The Convict's Sword (34 page)

He needed to rub the rope against the upright shard until it parted—easier thought of than done. The shard kept moving and tipping. Since he could not see it, he had to turn around each time to check what had happened and to reposition it. Meanwhile, the rope—a strong new one—gave no signs of parting. The shard caught his skin more often than it did the rope until his hands were slippery with blood.

To make matters worse, the beggar started muttering and moaning in his corner.

Suddenly there was a scratching against the back wall of the shed, and a soft “Ssst.” Tora hissed back and waited. After a moment, Kinjiro’s voice whispered, “Tora?”

“Yes.” The beggar seemed to have drifted off again.

“Can you get loose?”

Tora could not, but whispered, “I’m working on it.”

“I’ll try to get rid of the guard.”

Tora did not know what to say. What could Kinjiro do? More to the point, what would they do to him if he were caught? He whispered, “Be careful,” but the boy had already gone.

He worked his wrists up and down feverishly. Outside Kinjiro was striking up a conversation with the guard. “Kata
Sensei
says to cover for you if you want to relieve yourself.”

“Kind of him,” grumbled the man. “I’m about to burst. That snack I had in the market didn’t agree with me. I’ve been stepping from one foot to the other forever.”

His rapid footsteps receded.

Tora heard Kinjiro working the lock. The lad seemed to be trying out keys. There was not much time. If Kinjiro could not open the shed quickly, the guard would be back, and their chance would be lost. He leaned into his labors with total concentration, ignoring the pain in his wrists, ignoring the choking halter around his neck, ignoring the cramping muscles in his arms and back. Outside Kinjiro cursed. Things were not going well. Tora made one more desperate effort, and this time he thought he felt the rope ease a little. Once more, and yes, a definite easing! Then several strands parted. He was almost there. He glanced at the beggar. The man’s eyes were open and watching him.

At that moment the rope parted. Tora was drenched with sweat and his breath was coming in gasps. He loosened the halter around his neck, straightened his painful back, and brought his arms forward. His wrists were a bloody mess, and he grimaced as he undid the rest of the knots with his teeth. Then he untied his feet.

Just in time.

“Hey,” shouted the beggar. “Someone quick! He’s escaping.”

Cursing under his breath, Tora pounced on him and knocked him out again, stifling the man’s shriek. He felt no compunction and had no time to worry about the evil little toad.

Outside, Kinjiro had stopped working the lock and was wrenching at the door instead.

“Back away,” Tora shouted and delivered a mighty kick to where he knew the lock was. The door flew open and he shot out.

“Hurry,” Kinjiro cried, his voice squeaking with panic. “The bastard’s going to be back any second. We’ve got to run for it.”

Their luck ran out immediately. When they rounded the corner, the guard was strolling toward them. His jaw sagged comically; he let out a yell. Tora barreled into him, knocking him down, the boy slid past, and together they ran for the next corner, dimly aware of shouts and pounding feet.

After that they ran for their lives. They dodged piles of refuse, sprinted past a funeral procession, knocked down a small child who had stepped into the street to stare, dove down alleys, and zigzagged through two wards to throw off their unseen pursuers. They did not slow down or look behind them until they reached Ninth Avenue, a busy street marking the southern perimeter of the capital. Here they attracted curious stares. Tora caught up with Kinjiro. “Slow down,” he gasped, “or we’ll have the constables after us, too.”

Kinjiro nodded, but he kept looking over his shoulder. At the intersection with Suzako Avenue, he turned toward Rashomon, the gate leading out of the city.

“Not that way,” Tora said. He pointed to the large temple on the other side of the street. “Quick, in there!”

The Eastern Temple was an ancient complex adjoining Rashomon. It had been designated “Temple for the Protection of the Land.” A steady trickle of people moved through its large gate. The epidemic had brought them here to offer their prayers for relief. Tora and the boy joined the worshippers and climbed the steps to the temple gate. An elderly monk stood there, holding a large collection bowl, his eyes unfocused and his head bobbing rhythmically as each visitor dropped his offering. Tora parted with his last three coppers as they passed through. Instead of following the others to the main hall, he and Kinjiro cut across the courtyard toward the pagoda.

