleep-

ing on the hard, cold ground without cover and under the open

sky, used to humiliation and rough physical labor, used to beat-

ings. The last was the most difficult, a disgrace impossible to be

borne without retaliation. He wished for the warmth of silken

quilts, but being tired, he dozed off.

The discomfort of the cold night and the hard soil beneath

him woke him somewhat later. Two of his companions were

whispering softly.

“Forget it. It’s too dangerous. They might find out.”

The other man made some inaudible protest.

“Lot of good that’ll do you, when you’re dead. You know

what they say about the Second Prince’s murder.”

Startled, Taketsuna sat up. The whispering stopped. “Who

was that?” he asked softly. “Who was talking?”

Silence.

He reached over and shook the shoulder of the sleeper next

to him. The man grunted and sat up with a curse. “What the

devil d’you want? Can’t a man have a little peace at night?” he

complained sleepily.

At the gate the dozing guards came awake. “Quiet over

there,” one of them shouted, “or we’ll give you what for, you

lousy pieces of dung.”

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I . J . P a r k e r

Taketsuna whispered an apology, lay back down, and closed

his eyes. He did not have much chance to sleep, because a short

time later someone arrived to pick up the new prisoner.

The sleepy guards grumbled but seemed resigned to com-

ings and goings all day and night. Taketsuna was chained again

and walked off behind a burly guard. This time they entered the

city. The streets were silent, and the shops shuttered. Moonlight

lit their way. The prisoner shivered in the cool night breeze and

tried to suppress his nervousness. Mano extended from the flat

shore of the bay halfway up the encircling hills, and the provin-

cial headquarters rose well above the rest of the city, with a

commanding view of its many roofs and the shimmering silver

of the bay and ocean beyond. Taketsuna risked a glance back-

ward, as they climbed the wide stairs to the gate leading into the

government compound, and was struck by the extraordinary

beauty of a scene in such sharp contrast to the misery of certain

of Sadoshima’s inhabitants.

The government compound was smaller than those Taketsuna

had known in his former life, but it seemed in good repair and had

the usual separate courtyards surrounding buildings of various

sizes. The governor’s residence occupied a tree-shaded section just beyond the tribunal and archives. Except for the guards on night

duty at the main gate and at the gate to the governor’s quarters, the compound lay deserted. Their arrival was barely noted. Taketsuna’s guard saluted the guards at the gate and led his prisoner

past the tribunal to a smaller building just behind it. Here another pair of guards nodded them through the doorway. They walked

down a long hallway lit by flickering oil lamps and stopped in

front of a pair of wide doors. The guard knocked. Someone called

out, “Enter!” and they stepped into a large room which was bare

except for a desk and the seated figure of the governor.

The guard stood to attention, and Taketsuna knelt, touching

his face to the polished floor.

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

39

“Take his chains off!” The governor’s voice sounded remote.

His tone was clipped and his speech cultured, but there was an

abruptness and tension in his voice that made Taketsuna uneasy.

He felt the guard’s hands remove his chains but did not

change his position.

“You may leave. Tell the guards outside that I do not wish to

be disturbed.”

They must think the governor either a very brave man or a

foolish one, thought Taketsuna. A desperate and violent crimi-

nal could easily make a hostage of him and bargain his way to

freedom.

The door slammed behind the guard, and they were alone.

A rustle of silk; then soft steps approached and passed Taket-

suna. There was the click of a latch falling into place, then the

stockinged steps returned and paused next to the kneeling

Taketsuna. A hand fell on his shoulder.

“My dear fellow, please rise. It is quite safe now. We are

alone.”

C H A P T E R T H R E E

A C A N D L E I N T H E W I N D

The governor was nearly as tall as the prisoner, but age had

bent his back a little. The black cap did not hide the gray of his

hair, or his robe of office the weariness on his lined face. In the candlelight his eyes looked deeply sunken as they searched

the convict’s features anxiously. “You are the person who has

been sent . . . I mean, you are the man known as Yoshimine

Taketsuna?”

Thinking the governor’s tone and manner odd, the prisoner

said cautiously, “Yes.”

