Death of a Doll Maker (11 page)

“Thank you. That’s good to hear, but what about the trading situation?”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Kuroda seemed startled by the question. He looked away, clearly gathering his thoughts before replying. “Hakata derives its income from trade, particularly from shipping,” he said. “Tax shipments pass through here, and most of the common people are employed in shipping and transport. I’m not sure what aspect you’re interested in.”

“As there are many Chinese and Koreans here, apparently comfortably and permanently settled, foreign trade comes to mind.”

“Ah. But you’re aware, I think, that our laws restrict the exchange of goods with China and Koryo. Since the
Toi
invasion, the government in Dazaifu has kept a close eye on this.”

“Perhaps, but I’m told the foreign merchants simply take their cargo to landing places belonging to local landowners, thus escaping both restrictions and taxes. Is this a problem in Chikuzen province?”

Now Kuroda was really uncomfortable. Akitada deduced that he did indeed know of illegal practices but would at all costs protect the people involved.

And as expected, Kuroda lied. “I’ve been told such trading has been legalized with special sanctions. In my position I’m not privy to these activities, Your Excellency. If there are illegalities, they are surely extremely rare.”

And with that, he made his excuses and departed. Akitada looked after him thoughtfully. He did not linger either. Paying his bill, he set out for Master Feng’s shop.

The building was of an impressive size, and the very handsome carved and gilded panels and shop signs hinted at success. He entered.

The interior was dim after the bright street outside. A strangely exotic smell hung in the air: the scent of sandalwood and lacquer, of paint pigments and strange perfumes, of paper and exotic woods. It took him a moment to adjust his eyes. Then he saw racks upon racks of merchandise: porcelain bowls and dishes in every imaginable shape and color, earthenware vessels with lustrous glazes, carved figures, dolls, metal braziers with ornate patterns, musical instruments of all sorts, stacks of fabrics in many colors, including silks, gauzes, and brocades, embroidered coats and jackets for women, embroidered sashes for men, and a very large number of books and rolled up scrolls. These racks not only covered all the walls, but many were free-standing and divided the large space into smaller ones. He was so impressed by this abundance that he did not notice the slight young man who approached from behind one of the racks on silent felt shoes.

“May I assist the gentleman?”

Akitada jumped. “Oh,” he said with a little laugh. “I came in to browse and admire. And perhaps”—he nodded toward the shelf holding dolls in bright clothes—”to buy something for my children.”

The young man, who had an unhealthy color and a pimply face, bowed. “Please allow me to show you what we have.”

Akitada was given a tour of the store with explanations. His admiration for Feng’s collection increased. The young assistant unrolled paintings for him which amazed him with the fine details rendered by the Chinese painters. In one scroll painting of a village, every roof tile and every twig on the bare trees was lovingly drawn. As impressive as such artistic ability and patience was, the scene also showed him life as it was lived in China. He bent closely over the scroll, which the shop assistant unrolled to a considerable length, and saw it took him from the outskirts of a village though its center with a teeming market and out to the last straggling houses before road and river disappeared into hazy mountains.

“This is exquisite,” he said. “It seems the work of a divine being.”

The assistant nodded. “Master Feng ordered it for the last governor. I’m afraid he won’t sell it now.”

This startled Akitada, and he looked up. “But surely someone else may want this. How much would such a painting cost?”

“I don’t really know, sir, but there is a smaller scroll, not quite so detailed, which I could sell you for forty pieces of gold.”

The prices were much too rich for him. Akitada cast one last longing glance at the Chinese village and turned away. While the young man rolled up the precious scroll again, he wandered over to the shelf with the dolls. Surely he could afford two of these. He missed the children, and it would give him pleasure to send them home by the next boat, along with his letter to Tamako. And she should also have a piece of Chinese silk.

The dolls were charming, their bodies made of pale, glazed clay and their chubby childish faces painted with black eyes and tiny rosebud mouths. Their hair was modeled clay, painted a glossy black, but their short bodies were covered with real fabric costumes, sewn from scraps of silk, ramie, or brocade. Several of the girl dolls wore Chinese costumes, and among the boy dolls were a few in elaborate warrior gear, the metal of their armor made of silvered or gilded bits of paper.

