Текст книги "Death of a Doll Maker "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“May I assist the gentleman?”

Akitada jumped. “Oh,” he said with a little laugh. “I came in to browse and admire. And perhaps”—he nodded toward the shelf holding dolls in bright clothes—”to buy something for my children.”

The young man, who had an unhealthy color and a pimply face, bowed. “Please allow me to show you what we have.”

Akitada was given a tour of the store with explanations. His admiration for Feng’s collection increased. The young assistant unrolled paintings for him which amazed him with the fine details rendered by the Chinese painters. In one scroll painting of a village, every roof tile and every twig on the bare trees was lovingly drawn. As impressive as such artistic ability and patience was, the scene also showed him life as it was lived in China. He bent closely over the scroll, which the shop assistant unrolled to a considerable length, and saw it took him from the outskirts of a village though its center with a teeming market and out to the last straggling houses before road and river disappeared into hazy mountains.

“This is exquisite,” he said. “It seems the work of a divine being.”

The assistant nodded. “Master Feng ordered it for the last governor. I’m afraid he won’t sell it now.”

This startled Akitada, and he looked up. “But surely someone else may want this. How much would such a painting cost?”

“I don’t really know, sir, but there is a smaller scroll, not quite so detailed, which I could sell you for forty pieces of gold.”

The prices were much too rich for him. Akitada cast one last longing glance at the Chinese village and turned away. While the young man rolled up the precious scroll again, he wandered over to the shelf with the dolls. Surely he could afford two of these. He missed the children, and it would give him pleasure to send them home by the next boat, along with his letter to Tamako. And she should also have a piece of Chinese silk.

The dolls were charming, their bodies made of pale, glazed clay and their chubby childish faces painted with black eyes and tiny rosebud mouths. Their hair was modeled clay, painted a glossy black, but their short bodies were covered with real fabric costumes, sewn from scraps of silk, ramie, or brocade. Several of the girl dolls wore Chinese costumes, and among the boy dolls were a few in elaborate warrior gear, the metal of their armor made of silvered or gilded bits of paper.

He looked at a number of them as the young man hovered by his side. “How charming. Are these made locally?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Akitada took up several more and admired them. Eventually, he said regretfully, “These are lovely, but I think a child would soon destroy such fine work. I have a daughter and a small son. Neither, I think, is old enough for these.” He looked about and saw another batch of dolls at the end of the rack. These were more simply dressed. The fired clay bodies seemed sturdier. He picked up a soldier. “This should do very well,” he started when a very large, very ugly man suddenly appeared at his side.

“Don’t touch!” growled the brute, snatching the doll from his hand and putting it back.

Akitada gaped at him. He was at least a hand’s breadth taller and powerfully built. His face was flat, with small eyes, a broken nose, and fleshy lips. The hand which had grabbed the doll was missing two fingers. This fact and the broken nose suggested he was either a former soldier or a member of a gang of criminals. In either case, a dangerous man.

The shop assistant stepped between them. “It’s all right, Ling,” he said with a nervous laugh. “The gentleman is just looking for a present for his children.” He touched Akitada’s elbow and urged him back to the other dolls. “I’m afraid those dolls are already sold, sir. But we can make you a very good price on two of these.”

Akitada looked back toward the plain dolls and the glowering Chinese. “I’d rather order two dolls like those over there.”

The young man hesitated a moment. “Of course, but it may take a long time. Look,” he said in a wheedling tone, “this charming princess and this ferocious warrior are quite pretty and perfect for a girl and a boy. They are only twenty coppers a piece. Surely a bargain.”

They were a great bargain and very pretty. Akitada agreed and bought both. Then, having saved himself some money, he selected a very pretty piece of pale green silk gauze for his wife. The salesman thanked him profusely and bowed him out of the store.

Akitada left with his parcel under his arm and in a thoughtful mood. The sudden appearance of the threatening giant and the pale young man’s eagerness to be rid of the nosy customer troubled him. Hiring a powerful guard when the store contained so many precious objects was reasonable, but why had the man interfered so rudely with a customer?

It had probably meant nothing, but he thought Master Feng’s business and his employees would bear watching.

10

TORA AND THE LOOSE WOMAN

Akitada was strolling around his little cherry tree and longing for his own garden at home when Saburo appeared silently by his side.

“Good morning, sir. I’m happy to report most of the positions are now filled, and the new and old people seem to be working well together. Possibly the fact I have offered a small award to anyone who reports irregularities encourages them.”

