Black Arrow (26 page)

“Sit down, Tora. Hitomaro is not finished.” Akitada’s voice was flat with exhaustion. “Go ahead, Hitomaro. You met Genba later, after you had taken the depositions?”

“Yes, sir. Genba stayed in the crowd to watch and listen.” Hitomaro smiled a little. “If there had been a confrontation, Sunada’s thugs would’ve had their second surprise. You would not recognize Genba. He’s huge and can toss a grown man farther than I can jump. He will win that match, I’m sure of it. After he saw that I was letting Sunada and his goons go, Genba went to Flying Goose village. The fisherman Rikio”—Hitomaro tapped the depositions on the desk—”is one of Sunada’s men. He got in debt and Sunada helped him out. Now he’s working off the debt in Sunada’s warehouses when he’s not fishing. A lot of fishermen are in the same ... er ... boat.”

Nobody chuckled. Akitada was rummaging among the papers on his desk. “Yes, I thought so,” he muttered, shivering. “No doubt the sake merchant is equally obligated to Sunada. Where is Seimei? Is there any hot tea? Wine will put me to sleep and there is too much work to be done.”

Hitomaro rose to call for Seimei. The old man arrived quickly, bowing to Akitada, and placing the tea utensils on the desk. Coughing, he muttered something about hot water and left again.

“I wish there were even the smallest sign of support for imperial authority,” Akitada said peevishly. “I dislike the idea of serving as high constable, although there is both precedent and cause for it. If I could count on just a small faction to oppose Uesugi, I would gladly forgo that dubious honor.”

Seimei reappeared with a steaming pot and prepared the tea.

“Well, there’s the doctor,” Tora offered.

Akitada said, “Yes. Thank you for reminding me, Tora. Oyoshi is a good man and a loyal friend, I think.”

Seimei poured water and offered Akitada a steaming cup. “Friendship is a rare jewel,” he said, suppressing another cough. “It may take more than a year to make a friend, but only a moment to offend him. Remember that, Tora.”

“Thank you, Seimei.” Akitada drank, then warmed his stiff fingers on the cup. “Tell me about the victim, Hito.”

“His name is Koichi. He was a porter when he could get work, but he had a bad reputation and several convictions for theft and robbery.”

Akitada clapped his hands and shouted, “Hamaya!” When the senior clerk bustled in and knelt, he asked, “Do you remember a defendant by the name of Koichi?”

“Koichi the porter? Oh, yes. Theft, robbery, intimidation, assault, and rape. A familiar face in the courtroom and a man who does not seem to feel the pain of the bamboo. A hardened case, sir. Is he in trouble again?”

“He is the murdered man brought in yesterday. I suppose Sunada will claim to have performed a civic duty.”

Hamaya looked astonished. “Koichi is the man Mr. Sunada killed? That is strange!”

“How so?”

“Mr. Sunada employed Koichi after his last jail term. I thought it most generous because Koichi’s reputation is well known. And now he attacked his benefactor!” Hamaya shook his head in amazement.

“Thank you, Hamaya.”

When the clerk had left, Akitada remarked sourly, “The reports of Sunada’s good deeds multiply like flies on a dead rat.”

Seimei, on his way out, paused at the door. “This Sunada sounds very suspicious to me. Best watch out for him. He is the kind they call a devil chanting prayers.” He coughed again and left.

Silence fell. Akitada hunched more deeply into his robe and stared into space. Tora snored, began to topple sideways, and came awake. “Wha ... ?”

“Tora,” said Akitada, “go get some sleep. We’re done for now.”

Tora nodded groggily and staggered from the room.

“Sir, I am unworthy of your great trust,” Hitomaro said, as soon as they were alone. He shifted to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor. “I have let a personal matter interfere with my duty.”

Akitada smiled a little. “Do not look so worried. I have no doubt that you will rectify whatever troubles you.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall try harder in the future.” Hitomaro paused, then said, “What Seimei said about friendship, sir? I shall not forget it again.”

“He meant it for Tora,” Akitada said, surprised.

“I know, sir. But I almost hit Genba yesterday, and he was very kind ...” Hitomaro broke off, overcome with the memory of his friend’s generosity.

