Текст книги "Island of Exiles "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

something with which he had bargained for his release and

which had cost him his life.

He was so preoccupied with Jisei’s murder that he almost

overlooked an interesting item in the document he was work-

ing on. It concerned an institution called a “Public Valuables

Office.” Apparently one of the earlier governors of Sadoshima

had established a storehouse where people could deposit family

treasures in exchange for ready money or rice. Later, say after a

good harvest, they could redeem the items. Such places existed

elsewhere in the country, but they were usually run by the larger

temples and helped farmers buy their seed rice in the spring. He

skimmed the pages for an explanation of government oversight

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in Sadoshima and found it in the fact that much of what was left

in safekeeping seemed to be silver. Akitada recalled that some of

the silver mining was in the hands of private families, Kumo’s

for example. But most intriguing was the fact that the official

currently in charge of the “Public Valuables Office” was none

other than Yamada.

◆

After work that evening, Akitada went directly to the prison

kitchen. Steam rose from one of the cookers in the large earthen

stove, and the smell of food hung in the hot air. Masako, her back

to him and dressed in her rough cotton cover and kerchief, was

filling a bamboo carrier with steaming soup. A basket of empty

bowls stood beside her. Except for her slender waist and a certain

grace in her movements, she looked exactly like a peasant girl.

“I came to help,” said Akitada.

She turned, her face red and moist from the fire and the

steam, and brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from

the scarf. Flashing him a smile, she pointed to the basket of

bowls. “I’m about to take food to the guards and prisoners. You

can help if you want.”

He accepted with alacrity, taking the handle of the full soup

container in one hand and the basket of bowls in the other and

following her across the yard to the low jail building.

They met with a rude reception in the guardroom.

“What? Bean stew again?” complained one big, burly fellow,

sniffing disdainfully. “It’s been a week since we’ve had a bit of

fish. I suppose you’re saving up for a new silk gown.”

His smaller companion lifted her skirts and eyed her leg.

“We don’t mind if you wear a bit less,” he said, and guffawed.

Masako slapped his hand away and snapped, “If you don’t

want the soup, the prisoners will be glad of an extra helping.

The food is supposed to be for them anyway. You get paid

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87

enough to buy your own. If you want delicacies, go to the mar-

ket. We’ve been feeding you lazy louts long enough.”

This was received with shocked surprise. “But,” whined the

first guard, “it’s been the custom. And you know we can’t leave

our post to go to the market.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared. “Then bring your

food from home. Now open up! I don’t have all day.”

The larger man muttered under his breath, but he got the

keys and his lantern. As he passed Akitada, who was carrying

the heavy food container in one hand and balancing the basket

of bowls with the other, he sniffed. “It smells good for bean

stew,” he said in an ingratiating tone.

“Open up!” snapped Masako.

Muttering some more, he preceded them down the hallway,

stopping to unlock each cell door to let Masako fill a bowl and

hand it to an inmate. They finally reached young Mutobe, who

stood waiting and bowed politely to Masako before receiving

his bowl.

“How are you today, Toshito?” she asked the prisoner.

“Well. Thank you, Masako.” He looked at her with concern.

“And how is it with you and your father? Any news?”

“No. Nothing. And you?”

“No talking allowed,” growled the guard.

Masako sighed and filled another bowl. “Here,” she said,

handing it to the guard. “Hunger makes you irritable. Go away

and eat.”

“What about Kintsu? I can’t go back without taking him

something.”

Akitada handed Masako a second bowl with a wink. She

chuckled softly, filled this also, and gave it to the waiting guard.

He nodded and departed with the food.

“Well, that got rid of him,” said Masako, giving Akitada a

conspiratorial smile. “They’re becoming unbearable. Even the

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outcast sweepers ignore my orders. As Father’s daughter I used

to get some respect, but now they think of me as one of their

own. What a difference poverty makes.” She turned and saw that

young Mutobe was still holding his full bowl, worried eyes mov-

ing between her and Akitada. “Sit down, Toshito, and eat,

please.”

He bowed and started eating, but would not sit in her pres-

ence. After a few mouthfuls he said, “You cannot continue this,

you know. They are savages. One of them might get ideas.” He

glanced at Akitada again.

“I’m not afraid. Besides, Taketsuna can come along to pro-

tect me.”

“Taketsuna?” His eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you. You were

here yesterday with Masako’s father, taking notes. I wasn’t pay-

ing attention.”

His tone had become arrogant and faintly hostile. When

Akitada nodded, he turned back to Masako with a frown. “How

do you come to know this prisoner?”

“Taketsuna is no criminal. He is a political exile who works

in the archives during the day and stays at our house.”

