Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Akinobu cleared his throat. “I am, no doubt, very obtuse,” he said apologetically, “but may I ask what caused Your Excellency to identify Joto and Ikeda as the conspirators?”

It was a reasonable question from a man who was used to accounting for the smallest detail in the documents he had been handling all his life, but the new Akitada was impatient with details. With an effort he dragged his thoughts from his troubles and said, “I started my investigation with the usual questions. When someone acquires sudden wealth as the result of a major robbery, there are signs in the local economy unless the person resides outside the province. I found many such signs here. The economy had improved dramatically recently. Merchants prospered, at least one of them beyond all expectation. Rapid new building was under way everywhere, most strikingly in three places, at the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom, at the governor’s residence, and at the garrison.”

“I used personal and discretionary funds to strengthen the garrison and add to my residence,” Motosuke said defensively, “and I assumed Joto’s preaching attracted large donations.”

“I have seen your accounts,” Akitada said with a smile. “But the temple prospered too quickly. Its fame had not reached the capital, and there was not enough money in local coffers to pay for its expansion. Seimei and I studied the historical records in your archives and in Tachibana’s library. Joto started his building program shortly after the first tax convoy was ambushed.”

“I should have made the connection,” said Yukinari, “but when I arrived, there was a general mood of enthusiastic support for the temple.”

Akitada nodded. “Exactly. Why investigate good fortune? I’m afraid the people will not like what we are about to do. But their good fortune also brought crime, violence, and corruption to this city. Everywhere Tora and I went, there was dissatisfaction with the local administration. We were told that calling the constables was useless, because the appointed officials themselves took bribes. This first alerted me to Ikeda. From what I had seen of the man, it was not incompetence or dereliction of duty that had caused the breakdown of trust between prefect and citizen. That left greed, and I came to suspect him. My servant Tora first linked Ikeda to Joto. He had an instinctive dislike for both men. As it turned out, Ikeda and Joto are perfect allies. Joto had the men and means to carry out the robberies, and Ikeda, as the local prefect, provided the details about time, route, and military strength for each convoy.”

Motosuke and Akinobu exchanged looks. “Impossible,” said Motosuke. “Ikeda was not involved in the planning of the tax convoys. He could not have known those things.”

“Are you certain?” asked Akitada, astonished.

Motosuke nodded. “Akinobu and I always met in my library with the garrison commandant. Only the three of us knew precisely the circumstances and details of the shipments. Only we three checked the goods in the tribunal warehouse and only we counted the gold and silver bars before packing them in boxes and sealing them.”

Akitada’s eyes went to the incense burner. “By any chance,” he asked, “did you pack the boxes near your elegant incense burner?”

Akinobu gasped. “Yes. How did you know, Excellency? We had a little accident the last time with that incense burner. It rolled against one of the boxes, and before we realized it, it had burned the leather.”

Akitada smiled. “We found a leather box with an odd burn mark on it in the temple storehouse.”

“The box was at the temple?” cried Motosuke. “But that proves the monks got the gold. Perhaps we will find the other goods there also.”

“Much of the rice will have been traded,” Akitada said, “but I have a good notion that some of the silk is stored in town, in a certain silk merchant’s house. The merchant became wealthy overnight, it seems, built a wall around his compound, and is visited regularly by monks from the temple.” Akitada looked at Akinobu. “On the day of the temple festival, I think you had best send your men there for a thorough search.”

Akinobu bowed.

The sun had moved. Where it shone on the teapot and brazier, a drop of water at the end of the spout sparkled with a burst of colors, and in a moment grief returned. Just so had the beads of moisture glistened on her golden skin in the steam of the bath, just so had the water sparkled like a net of jewels on her cheek.

“But how did Joto find out about our plans?” asked Motosuke.

Akitada forced his mind back to the business at hand. “If Ikeda had no information about the tax convoys,” he said slowly, “we may have overlooked another accomplice. Did any of you discuss the plans with others?”

Yukinari and Akinobu shook their heads. Yukinari said, “When I sent off the convoy in my charge, I gave my lieutenant sealed orders, to be opened only after they had passed the border.”

Akitada looked at Motosuke, who flushed.

“I consulted Tachibana early on, before the first convoy,” he said. “He took a great interest, especially after it disappeared. But I cannot believe that Tachibana would stoop to such a thing.”

