Текст книги "The Emperor's Woman"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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The Hungry Mountain

Tora clung to the side of the mountain. He had looked carefully at the wall of rocks and loose debris above him without finding the foot– and hand-holds he had used on his precipitate trip down. Everything looked different from this angle. He did not know how to climb up again.

But there was also no way down. Or at least none he could see beyond one more move. This he accomplished with the greatest care. It put him below the outcropping that had hidden his master’s lifeless figure on the ledge below. It brought him a little closer, but now he was cut off from a view of the top and from help.

The voice of the old woman came to him faintly, “Don’t move!” she shouted. “The mountain is hungry. It’s already swallowed two people.”

Tora shouted back, “Get help. I see my master, but he’s unconscious, and I can’t reach him.”

She shouted back, but he could not make out her words. Then all became silent. How and where she might find help, he did not know, seeing that she had been unable to so far.

He clung to the rock and peered down. From this position, he could see blood under his master’s head. It might well be from a fatal injury. He’d seen corpses that had lain in such a pool of blood which had poured from their ears, noses, and mouths as they expired. He bit his lips and tried to think positive thoughts. After what seemed a long time, he risked calling out softly, “Sir? Please don’t move. Help is on the way. Just lie still.”

Nothing happened.

He thought it could not hurt to continue the conversation. It gave him something to do and might have a soothing effect on Akitada if he were even a little bit aware. So he talked about meeting Saburo and their visit to see Genba. He interspersed his narrative with repeated warnings to lie very still, followed by assurances that help was coming.

He did not have much faith in the old woman but, being by nature hopeful, he made his chatter as cheerful as he could under the circumstances.

Circumstances deteriorated. It started to rain. This time of year and in this place, rain meant a drastic drop in temperatures and a chill wind. Tora was soon shivering.

Wet and increasingly desperate, he made up his mind that he must climb back to the top to get help. This undertaking had become much more dangerous in the rain. All the surfaces of the mountain had become slippery.

He told the still figure below him, “I’ll climb back up now for a little while, sir. Will you promise to lie very still while I’m gone?” And as he peered down through the rain, he thought he saw one of Akitada’s fingers twitch. Maybe it had been his imagination or the effect of the rain and the moistness in his eyes, but Tora preferred a happier interpretation. His heart sang for a moment at the thought that his master was not dead after all. He repeated his warning and began the dangerous climb to the top.

It soon became hopeless. His fingers slid off surfaces that felt as if they had been covered with oil. Under his feet, rocks shifted, leaving him breathless with panic. He had managed to get past the overhang, when he heard a shout from above.

“Ho!”

A man’s voice. Tora peered upward, blinking against the rain. An irregular line of round boulders rimmed the top of the rock wall. One of them must surely be a head. He blinked again and decided that there were more heads up there, looking down at him.

“Don’t do that,” shouted the first head. “We have ropes.”

Tora said a quick prayer to the god of the mountain and two more to Buddha.

“Hurry up. I’m getting wet,” he shouted back.

A snort of laughter, and some rude comments about peeing your pants floated back. But then the rope appeared, dangling and whipping about in the wind. Tora caught it and almost slipped again. Being more careful, he tied it around his chest, tested the knot, and began his ascent once more.

He was greeted by a group of wet policemen who were grinning in spite of the weather. More banter ensued and was interrupted by Superintendent Kobe, who strode into the group with a sharp, “Order!” and asked Tora, “Did you find him?”

Tora noted the anxiety in the question and nodded. “He’s just below the outcropping.” He pointed down. “I couldn’t reach him. He wasn’t moving, or maybe just a bit. A couple of fingers. But I couldn’t be sure. There’s blood.”

The lump in his stomach was back, and he swallowed.

Kobe looked over the side and shouted commands about more ropes. Tora watched the constables scramble about, then said, “I’m going back down.”

“No,” snapped Kobe. “This is work for experts. And you’re tired and wet.”

“I’m going back down.”

Akitada became aware of voices gradually. He had drifted in and out of silence for a long time. Once he had heard Tora’s voice and taken it for a dream. Tora seemed to be strangely agitated. He had felt a sense of danger. And discomfort. But now he also heard other voices. He drifted off again.

“Don’t move!”

Easily done, he thought fuzzily. He lay relaxed and was very sleepy. But he was cold, and something was wrong with his head. Never mind. He would check later. He had time.

Later came sooner than he cared for.

Someone shouted near his ear, “He’s alive!”

Hands touched him, and pain shot through his body. Two people spoke. Tora and a stranger.

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Where are you hurt?”

That was Tora. Where was he hurt? He tried to shake his head and groaned. More hands on his body, feeling his legs and arms, poking his back. More agony.

