Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Seimei nodded several times, and Tora dropped him. “Go back to your precious tribunal. I don’t care,” Tora flung over his shoulder and walked out of the courtyard.

Seimei looked around at the hostile eyes watching him. The Rat turned his back. He had chosen to stay. “Wait, I’m coming,” Seimei shouted and ran.

He had to trot to keep up with Tora’s long strides. After a few minutes, he asked timidly, “What happened to the girl?”

Without slowing down, Tora said hoarsely, “Cut up! Her throat slit all the way to the neck bone. The rest of her ...” He glanced at Seimei and said, “Well, she’s been cut all over. The bastard tied her up and stuffed her shift in her mouth first to keep her from screaming while he had his fun. There’s an awful lot of blood. Puddles of it. Smeared all over the walls and soaked into the curtain! She was bleeding to death before he cut her throat.”

“Horrible!” gasped Seimei. “But why are they saying your friend did it?”

“Because the landlady saw Hidesato with Jasmin. They had a fight. She says the last thing she heard when she was leaving was him shouting, ‘Then you’re better off dead!’“

“People say such things without meaning them.”

“Tell that to the constables and the prefect,” growled Tora. “Officials don’t waste time on dead whores and common soldiers.” They had reached a quiet street, and Tora stopped in front of another tenement. “I guess this is the place. The landlady says Hidesato paid up Jasmin’s rent because she was moving in here with him.”

They found Hidesato sweeping the floor of an empty room. Some rolled-up grass mats stood near the door, and his clothes chest, with his armor and sword lying on top, was pushed against a wall. A brand-new roll of bedding lay in a corner.

“Tora!” Hidesato dropped the broom to embrace Tora, giving Seimei a nod and a smile. “Come in. How’d you find me so quick?” He unrolled the mats and spread them out for them to sit on. “Sorry I haven’t got anything to offer you. I’m getting the place ready for Jasmin!” He smiled happily. “Guess what, Tora. Now that I’ve got a sergeant’s pay, she’s finally given in. I’m going to be a married man.”

Tora looked around the bare room and bit his lip. “Her landlady said you had a fight with Jasmin. Did you tell her she was better off dead?”

“So that old bat was snooping again. Well, you know how women are. Jasmin was hard to convince. I guess I lost my temper a bit. But she came around in the end.”

Tora looked down. “Hidesato, Jasmin’s not coming.”

Hidesato’s grin faded. “You’re joking and it’s not funny. It is a joke ... isn’t it?”

Tora shook his head without looking up. Hidesato’s eyes went to Seimei, who began to inch out the door.

“What happened?”

Tora said, “I’m sorry, Hito. I wish I didn’t have to tell you.”

Hidesato turned pale. “That bastard hurt her again.”

“She’s dead, Hito.”

“She’s dead? Jasmin’s dead? It can’t be. I just saw her a couple of hours ago.”

“Someone got to her, cut her up, and left,” said Tora. “The landlady thinks it was you.”

Hidesato was on his feet. “Cut her up? I’ve got to go to her. Maybe she’s just hurt.”

Tora clasped his arm. “No. I saw her.”

With a wild look, Hidesato shook him off and made for the door. Tora tackled him, and they both fell to the floor. “She’s dead, Hidesato!” roared Tora. “You can’t go back there. They’ve called for the prefect and you’ll be arrested!”

The fight went out of Hidesato abruptly. He rolled onto his stomach and sobbed, pounding the floor with his fists.

They watched him in silence. Finally Tora put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You can’t stay here. The old bat has this address. I’m taking you to Higekuro’s for a few days till we get this cleared up. You remember my mentioning the crippled wrestler?”

Hidesato sat up. He looked dazed, his face wet with tears.

“Put a bundle together,” urged Tora.

Hidesato shook his head. “Why bother? Just let them arrest me. Nothing I touch ever turns out right. You’ll just get yourself and your friend in trouble.”

“Shut up and move!” snapped Tora. Hidesato stumbled up and looked vacantly around the room. Tora cursed, kicked the trunk open, found a large kerchief, and started tossing clothes into it. When he had enough, he knotted everything into a bundle and handed it to Hidesato. “Go take a look outside, Seimei,” he said, “and call if the street’s clear.”

Seimei rushed to obey. It was quite dark by now, but the street was empty. He gave the signal that all was safe.

Tora stopped on the way to buy two cheap paper lanterns from a vendor near the market before heading north. Between the blind walls of tenements and private homes, they passed side streets that opened like black tunnels into the unknown. At one of these they turned off toward Higekuro’s neighborhood. None of them felt like talking.

