Текст книги "The Convict's Sword "
Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker
Жанр:
Исторические детективы
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER ONE – THE TWO CLERKS
CHAPTER TWO – TEMPTING SOGA’S WRATH
CHAPTER THREE – GHOSTS
CHAPTER FOUR – THE BLIND STREET SINGER
CHAPTER FIVE – THE SHACKLES OF LIFE
CHAPTER SIX – KOBE
CHAPTER SEVEN – OLD MEN
CHAPTER EIGHT – THE NUN
CHAPTER NINE – FORTUNE TELLING
CHAPTER TEN – THE HIDDEN GARDEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN – THE B OY
CHAPTERTWELVE – THE BEAUTIFUL LADY YASUGI
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – THE STOREHOUSE
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – BROKEN TIES
CHAPTER FIFTEEN – CAUGHT
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – PURPLE AND WHITE WISTERIA
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – TO THE DEATH
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – THE EVIL OMEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN – HASEO’S SWORD
CHAPTER TWENTY – HASEO’S CRIME
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE – SMOKE OVER TORIBENO
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO – HIROKO
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE – KOBE
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR – EVENING BELLS
HISTORICAL NOTE
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell,
Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre,
Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,
New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in Penguin Books 2009
Copyright © I. J. Parker, 2009
eISBN : 978-1-101-05094-1
1. Sugawara Akitada (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—
Fiction. 3. Exiles—Fiction. 4. Smallpox—Fiction. 5. Japan—History—Heian
period, 794-1185—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3616.A745C66 2009
813’.6—dc22 2008043475
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
http://us.penguingroup.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am indebted to a number of friends and fellow writers who were kind enough to read and make comments on this novel, among them especially John Rosenman and Jacqueline Falkenhan.
To my great delight, I also worked with a new editor, Rebecca Hunt—an association that was not only a pleasure but helped make this the best of my novels so far.
My debt to my agents, Jean Naggar, Jennifer Weltz, and Jessica Regel, increases with every book and every contract. They are simply the best in the world.
CHARACTERS
Japanese family names precede given names.
MAIN CHARACTERS
CHARACTERS CONNECTED WITH THE CASES
OTHERS
ALSO: Assorted noblemen, thugs, merchants, soothsayers, beggars, peasants, servants, and children.
PRONUNCIATION OF JAPANESE WORDS
Unlike English, Japanese is pronounced phonetically. Therefore vowel sounds are approximately as follows:
“a” as in “father”
“e” as in “let”
“i” as in “kin”
“o” as in “more”
“u” as in “would”
Double consonants (“ai” or “ei”) are pronounced separately, and 
“g” as in “game”
“j” as in “join”
“ch” as in “chat”
This fleeting world is
A star at dawn,
A bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning
In a summer cloud,
A flickering light,
A phantom,
And a dream.
–THE DIAMOND SUTRA
TEMPLE BELLS
The fifteenth day of the Fifth Month was the day Tomoe died. It was also the day of her birth, but otherwise unremarkable. She knew her way, had walked it daily now for two years, always before dark, because then she could dimly make out shapes.
She passed the restaurant, caught the rich smell of fish soup, and felt a fierce craving for it and for a cup of wine to celebrate. But there would be no wine, not even the cheapest, and no fish soup either, though there was a silver coin among the coppers she had earned today. She clutched her lute to her chest to feel the pressure of the coins inside her robe.
As she passed under the market gate, she was jostled by someone. Suddenly, a hand came from behind and felt her breast. She swung around with an angry cry and pulled the scarf from her face. The man who had touched her so familiarly cursed. He had not fondled a pretty young harlot, but an ogress. Tomoe was tempted to hiss and bare her teeth at the unseen tormentor, but she resisted.
People hated to look at her face, and she did not blame them. She had seen smallpox victims before the disease struck and blinded her. Their faces were deeply pitted with scars, their noses and mouths distorted and twisted, and their skin grotesquely stained in hues of fiery red and purple—horrid demon masks. The trouble was, she still had a young and slender body and filthy men lusted for it.
When she emerged from the gate into the street, she calmed her fury and listened for horsemen and carriage wheels. Runners, too, were a danger. More than once she had been knocked down and trampled.
