Death on an Autumn River sa-9 Page 22

  “Please don’t apologize. I came to bring you the news that my clerk has been found in Eguchi.” Akitada looked around at shelves filled with more goods, some wrapped, some plain, and at other shelves holding ledgers. A large map hung on the wall behind Watamaro. It showed the lands surrounding the Inland Sea, with harbors marked all the way to Hakata.

  Watamaro chuckled. “Enjoying himself, no doubt. A great relief to you and his family, I’m sure. Shall we sit down?”

  Akitada accepted and said diffidently, “I’m afraid I have another favor to ask. A bigger one this time. Last night my retainer Tora was taken by pirates in Kawajiri. Saburo here brought me the news.” He turned to his companion. “Tell Watamaro what you told me.”

  Listening to the tale with apparent astonishment, Watamaro exclaimed, “Outrageous! And they anchored in Kawajiri, only a few miles from here? How dare they? You will want a ship to search for them.” He paused, frowned. “But they may not have gone far. That storm last night was terrible. A number of ships foundered or lost their cargo in the harbor. I have been adding up the losses for my own fleet.”

  Akitada bit his lip. “Thank you. I must hope that he is alive.” Saying it did nothing to dissolve the heavy lump in his belly that seemed to take his breath away. He must not lose Tora, too.

  Watamaro got busy. He issued orders, and servants ran. They waited, and then Watamaro himself accompanied them to the harbor where a flat-bottomed vessel waited.

  “It’s small,” he said apologetically, but it will save time not having to go to Kawajiri first, and the weather is quite calm again. With any luck, we’ll find them quickly and be back by nightfall.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Bodhisattva

  The chief sent Tora and Dragon Tattoo to one of the small caves some distance from the main one. Apparently he had no fear whatsoever that Dragon Tattoo would doze off and let Tora escape.

  The cave was a mere ten feet deep and fifteen high. Grass and weeds grew at its entrance, but inside the surface was dry, hard rock. It was also cold. A very small oil lamp sat on a ledge. Not much chance of sleep, even if either man had been tempted. They settled down against opposite walls, staring at each other suspiciously.

  Tora was desperately tired. His body had finally rebelled against the abuses of the previous night and the hard labor of the day. Every muscle hurt, and his headache, which had lessened during the day, grew worse again. Besides, his eyes felt as if they were covered with sand. He doubted that Dragon Tattoo could be this sore and tired.

  Would he attack? He had Tora’s sword lying next to his right hand.

  Time passed slowly. The silence was worst. Neither spoke, and the camp went to sleep after the hard work of the day. Tora thought of home and Seimei. He tried to suppress his grief when he felt tears filling his eyes. Too late. He sniffled, and Dragon Tattoo bent forward to peer at him.

  “So,” the pirate said with a sneer, “you’re nothing but a cry baby after all. Maybe I should make an end of you now. It’s a pitiful sight to see a grown man cry.” His hand touched the sword.

  Tora said nothing, but he wiped the tears from his face. This what not the time to mourn. The old man would have expected better from him. He searched his mind for an appropriate lesson from Seimei’s favorite Kung-Fu-tse, and settled on “A man must be wary before a move and gain his end by well-laid plans.” Yes, he had got into this trouble by not thinking before he rushed into action. This time, he would think carefully about his next move.

  He tried to settle himself more comfortably against the rock, but there was no comfort to be found among all this hardness at his back and the sharp edges of loose stones he sat on. An idea began to form in his mind.

  He gauged the distance between them and eyed the flickering oil lamp. Outside, it was dark, but there was a somewhat feeble new moon. Without the oil lamp, the world outside the cave entrance would be much lighter, but here they would be plunged into utter darkness. Good for sleep but not for defending yourself against someone swinging a sword.

  It was too soon. Someone in the camp might still be awake. Dragon Tattoo also seemed to be waiting. Tora had no illusions that the bastard would obey the chief. He had read murder in the other man’s eyes. The pirate had little to lose and could always claim that his prisoner had attempted to escape. It would be easy. He would kill Tora, and then start shouting for help. Who was to prove him wrong?

