The Dragon Scroll (23 page)

“Let me see that.” Akitada rose and held up the lantern. Roll after roll of straw matting lay stacked against the wall. He inspected the halberds and counted twenty of them in the one bundle. A quick check showed that there were nearly a hundred rolls. “Enough weapons for an army,” he said with awe. The soldiers in Otomi’s scroll had been armed with
naginata.
A terrible sense of unease crept over him. The idea of a whole order of monks indulging in wine and women was barely to be stomached, but these same monks arming themselves against the local government? Against the emperor? No wonder those inept monks at the Tachibana house had reminded him of recruits. They were. He also remembered vividly the rascally features of the three monks they had seen in the market that first day after their arrival. “Put them back the way we found them, Tora,” he said grimly.

Ayako watched with quiet satisfaction. “I told you. I bet your missing taxes are in the rest of those containers.”

She began opening boxes and barrels while Akitada trailed along behind her holding the lantern. In its light, he caught golden glints on Ayako’s skin, on her eager face, on her small teeth worrying her lower lip, on the line of her slender neck, where a few tendrils of hair had escaped the black scarf. He watched her hands, long and capable, moving quickly among the tubs, boxes, baskets, and bags. But they found nothing more.

It was not until they reached the back wall that Akitada missed Tora.

“We seem to be alone,” he said softly to Ayako.

She turned and looked at him.

Akitada suddenly found it hard to breathe normally. “I wonder,” he said after a long moment of foolishly smiling at her, “what’s become of Tora.”

“Here I am.” Tora belched, releasing a strong odor of rice wine. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve been thinking. Those boxes back there? The ones you were sitting on. Did they remind you of anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you had the light, so I couldn’t see to check, but I get the feeling they might be the kind you pack silver or gold in.”

Akitada walked back quickly and looked at the boxes. His heart started beating faster. The lacquered containers were sturdily built of leather-covered wood, their sides and corners reinforced with metal plates, their handles and locks large and substantial. “Yes, I think you’re right,” he said. “These are the boxes merchants and government agents use to transport coin and bars of gold and silver.”

With cries of pleasure Tora and Ayako fell upon them. But the boxes were not locked and were perfectly empty, stored apparently for some future use. If they had ever been marked with government stamps and seals, these were long gone. By the light of their oil lantern, they looked at each box carefully, but all they could discover were assorted scratches and one rather peculiar scorch mark that looked something like a fish jumping for a ball.

Akitada sighed. “They could have held precious objects used in religious ceremonies,” he said. “And the rest of the storehouse contains nothing more suspicious than bales of hemp, boxes packed with brass censers and bells, and ceremonial vestments.” He looked around unhappily. Wine and halberds! It just did not add up. Perhaps these items were being stored for some wealthy lay person, though what the allegedly peaceful local barons would want with nearly two thousand halberds he could not imagine.

“Shall we have a look at the other storehouses?” Ayako asked after a moment.

Akitada was tired, but he nodded. “Very well. Put out the light, Tora, but leave the door unlocked. I have a feeling we have overlooked something.”

They inspected the other storehouses, all of them unlocked, without finding anything helpful. These contained the usual barrels of bean paste and pickles, bags of rice, barley, millet, and beans; jars of oil; boxes of candles; bales of silk and hemp; shelves filled with crockery, temple ornaments, and damaged statuary—in short, everything and nothing at all incriminating.

“It’s getting late,” Ayako urged, “and there’s one more thing I want to show you. It’s been haunting me ever since I first heard it.”

“Something you heard?” asked Akitada.

“Yes. It’s outside, in back of this storehouse.”

Everything was still peaceful in the large courtyard. The stars shimmered above, but the moon had shifted slightly toward the west. To the east there was the first perceptible fading of the night’s darkness.

They passed around the back corner of the building and walked to the middle of the empty space between it and a covered gallery.

“What is over there?” Akitada asked, pointing at several low tiled roofs in the next courtyard.

“The abbot’s quarters and temple administration.” Ayako was moving about slowly, listening intently. She waved them over. “Listen! Do you hear it?”

Akitada cocked his head. A slight humming sound was barely discernible. “The wind?” he asked.

“No. The wind has died down. Besides, it’s too regular. Like people singing far away.”

“Yes, you’re right. But it seems to come from the ground,” Akitada said, squatting down. The sound was still very faint, but he recognized it now as rhythmic chanting. It was much like the ceremony in the Tachibana hall, except that here a sort of communal chant seemed to alternate with a single, reedy voice. “It’s a monks’ chant,” he said, getting up with a frown.

“Coming from the ground?” asked Tora, his voice rising a little in sudden panic. “Let’s get out of here. I bet this is where those cursed monks bury their dead.”

“Quiet,” hissed Akitada. “I want to know where the sound is coming from.” He was moving again, bent over, in slowly widening loops that brought him gradually closer to the rear wall of the storehouse they had just left.

He found what he was looking for in the deep shadow of the building: a small wooden grille, slightly more than a foot square and set flush with the ground. It covered an underground air shaft from which the weak and unearthly sound of chanting came more clearly now. The hair on his scalp bristled.