But she had other fears than those inherent in her blindness. Among the desperately poor, beggars and whores could expect a friendly hand, but a woman of her class would be left to die in the gutter. Until recently she had believed herself safe in her chosen life.
The sun was gone already, and Tomoe hurried. With her free hand, she felt for the bamboo fencing at the corner of the next street and, having found it, walked alongside until it made way for the wall of a house. She recognized her world by touch and smell. And as always she listened. When she smelled food cooking, her empty stomach contracted painfully. There was nothing at home except some millet, part of an old cabbage, and a tiny sliver of dried fish. Never mind. She could manage for a little while longer.
Then, as she passed the long tenement where the day laborers rented cheap rooms, she heard the footsteps again, and her blood froze. Step, shuffle. Step, shuffle. The first time he had followed her, she had thought he was just some old man on his way home. When she heard him again another day, she had gathered her courage and stopped to see if he would speak. But the steps had stopped too, and suddenly she had been afraid.
That was the worst part of being blind: what you cannot see takes on bizarre and menacing proportions.
She walked faster, clutching the lute and her money, passing her free hand along walls, gates, fences, and shrubbery. Another turn and she would be home. She paused to make sure she had lost her pursuer, but at that moment the evening bells began their booming call to prayer, their deep clamor swallowing all other sounds. Seized by sudden panic, she ran.
She reached the rickety gate to the stonemason’s yard, slipped the latch with clumsy, trembling fingers, ran through, and slammed it behind her. In her panic, she bruised her shin on one of the stone markers her landlord stored here, but she gained her backdoor, unlocked it, plunged inside, and dropped the latch in place.
Outside the bells stopped ringing.
Leaning against the door, she caught a deep, shuddering breath and willed her hammering heart to calm. Then she set down her lute, and took the money from her gown. It was not enough, but she could not wait any longer. By early morning light she would leave the city. She felt her way to the trunk, lifted out her bedding, spread it on the floor, and was about to put away the money when she heard someone try the latch.
Her landlord? The small room had two doors. The other led to the quarters of the stonemason who rented her this room. The Shigehiros were not kind people; he often spied on her through the cracks in the backdoor, and his wife knew it and hated her.
She pushed the money back inside her robe, slammed down the lid of the trunk, and called out, “Go away, you dirty animal!”
No answer, just some hard breathing.
Seized by sudden anger, she went to the door, pulled the latch back, and threw it open. She knew him instantly, but he pushed hard against her chest and the door slammed shut as she stumbled backward, falling across the bedding with him on top of her.
She had been raped before, at night on the streets when the men could not see her face. She tried to lie still, tried to turn her face away, but a violent revulsion seized her; she gagged and struck out at him.
He cursed, and she felt her face sting, then felt the hot blood pouring from a wound, and knew he had a knife. Screaming, she fought him, fought to get away, scratching, clawing, and hitting, felt the knife as it cut her hand, then felt it sink deep into her upper arm. She twisted away, crawling through her own blood and feeling along the wall for the door to the house, to the Shigehiros and help. He cursed. The knife slashed across her back and, deflected by a shoulder blade, sliced into her buttocks. Pain racked her body. Through her own screams, she heard his rage and realized with almost detached surprise that he meant to kill her. She had feared torture but never murder. Oh, dear heaven, what would become of the children?
Crying, slipping in her blood, she managed to reach the door and rise to her feet, but he barred her way. The knife struck again, into her chest, and then into her belly. There was a roaring in her ears. She choked on blood. Touching the door, she slipped and fell into blinding light.
CHAPTER ONE
THE TWO CLERKS
The strange “thwack, thwack” noise coming from outside penetrated the warm, scented tangle of silk robes under which Akitada dozed, his face burrowed in his wife’s warm neck. The curious noise warred for a time with some rather pleasant stirrings of desire for Tamako until Akitada opened his eyes and saw the lines of gold made by sunshine falling through the closed shutters.
Tamako turned to him with a soft rustle of silk, her bare feet seeking his. Her pretty face was flushed with sleep, her eyes heavy, perhaps with desire.
But he decided it was too late for lovemaking. With a smile for Tamako, he rose, pushed back the shutters, and walked out onto the veranda.
