Island of Exiles (16 page)

If so, had she recognized the imperial seal? Could she read?

Her rough manners and the fact that she was a girl suggested that Yamada probably had not bothered to teach her, concentrating his efforts on his son instead. He had certainly not called on her to help him with his bookkeeping. But wouldn’t she have taken the documents to her father, who would have recognized them immediately? She had not done so, or Yamada would have mentioned it. It was puzzling and worrisome.

They remounted and continued the journey for another mile when Akitada’s horse shied and unseated him. He landed hard on his hip and right shoulder and stared in surprise at his saddle, which lay beside him in the road. The big black had jumped off the roadway into a rice paddy, where the deep mud prevented him from galloping off. Akitada picked himself up to a snicker from Genzo. Osawa frowned but said nothing. When he looked at his saddle, Akitada saw that both saddle band and back strap had broken because someone had partially cut them.

Genzo’s work, he thought, but he said nothing. Instead he caught the black and, slinging the saddle and saddle packs over his shoulder, rode the rest of the way bareback.

They reached the manor of Kumo Sanetomo, high constable of Sadoshima, before sunset. They had passed through rich rice lands, dotted here and there by small farms and modest manors, but Kumo’s estate was very large even by mainland standards. The walled and gated manor house was surrounded by a cluster of service buildings and an extensive garden. The whole looked more like a small village than a single residence.

Deep, thatched roofs covered the main hall and attached pavilions. The garden stretched beyond. A separate enclosure contained stables, kitchens, storage buildings, and servants’

quarters.

Akitada was intrigued by these signs of wealth. “The high constable’s manor looks more like a nobleman’s seat than a farm,” he said to Osawa, who was saddle sore and glowered.

“All those stables must contain many horses, and he probably employs and houses a hundred servants. If the place were better fortified, it might be a military stronghold.” Osawa grunted. “Kumo, as his father before him, is very wealthy. Horses are his particular fancy. Being a descendant of an old noble family, he carries on its traditions of hunting, swordsmanship, and archery from the back of a horse. Wait till you see the residence. I doubt there are many better in the capital.”

The big double gate opened promptly at their approach.

Kumo’s servants were well-dressed and healthy-looking men who took the animals and directed the travelers to the main hall of the residence. There an elderly house servant in a black silk robe received them and led them into a small but elegant room.

Sliding doors were open to the garden, panels covering storage areas had landscape paintings pasted on them, the rice mats underfoot were thick and new, and on the large black desk rested lacquered and painted writing boxes, jade water containers, bamboo brush holders, and a small, delicate ivory carving of a fox.

Osawa took one of the cushions near the desk, leaving Akitada and Genzo standing. After a minute, a young woman in a pretty green silk robe entered and placed a tray with refreshments before Osawa. She bowed and informed him that her master would come immediately.

He did. They could hear his firm steps and deep voice in the corridor outside before he flung back the sliding door and ducked in. The doorway was not particularly low, but Kumo was one of the tallest men Akitada had seen. He guessed him to be about his own age and in excellent physical condition.

Dressed in a copper-colored brocade hunting jacket and brown silk trousers, Kumo wore his hair loose to just above his broad shoulders and had a full mustache and short, well-trimmed chin beard. Perhaps he meant to combine the costly costume of the court noble with the manly appearance of the military leader. His eyes, strangely light in the deeply tanned face, passed indifferently over Akitada and Genzo, who had knelt and bowed their heads at his entrance.

“Ah, it’s my good friend Osawa,” Kumo said, his voice filling the small room, much as his large figure dominated it.

Osawa bowed deeply. “It is my very great pleasure to call on Your Honor again.”

Kumo laughed, seating himself on the other cushion and pouring wine from a flask into the two cups on the tray. Both flask and matching cups were of Chinese porcelain. He passed one of the cups to Osawa. “Never mind all the respectful phrases, my friend. I’m just a simple farmer who is honored by the visit of our governor’s most trusted advisor. Please, eat and drink. You must be quite exhausted from your long journey.

How is His Excellency these days?”

