Yamada Monogatari: To Break the Demon Gate (15 page)

“Efficacy in what?”

“Exorcism,” Kenji said, as he finally stood back up and brushed off the dirt. “A rite of exorcism has been performed here.”

“Seita?” It was a foolish question, but I had to ask it, and Kenji confirmed my fears.

“Almost certainly, Lord Yamada. Seita has been banished from this world.”

I felt cold. “But why? He wasn’t harming anyone.”

Kenji shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know that, whoever it was, must have wanted it done a great deal. The supplies used were precious and whoever performed the rite was a master. Neither would have come cheaply.”

“Which could also mean whoever was involved had no need to worry about the expense,” I said. “Yet I’ve seen you do exorcisms before, Kenji-san. You used only the proper sutras and prayer. There was no burning of incense.”

Kenji sighed and rubbed the stubble on his head. “Because both the correct prayer and the correct sutra are easily obtained at the cost of a little time for study, which is usually all I have to spend. My methods are not the only ones.”

“It would seem so.”

So much for my hopes for some sign of a coming dawn; with Seita gone, I was pretty much back where I began.

“You don’t suppose Seita’s exorcism is simply a coincidence?”

“I concede the possibility,” I said grudgingly. “But only just. Who knew about Seita? I mean, specifically my connection to him?”

“If you’re looking for culprits, you’d best start with me,” Kenji said. “I knew. And more, I have the skills required to do the deed.”

I almost laughed. “And if you’d been paid to do so with the wasteful methods indicated, you’d have used your own methods and kept the difference.”

“My clients are fools sometimes,” Kenji said. “I try not to be.” It was as close to an admission as he was going to make, but I didn’t need confirmation.

“So that leaves Kanemore,” I said, though it did cause me some discomfort to put the thought into words. “At least, of the ones I know for certain. It’s possible there are others, if someone really wanted to find out.”

“Kanemore certainly has the means, if not the skills,” Kenji said thoughtfully. “You don’t seriously suspect the prince had the rite performed? Would he do such a thing?”

That was the question I knew I needed to ask, but unlike so many others lately it was one I could answer. “Prince Kanemore serves a purpose higher than his own interests,” I said, “and if banishing Seita or killing you, or me, or a hundred better served that purpose, he’d do it with perhaps regret but absolutely no hesitation. Yet I can’t imagine what reason he might have. Especially now, if it’s true that Seita had information that might protect Takahito. I simply do not see cause.”

Kenji shrugged. “Nor I. There must be some other explanation.”

I hoped Kenji was right and there was, indeed, some other explanation. There had to be.

Our walk back into the city was far more sober than the trip down through Rashamon. As usual the streets were deserted, or nearly so. All decent people were at home. Which left me, Kenji, and whatever other lowly reprobates, thieves, demons, and ghosts might be about. Yet, not quite completely buried in the gloom and uncertainty, a thought occurred to me.

“Kenji, where are you going now?”

He shrugged. “To the hostel. There are signs of rain, and I’d rather not get caught out in a storm later tonight.”

True enough. There was an ominous cast to the northern sky, but I read nothing supernatural in that. It just looked like rain. As the breeze freshened, it even felt a bit like rain.

“Let me go with you, at least so far as the streets near where we walked last night.”

“Glad of the company,” Kenji said, “or do you have another reason in mind?”

“Say rather I’m curious about something. Another trip to the area south of the Demon Gate might satisfy that curiosity.”

“You’re being mysterious,” Kenji said. “I hate that.”

“The object of my curiosity isn’t clear enough in my own mind to be much more than that. Not a suspicion, or anything easily explained. Likely not even relevant. When I know more, I’ll be glad to share that poor knowledge with you.”

“As you will.”

As we walked, we saw nothing more or less than we expected to see. It had been something of an exaggeration to say that
no
decent folk were about. Say rather there were many, none of whom wanted their faces to be seen. Lovers walked by, their faces veiled but their intentions clear, hurrying off to their chosen trysting places; now and then a servant nervously made his or her way through the darkened streets with only a small lantern for light, sent on business that could not wait until morning; and, here and there, were ghost-lights and moving shadows with eyes. As we drew closer to the scene of the previous night’s events, I waited for something, anything, to change.