He looked at a number of them as the young man hovered by his side. “How charming. Are these made locally?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Akitada took up several more and admired them. Eventually, he said regretfully, “These are lovely, but I think a child would soon destroy such fine work. I have a daughter and a small son. Neither, I think, is old enough for these.” He looked about and saw another batch of dolls at the end of the rack. These were more simply dressed. The fired clay bodies seemed sturdier. He picked up a soldier. “This should do very well,” he started when a very large, very ugly man suddenly appeared at his side.

“Don’t touch!” growled the brute, snatching the doll from his hand and putting it back.

Akitada gaped at him. He was at least a hand’s breadth taller and powerfully built. His face was flat, with small eyes, a broken nose, and fleshy lips. The hand which had grabbed the doll was missing two fingers. This fact and the broken nose suggested he was either a former soldier or a member of a gang of criminals. In either case, a dangerous man.

The shop assistant stepped between them. “It’s all right, Ling,” he said with a nervous laugh. “The gentleman is just looking for a present for his children.” He touched Akitada’s elbow and urged him back to the other dolls. “I’m afraid those dolls are already sold, sir. But we can make you a very good price on two of these.”

Akitada looked back toward the plain dolls and the glowering Chinese. “I’d rather order two dolls like those over there.”

The young man hesitated a moment. “Of course, but it may take a long time. Look,” he said in a wheedling tone, “this charming princess and this ferocious warrior are quite pretty and perfect for a girl and a boy. They are only twenty coppers a piece. Surely a bargain.”

They were a great bargain and very pretty. Akitada agreed and bought both. Then, having saved himself some money, he selected a very pretty piece of pale green silk gauze for his wife. The salesman thanked him profusely and bowed him out of the store.

Akitada left with his parcel under his arm and in a thoughtful mood. The sudden appearance of the threatening giant and the pale young man’s eagerness to be rid of the nosy customer troubled him. Hiring a powerful guard when the store contained so many precious objects was reasonable, but why had the man interfered so rudely with a customer?

It had probably meant nothing, but he thought Master Feng’s business and his employees would bear watching.

10

TORA AND THE LOOSE WOMAN

A
kitada was strolling around his little cherry tree and longing for his own garden at home when Saburo appeared silently by his side.

“Good morning, sir. I’m happy to report most of the positions are now filled, and the new and old people seem to be working well together. Possibly the fact I have offered a small award to anyone who reports irregularities encourages them.”

“Thank you, Saburo.” Akitada frowned. “While we’re dealing with unusual circumstances here, I cannot believe spying on your co-workers creates a healthy relationship among the servants. Make sure you relax your rules as soon as possible.”

“Of course, sir.” Saburo came as close to pouting as at any time since he had started working for Akitada.

“I’m not blaming you. I told you myself to watch them.”

“We know they’re thieves, sir. And we don’t know who our enemies are.”

“Quite true, but I’ve been assured they were mistreated by my predecessor. Let’s at least make sure we deal fairly with them.”

Saburo nodded, then turned when he heard steps. Tora came outside, grinning broadly. “Beautiful morning, sir and Saburo,” he called out. “A great day for great deeds.”

Saburo snorted his disgust. Akitada looked at him. “What’s wrong, Saburo?”

The maimed man was immediately contrite. “Forgive me, sir. Ascribe it to frustration. After the long journey confined to a ship, I feel confined again. Tora has something to look forward to, and you had a chance to visit Hakata. I feel useless as a house servant.”

“Oh!”

A brief silence fell, then Akitada said, “Your work here was more important and more urgent. But if you like, you may leave things in Mori’s hands now and ride into Hakata later.”

“Ride?” Saburo looked even unhappier.

“You can’t ride a horse, brother?” Tora asked, astonished.

“Not very well. And I have no assignment.”

Akitada was becoming impatient. At home everything went smoothly, and his retainers and servants knew what their duties were without his worrying about petty jealousies. “We only just got here,” he said sharply. “You will adjust and learn in time where your skills are most useful. Now, Tora, what are your plans?”

