Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

NINTEEN

THE TURNING WHEEL

W

ell done!” grunted Hitomaro, parrying Akitada’s long sword and stepping back.

Both men were stripped to the waist, their bare skin covered with the sheen of perspiration on this gray and cold morning outside the tribunal hall. Akitada smiled briefly and checked the bandage on his left shoulder. “I think it’s coming back to me,” he said. “I was afraid my arm had stiffened.”

“One rarely forgets the right moves.”

Hitomaro’s face did not lose its gravity. Akitada had hoped that the workout would lift his lieutenant’s spirits, but he had not once lost his detachment. Akitada did not like that faraway look in Hitomaro’s eyes; he seemed to be gazing into an unseen world, listening for an unheard sound.

“I would not wish to disgrace myself before Takesuke,” Akitada joked lamely. “He already has a very poor opinion of me.” They all thought that a battle was unavoidable. Men would die and, unlike Sun Tzu, Akitada did not believe that men ever died gladly. The responsibility frightened him more than his own death, but he could not falter now.

Hitomaro resumed his position. They reengaged and continued their practice until the nearby monastery bell sounded the call for the monks’ morning rice. When Captain Takesuke arrived, they were bent over the well bucket, sluicing off their sweat.

Takesuke smiled when he took in the significance of the sword practice. “I’m happy to see you quite recovered, Excellency,” he said with a smart salute. “I also have made preparations. You will be proud of the troops. In fact, I came for your Excellency’s banner so we can make copies to carry into battle.”

The feeling of well-being after the exercise evaporated with the water on Akitada’s skin. Here was a man after Sun Tzu’s heart. He shivered and reached for a towel. “Hitomaro will supply you with what you need. The problem is getting Uesugi out of Takata. That manor is too strongly fortified.”

Takesuke said confidently, “He will fight. How can he refuse and retain his honor now that he has openly declared himself ruler of the northern provinces and demanded our formal submission?”

Akitada shot him a sharp glance as he tossed away the towel and reached for his gown. “Just how do you know that, Captain?”

Takesuke pulled a folded, bloodstained sheet of paper from under his shoulder guard. “One of my men brought this from Takata. When it got light enough, they noticed two posts that hadn’t been there before. They sent a man to investigate. He found two fresh corpses tied to the posts. They had been disemboweled and one had this attached to his chest with a dagger.”

Sickened, Akitada unfolded the paper. The writing was large and crude, the characters in the middle obliterated by the blood-soaked hole left by the dagger, but the content was clear: “The traitor Hisamatsu sends this greeting to Sugawara and Takesuke: Bow to the new Lord of the North or suffer as I did.”

“Hisamatsu is dead,” Akitada said tonelessly, handing Hitomaro the message.

Hitomaro read and nodded. “He had no chance. What good is a raving lunatic to Uesugi? I suppose the other one is Chobei?”

Takesuke nodded.

Akitada said, “They were probably killed last night, a whole day and night after Hisamatsu went to Takata. That means Uesugi did not act until he got news of Sunada’s arrest.”

Hitomaro looked surprised. “You mean he blamed them for that?”

“Perhaps.” Akitada refolded the paper and put it in his sleeve. “Or perhaps he had been waiting for Sunada’s instructions. In any case, he keeps himself informed about developments in the city.”

“The faster we move on him the better,” Takesuke said eagerly. “When will your Excellency give the order to march?”

The man’s eagerness to sacrifice himself and untold numbers of other humans on the battlefield was too much for Akitada. He swung around angrily. “Have you not been listening, man? We cannot take the manor. It is inaccessible—as you should have realized long ago. And I doubt that Uesugi will accommodate us by coming out. Get it into your thick skull and stop badgering me!”

Takesuke blanched. He bowed. “My apology.”

Akitada bit his lip. He was ashamed of his outburst and tempted to leave the awkward scene for the safety of his office. Eventually he said grudgingly, “There is still a great deal of paperwork to be done before we can bring formal charges against Uesugi, but I suppose we must make ready to attack.”

Takesuke got up and stood to attention. “Yes, Excellency. Thank you, Excellency.”

Akitada sighed. He could not afford to antagonize this man. “Perhaps tomorrow, Captain,” he said and walked away.

♦

The tribunal archives had lost their dusty, musty air of disuse. On a closer inspection of Sunada’s house, the warehouses had held much of the province’s rice stores, and the locked room had guarded the secrets of a planned uprising.

