Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

FOUR

THE THREE PRISONERS

T

hree days after the visit to Takata, on a clear and cold morning, the tribunal’s dilapidated buildings huddled inside the broken-down palisade and looked more depressing than usual with patches of dirty snow in piles and corners. The brief snowfall had changed to watery sleet, then back to snow, and to sleet again during the past days.

When Akitada stepped out on the veranda, he saw that the main gate was still closed even though the sun was up and it was well into the day. Tora and Hitomaro were below, shouting for the constables who trotted out reluctantly, some still chewing their morning rations. The creaking gate finally opened– somewhat pointlessly, since no one waited outside and access to the tribunal could be gained anywhere a man wished to kick down a few rotten timbers in the fence.

Akitada descended the steps into the courtyard and looked sourly at the ragged line of constables drawn up for inspection, their breath steaming in the cold air. Hitomaro was in full armor and exhibited stiff military bearing. When he saw Akitada, he gave a shout, and the ragtag constables in their mostly unmatched garb fell to their knees and bowed their heads to the ground. From their sullen expressions, Akitada gathered that Hitomaro was about to put them through a drill.

Their headman, Chobei, lounged against the gate, his arms crossed and a mocking grin on his coarse face.

The insolence of the brute! Akitada could feel his blood rise and lost his temper. Glaring at Chobei, Akitada snapped, “Make that dog kneel, Lieutenant.”

Hitomaro shouted an order, then drew his sword and approached the headman. Chobei stared stupidly, his grin fading slowly. For a moment it looked as though he would ignore the order, but then he went to his knees, placing his hands on the icy patch of gravel before him.

Tora, also armed, walked across till he towered over the kneeling man. “Head down!” he ordered. Chobei started up with a curse. Tora drew his sword and brought its flat side down on the man’s bare head. With a cry of pain, Chobei assumed the proper position.

“Pity you didn’t bother with mittens and a warm coat this morning, Sergeant,” Tora said conversationally. “My guess is that your hands will freeze to the gravel in less time than it takes to fill your prisoners’ water bowls. And you won’t budge till you’re ready to crawl all the way to his Excellency to apologize for your lack of manners.”

Akitada already regretted the incident but could not take back his words without losing face. “See to it that he remains until he has learned proper respect!” he snapped. Then he strode back to the main hall.

This building was in better repair than the others, but it was large and extremely drafty. In the chilly front area, the public part of the building, his senior clerk, a sober, middle-aged man, waited.

“The documents about rice storage are on your desk, sir. They seem accurate.”

“Ah. Is there any new business, Hamaya?” Akitada asked, as they passed through to the quiet archives where two shivering junior clerks were shuffling papers. Akitada was headed for a corner room under the eaves that he had made into his private office.

“Nothing, Excellency,” said the thin Hamaya, hurrying after him.

In his office, Akitada removed his quilted coat. Hamaya received it respectfully and waited as Akitada sat down at the low desk.

“I don’t understand it,” Akitada muttered, rubbing his chilled hands over the charcoal brazier filled with a few glowing pieces of coal. “The notices have been posted for days. A province of this size must have a tremendous backlog of civil cases. My predecessor not only departed without explaining the empty granary, but he left unfinished business.”

The clerk still stood, clutching Akitada’s clothing. “Under the circumstances, I suppose,” he ventured, “it is a good thing, sir. Only two of the clerks have reported for duty.”

Akitada rubbed his belly morosely. He still suffered from occasional bouts of cramping and had refused breakfast as well as another dose of Seimei’s bitter brew. Now his stomach grumbled also. And he still felt ashamed of his outburst in the courtyard. By losing his temper he was playing into the hands of enemies who apparently manipulated both the tribunal staff and the local people. Since his visit to Takata, Akitada thought he understood the reasons for his difficulties.

Now he looked at his clerk. “Tell me, Hamaya, are you and the other clerks afraid to come to work here?”

Hamaya hesitated, then said, “I believe that the two youngsters outside have great need of their salary because their families are very poor. As for me, I have no family and need not fear anybody”

Akitada clenched his fists. “This is intolerable!” he muttered. He thought for a moment, then said, “Tell my lieutenants to report when they are free. 1 know you and Seimei are still organizing the archives, but have one of your clerks make a search for information about the outcasts and their dealings with the Uesugi family.”

