The Dragon Scroll (39 page)

Both dead men had shaven heads and both carried short swords. Tora and Hidesato helped themselves to these.

They found their next victim because he was cursing loudly, trying to disentangle himself from a thorny vine. He broke off abruptly when Tora appeared before him with a drawn sword. His eyes started from his head in shock.

From somewhere close a voice called, “Daishi? What is it? Have you found her?”

Tora put his sword to the monk’s throat and shouted back, “No! Twisted my ankle. Who’s with you?”

“Hotan. Where are the others?”

“Coming.” Tora grinned and knocked his prisoner out cold.

Hidesato joined him. “Two more? That should be all.”

Tora nodded. “I told them we’re coming.”

They ran along the overgrown path and came face-to-face with two husky men in the same dark clothes and head scarves as the others. But these drew their swords and charged.

Tora had never used a sword before and managed to survive the attack only because he jumped about like a monkey while slashing wildly in all directions. Hidesato knew the rudiments of sword fighting but was badly outclassed. He tossed his sword aside in favor of the chain. Letting out the chain and swinging it until it wrapped itself about his adversary’s sword and sword arm, he was able to jerk him forward and disarm him. Tora prevailed only by kicking his man in the groin. When he screamed and dropped his sword to clutch himself, Tora jumped him.

They tied up these two, but when they turned back to do the same with the unconscious man in the brambles, they discovered him gone. A quick search brought them to an open gate in the wall, but the road outside was empty.

“Damnation! The bastard’s gone to warn Joto,” Tora said ruefully.

They collected their prisoners and dragged them back to the temple hall.

“Hey, Ayako. All’s safe,” shouted Tora.

Ayako appeared on the veranda and scanned the shrubbery.

“Where’s Otomi?” Tora asked. “She can’t hear us.”

Ayako did not answer. She came down the steps, her eyes on Hidesato. “You’re hurt.”

Hidesato looked down at himself. A large dark stain was spreading across his chest. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“Oh, Hidesato,” Ayako said. “Sit down and let me see.”

A rustling sound came from under the veranda steps. Tora reached for his sword, but it was Otomi who crept out, her eyes huge in a dirt-smeared face and her clothes covered with dead leaves, cobwebs, and twigs. Tora’s mouth widened into a smile. He dropped his weapon and went to scoop her into his arms.

Ayako found a flesh wound in Hidesato’s shoulder and untied her sash to bandage it.

“Please forgive me,” he begged, stumbling to his feet.

Her face softened. “There’s nothing to forgive. I am sorry I blamed you,” she said, rising. “It was too dark for you to see, and I made the same mistake myself.”

He looked at her searchingly. “I would not have you think badly of me,” he said awkwardly. “I’ve never known anyone like you and I’d rather die than . . .” His voice faltered.

Ayako smiled and took his hand. “I know,” she said softly.

♦

Akitada staggered out onto the veranda in time to take in this tender scene. His face hardened. “Tora,” he snapped.

Tora jumped to attention. They all looked up at Akitada, who stood clutching the balustrade, his face as pale as the bandage against his black hair.

“I see you’ve managed by yourselves. Did you inform the young women about...what happened?”

“The young women?” Ayako took a few steps toward Akitada. Their eyes met briefly, but he glanced away “What are you talking about? What happened?”

Tora and Hidesato exchanged stricken looks. Akitada slowly descended, supporting himself on the railing. He gave Ayako an impersonal nod and said stiffly, “I am afraid it falls to me to inform you that your father died this afternoon.”

Ayako became very still. Her eyes were on his lips, waiting.

“He was murdered by the men who attacked you and your sister,” Akitada continued in the same tone, “but he fought bravely, killing five of his assassins before succumbing to the sword of another. I regret extremely to be the bearer of such tragic news.”

Ayako straightened her slim body. “I am greatly obliged to Your Excellency,” she said. “My sister and I shall always be in your debt for coming to our rescue.” She bowed deeply, then turned her back and went to Hidesato.

Akitada’s heart contracted. He felt tears rising to his eyes. With sheer effort of will, he made himself climb the stairs again and walk back into the temple hall.

The lamp still burned before the image of the goddess. Otomi’s painting gear lay nearby. Akitada paused, clutching a pillar like a drowning man, and looked up at the inscrutable face in the painting. The lines of the painted image blurred until it seemed to him that the Goddess of Mercy’s face was Ayako’s. The lustrous eyes looked at him with cold detachment, and the soft lips wore a sneer.

He turned away and walked unsteadily out of the temple hall and into the night.

* * * *

EIGHTEEN

THE FESTIVAL

he governor’s palanquin was comfortable and elegant, but on the steep mountain road it began to list precariously. Riding in such a conveyance was a new experience for Akitada, who decided that he much preferred the back of a horse. He lifted the bamboo curtain and looked out.