Akitada knelt and bent close to peer into the subterranean darkness. He saw nothing, but a warm stench as of putrefaction filled his nose. Standing up quickly, he suppressed a rising nausea. Tora’s words came back to him: This is where those cursed monks bury their dead.

“What is it?” asked Tora from a safe distance.

“I’m not sure. It looks like an air shaft to an underground room.” Akitada’s voice was strained and flat.

Ayako came up beside him. “You’re right,” she said, staring down. “I don’t like this. It makes my skin crawl.” She moved closer to him.

“Hey! Someone’s coming,” Tora hissed from the corner of the building. “I think it’s the patrol.”

“Let’s go,” said Akitada.

They retraced their steps cautiously but quickly. The courtyard remained empty. They reached the gate between the storage yard and the kitchen area safely and were about to pass through and make a dash for the rain barrel when they heard voices. Ducking into the shadow of the wall, they waited.

The two guards came through the gate. Behind them hobbled an elderly monk. All three went to the first building.

“Dear heaven!” whispered Akitada. “We didn’t lock it.” He suddenly realized the very unpleasant situation they were in. Until then not even the pain in his shoulders had been able to break the spell of the night and the girl. Now they were about to be discovered. Neither in his present function as imperial inspector nor as a humble clerk in the ministry of justice could he afford to be charged with unlawful entry. And then what of the case against Joto? It would be a dismal failure and end his career. No. What was he thinking? They would not be permitted to leave. With a shudder, he thought of the air shaft.

They watched helplessly as the guards rattled the door, exclaimed, and fell to cursing their elderly companion.

“Why, you senile bastard!” one of them shouted. “You left the place unlocked again. This time His Reverence will be told and that will be it for you.” They punched and kicked the old monk. He cried out and started to run toward Akitada and his companions. They froze where they were, hoping that the darkness of their clothing blended with the shadow of the wall.

The old man did not get far. His tormentors were upon him in a minute, knocking him to the ground and beating him with their fists.

Tora muttered a curse, and Akitada, after the initial relief that they had not been discovered, flinched with every blow, blaming himself bitterly for his carelessness.

“Stop your noise.” One of the young monks yanked the old man up. “Or we’ll toss you in that shithole with old Gennin!”

The monk found his courage and cried shrilly, “You are devils! You are an abomination to the Lord Buddha, and your master grovels in the sins of flesh and corruption. You are killers and fornicators and will live in hell forever, where demons will... Ahh.”

A fist blow full to his mouth stopped his outcry. Akitada could bear no more. He made a move forward, but Ayako snatched at his shoulder. He gasped with the pain.

One of the watchmen raised his head and looked in their direction. For a moment his glance lingered and they thought they were lost.

“You hear anything?” he asked his companion.

The other man looked up from twisting the old monk’s arms behind his back and asked irritably, “What? No. Help me with this bastard.”

The first monk cast another glance their way. “I thought there was something over there. Something moved.”

“Probably a cat.”

The two guards dragged the old monk with them and entered the storehouse, presumably to check if anything was missing. A light flickered on inside.

“Quick!” whispered Ayako. “They’ll notice that the lantern is still warm. In a minute the whole place will be swarming.” As soon as she spoke, there was a shout from the storehouse: “Thieves! Help! Thieves!”

They dashed through the gate, ran for the rain barrel, and clambered up the wall. Tora and Akitada were ahead, pulling Ayako up behind them. In her hurry, she kicked the barrel over but reached the top of the wall, and then they were running along the tiles to the pines. There Tora and Akitada jumped down first, landing with jarring impact and barely catching themselves from tumbling over the cliff.

In the frantic rush of their escape Akitada had ignored the pain in his shoulders, but once he was outside the compound, his knees gave way and he had to lean against the wall for a moment.

From inside the temple compound came the sounds of shouting, then the clangor of a bell. Akitada looked up. Ayako was still on the wall, preparing to jump. She pushed off lightly and landed with a cry of pain. When he reached to steady her, she clutched at his arm.

“What is it?” Akitada asked.

“My ankle.” She shook him off, took a few steps, and staggered. “I twisted it,” she gasped. “It will be all right in a minute. Go ahead. Hurry!”

On the other side of the wall, voices cried out. Somebody had found the overturned rain barrel.

“No.” Akitada took her elbow. “It’s too dangerous for you to climb down alone. We’ll go together. That way, if you slip, I can catch you.”

Behind the wall the noise grew. A head appeared at the top of the wall. Ayako hesitated, then nodded.

They made their way down the crevice with frustrating slowness. Akitada was unfamiliar with the footholds and he was descending blindly and backward. But mostly his attention was on guiding and supporting Ayako. The process involved, of necessity, close proximity. In spite of the difficulty and urgency of the situation, Akitada was intensely aware of her scent and her slender body whenever they touched. He felt a powerful sense of protectiveness and the stirrings of desire. When they reached the ground, she clung to him for a moment before pulling free and limping off into the trees at a half run.

They found their horses, mounted, and regained the road. Behind them, inside the temple, the bell stopped ringing, and the shouts faded away.