Now everywhere in the tribunal piles of document boxes covered the floor. The two clerks were bent over papers, reading, making notes, and sorting Sunada’s records into neat stacks. Seimei bustled about, checking and labeling the stacks and making notes. A harassed but happy Hamaya greeted Akitada.

“Excellency, I am amazed,” he cried. “You have uncovered an enormous conspiracy! Nobody could have dreamed of such a thing. And it is all here. Lists of conspirators’ names, contacts in other provinces ...” He snatched up one of the piles and followed Akitada into his office. “Look! These are the rice records for the last year. This is the Uesugi seal. Sunada paid Uesugi for eight thousand bales of the provincial fall harvest, and the amount is less than half of its value. According to Uesugi, that rice went to the troops in the north.”

Akitada suppressed his impatience. Hamaya had worked hard and accounted for part of the missing governmental rice stores. He peered at the figures, nodded, and said, “Excellent work, Hamaya. You and your clerks are to be congratulated. We can charge Uesugi with diverting government property to his own uses. Start drawing up the paperwork.”

Hamaya bowed, pink with pleasure. “Immediately, sir. Oh, I almost forgot...look at this. It’s a letter from someone in the capital, I think. Stuck in the pages of the merchant’s personal accounts. It must be a hoax. Surely it couldn’t be ... treason?”

Akitada snatched the letter from Hamaya’s hand, glanced at it, and felt his heart stop. “Someone’s private joke, no doubt,” he told the head clerk and tossed the paper carelessly on his desk. “Let me know when the charges are ready.”

He waited until Hamaya had left his office, then read the letter again. It was addressed to Sunada and encouraged him in his plan to establish a separate northern rule with promises of high appointment in the capital if his endeavor could influence imperial succession. The letter was unsigned, but Akitada had recognized the seal. It belonged to one of the sons of the retired emperor. This young man had briefly served as crown prince, but had been replaced in the succession by a child, the son of the present empress and grandson of the Fujiwara chancellor.

Because of Fujiwara marriage politics, intrigue within the imperial family was always a danger, and punishment usually fell heavily on the innocent, on loyal servants and dutiful officials along with their families, rather than the highly placed principals.

Therefore Akitada stared at the elegant paper with particular horror. It lay on his desk between the black arrow which had killed Kaibara and saved Akitada’s life and the lacquered box of Tamako’s shell-matching game. Men played deadly games everywhere. Not only was he about to risk his life to secure this province, but the letter represented a bloody upheaval about to happen in the capital, and on his, Akitada’s, report. Yet duty required him to make this report. By a twist of fate, he was forced to destroy lives, careers, and families, perhaps his own included, when he had struggled all along to avoid bloodshed.

Akitada knew that another man would burn the letter and forget its contents. Echigo was a remote province. If the insurrection collapsed here, the disaffected prince in the capital might well give up his aspirations.

But weighed against the present and future danger to the emperor, this was not an option open to Akitada. What if the news of the collapse of the northern uprising prompted desperate action in the capital? And what guarantee was there that an ambitious prince might not plot again, and again?

He raised his hands to his face and groaned.

“What is the matter, husband?” Tamako had entered silently, wide-eyed with concern. She looked frail in the morning light, her hands resting protectively on her swelling body.

Akitada smiled bleakly. “I am afraid I may have failed both of us,” he said. “I no longer know what is to be done.” He closed his eyes. “And I think I am about to fail the emperor no matter how I choose to act.”

He heard the rustle of her silk gown as she sank down next to him, then felt the warmth of her body pressed to his. “You cannot fail me,” she whispered, “no matter what you do. It is not in you.” She withdrew a little. “You will fail yourself only if you shirk your duty. And how can you fail the emperor if you obey his laws and perform your duty?”

He shook his head and smiled a little at her fervor. “Here,” he said, pushing the letter toward her. “This affects you and our unborn child as well. Read it!”

She read. “Whose is this?” she asked.

“It is Prince Okisada’s seal.”

She drew in her breath sharply. “I see.” Her eye fell on the arrow on his desk. “Would you aim an arrow into a dark cave because you thought a bear was moving inside?”

A bear? A cave? What did she mean? Perversely, Tamako’s words conjured up another memory: White Bear, Kaoru’s dog. Kaoru’s long bow. Akitada’s hand went to the arrow. By its length and rare feather it was a contest arrow, not an ordinary soldier’s issue. He recalled Hitomaro’s amazement at Kaoru’s bow, his skill with it. Like his coroner, his new sergeant of constables was an enigma.

