Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Higekuro sighed. “You must think us very strange,” he said to Akitada, “but remember our background and our present life together. My daughters are everything to me. Perhaps I have been too indulgent with them, but the proprieties observed in the past have lost all meaning for the three of us.”

Akitada nodded. “It’s curious,” he said, pointing to the scroll, “that monks should appear in both of your daughter’s recent adventures. I am very interested in the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom and its abbot, Master Joto. Has Otomi visited there?”

“Yes, often.” Higekuro pondered the question a moment. “She goes there to sell her pictures to the pilgrims. But surely there is no connection? Master Joto’s monks have always been very helpful to her. The ones asking questions earlier today were probably just trying to send her customers.”

Akitada looked at Ayako. “What do you think?” he asked softly.

She lifted her chin and met his eyes squarely. “I think you are right about the monks and Father is wrong,” she said. “If you will leave my sister in peace, I’ll help you investigate the monks.”

Akitada laughed and bowed. “I admire your spirit. If your father permits it, it’s a bargain.” Turning to Higekuro, he asked, “Will you trust me with your daughter?”

Higekuro stroked his beard and looked from Akitada to Ayako and back again. “Ayako does not need my permission for anything she chooses to do. You may trust her. She knows her way about and is as useful as any man in a tight spot. Tora told us that you take an interest in stick fighting. Why not let Ayako give you a bout?”

Akitada glanced at the girl and thought he caught a look of distress, but she smiled and asked, “Are you willing, sir?”

Amused and intrigued, Akitada rose. “It would be an honor.”

Taking up an oil lamp, Ayako led the way into the dark practice hall and lit the oil lamps attached to supporting beams. The hall sprang into an eerie, shadowy existence. The flames flickered in unseen drafts and familiar objects took on mysterious and threatening forms.

“Make your selection,” Ayako said, pointing to a rack of staves.

Feeling a little foolish, Akitada removed his outer robe and fastened his full trousers around his knees. Then he found a weapon that felt comfortable and turned around.

Ayako had taken off her robe and wore only a pair of trousers. As he stared, she bent to tighten the strings around her knees. He had seen peasant women in the fields work bare-breasted, but that this beautiful young woman should do so in front of him shocked and flustered him.

“Do you teach your lessons like that?” The words were out before Akitada could stop himself.

She straightened up slowly and looked at him. Her body was magnificent. She was as slim and muscular as an active boy, with a boy’s long torso, but high, softly rounded breasts, a flat stomach, and hips tapering to slender, firm thighs. The full fabric of the trousers partially hid the shape of her lower body, but her movements left little to Akitada’s imagination and he swallowed.

“No,” she said coldly and turned away to reach up for a sleeveless shirt hanging on a nail. “Men dislike fighting a woman. I wear a shirt and trousers, like one of the porters on the street, and they pretend I’m a boy. Would you prefer not to engage in a bout with a female?”

“Not at all. I’m ready.” Akitada hoped the uncertain light hid his flushed face.

If he had thought to prove his masculine superiority by humoring this girl fighter, he was sadly disappointed. Perhaps he had angered her, because Ayako attacked with a speed and ferocity that saw him disarmed in a minute. Wordlessly, she bent and tossed him his stave, and they began again. This time Akitada was more careful, but he lost his weapon once more. Again she threw it to him, saying, “Your technique is good, but you have been taught to attack. When you are forced to receive an attack, you have no notion how to defend yourself. This time I’ll let you force me back. Watch how I counter your strikes.”

Akitada bit his lip and did his best. To his surprise, even his hardest hits and quickest lunges were parried. He was about to give up before he disgraced himself completely when Ayako disarmed him for the third time.

He stood staring at his stave on the floor between them and shook his head. “You are a superb fighter,” he said in awe.

“Thank you.”

Her words sounded muffled, and he looked up. She had her back to him and was hanging the shirt back on its hook. Her long, slender back glistened with a sheen of perspiration that moved in patterns of light and darkness across the flexing muscles. This time she did not turn around until she had put on her long robe and tied her sash. When she faced him in the flickering lights, he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

“I expect you want to make a clandestine visit to the temple,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “We could go tonight if you like.”

“Yes.” He agreed almost without volition. Putting on his robe, he wondered how this strange girl could have disturbed him so powerfully and why he wished to prolong their time together even at the cost of a night’s sleep.