“We’ll get you up to the top, sir. Don’t you worry.”

That was Tora again. The hands stopped touching him. Akitada sighed and relaxed. He was not worried. Tora was taking care of the situation.

But what followed rattled him into greater and far more painful awareness that something was very wrong. He was pulled about and man-handled as someone tied him up. He tried to shout but got no answer. Then the hands pushed and pulled him off his bed, and he felt ropes bite into this chest and hips as he was suddenly raised. The hands were back, guiding, but he bumped his way upwards until there was no longer any point in dozing off, and he opened his eyes.

What he saw was disconcerting, part of a nightmare. But this time he was wide awake. Below him was the face of a stranger, of a young man with his wet hair plastered against a face red with effort, and beyond that the world dropped off into an abyss, into a gray cauldron of swirling rain and mist. He closed his eyes again, and tried to comprehend.

A sharp crack against his head and a shout from Tora, brought him back. More shouts to be careful. More pushing and tugging. More pain. More strain on the ropes that bound him. And then finally he understood.

Akitada cursed.

“Well, he sounds all right.”

That had been Kobe. Akitada was surprised at his presence. He had reached the top by then and could feel solid ground under him again. Someone dragged him a little ways, and then they untied the ropes. He muttered against the jarring pain, and looked up into the faces of Kobe and Tora.

“I slipped,” he said.

“You mean it was an accident? Nobody pushed you over?” Kobe sounded disappointed.

Akitada did not answer. He was concentrating on various parts of his body. There was still some pain, but it was not unbearable, and he could move both legs, though his left arm would not obey. And his head hurt. He raised his right hand to check. He was wet, but there also seemed to be a cut and a swelling. He tried to sit up, but a jarring agony in his left shoulder stopped him. He groaned and fell back.

“A litter,” said Kobe. “He can’t ride in this condition. I wish he wouldn’t go off on these wild excursions by himself. It makes work for everyone.”

“Sorry,” muttered Akitada. “You shouldn’t have bothered. Tora and I could’ve managed.

Kobe snorted his derision and walked away.

Akitada bit his lip. Kobe had, after all, come to his rescue. No doubt the excursion had caused untold trouble to a lot of people. He wondered if he should apologize, but there was the matter of Genba. And besides he had not been on a wild excursion.

That reminded him. Someone had tried to kill him.

“Tora?” His voice was thick and he seemed to have no strength to raise it.

But faithful Tora was beside him. “Yes, sir?”

“There’s a bo. It was used on Lady Masako.” He took a breath and tried again. “A little ways down the mountain. Caught on a small pine.”

Tora frowned. “A bo?”

“Yes. A short fighting stick. There’s some blood and hair on it.”

“Not in this rain,” Tora remarked, but he went to look. Then he went to speak to Kobe. Together they walked to the edge and looked over. In the end, a constable was lowered with one of the ropes. He brought up the bo.

Akitada almost smiled. It had not been in vain.

Kobe came over, carrying the bo. “What makes you think that’s what killed Lady Masako? She fell to her death quite a distance from the house.”

“The killer hit her. Inside the villa. Then he carried her to the promontory.” It was a big effort to say this much.

Kobe shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Besides, the bo is clean. It could have been tossed over at any time.”

Akitada closed his eyes.

The descent from the mountain was excruciatingly painful. Two sturdy constables bore the litter and kept up a stumbling trot downhill. This caused a constant bouncing of Akitada’s head and shoulder. They had bandaged his head after a fashion, but even with the added padding, Akitada made efforts to raise it. His neck muscles eventually hurt as badly as his head. Neither pain was as awful as that of his injured shoulder.

They had inspected it and caused him to shout at them not to touch him. Tora had muttered something to Kobe and both looked worried. They ignored his protests long enough to strap his left arm to his body. Akitada assumed his upper arm or the shoulder joint were broken.

When he was not groaning or drifting in and out of consciousness, he called himself every kind of fool imaginable. He was not about to mention his attacker to Kobe.

Bashan Returns

Ever considerate, Superintendant Kobe sent one of his men ahead to tell Tamako that her husband was alive and on his way home. The constable had orders not to frighten the lady with gruesome details of the rescue and Akitada’s condition.

Tamako thanked the young man and sent Sumiko to the kitchen to tell cook to have something warm and filling ready for Kobe’s men.

Only then did she ask the constable, “Have you seen my husband?”

The youngster said proudly, “Yes, I have, my lady. And I helped bring him up, too.”

“That was very good of you. I take it he had taken a fall?”

“Oh, yes. Horribly far down it was. And the cliff was very steep and slippery in the rain.”

