Island of Exiles (11 page)

“Oh, the prince was too famous. He would have been caught quickly. And they say he was too soft to be a hunted man.” She regarded Akitada affectionately. “You, on the other hand, look able to take on any danger. Where did you get the scar on your shoulder?”

Akitada saw the admiration in her eyes and smiled. “A sword cut. And it wasn’t proper of you to stare at a man washing himself.”

She blushed. For a moment they sat looking at each other, then she turned her face away. “I told you that my life is more entertaining than that of proper young ladies,” she said lightly.

“I could not help noticing that the scar is recent, and there were others. Are you a famous swordsman?”

“Not at all.” Her sudden warm regard made him uncomfortable, and he started to rise. “It is time to go to the archives.” She snatched at his hand. “Not even a thank-you, when I have made you look so handsome?”

Akitada looked down into her laughing eyes. The invitation in them was unmistakable and unnerving. There was a part of him which disapproved of such forwardness. She was the most improper young lady he had ever met. Yet his heart melted and he felt his hand tremble in hers. She managed to make him feel as awkward as a young boy. Detaching his hand gently, he bowed. “I am deeply in your debt, Masako. Perhaps I could do some of your chores for you after work tonight?” She stood also, twisting the razor in her hands. There was still color in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled as she returned the bow. “Thank you. I would be honored, Taketsuna.” One of the clerks was peering out of the door to the archives but disappeared instantly when he saw Akitada. No one was in the dim hall. Akitada looked about nervously, wondering what to expect after yesterday’s attack. Suddenly Yutaka appeared.

He was all smiles. The two clerks followed him, looking glum.

Yutaka gestured and they knelt, bowing deeply.

For a moment, Akitada feared his identity was known, but then Yutaka said, “These stupid louts wish to express their humble apologies for their mistake. They hope you will forgive them this time.”

“Please,” Akitada said to the two clerks, “get up, both of you.

Shijo-san
, there was no need for this. The mistake has been explained to me, and I assure you I am much better.”

“That is good,” cried Yutaka. “Good and generous. Yes. Well, then.” He looked at the two clerks, who were still on their knees, and cried, “You heard, you lazy oafs. Up! Up! Back to work! And don’t make such a foolish mistake again or I’ll see that you get another beating.”

Akitada winced. Yutaka had been rather unfair. They had merely responded to his cries for help. No wonder the big one, Genzo, gave Akitada a rather nasty look before he scurried out.

They blamed him for their punishment.

The day passed quietly. As a rule the documents Akitada worked on were of little interest to him, and he had fallen into a habit of copying mechanically while turning over in his mind the many puzzling events of the past days. Foremost among these was the death of Jisei. Who had beaten him to death?

Ogata had mentioned a fight, but surely the prisoners would have been caught. Had it been done by the guards? Why? He was such a weak, inoffensive creature, and much too timid to make an escape attempt. Besides, he had counted on being released shortly. And that fat drunkard Ogata had almost certainly covered up the murder out of fear. That suggested that Jisei had been killed on someone’s orders. Had he seen something he should not have? Akitada remembered with a shiver how certain Jisei had been that he would be sent home. Who had promised him an early release? Akitada had taken it for a sort of merciful practicality because Jisei’s festering knees and arms made him useless for crawling about in silver mines, but there were laws against releasing prisoners before their sentences were served. And that left only an empty promise, a lie, which was never intended to be kept. The real intention all along must have been to kill him. Akitada decided that Jisei had known something with which he had bargained for his release and which had cost him his life.

He was so preoccupied with Jisei’s murder that he almost overlooked an interesting item in the document he was working on. It concerned an institution called a “Public Valuables Office.” Apparently one of the earlier governors of Sadoshima had established a storehouse where people could deposit family treasures in exchange for ready money or rice. Later, say after a good harvest, they could redeem the items. Such places existed elsewhere in the country, but they were usually run by the larger temples and helped farmers buy their seed rice in the spring. He skimmed the pages for an explanation of government oversight in Sadoshima and found it in the fact that much of what was left in safekeeping seemed to be silver. Akitada recalled that some of the silver mining was in the hands of private families, Kumo’s for example. But most intriguing was the fact that the official currently in charge of the “Public Valuables Office” was none other than Yamada.

