Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

FOURTEEN

THE FISHMONGER

H

itomaro walked through the tribunal gate with a light step, returning the guard’s brisk salute and smiling with satisfaction at the trim appearance of the constables sweeping the courtyard. Kaoru was doing a fine job with them.

After the stormy weather, the skies had cleared and the sun sparkled on many small icicles hanging from the eaves of buildings. Hitomaro glanced toward the far corner of the tribunal compound where a small wooden house stood. Private yet convenient, it would make a fine home for a tribunal officer and his spouse. Today he would ask permission to live there with Ofumi. The place was humble but in good repair, and in time they would furnish the two rooms to their liking. They would save their money and buy some land where they would build a larger house and raise a family.

Blinking into the sunlight, Hitomaro stretched, laughed out loud, and ran up the steps to the barracks room he shared with Tora. He could hardly wait to see Tora’s face when he told him the news.

Whistling happily, he pulled off his boots and placed them next to Tora’s.

“Hey, Tora!” he shouted. “Wait till you hear! I’ll take you out tonight and buy you the best meal in town and all the wine—” He walked in and came to an abrupt halt. “What—?”

Tora was seated cross-legged on a piece of white cloth. His torso was bare, because he had slipped his robe off his shoulders. In front of him lay a sheet of paper, covered with clumsy brush strokes, and on this rested his short sword. There was an expression of intense concentration on Tora’s face.

“What are you doing?” Hitomaro asked, his heart skipping in his chest because he guessed at the significance of these preparations.

Tora bowed lightly. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said with uncharacteristic calm. “Will you assist me?” He reached for the other, longer sword beside him and extended it toward Hitomaro.

Hitomaro did not touch it. “Why? What happened?”

Tora laid the sword down again. “Last night we went to dig up the body of the old lord,” he said tonelessly. “Kaibara surprised the master and almost killed him.”

Comprehension began to dawn. “Where were you?”

For a moment, Tora’s shoulders sagged. “Being sick with fear.”

“Is the master badly hurt?”

“A cut near the shoulder.” Tora added bitterly, “I wish Kaibara had carved out my heart instead.”

“That’s not too bad,” Hitomaro said soothingly. “I expect Kaibara waited till you were out of the way.”

“You don’t understand. I should have hurried back, but I was afraid of the ghost and trembling like a foolish woman. The master had no sword. Kaibara would have killed him, if someone else hadn’t done my job for me and shot the bastard.”

“Kaibara’s dead? Who did it?”

“It was dark. We found no one.”

“Does the master know about your ... this?”

Tora reached for the piece of paper and handed it to Hitomaro. “He will when he reads this ... if he can make out the writing. I can’t do anything right.” He touched the short sword and looked up at Hitomaro with earnest eyes. “Help me do this one thing well, Hito. I am only the son of peasants, but you with your fine upbringing know the proper way for a soldier to die. I’ve bathed, shaved, put on clean clothes and tied up my hair. I’m ready. I thought I would just sort of fall forward on my short sword, but now that you’re here, I might try shoving it in my belly with both hands. Then, if I’m losing my strength before I’m done cutting across, you can cut off my head. That’s the way it’s done, isn’t it?”

Hitomaro dropped the paper and scowled. “Have you thought what this will do to the master? How do you think he’ll feel? Last night you did not mean to desert him, but now you are. And he’s in much greater danger now. This whole province is in turmoil. If you wish to die, at least die fighting against his enemies.”

Tora stared at him. “But how can I show my face?” he asked uneasily.

Hitomaro reached down and tore up Tora’s suicide note. “You will tell the master how you feel and that you owe him two lives instead of one. What did you do with Kaibara’s body?”

Tora looked blank. “I thought this would make it all right,” he said, looking about the room helplessly.

“No!” Hitomaro’s voice was sharp. “You can die later. For now the master needs your help.” He waited until Tora nodded slowly. “Where is Kaibara?”

Tora scrambled up and rearranged his clothing. “We brought the body back. He’s with the others.”

