The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn (6 page)

Lord Hakuseki looked dazed as he
stared at the fragments of red glass scattered on the floor. “But
the jewel I had was genuine.”

“Yes, and you would have taken
this false one to the shogun. Imagine what his feelings would have
been when he discovered that you had presented him with an
imitation.”

Lord Hakuseki looked around
angrily. “Why did this paper-seller have it? Did he take the real
jewel?”

“It was only by chance that it was placed in his room,” the
judge said. He looked at Seikei’s father. “It would have been
discovered in
your
room, had your son not been awake when the thief
opened the door. Instead he went to another room and placed it
there, for it did not matter which room it was found
in.”

Judge Ooka looked at Lord
Hakuseki. “That was the thief’s plan. He knew that you would
discover the theft and immediately raise a cry. The other rooms
would be searched, and when the false jewel was discovered, you
would be certain it was the real one. No one would look for the
thief, since it would be thought he had already been
found.”

“How do you know all this?” asked
Lord Hakuseki.

“This boy set me on the correct
way of thinking,” the judge replied. “After that, it was easy to
see what really happened.”

“But who is the thief? And where
is my jewel?

“Those things I have yet to
discover,” said the judge calmly. “I think this innkeeper may help
me. Bring him forward.”

The guards dragged the man before
Judge Ooka. He looked sullenly at the floor.

“Why is there a tunnel between
your inn and the monastery?” Judge Ooka asked him.

“I know nothing about it,” the
innkeeper said.

The judge turned to Lord Hakuseki.
“Have you ever seen this man before? Think carefully.”

The daimyo frowned. “I cannot
remember. Of what importance is he to me?”

Judge Ooka looked at the daimyo.
“You may have done him some injury.”

“What of it? He is not a samurai.
I have power over many people, all those who live on my lands. I
can treat them as I wish. Show me that he has stolen my jewel, and
I will order one of my men to kill him instantly.”

“He is my prisoner, and you will
not touch him,” said the judge. “I speak with the authority of the
shogun, for I am one of his officials.” He nodded toward the
guards. “Take this innkeeper away, and use methods to persuade him
to speak.” Seikei saw a look of fear appear on the man’s
face.

When they were gone, Judge Ooka
sat thinking for a while. “The solution to this mystery will take
time.”

“I have no time,” snapped Lord
Hakuseki. “I am to appear before the shogun in four
days.”

“Then you should be on your way,”
said the judge. “I will arrive in the shogun’s castle by that time
to report what has happened.” He turned to the other guests. “You
are all free to go as well. But this boy must remain with me for
the present.”

Seikei’s father spoke up. “He
cannot have had anything to do with the theft, Lord. You said that
yourself.”

“He was a witness,” said Judge
Ooka. “And he is a bright, brave boy. I need his help.”

Seikei’s father put his hand to
his head. “How can he possibly help you? I must warn you about
him—”

“Put your mind at rest,” said the
judge. “You are on your way to Edo too? I will return him safely to
you there.”

Seikei’s father shot a final look
of warning at his son, and then left. Michiko came up to Seikei. “I
owe you more than I can possibly repay,” she said. “You saved my
father and me from being tortured.”

“I only told the truth,” he
said.

“Many people
would have held their tongues,” she told him. “You had no reason to
risk your own safety.”

“It is honorable to speak the
truth without regard for the consequences,” Seikei said.

Judge Ooka overheard him. “I see
you remember that book well,” he said. “Now come along. Have you
ever ridden a horse?”

Seikei gasped. “Never,
Lord.”

‘You must now. We are going to
chase the thief.”

8: A Sword for Seikei

Outside the inn, Judge Ooka and his
men mounted their horses. The innkeeper, hands bound behind his
back, was tied to a rope and forced to walk behind them. The judge
turned and said to one of his guards, “Bunzo, teach this boy to
ride a horse.”

Bunzo reached down and deftly
swung Seikei onto the back of his saddle. Seikei threw his arms
around the samurai and held on tightly. Even though they rode
slowly, he bumped up and down hard. He thought that he would never
be able to survive a long journey this way.

Fortunately, Judge Ooka’s house
was just outside the town, surrounded by a high stone wall. Inside
the gate, they dismounted in a large courtyard. As the judge’s men
led the innkeeper away, Bunzo took Seikei to the
stables.

Bunzo was a burly samurai with a
mustache. Like all samurai, he had shaved the hair above his
forehead, and tied the top of his hair into a narrow roll. His
clothes were spotless and neatly pressed. “Never rode a horse, eh?”
Bunzo said.

Seikei shook his head.

Bunzo brought Seikei a plain brown
coat, short pants that ended at the knee, black leggings that
covered his legs and feet, and a pair of leather sandals. The
leggings were tight and their thick rough cloth scratched Seikei’s
legs. As he walked gingerly about, Bunzo grinned. “Merchant’s son,
aren’t you?”

“How can you tell?” said
Seikei.

“You’re used to soft clothes.
That’s what merchants wear. They get rich by selling at high
prices, cheating people.”

Seikei hung his head. That was why
everybody looked down on merchants. They didn’t grow food, like the
farmers, or make things, like Michiko and her father did. They only
sold goods.

Bunzo led a gray mare out of its
stall. He showed Seikei how to saddle it. “This horse won’t run,”
Bunzo said. Too old. If you hit her to make her go fast, she’ll
just stop. All you have to do is stay on her.”

He helped Seikei get into the
saddle and showed him how to place his sandals in the stirrups. “If
you want to turn right or left, just tug the reins a little bit,”
Bunzo said. “This horse has been riding a lot longer than you.
She’ll know where to take you.”

