Death on an Autumn River sa-9 Page 6

  Saburo cocked his head and regarded him thoughtfully. “Or he may return on his own. In fact he may be back in Naniwa already. But if you don’t think so, I could try to find him or ask questions for you. I know the dives where sailors spend their money, and as you say, a young gentleman may indeed encounter trouble there. Will you trust me to do that for you?”

  It was a reasonable proposition, but Akitada could not avail himself of the offer – even in the unlikely event that it was free. In truth, the ugly man did not inspire trust. He had made an impulsive mistake. With a little laugh, he said, “Thank you, but I think you must be right. I expect the young rascal’s gone back already and I’d better do the same. Thank you for your offer, Saburo.” Reaching into his sash, he extracted a small piece of silver and laid it down between them. Then he got up.

  Saburo was not looking at him. “I’m in your debt, sir,” he said softly and bowed.

  And then, when Akitada was already a few steps away, he added, “Be careful!”

  Chapter Six

  The Dead End

  Akitada had no intention of returning to Naniwa without making another effort at finding Sadenari himself. Even if the rascal had returned from this excursion, Akitada might at least learn how much of their purpose he had given away and to whom.

  He left the restaurant quickly and explored the side streets close to the harbor. Narrow and dirty, they were apparently inhabited by the rough men who worked as porters or did menial labor. His appearance marked him as an alien presence there, and women and children stared as he passed. When he stopped to ask about Sadenari, they just shook their heads. Either Sadenari had not passed this way, or they had no intention of telling him anything.

  Eventually even these poor quarters deteriorated. More men were about, but they wore ragged clothing and their eyes were hard and hungry.

  Be careful!

  The ugly man’s warning was ridiculous, of course. It was still daylight, and he was physically fit. Besides, they lived in a law-abiding nation, and he had seen many policemen around the harbor.

  Still, he was not getting any information and retreated toward the harbor again. The sun was sinking, and it was time to take a boat back. By now he wished Sadenari to the devil and hoped he got at least a good drubbing for his foolish excursion.

  Just as he was about to approach one of the boatmen, he saw a tall fellow with a tattoo on his leg who looked like a seafaring man. He paused, wondering if there was any point in asking his question one more time, when the other man spoke to him. “Are you lost, sir?”

  Akitada gave him a grateful smile. “No, I’m not lost, but I’ve been looking for someone. A young clerk who was visiting the port. He’s tall and may have been asking about pirates. It’s a fixed idea of his.”

  “Oh, that one.” The seafaring man laughed. “We sent him to the sailors’ hostel. The men are full of stories. He may still be there. Would you like me to show you the way?”

  Finally! Akitada felt vindicated in his conviction that he could find Sadenari on his own. “I don’t want to trouble you,” he said.

  “No trouble. I’m going that way.”

  Chatting about local attractions and young men’s enthusiasms, they walked together into the warren of streets and alleys that made up the slums of Naniwa. As before, hot, hungry eyes followed them, and Akitada was glad to be with this tall, strong companion. He had begun to think that he should have brought his sword with him. A slattern of a woman exposed her breasts and called out an invitation. The man with him ignored her. At the corner of a narrow street, little more than an alleyway, he stopped. “I have to leave here,” he said, “but the hostel’s at the end of this street.” He pointed. “It’s the large building you can see over the rooftops.”

  Akitada thanked him and walked down the narrow, winding road. He did not much like his surroundings, but sailors needed cheap accommodations. The few houses on either side looked empty and shuttered. No doubt, their inhabitants worked elsewhere during the day. In the silence, he could hear the echo of his footfall.

  Or perhaps someone else was walking the same way. He stopped and turned, but he saw no one. The sun had set, and the narrow street lay in deep shadow.

  He reached remnants of a tall fence and thick shrubberies, but a footpath turned the corner to the hostel. It was a mere track between leaning fences and tall weeds. Uncertain, Akitada stopped again, and this time he heard the steps clearly.

