The Harsh Cry of the Heron (10 page)

It had been raining
on and off all day, but now the sky was clearing, a soft wind from the south
dispersing the heavy clouds. The sun set in a pink and golden glow that made
the many green hues of the garden luminous. It would be fine in the morning, a
good day for travelling, and fine also for the evening activities he had in
mind.

He bathed and dressed
in a light cotton robe as if preparing for sleep, ate lightly but drank no
wine, and then dismissed all the servants, telling them he was not to be
disturbed till morning. Then he composed himself, cross-legged on the matting,
eyes closed and first finger and thumb pressed together as if deep in
meditation. He set his ears to listen to the sounds of the mansion.

Every sound came to
him: the quiet conversation of the guards at the gate, the kitchen maids chatting
as they scoured the dishes and put them away, the dogs barking, music from the
drinking places around the port, the endless murmur of the sea, the rustle of
leaves and owls hooting from the mountain.

He heard Zenko and
Hana discuss the arrangements for the following day, but their conversation was
innocuous, as though they had remembered he might be listening. In the
dangerous game they had initiated, they could not risk him overhearing their
strategy, especially if he were to hold their sons. A short time later they met
Kono for the evening meal, but they were equally circumspect: he learned
nothing more than the current hairstyles and fashions at court, Kono’s passion
for poetry and drama, and the noble sports of kickball and dog hunting.

The conversation grew
more animated: like his father, Zenko loved wine. Takeo stood and changed his
clothes, putting on a faded unremarkable robe such as a merchant might wear. As
he went past Jun and Shin, seated as they always were outside his door, Jun
raised his eyebrows; Takeo shook his head slightly. He did not want anyone to
know he had left the mansion. He slipped into straw sandals at the garden
steps, took on invisibility and walked through the still-open gates. The dogs
followed him with their eyes but the guards did not notice him. Be thankful you
do not guard the gates of Miyako, he said silently to the dogs. For they would
shoot you full of arrows for sport.

At a dark corner not
far from the port, he stepped into the shadow invisible and stepped out in his guise
of a merchant hurrying late from some assignment in the town, eager to ease his
weariness with a few drinks and the company of friends. The air smelled of
salt, drying fish and seaweed on racks on the shore, grilled fish and octopus
from the eating places. Lanterns lit the narrow streets and lamps glowed orange
from behind the screens.

At the dockside
wooden ships rubbed against each other, creaking in the swell of the tide, the
water lapping at their hulls, their stubby masts dark against the starry sky.
In the distance he could just make out the islands of the Encircled Sea; behind
their jagged profile was the faint sheen of moonrise.

A brazier burned
beside the mooring ropes of one large vessel, and Takeo, using the town
dialect, called to the men who squatted near it, roasting pieces of dried
abalone and sharing a flask of wine. ‘Did Terada come on this ship?’

‘He did,’ one
replied. ‘He is eating at the Umedaya.’

‘Did you hope to see
the kirin?’ the other added. ‘Lord Terada has hidden it somewhere safe until he
can show it to our ruler, Lord Otori.’

‘The kirin?’ Takeo
was astonished. A kirin was a mythical beast, part dragon, part horse, part
lion. He thought it only existed in legends. What could Terada and Ishida have
found on the mainland?

‘It’s supposed to be
secret,’ the first man rebuked his friend. ‘And you keep blabbing to everyone!’

‘But a kirin!’ the
other replied. ‘What a miracle to have one alive! And doesn’t it prove Lord
Otori is just and wise above all others? First the houou, the sacred bird,
returns to the Three Countries, and now a kirin has appeared!’ He took another
swig of wine and then offered the flask to Takeo.

‘Drink to the kirin
and to Lord Otori!’

‘Well, thank you,’
Takeo said, smiling. ‘I hope I may see it one day.’

‘Not before Lord
Otori has set eyes on it!’

He was still smiling
as he walked away, the rough liquor lifting his spirits as much as the good
will of the men.

When I hear nothing
but criticism of Lord Otori -then I will abdicate, he told himself. But not
before then, not for ten emperors and their generals.