“Come on then. I want to take a look at him. You can fill me in on the way.”

“Hito?” Tora asked plaintively on the veranda as they put on their boots. “What would you have done in my place? I mean, if you had failed like I have?”

Hitomaro scowled at his boots. “I would’ve tried harder and complained less,” he snapped. Getting up, he put his hand on Tora’s shoulder and added more gently, “Come on now, brother. We’re none of us perfect. All we can do is try. Now no more talk. We have work to do.”

Four covered bodies awaited them in the icy storeroom, their temporary morgue. Hitomaro shook his head. “If this keeps up, we’ll have to move them to a larger building. Thank heaven it’s cold.”

Tora drew back the reed mat from the nearest corpse. The dead man lay on his back, and the mat got caught on the tip of the arrow protruding from his neck. Tora untangled it carefully.

Hitomaro bent closer and peered at the face. “So that’s Kaibara,” he said. “Funny, I’ve never seen the bastard up close. He’s in full armor. That means whoever got off that shot was either very lucky or very good.” His eyes went to the arrow. “Isn’t that one of yours?” he asked, astonished.

Tora nodded.

“But I thought you said—”

“There was another arrow. It looked unusual. The master had the doctor take it out and put one of mine in.” Turning away abruptly, Tora cursed and flung the mat violently across the room. “To my shame!” he cried, burying his face in his hands. “His way of telling me that I should have shot the bastard.”

“You know very well that was not why the master did it. He would never shame you. Still, it was a strange thing to do. Did he explain?”

Tora did not answer. He had gone to pick up the reed mat he had thrown. It had fallen across another body, disarranging the mat covering it. Now he stood bent, staring down at the corpse’s shaven head.

“Amida!” he muttered. “Hito, come here and look at this. I could swear that’s the same scar on his ear as on the sick man at the Golden Carp. Remember, I told you about the poor bastard the widow was going to throw out in the street? I thought it looked like a mouse took a bite out of his earlobe. And this is just the same.” He slammed his fist into his hand. “By the Buddha, I bet it’s a secret sign. A gang mark. They both belonged to some secret society. Come on. We’ve got to tell the master.” Flinging the reed mat back over Kaibara, he dashed out the door, leaving Hitomaro to lock up.

♦

When Tora burst in with his news, Akitada was seated behind his desk. Things had gone from worse to disastrous, and he had not slept. The wound in his shoulder caused a constant searing ache that he had hidden from his wife. Tamako was unaware of his injury and distracted by the fact that Seimei had taken to his bed with chills and a bad cough. She had dosed him with his own concoction and he had finally slept. Akitada, on the other hand, had lain awake, worrying about Seimei, about the danger they were in, about the missing boy Toneo, and about the next day’s hearing. A vicious cycle of separate calamities kept him company until he rose at dawn.

But now he smiled at Tora. “Good,” he said. “I wondered what had become of you. Matters seem to have reached a critical point. I need all of you to stand by.”

Tora flushed. Falling to his knees, he bowed his head. “I was going to kill myself this morning, but Hito said you needed me.” He did not see Akitada’s astonishment nor his momentary amusement, and continued in a rush, “It’s true you sent me to check the horses before Kaibara came, but I was taking my time because I was afraid to come back. Afraid of the ghost, I mean, not that bastard Kaibara. But it was cowardly and it’s my fault you got hurt. Hito says I now owe you two lives instead of one and that you would need me to die fighting your enemies. So I decided not to kill myself.” He knocked his head on the floor three times and sat up.

Akitada said, “I understand, and Hitomaro is right. I do need you.”

Tora said fervently, “I’ll remember next time, sir.” He paused for a moment. “About that mutilated body. I just happened to look at it with Hito and I saw a mark on his ear. It’s just like one on the dying man at the Golden Carp.”

Akitada made a sharp move of surprise and gasped, reaching for his wounded shoulder. “Call Hamaya,” he croaked.