  On the other hand . . .

  “You’re a coward,” said Tora into the stillness.

  The other man’s eyes flared and his hand went to the sword again, but then he relaxed. “Why don’t you make a run for it and find out?”

  “I know already. Back at the hostel, you gutless dog brought your friends to help you. You’ll always be a coward. Doesn’t matter what happens.”

  “Shut up,” growled the other, “you’re a dead man. Dead men don’t talk.”

  Tora grinned. “Want to bet? The chief likes me. He doesn’t like you.”

  “You won’t live long enough to find out.”

  “You’re stupid. There’s nothing you can do to me. If you try anything, I’ll start shouting, and the others will come.” Tora laughed. “And then you’ll lose your balls. Not that you have any to start with.”

  Dragon Tattoo grasped the sword and started up. “It’ll be worth it, scum,” he hissed.

  Tora got to his feet also. Inside his sleeves, his fists were filled with small stones. “Come on then, coward!”

  Dragon Tattoo hesitated. Perhaps he gauged the distance for a fatal blow.

  “Come on, big baby,” taunted Tora. “I won’t make any noise. Let’s see what you can do with a sword against an unarmed man.”

  Still the other man hesitated, though he trembled with rage.

  Tora laughed and sat back down. “I knew it.”

  With a growl in the back of his throat, Dragon Tattoo came, his sword arm swinging back to cut off his enemy’s head.

  Tora moved like an uncoiled spring, though his muscles rebelled with stabs of agony at the sudden strain. Avoiding the slashing blade by ducking, he flung himself toward his attacker and hurled the gravel into Dragon Tattoo’s face. In the dim light of the cave, the pirate’s eyes had been wide open and fixed on his intended target when the sharp stones hit them. He recoiled with a gasp, dropped the sword, and clawed at his eyes.

  Tora scooped his sword up with his right hand and seized Dragon Tattoo’s topknot with his left. Jerking his head back as hard as he could, he cut the other man’s throat. The pirate fell forward, made a horrid gurgling sound, kicked out once and then lay still. Tora wiped the sword on the man’s back, and stepped out into the night.

  All was still. Behind him, the feeble oil lamp still glimmered. He moved away from the cave entrance and headed toward the edge of the woods as quietly as he could. He needed to reach the cover of the trees. The moonlight was weak, but a man moving across the open space and the rock face would be visible to a watcher.

  He remembered the look-out who had hailed the ship. Surely, they posted men at night also. He realized he had not planned as well as he thought. Too late!

  As he ducked under the low branches of a pine, a voice rang out, “Who’s there?”

  Tora froze. He did not know their names, and besides, the watcher would recognize a voice. His heart hammered so violently that he was confused when someone close to him answered the watchman’s challenge.

  “Masaji. Just having a pee.”

  Laughter. “Weak bladder or too much wine?”

  “Too much wine.”

  “Come up here and talk to me.”

  “Sorry, Koshi. Can’t keep my eyes open.”

  Under cover of this shouted exchange, Tora moved away cautiously. He stepped on a few crackling branches and once skidded on a loose stone.But he thought he was clear and had put some distance between himself and the two pirates when a voice right behind him hissed, “Not that way. You’ll fall to your death.”

  He stopped a
nd turned slowly. The man who stood behind him looked familiar. Yes, he was the one he had kept from going overboard during the storm. He had not given the alarm, and Tora did not want to kill him. “What’re you going to do?” he asked in a low voice, thinking that, one way or another, his life was probably over. Even if the pirates did not kill him, they would find Dragon Tattoo. He would die for murdering one of their own.

  “I’ll show you the way,” said the other man. “Follow me.”

  Not having a better option, Tora followed him along a narrow path that descended steeply to the small harbor. They clambered down without speaking. When they reached the last trees, his guide put out a hand to stop Tora.

  “Wait here and watch for my signal,” he said. “They’ve a watch posted on the ship. Rokuo was pretty drunk, but you never know.”

  He strolled out on the sandy strip where the fishing boats lay pulled up. Peering toward the ship from time to time, he busied himself with one of the boats, pushed it into the water, and then jumped in. Taking the oars, he started rowing toward the far end of the harbor, gesturing to Tora to meet him there.

