Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Akitada’s brows contracted in an angry scowl. “Things have gone far in this godforsaken province. Not only am I prevented from upholding the law, but there is a conspiracy afoot to harbor criminals right under our nose.” He fell into a gloomy abstraction. “Worse and worse!” he muttered. “The Uesugi govern, the merchants are gangster bosses, and outcasts hide all those criminals who are not already protected by the other two factions. Where does that leave us?”

“Out in the cold,” quipped Tora, opening a shutter and peering up at the sky. A blast of freezing air blew in.

“Close that,” Akitada snapped, “and pay attention!”

“Things may not be as hopeless as they seem, sir,” Hitomaro said. “I think the outcasts are fighting the Uesugi in their own way. And I’ve found them very decent people. They not only took care of me, but they also tend to a madwoman there. Spooky creature. She’s Kaoru’s grandmother and a soothsayer. She kept looking at me and babbling about blood and murder.”

Akitada said grudgingly, “Well, we are in their debt for helping you, in any case.”

“And none of the small tradesmen will have anything to do with Sunada.”

Akitada sighed. “Yes, that is good. I must be patient.”

“What about Kaoru, sir?” Hitomaro asked.

“When he comes, bring him to me. At least he’s not likely to be working for Uesugi. If he is moderately intelligent and does not help our prisoners to escape, you may train him to replace that rascal Chobei. Now you had both better get on with preparations for our first court session.”

“Sir?” Hitomaro avoided Akitada’s eyes. “May I have a few hours off this afternoon? It, er, concerns the outcasts.”

Akitada opened his mouth to ask for details but, thinking better of it, he nodded. His lieutenants left.

As soon as they were gone, Seimei came in. He gave Akitada an anxious look and asked, “How about a nice cup of herbal tea, sir? I know you don’t like the taste, but I found some honey.”

“No need, Seimei. I feel much better, but if you are free, there is some work.”

For the next hour they drafted the notices to be posted around town, set the clerks to work copying them, prepared a list of witnesses Akitada wanted called, and wrote instructions about the arrangements for the hearing. When they were done, Seimei left to get matters organized.

At midday one of the junior clerks brought Akitada a bowl of rice gruel and some pickled vegetables. He ate hungrily and took another of Oyoshi’s pills with the wine. For the first time in days his stomach felt pleasantly full, and a general sensation of well-being pervaded his body.

After his meal, he just sat quietly, savoring the return of his health. He found he was once again looking forward to the challenges ahead. Now that he had begun to take action, he felt confident of establishing control over the province. The hearing on Sato’s murder would be the first step. He would show the local people how things were supposed to be done. And Uesugi was little more than a silly, posturing border lord. Only the distance from the capital and the venality of past governors had kept him in power. His good times were over.

Into this euphoria walked Judge Hisamatsu. Announced by Hamaya, he entered, bowed stiffly, and took the seat offered by Akitada.

“Your visit is very welcome,” Akitada said with a smile. “I have wanted to greet you officially, Hisamatsu. As you may have heard, my own background is also in law. May I ask when you attended the university?”

Hisamatsu, who had been glowering, gulped. “Ah, quite a few years ago, Excellency. I don’t believe we could have met,” he said frostily.

“No, perhaps not. Do you recall the names of any of your law professors?”

Hisamatsu waved this away. “Names. What are names? But I shall never forget their teachings. Their wisdom is with me every day.”

“Ah, no doubt you studied under Ogata, then.”

Hisamatsu hesitated just a fraction, then said, “Of course. What a legal scholar!”

Satisfied that Hisamatsu had not attended the imperial university, which had never had anyone by the name Ogata teaching there, Akitada relaxed. “This province seems backward in many ways. No doubt there is much lawlessness and you are kept very busy.”

Hisamatsu gave a small laugh. “Oh, yes. Very busy. I earn my salary many times over.”

Akitada nodded and looked thoughtful. “I was afraid of that. I, on the other hand, seem to have few cases to occupy my time.”

Too late Hisamatsu saw the trap. “Oh, I am perfectly capable of handling the caseload, Excellency. And that brings me to the matter I wished to discuss.”

Akitada faked surprise. “Forgive me. I misunderstood your purpose. I thought this was merely a courtesy visit.”

Hisamatsu flushed. “Yes, yes. That, and, well, it has come to my attention—just today, as a matter of fact—that your Excellency has taken an interest in a minor case of mine.”

“I cannot imagine what you mean.”