“You must be a very good climber.”

The constable said modestly, “We had ropes, my lady. Too bad his lordship didn’t. He must’ve been on that ledge all night and part of the morning. We had a terrible time bringing him back up when he could do nothing for himself.”

“I see. My compliments and thanks for performing such a difficult rescue. Are the others far behind you?”

“Oh, yes. It’s impossible to hurry with a litter on steep mountain roads, and the bearers have to take turns. Besides, his lordship cannot take any shaking.”

“Well, thank you. Now go to the kitchen for some wine and food.”

When the youngster had left, Tamako tried to suppress another panic. The news, while reassuring as to Akitada being alive, was not at all hopeful about his condition. The fall had clearly been a bad one, and he was helpless and severely injured. She set about spreading his bedding and sorting through her medicines with shaking hands. Then she sent Sumiko for their physician. And finally, she wrote a note to Akiko and had the boy deliver it.

Then came the waiting.

Doctor Kumada arrived first. He was a frail and kindly elderly man, much given to treating his patients with ingenious concoctions of herbal teas and pulverized roots. In this he reminded Tamako and Akitada of Seimei, particularly since he also had another characteristic of their old faithful retainer. He liked to insert the odd bit of ancient wisdom in his conversations.

Now he greeted Tamako with a bow and a smile. “Where’s the patient, dear lady?”

“He’s on his way,” she said, glancing past him toward the gate. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know how bad it is, but he’s seriously injured, and I think he’s unconscious.”

The doctor raised his thick white brows. “How then can he be said to be on his way?”

“Oh.” Tamako brushed her hair back with a distracted hand. “I’m sorry. Sumiko didn’t make herself clear. My husband has taken a fall in the mountains. They’re bringing him by litter.”

The white eyebrows contracted. “Good heavens. I’m very sorry to hear it. Shall we go inside and make preparations?”

“Yes, of course. I did that, but you’d better see for yourself.”

Doctor Kumada approved, but he also ordered water to be heated in the kitchen and then bent over his basket of medicines to lay out some likely herbs for infusion. As he was doing this, the patient finally arrived.

When they finally brought Akitada into his room after a horribly painful and long journey, he found Tamako waiting, her face pale with worry. She exclaimed at his appearance. He tried to reassure her, but when they set his litter down, the jolt to his arm caused him to cry out. He had rarely been this miserable. His clothes were soaking wet and he shivered uncontrollably.

Tora and Kobe had come in with him, their faces drawn.

The constables next lifted Akitada from the litter onto the bedding, a process that caused him to utter several long moans.

“What happened, Tora?” Tamako asked, wringing her hands.

“He must’ve fallen yesterday, my lady. The old woman caretaker went looking for him. She heard cries for help but couldn’t see him. She’s too old and infirm to be much use, so he was on the mountain all night. By the time I got to him, he was unconscious.”

Their doctor came to bend over Akitada. “He has a bad cut on his scalp,” he announced. It must’ve bled a good deal. That could explain why he was unconscious, but the wound isn’t serious.”

Dazed with the pain of the journey, Akitada bore the doctor’s probing of his head patiently. But when he started moving his limbs and got to the left arm, he snarled, “Don’t!”

Doctor Kumada paused and asked for a sharp knife to cut the sleeve of Akitada’s robe away from his shoulder. He was gentle, but even this was exquisitely painful. When the sodden layers of robe, shirt, and undershirt were peeled back, Akitada risked a look. His shoulder joint was grossly swollen and angry red and purple in color. Besides, something was badly wrong with its shape.

“Is it broken?” Tamako asked with a gasp.

The doctor probed and shook his head. “Not at all. As they say, if you know the disease, the cure is near. Your husband has pulled his arm out of its proper place. I expect it’s very painful, but I don’t think there’s any lasting damage. The injury has caused the swelling and bruising. I won’t touch it myself, but I know someone who is said to be very good at this. He’s one of the blind masseurs. Send for him, while I check the rest of the patient.”

As Akitada absorbed this, Kobe said in a hearty voice, “Well, that’s good news. My men and I will be on our way. There’s work to be done. Glad we got your husband back in one piece, dear lady.”

Tamako bowed very deeply. “You have saved him. We are deeply in your debt.”

Akitada bit his lip. Ashamed of having cried out with pain, he almost wished the injury had been worse. “Yes, it was very good of you, Kobe. Sorry to have been such a nuisance.”

“All in a day’s work,” Kobe said and left.

Akitada detested the notion of being indebted to Kobe after all that had passed between them. “Tora could’ve handled it,” he said sourly.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” his wife said.