When they reached the wrestling school, Hidesato stopped. “I’ll kill the bastard, if it’s the last thing I do!”

Tora said quickly, “No, brother! That’s not the way. My master and I, we’ll find who did this. Why pay with your life for his?”

After a moment Hidesato nodded and allowed himself to be led inside.

To Seimei’s relief they did not stay after the introductions and explanations. He met the crippled wrestler and his daughters and thought it was as strange a household as he had ever seen and well suited to accommodate a fugitive like Hidesato. As for himself, he wanted nothing so much as to be in the familiar surroundings of their tribunal quarters.

But when they reached the tribunal, Tora walked right past it. Seimei cried out, “Where are you going? We’re home.”

“I’m going to talk to that prefect.”

“The prefect? Not now, Tora. I’m worried about the master. Or at least...couldn’t you go without me?”

Tora was immovable. “No,” he said. “You’re coming with me. Your proper robe and hat will get us past the constables and clerks.”

“Surely the prefect won’t be back yet.” Tora did not answer, and Seimei gave in, muttering merely, “So now you see how important a person’s clothes are.”

But the clerks and constables at the prefecture were too busy to be impressed by Seimei’s appearance. They were running about, shuffling Seimei and Tora from one brusque clerk to another. Finally a thin and tired-looking young man said, “It’s been such a night! First a maniac loose in the prostitution quarter, then the Tachibana case. I’m afraid the prefect will not be back for a while. Can I help?”

Painstakingly, Tora told the story of his encounter with Scarface and his thugs, then mentioned the Rat’s story about Jasmin being beaten by Scarface. The young clerk’s eyes narrowed as he listened. He said, “That does sound like very important information. You were quite right to come here immediately. If you will sit down over there, I’ll see to it that His Honor is informed as soon as he returns.”

Seimei and Tora sat. And sat. And finally fell to dozing. Some time much later the thin young clerk came and shook Seimei’s shoulder. “The prefect has retired for the night,” he said, looking apologetic. “He will want to talk to both of you, but I thought you might like to go home for a few hours’ sleep and come back in the morning.”

Tora staggered up. “In the name of a thousand demons...” he started furiously. The young clerk backed away and two drowsy constables came wide awake, reaching for their chains.

“No, Tora!” said Seimei. “Remember what you told Hidesato. The master will take care of it.”

Muttering curses against all lazy, crooked officials, Tora submitted.

Their quarters were dark when they got back. Seimei kicked off his shoes and opened the door quietly, shading his lantern. Tora was still taking off his boots when he heard Seimei cry out.

“The master! Quick, Tora! Something is wrong with the master.”

* * * *

SIXTEEN

AWAKENING

A

kitada was ill for three days. During this interval he was watched with the greatest anxiety by Seimei, Tora, and Motosuke. Servants and physicians came and went. The prognosis went from desperate to hopeful, and still the three watchers persisted, leaving only for meals or urgent business.

When Akitada finally came back to full awareness of himself and his surroundings, he happened to be alone. Sunlight filtered through the wooden lattices and fell in broad rectangles across his chest and bedding. Faint, pleasant traces of incense lurked in the air and dust motes danced in the sunlight.

Akitada’s first sense of himself was one of lightness, of floating almost. Intensely aware of the pleasurable warmth of the bedding and of the sun on his chest, he sighed. He had woken from a dream, one of many, he thought, but in this one he had been walking with Ayako, first in a mountain meadow, then through the grounds of a temple. Their hands had touched, and she had smiled at him.

The sun! It must be midday already, and he had missed their regular meeting.

Akitada sat up too suddenly, and the sunlit room turned black. Falling back with a groan, he remembered his illness the night before. He clearly was still in no condition to go to Ayako. Tora would have to take a message later.

He lay wondering idly where Tora and Seimei were and looked around the room. It had been cleaned, for he recalled vomiting before he had fallen asleep. Perhaps Tora had already gone to Higekuro’s and told them of his illness.

She would worry about him. The thought pleased him, and he smiled, wondering if what he felt was love. Their lovemaking had become more passionate each time they met, and they had fallen into an easy, affectionate familiarity with each other. The thought of parting from Ayako terrified him. For a foolish, dizzy moment, he imagined himself settling down here, as a judge perhaps, and raising a family with Ayako.