“The murder of a local innkeeper?”

Akitada chuckled. “I see. You were joking. A minor case? Very funny. Well, actually, it looked interesting to me. Complicated. I rather enjoy complicated cases, don’t you?”

Hisamatsu blustered, “Your pardon, Excellency, but you must have been misinformed. The case is very simple and straightforward. We have the culprits in jail. They have confessed. All that is left is for me to pronounce sentence.”

“Ah, Hisamatsu, I thought perhaps you had jumped to conclusions there. A good thing I checked into it. We can’t have a miscarriage of justice at the beginning of my tenure here, you know. How would it look? The people have a right to be reassured that they can place their trust in their new governor.”

Hisamatsu was becoming angry. “Miscarriage of justice? I fail to see how you can charge such a thing. Confessions, Excellency. We got confessions. Really, I do not understand what all the fuss is about. It will be very much better if you just let the law take its course.”

“Better for whom, Hisamatsu?”

“Why, for everyone. Justice must be served. The victim demands it. The widow demands it. The people of this province demand it.”

“What about the accused? You have arrested three men. Shall they be given justice? No, no, Hisamatsu. In this case due process has not been served. Only two of the men have confessed, and then after the most brutal beatings. I myself have seen their wounds. I trust you are familiar with the regulations pertaining to torture of prisoners?”

Hisamatsu looked startled. “If those constables have exceeded their duty, I shall certainly have them punished.” He paused. “But this will make no difference, for the accused will repeat their confessions in my court. The evidence is clear.”

“Possibly Okano and Umehara will do so. They are as timid as mice. But Takagi will not confess. In any case, you are not ready to hear the case. You have yet to check the three men’s testimony.”

“Check what?” yelped Hisamatsu. “They confessed. They had the gold and the knife. And Takagi is retarded. You don’t expect a brute like that to cooperate right away?”

“The law states that you must have confessions to find men guilty.”

“Trust me, Takagi will confess.”

Akitada said dryly, “Yes, I suppose you will find a way. But your way is not mine. And I will investigate the case myself.”

Hisamatsu’s high color changed to purple. “What? You can’t do that. There’s no precedent. It’s ... it’s not legal.”

“I fear, Hisamatsu, that I have a better notion of the law than you. In the future, confine yourself to really minor cases and make certain that transcripts of all your findings are submitted to me before judgment.”

Hisamatsu shot up. “That is insulting. I serve under the high constable.”

Akitada looked up at him and shook his head sadly. “The high constable has died—or hadn’t you heard? And I have no intention of appointing another until I am convinced that this province is loyal to his Majesty. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Hisamatsu made a choking sound, bowed, and left.

Akitada smiled and got up. He stretched and walked to a small carved chest. After rummaging in it, he pulled out a narrow brocade case and a notebook and carried them back to his desk. Undoing the silk cord of the brocade case, he lovingly removed a plain bamboo flute and turned it in his hand. He had not played since the capital. For some reason neither his wife nor any one else in his household had shown much interest in flute music. A pity.

He really felt extraordinarily well after his meeting with Hisamatsu. The man had folded quickly when faced with firm authority. The present troubles would soon be past.

He lifted the flute to his lips and blew experimentally.

Ah! The fullness of its sound! His heart lifted. He opened the notebook and studied a page. Perhaps he would begin with a passage from “Cicadas in the Pine Trees.”

Halfway through the first scale, the door flew open and Hamaya burst in, his two assistants peering wide-eyed over his shoulders. Akitada lowered his flute. Their expressions changed from shock to intense embarrassment.

“Yes?”

Hamaya turned to the other two and motioned them away. To Akitada he said with a bow, “Forgive the intrusion, sir, but the sound was so unexpected that we thought... we were afraid ... please forgive the interruption.”

“I was only playing my flute,” Akitada explained, holding it up. “The song is called ‘Cicadas in the Pine Trees.’ Here, if you listen carefully, you can distinguish the cicada’s cry.” He lifted the flute and produced a series of shrill squeaks and grating rasps.

“Indeed, sir,” stammered Hamaya, “it does sound something like, that is, just like ... I must return to work.” Bowing again, he retreated and closed the door softly.

Akitada stared after him. Curious. It was almost as if they had never heard flute music before. He shook his head. What a godforsaken province this was! Well, they would soon learn to appreciate it. He returned to his practice.

♦

In the private rooms, Tamako was sipping tea with Seimei. He had reported that her husband seemed quite well again, much to her relief because she knew he had not come to bed the night before. Now they heard the squeal of the flute and looked at each other. Tamako smiled.

