The Fires of the Gods Page 18

  Fuhito took Akitada into the main house. It was not only of modest size, but also sparsely furnished and nearly dark. In a corner room, he lit an oil lamp. Akitada saw that many unmatched old shelves and stands held books. Whatever former wealth the books represented was disproved by the bare wood floor and the flimsy, scratched desk and cheap writing set. There were not even cushions to sit on.

  Akitada nodded towards the books and said, ‘What a very fine library you have.’ He hoped that Fuhito would unbend just a little. He was disappointed.

  Fuhito’s expression did not change. ‘A few books are about gardening; the rest are what is left of my grandfather’s and father’s libraries. I found I could not sell them, or only for a negligible sum.’

  Akitada asked, ‘What happened?’ then saw the other man’s face and wished he had not asked. ‘Forgive me. It’s none of my business.’

  Fuhito turned away. ‘It doesn’t matter. My father was disgraced. It was not a criminal matter, but he lost his rank and position. He committed suicide. I had to leave the university and find employment.’

  ‘I am very sorry. The shadow of karma follows us everywhere.’ Akitada was himself all too well aware of the precarious nature of an official post, but at least his misfortune had not yet reached the level of destroying his family. Fuhito’s story made him more determined than ever to fight for his future.

  Fuhito hunched his shoulders and said, ‘I wouldn’t have minded so much as long as… if my daughter had lived.’

  Akitada did not know what to say to that. He felt very sorry for the other man, but there was still the matter of murder. He sighed and asked, ‘Could you answer a few more questions about your master?’ Determined to stay until he had learned what he needed to know, he sat down on the bare floor.

  Fuhito made a helpless gesture with his hands and sat down across from him. ‘I apologize for the lack of comforts,’ he said miserably.

  ‘I’m quite comfortable. I take it from what you said earlier that Lady Kiyowara expects me to continue with the case in spite of the police?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. She will be very angry with the superintendent.’

  The way of heaven was just. Let Kobe deal with Lady Kiyowara’s fury. The lady might well make him cease his opposition. She was quite formidable, and then there was her relationship to the regent’s wife. Encouraged, Akitada began his quest anew. ‘Have you found out anything else useful from the servants?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘No disgruntled members of the household? No dismissed and angry servants?’

  Fuhito looked surprised by the notion. ‘Hardly. Servants do not lift their hands against their masters.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Even the mildest and most obedient man can be pressed too hard and lose his self control.’

  The major-domo shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.

  ‘Let’s go back to the scene you found when you entered your master’s room that afternoon. It’s strange that there shouldn’t have been a weapon that might have dealt the fatal wound. While it is barely possible that the murderer entered and left the room without being noticed, surely that becomes highly unlikely if he was carrying a weapon.’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot help you. It is, as you say, inconceivable.’

  ‘If he or she entered from the garden—’ Akitada paused to let the image of that sun-drenched landscape flash across his memory. The poet had been there, walking along the stream. And yes, it would have been easy enough to pick up one of the large stones that followed that waterway, slip into Kiyowara’s room and kill him, then slip back out to replace it. Oh, if only he could go back there. There might still be traces of blood, or some hair, perhaps, on that fatal stone.

  He came back to Fuhito, who was watching him nervously. ‘The poet Ono – he’s a particular friend to Lady Kiyowara. Are they lovers?’

  The bluntness of that took Fuhito’s breath away. He colored to his ears. ‘I could not say, sir.’ It was said flatly, before he had time to become angry. Then he glared at Akitada. ‘Surely that is a very improper suggestion under the circumstances. Both you and I are in Her Ladyship’s employ.’

  ‘When it’s a matter of murder, no question is improper. Are you yourself involved with her?’

  Fuhito’s jaw dropped. He was speechless.

  ‘You must realize that it looks very much as if this murder is a personal affair. From the beginning, the most obvious suspects have been the son and his mother. I took on the case, assuming they are innocent. That means I must consider others who might have had motives and opportunity to kill the man.’

