Gloria Oliver (27 page)

“You’ll be coming with us.”

“But, sirs, the permit is mine,” he insisted. “It was entrusted to me with a mission, one I must finish!”

The grip on his shoulder grew painful. “Next you’ll be telling me Lord Asano himself gave you this writ, almost nine years ago.”

Both men laughed and forcibly led him down the street.

He kept silent, giving them no trouble. There was no way out for him. They’d cut him down if he tried to resist. He had to find a way to make them believe him.

Not far from the center of town, the samurai steered him toward a large wooden building standing on a rock foundation. They took him inside through a side door and dragged him downstairs. Cells covered one wall, all of them having strong, thick gates. As they led him toward them, Toshi felt a swell of panic rush inside him.

“Please, sirs, I’m not lying to you,” he pleaded. “That permit was given to me by my lord. I was to be his messenger to Lord Asano. I have to get to Narashi to see him! You must believe me.”

The taller samurai held him still as the other liberated him of his possessions.

“And just who might your lord be, boy?” Holding him by the scruff of the neck, the sneering samurai threw him into the nearest open cell. He hit the floor hard.

“I don’t think this peasant works for any lord, unless he means the lord of lies.”

Both men laughed as they locked the gate to the cell.

Toshi climbed to his feet, infused by a burst of anger. “I do serve a lord! His name is Asaka Ietsugu. He gave me that writ and sent me on a mission for Lord Asano. If you don’t release me immediately, you’ll have to answer to them.”

Both men stared at him, all trace of their previous amusement gone. The taller of the two reached threateningly for his sword.

“You’d better watch your mouth, thief. As it is, your fate will be quite unpleasant upon the magistrate’s return tomorrow. If you persist, though, we’ll be happy to give you a taste of what you might expect.”

Toshi stood defiant, his anger growing with his frustration. They didn’t believe him, and he could prove nothing. He had already given away too much.

“Why won’t you even try to believe me? You could at least tell me that.”

The tall samurai sneered at him and began ruffling through the contents of his basket.

“It’s obvious why, thief. Messengers for great lords don’t go around passing themselves off as peasants.

They also don’t go into town in disguise and buy things with coins large enough to rent an entire legion of ronin. You say this writ is from your lord, yet you carry no papers of your own. Need I go on, thief?”

He cringed from the man’s sarcastic tone, realizing he had no way to repudiate his logic. His stupidity was going to get him killed.

“Well, well, look at all this.”

His gaze snapped to the basket as the tall samurai emptied its contents. A bolt of dread tore through him as the man brought out the kettle he’d gone so far to get. The samurai barely paid it any attention before setting it on the ground.

“A boken. Isn’t that interesting, little thief? Is this what you attack your victims with? Do you hit them from behind?”

“I never attacked anyone!” He glared at the man, but the samurai ignored him.

The shorter samurai took the boken as the other continued digging things out. “It looks to have been heavily used.”

“Hm, perhaps he belongs to a group,” the other speculated. “He may have to be tortured so he’ll give us the location of his accomplices.”

Toshi felt fear tingling up his spine. He tried not to let it show, but had a hard time of it.

“I tell you, there’s no one else. There is no gang. There are no victims! No robbery.”

“Save your breath, thief. Everything will come to light in its own time. You can tell all your lies to the magistrate tomorrow.”

“But I am innocent!” He rushed to the cell’s gate, only to jump back as the shorter of the two men slapped it with his sheathed sword.

“Keep quiet! You’re starting to make me regret the fact we didn’t just cut you down in the street and have done with it.”

He took a step back, horrified by the man’s sobering tone.

“Lord Asano will thank the magistrate once we’re through with you and have captured those you work with. For your sake, you’d better hope whatever message you intercepted wasn’t one of a grave nature.

Otherwise, your death could take a very, very long time.”

He was about to protest, but a hard look from the taller samurai made him think better of it.

