Death of a Doll Maker (24 page)

This got Maeda’s interest. “That rascal Hiroshi? What made you suspicious of him?”

Saburo hesitated. He had no idea how much his master wanted the lieutenant to know. “I saw him meeting with someone in the Dragon’s Lair. Money passed hands. I decided to see where this Hiroshi was going with it.”

“Hmm. Yes.” The lieutenant frowned. He ran a hand across his chin. “I don’t trust Hiroshi. You say he hid a bundle? Where exactly was that?”

“I don’t know what you call the area. It’s pretty much deserted. Lots of dilapidated houses. He took the bundle out of his cart and into this courtyard. I couldn’t see what he did with it, but when I went back later, I almost fell into an abandoned well. I think it’s down there. We should try to take a look.” He broke off. Maeda stared at him with such an expression of shocked surprise, that he floundered to a halt.

“Abandoned well? No, it can’t be.”

“What?”

“We pulled a body from a well like that. That very pretty woman Tora had his eye on. She lived across the street from Hiroshi.”

Saburo gulped. “Let’s go! What if the bastard put Tora down there?”

Maeda was already through the door and did not answer. In the front room, lounging constables came to attention. Maeda barked orders that involved ladders, ropes, and names. Within moments, ten constables assembled outside, some carrying equipment, and the contingent started off at a lively trot, the front man shouting, “Make way!” and swinging a short whip.

Saburo hurried after Maeda. In a surprisingly short time, they arrived at the ruined courtyard. It looked different in daylight, but Saburo had no trouble recognizing it. His stomach turned at the thought of what they might find in the well.

The constables knew their way and had the wooden cover off quickly. They hung over the side, peering down.

“Is it deep?” Saburo asked Maeda. He was trying to get a look.

“Not very. People have been tossing their garbage down there for years. Dead rats, cats, dogs, and the occasional female.” He pushed two constables aside and took a look. “Well, don’t stand around,” he told his men. “Get down there and bring up what you find.”

They made faces, but one man tied a rope around his middle and started down while the others held on and shouted encouragement.

Saburo smelled it now, the familiar stench of rotting flesh. “I thought you pulled the dead woman out?” he asked Maeda.

“We did.”

Saburo thought of Tora and felt his stomach clench painfully.

But when the constable was pulled back to the surface, all he brought up was a stained and malodorous bundle.

“That it?” asked Maeda, looking at Saburo.

Saburo wrinkled his nose. “It looks like it. Is it just clothes?”

Maeda, braver than Saburo or more used to the stench of death, took the bundle from the constable and undid it. Shaking it out, he held up a blue robe, much like Saburo’s, a black sash and black pants, also much like Saburo’s. A pair of boots and a soft black cap fell to the ground. He turned pale.

Saburo swallowed and went closer. He looked at the garments, then picked up the boots and hat. “That’s what Tora wore,” he said tonelessly.

Maeda nodded. “I thought so. But where is he? And why are just his clothes here? What happened to him?”

Feeling sick, Saburo snarled, “Stupid question. Somebody got hold of him. Instead of standing around here like fools, we’ve got to find him. He told you that Hiroshi was a killer.”

Maeda recoiled.

Saburo took a deep breath. “You’ve got to arrest him. He knows what happened to Tora. You’ve got to get it out of him. And that clerk of Feng’s paid him. Arrest him, too. I don’t care what you do to them. We must find Tora. Dear heaven, he may be dead. The governor will be livid!”

“It may not mean what you think,” the lieutenant stammered without much conviction. “I can’t believe anyone would attack Tora.”

Saburo gave him a savage look. Snatching the robe from his lands, he spread it out. “There’s blood on the collar in back. It suggests an injury to the back of the head.” He took up each garment, one after the other. “The front of both the robe and the pants is dusty. I think he fell or was lying on his stomach.” He studied the dirt by lifting the fabric close to his good eye and then smelling it. “I don’t know,” he muttered. He pushed the garment under Maeda’s nose. “What do you smell?”

Maeda stepped back, then sniffed cautiously. “Just dirt and some of what must’ve seeped from the other body.”