Hamaya came in, followed by Hitomaro. “Hamaya,” Akitada said through gritted teeth, “Send for Dr. Oyoshi.” Three pairs of eyes widened with concern. “No, wait,” he corrected himself. “Tell him it’s about one of the bodies, and to meet us in the storehouse. Hitomaro, you can report on the way. Tora, help me up.”

He staggered to his feet, holding Tora’s arm to steady himself against a bout of dizziness. “It’s nothing,” he murmured, when he saw Tora’s white face. “Remember, it was the same when I was wounded in the capital? They say losing blood leaves emptiness in the head. In time it will fill again.”

Tora nodded but looked unhappy. While the three men walked slowly to the storeroom, Hitomaro reported on his visit to the judge’s villa. Akitada listened without comment.

Dr. Oyoshi joined them at the storehouse door. His face was colorfully bruised, but his eyes were bright. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked Akitada.

“I shall be better when we get to the bottom of all these mysterious killings. In each case, it seems to me, we lack one crucial piece of information. Now perhaps Tora has found one for us. I want you to listen to what he has to say about the mutilated man, because it may jog your memory.”

Hitomaro unlocked the door, and they stood around the corpse. Tora lifted the mat and explained about the ear, offering his theory about a secret society.

At Tora’s first words, Oyoshi grunted and knelt, looking closely at the dead man’s face, chest, and tongue. Straightening up with a sigh, he said, “Of course. I made a terrible mistake, sir. How could I have forgotten, when I saw the man myself just a few days earlier! Tora is quite right. It is the poor fellow at the inn. He was dying of lung disease.” He shook his head. “I am getting old and incompetent. Please, forgive my carelessness, sir. I understand that I have caused you embarrassment and that this disqualifies me as coroner.”

There was an awkward silence. Then Akitada said sharply, “Nonsense. You reminded us repeatedly that you were dissatisfied with the diagnosis.”

“But how could it be the same man?” Tora asked, astonished. “The one at the inn was old. He had gray hair.”

Oyoshi said, “Someone shaved his head. That can change a man’s appearance amazingly.”

“It explains why you didn’t recognize him, Doctor,” Hitomaro said. “Besides, his face is pretty much destroyed.”

Oyoshi shook his head. “It is kind of you to make excuses for an old man, but in my profession we do not consider a patient’s looks but the symptoms of his disease. Those I should have recognized.”

“Come,” said Akitada, touching his arm. “I have had enough of this ... this self-recrimination from all of you.” He pointed to the four bodies stretched on the floor, almost filling the small room. “Look at them! The nameless guest from the inn. The old servant Hideo. The thug Koichi. And now Kaibara. If you add Sato, the innkeeper, we have five unsolved cases. And a missing child. Why should you blame yourselves for minor mistakes, when I have failed so grossly and completely in my duty?” For a moment he swayed on his feet, and Tora put out an arm to steady him.

“You should not be up, sir,” scolded Oyoshi. “Come, back to your room with you. I insist on bed rest until tomorrow.”

Akitada protested in vain. They walked him to his office, where Tora and Hitomaro spread some bedding and brought him tea.

Akitada drank it meekly and smiled. “I must be thankful that Seimei is too sick himself to concoct one of his vile brews,” he joked feebly.

“I look forward to meeting him,” said Oyoshi. “I may have just the medicine to make him better.” He sat down next to Akitada and felt his forehead. “As for you, you’re slightly warm, but that may be due to exertion. Rest is essential. You must avoid overheating yourself. By the way, you may be certain now that the man from the inn was not murdered. He was dying when I saw him. Even if Mrs. Sato threw him into the street after my visit, she could not properly be held responsible for his death.”

“Yes.” Akitada chewed on his lower lip. “I admit that’s a disappointment. The woman is detestable. However, though she may not be responsible for his death, she knows something about the conspiracy and who mutilated the dead man. Let her try to talk her way out of that!” He glanced at Tora and Hitomaro, who were hovering nearby. “Sit down, both of you. It’s time for a council of war.”

