The Fires of the Gods sa-8 Page 21

  The sky was overcast. There had been talk that the long-awaited rainy season would finally start. The summer heat with its ineffectual thunderstorms had been enervating in the capital and disastrous for the rice farmers. Akitada eyed the clouds with misgiving. With his luck, he would arrive wet and bedraggled, his fine robe and trousers splashed with mud. He walked faster and managed to arrive dry, if out of breath and perspiring.

  Lack of sleep and a general sense of impending defeat put him at a disadvantage, and things did not start well. A servant showed him into a small, airless room used as a waiting area, leaving the door to the hallway wide open. People passed back and forth, glancing curiously at Akitada, who began to feel like a condemned man on public display before his execution.

  Eventually, the five official censors who would hear his case arrived also. They, too, looked in at him, some of them coldly, others frowning. Akitada bowed, recognizing a few faces: three were Fujiwaras and cousins of the emperor and the chancellor, the other two were unfamiliar. Not one of them looked as if he would deal fairly with a Sugawara.

  He continued to wait. The perspiration on his skin dried into assorted itches, and the tie of his hat dug uncomfortably into the skin under his jaw. It seemed to take a long time for them to arrange themselves. Perhaps they were already discussing his punishment among themselves. Even exile became a distinct possibility. He thought of Sado Island and shivered in the warm, close air of the anteroom in spite of his heavy formal robe and full trousers.

  At long last, the servant reappeared to call him into the hearing room. There had been a time in Akitada’s life when he would have knelt immediately inside the door and touched his forehead to the floorboards. But he had risen in the world since then and was no longer a callow and timid youth. He swallowed his fears and walked in, head held high, telling himself that his past accomplishments had surely made him a better man than the five stiff, black-robed officials lined up on the dais.

  Apart from the censors and himself, the room also contained a scribe, who sat to the side behind a low desk to take down the proceedings, and a secretary, who hovered behind the censor in the middle.

  When he reached the cushion placed for him, Akitada bowed and said, ‘I am Sugawara Akitada and hope to be allowed to explain the matter that caused the present inquiry.’

  Waiting for a response, he looked from face to face. The chief investigator was one of the Fujiwaras and surprisingly young. He was flanked by the two other Fujiwaras, men in their forties or fifties with dull round faces and heavy bodies. The two men on the ends were the strangers to him: one elderly, with a neatly trimmed white beard, the other thin and long-jawed. They barely stirred or changed expression when his eyes met theirs. Were they waiting for more, for signs of abject humility, for pleading? He stiffened his resolve. They would not see him grovel or beg for leniency.

  Finally, the young man in the center said petulantly, ‘You may be seated.’

  Akitada sat, removed his notes from his sleeve and placed them carefully before him. Then he looked up expectantly. He thought he saw some signs of unease; they looked at each other, fidgeted, frowned. Akitada said, ‘I am at your service, gentlemen.’

  More fidgeting. It occurred to Akitada that they found themselves saddled with a problem they did not know how to address. His self-confidence rose marginally.

  The Fujiwara in the center was senior in rank even though he was the youngest. The colored strips on his court hat marked the upper fourth rank. He was in his twenties and still slender, unlike most of the chancellor’s family. Akitada thought he looked the sort of young man who would have done well as an officer in the guard. Perhaps he wished himself there. Now, he clearly struggled to live up to his duties and resorted to bluster.

  ‘You stand accused of very serious crimes,’ he announced with a frown. ‘I would have expected more humility under the circumstances.’

  ‘I am guilty of no crime and have no reason to be ashamed of the way I have performed my duties,’ Akitada returned, staring back.

  This angered the young man. He leaned forward, pointing his baton at Akitada. ‘What? Do you deny your transgressions while assigned to the Ministry of Justice? Do you deny that you have disobeyed your superiors? And that you have set yourself against the proper authorities by interfering in an official murder investigation? These are serious offenses, and there is strong suspicion that you may be guilty of the crime.’

