The Convict's Sword (32 page)

Defeated, he turned his mind to Tomoe’s murder. Lady Yasugi’s stunning confession that they were sisters had opened new possibilities. He considered their conversation. Something was wrong about it. Her sadness—and there had been a very deep sadness behind their strange exchange—troubled him. Even grief for her sister did not account for it. Besides, he was not convinced that the two women had been very close. They had only met again recently, and Tomoe’s way of life must have shocked the fastidious Lady Yasugi. And why the fatalistic acceptance of a joyless marriage in so young and beautiful a woman? Yasugi was a much older man. Could she truly be so attached to him that his coldness caused her hopelessness? Akitada did not think so. He decided to pay her another visit and ask more questions. There was, for example, Tomoe’s husband who had abandoned her because of her blindness. The sisters had been very unlucky in their husbands. As had been the parents who had raised their daughters to be dutiful. Neither girl had turned out to be the meek, obedient creature they had envisioned. If he approached the past carefully, Lady Yasugi might confide in him.

Perhaps they could walk together in the garden. She was a woman of great beauty and grace and capable of strong affections. Her defiance of her husband in order to help her sister proved that. When looked at in that way, her rebellious spirit seemed admirable. She had certainly shown courage. He smiled at the memory of the noble beauty dressed in that unattractive nun’s garb and mingling with the common crowd in the courtroom.

A touch on his sleeve brought him back to his surroundings. Kosehira signaled some warning. He glanced up at the image of the Buddha and then over to the priest. The priest was glaring at him. Puzzled, Akitada looked at Kosehira.

“You are smiling,” whispered his friend.

Akitada guiltily rearranged his face, but the priest still glowered. Putting on a rapt expression, Akitada said in an audible undertone, “I thought I saw the Holy Yakushi nod his head. No, I’m sure of it. I take it to mean that he has heard my prayer.”

The priest cleared his throat. “Blessed be Amida. A sign! Thank you, young man. You must have a very pure mind to break through the barrier and receive an answer. I have only once been blessed in that manner. What was your name again?”

Akitada stuttered his name.

The priest nodded. “A good omen. A Sugawara praying for His Majesty. A very good omen.”

Akitada quickly performed the closing obeisances. He and Kosehira left after bowing to the priest, who graciously bowed back.

Outside in the temple garden, Kosehira doubled over in laughter. “You liar,” he gasped. “I know you too well. Do you know who that was?”

Akitada glanced back nervously. “No. I just assumed he was someone important. That fine robe . . .”

“It was the late Emperor Sanjo’s brother, the present emperor’s uncle.”

“Dear Heaven. No wonder he looked outraged.”

“You made a good recovery. He was impressed by your spirituality.” Kosehira burst into more giggles. “And by the fact that the great Michizane’s descendant is praying for the emperor. If he remembers, chances are excellent that he will put your name up for promotion.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” It was true, his ancestor was routinely blamed for every catastrophe. The notion that he had broken the curse made Akitada laugh also, and they passed out into the street in a lighter mood. Akitada asked, “Kosehira, do you know any Yasugis? This one seems to own vast estates somewhere but spends part of his time in his mansion here in the capital.”

“Yasugi? Fat old fellow who looks apoplectic?”

Akitada was pleased with this description. “I’ve never met him, but I, er, ran into one of his wives. The youngest. Apparently he left town without her.”

Kosehira’s eyebrows almost met his hairline. “You ran into one of his wives? After her husband left her behind? Come, there’s a story there. If it’s the man I’m thinking of, she’s said to be a beauty.” Before Akitada could deflect his curiosity, he clapped his hands in delight. “So that’s what’s been on your mind. Would that explain the smile? Pure thoughts indeed!” He roared. “You philanderer! Better watch out, though. Yasugi controls some very influential people and maintains a small army on his estate in Tsuzuki.”

“Nonsense.” Akitada flushed and, aware of it, made matters worse. “We only met once and she had a maid with her, an ill-tempered, hateful woman loyal to the husband.”

