Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Akitada tore his eyes from the contest just as Genba narrowly avoided being pushed across the rope in a mighty and roaring charge by his opponent. “What? Who sent this message?” he demanded angrily.

Hokko smiled and shook his head. “I cannot tell.”

“Then the warning is worthless.”

Hokko sighed. “You will be well advised to prepare a defense, or you and yours will be lost.”

Akitada searched the other’s face. How could he trust this man? A Buddhist abbot? His last experience with provincial clergy had taught him that pure evil could lurk behind the mask of saintliness. And why should he find an anonymous benefactor in a province where he had met with nothing but treachery? “How strong a force?” he asked.

Hokko responded with a question. “How many serve at Takata?”

Silence fell between them. Then Akitada nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I will take your advice.”

“Look, over there is Captain Takesuke.” The abbot pointed to a small group of officers watching from the eastern gallery. “He has been most accommodating in helping with crowd control today. A very useful young man when one needs to keep peace and order.”

Akitada looked toward Takesuke, then at the abbot. Hokko nodded.

Thoughts racing, Akitada wondered about the size of the provincial guard and about the Uesugi forces. His information about the strength of either was sadly inadequate. The crisis he had feared was at hand, and he was unprepared. Dazedly he turned his eyes to the courtyard again.

In the ring, Genba feinted, ducked under Tsuneya’s arms and grasped the waistband of his opponent’s loincloth. He gave a mighty heave upward to lift Tsuneya off the ground, but the other man hooked a leg around Genba’s thigh. The two contestants strained in the thin winter sun, their bodies locked together, steaming, their muscles bulging with effort.

And Akitada felt sick at his helplessness. He had brought them all to this: Genba, Tora, Hitomaro, and old Seimei. And worst of all: What was to become of Tamako and his unborn child?

The two wrestlers broke apart, and Akitada clung desperately to the hope that fate would be with them.

Hokko touched Akitada’s sleeve. “I almost forgot. There was another part to the message. I am to tell you that the boy is safe.”

Akitada blinked. He had forgotten the missing boy over his own danger. For a moment, he did not know what to say. When he found the words to ask about Toneo, a great roar went up from the crowd: “Tsuneya! Tsuneya! Tsuneya!”

Genba had lost the match.

* * * *

SIXTEEN

THE SHELL GAME

I

t was only late afternoon, but lanterns swaying from the rafters of the restaurant already cast a smoky golden light over the flushed and shining faces of men; old and young, poor and well-to-do, laborers and merchants were celebrating with the champions of the wrestling contest. Harried waitresses moved among the guests, pouring warm wine and carrying heaping trays of pickled vegetables and fried fish. Someone was singing along with the folk tunes played by an old zither player, and Tsuneya, the champion, was giving a solo performance of a local dance on a sake barrel.

Genba was there also, surrounded by his own circle of supporters. It mattered little to Genba’s fans that he had lost the final match; he had come very close to winning, and that was reason enough for them to celebrate. And there was always next year.

Akitada, a stranger to all but Genba, stayed well in the background. He had come to congratulate Genba and because he wanted to gauge the mood of the local people. Their light-hearted revels reassured him, but his thoughts were on the coming night and his attention on the door to the restaurant.

Genba did not look at all unhappy with his loss to Tsuneya and was soaking up compliments, food, and wine in enormous portions. Akitada had put aside his fanciful notions about the contest somehow forecasting his future and felt relieved that Genba had not won. Winning the title would have meant his departure for the capital to perform before the emperor.

Thinking of this, Akitada leaned toward Genba and asked, “Will you continue with your wrestling?”

Genba put down his cup and burped softly behind his hand. Then he grinned, patting his huge midriff. “Sorry, sir. I’ve had no wine during training and now it seems to put wind in my belly. As for the wrestling, well, I guess it’s in my blood. I was amazed how easily it all came back to me. And that was a good match today, sir. Never think they are yokels fresh from the farm or mountain men who live in caves the rest of the year. No, people honor the art hereabouts. Tsuneya has a very good chance of becoming national champion.”

“I could see that.” Akitada’s heart sank at the thought that he was losing Genba after all. But he added bravely, “I had no idea that you were so good. I was very proud of you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Genba lowered his eyes and scratched his shiny scalp, overcome with embarrassment.

