The Dragon Scroll (6 page)

“The governor’s library,” Akinobu said, ushering them into an elegant room furnished with shelves of leather document boxes, handsome lacquer desks, and paintings. The wooden floor was covered with thick grass mats, and several silk cushions rested on these. “Please be seated. His Excellency will join you immediately.”

When Akinobu had withdrawn and they had sat down on the silk cushions, Seimei whispered, “Who would have expected such elegant surroundings in a province?”

Akitada did not answer. He was looking at a set of very fine scroll paintings of the four seasons displayed on a standing screen. The governor was a man of taste as well as wealth.

They did not have to wait long. Fujiwara Motosuke bounced in, fluttering his hands excitedly, a wide smile on his face, and cried, “Welcome, welcome, welcome! How glad I am to see you, my dear Sugawara! All safe and sound? What very good fortune!” He spread his arms wide to embrace his guest.

Akitada was taken aback not only by the greeting but by Motosuke’s resemblance to his cousin Kosehira. Though the governor was about twenty years older than Akitada’s friend, he had the same short, stout body and, apparently, uncrushably cheerful disposition. There were a few silver threads in his well-oiled black hair and his mustache was thicker and grew downward, but Akitada had an eerie feeling that he was seeing an older Kosehira.

Seimei knelt, touching his forehead to the mat in the prescribed deep obeisance, but Akitada remained seated and merely inclined his head politely and without smiling. He was intensely aware of being rude, but he could hardly allow this man, who was under heavy suspicion of having diverted three years of provincial taxes into his own pockets, to embrace him like a long-lost brother.

The governor blinked. Under normal conditions, his rank and age placed him several degrees above Akitada, but Akitada had chosen to assert his temporary status as
kageyushi,
imperial inspector charged with examining the records of an outgoing governor.

Motosuke dropped his outstretched arms and seated himself, beginning a nervous spate of more welcoming words and concerns about their journey and probable fatigue.

Akitada interrupted. “Yes, yes, Governor,” he said curtly. “I will take all that for granted and am much obliged for your greeting, but my purpose here is neither personal nor ceremonial. Let us get to business without further delay. This is my confidential secretary, Seimei, who will now present my credentials.”

Motosuke looked shocked but received the scrolls with proper respect, touching their imperial seals to his forehead and bowing deeply before untying the silken cords to read.

He sighed when he was done. Carefully rolling up the papers again and returning them to Akitada, he said, “It is a great shame to me that these outrages should have been perpetrated during my administration.” He paused and gave Akitada an almost timid look. “My cousin wrote that you have great skill in solving puzzles of all sorts. It is my sincere hope that your inestimable experience may allow you to help me find the scoundrels and clear my record before I leave office.”

Akitada frowned. Much as he disliked the role he was forced to play, he had no intention of allowing Motosuke to transform him from official investigator into his personal adviser in the situation. He said coldly, “It will be necessary that we are given access to all your files immediately. You will so instruct your staff. My secretary will keep you informed if the investigation warrants it or if your testimony is required.” He rose.

Motosuke, who had paled at his words, scrambled up also. “Certainly. I shall make all the arrangements,” he said, then added timidly, “You ... you will wish to rest. I am having quarters prepared for you in my residence. May I take you there now? You will only have to tell the servants if there is anything, anything at all, that you might require.”

Akitada said stiffly, “Thank you, but I should prefer to stay in the tribunal compound. Surely you have guest quarters for official visitors?”

Beads of perspiration on his brow, Motosuke was wringing his hands. He sputtered, “Yes, of course. How stupid of me! Only, the guesthouses are not nearly so comfortable. And it is getting cold. A very uncongenial season, winter. I wish you had come earlier. We could have given you some excellent hunting and fishing. Still, I hope I may introduce you to some of the important persons in town. You will not like the tribunal food. It is for the soldiers and prisoners only. My personal kitchen, my servants, and my stables are completely at your disposal.” He was babbling and looked so distressed that Akitada softened.

“Thank you,” he said with a formal bow. “You are very kind. I shall be honored to make the acquaintance of the local dignitaries. Now, perhaps, you might show us to the archives. My secretary and I should like to meet your clerks.”

They spent the day in the archives, talking to clerks and making a superficial inspection of the records. Akitada was favorably impressed with the efficiency of the staff and the neatness of the paperwork, but he avoided questioning anyone about the missing taxes. When he had seen enough of the provincial recordkeeping, a servant led them to their quarters. It was getting dark, and a chill wind blew across the tribunal compound. The guest pavilion with its covered veranda turned out to be spacious and pleasant and had its own walled courtyard. Seimei gave their quarters a cursory glance and asked the servant for the way to the bathhouse.

“It’s still early,” protested Akitada. “I wanted to walk around the tribunal first.”

“You forget the dusty archives,” said Seimei. “Besides, who knows, the governor may call on us to make certain we are comfortable. He strikes me as a most polite gentleman.”

Akitada thought so, too, but would have preferred a less likable host.