  Akitada regretted angering the man for the sake of self-respect. Puppies such as he could be dangerous even when they were ineffectual.

  He bowed deeply and said, ‘I deny the charges, My Lord. I am here today to serve his Majesty as I have done all of my life.’

  His reply left the other at a loss how to proceed. He glowered, opened and closed his mouth, but found no words. Akitada scanned the faces to his right and left. Not one offered to speak. All looked irritated. A bad start.

  The bearded older man bit his lip, then glanced towards his superior and said, ‘Perhaps the scribe may read out the charges so that Lord Sugawara can respond to them. If necessary, the members of the Board can then question him as to details.’

  There was a murmur of agreement.

  The ranking Fujiwara flushed. ‘Thank you, Akimoto. I was about to say so.’

  It occurred to Akitada that the older man must be the career soldier Minamoto Akimoto. He had the look and was known for a fine military career in his youth. Akimoto did not look happy to be here, and that, too, might work against Akitada.

  The scribe bustled up to help the chief censor find the correct document, and the reading of the charges commenced.

  The account cited his angry outburst against his superior and the subsequent ill-fated visit to the Kiyowara mansion the day the counselor was murdered. Unnamed witnesses reported on Akitada’s reaction to his demotion and his determination to find the man responsible.

  Clearly, his former colleagues at the ministry had been eager to provide this information.

  The document next outlined a long list of past offenses. For this, they had gone all the way back to the beginning of his career. Almost all of the examples fell in the category of disobedience or neglect of duty. They went on and on from his disobedience in attending criminal trials when he was still a mere apprentice clerk, to his other appearance before the Board of Censors upon his return from Kazusa when he had been charged with exceeding his powers in the investigation of missing tax payments.

  Akitada clenched his hands inside the full sleeves and gritted his teeth in silence.

  They had built a case against an arrogant official who had consistently overreached himself, disobeying instructions and behaving in the manner of someone so power-hungry that he would stop at nothing. The complaints of his previous superior, Minister Soga, featured prominently.

  The reading eventually concluded. Akitada wished he could simply blank out the reminders of past struggles and disappointments. When the final word faded, he took a deep breath.

  ‘If I may be permitted-’ he started, but the ranking censor raised a warning hand.

  ‘There is additional information,’ he said, making a face. ‘And it is of a most serious nature. It appears that you are about to be arrested for the murder of the late counselor.’ He described how Akitada had found out that it had been Kiyowara Kane who had raised questions about Akitada’s suitability to serve and had recommended demotion, how Akitada had then called on Kiyowara, clearly in anger, and how he had been seen rushing away only moments before the counselor was found dead in his office. ‘Apparently, Sugawara then tried to cover up his crime by pretending to investigate the case.

  It was a frightening catalogue of crimes and misdemeanors. When the chief censor stopped, the others looked at Akitada with fixed expressions that proclaimed his fate.

  Akitada pulled his wits together and tried to stifle his anger. ‘I am not guilty,’ he said, glad that his voice was reasonably steady. ‘My being there the day Kiyowara died was a mere coincide
nce. Any number of others were also there, and at least one of them had a much stronger motive to kill the counselor than I did. I merely wanted to ask him why I lost my position. I suspected that Lord Kiyowara must have based his judgment on the same old trumped up charges I have just been listening to. I could hardly have blamed him. He was a relative newcomer to the capital. But I thought there would be some gentlemen among you who knew better – or that you would at least have checked the facts. In fairness, I should be allowed to present the true record of my service to the emperor.’

  The young Fujiwara sneered. ‘Shouldn’t you have done this in a more timely manner? The Board took care to notify you. I am very much afraid that this is just another example of your defiance of authority, and I for one refuse to waste any more time on this case.’

  Akitada’s heart sank. He would not be allowed to defend himself. His experience with similar cases in the past told him that there was rarely recourse once a verdict was given. Those who ruled the nation had no wish to alienate colleagues or to undermine the powers of another office. It was as ridiculous as it was frightening. Would they now also find him guilty of murder?