Osawa blushed with pleasure at the attention. “Not so well, I’m afraid,” he confided. He drank, he nibbled, and he became expansive. “In fact, he’s quite distraught. His son is awaiting trial, you know. The governor paid him a visit just the other day. I expect he was trying to elicit some shred of evidence in his favor.”

“Ah.” Kumo shook his head. “A dreadful tragedy. Was he successful? The trial is set for the end of this month, is it not?”

“Yes. It’s only a week away. And he was not successful, I think. His spirits were quite low when he came back, and his servants say he does not sleep at night.” Akitada was surprised how well informed Osawa was about Mutobe’s private life, but he was even more intent on watching the high constable, hoping to get the measure of the man who might have played a part in the late prince’s life and death. Suddenly he found himself the object of Kumo’s interest and quickly lowered his eyes again. Too late.

“You have a new assistant, I see,” drawled Kumo. “Usually you bring only one scribe with you. This signifies some new honor, I assume?”

Osawa flushed and laughed a little. “You are too kind, sir.

No, no. The fellow is a prisoner who happens to write well. The governor is desperately short-handed and wished us to return quickly.” He added in an aggrieved tone, “He even insisted we ride horses on this occasion.”

“What? No bearers, and you not used to riding? My dear Osawa, you must have a hot bath immediately and rest before we talk business. Perhaps your assistants can start on the work with the help of my secretary. Come,” he said, getting to his feet,

“I have just returned from hunting myself. We shall enjoy a nice soaking together and you can fill me in on all the news from Mano.”

To do Osawa justice, he hesitated. But then he rose. “You are most kind, Your Honor,” he said. “I am a little fatigued. If your secretary will be good enough to give the documents in question to Taketsuna-the new fellow-he will show the scribe what should be copied for our files. This Taketsuna has a good education. I shall inspect their work in the morning.” Turning to his companions, he said, “You heard me?” Akitada nodded and bowed. Kumo and Osawa disappeared, and a servant took him and Genzo into a large office where several scribes were bent over writing desks or getting books and boxes from the shelves which covered three sides of the room.

Kumo’s secretary was a small, pleasant man in his mid-fifties. He took one look at Genzo’s broad face and dull eyes and addressed Akitada. “I started gathering the relevant tax documents the moment I heard of Inspector Osawa’s arrival,” he said, with a gesture to a desk covered with bulging document boxes. “My name is Shiba. Please feel free to ask for anything.

My staff will see to it immediately.”

Kumo’s scribes, all pretending to be busy while casting curious glances at the visitors, were a far cry from the pitiful staff of the governor’s archives, and Akitada, encouraged by Shiba’s courteous manner, said, “I am Taketsuna, an exile from the mainland and still a stranger here. Forgive my curiosity, but I was told that capable scribes and clerks are extremely rare. How is it that your master seems so well supplied with them?” Shiba chuckled. “We are part of his household. The master and his father before him saved likely boys from work in the mines by training them in different skills,” he said. “I, for example, was sixteen when my mother died in poverty. Like you, my father came here as a prisoner. My mother followed him when I was four. My father died soon after our arrival, and my poor mother worked in the fields to support us. She tried to teach me a little, but when she succumbed also, I-being a boy and small of stature-was sent to the mines. The master’s father found me there and took me into his household, where he had me taught by his son’s tutor. My master continues his father’s legacy.”

Shiba’s image of Kumo differed diametrically from Mutobe’s. The governor had called young Kumo “haughty and overbearing,” but Akitada had seen no sign of it in the man who had greeted a mere inspector like Osawa as a valued guest.

Turning with new interest to the documents, he saw quickly that Shiba and his scribes had indeed been well trained. The system of accounting was efficient and the brushwork of the scribes far superior to Genzo’s. He quickly identified the relevant reports and handed some of them to Genzo with instructions to begin copying.

Genzo folded his arms. “Do it yourself,” he growled. “I’m not your servant.”

The man needed a good beating, but Akitada said peaceably, “Very well. Then you will have to read through those and summarize them for the governor.” He pointed to a stack of documents he had set aside for himself.

