Heart of the Ronin (40 page)

The man’s face registered no emotion. “Thank you for your concern. Hopefully I will be safe enough inside the inn.”

“If I may ask, how long do you plan to stay?”

“Until tomorrow. I am an itinerant monk passing through on my way to Hakata.”

“Of course. But you may wish to consider that the strange occurrences involve the owner of this inn. He disappeared not long ago, and he has never been found.” Norikage sharpened his attention on the man.

The man said, “That is unfortunate.” His voice sounded puzzled.

“And there have been reports of strangers skulking around the village at night, or in the forest.”

“That is strange,” the man said implacably. “I will be careful. I only wish to have a peaceful night’s rest and continue on my way in the morning.”

Norikage did not know what else to do. “Would you care to share a jar of sake?”

“I must beg your forgiveness. Sake is bad for my stomach.”

“Tea perhaps, then? We would welcome conversation with such a wise, learned man as you.”

“Alas, I must decline. I am too weary from my travels to be pleasant company. I am sorry. Perhaps in the morning.”

Norikage nodded. “Very well. We will leave you to your rest. Forgive our rudeness. Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

Norikage scrutinized him. Was that annoyance on his face? Perhaps relief?

They bowed to one another, and Norikage stepped backward through the door, sliding it closed behind him.

Back in the main room, out of earshot, Ken’ishi said, “He’s lying.”

“Yes,” Norikage said, “he is no more a monk than I am.”

“We must find out what he is up to.”

“Yes, but he gives us no reason to confront him.”

“I have a feeling this night is not over for him. Let us ask a favor of Gonta.”
 

Norikage saw the crafty look in Ken’ishi’s eyes, and nodded.
 

* * *

Norikage tried to keep his breath as shallow as possible while they waited. Ken’ishi elbowed him when he started falling asleep, but he could not help it. Waiting like this in the dark was so . . . tedious. He did not know if the “monk” would do anything out of the ordinary. Ken’ishi sat near him. Norikage could sense his alertness, listening for every smallest sound, sifting the noise of the night creatures from the sounds he sought.

How long they had been waiting, he did not know. The village had long since gone to sleep, and the gibbous moon had gone away, leaving only the porcelain spatter of the stars against the night sky. This was the deep, dark of night. The sound of the crickets and frogs outside lulled Norikage toward sleep, but he had to stay awake.

Then he heard something. The muffled thump of wood on wood. A faint metallic clinking. Again. Rhythmic like the movement of a walking staff, the butt of the staff brushing the floor, the metal rings on the other end brushing each other. Coming closer to their hiding place.

Norikage froze, holding his breath. Ken’ishi touched his arm. It was time. Ken’ishi slid the door of the inn’s storeroom open and stepped into the main room. Norikage uncovered his lamp but hung back. Yellow-orange light spilled across the man carrying his walking staff, wearing his basket hat to conceal his face. The man held up a hand to shield his eyes.

Ken’ishi said, “Where are you going, Sir Monk? Trying to leave without paying your fee?”

What happened next came too fast for Norikage to react. The man threw his hat at Ken’ishi’s face. Ken’ishi drew his sword and slashed the hat in twain with a single fluid motion. The length of the monk’s walking staff parted as if by magic, and became a sword. The long, straight blade licked out at Ken’ishi, who caught the blade on his own, forced it toward the floor. Ken’ishi thrust at the man’s belly. The man still had the rest of the walking staff, the wooden sheath of the hidden sword, in his other hand, and he used this to turn Ken’ishi’s thrust to the side. He planted the butt of the staff against the tatami mats and used it to support him as he lashed a kick high at Ken’ishi’s head. The man’s foot slammed into Ken’ishi’s cheek, and he staggered to the side, wide open to attack.
 

Norikage dashed his lantern at the man’s face. The man flinched and batted it aside, but it gave Ken’ishi the instant he needed to recover from the blow. The lamp clattered on the wooden floor, spattering a pool of oil and fire and brightening the room with its flickering orange glow. The growing fire cast dancing shadows against the walls and ceiling as the two combatants struggled. Ken’ishi faced the man again, sword in the middle guard position, pointing at the man’s throat. The ceiling was too low for a powerful downward stroke. He edged toward the front hallway, blocking that escape. The man squared against him for a moment, sword in one hand with its jangling rings at the end of the long, wooden hilt, and shortened wooden staff in the other hand.

