Black Arrow Read online

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  Black Arrow

  [Sugawara Akitada 04]

  By I. J. Parker

  Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

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  CHARACTERS

  In Japan, Family names precede given names for persons of rank.

  Main Characters

  Sugawara Akitada Deputy governor of Echigo province

  Tora, Hitomaro, Genba His lieutenants

  Seimei His secretary

  Tamako His wife

  Hamaya Head clerk of the provincial administration

  Yasakichi, Oyoshi Two coroners

  Chobei, Kaoru Two sergeants of constables

  Characters Involved in the Cases

  Uesugi Maro The old lord of Takata castle, provincial chieftain,

  and high constable of Echigo

  Uesugi Makio His son and heir

  Kaibara Steward to the Uesugi family

  Hideo Servant to the old lord

  Toneo Hideo’s grandson

  Hokko The abbot of the Buddhist temple

  Takesuke Commander of the provincial guard

  Mrs. Sato An innkeeper’s widow

  Kiyo Her maid

  Takagi, Okano, Umehara Three travelers arrested for murder

  Sunada A wealthy merchant

  Boshu Sunada’s agent

  Hisamatsu A judge

  Mrs. Omeya A widow

  Goto A fishmonger

  Ogai His brother, a deserter

  Koichi A porter

  Also: Tradesmen, outcasts, servants, and constables

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  BLACK

  ARROW

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  PROLOGUE

  THE FATAL ARROW

  Echigo Province, Japan:

  Leaf-Turning Month (September), A.D. 981

  T

  he evening sun slanted through the branches of tall cedars and splashed across a bloodred maple on the other side of the clearing. From the valley below came sounds of horses and shouts of men.

  A young woman emerged from the trees, leading a child—a boy, no more than three years old, in bright blue silk and with his hair childishly parted and tied into loops over his ears. The young woman was slender and beautiful, and dressed in a costly white silk gown embroidered about the hem and full sleeves with nodding golden grasses and purple chrysanthemums. Her long hair, which almost reached the hem of her dress, was fastened with a broad white silk ribbon below her shoulders.

  In the middle of the clearing the child pulled free to chase a butterfly. The young woman called out anxiously, then laughed and ran after him.

  From the thicket, Death watched the two with hot eyes, clasping the large bow with his left hand, while the right slowly reached over his shoulder to pull the long, black-feathered arrow from the quiver slung across his back.

  The boy lost the butterfly and turned toward the woman, who sank to her knees and spread her arms wide to receive the child.

  Death bared his teeth. He was close, his bow powerful, the arrow special. With luck it might take only the one shot. He placed it into its groove, pulled back firmly, and aimed.

  With a shout of laughter the boy hurled himself into the waiting arms, and Death released the long steel-tipped missile. He watched as it found its mark just below the silken ribbon in the woman’s black hair, heard the muffled blow clearly in the sudden silence, and watched as she fell forward, slowly, burying the small figure of the child beneath her. Heavy silken hair slipped aside, and a large red stain appeared on her white silk gown, spreading gradually from the black-feathered arrow like a crimson peony opening its petals in the snow.

  Even the birds had fallen silent.

  Death remained frozen for a few moments, watching, listening. But there was neither cry nor movement under the white silk, and he slowly lowered the bow.

  The silence was broken by a small bird’s voice, then by the humming of insects and distant shouts of the hunting party in the valley. Death quickly left the clearing.

  * * * *

  ONE

  THE OUTPOST

  Echigo Province, Japan

  Gods-Absent Month (November), A.D. 1015

  T

  wo men armed with hunting bows rode single file down the steeply sloping track toward the dark huddle of buildings on the plain below. They hunched into heavy clothing against a sharp wind that swept across the black-and-gray landscape of rock, evergreens, and sere grasses. Below them the black roofs of the town were a blot in a wintry plain, and beyond the plain a pewter ocean stretched toward a distant line where it melted into the murky grayness of low clouds. A highway ran along the shore. Behind the horsemen rose mountains, their tops hidden in gray vapor.

  The prospect was dismal.

  Most of the town straggled along the black line of the highway, which looked not unlike a dead snake with a large rat bulging its middle. The rat bulge contained the tribunal and a small temple, surrounded by low, steep-roofed houses—the center of Naoetsu, capital of Echigo province.

  This was the rough north country, won only recently from its barbaric inhabitants and not yet fully civilized. In the short summers, the plain between the mountains and the ocean was green with fields of rice, ramie, and beans, and the ocean dotted with fishing boats. Echigo was a fertile province, but now it prepared for the long winter, when a thick blanket of snow covered the land, and men and beasts lived like bears inside their homes until the snow melted in the spring.

