The Convict's Sword (22 page)

Convention required more expressions of interest and small courtesies. Eventually the old lady signaled a return to the purpose of Akitada’s visit. “I trust you are not unduly troubled by your injury?” she inquired politely.

“No. It will soon heal. However, I have been trying in vain to find the young woman who was the cause of it.”

Lady Kose’s eyes widened. She dropped the knife which had been trimming an azalea twig. “You were attacked by a female?” Her tone and expression showed how deeply shocked she was. “A fox spirit or a goblin, surely.”

Akitada laughed. “Not at all. The damage was done by a very real thug, and the young lady was also as substantial as you and I. I happened along and interfered when three hoodlums waylaid her not far from here.”

She clapped her hands. “Oh, just like the brave Sadamori who captured a gang of robbers all by himself.”

“Well, not really. They got away. And I also lost the young lady in the process. I wondered if you could help me find her again.”

Lady Kose was overcome with emotion. She clasped her hands together and, forgetting to cover her mouth, smiled at him with blackened teeth. “What a romantic tale!” she cried. “Young lovers separated by fate and yearning for each other. It’s Lord Narihira and the Ise Princess all over again. I must remember to note it down later. Oh, how I hope you will find her and live happily ever after.”

Akitada was beginning to feel a little out of his depth. “Er, I am afraid the lady is a stranger to me. I am investigating a murder and think she may have some information.”

Now Lady Kose was nearly quivering with excitement. “A murder? Perhaps a crime of passion or a feud between families? And the killers attacked this young woman also? How terrible! But you came to her rescue and, like Yorimasa, you will slay the monsters.”

This conversation was becoming difficult. The old lady seemed determined to make up her own fantastic story. Akitada said firmly, “Thank you for your good opinion of me, but I must make a start first. This young woman was dressed as a nun, but I have reason to believe that she is really a married woman who may live in one of the houses nearby.” Heaven only knew what she would make of this.

But Lady Kose made an abrupt return to the real world. “A young gentlewoman, you say? Hmm. It wasn’t Kiko or I, of course.” She giggled. “Secretary Ki’s wives are all of middle age, though his first lady has been talking of taking the veil. I believe Secretary Ki is becoming difficult these days. Older men, you know. Then there is Professor Takahashi. But of course he is a bachelor. No women in his house at all.” She twitched her nose. “And Wakasa has sent his family to the country, as has Minister Soga. His Excellency Enshin is a widower, and Assistant Lieutenant Akizane keeps his place only for amusements. His family lives elsewhere. Lord Yasugi, who owns the large villa across the street, comes for an occasional brief visit, but he has returned to his estates. I am afraid there are no young gentle-women hereabouts.”

“I think somebody must still live in the Yasugi house. I heard a zither when I passed. When I knocked at the gate, someone was peering out at me from the gatehouse, but nobody opened.”

She stared at him. “Hah!” she said. “I wonder.”

“Could someone be hiding in the villa?”

“You mean the young woman who was dressed up as a nun?”

“Yes.” It sounded far-fetched and he added, “Or someone who may have seen her.”

Lady Kose turned. “Kiko!”

The little maid appeared. “Yes, madam?”

“Do you remember telling me that Lord Yasugi left for the country with his whole family?”

“Yes, madam. It was last week. Three carriages he had, and four wagons for servants, and many, many porters.”

“Ah. Did all his ladies leave with him?”

“I think so, madam. All the servants left.”

“Yes, of course. Nobody would stay without servants. Thank you.” Lady Kose turned back to Akitada. “There you have it. Kiko knows all the servants around here. There is nobody across the street. Perhaps the music came from another house?”

Akitada did not think so, but he said, “Perhaps.” Lady Kose had no more information. With a sigh, he rose, bowed, and said, “Thank you for your kindness and for allowing me to see your wonderful garden.”

She looked disappointed. “Must you leave so soon? I wished to ask more questions about this interesting young woman of yours. You see, I write stories. Kiko seems to think they are good. And I could tell you more about the family across the street.”

Akitada hesitated, then took his seat again.

“A pity they are gone,” she said. “There are all sorts of ladies there when they are in town. Yasugi has three wives and two grown daughters. His third lady is not much older than the daughters. It was a very romantic marriage. They say he took pity on a young widow, but I think he lost his heart. Like the
Tale of Lady Ochikubo,
though she was no widow. But both ladies were in very straitened circumstances, and both gentlemen very rich. It is a wonderful thing that men are so passionate. Now that the daughters are young women, I think we shall soon have page boys running back and forth, carrying love poems.” She raised a hand to her mouth and giggled.

“You have been very kind,” said Akitada firmly, “but since the family is gone, I really don’t see how they can be involved in this.” Afraid that she would trap him into more of her romantic fantasies, real or imagined, Akitada bowed again, and retreated quickly.

“Please come back,” she cried after him.

Across the street loomed the long wall and gatehouse of the Yasugi residence. The unseasonable heat made the air above the tiles shimmer against the green trees and blue roofs like iridescent silk. He marveled that a wealthy man would leave such a valuable property unattended. Someone was inside, and that someone was hiding. He thought of the three ruffians.

But would robbers play the zither? Not likely!

He decided to walk around the perimeter of the property and look for another entrance. The northern boundary wall adjoined a small wood of pines and cedars. It was thickly overgrown, but Akitada found a footpath that followed the wall and seemed to be a shortcut to the next street. The wall was solid, but on the next street there was a small secondary gate to the service area of the Yasugi property. This gate was locked from inside and nobody answered his knock. The next cross street was the one where the attack had occurred, and Akitada knew that wall was blank. He returned to the footpath. When he turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of a man who seemed to disappear into thin air before his eyes. The path lay empty, and yet he was certain that a moment ago a figure had been there.