“No. But Lady Tachibana would.” Suddenly that murder made sense. The idea that Tachibana had died because he was a jealous husband had never been entirely convincing. “I think this knowledge cost him his life. He walked into his wife’s room that night to inform her of his decision to speak to me about the possibility that she had passed on the information about the tax shipments. He found her with Ikeda. You may imagine the ensuing scene. No doubt Ikeda killed him.”

“So that’s how Ikeda fits in,” said Yukinari.

“Yes,” said Akitada tiredly.

For the next hour they went over every last detail of their planning. Seimei came in once, cast a worried look at Akitada, and made more tea for everyone before withdrawing again.

They were nearly finished when Motosuke stopped and said, “Enough for today. You look terrible, elder brother. We should not have troubled you with all this when you are still so weak.”

“Not at all,” lied Akitada. He felt a profound indifference about his condition or their elaborate plan to catch Joto.

Motosuke rose and the others followed. They were still looking with concern at Akitada when the door flew open and Tora burst in.

He glanced around wildly, his clothes and hands stained with blood. “They’ve slaughtered Higekuro,” he gasped. “And now they’re after the girls. We’ve got to get the soldiers. Hurry or they’re dead.”

“Who is ‘they’?” asked Akitada, pushing back his covers.

“Those cursed monks. The neighbors saw them, and some brainless female sent them after Otomi and Ayako.” Tora seized Yukinari’s sleeve. “Get your soldiers. Quick. They’ve got to scour the city.”

“No, Tora,” said Akitada. “No soldiers or constables. We’ll have to go ourselves.” He got to his feet. “Hand me my robe and boots.”

* * * *

SEVENTEEN

THE TEMPLE OF

THE MERCIFUL GODDESS

T

he sun had set by the time they jumped off their horses in front of Higekuro’s school. Across the street a gaggle of frightened-looking neighbors stood in the dusk. Akitada shivered with nerves and weakness as much as with the cold. He crossed the road to the onlookers and snapped, “Which one of you saw the girls leave?”

A short, elderly woman stepped forward timidly. He recognized her as the neighbor who had been chatting with Ayako on his last visit. There were traces of tears on her round cheeks.

Akitada gave her a nod and said, “Tell me what you know quickly. They are in great danger.”

“About two hours ago,” she said. “The monks at the temple had just rung the hour of the rooster. I was looking out for my son because he was late for his dinner and saw Ayako and Otomi walking over there.” She pointed down the street. “At the corner they turned south.”

“Do you know where they were going?”

“No, but Otomi had her painting things.”

“Are there any temples that way?”

“Only the Sun Lotus temple is still open. Since Master Joto has come, everybody’s been going to the mountain temple. The other temples have closed, even the big temple of the goddess Kannon.”

“I was told that the girls were followed by some men. Did you see them?”

The old woman shook her head emphatically. “Not me. And I would have known better than to send them after Otomi. It was this foolish female.” She dragged a trembling white-faced young woman from behind the others. “Go ahead, tell His Honor what you did.”

The younger woman started to cry.

“How many men were there?” Akitada snapped.

“I don’t remember,” the woman quavered.

“You said ten, stupid,” the older woman said, giving her a shake.

“That was before. Only five when they stopped to ask.” The young woman wailed, “I’m sorry. They came from the school and I thought it was all right. I thought they were students of Master Higekuro.”

Akitada stared down at her, then turned on his heel and strode back across the street. “Come,” he said to Tora, who was waiting by the horses. “Maybe we can find something inside that will tell us where the girls went.”

The heavy door opened onto darkness. Akitada was aware of the smell first—warm, sweet, and metallic. Then he heard a faint dripping sound. It was getting dark outside but enough light fell from the door that he could make out several motionless shapes strewn about the exercise floor.

Blood. It was the smell of fresh blood—and a great deal of it. Akitada stepped into the hall, Tora on his heels.

Thinking of the women outside, Akitada said, “Close the door and strike a flint!” He did not know whether his rising nausea was due to the smell or his condition, but he started to gag.

Tora closed the door and fumbled about for some light, saying, “Higekuro’s over by the pillar.”

Suddenly, fear seized Akitada. How many bodies had there been? What if the women outside had been wrong? What if Ayako had not left but had died here, defending her father and sister? He took a step in the dark, slipped, and fell heavily onto his side.

“Sir?” A flint rasped. Light flickered on and went out again. Tora’s anxious voice came from the right. “Are you all right? There’s a lot of blood on the floor.”

“Yes,” said Akitada, getting to his knees. His head was swimming, and he was shaking with cold and weakness. “For heaven’s sake, get some light.” He wiped his hands on his trousers and stood up.

