Текст книги "Death on an Autumn River "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Reckoning

The prefect’s soldiers raised their bows and placed their arrows in unison. Then they pulled back.  Twenty-six arrows pointed at three tired and wounded men.

“Well-trained,” Tora muttered.

Akitada straightened up slowly.  He felt incredibly weary.  There was little point in this, but he must make the effort.  He took a step toward their commander and said, “You’re a little late, but I thank you for coming at all.  I’m Sugawara Akitada, special investigator from the capital.  These are my people.  We will need horses and transport for the dead man.  Take us to the prefecture.”

The commander shoved his helmet back a little and stared at him.  He next looked at Tora, then Saburo with a grimace of disgust, and finally at the body of Masaji.  He said coldly, “You’re under arrest for fighting and setting fires.  Setting fires is a capital offense.” He turned to his men.  “Tie them up.”

“Wait,” cried Akitada.  “You’re making a mistake.  You should be arresting Watamaro.  He attacked us and set the fire.”

The officer gave him a contemptuous look.  “Don’t be stupid.  Why would he burn down his own warehouse?  Besides he’s a respected man in this province.”

Four of his constables had dismounted and now approached with the thin chains used to tie up dangerous criminals.  Tora got up and stepped in their way.  “I’d rather die than have you put those on my master,” he growled.

The soldier closest to him swung the thin chain viciously.  It struck the side of Tora’s face and wrapped around his head.  Tora choked down a cry and clawed at the chain.  Blood trickled down his face.

“You’ll pay for this,” Akitada snapped, but it did no good.  The chain came off Tora’s head, leaving him bleeding and dazed, and all three had their hands tied.  The soldiers attached the chains to three of the horses.

Akitada had seen this sort of thing before and knew what was coming. They would be taken to jail, and if they could not keep up with the horses, they would be dragged along the streets.  “Look, Officer,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, would you at least notify the prefect before you do this?  He won’t thank you when the central government in the capital punishes him for mistreating an imperial emissary.”

The man laughed.  “It’s the middle of the night.  And you don’t look like an imperial emissary to me.”

They were covered with blood and soot.  Akitada’s silk robe was filthy and torn.  He had lost his hat, and his topknot had come loose.  No doubt he looked like a hoodlum, though he was not quite as ragged as his companions.  He felt his sash for some sort of identification but found nothing.  Even his silver was gone.

“At least put us on horses and tie us there.  We’re tired and wounded.”

“Serves you right,” snapped the officer and raised his hand.  “Let’s go.”

A nightmarish journey took them up the long thoroughfare Akitada had walked many times.  They were forced to trot alongside the horses.  Akitada stumbled once, and only caught himself by grasping the horse’s tail.  His hands hurt badly, and he barely escaped a kick.  When they reached the prefecture, the gates slammed shut behind them and the horses stopped.  Akitada collapsed on the gravel and tried to steady his breathing.  He heard the officer call out, “They claim to be imperial emissaries, sir.  Thought you might get a good laugh out of that.  No question about it, they’re dangerous criminals.  The warehouse burned to the ground, and we counted at least ten bodies.”

Akitada raised his head.  Munata was coming down the steps.  Perhaps the warehouse fire had roused him early.  Behind him, dawn was just breaking.  A new day.

Perhaps their last.

He struggled to his feet.  “Tell your man who I am,” he said.  His voice sounded gravelly and incredibly tired.

Munata paused, then came closer.  Akitada saw his eyes widen.

“Dear heaven, what happened?” he asked, then bowed.  “My deepest apologies, my Lord.  Ihara, untie His Excellency immediately.”

The officer’s face fell comically, but Akitada was too miserable to enjoy the moment or to complain. After a scramble and some agitated muttering, the chain fell from Akitada’s wrists.  He cradled his sore hands against his chest.  “Untie my men, too.  Then have the merchant Watamaro arrested along with all those involved in the battle at the warehouse.  We need medical attention, baths, and clean clothes.  The dead man needs a funeral.”  He ran out of breath.  Perhaps Munata would avoid open defiance of the court and instead try, by whatever means, to clear his name.

Munata looked deeply shocked.  His eyes went from Akitada to his companions and the corpse of Masaji on one of the horses, then back again.  “Watamaro did this?”  Akitada said nothing.  He was past speech.  “Never mind, sir.  My house is at your disposal.  But you cannot walk.  Perhaps by kago?  Shall we send for chairmen?”

An offer of a litter and luxurious accommodations?

Akitada looked at his companions and took a deep breath. “No, thank you.  We’re only going across the street to the official lodging house.  You will be here the rest of the day?”