It was one of those perfect mornings: blue skies, bird song, the wisteria heavy with purple blooms scenting the warm air. Then, from beyond the garden wall, came a ferocious, “Take that, you son of a mangy rat!” Thwack! “And that, you foul piece of dung!” Thwack! “And that, you empty gourd not good enough to hold dog’s piss!” Thwack!
Akitada smiled, his heart filled with almost perfect contentment.
“Yori!” murmured Tamako, stepping out behind him and covering her ears.
Akitada laughed softly. “Ssh! He is practicing with his new sword. Tora must have built a straw man for him. I think Yori may grow up to be a famous swordsman. We have never had anything but dry poets and clerks in the Sugawara family.”
His wife shuddered. “I hope not and I wish you would not encourage him. His language is abominable. That was also To ra’s teaching, I suppose?”
Akitada thought how very pretty she was, standing there in her thin white under-robe, the silken hair rippling down her back and shimmering where the sun touched it. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, whispering in her ear, “Yori is almost five and I have a great desire for more children. Let us go back inside.”
To his delight he could feel the warmth of her flush against his cheek, and through the thin silk his palms sensed the merest shudder of desire. For a moment she relaxed against him, but then she pulled away gently. “The sun is high already. Aren’t you going to the Daidairi today?”
The Daidairi, or Greater Palace, was the walled and gated government complex occupying the northernmost center of the capital. It encompassed the imperial residence and all the ministries and bureaus. Akitada worked in the Ministry of Justice.
With his wife’s question, memory returned and drowned his joy. He released Tamako. “You’re right. It’s late.” He clapped his hands sharply.
From the other side of the wall a child’s voice called out, “Good morning, honorable father and mother. Shall I bring your morning rice?”
Akitada shouted back, “Good morning, Yori. Thank you, but Seimei will do it. Ah, here he comes now. Keep up your practice.”
Seimei had served Akitada’s father before him. He was well past seventy now and his thin back was bent from years of service. He moved slowly, but carried himself with the natural dignity of a respected family elder. There was no need for him to perform such humble services for his master, but the old man insisted, and his presence was a comfort to Akitada.
Seimei bowed as he entered the room and set down the tray with two bowls of rice gruel. “Will you be wearing your ordinary robe today?”
“Yes.” Akitada eyed his food with distaste. The thought of his problems at the ministry had taken his appetite.
Seimei departed with another bow, and husband and wife sat on the veranda, sipping their gruel to the accompaniment of more thwacks and ferocious language. From time to time, Tamako glanced uneasily at her husband’s thin features. She was too well-bred to pry into her husband’s affairs, but after a long silence, she said cautiously, “I suppose your new position entails many difficult cases?”
“What? Oh. Not at all. Just dull routine. Though there is enough of it.” He fell back into his black mood and stared into his half-filled bowl. When she reached across to touch his forehead, he raised his eyes, surprised.
“You’re not eating. I wondered if you might be feverish. There has been talk about smallpox.”
“I’m perfectly well.” He took a small sip from the bowl to prove it. “There are always rumors about some disease. We’ve had twenty years without a major outbreak of smallpox in the capital. You must not pay attention to such tales.”
“They say if the illness has stayed away for many years, it returns with much greater virulence,” she said defensively.
“Nonsense.”
Tamako bit her lip. She was becoming impatient with her husband’s mood. “Then what is the matter?” she demanded bluntly, adding for form’s sake, “Please forgive my rude curiosity.”
Akitada looked at her and set aside the half-eaten gruel. “I ran into an old acquaintance yesterday. Do you recall the very important guest we entertained in Echigo?”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “His Majesty’s private secretary?”
Her husband nodded. “He has retired and become a monk. They all seem to do that nowadays. Afraid of death, I suppose. He asked about you and Yori.”
She bowed slightly. “I am honored, but I have not forgiven him for putting you in such danger on that terrible island.”
“We owe him our present comfortable life. But he reminded me ...” Akitada stopped himself. He had never told her—partly to spare her the details of the horror he had lived through, and partly because Haseo’s story was still unfinished, the solemn promise made to a dying friend still unkept. Only Tora knew, because he had been there with them after that final, terrible battle. Since then, nearly five years had passed, five years during which Akitada had been chained to his duties in Echigo and after his return had dealt with a series of family catastrophes. And now there were new duties in the ministry: a promotion to first secretary, all the meetings and attendance at official affairs that entailed, piles of paperwork, and a bitter enemy for his superior.