“Thank you, Saburo.” Akitada frowned. “While we’re dealing with unusual circumstances here, I cannot believe spying on your co-workers creates a healthy relationship among the servants. Make sure you relax your rules as soon as possible.”

“Of course, sir.” Saburo came as close to pouting as at any time since he had started working for Akitada.

“I’m not blaming you. I told you myself to watch them.”

“We know they’re thieves, sir. And we don’t know who our enemies are.”

“Quite true, but I’ve been assured they were mistreated by my predecessor. Let’s at least make sure we deal fairly with them.”

Saburo nodded, then turned when he heard steps. Tora came outside, grinning broadly. “Beautiful morning, sir and Saburo,” he called out. “A great day for great deeds.”

Saburo snorted his disgust. Akitada looked at him. “What’s wrong, Saburo?”

The maimed man was immediately contrite. “Forgive me, sir. Ascribe it to frustration. After the long journey confined to a ship, I feel confined again. Tora has something to look forward to, and you had a chance to visit Hakata. I feel useless as a house servant.”

“Oh!”

A brief silence fell, then Akitada said, “Your work here was more important and more urgent. But if you like, you may leave things in Mori’s hands now and ride into Hakata later.”

“Ride?” Saburo looked even unhappier.

“You can’t ride a horse, brother?” Tora asked, astonished.

“Not very well. And I have no assignment.”

Akitada was becoming impatient. At home everything went smoothly, and his retainers and servants knew what their duties were without his worrying about petty jealousies. “We only just got here,” he said sharply. “You will adjust and learn in time where your skills are most useful. Now, Tora, what are your plans?”

“Maeda and I will talk to some more neighbors. Someone must have seen something that night.” He made it a point to praise Maeda and mentioned his warning to Captain Okata.

Akitada nodded. “You did right. I have no use for men like Okata and want to establish proper protocol from the start. Crimes committed in Hakata are to be reported to me. If the man gives you any more problems, I’ll remove him.”

Tora grinned. “Maeda would make a good chief. I like him.”

“We’ll see. I’m interested in the doll maker for another reason. You said someone paid her in gold before her death? Any idea who it was?”

“She was working for Mr. Hayashi. But Suyin says it was payment for her dolls.”

Akitada thought. “Hayashi is the head of the merchants’ guild. A wealthy man?”

“Oh, yes. Suyin mentioned how fine his house is.”

“Saburo, see what you can find out about Hayashi.”

Saburo brightened.

“Very well. Now it’s my turn.” Akitada told of the conversation with the shrine priest Kuroda and his visit to Feng’s shop, mentioning the odd incident with the dolls. “It would have been sufficient to tell a customer these dolls were already sold. Perhaps it’s just the fact that this big Chinese bully didn’t speak our language well, but I got the strangest feeling both the salesman and the servant wanted me gone.” He smiled. “I got a very good price on two of the better dolls to send to the children.”

“Yuki doesn’t play with dolls,” Tora said. “Did they have anything a bit more manly?”

“Not really. But you’ll surely find something for your son. We’ll send our gifts with the next boat. You’d best write to Hanae while there’s time.”

“I miss them already.” Tora looked wistful. Taking a deep breath, he added, “Well, if that’s it, I’m off to meet Maeda.”

*

At Hakata police headquarters, Tora was told Maeda was at the jail, questioning the prisoner again. Tora thought it an excellent time to have a look at the conditions there.

It was not up to the standards in the capital, though it was large enough. The cells were dirty and prisoners were chained in airless, dim spaces. The place stank of human waste and sour food. The prisoners sat or lay in the dim spaces. One of them was weeping. In one cell were two women. They came to the door when Tora looked in. Both were young and filthy. One smiled and licked her lips. “How about it, handsome? I’ll show you a good time for some decent food.”

Tora also did not like the looks of the guards, three in number. They were dirty and brutish. The guard room was decorated with whips, chains, and various jitte and other metal instruments used to subdue obstreperous suspects. Some of these still showed traces of blood.

He said nothing, however, saving the information for his master, and instead joined Maeda, who was leaning against the wall of Mitsui’s cell.

Mitsui looked, if anything, worse than the day he had been arrested. The bruises had darkened on his skinny body, and his shirt was now torn, bloodstained, and filthy. He was very pale, but otherwise calm, almost listless.

Maeda’s greeting was followed by an apologetic, “Sorry about the state of the place. I try to tell the captain, but it doesn’t do any good.”

Tora nodded. “How are you, Mr. Mitsui?”