  The rider in front, a muscular man with a neatly trimmed graying beard and the sadness in his eyes that attracts women, looked out at the choppy sea and up at the roiling sky. The wind was bitterly cold. He called over his shoulder, “Looks like snow.”

  “Smells like it, too.” His younger companion in the bearskin coat gave a shiver and pulled his handsome face back into his collar like a turtle. A string of birds dangled from either side of his shaggy pony’s neck. “Nothing like we expected, is it, Hito?” His voice was muffled by the fur.

  “Few things are. The master was sent here to set things right.”

  “It’s another trap, I bet,” grumbled the young man into his bearskin. His name was Tora, or “Tiger.” He had chosen it years ago when his birth name had become a problem. Fifteen years Hitomaro’s junior and from peasant stock, he had served their master longer and was closer to him. Hitomaro—Hito for short—had only joined them a few months ago in the capital, along with his friend Genba.

  “How so?” asked Hitomaro.

  “Reminds me of Kazusa. He was meant to fail there, too, but he was hot to succeed, sure it would make his career. They sent him on a wild goose chase, hoping he’d screw up. He gave ‘em a black eye instead.”

  “This time his friends got him the assignment.”

  “Don’t you believe it. This is much worse. They’re letting him fill in for some prince who’s taking his ease in the capital and raking in most of the income. Only this time they made sure they tied both the master’s hands behind his back so he couldn’t defend himself. And then they hobbled his feet so he couldn’t get away. What gets me is he’s all fired up again anyway.”

  “Then he’ll succeed just like last time.”

  “With just the three of us? When the whole province is about to rise up in arms against him?”

  “You don’t know that. And we are four. You forgot Seimei.”

  “Amida, brother! That old man’s never held a sword or a bow. Even her ladyship can at least ride a horse.”

  “Seimei is smart. Stop complaining, Tora, and let’s move on. We’ll have to cook the birds tonight.”

  “Heaven help us,” muttered Tora. “I wish we could make Genba do it. He likes food.”

  Hitomaro, who had reached level ground, urged his horse into
a trot. He called back, “Genba eats. He doesn’t cook.”

  Tora followed. If the truth were known, he was by nature an optimist but he hid his confidence in hopes of impressing the older and more worldly wise Hitomaro with his experience.

  On the outskirts of the city they encountered a disturbance at a mangy hostel called the Inn of the Golden Carp. The place was, despite its fancy name, a mere collection of low hovels, the sort that serves bad food in skimpy portions but generous helpings of vermin.

  “Wonder what’s going on there?” Tora’s face emerged from his bearskin as if he smelled excitement.

  Hitomaro spurred his horse, scattering the gaggle of people staring through the gate, and rode into the inn yard. Tora followed, and so did the spectators. A constable in a patched brown jacket and dirty trousers met them. “Nobody’s allowed,” he cried, waving his arms. “Disperse. By order of Judge Hisamatsu.”

  Hitomaro and Tora ignored him and dismounted. They tied their ponies to a post, but the constable drew hisjitte and barred their way, swinging the two-pronged metal weapon at them.

  “Hey! I said ...”

  Hitomaro growled, “Put that toothpick down and stand aside. By order of the governor.” Sweeping the man out of his way, he stalked past him into the main hovel.

  Tora slapped the constable’s shoulder with a grin. “Didn’t recognize us? Keep an eye on our birds, will you?” He pointed to the string of freshly killed quail and doves.

  Inside, a dank stone-flagged passage led past the kitchen toward a large common room. An odor of dirt and garbage hung about the place. No point in removing shoes; the floors were either stone or dirt and could have used a sweeping out.

  In the kitchen, a slovenly maid stood beside the hearth, sniveling into a corner of her skirt. Tora deplored the dirt but scanned with interest her shapely ankle and an immodest expanse of leg and thigh.

  Hitomaro was already in the common room, another dirt-floored space with a central fire pit. The fire was out and the room empty except for Hitomaro and a stocky character in half armor.

  They knew Chobei and he knew them. Chobei was the sergeant in charge of the tribunal’s constables, and they were the newly appointed lieutenants in the governor’s staff. Chobei was a local and theoretically under their command but did not see it that way Relations were becoming strained, because Hitomaro and Tora had no plans to relinquish their authority. Never mind that they represented the entire governor’s guard, they still outranked Chobei.

  “This is a local matter,” Chobei was saying, pushing out a pugnacious chin. “Nothing to do with you. I’ve sent for the judge.”

  Hitomaro snapped, “Everything in this province concerns us. What happened here?”

  “Just a simple robbery. Done by outsiders.”

  Tora raised his brows. “Outsiders? What do you mean?”

  Chobei sneered, “I mean strangers. Not by our people.”

  “Ah.” Hitomaro pretended interest. “And how do you know that?”