“I was informed of your coming. The captain of your ship

brought me a letter from . . . someone of very high rank. It told me that you were to help me in my present difficulties.”

The prisoner sighed. “May I see the letter, please?” he asked.

The governor fished it from his sash and passed it over. “My

dear Sugawara,” he said earnestly, “I cannot tell you how sorry I

am to see you like this.”

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

41

Akitada, who had been accustoming himself to the role of

the convict Taketsuna, was angry. He looked around the room,

bare except for the desk, a tall candle, two silk cushions, and

four large lacquer trunks, and then went to throw open one

panel of the sliding doors to the outside. A tiny landscape

of rock, pebbles, lantern, and a few shrubs had been squeezed

between the governor’s room and a high, blank wall. It was too

small for anyone to hide in. He closed the door again and faced

the governor.

“You should have destroyed this,” he said, after glancing at

the short letter. “Please do it now.” He waited as the other man

held the letter into the candle flame until it grayed, shriveled,

and became dust. “Our meeting,” Akitada continued, “is danger-

ous. But since I am here, and you are informed of my purpose, I

suppose you had better tell me what you know.” Reaching up to

the collar of his stained robe, he picked at a seam. After a mo-

ment, he eased a thinly folded sheet of paper from between the

layers of fabric and extended it to the governor, who unfolded it

and read quickly before raising it reverently to his forehead.

With a deep bow, he returned the document. “Yes, quite in

order. The vermilion seal and the seals of His Majesty’s private

office. I am deeply honored. As you saw, my letter instructed me

to assist you in investigating the murder of the Second Prince.

But my son—” He broke off and looked away. His thin hands,

folded across his chest, clenched and unclenched convulsively.

Akitada said more gently, “Let us sit down.”

Mutobe looked flustered. “Yes, of course. Please forgive me.

The past week has been terrible, terrible.” After they had seated

themselves on the cushions—they were of good quality and

not at all worn like those in Echigo—he looked at Akitada with

deep concern. “Your face . . . I blame myself, but I could not

prevent it.”

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I . J . P a r k e r

Akitada waved the apology away. “It is nothing.”

“Welcome to Sado, such as it is,” the governor said, still

dubiously, “though, of course, you may not wish to continue

with this dangerous impersonation now.”

“Why? Has the situation changed?”

“No. If anything . . . but heavens, sir . . .”

Akitada raised a hand in warning. “No names and no hon-

orifics. I am a convict called Yoshimine Taketsuna.”

The governor swallowed and continued, “I cannot protect

you. Not only is my administration compromised by the murder

charge against my son, but now my son’s life is in danger. I dare

not take any actions against my enemies.” He smiled bitterly. “It

was my fault for attempting to curb Kumo and his minions. Now

they are planning to get rid of me. The central government con-

siders this island no more than a prison colony. The law here

is enforced by the police, whose commander is a government

appointee but works for Kumo, and by the high constable, who

thinks he is responsible to no one but himself. So you see, your

scheme is much too dangerous. A matter of life and death.”

“The murder of the Second Prince may well hide something

far more dangerous. You suspect the high constable of plotting

to remove you from office by linking you to the crime? Why

would he do this all of a sudden?”

The governor blinked. “Isn’t it obvious? The man is a mega-

lomaniac. He wants to rule this island. He already controls most

of its wealth. Now he wants absolute power. In the years that I

have been governor here, I have seen him seize more and more

control. I have tried to stop him, but all it got me was a repri-

mand from the capital, and now my son is accused of a murder

he did not commit.”

Akitada knew that local overlords could become very pow-

erful and that the government often made use of their power

by appointing them high constables, thus saving the cost of

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

43

maintaining troops in the distant provinces. But surely Kumo

would not kill the Second Prince to seize a province? He said,

“The emperor is concerned. I am here to learn the truth about

the murder and to verify your suspicions.”

Mutobe brightened a little. “Yes. Perhaps Kumo will think

you are one of them. Your disguise was a real stroke of genius.”

Akitada was not so sure. He said dryly, “Let’s hope the mat-

ter is settled before they find out that the real Yoshimine is in jail in Heian-kyo.”

