Heart of the Ronin (39 page)

He felt his way through the pitch-blackness toward the back of the room, listening to the new guard’s footsteps drawing nearer in the hallway.

The guard at the stairway called out, “Kuniaki, is that you?” His voice grew louder as if he was approaching.

The second guard answered, “Yes.”

“Did you hear something?”

“A door.”

“I thought that sound was you.”

The two guards met in the hallway a few paces away from the room where Yasutoki was hiding. They paused for a moment, and Yasutoki could imagine them looking at each other. One of them called out, “Is someone there?”

Yasutoki positioned himself behind a stack of bags of grain and tried to meld with the darkness. The light from the second guard’s lantern filtered faintly through the rice-paper door into the storage room.

The door to the storage room slid open, flooding the room with light, sharpening the shadows cast by the stored foodstuffs. Yasutoki prepared to strike if necessary, easing a shuriken into his right hand.

“Is someone here?” said the second guard. The shadows on the walls shifted as the lantern moved into the room.

“Bah! Must have been a rat.”

“Do rats open doors?”

The first guard laughed. “I’ve seen some around here big enough to open a door!”

The second guard harrumphed. The lantern moved out into the hallway, and the door slid shut.

The first guard said, “Well, then, good night.”

The second guard grumbled something, and the other man laughed as he walked away.

Yasutoki heard the new guard assuming his post, and the first guard’s footsteps receding as he returned to his barracks. With the patience of a serpent, Yasutoki waited in the darkness. If he emerged from the storeroom in the early morning, dressed as he was, it would be difficult to explain. He silently chastised himself; he should have anticipated this possibility.

An hour passed, and he slipped out of the storeroom into the hallway, just out of sight of the stairway guard. The guard’s breaths were even and slow, but he was fidgeting. Yasutoki hazarded a glance. This guard was leaning against the wall, much like the first, but he shifted back and forth, fighting against the dragging pull of sleep. Another hour passed. Yasutoki could not discern whether the guard was asleep or awake.

Finally, after another hour, the guard’s movement stopped, and Yasutoki seized the opportunity. He slid around the corner and across the corridor, so that he moved with his back against the wall with the opening to the stairway. All he had to do was slither against the wall and around the corner into the stairway, and his work was done. If the guard awoke and saw him, he would have to kill him swiftly and try to deal with the aftermath as best he could. The guard stirred and Yasutoki froze, trying to become the very essence of silent shadow, willing the guard to remain asleep and unaware.

The guard remained in his doze. Time froze as Yasutoki crept away slowly, a finger’s breadth at a time. He did not breathe. Every step was an eternity of precise, painstaking movement. Finally, he was in the stairway, stealing up the steps.

Only when he reached his room again did he suck in a huge, gasping breath. How long had it been since he had last breathed? His legs buckled under him and he sank to the floor, shaking, quivering. The strain of his success was almost more than he could bear. His belly was a sick, swirling pit, and his whole body trembled. He had led the sedentary life of a courtier for far too long. Much of the physical strength and endurance of his youth was gone now, blunted like a blade that had not been used in decades.

He sat in the darkness for a long time. Finally his breathing slowed, his limbs ceased trembling, and he was able to reflect on the information he had gained, and on his reactions to the events of this night. He was getting too old for this kind of skulking around. Better to let younger men do that kind of work for him. Before he realized it, the castle was waking up around him, and the gray light of dawn peeked through the crack between the shutters.

Twelve

“Even when the body is at rest, do not relax your concentration. When you move rapidly, keep a calm, ‘cool’ head. Do not let the mind be dragged along by the body or the body be dragged along by the mind.”

—
Miyamoto Musashi

For several days, Ken’ishi and Akao combed the woods and surrounding countryside looking for any sign of Tetta or his corpse. He no longer believed the innkeeper was alive, but no one ever found a body. Eventually, after four weeks of fruitless searching, Tetta’s family gave up the search and declared him dead. His son, Gonta, assumed control of the inn. He also assumed control of Kiosé. But Gonta was not a bad sort, simply inexperienced and overly serious at times. Ken’ishi watched that he did not mistreat Kiosé, and left it at that. Nevertheless, she continued to cook for Ken’ishi and to clean his house occasionally.

