Island of Exiles (34 page)

He saw no obvious bruises on her and said, “I’ve been told that one of your customers has hurt you badly. Is that so?” She trembled a bit then, and nodded again. “I can’t lie down on my back, but I could be on top, if the gentleman liked. Or I could kneel and-” Her voice, soft and girlish, was breathless with desperate eagerness to please.

Tora interrupted quickly. “I didn’t come for that.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “I thought . . .” Tora pulled a handful of coppers from his sash. “I’ll pay for your time, of course. Whatever you would get from a customer.” The slender face lit up, and he thought that she had very pretty, soft eyes. “Thank you, sir,” she said in her childlike voice.

“Would ten coppers be too much?”

“Not at all.” Tora counted out fifteen and pushed them toward her.

She did not touch the money. “I’m called Little Flower. Does the gentleman have a name?”

“Tora.”

She smiled again, and Tora was glad that Wada had not touched her face.

“What shall I do for you, Master Tora?”

“Tell me about Wada.”

Her eyes widened. She shook her head and pushed the fifteen coppers his way. “No. He’ll kill me if he finds out.” Tora pushed the money back. “He won’t find out. Can I see what he did to you?”

She hesitated. A flush spread from her cheeks to her ears and neck. It made her look prettier and healthier. She got to her feet, clumsily, supporting herself with one hand against the wall.

Tora saw that she wore a wrinkled hemp gown dyed in a blue and white pattern of flowers. Around her tiny middle was a brown-and-black-striped sash. It was tied loosely, and when she undid the knot, it dropped to the floor and her gown fell open.

Underneath, she was naked and, except for small, high breasts, entirely childlike, since she had shaved off all body hair. Tora’s skin prickled unpleasantly. He was ashamed for staring.

Turning slowly, she let the gown fall from her shoulders.

Tora felt sick. Muttering a curse, he got to his feet and raised the oil lamp to look at her back and buttocks. The blood had dried, but the welts, and there were many of them crisscrossing each other from the nape of her neck to the back of her knees, looked swollen and inflamed. He could hardly imagine the pain she must endure at every move. And she had offered to service him anyway.

He picked up her gown and placed it very gently around her shoulders again. “Has a doctor treated you?” She shook her head.

He opened the door and shouted for the landlady. She appeared at a trot, dragging two toddlers behind her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked anxiously.

“Send for a doctor,” he snapped. “I’ll pay for it.” Then he slammed the door in her face and turned back to Little Flower.

She was tying her sash. Her head was lowered, but he could see the tears running down her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me help you down.”

She settled on the floor, carefully, and brushed away her tears, giving Tora a little smile. “I’ll be all right,” she murmured.

“It’ll heal.”

He stared at her in helpless anger. His familiarity with the pleasure quarters of the capital had taught him that there were men who enjoyed sex only when they could inflict pain on their partner. But this? He asked harshly, “And next time? Will you let him beat you to death?”

She flinched a little at his tone. “Perhaps he won’t want me anymore.”

Tora ran his eye over her appraisingly. He liked his women well padded and lusty. But a man like that bastard Wada probably got his kicks out of abusing children, and she looked more childlike than ever, cowering there and wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “What if he does?” She looked away. “Life is hard. It’s my karma because I did bad things in my previous life.”

He said fiercely, “No. Wada is the evil one, and I’ll make him pay for this.”

She gave him a startled look, then leaned forward and put a small, somewhat dirty hand on his arm. “You’re very kind, Master Tora,” she said softly, “but please do not go near Master Wada. You’re younger, stronger, and very much more handsome, but he’ll kill you.”

Tora threw back his head with a shout of laughter.

“What? That little bug? Listen, Little Flower, you don’t know me very well. If he weren’t so repulsive, I’d chew him up and spit him out.”

She started to weep again, covering her face and rocking back and forth.

“What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“Oh,” she said, her voice muffled, “you don’t know him.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping you’d explain. See, I need some information from the bastard. I think he knows something about someone I’m trying to find.” She looked up then. A shadow passed over her face. “Is she someone . . . like me?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s . . . a man. He came here about a month ago as a prisoner and has disappeared.” She brightened, but shook her head. “Then he’s dead. Or in the mines, which is the same thing.” Tora clenched his fists. “I’ve got to make sure.”