They rejoined the others. Otomi had returned, looking pale but much calmer, and was gathering up her paintings.

Akitada said to Higekuro, “Would you ask your daughter if I might purchase two of the scrolls? The dragon scroll and the mountain landscape?”

Higekuro spoke to Otomi, who nodded and brought the pictures to him. “They are a gift,” her father said, extending them to Akitada.

“No.” Akitada was firm. “I will pay the top price she has been getting.” He looked at Ayako.

“Two bars of silver apiece,” she said, tossing her head.

Higekuro drew in his breath. “Ridiculous! You know very well that was the price of a commissioned mandala with three hundred figures of saints.”

“Four bars of silver it is,” said Akitada recklessly, remembering Motosuke’s gold. “The price is reasonable for good work. I will pay your daughter tomorrow.” Turning to Tora, he said, “Miss Ayako has offered to take us into the monastery tonight. It means postponing the search for your friend until tomorrow.”

“What’s so hard about getting into a temple?” Tora asked with a disdainful look at Ayako.

“This temple is not like others, Tora, and Miss Ayako has been there before. You and I have not.”

“You will need to change clothes,” Ayako said to Akitada.

“Then we’ll stop at the tribunal.”

“We don’t need Tora.”

Tora’s face stiffened. “I’m going!” he snapped.

Akitada hesitated, then told Ayako, “There may be trouble. Tora will be useful.”

Ayako whirled to face him, her eyes fierce. “I can handle any man,” she said. “What else do you want me to do to prove it to you?”

Akitada stepped back. “I did not mean ... It was not meant as an insult. But there are so many monks there that even Tora and I...” Seeing the flash of anger at his use of the word even, he said quickly, “If we are discovered, three have a better chance of escaping. Two of us can hold off the enemy while one runs for help.”

“If you’re careful and don’t do anything stupid, we won’t be discovered.” She turned away and ran up to the loft with the smooth, long strides of a large cat.

Akitada told Higekuro, “Thank you for making me as welcome as Tora. I hope he has behaved himself.”

Higekuro glanced at Tora and Otomi, who were taking their time putting away the game pieces and managing to touch hands as much as possible. He smiled. “Tora’s like the son I never had,” he said. “I don’t want Otomi to get hurt, but I won’t deny my daughters some joy while they are young.” He met Akitada’s eyes and added with great seriousness, “Remember this: my daughters and I are outside the world you live in; we have made our own rules.”

Akitada had no idea how to respond to this puzzling advice, so he thanked his host for the wine and entertainment and gathered up his scrolls.

When Ayako returned, she wore long black trousers and a long-sleeved black shirt. Her hair was bound up in a black scarf. “Do you have any dark clothes?” she asked, frowning at Akitada’s white silk trousers and pale gray robe.

“Yes. Though nothing nearly as becoming as your costume,” he said with a warm smile.

She looked startled and turned away abruptly. “Let’s go then.”

* * * *

TEN

THE TEMPLE OF

FOURFOLD WISDOM

A

kitada, in his dark brown hunting clothes, joined Tora in the stable yard. Tora had brought horses from the governor’s stables and wore a quilted cotton coat that was so stained and faded it was hard to tell if it was green or black. A pair of badly patched blue trousers were tucked into his boots.

Akitada stared at him. “Is there some naked beggar outside the gate?”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Tora asked. “They’re dark. Had to give that greedy bastard of a stable boy ten coppers and my blue robe for them.”

The stable boy, who had saddled the three horses and was standing about yawning, decided to disappear.

“You gave him your new blue robe? I paid three strings of coppers for your clothes,” protested Akitada.

Tora snorted. “You were cheated. They didn’t keep me as warm as this.” He patted his quilted coat affectionately, then took the bridles of two horses and headed out the door, leaving Akitada to follow behind with the third.

Ayako regarded her horse with intense dislike.

“Come on,” mocked Tora. “Get up! He won’t bite.”

She gave him a furious look and scrambled up awkwardly. Taking the reins, she gingerly directed the docile beast onto the road. “Follow me,” she said over her shoulder. “We can’t use the Great Northern Gate. The guards ask questions.”

They passed quickly through dark deserted streets north of the tribunal and turned down a short alley that ended at the palisade enclosing the city. Someone had broken the boards there, making an opening wide enough for a horse and rider to pass through. A well-trodden path led down into the wide ditch and up the other side. Clearly they were not the only ones who avoided official scrutiny at the Great Northern Gate.