He spent the next hour as he had for the past week, reading reports left by his predecessors. Some of these were woefully sketchy and tended to cover up the fact that the incumbent had been unable to cope with matters. A pattern began to emerge. Of the four types of major reports each governor or his representative had to dispatch to the capital every year, three showed adequate levels of productivity for the province. These were prepared carefully and signed off on by the governor. The fourth report, called the court report, was a different matter. It indicated the condition of the provincial administration, both of its buildings and supplies and of its staff. These reports listed woeful shortages, were poorly written and prepared, and liberally laced with complaints by the incumbents. They pointed to inadequate staffing, insufficient funds, lack of labor, and lack of grain delivery to the provincial granary. The specific details were better than the conditions Akitada had found, but they explained to some extent why governors and their representatives had eventually absented themselves from the provincial capital. The tribunal was “uninhabitable” and the staff “nonexistent,” one recent official had written.

The documents Uesugi had provided to account for rice collection and storage were as neat and careful as the earlier three. They specified what amounts were stored locally and what had been shipped north as provisions for the fighting troops.

The difference between the court report and the others, as Hamaya had explained, was that anything involving the collection of rice and tribute was in the hands of the high constable. The appointed officials had simply approved documents prepared elsewhere.

It was an appalling situation. Akitada was effectively without the authority he needed to govern.

When Tora and Hitomaro reported, he said, “Sit down! The day for registering civil suits is past. I fully expected a stack of depositions by now, yet not even a single case has been filed. Since human beings cannot live together for a whole year without disagreeing, we must assume that the people have been instructed not to file their claims with this court.”

“But why worry?” asked Tora. “It’s less work.”

Hitomaro shot him an impatient look. “Think, Tora. If there’s no work for him, our master will be recalled.”

“Exactly,” said Akitada. “Someone wants to be rid of us, and everything points to the Uesugi.”

Tora thought about it. His face darkened. “What if we don’t leave?”

Hitomaro grunted. “What? Five of us against hundreds of Uesugi warriors and thousands of locals? And the provincial guard are not exactly our friends either.”

The five were, of course, all male and included, besides Akitada and his three lieutenants, the aged Seimei. Akitada said, “I’m glad you understand our position.” Unlike Tora, who was the son of a farmer, Hitomaro belonged to provincial gentry and was therefore better educated and quicker to see political intrigue. “Since, as you remind us, we are without military support, we must find allies as quickly as possible. We need the support of the local people and must try to win their trust. That is why I wish we had court cases. They attract the curious, and we might gain a bit of respect among the townspeople that way.”

Hitomaro scratched his short beard. “There is always the case of the innkeeper’s murder. They brought in the suspects last night. Chobei and his men have been questioning them all night and say they have confessions. You could hear the case instead of Judge Hisamatsu.”

“I have to show cause to do that.” An uncomfortable silence fell. Akitada’s stomach growled noisily.

Tora and Hitomaro exchanged glances. Tora said, “I bet they beat those confessions but of them, sir.”

Akitada shifted in his seat. Constables customarily flogged prisoners to encourage confessions. By law, a confession was necessary for conviction of a crime, but these confessions had come very promptly, and the questioning might have been rather too efficient. He frowned and said unhappily, “I suppose I could take a look at the documents. Tora, go get the transcripts of the interrogation!”

Tora returned with a fistful of loose papers and a grin on his face. “That threw them into a proper tizzy. Didn’t want to turn them over. Said they were for the judge’s eyes only. I had to use a bit of pressure.”

Akitada noted his bruised knuckle but said nothing. Instead he took the papers and sorted through the badly written pages of questions and answers. They did not take long to read. Akitada laid down the last page with a sigh. His lieutenants looked at him expectantly.

“I’m afraid the evidence is solid. There are witnesses who have identified two of the men as belonging to a notorious gang which has been robbing inns up and down the northern road. The one called Takagi had the bloody knife still on him when he was caught. He is from this province.” Akitada paused. “And the other two, Okano and Umehara, have signed confessions.”

Tora and Hitomaro said simultaneously, “But, sir—” and broke off. Tora nodded to Hitomaro. Hitomaro said, “If you will permit, sir, Tora and I’ll have a look at the prisoners.”

“No. I don’t want to give that judge any more reason to complain that I have been interfering in his affairs. Just return the transcripts with my thanks.”

They exchanged glances again. Hitomaro bit his lip. “Tora and I heard screams during the night. It sounded like torture. The prison is part of the tribunal. What goes on there falls under our jurisdiction.”

