The Dragon Scroll (45 page)

Akinobu grimaced. “To tell you the truth, I’m merely the clerk in charge, and the work is very similar to my duties for the governor.” He nodded at the towering stacks of documents on his desk.

“Surely the present crisis is abnormal,” Akitada said. Then he sighed. “At the moment I feel that I have brought nothing but trouble to this province.”

“No, Your Excellency. Our trouble has found you. We are very grateful for your help. I intend to pay a formal farewell visit before your departure tomorrow morning.”

“Please call me Akitada. And there is no need for a special visit. You must know how grateful I am for your assistance. I have the highest regard for your ability.” The two men smiled and bowed to each other. Akitada continued, “But there is another reason for my coming. I want to speak to one of your prisoners, the man called Scarface.”

Akinobu raised his brows. “Is he connected to the tax case?”

“No. A different matter altogether. You are holding him in the murder of the prostitute Jasmin. I suspect him of having killed two other women.”

“Here? He only arrived on the fifth day of this month.”

“No. These are two murders of young women in the capital and in Fujisawa.”

“But...” Akinobu hesitated, then asked, “Forgive me, but why are you only now sharing this information?”

“I did not know until this morning. Or rather I did not understand what I knew until then. And I’m still merely guessing at the details. I need to speak with the man to confirm my suspicions.”

“I’m afraid you don’t know Scarface very well. He has steadfastly denied all charges against him. In the murder of the woman Jasmin he accuses his associate, a half-wit, of committing the crime.”

Akitada nodded “Yes, he almost fooled me with that. But considering the murder of the prostitute in Fujisawa and his motive in Jasmin’s case, I now believe it was Scarface who killed Jasmin. On the day of the murder, she told him that she was leaving him for another man. I believe he slashed her throat, then turned the corpse over to his mentally unbalanced follower for some additional mutilation. The second man has a fixation with blood and knives and is dangerous on his own account, but he did not kill the woman.”

Akinobu said, “I suspected as much. What are these other murders you suspect Scarface of?”

“I believe that during the night of the Chrysanthemum festival he killed a young noblewoman in Heian Kyo for her jewelry.” Akitada took the blue flower ornament from his sash and laid it on Akinobu’s desk. “This is part of it. The woman Jasmin sold it to a local peddler, who, in turn, sold it to me the day I arrived here.”

“Extraordinary!” Akinobu leaned forward to pick up the small object. He looked at it, then at Akitada. “I always thought such jewelry was worn only by the imperial women,” he said. Akitada met his eyes and held out his hand without answering. Akinobu returned the flower ornament and reached for a document roll. “He left Heian Kyo on the tenth day of the leaf-turning month and spent the next two months traveling east along the Tokaido highway.”

Akitada nodded. “The dates fit. He must have left the capital immediately after the killing. By the beginning of this month he was in Fujisawa. The Fujisawa victim was also a prostitute who had her throat slashed. We were passing through Fujisawa at the time, and my servant Tora was mistakenly arrested for the murder because his face was badly bruised and cut.”

“Ah!” Akinobu sat forward. “Then there were witnesses?”

“Yes. In both cases. In Fujisawa, the murderer was seen by other women in the brothel. In the capital, he was observed by a vagrant. In both instances the witnesses described a man with horribly scarred features.”

“You must be right.” Akinobu rose. “Let me warn you, though, Scarface has been interrogated without confessing to any of the charges against him.”

Akitada knew what that meant. The man had undergone questioning while being flogged with fresh bamboo whips, a particularly painful, lacerating form of torture. It rarely failed to produce positive results.

They walked across the courtyard in the wet cold to the small jail. The roofs of the buildings were already dusted with snow, and here and there patches were beginning to stick to the gravel underfoot.

A guard sat in the chilly anteroom, warming his hands over a brazier. At a word from Akinobu he got up, reached for his ring of keys, and unlocked a heavy door. Beyond lay a narrow hallway, dimly lit by flickering oil lamps attached to the walls. To the right and left were cell doors, their bars opening on darkness beyond, but directly ahead lay what appeared to be a fiery furnace. As they came closer, Akitada found that it was merely a small room with a stone pit in its center, where a large open fire burned, its black smoke rising toward a hole in the pitched roof, where it whirled away into the steel-gray skies. The rafters were blackened with soot, the walls scuffed and stained by dirt and generations of bloodied bodies, the air stifling with heat and smoke. It reminded Akitada vividly of those lurid paintings of hell displayed in Buddhist temples as reminders to sinners of what awaited them in the hereafter.

Heads appeared behind the bars of two cell doors, one a moon-faced goblin, the other the predatory beak of a vulture. The guard selected another key and unlocked a third cell. “Get out, scum!” he bellowed. “Visitors.”

The figure that emerged from the darkness, rattling chains on its feet and arms, fit the place. Such faces gave the fainthearted nightmares. Akitada, who had been prepared by Tora’s description of the man, took a step backward. The prisoner saw it and grinned maliciously.

In the flickering firelight, the man’s face no longer appeared quite human; the raised purplish scars distorted his features grotesquely. Bloodshot eyes blazed with some hidden excitement, and his lips, swollen and discolored from torture, stretched into a grin that bared teeth like yellow fangs. He stood, tall and broad-shouldered, with an easy arrogance, grinning, mocking, a devil in human shape.