But he knew he had a duty to his mother and sisters and could not choose this happy exile, for exile it would be when neither Ayako nor their children could ever return to the capital. He closed his eyes and remembered their last meeting. She had leaned over him, both of them naked, their skin moist from steam and their passion. Her eyes had been dreamy, half-closed, and she had bent down till her lips had touched his face. She had placed kisses, light as the touch of a petal, on his closed eyes, his nose, his mouth. Then with the tip of her tongue she had traced the lines of perspiration to his eyebrows, hairline, ears, and when she reached his lips, she had teased them open to plunge her tongue deeply into his mouth in passionate imitation of his own act of love earlier. Akitada had never been loved by a woman before.

The door slid open with a soft swish, and Seimei tiptoed in, carrying a teakettle.

“Where is everybody?” Akitada asked, his voice thin and hoarse to his ears.

Seimei almost dropped the kettle. His lined face broke into a wide smile. “You are awake,” he crowed. “We have been so worried. Oh, you must be hungry. Just let me start this tea and I’ll run and make you some good rice gruel. The governor will be so pleased, and Tora, too. Tora’s beside himself, what with your illness and Hidesato’s trouble, and the governor has done nothing but wring his hands. A very good-hearted person in spite of what you thought of him...”

“Seimei, calm down, please!”

Seimei put the kettle on the brazier. Next to it rested a curiously shaped incense burner, the likely source of the faint fragrance in the room. It was a bronze orb with a pierced design of interlocking circles, leaf shapes, and flower petals.

“Where did that come from?” Akitada asked.

Seimei followed Akitada’s glance. “The incense burner? The governor brought it from his own library when he saw that you had none. The air was so bad from your illness.”

“That was kind. What is this about Tora and Hidesato?”

Seimei sat down. “Ah! That was the worst day of my life,” he said with feeling. “First that bucktoothed female at the inn made the most embarrassing scene, then we found your nasty peddler and his wife living in a hut of rags and filth, then the murder—oh, that was frightful!—and we had to rush to hide Hidesato at Higekuro’s. And as if that weren’t enough, we were kept waiting in the prefecture until all hours. When we finally got back, we found you lying on the floor at death’s door.”

“Slowly, Seimei. One thing at a time. There was a murder?” Akitada listened, astonished and appalled, to Seimei’s highly colored account of Jasmin’s murder and the lesser events of that fateful day. He frowned. “I don’t understand. All this happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday? Oh, no. It happened four days ago. You have been very ill.”

Akitada rubbed his head. “Four days?” Dismayed, he thought of Ayako. How she must have worried! He felt a surge of tenderness and gratitude for her. “I’m glad Hidesato is there. He will protect them from those monks.” He hesitated, then smiled. “Let’s hope it won’t cause trouble for Tora. Otomi is a very pretty girl.”

“Oh, Hidesato cares nothing for Otomi,” said Seimei, and closed his mouth abruptly, busying himself with the teapot and some cups.

Sitting up gingerly, Akitada accepted a steaming cup of tea and sipped and thought about poor Jasmin. “About that murder,” he said, cradling the warm cup in his hands. “Was there really so very much blood about?”

“I saw the curtain myself. It was as big as that door over there, and it was soaked. Tora said the killer must have taken it down to sop up the blood and then hung it back up. Imagine!”

Akitada nodded. “Yes, very strange. Where is Tora?”

“He went to check on Hidesato but should be back soon. Shall I go get you some rice gruel now?”

Akitada nodded and Seimei bustled out. Feeling a little light-headed, Akitada lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. He considered the possibility that the blue flower fragment was somehow connected to Jasmin’s death but could not imagine any connection between a cheap Kazusa prostitute and that delicate piece of jewelry.

Feeling thirsty again, he got to his feet and took a few wobbly steps to fill his cup. He was amazingly weak and rested for a moment near the desk. The incense burner had no stand. When he touched it with his finger, it rolled about, though a hinged center tray for the incense remained horizontal. Clever craftsmanship! Taking a sip of his tea, he played with the orb. The pattern seemed strangely familiar. He sat down and took the burner into both hands, turning it this way and that. Bronze circles, flowers, and leaves shaped the orb. The cutout spaces of the pattern allowed the incense to escape into the air. As he looked at the openings, another pattern stood out, one that he had seen in the temple storehouse, a fish shape jumping for a ball. His heart began to beat faster.

“Heavens! What are you doing out of bed?” cried Motosuke, bustling in. “Quick, quick! Lie back down before Seimei catches you.”

Akitada chuckled, put down the orb, and went to sit under his quilts. “I am glad to see you,” he said.