After they’d inspected everything, they repacked it back into the basket. They left without a word, though the taller of the two turned back long enough to spit in his direction.

Toshi shook where he stood, fear and despair overflowing inside him now that he was alone. He had failed. All his trials had been for nothing. In one day, he had destroyed all his lord had worked toward all these years.

He was doomed and he knew it. The magistrate wouldn’t believe him any more than his men had. All there was to look forward to were pain-filled days of torture and, eventually, a dishonorable death. He would pay the ultimate price for having craved a few hours of comfort. He’d been such a fool.

He fell to his knees. Even in his worst nightmares, he had never imagined it might end like this.

The day crawled by. No one came to disturb Toshi’s solitude as he sat in the cell’s semi-darkness.

His stomach grumbled as the day came to an end, but no food was ever brought to him. Rain started to fall, small trickles of it coming through the partial stone wall to pool on the dirt floor.

Wiping at his swollen eyes, he was forced to move away from where he’d curled up on the far corner of his cell. As the rain kept on, puddles began to form and spread across the floor.

By the time the rain stopped there were only a few spots on the floor of the cell that remained dry. None of them were large enough for him to sit on. Since he didn’t want to make himself even more miserable than he already was, there was only one other thing he could think of to do. And if he was lucky, it might even let him forget his problems for a little while.

Stepping out into the middle of the cell and placing his feet in a partially dry area, he took a deep breath as he positioned himself into his beginning stance. Sighing as he brought up an empty hand, he found he missed the weight of his wooden blade. He couldn’t see his movements in the darkness, but he could feel them. It amazed him how well he could tell he was doing by just the feel of the movement.

He closed his eyes and pretended he was back on the glowing ship, moving under Mitsuo’s critical eye.

He latched onto one of Miko’s favorite tunes and had it play over and over in his head.

He speeded up his movements as he found his thoughts straying to his lord and his companions. He had to find a way to get out of here. He’d already tested the gate, the stone and the wooden walls. Nothing had given way.

What if he killed himself? He could try and come back, as Asaka had done and perhaps be able to escape this place. Then, he would go find the others and explain what had happened, tell them where the kettle was. But he had no guarantee he could kill himself, let alone come back.

He swiveled on his foot and almost fell as it slipped sideways in a patch of mud. Breathing heavily, he reached down to clean his sandal, cursing at the slippery ground. He was about to resume his practice when a thought brought him up short.

Dropping down on hands and knees, he felt around for one of the small rivulets of water and followed it to the gate. He pushed one finger into the dirt floor and felt it give. With a hopeful heart, he took what water was left in the rivulet and spread it around the immediate area of the gate. He took off one of his sandals and, gripping it tightly, used it to dig at the moist floor.

Scooping up water from other areas of the cell, he softened the packed dirt beneath the gate as much as he could. He focused on the need to be out of there before the sun rose.

Sweat covered his body as he continued working at the wet floor with his sandal, scraping as fast as he could. He had to hurry—he’d missed a good part of the day. Asaka and the others had probably gone past by now. He had to catch up. He wasn’t sure how they had been finding him every evening, but he doubted they’d ever think he might have come here. He had to get free.

As he ran out of water, the dirt became more and more stubborn. His sandal fell apart. He took off his other one. Searching blindly in the dark, making sure he’d found every drop of water, he then started digging again.

He felt around in his hole, wondering if it was yet big enough to let him squeeze beneath the cell’s gate.

He couldn’t push away the feeling he was running out of time. Figuring it was probably close enough, he decided to try it. He lay down on his back and squirmed into the hole.

His shoulders and head squeezed through, though he gained a number of scratches doing it. He pulled out one arm at a time and then with both of them pushed against the floor as he tried to get his chest to come on through. With a foolish grin marking his face, he sat up as his hips came even with the gate. In another moment, he was able to pull the rest of his body out of the cell. He was out!

Now all he had to do was find the kettle. Except he had no idea where it was being kept.