“Yes, Excellency, but allow me to arrange for more comfortable quarters.  And my personal physician is at your service.”

“Send the physician by all means.  I shall speak to you later, after we have rested.”

Akitada nodded to his companions, and together they walked out of the prefecture.  Akitada forced himself to walk with a straight back and a firm step until they were out of Munata’s sight.  Then he slumped and heaved a sigh of utter exhaustion.

“I thought they’d put us in irons,” Tora remarked, taking his arm.  “Are you in pain, sir?”

“No,” Akitada lied.  “Just exhausted.  How’s your face?”

Tora touched his cheek.  “Stings a bit.”

“And you, Saburo?”

“Fine, sir.”  Saburo grimaced.  Akitada was beginning to distinguish between his scowls and smiles.  Saburo was smiling.

“You’re a good fighter, Saburo,” Tora said, “but never wake a man again from a sound sleep by sticking that face of yours at him.”

Saburo nodded meekly.  “Sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.”

The lodging house seemed almost like home after what they had been through.  The same fat man received them, looking both wary and disgusted by their appearance.  “What happened to you?” he asked rudely.

“None of your business,” snapped Tora.  “Where’s your daughter?  If that’s what she is.”

The man scowled.  “The wife left me and took her.  Good riddance.  And it’s none of your business.”

Akitada interrupted and ordered baths to be prepared.  A skinny youth showed them to a room and then brought Akitada’s and Tora’s bags from the storage room where they had left them.  They looked forward to taking off their blood-soaked clothes.  Saburo had nothing to wear, but they managed to find him a pair of trousers and a shirt.

The prefect’s physician arrived right after their baths.  He seemed capable, cleaned their wounds, and bandaged them.  Akitada needed a plaster on the cut on his back, but he refused to have his hands bandaged.  Tora’s face had only cuts, but Saburo’s arrow wound worried the doctor .  The arrow had gone through the fleshy part of Saburo’s lower arm, and he had trouble moving his hand.

Afterward, they slept.  Akitada was in no hurry to face Munata.

*

  When Akitada woke, it was afternoon and Tora was gone.  Saburo meditated in the lotus position again.

Akitada sat up gingerly, and found that the wound on his back felt better.  His palms, though, were stiff and sore.  He got up.

Saburo opened his eyes.  “How are you?”

“I feel better.  And you?”

Saburo grimaced a smile.  “I’ve had much worse.”

“Yes.  Where’s Tora?”

“He said he’d check on the little girl and would be back soon.”

Akitada nodded.  He put on his best robe and trousers.  “I’m going to the prefecture and won’t need either of you for some hours.  Here.”  He gave Saburo several pieces of silver.  “Buy yourself a decent robe and trousers like those Tora normally wears.  And a small black cap.  A shave and haircut would also be nice.  If you’re working for me, you’ll have to look the part.”

Saburo bowed.  “I’m sorry to point out, sir, that new clothes and a shave and haircut will not make me as handsome as Tora.  Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”

“I’m sure.”

*

This time, the guards and attendants at the prefecture greeted Akitada with nervous respect.  Clothes, especially when they bore court rank insignia, had this effect.  Munata met him in the reception hall of the prefecture.  He had not bothered to change into better clothes, looked pale and distraught, and bowed deeply.  He led Akitada with great courtesy to a set of cushions on the raised dais.

When Akitada refused an offer of wine and refreshments, Munata did not persist.

“What about Watamaro and his men,” Akitada demanded.

The prefect looked at him dully.  “Alas, the merchant has disappeared.  His ship has gone, too.  And my men are still interviewing people to see who was involved in the disturbance last night.”

“Disturbance?”  Akitada glared.  “It was an assassination attempt that cost one man his life and wounded two of us.  Watamaro intended to burn us to death.  I shall report the matter as an attack on an imperial official.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Akitada took the imperial orders from his sleeve.  “As I told you, I have authority to investigate the illegal activities in this province, and more precisely, in your prefecture.  Normally, I would present these documents to the governor, but he also seems to have disappeared.”  He extended the papers.

Munata touched his head to the floor, then received them with both hands, raising them briefly to his forehead.  He unrolled the documents, read quickly, and returned them with another bow.  “I’m completely at your service, Excellency.  As for the governor . . . I imagine you haven’t heard.  He is in seclusion in the capital.  He mourns the death of his only son.”

Astonishment and dismay washed over Akitada.  “What?”

“You met Yoshiyo at my house.  It was a terrible shock and grief to me to hear of his death.  I loved that boy.  Everyone loved him.”  Munata looked away and raised a sleeve to his eyes.  “Forgive me.  I’m not myself.”