  Fuhito brushed a hand over his face. ‘I am a mere servant,’ he said, ‘and my position is such that I would not risk my livelihood by approaching my mistress with improper suggestions. She would not, in any case, tolerate it. As for her private life, I know very little about it. Her husband always showed her the greatest regard, but their relationship had become formal over the years. His Lordship loved his son and honored the mother. As for His young Lordship, he would not raise his hand against his own father. He is hot-headed but also gentle.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Akitada tried another approach. ‘I’m told your late master engaged in affairs outside his marriages. In fact, he had a bad reputation with women. Lady Kiyowara might have felt threatened or decided to pay him back in the same coin. In the latter case, a lover would have a motive. In the former, a husband or other relative.’

  Fuhito flushed again and shook his head. ‘I cannot believe it of Her Ladyship.’

  Akitada snapped, ‘But you do not deny your master’s habits regarding females? I expect you know all about it. Who better than you?’

  Fuhito gasped. ‘I?’ His hands clenched convulsively. He asked in a shaky voice, ‘Has my mother told you?’ Then the words tumbled out. ‘It’s not true. There was no truth to it. I never believed—’ He broke off and buried his face in his hands.

  Akitada was stunned. What had he said? He had only assumed that a major-domo would be aware of his master’s affairs. Whatever nerve he had touched, this must be important. It must be the secret of Fuhito’s relationship with Kiyowara. Though he pitied the man and his mother, he could not let it pass.

  ‘I think you’d better tell me about it yourself,’ he said gently.

  He had to wait until Fuhito calmed down and raised a distraught face. ‘I lost my only daughter a number of years ago. Motoko was only sixteen. A mere child when she… she was raped. She could not live with that misery.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘They say suffering is like the forging of rough iron into a sharp sword. It has not been that way in our family.’

  Akitada drew in a breath and glanced out through the open veranda doors at the elaborate landscape, then looked at the man’s grief-torn face and wondered if losing a grown daughter to suicide was more or less devastating than having carelessly exposed a small son to smallpox. He said heavily, ‘I am very sorry for your pain. Your mother mentioned your loss, but gave no details. I, too, lost a child. They say there is no greater grief. Can you tell me what happened?’

  Fuhito’s hands made a helpless gesture before he tucked them into his sleeves. His voice shook a little. ‘Motoko was both beautiful and good. That summer she had just started to serve Her Ladyship and seemed very happy. They said later that the gods must have become jealous.’

  This did not answer the question, or only partially. Akitada searched for a way to probe for what he suspected. In the end he was blunt. ‘Given Lord Kiyowara’s reputation with women, might he have been responsible?’

  Fuhito flushed a deep crimson. He did not answer right away. Then he said, ‘If I had thought that he had behaved improperly towards my child, I would certainly have spoken to him. The house was always full of guests in those days. Taking advantage of someone of her birth would have meant nothing to a high-ranking noble.’

  Akitada considered this. It was possible. And it would explain why Fuhito had stayed in the Kiyowaras’ service. Anothe
r dead end. He bowed his head. ‘Thank you, and forgive me for bringing back painful memories.’

  Fuhito nodded. They rose and walked outside. It was fully dark now, but someone, perhaps Fuhito’s mother, had left a lighted lantern at the beginning of the path. Fuhito picked it up and lit the way to the gate. There they bowed to each other again, and Akitada walked out into the dark street. The gate rattled shut behind him, and the warm darkness received him like a stifling blanket of sadness.

  And yet, was not the man who had nothing left to fear more likely to commit murder than anyone else?

  THE TIGER AND THE RAT

  They let Tora go first. He rushed across the short distance to the warehouse door, raised his foot, and kicked the door open. It splintered and flew back. He did not waste time trying to make out objects in the dim interior, but burst inside with an almighty yell.

  The darkness was fetid with the stench of hops, sour wine, excrement, and blood. Shouts and curses erupted all around him. He lashed out at moving shadows, swinging the pole from side to side in powerful sweeps, making contact once or twice. The building filled with thuds, yells, and screams. People were running everywhere. Something hit him a glancing blow across one shoulder. He jumped aside, moving back from the melee because he was afraid of hitting his companions.