Motosuke hitched up his gown and knelt next to him. His round face puckered with sympathy. “Thank heaven you are recovered. You can have no idea how worried we all have been.” Then he threw his arms around Akitada.

Touched, Akitada returned the embrace warmly. “Thank you for your care, brother,” he said. “I trust your preparations for the temple festival are progressing satisfactorily?”

“Very nicely” Motosuke rubbed his hands. “And now you will be able to attend after all.” He studied Akitada’s face anxiously. “You do think you might be well enough by day after tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Day after tomorrow?”

“Have you forgotten the date? While you were lying here these past three days, Akinobu, Yukinari, and I have been slaving like mules to get all the arrangements worked out.” He smiled. “If I do say it myself, I’m a brilliant organizer. I cannot wait for you to hear the details.”

“I am very sorry. I had forgotten all about that.”

“No wonder. You were hallucinating most of the time. We took turns watching and wiping your brow.”

“I am very grateful.”

Motosuke’s face became serious. “Did Seimei tell you that the Tachibana woman and her nurse are both dead?”

“What?”

Motosuke nodded. “Double suicide in jail.”

“I don’t believe it,” cried Akitada. “Ikeda must have killed them...and it’s my fault.”

“No. Ikeda’s gone, and from what we could make out, he left before they died.”

Akitada’s head spun. He realized now the grave mistake he had made when he had allowed Ikeda to take the women to his jail. The fact that he had already felt ill at the time was no excuse for such carelessness. The image of the butterfly caught in the snow flashed again through his mind. It had been prophetic. He grimaced. “Do you know any details?”

“I have all the details because I sent Akinobu over to investigate. It happened two nights ago. Apparently, Ikeda left the night before, not long after you had the women arrested. There was a message on his desk that he had been called away to a case out of town. So far he has not returned, and I have arranged for Akinobu to take over his duties temporarily. Anyway, Lady Tachibana demanded to speak to Ikeda, and when the head clerk informed her that Ikeda had left town, she became frantic and sent for Joto.”

“Naturally,” groaned Akitada, clenching his fists. “What a fool I have been.”

Motosuke gave him a questioning look. When Akitada did not explain, he continued, “Well, the head clerk assumed that she wanted spiritual comfort in view of the charges against her and he allowed the visit. Joto did not come himself, but he sent his deacon Kukai and two other monks the same evening. According to the guards, they prayed with her and then left. She settled down quietly for the night. In the morning, the warden found her hanging from a beam. She had taken off one of her silk gowns, twisted it, and used it for a rope. When they checked on the nurse in the next cell, the older woman had done the same, using her sash.”

“They killed them,” Akitada said. “The women knew too much.”

Motosuke shook his head. “I don’t think so. But whatever happened, it saves us unpleasantness.”

It sounded callous, but Akitada knew that women who committed adultery and then killed their husbands could not hope for mercy. They were made to suffer harsh and public torture, as did servants who raised their hands against a master. Public morality demanded it. But this case involved Lady Tachibana. Stripping this beautiful child in open court and flaying the skin off her back to assure a speedy confession would shock even the most callous and prurient crowd. From Motosuke’s point of view, Lady Tachibana and her nurse in court presented a problem. Being dead, they satisfied the demands of justice. And chances were that they had themselves sought an easier end. Yet Akitada did not share Motosuke’s relief.

“This is my fault,” he said again. “When she insisted on sending for him, I should have suspected that it was Ikeda who was her lover.”

“Ikeda? Are you sure?” Motosuke looked shocked.

“It fits. When I charged her with her husband’s murder, Ikeda surprised me by taking my side, even though she had accused me of trying to rape her. He ordered both women arrested, and she meekly allowed herself to be taken away to the prefectural jail. She would not have done so if she had not expected Ikeda to get her out.” Looking at Motosuke, Akitada said, “And now everything points to both of them having been Joto’s accomplices. That is why she sent for the abbot when Ikeda decided to flee. I should have listened to Tora.”

As if on cue, Tora strolled in. Unabashed by the presence of the governor, he seated himself and, recalling his manners belatedly, bowed to Motosuke, saying, “Hope to see you well, sir.” To Akitada he said, “Thank the gods, you’re better! Did Seimei tell you about Jasmin?”

“Yes, but there is no need for concern,” Akitada said. “I know who killed Hidesato’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah. That bastard Scarface. He’s beaten the poor thing all along. This time he just decided to butcher her.”

