Island of Exiles (30 page)

Obediently the man got up and moved.

“Miserable wretches don’t know what respect is,” grumbled the new arrival, and eyed the bearer’s bony frame with a frown.

Surely the man was over forty, he thought, too old for hard physical labor. Besides, he was crippled. One of his legs was shorter than the other. Worse, the fellow looked starved, with every rib and bone trying to work its way through the leathery skin.

He turned impatiently and pounded the table again. A fat, dirty man in a short gown and stained apron appeared in the doorway and glared into the sun. Seeing the helmet and sword, he rushed forward to bow and offer greetings to the honorable officer.

“Never mind all that,” said his guest. “Bring me some wine and give that bearer over there something to eat and some water to drink. If I don’t feed him, he’ll collapse with my bundle.” The officer was Tora, normally in charge of the constables at the provincial headquarters of Echigo, but now on a mission to find his master.

Glancing about him, he rubbed absentmindedly at the red line the heavy helmet had left on his forehead. Made of thick iron and lined with leather, even half armor was heavy and uncomfortable, but his was new and he was still inordinately proud of it.

The owner of the wine shop returned with the order. He set a flask and cup down on the table and turned to take a chipped bowl filled with some reeking substance to the bearer, when Tora clamped an iron fist around his arm.

“What is that stinking slop?” he demanded.

“Er, fish soup, sir.”

Tora sniffed. “It stinks,” he announced, and jerked the man’s arm, spilling the soup in a wide arc into the street. Immediately seagulls swooped down with raucous cries to fight over the scattered morsels. He growled, “Get fresh food or I’ll put my fist into that loose mouth of yours.”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir,” gasped the man, rubbing his wrist and backing away. From a safe distance, he pleaded, “But he’s only a beggar. Lucky to get anything. I wouldn’t have charged much.”

“What?” roared Tora, rising to his feet. The man fled, and quickly reappeared with a fresh bowl, which he presented to Tora, who first smelled and then tasted it. Satisfied, he nodded.

The squatting servant received the food with many bows and toothless grins toward his benefactor before raising it to his mouth and emptying it in one long swallow.

“Give him another,” instructed Tora. “He likes it.” Having seen to the feeding of his bearer, Tora poured himself some wine and leaned back to look around.

He had spent the crossing planning his approach carefully.

Tora was not much given to planning, but life with his master had taught him to respect danger. In the present situation, he knew he must restrain his anxiety and move cautiously to gather information without precipitating unfortunate develop-ments. His master had used a disguise. Perhaps it had failed.

Tora felt that nothing was to be gained by doing the same.

Something had clearly gone wrong, or he would have returned or sent a message by now. As it was, they had waited well beyond the time of his master’s expected return.

Though it was a beautiful late summer afternoon, with the sun glistening on the bay, seagulls wheeling against a blue sky, and colorful flags flying over the gate of a nearby palisade, Tora frowned. There was nothing cheerful about the people here.

Half-naked bearers were unloading bales and boxes from the ship. They were younger, stronger, and better fed than the pathetic creature guarding Tora’s bundle, but their expressions were uniformly sullen or dejected. There was no talk. Neither jokes nor curses passed their lips as they crept, bent double under their loads, along the beach toward piles of goods stock-piling under the eyes of bored guards.

Tora considered the cripple. Their host had referred to him as a beggar, but the ragged creature had offered his services as a bearer. On second thought, the man could not have handled anything much heavier than Tora’s bundle, which contained little more than a change of clothes.

The man bowed and grinned. At least four of his front teeth were gone, he had a flattened nose, and one ear was misshapen.

Either he was incredibly foolhardy about getting into fights, or he had been beaten repeatedly. Tora thought the latter and beckoned the man over.

He rushed up with that lopsided limp of his and carefully positioned himself downwind. “Yes, your honor?”

“What’s your name?”

“Taimai.”

“Taimai? Turtle?”

The man nodded. “It’s lucky.”

“Hmm.” Tora glanced at the skinny, twisted figure and disagreed. “Well, Turtle, would you know of a good cheap inn?”