Some days he felt the shame of that half-forgotten promise almost like a physical blow, or a sword thrust into his belly, like the agonizing wound that had taken Haseo’s life.
Tamako still waited for an explanation, and he forced himself to smile. “I suppose it brought back some bad memories.”
“Oh.” She smiled also, relieved. “Yes, it’s a wonder you don’t have nightmares. But you’re home now and must not let the past trouble you. We are all healthy and happy, and you finally got your promotion this year. All will be well. It will be a fine year for you, you’ll see.” Slowly a faint pink crept up her slender neck and into her smiling face. “And perhaps there will soon be another child, too.”
Though Akitada forced himself to show her a happy face, depression returned when he left for his office.
The fact was, the previous day had been a disaster. A small quarrel between the two young ministry clerks had led to an unpleasant confrontation between himself and the minister. Nakatoshi, an intense young man who wrote a very elegant hand and was therefore Soga’s clerk, had lost his temper with Akitada’s clerk, Sakae. Sakae’s characters resembled chicken scratches, though he insisted that his speed produced a cursive script much admired among the younger courtiers. The two were jealous of each other.
Yesterday Nakatoshi had followed Akitada to his office, a large room furnished with a low desk and many shelves holding document boxes and rolls of book scrolls. Akitada had moved up in the world since his promotion, much against the will of Minister Soga, to be sure, who had done his utmost to banish Akitada from his sight permanently. He had failed because Akitada had a few friends who interceded for him, and now Soga relieved his frustration by heaping as much work as possible on his detested senior secretary. The large desk had been covered with papers.
Akitada had stopped in astonishment. “What happened? We worked late last night and finished all the pending cases. There was nothing left. What is all this?”
“I am very sorry, sir, but the minister sent a messenger. You are to have these ready for him when he arrives.”
“Where is Sakae?”
“He stepped out for a breath of fresh air.” Nakatoshi bit his lip. “Could I help, sir?”
Akitada had considered the offer. Nakatoshi was by far the brightest young law clerk to pass across the ministry’s threshold for some time, and he was eager for work. Therein lay the problem. Soga had instantly chosen Nakatoshi as his personal amanuensis, and Soga hardly ever did any work. That meant that Nakatoshi spent most of his time sitting outside the minister’s room, waiting to write a letter from Soga to a friend, or to copy a memorial or proposal with which Soga hoped to curry some favor or justify his position. All the real legal work was done by Akitada, with some minimal assistance from Sakae.
“It’s not as if I ever do anything important,” Nakatoshi had grumbled, eyeing the documents almost hungrily. “Soon I will have forgotten all I ever learned. I would be so grateful, sir, if you would allow me to help you and Sakae sometimes.”
But it would not do. If nothing else, Soga knew Nakatoshi’s brush too well. And so Akitada had said, “I’m afraid that anything which passes His Excellency’s desk is out of the question, but if you just want to keep your hand in and have spare time, you might check on an old case in the archives,” and he had told him about Haseo, condemned to exile for a crime he had not committed.
“It sounds like a fascinating project,” Nakatoshi had cried. “I shall need the family name and the date and nature of his crime.”
Haseo had revealed his former name reluctantly, and only at the brink of death. For serious crimes, a man’s name was taken from him as part of his sentence. This had hampered Akitada’s own searches. “I believe the family name was Utsunomiya, but since it was confiscated along with his property, it won’t do you much good. Most references have been expunged.”
“Ah,” Nakatoshi had cried, “that must have been a very significant case, sir. What are the details of the crime?”
“I don’t know. He died before he could tell me anything else.”
“You don’t know? But how am I to . . . ?”