Mutobe fidgeted. “I must warn you. No matter how hard we

try to intercept messages, Okisada’s people always hear of news in

the capital. Pirate ships carry their letters. I am afraid this is going to be very dangerous indeed. Of course, you must do as you wish,

only don’t count on me to save you. Kumo’s people don’t stop at

murder, and with my son’s life at stake . . .” His voice trailed off.

He looked at Akitada’s face again and shook his head. Reaching

for a slender porcelain flask, he poured wine into two fine porce-

lain cups and extended one to his visitor. “I was told you almost

died at sea and then were beaten by Wada’s constables.”

Akitada emptied his cup thirstily, nodded in appreciation,

and passed it back for a refill. “Wada is the police official who

greeted me at the dock? If he treats all arriving prisoners that

way, something should be done about him, but for the present

it does not matter. The incident lent a certain realism.”

Mutobe shook his head again. “I don’t want to belabor the

point, but I wonder if you realize that even under the best cir-

cumstances an ordinary prisoner’s life is worthless here. Wada is

a brutal beast and his constables act as he wishes. The high con-

stable has made a special pet of Wada. Between them, they claim

to keep the peace on Sado, reminding me that my function here

is purely judicial and administrative. And it seems the prince,

whom I have had to remind of his status many times, still has

friends in the government.”

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I . J . P a r k e r

Akitada was becoming impatient with Mutobe’s whining.

His ill-considered actions against the high constable and his

dilatoriness in reporting the trouble to the council of state had

provoked the situation. He suspected that the governor had let

a personal power struggle get out of hand. He changed the sub-

ject. “Did you send that very drunk physician to me?”

Mutobe looked embarrassed. “Ogata is my coroner and tends

to the prisoners. When I got the captain’s letter, I went to take a look at you. I was shocked by your wounds and thought you

needed medical attention. Ogata drinks, but he is a perfectly ca-

pable physician. In fact, if it had not been for his drinking and

slovenly appearance, he would have treated the late prince. The

prince’s doctor, Nakatomi, is more interested in wealth than

healing. Ogata can be trusted. He is absolutely unbribable

because he has neither ambition nor greed.”

“A rare man indeed. I was not complaining but wanted to

thank you.”

The governor relaxed and smiled for the first time. “Appar-

ently Ogata liked you, too. He told me that I had to find you

a place here because you might not survive the hardships

of roadwork or mining. When I pretended lack of interest,

he offered to make you his assistant because he was getting

too old for his work. He put on quite a good performance, gasp-

ing and pressing a hand to his heart. He even groaned as he

bowed.”

Akitada laughed. “He must think me a weakling. I thought I

was in excellent physical condition.”

“Working on roads or breaking rock is not the same as a

bout with the sword or some hard riding. In any case, I will find

you a place in the archives where I can keep in touch with you.”

“I am not sure that is a good idea. Any close contact between

us will cause suspicion. Also I must be able to travel.”

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

45

“But I thought . . .” The governor looked upset and said in

an almost pleading tone, “Surely you will want to meet my son?

To get his story? Then I’ll do my best to send you away.”

Akitada weakened. “Well, perhaps. If it is only for a day or

two. Do you have a map of Sadoshima?”

Mutobe rose and delved into one of the lacquered trunks.

He produced a large rolled-up scroll and spread this out on the

desk between them.

The island’s shape resembled a large butterfly flying north-

east, its body flat heartland, the wings mountainous. The gover-

nor pointed to the southwestern opening between the two wings.

“We are here, on Sawata Bay. The murder happened in Minato, a

small town on Lake Kamo near the opposite coast. Okisada was

the guest of honor at the villa of a retired professor there.

Okisada’s own manor is in Tsukahara, not far from the lake. The

central plain northeast of us is full of rice farms. Kumo’s estate is there.” Mutobe pointed to the center of the island. “Most of the

farmed land belongs to the descendants of earlier exiles. I men-

tion this because some families still bear a grudge against the

government. Kumo and Okisada may have formed allies there.”

Akitada nodded. “Tell me about Kumo.”