The more he thought about it, Kaoru’s education and his difference from the other outcasts were mysteries he had not pursued because there were more urgent problems to be solved. Was this just a minor puzzle, or was it at the heart of the Uesugi stranglehold on this province? And how was it connected to Kaibara’s death?

“Akitada?”

He was snatched back to the present. “What?”

“I only meant that you cannot know the situation in the capital. If you release the arrow, it may merely wound the bear, or kill its cub. Then you may be hurt instead.”

How astute she was. “Yes. I know. That is the problem.” He turned his attention to the arrow again, twisting it this way and that.

Tamako frowned. “A hunter might wait for another opportunity,” she remarked anxiously.

“Yes. You are quite right. Thank you.” He smiled at her, noting that the protective hand rested on her softly rounded belly again. Women played by their own rules, followed their own concept of honor, he thought and was surprised at the discovery.

She blushed as if she had read his mind. “Forgive me. It was not my place to advise you.”

“On the contrary. I think you have helped me solve another mystery.”

“Oh?” Her pale face lit up, then looked puzzled. “Again?”

“Yes. Your final match in our shell game led me to Sunada.”

“The ladies with the lutes!” She clapped her hands. “But how?”

“The murdered woman owned a lute, a very expensive, rare one. After the murder, that lute was gone. I realized that only Sunada could have bought it, or had the taste to do so. And he would have taken it away with him.”

“How horrible!” Tamako’s eyes were large with shock. Then she added quickly, “But he must have loved her very much to have spoiled her so,” and her eyes lit up as if a thought had crossed her mind. She glanced at the shell-matching game. “Did the game ... cost very much?” she asked, half hopeful, half afraid.

Akitada did not know how to answer. He had paid much less than it was worth. Had not the curio dealer said the shell-matching game had been ordered as a gift for an Uesugi lady years ago? He had a dim memory of those same flowers and grasses among the decorations on a suit of armor in the Takata armory.

Would Tamako think he did not love her? The female mind drew the most astonishing conclusions sometimes. He said, joking though his heart was afraid, “However you might rate my affection, I certainly would never entertain any murderous thoughts.”

Puzzlement, then comprehension and embarrassment passed quickly over her face. But to Akitada’s relief, she burst into laughter. Tamako laughed like a child, eyes sparkling, head thrown back, pink lips revealing perfect white teeth. She rarely practiced the custom of blackening her teeth as ladies in the capital did. And this was not ladylike laughter either. It was wholly infectious, and Akitada joined in.

The door opened, and Tora looked in curiously. Behind him Hamaya and the two clerks craned their necks.

Akitada glanced back at his wife. Her hand now covered her mouth in the prescribed manner, but above it her eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Come in, Tora,” said Akitada, smiling at his wife, who rose and, bowing to him, left the room. “What is it?”

“Kaoru sent me. Sunada wants to talk to you. Kaoru doesn’t dare leave, not after what happened with the Omeya woman. He’s afraid Sunada might kill himself.”

“Thank you,” Akitada said, jumping up, “this could be important. Anything I can use to avoid open war with Uesugi would be heaven-sent.”

♦

The atmosphere around the jail was tense. Guards manned the entrance to keep away the curious. In spite of this, two cripples had taken up position near the steps and raised sad faces to Akitada. He could not understand their piteous cries and was about to toss them some coppers, when Tora said, “Sunada’s servants. They followed him and have sat here ever since.”

In the common room more constables snapped to attention. Kaoru was seated outside Sunada’s cell door. He looked tired, but rose immediately and bowed to Akitada.

“Sergeant,” said Akitada, “I want you to send one of the constables to Captain Takesuke and request five of his best men to carry a dispatch to the capital.” His eyes fell on the barred window of a cell door which was suddenly crowded with three familiar faces.

Only Takagi’s wore the usual vacant smile. Umehara looked pale and frightened, and Okano had been weeping.

“Why are they locked up again?” Akitada asked.

“I did not want to take any chances this time, sir,” Kaoru said in a low voice. “Not after my recent negligence.”

“Let them out.”

The three men tumbled out hurriedly to express their gratitude. Okano, who had a flowered scarf tied about his face, looked more like a farmer’s wife than ever. He insisted on kissing the hem of Akitada’s gown. Umehara was gabbling something about salmon stew, and Takagi asked for his gold coins again.