  As his eyes grew accustomed to the half-light, he saw that the large space was partially filled with stacked bundles, casks, boxes, and handcarts. About eight youths, some armed with knives or sticks, milled in the center of the large room. A ninth was crawling out the door. All seemed less interested in fighting than in fleeing the building.

  Cowards, Tora thought. Then he saw Jirokichi in the far corner, hanging from one of the rafters, lifeless and covered in blood.

  Leaving the battle to the deaf mutes and the girl, he dropped his pole and ran to Jirokichi. There was a dark puddle of blood and piss in the dirt between his feet. He stank, and flies buzzed up when Tora got close. The Rat’s toes barely touched the ground. Too late, Tora thought. Poor Rat. It had been all for nothing, and he did not know how to tell Hoshina. He pulled the knife from his boot and cut the rope around Jirokichi’s wrists. There was blood everywhere on the body, and his hands slipped as he tried to ease Jirokichi to the ground. He fell with a thud.

  As Tora bent over him, he felt a sharp kick to his backside and stumbled forward, falling across the body. He rolled off quickly and twisted around. The skinny youth loomed above him, his teeth bared in an ugly grin and his eyes bright with an almost mad joy.

  ‘So,’ he hissed, ‘it’s you again. I missed last time because it was dark. This time, you’re out of luck, you bastard.’ He raised a bloody knife and laughed.

  Tora had dropped his own knife in the fall. The skinny youth had his foot on it.

  In close encounters, knives can deliver nasty wounds even when you manage to avoid a fatal blow. Tora scooted away and scrambled up. The youth laughed again. He snatched up Tora’s knife.

  One for each hand.

  Tora risked another glance around for his pole or anything else he might use to defend himself. There was nothing close enough, and nobody was paying attention to them. It was just him and the skinny bastard.

  An uneven battle.

  But Tora was still fired up with rage at finding Jirokichi dead and, worse, bearing marks of torture. He did not want this animal to live. Pulling off a boot, he flung it at the youth, who raised his right arm to knock it aside. Tora used the moment of distraction to jump, bending low and aiming his head at the other man’s middle. He meant to knock him back and fling himself down on top to disarm and kill him.

  It didn’t work.

  The other, being younger and lighter on his feet, danced away and then came at him, both blades slashing.

  Tora recovered from the charge and backed away, hopping this way and that to avoid the knives. The youth followed, teeth bared, eyes shining in the dim light that came from the splintered doorway. Tora tried to reach his pole, but almost fell over Jirokichi’s body again, and realized that he was being driven into the corner of the building.

  The youth with the flashing knives knew it too and, sure of his prey, got impatient and careless. He threw the knife in his right hand. This surprised Tora, who reacted too slowly. While the knife missed his chest, it went deep into his upper left arm. The pain was immediate and so sharp that he gasped. He felt the warm blood running down inside his sleeve. His arm and hand were limp and useless.

  He thought briefly of pulling the knife from the wound and using it, but was afraid he might lose more blood and become completely helpless. There was no more time for maneuvers. He had to act quickly.

  His opponent moved in for the kill, but had to shift the other knife from the left hand to the right, and Tora made a last desperate move. He closed his eyes, doubled up, and rushed forward like a maddened bull. This time, his head did connect with the body, there was a squawk and a satisfying hiss of air being expelled, then they were falling in a tangle of limbs, Tora on top.

  If this trick had worked earlier, Tora would have had the use of his left arm to meet his enemy’s right. But now his left arm had a knife in it and refused to obey. He had knocked the breath out of the youth, and his weight pinned him down, but the bastard still had a knife in his right hand.

  Tora twisted to reach across and block the blow he knew was coming, but his left arm could not support his weight. He collapsed, expecting to feel the knife thrust deeply into his side or back. It would most likely be fatal. He was making an effort to roll away when suddenly a large, dirty foot slammed down and pinned the youth’s hand and knife to the ground. There was a howl of pain.

  Hands lifted Tora to his feet, where he stood swaying, feeling more blood pouring down his arm and hand. The ground felt unsteady. He realized vaguely that the foot belonged to Koichi, the girl’s father, but Koichi’s figure seemed to become hazy and melt before his eyes. Tora mumbled, ‘Don’t — ‘ then felt suddenly very tired, so tired that he decided to sit down for a moment.