The elderly man sighed. “Not too bad,” he croaked. “They did beat me terrible at first, but Sergeant Maeda has put a stop to that. It’s much better now.”

Tora looked at the dim, filthy place with its thin, stained grass mat meant for both sitting and sleeping, at the refuse pail in the corner, and at the earthenware pitcher of water. Mitsui was chained like the other prisoners.

“We’ve gone over the events of that day and night again,” Maeda said. “Mitsui hasn’t changed his story. I told him his son couldn’t account for the extra hours Mitsui claims he spent in Hakozaki. He has no explanation except to say he had other business to attend to.”

“What kind of business?” Tora asked the prisoner.

Mitsui peered up at him. “Talking to people about selling my dolls. I don’t know who they were. Ships come and go in Hakozaki.”

Maeda frowned. “You see the problem, Mitsui, don’t you? You can’t account for your time. And you didn’t report your wife’s murder until the next morning. She was killed at least eight hours earlier. You claim you got home shortly after the evening rice. You must have found her dead.”

Mitsui looked away. “It may have been later. It was dark already. And I didn’t bother to light a lamp; I went to our room, lay down, and went to sleep.”

“You slept next to your dead wife? In her blood?” Tora’s disbelief was palpable.

Mitsui’s face crumpled. “I can’t help it,” he cried. “I didn’t know she was dead.” Tears appeared in his red-rimmed eyes.

“You must have been blind drunk.” Tora snarled.

Mitsui stopped bawling and hiccupped. “I did stop for a cup or two on the way,” he muttered.

Maeda moved impatiently. “What happened to the knife? We looked. There was no such knife in your house or outside it.”

Mitsui’s eyes went around the cell as if he could make the knife reappear. “They must’ve taken it. I don’t know where it is.”

Tora said, “Your wife Mei had received five pieces of gold the day before she died. What happened to the money?”

Mitsui stared at him. “Five pieces of gold? That’s crazy. She got twenty coppers a month for cleaning the Hayashis’ house. I told her they’d pay more if she wasn’t such a lazy cow.”

“Nice!” muttered Tora in disgust, and turned away.

“We’ll be back, Mitsui,” said Maeda. “You’d better think long and hard about what you did, or the guards will use the whips again.”

Mitsui moaned.

Outside, Maeda said, “I’m sorry you had to see the jail. As for Mitsui, I suspect he’s stubborn rather than confused about that day.”

“He’s a bastard of a husband. I wouldn’t put murder past him. Are we going to talk to the neighbors now?”

“Yes. We’ll see the ones we didn’t get a chance to question.” Maeda sighed. “It’s about as stubborn a case as I’ve ever seen. We have nothing so far.”

*

They returned to the street where the murder had occurred, but this time Maeda pounded on a gate directly across from the Mitsuis.

Nothing happened for a long time, then a woman’s voice asked from the other side, “What do you want?”

“Police. Open up.”

There was a short delay, then the bar scraped back and the gate opened, revealing a young woman’s face with bright black eyes, red cheeks, and two glossy wings of hair framing it. She smiled at Maeda, and dimples appeared in her cheeks.

Tora gave a silent whistle and grinned. So this was the slut.

Her eyes went to him and widened a little. “How nice!” she said softly, looking from one to the other. “I’ve been wishing for company. Come in, my dears, come in.” She took Maeda’s sleeve and pulled him inside. Tora followed eagerly. She slammed the gate shut. “That’ll make the old hags happy,” she said with a giggle. “They’ll talk about it for weeks.”

Maeda cleared his throat. “I’m here on police business.”

She cocked her head and put her hands at her small waist. “Of course you are, my dear, but they don’t know that. They’d much rather think something else.”

Maeda shook his head and sighed. “You’ll be the death of me yet, Yoko. I’m a married man and a public servant. All right, let’s go inside. I want to know what you can tell me about the Mitsuis across the street.”

She glanced at Tora. “Who’s your friend? Is he a public servant, too?”

Tora bowed. “I’m Tora and always at the service of beautiful ladies.”

“He works for the governor and he’s married, too,” Maeda said with a reproving glance.

She laughed. “Well, so am I. Come in, you two. You’ll be safe enough.”

Tora doubted it very much as he walked behind her, watching her shapely bottom wiggle on the way into the house. “Where’s your husband?” he asked.

She cast a look at him over her shoulder. “At work. All day, every day. He’s a city clerk. They keep him busy, and he likes shuffling papers and wielding his brush. I swear the smell of ink turns the man on. The gods know I don’t.”