“You mean like a houseguest? Why the special treatment?

He should be locked up here or sent inland to work.”

Masako stared at him. “Oh, Toshito, how can you of all

people say such a thing?”

Young Mutobe flushed and said angrily, “It is not safe to take

a criminal into your house. You know nothing about him. What

can your father be thinking of?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she cried, moving closer to Akitada

and putting her hand on his arm. “For all you know he’s of bet-

ter birth than you.”

Young Mutobe paled and pushed the half-empty bowl her

way. “No doubt. I can see how the wind blows. Here. I’ve lost my

appetite.”

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89

“Oh, Toshito,” she cried, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to insult

you. Please forgive me.” But the young man folded his arms

across his chest and turned his back to them. She pleaded,

“Come, you insulted Taketsuna. That was not well done, either.

As for his staying with us: it was the governor’s wish, and he

pays for Taketsuna’s lodging and food.”

“I see. It’s the infernal money again!” Toshito said bitterly to

the wall.

Akitada wished himself elsewhere. He did not like being

talked about as if he were not present, especially with the hostil-

ity displayed by this man. But the news that Mutobe had made

elaborate arrangements for him after all was more disconcert-

ing. Word had probably already got out that the was being

treated like a guest in the provincial headquarters. He cleared

his throat. “Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, “but as I am

to leave Mano shortly, the arrangement is strictly temporary.

My being given special lodging has more to do with my abil-

ity to take dictation and write well. I understand there is a

great shortage of scribes here. Of course, I am most grateful to

Superintendent Yamada. I assure you, his daughter is quite safe

from me.”

Akitada’s polite speech was a reproach to the other man’s

manners, and he turned around. “I am sorry for my rudeness.

My situation is frustrating to me because I cannot help my

friends.”

Akitada bowed. “I understand.”

But there was resentment in the air, and Masako called the

guard. When she picked up their empty bowls in the guard-

room, the little guard remarked with a grin, “Found yourself a

new fellow, eh? He’ll give better service than that little sprout

Toshito and he’ll live longer, too.”

Masako gasped, and Akitada took a threatening step

toward the man, but she caught his arm and pulled him away.

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Outside, she stopped. “Oh, Taketsuna, you must never do that

again. Fighting with a guard will get you nothing but a vicious

flogging and chains.”

She was right, of course, and he could not afford to make a

scene in any case. When he muttered an apology, she reached up

to touch his face. “Thank you, Taketsuna. It was kind of you to

want to protect me.” She was looking up at him with a little smile, her eyes suddenly moist. “I would put up with a great deal more

than a few silly words to spare you pain,” she said softly. When he said nothing, she asked, “Are you really leaving so soon?”

He saw the tears in her eyes, and his heart started beating

faster. Feeling like a brute, he said, “Yes. I’m to travel inland with one of the governor’s inspectors.”

“Oh, Taketsuna. So little time.” She looked dejected, then

brightened. “But you’ll come back soon?”

He said nothing and they walked back to the kitchen court-

yard. At the well he helped her wash the bowls. She was deep in

thought and said little. He was relieved. Her words and expres-

sion had touched him deeply. He wondered what the relation-

ship was between her and Mutobe’s son and knew he did not

like it. Ashamed of his jealousy, he forced his mind to more

important matters.

Regardless of Mutobe’s assertion that his son had been

framed by his own political enemies, Akitada was by no means

convinced of the son’s innocence. Toshito had attended the uni-

versity in the capital and might have come in contact with

Prince Okisada’s enemies. He might, in fact, have been their tool

to eliminate a troublesome claimant to the throne.

Back in the kitchen, Akitada took up the broom and began

to sweep while Masako busied herself about the stove, laying the

fire for the morning meal and gathering the remnants of bean

soup for their own supper. The Yamadas’ provisions seemed

scarce and of the plainest sort, but Masako had managed to

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91

prepare decent meals with what she had. Such extreme poverty

was still a great puzzle to Akitada.

“You seem to be on very familiar terms with young Mu-

tobe,” he began after a while.

She stopped, a bamboo dipper with bean soup in her hand,

and stared at him. “What do you mean?” she asked, color rising

to her cheeks.

“That was badly put.” He leaned on the broom and smiled at

her. “Nothing insulting, I assure you. You speak to each other

like brother and sister.”

She finished emptying the soup kettle. “We are friends, be-

cause we grew up together.”

“You must know him very well, then. Well enough to share

secrets, as children do. Would you tell each other things you

might not mention to your fathers?” He tried to make it sound

like gentle teasing.

But she was too sharp for that. “Why do you want to know?”

she demanded suspiciously.