Kosehira grinned. “Ingenuity gets rid of troublesome servants.”

“Please be serious, Kosehira. Tsuzuki is just south of here, isn’t it?” Akitada calculated, with some dismay, that Yasugi could already have fetched his wife home.

“About thirty miles from here. Come to think of it, someone mentioned his going home. Afraid of the disease like everyone else. Strange he would leave one of his wives behind.” Kosehira regarded Akitada thoughtfully. “Will you be . . . meeting her again?”

Akitada snapped, “This is no romance. I’m investigating the murder of a blind woman, her sister’s, as it turns out.”

“A murder? You don’t say.” Kosehira seized Akitada’s arm. “I can’t wait to hear. Will you come to my house tonight? We can have a quiet dinner with some good wine, and you’ll tell me all about it. It will be like old times.”

Akitada regretted thoroughly having mentioned the Yasugi name. “I’m sorry, Kosehira. I can’t. The case is urgent, and I am tied up at the ministry every day. Besides, Seimei is ill—no, not the smallpox—and Tamako is afraid to stay in the capital with Yori. I will come as soon as I can.”

Kosehira looked disappointed. “I could help,” he offered hopefully.

Akitada hesitated. “Well, do you know the Murata family? The parents of the two women?”

“Murata? Bureau of Divination?” Kosehira shook his head. “Not really. Yasugi’s third wife was said to come from humble circumstances. Some scandal, I think. I can ask around.”

Akitada looked at his friend gratefully. “Would you? And I promise to tell you all as soon as I can.”

They parted then, and Akitada turned toward home. He had not gone far when a voice hailed him. Kunyoshi, the archivist, was running down the street, his skirts flapping around his skinny calves. He seemed in an almighty hurry to catch up. Akitada wondered what he could want now.

Kunyoshi trotted up, puffing. “Sorry,” he gasped, “didn’t want to miss you.”

He took a few rattling breaths while Akitada patted his back and said loudly, “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

Kunyoshi gestured at Akitada’s court robe and said humbly, “You are very kind, my lord. It was rude to shout and run after you, but I’m afraid this foolish old person has made a mistake.” He paused to catch his breath again, peering up at Akitada from rheumy eyes. “I thought, how dreadful if Lord Sugawara should set out on such a long journey and then find out that it was all a silly mistake made by a senile old fool. I was quite desperate to find you when I happened to see you just now outside the temple. It was as if the Buddha himself had answered my prayers.”

“Surely you exaggerate. What mistake?”

Kunyoshi wrung his hands. “Do you recall asking about the Utsunomiyas?”

“Yes.” How remote that seemed now. Tora had been charged with murder, a smallpox epidemic was raging, and his family was in turmoil.

But Kunyoshi knew none of this. He stood there, trembling with anxiety. And now tears were beginning to course down the sunken cheeks. People cast curious glances at them.

“Kunyoshi,” said Akitada, taking the old man’s arm and leading him aside, “I was not going anywhere, so no harm is done. What exactly did you remember?”

“I told you that the land was in Hoki Province. Do you remember?”

Akitada frowned. “Izumo, I thought. Something about the shrine being involved in the land dispute. I could not have gone there in any case. It’s much too far.”

“I am glad you did not go, but I was afraid you would. I could see it meant a great deal to you. And people say that you always solve a mystery.”

Akitada was getting a little impatient. “So, if the land is not in Hoki or Izumo, where is it?”

Kunyoshi was wringing his hands again. “That is what I cannot remember. I know it was to do with a shrine. A very important shrine. Only it was not Ise or Izumo.” He wiped away tears. “I’m getting worse. My mind remembers nothing. I’ll have to resign.” He heaved a ragged sigh, bowed to Akitada, muttering, “So very sorry,” and stumbled away.