Halfway down the path, a crippled pine leaned toward the wall. One sturdy branch reached over its top. All a man had to do was to pull himself up, crawl along the branch, and jump down on the other side. The man had gone over the wall.

Akitada took off his outer robe, wrapped it around his waist, and tied up his trousers. Then he pulled himself up quickly and stood on the branch, looking down into an elegant garden. There was no sign of the intruder.

If a man had climbed the pine and jumped into the Yasugi garden, he was there for no good purpose. That left Akitada little choice but to follow and try to stop whatever was about to happen.

He nearly slipped off the branch when he caught sight of the man again. He was moving along a path, not thirty feet away. The burly shape, the checked shirt, and the bandage across his face were unpleasantly familiar. It was the thug who had come for him at the bridge the day before. He had inflicted some damage when he had rammed the small tree into the man’s face, but his presence here was not only ominous but dangerous: Akitada was not armed and did not know if the man’s companions were with him.

There was nothing like surprise reinforced by bluff. Moving out along the branch, Akitada jumped down into the garden and found the path. Putting on his robe again, he untied his trousers. Then he stepped from the cover into the path and walked casually toward the man. “Hey,” he shouted. “You there! What are you doing here?”

The fellow started and turned. His good eye almost popped out in surprise when he saw who was coming.

Akitada pretended to recognize him also and scowled dreadfully. “You again!”

Putting his hands to his mouth, he shouted, “Tora, Genba! Thieves! Come quick!”

The ruse worked. The thug made a frantic dash into the garden, with Akitada in hot pursuit, shouting, “Robbers! Call the constables! Get your bows. Quick!” and making as much noise as he could. The man disappeared into the shrubbery.

Akitada’s shouts should have brought out any Yasugi retainers, but nothing stirred in the compound. The service buildings—stables, storehouses, and a kitchen—looked deserted. Akitada moved quietly on his soft soles, peering around corners and through windows into buildings. He found all doors firmly locked. Where had the fellow got to?

Too late he heard the clicking of a latch. He swung around and saw the gate to the back street closing with a thud. The man had got away.

With a sigh, Akitada walked back to the main residence.

The path skirted an artificial lake, much larger than Lady Kose’s miniature puddle. The separate pavilions were connected to each other and to the largest building by roofed galleries. He crossed a small moon bridge over a narrow arm of the lake and looked down at floating water lilies with pale yellow starlike blooms. Speckled
koi
rose sluggishly to inspect the sudden intrusion of a human shadow into their quiet world.

The house was closed up, its heavy wooden shutters securely locked into place. The only sound Akitada heard was the crunching of the gravel under his feet and the occasional chirping of a bird somewhere. He inspected each building. The number of pavilions suggested that Yasugi’s wives and his daughters each enjoyed their own quarters. It was not until he had almost finished that he noticed the first sign of life.

A pair of women’s sandals, large and well-worn, stood at the bottom of the veranda steps. Not bothering to remove his own shoes, Akitada climbed the steps and turned the corner of the building. And there a wooden shutter had been pushed aside and a sliding door was open to the interior. He took a cautious step forward and peered in at thick grass mats, a clothes stand with women’s garments draped over it, and a painted screen. Various articles lay about nearby, all of them belonging to an upper class woman: a fine bronze mirror stand with its round mirror; a comb box and a cosmetics box, both finely lacquered; books; papers; writing utensils; and, near the veranda, the zither he had heard.

He cleared his throat, but all remained still. The stillness was strangely breathless, a silence filled with . . . what? . . . fear, anticipation, or perhaps danger?

“Is anyone here?” he asked.

The silence became heavy and suffocating. The image of the bloodstained room of the street singer flashed through his mind. He was suddenly afraid that he had come too late after all and crossed the threshold quickly.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. They fell first on the mirror and cosmetics box, and he felt a surge of excitement. The box was the twin of the one owned by the dead Tomoe.

He made a move toward it, when he heard a soft rustling. Half turning, he saw a figure silhouetted against the brightness of the sunlit garden beyond the door—a large sword raised in both hands.

He took a desperate leap as the long blade hissed down.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE B OY

 

 

 

Tora left the soothsayer, greatly troubled by his prediction, and almost fell over the beggar who was crouching at the bottom of the steps. The screams of pain jerked him out of his abstraction.

The beggar was rolling in the dirt in apparent agony. “Oh, my back,” he groaned. A small crowd gathered. “My rib’s broken. Aaah! Fetch a doctor, quick. He kicked me! Oh, Amida, the pain!” His scabby knees drawn almost to his chin, the beggar rocked back and forth in the dust like a large ball of rag and bone, his face contorted and his arms clutched across his middle. Both his face and arms were covered with assorted scratches.

Tora did not believe for an instant that he could have injured the man—or that a man with broken ribs would roll around that way. He knew this for what it was: a ploy to extract money from an unwary shopper. The broken rib was an outright lie.

A crowd grew with a speed that proved the spectacle of human pain was of greater interest than shopping for food, eating, or even standing in line to buy amulets against disease. True, some of the regulars lost interest when they saw who was writhing on the ground, but others remained to see how the beggar’s victim would react.

Tora glanced at the crowd. Some people were glaring at him. One woman shook her fist, and somebody shouted, “You young hoodlums think you can walk all over us. Just you wait!”