The Dragon Scroll (26 page)

“No, I did. She was angry with me, but I had other reasons by then.”

Akitada thought of that childlike creature and her tears. “I wonder that did not occur to you earlier,” he snapped. “What other reasons?”

“I... There was someone else,” the captain stammered. “It cannot matter now.” He gave a bitter laugh. “The poet Narihira said that love is as short-lived and deceitful as dew. He was right.” He dropped his face into his hands again.

The poetic image of dew reminded Akitada of the beads of moisture on Ayako’s golden skin. He stared at the captain and wondered what to say, when Lieutenant Nakano returned to report that a Sergeant Hidesato had applied for military service the previous week. His application had been approved, but Hidesato was no longer at the address he had given. He had been thrown out for nonpayment of rent, and no one knew where he had gone.

Yukinari nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Now please report to His Excellency about the incident in Hanifu village.”

Nakano snapped to attention and recited, “Two days ago, after sundown, we received word about an ambush of one of our patrols. The captain set out immediately with four cavalrymen. He returned after the morning rice the following day with our men. Four of them had been wounded in a fight with a group of hooded criminals armed with swords and halberds. Their attackers escaped, but one of them was a monk.” Seeing Akitada’s surprise, he added, “He lost his hood.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Akitada turned to Yukinari. “Have you had problems with the monks from the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom?”

Yukinari flushed angrily. “Have we?” he said. “There has been continuous friction between those hoodlums and my soldiers. This is only the latest incident, but this time they were armed. Every time my men encounter those baldpates, they come to blows with them. At first we punished our people severely, in spite of their protests that they had been provoked. Then I was a witness to the behavior of those monks in an incident with a local merchant. I have since complained repeatedly to Ikeda, most recently on the morning of the ... murder, but to no avail. In my opinion, the prefect is incompetent.” Yukinari stopped, swallowed, and added more calmly, “I have ordered my men to stay away from the monks. More I cannot do.”

Akitada nodded. “Thank you. You confirm my suspicions. It may be that you can do something after all. We will speak of it later.”

Yukinari stood and bowed, then looked at him with empty eyes. “If I can be of any assistance in the other . . . case, I would be grateful for the chance, Your Excellency.”

Akitada found Tora regaling an eager group of soldiers with stories of his military exploits in the north. They parted company reluctantly.

“You were right, sir,” Tora said excitedly. “Hidesato’s been here. Filled out his application and left again.”

“I know. And it was accepted, but when they tried to notify him, he had moved.”

“Oh.” Tora’s face fell. “One of the soldiers said he saw him in town. In the brothel quarter. I suppose I’ll try there next.”

“Very well. Lead the way.”

“You?” cried Tora. “In the brothel quarter? No. I’ll go by myself.”

“We go together.” Akitada’s expression allowed no argument.

* * * *

TWELVE

RAT’S TALES

he brothels were in the southwest quadrant, not far from the market, but in an area of poor tenements and cheap wine shops. In narrow, dirty streets littered with human and inanimate debris, cripples and blind beggars huddled wherever they could find a sunny wall. Filthy, half-naked children covered with bruises and sores ran about, screaming. Few healthy young men were in evidence, and those had hungry eyes that watched Akitada and Tora speculatively. Now and then one would approach and offer to show them to a “love house” with “first-rate girls” or introduce them to “jesters.”

“Jesters?” asked Akitada.

Tora made a face. “Pretty boys,” he said.

They asked about Hidesato and twice paid good coppers to be led to him, only to discover that their guide had willfully misunderstood and taken them to a brothel instead.

Eventually the streets grew dark and chill. Here and there a lantern bobbed, marking the arrival of customers. Raucous laughter and song rang into the dark streets every time someone lifted the gaudy curtains of wine shops and brothels. From behind bamboo grilles female voices called out to them, and when they looked, they saw behind the bars ghostly creatures, their eyes and lips garish in masklike faces turned a sickly green, yellow, or lavender by the colored lights of paper lanterns. Love was for sale in every color of the rainbow.

The thought of buying one of those grotesque females nauseated Akitada. He thought of Ayako and how clean she was, how sweet the scent of her skin, how naturally she had come into his arms. His longing for her suddenly overwhelmed him. He stopped in the middle of the street. “Tora,” he said, “I think we have done enough today. Why not stop by Higekuro’s before we turn in for the night?”

Tora agreed immediately.

The quiet street of Higekuro’s school was a different world. In the dusk, neighbors were having their evening chats in the street. Ayako, too, was outside her door, leaning on a broom and laughing with an elderly woman who held a small child in her arms. Ayako wore only a simple gown and had her hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon, but Akitada’s heart missed a beat.

When she saw him, her face lit up. She smoothed back her hair with unconscious feminine grace and smiled shyly.