“Oh, I am so glad. He is better. Was it something you gave him?”

Seimei frowned. “No. He has not taken any of my infusions. He can be very stubborn. Against unreason even the Buddha cannot prevail.”

♦

Outside, Tora and Hitomaro, on their way from the constables’ barracks, stopped and looked at each other.

“He’s started again,” said Tora in a tone of horror. “It’s that devil’s instrument. People will say he’s mad. As if we didn’t have enough trouble. I wish he’d left the cursed thing in the capital.”

Hitomaro, who was in an unusually good mood, laughed. “Don’t complain, brother. It means he’s feeling better.” He looked up at the sun. “I must go, but I should be back for the evening rice.”

Tora watched him stride out the gate. Something was up with Hito. He had never seen him so excited. Or so concerned with his appearance. One would almost swear he was on his way to meet a girl.

♦

Several hours after Akitada had wrapped up his flute again and returned to his paperwork, he was startled by the loud clanging of the bell outside the tribunal gate. This was meant to be rung by persons who wished to lay a complaint against someone or report a crime. Finally! He sat up in anticipation.

Hamaya showed in three people. “Mr. Oshima and his wife, sir, and their daughter, Mrs. Sato,” he announced, looking unhappy. “Mrs. Sato is the widow of the slain innkeeper.”

The elderly couple in their neat cotton gowns knelt and bowed their heads to the mats. The young woman lifted her veil, then followed their example more slowly and gracefully. Akitada tried not to stare. She was quite beautiful and wore silk, very inappropriate for the widow of a mere innkeeper. But his primary reaction was disappointment. No new case after all. Still, at least these people acknowledged his authority.

“You may sit up,” he told them, “and inform me of your business.”

The parents settled themselves on their knees and cleared their throats. They cast uneasy glances at Akitada’s official brocade robe, at the elegant lacquer writing set and the document stacks on the desk, and at the thick, silk-trimmed floor mats– Akitada’s own property, which his wife had insisted on installing when she saw his office.

“Don’t be afraid,” Akitada said pleasantly. “I am glad you came and will do my best to help you.”

The old man murmured, “It’s our daughter, your Honor. She says that her husband’s death must be avenged because she’s troubled by his spirit.”

Astonished, Akitada asked, “The dead man’s ghost appears to her?”

“My husband’s ghost resides in our inn,” said the widow in a surprisingly firm voice. “He’s everywhere, in all the dark corners. I live in fear that one of the guests will see him. And at night he hovers over me as I lie on my mat. Sometimes I hear his blood dripping. I have not slept since he died.” She touched a sleeve to her eyes.

“But surely you should call an exorcist.”

“Of course I did that. It was no use.”

Akitada frowned. “I don’t see how I can be helpful.”

The widow’s chin came up and her eyes flashed. “Where am I to find justice, if not from the law? And is not the tribunal the place where we have our wrongs redressed? Ghosts walk only when murder goes unpunished.”

Akitada thought her manner lacking in respect and humility, but he only remarked, “I assure you, madam, I am giving your case my personal attention. The day after tomorrow I shall preside over a public hearing of the matter. You would have been notified shortly.”

“A hearing?” she cried, a flush staining her porcelainlike complexion. “What good is a hearing? The criminals have confessed and must be sentenced.”

The old lady gave a frightened cry. She scooted a little closer to Akitada’s desk and bowed deeply. “Please forgive my daughter’s bad manners,” she murmured. “It is her grief and worry speaking. We came to town for a visit and saw the notices. It is merely to ask about them that we came, your Honor.”

Akitada opened his mouth, but Mrs. Sato was quicker. “No!” she cried. “I have no more patience. I want justice now. And since I’m not getting it, I am filing a complaint.”

Akitada’s mouth snapped shut. He locked eyes with the widow. She did not lower hers, and he read a challenge in her set face which told him negotiations were futile. Suddenly there was no doubt in his mind that this was the beginning of a well-planned campaign. “Very well,” he said coldly. “It is your right to do so. See my clerk. But you will all three attend the hearing anyway.”

* * * *

EIGHT

MOURNING THE DEAD

C

louds of incense drifted between the massive pillars, obscuring the carved and gilded ceiling beams and putting a haze over the black robes of the monks and the dark clothing of the mourners. The sweet smell overwhelmed the senses, and the hum of sutra chanting, the clanging of gongs, and the chiming of cymbals floated on the air in gentle waves. The celebrants circled and spun in a graceful ritual dance, and Akitada’s eyes closed and his fingers began to move in accompaniment on an imaginary flute.