When they had gathered around, Akitada said, “Hamaya, Seimei, and I have drawn up the documents appointing me high constable. Notices will be posted all over the city. This step will allow me to assume command over the garrison and declare a state of emergency if necessary. It may also convince the people that Uesugi power can be broken. I checked the law carefully and studied similar cases and believe the action is unusual but perfectly legal. The circumstances certainly make it necessary. We are trying to foil a conspiracy against imperial authority in this province.”

Hitomaro grunted. “That’s where that judge fits in, sir. Remember his talk about a new ruler? And Chobei is up to his neck in the plot of the mutilated corpse. I saw his face when we found the body at the gate. He’s working for Hisamatsu now, a man who has a whole library of Chinese texts and could have written the note that was pinned to the dead man. And that reminds me.” He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a piece of paper. “I helped myself to a sample when I was in Hisamatsu’s house.”

Akitada took it and nodded. “It looks like the same paper. Have Hamaya compare it later. From what you told me about Hisamatsu it seems likely he wrote this, but he does not strike me as the sort of man who could organize a conspiracy of the complexity and seriousness of this one. There is more than a touch of madness here.”

The possibility of an uprising against the emperor was frightening. Without military support, they, were helpless to avert it. One thing seemed certain to Akitada: When he failed in his duties, he did so spectacularly. Freshly assigned to a post which had seemed an open door to rapid promotion, he was about to lose the province to the enemy. Unless they fled, they would also lose their lives, of course, but there was no point in dwelling on that detail.

Hiding his fears, he said, “Much depends on Captain Takesuke, of course, and on Uesugi himself. And let’s not forget Sunada. I wonder what that rascal’s part is in all of this, and what a small-time crook like Koichi wanted from him. A pity Kaibara is dead. He would have had answers. Who shot him? And why? His killer may have saved my life, but what if that was not his real purpose?” He frowned. “I wish there weren’t so many pieces missing. Do you know what this situation reminds me of? The shell matching game my sisters used to play. I feel that it’s my play and I don’t know which piece to turn over.”

Tora and Hitomaro looked blank, but Oyoshi nodded. “A very good comparison, sir.” He explained, “The shells are plain on the outside but hide pictures on the inside. For each picture there is a matching one in only one other shell. The object is to find the match. Well, sir, we have just matched our first shell by identifying the mutilated corpse. Will you let the other players know?”

“Yes, perhaps that is the logical next move. There will be a court hearing later. Tora, go tell Hamaya to make the arrangements.”

“But you are wounded,” protested Hitomaro.

Akitada refrained from pointing out that his shoulder was a small matter compared to their all being slaughtered by the Uesugi. “Never mind,” he said. “I shall rest till then. I’m perfectly capable of conducting a brief hearing. Tell Kaoru to have Mrs. Sato brought in.”

Oyoshi poured some tea and added one of his powders. Stirring, he said, “This should dull the pain a little and let you rest.”

Akitada smiled his thanks, swallowed the draft, and closed his eyes as the others stole from the room.

♦

The crowd in the hall was smaller and more subdued than last time, and they watched him intently. Akitada saw them through a haze. What Oyoshi had given him for the pain unfortunately made him see and hear everyone as if from a great distance. He also felt flushed and uncomfortably warm.

He began the session by announcing his new status. When the crowd began to buzz, he rapped his baton sharply, calling for the prisoners and the witnesses in the Sato case.

Kaoru knelt and reported that Mrs. Sato had claimed to be too ill to appear.

Akitada shifted irritably and winced. “Arrest her,” he said. The crowd whispered like wind rustling through dry grasses. He pulled himself together. “We will start with the fishmonger’s case.”

When two constables dragged in Goto, a new wave of excitement rippled through the onlookers. Goto was in chains but drew courage from them.

“This person,” he cried when he faced Akitada, “wishes to complain about the cruel treatment he’s received. I’m an honest citizen and pay my taxes, but I was beaten and chained, and then thrown in jail like a criminal. Me, a poor shopkeeper who’s never been in trouble with the law! Meanwhile my brother’s body lies someplace, cut to pieces, without a proper burial, and his killer is smiling while I suffer. Is that justice?”