The confused scene was an unwelcome reminder to Akitada that he must close their case officially. Their freedom depended on Sunada’s testimony in court.

“Get everybody out,” Akitada snapped to Kaoru, “and take care of that message. Immediately! It’s urgent. Then come back here.”

When they were alone, Akitada had Tora unlock Sunada’s cell and went in.

The change in the man was shocking. The once smooth, shining face of the wealthy merchant was gray, and the skin sagged. He looked up at Akitada from heavy-lidded eyes without bothering to rise or bow. “I could not sleep,” he said.

Akitada wondered whether this was a complaint about jail conditions or more expressions of his grief and despair. To his surprise, it was another matter altogether.

“Those three men.” Sunada’s eyes went to the wall that separated the two cells. “All night they talked. There is one—his words are those of a child, but he speaks with a man’s voice. He talked of his father and mother. And he wept for them like a homesick child. It was terrible to hear his weeping. Another fellow wept with him. This one cried like a woman. And the old man talked about food all night. He was worried his salmon would go bad. Are they the men accused of Sato’s murder?”

Akitada nodded.

Sunada sighed. “They are innocent. I expect they have gone mad expecting to be executed. Why do some men fear death so much? I welcome it.”

“They are not mad,” said Akitada. “Until recently they moved freely about the jail. Being locked up again has frightened them. But even when I first met them, they were not concerned about dying because they knew they were innocent. Their worries concern the problems of life. Takagi is a slow-witted farmer’s son who is homesick. Okano is an actor who is out of work and alone in the world. And Umehara has discovered the joys and frustrations of cooking.” Akitada paused. Sunada had surprised him again. He said tentatively, “I had hoped to prove their innocence and release them this week.”

“And now you cannot do so?”

“Not without your help.” Sunada’s words had given Akitada new hope. Perhaps he had misjudged the man. Whatever his crimes, he was not without pity. But was it reasonable to expect a favor from someone he was about to sentence to death? Sunada was guilty of triple murder and treason. Why should he care about justice in the abstract? Why would a criminal who faced execution in its most cruel form—treason against the emperor was punishable by disemboweling before decapitation or by being beaten to death—care about three poor men? Takagi, Okada, and Umehara had neither ambition nor potential. They were the dregs of a society Sunada had risen from through lifelong effort and relentless pursuit of power.

But Sunada nodded. “That is why I sent for you. I am prepared to help you.”

Akitada was astonished and relieved. They were alone, but outside in the common room he could hear Kaoru in subdued conversation with Tora.

He said, “As you know, Mrs. Sato was about to be arrested for the murder of her husband. Now her death makes it impossible to charge her with the crime.”

Sunada nodded again and asked, “How did you find out?”

“Her alibi for the day of the murder was unshakable. It was that which led me to suspect her in the first place. It occurred to me that she must have arranged to have her husband killed while she was safely away visiting her parents. I assume you knew?”

“More than that, Governor. Ofumi was a remarkable woman and perfectly capable of devising the plan on her own, but she lacked the necessary contacts.”

“So you found Koichi for her.”

“That was clever of you. I rather suspected that you did not quite believe my story of self-defense when I killed him in the market the other day.” Sunada grimaced. “It was a public service, though I was protecting myself. Unfortunately assassins are unreliable associates. When you refused to believe the three travelers guilty and started looking for another killer, he demanded money. I could afford to pay, but a man of his background and reputation cannot be trusted. I decided to act while I had witnesses. Then one of your men happened along–” Sunada broke off and clenched his fists. “Of course,” he muttered. “The lieutenant who attempted to arrest me—he was the one who seduced her.” He glowered at Akitada. “Wasn’t he?”

Akitada was taken aback. How could this matter now? In justice to Hitomaro, he said sharply, “You are quite wrong. She seduced him.”

For a moment their eyes held in a contest of wills, then Sunada lowered his head. “Perhaps she could not help what she was, what she made men do.”

“A woman who plots to have her husband killed deserves no pity,” snapped Akitada.

“What would you know of a woman’s life?” Sunada asked wearily. “That girl—beautiful beyond belief, full of grace, endowed with talent, clever, lively, and filled with dreams—she was born into a peasant family and sold in marriage to an old man, a desiccated dotard so close to death that he stank of decomposition! What chance had she by your laws?”