  He bowed. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I did prepare these documents in my defense, but expected that I would present the facts in person.’

  ‘Then you were wrong and should have informed yourself better,’ snapped the young nobleman.

  Akitada looked at them dumbly. There was nothing else for him to say. What were they waiting for?

  The silence stretched.

  It was again Akimoto who cleared his throat apologetically. He made a small bow towards his younger colleague and said, ‘The senior censor is, of course, quite right, but perhaps in this instance we might make an exception. I’m somewhat familiar with Lord Sugawara’s history and think we would all benefit from having a look at his version of the facts before we make our decision. A mistake made in haste would be embarrassing.’

  The senior censor started to bluster, but there were murmurs of consent from some of the others. His face stiffened, and he said coldly, ‘Since Lord Akimoto expresses concern, far be it from me to urge a speedy resolution. By all means, let us take our time. The chancellor will appreciate our thoroughness… if not our dilatory handling of the case.’ He waved his baton, and the secretary approached to collect Akitada’s notes. Akitada was told to return the following day.

  He had no illusions that the intercession by Akimoto meant the case against him would be dismissed. If anything, it had rankled the senior secretary and would make him even more determined to find Akitada guilty – if only to make a point. What Akitada had gained was half a day’s freedom, perhaps his last. The fee paid by Lady Kiyowara would have to be returned. He doubted that there was enough gold left in his money box. He must earn the Abbot’s fee somehow.

  The skies still hid behind clouds. It was warm, but there was the smell of rain in the air. He walked home to change his clothes. Seimei met him with an expression that was anxious and hopeful at the same time.

  ‘Is it over, sir?’

  ‘No. I’m to report again tomorrow. It doesn’t look very good. For the moment, though, I need to get into old clothes. How’s Tora?’

  ‘The same.’ Seimei’s expression was bleak. ‘I don’t like this fever. We have tried everything. Where are you going?’

  ‘To find out what it was that Tora stirred up and perhaps to earn my fee from the abbot. We’ll have to return the Kiyowara gold.’

  Seimei gasped and put a hand to his mouth.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Akitada felt guilty for having been so blunt. ‘We’ll weather this, as we have worse things. Just make sure that Tora gets what he needs.’

  Seimei nodded. He tried a smile. ‘At least Her Ladyship and the little one are thriving.’

  Akitada patted Seimei’s frail shoulder. ‘There, you see? We mustn’t despair. Now, can you help me find some rags suitable for associating with crooks?’

  Seimei balked. ‘You aren’t thinking of looking for those young monsters who attacked Tora? They tortured some poor creature for days! You must not risk your life at this time. We shall cope.’

  Akitada smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I shall be very careful.’

  ‘Please, sir.’ The old man’s voice rose a little. ‘Think of your wife and child if you won’t think of yourself.’

  They had a right to worry and that made it doubly hard, but Akitada had no choice. Guilt made him peremptory. ‘Enough! This is no different from any other work I have ever done and certainly less dangerous than exile on Sado Island.’

  That reminder made Seimei suck in his breath and turn away to look for old clothes for him. They were not precisely rags, but a dingy pair of trousers and a long jacket: comfortable, and indistinguishable from clothes worn by any poor man who had some business to attend to.

  Since a sword would attract attention, Akitada pushed a knife in his sash under the jacket. If Akitada had not spoken harshly a moment ago, Seimei would no doubt have said that his master was jumping into a deep pool with a heavy stone in his arms.

  THE RAIN

  The distance to the Western Market seemed longer than Akitada remembered, but then he rarely had occasion to do much walking these days. At least the cloudy skies made the summer heat more bearable.

  It was market day, an occasion that alternated once a week between the two markets on either side of the capital. After a lean and troubled year, Akitada had looked in amazement at the bustle of the eastern market. There, stands were selling sedge and bamboo blinds, paper fans, cotton or ramie cloth, religious objects and household vessels. Food sellers offered dumplings, cakes, noodles, soups, and stews. And entertainers were everywhere: a puppet master carried his stage on a tray tied around his neck; three musicians fluted and strummed and drummed; a young woman danced and sang; a storyteller entertained young and old; a fortune-teller sold his amulets; and acrobats performed their tricks among the shoppers. Here, the picture looked much bleaker. The goods were poor stuff, and most of the stands sold vegetables.