Akitada thought about the brutish Chobei and his men. “Very well. But make it an inspection rather than an investigation.”

♦

They returned quickly. Hitomaro was grim-faced, and Tora barely suppressed his outrage.

“The inhuman bastards nearly killed them,” he snarled the moment he entered. “There’s no way those poor devils could have done it. I’ll never believe it. You’ve got to investigate, sir. It’s just common decency.”

Akitada looked at Hitomaro.

“Tora is right, sir. If you would take a look at Umehara and Okano, you’d see that they could not possibly be robbers. A mouse would send them scurrying. Those confessions were beaten out of them. We’ve seen their backs.”

Akitada still hesitated. Uncooperative defendants often got a taste of the “green bamboo,” but both Tora and Hitomaro knew that. “Hmm,” he said. “What about the third man? The one with the knife.”

“He looks worse than the others. And he never confessed. They got tired of beating him.”

Tora said, “They’ll kill him, poor brute.”

“Hisamatsu has already released the body for cremation. Tell me again what you found at the inn.”

They did. Tora laid much emphasis on Chobei’s officious behavior and the judge’s lack of interest in the case.

Akitada sighed. “Very well. Bring the prisoners to me one at a time. And tell Hamaya to come in and take notes.”

♦

The first to arrive was Umehara. He was in his fifties, a skinny fellow with a large runny nose and a continuous shiver. When told that he was before the governor, he crouched on his knees and trembled so badly he could hardly support himself. His eyes were red, either from his cold or from weeping.

Akitada saw that the man was on the point of physical collapse. “Get him a cup of warm wine, Tora,” he said. “Have you had your morning meal, Umehara?”

The prisoner gaped at him. Someone had knocked some of his teeth out recently and his gums still bled a little. Akitada repeated his question and got a shake of the head in answer. “Can you speak?”

“Yes.” It was a croak, like an old man’s, hoarse and quavery. “I don’t think I could swallow food.” He received the brimming cup of wine with trembling hands and drank, then asked timidly, “Is there good news? Have they found the real killer?”

Akitada raised his brows. “No. According to the documents you have confessed to the murder of the innkeeper.”

Tears rose to the man’s eyes. He trembled again. “Will there be more beatings?”

“No, but it does not look good for you.” Akitada watched him sink back dejectedly and added, “I wanted to hear your story myself. From your deposition I see that you arrived in town two days before the murder. What made you choose this particular inn?”

Umehara recited hopelessly, “I always stay at Sato’s. It’s cheap. I sell weaving supplies. In my line of work, you can’t afford to spend your income on high living.” He paused. “But it was different this time.”

“How so?”

“Old Sato was sickly, and his new wife didn’t want to be bothered with commercial travelers. When I got there, she was angry with him for giving me a lower rate. He walked away, and she told me to sleep on the kitchen floor or pay extra.”

“And you slept in the kitchen?”

The man nodded.

“And the murder happened during the night?”

“Not that night. The one after.”

“Very well. What happened the next day?”

“The next morning the wife left. The maid was supposed to take care of her sick master and the guests. The girl had a cold and did as little as possible.”

“Yet you stayed for another night?”

The wine must have given the prisoner some of his strength back because he spoke more easily now. “I didn’t mean to, but I needed a new backpack. I paid a fellow twenty coppers for one. He cheated me. There was a hole in it. But I didn’t know that and left it at the inn while I went to call on a customer in the city. I didn’t get back till evening rice. Too late to leave by then.”

“I see. What about your companions?”

Umehara looked uneasy. “They’re strangers.”

“They arrived after you?”

“The actor must’ve come late the first night. I found him there in the kitchen when I woke up. People like that keep late hours. And Takagi came the next day after I’d left to take care of my business.”

“What about the two pieces of gold they found on you?”

His eyes widened with fear. “They were mine. I swear it.” He nearly wept again and looked at Akitada beseechingly. “I don’t like to carry loose coins, so I always change my coppers into gold. I tried to tell the constables, but they said I was lying. Your Honor, I swear I’m innocent. Buddha’s my witness.”

“Hmm. So during the night of the murder you slept on the kitchen floor with your two companions?”

Umehara nodded, sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“They were, as you said, strangers to you, yet you were not afraid that they might steal your gold?”

Again Umehara became evasive. “They looked decent enough. Just hardworking fellows like me.”