Tora was noisy in his groping around. He cursed once or twice, things fell with a clatter, then the flint flashed and one of the oil lamps on the wall lit up. Tora went to light another.

Akitada slowly turned and looked around. As the lamps came on, his first impression was of a battlefield after incredible carnage. Deep, dark red, glistening blood was everywhere. The bare floor was covered with puddles of it, the exercise mats were soaked in it, and somewhere it was dripping ponderously like a slow heartbeat. Akitada counted six bodies altogether, Higekuro’s among them. All of them were men.

The crippled wrestler lay slumped against the center pillar, one hand clutching a short sword covered with blood, the other his great bow; his fixed gaze was turned upward, toward the ceiling—or toward the weapon that had descended on his head and left the two terrible gashes, one reaching almost to the bridge of his nose, the other slanting toward the left temple, exposing part of his brain. Blood still oozed from the terrible head wounds. It had soaked the magnificent black beard and puddled on one shoulder, from where it fell, thickly, drop by drop, into his empty quiver.

Akitada controlled his rising nausea and went to touch Higekuro’s pale cheek. It was cool. Then he felt the blood and found it thick and sticky. “It must have happened shortly before you got here,” he said.

“Higekuro was still warm then,” said Tora. “I rushed through the place looking for the girls and then ran all the way back to the tribunal.” He glanced around the room. “He took five of the bastards with him.”

“Yes. The woman mentioned ten men, then later five,” said Akitada. “I think she saw them arrive and go into the school. Higekuro killed five, but the other five left to look for Ayako and Otomi.”

He moved among the dead assassins. They were all strangers to him, young, muscular, dressed neatly in dark cotton gowns, with scarves covering their heads like middle-class shopkeepers or artisans. Akitada stripped off the headgear and exposed the shaven heads. “Monks,” he said without surprise.

They had paid a heavy price. All of them had two or more arrows through their bodies and one, closest to Higekuro, had died in agony from a sword thrust into his bowels. It had been Higekuro’s final act against the man who killed him.

When they looked into Higekuro’s private quarters, they found trunks and boxes gaping, their contents strewn about the floor, curtains slashed and screens torn from the windows. Outside, in the small kitchen yard, a fire had been lit in an empty rain barrel. Tora stirred the smoldering ashes and pulled out a charred dowel with remnants of paper and silk attached to it.

“They burned her paintings,” Akitada said. “Come. There is nothing left to find. We are wasting time.”

On the way out, Tora snatched up one of the heavy staves from its rack on the wall. Outside the neighbors had dispersed, but someone was coming down the street, whistling. Tora cursed under his breath.

Akitada, worried about an unarmed Ayako facing five murderous monks, was swinging himself on his horse when he saw the whistler.

Hidesato.

In a moment he was out of the saddle again. In another, he had reached Hidesato and flung him against the wealthy neighbor’s plaster wall. Seizing the neck of his robe, Akitada bashed the sergeant’s head into the wall, punctuating each thrust with an accusation. “You worthless dog!” he snarled. “Where were you when you were needed? Is this how you repay kindness?” Akitada choked on the thought that the kindness had included the use of Ayako’s body. “What kind of low animal are you to do this to her?” he groaned, suddenly dizzy from his outburst.

Tora pulled him off. Akitada leaned against the wall, taking rasping breaths of air, trying to control his shaking limbs.

“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Hidesato, holding his head. “Has he gone mad?”

Tora said bitterly, “While you were enjoying your bath, those cursed monks came back. They killed Higekuro and went after the girls. Thanks to you, they’re probably dead by now.”

Hidesato dropped his hands. He stared from Tora to Akitada, saw the blood on Akitada’s clothes, and ran to the school. Flinging open the door, he disappeared inside.

Akitada came away from the wall and staggered to his horse. He dragged himself into the saddle, kicked the horse in the flank, and galloped off. Tora followed, ignoring Hidesato’s shouts behind him.

They looked for pagodas rising above the low-slung dwellings and pine groves. The first temple they found quickly. A battered sign on its gate spelled out the name “Sun Lotus Temple” in characters that had once been brilliantly red but had faded to a pale brown. An ancient monk was sweeping dead leaves from the steps.

“You there. Have you seen two young women?” Akitada shouted from his horse.

The old man peered up nearsightedly and bowed. “Welcome,” he said in a cracked voice and put his broom aside. “Would Your Honor like to buy some incense to burn before the Buddha?”