The zither player struck up another tune, and Akitada’s eyes wandered to the door again. Nothing. “So, I suppose,” he persisted, “you will not wish to take up your duties at the tribunal now?”

Genba stared at Akitada, his smile fading. “Why not? Don’t you want me anymore?”

“Don’t be foolish!” snapped his master, his nerves stretched as tight as the old man’s zither strings. “Of course I want you. I even need you. But you cannot serve as my lieutenant in the tribunal and at the same time engage in wrestling as a profession.”

“Oh!” The grin returned to Genba’s face. “In that case, don’t worry. I was afraid you were angry with me for spending so much time away. I’ll be going back to the tribunal with Hito and Tora as soon as this party is over. My landlord’s already paid off, and my things are over there in that bundle by the door. Some more wine, sir?”

“Thank you,” said Akitada with feeling and held out his cup. His eyes went to the door again. He noted the bundle, then tried to control the sick panic that had been forming in his belly ever since the abbot’s warning. But the door finally opened and Hitomaro slipped in, brushing a dusting of snow from his jacket.

Akitada put down his cup and got up to meet him. “Well?” he asked, his heart beating faster.

“No difficulties at all, sir.” Hitomaro took a tightly folded and sealed paper from his sleeve and handed it over. “The weather is changing,” he added. “The captain seems to think that will make it easier to hold the tribunal.”

Akitada felt almost dizzy with relief. He scanned the letter and nodded. “The abbot was right. Takesuke will help us. One hundred men. He expresses his eagerness to uphold imperial authority in this province. Very proper.” He gave Hitomaro the letter with a twisted smile. “Perhaps his fervent wish to ‘sacrifice his own life and that of all his soldiers in this stand against the military might of traitorous warlords’ is a little unsettling, but I am grateful for his support. It seems we are not friendless after all. Come, join us for a quick bite and a cup of wine. I expect we have a long night ahead of us.”

♦

Much later that night, past the hour of the tiger, Tora and Hitomaro, in partial armor, sat dozing in Akitada’s office. They had spent several hours helping to prepare for the defense of the tribunal. Now there was nothing left but the waiting. Akitada had sent Seimei, who was still weak from his recent illness, to bed.

The smell of wood smoke was in the air, and a faint red glimmering showed through the closed shutters where metal cressets filled with oil-soaked kindling lit the courtyard. Now and then one of the guards outside pulled his bowstring with a loud twang to show that all was safe. Their master slept, wrapped in quilts and protected from the pervasive drafts by low screens. Genba snored in a corner.

“Go turn him over,” muttered Hitomaro, “before he wakes the master.”

Tora stumbled up, shook Genba, who grunted and rolled onto his side. From the courtyard came the muffled shouts of the sentries. Tora stretched and yawned. “I’ll take a look around,” he whispered to Hitomaro and slipped out.

Behind the screen Akitada said, “Hitomaro?”

“Yes, sir.” Hitomaro got up and walked around the screen.

“Any news?” Akitada was propped on his good elbow and looked wide awake.

“Nothing, sir. It’s been quiet as a grave.”

“Not an apt comparison, I hope,” Akitada said dryly and threw back his cover. He was fully dressed under theyoroi which protected his torso and thighs, but the rest of the equipment– shin guards, neck guard, left shoulder plates, and helmet—lay in a corner of the room, where he hoped they would stay. “Is there any tea?” he asked, getting up with some difficulty and sitting down behind his desk.

“I’ll get hot water, sir.” Hitomaro headed out the door, as Tora came in with Captain Takesuke.

Takesuke, in full armor, light gleaming on the lacquered scales and the round helmet, saluted smartly. He looked tense and excited. “I just received a report from my reconnaissance troop, sir.”

“Yes?”

“A force of mounted warriors has left Takata. Most of their banners have the Uesugi crest, but there are also some strange banners with dragons and an unknown crest among them. We have counted at least a hundred and fifty warriors. They are moving slowly, but should get here in less than two hours.”

“Thank you, Captain. You have done exceptionally well so far, and I have no doubt that you will hold the tribunal in spite of the lack of fortifications.”

Takesuke flushed and bowed snappily.

Tora said with a grin, “The cowardly bastards will turn tail when they see your flags flying over the tribunal, Captain. And if not, we’ll give Uesugi something to think about.”