The man did look terrible.  Was he to be foiled again from prosecuting charges against the governor, Munata, and perhaps Otomo?  The professor, too, had claimed affection for his pupil.

“What happened?”

“Yoshiyo was deeply upset because his father had forbidden him to buy out a courtesan he had met.  He made up his mind to defy his father, but the girl killed herself.  Alas, when he found out, he decided to follow her on that dark path.”  Munata sighed deeply.  “Even in the midst of their robust lives, the young are close to death.”

Yes, so it had been with his own small son, Yori.  Akitada did not know what to say.  A deep sadness seized him, and with it pity for those who had loved the two young people.  Then he gave himself a mental shake.  There had been no one to love Akogi except that unfortunate boy who had brought her death.  It strengthened Akitada’s conviction that she had been murdered, and his heart hardened against the governor.

What to do about Munata and the other culprits was another matter.  On one hand, Munata had finally acknowledged imperial authority and was cooperating.  On the other, it was likely that he had allowed Watamaro to escape.  Of this, however, there was no proof.

“What do you know about Nakahara’s and Otomo’s involvement in the piracy matter?” Akitada asked him.

Munata straightened and made an effort to attend to his own problems. “Nothing, Excellency.  I swear by Amida.  I realize that the burden of guilt rests most heavily on me because I should have known what was going on in my prefecture.  Nakahara is my friend and an honest man, if perhaps not a very efficient administrator.  Professor Otomo I don’t know as well, but he’s respected and trusted by the governor.  I should think that piracy is not really his area of interest.  He’s a scholar.”

“He’s a descendant of Korean immigrants.  And the recent piracies involve goods shipped through Korean merchants.”

Munata sighed.  “Even so, I don’t know of anything that would link either man to the pirates, Excellency.”

Akitada pondered this.  If Nakahara was innocent, the most obvious suspects were his clerks.  “You mentioned Nakahara’s carelessness in his duties.  He has two clerks.  Both were in a position to gain information and pass it to Watamaro.”

“Yes, that could be the answer.  Those two!”  Munata paused and thought.  “Nariyuki comes from the capital.  Nakahara brought him along when he first came here.  I think he’s a nephew or cousin.  Nakahara’s much too lenient with him.  I rarely see that young man do anything but have a good time in town.  That kind of life costs money and brings him in contact with undesirable elements.”

Akitada raised his brows.  “If you suspected him, you should have mentioned it to me from the start.”

“I had no proof.  Still don’t.  How can I accuse a man of a heinous crime without more than a vague suspicion?  Or disapproval of his life style.”

“Hmm.  What about Tameaki?”

“He’s the opposite of Nariyuki.  Tameaki works hard even though Nakahara doesn’t like him and treats him badly.  He belongs to a local family.  His father was a clerk, too.  They were poor but saved and scraped to send him to good schools.  It was I who recommended him to Nakahara.”  Munata shook his head.  “I may not have done either a favor.  Tameaki is very ambitious.  Given that and the poor treatment he has received, one has to wonder why he stayed.”

“Yes, precisely.”  Akitada’s opinion of Munata rose.  The man was a shrewd observer of human nature.  Tameaki’s efficiency and his subservient manner had indeed been unnatural.  “You say his family used  to be poor?  What has changed?”

“They have come into some land recently.  If you like, I’ll have the police check on both young men.”

“Please.”

A brief silence fell.  Then Munata asked, “What about me, Excellency?”

“I must report what has happened.  If you are in fact guiltless, I doubt you’ll receive more than an official reprimand for not having reported irregularities.”

Munata breathed a relieved, “Thank you, Excellency.”

Akitada went from the prefecture directly to Nakahara’s office.  He wanted to confront the guilty party now rather than wait for the painstaking investigation by the police.

Nakahara was at work.  Perhaps his fear of punishment had had a good influence on his work habits.  Both clerks attended him, their brushes busy copying documents.

When he saw Akitada, Nakahara paled and stumbled through a greeting.  He made an awkward comment on the Watamaro incident, murmuring, “What a shocking thing!”

Akitada cut him off.  What have you done with the letters my clerk sent to me?”

“What letters?  There have been no letters except for one.  You got that.”

“Sadenari sent me regular progress reports.”  Akitada let his eyes move over the clerks.  “Someone in this office has intercepted them. One of you has been working for Watamaro.”

They stared at him.  Nakahara gasped, “What do you mean?”

Nariyuki cried, “Working for Watamaro?  Whatever for?”  He turned to Tameaki.  “Is that why  you were forever carrying papers to his place?  I didn’t know you were working for him, too.  You’re a regular glutton for work.”

