The Dragon Scroll (12 page)

On the threshold stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Her eyes—lovely long-lashed slanted eyes in a perfect oval of a face—were on him, studying him carefully. The childlike soft lips were slightly open. She licked them and swallowed. “Where is my husband?” The soft words were no more than a breath. A slender hand emerged from the full sleeve of the shimmering blue silk jacket embroidered with colorful flowers and brushed a loose strand of glossy hair from her cheek. “You are ... ?”

With an effort Akitada returned to earth. He bowed more deeply than the occasion required and said, “Sugawara Akitada, your ladyship. I was calling on your husband when ... But perhaps you will allow me to take you back to your quarters. This is no place for you.”

Her eyes flickered from his to the floor. Akitada hoped his tall figure was blocking her view, but she gasped. “It is true? My lord is ... dead?” The soft voice sounded utterly forlorn. Akitada saw that her skin was so pale, it was almost translucent and felt helpless.

“I am deeply...er...yes,” he stuttered, making a hopeless gesture with his hands. “I am afraid he ... there has been an accident. Please allow me to take you back. You should not be here. Your servants should have looked after you better.” He took a few steps toward her, but she slipped past him.

For a moment she stood transfixed, much like the old servant, staring down at her husband’s body. Then she began to sway. Akitada caught her before she crumpled on top of the corpse and lifted her into his arms.

Her body was quite limp, a very slight and soft burden in his arms. He caught a flowery fragrance, whether from her robe or her long silken hair he did not know. The experience of holding a female of his own class in his arms was as novel to him as it was unthinkable in their rigid society. He felt himself flush with embarrassment. What was he to do with her? He could not carry her back through the garden. If one of the servants saw them, all sorts of gossip would arise. Even worse, the prefect, that dried-up, rule-abiding, dirty-minded Ikeda, would arrive at any moment with his coroner and constables.

“Lady Tachibana,” he said urgently into a shell-pink ear near his mouth. He gave her a little shake. “Please, Lady Tachibana.”

She stirred. Good. He shook her again. In response, two soft arms wrapped themselves around his neck and a silken cheek touched his. She breathed a piteous “Oh” and began to cry quietly into his shoulder.

He felt like a cruel boor, and for a moment just held her close as she sobbed. Then he tried again. “Lady Tachibana? You must try to be strong. Someone may come any moment.”

The arms reluctantly released him, and she slipped down to stand unsteadily on the floor. He put one arm around her to steady her.

“You are very kind,” she said softly, averting her face. “Forgive me. I had to come to see for myself.” Her voice broke. She detached herself gently and took a few steps toward the door.

“Let me escort you back,” Akitada said, following.

“No.” At the door she turned and looked at him. Her eyes were filled with tears. Akitada thought them the saddest and most beautiful eyes in the world. Then she smiled, a tiny, heart-breakingly brave smile, and said with a little bow, “I have been very honored to meet you, Lord Sugawara. I shall not forget your kindness.”

Akitada took another step and opened his mouth to respond, but she had already slipped away with a silken rustle, leaving behind her only the scent of her presence.

He stood on the threshold, bemused and oddly bereft, and watched her walk back to the house, her colorful jacket and graceful movements reminding him of a gorgeous butterfly caught incongruously in a world of winter snow.

* * * *

SIX

FANNING A FOG

kitada turned away from the empty, wintry garden and back to its maker’s corpse. Bending to the scattered documents, he began to sift through them. Not surprisingly, given his suspicions, they had no bearing on the tax thefts.

With a sigh he replaced them roughly the way he had found them and stood up to stretch. Then he heard voices outside, one of them belonging to the boy Junjiro. Apparently the authorities had arrived.

He was mistaken, for it was a uniformed Captain Yukinari who was disputing with the boy. When Yukinari saw Akitada in the doorway, he bowed with military precision.

“I came as soon as I heard, Excellency,” he said, running up the steps purposefully. “It’s truly terrible news.”

Akitada thought Yukinari looked pale under his tan and that his eyes had a tired, haunted look. Was it grief for Lord Tachibana? Surely not. They could not have been very close. There was the difference in their ages, plus the fact that Yukinari had only been in Kazusa since summer. Yet he looked as if he had not slept at all. Akitada said noncommittally, “Yes, indeed, Captain. But what brings you here?”

Yukinari flushed. “I had business at the prefecture when Sato brought the news. Forgive the rude question, Excellency, but how is it that you are involved in this?”

“I was paying a courtesy call and found the body.”

Yukinari came closer, but Akitada made no move to invite him in.

“He fell, I was told,” Yukinari said, trying to peer over Akitada’s shoulder. “I have asked him many times to be careful. He was becoming quite frail. You know perhaps that he had passed his sixtieth year? A very great age, that.”

This made Akitada think of the beautiful young girl he had held in his arms and he was inclined to agree. He said, “You must have known him then. He did not look particularly infirm to me. Such thin, ascetic-looking people often live much longer than their more well-fed contemporaries.”