Tora cleared his throat. “Did you say a blind masseur, Doctor?” he asked. “Isn’t there one who treats the beggars? He’s called Bashan.”

Doctor Kumada nodded. “That’s him. He does a lot of free work for the poor. He wears plain clothing but has a heart of brocade, as they say. Bashan’s very good at manipulating limbs, also with needles and moxa treatments, I hear. You’ll probably find him in the Jade Arbor, a bathhouse in the sixth ward.”

“I’m on my way.”

“No, Tora,” said Tamako. “Send the boy. You need to get out of your wet clothes and have something to eat.”

“If you say so, my lady.” On his way out, Tora added with a grin, “Patience, sir. You’ll soon be as good as new.”

The doctor nodded. “Patience is the remedy for every misfortune.”

Akitada was neither patient nor did he have much faith in blind masseurs. In fact, his misery was still so great that he had only listened with half an ear to the chatter. He resented the fact that they were all so cheerful. Even Tamako smiled. The pain in his shoulder was too great for such good humor. He gathered something was wrong with the shoulder, but the pain radiated down his entire arm to his very fingertips. He could not move any of them. It also extended up to his neck and spread from there to his back and chest. He had to avoid breathing too deeply.

And what were they planning to do about his injuries? They were turning him over to a blind masseur. Were they mad? How much pain did they wish him to suffer? His own family was set on torturing him. He glared at Tamako, who knelt beside him, stroking his head.

The maid came in with hot water, and Doctor Kumada began the ritual of mixing one of his concoctions, murmuring explanations as he selected the ingredients. “This will serve to dispel the heat in your shoulder,” he said. “It will cleanse the poisons from the flesh and reduce the swellings. It’s the old eight-herb formula, but with some of my own substitutions.” He held them up, one by one. “Here you have mint, and here bellflower, and cassia, gardenia, and vitex. To those I add ginseng for the fever and ginger and cinnamon to reduce pain.” He stirred these ingredients together in a large earthenware bowl, then added steaming hot water to them. An acrid smell filled the room.

“Must I?” grumbled Akitada, wrinkling his nose. “I think a cup of hot spiced wine would be a good deal better. I’m still as wet as a drowned rat.”

“Do you want us to take off your clothes?” asked Tamako, jumping up. “You didn’t want anyone to touch you.”

“No, no. Don’t. I’m getting quite warm.”

The large cup, reeking of heaven knew what, approached his clenched lips while Tamako propped up his head. The first sip burned his lips and he jerked away. This jarred his shoulder and convinced him of their cruelty.

“It’s too hot,” murmured Tamako. This set the doctor to blowing on the brew. In time the evil cup approached again. Akitada sipped and gagged. “It tastes like cat’s urine. I’m not drinking this.”

The doctor looked stern. “The illness of those who are too proud to heed reason is absolutely incurable.”

“You will drink it, Akitada,” his wife said, “because if you don’t, you may die of a fever after spending the night in the rain on a mountain. That’s right, Doctor, isn’t it.”

“Very true, my lady, but I’m afraid good advice is as painful to the ears as good medicine is bitter to the tongue.”

They both chuckled. What did they care? Akitada gnashed his teeth but submitted to the nasty brew.

After that, he had a period of peace. Kumada prepared several packets of herbs for additional doses of the nasty brew, collected his pay, and departed.

“Try to rest,” Tamako said and sat down beside him. He nodded and dozed. “I wish you’d let me get those wet clothes off you.,” she said after a while.

“Maybe later.”

He must have slept a little, because when he opened his eyes again, a monk was leaning over him, his eyes half closed and his fingers moving lightly across his chest. Had he died? The fingers next felt his head, brushing across the bandage, and returned to his neck. From there, they crept toward his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Akitada growled.

The monk stopped and smiled. “Ah, you’re awake. Now pay attention. I will pull on your arm until it finds its way home.”

Akitada’s eyes popped open. “NO!”

The monk smiled more widely. “You may, of course, wish to continue in your present discomfort. In that case, I will wish you patience and depart.”

Akitada glared back. He realized that he was not dealing with a monk but with the blind masseur. “What do you know about such injuries?” he demanded.

“I would call them fortunate accidents. They are common and easily treated, except in cases where the victims have an unreasonable dislike of even a small moment’s pain.”

Akitada hated the man. How dare he speak to him this way? How dare he suggest that he could take no pain? How dare he insult him in this manner? He looked past the shaven head to Tamako, who stood by expectantly and with a smile on her face. Feeling resentful, his eyes returned to the smooth face of the monk. “A moment’s pain? A fortunate accident? Is nothing broken or torn?”

