Island of Exiles (14 page)

“It’s a bit complicated.”

Her eyes narrowed. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Never mind! I want to know.”

“Well, I wondered what would cast a family like yours into such abject poverty that you had to work like this.” He gestured at her clothing. She blushed, ripping off the unflattering cotton scarf so that her glossy long hair fell freely about her shoulders again. His fingers yearned to touch it, but he continued, “At first I wondered if either your father or your brother was a gambler, but then you said the hard times would soon be over. Since gamblers don’t change their habits, it occurred to me that some other costly mishap had befallen your father. Then I found out about his stewardship of the Valuables Office. Your reaction when I asked you about it proved that I had guessed correctly.

Your father admitted the rest a short while ago when I told him about the inspection. That was all.”

“Very clever. Do you always pry into other people’s affairs?”

“Yes,” he said quite seriously.

She chuckled, thinking he had joked. “Oh, very well. But don’t try to tell me that this was Father’s idea. He is a dear man and a most honest official, but he has never been devious.”

The trap was set during the night. Having made the necessary arrangements, Akitada returned to his room for a few hours’ rest. Masako had laid out his bedding, and he took off his robe and got under the quilts. A moment later, his door opened quietly, and she slipped in and joined him. He wished she had not come, but when he felt her naked body searching with eager passion for his embrace, he gave in.

Very early the following morning, notices appeared all over town. The notices read:

To the people of Sadoshima

Robbers and thieves have broken into the Valuables Office.

I, the governor, order all those who have made deposits to appear in person with their receipts to identify their property or receive compensation for their loss. It is the duty of all citizens to report any knowledge of the criminals.

These orders must be obeyed.

A noisy crowd gathered in front of the message board outside the gates to the tribunal, and within minutes a short line had formed at the door to the Valuables Office. Two guards stood watch outside. People chattered excitedly, pointing up at the broken window. Inside Yamada and Akitada had been joined by the governor.

Yamada stood on a small cask and peered through the torn paper down at the waiting people.

“Do you recognize anyone?” the governor asked.

“No, but it’s still early.”

“Yes,” said Akitada, “if he isn’t here yet, he will be. He’s a greedy man who expects to collect two bars of real silver in exchange for two of clay, and without having to worry that the theft will ever be laid at his door.” The governor muttered, “Perhaps. But this is most inconvenient. You were supposed to leave right after the inspection today. Now we have to wait another day. I cannot imagine what made you so careless, Yamada. You should have inspected all the silver daily.”

Yamada stepped down from his cask and hung his head. “I am most sorry, Excellency. I wish you would accept my resignation.” Mutobe waved the offer away irritably. “I told you, I cannot spare you. At least you thought of a way to rectify your carelessness-even if, as the saying goes, we are twisting a straw rope after the thief has escaped. Still, if you catch the man, we will say no more about it. Well, I must be off. Taketsuna can help you interview the claimants. If nothing else, you will be able to confirm ownership that way.”

When the governor had left, Akitada said encouragingly,

“There. I told you it would be all right. Now let us get busy twisting that rope. We’ll tie that thief up yet.” He opened the door and admitted the first claimant.

By midday they had interviewed nearly fifty people and produced two hundred bars of silver and assorted other items of value demanded by their nervous owners. Seeing their property safe, most claimants decided to leave it on deposit. Yamada was able to update and correct his ledgers. Of course, no one had any information about the robbers, although one old man attempted to trade information for wine. The old-timer told a rambling story about a man in his quarter who had been brag-ging only that morning about a sudden windfall. The windfall turned out to be no more than some fifty or a hundred coppers, and they more than likely had been earned by his wife, who was a potter. They refused the old-timer’s offer and sent him away in disgust.

Yamada fell to brooding, and Akitada did not feel much more cheerful. Why had the thief not come or sent an associate?

From the beginning, Akitada had suspected the former clerk.

