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The Convict's Sword
  • Текст добавлен: 6 октября 2016, 04:00

Текст книги "The Convict's Sword "


Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker



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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Kosehira raised his thin brows. “You must have heard something about it.”

“I didn’t take it seriously. Not until I was told about His Majesty’s illness today.”

“Actually, the place is pretty empty today. You should see it when all is well.” Kosehira sighed. “We’re all in the hands of Buddha.”

They fell silent. Akitada wondered if Tamako worried that he would bring the disease back with him. She had expected him to take his family to their farm in the country. But Seimei was too ill to travel, and Akitada could not leave the ministry. Worse, Tora had disappeared, and Genba was at the Yasugi mansion.

Kosehira slapped his shoulder. “Come, cheer up. You’re safe enough. All will be well. Now go and take your wishes for His Majesty’s complete recovery to the chamberlains’ office. I’ll show you the way. The head chamberlain is on duty now; he will receive you.”

Kosehira left to explain matters to his friends and then walked with Akitada to the chamberlains’ office. Akitada felt a shiver of awe. He had never set foot in the Imperial Palace, let alone penetrated as far as the handful of nobles who associated daily with the emperor in his private apartments. But he had prepared his speech and must deliver it. It was now part of his duties.

“I’m not looking forward to it,” he confessed when they stopped at the bottom of the steps.

Kosehira laughed. “You’re only the hundredth visitor today. They won’t pay much attention. Just say your bit, and creep back out. Backward, mind you.”

Yes. He had almost forgotten about that. Much depended on his not placing a foot wrong or neglecting proper protocol. He felt the sweat breaking out on his forehead. Better get it over with before he started dripping all over the chamberlains’ shining floors. He started up the stairs.

As it turned out, Kosehira was right. When he gave his name and purpose to a guard at the door to the chamberlains’ office, he was conducted into a large room where three formally attired nobles awaited him. He entered, knelt before the one in the center, and touched his forehead to the polished wooden boards.

“You are Sugawara, acting Minister of Justice?”

“Acting Minister of Justice” sounded very grand, but Akitada felt thoroughly inadequate to the present situation and merely murmured his assent.

“Why have you come?”

At this he sat up and delivered his prepared speech. He managed to do so without stammering, then bowed and immediately returned to his previous position.

“Very dutiful, Sugawara,” said one of the great men—Akitada was not sure who any of them were—“Your wishes will be delivered to His Majesty. He is grateful for the prayers of the nation.”

Akitada did not know how he was to respond to that and therefore remained perfectly still. There was a brief silence, then another voice said impatiently, “That is all. You may now proceed to the temple.”

Akitada rose to his knees, bowed again, and retreated backward, hoping he would not miss the doorway and fetch up against the wall. A hand touched his shoulder, and the guard motioned him to rise and depart. The worst was over.

Kosehira waited outside. “I’ll come with you to the temple,” he said. “It never hurts to pray.”

A practical attitude. They walked the short distance together, exchanging news about their families and their work. It was a measure of Kosehira’s worry that he was unusually subdued.

No monks were sweeping the steps of the temple gate today. All was quiet and neat until they had crossed the temple garden. When they were climbing the steps together, they heard the soft hum of sutra chanting. They stepped into the shadowy solemnity of the temple hall and the heavy scent of incense. The only light came from the tall tapers that burned before the monumental figures of three golden Buddhas. Smaller statues of the celestial generals danced in front of them. Each of the Buddhas wore swirling gilded robes and stood before a large gilded nimbus. By a trick of the flickering candlelight and the haze of incense against the shimmering gold, it seemed as if the statues were alive. The generals turned and dipped and the Buddhas smiled as they emerged from the divine fire.

The chanting monks—dark-robed and seated in the shadows—were almost invisible against the side walls, but a gorgeously attired priest in purple silk and a rich brocade stole occupied the central mat before the altar. He sat cross-legged, apparently in prayer. Kosehira approached him, bowed a greeting and murmured, “My friend Sugawara and I came to pray for His Majesty.” The priest turned his head, gave Akitada a long glance from under heavy lids, and nodded.

They knelt side by side on another mat, performed the customary obeisances, and then assumed the posture of meditation.