“He is thirty-eight years old. His great-grandfather was sent

here on trumped-up charges. The family has been cleared, but

since the descendants had become wealthy on Sadoshima, they

stayed here. Kumo now controls one-third of the rice land in

the province. He also owns two silver mines. Kumo’s father

was appointed high constable, either because of his wealth and

influence on the island, or because of the emperor’s guilty con-

science. His son inherited the office.”

“What sort of man is he?”

Mutobe made a face. “Handsome, arrogant, and fiercely

possessive of the island. He regards imperial appointees as a

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I . J . P a r k e r

form of harassment for the natives and claims that the non-

political prisoners are responsible for all the crime. Hence his

support for Wada.”

Akitada thought about this. “Who really controls Sado?”

Mutobe flinched. “There is no need to be so blunt,” he said

stiffly. “I am fully aware that you were dispatched here because

it is thought that I have failed in my duties.”

“No, that was not the reason,” Akitada said quickly. “You

are in no position to investigate this murder. But let’s not

waste time. I cannot remain in conference with you indefinitely

before someone will take notice.”

Mutobe took a deep breath. “Yes. Sorry. It is just that I have

not slept much since . . . the murder. Briefly, then: nominally, I

have administrative authority over the whole province; how-

ever, the special nature of Sado as a prison for exiles of different types gives extraordinary powers to the kebiishicho, that is Wada, and the high constable, namely, Kumo.”

The provincial kebiishicho was the police department run by an officer from the capital. Their original purpose had been to assist the governors in curbing the power of provincial strongmen.

In Sadoshima, this seemed to have backfired. Evidently Lieutenant

Wada had allied himself with Kumo and ignored Mutobe’s wishes.

Mutobe explained, “Political exiles are generally well-

behaved, but men who are sent here for piracy, robbery, and

other violent crimes are another matter. There is a small garri-

son to protect provincial headquarters, but the soldiers are all

local men and the commandant is an elderly captain for whom

the assignment was tantamount to retirement. And, of course,

Kumo controls the landowners and most of the farmers.”

“Farmers are generally a peaceable lot.”

“Yes, but large landowners like Kumo are not, properly

speaking, farmers. They own most of the land and therefore

the wealth of Sado. Since we must maintain ourselves and the

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

47

prisoners and exiles with their families, we need their rice, and

the emperor needs their silver.”

“I see. Where is your son?”

Again Mutobe’s hands twisted. “My son is in jail,” he said

bitterly.

Akitada sat up. “In jail? You mean here in the provincial jail?

Is that not somewhat unusual?”

“Yes. Well, there was some thought of putting him in the

stockade, but I managed to avert that. He could have given his

word and been put under house arrest, but they insisted on jail-

ing him like a common criminal.” Mutobe buried his face in his

hands. “Every day I fear for his life. In a jail cell it is so simple to fake a suicide.”

Akitada softened toward the man. No wonder he lived in

fear of upsetting his enemies. “Would it be possible for me to

speak with him without causing comment?”

Mutobe lowered his hands. “Yes. I think I can arrange that.”

“Tell me about the people who were present when the

prince died.”

“Okisada died after a dinner at the home of Professor

Sakamoto. Sakamoto used to teach at the Imperial University in

the capital, but after a visit here he decided to stay and write a

history of Sado Island. He is a well-respected man, but I have

wondered if he was sent to spy on the prince. If he was, Okisada

made it easy. He and his companion, Lord Taira, were regular

visitors at his house. Okisada enjoyed boating and seafood,

both of which are excellent on Lake Kamo.” Mutobe paused.

When he continued, his voice was curiously flat. “On this occa-

sion, there were two other guests, a young monk called Shunsei,

and my son. Originally I had been invited, but I begged off. My

son represented me.” Passing a weary hand over his face, he

sighed. “Forgive me. This is a painful matter for me. Besides

being my son, Toshito has been my official assistant.”

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I . J . P a r k e r

Akitada was startled. “Your assistant?”