  He found Hoshina’s wine shop easily, but there his luck ended. Tora’s description had suggested a flirtatious female, but he found a big, full-breasted woman, bustling back and forth among poorly-dressed customers.

  She was in her thirties with a slightly pock-marked face and protruding front teeth. Her customers, though, seemed fond of her. They tried to pinch her bottom or lift her skirt as she passed and laughed uproariously when she slapped their hands away.

  Eventually, Hoshina noticed him and stopped for his order.

  ‘Wine.’ He was hungry, but dared not try the food.

  She appraised him for a moment, then said, ‘You want the good stuff.’

  He nodded. ‘And I’d like to talk to you when you have a moment.’

  She was surprised. ‘That could be a while,’ she said, eyeing him more closely.

  ‘I’m in a hurry. It concerns Tora.’

  Her face closed. She took a step away and scanned the crowded room. ‘I’m busy. It’s market day.’ Her voice was tight and she left.

  Akitada saw only ordinary working men snatching a quick bite or drink before returning to work. None of them were boys, but Tora’s mention of the three deaf mutes probably meant that any of these older males could be members of a gang. Tora had pointed out that the deaf mutes and the girl had protected the boys from the police. Hoshina was probably afraid to talk to him.

  He wondered what to do next when Hoshina was back with a flask and a cup. She held out her hand. ‘Twenty coppers.’

  It was dear, but Akitada gave her the money, saying in a low voice, ‘Tora is very ill. That’s why I came. It’s urgent.’

  Her eyes widened briefly, then flew around the room again. She leaned down to pour the wine and murmured, ‘Later. After the market closes.’

  That would not be until well after dark. Akitada asked in a low voice, ‘How is Jirokichi? Can’t you at least tell me where he is?’

  She straightened, sayin
g, ‘How should I know? The bastard’s left me. All men are bastards.’ She flounced away, swinging her hips to a chorus of raucous shouts.

  Had that been the truth? He looked after her and knew that he could trust no one in this matter. Something was afoot that was far more important than the disappearance of Shokan’s protegee, and Jirokichi was at the center of it.

  He tasted the wine. It had the strong flavor and murky consistency much loved by the common people. Leaving the rest, he walked out.

  The clouds still hung low over the city. His mood had changed, and it seemed now that they cast a dull, depressing light on the city. He wished for rain because that would close the market early. He had not eaten all day, having been too tense about the hearing this morning. He looked at the foods offered by the few market vendors and settled for a bowl of noodles that he bought from a middle-aged woman who looked clean and was doing a good business.

  He had chosen well. The noodles were plump, and the broth was nicely seasoned. Suddenly ravenous, he finished quickly and bought a second bowl. This earned him the woman’s gratitude.

  ‘Good, eh?’ she asked with a gap-toothed grin.

  ‘Very good,’ said Akitada, slurping noisily.

  ‘Hah.’ She laughed. ‘My old man, he says he only keeps me for my noodles. Better than fresh sea bream, he says. You’re not from around here, are you, sir?’

  So much for trying to pass as a poor man. ‘I don’t come here very often,’ Akitada said vaguely, then changed the subject by nodding at the lowering sky. ‘You must be worried that the rain will close the market early.’

  She glanced up and shook her head. ‘Not likely. It’ll hold off till dark.’ Her bright eyes looked Akitada over more closely. ‘So what are you doing in this part of town, if you’ll forgive a nosy woman’s question?’

  She was a chatterbox, but there was a twinkle in her eyes and her friendliness was generous. Akitada chuckled and decided to ask a question or two himself. ‘You have sharp eyes. I was hoping that I wouldn’t be taken for an official. I’m looking for a young monk. His name is Kansei. He seems to have run away and his abbot is nearly frantic with worry.’