Seeing his age, Akitada brought his horse closer and repeated his question.

A pleased smile crossed the old man’s face. “Do you mean Otomi and her sister? They came by. After they had left, some young men asked for her.” He smiled again. “She’s a very pretty girl.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said we were all well and thanked the girls for their concern.”

Akitada gritted his teeth and found they were chattering again. He looked at Tora, who bellowed, “What did you tell the men?”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so? I told them where the girls went, of course.”

Akitada groaned. “Where?” he shouted, twisting the reins between his clenched fists.

“You don’t look at all well, sir,” said the ancient one, peering worriedly up at Akitada’s face. “Please honor our poor temple for a short rest. If you like, Kashin, our pharmacist, will brew you one of his herbal teas.”

Akitada took a deep breath, fought down his desperation, and managed to say more calmly, “Thank you. Some other time. We’re in a hurry. Those men you sent after Otomi and her sister mean them harm. Where did the girls go?”

The monk’s chin sagged. “Harm? Oh, dear. I hope you are wrong, sir. Otomi told me she wanted to paint the Kannon, so I sent the young men to the old temple in the southeast corner of the city. There’s a lovely painting of the Goddess of Mercy enthroned on a large lotus blossom in the main hall. The temple is locked, but there’s a back door—” Akitada and Tora were already galloping down the narrow street.

They clattered through quiet neighborhoods where curious householders peered out of lit doorways at the sound of their racing hoof beats. The light was failing quickly. Clouds moved in like black curtains drawn across the opalescent sky.

“It’ll be dark soon,” shouted Tora to Akitada, “and we’ve brought no lanterns.”

“Quiet!” Akitada reined in his horse. Before them rose a dark mass of curved temple roofs and trees. A three-storied pagoda loomed like a dark sentinel beside the black rectangle that was the main hall. Tile-topped walls enclosed the temple buildings and a whole city block of wildly tangled shrubs and trees.

Akitada dismounted and tied his horse to a bare willow tree at the street corner. Shivering in the cold wind, he stood listening until Tora joined him.

“Did you see someone?” Tora whispered.

Akitada shook his head. “Ssh!”

The wind rustled the dead leaves, and branches rubbed together. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.

Akitada moved. “I thought I heard voices,” he said. “Come. We’ll have to find a way in. The front gates will have been nailed shut. Be quiet.”

Tora gripped his stave more fiercely. “I look forward to getting my hands on those butchers.”

They crossed the street and moved along the shadow of the wall, looking for broken masonry. When a curious hissing noise came from the other side, they froze. Nothing else happened, and they were about to move on when there was a suppressed curse and the sound of breaking shrubbery. A muffled male voice in the distance shouted something that sounded like an order, and the rustling receded.

“They’re here,” said Tora.

Akitada nodded. “It sounds as though they’re searching. We may be in time.”

They continued to inspect the wall. It was in frustratingly good condition. There was not so much as a foothold to climb over, and Akitada was not about to propose another attempt by Tora to scale a temple wall via his shoulders. In his present weakened state, he could not support a small child, let alone a full-grown man.

“Let’s try the main entrance,” he said finally. At that moment, the silent air was rent by a woman’s scream.

“They got the girls,” said Tora, staring frantically at the top of the wall.

“That was Ayako.” Akitada was already running toward the roofed gatehouse. Both wings of the ornate gate gaped wide, and they ran inside.

The courtyard was empty, silent, and vaguely ominous. To their right, the pagoda roofs spread their dark wings; to the left crouched a small reliquary; and before them loomed the vast shape of the great hall whose immense curving roof they had seen from the road. Its doors stood open on a darkness as absolute as the gaping maw of death.

“The cry came from the back of the hall,” Akitada said. “The fastest way is through it.”

They ran up the steps of the hall. The official seals on the massive doors had been broken. The anteroom got some light from the outside and was empty. To its right was the office of the temple custodian, a monk who accepted donations from worshippers and handed out incense sticks. Ahead lay the vast interior of the temple hall. They stopped to listen and heard nothing.

“Come,” said Akitada. “They are in the garden in back.”

“We can’t see anything without a lantern,” Tora muttered under his breath. “I bet I’ll find some in that office.”

“No. There’s no time and we can’t show a light.”

They went into the pitch-black hall, sliding one foot in front of the other and feeling their way with outstretched hands. Akitada tried to remember temple construction and hoped to gain the rear wall. Something fell with a clatter.

