The Convict's Sword (6 page)

“I’ve never seen it. In fact, there may not be such a sword at all. It was a foolish idea.”

“Not at all. Sometimes a fine sword will become known in the trade.” The smith made a face. “Sometimes, sadly, our best work ends up in the wrong hands. I had hoped to locate a particular sword and purchase it back.”

Akitada said, “Please accept my apologies for taking up your valuable time. Perhaps you may hear something about a young swordsman called Utsunomiya, while we may hear of the sword you seek. Can you tell us about it?”

Sukenari nodded. “Thank you. That is very kind of you, Lord Sugawara.” He picked up the Sanjo sword. “Mine was the same length as this. I follow the great master in most details. But the scabbard of mine was made from magnolia wood and covered in white sharkskin. Very plain. The sword guard was of iron and showed a gilded pine tree and a shrine on the upper side, and flying geese on the bottom. The hilt was wrapped in green silk in a diamond pattern, and the pommel was gold. The blade,” Sukenari removed the Sanjo blade from its scabbard and pointed, “had an inscription inside the hilt. My name and the year it was made. The third year of Kannin.” He sighed and slipped the sword back into its scabbard. “It is not as perfect as this, but flawed as it is, I was particularly fond of that sword . . . and of the young man I made it for.” He rose to return the Sanjo sword to its stand. Akitada and Tora got to their feet.

“A very fine man,” reflected Akitada as they walked away. “Have you ever thought that some men are a greater gift to humanity than others? This one is not only a pleasant, courteous person, but one who has perfected an art that will make our soldiers invincible.”

“I don’t see how a common soldier will be able to afford a sword like that. The ones we had in Sadoshima were poor stuff. My sword broke right away, remember? It’s still going to be the rich guy killing the poor fellow. And besides, what good was Haseo’s fine blade to him in the end? They took it away from him, and sent him to a place where he was tortured and killed.”

This was so unlike Tora that Akitada stopped and looked at his companion. “You haven’t talked like this since we first met. What’s wrong?”

Tora glowered and said, “Forget it. I’m just in a bad mood all of a sudden. Where to next?”

Akitada sighed. “I am the one who should be discouraged. We’re no closer to the solution of the mystery.” They’d reached the corner of Suzaku Avenue and Rokujo, and glanced up at the afternoon sun. “I’m absent from the ministry without permission.”

“I figured it was either that or you’d been dismissed.”

Akitada raised his brows. “Don’t you care?”

Tora shook his head. “No. You’re not happy there. Maybe you’ll be happier not working.”

“And how am I to feed all of you?”

Tora’s good humor returned. Slapping his master’s shoulder, he cried, “Don’t you worry about that. I can get work anytime and earn enough for our rice. Genba can do the cooking and keep the roof mended. And Seimei will take care of the light housework. Your lady, being a great gardener, will grow vegetables, and as you won’t have anything to do, you can teach Yori how to be a gentleman.” He laughed out loud and a passing official, whose retinue of servants kept a proper distance behind him, shot disapproving glances their way.

Tora still forgot his manners all too often in public, but how was one to discipline a servant who had just expressed his willingness to support his master and his master’s family? In private their relationship was, in any case, much closer than that of some brothers. But human bonds also brought responsibilities. Akitada suppressed a sigh and said, “Thank you. It is good to know that I can count on you. Let’s stop by the market for something to eat and to hear your street singer before going to that last training school.”

CHAPTER THREE

GHOSTS

 

 

 

The market thronged with people. Maidservants and housewives shopped and chattered as they filled their baskets with fish and vegetables for the evening rice. Young gallants strolled about, ogling pretty prostitutes who tripped by in their colorful finery and peered at them over their painted fans. Solicitation was illegal here, but the law turned a blind eye unless quarrels broke out.

Akitada liked markets. They were noisy, smelly, and full of excitement. Vendors cried their wares, and porters passed through the crowd with their heavy baskets suspended from the ends of long poles, shouting, “Watch out! Watch out!” Musicians played, jugglers juggled, live birds in cages sang, cooks fried, boiled, and stewed snacks on small portable stoves, singing out their specialties, and stray dogs searched the garbage that lay about in corners.

Each of the city’s two gated markets covered several city blocks with its shops and stands. The market office provided constables, controlled the many shopkeepers and vendors, and maintained the drum tower, which rose four stories into the air and overlooked the market and part of the city. On its top floor was a large drum that gave warning of fires, while the middle levels allowed constables to keep an eye out for pickpockets, quarrelsome drunks, and thieves in the crowds below. The lowest level was used by popular performers, and here was Tora’s latest conquest.

A crowd had gathered to listen to her. She stood above them, small and very slender in her plain white cotton gown. Her long hair was twisted into a knot low on her neck. This very modest appearance, along with the fact that she was neither young nor pretty—her face was badly scarred—astonished Akitada profoundly. What could Tora possibly see in her?

Female street singers, as a rule, were vagrants who eked out their poor daytime earnings by selling their bodies at night. Akitada considered them a public nuisance because they kept stubbornly outside the law. But as this woman was blind, he was willing to make some concessions. Besides, she had a pleasant voice.

She looked detached from her surroundings as she sang, her sightless eyes turned into the distance and a fixed expression of unhappiness on her scarred face. Her remarkably elegant hands worked the strings of a lute. The instrument was a nice one, made of sandalwood. Street singers usually accompanied themselves on small hand drums that required little musical talent.

So Akitada granted her a modicum of respect. She played her lute well, her voice was full and warm, and she told a good story about two unhappy lovers who died in war. Akitada knew it. A young woman had followed her lover into battle disguised as a common soldier. When he found her fatally wounded on the battlefield, they bade each other a touching farewell, and he ended her suffering by striking off her head and then plunged the sword into his own belly. It was a story of love and death, designed to please a simple crowd and romantic enough to be performed by a woman.