“Sadoshima is not like other provinces. I came here almost

twenty years ago and married a local woman. She died when

Toshito was only a baby. I could have returned to the capital, but a man of my background has no future there. I decided to stay and

raise my son, and the government was happy with the arrange-

ment. Few capable officials are willing to serve on the island of

exiles. When Toshito showed promise, I sent him to the capital

to study law, and after he returned he became so useful to me

that I requested official status for him. My request was granted

last year.”

Akitada thought of his own young family. He had not yet

achieved Mutobe’s status. Would he, too, be condemned to

spend the rest of his career in Echigo, far from the capital and

with no chance at promotion? What if he lost Tamako and

found himself raising his son alone? He suddenly felt great sym-

pathy for the pale, elderly man across from him. He said, “I see.

Please continue.”

“The witnesses were all in agreement about what hap-

pened . . . well, Taira, of course, cannot be trusted, but the others had no reason to lie. Sakamoto lives quietly, except for visits by the prince. Apparently the prince took an interest in the history Sakamoto is writing. And Shunsei is just a young monk

the prince has befriended. Kumo, of course, did not attend

because I was to be there. Anyway, they all claim that after din-

ner Toshito was left alone with the prince in the lake pavilion.

They were walking back to the house when they heard Okisada

shout for help. Toshito was bent over the seated prince with

both hands at his throat. They ran back and found the prince

dead. Toshito denied having attacked Okisada, but he was not

believed.”

“Strange. What did the coroner say?”

“His report shows that Okisada died of poison.”

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

49

Akitada stared at him. “Poison? I do not understand. Why is

your son in jail?”

“Unfortunately, Toshito had taken a favorite dish to the

prince. There was not enough for the others, so Okisada alone

ate it. The prince complained about the taste and a pain in his

belly before he died. Later, when someone let a dog lick the bowl

which had contained the stew, the animal died in convulsions.”

Akitada shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. I assume, of

course, that your son also denies poisoning the dish.”

“Of course.”

“Why was the monk there? Was the prince religious?”

“I have been told that he had become so lately. I’m afraid the

prince led a very private life. I don’t know anything about the

monk.”

“Do you have any idea how and why this murder happened?”

The governor compressed his lips. “I am convinced Kumo

had a hand in it. My son was set up. I would be in his place if I

had accepted the invitation.”

Akitada thought about this. He still did not like it. “Have

you made any public threats against Okisada?”

Mutobe flushed. “Yes. Okisada made outrageous public

comments charging me with dishonest practices. A month ago

I sent him a letter warning him that I would take steps to stop

his libelous attacks on me and my administration. When he

apologized, I put the matter from my mind.”

“I see. It seems an incredible story. If you can arrange it, I’d

like to meet your son first, but then I must try to see Kumo and

the men who attended the dinner. Do you send inspectors to

outlying districts?”

“Yes. One is to leave soon.” Mutobe clapped his hands

together. “Of course. That’s it. You can go along as a scribe. Both Kumo’s manor and Shunsei’s monastery are on his regular

circuit.”

50

I . J . P a r k e r

“Perfect.” Akitada rose and smiled. “I pride myself on my

calligraphy.”

Mutobe also stood. “In that case,” he said eagerly, “you

might start by working in the archives. I will have a pass pre-

pared for you. It gives you a limited amount of freedom. While

you are in this compound, you won’t be locked up, but you can-

not leave it alone. I’m afraid I can only offer you quarters with

the prison superintendent.”

“A jail cell would be more convincing, but perhaps it is bet-

ter not to keep such very close contact with your son.”

They walked out together, Akitada falling several steps be-

hind when the governor clapped his hands for the guard outside.

“Take him back,” Mutobe told the man. “Tomorrow he is to

report to the shijo. Pick him up at dawn. I want reports on his behavior as soon as possible.” He turned on his heel and walked

back to his office without another glance at Akitada.

Akitada followed the guard meekly back across town. His

return raised no interest. Only the silent Haseo was still there,

curled up in his corner, apparently fast asleep. When Akitada

asked one of the sleepy guards, “What happened to the others?”

he got a grunted “None of your business” in reply. He decided

that the prisoners had been moved at night and hoped that lit-