Genzo went to look at the top document, frowned, then said, “Dull stuff, this. I prefer the copying.” Having got his way, he settled down and started to rub ink. Akitada smiled.

Shiba had watched with interest. He said in a low voice,

“Forgive me, Taketsuna, but I see that you are a man not only of superior education but also of wisdom. Perhaps, before your trouble, you had the good fortune to live in the capital?”

“That is so.”

Shiba pressed his hands together and said fervently, “Truly, how very blessed your life must have been. And by chance, have you ever visited the imperial palace?” Akitada smiled. “I used to work there and once I even saw His Majesty from a distance. He rode in a gilded palanquin and was accompanied by the empress and her ladies in their own palanquins, a very beautiful sight.”

“Oh!” breathed Shiba. “I imagine it must have been like a glimpse of the Western Paradise.” He was rapt with pleasure for a moment, then remembered his duty. “Forgive my chatter. You will want to get started. Perhaps tonight, after your work, you might join me for a cup of wine?”

Akitada said regretfully, “You are most kind, but I do not think Inspector Osawa will permit it.”

“Ah. Well, I think that may be managed. You are now in the Kumo mansion. All men are treated with respect here. I’ll send someone for you after your evening rice.” Akitada spent an hour checking the tax statements and writing brief summaries of the salient points, a chore he was abundantly familiar with. At sundown, a gong sounded somewhere nearby. Genzo dropped his brush noisily in the water container, yawned, and stretched. “About time they fed us,” he muttered.

Akitada rose and went to look over Genzo’s shoulders. The sheet of paper the man had been copying was splotched with ink, and the characters were barely legible. Worse, a few were missing so that whole phrases made no sense.

“You’ll have to do better,” he said. “We want clean copies, and you left out words and characters. Do that one over again more carefully.” He leaned forward to reach for the other sheets, pathetically few for an hour’s work. “Is that all you’ve-” he started to say, when Genzo suddenly lashed out, pushing Akitada back so hard that he sat down on the floor.

The scribe was up quickly for someone of his size and general lack of energy. “I’ll teach you to tell me what to do, filthy scum,” he ground out and threw himself on Akitada.

Irritated past reason, Akitada met the attack by leaning back and kicking him with both legs in the stomach. Genzo sucked in his breath sharply as he flew back against the table, scattering papers and ink. Akitada stood and pulled him up by the front of his robe. He said through gritted teeth, “I have had enough of you. Don’t think I don’t know you cut my saddle bands. One more outburst from you, and I’ll make sure you never walk again. Do you understand?”

Eyes bulging, Genzo nodded. He looked green and held his stomach.

“Clean up this mess,” Akitada snapped, dropping him back on the floor. “I don’t think you will feel much like food, so you may as well spend the time copying those papers over neatly. I’ll let the secretary know that you are finishing some work before retiring.” He strolled out of the room and left the building.

The evening was delightfully cool after the heat of the day.

If the high constable did, in fact, practice common courtesy toward even the lowliest prisoner on the island, then his staff might share his philosophy and allow him the privileges accorded a guest. He decided to test this theory by exploring and found that, wherever he strayed, servants smiled and bobbed their heads. One or two stopped to ask if he was lost, but when he told them he was just stretching his legs and admiring the residence, they left him alone. He did not, of course, enter the private quarters but wandered all around them by way of the gardens.

These were extensive and quite as well designed as any he had visited in the noble mansions and villas of the capital. Paths snaked through trees, shrubs, and rockeries, crossing miniature streams over curved bridges to lead to various garden pavilions.

Patches of tawny lilies bloomed everywhere and birds flitted from branch to branch.

One of the pavilions turned out to be a miniature temple.

Akitada was enchanted by its dainty size, which nevertheless duplicated the ornate carvings, blue-tiled roofs, and gilded ornamentation of large temples. Someone had taken great pains and spent a considerable amount of money on this little building. He climbed the steps to a tiny veranda surrounded by a red-lacquered balustrade and entered through the carved doors.