Abbot Hokko, seated next to him, cleared his throat softly, and Akitada returned to reality, guiltily plunging his hands into his voluminous sleeves. The ceremony was drawing to its end, and not a moment too soon. Two hours of prayers, readings, and making reverent bows to the coffin of the late high constable, to the statue of the Buddha, and to Lord Makio, the chief mourner, were beginning to take their toll on Akitada who had been up most of the night preparing for the hearing.

He looked at the solitary, motionless figure of the new lord for a moment. Makio wore full armor, lacquered red and gold and laced with deep purple silk. He sat holding his black helmet with the gilded studs stiffly in front of him. His only concession to mourning was a white silk sash draped across his chest. He had not moved a muscle or changed his stern expression throughout the ceremony. Akitada knew that the wearing of the armor carried a message to himself. More important, his adversary was a man capable of great self-control. It would be a mistake to underestimate the new lord of Takata.

Akitada glanced at the long line of mourners from the Uesugi household. Some wore armor with the Uesugi crest prominently displayed and white mourning armbands, but the rest were in dark robes and the hempen jackets required for a funeral of the head of the clan. Their faces showed reverence or indifference, as the case might be, but no grief. The exception was a small boy at the end of the front row of male retainers and upper servants. His soft face was blotchy from weeping, and he sat sunken in despair, the stiff hemp enveloping him like a strange cocoon. A grandson? No, Makio had no children. Perhaps the old lord had befriended the child of a retainer and thus earned for himself the tears of affection none of the others were able to shed.

Akitada caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. A gray mouse had scurried from one of the pillars and ventured into the open space in front of the mourners. There it paused, twitching its nose. A half suppressed gurgle came from the child. He put a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. Their eyes met and Akitada smiled, nodding at the mouse. To his delight, the boy lowered his hand and gave him a conspiratorial grin and a wink.

The ceremony ended and the mouse reconsidered and dashed back into its hole. The mourners filed out of the temple hall into the bright sunlight, where a carefully orchestrated cortege assembled to accompany the body of Lord Maro to its final resting place in the family tomb near Takata manor. The Uesugi held on to an old family tradition of burying their dead.

Akitada had already expressed his condolences to Makio before lending his official presence to the ceremony. He was not expected to attend the burial, but out of respect he could not rush off before the mourners.

He stood near the corner of the great temple hall and watched the milling crowd. A spirited black horse was led forward and Makio climbed onto its back—not without some difficulties, Akitada noted with secret satisfaction. It took three men to control the beast and lead it to its proper place in the line.

Someone tugged at his sleeve.

It was the small boy. He asked, “Is it true that you are the governor?”

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“Will you help me find Grandfather?”

For a moment Akitada was confused. His heart contracted and he looked at the coffin which had been placed inside an elaborate palanquin and was being hoisted onto the shoulders of strong bearers. “Your grandfather?” he asked uncertainly.

“Grandfather did not come back from Lord Maro’s room the night the great lord died. I looked everywhere and asked everybody. Nobody could tell me. Then Kaibara-san told me Grandfather had gone into the mountains to mourn his master. But Grandfather would have said good-bye to me.”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears and his lip quivered, but he controlled himself well. How old could he be, eight or nine? He looked frail, but his large mourning robe had something to do with that.

“What is your grandfather’s name and position?”

“He’s called Hideo, sir. He served the old lord. Grandfather was the only one to take care of him. Grandfather loved the great lord. He was very sad he was dying, but he would never, never have gone away without me. Please, sir, you must believe me.” A sob escaped the boy.

Akitada bent down to put his arm around the narrow shoulders, but another arm intervened and snatched the boy up. Kaibara.

“Sorry, Excellency,” said the Uesugi steward. “The youngster is a nuisance. I hope he has not troubled you?”

“Not at all, Kaibara. I am very fond of children,” said Akitada with a smile—which slowly faded as he stood looking after them.

♦

Tora and Hitomaro looked surprised to be called to Akitada’s office as soon as he returned from the funeral. Hitomaro’s bruises had darkened, but he seemed otherwise fit again. Akitada had changed from his official court robe into a hunting coat and boots and told them to saddle three horses.

“Where are we going?” Tora asked.

“To Takata. Hurry. There isn’t much time.”

