The Emperor's Woman (25 page)

Then came the waiting.

Doctor Kumada arrived first. He was a frail and kindly elderly man, much given to treating his patients with ingenious concoctions of herbal teas and pulverized roots. In this he reminded Tamako and Akitada of Seimei, particularly since he also had another characteristic of their old faithful retainer. He liked to insert the odd bit of ancient wisdom in his conversations.

Now he greeted Tamako with a bow and a smile. “Where’s the patient, dear lady?”

“He’s on his way,” she said, glancing past him toward the gate. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know how bad it is, but he’s seriously injured, and I think he’s unconscious.”

The doctor raised his thick white brows. “How then can he be said to be on his way?”

“Oh.” Tamako brushed her hair back with a distracted hand. “I’m sorry. Sumiko didn’t make herself clear. My husband has taken a fall in the mountains. They’re bringing him by litter.”

The white eyebrows contracted. “Good heavens. I’m very sorry to hear it. Shall we go inside and make preparations?”

“Yes, of course. I did that, but you’d better see for yourself.”

Doctor Kumada approved, but he also ordered water to be heated in the kitchen and then bent over his basket of medicines to lay out some likely herbs for infusion. As he was doing this, the patient finally arrived.

When they finally brought Akitada into his room after a horribly painful and long journey, he found Tamako waiting, her face pale with worry. She exclaimed at his appearance. He tried to reassure her, but when they set his litter down, the jolt to his arm caused him to cry out. He had rarely been this miserable. His clothes were soaking wet and he shivered uncontrollably.

Tora and Kobe had come in with him, their faces drawn.

The constables next lifted Akitada from the litter onto the bedding, a process that caused him to utter several long moans.

“What happened, Tora?” Tamako asked, wringing her hands.

“He must’ve fallen yesterday, my lady. The old woman caretaker went looking for him. She heard cries for help but couldn’t see him. She’s too old and infirm to be much use, so he was on the mountain all night. By the time I got to him, he was unconscious.”

Their doctor came to bend over Akitada. “He has a bad cut on his scalp,” he announced. It must’ve bled a good deal. That could explain why he was unconscious, but the wound isn’t serious.”

Dazed with the pain of the journey, Akitada bore the doctor’s probing of his head patiently. But when he started moving his limbs and got to the left arm, he snarled, “Don’t!”

Doctor Kumada paused and asked for a sharp knife to cut the sleeve of Akitada’s robe away from his shoulder. He was gentle, but even this was exquisitely painful. When the sodden layers of robe, shirt, and undershirt were peeled back, Akitada risked a look. His shoulder joint was grossly swollen and angry red and purple in color. Besides, something was badly wrong with its shape.

“Is it broken?” Tamako asked with a gasp.

The doctor probed and shook his head. “Not at all. As they say, if you know the disease, the cure is near. Your husband has pulled his arm out of its proper place. I expect it’s very painful, but I don’t think there’s any lasting damage. The injury has caused the swelling and bruising. I won’t touch it myself, but I know someone who is said to be very good at this. He’s one of the blind masseurs. Send for him, while I check the rest of the patient.”

As Akitada absorbed this, Kobe said in a hearty voice, “Well, that’s good news. My men and I will be on our way. There’s work to be done. Glad we got your husband back in one piece, dear lady.”

Tamako bowed very deeply. “You have saved him. We are deeply in your debt.”

Akitada bit his lip. Ashamed of having cried out with pain, he almost wished the injury had been worse. “Yes, it was very good of you, Kobe. Sorry to have been such a nuisance.”

“All in a day’s work,” Kobe said and left.

Akitada detested the notion of being indebted to Kobe after all that had passed between them. “Tora could’ve handled it,” he said sourly.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” his wife said.

Tora cleared his throat. “Did you say a blind masseur, Doctor?” he asked. “Isn’t there one who treats the beggars? He’s called Bashan.”

Doctor Kumada nodded. “That’s him. He does a lot of free work for the poor. He wears plain clothing but has a heart of brocade, as they say. Bashan’s very good at manipulating limbs, also with needles and moxa treatments, I hear. You’ll probably find him in the Jade Arbor, a bathhouse in the sixth ward.”

“I’m on my way.”