“Yes, yes,” Turtle crowed, jumping up and down in his eagerness. “Just around the corner. Very cheap and excellent accommodations.”

Tora rose, dropping some coppers on the table. The host rushed out and scooped them up eagerly. He bowed several times. “Come again, your honor. Come again.” Paid the rascal too much, Tora thought as he put on his helmet and followed the limping Turtle into town.

“Just a moment!” said a high, sharp voice behind him.

Tora turned and recognized the red-coated police officer, also a lieutenant. He had come on board ship to check everybody’s papers before they disembarked. Under normal circumstances, Tora would have struck up a conversation and proposed a friendly cup of wine, but there was something about the man that he did not like. He had passed his papers over silently, and the lieutenant had studied them silently, giving Tora a long measuring look from small mean eyes before returning them without comment.

Tora now narrowed his eyes and looked the other man over, from his meager mustache to his leather boots, and said, “Yes?”

“Where are you going with that piece of shit? I thought you had a dispatch for the governor.”

Tora turned to glance at Turtle, who had shifted his small twisted body behind Tora’s bulk and looked terrified. “Is there a local law against hiring someone to carry your baggage?”

“There’s a law against associating with felons. You!” the policeman snapped, advancing on Turtle. “Out of here! Now!” Turtle dropped Tora’s bundle and scurried off.

“Stop!” roared Tora, and Turtle came to a wobbly halt.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide with fear. “Stay there.” Tora turned back to the policeman. “What is your name, Lieutenant?” he asked in a dangerously soft voice.

There was a pause while they stared at each other. Then the policeman said, “Wada,” and added, “I’ll get you another bearer.

Hey, you! Over here! A job for you.” A big fellow with bulging muscles and the brutish expression of an animal trotted over.

“No,” said Tora. “I like the one I picked. Now, if you don’t mind, I have business to take care of. I wouldn’t want to explain to your governor that I was detained by the local police.” He turned his back on Wada, picked up the bundle, and took it over to the cripple. With a nervous glance at the policeman, Turtle accepted his burden again, and they continued on their way.

Wada’s shrill voice sounded after them, “I’m warning you, bastard. The ship leaves in the morning. Make sure you’re on it.” Tora froze.

“Don’t, please! He’s a bad man,” whispered Turtle on his heels.

Tora threw up an arm in acknowledgment of Wada’s words and started walking again. “He says you’re a felon,” he told Turtle.

“Huh?”

“A felon’s someone who’s committed a crime and been convicted,” Tora explained.

“Then he told a lie,” Turtle cried in a tone of outrage. “Him and his constables are always picking on me. I’m innocent as a newborn child. More so.”

“Very funny.”

It became obvious that the inn was not close by. They passed through most of Mano to a run-down area on the outskirts. The term “inn” could hardly be applied to the place. It was the worst sort of hostel Tora had ever seen, a small, dirty tenement which appeared to cater to the occasional whore and her customers.

Turtle bustled ahead and brought out a slatternly woman who was nursing a child and dragging along several toddlers clinging to her ragged skirt. Other children in various degrees of undress and filth peered out at them. This landlady, or brothel keeper if you wanted to split hairs, was grinning widely at the sight of a well-to-do customer. A missing tooth and a certain scrawniness suggested a family connection with Turtle. Sure enough, he introduced her as his sister. Tora glanced around, wrinkled his nose at the aroma of sweat and rancid food, sighed, and asked for a room and a bath.

The bath was to be had down the street in a very fine public establishment, Turtle offered cheerfully. Was ten coppers too much for the room? Tora looked at the skinny children and their mother’s avid eyes and passed over a handful of coppers with a request for a hot meal in the evening. The woman bowed so deeply that the child at her breast let out a shrill cry.

Tora followed Turtle down a narrow, odorous hallway to a small dark room. It was hot and airless. Tora immediately threw open the shutters and looked out at a side yard where several rats scurried from a pile of garbage and a few rags dried on a broken bamboo fence.

Turtle had placed Tora’s bundle in a corner and was dragging in an armful of grimy bedding.

“Never mind that,” Tora said quickly. “I always sleep on the bare floor.”

