The Fires of the Gods (24 page)

THE GRATITUDE OF RATS

T
ora carried the shopping basket over his good arm, but his true errand did not involve shopping. The rain had let up, but the streets were muddy. Apart from some puddle-jumping urchins, people seemed to slink about like half-drowned rats.

The market was closed today, and he found Jirokichi’s girl-friend in a nearly empty wine shop, listlessly sweeping the dirt floor. She stopped when she saw Tora and looked him over. ‘I thought you were at death’s door,’ she said. ‘Your fine friends lie a lot.’

‘My fine friends never lie, though they may worry more than need be.’ Tora did not sit down and had no smile for Hoshina. ‘I want to see Jirokichi now,’ he said.

She did not refuse him, but glanced at the lone customer in the corner. ‘I can’t leave,’ she said.

‘Then tell me where he is.’

‘He’s much worse off than you are,’ she said.

Tora just gave her a stare. ‘I don’t care. I want to see him.’ He raised his voice. ‘Now!’

She turned away and went over to the customer. ‘Sorry, Jinzaemon,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to lock up. Come back tomorrow, please.’

The man was elderly and timid. He got up obediently and shuffled out. Hoshina locked and barred the door. Then she filled an earthenware pot with the stew that remained and took the empty cauldron outside.

Tora waited impatiently. When she returned with the clean cauldron, she set the rest of the shop to rights, then placed the earthenware pot in Tora’s basket and told him to follow her.

To his surprise, Hoshina took him to the other side of the capital where affluent and law-abiding people lived. There in the Seventh Ward, they entered a substantial house of the type normally occupied by minor officials or clerks working for the government. Tora doubted that her wine shop earned enough to support this lifestyle and gained a new respect for Jirokichi’s abilities as a thief.

Hoshina called out, ‘I’m home. I’ve brought Tora.’

Jirokichi’s voice came from the back of the house. ‘You’re early. Did you say you brought Tora?’

Hoshina turned from the flagstoned hallway into a kitchen, where she deposited the stew pot and Tora’s basket. ‘Come,’ she said.

Jirokichi reclined near the open veranda door of the main room. He was leaning on an armrest and had a quilt across his lap. His face was turned towards them, but hard to see against the watery light coming from outside.

Tora’s eyes went past him to an extraordinary garden, now glistening with moisture from the recent rain. Lush green cabbages grew next to a patch of healthy onions; cucumbers and beans climbed up a bamboo trellis; and enormous mounds of leaves cradled golden melons. Among all that bounty pecked some chickens, and two fat ducks poked their heads out of a bamboo cage.

Jirokichi laughed at Tora’s amazement, ‘Welcome to my
humble abode, my hero. Hoshina and I are just a pair of humble farmers. How are you?’

Tora, seeing him lounging at his ease, scowled. ‘Alive, no thanks to you, Rat.’ But now he saw the effects of the vicious beating on Jirokichi’s face. His nose and mouth were heavily scabbed and swollen, one eye was still closed and black, and his body bore colorful bruises wherever his skin was bare. He moved only with difficulty and grimaced at the slightest change in position. Tora sat down and softened his tone. ‘And how goes it with you?’

Jirokichi gave him a lopsided grin. ‘It goes. It’ll be a while before I’ll be able to earn an honest gold piece again, but in time perhaps some slight activity will be possible.’

Hoshina snapped, ‘No more activity for you. You’re retired.’

Jirokichi winked at Tora. ‘She loves me. Can you believe it? And she thinks love gives her the right to mistreat me. Hoshina, my dove, some of the special wine for my friend.’

Tora looked after her. Jirokichi was right. Hanae bossed him around much the same way Hoshina did Jirokichi. It was strange that women treated the men they loved like bad little boys.

But he was here for a purpose, and the visit was long overdue. Reaching inside his shirt, he brought out a small package. He laid it down in front of Jirokichi. ‘Your gold. Count it.’

Jirokichi pushed it back. ‘You shame me,’ he said. ‘I owe you my life. Twice.’

Tora snapped, ‘I told you I don’t want your gold. I want to know about the fires.’

Jirokichi looked away. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And I’ll tell you. I pay my debts, and this one… Well, it could cost me my life, but I owe you that. Very probably the knowledge will cost you yours, so be sure you know what you ask for.’

‘How the devil can I know, if you won’t tell me?’

Hoshina returned with wine and cups. ‘I brought home some of the bean stew. Do you want to eat?’

Tora shook his head, but Jirokichi smacked his lips. ‘Your good bean stew? Excellent! Tora will eat when he tastes it. The beans are from our garden.’

