The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn (12 page)

Seikei slipped the sandal on and
tested it. It was secure. He bowed. “I am in your debt,” he said,
“but unfortunately I have nothing to give you.”

The boy eyed Seikei’s sword,
obviously thinking that anyone who carried one had money as well,
but he only shrugged. “You’d better hurry,” he said. “There are
many thieves on the road at night, and they will take your clothes
and sword if you have nothing else.”

Seikei needed no urging. His feet
still hurt, but the sandals made it possible for him to walk
faster. Even so, two ri turned out to be a greater distance on foot
than in a kago. He reached the town long after darkness had fallen,
but as he reached the crest of a hill, he saw the comforting lights
of the inns and houses.

As he drew closer he heard the
sounds of drums and gongs. A troupe of entertainers was performing
in the main street. Seikei saw bright objects spinning and flashing
in the lantern lights. Someone was juggling swords.

Seikei moved around to the edge of
the watching crowd. People were laughing and applauding. Suddenly,
he felt someone clap his shoulder. “Is that really you,
Seikei?”

It was Kazuo. “You look terrible,”
he said. “What happened to you? Tomomi wouldn’t tell me. I thought
you must have gone back to your master.”

“I’m following the path—I mean,
following my master,” Seikei explained weakly. His knees trembled,
and he realized that he was nearly starving. “Kazuo, please, could
you give me something to eat?”

“Ha!” Kazuo snorted. “What kind of
a master lets his servants go hungry? Come on, but you’ll have to
earn your keep if you travel with us.”

14: A New Role

The actors had set up camp in back
of a stable, for this small town had no temple offering shelter.
Everyone shared a large pot of warm rice and sea bream. Seikei
thought it was the best meal he had ever eaten. As soon as his bowl
was empty, he lay back and listened to the actors talking and
singing. He looked up and saw the stars overhead. Then his eyes
closed, and the next thing he knew Kazuo was shaking
him.

The stars had disappeared and the
sky was now streaked pink from the rising sun. Though Seikei’s feet
still pained him and his legs were stiff, he followed Kazuo to a
nearby stream. Kazuo stripped off his clothes and jumped into the
water. Seikei quickly joined him. The stream was freezing cold, but
he washed off the dust of the road with relief.

Kazuo rinsed
some of the actors’ costumes in the water and spread them on rocks
to dry. “This town is too small to make it worthwhile to put on a
play,” he explained. “We’re just picking up a few coins by
performing tricks and such. But in a few days we’ll be in Edo, and
the
bon
festival
will be starting. Tomomi says he’ll have a brand-new play for us to
perform.”

“He’s writing it?” said
Seikei.

“He writes all our plays. The most popular one is
The Forty-Seven Ronin
,
of course. Many kabuki troupes
perform some version of that story. But Tomomi’s is best, don’t you
think?”

“It’s the best one I’ve ever
seen,” Seikei said. He didn’t mention it was the only one he’d
seen. “What is the new play about?”

“Tomomi won’t tell anyone yet. He
likes surprises. He’s been rehearsing the actors separately, so
that nobody knows the whole play. Of course, he’ll give himself the
main role. He always does.”

Seikei clambered out of the water
and dried himself. As he put on his clothes, Kazuo said, “I see you
got your sword back. What did you have to do for it?”

Seikei hesitated. How much did
Kazuo know about the theft of the ruby? “I watched him make an
offering at the shrine of Amaterasu,” he explained.

Kazuo gave him a skeptical look.
“Is that all?”

Seikei shrugged.

“Well, maybe he wanted to prove he
wasn’t a Kirishitan,” Kazuo suggested. “Is that why this judge,
your master, has his eye on Tomomi?”

The question made Seikei
uncomfortable. He remembered the reason why Judge Ooka had told him
to investigate Tomomi—to see why he became a bent tree. “No,” he
said. He looked at Kazuo, and decided that he was so open and
honest that he could not possibly have anything to do with the
theft.

