Death on an Autumn River (34 page)

Saburo threw down his halberd and loped over.  “How are you, sir?”

Akitada felt little beyond relief that he could let go of the sword.  He said, “All right,” and looked at his palms. 

Saburo checked his back.  “The bleeding stopped, I think.”

A scream.
  “No, Masaji!”

 They jumped.  Tora stood looking up at the hole in the side of the warehouse. 
In the opening stood Masaji, smoke and flames outlining his swaying figure.

Tora ran for the rope, slipped, fell, and scrambled up again, while Masaji swayed above, a smile flashing wide in his sooty face.  “I’m coming, Bishamon,” he croaked and tumbled forward.  His body struck Tora a glancing blow and landed with a sickening thud on the ground.

Akitada and Saburo ran to them.  Tora struggled up, rubbing his shoulder.  Masaji lay still.

“Damn you, Masaji!” Tora groaned.  “Why couldn’t you wait? I was coming.”  He knelt, taking Masaji’s hand and touching the still smiling face.

Saburo checked the pirate.  “He’s dead, Tora,”
  He
lifted Masaji’s blood-soaked tunic and revealed a big wound in his belly. “He was dying before he fell.”

Tora hung his head.  “I owe him my life.”

Guilt washed over Akitada.  This, too, was his fault.  None of the past horrors would have happened if it had not been for his foolish mistake of trusting Watamaro.

“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly.  “I’m sorry I caused all of this.  I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Tora only shook his head. 

Saburo produced his horrible grin. “Never mind, sir.  Even monkeys fall out of trees.”  Then he raised his head.  “I hear horses.”

It was too late to run.  Torches appeared.  Metal and leather clanked.  Hooves clattered across the hard ground, and the prefect’s military guard surrounded them.

The prefect’s soldiers raised their bows and placed their arrows in unison. Then they pulled back.  Twenty-six arrows pointed at three tired and wounded men.

“Well-trained,” Tora muttered.

Akitada straightened up slowly.  He felt incredibly weary.  There was little point in this, but he must make the effort.  He took a step toward their commander and said, “You’re a little late, but I thank you for coming at all.  I’m Sugawara Akitada, special investigator from the capital.  These are my people.  We will need horses and transport for the dead man.  Take us to the prefecture.”

The commander shoved his helmet back a little and stared at him.  He next looked at Tora, then Saburo with a grimace of disgust, and finally at the body of Masaji.  He said coldly, “You’re under arrest for fighting and setting fires.  Setting fires is a capital offense.” He turned to his men.  “Tie them up.”

“Wait,” cried Akitada.  “You’re making a mistake.  You should be arresting Watamaro.  He attacked us and set the fire.”

The officer gave him a contemptuous look.  “Don’t be stupid.  Why would he burn down his own warehouse?  Besides he’s a respected man in this province.”

Four of his constables had dismounted and now approached with the thin chains used to tie up dangerous criminals.  Tora got up and stepped in their way.  “I’d rather die than have you put those on my master,” he growled. 

The soldier closest to him swung the thin chain viciously.  It struck the side of Tora’s face and wrapped around his head.  Tora choked down a cry and clawed at the chain.  Blood trickled down his face. 

“You’ll pay for this,” Akitada snapped, but it did no good.  The chain came off Tora’s head, leaving him bleeding and dazed, and all three had their hands tied.  The soldiers attached the chains to three of the horses. 

Akitada had seen this sort of thing before and knew what was coming. They would be taken to jail, and if they could not keep up with the horses, they would be dragged along the streets.  “Look, Officer,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, would you at least notify the prefect before you do this?  He won’t thank you when the central government in the capital punishes him for mistreating an imperial emissary.”

The man laughed.  “It’s the middle of the night.  And you don’t look like an imperial emissary to me.”  

They were covered with blood and soot.  Akitada’s silk robe was filthy and torn.  He had lost his hat, and his topknot had come loose.  No doubt he looked like a hoodlum, though he was not quite as ragged as his companions.  He felt his sash for some sort of identification but found nothing.  Even his silver was gone.