Given Yoko’s reputation, the large room she took them to was a surprise in its cleanliness. She placed some colorful cushions and brought wine and three cups.

“Not for me,” said Maeda stiffly.

“Thanks,” said Tora, giving her his widest grin. She rewarded him with a full cup and lingering smile.

Maeda cleared his throat. “About the Mitsuis. I suppose you heard the wife was murdered?”

“Oh, yes.” She detached her eyes reluctantly from Tora’s. “Your constable told me. He also took some liberties.” She put a hand to her bosom and blushed. Both Tora and Maeda looked at her firm, round breasts.

Maeda flushed and looked away quickly, but Tora grinned and let his eyes drift from the breasts to the small waist and the round hips and thighs.

Without looking at her, Maeda asked, “Did you see anyone go into the Mitsuis’ house between the hours of the horse and the boar?”

“I don’t watch my neighbors,” she said. “I did hear Mitsui’s cart, I think. It must’ve been about the hour of the boar. And I heard a door slam earlier. The next morning, all hell broke loose on the street. Constables everywhere.”

“Thank you.” Maeda was on his feet. “Unless you have any other pertinent information, we’ll be on our way.”

Tora cleared his throat. “We barely got here, Maeda. I haven’t had a chance to question this important witness.”

Maeda frowned, but he sat back down.

Yoko giggled. She refilled Tora’s cup. “I can see you’re much more dedicated to your work than the sergeant,” she purred, handing it to him with another melting glance.

Tora returned the glance with interest. “Thank you, but I’m still a stranger. I have to ask more questions than the sergeant. So tell me, what were the Mitsuis like?”

She pursed her lips. “They were dull and crabby. Most people around here are.”

“It must be hard for a young, fun-loving girl like you.”

“You have no idea how lonely it is for me, Tora.”

Maeda jumped up again. “I’ve got to get back to the station. See you later, Tora. Or tomorrow, as the case may be.” And he was gone, slamming the front gate behind him.

“The poor man’s henpecked,” Yoko said with a giggle. “By his wife and by his captain.”

“Gossip can hurt a policeman’s career. I don’t have such worries.” Tora emptied his cup and extended it.

“I’m glad.” She poured and raised the cup to her lips before passing it to him.

“Ah,” he said, his eyes on her moist lips. “Lucky cup.”

A short silence fell as they gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. She reached across to touch his cheek. “I like you. I want you to come back, but today’s not a good day.”

Tora set down the wine untasted. “Do you want me to leave?”

“In a little. I’m truly sorry, Tora.”

She looked sorry, and Tora was satisfied she had given the gossips cause for their name-calling. But he had a soft spot for sluts and was by no means averse to returning another day. So he nodded and said, “I’d better ask the rest of my questions quickly. What about the Mitsui children?”

She frowned. “I’ve never seen the daughter. The son comes sometimes to see the father. His stepmother cleans other people’s houses when she’s not dressing those dolls. They’re poor. You’d think his children would help out.”

“My thought exactly. Do you have children?”

She shook her head. “No.” She sounded sad and a little angry.

“I’m sorry. But you’re still young.”

She said bitterly, “I’m young, but my husband is old. Like Mrs. Mitsui, I’m the second wife. My husband has grown children and doesn’t care much for making the wind and the rain.”

This left Tora speechless. He quickly drank down the wine and sighed.

She tossed her head. “Never mind. At least my husband doesn’t beat me and make me work for others.” She looked down at her pretty dress and smoothed it over her thighs.

Tora got up. “I bet you make your husband happy,” he said awkwardly.

She was all smiles again. “I get lonely sometimes. Promise you’ll come back, Tora?”

Tora hesitated, then nodded,

11

A CHILD’S CRY IN THE NIGHT

“Are we almost done, Mori?” Akitada closed another document box and rubbed his tired eyes.

“Only one more,” said the old clerk. “It could wait till tomorrow.”

“No. Give it here.” With a sigh, Akitada delved into another box of tax-grain accounts for the various districts of Chikuzen. Sometime later a scratching at the door interrupted him. Mori shuffled over, opened the door a crack and whispered, “What do you want?”

Koji, newly assigned as houseboy in hopes that he would find it less confusing than gate guard duty or cleaning out the stables, stammered, “Zorry, Master Mori. Very zorry to make a disturbance. Knowin’ as I am that it’s forbidden to come scratchin’ at this door, mornin’ or night. Not even to ask questions is allowed. But I’m not askin’. And it’s not night yet.”

“Spit it out,” hissed Mori. “What do you want?”