“You may not find anything. I didn’t. But I had too little time for a thorough search. Whatever happened, happened over five years ago. When I reached Sadoshima, Haseo had already been there several months, perhaps as much as a year. Longer he would not have survived.” Nakatoshi had stared at this and Akitada had explained. “Conditions for prisoners on the island were very bad then. I believe they are more humane now. There is a chance that some reference to the Utsunomiya name escaped the attention of the clerk who was charged with removing it. Also, it is highly unlikely from what I know of the man that his crime was political. That leaves a possible domestic offense. His punishment suggests that the crime was particularly vicious. Or, alternatively, he may have become involved in a private dispute with a high-ranking noble and killed him. The latter seems the most likely scenario to me. If you were to look at cases that happened five to seven years ago and would justify his particular sentence, you might come across something.”
“Did it happen here in the capital, do you think?”
“Not necessarily. From what he said, he was raised in the country.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, I know. Like looking for a particular pebble in a very long stream. You don’t have to do it.”
“Oh, no, sir. I’ll get started as soon as His Excellency is finished with me.”
And at that moment, Sakae had walked in.
“Start what?” he had asked, his short, round-faced figure slipping in silently through the open doorway.
Akitada did not like his clerk, who was uncooperative, lazy, and insolent. He had greeted him with a frown. “I’ve been wondering what has become of you. There seems to be quite a bit of work here.”
Sakae had looked at the pile of documents and instantly protested, “I really don’t feel up to it today, sir. Why can’t Nakatoshi do it? I don’t understand why I always get all the work, while Nakatoshi has the time to stand around and chat.”
Nakatoshi cried, “You can have my job, Sakae. Take it. Right now! Go and wait for the minister to run his errands and take care of his social correspondence. You should find it most interesting, as it presents little challenge to your pitiful mind. And I’ll gladly do your work, which is at least related to legal matters, something that does not seem to hold much interest for you.”
Sakae did not take this well, and Akitada had intervened in the squabble of raised voices, when a sharp voice from the corridor demanded, “What is going on here?”
Instant silence followed.
The minister, portly and with his usual air of impatient superiority, typically focused his irritation on Akitada. “If you must reprimand the clerks, Sugawara, there is surely a more seemly way than shouting at the top of your voice. And what are you doing with Nakatoshi anyway?”
“It is my fault, Excellency,” Nakatoshi had said quickly. “I was arguing with Sakae. It was very wrong of me, and Lord Sugawara was quite right to correct me. I apologize, sir.”
But Soga was undeterred. “You should not permit arguments between the clerks, Sugawara. It shows a lack of proper authority. But I suppose your present position is perhaps, how shall I say, a bit too much for you?”
Akitada had bitten his lip. “Not at all, Excellency. May I be of some assistance to you?”
“Ah, yes. I came for your report.”
“I am afraid I’m not quite ready, Excellency. Perhaps in an hour?” More like four hours, but Soga might get busy with other things and forget.
“Not ready? What do you mean? You have had all morning. Surely you are not that incompetent? What is taking so long?”
At that moment, Sakae had murmured, “Lord Sugawara just arrived and has not really had time to read the documents, Excellency. I’m certain he will prepare a brilliant report as soon as he puts his mind to them.”
Soga had stared from Sakae to Akitada. “Just arrived? Not had time to read? How so, Sugawara? I sent a messenger at dawn and it is almost midday now.”
“I worked late last night clearing up the other cases and overslept, Excellency.”
“Hah!” Snapping his mouth shut after the single outraged syllable, Soga had stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Bad as that scene had been, it had not ended there, and that was why Akitada dreaded the coming day. He approached Suzaku Gate along with a stream of government officials, clerks, scribes, and servants. Beyond rose the many green-tiled roofs of government buildings and palaces, some two hundred halls, great and small, in their own walled and gated compounds, their red-lacquered columns bright in the morning sun. Because of his stiff silk robe and the black hat with the colors of his rank, the guards saluted him. He nodded and turned left in front of the Grand Administration Hall, walking briskly along the wide avenue past the Festivals Hall, then turned left again and entered the courtyard of the Ministry of Justice.
He grew hot with anger when he recalled walking into So ga’s office after finishing the report. The minister had been seated at his desk, drumming his fingers impatiently on the glossy expanse. No piles of documents there. “Finally!” he had grunted, extending his hand. Akitada bowed and offered the stack of documents he was returning. “Not those, you fool,” snapped Soga. “The report only.”