Norikage could only stare as a strange calm passed through Ken’ishi, as quick as a ripple of water settling into a bowl. Norikage glanced at the other man. His angular features were crafty and calculating, like a poisonous snake readying himself to strike. But Ken’ishi acted first. Norikage had never known a man could move with such speed. Ken’ishi’s body and blade moved as one. A clang of steel, then the soft, meaty sound of metal against flesh and bone, and the man fell backward. But Ken’ishi did not stop moving. Even as the man’s body landed hard against the tatami, arms and legs splayed, Ken’ishi leaped forward and landed a hard kick against the underside of man’s wrist, tearing the sword from his grip and sending it bouncing across the room.

Norikage crept closer and saw the wet, dark stain spreading underneath the man’s clothing. Ken’ishi stood over him, looking down at him. The man’s breathing was ragged and wet, and his lips were red with blood.

“Who are you?” Ken’ishi demanded.

The man started to laugh.

“Who are you!”

“The master,” the man gasped, “was right about you!” Then he laughed again.

“What?” Ken’ishi stepped back.

Norikage said, “Did you kill Tetta?”

The man’s laughter trailed off into a death rattle.

For a long moment, the two of them just stared at the dead man. Then Gonta burst into the room. “
Fire!
” he cried.
“Fire!”

Oil from Norikage’s spilled lamp was still burning in the hallway, licking dangerously near the rice-paper door of the closest guest room. But the fight had lasted only moments, and fire had not yet gained purchase in the tatami or the wall. Gonta snatched a blanket from the storeroom and smothered the fire. Before they were left in darkness, Norikage lit another lamp in the smoke-thick air.

With the fire put out, Ken’ishi stood staring down at the dead man. “Did you hear what he said?”

Norikage answered, “Yes, I did.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means someone knows you. Someone is looking for you.”

“Who?”

“The father of your . . . woman perhaps? Or her husband?”

Ken’ishi’s brow furrowed like carven granite. He sheathed his sword.

Norikage knelt and searched through the corpse’s clothes, avoiding the thick, wet stain across the man’s torso. He found a wooden charm box, shook it, and heard something sliding within. Inside he found a folded piece of paper. He took the paper, opened it and held it toward the lamp so that he could read.

He read it to himself, then looked at Ken’ishi, who stood waiting expectantly. “Ken’ishi, someone is indeed looking for you. Someone powerful enough, wealthy enough, to hire a man like this to find you.”

“What does it say?”

“It says, ‘Master, I have found the ronin you seek. He has made himself a constable in Aoka village, along the northeastern side of Hakata Bay. I await your instructions. Signed, Yellow Tiger.’
 
” Ken’ishi’s mind raced behind his eyes. For a while neither of them spoke.

Then Gonta’s voice broke the silence. “Did this man kill my father?”

Norikage’s mind seized upon a sudden inspiration. “Yes, Gonta, I believe he did. He has been snooping around the village for some time, and I believe your father discovered him and was killed because of it.”

He met Ken’ishi’s silent gaze.
Why did you lie to him?

Gonta sighed, but Norikage sensed a strange relief pass through him. Gonta said, “Such a horrible business, but I’m glad it’s over now. It’s over.” He wiped at his eyes. “Father has been avenged.”

Norikage caught Ken’ishi’s glance. Now he understood. This Yellow Tiger would be blamed for Tetta’s death, so that life in the village could return to normal, and the villagers could be at ease again.

“Gonta,” Norikage said, “there is one other thing.”

Gonta looked at him, wiping his eyes again. “This note, you must forget about it. You must forget everything that you heard here tonight, save that we dispatched your father’s murderer.
No one
in the village must know of anything else! Do you understand?” He kept his voice even and calm, but firm as basalt and with a hint of underlying threat.

Gonta blinked once, then nodded. “As you say, Norikage-sama.”

Then several other villagers came running into the inn carrying buckets of water. Their eyes were wide and fearful. “Where is the fire?” said one.