“Nothin’, Master Mori. I’m not askin’ questions.”

“Come in, Koji,” Akitada interrupted this hopeless exchange.

Mori opened the door a little wider. Koji stepped in, grinned widely, and bowed. “How you doin’ today, governor zir?”

Mori muttered, “Kneel!” and kicked Koji’s ankle.

Koji turned in astonishment. “What you kick me for?”

Akitada asked, “What brings you here, Koji?”

Koji bobbed another bow. “Very zorry about disturbin’ you, zir, but zomeone’s come. Very important man.”

Mori gasped and ran out.

“Did he say who he is?”

“Yes, he’s the mayor, beggin’ pardon.”

“Thank you, Koji. I think Mori has gone to bring him in. You may return to your duties.”

Koji grinned more widely, sketched a salute he must have copied from the gate guards, and dashed out.

Mori returned, bringing with him Mayor Nakamura.

“Very happy to find you in, Excellency.” The mayor was resplendent in blue silk, fastened across his belly with a brocade sash. “I was passing through Minami and decided to give myself the pleasure of calling on you myself.”

Akitada rose to his feet. “You are honoring me, Mayor. Please sit down. Some wine?”

“No, no. I must dash on, and I see you’re busy. I just stopped by to extend my invitation to a little entertainment I shall arrange to welcome your Excellency to Chikuzen. Since you couldn’t stop when you first arrived, I hope to correct the situation. Would tomorrow night be convenient?”

Akitada heard the implied complaint. He did not relish formal banquets, but they were part and parcel of public administration, and clearly his high-handed refusal to dine with the local dignitaries had upset them. He said, “How very kind. It would suit me perfectly. I regret deeply my rushed arrival the other day. The late hour and urgent state of affairs made it necessary. You may have heard about the chaotic situation I found?”

The mayor relaxed a little and glanced about. “Yes, I heard. Shocking! Thieves stripped your quarters? I did notice the lack of amenities. You must let me know what is needed and it shall be supplied.”

Akitada disliked accepting gifts which might obligate him. “Thank you for the generous offer, but we have already recovered most of the furniture. We will manage quite well for the time being.”

The mayor studied the room again and shook his head. “Well, I’ll look forward to receiving you tomorrow then.” He bowed.

When the mayor had left, Akitada returned to his work. But the visit had broken his concentration. The invitation was to make up for a missed meeting between himself and the Hakata notables, and he doubted the mayor had merely been passing by on another errand. No, the man had wanted to see for himself how he was coping, and he had taken pleasure in expressing his disapproval of the new governor’s behavior.

When it was fully dark, Koji returned to announce that dinner was ready.

Akitada closed the document box and said, “I’ll eat in my rooms, Koji. Thank you, Mori. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

He was walking down the dark passage toward his quarters, when a stranger suddenly stepped from one of the rooms. Akitada jumped back, his heart in his throat. He reached for the sword he was not wearing. Angry at himself and the stranger who had somehow managed to get into the building, he demanded, “Who are you? What do you want?”

The intruder made a hissing sound, then said in Saburo’s voice, “I do beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Akitada’s relief was instant, but irritation followed, though he was mainly angry at himself. “What the devil are you doing with a beard, Saburo?”

“My disguise, sir. I thought it best if people don’t recognize me as your retainer.”

“Hmm. Yes. I see your point. Come into my room so I can get a better look at you.”

An oil lamp lit his study, making it almost cozy. He had arranged his trunk, his books, his sword stand and sword, and his writing box along the bare walls and on the few pieces of furniture. Now he took up the oil lamp to study Saburo’s appearance.

If Saburo had not spoken earlier, Akitada would still not have recognized him. A close-trimmed beard and mustache hid the worst scars of his lower face completely. The one damaged eye still had a cast, but this gave him merely a somewhat rakish appearance.

“I’m stunned,” he said. “Saburo, you’re quite handsome.”

The compliment astonished Saburo to such an extent that his eye started rolling again. “H-handsome, sir?” he asked, flushing.

“Have you looked in a mirror?”

“Why, yes. I had to, to glue on all this hair.”

“Can you control your eye the way you did before?”

“A little. I’ve been practicing.”

Akitada smiled. “Well,” he said, “the disguise is perfect. By the time my four years here are up, nobody in the capital will recognize poor Saburo.”

Saburo looked down. “Don’t joke, sir.”

“I’m not joking. You should consider growing that beard and mustache, but at the moment it’s better if you remain two different men.”