He retreated. “No reason. Or rather, there are so many

mysteries about you that I . . . Never mind! It was just idle

conversation.”

She came then and looked up at him searchingly. “Was it,

Taketsuna?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky. Akitada

started to back away, but she put her hand on his arm to stop

him. “Who are you really?”

This startled him. “You know who I am. Yoshimine

Taketsuna.”

“No. I mean, who are you inside? You ask about me, but

what are your thoughts? What is your family like? What did you

wish for before you came here? What sort of life will you make

in the future?”

He moved away from her and started sweeping again. “What

I was does not matter here,” he said, “and I have no future.”

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She followed him. “Your past matters to me, and so does

your future. Many exiles have settled to a comfortable life here.

They have taken wives and raised families.”

Appalled by where this conversation seemed to be leading,

he kept his back to her. “I will never rest until I return to my

home and family,” he said firmly.

“Tell me about your family.”

He turned then. “I have a wife and a young son.”

She flinched a little at his fierceness. “Oh,” she murmured. “I

should have thought of that. I’m sorry. You must love them very

much.” Tears rose to her eyes, making him sorry for his cruel

frankness. “Taketsuna,” she whispered, “you may not see them

again for many, many years, or perhaps never. What will you do

meanwhile?”

“Nothing. Hope. What else can a man do?”

Her eyes pleaded. “He can make another life.”

He put away the broom then. “I have no life,” he said in a

tone of finality. “And now, if you have no other chores for me, I

think I’ll go clean up before the evening meal.”

Outside, at the well, he started to strip off his gown, but a

strong sense of being watched made him stop and look over his

shoulder. Masako stood in the kitchen doorway, a small, secre-

tive smile on her pretty face. When their eyes met, she turned

abruptly, took up the container of bean soup, and walked away

humming a song.

They took their evening meal—the leftover bean soup

with some pickled radish—as always on the veranda in front of

Yamada’s study. For Akitada it was a difficult meal. Masako had

appeared a little late. She was again in her faded blue silk gown,

but she had put a new ribbon in her shining hair.

Her father was in his usual abstracted mood, and she

attempted to make conversation with Akitada, making sure

he had enough soup, that it was to his liking, that the setting

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93

sun was not in his eyes. All of these overtures Akitada met

with a monosyllabic “Yes” or “No,” and she finally turned to her

father.

“When will you get paid again, Father?” she asked, startling

Yamada, who cast an embarrassed glance toward Akitada.

“Not for another five days, child,” he said. “I am very sorry.

It must be difficult for you.”

“Not at all,” she said lightly. “I’m a very good manager. But

the guards were demanding fish today, and it has been days

since we’ve had any. I expect you would like some, too.”

“Fish?” He seemed surprised. “You have no money left? I am

very sorry, my dear. You shall have some tomorrow. The truth is

I had not noticed the absence of fish.” He added with a smile to

Akitada, “Masako makes even the plainest dish taste like some-

thing fit for the emperor. Isn’t that so?”

The meals had been adequate but hardly fit for an emperor,

or even one of their own class. A farmer or a monk might have

approved, though, of the vegetarian dishes. Millet and beans

were their main staples. The flavor was due to herbs, fruit, or

vegetables, all things which were raised in their garden or gath-

ered in the woods. However, Akitada agreed politely, then

changed the subject.

“I noticed a document in the archives today which refers to

a rather peculiar institution of which you seem to be the over-

seer, sir. It’s called a Valuables Office. Apparently it pays out rice against securities like silver? I thought such operations are usually carried out by temples.”

Masako dropped her bowl with a crash and stared at him

wide-eyed. Her father turned rather pale. His hands shook as he

put down his own bowl. After a moment, he took a deep breath

and said, “Clean that up, child.” He waited until Masako had

scooped up the shards and food bits and left the room. Then he

asked, “What is your interest in this matter, young man?”

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Akitada knew now that he was on the right track but said

only, “Curiosity, mainly. Sadoshima is a strange place to me.

There are private silver mines here, when I thought all the

mined silver belonged to the emperor. Why is so much silver in

private hands, and what is the reason for the valuables office?”

Yamada relaxed a little. “Some of the mines belong to the

emperor, and the silver from them goes into storage in the gar-

rison until it is shipped to the mainland. But the landowners do

their own mining under special permits. This created a problem

in the past. There is very little minted currency in Sado, and

people began to barter in silver, which caused it to become

devalued, even the silver coins minted by the emperor, and so it

was thought best to control the matter by allowing people to

trade their silver for rice from the government storehouses.

Now the value of the silver is fixed. In addition, many people are

leaving their valuables in our hands for security. There are, after all, many criminals on this island.”

