Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

The tribunal bathhouse was large and empty except for a burly, nearly naked servant, who stoked the fire and assisted with their bath. Akitada submitted to a thorough scrubbing and then went to soak in the deep cedarwood tub filled with steaming water. They could not discuss the governor in front of the attendant, so he emptied his mind gratefully of all his doubts and worries and relaxed.

When they returned to their room, they found letters from the capital and a pot of fragrant tea with a note from Motosuke. It was brushed in beautiful calligraphy on a sheet of thick mulberry paper and explained that tea was not only refreshing to the soul, soothing to the throat, and invigorating to the stomach, but would also ward off illnesses and lift the spirit.

Seimei was delighted. Though wine was the common drink, he had tasted tea from China and believed in its medicinal powers. Filling two dainty porcelain cups, he handed one to Akitada. “You should not have spoken so rudely to the governor,” he said disapprovingly. “He is clearly a very superior sort of person, not just in rank, but in his gentlemanly manners also. I was quite shocked.” Akitada, who still felt deeply embarrassed by the incident, said nothing. “Ah!” cried Seimei, tasting the tea. “It is very bitter. Drink. Drink. Remember the peddler! No doubt the dirty person had all sorts of nasty diseases.”

“It was thoughtful of the governor,” Akitada said. He sighed and set down his cup untasted. “I may have been too abrupt. He offered us welcome and hospitality, and I treated him with cold formality—as if he were a proven criminal. Oh, Seimei, I must either clear him or place him under arrest. How am I, a mere junior clerk of the lower eighth rank, to arrest a Fujiwara who is not only older than I, but who far outranks me?”

Seimei was unconcerned. “You are sent by the emperor. That gives you the power to act on His Majesty’s behalf. The governor was very properly humble. Besides, you are very good at solving mysteries and will undoubtedly clear His Excellency.”

Akitada shook his head. “There was talk at home that they sent a junior clerk because they wanted this investigation to fail. The captain in Hakone thought so, too. I shall certainly be blamed if I fail, but it may be worse if I succeed.” He reached for the letters. One was from his mother; he put this aside. The other was from his former professor. “Heavens,” he muttered, reading, “Tasuku is taking the tonsure?”

“Tasuku? Is that the very popular young gentleman who was always reciting poems?”

“Yes. Love poems. Tasuku had a reputation among the ladies. That is why this news seems so shocking. The professor does not know what happened. Apparently, it was all very sudden and secretive.” He had seen Tasuku last at his own farewell party, where his handsome friend had drunk too much, then made a scene, breaking his elegant painted fan, and stormed away. That, too, had not been like him, but it was nothing like this.

Shaking his head, Akitada was reaching for his mother’s letter when he noticed a red leather box next to the tea things. “I suppose the tea was meant to keep us awake while we study the first batch of Motosuke’s accounts,” he grumbled.

“Not tonight,” protested Seimei. “Even the strongest ox needs his rest after a long journey.”

But Akitada had already flipped back the lid. For a moment he stood transfixed. Then his face darkened with fury.

“What is it?” asked Seimei.

“Ten bars of gold,” said Akitada in a choked voice.

* * * *

THREE

BLACKBEARD

T

ora sighed with relief and pleasure when the girl with the tantalizing hips paid for her radishes and turned around. Her face was beautiful...and terrified!

Two saffron-colored backs moved to block Tora’s view. The monks.

Mindful only of the panic on the pretty girl’s face, Tora did not pause to think that monks took vows of chastity and nonviolence. If she was afraid of the two monks, that was enough for him to rush to her aid.

He bounded into the street, dodged a passing bullock cart, made way for a pair of elderly women, jumped over a stray dog, and collided painfully with a bamboo cage full of songbirds strapped to the back of a passing vendor. Birds and man set up a loud protest that attracted a crowd, and Tora was detained until it had been confirmed that cage and birds had taken no harm.

By then the girl and the monks had disappeared. Only the vegetable vendor remained, staring thoughtfully toward the nearest street corner.

“Where did they go?” Tora cried, shaking the man’s arm to get his attention.

“Oh, are you a member of the family?” the man asked. “So sorry about the young woman. The reverend brothers explained and took her with them.”