Akitada looked back at him silently, confirming to himself that the killer of Jasmin matched the demonic creature of the ghost story told by the Rat. That murder had really happened, almost three months ago, in another city and to another woman. Strangely, here and now the three murders finally met through an extraordinary set of coincidences.

In spite of the heat from the fire pit, Akitada shivered. His hand closed around the tiny flower fragment in his sleeve. Who knew by what strange and bizarre ways the ghosts of victims found their revenge? The blue flower had accompanied the killer here, the witness had traveled the same route, and Jasmin, the latest victim, had passed it on until it reached the only person who would understand its meaning. But he had come to that knowledge slowly, resisting the signs when they were given to him. He had dreamed of a morning glory dripping with blood. He had received a letter from home, telling him of the disappearance of Lady Asagao, the emperor’s favorite. Asagao meant morning glory. And there had been another message: Akitada’s handsome friend Tasuku had abruptly renounced the world and become a monk. Tasuku, the notorious ladies’ man whose affairs with the women of the court had been the talk of the town. Perhaps Akitada would learn the truth of that when he got home—or perhaps he would never know what had happened.

Akinobu touched his sleeve. “Are you feeling well, Excellency?”

Akitada nodded. With an effort, he asked the prisoner, “What is your name, and where were you born?”

The man bowed. “They call me Roku, short for Heiroku, of the Sano family, at your service, my lord,” he said in a surprisingly cultured voice. “Please forgive my appearance. These stupid dogs of provincial officials have mistaken me for some low killer. Perhaps Your Honor can clear up the matter?”

The nerve of the man was astounding. Faced with a long list of charges and more torture, he was yet trying to brazen it out. Akitada decided to play along. “Your speech tells me that you were raised in the capital and well educated. How does a man like you come to be here and in this condition?”

A shrewd, calculating look came into the grotesque face. “Ah,” Scarface said, “one can always tell a fellow gentleman. As you say, I was raised in the capital. And attended the Buddhist academy near Rashomon. My parents wanted me to become a schoolmaster, but my spirit was too ambitious for that. I took up the sword and trained at several fencing academies. When I was just beginning to make a name for myself, I ran into trouble. My skill had made me enemies, and when one of my competitors challenged me, the bout turned ugly.” The man raised a hand to his scarred face and smiled crookedly. “I killed him after he cut me up. His friends charged me with murder. I had to seek my fortune elsewhere and made my way here. Unfortunately, I found myself almost immediately arrested for the murder of a local whore. Some demented maniac has confessed, but the authorities refuse to believe him and try to beat a confession out of me.” Scarface glanced pointedly at Akinobu, who gazed back calmly. When Akitada made no comment either, the prisoner turned around. His white shirt was dark with dried blood across the back. He lifted it to show the swollen and oozing stripes of the whips. Then he bent and raised his stained trouser legs. Both calves were a mass of raw flesh.

Akitada was sickened. It was surprising that the man was able to stand. He reminded himself that Scarface’s deeds had been far worse than anything he had suffered, and said, “As I am about to return to the capital, I will take you along. The authorities there will sort out the charge quickly enough.”

The man flung about to face him. “No. Don’t trouble yourself. It would embarrass my clan. Only put in a word for me here.”

“Nonsense. I can do nothing here, but I’ll have you on the road in no time. The Sano clan is not important enough to be embarrassed.” Akitada waved his hand dismissively and turned to go.

Behind him, Scarface cursed loudly until the sound of the guard’s whip caused him to suck in his breath with a moan.

Akinobu followed Akitada outside. “You cannot be serious about taking him, Excellency,” he protested. “He lied.”

“I know and I am absolutely serious,” replied Akitada, gulping the clean air and tasting snowflakes on his tongue. “I shall send my report ahead by special courier today.”

“But what of his crimes here? What of the murder in Fujisawa? He’s a dangerous character.”

“He will travel under heavy guard.” Akitada’s expression was bleak and weary. “The crime he has to answer for in the capital will result in a secret and speedy trial and execution, which is more than you could get here without a confession.”

♦

Akitada’s last errand was also the hardest. His steps slowed when he turned the corner and saw Higekuro’s school ahead. Flakes of snow touched his face like a cold caress. He did not bother to take his hands out of his sleeves to wipe them away. As he passed the house of the wealthy neighbor, he saw that its gate was scarred from the constables’ axes, its lock broken and replaced by the paper strips and seals of the provincial administration. How much chaos and tragedy this one small street had seen in the last few days! Akitada looked up at the heavy clouds. The snow muffled sounds and blurred sharp edges. A quiet peace had returned to the street, but for him it was a joyless peace.

The front doors of the school stood wide open. As he approached, Hidesato emerged with a broom and dustpan. He emptied debris in the gutter and, turning back, caught sight of Akitada. The expression of happy contentment on his face changed to anxious concern.

“I came to say good-bye,” said Akitada.

Hidesato’s relief was painfully obvious. He looked around, then placed broom and pan against the wall of the building and bowed. “I hope Your Excellency will have a safe journey home,” he said.

“Thank you. I see you’re lending a hand here.”

Hidesato flushed. “The girls needed some help,” he said, adding, “Tora’s inside.”

This news was no surprise, but it hurt nevertheless. Akitada had expected that Tora would stay with Otomi. He thought back to their first meeting. What he felt for the rough ex-soldier and farmer’s son would have seemed inconceivable then.

Hidesato fidgeted. “Er,” he mumbled, “I’m very grateful for your help, sir. I understand you cleared me of the murder charge.”