As Tora had guessed, they were the only visitors to the small altar room whose walls and pillars were covered with paintings of the two Buddhist worlds. Exhausted, he collapsed on the steps that led to the floors above.

“Well,” he told the boy, who was inspecting the pictures, “we did it. Thanks for your timely help.”

“Don’t mention it.” The boy suddenly turned and grinned. “That was very good. I can’t remember when I’ve had more fun. Don’t you wish you could see their faces? Bet they’re running around like a bunch of ants back there.” He chortled and came to sit beside Tora. “We’ve got to leave town. How much money have you got, Tora?”

“I just gave the baldpate my last coppers.”

“Stupid.”

“Hey. Remember where you are. You want to go to hell?”

Kinjiro grinned. “Too late to worry about that. We’ll walk a few miles and offer to help a farmer for a meal and a dry place to sleep. Just so we get out of the capital.”

Tora shook his head. “No, we can’t. There’s unfinished business.”

Kinjiro sat up. “Are you mad? You want to go back there again? They’ll kill you. You heard Kata. And Matsue won’t put it off this time.”

“Yes, I know. That’s the point. What we know about Kata and his gang is not much good unless we tell the police.”

Now Kinjiro was on his feet, his face filled with shock and disgust. “You work for the police. The beggar told the truth.” He clenched his fists and cried, “And I trusted you.” He made a sound between a sob and a curse, and rushed out. Tora went after him, groaning when his much abused muscles refused to cooperate. He stumbled down the pagoda steps after the boy, who was already halfway across the courtyard. Tora had visions of his running to warn Kata. He was not afraid that the gang would escape the law, but that they would take their revenge on Kinjiro for letting Tora go. By dint of superhuman effort, he managed to catch up and snag the boy’s shirt just as he was dashing through the temple gate. They fell sprawling at the feet of the gatekeeper. People stopped to see what was happening.

The monk was not amused. “What are you doing?” he demanded sternly, hauling the boy up by the scruff of his neck, and glaring at Tora. “And you a full-grown man, too. Aren’t you ashamed to behave this way in a holy place?”

“Er—” said Tora, quickly hiding his bloody wrists and hands in his sleeves, “ah, well, my son here got frightened and tried to run away. He doesn’t like temples, you see. Says they’re full of ghosts and goblins. I’ve been trying to show him that there’s nothing to be afraid of, but he’s very stubborn. Don’t let him go, please.”

The monk, who had been about to release Kinjiro, got a firmer grip on him. “Is that so?” he asked, looking from one to the other. Kinjiro glared at Tora and attempted a kick at the monk’s shins. “Yes, I see what you mean,” the monk said, giving the boy a shake. “Now, son, if you don’t obey your father, I’ll have to lock you up. There is nothing to be afraid of in a temple. Ghosts and goblins don’t dare enter sacred places. Who has told you such silly and blasphemous tales?”

Kinjiro snapped, “My mother.”

“Amida!” The monk shook his head. “You both have my sympathy. Women are evil and corrupt creatures and will never enter the Pure Land. That is why they spread such tales. Don’t believe their wicked tongues.”

Kinjiro stared at him, then said with feeling, “You’re right. They
are
evil. I won’t ever believe one again.”

“Then you’ll go quietly in with your father?”

“Yes.” Kinjiro nodded fervently, and the monk released him.

Tora immediately put a protective arm around the boy, smiled at the onlookers, and bowed to the monk. “Thank you for your wise counsel. May the Buddha bless and reward you.”

The monk nodded graciously, and they walked with the others into the courtyard and ascended the steps to the main hall. Tora, who kept his arm firmly around the boy’s shoulders, became aware that they were shaking and that tears seemed to be running down his cheeks. Then he realized that the boy was not crying but laughing. They entered the Buddha hall side by side and found a dark recess near the doors. Up ahead a huge Buddha figure presided over prayer services for the protection of the capital. People knelt and monks chanted, but they were alone in their corner.

“That was so funny,” the boy choked out.

“It was not.” Tora was tired, sore, and irritated. “I almost lost you and I bruised my knees and elbows. You never give a person a chance to explain, do you?”

