Death on an Autumn River Page 22

  Early the next day, he headed for the trade office, phrasing his charges against Nakahara in his mind. He would extract a confession from the man, and the rest should be easy.

  But when he approached the gate, a familiar thin and disreputable figure detached itself from one of the pillars and came loping toward him.

  The lopsided face seemed more twisted than ever and the bad eye rolled horribly in its socket. He folded his thin frame into a deep bow. “I’ve been praying to find you, sir.”

  “Later,” said Akitada, side-stepping him. “I’m in a hurry.”

  But the ugly man followed and caught hold of his sleeve. “Please. It’s about Tora.”

  Akitada stopped. “What about Tora?”

  “The pirates got him. Night before last. Just before the storm broke.”

  An icy hand squeezed Akitada’s insides. “They got him? Is he dead?”

  The ugly man made a jerky movement. “No. Not dead. At least . . . no, I think they took him away unconscious. I don’t think they meant to kill him. But they put him on a ship and left.”

  Akitada seized the fellow by the shoulders and shook him. “Who? Where?”

  “In Kawajiri. Pirates. The ship was at anchor in the outer harbor. It left as soon as Tora was aboard. I’ve been asking questions, and then came here to look for you.”

  No point in seeing Nakahara now. Akitada turned back. “Come, you’d better tell me all you know. I’ll buy you a cup of wine.”

  The ugly man’s face twisted. “Not wine. A bowl of food would be very welcome. I haven’t had time to eat.”

  A short time later, Akitada watched once more as the ugly man gobbled his food. His own stomach clenched with nausea. He was impatient, but the man deserved to eat. And Tora must still be alive. At least he hoped so. There had been the storm.

  Finally, the ugly man put down his bowl. “Thank you. I was getting faint. My stamina isn’t what it used to be, and I’ve been on the move ever since last night, at first finding out what happened, and then trying to find you.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  The ugly man either smiled or grimaced. “When you decided you didn’t trust me, I kept an eye on things on my own. Then you left for the capital, and I thought you weren’t coming back. When I caught sight of your assistant talking to the postmaster, I followed him.” Again that lopsided grin. “A capable man. He nearly caught me twice. In Kawajiri, he disguised himself as a laborer and went to the Hostel of the Flying Cranes. He spent the night there.”

  Akitada nodded. “He was seeking information about the pirates.”

  “Ah. Kunimitsu works for them. I decided to sleep in a shed in back of the hostel. That’s where I overheard Kunimitsu talking to one of the pirates. A big brute called Tojo. Tojo was up to something and Kunimitsu pointed out where your assistant was sleeping.”

  Akitada nodded. “I’ve met Kunimitsu. So he’s a rascal?”

  “Oh, yes. When they went away, I tried to warn Tora, but he didn’t trust me. A few hours later, some men and a woman came. The woman started screaming. Tora ran out and they jumped him and knocked him out. I followed them to the harbor, saw him put on the ship, and the ship set sail.”

  The tale was concise and disastrous. “Go on. You said you asked questions.”

  “Yes, in Kawajiri. The pirates have a hideout on a small island. It has no name, but it’s past Azukishima. I think they took Tora there.”

  “That hideout is common knowledge in Kawajiri?”

  “No. I have a friend who owes me a favor.”

  It sounded very dubious, but Akitada could not afford to brush the ugly man off again. “What else did this friend tell you?”

  “Very little. He thinks they were making a delivery in Kawajiri but doesn’t know or won’t say to whom.”

  Akitada studied the ugly creature across from him. It was human nature to link a repulsive appearance with an evil character. Tora must have taken him for a demon. Yes, that was probably the reason why he had not heeded the warning. It tended to prove that the man was telling the truth. He asked, “What do you want for your information?”

  The man looked down at his empty bowl and shook his head. “You owe me nothing,” he said. Then he looked up. “Did you get the amulet?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Very clever.” No point in asking where he got it. Why he had returned it was puzzling, though. “Why are you doing this? Why are you following us around? Nobody goes to this much trouble for nothing.”

  “Since I have no work, I must hope to earn my food with small services of this kind. Following people and asking questions are the only things I know. And you seemed to require information.”

  Akitada made up his mind. “Very well. You can work for me until we find Tora. What’s your name?”

  The smile was a little sad. “It’s still Saburo.”

  “Come along then. We must find a way to get Tora back.”

  Easier said than done. He had an offer of armed men from the prefect, but Akitada could not go to him. The same was true of the governor, even if he had returned by now. That left Watamaro. Everything depended on the merchant now. He had the ships, and had offered his help before.

  After asking questions in the harbor, they found him in one of his warehouses. It dated back to the time when Naniwa had had a bustling harbor. Built high above ground on thick tree trunks to protect it from flooding, it was in good repair, and Watamaro kept an office there, tucked under the eaves of a large, dim, open space filled with stacks of goods ranging from bales of rice to imported woods, jars of medicines, and other, unidentifiable goods stored in the dark recesses. It smelled exotic.

  Watamaro was at his desk, working with an abacus over an open ledger. He looked up when he heard their steps and rose immediately.

  “What a surprise! Welcome to my workplace, my Lord. Please forgive the poor and rough surroundings. I regret there is no news yet of your assistant.”

  “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 s
mall 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 and 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.