The clay bars differed in weight from the real thing and anyone accustomed to handling silver bars would have known they were a sham. In fact, they should have been weighed. Short of Yamada himself, the clerk was the only other person who could have accomplished the fraud. But there was no proof until he claimed the two bars of silver, and this he would hardly do in person. No, he would send someone else. As Akitada considered the matter of a likely accomplice, a memory stirred, and he turned to Yamada. “Do you suppose the man whose wife makes pottery could be involved after all?” Yamada shook his head despondently. Outside a cart rumbled past. The guard posted at the door yawned loudly. It was almost closing time.

“We have failed,” Yamada said.

“Perhaps our man is out of town and did not hear of the notice,” Akitada offered, but he did not really believe it himself.

“It was kind of you to try to help,” Yamada muttered glumly,

“but I’m afraid it’s no good. I shall tender my resignation in the morning.”

There was nothing Akitada could say. He was racked by guilt over his affair with Masako, and his failure to solve Yamada’s problem made him feel worse. It struck him that this matter was trivial by comparison with his true assignment. If he could not even catch a petty thief, how was he to succeed in his much more complex and dangerous undertaking?

And now there was a new complication in his life. In a moment of weakness, he had made Masako and her family his responsibility. Many men of his class had several wives or concu-bines, but he had hardly sufficient income for one wife and small son. How could he maintain additional families? And he shuddered at the prospect of bringing Masako home with him. Quite apart from the fact that such an act so soon after their marriage and the birth of his son was a profound insult to his wife, the two women had little in common. Feeling wretched, he got up to put away the ledgers and clean out his brush.

But just then the guard outside hailed someone, then ush-ered in a thin, dirty-looking man in his thirties.

The scrawny individual clutched a token and a bag of coins.

With a nervous glance at the guard, he sidled up to Yamada’s desk. “It’s about my silver,” he said. “I’m a bit late, but I’m just back from a trip. The minute I got home, my neighbor comes running and tells me to hurry over here. He says there was a robbery and to bring my claim token. A poor man like me can’t afford to lose his hard-earned savings. Two bars, it was.” He extended the wooden token. “I brought the two strings of cash.” He lifted the bag of coins.

Akitada took the token, recorded the name in his ledger, and checked the date. Then he passed it to Yamada.

Yamada stared at the characters, then at the man. “Your name, profession, and place of residence?”

“Tobe, Your Honor. I’m a vegetable farmer. Me and my wife live in Takase.”

“Takase? Where is that?” asked Akitada, looking up from the entries.

“It’s a village down the coast,” explained Yamada.

“When did you bring in the silver bars?” Akitada asked.

“I forget. It says on the token, doesn’t it?” Yamada glanced again at the token. “I might have known the drunken sot was too careless to weigh them,” he muttered in a tone of outrage.

“What?” The thin man blinked. “It’s all proper and right, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Akitada said quickly. “But we have to check these things. Anyone could claim two bars of silver with a stolen token. How did you come by that much silver as a farmer?” The man shuffled and tried an ingratiating grin. “I work hard and save my earnings.”

Yamada frowned. “Surely that is an extraordinary amount to have saved at your age. I think we had better check to make sure your claim is legitimate.”

The man paled. “It’s the truth,” he whined. “My wife and me, we both work hard.”

Akitada said, “Hmm,” and gave him a sharp look. “Can you bring any witnesses who saw you depositing two bars of silver here?”

Tobe looked panic-stricken. “I . . . I’ll be back tomorrow.

Give me back my token.”

“No. We’re getting to the bottom of this now,” said Yamada with uncharacteristic firmness.

The man gasped a little. “It’s not urgent. I can wait,” he cried, bowing and backing toward the door while clutching his coins to his chest.

Yamada rose and called the guard when another man ran in and collided with the retreating Tobe. It was the old drunk, considerably more unsteady on his feet than earlier. He clutched at Tobe for support, and for a moment the two swayed together like an odd pair of lovers.

The drunk cried, “It’s you. Now I get my reward.” He wrapped both arms around Tobe’s thin figure and announced, “He’s your robber. Arrest him quick.”

The other man cursed and pushed the drunk away viciously.