“Those banners,” Akitada mused. “The dragon is a symbol of imperial power in China. I suppose the judge must have suggested it to Uesugi as appropriate to the status of a ruler of the northern empire. But what is the other crest? Did you get a description, Captain?”

Takesuke handed over a scrap of paper. “It’s not very good, I’m afraid. My man was some distance away and it’s snowing.”

Akitada spread out the scrap and looked at it. The brush strokes looked like something a very small child might make for a tree, a heavy vertical central stroke which sprouted three or four dashes angling upward on each side. “What is it, do you suppose?”

“A tree?” suggested Takesuke. “That’s what my man thought it was.”

Hitomaro came in with a steaming teapot. He and Tora both peered at the strange symbol.

“Some plant,” Tora said. “Seimei might know it.”

“If the lines were neater, I’d say a feather,” Hitomaro offered, pouring Akitada’s tea.

“A feather? Part of an arrow?” Staring at the sketch, Akitada raised the cup to his mouth, then remembered his manners. “Some tea, gentlemen?”

They shook their heads. Tea was bitter medicine to most people.

Akitada clapped his hands for Hamaya and woke up Genba, who yawned, blinked at them, and went back to sleep. Hamaya came in, but shook his head when he was shown the sketch. “If you will wait just a moment...” he muttered, and scurried from the room. When he returned, he carried a document box which contained carefully drawn lists of family crests for all recorded landowners in Echigo and its neighboring provinces. None matched the unknown crest.

“It means nothing,” snorted Hitomaro. “The sketch must be wrong.”

Takesuke protested, “He’s a good man, sir. And he swore that it looked like that.”

Akitada nodded. “Curious. Perhaps, like the dragon symbol, it is a new crest. Clearly Uesugi has someone’s support, and it is not one of the registered families. Thank you, Hamaya.” He watched as the elderly man gathered the documents and left. Hamaya had proved another staunch supporter during this trying time, refusing to return to the safety of his house in town. With a sigh, Akitada said to the others, “Well, we have two hours to find out if Uesugi will attack or withdraw. If he withdraws, tomorrow will be a day like any other. For the sake of reassuring the people, matters must appear as nearly normal as possible. Your soldiers, Captain, had best conduct a military exercise outside the city within view of the road to Takata. It will allow you to keep an eye on things.”

Takesuke nodded. “Yes, sir. Tomorrow, sir. But now, if you don’t need me, I shall prepare for battle. In case there’s an attack tonight.”

When the door had closed after him, Akitada said, “A surprisingly good man. He wasted no words. But I am afraid he hopes for hostilities tonight.”

“Well, I’d rather have some action myself,” snorted Tora. “This sitting around on our haunches is hard on an old campaigner like me. Why don’t the three of us get up some plan to defend this hall? With the help of Kaoru and his constables, we could hold this building for days even if Takesuke fails.”

Akitada suppressed a shudder. Should the enemy reach the hall, they would set fire to it. That would leave those inside the choice of being burned alive or falling to the swords and arrows of the waiting Uesugi warriors. He said, “No. Unlike you and the captain, I’m betting on a withdrawal. Meanwhile there is unfinished business.” When Hitomaro and Tora looked blank, he reminded them, “We still have three prisoners, Umehara, Okano, and Takagi, and the unsolved murder of the innkeeper Sato to take care of.”

“We shouldn’t be wasting time on that now,” protested Tora.

Hitomaro added, “Those three are happy in jail. They are warm and get three fine meals a day. Besides, they’ve made friends with the sergeant and the constables. Umehara has them running for new ingredients for his soups and stews. The farmer’s boy does their cleaning chores in return for a game of dice. And Okano puts on a show every night. Our jail seems like paradise to them, and the constables treat them like their pets.”

“Good heavens.” Akitada shook his head in wonder. Then he said dryly, “Nevertheless. Winter is coming and their families are waiting. Once the heavy snows start, they will have to stay in Naoetsu till summer. I must remind you that the tribunal budget does not allow us to provide comfortable lodging for extended periods.”

“But what can be done when that Mrs. Sato has disappeared?” asked Tora. “Her people haven’t seen her, and her parents are worried sick. For all we know, she’s been killed, too, and lies buried somewhere. We may never find her.”