After work that evening, Akitada went directly to the prison kitchen. Steam rose from one of the cookers in the large earthen stove, and the smell of food hung in the hot air. Masako, her back to him and dressed in her rough cotton cover and kerchief, was filling a bamboo carrier with steaming soup. A basket of empty bowls stood beside her. Except for her slender waist and a certain grace in her movements, she looked exactly like a peasant girl.

“I came to help,” said Akitada.

She turned, her face red and moist from the fire and the steam, and brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from the scarf. Flashing him a smile, she pointed to the basket of bowls. “I’m about to take food to the guards and prisoners. You can help if you want.”

He accepted with alacrity, taking the handle of the full soup container in one hand and the basket of bowls in the other and following her across the yard to the low jail building.

They met with a rude reception in the guardroom.

“What? Bean stew again?” complained one big, burly fellow, sniffing disdainfully. “It’s been a week since we’ve had a bit of fish. I suppose you’re saving up for a new silk gown.” His smaller companion lifted her skirts and eyed her leg.

“We don’t mind if you wear a bit less,” he said, and guffawed.

Masako slapped his hand away and snapped, “If you don’t want the soup, the prisoners will be glad of an extra helping.

The food is supposed to be for them anyway. You get paid enough to buy your own. If you want delicacies, go to the market. We’ve been feeding you lazy louts long enough.” This was received with shocked surprise. “But,” whined the first guard, “it’s been the custom. And you know we can’t leave our post to go to the market.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared. “Then bring your food from home. Now open up! I don’t have all day.” The larger man muttered under his breath, but he got the keys and his lantern. As he passed Akitada, who was carrying the heavy food container in one hand and balancing the basket of bowls with the other, he sniffed. “It smells good for bean stew,” he said in an ingratiating tone.

“Open up!” snapped Masako.

Muttering some more, he preceded them down the hallway, stopping to unlock each cell door to let Masako fill a bowl and hand it to an inmate. They finally reached young Mutobe, who stood waiting and bowed politely to Masako before receiving his bowl.

“How are you today, Toshito?” she asked the prisoner.

“Well. Thank you, Masako.” He looked at her with concern.

“And how is it with you and your father? Any news?”

“No. Nothing. And you?”

“No talking allowed,” growled the guard.

Masako sighed and filled another bowl. “Here,” she said, handing it to the guard. “Hunger makes you irritable. Go away and eat.”

“What about Kintsu? I can’t go back without taking him something.”

Akitada handed Masako a second bowl with a wink. She chuckled softly, filled this also, and gave it to the waiting guard.

He nodded and departed with the food.

“Well, that got rid of him,” said Masako, giving Akitada a conspiratorial smile. “They’re becoming unbearable. Even the outcast sweepers ignore my orders. As Father’s daughter I used to get some respect, but now they think of me as one of their own. What a difference poverty makes.” She turned and saw that young Mutobe was still holding his full bowl, worried eyes moving between her and Akitada. “Sit down, Toshito, and eat, please.”

He bowed and started eating, but would not sit in her presence. After a few mouthfuls he said, “You cannot continue this, you know. They are savages. One of them might get ideas.” He glanced at Akitada again.

“I’m not afraid. Besides, Taketsuna can come along to protect me.”

“Taketsuna?” His eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s you. You were here yesterday with Masako’s father, taking notes. I wasn’t paying attention.”

His tone had become arrogant and faintly hostile. When Akitada nodded, he turned back to Masako with a frown. “How do you come to know this prisoner?”

“Taketsuna is no criminal. He is a political exile who works in the archives during the day and stays at our house.”

“You mean like a houseguest? Why the special treatment?