“No, Tora,” said Tamako. “Send the boy. You need to get out of your wet clothes and have something to eat.”

“If you say so, my lady.” On his way out, Tora added with a grin, “Patience, sir. You’ll soon be as good as new.”

The doctor nodded. “Patience is the remedy for every misfortune.”

Akitada was neither patient nor did he have much faith in blind masseurs. In fact, his misery was still so great that he had only listened with half an ear to the chatter. He resented the fact that they were all so cheerful. Even Tamako smiled. The pain in his shoulder was too great for such good humor. He gathered something was wrong with the shoulder, but the pain radiated down his entire arm to his very fingertips. He could not move any of them. It also extended up to his neck and spread from there to his back and chest. He had to avoid breathing too deeply.

And what were they planning to do about his injuries? They were turning him over to a blind masseur. Were they mad? How much pain did they wish him to suffer? His own family was set on torturing him. He glared at Tamako, who knelt beside him, stroking his head.

The maid came in with hot water, and Doctor Kumada began the ritual of mixing one of his concoctions, murmuring explanations as he selected the ingredients. “This will serve to dispel the heat in your shoulder,” he said. “It will cleanse the poisons from the flesh and reduce the swellings. It’s the old eight-herb formula, but with some of my own substitutions.” He held them up, one by one. “Here you have mint, and here bellflower, and cassia, gardenia, and vitex. To those I add ginseng for the fever and ginger and cinnamon to reduce pain.” He stirred these ingredients together in a large earthenware bowl, then added steaming hot water to them. An acrid smell filled the room.

“Must I?” grumbled Akitada, wrinkling his nose. “I think a cup of hot spiced wine would be a good deal better. I’m still as wet as a drowned rat.”

“Do you want us to take off your clothes?” asked Tamako, jumping up. “You didn’t want anyone to touch you.”

“No, no. Don’t. I’m getting quite warm.”

The large cup, reeking of heaven knew what, approached his clenched lips while Tamako propped up his head. The first sip burned his lips and he jerked away. This jarred his shoulder and convinced him of their cruelty.

“It’s too hot,” murmured Tamako. This set the doctor to blowing on the brew. In time the evil cup approached again. Akitada sipped and gagged. “It tastes like cat’s urine. I’m not drinking this.”

The doctor looked stern. “The illness of those who are too proud to heed reason is absolutely incurable.”

“You will drink it, Akitada,” his wife said, “because if you don’t, you may die of a fever after spending the night in the rain on a mountain. That’s right, Doctor, isn’t it.”

“Very true, my lady, but I’m afraid good advice is as painful to the ears as good medicine is bitter to the tongue.”

They both chuckled. What did they care? Akitada gnashed his teeth but submitted to the nasty brew.

After that, he had a period of peace. Kumada prepared several packets of herbs for additional doses of the nasty brew, collected his pay, and departed.

“Try to rest,” Tamako said and sat down beside him. He nodded and dozed. “I wish you’d let me get those wet clothes off you.,” she said after a while.

“Maybe later.”

He must have slept a little, because when he opened his eyes again, a monk was leaning over him, his eyes half closed and his fingers moving lightly across his chest. Had he died? The fingers next felt his head, brushing across the bandage, and returned to his neck. From there, they crept toward his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Akitada growled.

The monk stopped and smiled. “Ah, you’re awake. Now pay attention. I will pull on your arm until it finds its way home.”

Akitada’s eyes popped open. “NO!”

The monk smiled more widely. “You may, of course, wish to continue in your present discomfort. In that case, I will wish you patience and depart.”

Akitada glared back. He realized that he was not dealing with a monk but with the blind masseur. “What do you know about such injuries?” he demanded.

“I would call them fortunate accidents. They are common and easily treated, except in cases where the victims have an unreasonable dislike of even a small moment’s pain.”

Akitada hated the man. How dare he speak to him this way? How dare he suggest that he could take no pain? How dare he insult him in this manner? He looked past the shaven head to Tamako, who stood by expectantly and with a smile on her face. Feeling resentful, his eyes returned to the smooth face of the monk. “A moment’s pain? A fortunate accident? Is nothing broken or torn?”

“I don’t think there is any damage. And yes, it will hurt quite a lot for a moment, but after that you’ll feel much better, and soon you’ll not remember the pain at all.”

