The Convict's Sword (40 page)

Not an auspicious start. Akitada cleared his throat apologetically. “I’m sorry to interrupt when you’re so busy, but I need some assistance.”

Kobe raised a drawn face, grimacing when he saw who it was. “You and the rest of the world. Is your need greater than theirs?” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, encompassing the room with its policemen, piles of documents, sheets of city maps, rosters of staff, and assorted unidentifiable matter.

“Er . . . has something happened?”

Kobe glared. “Yes, something has happened all right. There are people dying in this city at a rate which is beyond the wardens, the police, or the monks. If you cast a glance out the door toward Toribeno, you’ll see the thick clouds of smoke from the cremation fires. They are burning day and night now. And in the poorer quarters, people just toss their dead into the street. The houses of the sick and dying are an open invitation to thieves, and robbers are attacking people brazenly, knowing that the wardens don’t have enough people to stop them. We have five new murders. The markets are empty because farmers no longer come to sell their produce, and people are going without food. Tomorrow I’m supposed to supervise the distribution of rice to the hungry, but I don’t have enough men to prevent a riot. Now, what is your problem?”

Akitada was aghast. “But how can this be? It was only yesterday that the Grand Council gave its first public notice of an epidemic. How can the situation have turned desperate so quickly?”

Kobe sneered, “You’ve been an official long enough to know that procrastination is a fine art in our government. They’ve known of the danger for weeks and done nothing, hoping it would go away or thinking to prevent a panic. And then their first action was to release more criminals into the streets of the city. My own troubles started with the amnesty. But I really don’t have time to discuss it. You may wish to compose another memorial to the emperor on the subject of inadequate law enforcement during epidemics. And be sure to mention that general amnesties are counterproductive in times of crisis.”

Akitada flushed. “I owe you an apology. Believe me, the memorial was not intended to criticize but to give you additional support. In any case, I tore it up when I saw that it might be misinterpreted.”

Kobe shook his head, his eyes cold. “It doesn’t matter in the least. I really cannot take the time now for an exchange of civilities.”

Akitada knew then that he had lost a friend. He made himself meet those hostile eyes. “Yes. I can see that I came at the wrong time.” He hesitated, then gave up, defeated by the other man’s implacable face. “It was just that I was worried about Tora, but never mind.” He turned to go.

“What about Tora?” snapped Kobe.

Akitada paused. “He left three days ago to investigate the murder of the blind woman and never returned. It’s not like him to be gone so long without sending word. I’m afraid something’s happened to him and wondered if you had any news.”

Kobe frowned. “No, no news. He came here that day, I think. Wanting to speak to Ihara. Perhaps he told him what he planned to do.”

“Yes, he might have done that.”

“You haven’t seen him since?” When Akitada shook his head, Kobe clapped his hands. The harried young policeman responded. “Call Ihara,” Kobe ordered.

“Lieutenant Ihara has reported sick, sir.”

“Sick? Was he sick yesterday?”

“No, sir. He seemed all right. Just . . .” The young man hesitated, looking nervous.

“Well? Just what?”

“He was unhappy that he was expected to go among the sick people and even to touch them, when the emperor himself has ordered us to avoid them.”

Kobe scowled. “I see. Thank you. That’s all.”

When the young man had scurried off, Kobe said angrily, “You see how well the Grand Council has planned? Now my men are refusing to do their duty.”

“Perhaps he’s really ill,” Akitada said.

Kobe snorted derisively. “Ihara looks out for Ihara.”

“I think I shall go ask a few questions in the city. Tora thought the blind woman had connections with criminals.”

Kobe’s eyes narrowed. “She worked in the Eastern Market, didn’t she? Someone is extorting money from the merchants there. If Tora has tangled with that gang, he may well be in trouble. But in any case, you cannot do this alone. I have no men to spare tonight and it will soon be dark. Leave it till tomorrow and I’ll give you a couple of constables.”

Akitada had not expected even this much. He bowed and thanked Kobe.

Kobe nodded, then said, “Wait. If you haven’t spoken with Tora, you haven’t discussed the coroner’s report.”

“No.”

“It was at first thought that there had been no rape, but you may recall that the coroner did find evidence of sexual intercourse. It doesn’t help Tora’s case, but I thought you should be aware of the fact.”

Akitada said angrily, “It was not Tora. I have his word for it. How do you know it wasn’t the murderer raping her?”

Kobe sighed. “I don’t know, and neither does the coroner. She was no maiden. In fact, he says she had given birth.”

Akitada left with a heavy heart. Tora was in danger, and the murder of Tomoe haunted his memory. There had been so much blood. Blind and helpless, she had tried to escape a monster who had chased her, slashing at her all the while. Had he raped her first or when she lay dying?

Outside in the courtyard a band of the ragged men were leaving through the gate, trotting at the heels of a red-coated constable. Akitada turned to a policeman. “Who are those men?” he asked.

“Sweepers, sir.”

“Sweepers?”

“They spread throughout the city after dark. Looking for trouble, checking empty houses, gathering abandoned corpses, and reporting crimes in progress.”

“Those men?” Akitada raised his eyebrows. Picking up smallpox victims was not exactly desirable work, but even so. “They look like criminals to me.”

“Yes, sir.” The policeman grinned. “It’s the amnesty. Most of the convicts have no money or jobs, so they’ll do anything for a few coppers and a hot meal.”