Hoshina left.

‘Well?’ said Tora, getting angry again.

‘Those boys, the ones that caught me?’

‘Yes, what about them?’

‘They’ve been working for a rich merchant in the Fifth Ward.’

Suddenly, a vivid memory surfaced: a fat man huddled with some street kids. He stared at Jirokichi. ‘Watanabe?’

Jirokichi looked offended. ‘You’ve known that all along? Then why bother me?’

‘I didn’t know I knew it. I saw him talking to some young rascals.’ Tora scowled and clenched his fists. ‘And that fat toad pretended to feel sorry for those poor bastards dying. Oh, he’ll be sorry for what he’s done.’

Jirokichi looked nervous. ‘Better leave it be.’

‘You’re a great coward, Jirokichi. How did you find out?’

Jirokichi fidgeted. ‘You won’t tell the police, will you?’

‘I have to.’

Hoshina came in and set down three bowls of stew. She joined them. ‘You cannot do that, Tora,’ she said. ‘They’ll arrest Jirokichi.’

Light dawned a second time. Tora grinned. ‘You mean you were breaking into Watanabe’s house when you found out?’

They both nodded. Jirokichi raised his bowl and slurped noisily. ‘Hoshina,’ he mumbled, chewing, ‘you’re an artist. Eat, Tora. It’s delicious.’

Tora sniffed his bowl cautiously, then tasted the soupy broth. It was good, but Jirokichi was clearly besotted with anything Hoshina did. He ate a little and said, ‘I hate to mention it, but Superintendent Kobe plans to question Hoshina. So it’s pretty well too late. Besides, I don’t know how to tell him about Watanabe without bringing up your name, but maybe I can make a deal.’

They looked at each other. Jirokichi sighed. ‘Well, I’d made up my mind to tell you anyway. One night I was getting ready to help myself to some of Watanabe’s gold… For the poor, you know. Make sure the superintendent understands that it was for the poor.’

Tora cast up his eyes. Of course.’

‘I was sitting on a beam right above his money chest when there was this loud pounding at the back door. Watanabe gets up and goes to answer it, cursing under his breath, and I creep into a corner of the roof to hide. He brings in three of the bastards – Takeo, Togo, and Chako. They want money from him for some work they’ve done.’

Tora interrupted, ‘Was that the night they caught you?’

Jirokichi raised his bowl and let the vegetables in the bottom drain into his mouth. ‘Yes. They saw me coming from the house. I thought I was dead, but the devils took their time.’

‘But you already knew someone was setting the fires.’

Jirokichi heaved an aggrieved sigh. ‘Are you going to let me tell the story? Yes, I knew Takeo and those young devils were setting fires. Most of us in the business suspected. But it wasn’t just a lark. They were being paid. They bragged about it. Said they worked for those above the clouds and laughed like it was a joke. You know, the fires of the gods? Only, it wasn’t the gods they meant. And there I was, caught in the house of their employer. I tell you I was so scared I almost wet my pants. Anyway, Watanabe goes to open his money chest, giving me a good view of piles of gold and silver that would feed the whole western city for a year. He hands the scum a few gold pieces and tells them to be more careful next time. They leave, he goes back to bed, and I take off without touching his gold.’ Jirokichi made a face. ‘Only, in the rush to get away, I didn’t look where I was going, and the bastards caught me in the street outside.’

Tora digested that. ‘Any idea why Watanabe wants to burn down businesses?’

Jirokichi shook his head and eyed Tora’s half-filled bowl. ‘That money chest was full. Watanabe’s a money lender. I bet he’s working for one of the great lords.’ He suddenly looked angry. ‘That’s the way it is in the world. The nobles borrow ready cash for their expensive lifestyles from men like Watanabe in exchange for protecting them from the law. There’s no difference between that and a protection racket.’ He gestured to Tora’s bowl. ‘Are you going to finish that?’

Tora was far enough removed from his own humble beginnings to be taken aback by Jirokichi’s comparison. ‘The great lords don’t burn down the city when they don’t get their money,’ he said sourly and pushed his bowl towards Jirokichi.

Jirokichi flared up. ‘Hey, that wasn’t the gang’s doing. That was Watanabe and his hired boys.’ He seized Tora’s bowl and ate.

‘Maybe, but if your friend Koichi and his buddies are such good guys, why did they let those young devils escape?’