Akitada shook his head. Seeing Tora’s expression, he said, “Come on, Tora, surely you can work it out. Think of all the blood! It was you who told us about the bloodthirsty cretin with the knife.”

Tora’s eyes widened. “Yushi!” he breathed.

“Yushi. Though Scarface may well have had something to do with it.” Akitada looked at the governor. “It seems a gang of three—a scarred man everyone calls Scarface, a giant by the name of Yushi, and a third man ...”

“Jubei,” Tora supplied.

“... and Jubei—has been taking protection money from small merchants in the market and from prostitutes. Tora had them arrested, but Ikeda let them go. I suppose Akinobu will have to be told. Perhaps this time we can put the whole gang away for good.”

Motosuke rose, shaking his head. “Such shocking news all around. Horrible,” he said. “You must tell me all about it some other time. I had better go talk to Akinobu about the murder. You need a little more rest, elder brother. I’ll return later to discuss the festival.”

When Motosuke had left, Akitada turned on his side and propped himself on an elbow. He smiled at Tora. “My compliments. It seems you were absolutely right about Ikeda and Joto being accomplices.”

Tora tried to look modest and failed.

“And how is Hidesato getting along with Higekuro and the girls?”

Tora’s face lengthened. He looked away. “Fine.”

“Did you tell them about my illness?”

“Yes. They sent best wishes for your recovery.”

Taken aback by such indifference, Akitada tried again. “What did Ayako say?”

Tora poked at the incense burner, rolling it about on the desk. “Oh, the same,” he said, scowling. “They are all very busy, what with a houseguest and everything.”

Akitada thought he knew the cause of his depression. “Otomi is a very pretty girl,” he said gently. “It’s only natural that Hidesato should think so, too.”

Tora swung his head around to stare at him. “Otomi? Hidesato’s not looking at Otomi. It’s Ayako he’s after, curse him!”

“Ayako?” Akitada blinked, then laughed. “Heavens,” he said. “I forgot. They are both masters at stick fighting. No doubt they found much to talk about. Relax, Tora. I’m glad Hidesato is staying there. Otomi is in real danger now that Joto has seen the dragon scroll. I’m convinced he sent his people to cause the death of Lady Tachibana and her nurse, and there is nothing to prevent him from doing the same with Otomi. With Hidesato there, at least they will think twice before attacking her.”

Tora got to his feet. “Hidesato’s not there. He and Ayako went off to the bathhouse this morning.” As soon as he said it, he flushed crimson. “That is, he went to the bathhouse. I don’t know where she went.” He took a deep breath. “If you don’t need me,” he said, “I guess I’d better get over there quick,” and ran out.

The room seemed to dim, as if a large cloud had passed over the sun. Akitada sat back up. For a long time he just stayed there, hunched over, twisting his hands. What was it that Seimei had said? “More fearful than a tiger is the scarlet silk of a woman’s undergown.” He had been warning him against Lady Tachibana at the time. Ayako was not the type to wear a scarlet undergown. She was no pampered, perfumed seductress. Ayako was clean and natural as life itself. But Ayako had betrayed him.

When the pain hit, it was sharp as a sword thrust into his belly. He cried out and doubled over, hugging himself and rocking back and forth.

“Sir? Sir? What’s wrong?”

Seimei’s voice, frantic with worry, penetrated the fog of grief and pain. Akitada opened his eyes and willed himself to relax his body and unclench his hands. “Nothing,” he croaked. “A cramp. My empty stomach rebelling.”

Relief washed over Seimei’s anxious face. “Is that all? I brought the gruel. Boiled it with herbs. That’s what took so long.” He pressed a bowl into Akitada’s hands and watched him as he sipped the thin gruel. It tasted like bile. “You don’t look well,” he said dubiously.

Somehow Akitada managed to force the food down and, surprisingly, felt slightly better. He lay down and closed his eyes. “I’m tired, Seimei,” he said listlessly.

“Yes, yes. You sleep a little. Later I will bring you more food, some nourishing fish broth with noodles perhaps.” Seimei quietly gathered the dishes and tiptoed from the room.

The pain returned. Not so sharply perhaps, but as a dull soreness seeping from his belly into his head, like thick black ink soaked up by a sponge. And with it came a sense of profound loss—as if he himself had been swallowed up by this dark flood.

Too much had happened. He was no longer the same man who had relished this ill-omened assignment in hopes of serving his emperor well and finally fulfilling his mother’s expectations. It seemed to him now that that Akitada had been a foolish dreamer, that nothing was as he had thought, least of all himself.