They were in the thick pine forests mantling the mountainside. The bright sunlight splashing the road and forest floor was at odds with his gloomy disposition. He watched as one of the outriders passed the curtained window on his right. The governor’s personal guard accompanied them in the full flourish of polished armor, snapping red banners, and high-stepping mounts dripping with red silk tassels. Self-consciously Akitada tugged at his old court robe, hoping it did not make too poor a showing next to Motosuke’s splendor. The governor sat across from him in a crisp new gown of figured green brocade over his voluminous trousers of deep red silk.

Motosuke also peered out. “We are almost there,” he said. “I can see the top of the pagoda. Heavens, have you ever seen so many people?”

The closer they got to their destination, the more spectators lined the side of the road. As soon as the governor’s cortege passed, they fell in behind to join those waiting at the temple for the dedication ceremony. Akitada exchanged looks with Motosuke. All those people. The responsibility was frightful. Anything might go wrong in spite of their careful planning.

Akitada, for one, was convinced that it would. Everything he had touched so far had turned to grief. He had brought death wherever his feet had carried him. Since their frightful discovery of Higekuro’s murder, Akitada’s thoughts rarely strayed from that memory. Higekuro’s blood tainted every aspect of his present life. The only exception was the memory of Ayako, and her he banished firmly from his thoughts.

As if reading his mind, Motosuke said, “I shall never forget the sight of all that blood at the wrestling school. This Higekuro must have been a most remarkable man.”

Akitada nodded.

“It is a mercy that the young women are safe. The deaf-mute girl is a very fine artist.”

Akitada nodded again. Would Ayako be safe with a man like Hidesato? Would Hidesato take her father’s place in the school... as he had taken Akitada’s place in her arms? Aloud he said, “Luckily I was lying unconscious inside the temple hall when Tora and Hidesato tangled with Joto’s men. The monk who escaped could have spoiled our plans if he had recognized me.”

Motosuke rubbed his pudgy hands together and smiled. “Yes. A good omen. The Goddess of Mercy is on our side.”

She was nothing of the sort, Akitada thought bitterly, remembering Kannon’s sneer.

“Why the long face, elder brother?” Motosuke asked. “Is your head still painful?”

“No.” This was, surprisingly, the truth. He was perfectly fit again in spite of his fever and Hidesato’s blow. The same could not be said for his mood. “I envy you your good spirits,” he said sourly. “Once we are inside the temple, we are sitting ducks, you know.”

“Don’t worry. All will go well. We are guarded by my own men and Yukinari’s. The soldiers assigned to the inner courtyard and the great Buddha hall are absolutely loyal.”

Akitada fell silent, ashamed of having sounded cowardly.

“And only think,” Motosuke continued, “at this moment Akinobu and his constables are raiding the silk merchant’s property and warehouses. When the day is done, we will have our prisoners, the evidence,
and
the loot.” Motosuke rubbed his hands again and chuckled. “Won’t they be surprised in the capital to get three tax shipments they had written off as lost?”

“They won’t get it all back,” grumbled Akitada. A temple bell began its booming call. The palanquin jerked and veered suddenly to the right. At Motosuke’s window appeared the great gate of the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom, its blue tiles sparkling in the sun. On both sides of its steps stood saffron-robed monks.

“I wonder if Ikeda is here,” Motosuke said.

“I wonder if he is alive. He is a danger to Joto.” Akitada reached for the small silver mirror that hung on one of the hooks and checked his court hat, a black pillbox of starched silk with a loop in the back. He scowled at his long face with its heavy brows and passed the mirror to Motosuke. The palanquin finally stopped and came to rest on solid ground. “Are we supposed to get out here?” Akitada asked.

Motosuke pushed the woven bamboo curtain a little farther aside. “No. Just some formalities to welcome us. Ah, here we go again.” The palanquin lurched up, and both men reached for their hats. Motosuke peered around. “I see Yukinari has posted men at the gate. Clever fellow. I think that affair with the Tachibana woman was a hard blow to him.”

“I almost had him arrested. Both the Tachibana maid and a beggar said the killer was wearing a helmet.”

“Oh,” said Motosuke. “I had meant to tell you, but your illness and Joto drove the matter from my mind. The young fool confided that the lady became so violent the day he ended their relationship that he ran from the house leaving his helmet behind.”

The palanquin suddenly tilted back as the bearers ascended the steps to the gate.

“Yes, that explains it.” Akitada snatched at a silk loop to keep from falling back and crushing his headgear. “My guess is that Ikeda used it as some sort of disguise. I thought something like that must have happened when I was told the man wore a blue robe. No military officer would wear his helmet without the armor.” The palanquin tipped forward as the bearers trotted down the steps on the other side of the gate. When it leveled out again, Akitada released the loop and continued, “I should have thought of Ikeda earlier. He wore that blue robe to your party.”