“Explained what?”

That was a mistake. The vendor frowned and asked, “Who are you? What business is it of yours?”

Tora cursed and ran to the corner. It opened on a narrow alley, made nearly impassable by the many baskets, crates, and piles of refuse that had accumulated from the market stalls; lined by a warren of tiny shops, small houses, and fenced yards; and crowded with small children playing among the debris, shop boys running with parcels, and market women hauling baskets of produce. The monks and the girl had vanished.

Taking a chance, Tora plunged in, dodging human and inanimate obstacles at a run, pausing only to peer down each cross alley as he came to it.

At the third intersection he was in luck. He saw a patch of saffron yellow disappearing around the far corner and he put on speed. When he turned that corner, he saw them. The slip of a girl was struggling frantically between her two brawny captors. One of them slapped her viciously across the face.

Tora roared and leapt. Seizing both men by their collars, he heaved backward. Caught by surprise, they ended up on the ground in spite of their size. Tora delivered a sharp kick to one monk’s ribs, then grabbed the other by his robe and raised him just enough to punch him in the face. The man collapsed without a sound. But when Tora turned to deal similarly with his companion, he saw him take to his heels, yellow robe raised to his knees and sandals flapping at the ends of his long legs.

The girl was huddled against the wall of a shack, the corner of a sleeve pressed to her bleeding lip.

“Are you all right?” Tora asked, walking over to her.

She nodded slowly, looking at him with wide tear-filled eyes.

What a beauty she was! Tora put on his most fatherly manner. “It’s all right now, little love. I’ll look after you. Why didn’t you scream for help? What were those bastards trying to do?”

She shook her head. Suddenly her eyes looked past him, widening in panic. Tora whirled about. The vicious blow, intended for his head, landed on his arm, but the pain momentarily stunned him. The monk he had knocked out had regained his senses and decided to turn the tables. Tora jumped aside and retreated to draw the man away from the girl. Then he stopped and crouched. They faced each other, the monk with a broken board in his right hand. Tora bared his teeth and roared again. Then he charged. The monk dropped his board and took off after his companion.

Shaking his head at such cowardice, Tora turned back to the girl, but found her gone, too. His disappointment was palpable. He had looked forward to showering the pretty little thing with care and attention after demonstrating his manly prowess. Impatiently he walked a little this way and that, calling out, “Hey, girl! Come back here. It’s all right.”

The street was in a poor quarter of one-story laborers’ houses, their small storage shacks and vegetable patches enclosed by tattered bamboo fencing with dingy laundry drying on it. There were hiding places everywhere, and not a soul was in sight who might have seen the girl.

Relieving his disgust with a string of colorful curses, Tora turned back toward the market when he heard a wheezing sort of cackle, and a skeletal hand, holding an empty wooden bowl, shot out of the dark corner between a shack and a broken fence.

Tora recoiled, then peered cautiously into the dim recess. An old man, bent, decrepit, and filthy, looked back at him with beady black eyes and a toothless grin.

“Strong words, stranger!” The beggar’s voice was accompanied by the same whistling sound as his laughter. “It’ll cost you five coppers!”

“Don’t be greedy!” snapped Tora, walking away.

“You want to find the skirt, don’t you?” wheezed the beggar.

Tora went back. “Tell me first. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Heh, heh. Neither was I.”

Tora took another look. The beggar sat on a basket, one bandaged leg stretched before him, the other a naked stump with grisly scar tissue where the knee should have been.

With a muttered curse, Tora reached into his sash and counted five coppers into the empty bowl.

The beggar shoved bowl and coppers into the breast of his ragged robe, said “Follow me!” and stood up.

Tora stared. The cripple was standing on two thin legs, both perfectly good, though bent like tightly strung bows. He tucked the stump, apparently a piece of painted wood, into his shirt before scooting away down the street in a lopsided scurry.

“Hey!” Tora got over his astonishment when the old rascal disappeared around the corner and went after him in hot pursuit. Five coppers were nothing to sneeze at, and besides, he refused to be hoodwinked.