Akitada had been raised in the faith and was familiar enough with its rituals, but his true spiritual center was with the ancient gods of Shinto. At heart, he did not approve of the foreign faith, though it was not wise to say so when it was practiced with such devotion by those in power. He listened to the hum and throb of the chant and stared up at the image before him. Judging by the small jar of ointment in the statue’s left hand, this was Yakushi Nyorai, the Buddha of healing. Akitada concentrated on saying a prayer. After all, he was praying for the sovereign and he wished the young emperor well. Indeed, he had been glad to hear he was not dying.

But his mind drifted to worldly matters. He would have to go home to change again, and that meant meeting Tamako to report on the emperor and discuss the problems of sending her and Yori into the country. The complications involved were beyond him. She would leave without him, and he could hardly stop her. Given her feelings at the present time, this separation was likely to deepen the breach between them. As he thought of her words again, they seemed to him a rejection of who and what he was. He could not bridge the distance between them without changing himself into someone he did not want to be.

Defeated, he turned his mind to Tomoe’s murder. Lady Yasugi’s stunning confession that they were sisters had opened new possibilities. He considered their conversation. Something was wrong about it. Her sadness—and there had been a very deep sadness behind their strange exchange—troubled him. Even grief for her sister did not account for it. Besides, he was not convinced that the two women had been very close. They had only met again recently, and Tomoe’s way of life must have shocked the fastidious Lady Yasugi. And why the fatalistic acceptance of a joyless marriage in so young and beautiful a woman? Yasugi was a much older man. Could she truly be so attached to him that his coldness caused her hopelessness? Akitada did not think so. He decided to pay her another visit and ask more questions. There was, for example, Tomoe’s husband who had abandoned her because of her blindness. The sisters had been very unlucky in their husbands. As had been the parents who had raised their daughters to be dutiful. Neither girl had turned out to be the meek, obedient creature they had envisioned. If he approached the past carefully, Lady Yasugi might confide in him.

Perhaps they could walk together in the garden. She was a woman of great beauty and grace and capable of strong affections. Her defiance of her husband in order to help her sister proved that. When looked at in that way, her rebellious spirit seemed admirable. She had certainly shown courage. He smiled at the memory of the noble beauty dressed in that unattractive nun’s garb and mingling with the common crowd in the courtroom.

A touch on his sleeve brought him back to his surroundings. Kosehira signaled some warning. He glanced up at the image of the Buddha and then over to the priest. The priest was glaring at him. Puzzled, Akitada looked at Kosehira.

“You are smiling,” whispered his friend.

Akitada guiltily rearranged his face, but the priest still glowered. Putting on a rapt expression, Akitada said in an audible undertone, “I thought I saw the Holy Yakushi nod his head. No, I’m sure of it. I take it to mean that he has heard my prayer.”

The priest cleared his throat. “Blessed be Amida. A sign! Thank you, young man. You must have a very pure mind to break through the barrier and receive an answer. I have only once been blessed in that manner. What was your name again?”

Akitada stuttered his name.

The priest nodded. “A good omen. A Sugawara praying for His Majesty. A very good omen.”

Akitada quickly performed the closing obeisances. He and Kosehira left after bowing to the priest, who graciously bowed back.

Outside in the temple garden, Kosehira doubled over in laughter. “You liar,” he gasped. “I know you too well. Do you know who that was?”

Akitada glanced back nervously. “No. I just assumed he was someone important. That fine robe . . .”

“It was the late Emperor Sanjo’s brother, the present emperor’s uncle.”

“Dear Heaven. No wonder he looked outraged.”

“You made a good recovery. He was impressed by your spirituality.” Kosehira burst into more giggles. “And by the fact that the great Michizane’s descendant is praying for the emperor. If he remembers, chances are excellent that he will put your name up for promotion.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” It was true, his ancestor was routinely blamed for every catastrophe. The notion that he had broken the curse made Akitada laugh also, and they passed out into the street in a lighter mood. Akitada asked, “Kosehira, do you know any Yasugis? This one seems to own vast estates somewhere but spends part of his time in his mansion here in the capital.”

“Yasugi? Fat old fellow who looks apoplectic?”

Akitada was pleased with this description. “I’ve never met him, but I, er, ran into one of his wives. The youngest. Apparently he left town without her.”

Kosehira’s eyebrows almost met his hairline. “You ran into one of his wives? After her husband left her behind? Come, there’s a story there. If it’s the man I’m thinking of, she’s said to be a beauty.” Before Akitada could deflect his curiosity, he clapped his hands in delight. “So that’s what’s been on your mind. Would that explain the smile? Pure thoughts indeed!” He roared. “You philanderer! Better watch out, though. Yasugi controls some very influential people and maintains a small army on his estate in Tsuzuki.”