  He hurried forward. The hostel was just ahead; he could reach it before his shadow caught up with him.

  He was wrong.

  The footpath led to a dead end. Between him and the hostel rose a high wall. He stood in a mere patch of weedy dirt that was being used for cast-off utensils and waste.

  And he knew in an instant that he was in trouble. The helpful man had lied to him and sent him down a blind alley and he was about to find out what trap he had walked into.

  He was looking down the path, when two burly men suddenly appeared on either side of him. Akitada dashed toward the wall. He saw they had knives – knives with long and sharp blades. Being unarmed, Akitada had no hope of fighting them.

  There was also no point in shouting for help. In this area, it would do no good at all. He tried reasoning with them.

  “Come, you don’t want trouble, do you?” he said. “I’m an official from the capital. Attacking me will bring down the wrath of the government on your entire neighborhood.”

  They were big, and the one with the pock-marked face was also heavy and muscular. The other was thinner but moved like a practiced fighter. Their faces were dirty and covered with stubble, and their greasy hair hung loose. They were probably Akitada’s age or a bit younger, but such men lived and fought rough every day of their lives.

  And they had knives.

  And they were not reasonable men.

  They kept coming, slowly, a step at a time. Warily, but with a predatory gleam in their eyes. Enjoying themselves.

  Akitada pulled all his money from his sash and threw it on the dusty ground in front of them. “There, take it!”

  They did not even glance at it.

  He backed away a little farther.

  The heavier man on the right grinned, his teeth a brief gleam in the twilight.

  “What do you want?” shouted Akitada.

  No answer, but they kept coming. They meant to kill him here in this weed-overgrown, forgotten corner of Naniwa.

  Glancing around for something he could use as a weapon among the debris, he realized that he could not reach it in time. He had only moments, but in that small space of time, memories of his wife and of their little daughter, of Tora and Seimei, of Genba, and even of the dog Trouble flashed through his mind. They seemed incredibly precious because they were about to be lost forever. And for what? A foolish young man’s mistake? Another ridiculous assignment from his superiors? Or his own careless exploration of the slums of Kawajiri?

  From among these tangled thoughts, one crystallized: even in a hopeless situation, a man must try to defend himself, must make at least an effort to escape. He must fight the two killers with their long knives who had waited for him here. And in the unlikely event that he got past these two, he must fight or evade at least one more. Because those footsteps that had followed him meant that there was at least one more.

  Akitada moved suddenly, putting the tall attacker between himself and the other man. Then he jumped. He meant to twist the knife out of his hand, then slip past and run.

  It did not work.

  The big man cursed and veered aside as he snatched for the knife, and Akitada fell. He fell hard, on his face and right shoulder and nearly passed out from the sudden pain that shot through his arm and across his back. At first he thought he had a knife in his back. The relief that he did not was short-lived. He was down and expected to be killed. But the expected blow from the knife did not come. Instead there were shouts and grunts. He raised his head a little and blinked dirt out of his eyes. Three pairs of legs m
oved before him. He got to his knees.

  The thin robber stood quite still with a ludicrous expression of astonishment on his face, while the big man was falling to his knees, clutching at his neck. Blood seeped from between his fingers. A third man was moving between them like a grey ghost.

  Akitada stumbled to his feet. His right shoulder and arm were stiff with pain and he was confused. The thin man made a choking sound and collapsed. Both of his attackers were on the ground.

  None of it made sense.

  Beyond the failed attack on the big man, he had done nothing to account for the defeat of the two ruffians, and yet there was blood. He had not touched the second man, yet he lay dead or unconscious on the ground, bleeding from his throat.

  Akitada looked at the third man. His eyes still watered and the third man was a thin grey shape against the background of weathered fencing. He moved to the fallen men and bent to feel their necks.

  Recognition came, and with it more confusion. What the devil was he doing here?