“Must you pull my arm?”

“Yes.”

Akitada closed his eyes. “Do it then,” he said ungraciously and prepared himself to bear the procedure without making a sound. He’d show them.

The masseur felt around the joint one more time, then reached for Akitada’s wrist and gave his arm a single powerful jerk and a twist.

White-hot agony sliced through Akitada’s shoulder. The effort not to cry out caused him to become absolutely rigid from the soles of his feet to his head. He dimly heard his bones come together with an odd, slippery sound and felt an immediate relief.

“There,” said the masseur. “That should do it. Keep your arm still for a day. I’m told your doctor left some medicine for pain. I’ll only rub on a little ointment. It won’t hurt.”

Akitada opened his eyes slowly. The pain was almost gone, and the relief was overwhelming. The ointment felt pleasantly hot on his skin. He said, “Thank you. Please forgive me for doubting your skill.”

A small smile twitched the masseur’s lips. “It was nothing. As I said, a fortunate accident. I’ll take my leave. Not all my patients are as easy to cure.”

Feeling the implied reprimand, Akitada flushed. “I believe payment is in order,” he said to establish a more proper relationship.

“A piece of silver will do.”

He was not cheap. Akitada eyed the slender figure with the shaven head. The man belonged to the lower classes, perhaps even to the untouchables, but his speech was educated. Though his manner had hardly been proper, he had done his job well and must be paid. “Tamako, please get the money.”

As Tamako paid the masseur, putting the money in his hand and adding her thanks, Tora came back in. He eyed the masseur with interest. “You must be the one who treated a friend of mine. He was attacked and got a bad head wound. You took care of him at the beggars’ temple. His name’s Saburo.”

The masseur cocked his head in Tora’s direction. “It may be so. A friend of yours, you say?”

Akitada said, “Saburo worked for me. If you have treated him, it’s only right that I should pay his debt also.”

The masseur hesitated. “Thank you. But it was nothing. I treat the poor without taking pay.”

“Then I’m sure you can use the money,” Tamako said. “It was a kindness, and we’re grateful.” Tamako pressed another piece of silver into Bashan’s hand.

Bashan bowed, then felt around for his staff. Tora handed it to him, and led him out.

“What an odd character,” muttered Akitada. “I think I’ll change now.” Assisted by Tamako, he struggled out of his wet, torn, and filthy clothes and put on dry ones. His left arm was still fairly useless and somewhat painful, but he found he could tuck it inside his robe where it was adequately supported. He was beginning to feel almost human again and decided to sit down behind his desk. Tamako watched him, smiling to see him so greatly improved.

Suddenly he felt a rush of happiness and gratitude. He had almost died on the mountain. Certainly his attacker had intended him to die. Tears came to his eyes. He was ashamed that he had behaved like a spoiled child.

“I’ve been foolish and careless, and I’ve given you a very hard time,” he told his wife. “Please forgive me.”

Tamako laughed softly. “You were in great pain and protested. It’s what people do when they’re hurt. Oh, Akitada, I’m so happy you’re back.”

The door opened and Tora was back. “Good man, that Bashan. I don’t think I could’ve done as well as you, sir. All that rough handling to pull you up the mountainside, and then the awful shaking on the litter.”

“You saved my life, Tora. You might have fallen yourself.” Akitada paused, frowning. “I thought I heard you talking to me, but I must have been dreaming.”

“It was me. Telling you not to move. You were lying on this very narrow ledge.”

“Good heaven.” Akitada grimaced. In his carelessness, he had risked not only his own life, but also those of Tora and the brave constables. And he had gained little or nothing from his trip. He wondered if he should tell them about the attack and decided against it. No sense in frightening Tamako now that he was safe.

He said, “I’m afraid I haven’t made any progress. There were a few scuffed footprints in one of the rooms, and a thread or two of blue silk and some drops of blood. I’m convinced she was struck with that
bo
and then dropped off the promontory.”

Tora shuddered. “Who would do such a thing? What if she was still alive when he pushed her over?”

Tamako had turned white. “Oh, how terrible!”

“Yes,” Akitada said heavily. “The killer was very cruel.”

Tamako shook her head, and he extended his good hand to her.

Tora cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve some chores to do,” he muttered and left quickly.