“Nonsense.” Akitada flushed and, aware of it, made matters worse. “We only met once and she had a maid with her, an ill-tempered, hateful woman loyal to the husband.”

Kosehira grinned. “Ingenuity gets rid of troublesome servants.”

“Please be serious, Kosehira. Tsuzuki is just south of here, isn’t it?” Akitada calculated, with some dismay, that Yasugi could already have fetched his wife home.

“About thirty miles from here. Come to think of it, someone mentioned his going home. Afraid of the disease like everyone else. Strange he would leave one of his wives behind.” Kosehira regarded Akitada thoughtfully. “Will you be . . . meeting her again?”

Akitada snapped, “This is no romance. I’m investigating the murder of a blind woman, her sister’s, as it turns out.”

“A murder? You don’t say.” Kosehira seized Akitada’s arm. “I can’t wait to hear. Will you come to my house tonight? We can have a quiet dinner with some good wine, and you’ll tell me all about it. It will be like old times.”

Akitada regretted thoroughly having mentioned the Yasugi name. “I’m sorry, Kosehira. I can’t. The case is urgent, and I am tied up at the ministry every day. Besides, Seimei is ill—no, not the smallpox—and Tamako is afraid to stay in the capital with Yori. I will come as soon as I can.”

Kosehira looked disappointed. “I could help,” he offered hopefully.

Akitada hesitated. “Well, do you know the Murata family? The parents of the two women?”

“Murata? Bureau of Divination?” Kosehira shook his head. “Not really. Yasugi’s third wife was said to come from humble circumstances. Some scandal, I think. I can ask around.”

Akitada looked at his friend gratefully. “Would you? And I promise to tell you all as soon as I can.”

They parted then, and Akitada turned toward home. He had not gone far when a voice hailed him. Kunyoshi, the archivist, was running down the street, his skirts flapping around his skinny calves. He seemed in an almighty hurry to catch up. Akitada wondered what he could want now.

Kunyoshi trotted up, puffing. “Sorry,” he gasped, “didn’t want to miss you.”

He took a few rattling breaths while Akitada patted his back and said loudly, “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

Kunyoshi gestured at Akitada’s court robe and said humbly, “You are very kind, my lord. It was rude to shout and run after you, but I’m afraid this foolish old person has made a mistake.” He paused to catch his breath again, peering up at Akitada from rheumy eyes. “I thought, how dreadful if Lord Sugawara should set out on such a long journey and then find out that it was all a silly mistake made by a senile old fool. I was quite desperate to find you when I happened to see you just now outside the temple. It was as if the Buddha himself had answered my prayers.”

“Surely you exaggerate. What mistake?”

Kunyoshi wrung his hands. “Do you recall asking about the Utsunomiyas?”

“Yes.” How remote that seemed now. Tora had been charged with murder, a smallpox epidemic was raging, and his family was in turmoil.

But Kunyoshi knew none of this. He stood there, trembling with anxiety. And now tears were beginning to course down the sunken cheeks. People cast curious glances at them.

“Kunyoshi,” said Akitada, taking the old man’s arm and leading him aside, “I was not going anywhere, so no harm is done. What exactly did you remember?”

“I told you that the land was in Hoki Province. Do you remember?”

Akitada frowned. “Izumo, I thought. Something about the shrine being involved in the land dispute. I could not have gone there in any case. It’s much too far.”

“I am glad you did not go, but I was afraid you would. I could see it meant a great deal to you. And people say that you always solve a mystery.”

Akitada was getting a little impatient. “So, if the land is not in Hoki or Izumo, where is it?”

Kunyoshi was wringing his hands again. “That is what I cannot remember. I know it was to do with a shrine. A very important shrine. Only it was not Ise or Izumo.” He wiped away tears. “I’m getting worse. My mind remembers nothing. I’ll have to resign.” He heaved a ragged sigh, bowed to Akitada, muttering, “So very sorry,” and stumbled away.

Akitada looked after him. Poor old man. Everything conspired to bury Haseo’s past and there was nothing he could do about it, at least not now. He must go home and deal with more urgent problems.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CAUGHT



The Scarecrow pushed Tora into the training hall. They arrived in the middle of some sort of celebration. Tora relaxed a little; surely they would not be quite this happy discussing methods of killing him.

Kata waved and shouted, “There’s a general amnesty.”