One evening, Kiosé was preparing supper for him, and as he waited, he practiced his writing. She said, “I heard something strange today.”

He finished the character he was writing, put down his brush, and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Yoko was carrying part of her husband’s catch back to their house two nights ago, and she said she saw someone acting strangely. She said there was a person sneaking around your house, like they were trying to slip inside. She tried to see who it was, but the person noticed her and disappeared into the shadows.”

“Did she say anything else? Was it a man?”

“She thought it was a man.”

“Perhaps I should go speak to her tomorrow. Have you heard anything else strange lately? Since Tetta disappeared.” Her status was so low in the village and her demeanor so quiet and unassuming that many people did not even notice her presence. She might have heard things she was not meant to hear.

She thought for a moment. “Well, I have heard many things, all kinds of things. . . .”

“Anything about strangers in the village?”

She thought some more. “Well, I did hear a young girl say she had seen a shadow man in the forest. His clothing made him look like the forest. He frightened her, then disappeared in the trees.”

“A shadow man?”

“That’s what she called him. I don’t know any more about that. Her name is Aya. She is Gorobei the carpenter’s niece.”

“Perhaps I should speak to her, too,” he mused. Where to begin? There are forces at work here yet to be revealed. More bad fortune was coming, and he feared it could not be stopped. But he would still try.

* * *

The following morning, he went to Norikage’s office and told him what Kiosé had said.

Norikage rubbed his chin. “More complications. One might think this ‘shadow man’ could be the same one seen snooping around your house. We must find out if anyone else has seen anything unusual, however, before we can draw any conclusions.”

Ken’ishi agreed, and the two of them spent the rest of the day asking people if they had seen anyone strange in the village or in the forested mountains around it. This village received few visitors. He and Norikage spoke to Aya, a girl of about eleven, and the fisherman’s wife, Yoko.

Aya said that she had seen the man moving through the forest one evening near sunset. She sometimes played in the forest, even though her mother had forbidden it. She saw the man moving from tree to tree. He was wearing strange clothes, she said, clothes that made him look like a bush. When he saw her, he was surprised and jumped between two bushes. She lost sight of him then, and she ran home after that, afraid. She had not told her mother, because she would be angry with her for playing in the forest. Norikage thanked the girl for her help and then gently chastised her for disobeying her mother.

Yoko told them the strange man she had seen was dressed in dark clothes, wearing a large hat like a monk. She saw him in the narrow alley between Ken’ishi’s house and the neighboring house. She stopped to look at him, but he saw her, then moved around a corner, out of sight, and disappeared.

The rest of their questioning around the village yielded nothing. No one else had seen any strangers.

Norikage and Ken’ishi sat in Norikage’s office that night, sharing a bottle of sake.

Norikage said, “So we can conclude that there is likely some stranger snooping around the village.”

“Someone who may have killed Tetta.”

“That is possible. But what does he want? Tetta is gone, but perhaps this stranger is still here. He sounds like a man looking for something. Or someone. Difficult to guess, isn’t it?”

Ken’ishi took another drink. “Could this man be connected to Chiba and his brothers? Perhaps they hired an assassin to kill me.”

“If there is a connection, it is still hidden.” Norikage’s brow creased. “My instincts tell me that this stranger has nothing to do with that lot. Besides, hiring an assassin requires money, and they have none of that. You have some strong instincts, Ken’ishi. What are they telling you?”

Ken’ishi thought about it for a moment. “They’re telling me you’re right. That disappoints me.”

Norikage smiled wryly. “Yes, I know. You are merely waiting for an excuse to pounce upon Chiba and his brothers. You should not let that cloud your judgment. Something else is at work here, I think.”

Ken’ishi had to admit that Norikage was correct. He had been looking for a reason to confront Chiba.

Footsteps approaching outside. His hand fell to his sword resting on the floor beside him. A woman’s heavy breathing sounded like Kiosé. “Sirs, may I come in?”

“Yes, come in,” Norikage said.