Nakatoshi had rushed up to relieve Akitada of the documents. Akitada was too shocked to speak. For a moment, he considered a challenge, but killing Soga, while it would be a satisfying gesture, would also earn him exile. On the other hand, if word got out that he had allowed Soga to call him a fool, his reputation and career would be in shreds. In the end he had demanded, “What did you say just now?”
Soga had flushed and looked away. “What? Oh, I was speaking to Nakatoshi. Youngsters always have their minds on foolish things when they should be alert. Alertness is all, Nakatoshi. Remember that and be quicker next time. Er, you do have your report, Sugawara?”
“Yes, but I had hoped to give it orally. I had to send my clerk home. He was not well.”
Soga’s eyes had sharpened. “Sakae? Was it serious, do you think? A fever? There’s talk of smallpox in the city. Is he the sort of fellow to seek out bad company?”
“I don’t think so, sir. More likely he was at some poetry party and drank too much wine.”
“Ah, yes, I forgot. That boy has good connections. But you should have been done with the report when I arrived. I have already missed an important meeting because of your inattention to your duties. I hope you will not allow this to happen again.”
“No, sir. What about my report? Don’t you want to hear it now?”
“Certainly not. Write it out and leave it on my desk.” And without another glance at Akitada, Soga had left his office.
Today he found Nakatoshi waiting for him again. He looked tired and disappointed. His robe was creased and dusty, and a smell of stale candle wax hung about him.
“I found nothing, sir, even though I looked all night. I had all the document boxes down, every year from the beginning of Jian to the end of Chogen. You did say that it must have happened about five or six years ago, or perhaps a little more? I must have read all the major civil cases in the country in a ten-year period. Either there’s some mistake or another name has been substituted. Nobody by the name Utsunomiya was accused of anything during those years, and only one Haseo occurs and he was some peasant who killed both his parents. I’m sorry, sir. Did I overlook something?”
“Heavens, man,” cried Akitada, aghast, “I didn’t mean for you to stay up all night. No, I don’t think you missed anything. As I suspected, the name was expunged, and apparently rather thoroughly. I shall go to the Ministry of Popular Affairs later and have a look at the tax rolls.” Hearing a movement behind him, he swung around. He had left the door open. Steps padded away softly in the corridor outside.
“I think that was Sakae, sir,” offered Nakatoshi. “He’s punctual for once.”
The footsteps returned and Sakae made his official appearance with a bow and “Good morning, sir.” Then he turned with an accusing look to Nakatoshi. “Did you burn all those candles in the archives? The night watchman said you were here all night, and there are fifteen stubs lying beside the candleholder.”
“What business is it of yours? I had some work to finish.”
Sakae flushed with anger. “Not for the minister, surely? Have you taken on private consulting work? It’s about time you spent some money on a new robe. You look filthy.”
“Sakae,” snapped Akitada, “you will never again have the ill manners to insult a colleague in my presence. What Nakatoshi was doing is, as he said, none of your business, but it was not private work, which is, as we all know, forbidden. He was looking up some information for me. If you recall, you were too ill to do much of anything yesterday.”
Sakae bit his lip and muttered an apology. Akitada was rather pleased with himself for having disarmed Sakae so easily.
The next few hours passed with the usual routine. Sakae was quiet and cooperative for once. Akitada closed the last file he had been working on and told Sakae, “I have some business in the Popular Affairs Ministry. If you will put away the documents, you may leave early for your midday rice.”
Glad to have escaped another unpleasant meeting with Soga, Akitada walked quickly across the government compound. The senior archivist in the stuffy and dusty tax office greeted him as an old acquaintance. Akitada had paid prior visits when he was investigating a case against an official who had been appropriating the rice tax for his private use.
“I know I’m a bother, Kunyoshi,” Akitada said loudly, for Kunyoshi was rather deaf, “but I mislaid a document and must finish a report tonight. It concerns allotment land, a rather large parcel as I recall. Until about five years ago it belonged to a family called Utsunomiya, but the name was officially removed due to some crime. I need to know the location of the land. Both province and district.”
Kunyoshi pursed his lips and studied the cobwebs on the ceiling. “Not much to go on. I see so many names every day. Still, Utsunomiya? It’s an unusual name. Why do I think Izumo Province?”