“Hmm.” Akitada frowned and tugged on one of the armor’s silk cords that pressed on his injured shoulder. “There is another matter that has been worrying me. I noticed a very peculiar reaction by Oyoshi when he misunderstood something you said. It almost looked as if he thought he was suspected of murder. Perhaps we should have asked some questions about his background. He visited the Satos frequently to care for the husband. And it was curious that he did not recognize his own patient.”

“You can’t suspect the doctor,” cried Hitomaro after a moment’s stunned silence. “Why, if we cannot trust him, whom can we trust?”

“That is true.” Akitada sighed. He pulled a brocade-wrapped bundle closer and untied the silk cord. Inside was the lacquer box he had bought from the curio dealer. He opened it and poured a pile of shells onto the desk. Akitada stirred them idly with a long, slender finger, then picked out two, holding them up. “In the shell-matching game,” he said, “you may pick a shell from the pile and, at first glance, it is a perfect match to one of yours, like these two zither players. But when you look more closely, you see a slight difference. The pictures are identical except for one small detail. One lady is performing on the thirteen-string zither, the other on an older type with only six strings. A careless player may forfeit the whole game by jumping to conclusions.”

“I don’t like such tricky games,” muttered Tora.

Hitomaro picked up the picture of a woman playing a lute and stared at it before laying it back down. He cleared his throat nervously. “Sir?”

Akitada looked up.

“I, er, met someone. Er, a female.” Hitomaro stopped, flushing to the roots of his hair.

Akitada raised his brows. “Am I to congratulate you on this feat?”

“No, sir. That is, we thought we would get married, if... if it is all right, sir.”

Mildly startled, then pleased, Akitada said warmly, “This is a serious matter, indeed! If she has captured your heart, my friend, she must be a very special woman. But you certainly don’t need my permission.” He paused, then asked anxiously, “You are not planning to leave, are you?”

“Oh, no, sir. Quite the reverse. I was wondering if we might have the empty storehouse in the far corner of the compound?”

“The empty...?” Akitada began to laugh. “Of course. But please settle your affairs quickly, for I can see that your mind is not on business. My wife will be of assistance. What is the charming lady’s name?”

Hitomaro bit his lip, then said defiantly, “Her name is Ofumi. She is wellborn, but misfortune has forced her to earn her living as an entertainer. She is very talented, a fine lute player, and well spoken, sir.”

“A lute player, eh?” Akitada studied Hitomaro’s flushed face. Then he nodded. “I am sure that you have chosen wisely. Ofumi shall be welcome in our family.”

Hitomaro knelt and touched his forehead to the floor. When he straightened up, he was completely businesslike. “What is my assignment tomorrow, sir?”

Outside footsteps crunched through the gravel. Male voices spoke in rapid exchange. Hitomaro and Tora tensed and looked toward the closed shutters.

Akitada frowned and adjusted the leather-covered plate over his left shoulder. He was not used to wearing armor and found it cursed uncomfortable, especially with the recent shoulder wound. He hoped there would be no fight tonight.

When all became silent again outside, Tora asked, “Should I wake Genba, sir?”

“No. Let him sleep. He has had a hard day.”

They all looked at the gently snoring mountain and smiled.

Akitada thought. “There is still Judge Hisamatsu. But I think you are right, Hitomaro; he is merely mad, more of a liability to his fellow conspirators than a threat to us.”

“What about the child?” asked Hitomaro. “I could search Hisamatsu’s place in his absence.”

Distractedly Akitada ran a hand over his hair. “Heavens! I forgot to tell you. The abbot says the boy is safe.”

“Safe where?” Tora’s disbelief was plain on his face.

“He did no t say, but...”

“Then how do we know it’s true?” interrupted the normally courteous Hitomaro.

“The abbot has proved our friend. Besides, I believe Hokko because I think I know who has the boy. No, I cannot tell you. There are still a number of unanswered questions.” Akitada moved restlessly again. “If only I could find a way to get into Takata manor again. I know part of the answer is there.”

Hitomaro and Tora looked at each other and shook their heads. There was a small army between them and Takata.

“But there is still the dead Koichi,” said Akitada.

“What is puzzling about that case?” asked Hitomaro. “Sunada admitted to killing the man, and a whole crowd says it was self-defense.”

