Death on an Autumn River (20 page)

Yes, the elegant buildings in their beautiful setting looked like those in painted scrolls depicting the Western Paradise.  To ordinary people, the lives of the rich and powerful were the most accurate image of ultimate bliss.  As they gradually moved downriver and away from the site, Akitada got a vivid impression of music floating out over the water while celestial figures moved about under the trees or leaned over the red railings of the pavilion to watch the river traffic.  It was a far cry from the rustic hermitage he had imagined as the perfect haven for his old age.  Perhaps the reward for a good life was exactly the sort place one had dreamed of during his lifetime.  He wondered what abode Seimei would find waiting for him.

Tora snorted.  “‘Good people’? 
Hardly good.
  They may live in paradise, but their crimes send them to hell after they die,” he said, shocking the boat’s master and his assistants, but getting some nods and grins from passengers.

Like Tora, Akitada knew well enough that the lives of the powerful were far from perfect or desirable.  He was tempted to stop over in Eguchi to find out who owned the River Mansion.  He could ask Harima, the former
choja.
  The thought of the two old people brought a smile to his face.

Tora must have read his thoughts.  “Shall we spend the night and ask a few questions?” he asked eagerly. “We can go on to Naniwa the next morning.”

That was what Akitada had done last time, and it had led to nothing but trouble.  Besides, while Tora doted on his pretty wife Hanae and had turned into a good family man since his marriage, his past had been spent among the women who earned their living on their backs.  Tora might be tempted to take advantage of his temporary freedom from domesticity to return to his old ways.  He said, “No, Tora.  Have you forgotten Seimei’s death?  As long as the villain who sent his men to my home is alive and free, your family and mine are in danger.”

Tora’s face fell.  He nodded.  “You’re right.  I shouldn’t have been so stupid.”

They fell silent.  Akitada wondered if Kobe could guard his family adequately if more armed men showed up at his house.

Tora said, “That postmaster’s story about the old princess and her young men sort of fits, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“What the boat master said about parties at the River Mansion. 
What if that’s where the princess lives?”

“I doubt it very much.  It’s just a salacious tale told by a lecher.”  But it struck Akitada that a nobleman might well use such a remote place to enjoy forbidden pleasures the court would frown upon or a highborn first wife might object to.  Those pleasures, in the close proximity of a town that catered to all sorts of sexual perversions could involve the abuse of poor young girls, abuse that would lead them to commit suicide rather than face more of the same.  It might even result in murder.

He thought of Otomo and his insistence that Korean girls were being abducted and put to work in Eguchi.  There was something very odd about the way Otomo had pursued him with his suspicions.  But the professor had never mentioned the word murder.

They stayed on board while the boat docked at Eguchi and watched passengers disembark and new passengers take their place.  The short distance to Naniwa was uneventful.  The skies were still blue, the broad expanse of the river glistened in the sun, and a fresh breeze brought the tang of the open sea.

In Naniwa, they walked to the government hostel.  The fat man sat in his usual place.  There was no sign of the little girl.  The manager eyed them glumly. 

“You had a visitor,” he told Akitada.  “Right after you left.  Ugliest bastard I ever saw.  He left this.”  With a smirk, he produced a badly wrapped package that seemed to contain a scroll.  “I told him you’d gone and I didn’t know if you’d be back, but he said to keep it and he’d be back to pick it up if you didn’t show.  Only he never came back.”

Akitada stared at the package and then at the fat man.  It was clear that someone had opened and then rewrapped the package clumsily.  He took it and said coldly, “Thank you.  We’ll share a room.  Bring our saddlebags.”

The fat manager got to his feet with difficulty, grabbed a saddlebag in each fist and lumbered down the corridor.  He took them to the same room Akitada had occupied before and collected his tip.

“Where’s your daughter?” asked Tora.

“With her mother,” that man said and lumbered out.

“I wonder how the child is.”  Tora looked after him with a frown.