There was a smattering of applause, the singer bowed, and a few small coins fell at her feet. Tora, a silly grin on his face, shouted into Akitada’s ear, “Isn’t she wonderful?” and made his way to the front. His master wished himself elsewhere, but the blind woman began another song and Tora stood rooted at her feet with a look of rapture on his face.

Something tugged at the skirt of Akitada’s robe and he looked down. A half-naked beggar crouched there. He extended a filthy hand, keeping a firm hold on Akitada’s silk robe with the other. “A copper from the rich lord?” he whined. “In Buddha’s name? Only a copper?”

“Let go of my robe this instant,” Akitada snapped, seeing the dirty streaks he was leaving on the fabric.

It was against the law for beggars to seize people’s clothes or harass them in any way, but this fellow was not easily intimidated. He grinned, revealing nearly toothless gums, and released Akitada only after rubbing the material between his fingers and saying, “Such thick silk! It must be lovely to have that against your skin. I’d be grateful for a bit of food in my empty belly.”

Frowning, Akitada dug a copper out of his sash and dropped it into the grimy hand with its long, curling yellow fingernails. “You should not grab people,” he said severely. “The constables frown on that. Besides, next time you may get a kick instead of alms.” He looked the man over. The beggar was middle-aged, bony, and utterly filthy, but he did not seem to be crippled. “What’s wrong with you anyway? Why don’t you work?”

The beggar tucked the coin into a small pouch he wore on the rope around his waist. “My health is poor,” he whined. “Can’t afford to buy medicine. It’s a hard life.” He coughed.

Akitada gave a snort and looked around for a good example of a working man. His eye fell on the street singer. “Look at her,” he said. “She’s blind, yet she works for her daily rice.”

The beggar spat. “Her! She’s a whore. You think she’s living on the coppers she gets singing a few songs? She isn’t pretty, but she’s got a mouth and men have cocks. They give her silver and when she’s done singing, she’ll give them her personal attention.”

A well-dressed man standing near them laughed. “When the sun sets, the pleasure women drop their silken sashes. It’s easy to forget a face then.”

The beggar was disgusting, and the stranger was not much better, but Akitada knew that they were probably right. This woman was not attractive enough for anything but the most basic of sexual services, though silver was hardly what she would earn for that.

Tora had climbed the steps and was talking to her, pleading even, and she touched his arm in a familiar manner. Akitada regretted his generous impulse. Trust Tora to set up an assignation while his master waited.

The beggar snickered. “See? She’ll open her mouth and spread her legs for that one all right. You’d think a blind whore wouldn’t care who she does it with, but that bitch thinks she’s somebody special.”

Akitada snapped, “Keep your dirty gossip to yourself!” and stalked to the steps of the tower. “Tora!”

Tora came down. “Sorry, sir, this is not a good time. She can’t leave yet.”

“Tora?” asked the woman on the platform, her hand searching the air. “Where are you?” A street urchin burst into laughter, and someone in the crowd joined in. Akitada saw that the pile of coppers at her feet was pitifully small and felt a twinge of guilt. The blind engaged in certain professions because it was the only work they could do. They did not need eyes to sing a few songs, to wash someone’s hair, or to massage a body. And women needed no eyes to provide sexual services either.

“I’ll tell her you’ll see her later,” Tora said.

“No.”

Too late. Akitada glared after Tora as he ran back up the steps. He told the woman, “We’ll come back and you’ll tell him what you told me, won’t you? He’s very good at solving mysteries.”

Akitada raised his voice. “Tora!”

The woman turned her head toward him and bowed a little from the waist. She said in her warm voice, “You are doing too much honor to this insignificant person, my lord.”

Akitada said brusquely, “We were only passing.” He had no intention of listening to a street singer’s private affairs. Tossing a few coppers at her feet, he snapped, “Come, Tora. It’s getting late.”

Tora looked stricken. He said hurriedly to the woman, “I’ll try to be back in time, but if I’m not, remember what I told you. And lock your door.” Then he joined the fuming Akitada.

Akitada said, “Next time don’t get me involved with your women.”

“I’m sorry, sir. But something’s really wrong. You can see that Tomoe’s blind and can’t help herself.”

Akitada thought of what the beggar had said. A woman need not have eyes to earn a living by selling her body. “She’s a prostitute,” he said coldly. “They learn to handle themselves.”

Tora gasped. “A prostitute? Tomoe? Never! She’s afraid to death that some guy will rape her again.”

“Hmmph, spare me. I have more important matters on my mind than street singers.”

Tora’s fixation on this woman irritated Akitada. To his knowledge, it was the first time in the many years they had been together that Tora had ever shown a romantic interest in a plain woman who was older than he. And in addition to being unattractive, this one was blind and had a bad reputation, regardless of what Tora thought of her. It was not normal, and something must be done before Tora ruined himself. The trouble was that ordering Tora to stop seeing the girl would only produce the opposite result.

Near the wine shop beside the market gate, Akitada remembered that he had promised to treat Tora. Perhaps it would make up for his refusal to speak to Tora’s girlfriend. The waiter scraped and bowed before the tall official and his handsome servant and quickly led them past the customers filling the rooms at street level and up some narrow stairs to a pleasant private room overlooking the bustling market below.

Akitada ordered a flask of their best and two servings of noodles. Tora looked dejected and kept glancing through the thin bamboo railing toward the drum tower where the blind woman was singing another ballad. He muttered, “That girl will not listen, no matter how hard I try to talk sense into her stubborn head.”