The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn (16 page)

This was a reminder of the
shogun’s wrath toward those who disobeyed his commands. Seikei knew
without reading the signboards across the road that one of them
prescribed the death penalty for Kirishitans and those who
sheltered them. His neck tingled as they approached the checkpoint,
for he worried about the gleaming sword in Tomomi’s trunk and its
scabbard covered with silver crosses.

But when the soldiers questioned
them, Tomomi stepped forward and declared that they were traveling
kabuki actors, coming to give a performance. Kazuo opened one of
the trunks to show their costumes, and the soldiers waved them
through.

They had come to the end of the
road. They were in Edo, the shogun’s city.

19: The Shogun’s City

They found
lodging at an inn in the pleasure quarters. It was noisy, for this
was the first night of the midsummer
bon
festival. At this time, the
spirits of the dead returned to earth. Throughout the country
people discarded their everyday cares to welcome their
ancestors.

Seikei thought of what would be
happening in his own house in Osaka. Mother would be opening a cask
of rice wine to fill the special cups that were used only on this
occasion. It was the only time of year when Seikei had ever seen
his father drink too much, for he downed cup after cup thanking the
spirits of his own father and grandfather for the prosperity of the
family business. Even the children were allowed a small measure of
sake on this occasion, but mother made sure that they drank only
one cup.

The memory made Seikei ache with
yearning for home. Somewhere in this great city, his father must
also be staying. If only Father knew how Seikei had spent the last
few days, what would he think? Seikei shook his head. Perhaps Judge
Ooka had reassured Father that Seikei was safe, but it was
impossible to predict what the judge might do. On the road Seikei
had kept looking for a sign of Bunzo in his disguise as a komuso,
but never spied him.

After they ate, Kazuo suggested to
Seikei they go outside to watch the festivities. Seikei hesitated.
“I think I must rehearse some more with Tomomi,” he
said.

“Oh, he won’t do
any work tonight,” Kazuo replied. “He’s gone off to one of the
pleasure-houses already.”

Seikei looked around. It was true.
Tomomi had slipped away from the other members of the troupe, who
were busy draining the bottles of sake provided by the innkeeper.
Seikei accused himself of being careless. The judge had told him to
follow Tomomi, and now the actor had disappeared.

There was nothing to do but follow
Kazuo into the street. It was crowded with revelers celebrating the
bon festival. A line of men and women, accompanied by musicians
playing drums and samisens, danced through the street as onlookers
clapped and sang. Many of the people, Seikei noticed, had been
drinking too much sake. Some called out the names of relatives,
begging favors from the spirits who had returned from the land of
the dead.

Suddenly, a flash of blue silk
caught Seikei’s eye. One of the dancers moving past the inn was
wearing a familiar kimono. Seikei took a step forward, craning his
neck to see above the crowd. The flash of blue reappeared—just the
sleeve of a kimono, but it drew him forward and then he was running
to keep up with it.

It looked very much like the
kimono that Tomomi had worn in the play the night before. Seikei
could not be certain, but if it was, he had to follow.

The procession of dancers moved
down the narrow, twisting street and Seikei, trying to keep up,
continually bumped into the people watching from the side. A fat
man, laughing, gave him a rough shove, sending Seikei tumbling to
the ground.

Jumping up, he touched the hilt of
his wooden sword. But he remembered Tomomi’s advice not to fight
when he was angry. Controlling himself, he ignored the laughing man
and rushed after the procession. Now the blue silk kimono was
nowhere in sight. As the dancers reached a teahouse, young women
came out to offer cups of sake, and Seikei watched closely as the
dancers came forward to accept them.

The hair on the back of his neck
tingled as he saw the figure in the blue kimono step forward.
Seikei recognized the pins in the dancer’s hair, for he had seen
them twice before.