The Scarecrow gave a whoop and pulled Tora into the gathering. “That’ll mean three, four more men, and times are good. Lots of empty houses.”

“I make it six,” said Kata. “Denzo and Kiheiji sent word they’re coming to us.”

Tora tried to look cheerful. If the emperor had called for an amnesty—and because of the epidemic it was all too likely—the jails would be emptied immediately. The gang had reason to celebrate, but heaven help the decent citizens in the weeks and months to come. As for hoping to have the police arrest Kata and his men for their crimes, the thought was ludicrous. His masquerade was not only dangerous, it had also just become pointless. Tomoe’s death would not be avenged lawfully.

But at least there was no immediate danger. One or two of the men, the Scarecrow among them, still scowled when they looked at him, but Kata seemed friendly enough. The Scarecrow had taken Kata aside to report right after they arrived, but the conversation ended with Kata firmly shaking his head and the Scarecrow slinking off.

Kata was in excellent spirits, smiling broadly and joking with his men until it was time to push back the sliding doors and begin the daily lessons.

For the first time Kata put Tora to work drilling students. Hoping to pick up a little more information before drifting away from the place for good, Tora complied. He worried about the man in the storehouse. During one of the breaks, he asked Kata about the epidemic.

“Good for business,” was the only comment he got.

“The Scarecrow said we’re moving to another place. Where are we going?”

Kata waved him away. “Back to work. You’ll find out soon enough.”

The morning passed slowly. Tora was not yet up to continuous sword practice, even when it was not competitive. He tried to conserve his strength, but felt Kata’s watchful eye on his back. He was also wary of Matsue, but his archenemy did not show up. In fact, the other gang members left, leaving only the students, Kata, Tora, and Kinjiro.

At midday, the lessons stopped. The morning students departed and Kata also disappeared. Tora collapsed against a wall and closed his eyes. Rest was blissful until his stomach began to growl.

With a sigh he fished out his last three coppers and looked at them dubiously. Kata had not mentioned pay. Still, he could not complain: He had offered to work for room and board, and that had been provided. The trouble was, he had eaten little the night before and only two small rice cakes that morning. He glanced toward Kinjiro, who was replacing the wooden swords in their rack. “Hey, Kinjiro? You want to go to the market for some noodle soup?”

Kinjiro stopped. “Can’t. I’m supposed to watch the place till they get back. You go ahead.”

Tora put his coppers away. He wondered why the boy seemed subdued today and got to his feet. “No. I’ll keep you company. Too much food makes me sluggish anyway.”

Kinjiro grunted and went to get a broom. Apparently cleaning the training hall between sessions was part of his duties. Tora watched him for a while, then said, “Wouldn’t you rather do some other work? You could be an apprentice . . .” His voice trailed off. Honest trades, like mat weaving, cloth dying, paper making and so forth, would not appeal much to the youngster after the exciting adventures promised by Kata and his men. The danger in a criminal career was part of the thrill. Kinjiro probably dreamed of moving up through the ranks until he became an officer himself, maybe even someone like Matsue.

Kinjiro gave a snort of derision. “Too late for that.”

This surprised Tora. “What do you mean?”

The boy shot him a pitying look. “No tradesman’s going to take me on. I’ve got a reputation.” He said it almost proudly.

“You’ve been stealing,” Tora accused.

“That too. But mainly I collect the money.”

Tora opened his mouth and closed it again. Of course. Kata was taking protection money from merchants in the market. Tora could not recall who had told him. For a weekly fee, Kata’s hoods were supposed to protect the merchants from other gangs. If a man did not pay up, they would demonstrate the foolishness of such behavior by ransacking his business themselves. And Kinjiro was sent to collect the money. Naturally he could not now apply for honest work.

Tora had developed a soft spot for the boy. Kinjiro had fallen into a life of crime because he had been abandoned and nothing else had offered. He was trying to make the best of it, but apparently he was not such an enthusiastic gang member after all. Maybe his upbringing in a decent home by a respectable father had something to do with that. Or maybe he lacked the selfish cruelty and bovine stupidity which made for contentment in a life of crime.

“If you could be anything in the world, what would you be?” Tora asked.

Wielding his broom viciously, Kinjiro swept some debris out into the street. “His Excellency, the chancellor, of course,” he sneered. “He’s got more wealth than anybody and tells the emperor what to do.”

“No, seriously.”