The tribunal bathhouse was large and empty except for a burly, nearly naked servant, who stoked the fire and assisted with their bath. Akitada submitted to a thorough scrubbing and then went to soak in the deep cedarwood tub filled with steaming water. They could not discuss the governor in front of the attendant, so he emptied his mind gratefully of all his doubts and worries and relaxed.

When they returned to their room, they found letters from the capital and a pot of fragrant tea with a note from Motosuke. It was brushed in beautiful calligraphy on a sheet of thick mulberry paper and explained that tea was not only refreshing to the soul, soothing to the throat, and invigorating to the stomach, but would also ward off illnesses and lift the spirit.

Seimei was delighted. Though wine was the common drink, he had tasted tea from China and believed in its medicinal powers. Filling two dainty porcelain cups, he handed one to Akitada. “You should not have spoken so rudely to the governor,” he said disapprovingly. “He is clearly a very superior sort of person, not just in rank, but in his gentlemanly manners also. I was quite shocked.” Akitada, who still felt deeply embarrassed by the incident, said nothing. “Ah!” cried Seimei, tasting the tea. “It is very bitter. Drink. Drink. Remember the peddler! No doubt the dirty person had all sorts of nasty diseases.”

“It was thoughtful of the governor,” Akitada said. He sighed and set down his cup untasted. “I may have been too abrupt. He offered us welcome and hospitality, and I treated him with cold formality—as if he were a proven criminal. Oh, Seimei, I must either clear him or place him under arrest. How am I, a mere junior clerk of the lower eighth rank, to arrest a Fujiwara who is not only older than I, but who far outranks me?”

Seimei was unconcerned. “You are sent by the emperor. That gives you the power to act on His Majesty’s behalf. The governor was very properly humble. Besides, you are very good at solving mysteries and will undoubtedly clear His Excellency.”

Akitada shook his head. “There was talk at home that they sent a junior clerk because they wanted this investigation to fail. The captain in Hakone thought so, too. I shall certainly be blamed if I fail, but it may be worse if I succeed.” He reached for the letters. One was from his mother; he put this aside. The other was from his former professor. “Heavens,” he muttered, reading, “Tasuku is taking the tonsure?”

“Tasuku? Is that the very popular young gentleman who was always reciting poems?”

“Yes. Love poems. Tasuku had a reputation among the ladies. That is why this news seems so shocking. The professor does not know what happened. Apparently, it was all very sudden and secretive.” He had seen Tasuku last at his own farewell party, where his handsome friend had drunk too much, then made a scene, breaking his elegant painted fan, and stormed away. That, too, had not been like him, but it was nothing like this.

Shaking his head, Akitada was reaching for his mother’s letter when he noticed a red leather box next to the tea things. “I suppose the tea was meant to keep us awake while we study the first batch of Motosuke’s accounts,” he grumbled.

“Not tonight,” protested Seimei. “Even the strongest ox needs his rest after a long journey.”

But Akitada had already flipped back the lid. For a moment he stood transfixed. Then his face darkened with fury.

“What is it?” asked Seimei.

“Ten bars of gold,” said Akitada in a choked voice.

* * * *

THREE

BLACKBEARD

ora sighed with relief and pleasure when the girl with the tantalizing hips paid for her radishes and turned around. Her face was beautiful...and terrified!

Two saffron-colored backs moved to block Tora’s view. The monks.

Mindful only of the panic on the pretty girl’s face, Tora did not pause to think that monks took vows of chastity and nonviolence. If she was afraid of the two monks, that was enough for him to rush to her aid.

He bounded into the street, dodged a passing bullock cart, made way for a pair of elderly women, jumped over a stray dog, and collided painfully with a bamboo cage full of songbirds strapped to the back of a passing vendor. Birds and man set up a loud protest that attracted a crowd, and Tora was detained until it had been confirmed that cage and birds had taken no harm.

By then the girl and the monks had disappeared. Only the vegetable vendor remained, staring thoughtfully toward the nearest street corner.

“Where did they go?” Tora cried, shaking the man’s arm to get his attention.

“Oh, are you a member of the family?” the man asked. “So sorry about the young woman. The reverend brothers explained and took her with them.”

“Explained what?”

That was a mistake. The vendor frowned and asked, “Who are you? What business is it of yours?”

Tora cursed and ran to the corner. It opened on a narrow alley, made nearly impassable by the many baskets, crates, and piles of refuse that had accumulated from the market stalls; lined by a warren of tiny shops, small houses, and fenced yards; and crowded with small children playing among the debris, shop boys running with parcels, and market women hauling baskets of produce. The monks and the girl had vanished.

Taking a chance, Tora plunged in, dodging human and inanimate obstacles at a run, pausing only to peer down each cross alley as he came to it.

At the third intersection he was in luck. He saw a patch of saffron yellow disappearing around the far corner and he put on speed. When he turned that corner, he saw them. The slip of a girl was struggling frantically between her two brawny captors. One of them slapped her viciously across the face.