“At least put us on horses and tie us there.  We’re tired and wounded.”

“Serves you right,” snapped the officer and raised his hand.  “Let’s go.”

A nightmarish journey took them up the long thoroughfare Akitada had walked many times.  They were forced to trot alongside the horses.  Akitada stumbled once, and only caught himself by grasping the horse’s tail.  His hands hurt badly, and he barely escaped a kick.  When they reached the prefecture, the gates slammed shut behind them and the horses stopped.  Akitada collapsed on the gravel and tried to steady his breathing.  He heard the officer call out, “They claim to be imperial emissaries, sir.  Thought you might get a good laugh out of that.  No question about it, they’re dangerous criminals.  The warehouse burned to the ground, and we counted at least ten bodies.”

Akitada raised his head.  Munata was coming down the steps.  Perhaps the warehouse fire had roused him early.  Behind him, dawn was just breaking. 
A new day.
 

Perhaps their last.

He struggled to his feet.  “Tell your man who I am,” he said.  His voice sounded gravelly and incredibly tired.

Munata paused,
then
came closer.  Akitada saw his eyes widen.

“Dear heaven, what happened?” he asked,
then
bowed. 
“My deepest apologies, my Lord.
  Ihara, untie His Excellency immediately.”

The officer’s face fell comically, but Akitada was too miserable to enjoy the moment or to complain. After a scramble and some agitated muttering, the chain fell from Akitada’s wrists.  He cradled his sore hands against his chest.  “Untie my men, too.  Then have the merchant Watamaro arrested along with all those involved in the battle at the warehouse.  We need medical attention, baths, and clean clothes.  The dead man needs a funeral.”  He ran out of breath.  Perhaps Munata would avoid open defiance of the court and instead try, by whatever means, to clear his name.

Munata looked deeply shocked.  His eyes went from Akitada to his companions and the corpse of Masaji on one of the horses, then back again.  “Watamaro did this?”  Akitada said nothing.  He was past speech.  “Never mind, sir.  My house is at your disposal.  But you cannot walk.  
Perhaps by
kago
?
  Shall we send for chairmen?”

An offer of a litter and luxurious accommodations?

Akitada looked at his companions and took a deep breath. “No, thank you.  We’re only going across the street to the official lodging house.  You will be here the rest of the day?”

“Yes, Excellency, but allow me to arrange for more comfortable quarters.  And my personal physician is at your service.”

“Send the physician by all means.  I shall speak to you later, after we have rested.”

Akitada nodded to his companions, and together they walked out of the prefecture.  Akitada forced himself to walk with a straight back and a firm step until they were out of Munata’s sight.  Then he slumped and heaved a sigh of utter exhaustion.

“I thought they’d put us in irons,” Tora remarked, taking his arm.  “Are you in pain, sir?”

“No,” Akitada lied. 
“Just exhausted.
  How’s your face?”

Tora touched his cheek. 
“Stings a bit.”

“And you, Saburo?”

“Fine, sir.”
  Saburo grimaced.  Akitada was beginning to distinguish between his scowls and smiles.  Saburo was smiling.

“You’re a good fighter, Saburo,” Tora said, “but never wake a man again from a sound sleep by sticking that face of yours at him.”

Saburo nodded meekly.  “Sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.”

The lodging house seemed almost like home after what they had been through.  The same fat man received them, looking both wary and disgusted by their appearance.  “What happened to you?” he asked rudely. 

“None of your business,” snapped Tora.  “Where’s your daughter?  If that’s what she is.”

The man scowled.  “The wife left me and took her.  Good riddance.  And it’s none of
your
business.”

Akitada interrupted and ordered baths to be prepared.  A skinny youth showed them to a room and then brought Akitada’s and Tora’s bags from the storage room where they had left them.  They looked forward to taking off their blood-soaked clothes.  Saburo had nothing to wear, but they managed to find him a pair of trousers and a shirt. 