“Not my laws. The laws of the gods. She was not mistreated. By all accounts Sato doted on her.”

Sunada moved impatiently. “She was made for better things. He had no right to possess her.”

This was absurd—as any good Confucian scholar knew. The ancients taught that a woman had no right to choose for herself. Her duty was first to her parents, then to her husband, and last to her son. And if she was unfortunate enough to survive her immediate family, another male relative would direct her life.

But there was no point in arguing with this man. Akitada said, “So you ‘contacted,’ as you put it, Koichi, a man with a long record of crimes. In fact, you had him released from his latest jail term the day before Sato’s death. Employing the unemployable had always worked well for you. Such men are grateful. Did Koichi balk at all at murder?”

“He was eager to do it and bragged about it afterwards. I found him repulsive.”

“Ah, so he reported to you after the murder.” Akitada was pleased. The case would be resolved more smoothly than he had hoped. “Koichi entered the Golden Carp in midafternoon, at a time when Mrs. Sato would have reached her parents’ village arid been seen there by as many people as possible. It was a sunny day, and the inn’s hallway dim. Koichi stumbled over a packsaddle and damaged it. Okano, one of the three travelers, was taking a bath and heard the clatter but assumed it was made by customers who left again when no one greeted them. I do not know whether Koichi brought a weapon, but I think he saw a large knife lying in the kitchen and decided to use it. After killing the sick old man, Koichi emptied the money box, replaced the knife where he had found it, and left again as unobserved as he had come.”

“I did not know about the packsaddle, and he certainly did not tell me about the money box,” Sunada said. “Otherwise your deductions are correct.”

“Sato had saved up some gold. His widow testified that there were seven pieces, but she provided that information after the three fugitives had been searched and seven gold pieces were found in their possession. Still, it is surprising that Koichi blackmailed you after having helped himself to all of Sato’s savings.”

Sunada laughed mirthlessly. “Come, Governor! Not even you can be that unworldly! Gold begets greed. He was to keep what he found as payment. Clearly it was not enough.”

Akitada knew there was a loose end still, but it had nothing to do with Sunada. He asked, “Will you sign a statement and testify in court that Koichi killed Sato on your instructions and at Mrs. Sato’s request?”

“Yes. But there is a condition.”

“No.” Akitada rose abruptly. The disappointment stung, though he should have expected it. “Even if I wished to grant you leniency, your fate is not in my power. Neither your culpability in the Sato case, nor the three murders you committed yourself signify when compared to a case of insurrection against his august Majesty.”

Sunada smiled a little. “I know. My request is not for me.”

Akitada hesitated. “The same applies to all your associates and includes your henchman, Boshu, and his villainous gang. They have terrorized the local people at your behest. I look forward to sentencing them to long terms at hard labor. Besides, your people had a hand in placing the mutilated body at the tribunal gate.”

Sunada looked astonished. “For what it is worth, we had nothing to do with that. That was done by that animal Chobei, your former sergeant, on instructions from Hisamatsu. No one else could have misused a corpse in such a repulsive fashion.”

“The corpse showed evidence of having been stored in a rice warehouse.”

Sunada hunched his shoulders. “By all means add it to my charges. It does not matter. And do as you wish with Boshu and his men. I’m asking you to spare the two crippled servants you saw in my house. They are simple fishermen who lost the ability to go to sea. They neither read nor write and only took care of my simplest needs in my home. I never asked more of them.”

Akitada remembered the two cripples. Again Sunada had surprised him, almost shamed him. “They have been outside this jail since you were brought here.”

Sunada lowered his head, then brushed a hand across his eyes. “I plead with you,” he said brokenly. “They must not suffer for their loyalty, for their love ...” He choked on the word.

“Very well. If they are as innocent as you say, they may return to their families.”

“Thank you.” Sunada bowed deeply, his face wet with tears.

Back in the common room, Kaoru and Tora greeted Akitada with broad grins.

“We heard,” cried Tora. “You solved the Sato case. It was brilliant. From little things like Umehara’s backpack and a noise Okano heard, you put the whole thing together.”

“And from Koichi’s jail records, when no one knew he had been near the inn,” added Kaoru. “Such wisdom is worthy of the famous judge Ch’eng-Lin.”

Akitada looked at him for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. “I don’t deserve any credit. From the beginning, Tora was closer to the answer than I was.”

“Me?” Tora gaped.