Kiosé came inside, shut the door behind her, and bowed hurriedly. She was breathless with excitement, and the words tumbled out of her in a rush. “Sirs, I rushed over here to tell you. There is a strange man staying in the inn! He looks like a monk, but he has a basket hat, and I saw some strange clothing under his robes.”

Ken’ishi and Norikage’s eyes locked.

“Strange clothing?” Norikage said.

“Yes, green clothing that looked like Aya said!”

Ken’ishi said, “I think this man needs to talk to us.”

Norikage nodded. “What if he runs?”

“I’ll stop him.”

“What if he fights?”

“I’ll defeat him.”

Norikage’s wry smile gave his face a strange-looking vehemence. “I’m sure you will. Kiosé, where is this man?”

“He is eating in the main room.”

“Very well,” Ken’ishi said. “Let us go. Kiosé, stay here where it’s safe.”
 

* * *

Ken’ishi and Norikage walked into the inn’s main room. Norikage walked two paces behind the constable. He wanted to stay out of harm’s way and allow Ken’ishi room to act, if necessary. Perhaps it was all a misunderstanding. Perhaps the man really was a monk. But somehow, Norikage did not think so.

Gonta bowed as they came in. He looked so much like his father, tall and thin, but with a larger portion of hair on his bulbous head and fewer merry wrinkles around his eyes. “Ah, what a pleasant surprise! Please come and sit down. I will prepare a fresh jar of sake.”

Norikage said, “Thank you, Gonta.”

They followed him into the empty main room. There were dishes and an empty teacup still on one of the tables.

“Ken’ishi, please wait here a moment,” Norikage said. “Gonta, I would like to see your kitchen for a moment.”

Gonta blinked in puzzlement, then nodded. Ken’ishi waited in the center of the room. Norikage followed Gonta into the kitchen, and behind the closed door, spoke with a low voice. “There is a man staying here? A monk?”

Gonta looked surprised. “Well, yes, there is. Why do you ask?”

“What do you know about him?”

“Nothing. He came in tonight, asked for a room, and ate his supper. He must have gone to his room now.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No, he seems like a quiet type of man.”

“Which room is his?”

“Down the hall, second on the right.”

“Does he have any weapons?”

“Weapons!” Gonta’s eyes bulged.

“Lower your voice!” Norikage hissed.

“Forgive me! Is this man a criminal?”

“We do not know, but we plan to speak to him.”

Gonta’s eyes remained wide with fear.

“Do not fear, Gonta. If he is a criminal, Ken’ishi will protect us.”

This seemed to ease Gonta a bit, and he nodded.

“Wait here until we have spoken to him.”

Gonta nodded again, and Norikage returned to the main room, where Ken’ishi had not moved. Norikage pointed down the hallway. Ken’ishi nodded and followed him. Norikage imagined him scanning the hallway, gauging distances and calculating advantages. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ken’ishi doing exactly that.

They stopped before the appointed door, glanced at each other, then Norikage raised his voice, “Excuse me, sir.”

The shift of clothing inside and the rustle of papers. After a moment came a man’s voice. “What is it?”

“May we have a word with you?”

“Of course, come in.” His tone was jovial, but Norikage heard something in the man’s voice that indicated he was less than comfortable with talking to them. A brittle hesitation. His previous life in the capital taught him well. He glanced at Ken’ishi and gave him a silent look that told him to be on his guard. Then he slid the door open.

The man sitting on the floor behind the table looked up at them. His head was shaven clean in the manner of a monk, and his age was indeterminate, with a face cut from severe angles and planes. His body was thin and wiry, and since he was sitting, judging his height was difficult. His clothing was simple and plain, like that of an ascetic monk. His walking staff rested on the floor behind him. Norikage noticed a flicker of recognition in his eyes as the man looked at Ken’ishi. Recognition and something else. Appraisal. On the table in front of him were a brush and ink and a sheaf of loose papers. None of the papers contained writing, but the brush was wet.

“Good evening, sir,” Norikage said. “I am sorry for our rudeness in disturbing your rest. My name is Norikage, and this is Ken’ishi. We keep order in this village. We have come to warn you that strange things have been happening in the village lately.”