The boy leaned on his broom. “I’d want to be what my father was.” He immediately began his sweeping again. “And you?” he asked. “You think you’ll have it easy here? Just drill the students for a few hours every day? Maybe walk to the market with Kata Sensei, watching out for his enemies? You’re a bigger fool than me. If you had any sense, you’d leave now and never come back.”

The last was said so fiercely that Tora’s uneasiness returned. He got up and grasped Kinjiro’s arm. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

Kinjiro shook loose. “Nothing. I’m just talking,” he muttered and went for an old rag, which he put under his broom to dust and polish the floorboards to pristine cleanliness before the afternoon’s lessons.

“Kinjiro, you heard something. They talked about me, didn’t they? I know Matsue’s trying to get me. He almost did. And now the Scarecrow thinks I’m spying on him. I can’t seem to do anything right.”

Kinjiro glared at him. “Maybe they’ve got reason. You’ve been snooping.”

Tora’s heart plummeted. He looked around nervously. If they suspected him, surely they wouldn’t leave him here with just the boy. He locked eyes with Kinjiro. There was not much point in protesting his innocence. “What are they going to do?”

“How should I know? But I wouldn’t hang around to find out if I were you.”

It was good advice. Unless they were lying in wait outside. “Are you supposed to keep an eye on me?” Tora asked suspiciously.

“What if ?”

“You’d be in trouble if I ran.”

Kinjiro stared at him. Then he said, “You’re a fool, Tora. Go! What do you care what happens to me?”

“I care. I don’t treat my friends that way.”

Kinjiro said fiercely, “Then go ahead and get killed. Because that’s what they’ll do as soon as they figure out what you’re up to.” When Tora made no move to leave, he cried, “They’ll probably do it slowly. An ear first, then another. Then your nose and your tongue. After that, a hand, a foot, your privates. You aren’t going to know about the rest.” He was practically in tears.

Tora took the boy by his bony shoulders and shook him. “If you know all this about them, what are you doing here? What would your father say?”

Kinjiro tried to free himself. When Tora held on, he cursed and kicked and punched him. Tora ended up wrapping both arms around the thin, gasping figure and holding him until he calmed down. Kinjiro shook with sobs.

He released the boy then but left his hands on his shoulders. “I think we’d both better get out of here,” he said.

Kinjiro sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I could go back to the post stable,” he said miserably. He put away the broom and rag and brushed off his clothes. “All right. I’m ready. Let’s go before they get back.”

But they were too late. The peace of the midday hour was broken by the sound of a large number of people approaching outside. They looked out and saw the gang. Led by the Scarecrow, they walked close together with an air of grim anticipation. It took Tora only a moment to realize the magnitude of the trouble he was in; the group parted and revealed in its midst a lopsided creature who was grinning malevolently at him. The beggar from the market.

Tora thought of making a dash for it. In fact, he had taken a few steps toward the back door, when it opened and Matsue and Kata walked in.

After that, things moved quickly. The gang entered from the street and slid the doors shut. They formed a circle around Tora. Cut off from the outside world, the hall had become dim and secretive. Nobody talked.

The Scarecrow took the beggar by the arm and led him to Kata. “He’s got quite a story to tell,” he announced grimly.

Kata let his eyes slide to Tora, then told the beggar, “Talk.”

The beggar bowed deeply and whined, “Important information, Master. Worth at least a gold coin.”

Kata raised a fist. “I pay you, scum. You work for me.”

Tora felt sick. He had been a fool to trust the beggar. Who better to keep an eye on the market and Kata’s clients than he? And the bastard was even missing a finger, often a sign of gang membership.

The beggar knelt, crying, “Yes, yes. Of course, Master. Right away. Only you’ll see, it’s of the greatest importance to you. All I ask is that you remember the service this insignificant person is doing you. I’m a poor man . . . Aiihh!” He squealed as the Scarecrow’s booted foot connected with his ribs.

Kata pointed to Tora. “You know him?”

The beggar nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes. He abused me not two days ago. When I cried for help, he tried to bribe me to tell him about you. I didn’t tell him, but he already knew something. He works for the police. When the others told me he was passing himself off as one of us, I knew right away you were in danger and came to warn you.”

Kata looked at Tora. “You disappoint me,” he said sadly. “I liked you. But I don’t like being made a fool of. I don’t like liars. And I especially don’t like police informers.”

Tora’s mind raced. “The scum is lying. I would never work for the police. That’s a serious insult to a man’s character. The crooked little bastard tried to extort money from me, claiming I kicked him. I took the slug aside and gave him a drubbing, and now he’s getting his revenge by telling lies about me.”