“Yes. We should have arrested the maid. It would have saved trouble and lives. She was an accessory before and after the fact and should have been questioned rigorously.”

“Kiyo? Why?”

“The bloody knife. Someone had to put it in Takagi’s pack. Koichi knew nothing of the three travelers. I think we will find that Kiyo not only knew of the planned murder, but that she and Koichi split Sato’s savings.”

Tora stared at him. “But she hated her mistress.”

“Probably. She also hated old Sato. When she thought you were a stranger passing through, she carelessly revealed her motive. It is to your credit that you recognized and reported it. Later she changed her story, but by then she knew that you worked for me, and that Sunada had killed Koichi. She was afraid.”

“Well,” Tora said with great satisfaction, “would you believe it? I have the instinct for it after all.”

Akitada nodded. “Oh, yes. It is your case now. Go arrest the girl and get her confession. We also need a statement from Sunada.” He paused and gave the sergeant a considering look. “All the clerks are busy with Sunada’s papers ...”

Kaoru said eagerly, “I can write well enough, sir,” and gestured at a sheaf of reports on his desk.

Akitada looked and raised his eyebrows at the neat script, then smiled. “Very well, Sergeant, go ahead. But first tell your three prisoners that they are free to go. Hamaya will return their money and property to them. There should be additional compensation from Sunada’s confiscated estate after both cases are settled.”

♦

Someone, Tamako or Seimei, had brought hot tea and placed it on the brazier in his office. He poured some and drank greedily before sitting down at his desk.

The prince’s letter still awaited his attention. Tamako had understood immediately that an official report to the chancellor would set wheels in motion which might well put Akitada and his family in personal danger. She had wanted him to wait. But this could not wait. The emperor himself was in danger.

Akitada reached for his writing utensils. His cover letter was very brief. He enclosed it and the prince’s letter in another sheet of paper, sealed this, and addressed both to a man whose wisdom and kindness were well known to him, the retired emperor’s brother who was a Buddhist bishop. Then he clapped his hands.

The young soldiers selected by Takesuke looked eager and intelligent. Akitada gave his instructions and turned his letter over to them. This accomplished, he had another cup of tea and relaxed.

There was little left to do. The tangled web of murder and mayhem had resolved itself with Sunada’s confession. Akitada took no pleasure in it. There had been many deaths and there would be many more, public executions which he must attend in his official role. Besides, it had not been his own effort which had brought justice to the three unfortunate travelers, or revealed and broken the conspiracy against the emperor. No, it had all been due to chance encounters between one woman and two men.

He considered the destruction Mrs. Sato had wrought in the lives of others. The good abbot Hokko had his own symbol to explain the inexplicable. Buddhist scripture taught that man occupied a precarious position midway between the angels and the demons on the wheel of life. A turn of the wheel propelled him either upward, toward righteousness, good fortune, and happiness, or it dragged him into the filth of evil and crushed him underneath. The wheel had crushed Sunada.

He sniffed. There was a strange fishy smell in the air. Then he became aware of a peculiar noise coming from the wooden shutters behind him. It sounded like the gnawing of a rat. A soft hissing followed, then a scrabbling noise. Akitada turned on his cushion so that he faced the shutters. As he watched, a narrow line of light widened into a crack and a pudgy hand appeared in the opening. More hissing followed—whispering, Akitada decided—and then a round red face topped with short black horns appeared and leered in at him from bulging eyes.

Both Akitada and the goblin jerked back in surprise. The goblin squealed, and the shutter slammed shut. Akitada opened his mouth to shout for a guard, when the shutter flew open again, revealing two human backs, bowed abjectly on the narrow veranda outside.

“Who are you and what do you want?” barked Akitada, his heart pounding.

One of the creatures, the horned goblin, visibly trembled, but the other one raised his gray head. Akitada recognized Umehara.

“Forgive us, Excellency,” Umehara said, wringing his hands and sniffling. “We asked your clerk to let us see you, but it was strictly forbidden, so we came this way.”

“Ah.” Akitada regarded the shaking figure. A certain plumpness suggested Okano, but the horns? “Is that Okano?” he asked.

The spiked head nodded violently.

“What happened to your head, Okano? Are you playing a goblin?”

“Oh!” The actor wailed and covered the spikes with both hands. “See, Umehara? Okano should have worn his scarf! He is so ugly!”

“His hair is growing back,” explained Umehara.