Following the dark hallway back the way he’d been initially brought, he searched for the way out of the building. No sound reached his ears, this side of the building seemingly deserted. Crawling the last few feet to the door, he set his ear against it, trying to figure out a way to find out if there was a guard posted on the other side. None had been there when he’d been brought in, but that didn’t mean anything. It was too dark, and he had no source of light to risk fumbling around the building trying to find another way out.

His only hope was to go through this door. Taking a deep breath, he fumbled for the latch, inched the door open a crack and took a peek outside. The steps rose before him, with no one in sight. He opened the door wider.

Still not seeing or hearing anything untoward, he slipped to the outside, closing the door behind him. He crouched, went up a couple of the steps and looked beyond the sloping stone wall on either side. The street looked deserted in both directions.

He hesitated, not sure what he should do now. He had no money, no writ and no kettle. He had no idea if this town kept patrols at night. He didn’t even know where Asaka and the others were. What was he to do?

He stared up and down the street in indecision. A partial moon shone from a clear sky. What was most important? Getting the kettle back. If he didn’t, there was no way he’d be able to face Asaka again. Not that he had much chance of finding him, even if he wanted to.

The guards had taken the kettle with them, of that he was sure. But where? He closed his eyes, trying to remember which way the two samurai had gone. He thought they’d gone back this way. If so, then it could be the upper floors of the building couldn’t be reached from the cell area or that confiscated materials were kept somewhere else.

If he went around the building, he could look for other ways in and also search for other likely places they might have taken the kettle at the same time. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was more than he’d been able to come up with so far. His course set, he climbed the last two steps and walked out into the street. Keeping low, he followed the rock wall, staying alert for any sign of guards.

Peeking around the southeast corner of the building, he quickly ducked back as he spotted two men standing before a large set of doors. Realizing there was no way he’d get in that way, he headed back the way he’d come and went the other direction.

On the northeast side of the building, a wooden fence extended out more than ten lengths of his arm from the wall. Following the fence, since it was too high for him to attempt to climb over, he reached the end and looked around that corner. He inhaled sharply as he spotted a guard coming his way.

Having little time to lose, he shot across the wide-open street on his side and ducked behind a large empty sake barrel in the alley between two eateries. He peeked around it, waiting for the guard to appear, but he never did. Thinking that perhaps his rounds didn’t come all the way to this side of the building, he came out from behind the barrel and rushed back across the street.

Carefully taking a peek once more around the corner, he saw no one. Encouraged by this, he crouched low and headed that direction. A third of the way down, he slowed as he spotted a break in the wooden wall. Slowing even further, he snuck up to it and took a look. Several of the boards had been torn away, revealing a darkened garden. Had the guard gone this way? He saw no sign of him on the other side.

Yet, if he’d seen this, he would have raised an alarm. Who had done it?

It didn’t matter—it was a way in. And if the guard was even now reporting it to his superiors, it meant Toshi had little time to do what he needed before the way would be blocked. Not sure of what he was getting into, he prepared to go through. As he put his foot into the hole, a hand landed on his shoulder.

He froze, sure the guard had found him after all. His death was but moments away. He grimaced, waiting for the end.

Nothing happened.

Confused by the fact he was still living, he gathered his courage and glanced behind him.

“Toshi-chan, go on through. Asaka-sama would like to have this over with as soon as possible.”

“Miko-san?” He stared in disbelief to his left at the familiar voice. Soft laughter poured toward him as two points of blue light bobbed before him.

He swallowed hard as he realized who had to be standing behind him. Turning around, he prostrated himself on the ground. He felt cold all over; and, though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he forced himself to speak.

“Asaka-sama, I’ve lost the kettle. It was taken from me when I was brought here. I believe it is somewhere in this building. If—if it can’t be found, I swear to do everything in my power to retrieve it. I have no excuse; I did wrong. If you must punish me now, please bring me back so I may hunt it down for you. I—”