The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass (7 page)

“Yes,” the second one said. “Look, there are two Shinto priests with the guards. You don’t often see them away from the shrines.”

“I heard the shrine that was broken into was the Sacred Purple Hall,” said the first one.

“Very holy place,” commented the other. “They use it only when a new emperor is enthroned, you know.”

The first man lowered his voice. Seikei took a step backward to listen. “I heard a rumor about the emperor,” the man said. He went on, but whispering now so that Seikei could no longer make out his words. Probably he was repeating what Seikei already knew—that the emperor was missing and the nation, for now at least, had no link with the goddess Amaterasu.

Meanwhile, the scroll under Seikei’s jacket felt as uncomfortable as a burning stick. Even though it wasn’t the sacred object the guards were looking for, they would certainly discover it when they searched him. Someone would recognize it as belonging to the palace library, and Seikei had no way to explain what he was doing with it.

He dropped back farther in the line. Now the two gossiping tradesmen were ahead of him. Clearly they had nothing to fear. The guards’ inspection was merely an annoying delay to them. Each of the men pulled a wooden two-wheeled cart with only a shallow layer of straw in the bottom.

Desperate, Seikei had a sudden inspiration. He reached over the side of one of the carts and worked the scroll out from his sleeve, dropping it out the end. He rapidly brushed some of the straw over it. Feeling the slight movement of Seikei’s hand, the man pulling the cart half turned and gave Seikei a curious look. Seikei removed a single straw and used it to clean his ear. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, the man returned to the conversation with his friend.

Seikei followed a few steps behind, preparing to look innocent when he was inspected by the guards—and conscious that he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He was sweating; he felt weak-kneed and almost stumbled because he was dizzy with apprehension. Instinctively he reached for the reassuring touch of his swords to remind himself to act like a samurai, but of course they were gone.

The tradesmen, as he had hoped, experienced no trouble passing through the gate. They slipped off their kimonos and shook them out, exchanging good-natured banter with the samurai inspecting them. After a glance inside the carts, the guards waved the men through.

Seikei tried to appear just as calm, removing his jacket and the monohiki he wore around his legs. The guards took their time, inspecting the quilted jacket for any hidden pockets. Seikei, shivering as the cold air puckered his skin, suppressed a desire to tell the guards to hurry, as he would have only yesterday when he was dressed in the shogun’s hollyhock cloth. He hoped that the tradesmen would still be in sight by the time he passed this inspection.

At last the guards decided Seikei had nothing to hide. He pulled on the monohiki as quickly as possible, and then ran through the gate, slipping into his jacket. With relief he saw the two tradesmen and their carts at the far end of the street. As he hurried toward them, Seikei’s heart jumped. The man whose cart held the scroll had chosen this moment to stop and smooth out the straw in the back. As Seikei watched in dismay, the man picked up the scroll and showed it to his friend.

9

SETTLING AN ARGUMENT

B
y the time Seikei caught up to the tradesmen, they were arguing. “We should take this straight back to the guards,” the one holding the scroll said. “Otherwise we’ll get into trouble.”

The second one shook his head. “That’s exactly the way you
will
get into trouble,” he said. “First off, they’ll ask how you came into possession of what is clearly not your property.”

“Well, I can answer that I happened to find it in my cart.”

The second one snorted. “Think they’ll believe that? No, very likely you stole it and when you found you couldn’t sell it, you brought it back to collect a reward.”

The first man looked worried. “Well, what do
you
think I should do with it?”

“Best to leave it at a shrine and let the kami dispose of it as they please.”

As Seikei knelt a short distance away, pretending to adjust his sandals, he saw the first man unroll the scroll a little. “Look at that,” he said to the other. “Beautiful calligraphy. Probably it’s
worth
a reward.”

The second man took a brief glance and then turned his head away. “Too fancy for me,” he commented. “You couldn’t even read it.”

“Well, reading it’s not the
point
of calligraphy,” responded his friend. “It’s the beauty that matters.”

Seikei couldn’t endure listening to this any longer. He went over to the carts. “What’s that you’ve got there?” he asked the man with the scroll.

The man halfheartedly attempted to hide it behind his back. “Why do you want to know?” he asked, peering suspiciously at Seikei. Seikei hoped the man wouldn’t remember who had been walking behind him at the castle.

But he did. “Say,” he said with a crafty look, “didn’t I see you earlier?”

“Just before you slipped through the gate with that scroll hidden in your wagon?” said Seikei. “You fellows were pretty clever to get away with it, I’d say.”

The second man took a step backward. “Don’t include
me
in this,” he said. “I never saw this man until today.”

The man with the scroll looked hurt. “Yoshi,” he said to the other man, “haven’t we sold our goods together at the palace every week for seven years . . . maybe eight?”

“Oh, was that you? I never noticed.”