A shocked silence fell.  Nariyuki was clearly not very bright.  Nakahara understood, though.  He flushed and looked at Tameaki.

The thin, pale Tameaki had grown several shades paler.  “I wasn’t working for Watamaro,” he cried.  His voice was shrill.  “I was told to take those papers to him.”

Nakahara rose in outrage. “That’s a lie, Tameaki.  How dare you accuse me, you repulsive little worm?  I never liked you, but you seemed grateful and you worked hard.  I see now it was all pretense so you could sell Watamaro information about orders and shipping details.”  He shook a finger at the clerk.  “It was you all the time! You won’t get away with this.  I’ll have you arrested.”

Tameaki jumped up, looked about him like a cornered rat, then made a move toward the door.

“Running won’t do you any good, Tameaki,” Akitada said.  “You’ll be found and it will all come out.  The police are already investigating you.”

The clerk turned on Nariyuki.  “You brainless, good-for-nothing idiot!”

Nariyuki grinned.

With a shout of fury and balled fists, Tameaki rushed him. The taller, stronger Nariyuki rose with surprising speed, caught him, flung him to the floor, and sat on him.

It had all come apart quite easily.

*

Tora knocked on the door of a shabby house in the poorest quarter of Naniwa.  He had asked people living near the official hostel for directions.  The door opened, and an old crone came at him with a long knife in her hand.  Tora backed away.

“Careful, granny,” he said.  “You might hurt someone.”

She lowered the knife.  “I’d like to hurt the fat bastard that married my daughter.  I thought you were him.  What do you want?”

“Would that be the fat bastard who runs the official hostel?”

“Runs?  The good-for-nothing bum sleeps there to rest up from beating his wife and child.”

“That’s the one.  I’m Tora.  I came to see the little girl.”

Her face wrinkled up.  She wailed, “Oh, the poor child.  What he did to her! Asoko, come here.”

A younger female crept up behind the old one and peered timidly over her shoulder.  She had greasy hair, two black eyes, a swollen nose, and a split lip.

“My daughter,” said the old one and added, “He says he’s Tora.”

The woman nodded and gave him a tiny smile that revealed broken front teeth.

The old woman held the door open. “Come in then and see what he’s done, the devil.”

Tora stepped into the dry stench of abject poverty.  They lived in one room and probably did their cooking outside—when they had food.  In a dark corner, a bundle of dirty clothes lay on the dirt floor.  The old crone gestured to them, and Tora went closer.  At first he did not know what he was looking at, then he saw a pair of eyes gleaming like two black beads.  Her face was as gray as the rags she lay on, but the feverish eyes were fixed on him.

She whispered, “Tora?”

“Yes, it’s me, little one.”  His heart contracted.  “What’s wrong?” he asked the women.  They did not answer.  He knelt beside the child.  “What’s wrong, Fumiko?  Are you in pain?”

A small, dirty hand emerged from the folds of fabric and crept toward him.

The grandmother said harshly, “The devil broke her arm and hurt her back so she can’t stand.  He beat her with a piece of lumber.  They brought her to her mother on a board.”  She turned to her daughter.  “You stupid slut, you  should’ve come to me long ago, but you had to stay with your man and master.  Even after he near killed Fumiko.”

The younger woman wailed, “I begged him to get a doctor.”

“As if that bastard cares what happens to either of you.  So he beat you up, too.  Serves you right.”  She spat.  Her daughter started to weep noisily.

The little girl watched them all without blinking.  Tora peeled back the blanket and saw that her right arm was badly swollen and lay at an unnatural angle.”  Reaching into his sash, he drew out some money.  “Here,” he said to the old woman.  “Get the best doctor you can find, and have him bring something for her pain.”

The grandmother bobbed her head and hurried out.  Tora and the little girl’s mother waited.  After a while, the mother sat down on the child’s other side.  They did not speak.  There was nothing to be said.

*

Akitada returned to a scene of violence outside the hostel.  Screams reached his ears long before he saw the people gathered around its entrance.  Still shaken from the night before, he started to run.  Then he saw Tora.  He was swinging a rope at the bloody back of the fat man who hung, tied by his arms to one of the rafters and with his toes barely touching the veranda floor.  With every smacking impact of the rope, he convulsed violently and uttered a high-pitched scream. The onlookers encouraged Tora with shouts, and the rope returned with another whack.  The fat man swung and screamed, the rope withdrew, returned to coil across his back, and he swung and howled again.

Akitada roared, “Tora!”

Tora did not turn, but he lowered his arm.  The bloody rope curled in the dirt beside his boots.

The fat man went on screaming.