Akitada raised his brows, but only asked, “Did they get up during the night?”

“I don’t know. I sleep like the dead.”

An unfortunate remark, but Umehara apparently was not aware of it.

“So now we come to the morning after the murder. Why did you all leave the inn together before anyone was up?”

“We knew there wouldn’t be any food in the morning and wanted to make an early start.” He shook his head. “I could’ve made good money. So many customers still to visit in the northern part of the province. A lot of orders, what with winter coming. Why, I could have earned at least another gold piece. And now my money’s gone—and I’ve lost my customers, too.”

Akitada nodded to Hitomaro, who helped Umehara up and led him from the room. Akitada winced when he saw the blood stains on the back of the man’s jacket.

Tora said, “You see what I mean? That dried plum hasn’t got the willpower to say ‘boo’ to a mouse. He’d never have the get-up to kill someone.”

“It does not take much strength to slit the throat of a sick old man,” said Akitada. “A woman could do it.”

Hamaya looked up from his notes. “Besides, there were three of them.”

“The other two are worse.”

“Really? You intrigue me.” Akitada rubbed his stomach. “I grant you,” he muttered, “it’s strange that a man who faces a sentence for murder should worry about his business losses.”

Tora snorted. “If you thinkhim strange, just wait.”

The next person teetered in on tall wooden sandals. For a moment, Akitada wondered if he was looking at a woman in man’s garb. His visitor moved with painful, mincing steps and waving arms. Small and pudgy, he or she was dressed in a flamboyant silk robe and had a red silk scarf around the head. Though much younger than Umehara, the smooth, round-cheeked face made it difficult to guess age or gender. The creature collapsed in a heap in front of Akitada, raised tearful eyes and cried in a childishly high voice, “Oh, blessed Kannon, protect Okano! He cannot bear any more. He is dying!” and burst into noisy sobs.

“Who is this?” Akitada asked, astonished. “Where is Okano?”

“That’s Okano.” Tora grinned.

Hitomaro added, “He says he’s a ‘theatrical performer’ from Otsu, between engagements and on his way to visit relatives in the mountains when he was arrested.”

Okano howled pitifully. Akitada thought he detected a trace of perfume among the stench of blood and sweat.

“Is he badly injured?”

Hitomaro shrugged. “He got a beating. I’d say a bit less than Umehara.”

Okano wailed.

“I see. More wine, Tora.” Akitada shifted uncomfortably. He did not know how to deal with a weeping man, and this one was hysterical. A renewed cramping in his belly provided the excuse. “I’ll be back in a moment. Get him calmed down.”

When he returned, Okano was sitting up and smiling coyly at a scowling Hitomaro.

“I thank the Buddha for this kind officer,” the actor told Akitada. “He is the first person who has shown some feeling for poor Okano. I have been beaten and starved, humiliated and almost frozen to death in your jail, and all for no reason.”

“Not quite without reason,” Akitada said dryly. “You spent the night in a place where a murder was committed, left under cover of dark with two companions, one of whom was found in possession of the murder weapon, and you carried on your person a share of the gold taken from the victim.”

“Oh!” Okano’s eyes filled with tears again. “But I explained that. The two pieces of gold I had with me are mine, a farewell gift from a fan.” “

Akitada pursed his lips. “A rich tip indeed! What is this benefactor’s name and where does he live?”

The actor drew himself up proudly. “I cannot tell. It is a matter of honor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Akitada said coldly. “If it was a legitimate gift, there can be no harm in your telling me his name.”

“No! Never! Such a thing is never done. It is not possible between gentlemen. Here! You may torture me again, but I will not reveal my friend’s name.” He pulled open his robe and slipped it off his round pale shoulders. Angry red welts caked with blood marked his chubby chest. “Go ahead,” he wept. “Kill me!”

Akitada felt nauseated by the sight and the weeping. He snapped, “Stop making scenes and put your clothes back on!”

Okano obeyed, casting a glance over his shoulder at Hitomaro, who looked away quickly.

“Why did you confess, if you did not do it?” Akitada demanded.

“I was afraid they would kill me.”

“You arrived very late during the night before the murder?”

“Yes. Some gentlemen in a wine house asked me to perform the dance of the River Fairy, and my effort was so well received that I ended up entertaining a crowd.” He smirked.

Tora made an uncouth noise, and Hitomaro coughed. Akitada frowned at them and asked, “Why did you not continue your journey the next day?”