Taking the cup, the blue-clad
figure turned to face the crowd. Her smiling face was painted
white, with vivid red lips and black eyebrows high on the forehead.
Only Seikei knew it was not a woman. The figure raised the cup of
sake and then poured it on the steps of the teahouse. This gesture
brought murmurs of approval from the crowd, for it was meant as an
offering to the spirits of the dead.

Tomomi—for it was indeed he,
though again assuming not only the clothes but the mannerisms of a
woman—then bowed delicately to the teahouse woman, holding out the
cup, which she promptly refilled. Tomomi once more turned,
confident that all eyes were on him now, and raised the cup to his
lips, drinking the liquid down.

The owner of the teahouse could
not have wished for a better advertisement. The revelers surged
forward to accept their own cups of sake from the women
distributing them. Seikei remained where he was, keeping his eyes
on the figure in blue. The actor had skillfully caused a scene of
confusion in order to make it difficult for anyone to follow
him.

Sure enough, as the crowd filled
the entrance to the teahouse, Seikei saw Tomomi slip off the steps.
In a flash, he disappeared around the corner of the
building.

Seikei realized with alarm that he
could not push his way through the crowd in time to catch up with
Tomomi. He glanced around, and saw another alley on this side of
the building. With luck, it might lead to Tomomi.

Seikei ran through the alley,
seeing nothing but darkness ahead of him. At the end, his sandals
splashed through a stream of foul-smelling water. On either side of
him, Seikei could see only a few dim lanterns hung at the back
entrances of the row of houses. Which way had Tomomi
gone?

Seikei strained to listen. The
only sound came from revelers singing inside the houses. Then, at
the far end of the deserted little street, he thought he saw
another flash of the blue kimono, passing under a
lantern.

He ran in that direction, trying
not to let his sandals slap against the pebbles on the ground. The
street came out into a larger road. It too seemed deserted, but up
ahead was a cluster of lanterns that marked a guardhouse. Tomomi
must have passed by it already, for he was nowhere to be
seen.

As Seikei rushed up to the
guardhouse an elderly man tottered out. “What business do you have
in this part of the city?” he asked.

Swallowing hard, Seikei replied,
“I am in the service of the samurai Judge Ooka, one of the shogun’s
officials.”

The guard’s eyebrows went up.
“Ooka, you say?” he said. “I thought he was now the magistrate in
Kameyama. ”

“He is pursuing a criminal who has
fled to Edo,” said Seikei in what he hoped was a confident voice.
“The criminal may have come through here just a moment
ago.”

The old man shook his head. “No
one has passed by except a woman from the pleasure quarters, on her
way to a daimyo’s house.” With a wink, he added, “Such great men do
not lower themselves by going to that part of the city.”

“Was she wearing a blue kimono?”
Seikei asked.

“That she was. A
beautiful piece of silk. Must have been a gift from her patron. But
she’ll prosper only while her looks endure. After
that
...
“ He
shrugged.

Seikei tried to conceal his
impatience. “What was the name of the daimyo she was going to
visit?”

“Lord Hakuseki.”

Seikei blinked. Why would Tomomi
be going to the house of the man whose jewel he had stolen? To rob
him again?

“I must go there,” Seikei said.
“It is urgent. Can you tell me the way?”

“Just follow this street,” the
guard said. “It’s a grand house, one of the largest in Edo,
excepting the shogun’s castle, of course. Do you know the Hakuseki
crest?”

“Yes. A red fish with a box around
it.”

“Go ahead then. You’ll see it on
the gate. But you won’t get past his guards with the story you’ve
told me.”

Seikei could not keep himself from
asking, “Then why are you letting me pass?”

The guard’s wrinkled face broke
into a smile. “Because you mentioned the name of Ooka. He saved me
from disgrace once. When you see him, tell him that Itagawa Yokio
has not forgotten him.” He bowed, an action that Seikei knew was
meant for the man he served.

Seikei returned the bow and
hurried on down the street. The moon had risen, giving enough light
for him to find his way. But high stone walls shielded the houses
on either side, and the wooden gates were tightly shut. If there
were any celebrations of the bon festival in this part of the city,
they were private ones.