  Chobei cast up his eyes. “It’s an inn, isn’t it? People who don’t live here stay at inns. Strangers. Outsiders. Like you.”

  Tora growled in the back of his throat. Hitomaro gave him a warning look. “What about the owner?” he asked. “The maids? The staff? Any of them could be involved. Who was robbed and what was taken?”

  The sergeant smirked unpleasantly. “If you must know, it’s the owner who was robbed and all his gold was taken. Right out of his locked chest.”

  “I want to speak to him.”

  Chobei snorted. “Can’t. They cut his throat.”

  “Look here, you useless piece of garbage,” Tora exploded. He pushed Hitomaro aside to get his hands on the sergeant and teach him a lesson in manners.

  Chobei backed off, yelling, “Be careful. I’m in charge here. The judge won’t like you interfering in the execution of my duty. This is a serious crime.”

  Hitomaro held Tora back. “Carry on, Sergeant,” he said. “We’ll just take a look to make sure we report the matter correctly to his Excellency.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed to the back of the inn. Tora scowled at Chobei and followed.

  The dingy passage led to dingy rooms, all of them apparently empty. The last one seemed to be the owner’s, and dirtier than the rest. Its floor was stamped earth, but in one corner was a wooden sleeping platform large enough for three people. Filthy blankets lay tumbled about the corpse of a fat elderly man. The man’s torso and most of the blankets were soaked in blood. Beside him an empty wooden box rested on its side. It was the sort of box small shopkeepers keep their money in, with iron clasps and a lock. The lock had been forced.

  Tora looked at the corpse. The dead man’s mouth gaped above a gruesome wound in his throat. “Ugly old bastard,” he muttered. “Looks like a toad snapping for flies.”

  “If he was asleep, it wouldn’t take much strength to cut his throat with a sharp knife,” remarked Hitomaro, looking around. “I don’t see a knife, do you?”

  “No. Wonder how much they got. Couldn’t be a fortune in a place like this.”

  Chobei put in his head. “Satisfied?” he sneered. “Here’s the judge.”

  Judge Hisamatsu bustled in as fast as short legs could carry a large paunch and thick layers of clothing. He had a round, clean-shaven face with pinched lips. The cold wind had given it some color, but he looked the sort of man who rarely spent time in the outdoors. At the moment he was irritated. “What’s this then?” he demanded. “Can’t you do anything yourself, Chobei?”

  Chobei bowed. “A murder, your Honor. Nasty. I thought...” he began apologetically.

  The judge stared at Tora and Hitomaro. “What are these people doing here? Get rid of them. Is that the victim?” He waddled to the platform, peered, and immediately turned away. “You might have warned me,” he said, gulping air.

  The unfairly chastised Chobei bowed humbly. “Very sorry, your Honor. I tried, but being kept by idle questions, I was unable to greet you. It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t. Where’s Yasakichi?”

  “The coroner has been notified, your Honor.”

  The judge twitched impatiently. “Well, he should be here then. Must I do everything? What happened?”

  “Murder and robbery, sir. The victim’s name is Sato. The owner of the inn. His money box has been broken open and his gold is gone.”

  The judge glanced at the box. “Ah. You have arrested the killer?”

  “Killers, your Honor. No, sir. Not yet. But they left only a few hours ago. On foot. I’ve sent a constable to the garrison with descriptions. The soldiers will bring them back shortly.”

  “Good. Anything else?”

  “No, your Honor.”

  Hitomaro cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Your pardon, your Honor,” he said, “but could we find out about those killers?”

  The judge peered at him in the poor light. “Why? Who are you?”

  Hitomaro saluted. “Lieutenant Hitomaro, sir. And this is Lieutenant Tora. In his Excellency’s service.”

  Tora straightened up a fraction.

  “What? What Excellency? I don’t know you.”

  Tora gave another low growl, which was somehow appropriate for his bearskin and made the judge skip a step away from him.

  “The governor, your Honor,” Hitomaro said, keeping a straight face while kicking Tora in the ankle.

  “The governor? Oh, you mean you’re with the fellow from the capital? Sugawara?”

  “Look here,” Tora burst out, “you’d better keep a civil tongue—”

  Hitomaro got a hard grip on Tora’s arm. “His Honor probably hasn’t been fully informed, Tora.” Turning back to the judge, he said smoothly, “His Excellency, Lord Sugawara, has been duly appointed to take over the administration of this province. The imperial decree was read in front of the tribunal a week ago and a copy is posted on the notice board. I’m sure your Honor will wish to pay him a welcoming visit.”

  Judge Hisamats
u opened his mouth, thought better of it, and waved it aside. “Yes, well, we’ve been very busy. But I’m sure you won’t be needed in this case.”

  “About the suspects,” Hitomaro persisted. “Could we be told about them?”