“It turned cold and I had no warm clothes. Since my audience was generous the night before, I decided to do some shopping and continue the day after. I bought a lovely quilted jacket. A very becoming color and pattern. White cherry blossoms on blue waves. But those animals took it away along with my gold.”

“Did you see the innkeeper while you were at the inn?”

“Only the wife, in the morning. She was leaving for a trip to the country. Just like a woman. Her husband’s ill, and she’s off.” He turned down the corners of his mouth and shook his head.

“What did you think of Umehara and Takagi?”

“Not my types. The old fellow was already asleep when I arrived, and he left before I got up. The farmer came after I went out. I didn’t really talk to them till evening.”

“Don’t evade the question! Did you trust them? Do you think them capable of murder?”

“How would I know? They seemed all right, a bit rough, especially that farmer.” Okano gave an exaggerated shudder.

“Would you have noticed, if one of your companions got up during the night? Perhaps to relieve himself?”

“Oh yes. I don’t sleep well, and the maid was snoring in her cubicle. They didn’t get up. It is too dreadful that we were the only guests. Someone arrived in the afternoon just after I got back from my shopping. I was having my bath. They made a great clatter in the entry, but I expect whoever it was didn’t like the place and left again.”

“Very well. You may go. If you recall anything useful, get word to Lieutenant Hitomaro.”

“With the greatest pleasure.” Okano rolled his eyes at the muscular Hitomaro and tittered. On the way out, he made a show of stumbling and grasped Hitomaro’s arm, but he found his hand quickly removed.

When the door had closed behind them, Tora burst out laughing. “Hitomaro’s finally made a conquest.” He swished across the room and fluted in falsetto, “‘With the greatest pleasure.’”

Akitada watched him sourly. “Okano’s another one who worries more about trivia than his life. But his accounting for the gold is as unbelievable as Umehara’s trust in total strangers.”

Tora stopped prancing. “Maybe not. In the capital, rich men take actors for lovers, and when they get tired of them, they pay them off. If they don’t, the bum-boys haunt their doorstep. Okano’s getting a bit past it as a pretty boy, so he could be telling the truth.”

“He is thirty-one according to the record, Excellency,” offered Hamaya. “And he is, of course, an outcast. By law, he was not permitted, to sleep at the inn. I expect that’s why they shaved his head.”

“They shaved his head? I suppose that explains the red scarf,” Akitada said. “Make a note to look into the matter. I do not approve of wanton cruelty toward those who cannot defend themselves.”

Hitomaro returned with the last man, the young farmer who had carried the bloodstained murder weapon among his belongings.

Unlike the other two, he walked in with a firm step, wearing nothing but a loincloth and a shirt of rough hemp which left bare his thick muscular thighs and legs and revealed a good deal of barrellike chest. With his low forehead and vacant look he reminded Akitada more of a docile beast than a man. Hitomaro had to push him down into a kneeling position, where it became obvious that the back of his shirt was soaked in fresh blood.

“Takagi, sir,” said Hitomaro. “Son of the headman of Matsuhama village in the mountains.”

The young man grinned and nodded.

“Let me see his back,” Akitada said.

Tora and Hitomaro turned the prisoner around and lifted the crimson cloth. Akitada recoiled. This man’s back was one huge open wound. It seemed impossible that a mere flogging could have done so much damage. Or that he should still be able to walk upright or kneel.

“Has he been seen by a doctor?”

Hitomaro answered. “No. They just got through with him an hour ago. He never confessed, but they ran out of bamboo canes and complained of muscle cramps. Chobei told them to take a rest and continue later.”

“Tell them I forbid it. And have a doctor sent for.”

They repositioned Takagi and covered his back again. The peasant submitted passively, staring around the room with a vacant expression.

Akitada leaned forward. “Takagi, look at me. Where did you get the gold you had?”

“Three pieces of gold.” Takagi nodded proudly, holding up three fingers. “The soldiers took the gold. I got to have it back. It belongs to the village.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s for the bowls and the oxen. My father said, ‘Takagi, go sell our bowls in the markets of Shinano province where they have much gold, and sell the oxen, too. Then we don’t have to feed them in the winter when they are no good to us.’ And so I go and I bring home three gold pieces.” He held up the three fingers again.

Akitada nodded. “A good plan. How many oxen did you take?”

“Two. To carry the bowls.”

“So you were on your way home. Why did you stop at the inn so early in the day?”