The beggar moved with amazing speed on his bowed legs; he knew his way around. They passed rapidly across a deserted courtyard, past several storage houses and through a creaking gate into a back alley, which led to a small grove of trees and a Shinto shrine. Past the grove, the shrine, and its red-lacquered torn’ gates, they reached a deserted street of warehouses and walled compounds. Here the beggar stopped and waited for Tora.

“What did you run away for?” gasped Tora, skidding to a halt.

The beggar pointed at a long single-story building resembling a merchant’s warehouse. “Go there and tell them the Rat sent you!”

Tora growled and seized the beggar by his ragged shirt, lifting him a couple of feet off the ground. “Oh, no, you don’t! I’ll walk in there and they’ll slit my throat, and you’ll split the proceeds. I’m not so green I don’t know the games they play with strangers.” He pushed his face close to the beggar’s and snarled, “You fooled me once with that false stump of yours and got your five coppers. Now you either produce the girl or give them back. If you don’t, I’ll make an honest cripple out of you.” He gave the Rat a shake that made stump, bowl, and coppers fly from his shirt and scatter in the street.

“No, no!” whined the Rat. “You got it wrong. Let me go, fool. I tell you, it’s not safe to make a scene here. Those monks are still after the girl, and they won’t forget you either. Go in there and tell them what happened.”

Tora set him back on the ground and released him. “You saw what happened?”

The Rat nodded. “I keep an eye on her. Now go! Remember, the Rat sent you!” He ducked, scooped up his things, and scurried away.

Tora looked at the building. It had a steeply pitched, thatched roof, but no windows. A double door was in the center, and a red sign proclaimed in large black characters that this was Higekuro’s Training Hall in Martial Arts.

Tora walked up to the door and pushed it open. Inside was a vast, dim hall. A few thick mats lay scattered on the floor, and a rack of oak and bamboo poles used in stick fighting stood against one long wall. Another wall held archery targets of varying sizes. Bows and quivers of arrows were hanging from pegs. There was nobody about.

Tora saw another, smaller door in the rear wall and went through it into a dirt courtyard. It was empty also, but a short bamboo fence separated this area from a kitchen yard adjoining a neighbor’s tall plastered wall. When Tora peered over the fence, he saw the girl. She had her back to him and was bending over a basket of cabbages. He would have recognized those shapely hips anywhere. Calling out a greeting, he vaulted over the fence and came up behind her.

She paid no attention to him until his foot kicked over a pail of water that spread quickly toward her. When it reached her foot, she spun around and stared at him. He repeated his greeting. Her eyes were quite large and very beautiful, but she made no sound and it suddenly occurred to Tora that she might be mentally deficient.

“Don’t be afraid, little sister,” he said slowly, smiling at her. “I am Tora. The Rat told me where you live.”

She shook her head and backed away.

“Stop running away.” Tora was losing his temper and glowered. “Why don’t you answer me? You’d think you could at least say thank you.”

She looked frightened and turned to run toward the house. Tora reached for her shoulder, but before he could stop her, his other arm was seized violently and he was pulled off balance; he received a very painful kick to the back of his knee and a sharp blow to his lower spine, and was then lifted, spun about in the air, and tossed. He landed against the trunk of a tree with a thud. By sheer instinct, he rolled and prepared to launch himself against his attacker, a dimly perceived shape coming at him. His lunge was met by a raised foot. The heel caught him squarely on the chin, knocking his head back against the tree, and turning day into sudden night.

When he came to, he felt, through a painful haze, gentle hands on his face. A cool, wet cloth was pressed to his lips. He licked them, tasted salty blood, and opened his eyes.

He was propped against the tree, and a girl was bent over him, not his girl, but a stranger. He looked past her for his attacker. There was no one else around.

“I am very sorry about this,” the girl said in a strong, clear voice. “I thought you were annoying my sister. I keep an eye on her because she cannot call for help.”

Tora recalled the ungrateful wench and glared. “What do you mean, she can’t call for help? There was no need. I called out to her several times. I introduced myself. She knew me. Not to mention that I had just saved the silly skirt from being raped. Why the devil should she call for help? What’s the matter with you people? And...” Tora pushed her roughly out of his way and got to his feet. “And who knocked me out? What, by all the demons from hell, is going on here?”

There was no sign of his attacker, but he picked up a handy length of bamboo just in case.

