Death on an Autumn River (30 page)

“Has it occurred to you that the girl could also have committed suicide out of disappointment?”

Sadenari’s face fell, but he looked stubborn.  “Well, that’s all I could learn before you came.”

Akitada snapped, “Surely that’s not all.  I gather
,
your duties at the mansion were much more personal than mere household chores.”

A flush rose to Sadenari’s hairline. “Wh-what do you mean, sir?”

“Apparently the first female you slept with is old enough to be your grandmother.”

Sadenari looked shocked, then angry.  “What?  Oh no, sir.  It wasn’t like that.  Her ladyship was very kind to me,
that’s
all.  And besides, I had occasion before . . . I mean, I’m an adult.  Begging your pardon, sir, but I don’t see where such questions have anything to do with my work at the ministry.”

Akitada ran a hand over his face.  “Forget it.”  The infernal youth was right.  This was not the time to deal with moral lessons.  He would unravel Sadenari’s infractions when his head was clearer.  He listened.  The wind seemed to have died down a little. “Go to sleep,” he said.  “I’ll decide what to do with you tomorrow.”

*

They returned to Naniwa by the first boat.  The sky was clear again, but everywhere the storm had left broken limbs, roof tiles, and shutters strewn across roads and waterways. 

Sadenari was subdued.  Akitada had not mentioned his sexual exploits again.  It would have been hypocritical to do so.  His own behavior had been questionable, and Sadenari had witnessed it.  Besides it was too late to offer the youth guidance in romantic matters, even if he had felt obligated to do so.  The relief that the youth was alive overshadowed the frustrations he had caused.  He confined himself to a reminder that Sadenari should have known all was not well when he had received no answers to his letters.  His continued absence suggested that he had not wanted to lose his freedom to do as he wished.

In Naniwa, they returned to the hostel, Sadenari to get his things and return to the capital, and Akitada to await Tora. 

“I will report to the minister by separate post,” he told Sadenari when he was ready to leave.

Sadenari looked stricken.  He was not being trusted to carry what must be a negative report about his activities.  Akitada hardened his heart.  He was about to be rid of the troublesome Sadenari, and in a short while he would meet Tora.  They would manage the case together, now that he knew Nakahara was at the heart of the conspiracy. 

Tora did not return.  Akitada spent the rest of the day, writing his various reports and thinking about what he had learned in Eguchi.

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.”

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?