The beggar hit the wall with a thud, and Tobe made a dash for the door, where the guard caught him in mid-flight.

Akitada bent over the old drunk to help him up. “Are you hurt, old man?” he asked.

The beggar felt his shoulder and ribs, started to shake his head, then croaked, “I’m a bit dizzy. Could I have a drop of wine?”

“No more wine,” Akitada said firmly. “What’s this about a reward?”

“I was here before. Don’t you remember? That fellow’s called Shiro. He’s the mat mender. He’s the one robbed the Valuables Office. I want my reward.”

“You say his name’s Shiro and he lives right here in town?

Are you sure, old man?”

“Of course I’m sure. He lives in my quarter. His wife makes clay pots and sells them on the market.”

“Aha!” Yamada eyed their claimant, still in the clutches of the grinning guard, with grim satisfaction.

The man’s haggard face was covered with sweat. His eyes moved about the room like a cornered animal’s. “I’m no robber.

I’m a respectable tradesman,” he protested. “And he’s only a drunken beggar and he lies.”

“Tradesman? I thought you said you are a farmer,” Akitada reminded him.

“Yes, and you also claimed to live in Takase,” Yamada put in.

When the man said nothing, Yamada told the guard, “Put him down. Then close the door and wait outside. We may need you.” The guard released his captive, saluted, and left, slamming the door behind him. The sound caused their captive to start trembling.

“Well, what
is
your name?” Yamada snapped.

“Shiro. I . . . I go by both names.” Their suspect started to inch toward the door again. “If it’s too much trouble, I can come back tomorrow,” he offered.

Akitada laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s no trouble at all. It must be a great thing for a man to have a wife who helps him earn a living. I suppose, being appreciative, you lend her a hand every now and then, do you, Shiro?”

The man thought about this and decided to agree. “Of course. I’m a considerate husband. I’m always carrying clay for the little woman and taking her pots to the market.”

“And you help her fire her pots, no doubt? Perhaps even shape a simple clay object yourself?” The other man gulped. “N-no, n-not that. No.”

“Oh, well. Just a guess,” said Akitada. Picking up the token, he disappeared into the storage area. When he reappeared, he carried two silver bars. “Here you are.” He tossed the bars to Shiro, who was so astonished that he was a bit slow catching them. One bar fell and broke.

The man put the other one down on the desk as if it burned his fingers. Perspiration beaded his face again. “There’s been some m-mistake,” he mumbled. “These are not mine.” The old drunk staggered over to stare at the broken pieces.

Picking up a shard, he squinted at the red clay inside the silver foil. “Looks like your wife made this one,” he told Shiro. “Why did you rob the place when you’ve been making your own silver bars?” He burped loudly.

“I didn’t.” Shiro clutched his bag of coins. “It doesn’t matter.

I’ll go now. Thank you very much. So sorry for the inconvenience.”

But Yamada had lost his patience. He rose, glowered at Shiro, and snapped, “Not so fast. This man has accused you of a crime.

You are under arrest pending a full investigation. Guard!” Shiro fell to his knees and began to weep. “I didn’t want to do it. Tosan made me do it, your honor. And I gave him most of the money. I only got thirty coppers for my trouble.”

“Tosan? Who’s Tosan?” Akitada asked.

“He’s Shiro’s neighbor,” volunteered the old drunk.

“Tosan used to work here,” muttered Shiro.

Yamada was dumbfounded. “You mean my own clerk planned this?” he asked. Both the beggar and Shiro nodded their heads. Yamada looked at the waiting guard. “Send someone to bring Tosan here this instant!” The guard saluted and left.

Akitada said, “You made the clay bars from your wife’s clay and fired them in her kiln, didn’t you, Shiro?” The man nodded miserably. “Then you covered them with foil and brought them to the Valuables Office, and the clerk Tosan paid you two strings of cash for them, and you and Tosan divided the money later?” Again the man nodded. “Did Tosan help you set fire to the office, too?”

“Oh, the evil creature!” Yamada cried, his eyes round with shock.

“I didn’t set the fire,” whimpered the thin man.