“Be at ease, everyone,” Norikage said. “The danger is over. Ken’ishi has slain Tetta’s murderer.” He watched the parade of emotions pass through their faces, surprise, horror, relief, curiosity. “Ken’ishi and I are weary now. We must rest. If you will excuse us.”

Then he led Ken’ishi outside and back to his office. Kiosé still waited there, and the relief and joy on her face when they returned were palpable. She had not slept. Norikage said, “Do not fear, my dear. All is well.”

“I’m so happy to hear it!” she breathed. “I was so worried!”

“You may go home now.”

She bowed and departed, but he could sense her disappointment. She wanted to stay, but discussions like these were not meant for a woman’s ears.

“Ken’ishi,” Norikage began, “I know you are troubled by what happened here tonight. I’m wondering who this man was, and who is looking for you.”

Ken’ishi nodded, his brow thick.

“I can do nothing to reassure you, unfortunately, other than to tell you that after tonight, the villagers will be even more vigilant about strangers in town. Rest assured that if any other strangers come through, we will hear about it. Everyone will be watching.”

Ken’ishi nodded again, saying nothing.

“And you understand why I lied to Gonta about this man?”

Another nod. The man was so damnably taciturn sometimes!

“It was for the good of everyone in the village.”

“I hope there are no more disappearances. This man had nothing to do with Tetta’s disappearance. Another disappearance will make us look very, very foolish, after what you said about Tetta’s killer.”

Norikage was taken aback. He had not yet reached that thought, but it was true. Another disappearance would be bad indeed.

Thirteen

“It is missing the point to think that the martial art is solely in cutting a man down. It is not in cutting people down; it is in killing evil. It is the stratagem of killing the evil of one man and giving life to ten thousand.”

—
Yagyu Munenori
 

“Sir, are you all right?” The little boy’s voice was as clear and sweet as a temple bell. He stood there beside the street, bits of sticky, fermented beans clinging to his plump, pink cheeks. His hands clutched an empty wooden bowl and a pair of small chopsticks. He looked up with big, brown eyes, brimming with childlike fearlessness. His thin black hair formed a shock tied on top of his head.

Taro stopped and peered at the boy from under the edge of his large basket hat. The child’s head barely came to his waist. Taro said, “I am fine.” The hoarseness of his voice surprised him. He hadn’t spoken to another human being for some time. “Why do you ask?”

The boy drew back a step. “Well, because you were walking funny.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Taro’s mouth for the first time in weeks. “How was I walking?”

The boy imitated a peculiar shambling, meandering gait, and Taro’s smile widened. “Like this. Are you sick? My grandpa walks that way sometimes when he drinks too much sake. Only he’s all hunched over like this.” The boy put down his bowl, then bent over at the waist and pretended to walk with a cane.

“So I walk like an old man, eh?” Taro said.

“Uh-huh! Are you sick? Grandpa is always sick too.”

“No, I’m not sick. I’ve never felt better.”

“Why is your hand all wrapped up like that?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Why is it all wrapped up like that?”

“Because, I burned it. It’s ugly now.”

“Really? Can I see it? Show me!”

“No. I . . . don’t want to frighten you.”

“I won’t be scared! I’m strong and brave! My mother always says so.”

Taro looked up and down the street. Hakozaki was a busy port town, but this neighborhood was quiet this afternoon. All the men were working the wharfs, and the women were going about their household duties. A few children were playing with a cloth ball down the street. “Then come over here.” He walked over into the space between two houses, out of sight, and motioned the boy to come closer. The boy followed him without hesitation.

He knelt and took off his basket hat.

The boy said, “Do you drink sake too? Grandpa’s eyes look like that when he drinks sake. All red and stuff.”

“I drink sake sometimes, but not today.”

“And why is your hair falling out?”

“You ask a lot of questions. Do you want to see my hand or not?”

“Yes! Show me! Show me!”
 

“You are a special boy. I don’t show this to
anyone!
”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Really?” He grinned, exposing the wide gaps between his brand new front teeth.

“Yes, really. What is your name?”

“I’m Shota.”

“My name is . . . Taro.”

“Are you a ronin? You look like a ronin.”