The crowd buzzed their support. One of the constables kicked Goto in the back of the legs, shouting, “Kneel!”

Goto fell to his knees with a loud wail. The crowd became noisy.

“Silence!” Akitada shouted, rapping his baton again. He felt unaccountably weak and languid. He looked for Kaoru and saw that constables moved among the people to control them. Gradually it became quiet. Akitada turned his attention back to the fishmonger. “State the case against this man, Sergeant.”

Kaoro announced, “This man is called Goto and is a fishmonger in this city. He stands accused of having lied to this tribunal and of having falsely accused one Kimura of murder.”

“What? I never lied ...” Goto’s outraged protest died with a kick from his guard.

Kaoru continued impassively, “He identified a body found outside the tribunal gate three days ago as that of his brother Ogai, a soldier absent without leave from the local garrison.”

Akitada asked the prisoner, “Do you persist in your identification?”

Goto cried, “It’s my brother, I swear it.”

“Have the maid brought in!” Akitada commanded.

The maid of the Golden Carp marched past the crowd with a smile of self-assurance. Akitada saw that she was a sturdy, plain woman with a knowing look on her face. Near the dais she passed Tora and stopped with a gasp. Tora kept his eyes carefully fixed on a corner of the hall. The maid looked outraged. Putting her hands on her hips, she cried, “So this is where you’ve been hiding out, you lying dog! If I’d known that you were a stinking spy for the tribunal, I’d have made you wish you were bedding a rabid monkey instead.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then a ripple of laughter started and crude jokes flew back and forth. Akitada bit his lip and rapped his baton on the boards while Kaoru started for the girl.

Tora was crimson. Satisfied with the scene she had created, the maid spat on his boots and walked to the dais.

There she knelt, bowed deeply, and said, “This humble person is called Kiyo. She works as a maid at the Golden Carp. She apologizes for having lost her temper with a lying dog.”

In view of the provocation, Akitada decided to ignore her outburst. “You were shown the corpse of a mutilated man,” he said. “Did you recognize him?”

“Aiih!” she cried. “It was horrible! It turned my stomach what they did to poor Mr. Kato.”

“Answer the question.”

“I recognized him. May the Buddha comfort his soul! It was Mr. Kato, one of our guests. He died last week. Someone must’ve stolen the body. They cut off his feet and hands. And shaved his head. Who’d do a nasty thing like that to a dead man? I hardly knew him except for that ear of his. I nursed the poor man till he died. The doctor and my mistress saw him, too.”

“Dr. Oyoshi has already identified the body. Where is your mistress?”

Kiyo spread her hands. “Who knows? She says she’s sick but she stays away a lot. I bet she’s meeting some man.” She turned to shoot a venomous glance in Tora’s direction and shook her fist at him. “She’s a fool.”

Akitada snapped, “Stop that! Did this Kato die from his illness?”

“Yes, sir. The night after the doctor came. The mistress sent for someone to take his body away.”

Akitada said, “Let the record show that the maid Kiyo has identified the body left at the tribunal gate as that of one Kato, a guest who died of an illness at the Golden Carp.” Turning to Goto, he asked, “What do you say now?”

The fishmonger was trembling. He prostrated himself, knocking his head on the floor, and cried, “Forgive this ignorant person, your Honor! My brother had disappeared and I... my eyes are weak. Heaven be praised it is not my brother! But the rest was true. Kimura did fight with Ogai, and now Ogai has disappeared.”

Akitada said, “Bring in the other prisoner.”

The constables dragged in a burly man in chains. He was quite ugly, with the straggly beginnings of a beard surrounding a slack mouth which lacked most of its front teeth. One of his arms was bandaged to a piece of wood.

The moment he appeared there was a cry from the crowd. A thin man in a hemp jacket and short pants pushed his way to the dais and fell on his knees.

Akitada rapped for order, and waited impatiently until the constables had made their prisoner kneel next to Goto, whose mouth fell open in surprised horror. The resemblance between the two men was apparent.