“You know,” Seikei said, “I have a feeling that scroll is just what the guards at the palace were looking for.”

It now appeared as if the man with the scroll felt as if he’d put his hand into his cart and pulled out a snake.

“In fact,” Seikei went on, “I would think they’d pay a reward for it.”

The pain on the man’s face suddenly turned into a smile. “That’s just what I was saying . . . to this strange fellow Yoshi who never saw me before today.”

“I still think you’re inviting trouble,” muttered Yoshi.

“I tell you what,” said Seikei, trying his best to look honest and stupid at the same time. “Why don’t you let me take the scroll back to the guards and see if they will pay a reward for it? That way, if there’s any suspicion, it won’t fall on you.”

“How will you account for having the scroll?” Yoshi asked.

“I’ll just say I found it in the street,” responded Seikei. “They have to believe that, because they searched me to the skin when I left.”

“How about that?” the man with the scroll asked his friend Yoshi.

“What do we get out of this?” Yoshi asked Seikei.

“We?”
said the first man. “I thought you never—”

“You can wait here,” Seikei said quickly. “Where it’s
safe,
” he stressed. “Then I’ll come back with the reward and we’ll split it three ways.”

“I don’t know if you should get a full equal share,” said Yoshi. “After all, ’twas us who found the scroll.”

“Us?”
said the man holding the scroll.

“Well,” said Seikei smoothly, reaching his hand out in as reassuring a way as he could, “you can just give me whatever you think is fair.”

“Right,” the first man said, and he plopped the scroll into Seikei’s outstretched hand. In truth, he seemed glad to be rid of it.

The second man still wanted to negotiate the precise division of the reward, but now that Seikei actually had the scroll, he didn’t hesitate. “Whatever you think is fair,” Seikei repeated, and he headed off toward the palace gate.

There was a growing crowd in that part of the street, for the people trying to get inside were slowed by the line waiting to get out. Seikei had no trouble disappearing from sight, and then slipping out the other side of the throng. The street then curved around to the other side of the palace. It was not so heavily traveled here because it was narrower and more difficult for carts to pass through. Probably the two tradesmen had never taken that route and had forgotten it was here.

Seikei felt relieved when he reached the next intersection and turned right. There were no shouts behind him. He was a little ashamed of himself, and wondered how long the two men would wait for him to return. He told himself that at least they would lose nothing—except maybe their friendship. Seikei had only stolen from them what was rightfully . . . well, what he had
earlier
stolen from the palace. So who had a better right to it?

Now he had to find someplace to stop and try to read the scroll. Sooner or later someone would discover it was missing. Seikei remembered that the library had seemed deserted, but what if it were really true that Yabuta could place an eye there? He would have seen Seikei take it, and even now might have sent guards to pursue him.

Seikei glanced over his shoulder. All he saw was a geisha out for a walk, dressed in a fine kimono and twirling a paper umbrella to protect her skin from the sun. He looked more closely, thinking it might actually be Bunzo, the judge’s faithful samurai. Once, Bunzo had worn a disguise to follow Seikei along the Tokaido Road to ensure he would not get into trouble.

Seikei banished the thought from his mind. He was in plenty of trouble now and it was unworthy to expect Bunzo to get him out of it. Seikei had to do the job himself.

He turned another corner and came to a quiet street with a few small pottery shops and a Shinto shrine. This would be as good a spot as any to examine the scroll.

Walking through the
torii
gate that marked the entrance to the shrine, Seikei clapped his hands. This was intended to draw the attention of the kami who resided there. Sometimes the noise attracted a Shinto priest, who would appear to receive a donation.

This time, none did. Seikei had the feeling that he was alone here, except of course for the spirit who occupied the
honden.
This was a small wooden building that usually surrounded some natural object—a rock, a tree, or a place that had been identified as one of the sacred spots where Heaven and Earth met.

No one other than the priests was allowed inside the honden. When ordinary people assembled here for religious festivals, they gathered in the gravel courtyard outside. Here it was that Seikei sat, folded his legs, and carefully began to unroll the scroll. Despite the emperor’s taunting, Seikei was eager to find the secret it contained.

10

THE INVINCIBLE KUSANAGI

T
he language of the scroll was more difficult than Seikei had expected. He remembered one of the two ministers telling him that he could not read it. The problem wasn’t just the elaborate calligraphy. Seikei was an admirer of the artistic styles of writing, and he could usually determine what any of them meant.

But this was apparently a very old form of language. Seikei had heard that members of the priesthood and certain palace officials had to be trained to read ancient literature.

He had no time for that. He concentrated on the symbols, trying to make sense of them. He said a prayer to the kami that inhabited the shrine. After a time, the pattern became clearer. It was as if a mist in the forest suddenly lifted and Seikei found himself in a beautiful world that was somehow different from any other place he had ever seen. . . .