  The ugly man from the restaurant pushed one of the bodies out of the way and bent to pick up an object which he put inside his patched robe.

  Then he finally met Akitada’s eyes and said calmly, “We’d better leave before someone comes.”

  Akitada still gaped. “You? You followed me?”

  The ugly man took his elbow to pull him away. Akitada gasped with pain.

  “Sorry. Are you hurt?”

  “It’s nothing. I fell.” Akitada found his feet and started walking

  “Can you run?”

  They ran back the way he had come, Akitada cradling his arm and gritting his teeth. For a while, he followed the man Saburo blindly. He was about twenty years younger than his savior, but catching up with him took all of his strength.

  They were both gasping by then. Akitada managed, “Thank you for that,” and the ugly man gave him a grimace that might have been a smile.

  Eventually, they saw the masts of the ships ahead. It was nearly dark by then, but the restaurants had their lanterns lit, and people moved about. Akitada slowed down.

  “Thank the gods,” he said with feeling when he had caught his breath. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come in time.” There was no answer, and he turned.

  The ugly man was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  The Amulet

  Akitada returned to Naniwa at sunset. As before, the boatman maneuvered his craft skillfully, though much of the trip was upstream and it took longer. But he was a young man, and Akitada paid him little intention, being preoccupied with assorted aches and a sense of confusion and anger.

  As he trudged back to the Foreign Trade Office, he was still trying to understand what had just happened. The best he had come up with was that Sadenari’s questioning of the people in Naniwa must have alerted someone involved in the piracies, and Akitada’s presence had become a threat. In other words, someone had given orders to eliminate him, and perhaps the foolish Sadenari had met the same fate.

  The role of the ugly man was completely incomprehensible. Why had he taken the trouble to shadow Akitada, and then saved his life? And how had he done it? Akitada had not expected an ally and was distracted at the time, but whatever weapon the ugly man had used, he had been incredibly quick and silent. And what had been his weapon? A knife long enough to do much damage was not easily hidden.

  Akitada had meant to ask, but the man had disappeared again.

  There was something very peculiar about him.

  In the end, all these considerations were overshadowed by a furious anger that the villains – whoever they were – had dared make this attack on an imperial official. Holding his painful arm, he stormed into Nakahara’s office.

  “I want the chief of the police and the prefect alerted,” he told the startled Nakahara. “Two hired killers attacked me with knives, and I’m almost certain that Sadenari has been murdered.”

  The clerk Yuki goggled at him. Nakahara’s mouth sagged open. When he found speech, he said, “The police. Yes, we must call the police and report this. First thing tomorrow. But the prefect? Surely . . .” He noticed Akitada supporting his arm, and started to his feet. “Are you hurt? There’s blood on your face. Shall we send for a physician?”

  Akitada brushed a hand across his forehead and encountered a cut, but he ignored the question. “As soon as there is daylight, I want a complete sweep made of the Kawajiri waterfront and slums. We must find Sadenari and question people about the attack on me. I want every man on and near the ships or working at the harbor interrogated. My clerk must be found. Dead or alive. That will take a large force, Nakahara, and to get this organized, we need the prefect. In fact, you may as well inform the governor also. The provincial guard may be needed if those involved decide to fight. Furthermore, since my real purpose here seems to be no longer a secret, you must immediately begin an official investigation. Someone in Naniwa is working with the pirates.”

  Nakahara had paled and slumped back down. The clerks looked alarmed and waited to let the director respond. But Nakahara was bereft of words, and it was Tameaki who rose and bowed to Akitada. There was a gleam of excitement in his sharp eyes. “Please allow me to notify the proper authorities, sir. May I suggest that we send word tonight to the harbor police and to the warden of the quarter where you were attacked?”

  Trust Tameaki to be the only useful person here. “Yes, thank you,” said Akitada and glowered at the stupefied Nakahara.

  “Where did the attack take place, and what did the criminals look like?” Tameaki asked, reaching for brush and paper.