Akitada looked after him. Poor old man. Everything conspired to bury Haseo’s past and there was nothing he could do about it, at least not now. He must go home and deal with more urgent problems.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CAUGHT

 

 

 

The Scarecrow pushed Tora into the training hall. They arrived in the middle of some sort of celebration. Tora relaxed a little; surely they would not be quite this happy discussing methods of killing him.

Kata waved and shouted, “There’s a general amnesty.”

The Scarecrow gave a whoop and pulled Tora into the gathering. “That’ll mean three, four more men, and times are good. Lots of empty houses.”

“I make it six,” said Kata. “Denzo and Kiheiji sent word they’re coming to us.”

Tora tried to look cheerful. If the emperor had called for an amnesty—and because of the epidemic it was all too likely—the jails would be emptied immediately. The gang had reason to celebrate, but heaven help the decent citizens in the weeks and months to come. As for hoping to have the police arrest Kata and his men for their crimes, the thought was ludicrous. His masquerade was not only dangerous, it had also just become pointless. Tomoe’s death would not be avenged lawfully.

But at least there was no immediate danger. One or two of the men, the Scarecrow among them, still scowled when they looked at him, but Kata seemed friendly enough. The Scarecrow had taken Kata aside to report right after they arrived, but the conversation ended with Kata firmly shaking his head and the Scarecrow slinking off.

Kata was in excellent spirits, smiling broadly and joking with his men until it was time to push back the sliding doors and begin the daily lessons.

For the first time Kata put Tora to work drilling students. Hoping to pick up a little more information before drifting away from the place for good, Tora complied. He worried about the man in the storehouse. During one of the breaks, he asked Kata about the epidemic.

“Good for business,” was the only comment he got.

“The Scarecrow said we’re moving to another place. Where are we going?”

Kata waved him away. “Back to work. You’ll find out soon enough.”

The morning passed slowly. Tora was not yet up to continuous sword practice, even when it was not competitive. He tried to conserve his strength, but felt Kata’s watchful eye on his back. He was also wary of Matsue, but his archenemy did not show up. In fact, the other gang members left, leaving only the students, Kata, Tora, and Kinjiro.

At midday, the lessons stopped. The morning students departed and Kata also disappeared. Tora collapsed against a wall and closed his eyes. Rest was blissful until his stomach began to growl.

With a sigh he fished out his last three coppers and looked at them dubiously. Kata had not mentioned pay. Still, he could not complain: He had offered to work for room and board, and that had been provided. The trouble was, he had eaten little the night before and only two small rice cakes that morning. He glanced toward Kinjiro, who was replacing the wooden swords in their rack. “Hey, Kinjiro? You want to go to the market for some noodle soup?”

Kinjiro stopped. “Can’t. I’m supposed to watch the place till they get back. You go ahead.”

Tora put his coppers away. He wondered why the boy seemed subdued today and got to his feet. “No. I’ll keep you company. Too much food makes me sluggish anyway.”

Kinjiro grunted and went to get a broom. Apparently cleaning the training hall between sessions was part of his duties. Tora watched him for a while, then said, “Wouldn’t you rather do some other work? You could be an apprentice . . .” His voice trailed off. Honest trades, like mat weaving, cloth dying, paper making and so forth, would not appeal much to the youngster after the exciting adventures promised by Kata and his men. The danger in a criminal career was part of the thrill. Kinjiro probably dreamed of moving up through the ranks until he became an officer himself, maybe even someone like Matsue.

Kinjiro gave a snort of derision. “Too late for that.”

This surprised Tora. “What do you mean?”

The boy shot him a pitying look. “No tradesman’s going to take me on. I’ve got a reputation.” He said it almost proudly.

“You’ve been stealing,” Tora accused.

“That too. But mainly I collect the money.”

Tora opened his mouth and closed it again. Of course. Kata was taking protection money from merchants in the market. Tora could not recall who had told him. For a weekly fee, Kata’s hoods were supposed to protect the merchants from other gangs. If a man did not pay up, they would demonstrate the foolishness of such behavior by ransacking his business themselves. And Kinjiro was sent to collect the money. Naturally he could not now apply for honest work.