The Dragon Scroll (37 page)

Yukinari and Akinobu shook their heads. Yukinari said, “When I sent off the convoy in my charge, I gave my lieutenant sealed orders, to be opened only after they had passed the border.”

Akitada looked at Motosuke, who flushed.

“I consulted Tachibana early on, before the first convoy,” he said. “He took a great interest, especially after it disappeared. But I cannot believe that Tachibana would stoop to such a thing.”

“No. But Lady Tachibana would.” Suddenly that murder made sense. The idea that Tachibana had died because he was a jealous husband had never been entirely convincing. “I think this knowledge cost him his life. He walked into his wife’s room that night to inform her of his decision to speak to me about the possibility that she had passed on the information about the tax shipments. He found her with Ikeda. You may imagine the ensuing scene. No doubt Ikeda killed him.”

“So that’s how Ikeda fits in,” said Yukinari.

“Yes,” said Akitada tiredly.

For the next hour they went over every last detail of their planning. Seimei came in once, cast a worried look at Akitada, and made more tea for everyone before withdrawing again.

They were nearly finished when Motosuke stopped and said, “Enough for today. You look terrible, elder brother. We should not have troubled you with all this when you are still so weak.”

“Not at all,” lied Akitada. He felt a profound indifference about his condition or their elaborate plan to catch Joto.

Motosuke rose and the others followed. They were still looking with concern at Akitada when the door flew open and Tora burst in.

He glanced around wildly, his clothes and hands stained with blood. “They’ve slaughtered Higekuro,” he gasped. “And now they’re after the girls. We’ve got to get the soldiers. Hurry or they’re dead.”

“Who is ‘they’?” asked Akitada, pushing back his covers.

“Those cursed monks. The neighbors saw them, and some brainless female sent them after Otomi and Ayako.” Tora seized Yukinari’s sleeve. “Get your soldiers. Quick. They’ve got to scour the city.”

“No, Tora,” said Akitada. “No soldiers or constables. We’ll have to go ourselves.” He got to his feet. “Hand me my robe and boots.”

* * * *

SEVENTEEN

THE TEMPLE OF

THE MERCIFUL GODDESS

he sun had set by the time they jumped off their horses in front of Higekuro’s school. Across the street a gaggle of frightened-looking neighbors stood in the dusk. Akitada shivered with nerves and weakness as much as with the cold. He crossed the road to the onlookers and snapped, “Which one of you saw the girls leave?”

A short, elderly woman stepped forward timidly. He recognized her as the neighbor who had been chatting with Ayako on his last visit. There were traces of tears on her round cheeks.

Akitada gave her a nod and said, “Tell me what you know quickly. They are in great danger.”

“About two hours ago,” she said. “The monks at the temple had just rung the hour of the rooster. I was looking out for my son because he was late for his dinner and saw Ayako and Otomi walking over there.” She pointed down the street. “At the corner they turned south.”

“Do you know where they were going?”

“No, but Otomi had her painting things.”

“Are there any temples that way?”

“Only the Sun Lotus temple is still open. Since Master Joto has come, everybody’s been going to the mountain temple. The other temples have closed, even the big temple of the goddess Kannon.”

“I was told that the girls were followed by some men. Did you see them?”

The old woman shook her head emphatically. “Not me. And I would have known better than to send them after Otomi. It was this foolish female.” She dragged a trembling white-faced young woman from behind the others. “Go ahead, tell His Honor what you did.”

The younger woman started to cry.

“How many men were there?” Akitada snapped.

“I don’t remember,” the woman quavered.

“You said ten, stupid,” the older woman said, giving her a shake.

“That was before. Only five when they stopped to ask.” The young woman wailed, “I’m sorry. They came from the school and I thought it was all right. I thought they were students of Master Higekuro.”

Akitada stared down at her, then turned on his heel and strode back across the street. “Come,” he said to Tora, who was waiting by the horses. “Maybe we can find something inside that will tell us where the girls went.”

The heavy door opened onto darkness. Akitada was aware of the smell first—warm, sweet, and metallic. Then he heard a faint dripping sound. It was getting dark outside but enough light fell from the door that he could make out several motionless shapes strewn about the exercise floor.

Blood. It was the smell of fresh blood—and a great deal of it. Akitada stepped into the hall, Tora on his heels.

Thinking of the women outside, Akitada said, “Close the door and strike a flint!” He did not know whether his rising nausea was due to the smell or his condition, but he started to gag.

Tora closed the door and fumbled about for some light, saying, “Higekuro’s over by the pillar.”

Suddenly, fear seized Akitada. How many bodies had there been? What if the women outside had been wrong? What if Ayako had not left but had died here, defending her father and sister? He took a step in the dark, slipped, and fell heavily onto his side.