  He woke to a strange fog. In it, he lay stretched out next to Jirokichi’s corpse. He thought it odd that this should be so, but also diverting. He was curious to find out what would happen next. Then reason returned with a sharp pain in his arm. He sat up, groaning with the effort.

  The girl came to kneel beside him, holding out a cup. He groaned again, but drank thirstily. It was wine, strong wine, and he almost lay back down again, but the wine settled into his stomach with a sharp and pleasant heat, and his head and sight cleared a little. He was still in the warehouse. The girl looked at him anxiously. He turned his head. The three deaf mutes sat just beyond Jirokichi’s corpse, staring at him. Their clothes looked strange. One man lacked sleeves on his thick, muscular arms, and another wore only a short jacket over his loincloth.

  Memory returned piecemeal: Jirokichi was dead. No, best not to look at him. The knife fight. He checked his left arm and saw that a thick bandage of checked fabric was wrapped around it. The knife was gone, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. The fabric was familiar.

  He cast a furtive glance at the girl’s skirt. ‘Thanks,’ he said, with a nod to the bandage. A very shapely pair of knees and thighs were revealed by the drastic shortening of her dress. He grinned. ‘I guess I owe you a new gown.’

  She blushed a little and offered the cup again. Tora shook his head, then looked around. A few yards away, he saw another body. It looked like the bastard who had knifed him. He pointed. ‘Who took care of him?’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Damnation! I needed to ask him about those fires. Where are the others?’

  ‘They ran.’ She frowned at him. ‘Maybe Dad should’ve let Takeo kill you?’

  ‘Sorry. You have a point.’ Tora put the palms of his hands together and bowed his thanks to Koichi. ‘Please tell your father that I owe him my life. I have a wife and a baby son. It will be good to see them again.’

  Koichi’s face remained passive, but he nodded.

&nb
sp; Tora should have been thankful, but he felt mostly glum. Nothing good had come from their effort. They had been too late to save Jirokichi, and now he would have to go tell Hoshina, and then explain his knife wound to Hanae. He sighed and thought of getting to his feet. He was amazingly light-headed, and the arm throbbed unpleasantly. That was when he heard a strange sound from the corpse beside him. His hair bristled and he froze. Taking a deep breath, he decided to risk a quick look.

  Jirokichi’s eyes were slightly open and looked at him. Tora scooted away with a gasp. The sound came again, something between a groan and a grunt, and then the corpse moved its lips.

  Jirokichi seemed less bloody than he remembered from his first glimpse of him hanging from one of the rafters. Someone had cleaned him up. He shot a glance at the deaf mutes and the girl and saw that the girl smiled. What was there to smile about?

  Half afraid, he looked at Jirokichi again. The Rat had closed his eyes, and his head had rolled a little more towards him. And – yes, there was a sort of rasping breath coming from his bruised mouth. Disbelieving his eyes and ears, Tora turned to the others. ‘He’s alive?’

  They nodded. Koichi gestured to his daughter.

  ‘He’s in pretty bad shape,’ she said, ‘but he’s alive. They hurt his jaw and his belly. And they threw knives at his legs.’

  Tora inspected the Rat more closely. Parts of the three men’s clothing were wrapped around both of Jirokichi’s blood-soaked thighs, and his jaw was swollen on one side. The eye socket on that side was also red and starting to swell, closing that eye. The ear closest to Tora was filled with drying blood, and more blood caked his gray-streaked hair.

  Tora cursed softly. He looked at Koichi and said, ‘The lousy bastards tortured him. Why’d you let them get away?’

  Koichi spread his hands and shook his head.

  The girl said, ‘They’ve been bad, but they’re our people. We came to help Jirokichi.’

  ‘At least you got that bastard Takeo. He was the worst.’

  She exchanged a glance with her father and gestured. He shook his head. Tora staggered to his feet and limped over, picking up his boot on the way. The skinny youth had been the leader of the gang. He had had his head split open by Koichi’s pole or cudgel and was unconscious, but he was breathing.