  Akitada sat down abruptly. He was asking too much of Nakahara, and it was already night. He said, “I’m not sure what the area is called. It was a derelict spot. I saw poor tenements, mostly shuttered, a great deal of debris, and one large building behind a tall wall. I was cornered by two rough men in a blind alley just behind this building. It must be about half a mile from the harbor.”

  Tameaki frowned. “I don’t know . . . “

  Yuki finally woke from his astonishment. “That might me near the Hostel of the Flying Cranes. It’s a bit run down, but it has a tall wall in back. They keep the wall repaired to keep out the riffraff from the other side.”

  Akitada cheered up and nodded. Perhaps his “guide” had at least told the truth about the hostel. But he wrestled with another problem. He did not know how badly hurt the two thugs had been. What if the police found two dead men and wanted to know what had happened. It could not be helped. He said, “Tell the police and the warden that the two men were tall and about my age. One was heavy-set and muscular. The other was lean. I did not have time to look for any distinguishing characteristics. Their clothes were ordinary jackets and pants. What a laborer might wear.”

  “That’ll be enough.” Tameaki ran out, black robe flying.

  “Umm,” said Nakahara, “should we rush into this? Your clerk has not been gone so very long. Calling up so many people . . . well, it will upset things.”

  Akitada felt no pity. All authority had been taken out of the man’s hands. His junior clerk had made the decision for him and sprung into action. “Things are already upset,” he said. “In your position, it’s advisable to seem in control.”

  Nakahara ran a shaking hand over his face. “Is that why they sent you? Because they think I’m not doing my job? What do they want from me?”

  Yuki had been following this, gnawing his lower lip. Now he said loyally, “The director couldn’t have known that Sadenari would get lost and that you, sir, would run into those thugs. The waterfront is full of rough people. Surely that’s all it was. All this talk of pirates! I told Sadenari there have always been pirates. Pirates are normal on the Inland Sea.”

  Nakahara nodded eagerly. “That’s right. As long as things don’t reach the point of that Suitomo thing, it’s really just a matter of ship captains being more careful.”

  Suitomo had been a Fujiwara governor of one of the western provinces w
ho had decided that he could enrich himself more quickly by becoming a pirate chief. The court had tried to appease him with gifts and honors until it had no choice but to raise an army against him.

  Akitada gave Nakahara a look, and he subsided into silence. The lackadaisical attitude he expressed toward the depredations by pirates was either due to stupidity, or the man was in this up to his neck. Akitada’s eyes went to the goods piled nearly to the rafters of Nakahara’s office, and he got angry again.

  “What is all this stuff?” he asked, pointing at it.

  Nakahara flushed. “It should have been warehoused, but this way it’s more convenient. It saves the clerks and servants running back and forth.”

  “That isn’t what I asked you.”

  Nakahara sighed. “We do inspections of all ships that pass through Kawajiri and continue inland. Any goods that aren’t listed on their manifests or that seem otherwise suspicious are confiscated and brought here.”

  Walking over to the piles, Akitada inspected them. “Some of these look foreign, and if I’m not mistaken, there are valuable art objects among them.”

  “I know. Maybe they were stolen, or else people are making private purchases from Chinese and Korean merchants. All I can say is that they were found on ships with otherwise legitimate cargo.”

  “Either way, it is illegal.”

  Nakahara raised his chin. “Exactly. And we confiscate them for that reason.”

  Ignoring the fact that he had finally made his host angry, Akitada held up a carved lacquer vase and blew a thick cloud of dust from it. “It looks as though most of these things have been here for a long time. Should they not have been shipped to their proper owners?”

  “I’ll do so gladly if you tell me who their owners are,” Nakahara snapped, looking daggers.

  “You haven’t checked them against the lists of stolen items?”

  “The lists are not specific. What we find is single pieces. And when we question the captains of the ships about such goods, they always claim they have no idea where they came from.”