Bunzo handed
Seikei the reins. Nothing happened. The horse turned its head and
looked at Seikei.
Even this horse knows
I’m not a samurai
, Seikei
thought.

“Tell her to go,” said Bunzo.
“Move forward in the saddle.”

“Go, go,” shouted Seikei. The
horse began to walk back toward the stable.

“Turn her now,” said Bunzo. “Use
the reins like I told you.”

Seikei yanked the reins—too hard,
for the horse jerked her head and shook her back so roughly that
Seikei lost his balance. He let go of the reins and grabbed the
horse’s neck to keep from falling off.

Bunzo took hold of Seikei’s coat
and pulled him upright. “Sit with your back straight,” he said.
“Think of yourself as part of the horse. When she moves, you move
with her.”

Seikei began to get the idea.
After some more practice, he was able to turn the horse. It was
exciting to sit up here, high above the ground. He closed his eyes
for a second, imagining himself in the armor of a samurai. Then the
horse turned suddenly when he did not expect it, and Seikei fell
off.

Bunzo walked over and picked
Seikei out of the dust. He plopped him back into the
saddle.

‘You know, Judge Ooka is a very
wise man,” Bunzo said. “No criminal ever escapes him. He sees
things that others do not notice. But once in a while, even he
makes a mistake.”

Seikei blushed. He knew who the
mistake was. He gritted his teeth and resolved that he would never
lose his balance again.

Judge Ooka appeared in the
courtyard. “How is the training coming along?” he said. “You know,
Bunzo, this young man wishes he could be a samurai.”

Bunzo rolled his eyes and said
nothing.

“He needs a sword, don’t you
think?” the judge said.

Seikei held his breath. Only in
his dreams had he dared imagine anything like this.

“He is not a samurai,” Bunzo said
disapprovingly.

“Perhaps a wooden sword,” said the
judge.

Bunzo shrugged. “At least he would
not cut himself.”

“Let us go find one,” said the
judge. He turned to Seikei and said, “Perhaps you would enjoy a
bath right now.”

Seikei realized that he was still
muddy from his trip through the tunnel, and that after the lessons
he also smelled of horse.

The judge pointed. “Go around to
the back of the house and you will find the bath. I will join you
there.”

Seikei left the judge talking with
Bunzo. He found the bathhouse, removing his sandals before
entering. An older woman met him inside the doorway. “Judge Ooka
told me to wash myself,” Seikei told her shyly.

She motioned toward a large
shallow pool lined with green tiles. It was empty, but the woman
pointed to a bamboo tube plugged with a cork. “Open that, and water
will come,” she said. She closed the door, and Seikei undressed and
sat down in the bath. He pulled out the cork, and water began to
flow out of the tube. To his surprise, it was warm. In his home in
Osaka, his family heated water on the cooking stove when they
wished to take warm baths. He sat back and enjoyed feeling the
water flow over his body.

Soon afterward, the judge arrived.
He joined Seikei in the bath, which was large enough to hold at
least ten people without crowding. Unless all of them were as large
as Judge Ooka. As he settled into the bath, the level of the water
rose enough to flow over the sides.

“Why is a hot bath such a
pleasure?” the judge asked.

Seikei had never thought about it.
“It just feels good,” he said.

“Perhaps that is the best answer,”
said the judge. ‘To enjoy, and not question it. But as I grow
older, my mind becomes more restless. I seek out answers to
things.”

“Why is the water so warm?” asked
Seikei, thinking that the judge would be pleased with another
question.

He was, nodding approvingly.
‘There is a hot spring nearby,” he explained. “When I heard of it,
I realized that its water could be channeled here through bamboo
tubes. Much easier than heating water on a stove and carrying it in
buckets.”

The judge closed his eyes and sunk
deeper into the water. “I regret that we cannot stay here for long.
We must soon pursue the thief.”

Seikei had been wondering about
that. It seemed to him that while they delayed, the thief must be
getting farther away. But Judge Ooka must know something about the
thief by now.

“Did the innkeeper confess?” asked
Seikei.

“He would not talk,” said the judge, “although some of my men
showed him the instruments of torture. So we left him alone with a
sword, and he committed
seppuku
.
”

“What? He killed himself? But that
means you can’t learn anything from him.”

“Oh, no. He told me all I really
need to know. Except for a few details, which we will surely
discover in time.”

Seikei blinked. The judge must be
testing his loyalty. Surely he could not have solved the crime
already.

The judge saw the look on Seikei’s
face, and smiled. “Why would a man kill himself rather than confess
to a crime?” the judge asked him. “The penalty for theft is not
death.”

Seikei thought about it. ‘To
protect someone else?” he suggested.

“Very good. And what sort of man
would choose death rather than betray his friends?”

“A samurai?”

The judge nodded. “If he were of
noble spirit. But why would a samurai be working as an
innkeeper?”

Seikei could not answer that.
Judge Ooka rose from the bath and began to dry himself. “Come. You
can think about these questions later. Now you must receive your
sword.”

Seikei dressed hastily. Even if it
were only a wooden sword, he thought, it was more than he could
have dreamed of.

The judge led him into the garden
at the back of the house. Like everything else in the judge’s home,
the garden indicated a love of beauty. Plants and trees surrounded
a large rectangle of neatly raked white gravel. A few stones of
different shapes and sizes were resting here and there on the
gravel.

Seikei had seen gardens like this
in Zen Buddhist temples in Kyoto. The monks gazed at them for
hours, to clear their minds.

The judge sat on a wooden bench at
the edge of the garden, motioning Seikei to sit beside him. Seikei
knew that the stones were placed to fool the eye. Gazing at them
long enough, you began to feel you were looking out on a vast
landscape.