Akitada shook his head. “I don’t care what they say. I don’t like it. There was something far too pat about the whole affair. I should have paid Sunada a visit long ago. He wields a great deal of power in the province, as evidenced by his support among the leading merchants.”

“Not to mention Boshu and his henchmen,” Hitomaro agreed. “Sunada has certainly turned the shipping business to good account. Half the fishermen in Flying Goose village are in his pay, and he controls all the shipping along the coast.”

Akitada frowned. “Shipping. It may have some significance in all this. There are our empty granaries, for example. Inadequately explained by Uesugi as a matter of moving the rice to more convenient storage or using it in provisioning the troops fighting in the north.” He moved his shoulder and grimaced. “I have not had time to inspect Uesugi’s granaries. What if the rice is gone? If there is a bad crop next year, people will starve by the thousands, and I shall be blamed.” Suddenly he stiffened and picked up the sketch Takesuke had given him. “Hmm,” he muttered, frowning at it, then said, “Wake Genba for a moment.”

When Tora shook him, the big man grunted, then sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Are they here?” he asked.

“No, no,” Akitada said. “It will be another hour or so. This concerns Sunada. I have the feeling it was a mistake not to investigate him fully. We have had two warnings that all is not as it seems with that gentleman. Did you hear any gossip in town about his personal affairs?”

“Oh, him. After his people attacked Hito, I checked out Sunada, but there was no proof that he knew about it.”

“That is not what I meant. What about his private life, his family, friends, his closest associates?”

“Well, he’s said to be the wealthiest man in the northern provinces. But he’s a loner. No family, no friends. He lives in a large manor in Flying Goose village, near the harbor where his ships and warehouses are, but there’s nobody with him apart from his servants. People say he was married once, but his wife died in childbirth. After that he took his pleasures elsewhere.”

“Right,” Hitomaro said. “One of your friends made a comment about that.” Seeing Akitada’s questioning look, Hitomaro flushed and looked uncomfortable. “Something about Sunada being a regular at one of the houses of assignation.”

Genba nodded. “The current gossip is that he’s taken a concubine from outside the pleasure quarter, being tired of the local ware.”

Akitada considered this. “Strange that there is no family, no heir to a business of that size,” he said. “A son has a sacred obligation to his parents and to his ancestors to provide sons in his turn. The man is either an irresponsible fool or he has been bewitched by some female he cannot take to wife. And that amounts to the same.”

Tora grinned. Akitada’s own marriage was still quite recent.

Hitomaro shifted in his seat. “If a man has character and loves such a woman, he makes her his wife anyway,” he said so fervently that the others stared at him in surprise.

An embarrassed silence fell. Akitada busied himself with putting the shells back into their container and wrapping it again. Genba got up and poured himself some lukewarm tea.

From outside came the sudden sound of shouted commands and then the trotting of men’s feet across gravel. They tensed and listened.

“It’s just a changing of the guard,” said Hitomaro after a moment, and everyone relaxed. Akitada reached for a batch of documents and began reading. Another heavy stretch of waiting began.

“Sir?” Tora interrupted the silence after a while. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How did you figure out where that fellow Ogai deserted to? The fishmonger’s brother. I’ve been racking my brains to understand that.”

Akitada had already given up making sense of the erratic bookkeeping of his predecessor. He slowly came back from a nagging worry that he should have recognized the significance of the strange crest worn by some of Uesugi’s men and focused on Tora’s question. “Oh,” he said. “Hitomaro told me about him.”

“Me?” Hitomaro looked flabbergasted.

“Yes. When you reported your stay in the outcast village, you told me that they habitually took in fugitives on the say-so of the old yamabushi. By the way, he is another questionable presence in this province who bears looking into. But to get back to the soldier: You mentioned one man, a rowdy fellow who had lost his front teeth. That fit Ogai, who was on the run from his military duty and recently toothless after a fight with Kimura.”

Hitomaro slapped his knees. “How could I have been so stupid! Of course, that’s it. Well, at least that’s one case solved.”

“Not quite. Someone placed the dead Mr. Kato at our gate, and it was not the fishmonger. Whoever did is involved in the Uesugi rebellion.”

“Hisamatsu,” said Hitomaro confidently. “He wrote the note.”