The sun was bright in the cold blue sky, and the earth beneath the horses’ hooves so hard that they made good time. When they approached the stronghold, they caught sight of the tail end of the funeral cortege in the distance as it entered the village below.

“Come,” Akitada called to his lieutenants. “Let’s strike out across the fields. I want to have a look at the back of Uesugi’s place. The woods will be our cover.”

Tora and Hitomaro exchanged glances and felt for their swords.

Once they entered the trees, they had to slow their horses. Here the snow still lay in drifts and obscured pathways and fallen branches. In a short while they were lost.

“We’d better lead the horses, sir,” Hitomaro said. “It’ll be faster and safer.”

Akitada agreed, and they moved forward cautiously, guessing at the direction and looking for a thinning of the trees.

Tora stumbled over a root and cursed. “You’d think there would be some roads or paths through this forest. We must be getting close.”

“I expect in times of war, guards patrolled the area,” Akitada said, “but the province has been peaceful for generations. I hope we don’t come across any tracks.”

This was too much for Tora, who had been bursting with curiosity since they left the city. “Why not? What’s this all about?”

“Patience. Ah, I can see the sky over there. We must be coming out of the forest.”

They emerged on the rugged edge of a deep ravine separating the forest from the steep hillside and saw above them the north side of Takata manor.

“Amida,” breathed Tora. “That’s steep. Only a spider could get up there, and it’d have to learn to fly across this ravine first.”

“Do you see the roof jutting out over there?” Akitada pointed. “That is the north pavilion. I want to get close enough to see if anything has been tossed from the gallery above, but we will stay in the cover of the trees as long as possible.”

Hitomaro said, “I doubt anybody’s looking down. They’ll all be at the interment, sir.”

Akitada looked anxiously at the sky. It was clouding over. “I hope so,” he muttered, “but we have lost too much time in the forest. Come on.”

When they reached the area just below the north pavilion, they saw only heavy, undisturbed mounds of snow in the shade of the steep cliff, and the ravine was even wider here.

“I don’t see a thing,” Tora said. “Do you want us to climb down and find a way up the other side?” He did not sound enthusiastic.

Akitada hesitated, looking up at the sky again and studying the gallery above. There was no sign of movement.

He was just about to call off the search when there was a whirring sound followed by a sudden rush of something white among the trees behind them. They took immediate cover behind their horses, and loosened their swords.

A whistle sounded, and some branches cracked. Then silence.

“We are trapped here,” muttered Akitada. “The ravine is behind us.”

“And swords aren’t much use against arrows,” Hitomaro added. “If I’m not much mistaken, that was an arrow we heard.”

They tried to keep their horses quiet and waited.

Suddenly the shrubbery near them parted and a fierce shaggy animal appeared, its ears laid back, and its nose slowly wrinkling up to reveal ferocious teeth. It growled and crouched. The horses backed nervously.

“A white wolf,” Tora gasped. He drew his sword and fumbled for his amulet. Dropping the reins, he jumped forward.

“No, brother!” cried Hitomaro, snatching at the reins as Tora’s horse reared. “It’s a dog. It’s White Bear.” He called to the dog, then shouted, “Ho, Kaoru!” The dog raised its ears, then looked back over its shoulder.

They heard a shout from the forest, and then a tall young man dressed in furs appeared. He was carrying a longbow and a dead rabbit, and he grinned at Hitomaro. “It’s you again, is it?” Taking in their defensive posture, he chuckled. “I see you were expecting hostilities, but it was just me shooting a rabbit.” He held it up.

“This is Kaoru,” said Hitomaro to Akitada.

Akitada nodded. “Yes, I gathered that. I am Sugawara Akitada, the governor, and this is Tora, my other lieutenant. We are grateful for the assistance you gave Hitomaro.”

Kaoru’s teeth flashed. Tossing back his long hair, he bowed. “It was nothing, Excellency. Are you lost?”

“Not really. I have reason to suspect that something was thrown from that gallery above, but there doesn’t seem to be a way to get to the other side.”

“Some object?” Kaoru stared at Akitada, then looked up at the pavilion. He muttered, “By the Buddha!” then said, “Follow me. I know a path.”

They tied up their horses, leaving Kaoru’s dog to guard them, and climbed down into the ravine. As Akitada picked his way among the loose rubble, he scrutinized the ground, following Kaoru, who had found a rough trail leading up the other side.