  Tora kept as much as possible inside the tree line and clambered over several rocky outcroppings. He wondered what the pirate thought he was doing. The man was clearly helping him to escape, and that was a very dangerous thing to do.

  They met near the entrance to the secret harbor. The other man was sitting in the boat, which bobbed slightly in the water, and looked impatient. Tora had taken some unlucky turns and backtracked a few times.

  “Sorry,” he said, wading out and getting in the boat. “Who are you and why are you helping me?”

  “I’m Masaji.”

  Masaji was small but very muscular, perhaps from the hard life he had led as a sailor. He did not look like a pirate. There was something smooth and friendly about his round face, and the smile he gave Tora was childlike and innocent. “You saved me,” he said, giving Tora a look of melting adoration from his brown eyes. “You are my bodhisattva.”

  Tora had guessed at the first part of that explanation and found even this astonishing in a pirate. The bodhisattva business took his breath away. He sat staring at Masaji, who started rowing vigorously toward the entrance of the harbor and the open sea beyond.

  “Take the rudder,” said Masaji.

  “You’re coming with me?”

  Masaji nodded.

  Tora had no experience with boats, but he did his best to steer. They did not talk for a while. Masaji was pulling hard at the oars, at first to get away from the harbor, and then to contend with the rougher waters of the open sea. Tora had planned to steal one of the boats and escape by himself, but he could see now that his lack of experience and skill would have led to recapture or death on the open water. Boats were not very stable, and he would have overset it, trying to steer and work the oars at the same time. It was another failure in planning. His gratitude to Masaji grew.

  Steering was simple enough as soon as the first light appeared on the horizon. Tora’s mood lifted. Already the rocky outlines of the pirate isle receded, and the softer contours of a much larger land mass approached. They could do it. He considered what to do about Masaji. The man had saved his life. He could not just abandon him to the vengeance of the pirates or the punishment of civil authorities.

  Masaji said, “Steer toward the rising sun now.” Tora obeyed, and Masaji rowed, his round face alight with happiness, his lips moving.

  “Are you praying?” asked Tora.

  Masaji bowed his head to him. “Yes. I’m filled with great joy, Reverent Master. I’m giving thanks to Amida that a humble man like myself has been given such a miracle.”

  “It’s not a miracle, and we’re not safe yet.” Tora glanced at the approaching land. “And there’s no need to call me Reverent Master. My name’s Tora.”

  Masaji rowed and laughed. “There’s a halo all around you, Tora. I can see it. If you aren’t a bodhisattva, then you must be Bishamon.” Pulling in the oars, he knelt and bowed his head until it touched the bottom of the boat.

  Halo? The man had gone mad. Tora turned and saw the red orb of the rising sun against a bank of dark clouds, its strange color gaining rapidly in brightness. Turning back, he said, “You’ve been looking at the sun behind me, that’s all. Best pick up those oars again.”

  Masaji obeyed with a smile. “I saw what I saw, and I know what I know, Master. I’m a changed man. You have saved me from my evil life.”

  Tora sighed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Treading on the Tiger’s Tail

  They sailed westwards. Akitada and Watamaro reclined on cushions in the cabin. Watamaro had poured wine and offered refreshments, but Akitada was too impatient and sick with worries to do more than take a sip or two.

  Watamaro was cheerful and reassuring. “My men know the area well. We should reach Azukishima by midday, and then we’ll simply call at every island in the vicinity until we find them. We may find them sooner, if the storm has damaged the ship.”

  “Thank you.” Akitada frowned. Watamaro seemed very sure. But then the man must be thoroughly familiar with the Inland Sea. “How is it,” he asked, “that you have not been able to stop these pirates? A man with your means and knowledge of the sea routes surely is in the best position to do so?”

  Watamaro chuckled. “Nobody has asked me to do so, and a man in my business cannot afford to act on his own. People would never forgive me.”

  Astonished, Akitada asked, “Your people would not forgive you? I don’t understand. These pirates are men of no mercy who kill and steal at will. Surely, by capturing them you would win praise and gratitude.”