Saburo sniffed again. “There’s something. I just can’t make it out.” He folded the robe gently and carefully, keeping the front inside. Then he studied the boots. “Look! Someone tied his legs. You can see the twists of the rope in the leather. That rope was tight.” He shook his head. “He was a prisoner, but there are no cuts or rips in the robe, so he wasn’t stabbed or shot with an arrow.”

Maeda nodded. “They knocked him out. For that matter, he may have fallen and hit his head, and some beggar liked his clothes well enough to steal them.”

Saburo gave him a disgusted look. “You mean a beggar went to all that trouble to steal his clothes, and then gave them to this Hiroshi, who promptly dropped them down a well?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Maeda flushed. He ran a hand over his face. “Look, I like Tora. I don’t want to think that he’s been murdered. All we know for a fact is that someone knocked him out and took his clothes.”

“So you’re not going to do anything? It’s been many hours since I followed the carter.”

Maeda had had enough. He turned and snapped to his constables, “Cover that well again, and then go to the Mitsui house to arrest Hiroshi and take him to jail.”

But Hiroshi was not home. His hard-faced wife said he had gone out, she knew not where. She seemed uninterested in his whereabouts or in the reason the police were looking for him. Maybe she was used to it by now.

Maeda returned to headquarters, Saburo in tow. “I’ll organize a search for Hiroshi and talk to Feng’s clerk,” he told Saburo. “You’d better report to the governor. Tell him we’re doing everything we can. Looks like we want Hiroshi for Yoko’s murder after all.”

Saburo did not find this reassuring. He borrowed a horse, though he could not ride very well and returned to the tribunal, bruised and sore in mind and body from falling off the horse twice and being laughed at by other travelers.

But worst was his fear for Tora.

23

DEADLY PASSAGE

H
e dozed fitfully, waking from time to time to bouts of nausea and the urge to do something, anything. His body would not obey.

He had somehow rolled on his back. Gingerly, he moved his hands. They were tied with rope and rested on his stomach. He tried lifting his arms, but pain exploded in his side hot as fire. He steadied his breathing and rested until it eased. Then he tried moving his feet and legs. They were tied at the ankles.

The stench of tar, human waste, and vomit filled the cold air. The steady slap of water to the hull masked other noises, but eventually Tora knew there were others nearby. Someone wept softly, and someone else mumbled sutras or repeated in an endless murmur
Namu Amida Butsu.

He opened his eyes. Darkness. A little faint light crept through the cracks of a trapdoor or hatch above him. He was in the hold of a ship, and he was not alone. He could barely make out three huddled shapes near him and guessed they were convicts.

“Hey?” he croaked, surprised he could make a sound at all.

The praying stopped, but the weeping continued.

“Who are you?” Tora asked. His mouth hurt.

Someone gave a snort that could have been a bitter laugh or a sob. “Nobody. We’re all dead men, and so are you.”

Waves washed against the hull, the boards creaked and the floor beneath Tora lifted, shifted, and plunged. Nauseatingly. Over and over again. And someone still wept. Tora tried to move again. His side told him all was not well. His companion was wrong about his being dead anyway. The dead felt no pain.

It came back to him then: the talk about convict ships and getting rid of him. Well, they had managed it. He was tied up and at sea. The movement of the ship was too violent for a river. How long since they left Hakata? How far to Tsushima?

He could hear muffled sounds above, and faint shouts. They must be deep in the hold of the ship.

The voice spoke up again: “In a little while, they’ll come and drag us up on deck. Then they’ll slit our throats and toss us overboard. Food for the fishes.” He snorted again.

Tora decided it was a laugh rather than a sob. The one who wept was still weeping. A bit more loudly.

“Is that why you’re praying?” Tora asked.

“I never pray.”

“Oh.”

Tora decided his rib did not hurt quite as much as earlier. Though what good it would do him he did not know. His arms and legs were tied. And even if they were not, where could he escape to on a ship?

“I’m Tora,” he said. “What makes you think they’ll kill us? I thought we were going to Tsushima to work in the mines.”

“Same thing. But a lot go overboard before they get there. What crime did you commit?”

“No crime. I was bludgeoned by a couple of devils. Next thing I knew I was here.”

Silence.