“Of course. I came to tell you I’m off to Hakata. To check on Hayashi. Anything else you’d like me to take a look at?”

“Well, the harbor. I suspect there are smugglers. And I’m interested in the shop of the merchant Feng. He employs a big brute with a broken nose and two fingers missing on his right hand. He has the look of a thug and made me wonder what sort of business Feng is engaged in.”

*

Saburo decided to check out Feng’s store first. It was not quite dark yet, and he wanted a good look at the premises from the outside. He saw immediately that they favored a clandestine visit. There were no living quarters for the owner above the store. Of course, this did not eliminate the possibility of an employee sleeping there at night. And such an amount of costly merchandise would require very careful locking-up at night.

As he strolled into the salesroom, a young shop attendant rushed forward to wait on him. Saburo asked about mirrors. Shown several very elegant items well beyond his means, he picked the best, a bright silver mirror, and checked the looks of his beard and mustache, going so far as to carry it to the door to admire his appearance by daylight.

He was secretly amazed and excited by the change the facial hair made. The horrible, deep and disfiguring scars around his mouth and left cheek were completely hidden. What still showed was nearly unnoticeable under the make-up paste Lady Sugawara had shown him how to mix. Only his left eye still had the disturbing cast in it, and it rolled uncontrollably unless he concentrated really hard. But he was no longer an ogre.

His hand trembled with emotion as he returned the mirror to the shop attendant and left. It took a while before he was calm enough to concentrate on his job.

The Hayashi house was unremarkable except for its large size. Saburo walked all around the property, noting possible means of ingress, then located a small restaurant a few houses away but within sight of Hayashi’s gate. There he took a seat outside and ordered a bowl of soup. The sun was setting, and people were going home from work. At the Hayashi house, the small gate in the wall opened, and a middle-aged woman walked out, carrying a small bundle in one hand. Saburo decided she was probably Suyin, the cleaning woman.

A short while later, a familiar figure came down the street. The portly gentleman in a green silk robe and neat black cap walked up to the Hayashi gate and announced himself. He was admitted.

Saburo’s memory was excellent. This was the shrine priest Kuroda. There was, of course, nothing suspicious about his visit to the chief of the merchants’ guild. Perhaps he was collecting contributions for his shrine.

But Saburo had barely time to consider this when two porters deposited a sedan chair at the gate. Another familiar figure emerged: the stocky person of Merchant Feng with his pointed chin beard, wearing his Chinese robe, narrow black silk pants, and the peculiar low, square hat worn by Chinese men of means or position. Feng paid the porters and also went through the gate.

Saburo pursed his lips. This was beginning to look like a meeting. He wondered who else would show up. For a very long time, nothing happened. Saburo was forced to pay for another bowl of soup. He had barely tasted this, when other men began to arrive and enter the Hayashi compound. He did not know any of them, but by their ages, clothes, and demeanor they appeared to be merchants or shopkeepers. This was then a regular meeting of the guild members. To prove the matter, the shrine priest soon emerged and walked off.

By then, the sun had set, and dusk was rapidly turning into night. Saburo left his soup partially eaten and walked to the harbor. A nearly full moon shone on a sea like mottled silver. The dark land and the black outlines of distant islands seemed to float upon the water. Now and then a cloud obscured the moon, but along the harbor, lanterns and torches attached to walls of buildings shed yellow pools of light. More lanterns suspended on the boats tied up on shore cast dancing beams across the landing as they rocked with the tide. Farther out in the bay, larger ships were at anchor, and there, too, lights gleamed and disappeared, then gleamed again with the motion of the waves. It was almost like looking at a reflection of the stars, Saburo thought. The bay was beautiful even at night.

Saburo had not shared his master’s uneasiness about Kyushu, but he had also been well aware of a sense of lurking danger. Perhaps nerves were more refined among the nobility. Or else it was the fact that his master had a lot to lose. He had a family he clearly adored and who adored him. Saburo had no such attachments. He could not recall a time when he had ever been afraid of death.

The torture he had suffered at the hands of the enemy he had accepted as well deserved for having been careless. A spy must never be careless. And whatever had happened to his mind later as the result of having his face permanently and cruelly altered with a sharp knife had not instilled fear in him either. But it had done other things to him that he was only dimly aware of. People’s disgust when they looked at him had filled him with anger and disdain for his fellow man. This was doubly true for the women he had met.

Beside the anger there was something else, a weakness he hated to acknowledge. He longed for the sort of human closeness his master had with his family. Tora had it also, and even clumsy, fat Genba had found it.