“I said I was sorry.” The girl bit her lip. “My sister, Otomi, is a deaf-mute. That is why she cannot hear or speak. I am called Ayako, and our father is Higekuro. He teaches martial arts, and we get a lot of rough characters walking in here because of our business.”

Tora noted that she was good-looking, though not the beauty her sister was. But at the moment he was too enraged to care. “Oh, so I’m a rough character now!” he snapped. “Thanks a lot! Well, you can tell your father it’s customary to inform a man of the reason before knocking him out. Jumped at from the back, too! No wonder you get thugs here. No honest man would fight that way.” He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “And to think I listened to someone called the Rat!” The girl flushed and rose to her feet. She opened her mouth to say something, but Tora was just hitting his stride. He was outraged. “And what’s more,” he shouted, “you would both be better employed looking after the poor girl than sending her alone to the market where any villain can lay his hands on her. Two bastards in monks’ outfits grabbed her from a vendor’s stall and carried her off for their pleasure. I caught up with them just in time. She could’ve been gang-raped by a whole cursed monastery for all you cared.”

“That does not give you the right to insult my father!” she flashed at him.

“Oh, for the Buddha’s sake,” he muttered disgustedly and tossed the bamboo staff aside. Turning, he made for the door he had come through earlier.

“Wait!” she cried.

He kept right on going.

When he passed through the exercise hall, there were quick steps behind him and a hand pulled his sleeve. He swung around and saw the deaf girl, her face wet with tears.

“Now, then, er, Otomi,” he said awkwardly, “it’s all right. Just watch yourself next time,” and made her a short bow.

Her sister came up, too, and knelt, bowing her head. “This ignorant person apologizes for her words and deeds. They bring dishonor on our family. Please, for the sake of my sister, I beg that you will not leave without allowing our father to express his gratitude and share a cup of wine.”

Tora hesitated. He had no wish to further his acquaintance with this bizarre family, but he was curious to see the man who had floored him so efficiently. With a grudging nod, he allowed himself to be led to the living quarters of the martial arts teacher, Higekuro.

These consisted of a single room, which served as kitchen and living area, tiny but very clean, and furnished with a built-in wooden platform for sitting, cooking facilities, and a few simple utensils. In one corner, stacked wooden cupboards formed steep steps to an attic space above.

A bearded giant of a man sat on the platform in the Buddha’s pose. He was occupied with weaving the soles of straw sandals. His luxuriant black beard accounted for his name; Higekuro meant Blackbeard.

“A new student, child?” he asked the older girl in a booming voice when he saw Tora.

“No, Father,” the girl Ayako answered. “A friend. He saved Otomi from two monks today, and the Rat sent him to us.”

Higekuro dropped his work and sat up, looking at Tora with interest. “Did he, indeed? We are deeply indebted to you, sir.”

Eyeing the giant warily, Tora stepped forward, bowed, and introduced himself. Clearly this huge, muscular man was the one who had attacked him, but what game was he playing?

“Pray join me in some wine,” continued Higekuro, inviting Tora to sit next to him. “Two monks, did she say? Good heavens! I see that they must have been a handful. Your face is badly bruised and cut.” He waved Otomi over and said, gesturing to Tora’s face, “Go get some salve, little one, while your older sister pours the wine.”

The deaf girl watched his lips carefully, nodded, and scurried up to the attic.

Tora looked from the giant with the magnificent black beard to Ayako. He felt completely out of his depth. Somehow nothing was as it should be with these people. Perhaps he had wandered among the fox spirits.

Ayako saw his frown and flushed a deep red. “It was my fault, Father,” she murmured, hanging her head. “I am so ashamed. I thought he was trying to grab Otomi...and I’m afraid I. . .” She did not finish.

“You mean it was you?” Tora was aghast. “You? A mere slip of a girl threw me? Impossible! This is a joke, isn’t it? It was you all along, Master Higekuro, wasn’t it?” He looked from one to the other. The girl turned away. Higekuro shook his head sadly.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I know how you must feel, and it grieves me deeply. A girl.” He sighed. “Try to forgive her. She is very good, you know. I taught her myself before I lost the use of my legs. She has been helping me in the school ever since, because I can no longer stand. Ayako handles all of the stick-fighting lessons and demonstrates the wrestling holds. I am crippled from the waist down and can only teach archery and give instruction and advice in the other arts.”