“Sir?” A flint rasped. Light flickered on and went out again. Tora’s anxious voice came from the right. “Are you all right? There’s a lot of blood on the floor.”

“Yes,” said Akitada, getting to his knees. His head was swimming, and he was shaking with cold and weakness. “For heaven’s sake, get some light.” He wiped his hands on his trousers and stood up.

Tora was noisy in his groping around. He cursed once or twice, things fell with a clatter, then the flint flashed and one of the oil lamps on the wall lit up. Tora went to light another.

Akitada slowly turned and looked around. As the lamps came on, his first impression was of a battlefield after incredible carnage. Deep, dark red, glistening blood was everywhere. The bare floor was covered with puddles of it, the exercise mats were soaked in it, and somewhere it was dripping ponderously like a slow heartbeat. Akitada counted six bodies altogether, Higekuro’s among them. All of them were men.

The crippled wrestler lay slumped against the center pillar, one hand clutching a short sword covered with blood, the other his great bow; his fixed gaze was turned upward, toward the ceiling—or toward the weapon that had descended on his head and left the two terrible gashes, one reaching almost to the bridge of his nose, the other slanting toward the left temple, exposing part of his brain. Blood still oozed from the terrible head wounds. It had soaked the magnificent black beard and puddled on one shoulder, from where it fell, thickly, drop by drop, into his empty quiver.

Akitada controlled his rising nausea and went to touch Higekuro’s pale cheek. It was cool. Then he felt the blood and found it thick and sticky. “It must have happened shortly before you got here,” he said.

“Higekuro was still warm then,” said Tora. “I rushed through the place looking for the girls and then ran all the way back to the tribunal.” He glanced around the room. “He took five of the bastards with him.”

“Yes. The woman mentioned ten men, then later five,” said Akitada. “I think she saw them arrive and go into the school. Higekuro killed five, but the other five left to look for Ayako and Otomi.”

He moved among the dead assassins. They were all strangers to him, young, muscular, dressed neatly in dark cotton gowns, with scarves covering their heads like middle-class shopkeepers or artisans. Akitada stripped off the headgear and exposed the shaven heads. “Monks,” he said without surprise.

They had paid a heavy price. All of them had two or more arrows through their bodies and one, closest to Higekuro, had died in agony from a sword thrust into his bowels. It had been Higekuro’s final act against the man who killed him.

When they looked into Higekuro’s private quarters, they found trunks and boxes gaping, their contents strewn about the floor, curtains slashed and screens torn from the windows. Outside, in the small kitchen yard, a fire had been lit in an empty rain barrel. Tora stirred the smoldering ashes and pulled out a charred dowel with remnants of paper and silk attached to it.

“They burned her paintings,” Akitada said. “Come. There is nothing left to find. We are wasting time.”

On the way out, Tora snatched up one of the heavy staves from its rack on the wall. Outside the neighbors had dispersed, but someone was coming down the street, whistling. Tora cursed under his breath.

Akitada, worried about an unarmed Ayako facing five murderous monks, was swinging himself on his horse when he saw the whistler.

Hidesato.

In a moment he was out of the saddle again. In another, he had reached Hidesato and flung him against the wealthy neighbor’s plaster wall. Seizing the neck of his robe, Akitada bashed the sergeant’s head into the wall, punctuating each thrust with an accusation. “You worthless dog!” he snarled. “Where were you when you were needed? Is this how you repay kindness?” Akitada choked on the thought that the kindness had included the use of Ayako’s body. “What kind of low animal are you to do this to her?” he groaned, suddenly dizzy from his outburst.

Tora pulled him off. Akitada leaned against the wall, taking rasping breaths of air, trying to control his shaking limbs.

“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Hidesato, holding his head. “Has he gone mad?”

Tora said bitterly, “While you were enjoying your bath, those cursed monks came back. They killed Higekuro and went after the girls. Thanks to you, they’re probably dead by now.”

Hidesato dropped his hands. He stared from Tora to Akitada, saw the blood on Akitada’s clothes, and ran to the school. Flinging open the door, he disappeared inside.

Akitada came away from the wall and staggered to his horse. He dragged himself into the saddle, kicked the horse in the flank, and galloped off. Tora followed, ignoring Hidesato’s shouts behind him.

They looked for pagodas rising above the low-slung dwellings and pine groves. The first temple they found quickly. A battered sign on its gate spelled out the name “Sun Lotus Temple” in characters that had once been brilliantly red but had faded to a pale brown. An ancient monk was sweeping dead leaves from the steps.

“You there. Have you seen two young women?” Akitada shouted from his horse.

The old man peered up nearsightedly and bowed. “Welcome,” he said in a cracked voice and put his broom aside. “Would Your Honor like to buy some incense to burn before the Buddha?”

Seeing his age, Akitada brought his horse closer and repeated his question.