The Convict's Sword (51 page)

“It was good of you to think of us at all.”

He gave up. She had become indifferent, possibly even hostile. It served him right for desiring what could not be his. For a while they rode in silence through a land of green rice paddies, while he mulled over his long list of poor judgments and the human losses his inadequacy had caused. And always, in the back of his mind, the heaviest guilt of all. But that wound to his conscience was much too deep to dwell on, and he resolutely bent his mind to his purpose.

Breaking the second, longer silence, he asked, “Can you tell me anything that might help me find Tomoe’s children? I take it they are not with family or friends?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. What must be going through their minds now that their mother does not visit anymore.”

He did not mince his words. “They may be homeless. Or worse. The money their mother earned was for them. She lived on millet and water.” Hiroko turned a stricken face to him. He knew he burdened her with guilt also, but hiding the facts had brought nothing but tragedy to all of them. “I think they’re in someone’s care, and if that person depends on payment, he or she might be tempted to sell the children. Did she visit them often?”

“Dear heaven. I didn’t know. Yes. Every few weeks, I think. She would spend a day with them. She told me about Nobunari’s studies, and Nobuko’s pretty singing voice.”

“She was blind. How did she make the journey? Did someone take her?”

“No. She trusted no one, but she could make out shapes and managed to walk familiar streets.”

Akitada frowned. “She could have been followed without knowing it.”

Hiroko suddenly looked frightened. “Do you think Yasugi is behind this?”

“I don’t know who killed her. At the moment I’m worried about the children. You say the boy was being taught by someone. Did she mention a school or a tutor?”

“No. I should have asked. It seems now that I was always talking about my own troubles.” She hung her head.

A common failing, he thought, and more guilt to spread around.

But at least Hiroko was reunited with her daughter without further incident. When they reached the farm, the little girl was sitting under a tree.

“Suriko,” called Lady Yasugi. The little girl jumped up, shaded her eyes against the sun, and then ran toward them. Two women came from the house. Akitada looked for the men, but apparently they were working the fields.

Hiroko slid from the saddle to scoop up the little girl, and Akitada’s heart contracted. Just so he used to catch Yori into his arms. He would never again feel his son’s arms around his neck. A child—boy or girl, it mattered not—was a gift from the gods.

Holding her daughter, Lady Yasugi lifted a face shining with joy. When she saw his expression, she sobered. “Thank you,” she said. “I shall never forget this.”

He nodded, then turned to speak to the women who had come to join them. It was surprisingly easy to tell them that Lady Yasugi had come to take her daughter with her for a short visit. They smiled and bowed, and in minutes the little girl and her bundle were on Hiroko’s horse with her, and they galloped off.

The small temple where they proposed to seek refuge looked safe enough, but Akitada disliked leaving them. When they parted, he took some gold from his saddlebags and handed it to her. She refused.

“Don’t be silly,” he said harshly. “You’ll be expected to make some sort of donation and you need the goodwill of the nuns. Pay me back later.”

She accepted then, and he swung himself into the saddle. To his surprise, she came close and put her hand on his. Looking up at him, she said, “Don’t forget your wife, Akitada. Go back to her. Go now.”

Akitada took her words for a final rejection and was seized by such desolation that he could not speak. Wherever he looked in his life, he saw only failure and loss. Yes, he would go home to Tamako, though he knew what he would find. There was such a distance between them, so great a separation of mind and body, that nothing could bridge it. Only his sense of duty made him face it, for the alternative—to divorce his wife—filled him with more shame than he could bear. And this extraordinary woman, this woman who had rushed to save him from Matsue with the skill and courage of a warrior, seemed more beautiful and desirable to him than ever before, and that also filled him with shame. Without another word, he turned his horse and left her.

He found Matsue-Sangoro conscious and cursing. Apparently his demands that his cousin send for Lord Yasugi had been ignored. Akitada warmed to the foolish relative and, after checking the splint on the broken leg, he secured his prisoner and bedded down nearby for a restless night.

At the first sign of dawn he had the cousin help him tie Matsue onto his horse. The man showed no interest in their destination and asked no questions. The process of tying Matsue’s wrists and legs was painful to him; Matsue gnashed his teeth, cursed them both, and glowered at Akitada from blood-shot eyes. Akitada, whose belly still ached from Matsue’s kick, ignored him. When he gave the cousin some silver for his trouble, Matsue spat at both of them. Akitada picked up a piece of the rope they had used and lashed Matsue across the face with it. The cousin grinned foolishly.

Mistreating a bound and wounded man was cowardly, but Matsue’s actions, past and present, filled Akitada with such rage that the man was lucky he was still alive. Since Yori’s death, something seemed to have hardened at his core. He had no empathy left. During the journey, he ignored his prisoner’s complaints about a swollen wrist, as well as his curses. They stopped only once to water the horses and to allow Matsue to relieve himself.

At midday they reached the capital. Smoke still hung thickly over Toribeno, but both markets were open, and people had crept from their houses to buy food. There was an air of new hope in the city.

Akitada took Matsue to police headquarters and turned him over to an officer. Then he went to Kobe, who looked drawn and tired but was willing to listen in spite of their recent quarrel. Kobe even offered wine, which Akitada accepted gladly. It had been a long journey, and he had eaten nothing since the previous day.

Kobe watched him and nodded. “Good. You’re starting to get some color back.” He refilled the cup. “What in the name of Amida happened?”

“I brought in the man who killed Tomonari Nobutoshi and his wife. The crime happened five years ago in the Tsuzuki District. Tomonari’s son Haseo was found guilty and exiled to Sadoshima.”