Akitada nodded to the thin man and said, “State your name and purpose here.”

“This insignificant person is called Kimura. I’m a plasterer and a neighbor of that lying piece of dung Goto. Goto told everyone I murdered his brother Ogai, but there is Ogai, safe and sound.” Kimura pointed at the ugly fellow with the bandaged arm. “Goto lied because I built a dam across the creek that waters the land he stole from us, so now the land’s no good to him. Please, your Honor, tell him to stop making trouble for me.”

Akitada frowned. “I am glad that you have finally come forward with your complaint. Let it be a lesson to you next time to have the court settle your disputes. I have reviewed the documents of your case since they had some bearing on Goto’s charges. The court gave the land to your neighbor on the evidence of a bill of sale and tax receipts for more than ten years. Why do you claim he took your land?”

“I have no proof, your Honor,” Kimura said sadly, “except that my father did not like Goto and would never have sold him the land.”

“Was it not customary ten years ago to have a sale witnessed by two neighbors of the owner?”

Kimura looked blank, but someone in the crowd shouted, “That’s true. They changed the law later.”

Akitada turned to Goto. “Why does your bill of sale not have the signatures of both witnesses?” he asked.

Goto paled. “A small oversight,” he pleaded.

“You lie,” said Akitada, nodding to one of the constables who stepped behind the fishmonger with his whip.

Goto shrank from him in horror. “No! Not another beating! I’ll tell the truth. Old man Kimura agreed to the deal, but he died before he could put his mark on the papers, so I did it for him. I didn’t know about other witnesses.” He prostrated himself, crying, “Please have mercy. Please forgive an ignorant person.”

Akitada snapped, “Why should this court believe you? You lied when you falsely identified the body. Who put you up to that?”

Goto wiped sweat and tears from his face. “Nobody,” he wailed. “I was trying to save my brother’s life. That’s why I said the dead man was him. So the soldiers would stop looking for him.”

The crowd had fallen silent, caught up in the proceedings, but now someone in the back shouted, “Don’t listen to the dirty bastard, Governor. He’s always been a liar.”

The constables made a show of glaring at the offender, and Akitada turned to the fishmonger’s brother. “State your name and profession.”

“Ogai,” the man muttered sullenly. “I’m a corporal in the provincial guard.”

“Not much longer,” shouted a jokester from the crowd.

Akitada frowned at the audience. He hoped the sweat beading his face was not visible. “I am told,” he said to the prisoner, “that you deserted and were discovered hiding in the outcast village. What part did you play in your brother’s false accusation of Kimura?”

“None.” Ogai avoided looking at Goto. “I know nothing about that. It was all Goto’s idea. Just like the land deal. He made me pick a quarrel with Kimura.”

“You lying bastard!” Goto grabbed for his brother, but a constable struck his hand with the butt of his whip.

Ogai growled, “I’m not getting anything out of this. You are! You’re the one stole the land. So don’t pin your troubles on me. I’ve got enough of my own.”

“You do indeed,” said Akitada. “I am glad you understand the seriousness of your position. You are not only a deserter, but you have proven your bad character by committing a rape in the outlaw village that offered you protection and hospitality. I have no qualms about turning you over to your captain for military trial.”

Ogai wailed.

Akitada ignored him and turned to his brother. “You, Goto, shall receive fifty lashes and do six months of conscript labor for the government. The disputed land shall be returned to Kimura, the tax payments you made serving in lieu of rent that you owe him. In addition, your own property shall be confiscated and sold. The proceeds will go to Kimura in compensation for the false murder charge. Constables, remove the prisoners.”

The crowd broke into noisy cheering. Akitada, aware only of a mind-paralyzing tiredness, raised his eyes and lifted his baton to rap for order before closing the hearing when he saw that Seimei’s startled attention was on the side door nearest him.

Akitada turned to look, and there, in the light of a small oil lamp, stood the slender figure of his wife, Tamako, her face tearful and pale with anxiety.

* * * *