Akitada thought he had a pretty good idea what had

plunged Yamada into sudden but temporary poverty. The man

was trying to make restitution before the next inspection. For

the time being Akitada had to let the matter rest. There were far

more urgent worries on his mind.

After the evening meal, Akitada made his way in the dark to

a storage shed and climbed on its roof. From here he could see

over the tribunal walls down to the city and the peaceful bay.

The moon was nearly full and shone very brightly on the shim-

mering water. Below him huddled the dark roofs of the houses

of the city, and beyond rose the dusky headlands which stood

between him and his home and loved ones. The bay looked like

molten silver where the moonlight touched it. The distant coast

of Echigo was hidden behind the dark mountains, but he fixed

his eyes on the faint silver line which marked the separation of

land and sky and thought of Tamako and their son.

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95

He had almost died on the way here, and he might die in the

attempt to carry out his orders. The possibility of never seeing

his wife or child again threw him into a stomach-twisting panic,

and he was tempted to give up this mad assignment and go

home.

Oh, how he longed for safety from the tangled and deadly

schemes of men, and from the tear-drenched eyes of a brave

and lovely girl.

C H A P T E R S I X

T W I S T I N G A S T R AW RO P E

Midmorning of the following day the governor paid a surprise

visit to the archives. He came accompanied by a small, round-

bellied man who walked with short, quick steps and cast a curi-

ous glance into Akitada’s cubicle. The governor passed by with-

out a nod and made straight for Yutaka’s office. A murmur of

voices told Akitada nothing, but after a few minutes Yutaka, his

face stiff with disapproval, put his head in and told him the gov-

ernor wished to see him.

“This,” said Mutobe, when Akitada had knelt and bowed, “is

Inspector Osawa. He is leaving on an inspection tour, and you

are to accompany him as his secretary. One of Yutaka’s scribes

will also go along.”

Akitada bowed again, suppressing his amusement. A pro-

motion from scribe to secretary? Mutobe must really be un-

comfortable with his lowly status. He bowed also to Osawa, who

merely stared back. Primly attired in brown robe and black cap,

the inspector was in his late forties, and looked like a typical

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97

midlevel provincial official. Such men were born and trained in

their own provinces, where they made themselves indispensable

to the governors with their knowledge of local conditions. Here

on Sadoshima, such a man might have allegiances with the

wrong factions, and Akitada decided not to trust him.

Mutobe told Osawa, “Perhaps you had better just look

into the matter of the Valuables Office before you leave. I

will send word to Yamada to have the books ready tomorrow

morning.”

Akitada cleared his throat.

“Yes?” asked Mutobe. “Is there a problem?”

“No, Your Excellency. Superintendent Yamada mentioned

that he had some copying work for me to do in my spare time.

Since I am indebted to him for my lodging, may I take your

message and offer my assistance in getting the accounts ready

for Inspector Osawa’s visit?”

Mutobe looked momentarily confused, no doubt wonder-

ing what possible interest Akitada might have in an inspection

of the Valuables Office, but he said only, “Good idea. Why don’t

you go now?”

Akitada bowed to Mutobe and Osawa and went to tell Yutaka

that the governor had dispatched him to Yamada.

“Oh, all right,” muttered the shijo, pursing his lips. “But it is very disappointing. First he sends you here, then he sends you

away. Yes. Very disappointing.” He shook his head, sighed, and

bent to his copying work.

Akitada found Yamada in the small garden behind his

house. He was digging radishes and putting them in a basket

which already contained some leafy vegetables. When he saw

Akitada, he looked embarrassed. “Ah, hmm,” he said. “Back

already? You find me at my hobby. Gardening is very good for

health and useful, too.” He pointed to the basket. “For our

evening meal. I wish the radishes were bigger, but I don’t seem

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to have the touch. And caterpillars have been in the cabbages.

Do you happen to know about such matters?”

Akitada had no time to discuss gardening. He said brusquely,

“I’m afraid not. The governor sent me to tell you that Osawa will

inspect the books of the Valuables Office tomorrow.”

Yamada was too shocked to take note of Akitada’s abrupt-

ness or his lack of courtesy titles for Mutobe and Osawa. He

dropped his spade, turned perfectly white, and began to sway

on his feet. Akitada caught his arm and helped him to the

veranda steps.

“All is lost,” groaned Yamada, putting his head into his

muddy hands. “All the hard work in vain. Poor Masako. Poor

child. And what will become of my son when his father’s dis-

grace is known?” He ran his fingers through his hair and shook

his head in hopeless despair.

Akitada sat down beside him. “What precisely is wrong in