“No, the widow Sato,” cried Tora. “She’s the one who had a dead man to get rid of.”

Akitada nodded. “Yes. They are both suspects. Perhaps when we find the widow, we shall get some answers.”

“But where is she?” asked Genba. “We’ve looked everywhere. That female has vanished into thin air. The constables have searched both the inn and her parents’ farm.”

Akitada rubbed his shoulder and thought. Suddenly he smiled. “We will set a trap for her,” he said. “Yes, that’s it. Tomorrow Tora will bring that maid to the tribunal for more questioning—”

“Oh, no!” cried Tora, “I’m not tangling with that wildcat again.”

“Ho, ho.” Genba laughed, his belly shaking. “The girl’s made for you. A wildcat for the tiger. The fur will fly.”

Tora shook a fist at Genba.

“Pay attention!” Akitada frowned at them. “Tora, you will keep the girl waiting outside my office for a few hours. Then I shall ask her some unimportant questions and let her go. Genba or Kaoru will follow her. I want anyone who speaks to her brought to me.”

Tora shook his head and was about to protest again, but Genba cried, “It’s a good plan. The widow has friends we don’t know about, and they’ll take an interest in what is happening in her case. They’ll want to know why you kept the maid so long and what she told you.”

“Can’t Genba fetch the maid?” asked Tora. “I’ll follow her.”

“No, you would be recognized,” said Akitada, and turned his head to listen.

Someone was running in the hall outside, and they all tensed. Hitomaro got up and went to the door. He was just in time to admit the captain.

Takesuke was out of breath, but his eyes sparkled. “They’re here, sir,” he said. “An advance troop of eight mounted warriors. They rode up to within a hundred yards and stopped to look at our banners and the burning fires. Then they turned around.” He wiped some melting snow off his face and added, “I’ve sent a good man after them, but I have no doubt that Uesugi is close by with his whole force.”

Instantly Akitada’s three lieutenants were up and running out the door. Takesuke remained standing. Akitada looked up at the captain. “Was there something else?”

“Er,” said Takesuke, “can I give you a hand with the rest of your armor? They will be here very shortly.”

Akitada glanced at the pile of heavy leather-and-metal pieces missing from his costume and made a face. “Thank you, no. I don’t think that will be necessary, Captain. Keep me informed.”

Takesuke stared at him for a moment. Then he compressed his lips, saluted, and withdrew so abruptly that he left the door ajar.

Akitada shivered and stared down at his hands. It was difficult to meet people’s expectations and yet that was his duty here. He was no soldier and hoped to avoid bloodshed. As a youth, he had received the customary training in archery and sword fighting, but he had never fought a battle. In fact, his performance with bow and arrow had been distinctly mediocre, though he had always done well with a sword. But Hitomaro, the only skillful swordsman among his retainers, had pointed out that fighting a battle was very different from the practice bouts they had engaged in.

Akitada sighed. The soldier Takesuke had reason to disdain the official from the capital, but he was surely not the coward Takesuke thought him.

A soft rustle alerted him to the presence of his wife. She had thrown a deep crimson brocade mantle over her thin white underrobe, but her hair was loose, sweeping the floor behind her. In the light of the oil lamp she looked like one of the fairies of the western paradise.

“Are you in pain?” she asked softly.

“No,” he lied. “We have been discussing the schedule for the coming day. And Captain Takesuke was just here with a report.”

Her eyes searched his face. “All is well?”

“Yes. All is well.” He reached for the brocade bundle. “I have a gift for you.”

She came quickly and knelt by his side to undo the ties. Her hands shook a little. “Ah,” she cried when she saw the lacquered box. “A shell game! And how beautiful!”

He watched her excitement, the way she touched the box and opened it, then lifted and looked at each shell with little cries of pleasure, her slender hands graceful. She was trying very hard to be strong and filled him with pride. There was a touch of color in her cheeks, and her silken hair slipped charmingly over her shoulder. Suddenly he felt enormously wealthy and, like any rich man, he was afraid.

“Come,” he said. “Keep me company for a little while and play a game with me.”

Outside there was the silence of the cold predawn. Here, in the soft light of the lamp, Tamako, who bore his child, placed shells on his lacquered desk with little clicking sounds, and smiled at him, murmuring, “It is the most exquisite present.”

* * * *