This made him angry, but his anger was not directed at Ayako or, he thought, at the scruffy sergeant. Would not any sane man take such a gift if it were offered? And why should not Ayako, for whatever reasons motivated her—pity, curiosity, or affinity—offer herself to Hidesato as readily and naturally as she had given herself to him? No doubt Akitada, too, had aroused feelings of pity or curiosity in her. She had probably thought him a pathetic weakling, much like Tora once had. Or perhaps she had taken him to the bathhouse to find out how noblemen from the capital made love.

Ayako had always lived by her own rules and never promised him anything. It was he, in his arrogance, who had believed that she must feel for him what he had felt, no, was still feeling, for her. Ayako belonged to no one, not even Hidesato.

This thought made him feel a little better until it occurred to him that Hidesato might like such an arrangement. What if this rough soldier took his pleasure with Ayako and afterward simply walked away without another thought, treating casually that which had been offered casually? He pictured the two of them on the grass mat together, and a desperate rage seized him.

There was a scratching at the door.

“Are you awake, my dear Akitada?” asked Motosuke, peering through the opening.

“Yes,” said Akitada, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Please come in.”

“I brought Akinobu and Yukinari. You do not mind?”

“No, no. Come in and sit down.”

Yukinari and Akinobu filed in slowly, bowing and casting dubious glances at him. Yukinari’s head was without its bandage, but a thick scab had formed near his hairline and most of his forehead bore a purple bruise.

“I think there is some tea left,” said Akitada, “or would you prefer wine?”

Nobody wanted anything. They seated themselves. Yukinari and Akinobu asked politely about his health, then fell silent.

“The governor told me that you are filling in for Ikeda,” Akitada said to Akinobu, trying to banish the image of the lovers from his mind. “It will be difficult to carry out both responsibilities, especially since the matter of the tax conspiracy is complex and time-consuming.”

Akinobu bowed. “I was fortunate in finding a number of bright and reliable people in the prefecture,” he said in his dry voice. “Once order was established, the normal routine could be resumed. I expect to leave prefectural matters in the capable hands of the head clerk when I have other duties. Just now I have given him full instructions about the criminals named by Your Excellency. A special team of constables familiar with the local underworld is searching for the three men, and I hope to report their arrests by tonight.”

“Thank you. Well,” said Akitada, looking at the others, “arresting Joto and his supporters during the temple festival will be more difficult. We must at all costs avoid bloodshed. Our man has proven again and again that he can act swiftly and decisively, and that human lives mean nothing to him. The temple enclosure will be packed with townspeople and pilgrims, and his monks are trained fighters who have an armory of halberds in one of the storehouses. No doubt other weapons are hidden elsewhere on the grounds. We have only the element of surprise on our side.”

Yukinari spoke up. “What sorts of weapons and how many?”

“I only know about the naginata, but in the capital there were rumors of weapon shipments to the east. On the journey here, I had occasion to see the barrier logs at Hakone. They showed an unusual number of religious objects passing along the eastern road in this direction. It is likely that those objects were, in fact, arms destined for the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom. A man like Joto would have little compunction about causing a bloodbath on the temple grounds or of plunging the province into civil war to preserve himself.”

Akitada looked at the three men and wondered how each would act under the stress of the coming days. Yukinari’s fists were clenched. He muttered something under his breath, but Akitada judged him to be above average in courage. Besides, his conscience would spur him on to give his life, if necessary, to atone for his affair with Lady Tachibana.

Motosuke, normally buoyed by high spirits, looked drawn and grave, but Akitada knew now that Motosuke was his friend and committed to their undertaking. While Motosuke had much to lose if they failed, he would also gain enormous prestige by subduing an incipient rebellion.

“I blame myself,” said Motosuke when their eyes met, “that this conspiracy should have grown to such proportions without my knowledge.”

Akinobu said quickly, “You could not have known, Governor. Buddhist clergy are revered and protected from the normal checks and searches we carried out everywhere else. Besides, Ikeda seems to have covered up all misdeeds by Joto’s monks.”

Akinobu’s loyalty to Motosuke was as impressive as his sense of personal honor. He had been ready to sacrifice his family property to make some sort of restitution for thefts he had not been responsible for. Had Motosuke still been a suspect, Akinobu might have been his accessory, but that possibility had been eliminated long ago.

“I knew it!” muttered Yukinari. “Ikeda’s been involved all along. That’s why he ignored all my complaints.”

“Yes.” Akitada sighed. “I hope we find him alive.”