“Is it your father, or brother?”

“No. I can’t tell you. Just talk to me about Wada. Whatever you know. His habits, the places he goes after dark, where he eats, his friends.”

She gave a snort. “He’s the head of the police. They have no friends. His constables are worse than the criminals. Everybody’s afraid of them. Those who complain are dead a day later.

So nobody complains ever.”

Turtle had said the same thing. “Has it always been this way?” She frowned. “It’s worse now. Anyway, Master Wada’s got no friends, unless you count the constables, and most of them hate him, too. He eats in the best places for free, compliments of the owners. I don’t know about his habits, except for what he does to girls like me.”

“He has other women?”

“Sometimes. But he likes me best.” She said this almost proudly.

“Where were you when he did this to you?”

“At the Golden Phoenix. He sent word for me to come there.

It’s a restaurant near the harbor. There’s a little cottage out back for private parties. He goes there so the other guests won’t hear the girls scream.”

Heavy, dragging steps approached their door, and someone belched grossly. Then the door slid back, and a fat, bald old man peered in, bringing with him the sour fumes of cheap wine.

“What do you want?” Tora snapped.

“I’m the doctor,” the old man grunted, and squeezed his bulk in. He put down a medicine box and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his red face and scalp. His robe was dark, like a doctor’s, but so filthy that it was difficult to guess its original color. Taking a couple of uncertain steps, he sat down heavily in front of Little Flower. More rancid wine fumes filled the small cubicle. Tora closed the door and stood against the wall. The man’s body seemed to fill the space.

“Ah,” the doctor said to the girl, “it’s you again, is it? Same trouble?”

She nodded. “Yes, Dr. Ogata.”

“Let’s see, then.”

She got to her feet and repeated the disrobing process, turning her lacerated back toward Ogata. He gave a soundless whistle.

“Girl,” he said, “you won’t survive the next one. I told you to come live with me.”

At this Tora lost his patience. “You filthy old lecher,” he growled. “Passing yourself off as a healer when you’re a drunk.

And then you want to get the poor girl in your bed before you’ve even treated her back. Get out of here. I’ll send for a real doctor.” Little Flower cried out a protest, but the doctor just turned to stare at Tora. He chuckled. “Well, well, girl, that’s more like it. A handsome fellow, and considerate. Not like that animal you’ve been consorting with. Take my advice and stick with this one.” Tora glared at the fat man, and Little Flower flushed scarlet and averted her face. She pulled the gown around her and murmured, “He just wanted information. Nothing else.”

“Hmm.” Ogata looked from one to the other, scratched his bald head, and grinned at Tora. “Sit down, young man, or step outside. You’re making me nervous, hanging over me like a mountain. Now, as to my fee, you can pay me five coppers or two flasks of wine, whichever you prefer. You don’t want the other doctor. He knows nothing about the way these girls must live and would make trouble for her.” Turning back to Little Flower, he said, “All right. You know the routine. Lie down. It’ll hurt this time, but you’ve waited too long and I must clean some of the poison out.”

“What poison?” demanded Tora suspiciously, as Little Flower spread her robe and stretched out on it. “Did the bastard rub poison on her back after beating her half to death?”

“No, no.” Ogata was peering closely at the welts, pressing them with his fingers from time to time. “Leeches,” he muttered.

“That’s what we need. Well, I don’t have any, but I’ll do the best I can.” He turned to Tora. “Don’t you know anything? Miasma are all about us, in the air, on the ground, in our clothing, just waiting to enter our bodies. The dead rot because of the poisonous miasma about us. Sometimes even the living rot if the poison gets into their wounds. Miasma are why the gods warn against touching the dead and demand we cleanse our hands and mouths before addressing them in prayer. In her case, they’ve invaded some of the cuts and poisoned them. Leeches would suck out the poison, but there are other methods. Go fetch some warm water and two or three eggs.” Tora’s skin itched. He retreated nervously. Miasma? Eggs?