The captain seemed at a loss for words. He looked nervously down the path and scratched his chin. “Ikeda is on his way. He’s coming himself. If you have more important business elsewhere, Excellency, I could stay here. I daresay you would just as soon not be bothered with this matter.” His eye fell on Junjiro, who was hovering nearby, listening avidly to every word. He frowned at him.

“Thank you, but no,” said Akitada, pretending shock. “I feel it is my civic duty. You, on the other hand, are not at all involved, are you? Though, of course, you may wish to offer your support to Lady Tachibana.”

Yukinari’s head jerked around. He stared at Akitada, opened his mouth, closed it again, then bowed and strode away rapidly. Akitada watched him turn toward the gate. He was puzzled. This was the second time in as many days that Yukinari had betrayed some strong emotion.

Akitada was still pondering the meaning of Yukinari’s behavior when Ikeda and his people, led by old Sato, appeared around the corner. Ikeda wore the same dark blue silk robe from the evening before, making Akitada wonder if anyone had slept the night before. With him were two minor officials and two constables in red coats, bearing the bows and quivers of their office.

When Ikeda saw Akitada, he made a formal deep bow. The others, looking confused, followed suit.

“What an unexpected honor,” Ikeda murmured, coming up the steps. “The servant told me that Your Excellency had the unpleasant experience of finding the body. An extraordinary coincidence.” He managed to make the last sound like a question, as if Akitada’s presence were somehow suspicious.

“No more extraordinary than your presence, Prefect,” Akitada said. “Do you always investigate accidental deaths personally? Surely this is the duty of the local magistrate.”

Ikeda’s gray skin took on an unhealthy flush. “Our magistrate is visiting a neighboring district,” he said stiffly. “Besides, for Lord Tachibana I would have come myself in any case. Out of respect.” He paused, then added, “Not that we were at all close. His lordship did not encourage familiarity from subordinates.”

“Oh, you served as prefect under him?”

A strange expression passed over Ikeda’s face. Bitterness and resentment were there, but also a sly satisfaction. “I did,” he said, then gestured to his companions. “Allow me to present my secretary, Oga, and the coroner, Dr. Atsushige.” They exchanged bows, and the prefect, all smiles again, said, “Perhaps Your Excellency would share some estimable insights into this matter while my people have a look at the body?”

Akitada nodded and stepped aside. Ikeda and his team removed their footgear and entered the studio.

Akitada described his arrival, keeping strictly to matters of time, condition and position of the body, and the general appearance of the room. Ikeda looked and listened politely, then excused himself to join the coroner, who was examining the body. The secretary knelt near them taking notes. The coroner finished very quickly, but there was a lengthy whispered exchange between him and Ikeda before the latter nodded and returned to Akitada.

“Pretty clear case, as I am sure you saw, Excellency.” Ikeda rubbed his hands, a gesture that irritated Akitada. “Poor old fellow was working late, climbed on that stool, lost his balance, slipped, hit his head on the corner of that desk, and died. The stool, the scattered documents, the position of the body, and the traces of blood and hair on the desk all support that. It probably happened late last night. However, my poor provincial skills are hardly a match for Your Excellency’s vastly superior training. I humbly beg your views.”

Akitada hesitated, then said, “It is winter and the early morning hours are chilly. Death could have occurred much later during the night or even early this morning. And the wound in the skull suggests a heavy blow to the top of the head, I think.”

“Ah, just as I said.” Ikeda nodded. “The servant told me his master often works quite late. The evidence speaks for itself. The old gentleman comes home from our little dinner, perhaps a bit dizzy from all the food and wine. He works awhile. Then, sleepy or light-headed, he climbs on the stool to get some documents. They fall on his head, stun him, and he slips. Nothing could be clearer. I am certainly grateful for Your Excellency’s observation. Now we shall finish our paperwork, and I need detain Your Excellency no further.”

Akitada glanced once more at the body, nodded to Ikeda and his staff, and left the studio. Outside the sun had finally come out. He put on his shoes, passed the two constables, and walked up to Sato and Junjiro, who still stood on the path.

“I must be on my way,” he said to Sato, “but I hope you will see to it that none of the papers in the studio are disturbed. The prefect has decided that your master’s death was due to an accidental fall. He and his staff are finishing up now and should not have any need for the documents. I should prefer it if you would not mention my interest in your master’s papers to anyone.”

The old man bowed. Junjiro offered eagerly, “I’ll stay right on the veranda and watch day and night.”

Akitada smiled. “That is not at all necessary. I expect you will all be very busy during the next few days.”

“Oh, heavens, yes,” said Sato. “You haven’t even finished sweeping the paths yet, Junjiro. Run, get your broom. I can’t think how I could have forgotten. What a day!” He shook his head.

“Wait.” Akitada looked at the path. “Junjiro, did you sweep here after it stopped snowing?”

Junjiro was surprised. “No, Your Honor. I haven’t swept at all today. I was just going to when Sato came to tell us about the master’s death.”