“Maeda and I will talk to some more neighbors. Someone must have seen something that night.” He made it a point to praise Maeda and mentioned his warning to Captain Okata.

Akitada nodded. “You did right. I have no use for men like Okata and want to establish proper protocol from the start. Crimes committed in Hakata are to be reported to me. If the man gives you any more problems, I’ll remove him.”

Tora grinned. “Maeda would make a good chief. I like him.”

“We’ll see. I’m interested in the doll maker for another reason. You said someone paid her in gold before her death? Any idea who it was?”

“She was working for Mr. Hayashi. But Suyin says it was payment for her dolls.”

Akitada thought. “Hayashi is the head of the merchants’ guild. A wealthy man?”

“Oh, yes. Suyin mentioned how fine his house is.”

“Saburo, see what you can find out about Hayashi.”

Saburo brightened.

“Very well. Now it’s my turn.” Akitada told of the conversation with the shrine priest Kuroda and his visit to Feng’s shop, mentioning the odd incident with the dolls. “It would have been sufficient to tell a customer these dolls were already sold. Perhaps it’s just the fact that this big Chinese bully didn’t speak our language well, but I got the strangest feeling both the salesman and the servant wanted me gone.” He smiled. “I got a very good price on two of the better dolls to send to the children.”

“Yuki doesn’t play with dolls,” Tora said. “Did they have anything a bit more manly?”

“Not really. But you’ll surely find something for your son. We’ll send our gifts with the next boat. You’d best write to Hanae while there’s time.”

“I miss them already.” Tora looked wistful. Taking a deep breath, he added, “Well, if that’s it, I’m off to meet Maeda.”

*

At Hakata police headquarters, Tora was told Maeda was at the jail, questioning the prisoner again. Tora thought it an excellent time to have a look at the conditions there.

It was not up to the standards in the capital, though it was large enough. The cells were dirty and prisoners were chained in airless, dim spaces. The place stank of human waste and sour food. The prisoners sat or lay in the dim spaces. One of them was weeping. In one cell were two women. They came to the door when Tora looked in. Both were young and filthy. One smiled and licked her lips. “How about it, handsome? I’ll show you a good time for some decent food.”

Tora also did not like the looks of the guards, three in number. They were dirty and brutish. The guard room was decorated with whips, chains, and various
jitte
and other metal instruments used to subdue obstreperous suspects. Some of these still showed traces of blood.

He said nothing, however, saving the information for his master, and instead joined Maeda, who was leaning against the wall of Mitsui’s cell.

Mitsui looked, if anything, worse than the day he had been arrested. The bruises had darkened on his skinny body, and his shirt was now torn, bloodstained, and filthy. He was very pale, but otherwise calm, almost listless.

Maeda’s greeting was followed by an apologetic, “Sorry about the state of the place. I try to tell the captain, but it doesn’t do any good.”

Tora nodded. “How are you, Mr. Mitsui?”

The elderly man sighed. “Not too bad,” he croaked. “They did beat me terrible at first, but Sergeant Maeda has put a stop to that. It’s much better now.”

Tora looked at the dim, filthy place with its thin, stained grass mat meant for both sitting and sleeping, at the refuse pail in the corner, and at the earthenware pitcher of water. Mitsui was chained like the other prisoners.

“We’ve gone over the events of that day and night again,” Maeda said. “Mitsui hasn’t changed his story. I told him his son couldn’t account for the extra hours Mitsui claims he spent in Hakozaki. He has no explanation except to say he had other business to attend to.”

“What kind of business?” Tora asked the prisoner.

Mitsui peered up at him. “Talking to people about selling my dolls. I don’t know who they were. Ships come and go in Hakozaki.”

Maeda frowned. “You see the problem, Mitsui, don’t you? You can’t account for your time. And you didn’t report your wife’s murder until the next morning. She was killed at least eight hours earlier. You claim you got home shortly after the evening rice. You must have found her dead.”

Mitsui looked away. “It may have been later. It was dark already. And I didn’t bother to light a lamp; I went to our room, lay down, and went to sleep.”