Once in the countryside, they traveled quickly along narrow farm roads. Mulberry groves, leafless at this time of year, raised screens of fine black branches against the starry sky. The moon, nearly full, moved with them in ghostly fashion behind the lacy boughs.

It was cold, and the horses’ breath hung white in the air when they snorted. They were riding single file, with Ayako leading the way and Tora bringing up the rear. Akitada’s eyes were on the slender, straight back of the young woman in front of him. He wondered if she was cold in her thin black cotton shirt and trousers. Belatedly it occurred to him that, being unfamiliar with horses, she had expected to ride in front of one of them.

Bringing his horse up beside hers as soon as the road widened a little, he asked, “Are you cold?”

“No,” she said curtly. “I don’t like horses, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry I did not ask before. Would you like to ride with me?”

For a moment she hesitated, then she stiffened her shoulders and shook her head.

“Why did you offer to come? You could have drawn us a map.”

“I wanted to come.” After a moment she grudgingly added, “Besides, you need me. I know how to get in. When my sister was attacked, I got suspicious of the monks and paid a visit to the temple.”

“And?”

“In the daytime they watch all visitors. I decided to come back after dark. The first time they almost caught me. Last time I found ... well, something strange.”

“What?”

“Wait till you see.” She kicked her horse into a faster trot, and Akitada fell behind.

The mulberry groves thinned, and an icy wind began to catch at their clothes. The narrow road joined a much wider highway leading into the mountains. Akitada looked back over his shoulder. Behind him stretched the plain toward the distant bay—a thin silver line marking the separation of the night sky from the land. Between them and the sea lay the city, an amorphous mass of snow-covered roofs, pine groves, and pagodas.

Tora sat huddled into his quilted coat, staring ahead. “Looks dark in those woods,” he muttered.

The mountains loomed ominously ahead, and the band of moon-silvered road led straight into them. Within minutes the pine forest swallowed them up.

The forest screened them from the wind, but small night animals frightened their horses, and many eyes, glittering sparks in the darkness of the trees lining the road, watched them pass. Tora cursed once, and when Akitada looked back, he saw in the dim moonlight that Tora was clutching the amulet he wore on a string around his neck. Tora’s superstitious fears were at odds with the courage he displayed against human opponents.

The road began to climb, twisting back and forth among rock outcroppings. It was in excellent condition and quite wide, clearly a result of the fame of Joto’s temple.

Soon Ayako stopped her horse and waited for them to come up. “There!” she said, pointing. The trees thinned ahead, and they saw the top of a tall pagoda stretching a graceful spire and curved roofs into the starry sky, its snowy ridge tiles and gilded eave ornaments, its bells and hanging lanterns shimmering in the moonlight. “We have to turn aside here,” Ayako told them. “The gate is guarded day and night. We’ll take the horses into the woods a little ways and walk from there.”

She seemed to know her way through the forest, but Akitada soon became completely disoriented. They stopped in a small clearing, dismounted, and tied up the horses.

Tora looked around, glowering. “Where the devil are we?”

Ayako said sharply, “Near the western wall of the temple. When we get closer, you must stop talking and try not to make any noise. They have patrols at night, and we are passing near the stables where the horses may give us away.”

A small animal suddenly shot out from under the shrub Tora’s horse was sampling, and Tora cursed, tearing violently at the neck of his jacket to reach his amulet.

“Calm down!” Akitada said. “It was just a fox or badger.”

“How do you know that’s all it was?” Tora looked about him fearfully. “These woods are full of oni and tengu. Their hungry eyes are watching us from the darkness. There! There’s one of them. Let’s get out of here.” He fumbled frantically with his reins.

“Stop that, you fool,” Ayako snapped. “I knew we shouldn’t have brought you. And I thought only children were frightened of goblins in the dark.”

“Enough,” commanded Akitada. “I have no intention of standing about in a cold forest in the middle of the night, listening to two children squabbling.”

Ayako muttered, “Sorry!” and walked off so quickly that Akitada and Tora barely kept up with her. She moved silently, graceful and surefooted, in spite of the rocks and tree roots that caused Tora and Akitada to stumble awkwardly behind her.

They emerged from the forest at the foot of a cliff. Its top was crowned by the tiled outer wall of the temple compound. In the pale moonlight the cliff looked inaccessible.