“Were you with Tomomi at the
checkpoint outside the town of Kameyama?” Seikei asked. “Did you
see what he did?”

Kazuo wrinkled his brow.
“Kameyama? How many days ago was that?”

Seikei counted. “Three.” Was it
only three days ago? So much seemed to have happened since
then.

“Oh, I remember,” said Kazuo.
“Tomomi was in one of his crazy moods. He pretended to be a beggar,
and stood in front of a daimyo’s procession. We were all terrified,
because we thought he’d lose his head for sure.”

“That was it,” said Seikei. “What
happened that night, in the town? Do you remember? Was there
anything strange?”

“Let’s see. We put on a
love-suicide play. You know, one of those where two people are in
love but their families forbid them to marry, so they kill
themselves. I can never understand why they don’t just agree to
marry the people their families picked out for them. Do
you?”

“But afterward,” urged Seikei.
“What happened after the play?”

“Well, we slept in the Buddhist
monastery. We had a good meal too. Lots of shrimp, because some
boatman had donated so much to the monastery that the monks
distributed it to the travelers.”

“I mean Tomomi. What did he
do?”

Kazuo shrugged, and put his finger
to his nose. “I remember. He went to see a friend of his—he knows
lots of people along the road—and he wore his costume as usual, but
when he came back, it was covered with mud. I thought it was
ruined, but I managed to clean it off. Good thing too. He plans to
use it in the new play.”

Covered with
mud
, thought Seikei. He remembered his
trip through the tunnel underneath the inn. It was almost certain
that Tomomi had taken the jewel. But why, if his intention was only
to offer it at the Ise shrine? Seikei wished he could find the
judge and tell him what he’d discovered.

When the costumes were dry, Seikei
helped Kazuo fold them neatly. They returned to the actors, who
were preparing to leave. Tomomi spotted Seikei and walked over. “I
thought I told you to return to your master,” he said. “Did you
tell him what you saw?”

Seikei shook his head. “He has
gone on without me,” he confessed. “May I travel with
you?”

Tomomi laughed. “Why not? Kazuo
needs a helper, and perhaps we can find some other use for you.”
Seikei wondered uneasily what that might be. Kazuo gave him some
straw sandals that were better for walking, and as the sun rose
higher in the sky Seikei’s stiffness soon wore off. Traveling with
the troupe made the journey easier. The actors had one old horse
that they loaded with the trunks that held their props and
costumes. As they marched along, they passed the time by singing,
telling jokes, and practicing scenes from their plays.

At midday, they came upon one of
the food stands that dotted the road. Tomomi offered to pay for
their meal by displaying his acrobatic skill. The man who owned the
stand shook his head. “I’ve seen enough acrobats,” he said. “Dozens
of them have passed by on their way to Edo these past few
days.”

“How about a sword fight?” Tomomi
suggested. The man’s eyes lit up. “That would be good to see,” he
said.

Tomomi nodded to Kazuo, who
quickly opened the box that held the swords. Tomomi handed them out
to several of the other actors. “Now,” he said to the owner of the
stand, “these five men will be your loyal samurai. They will defend
you against my attack. But if I fight my way through, you will
serve us soup.”

The man laughed. “They will allow
you to win.”

Tomomi bowed. “You will be the
judge of that.”

The five actors grouped themselves
in a semicircle in front of the food stand. Tomomi stepped back
into the road, a long sword in his right hand and a short one in
his left. Suddenly, he leaped forward, and the five actors closed
around him. Their swords cut through the air, but Tomomi parried
every thrust. He danced backward and to the side, stabbing out with
the short sword to strike down a man who came too close. The actor
fell to the ground with a cry, and the other four circled Tomomi
warily.

Seikei watched
in fascination. He had seen Tomomi’s skill on stage during the
performance of
The Forty-Seven
Ronin,
but up close the actor was even
more amazing. Every step he took was swift and sure, like a
dancer’s. All the while, his hands moved with grace and speed, now
defending, now attacking. His swords whistled through the air,
cutting down a second man, and then another.