“Tired. I walk and walk, and then I rest and walk again. Sometimes I rest at night, sometimes in the day.”

“So you went to sleep at the inn as soon as you got there? Did you sleep all day?”

Takagi looked puzzled. “I wake up hungry. I ask for food, but no food. The girl is with the mistress. So I go to the market and buy noodles. For a copper. The coppers are mine to keep. The gold belongs to the village. Will you give it back? I have to go home.”

“What time was it when you saw the mistress?”

He leaned his head back and studied the ceiling. His plain face contorted with the effort, but he finally said, “Don’t know.”

“Where was her husband?”

The face became blank. “Husband?”

“How did you get the knife?”

He began to frown deeply again, then smiled. “I know. The knife was from the kitchen.”

“How do you know?”

Takagi frowned again and scratched his head. “A nice big one.” He held his hands apart about a foot. “The girl is cutting a big radish with a little bit of a knife for our dinner. The big knife is better for big radish.”

“So!” Akitada slammed his fist on his writing table, “Confess! You liked the big knife so well you stole it. And that night you started looking for something else to steal and found the innkeeper ill in his room. You killed him, took his money, sharing it with the other two so they would keep quiet, and the three of you made your escape. And you kept the nice large knife for a souvenir.” He straightened up and added coldly, “Confess now, and the law will be merciful.”

Takagi looked dully at him, shaking his head from side to side. “Stealing is wrong. Demons bite off your hands.” He held out his big, work-scarred paws. “See? I didn’t steal.”

“Then how did the knife get in your bundle?”

Takagi looked blank again.

“What did you do with your bundle at the inn?”

“The girl said to put it in the kitchen. When I walk, I carry it on a stick over my shoulder.”

“Did you take it to the market with you?”

“No. The maid said to leave it behind the rice basket.”

“Weren’t you afraid someone might take your gold pieces?”

Takagi laughed out loud. “No gold in bundle. Oh no. Father said, ‘Put gold inside scarf and tie it around your waist.’“ He patted his middle and remembered his loss. “Three pieces of gold. Will you give them back?”

Akitada stared hard at the farmer and then waved to Hitomaro to take him away. “I wonder,” he muttered to Tora. “Someone must have seen these three in the market. They’re memorable enough.”

“And how! I don’t know about the other two, but it looks bad for Takagi. He’s not too bright. The fool admitted that he saw the knife and liked it.”

“True, that was not very bright, but it gives his story a certain convincing ring. And remember, of the three he is the only one who did not confess. You were right. Not one of the three is the criminal type. Umehara seems just what he claims to be, a middle-aged traveling salesman. Any number of locals may be able to testify to his character. Perhaps the magistrate will make an effort to verify his story, and that of the others, but I’m beginning to have my doubts. The actor Okano is afraid of his own shadow, and the peasant is slow-witted enough to believe that demons punish people for crimes. I cannot imagine who accepted that ridiculous tale that they are members of a gang.” He sighed. “I am convinced. We must check into the case.” Giving Tora a quizzical look, he added, “I expect you are just the man to talk to the maid at the inn.”

Tora jumped up eagerly.

“Not so fast. You haven’t shown much diplomacy so far, and I am very reluctant to interfere with a properly appointed judge in the execution of his duty. Only the thought of having this kind of abuse going on makes me intervene. Be very careful about what you say or do.”

Before Tora could depart, Hitomaro came in to announce a visitor. The new arrival was a warrior in full armor bearing the Uesugi crest. He had a strip of white cotton tied about his helmet.

“A messenger from Takata, sir,” Hitomaro said unnecessarily.

Akitada looked at the white cotton band and sat up. “Speak,” he told the man.

The warrior knelt and bowed snappily. “This humble person announces the death of the great Lord of Takata, Uesugi Maro, High Constable of Echigo, Barbarian-Subduing General, and head of his clan. May the Buddha guide his soul to paradise.”

The news was not unexpected, and Akitada made a suitably pious response, adding, “Tell his son, the new lord, that I shall express my condolences formally and in person.”

When the messenger had left, Akitada looked at his lieutenants. “This changes everything. We must not lose any more time. I want both of you to go out immediately. You, Tora, will ask questions in the market and go to the inn to talk to the maid. I have decided to investigate the handling of criminal cases. The official reason will be suspicion of negligence by the court. Judge Hisamatsu will have to explain the abuse of suspects among other things.