Jirokichi put down his bowl. He looked glum. ‘Turns out Takeo’s Koichi’s son. Koichi’s a good man, but he’s a father. He
hit Takeo hard for what he did to me, but he couldn’t let him be taken by the police.’

‘So Takeo’s still loose?’

Jirokichi nodded glumly.

Tora sneered. ‘Well, they caught his sister. She keeps company with a kid called Tojiro. What about him?’

Jirokichi burped. ‘Don’t know him. Don’t keep up with the family except to nod to Koichi when I see him.’

Hoshina said, ‘Don’t get them into trouble.’

‘Too late for that,’ said Tora, getting up. ‘When they tried to kill my master, the police arrested Koichi and the girl. They’ll make them talk, and that means they’ll get the young bastards, too.’

Jirokichi gulped, shook his head, and shrank into himself. ‘I’m sorry we met,’ he said heavily, then turned away to look out at his garden.

Tora looked down at him. ‘And I should’ve let them kill you,’ he snarled and stalked out.

Hoshina ran after him. ‘He doesn’t mean it, Tora. He’ll come round, you’ll see. But they’re his friends. His people.’

Tora stopped and looked at her. ‘And I’m not. Fair enough. And we should never help someone who isn’t one of us, right?’

She hung her head. ‘Nobody helps people like us.’

‘I did,’ Tora grunted and left, slamming the door behind him.

THE CONFESSION

A
kitada frowned at the note. ‘What does it mean?’ ‘We think it must be a warning, sir,’ said Seimei. ‘Or a threat,’ said Genba. ‘Somebody’s going to set fire to this place.’

Akitada’s heart sank. He should have expected it. Kobe had arrested some of the gang. Now the rest had declared war. He glanced around at his home – ancient, time-blackened and shaded by enormous trees, a continuous drain on his finances, and a place he loved dearly. He could not lose it.

Seimei was still confused. ‘Who would send such a thing to us?’

Akitada explained. ‘The way it was delivered, it may announce retaliation because Tora and I have interfered with criminal activities in the western city.’ He turned to Genba. ‘It doesn’t say when. We’d better fill buckets with sand and water, warn the neighbors, and stand watch tonight.’ He thought of Tamako and the baby, of Tora’s little son. Tomorrow they would take the women and children to his sister Akiko in the country.

He glanced up at the cloudy sky. Perversely, the clouds were too high for rain, and they scudded along too quickly on a fresh breeze. It was perceptively cooler than it had been, and thunderstorms were unlikely. With this weather, it would be dark sooner than normal.

Akitada folded the paper and put it in his sleeve. ‘I have an errand and will drop this off with Superintendent Kobe on the way. If those hooligans operate in the usual manner, we needn’t expect trouble until the hour of the rat or later.’ He cast a worried glance towards the house. Tamako was getting stronger every day, but a sudden scare might dry up her milk. He did not want to risk that. ‘Better not alarm the women yet. Tell my wife I’ll be back in time for the evening rice.’

Seimei looked dubious but bowed, and Akitada turned on his heel to walk out of his gate again.

He went quickly along Horikawa Avenue, hurrying because he felt uneasy, and arrived at Kobe’s office out of breath. To his disappointment, Kobe was not in, and the officers and men seemed very busy. Akitada left the note and an explanation with an assistant. Then he turned south to Nijo Avenue to make his way to the residential area where Fuhito lived. He did not relish this errand, but wanted to get it over with.

As last time, the major-domo’s mother admitted him. He noticed the change in her almost immediately. She held herself as taut as a bow string.

Her expressions of the usual courtesies and her congratulations on the birth of his daughter were almost painful in their stiffness.

As last time, Fuhito was not home yet. They took the path through the lush foliage of the outer garden, now shimmering with moisture from the recent rain and shaking a soft shower of drops on them. Feeling awkward, he commented on the benefits of the recent soaking.

‘The garden becomes oppressive in the rainy season,’ she said.
Her voice shook a little, and so did her hands. Taking him directly into her son’s study, she left him to wait alone. Outside, moisture still dripped from the roofs, making odd musical patterns of small sounds.

He thought about the change in her and decided that she was terrified of him.

Something had happened to put her in a panic.

Impatient with the delay, Akitada got to his feet and started pacing. He should be at home, looking after his family. A sound from the garden made him pause to listen. Somewhere a gate closed, and Akitada hoped that Fuhito had returned, but he heard nothing else.

A moment later, Fuhito’s mother brought a tray of refreshments, and Akitada realized he had been wrong. Nobody had come, but someone had left.

He sat back down, and she knelt to serve him.