“What happened?” Akitada asked.

“Caught my foot on something and lost my stave.”

Akitada heard Tora’s hands scrabbling across the floor. “Let it be,” he said, moving on. Tora abandoned the stave and joined him. When Akitada’s hands finally touched the rear wall, Tora cursed. There was a dull thud, then silence.

“What’s the matter now?”

No answer, just a slithering sound coming closer. Before his better sense could prevent him, Akitada had moved toward it. A viselike grip seized him around the knees, jerked, and then he fell backward, barely remembering to twist to keep his skull from striking the floor. The fall knocked the breath out of him.

Then his assailant was upon him, trying to pin his arm while fumbling for his throat. The move was a standard form of attack among wrestlers. Akitada had never been in worse shape to fight off a murderous thug, but his wrestling experience came to his aid. He reacted instinctively with the correct defensive move. But the other man, though thin, fought desperately and was quicker than Akitada. They rolled about on the rough planks of the floor, fighting silently for their lives.

Fortunately, Akitada’s assailant was also handicapped by the darkness. He could not always find the right hold immediately and gave Akitada time to twist out of his reach. Eventually Akitada had enough purchase for a hard kick. Somewhat to his surprise his foot made contact. The body slid across the floor, hit a column with a soft thud, and was silent. Akitada rose to his knees and called out to Tora. No response. He debated checking on his attacker, then felt around for Tora. He found him breathing and brought him around by shaking him. Tora groaned, sat up, and almost immediately lashed out, knocking Akitada into a pillar.

“Ouch! It’s me.”

Tora croaked, “What...? Oh! Sorry. Somebody grabbed my foot.” Then fury seized him. “Where are the bastards?” he growled. “I’ll tear their heads off and kick them around this infernal pit of hell.”

Rubbing his bruised shoulder, Akitada felt like laughing despite their danger. “Calm down. There was only one. He tried the same thing with me, but I got in a lucky kick and knocked him out. That leaves only four outside. We’ll have to tie this one up and gag him. Give me your belt.”

But when they groped their way back to where Akitada had left their attacker, he was gone. They felt around for a few seconds, then Akitada put his hand on Tora’s arm. They listened. A soft noise moved away from them toward the entrance. Akitada made out a shadow against the faint light from the outside and leapt after it. Wrapping both arms around the other man’s body, he brought him down and landed heavily on his back.

But the cry of pain was female, and Akitada’s hands under the slim body confirmed the fact. Akitada rolled off. Then recognition came: Ayako!

He opened his mouth to speak her name, shaking with the relief of having found her safe and sound, and reached out to gather her into his arms, when some heavy object struck the side of his head. The darkness flashed into burning light and then vanished.

♦

Tora had heard Ayako’s cry and Akitada’s fall. He, too, rushed across the intervening space and collided violently with a large unfamiliar body. Cursing, he pulled back his fist to lash out at the new enemy when Hidesato’s voice asked, “Tora? Is that you?”

Tora lowered his arm. “Hidesato! What are you doing here?”

“I followed on foot. Good thing, too. I think one of the bastards got hold of Ayako. Ayako? Where are you? This cursed darkness. A man can’t see what he’s doing.”

Tora struck a flint. In the brief flash, he saw Hidesato with a long, heavy bamboo stave in his hand and Ayako crouching on the floor over Akitada’s prostrate figure. Then the light went out again.

“You fool.” Ayako sounded bitter. “You hit Akitada and probably killed him.”

Tora left them, groping his way toward the entrance. He returned a moment later carrying an ancient lantern that shed a flickering light. “How bad is he?” he asked.

“He’s breathing.” She held up a bloody hand.

“Where’s Otomi?” Tora asked.

“I made her hide. Tora, there’s so much blood.”

Tora was on his knees, tearing strips of fabric from his shirt for a bandage. “He shouldn’t have come,” he muttered, looking at the pale face of the unconscious Akitada in Ayako’s lap.

“I didn’t know,” Hidesato said miserably.

Ayako said scornfully, “You’re a stupid, bumbling fool who can’t do anything right.”

Hidesato sagged to the floor and put his head in his hands. The other two ignored him. Around them heavy columns rose into the distant darkness. The enormous painting of the Goddess of Mercy seemed to float in space, and the reds, pinks, and soft browns of her robes shifted and trembled in the unsteady light of the lantern flame, while the gold of her jewelry and halo flashed like fire in the gloom.