“Let’s hope her mother is looking after her better than her father was.”  Akitada was
unwrapping
the package.  It turned out to be no more than a piece of bamboo pipe of the sort used in gardens to direct water into a basin.  It should be hollow, but he could not see through it.  He shook it and heard a soft sound inside.  He looked about the room,
then
stepped out into the small yard where he saw a dry stick and used that to probe inside the tube.  Some brown fibers fell out.  He poked harder, and more fibers emerged, and then a small, heavy object wrapped in a piece of paper fell into his hand.  When he unfolded the paper, he saw the Korean amulet.  The ugly man had returned it.

“What is it?” asked Tora.

“It’s an amulet I bought and lost.  Apparently, someone found it for me.”  Akitada tucked the coin away in his sash.  No sense in further stirring Tora’s interest in the dead girl from Eguchi.  “Let’s have an early night.  I plan to see the prefect in the morning.  Nakahara is useless, but he did inform me that Munata is a close associate of the governor’s.  If one of the two is a villain, then the other is also, and Munata is less likely to slip away to the capital.  What about you?”

Tora stepped out on the veranda and sniffed the air.  “I’ll go to Kawajiri. 
To that hostel.”

Akitada nodded. 
“The Hostel of the Flying Cranes.”
  He looked at Tora’s neat blue robe, his black hat, and good boots.  “But not in those clothes, I hope.”

“No, of course, not.
  I’ll change into some rags, but I’ll take my sword.  It’s short, and
an old jacket swill cover
it.  I may be gone for a couple of days.  Will you be all right?”

“Yes.  It’s you who is going into the tiger’s lair.  Be careful.”

The next morning, Akitada walked to the district prefecture, ruminating about the return of the Korean amulet. 

Why had the ugly man returned it?  If he had taken it in the first place, what had made him change his mind?  If he had not taken it, how had he found it? 
Hiding it inside the bamboo pipe made more sense.
  He had clearly taken the measure of the fat man.  But the rest of his impressive feats still bordered on the unreal. 

Before setting out, Akitada had looked at the amulet again.  Otomo was right.  It was too finely made to have belonged to a mere courtesan.  If he had the time, he would return to Eguchi with the amulet and get to the bottom of this mystery.

 Having got this far, Akitada saw the prefecture looming ahead and forced his mind back to the piracy case.  What, for example, should he make of the close ties between Governor Oga, a court noble assigned to the province for the customary four years, and Prefect Munata, a local landowner?

Professor Otomo also claimed acquaintance with the governor.  He had taught his son, but was that a sufficient reason for Nakahara to have invited him to his party?  He was a poor academic, quite clearly a different species from the others.  The governor and the prefect, two powerful men, had not treated him precisely as an equal, but they had accepted his presence.  Yes, Otomo’s role in all this was another puzzle. 

He was received politely at the prefecture, but Munata’s assistant told him that the prefect was still at his residence outside the city and not expected until later that day.

Impatient at the delay, Akitada demanded a horse and a guide, and set out for Munata’s home.

Munata clearly owned a substantial property.  The compound extended over several acres and had an impressive roofed double gate.  This gate stood open, so that Akitada rode all the way across the wide entrance court to the steps of the main house where he dismounted.  Servants came running to take his horse.  More servants ran down the stairs to receive him.  Near a secondary gate, leading perhaps to stables and retainers’ quarters, a group of men with bows had gathered near their horses.  They were apparently preparing to hunt, but Akitada thought of the armed retainers who had attacked his home.

Self-interest governed
allegiance,
and Munata would not willingly take actions that conflicted with Oga’s interests, but had he gone so far as to dispatch two of his men in order to frighten Akitada into leaving Naniwa?

His arrival had caused initial consternation, but after some running back and forth of agitated servants, Munata himself appeared to welcome Akitada into his reception hall.