‘I thought I heard a gate,’ he said, ‘and hoped your son had returned.’

Her hand jerked, and she spilled a little wine as she filled his cup. Apologizing, she dabbed at the moisture with her sleeve. ‘It must have been my maid. My son is not back yet.’ She sounded strangely breathless. Pushing the cup and a small bowl of nuts a little closer to him, she murmured, ‘Please forgive this poor food.’

Akitada looked at her sharply. She looked positively ill. ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ he said. ‘I am the one causing trouble. Perhaps this is not a good time.’

‘It is no trouble,’ she murmured. To his shock, tears began to course down her cheeks. She did not brush them away. Neither did she explain or withdraw. She sat there, silently weeping.

He rose nervously. ‘Please allow me to call someone.’ He went to the door and clapped his hands.

In the distance, a voice shouted, ‘Coming,’ and soft shuffling footsteps announced a small woman even older than Fuhito’s mother. She fussed over her mistress and led her from the room, leaving Akitada alone, wondering who had left by the gate. He was sure Fuhito’s mother had told him on his last visit that they had only the one servant.

Perhaps it had been Fuhito himself, taking flight because he expected to be arrested, but Akitada did not think so.

He was proved correct a moment later when the front gate
opened with the familiar clatter of bamboo, and Fuhito’s firm footsteps approached the house.

‘I’m home, Mother,’ he called out, and then there was the sound of muffled voices, his mother’s high and agitated, Fuhito’s soothing, until the house fell quiet again. After a moment, steps approached, and the major-domo walked in.

‘My Lord?’ he said, bowing. ‘What gives me this honor? I did not expect you again.’

Akitada did not return the greeting. ‘There are some unanswered questions,’ he said vaguely.

Fuhito hesitated. ‘I’m afraid that Her Ladyship does not wish the matter pursued,’ he said. He was still standing, as if he expected Akitada to cut his visit short and depart again. ‘She said the police will handle matters from now on.’

Akitada raised his brows. ‘Really? In that case, I shall satisfy my own curiosity.’

Fuhito fidgeted. ‘I don’t think it would be wise for me to speak, sir. It might be seen as disobedience by my mistress.’

Akitada was becoming irritated. ‘Sit down, Fuhito,’ he snapped in his best court-hearing manner. ‘It seems you have a grandson, your master’s son by your daughter. I believe Tojiro is slightly older than his half-brother Katsumi.’

Fuhito’s legs gave way and he sank to the floor. He was very pale and opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for words.

Akitada looked at him and dreaded what he had to do. He decided to get it over with quickly. ‘I think you quarreled with Kiyowara about the boy. If he has an obligation to this son and refused to acknowledge it that would constitute a powerful motive for murder and explain the furious attack that killed him. Did you kill your master?’

He can deny it, thought Akitada. I hope he does. In spite of his knowledge, he felt great pity for the man.

The sound of steady dripping fell into the silence like funereal music and reminded him of the old lady’s tears. Four generations of a family destroyed by the selfishness of an ambitious nobleman. The Fujiwaras and their connections had spread their poison throughout the land, at first disenfranchising the old order and then, once they had what they wanted, finishing the process by tormenting its descendants. There was little difference between the Sugawaras and Fuhito’s family. His own fall
from fortune had already begun. Why should he play into the hands of the authorities by revealing Fuhito’s guilt?

Fuhito surprised and disappointed him. After a long silence, he asked, ‘How did you find out?’

Akitada did not answer. There was still time for the man to deny the deed.

Fuhito looked at him with moist eyes. ‘Yes, Tojiro is my daughter’s son. You were right. Lord Kiyowara…’ He paused, searching for words. ‘Kiyowara seduced her when she was only fifteen and in his mother’s care.’ He raised a shaking hand and brushed it over his face. ‘No,’ he said fiercely, ‘it was not a seduction. The truth is that he raped her brutally, raped a child! Not once, but again and again, until his mother found out and put a stop to it. They sent her home. But she was with child by then and tried to drown herself in the pond. Then she tried to hang herself with her sash. In my despair, I went to him and confronted him with what he had done. At the time he could not afford a scandal. He was afraid I would talk and agreed to install her in his household as a secondary wife. She gave birth to his first son there, but the birth and her misery were too much, and she died a day later. The child is Tojiro.’

Silence fell again. Fuhito sat hunched into himself, his thin hands clutching his knees, his eyes staring holes into the flooring.

Akitada waited a decent time, then asked, ‘What happened next?’