“There,” muttered Tora, “I knew it. She got us lost. That’s what you get for listening to a stupid female.”

“Quiet,” Ayako hissed.

“Surely you can’t climb up there,” Akitada protested in a whisper. “It looks too steep. The monks won’t worry about thieves coming from this side.”

“You’d be surprised what they worry about,” Ayako said darkly. “Come on. I know a way up.”

She plunged into the shrubbery at the foot of the cliff, and after a moment Akitada followed. The shrubs hid a narrow crack in the surface of the rock, and now Akitada saw Ayako climbing up this fissure hand over hand like a monkey. His better sense told him to abandon the venture, but he was strangely reluctant. He did not want this strange girl to mock his lack of courage or skill. And then there was the possibility that she might get hurt. He found neither prospect bearable.

The climb turned out to be easier than he had expected—as long as he did not look down and ignored Tora’s muttered curses, groans, and desperate scrabblings.

When Akitada joined Ayako on the narrow ledge at the top, he felt ridiculously proud. But before them was a wall that was the height of two tall men and topped with slippery tiles. Several pine trees grew close to it, but all of the overhanging branches had been carefully trimmed off.

Ayako made her way to one particular pine. It was farther from the wall but extended a broken branch to within three feet of the tiles. She climbed up, walked out on the branch, and then made a heart-stopping leap for the wall. She landed like a cat on all fours, crouched for a moment, then sat and looked down at him.

“All’s safe,” she said softly. Unwinding the black cotton scarf from her head, she lowered it to Akitada. “Grab hold of this and walk up the wall. I’ll help pull you up.”

Tora snorted.

“I’m much too heavy for you,” Akitada told her, adding dubiously, “Climbing the pine tree is the only option.”

“No. The branch won’t hold you.”

“Never mind,” grumbled Tora. “I know a better way. Only ...” He looked at Akitada doubtfully.

“What?” asked Akitada. “Speak up.”

“I’ll have to go up first, sir.”

“This is no time to stand on ceremony. Go ahead.”

“But I’ll have to stand on your shoulders.”

Akitada suppressed a laugh. More and more this excursion reminded him of a boyhood prank. “Where do you want me to stand?”

Tora showed him how to stand with his hands on his hips, back against the wall, and his legs spread a little. Then Tora vaulted upward, stepping first on Akitada’s thigh and from there to his shoulder, kneeling first and then putting one foot on each shoulder and standing up. The maneuver was painful, for Tora was considerably heavier than Akitada, who groaned and held his breath, waiting for the moment when those cruel boots would leave his bruised shoulders.

The moment did not come.

Instead there was some cursing. A brief exchange followed, unintelligible to Akitada, who gritted his teeth and concentrated on keeping his knees from buckling under him.

“Get away from me, woman,” Tora snarled above him. Then he said apologetically, “Sir? I can’t quite reach it. But I think I can make it if I jump for it.”

Akitada did not answer.

The next moment Tora pushed off. There was a brief scrabbling sound, while pain shot through Akitada’s shoulders and down his back. He started to slip down the wall to his knees. His ears rang and his eyes watered from the pain, but blessedly the weight on his shoulders was gone.

“Sst!” Tora hissed from above. “Sorry about that. Now get hold of this. I’ll have you up in no time, sir.”

Akitada straightened his trembling legs and looked up at the end of black fabric dangling before his face. He doubted it would support his weight but had too much pride to say so. His neck and shoulders were on fire, but he raised his arms experimentally and seized Ayako’s scarf, wrapped it about his wrist, and clambered up the wall to the top.

The slanting tiles were no comfortable perch. He straddled the wall and pretended to look about him while he gingerly moved his shoulders and waited for the pain to subside a little. He wondered if Tora had broken his shoulders.

The temple compound was silent under the stars, its layout apparent in the eerie moonlight: a series of quadrangles and rectangles formed by intersecting covered galleries and walls, each enclosing halls, stables, kitchen, monks’ quarters, or storage buildings. The roofs of the great halls, like those of the great pagoda, were tiled. The service buildings had thatched roofs and made darker patches against the gray gravel of the courtyards. Not a soul was about.

“There’s the kitchen,” Ayako whispered, pointing to a long building in the courtyard below. “And back there are stables and quarters for visiting guests. We’ll climb down and go through that gate over there into the next courtyard. That’s where the storehouses are.”