Tora stretched cautiously again. His rib protested a little, but the pain was bearable. He realized his wrists were tied in front, not behind him as in Hakata. “Don’t you believe me?” he asked, testing the bond of the rope. When he pulled, it tightened. Not helpful. His wrists started to hurt.

“If you’re telling the truth, then it’s pretty certain they’ll cut your throat before we get there.”

Tora flexed his wrists. He wondered why they’d tied them in front. Theoretically, it was much easier to escape this way. But then they knew he was not going to go anywhere on this ship. The other answer to the “why” also became apparent. He was not wearing his own clothes any longer. He seemed to have on a rough shirt without sleeves and a pair of thin pants cut off at the knee. They had to untie him to change his clothes. He tried raising his feet to see if he could reach his ankles, but his rib gave him another sharp pain, and he desisted.

“What makes you so sure they’ll kill me?” he asked the other man. “I’m strong. I’m a good worker.”

The other chuckled. “As I said, if you’re telling the truth, then your case is personal. Someone wants to get rid of you. Permanently. This is how they do it here.”

“I’m not from here. Just got to Hakata a few weeks ago. You say this sort of thing is common?”

“Pretty much. You made an enemy. Fast work. What did you do?”

“Two actually. One’s a bastard called Okata. I didn’t like the way he was running things and got him fired.”

“Okata?
Captain
Okata?” His companion whistled. “How did you manage that?”

Tora was working with his teeth on the hemp rope around his wrists and could not answer.

“What are you doing?” asked the other.

Tora spat out some fibers. “Trying to chew through this rope. When I’m free, I’ll untie you.”

“Thanks, I’m not tied up.”

Tora froze. Who was this man to be left unbound? Probably a guard. And he was chatting away with him as if they were sharing a flask of wine.

“Who or what are you really?” he growled.

A chuckle. “A man like you.”

“But you aren’t bound? You can move about freely?”

“Yes. See?” A tall shadow rose beside Tora and waved its arms.

Suddenly afraid, Tora said nothing.

It was silent, except for the slapping of the waves and the rhythmic groaning of the wooden hull. The weeping man had fallen silent also.

His companion sat down again. “I’m a prisoner like you. I just started chewing through my bonds while you were having your nap. I thought I might at least take a couple of them with me before they kill me.”

Relief washed over Tora, then anger. “You could have untied me,” he said resentfully.

“I wasn’t sure you were safe. Convicts bound for Tsushima can be dangerous travel companions.”

Tora accepted this. His fellow prisoner spoke like a man who had some education, was someone like himself. “Well, how about it?” he asked.

The shadow rose again and came closer. “You haven’t made much progress with your teeth,” he observed, feeling the rope around Tora’s wrists. He found the knot and started working it.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Tora observed.

“You can call me Shigeno. It’s the name my father gave me, though I haven’t used it for a while. There!”

The rope parted, and the relief was huge. Blood flowed into his hands again. Tora massaged his wrists. “Thanks. Can you get my feet too?”

“Get them yourself!”

“One of the bastards kicked in a rib. I can’t bend at the waist.”

Shigeno muttered, but he worked on Tora’s ankles.

“How many are we?” Tora asked. He thought if they freed everyone they might be able to take over the ship.

“Four, with you.”

“Only four? How many above?”

The rope on Tora’s feet parted. He stretched and winced at the stab of pain in his chest.

“Twenty, maybe more. Sailors and armed guards. There’s a policeman among them. Too many. Besides, you can’t fight in your condition.” Shigeno returned to his place.

Another voice from the darkness asked, “Please untie me, too.”

Shigeno snapped, “What good will it do you? Best stay a prisoner.”

“But you and Tora are free.”

“Not free, just able to do some damage when they come to throw us overboard. You two are safe. You’re going to Tsushima. If I untie you, the guards will kill you.”

Silence. Then the man began reciting his prayer again. Tora expected the weeping to start next, but the fourth man remained quiet.

Tora held his breath and struggled into a sitting position. The pain almost caused him to black out. He rested for while, propped against the bulwark behind him and started flexing his leg muscles. He was very stiff after being tied up all this time. How long? He had no idea but guessed it was less than a day but more than four hours.

When his chest hurt less, he tried to get his legs under him and rise. The pain came back, but he struggled on.