He was dressed more elegantly than last time.  No plain black robe on this occasion.  He wore a red hunting coat of figured brocade and blue silk trousers.  Perhaps he had only worn the black robe because he had come from work in the prefecture, or because he had not wanted to upstage the governor.  Clearly, here he was the master and overlord of his domain. 

His reception hall also revealed wealth and hereditary status.  A large silk banner with his family crest hung over the dais, and the beams and columns were carved and colored. 

Munata invited Akitada to sit and then seated himself with a rustle of his stiff red coat.  “We had thought you had left us for good, Lord Sugawara,” he said with a smile.

“No such luck.  I returned from court with instructions for the governor and thought to find him here.”

“Ah, yes.”  Munata folded his hands.  “He does stay here frequently.  But he has the affairs of the province to deal with.  Hearing court cases and settling land disputes, you know.  He’s a most conscientious official.”

Akitada said coldly.  “I know quite well what a governor does, having served in that capacity myself.”

Munata lost some of his composure.  He bowed. 
“My apologies.
  How may I be of service?”

“You will oblige me by sending for him.”

“Sending for him? Surely you jest.  I cannot send for the governor.”

Akitada raised his brows.  “I would hope that you do so, for example, in cases of district emergencies.  But if you don’t feel empowered to ask him to return, I will.  Call in a clerk, and I’ll dictate a letter.”

Munata flushed and obeyed.  An elderly man appeared, carrying a small desk and writing tools.  He bowed to Akitada, sat, and immediately began to rub ink and ready his brush.

Akitada dictated, “To Governor Oga Maro:  You are hereby requested to return to the Naniwa prefecture immediately to receive the instructions of His Most Honored Excellency, Fujiwara Sanesuke, Grand Minister of the Right. 
Signed, Sugawara Akitada, Imperial Investigator.”

The title of “imperial investigator” was one that Sanesuke (or his senior secretary, since the great man did not necessarily dictate letters) had used in Akitada’s own instructions.  It proved to be useful on this occasion, since imperial investigators could subsume powers not necessarily available to a mere senior secretary in the Ministry of Justice. When the clerk was done, Akitada read the letter, corrected one character, and then impressed his seal to it.  “Very well,” he said to Munata, who had been sitting speechless, nervously twisting his hands.  “Have a messenger deliver this immediately.  I expect the governor tomorrow.”

Munata took the letter and dismissed the clerk.  “I shall see to it, sir . . . er . . . if that’s all?”

Akitada glowered at him. “No.  I have some business with you.”

The prefect paled.  With a muttered apology, he rose and rushed from the room, bearing the letter with him.  Akitada heard him speak to someone outside,
then
he returned.  He slipped back to his seat and said, “I regret extremely that our last meeting was unpleasant.  I hope you will believe,
sir, that
I had to follow the governor’s wishes.”

So the little weasel was trying to blame his disobedience on Oga.  Akitada looked at him with disgust.  He disliked this man more than any of the others who had been present at Nakahara’s that night.  There was, in truth, something very weasellike and predatory about his smallness, his sharp features, and his quick movements.  

“His Majesty’s laws pertain to all men equally,” he pointed out coldly.  “I asked for the assistance you had been told to give, and you refused it.”

Munata bowed several times.  “My apologies if I have offended.  It was never my intention . . . and I carried out your instructions if you’ll recall.”

“Not quite.  You informed Oga, and then you and he met with Nakahara to plan your strategy.  When I returned to the trade office, the three of you refused me any further assistance.  The governor—speaking for all of you, I take it—told me to leave Naniwa.”

The prefect squirmed.  “The governor makes his own decisions.  It isn’t up to me, or Nakahara, to correct a man of his standing.”

There was no point in arguing about it.  Akitada snapped, “What has been done to find my clerk?”

“If he’s on Watamaro’s ship, he’s out of our jurisdiction.  Messages could be sent to all the provinces and harbors where the ship calls.  I take it that Watamaro has done so.”