“I don’t think there is any damage. And yes, it will hurt quite a lot for a moment, but after that you’ll feel much better, and soon you’ll not remember the pain at all.”

“Must you pull my arm?”

“Yes.”

Akitada closed his eyes. “Do it then,” he said ungraciously and prepared himself to bear the procedure without making a sound. He’d show them.

The masseur felt around the joint one more time, then reached for Akitada’s wrist and gave his arm a single powerful jerk and a twist.

White-hot agony sliced through Akitada’s shoulder. The effort not to cry out caused him to become absolutely rigid from the soles of his feet to his head. He dimly heard his bones come together with an odd, slippery sound and felt an immediate relief.

“There,” said the masseur. “That should do it. Keep your arm still for a day. I’m told your doctor left some medicine for pain. I’ll only rub on a little ointment. It won’t hurt.”

Akitada opened his eyes slowly. The pain was almost gone, and the relief was overwhelming. The ointment felt pleasantly hot on his skin. He said, “Thank you. Please forgive me for doubting your skill.”

A small smile twitched the masseur’s lips. “It was nothing. As I said, a fortunate accident. I’ll take my leave. Not all my patients are as easy to cure.”

Feeling the implied reprimand, Akitada flushed. “I believe payment is in order,” he said to establish a more proper relationship.

“A piece of silver will do.”

He was not cheap. Akitada eyed the slender figure with the shaven head. The man belonged to the lower classes, perhaps even to the untouchables, but his speech was educated. Though his manner had hardly been proper, he had done his job well and must be paid. “Tamako, please get the money.”

As Tamako paid the masseur, putting the money in his hand and adding her thanks, Tora came back in. He eyed the masseur with interest. “You must be the one who treated a friend of mine. He was attacked and got a bad head wound. You took care of him at the beggars’ temple. His name’s Saburo.”

The masseur cocked his head in Tora’s direction. “It may be so. A friend of yours, you say?”

Akitada said, “Saburo worked for me. If you have treated him, it’s only right that I should pay his debt also.”

The masseur hesitated. “Thank you. But it was nothing. I treat the poor without taking pay.”

“Then I’m sure you can use the money,” Tamako said. “It was a kindness, and we’re grateful.” Tamako pressed another piece of silver into Bashan’s hand.

Bashan bowed, then felt around for his staff. Tora handed it to him, and led him out.

“What an odd character,” muttered Akitada. “I think I’ll change now.” Assisted by Tamako, he struggled out of his wet, torn, and filthy clothes and put on dry ones. His left arm was still fairly useless and somewhat painful, but he found he could tuck it inside his robe where it was adequately supported. He was beginning to feel almost human again and decided to sit down behind his desk. Tamako watched him, smiling to see him so greatly improved.

Suddenly he felt a rush of happiness and gratitude. He had almost died on the mountain. Certainly his attacker had intended him to die. Tears came to his eyes. He was ashamed that he had behaved like a spoiled child.

“I’ve been foolish and careless, and I’ve given you a very hard time,” he told his wife. “Please forgive me.”

Tamako laughed softly. “You were in great pain and protested. It’s what people do when they’re hurt. Oh, Akitada, I’m so happy you’re back.”

The door opened and Tora was back. “Good man, that Bashan. I don’t think I could’ve done as well as you, sir. All that rough handling to pull you up the mountainside, and then the awful shaking on the litter.”

“You saved my life, Tora. You might have fallen yourself.” Akitada paused, frowning. “I thought I heard you talking to me, but I must have been dreaming.”

“It was me. Telling you not to move. You were lying on this very narrow ledge.”

“Good heaven.” Akitada grimaced. In his carelessness, he had risked not only his own life, but also those of Tora and the brave constables. And he had gained little or nothing from his trip. He wondered if he should tell them about the attack and decided against it. No sense in frightening Tamako now that he was safe.

He said, “I’m afraid I haven’t made any progress. There were a few scuffed footprints in one of the rooms, and a thread or two of blue silk and some drops of blood. I’m convinced she was struck with that bo and then dropped off the promontory.”

Tora shuddered. “Who would do such a thing? What if she was still alive when he pushed her over?”

Tamako had turned white. “Oh, how terrible!”

“Yes,” Akitada said heavily. “The killer was very cruel.”

Tamako shook her head, and he extended his good hand to her.

Tora cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve some chores to do,” he muttered and left quickly.

Akitada pulled Tamako down beside him, put his good arm around her, and kissed her hungrily. He was incredibly happy to be alive.

But the door flew open again, and Akiko rushed in. “There you are, Brother. Thank heaven you’re all right.” She took in the scene. “You can do that later. I think I’ve solved your case. Just wait till you hear.”