She got up and began to run along the ridge to a place where a big barrel stood against the wall. Akitada and Tora followed more slowly, unused to walking on the ridged tiles.

But just before they could climb down to level ground, they heard a faint crunching sound. Someone was walking across the gravel.

“Down!” Ayako whispered, flattening her body along the tiles.

They followed her example and watched as two dark figures detached themselves from the shadow of a wall and walked to the kitchen building. They disappeared inside, then reappeared a minute or so later, to move on to the courtyard that enclosed the storehouses.

“Now what?” Tora asked disgustedly.

Ayako gave him a look. “We wait, then follow. From what I’ve seen, we’ll have an hour before they return on their next round.”

When she gave the signal, they climbed down and crossed as quietly as possible to the gate. All was still in the next courtyard.

“Come.” Ayako started toward the first and largest of the storehouses. When they reached its big wooden door, they found it was not merely latched but locked.

“You see?” Ayako asked.

Akitada nodded. Locking a storehouse in a guarded temple compound implied that the contents were either contraband or extremely valuable.

“I wish we had a key,” she said. “This is the only storehouse that’s locked, and I bet the missing tax shipments are in it.”

Akitada looked at the building. It was large enough to hold twenty shipments of goods, let alone three.

“Here,” said Tora. “Let me try.” To their astonishment, he produced a thin piece of metal from his sleeve, studied the lock for a moment, and then began to bend the metal with his strong hands. Inserted into the proper opening, the hook tripped the bolt, and the door opened onto darkness. They stepped in.

“Close the door,” said Akitada, moving aside and holding his breath. Tora’s new clothes released an aroma of stable that was overpowering in close proximity.

For a moment they stood in the dark; then Akitada and Tora both struck flints. The momentary flashes of light revealed a large dim space containing vague piles of goods stretching far into the dark corners. Then both lights went out. Tora fumbled about on the floor. “A moment,” he muttered. There was another flash of brightness, and this time Tora managed to light an oil lantern he had found near the door.

They looked around. The storehouse was large and the lantern small. Its light flickered with their every move and threw objects into grotesque relief against vast spaces of darkness that loomed above them and lurked in dim corners and far recesses behind the stacked stores. The air was musty and dry, vaguely smelling of grass mats, old wood, and spices.

As they walked slowly among the piled goods, they heard skittering sounds made by small animals, mice or rats. Akitada lifted the lid off one large barrel and found beans inside. Tora stopped before a long line of large earthenware jars. A long-handled dipper lay on one of them. He picked it up and removed the stopper from the jar. A rich, fruity odor filled the air.

“What do you know?” Tora chuckled in delighted astonishment. “The baldpates have a taste for wine just like the rest of us sinful slobs.” He dipped, tasted, and smacked his lips. “Good stuff.”

Akitada, still wracked with pain and exhaustion, perched on a stack of boxes and stared at the long row of wine jars. “Strange,” he muttered. “Beans are a normal staple in Buddhist monasteries, but wine is forbidden.”

“So is raping girls,” Ayako snapped and kicked angrily at a long roll of straw matting. “Ouch!” She bent to feel the roll. It made a soft clinking sound.

“Stop drinking, Tora,” said Akitada, “and see what’s in all those bundles!”

Once the matting of the roll was untied and opened, a number of halberds appeared, each one new and sharply pointed.

“Holy Buddha! Naginata!” gasped Tora. “They must be expecting an attack. No wonder they watch this place like it was some fortress under siege.”

“Let me see that.” Akitada rose and held up the lantern. Roll after roll of straw matting lay stacked against the wall. He inspected the halberds and counted twenty of them in the one bundle. A quick check showed that there were nearly a hundred rolls. “Enough weapons for an army,” he said with awe. The soldiers in Otomi’s scroll had been armed with naginata. A terrible sense of unease crept over him. The idea of a whole order of monks indulging in wine and women was barely to be stomached, but these same monks arming themselves against the local government? Against the emperor? No wonder those inept monks at the Tachibana house had reminded him of recruits. They were. He also remembered vividly the rascally features of the three monks they had seen in the market that first day after their arrival. “Put them back the way we found them, Tora,” he said grimly.

Ayako watched with quiet satisfaction. “I told you. I bet your missing taxes are in the rest of those containers.”