The Umedaya was an
eating house between the port and the main district of the town, one of many
low wooden buildings that faced onto the river, flanked by willow trees.
Lanterns hung from the veranda posts and from the flat boats moored in front of
it that carried bales of rice and millet, and other farm produce, from the
inland to the sea. Many customers sat outside enjoying the change in the
weather and the beauty of the moon, now above the mountain peaks, reflected in
silver fragments in the flow of the tide.

‘Welcome! Welcome!’
the servants called as Takeo parted the shop curtains to step inside; he
mentioned Terada’s name and was shown towards a corner of the inner veranda
where Fumio was busily gulping stewed fish while talking loudly. Dr Ishida sat
with him, eating as heartily, listening with a half-smile on his face. Several
of Fumio’s men, some of whom Takeo recognized, were with him.

Standing unnoticed in
the shadows, Takeo studied his old friend for a few moments while the maids
hurried to and fro past him with trays of food and flasks of wine. Fumio looked
as robust as ever, with his plump cheeks and fine moustache, though he appeared
to have a new scar across one temple. Ishida looked older, more gaunt, his skin
yellowish.

He was glad to see
both of them and stepped up onto the seating area. One of the former pirates
immediately leaped to his feet to bar his way, thinking him some merchant of no
importance, but after a moment of baffled surprise Fumio rose, pushed his man
to one side, whispering ‘It is Lord Otori!’ and embraced Takeo.

‘Even though I was
expecting you, I did not recognize you!’ he exclaimed. ‘It is uncanny: I never
get used to it.’

Dr Ishida was smiling
broadly. ‘Lord Otori!’ He called to the maid to bring more wine and Takeo sat
down next to Fumio, opposite the doctor, who was peering at him in the dim
light.

‘Some trouble?’
Ishida said after they had toasted each other.

‘A few things I need
to talk about,’ Takeo replied. Fumio made a gesture with his head, and his men
took themselves off to another table.

‘I have a present for
you,’ he said to Takeo. ‘It will distract you from your troubles. See if you
can guess what it is! It is greater than any of your heart’s desires!’

‘There is one thing I
desire above all others,’ Takeo replied. ‘And that is to see a kirin before I
die.’

‘Ah. They told you.
The worthless scum. I’ll tear their tongues out!’

‘They told a poor,
insignificant merchant,’ Takeo said, laughing. ‘I must forbid you to punish
them. Anyway, I hardly believed them. Can it be true?’

‘Yes and no,’ Ishida
said. ‘Of course, it is not really a kirin: a kirin is a mythical creature and
this is a real animal. But it is a most extraordinary beast, and more like a
kirin than anything else that I have ever seen under Heaven.’

‘Ishida is in love
with it,’ Fumio said. ‘He spends hours in its company. He is worse than you and
that old horse of yours, what was its name?’

‘Shun,’ Takeo said.
Shun had died of old age the previous year; there would never be another horse
like him.

‘You can’t ride this
creature, but maybe it will replace Shun in your affections,’ Fumio said.

‘I long to see it.
Where is it now?’

‘In the temple,
Daifukuji; they have found a quiet garden for it, with a high wall. We will
show you tomorrow. Now you have ruined our surprise, you may as well tell us
your troubles.’

Fumio poured more
wine.

‘What do you know
about the Emperor’s new general?’ Takeo said.

‘If you had asked me
a week ago, I would have said, "Nothing," for we have been six months
away, but we came back by way of Akashi, and the free city is abuzz with talk
of him. His name is Saga Hideki, nicknamed the Dog Catcher.’

‘The Dog Catcher?’

‘He loves dog
hunting, and excels at it, they say. He is a master of the horse and bow, and a
brilliant strategist. He dominates the Eastern Isles, has the ambition, they
say, of conquering all the Eight Islands, and recently received the Emperor’s
appointment to fight His Divine Majesty’s battles and destroy his enemies in
order to achieve that end.’

‘It seems I am among
his enemies,’ Takeo said. ‘Lord Fujiwara’s son, Kono, called on me today to
inform me. Apparently the Emperor will be sending me a request to abdicate, and
if I refuse he will send his Dog Catcher against me.’