“If you’ll stay with him till he comes around,” Tora said when they had put a bandage on Akitada’s head, “Hidesato and I’ll go out and get those cursed bastards before they find Otomi.”

He expected an argument, but Ayako merely nodded.

Hidesato looked at her. “I’m sorry, Ayako,” he said hoarsely, brushing at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to do it. It was dark. I know I’ve been worse than useless. He nearly killed me because what happened was my fault. I swear I’ll try to make it up to you. If it’s the last thing I do.” He turned away.

Tora scooped up his bamboo stave and followed Hidesato out. Ayako, in the dim circle of lantern light, looked after them with a puzzled frown, then turned back to the unconscious Akitada, cradling his face in her hands.

♦

Outside, the darkness was less opaque. From a far corner of the garden came a crashing noise and someone cursed.

“Thank the gods. They haven’t found her yet,” Tora said. He leaned his stave against the railing. “Too many trees to use these. I guess it’ll have to be our bare hands.”

Hidesato put down his own bamboo pole.

Their quarry was making so much noise thrashing through the shrubbery that they did not have to be very careful. The monks had separated to cover a larger area in their search, and Tora and Hidesato surprised two of them. Tora knocked out his man with a handy piece of broken roof tile, while Hidesato produced a length of thin chain from under his jacket and threw this over the other man’s head, snapping it back so suddenly that they heard his neck snap. The monk dropped without a sound.

“Your master won’t be able to talk to this one,” Hidesato said. “What about yours?”

Tora shook his head. “I hit him too hard.”

Both dead men had shaven heads and both carried short swords. Tora and Hidesato helped themselves to these.

They found their next victim because he was cursing loudly, trying to disentangle himself from a thorny vine. He broke off abruptly when Tora appeared before him with a drawn sword. His eyes started from his head in shock.

From somewhere close a voice called, “Daishi? What is it? Have you found her?”

Tora put his sword to the monk’s throat and shouted back, “No! Twisted my ankle. Who’s with you?”

“Hotan. Where are the others?”

“Coming.” Tora grinned and knocked his prisoner out cold.

Hidesato joined him. “Two more? That should be all.”

Tora nodded. “I told them we’re coming.”

They ran along the overgrown path and came face-to-face with two husky men in the same dark clothes and head scarves as the others. But these drew their swords and charged.

Tora had never used a sword before and managed to survive the attack only because he jumped about like a monkey while slashing wildly in all directions. Hidesato knew the rudiments of sword fighting but was badly outclassed. He tossed his sword aside in favor of the chain. Letting out the chain and swinging it until it wrapped itself about his adversary’s sword and sword arm, he was able to jerk him forward and disarm him. Tora prevailed only by kicking his man in the groin. When he screamed and dropped his sword to clutch himself, Tora jumped him.

They tied up these two, but when they turned back to do the same with the unconscious man in the brambles, they discovered him gone. A quick search brought them to an open gate in the wall, but the road outside was empty.

“Damnation! The bastard’s gone to warn Joto,” Tora said ruefully.

They collected their prisoners and dragged them back to the temple hall.

“Hey, Ayako. All’s safe,” shouted Tora.

Ayako appeared on the veranda and scanned the shrubbery.

“Where’s Otomi?” Tora asked. “She can’t hear us.”

Ayako did not answer. She came down the steps, her eyes on Hidesato. “You’re hurt.”

Hidesato looked down at himself. A large dark stain was spreading across his chest. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“Oh, Hidesato,” Ayako said. “Sit down and let me see.”

A rustling sound came from under the veranda steps. Tora reached for his sword, but it was Otomi who crept out, her eyes huge in a dirt-smeared face and her clothes covered with dead leaves, cobwebs, and twigs. Tora’s mouth widened into a smile. He dropped his weapon and went to scoop her into his arms.

Ayako found a flesh wound in Hidesato’s shoulder and untied her sash to bandage it.

“Please forgive me,” he begged, stumbling to his feet.

Her face softened. “There’s nothing to forgive. I am sorry I blamed you,” she said, rising. “It was too dark for you to see, and I made the same mistake myself.”

He looked at her searchingly. “I would not have you think badly of me,” he said awkwardly. “I’ve never known anyone like you and I’d rather die than . . .” His voice faltered.

Ayako smiled and took his hand. “I know,” she said softly.

♦

Akitada staggered out onto the veranda in time to take in this tender scene. His face hardened. “Tora,” he snapped.