Kinjiro was still laughing. “That monk must’ve met my mother. Explain what?”

“Promise not to run again?” The boy nodded and Tora removed his arm. “I’m not with the police. I’m trying to clear myself of a murder charge.”

Kinjiro stopped laughing and asked suspiciously, “How come you’re not in jail?”

“My master got me out on his pledge to have me back in court for the trial. He convinced the judge that the police didn’t have a strong enough case against me. You see, I found the murdered woman and was arrested in her room. She was a friend of mine.”

Kinjiro considered this. “The blind singer from the market? The one that got knifed? And you joined the gang because you thought Kata killed her?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, you’re wrong about that. Kata didn’t do it. She was his good luck. Since she’s been murdered, he’s been complaining how nothing turns out right any more. I bet he thinks your getting away is just the final blow.”

Tora remembered Kata’s astonishment that Tora should suspect him. Perhaps Kinjiro was right. He frowned. “So maybe he’s out of it, but that still leaves the others. What about Matsue? You said Matsue didn’t like Tomoe.”

Kinjiro thought about it. “I don’t know. I don’t see high and mighty Matsue
Sensei
sneaking after a street singer. He’d send somebody else.”

“I think you’re wrong. He’d do it himself so Kata wouldn’t find out.”

The boy considered it. “Maybe. But you can’t go back there. It’s too dangerous. Let the police figure out who killed the blind woman.”

“We have another problem. They’ve got some poor bastard locked up in the storehouse.”

Kinjiro looked puzzled. “Are you sure? He isn’t one of us and I would’ve heard if they’d been in a fight with another gang.”

“I’m sure. I think it’s an old man, and he may be sick. He called out for Buntaro.”

“Buntaro?” Kinjiro’s face lengthened. “Oh, my,” he said. “It may be his uncle. Oh, Buddha! He told us the old man had gone to visit relatives in the country. And they did have a bad quarrel the day before.”

Tora was shocked. “Why would he lock up his own uncle in a dark, hot, airless place like that?” Buntaro was the Scarecrow. He remembered the man’s anger when he had found Tora tampering with the storehouse lock. And then he had pounded on the door and shouted a warning about not making trouble or it would be the end of him. It had been meant for the old man inside as well. “What was the quarrel about?” he asked the boy.

“Oh, the same old thing. It’s the uncle’s place and he didn’t want us there. When the old man fetched the police, he scared the wits out of us, but all the constables did was order us to leave. Kata was in a terrible temper. He made us stay away for a day, but then Buntaro said his uncle had left for the country and we went back. I guess the old man never left.”

“Do you know where they keep the key?”

“I know where there are some keys.”

“Good. Come. We’re wasting time,” Tora said. “We’ve got to get him out before his nephew gets rid of him permanently.”

Kinjiro caught his sleeve. “You can’t. They’ll be checking the place. Matsue keeps his stuff there.”

“They’ll do more than check if we don’t hurry.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PURPLE AND WHITE WISTERIA

 

Kosehira was not the only one of Akitada’s friends who was puzzled by his monogamous state. The fact that Akitada had resisted taking secondary wives to make certain of a large number of sons—hedges against the many diseases and mishaps that killed young children—fascinated Kosehira. He enjoyed all of his wives and his large brood of children and considered Akitada’s arrangement not much better than monkish abstinence.

He thinks me a dull dog, mused Akitada as he walked homeward. The beautiful profile of Lady Yasugi leapt into his mind, and he wondered what it would be like to make love to her. To his shame, he felt a surge of desire. Except for a single lapse, he had been faithful to Tamako, but lately he missed the easy friendly companionship they used to have. People grew apart after several years of marriage, and certainly that was when some men took secondary wives. Often such an arrangement was welcomed by the first wife because it meant that she was no longer plagued by her husband’s physical demands or continuous pregnancies. In fact, had Tamako not voiced that very thought only this morning, even though he had not been unduly demanding in his visits to her room? Her rejection had felt both cruel and disloyal. The breach between them was intolerably painful, and he tried to ease the hurt with angry resentment.