Tora was shaken. He avoided staring at the other man’s body and instead glared at Ayako. A woman fighter! There were stories about such women, but he was deeply offended by the impropriety of it. Women were supposed to be weak, soft, pleasing, and accommodating to their men. Perhaps there was some excuse in this case. The father was crippled and had no son to take over, but in Tora’s view Ayako was no longer a desirable female.

When Otomi returned with the salve and tended to his split lip with tender care and many commiserating glances from her beautiful eyes, he felt completely justified in his opinion of her sister.

Ayako handed him a cup of wine and said quietly, “My father is the best archer in the province. No one can beat him. Perhaps he could show you some of his techniques. At no charge, of course.”

Higekuro said modestly, “My daughter exaggerates, but yes. Allow us to show our gratitude. When the muscles went in my lower limbs, I concentrated on exercising my arms and upper body. Bending a bow and shooting at targets is good practice. When I became adept, I took on students.” He pointed to a scroll of characters hanging against the wall. “We live by those words.”

Tora blinked and nodded. He could not read.

“ ‘No Work—No Food,’“ Higekuro read. “We all work in our way, even little sister. She paints and is very good at it. After the day’s labors, the girls share the household duties while I make straw sandals. But enough of us. You must think us very poor hosts. How about some food for our guest, girls?”

Tora politely refused but was pressed to stay. While the daughters busied themselves with the cooking, Higekuro asked about the incident with the monks. When Tora had satisfied his curiosity, he shook his head and said, “I don’t understand it. Otomi used to visit all the temples within a day’s journey to make sketches for her paintings, but recently she has been reluctant to go. I did not know she had good reason to be afraid of monks. The Rat looks out for her, but if you hadn’t come along, he could not have helped her. I wonder what made those monks come after her.”

Tora snorted. “She’s a beauty, that’s why.”

Higekuro raised his eyebrows. “There have been complaints about young monks from the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom outside the city. I thought it was just youthful spirits, but perhaps we had better watch Otomi in the future.”

“Is it the big temple in the hills?” asked Tora.

“Yes. My daughters say it’s very beautiful. The new abbot is a great teacher. Many people travel here to hear him preach. The governor and his family, and most of the so-called good people attend his services.”

Tora was listening with only half an ear, his eyes on Otomi’s hips as she bent over the oven. “Those bastards!” he muttered. “I should’ve killed them.”

Higekuro followed his glance. “Are you a married man, Tora?”

“No. Never could afford a wife. Of course, now...” Tora decided it could not hurt to brag a little. “I serve Lord Sugawara from the capital. We just arrived.”

“Ah.” Higekuro nodded. “Your master was sent to look into the missing taxes. Don’t look surprised. That mystery is on everyone’s mind. Three times a whole tax convoy disappears– soldiers, bearers, packhorses, bag and baggage. And without a trace, if you can believe official notices.”

Tora took his eyes off Otomi and gaped at him. “How can such a thing be? It must be a lie. Do you believe it?” he asked.

“Hmm.” Higekuro looked thoughtful. “The present administration has been a good one in most respects. People will be sorry to see Lord Fujiwara go. My guess is that someone with the convoy, maybe on instructions from someone else, simply took the goods to the far north. There the bearers and soldiers were paid off and are too afraid of reprisals to come home.”

Tora said, “Those soldiers must be cowards and crooks, in which case the local garrison is to blame. Perhaps the garrison commander is behind it. Yes, that must be it. No wonder rowdy monks run wild in the market.”

Higekuro shook his head. “We have a new commander. He is young but efficient from what I hear. Besides, it’s really the prefectural police who are supposed to keep the peace in the city.” He gave Tora’s shoulder a friendly slap and said, “Well, perhaps you and your master will solve the puzzle for us. Here’s the food.”

The meal was plain but tasty, and the company pleasant, especially Otomi, who made up for her silence with the most speaking glances and tender smiles.

So much so that, when he finally took his leave, Tora promised with great fervor to return soon and often. Otomi blushed and Higekuro smiled.

* * * *