Ishida’s face had
paled at the mention of Fujiwara’s name. ‘Troubles indeed,’ he muttered.

‘That was not
mentioned in Akashi,’ Fumio said. ‘It has not yet been made public’

‘Was there any
indication that firearms are being traded in Akashi?’

‘No, on the contrary;
several merchants approached me, asking about weapons and nitre, hoping to get
around the Otori prohibition. I must warn you, they were offering huge sums of
money. If the Emperor’s general is preparing war against you, he is probably
attempting to buy arms: for that money, sooner or later someone is going to
supply them.’

‘I’m afraid they are
already on their way,’ Takeo said, and told Fumio about his suspicions of
Zenko.

‘They have less than
a day’s start,’ Fumio said, draining his glass and getting to his feet. ‘We can
intercept them. I wanted to see your face when I showed you the kirin, but
Ishida will tell me about it. Keep Lord Kono in the West until I return. While
they cannot match the firearm they will not provoke you into battle. But once
they have it - they have more resources, iron ore and smiths, and more men than
we do. The wind is westerly: we’ll catch the tide if we leave now.’ He called
to the men, and they also rose, cramming the last of the food into their
mouths, draining the wine cups, bidding the maids a reluctant farewell. Takeo
gave them the name of the boat.

Fumio departed so
swiftly they hardly had time to say goodbye.

Takeo was left with
Ishida. ‘Fumio has not changed,’ he said, amused by his friend’s immediate
action.

‘He is always the
same,’ Ishida replied. ‘Like a whirlwind, never still.’ The doctor poured more
wine and drank deeply. ‘He is a stimulating travelling companion, but
exhausting.’

They spoke of the
voyage, and Takeo gave news of his family, in whom Ishida always took the
keenest interest, for he had been married for fifteen years to Muto Shizuka.

‘Your pain has
increased?’ the doctor said. ‘It shows in your face.’

‘Yes, the damp
weather aggravates it: sometimes I feel there must be a residue of poison that
flares up. Often the wound seems inflamed beneath the scar. It makes my whole
body ache.’

‘I will look at it,
in private,’ Ishida said.

‘Can you come back
with me now?’

‘I have quite a
supply of root from Shin, and a new soporific made from poppies. Luckily I
decided to bring them with me,’ Ishida remarked, taking up a cloth bundle and a
small wooden chest. ‘I had intended to leave these on the ship. They would be
halfway to Akashi by now and little use to you.’

A bleak tone had come
into Ishida’s voice. Takeo thought he might say more, but after a moment of
uncomfortable silence the doctor seemed to regain his self-control; he gathered
up his things and said cheerfully, ‘And then I must go and check on the kirin.
I will sleep at Daifukuji tonight. The kirin is used to me and even attached to
me: I do not want it to fret.’

Takeo had been aware
for a little while of a discordant sound from within the eating house, a man
speaking in the foreigners’ language and a woman’s voice translating. The woman’s
voice interested him, for the accent held a tone of the East in it, though she
spoke in a local dialect, and there was something about her intonation that was
familiar to him.

As they went through
the inside room he recognized the foreigner, the one called Don Joao. He was
sure he had never seen the woman kneeling beside him, yet there was something .
. .

While he was
pondering who she might be, the man spotted Ishida and called out to him.
Ishida was a great favourite with the foreigners and spent many hours in their
company, exchanging medical knowledge, information on treatment and herbs, and
comparing their customs and language.

Don Joao had met
Takeo several times, but always in formal circumstances, and he did not appear
to recognize him now. The foreigner was delighted to see the doctor and would
have liked him to sit and chat, but Ishida pleaded the needs of a patient. The
woman, who might have been twenty-five or so years old, glanced at Takeo, but
he kept his face turned away from her. She translated Ishida’s words - she
seemed quite fluent in the foreign tongue - and turned her gaze towards Takeo
again; she seemed to be studying him closely, as though she thought she might
know him in the same way as he thought he knew her.