Seikei felt the presence of the
spirits of the dead all around him. Some, it was said, came back to
avenge wrongs that had been committed against them in life. Seikei
wished he were home in Osaka now, where the only spirits were the
benign ones of his ancestors, welcomed back to the home they had
helped to build.

I need fear no
spirit
, Seikei reminded himself. Then a
breeze from nowhere ruffled his hair, eerily, like someone touching
him.

For some reason,
Seikei remembered the
inn
keeper back in Kameyama, where
all this had begun. He had given a room to Seikei and his father.
That had been the man’s misfortune, because it was Seikei’s
sleeplessness that helped the judge to discover the tunnel under
the inn. That in turn had caused the innkeeper to kill himself
rather than confess. Seikei closed his eyes, but that did not blot
out the image of the man’s face.
I am
sorry
, he thought.
I did not know what would happen to you.

Suddenly afraid, he hurried on,
though he knew it was impossible to move faster than a spirit. He
heard hoofbeats on the road in front of him and moved to the side
just in time, for a mounted samurai galloped by in a hurry. Seikei
knew that the man would have ridden over him without a backward
glance.

Seikei
straightened his back.
I too have a duty
to
perform
, he
thought. Still, he shivered as the hoofbeats died away, for the
street seemed more silent than before. All the house-fronts had
their shutters slid tightly closed, and the gates were tied shut
with ropes on which bells hung to waken the occupants if anyone
tried to loosen them. There were no lights to be seen, for people
feared starting fires that could spread rapidly through houses made
of thin pine and paper walls.

Seikei stopped suddenly. Somewhere
behind him he had heard a footstep. Or had he? There was no sound
now, except the whisper of leaves brushing against each other. Or
perhaps the innkeeper’s spirit, still pursuing him.

There was nothing to do but go on.
The road wound through the city, and smaller streets led off of it.
The guard had not mentioned those, and after a while Seikei began
to wonder if he had lost his way.

Then the wind rose and he heard a
sound like the flapping of the wings of a great bird.
Instinctively, Seikei covered his head with his hands. After a
moment he peered cautiously into the sky. At the top of a hill, the
moon shone on a fluttering banner with a red fish with a box around
it—Lord Hakuseki’s crest.

As Seikei
cautiously approached, he was awed by the size of the house.
Indeed, it was not a single house, but a
yashiki
,
a
large group of buildings where the daimyo’s samurai and family
lived. A high wall with glistening tiles surrounded the yashiki.
Seikei could dimly make out the figures of guards on watch at the
top. He ducked into the shadows at the base of the
wall.

It was clear that nothing Seikei
could say would gain him admission to the house in the middle of
the night. But Tomomi must have entered, perhaps because he was
dressed as a geisha. If Tomomi had truly made up his mind to get
inside, nothing would stop him.

But what was Tomomi’s purpose in
coming here at all? If his disguise were discovered, he would be
imprisoned, or more likely executed on the spot.

Judge Ooka had told Seikei to
follow Tomomi because there might be another criminal in the case.
Seikei had obeyed, only to find that Tomomi’s path led back to the
man from whom he had stolen the jewel. Evidently, Tomomi had not
finished whatever his mission was.

No, the actor was inside Lord
Hakuseki’s yashiki, for certain. So it was Seikei’s duty to wait
here until he came out—alive or dead.

20: A Promise to the
Spirits

W
aiting was difficult when you did
not know how long it would take. Seikei knew by heart the stories
of many brave samurai, but all of them had distinguished themselves
through their honor and courage. It took no courage to wait, only
patience. Seikei forced himself to think of Oishi, the leader of
the Forty-Seven Ronin. Oishi had waited for more than a year before
taking revenge for his lord’s death, all the while enduring the
insults of those who thought he had abandoned the code of the
samurai. Yet Oishi never wavered, never . ..