Nothing did.

We reached the hostel. Kenji acknowledged the monk on duty but did not enter. “Well?”

“Walk a little further with me, and perhaps the matter will be clearer to both of us.”

We kept heading north, closer and closer to the demon gate. We were nearly there before Kenji finally let out a gasp. “The ghosts! They’re still here!”

We stopped. “Yes.”

Kenji frowned. “But we saw then absorbed into the darkness! Did it miss these?”

We both paused to watch a ghost in the form of a walking stick hop by, and I was somewhat startled to see a pair of lanterns just beyond the city gate, but neither was Seita.

“We both saw the nature of that cloud. How could it have missed anything? How could these have escaped? I’m guessing they didn’t escape at all. They were absorbed, but not permanently.”

I called after the walking-stick ghost, but of course it ignored me, as did the second and third spirit I tried to contact. It was the reason sources of information like Seita were so highly prized in the profession of nobleman’s proxy: ghosts made the best spies and informants of all. No human could match them for either stealth or access. Yet most ghosts were so involved in their own interests and concerns they simply ignored humans, unless that human happened to be one they bore some grudge against.

It was nearly impossible to get a ghost to speak to you that did not wish to do so. Just as it was also nearly impossible to shut one up if it did. I had been very fortunate to find Seita, who had retained most of his worldly desires and simply wanted a bit of rice now and then, otherwise to be left alone with the memory of his former life. Now it seemed our luck in this regard was at its end, for both of us.

“The ghosts know what happened,” Kenji said. “They may even know what that thing is.”

“Possible,” I conceded. “But getting any of them to answer our questions will be very difficult. Since by your own admission this is out of your realm, it may require a specialist.”

“You know my opinion of that,” Kenji said.

I did. While Kenji might be one of the worst excuses for a priest who ever lived, he was still primarily a
Buddhist
worst excuse for a priest who ever lived. The idea of Yin-Yang or Daoist magic made him very uncomfortable. Even those dedicated to the ancient Way of the Gods did not always get full respect from Kenji.

“Do you have an alternative?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I do not. But I’ll have no part in it. Do as you think you must, Lord Yamada. You can be certain that at least I will not interfere. But if you find yourself changed into something grotesque or worse, do not look to me to set matters right.”

I smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t think of it. Goodnight, Kenji-san.”

Kenji went to the hostelry, and I turned south toward Gion; while the ghosts were most active now, there was nothing more I could do that evening, nor much chance I could do more in the morning if I did not get some sleep. Despite my weariness I took the long way home, past the compound of Lady Snow. There were no lights within, and the gate sealed from the outside.

“Lady Snow has, indeed, taken her leave of the city. At least she told the truth about that.”

It wasn’t much to be cheered by, and yet I was a little. So much had gone wrong that day I was grateful for even the slightest bit that bothered to go exactly as I expected.

The next morning there were warrior-monks from Enryaku-ji on the streets of the capital. Armed, but in no large numbers; no real force. They appeared in groups of two, three at most. I saw them walking on Shijo-dori and Sanjo-dori, and then again on Karasuma-dori. They did not accost or otherwise pay any heed to the throngs of people moving about the street and so passed through the crowds leaving no disturbance or, indeed, little to remark on in their wake. Yet they did leave small eddies of people who whispered to each other in very low tones and shot many furtive glances in the monks’ direction.

The monks did not belong there. We knew it, and they knew it; and yet here they were, walking with the unhurried pace of people with no particular destination in mind and all the time in eternity. Still, I had no doubt they could move quickly enough if the need arose. Yet who would determine that need?

Curious.

I found Master Chang Yu seated at his worktable in his small shop off Karasuma. Unlike some Daoist practitioners he really was, as his name implied, Chinese. He was a short and round little old fellow with a drooping gray mustache and a none-too-clean yellow robe. The image he displayed was no more or less than the truth, but one did not have to scratch his genial surface too hard to find dross.