She began opening boxes and barrels while Akitada trailed along behind her holding the lantern. In its light, he caught golden glints on Ayako’s skin, on her eager face, on her small teeth worrying her lower lip, on the line of her slender neck, where a few tendrils of hair had escaped the black scarf. He watched her hands, long and capable, moving quickly among the tubs, boxes, baskets, and bags. But they found nothing more.

It was not until they reached the back wall that Akitada missed Tora.

“We seem to be alone,” he said softly to Ayako.

She turned and looked at him.

Akitada suddenly found it hard to breathe normally. “I wonder,” he said after a long moment of foolishly smiling at her, “what’s become of Tora.”

“Here I am.” Tora belched, releasing a strong odor of rice wine. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve been thinking. Those boxes back there? The ones you were sitting on. Did they remind you of anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you had the light, so I couldn’t see to check, but I get the feeling they might be the kind you pack silver or gold in.”

Akitada walked back quickly and looked at the boxes. His heart started beating faster. The lacquered containers were sturdily built of leather-covered wood, their sides and corners reinforced with metal plates, their handles and locks large and substantial. “Yes, I think you’re right,” he said. “These are the boxes merchants and government agents use to transport coin and bars of gold and silver.”

With cries of pleasure Tora and Ayako fell upon them. But the boxes were not locked and were perfectly empty, stored apparently for some future use. If they had ever been marked with government stamps and seals, these were long gone. By the light of their oil lantern, they looked at each box carefully, but all they could discover were assorted scratches and one rather peculiar scorch mark that looked something like a fish jumping for a ball.

Akitada sighed. “They could have held precious objects used in religious ceremonies,” he said. “And the rest of the storehouse contains nothing more suspicious than bales of hemp, boxes packed with brass censers and bells, and ceremonial vestments.” He looked around unhappily. Wine and halberds! It just did not add up. Perhaps these items were being stored for some wealthy lay person, though what the allegedly peaceful local barons would want with nearly two thousand halberds he could not imagine.

“Shall we have a look at the other storehouses?” Ayako asked after a moment.

Akitada was tired, but he nodded. “Very well. Put out the light, Tora, but leave the door unlocked. I have a feeling we have overlooked something.”

They inspected the other storehouses, all of them unlocked, without finding anything helpful. These contained the usual barrels of bean paste and pickles, bags of rice, barley, millet, and beans; jars of oil; boxes of candles; bales of silk and hemp; shelves filled with crockery, temple ornaments, and damaged statuary—in short, everything and nothing at all incriminating.

“It’s getting late,” Ayako urged, “and there’s one more thing I want to show you. It’s been haunting me ever since I first heard it.”

“Something you heard?” asked Akitada.

“Yes. It’s outside, in back of this storehouse.”

Everything was still peaceful in the large courtyard. The stars shimmered above, but the moon had shifted slightly toward the west. To the east there was the first perceptible fading of the night’s darkness.

They passed around the back corner of the building and walked to the middle of the empty space between it and a covered gallery.

“What is over there?” Akitada asked, pointing at several low tiled roofs in the next courtyard.

“The abbot’s quarters and temple administration.” Ayako was moving about slowly, listening intently. She waved them over. “Listen! Do you hear it?”

Akitada cocked his head. A slight humming sound was barely discernible. “The wind?” he asked.

“No. The wind has died down. Besides, it’s too regular. Like people singing far away.”

“Yes, you’re right. But it seems to come from the ground,” Akitada said, squatting down. The sound was still very faint, but he recognized it now as rhythmic chanting. It was much like the ceremony in the Tachibana hall, except that here a sort of communal chant seemed to alternate with a single, reedy voice. “It’s a monks’ chant,” he said, getting up with a frown.

“Coming from the ground?” asked Tora, his voice rising a little in sudden panic. “Let’s get out of here. I bet this is where those cursed monks bury their dead.”

“Quiet,” hissed Akitada. “I want to know where the sound is coming from.” He was moving again, bent over, in slowly widening loops that brought him gradually closer to the rear wall of the storehouse they had just left.

He found what he was looking for in the deep shadow of the building: a small wooden grille, slightly more than a foot square and set flush with the ground. It covered an underground air shaft from which the weak and unearthly sound of chanting came more clearly now. The hair on his scalp bristled.

Akitada knelt and bent close to peer into the subterranean darkness. He saw nothing, but a warm stench as of putrefaction filled his nose. Standing up quickly, he suppressed a rising nausea. Tora’s words came back to him: This is where those cursed monks bury their dead.