“Good heavens!” Shaking his head, Akitada left police headquarters. With conditions in the city in such dire straits, he had no intention of waiting to look for Tora until the following day.

When he reached home, his wife was still in her room, Yori and Seimei were having a calligraphy lesson, and the evening meal would not be for another hour. Akitada told Seimei what he planned to do and instantly met with objections.

“It’s not safe, sir. People say criminals are running around everywhere, and some of the sick lose their minds and go roaming about in the streets.”

“I know, but I must find Tora. I shall take Genba.”

Yori jumped up and snatched his father’s hand. “Can I come, too? Please, Father? I want to find Tora, too.”

Seimei, who knew how strong the bond was between his master and Tora, said, “Your father will need his wits about him. You can help by staying here and out of trouble. Besides, think how upset your mother would be.”

Yori accepted this, but Akitada felt some of the old resentment again; Tamako no longer cared about his safety—so long as he did not bring smallpox home with him. Once it had been different between them.

He headed for the kitchen, where he had the cook fix him a snack. After eating, he changed into comfortable old clothes, slipped his identity papers in his sleeve, and fastened his sword to his belt. Then he went in search of Genba.

Four hours later, right after the bell from the palace had sounded the hour of the rat, a loud knocking sounded on the gate of the Sugawara residence. Seimei, who had been dozing in the front of the house, was instantly up, his heart pounding with anxiety.

When he stepped into the courtyard, he saw that the night was very dark. The knocking was more impatient than before, and a man’s voice called out. Seimei answered, “Coming!” With shaking hands he lit a lantern and hobbled barefoot across the gravel to lift the heavy latch and peer out.

When the gate swung open, he saw three ragged people, swaying slightly with their arms around each other’s shoulders. He almost slammed the gate shut again, thinking them drunk or, heaven forbid, raving with smallpox. But he raised the lantern for a better look and recognized the tall fellow in the middle. At least the bloody, filthy creature grinned at him with familiar white and perfect teeth. “Tora?” Seimei gasped.

“I brought a couple of friends,” Tora said. “Hope the master won’t mind.”

The friends looked, if anything, worse and thoroughly disreputable to boot. One was a ragged boy, small and half-starved looking, the other a foul-smelling old man who seemed to be gasping his last breath. Pity for their condition overruled other considerations. “Come in, come in,” cried Seimei, throwing the gate wide. “Oh, the master will be so glad you’re back, Tora. He and Genba have gone out to look for you.”

They staggered in. Tora let go of the other two and turned. “I’d better go back then,” he said unenthusiastically.

“Certainly not,” Seimei snapped, slamming the gate shut and latching it. “What is the matter with your leg?”

“Sword cut.” Tora stumbled to the well and dropped down on the coping. “Meet Mr. Chikamura and Kinjiro, Seimei.”

The old man sagged to the ground. Seimei, aghast at their condition, ran from one to the other in a distracted manner, but managed to get all three to his own room, where he scurried back and forth some more, looking for salves, bandages, herbs, and someone to brew a strengthening tea for old Mr. Chikamura. In between his mutterings, he managed to establish that Tora had been wounded in several places in a number of fights and accidents, that Kinjiro had been beaten and was badly bruised, and that the old man had nearly died of thirst and starvation while locked up for days in a hot storehouse. For Seimei that was enough. His mind was on treatments, not on the three bags filled with clinking coins or the sword that Tora treated so tenderly.

When his patients had been cleaned up and bandaged, Seimei went to the kitchen and woke the cook to brew tea and heat some food.

Akitada and Genba found Kata’s training school locked up and the neighborhood deserted. They went in search of the warden of the quarter. The man was asleep and ill-tempered at being woken. He knew nothing about anyone called Tora and there had been no trouble in his quarter. Akitada did not necessarily believe that, because the man also insisted that Kata ran a respectable business, but there was nothing else he could do here.

They went next to the house of the stonemason Shigehira, on the theory that Tora might have gone there to ask more questions about Tomoe’s visitors. Here, too, everyone was asleep. The wife came to the door and shouted abuse through a crack. When Akitada asked to speak to her, she threatened, “Go away, or we’ll call the warden.”

Genba’s booming voice cut in. “Woman, open up this instant. Lord Sugawara wants to speak to you and your husband.”

The door slid back far enough for a suspicious eye to peer out at them. After a moment, she opened it fully. Her husband hovered timidly behind her. She did not invite them in but stood on the threshold and demanded, “What is it then? It’s the middle of the night, and I’m sick of being bothered about that slut. We’re hardworking decent people.”

Genba growled, “Mind your tongue, woman.”

She shot him a glance, taking in his size and bulk, and clamped her lips together.

“Mrs. Shigehira,” Akitada said, “we’re looking for Tora. Was he here recently?”

“Him?” She folded her arms across her broad chest and stuck out her chin. “No. We don’t deal with murderers. Stinking garbage!”

Genba, who was usually the gentlest of men, now stepped forward and bent to push his large face into hers. “Woman,” he growled, “I’ve warned you. One more insult like that and you’ll wish you’d not been born.”

She backed away, stepping on her husband’s toes. “Well,” she cried shrilly, “I saw him with the knife and I smelled him, didn’t I?”