Afraid to show more ignorance, Tora did not ask. He found the landlady and relayed the doctor’s instructions, then asked worriedly, “Are you sure that fellow’s any good? He’s drunk and looks filthy, quite apart from being old and not too healthy himself.” To his surprise, Oyoshi glared at him, “Around here people better watch what they say about the doctor. He may not look like much, but he’s saved a lot of poor girls, and men, too. Often he doesn’t charge them anything. Besides, he’s the coroner, which means he’s smart. The government pays him a salary for

that and for treating the prisoners. Maybe if people had to see the things he does, they’d drink, too.” She left him standing in the hallway to get the water and eggs, still muttering to herself.

Tora was astonished at her outburst, but even more surprised that the fat drunk was the coroner. And he looked after sick prisoners. Forgetting all about noxious miasma, Tora turned on his heel and plunged back into the small room so suddenly that he bumped into Ogata’s formidable backside. The physician had been standing bent over his medicine case and tumbled forward, causing Little Flower to cry out.

“Sorry,” Tora cried. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. Please don’t worry,” Little Flower said with an adoring look. “You’re very kind and generous, Master Tora.”

“Speak for yourself, girl.” Ogata straightened up, rubbing his posterior, when he caught her expression. He turned to look Tora over. “A soldier, eh? Not from around here, are you, son?” Tora, the newly promoted lieutenant, considered this somewhat condescending from a drunken quack, but under the circumstances he swallowed his pride, and said, “No. On temporary assignment from Echigo.”

“Echigo, eh? Been here long?”

“I arrived today.”

“Really? Staying long?”

If it had not been for the fact that Tora had his own questions for the doctor, he would have balked, but he only said,

“As long as it takes. Tell me something, please. How can you people let an animal like that Wada terrorize decent citizens?

Where I come from, there are laws to protect people against bad officials.”

The physician snorted. “So they say. And some have died proving it. You can’t blame the rest of us for postponing the experiment a little while longer.”

Oyoshi bustled in with a bucket of water and two eggs in a small bowl. “Sorry,” she said, catching her breath. “Had to run across the street for the eggs. They cost a copper apiece.” Tora fished the coins from his sash and paid her. He wondered if he had paid for the doctor’s snack, but Ogata took the eggs and sat down next to Little Flower. Tora and the landlady watched as he gently washed the lacerated skin, occasionally squeezing swollen areas, while Little Flower bit into the sleeve of her gown to keep from crying out. When he was satisfied that he had cleaned out most of the poison, he broke the eggs and dabbed egg white over the wounds.

“Lie still and let it dry,” he told the girl.

“What’s the egg for?” Tora wanted to know.

“Draws out the poison.”

They sat and waited. Tora studied Ogata and finally said, “I hear you’re the coroner.”

Ogata nodded.

“So you know all about the murdered prince, I suppose?” Ogata shifted a little to look at him. “That have anything to do with your business in Sadoshima?” Blast the man. He answered questions with more questions.

Tora said, “No. I was just curious.”

“I did not see the body. The prince’s own physician did that.

You’ll have to ask him.”

“What happened at the hearing?”

Ogata cocked his head. “Sure you’re not officially interested?” Tora flushed. “I went to see the governor today. He mentioned that his son escaped.”

Ogata nodded. “Yes. Smartest thing he could do. Took his girl along. Or maybe it was the other way around.” He leaned forward and tested the drying egg white on Little Flower’s back.

Then he reached into his medicine case for a twist of paper and sprinkled some white powder over her back. “Since you’re going to ask me anyway, this is powdered oyster shell. It dries out the wounds.” He started to close his medicine box. “Well, girl,” he said to his patient, “stay off your back for a few days and you should do all right. I’ll look in again tomorrow.” Tora got up and fished more coins from his sash. “If your work’s finished for the day,” he said, handing over the fee, “I’d like to stand you that wine, too.”

“A man with a generous heart,” Ogata said cheerfully. They started to leave the room, when Little Flower called out to Tora.