Tora whistled between his teeth. “Now there’s a change for the better,” he said. “I guess all that girl needed to turn her into a proper female was a man in her bed.”

Akitada gave him a look of cold fury. “Ayako risked her life last night,” he said through clenched teeth. “If I ever hear you insult her again, it will be the last time you will speak in my presence. Do you understand?”

Tora’s chin sagged. Akitada went to greet Ayako, seeking in her eyes what he felt in his heart, hoping that she was no longer angry. The neighbor muttered a good night and scuttled across the street.

“How are you?” Akitada asked softly.

“Very well. And your shoulders?”

“Much better. I am...” he searched for words, “deeply grateful.”

Her eyes softened.

“Perhaps,” he suggested daringly, “we could repeat the treatment in the morning?”

She blushed. “Why not? If your shoulders still give you pain.”

“Tomorrow then.” He added more loudly, “We’ve come for a visit.”

“Oh.”

They looked at each other hungrily. Belatedly, Akitada remembered Tora. When he turned, he found Tora pretending to study the massive gate of the house next door. Set into a new ten-foot-high wall, it was studded with heavy iron nails and had a forbidding appearance.

“That must be the house of the successful silk merchant,” Akitada said to Ayako. “Do you know the family well?”

“Not at all. He’s a very unpleasant man, and his servants are rude. We don’t talk to them. No one on this street does. As to his family, they never come out. It must be his wealth that has made him so suspicious of everyone.”

“Perhaps,” said Akitada, frowning.

Ayako cleared her throat. “Please come in. I... we did not expect you, but you are very welcome.” Turning to open the door, she added, “I’m afraid we have one guest already. The Rat stopped by.”

“The Rat’s here?” Tora asked, coming up. “That old crook conned me out of half my wages for wine and new clothes.”

Ayako looked surprised, then smiled. “That was very kind of you, Tora,” she said, touching his arm. Tora blinked.

They passed through the empty exercise hall into the living quarters. Higekuro sat in his usual place. Otomi knelt beside him among small containers of paint, her brush poised over a sheet of paper. When she saw Tora, her eyes lit up.

A fire in the stove warmed the room, and something savory bubbled in a pot.

“Ho,” wheezed an old man who huddled beside the stove, “told you, Higekuro. No time at all and both girls will bring you the sons you never had.”

Ayako turned abruptly and ran upstairs.

Ignoring the Rat, Higekuro invited Akitada to sit next to him. Otomi gathered up her paints.

“You’re in time to join us for our evening meal,” Higekuro said cheerfully, pouring wine. “We got some particularly fine clams from a neighbor, so Otomi chopped fresh vegetables from the garden and made soup. Plain fare, but for once we have good rice with our meal instead of millet. A feast, in fact.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands, adding, “Though I have a fondness for millet also.”

Akitada admired this man’s joy in the poorest gifts life had to offer. He felt awkward, worried that Higekuro might suspect what had happened between himself and Ayako.

“And here’s the Rat, too.” Higekuro laughed. “He’s a great one for telling ghost stories when he’s drunk. We’ve been filling his cup for the past hour.”

“Hey, Rat,” said Tora, “how come you never let on about your talent? And where are the new clothes I paid for?” The beggar choked on his wine and fell into a fit of coughing and wheezing. “I love a good tale,” Tora said, slapping him on the back solicitously.

The Rat hunched up his bony shoulders. “Don’t mock the ghosts!” he croaked.

Akitada laughed. He felt inexplicably happy. “Never fear,” he said, “Tora has too much respect for ghosts.”

Higekuro said, “It’s a strange fact that the more superstitious men are, the more they want to hear about such things.”

“Did Ayako tell you what we found in the temple?” Akitada asked him in a lowered voice.

“Yes.” Higekuro became grave. “Not ghosts, I think. You’ve told the governor?”

“Not yet. He has left town.”

Ayako was coming down from the loft. She had changed into a chestnut-brown silk gown and tied a brown-and-white-patterned sash about her slender middle. Her hair was loose and, though it was not as long as that of ladies of the nobility, reaching only to her waist, it was thick and lustrous and curled slightly at the ends. Akitada’s eyes followed her as she busied herself gathering rice bowls and chopsticks. He was thinking how graceful and efficient all her movements were, when his ears picked up a phrase.

He looked at the Rat. “You saw ghosts in the Tachibana mansion? When? Come, speak up!” His voice was suddenly sharp and his tone peremptory.

The Rat recognized the tone of authority and cringed. “Not inside, Your Honor. Never inside. The Rat never goes where he’s not supposed to be. Just in the alley. I was looking through the garbage in the alley.”

“By heaven,” said Akitada. “Are there people who must eat rotten food that their betters would not give to their dogs?”