Kobe sat up. His eyes sharpened with interest. “I remember the case. The son was supposed to have slaughtered his aged parents in front of his old nurse. The nurse’s testimony was damning.”

Akitada downed another cup of wine and held it out for a refill. If he kept this up, he might become sufficiently numb to face his wife. “The nurse was the real killer’s mother,” he said. “She blamed the murder on Haseo to save her son. Apparently this Sangoro was Haseo’s half-brother.”

Kobe snorted. “They certainly kept their quarrels in the family. Do I take it that the nurse has confessed now?”

“No, she’s dead. Sangoro has confessed.”

“Ah. But will he repeat his confession in court?”

“Probably. If he does not, Lady Yasugi will testify against him and against her husband.”

Kobe’s eyes widened. “Yasugi is involved?”

“I believe he stirred up the trouble between the father and both sons. He may have suggested the murder to Sangoro, but in any case he took advantage of the situation afterward. Apparently he manipulated witnesses, especially the nurse, to testify against Haseo. Yasugi lusted after Haseo’s wife and the leases on the Tomonari Estate.”

Kobe murmured, “Hmm.” Then he shook his head. “I don’t give you much hope there.” Seeing Akitada’s anger flare up, he said quickly, “Oh, I believe you, but Yasugi is beyond the law in this instance. It will be the word of others against his, and Yasugi will certainly prevail. You can, of course, cause him some unpleasantness, but on the whole I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Akitada said hotly, “Not even if we can prove that he killed one of the Tomonari children? Not even if we link him to Tomoe’s murder?”

Kobe stared. “You can link him to the murder of the blind street singer?”

“Lady Yasugi and Tomoe were both married to Haseo. At the moment Tomoe’s children have disappeared. The boy is the heir.”

Kobe thought about it for a few moments. Then he poured himself and his guest more wine. They drank. “You have proof ?” he finally asked in a weak voice.

“No. I’ve pieced a plot together. I was hoping that you could get Matsue to implicate Yasugi. Matsue has a broken leg. Surely that will help during the interrogation.”

Kobe shook his head in wonder. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind. You want me to torture a confession out of this Matsue and also have him testify against Yasugi?”

“I know they’re both guilty,” Akitada said stubbornly. “As for the torture, they’ve done worse than that to innocent people. Let them find out what it feels like.” Akitada gulped down another cup of wine—he was not sure if it was his fourth or fifth—and decided it was time to go home. He stood up and immediately lost his balance. “I’ve got to go,” he said, slurring his words a little. “My wife’s home alone. Mourning our son.”

Kobe stood also and came around the desk. “Your son died? So that’s what’s wrong.”

Akitada nodded. To his shame, his eyes filled with tears. “S-smallpox,” he muttered and lurched from the room.

He was not sure how he got home. He let his horse find the way. Kobe’s wine had raised a thick haze between himself and his surroundings, but in his heart he was terrified of walking into a house which no longer held his son.

Genba opened the gate and shouted the news across the courtyard. Tora and Seimei came running. Akitada let himself slide from the saddle and stood unsteadily, peering at each in turn. Their faces and voices were filled with pity. He muttered, “Thank you. Is all well?”

He meant Tamako, but Tora answered, “All are well except Kinjiro.”

He had to think for a moment before he remembered the scrawny boy Tora had brought. “Kinjiro?”

“Smallpox. Just like Yori. He survived, thank the Buddha, but just barely.”

Struck by this news, Akitada looked toward the house. “Tamako’s taking care of him?”

“No,” said Seimei. “The boy left before we knew. Tora searched for him and found him days later in the hospital. He said he didn’t want to cause more trouble.”

Wine was supposed to desensitize a man, but when Akitada thought of the half-starved street urchin dragging his feverish body to a public hospital rather than add to the turmoil in the Sugawara household, he started to weep. His three retainers waited helplessly.

“See that he has what he needs and bring him back as soon as he’s better,” Akitada said thickly. Handing his reins to Genba, he rinsed his hands and face at the well and then went in to greet his wife.

Seimei helped him off with his boots and traveling clothes. Dressed in an old house robe, Akitada went to Tamako’s door and announced himself. For a moment there was silence, then he heard the rustling of her clothes, and she slid the door back.

They looked at each other. Tamako was pale but composed.

“I’m back,” he said unnecessarily.

She nodded and stepped aside to let him in. “I’m happy to welcome you home, my lord.” She spoke tonelessly, making him a formal bow.

After six years of marriage and the loss of a child, she should have shown some emotion, he thought, but too much had happened between them. Not knowing what words might be appropriate, he finally said, “I went to Tsuzuki . . . to arrest the killer of Haseo’s parents.”

“I see.” She invited him to sit and sat down herself. Her room was in semidarkness, the shutters to the outside closed. “Shall I send for some tea or food?” she asked.

Such propriety. He shook his head. “No. Kobe has filled me with wine. How are you?”

“Well.” She paused. “And you?”

He nodded. “They tell me Kinjiro is in the hospital.”

She made an apologetic gesture. “I didn’t know he was ill until he was gone, but he is better. Not everyone dies, it seems.”

Unspoken, her reproach for Yori’s death rose between them and sent an icy shiver through his body. He shied away from the subject and began an account of his trip. Her eyes went to his face when he spoke of Hiroko, but she did not interrupt. When he was finished, she said only, “How terrible! Poor women. I’m glad you could help Lady Yasugi.”

“I still have to find Tomoe’s children.” He got to his feet and bowed. “Thank you for taking care of things in my absence.”

She rose also and bowed back. “It was my duty. I’m sorry I did not perform it better.”

“Not at all. You do everything very well.”

But he knew that her efficiency as the mistress of his household mattered little when they no longer shared each other’s lives.