Once there, they moved slowly along the foot of the massive rocks, poking at the snow piles with their swords. Kaoru was slightly ahead when he suddenly stopped beside a small mound. Akitada compressed his lips. He joined him and bent to brush away the snow. Clothing appeared, stiffened by frost, and then the snow turned red, and there was a thin, aged hand, made rigid by death and the cold, with frozen blood caking the fingers and palm.

“Amida! A corpse!” gasped Tora. “Wonder how long it’s been there.”

“Since the night of the banquet,” Akitada said, cleaning more blood-soaked snow away with Kaoru’s help. The body belonged to an old man. His thin white hair was encrusted with ice and blood, as was the face except for patches of skin discolored by purplish-blue bruises. The eyes stared sightlessly at the sky above, and the mouth gaped in a permanent silent scream. His limbs lay at odd angles and the body had twisted unnaturally. A pool of blood had frozen to the earth under the corpse.

“It’s old Hideo,” said Kaoru, bowing his head. “Poor old man. He was the old lord’s personal attendant.”

Tora stared up the looming gallery above them, and said accusingly to Akitada, “You expected to find him, didn’t you? Did he fall or jump?”

“Neither, I suspect, though we cannot be certain it wasn’t an accident.”

Tora frowned. “He could’ve jumped. If he was a faithful servant to the old man all his life, he might want to kill himself after his master died. It would bring honor to his family and makes more sense than an accident. He’s lived here all his life. How could he tumble over that high balustrade?”

Kaoru fidgeted, and Akitada did not answer immediately. He cleaned off the old man’s face with gentle fingers. The skin was broken and puffy about the jaw and cheekbones. And the bruising suggested a systematic beating rather than the sort of haphazard damage done by a fall. Akitada bent to inspect both hands. Bloody crystals had formed around the fingertips. He breathed on a thumb until the ice melted.

“Ah!” he murmured and removed a small sliver from under the fingernail.

“What is it?” Tora leaned forward curiously.

Akitada dabbed at the fragment with a bit of saliva. “Wood.”

“What’s it doing under his nails?” Tora bent closer. “There’s blood under the other fingernails, too. Holy Amida! When I was a soldier, they caught a fellow spying. They drove bamboo slivers under the nails of his fingers and toes to make him talk. You think this poor guy’s been tortured?”

Akitada straightened up, looking puzzled. “Perhaps, but not the way you think. The nails are broken and torn, and so is the skin of his fingers and palms. I believe he was questioned and beaten, but he hurt his hands when he was heaved over the balustrade and tried in vain to grasp at something. I wonder what he knew. And if he talked, and to whom.”

They all stood and stared down at the contorted face of the dead man. There was terror in its expression, but also something else, stubbornness, even a sort of exultation.

“He didn’t talk,” said Hitomaro. “Not this one.” He asked Akitada, “Do you think Makio did this?”

“Who knows? But we must leave him here. This is Uesugi territory. I have no jurisdiction in Takata.”

Hitomaro and Tora protested, and Akitada raised a hand. “Wait. Perhaps there is a way.” He turned to Kaoru, who had remained silent. He looked grim now, and the cheerful smile was gone.

“You knew and liked this man?” Akitada asked him.

Kaoru nodded.

“I believe he was murdered. If you want to see justice done, I will need your help.”

“I want justice. What do you want me to do?”

“You would have to bring the body into the city, ring the bell outside the tribunal to report a crime, and later testify in a court hearing. Think before you agree, because the murderer may be someone close to the Lord of Takata and will almost certainly try to prevent this. He may even turn on your family. And I shall be unable to protect you or them.”

The woodsman met his eyes. “I’m no friend to the Lord of Takata, and a man’s life is useless unless he can be of service to his people.”

“Good,” said Akitada. “I am grateful for your help. But you will need a horse, and we cannot offer you one of ours.”

“I can borrow one.”

Akitada reached into his belt for some silver, but the woodsman held up a hand. “No money is needed among friends.”

Akitada nodded. “Forgive me. Hitomaro tells me that you might be willing to serve as sergeant of constables?”

A strange, almost mocking smile passed over the young man’s face, but he said quite humbly, “I would welcome the opportunity if you think me capable.”

Akitada nodded. “Well, let’s see how you handle your first assignment.” He glanced up at the sky. “We must return now, but you had better start your journey after dark.”

Kaoru bowed, and they parted. When they reached the other side of the ravine, Akitada looked back. The woodcutter had removed his fur vest and was laying it gently over the corpse’s face before covering him again with snow.