Fuhito started and went on: ‘My daughter’s maid Ako was with her at Kiyowara’s house. After my daughter’s death, she looked after my grandson until they were sent away. Tojiro was not yet a year old when Lady Kiyowara gave birth to Katsumi.’ Fuhito sighed. ‘My master called me in to tell me that the first lady wanted Tojiro to be raised by us. My mother and Ako looked after him for the first years. His Lordship settled some income on us and promised to do more for the child when he was older.’ Fuhito spread his hands helplessly and looked at Akitada. ‘The boy’s future was at stake. It made up for what happened to his mother. We hoped his father would not forget his promise.’

‘And did Kiyowara remember?’

Fuhito did not answer that. Instead he said, ‘When Her Ladyship’s sister married His Excellency, the present regent, things changed again. Lord Yorimichi wasn’t regent or chancellor then, but everyone knew he would be because he is Lord
Michinaga’s oldest son. Tojiro was five when his father told me to enroll him at Seikan-ji, a monastery outside the capital. Ako was to take him and claim she was his mother. I did not like it, but his father insisted he would receive a good education there. I knew he was more afraid than ever his relationship with my daughter would become known.’

Fuhito had remained in the service of the man who had dealt with his daughter and grandson in such a dishonorable manner because he had hoped that some day there would be a better future for the child. That did not altogether excuse him from having abandoned the child himself. Akitada firmed his resolve.

‘I take it Tojiro objected to becoming a monk.’

Fuhito’s head sank again and the hands clutched his knees. ‘Yes, but that was not until much later. Tojiro ran away from the monastery the first time when he was thirteen. He went to Ako, who was living in the western city on some money I paid her. One day the foolish woman told him something of his background. He came to me to argue his case. I explained and begged him to be patient a little longer. His father had just accepted his new position. I told him that he would soon be able to do something for his son. Alas, this last time Tojiro fled, he was in despair. I saw that he could not remain in the monastery and went to His Lordship to plead his case. My master became angry with me and the boy. He said that he wanted nothing to do with Tojiro. That we had been paid. I could see that all my hopes had been in vain. He would never acknowledge Tojiro.’

Fuhito paused a moment, then spoke quickly, as if he were afraid he would lose his courage if he paused. ‘I remembered my poor child’s fate and all of Kiyowara’s empty promises and lost my temper. I accused him of breaking his word. He laughed in my face, mocking my family and my dead daughter. I could not think straight and lashed out at him. I just smashed my fists into his head and face again and again, and when he fell down, I kicked him until he stopped moving. When I gained some awareness again, I saw that I had killed him.’

A heavy silence fell.

Akitada had not thought that it would be so easy to get a confession. Fuhito, for all his humble position, was still a gentleman and would not shame his family by cowardly lies. The daughter’s fate was a powerful motive for murder, one that had perhaps simmered for decades. Now that he thought about
it, neither Fuhito nor his mother had said in so many words that the young girl had committed suicide. They had merely let him think so.

Akitada asked, ‘Where is Tojiro now?’

The major-domo raised his head and looked at him. ‘The boy had nothing to do with it. I beg that you will keep him out of it. Let it be me who pays the price. I promise to cooperate fully.’

‘I’m afraid Tojiro is suspected of being part of a gang involved in setting the fires. He will almost certainly have to answer questions.’

Fuhito became agitated. ‘Tojiro got mixed up with some boys when he stayed with Ako, but that was only because he envied them their freedom. He was a child. He still is a child.’

Akitada got up, suddenly tired and defeated. ‘I am sure he’ll explain it all to the police. I think you’ve been giving him shelter here. If he returns, please convince him that it is better if he gives himself up.’

Fuhito rose also. ‘What will you do?’ he asked anxiously.

Akitada’s stomach contracted. He had to turn the man over to the police. Regardless of Tojiro’s fate, Fuhito would be jailed, tried, and sentenced to exile. His family property would be confiscated, and his family would be sent into the streets to beg. All that could be done was to delay the arrest a little longer. He said reluctantly, ‘I’m afraid you will be arrested and eventually tried for Kiyowara’s murder. If you can, it would be best to make some arrangements for your mother and grandson quickly.’

Fuhito looked around the room as if trying to memorize it. He made a sound that was half groan and half acquiescence. Raising his hands to his face, he swayed for a moment, then straightened his back, lowered his hands, and bowed. ‘Thank you, for your considerate behavior, My Lord.’ And with that, he turned and led the way to the gate.

Akitada walked homeward quickly. The wind had picked up, and there was again the smell of burning in the air. He hoped he would not be too late.