He should be locked up here or sent inland to work.” Masako stared at him. “Oh, Toshito, how can
you
of all people say such a thing?”

Young Mutobe flushed and said angrily, “It is not safe to take a criminal into your house. You know nothing about him. What can your father be thinking of?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she cried, moving closer to Akitada and putting her hand on his arm. “For all you know he’s of better birth than you.”

Young Mutobe paled and pushed the half-empty bowl her way. “No doubt. I can see how the wind blows. Here. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Oh, Toshito,” she cried, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to insult you. Please forgive me.” But the young man folded his arms across his chest and turned his back to them. She pleaded,

“Come, you insulted Taketsuna. That was not well done, either.

As for his staying with us: it was the governor’s wish, and he pays for Taketsuna’s lodging and food.”

“I see. It’s the infernal money again!” Toshito said bitterly to the wall.

Akitada wished himself elsewhere. He did not like being talked about as if he were not present, especially with the hostility displayed by this man. But the news that Mutobe had made elaborate arrangements for him after all was more disconcerting. Word had probably already got out that the was being treated like a guest in the provincial headquarters. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, “but as I am to leave Mano shortly, the arrangement is strictly temporary.

My being given special lodging has more to do with my ability to take dictation and write well. I understand there is a great shortage of scribes here. Of course, I am most grateful to Superintendent Yamada. I assure you, his daughter is quite safe from me.”

Akitada’s polite speech was a reproach to the other man’s manners, and he turned around. “I am sorry for my rudeness.

My situation is frustrating to me because I cannot help my friends.”

Akitada bowed. “I understand.”

But there was resentment in the air, and Masako called the guard. When she picked up their empty bowls in the guardroom, the little guard remarked with a grin, “Found yourself a new fellow, eh? He’ll give better service than that little sprout Toshito and he’ll live longer, too.” Masako gasped, and Akitada took a threatening step toward the man, but she caught his arm and pulled him away.

Outside, she stopped. “Oh, Taketsuna, you must never do that again. Fighting with a guard will get you nothing but a vicious flogging and chains.”

She was right, of course, and he could not afford to make a scene in any case. When he muttered an apology, she reached up to touch his face. “Thank you, Taketsuna. It was kind of you to want to protect me.” She was looking up at him with a little smile, her eyes suddenly moist. “I would put up with a great deal more than a few silly words to spare you pain,” she said softly. When he said nothing, she asked, “Are you really leaving so soon?” He saw the tears in her eyes, and his heart started beating faster. Feeling like a brute, he said, “Yes. I’m to travel inland with one of the governor’s inspectors.”

“Oh, Taketsuna. So little time.” She looked dejected, then brightened. “But you’ll come back soon?” He said nothing and they walked back to the kitchen courtyard. At the well he helped her wash the bowls. She was deep in thought and said little. He was relieved. Her words and expression had touched him deeply. He wondered what the relationship was between her and Mutobe’s son and knew he did not like it. Ashamed of his jealousy, he forced his mind to more important matters.

Regardless of Mutobe’s assertion that his son had been framed by his own political enemies, Akitada was by no means convinced of the son’s innocence. Toshito had attended the university in the capital and might have come in contact with Prince Okisada’s enemies. He might, in fact, have been their tool to eliminate a troublesome claimant to the throne.

Back in the kitchen, Akitada took up the broom and began to sweep while Masako busied herself about the stove, laying the fire for the morning meal and gathering the remnants of bean soup for their own supper. The Yamadas’ provisions seemed scarce and of the plainest sort, but Masako had managed to prepare decent meals with what she had. Such extreme poverty was still a great puzzle to Akitada.

“You seem to be on very familiar terms with young Mutobe,” he began after a while.

She stopped, a bamboo dipper with bean soup in her hand, and stared at him. “What do you mean?” she asked, color rising to her cheeks.

“That was badly put.” He leaned on the broom and smiled at her. “Nothing insulting, I assure you. You speak to each other like brother and sister.”