Kata’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I believe you?”

“Look at him! He’d kill his grandfather for a few coppers. And if the bastard lies about me, he’ll lie about you. Today he’s selling me; tomorrow it’ll be you. Remember, he’s the one that told me about you in the first place.”

Kata looked confused by this logic, but he turned on the beggar, “What did you tell him about me?” he growled.

The beggar shrunk away. “Nothing. I swear. He was asking about the blind singer. He thought you’d killed her.”

Kata’s jaw sagged. “Tomoe? He thought I’d killed Tomoe?”

“Yeah. Just like a stupid policeman.” The beggar tried a conciliatory grin.

Kata turned to Tora. “What do you know about Tomoe’s murder?”

Tora decided his safest bet was to claim ignorance. “Nothing. He’s making it all up.”

This brazen denial outraged the beggar, who began to jump up and down. “You threatened me. You said you were police. You said you were investigating her murder. You wanted to know who the gang boss was that had been talking to her. You choked me and made me tell you—”

Kata’s face turned an angry red. “So you did talk.” He back-handed the beggar so viciously that he went flying into two of the gang members. Then he turned back to Tora. “You told the truth about that, but everything else was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not with the police,” said Tora, trying to bluster. “And I’ll not be insulted and called a liar. I have my pride. You can have your job.” He turned to walk off, but the circle of men closed against him. Tora clenched his fists. “Tell your goons to let me pass. You can’t keep me here against my will.”

Matsue spoke for the first time. He drawled, “Search him!”

Tora tried to make a break for it, but instantly five knives were inches from his throat and he could smell the bad breath of the thugs who crowded around him.

Matsue laughed. “What can you do now, mouse catcher? If you are who you say you are, nobody’ll miss you. And if you’re working for the police, you’re guilty. Either way, you’re a dead man.”

Tora hoped he was wrong, but then Kata said, “Search both of them.”

Of course they found Matsue’s document. They passed it to Kata, who glanced at it and passed it to Matsue.

Matsue stared at it and then at Tora. “So,” he said, “you’re a snoop and a thief. There’s more to this than looking for the blind bitch’s killer. I’m going to enjoy getting the truth out of you before I kill you.”

The beggar was next. He squealed with outrage when they took away the pouch he carried on the rope that held up his pants. The pouch contained a large number of coppers and two pieces of silver. Kata was about to put them back when he looked more closely at one of the silver pieces. “Matsue,” he said, “have a look.”

Matsue looked. “Two characters are missing. Is that the one you gave her?”

Kata nodded. He kept the coin and threw the pouch back at the beggar. Then he turned to Tora. “You’re not stupid, whoever you are. You know we can’t let you go.” He gestured and the men around Tora stepped back.

Tora scanned implacable faces. Only Kinjiro cowered in a corner, his eyes wide with terror. “What’re you going to do?” Tora asked hoarsely.

Nobody answered. The others, even the whimpering beggar, had become very quiet. The silence was heavy with anticipation. Tora had witnessed it only once before when he was a soldier and had attended the execution of a deserter. Just like the condemned man’s comrades, they all knew what was next. He saw it in their faces. They looked back with avid eyes, moistened their lips, waited for his futile panic when Kata or Matsue would give the signal.

But instead the silence was broken by a knocking on the street doors. “Sensei?”

One of Kata’s men cursed; another said, “It’s the students.”

Kata gave brisk orders. “Tie them both up and lock them in the shed until tonight. I want a watch kept on them.”

When the beggar tried to protest too loudly, Matsue knocked him out with a brutal blow to the temple. Tora allowed himself to be bound. They hobbled his legs and tied his wrists behind his back, looping the rope around his neck in such a way that he could not move his arms without strangling himself. Then they took him and the bound and unconscious beggar to the small shed where Tora had been left earlier. This time they locked the shed door and left a guard outside.

Tora did not waste time on self-recrimination. He considered his options. The trouble was, there did not seem to be any. His movements were restricted by the rope around his neck, and outside a guard was leaning against the locked shed door. The beggar was either dead or still unconscious. If the latter, he would come around soon and certainly raise an alarm if he saw Tora attempting to escape. Tora wondered why they had not been gagged, but realized that the guard outside could cut off any noise before it would disturb the neighbors who, probably knew better than to pay attention to the goings-on here.


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