Seikei forgot that it was only
play-acting, for the cries of the men who fell seemed real.
Tomomi’s last two opponents split up, and approached him cautiously
from either side. It seemed certain that one of them would strike
Tomomi. But as they rushed him, he ducked low to the ground,
dodging both sword thrusts, and then rose and whirled in a single
movement. His two swords struck both his opponents’ necks at the
same time.

Triumphant, Tomomi’s eyes blazed
like a wild man’s. Now he danced toward the owner of the stand,
holding his long sword at arm’s length. He touched the side of the
owner’s neck with the blade, and the man’s eyes bugged out. “Your
head?” Tomomi said. “Or the soup? Do you keep your
promise?”

“Yes, Lord,” the man whispered,
and the actors rose from the ground like men coming back from the
dead. The owner rushed to fill bowls for them.

Tomomi casually handed his swords
to Seikei. “Collect the rest of the swords and put them away,” he
said, “and you can eat too.”

When they set out on the road
again, Seikei walked alongside Tomomi. “It is true, then. You
really are a samurai, aren’t you?” he said.

Tomomi turned his head slightly.
“Just an actor,” he replied.

“Who then is Genji, the son of
Takezaki Kita?”

Tomomi glanced sharply at him.
“Who told you that name?”

“You did,” said Seikei. “In the
floating world.”

“I must have been drunk,” said
Tomomi. “Forget that name. It was a character from a
play.”

“Only a man born to be a samurai
could display your skill with a sword,” Seikei said.

“Do not think so,” Tomomi said,
shaking his head. “Nothing about birth qualifies a man to use a
sword— merely the shogun’s order that samurai alone may carry them.
Skill with a sword is like juggling or playing an instrument. A man
learns it through practice.” Tomomi gave Seikei a sly look. “I can
teach you.”

The hair on the back of Seikei’s
neck stood up. He reminded himself to be wary. “What would I have
to do in return?” he said.

“Nothing much. Perhaps take a role
in a play I am writing,” Tomomi said.

Seikei took a deep breath. “You
mean act? On stage?”

“It will not be in a theater, nor
will the audience be very large,” said Tomomi. “You will not find
it difficult.”

Seikei hesitated, trying to think.
The judge had told him to become a tree to catch the thief. Now
Seikei knew the thief was standing before him. It seemed the
correct path was to become an actor so that he would win Tomomi’s
trust. “I agree,” he said.

15: Under the Komuso’s
Mask

As they drew closer to Edo, the
number of checkpoints increased. Mostly, however, the guards were
examining those who traveled in the other direction. One of the
ways the shogun kept his control over the country was by commanding
the daimyos and their families to spend every other year in Edo.
Though the lords were treated as the “guests” of the shogun, they
were really hostages—guarantees that no daimyo would raise an army
of samurai to rebel against the government. The checkpoints outside
Edo were set up to prevent any of the wives or children of the
daimyos from slipping out of the city without
permission.

In the afternoon, as the actors
were waiting in line at a checkpoint, rain began to fall. Many
people in the line unfurled oil-paper umbrellas whose colors made
them look like flowers blooming in the spring. But the actors’ only
umbrellas were the ones they used on stage, and they were too
delicate to use in a real rainstorm.

The line moved slowly, and
Seikei’s clothing was soon soaked through. It stuck to his skin,
chilling him. He thought again of the kago, where he would have
been sheltered and dry.

That didn’t
matter
, he told himself. A samurai must be
willing to endure any hardship, and a little rain was nothing. His
master, Judge Ooka, had told him to follow the correct path. Seikei
had indeed found the thief the judge was seeking, but now Seikei
depended on the charity of the thief to survive. Perhaps, he
thought gloomily, he would never see either the judge or his father
again.