He was, in most regards, a charming charlatan.

The way of things dictated he would always remain a foreigner in his adopted country, but he had built that very strangeness, that “otherness” into a fairly lucrative concern. I had to admire his ability to turn a disadvantage to his favor; it was no surprise his reputation was greater than his reality, nor when it came to the true measure of his abilities that there was a great deal of chaff mixed with the rice. Still, what he could do, he could do, and for the proper consideration he would attempt nearly anything. Profit made him reckless. Frankly, I was surprised he’d lived as long as he had.

“Lord Yamada. How can this humble one serve you this morning? I have a wonderful cure for the excesses of rice wine.”

“The only cure for rice wine is more of the same. That’s not why I am here, Chang-san. I need to conjure a ghost.”

“You always have such strange requirements, when the right herb cures most ills. I think you should try some.”

“I think I must find someone else.” I said and made as if to leave.

He scowled. “I should let you go, you know,” he said. “I think it would be wisest.”

“Since when have you done what is wise?”

“True, and this hardly seems the time to start.” The old man sighed. “Can you pay? Forgive my asking but, well, just forgive me.”

“Yes. But no more than four bags of uncooked rice.”

He shrugged. “So long as it is a small ghost.”

“What about if the ghost has been exorcised?”

Chang Yu laughed. “There isn’t that much rice in China. Besides, summoning a ghost from hell upsets balance and order. In order to remain true to the Way, I must avoid such things.”

I sighed. “I’ll settle for a small ghost then. But it has to be one that normally haunts the area just south of the Demon Gate.”

He frowned. “Any one?”

“Anyone who can speak.”

He tugged at his scraggly beard. “Most spirits can converse with the living, after a fashion, if properly motivated. For an extra bag of rice, I’ll undertake that as well.”

I wasn’t in a mood to argue. Kanemore’s means were vast but not inexhaustible, and I had already spent more than I wished. Still, I needed this answer very badly, and unless I had been mistaken in Kanemore all this time, so did he.

“Agreed.”

“Two bags now, but I’ll need time to prepare. Return as evening falls with the balance, and we’ll see what can be done.”

I gave Chang Yu the payment and went looking for Kenji. While he of course would have nothing to do with Chang Yu and his Chinese magic, now there were other matters to discuss. I found him near the Demon Gate as usual, but he was neither hawking talismans nor begging alms. Instead he merely sat in a shady spot with his back to the wall near the gate, looking. He nodded to me as I approached.

“Sit, Lord Yamada. I think I know why you have come.”

“The monks of Enryaku-ji,” I said. “I assume you have seen them?”

“Oh, yes. I have indeed,” he said, but that was all.

“And?”

He took a long breath and let it out slowly. “The city is not their rightful place. They should not be here.”

“You’ll find no argument from me on that score,” I said dryly. “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know. But it echoes a very troubling precedent.”

“You mean this has happened before?”

“Not exactly. Yet I believe there are parallels . . . do you remember the Emperor, Kammu Tennou?”

“Since he died over two hundred years before I was born, no,” I said, and Kenji sighed gustily.

“Even you spent some little time in the Great School, so you know very well what I mean. Do you remember the stories of his reign?”

“A very active Emperor, if I remember my lessons. He made war against the Ezo—the barbarians—in the north and expanded the Imperial domains,” I said, considering. “And he moved the capital, which was then in Nara, to its present location.”

“Very good,” Kenji said. “Now, do you recall
why
he moved the capital?”

“Oh.” Now I thought I could see where Kenji’s rather meandering path was leading. “To escape the power of the temples. Now, if only the Fujiwara were as easy to elude.”

“Be that as it may,” Kenji said, “the point remains that, like Emperors before and after, Kammu sought means of consolidating his power without undue interference. The temples at Nara had grown wealthy and influential under Kammu’s reign, so much so he realized his only method to escape them was simply to move and leave them behind, cutting them off from their base of power which was, ironically enough, the proximity of the Emperor Kammu himself.”

“So why was one of his earliest official acts to endow Enryaku Temple?”