  “Ah, but the pirates are our people, my Lord. They are the fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons of people living around the Inland Sea. Most were poor fishermen who turned to piracy when they couldn’t earn a living catching fish.”

  Akitada shook his head. “Thieves are thieves. The ones in the capital may be said to be of the people also, and most are poorer than your fishermen. Our country has been blessed with rivers, lakes, and oceans that provide our food in great abundance. There is no excuse for not reaping the harvest when others starve.”

  Watamaro nodded. “You’re quite right, of course. I was simply explaining the bonds that exist and make it difficult to arrest pirates. They are protected by local people. And on the whole, they do little enough damage. The days when pirates worked for great lords who raised their arms against our divine emperor are over.”

  “Perhaps, and perhaps not.”

  Watamaro fidgeted and changed the subject, talking instead of famous places and telling stories about local gods and goddesses. Akitada was reminded of the tale the Fujiwara lady had mentioned. He asked, “Have you heard anything about the lady in the River Mansion outside Eguchi?”

  Watamaro threw back his head and laughed. “The daughter of the Dragon King?” He stopped laughing. “Oh, forgive me. That was very rude of me. I don’t know her, but I’ve heard the stories.” His eyes twinkled again but he suppressed more mirth. “Why do you ask?”

  Akitada made a face. “Apparently she entertains a good deal, inviting friends from the capital to sample what the Eguchi brothels have to offer.”

  Watamaro cocked his head. “You don’t approve?”

  “No. Not when children become part of the entertainment.”

  “Ah. This happens?”

  “Yes. One of them died in the river below the mansion. It isn’t clear whether she committed suicide or . . .” Akitada let his voice trail off.

  Watamaro was no longer laughing. He sounded angry. “A child? The young girl you mentioned at Nakahara’s dinner?”

  “Yes. She looked no more than fourteen. The brothel was grooming her for a ‘presentation’.”

  Watamaro clenched his fists. “For one of the nobles from the capital, I take it. Our masters take whatever they please, and we must bear it. The lady of the River Mansion is a member of the ruling family. She has very powerful
friends and protectors.” He shot Akitada a glance. “Sorry, but these things are very upsetting to a man like myself.”

  “Not at all. I agree with you.”

  Akitada pondered the similarities between the crimes of the wealthy and those of the poor. Neither could be brought to justice, apparently. Watamaro was a wealthy man, but he was also a commoner. His sympathies were with his people.

  Toward noon, they stepped outside, Watamaro to talk to his sailors, and Akitada to check their progress. It seemed to him that they were barely moving. The huge sails flapped weakly.But he saw with pleasure the blueness of the water and the deeper blue of land in the distance. Seagulls circled and shrieked overhead, and the air was brisk and pure.

  Saburo appeared beside him. “I’m uneasy, sir,” he said in a low voice. “Something doesn’t seem right. We are barely moving. The wind is against us. I’ve spent the morning watching the sailors. They act as if they were on a pleasure cruise. You’d think they’d try to speed up this ship.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can you trust Watamaro?”

  Akitada gave him a sharp look. He said, “Of course. He has generously offered to help.”

  “Hmm.” Saburo looked around. “I could swear we’re on a wild goose chase and everybody but us knows it.”

  “They can’t do anything about the wind. It may be your imagination.”

  “Maybe. But there’s something else. Considering we’re going to tangle with pirates, you’d expect soldiers and weapons on board, wouldn’t you?”

  Akitada considered this. “Watamaro knows a lot about pirates and fishermen. From the way he talked to me, he may plan to make a deal with them, perhaps offer them payment to release Tora.” The thought appalled him because he would be honor-bound to repay Watamaro. “If there’s no bloodshed, all the better,” he added.

  Saburo nodded. “It’s possible.” But he looked dissatisfied.

  Akitada studied the coastline and looked at the sun. The islands should be to the west. This coastline lay to the north. He suddenly had a hollow feeling in his belly. If Saburo was right and Watamaro could not be trusted, they not only would not rescue Tora but would end up in deep trouble themselves. And he had no one to blame but himself.