Turtle looked stricken. “It’s very soft and nice,” he urged anxiously. “And the nights get cold here. Besides, it’s only a dirt floor.”

Hard use and filth had smoothed and polished the ground until it could be taken for dark wood in the half-light. Tora had slept on the bare earth before, but usually in the open and in cleaner places than this. He weakened. “Well . . . just one quilt, then.” He knew he would regret it, but the poor wretch looked relieved. Turning his back on the accommodations, he looked out over the neighboring tenements toward the curved roofs of the provincial headquarters on the hillside. Its flags fluttered in the breeze, and he was suddenly impatient.

He was halfway out the hostel’s door when he heard Turtle shouting after him, “Wait, master. I’ll come with you or you’ll get lost. I know everything about Mano and can be very useful.” Before Tora could refuse, a small boy rushed in from the street and collided with him. Vegetables, salted fish, a small bag of rice, and a few copper coins in change spilled from his basket.

His uncle fell to scolding him, and Tora realized that his money had bought a feast for a starving family.

“Very well, Turtle,” he said, when the nephew had disappeared into the kitchen, “you can be my servant while I’m here.

I’ll pay you two coppers a day plus your food.” Turtle whooped, then fell to his knees and beat his head on the floor in gratitude. Tora turned away, embarrassed. “Hurry up,” he growled. “We’re going to see the governor.”

“Yes, master. We’re going to see the governor.” Turtle was up and hopping away, chanting happily, “We’re going to see the governor.”

Tora caught up. “Stop that,” he snapped. “I want to ask you something.” Turtle was all attention. “Tell me about that police officer. What happened?”

The crippled man touched his nose and misshapen ear.

“Wada is a bad man,” he said again, shaking his head. “Very bad.

Watch out. He doesn’t like you.” He glanced around to make sure they were alone and added in a whisper, “He kills people.

Me, I just get beaten.”

Tora frowned. “Why do you get beaten? Didn’t you tell me that you’re as innocent as a babe?”

Turtle shrugged. “I get in his way.”

“That’s no reason. You must’ve done something. He called you a fel . . . er, criminal.”

Turtle drew himself up. “I’m an honest man,” he said. “Besides, I’m not the only one that gets beaten up for nothing by the constables. Wada likes to watch. Just ask around.”

“Why don’t you complain? Ring the bell at the tribunal and lay a charge against him?”

“Hah,” said Turtle. “There’s a bell, all right, but nobody rings it. Especially not now. The governor has his own troubles.” Tora had been momentarily distracted from Turtle’s chatter by a very pretty shop girl. He winked at her and was pleased when she blushed and smiled. “Troubles?” he asked absently, craning his neck for another glimpse of her trim waist and sparkling eyes.

“The governor’s son poisoned the prince. Hadn’t you heard?

It was a bad affair. He was about to go before the judge, but he ran away from the prison here. People say the governor helped him and that he’ll be recalled. So he’s hardly going to listen to complaints from someone like me.”

Turtle had Tora’s full attention now. “The son escaped?

When did that happen?”

Turtle frowned. “Seven-no, eight days ago. They couldn’t find him in Mano or the other towns and villages, so they’re searching the mountains now. I bet he’s long gone on one of the pirate boats.”

It made sense. Everybody knew about the pirates who plied their trade between the mainland and Sadoshima. If the Sadoshima governor’s son had fled the island, he had headed either to Echigo or Awa Province. More likely the latter because of the unrest there. During troubled times, a man could disappear without a trace. The question was, did the escape have anything to do with the master’s disappearance. Well, he was about to find out.

When they reached the gate of the provincial headquarters, Tora told his companion that he would probably have to wait outside, then identified himself and his errand to a guard engaged in lively repartee with several young women. The guard waved Tora through with barely a glance.

Shocking discipline, thought Tora. Not even a request for papers. In fact, the guard had only bothered to bar the way to the ragged Turtle.

Inside the compound, Tora saw more signs of slovenly standards. Off-duty guards were shooting dice with clerks, and trash blew across the graveled courtyards. He made his way to the governor’s residence without being stopped. Nobody seemed to care who he was or where he was going.