The prefect’s physician arrived right after their baths.  He seemed capable, cleaned their wounds, and bandaged them.  Akitada needed a plaster on the cut on his back, but he refused to have his hands bandaged.  Tora’s face had only cuts, but Saburo’s arrow wound worried the
doctor . 
The arrow had gone through the fleshy part of Saburo’s lower arm, and he had trouble moving his hand.

Afterward, they slept.  Akitada was in no hurry to face Munata.

*

  When Akitada woke, it was afternoon and Tora was gone.  Saburo meditated in the lotus position again.

Akitada sat up gingerly, and found that the wound on his back felt better.  His palms, though, were stiff and sore.  He got up. 

Saburo opened his eyes.  “How are you?”

“I feel better.  And you?”

Saburo
grimaced
a smile.  “I’ve had much worse.”

“Yes.  Where’s Tora?”

“He said he’d check on the little girl and would be back soon.”

Akitada nodded.  He put on his best robe and trousers.  “I’m going to the prefecture and won’t need either of you for some hours.  Here.”  He gave Saburo several pieces of silver.  “Buy yourself a decent robe and
trousers like those Tora normally wears
.  And a small black cap.  A shave and haircut would also be nice.  If you’re working for me, you’ll have to look the part.”

Saburo bowed.  “I’m sorry to point out, sir, that new clothes and a shave and haircut will not make me as handsome as Tora.  Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”

“I’m sure.”

*

This time, the guards and attendants at the prefecture greeted Akitada with nervous respect.  Clothes, especially when they bore court rank insignia, had this effect.  Munata met him in the reception hall of the prefecture.  He had not bothered to change into better clothes, looked pale and distraught, and bowed deeply.  He led Akitada with great courtesy to a set of cushions on the raised dais.

When Akitada refused an offer of wine and refreshments, Munata did not persist.

“What about Watamaro and his men,” Akitada demanded.

The prefect looked at him dully.  “Alas, the merchant has disappeared.  His ship has gone, too.  And my men are still interviewing people to see who was involved in the disturbance last night.”

“Disturbance?”
  Akitada glared.  “It was an assassination attempt that cost one man his life and wounded two of us.  Watamaro intended to burn us to death.  I shall report the matter as an attack on an imperial official.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Akitada took the imperial orders from his sleeve.  “As I told you, I have authority to investigate the illegal activities in this province, and more precisely, in your prefecture.  Normally, I would present these documents to the governor, but he also seems to have disappeared.”  He extended the papers.

Munata touched his head to the floor,
then
received them with both hands, raising them briefly to his forehead.  He unrolled the documents, read quickly, and returned them with another bow.  “I’m completely at your service, Excellency.  As for the governor . . . I imagine you haven’t heard.  He is in seclusion in the capital.  He mourns the death of his only son.”

Astonishment and dismay washed over Akitada.  “What?”

“You met Yoshiyo at my house.  It was a terrible shock and grief to me to hear of his death.  I loved that boy.  Everyone loved him.”  Munata looked away and raised a sleeve to his eyes.  “Forgive me.  I’m not myself.”

The man did look terrible.  Was he to be foiled again from prosecuting charges against the governor, Munata, and perhaps Otomo?  The professor, too, had claimed affection for his pupil.

“What happened?”

“Yoshiyo was deeply upset because his father had forbidden him to buy out a courtesan he had met.  He made up his mind to defy his father, but the girl killed herself.  Alas, when he found out, he decided to follow her on that dark path.”  Munata sighed deeply.  “Even in the midst of their robust lives, the young are close to death.”

Yes, so it had been with
his own
small son, Yori.  Akitada did not know what to say.  A deep sadness seized him, and with it pity for those who had loved the two young people.  Then he gave himself a mental shake.  There had been no one to love Akogi except that unfortunate boy who had brought her death.  It strengthened Akitada’s conviction that she had been murdered, and his heart hardened against the governor.