Akitada got up and touched his shoulder. “Never mind, Hito. These are difficult times for all of us.” He sighed deeply. “That little boy asked my help. I cannot forget his eyes.”

Hitomaro stood. “What can I do to help, sir?”

Akitada pulled his earlobe and frowned. “I wish I knew. There is Judge Hisamatsu. I am not sure he is mad—he struck me more as a fool—but what you told me about his association with Chobei is very strange. He is close to Uesugi and his home is on the road to Takata. You might see if you can find out anything.”

Hitomaro nodded.

“But first there is the matter of the fishmonger and his missing brother. It is time that case was settled. Arrest the fishmonger, and ask Captain Takesuke for more information about the brother.”

♦

Hitomaro glanced at the sky. The clouds were as low and thick as ever, and gusts of wind drove painfully sharp grains of sleet into his face and the backs of his hands. His armor was covered with a straw rain cape, and instead of a helmet he wore a straw hat which the wind would have torn off if he had not tied it on firmly. As it was, icy blasts pulled at the bow and quiver he had slung over his shoulder and blew wisps of straw into his eyes.

Back at the tribunal, Tora would be snoring in his warm quilts, and their master, no doubt, had also retired. Hitomaro did not begrudge them the rest after their night scouring Takata for the boy, but he, too, had lost sleep, though far more pleasantly. In fact, lost sleep had been a matter of both joy and shame to him for many days now.

He intended to do penance by working harder.

The garrison gates stood wide open in a welcoming manner. Hitomaro looked for guards and, finding them inexplicably absent, walked in.

Inside the palisades, among the wooden barracks and on the exercise fields, was more evidence of relaxed discipline, if that was the word for it. Garbage was stacked in corners, the courtyard was littered with horse droppings and dirty piles of snow, and the garrison flags, slapping wetly against their poles, were tattered and torn.

Hitomaro located the administrative building and entered. In the large hall, groups of soldiers were gathered about braziers, throwing dice, drinking, talking, or sleeping. After a casual glance at his bow and the sword protruding from under the straw cape, they paid no further attention to him, and Hitomaro walked past them to a corner that was screened off by makeshift stands covered with reed mats.

He had guessed that this must be the commander’s office. Pushing aside one of the screens, he found Captain Takesuke engaged in mutual fondling with a round-faced boy recruit. The youngster wore only a light robe and a loincloth, but the cold did not seem to bother him; he was flushed with wine or desire, and slow to disengage when both became aware of Hitomaro.

“What do you want?” snapped Takesuke. “Who sent you in here?”

Hitomaro suppressed his disapproval, snapped to attention, and saluted. “Sorry, sir. There was nobody at the gate, and the men outside seemed occupied. Lieutenant Hitomaro from the tribunal, on orders of the governor.”

Takesuke pushed the half-naked youth away. “Well, Lieutenant,” he growled, “what is it that you want?”

Hitomaro avoided eye contact and instead kept his gaze just above the captain’s right shoulder. “You are missing a soldier by the name of Ogai, and we have a mutilated body at the tribunal. Goto, a local fishmonger, has identified it as that of his brother Ogai. This Goto has laid murder charges against a neighbor, but we have reason to believe that Goto lied about the body. His Excellency has sent me for Ogai’s military documents.”

“Ogai? That lazy bastard?” Takesuke glowered. “You mean he’s not dead after all? By the Buddha, he’ll wish he were when I get my hands on him. Absent without leave again! He’s deserted, that’s what he’s done. And that sly weasel of a brother has made up the story to save his own skin.” He slapped his hands on his knees. “If only there were some action. That would keep the men out of trouble. Don’t you worry, Lieutenant. We’ll take care of the matter for his Excellency.”

“May I ask, sir, why Goto would tell such a lie?”

Takesuke stared. “Are you joking?”

Hitomaro shook his head. “Of course not, sir. I am puzzled why a man would lay a false murder charge against another man. That’s an offense punishable with a hundred lashes.”

Takesuke laughed. “What’s a hundred lashes to a man who’s about to lose his property? Goto stands surety for his brother. If Ogai deserts, his brother is a beggar.”

“Ah,” nodded Hitomaro. “Thank you, sir, and forgive the interruption.”

The prospect of punishing both Ogai and his brother made Takesuke jovial. “Not at all, Lieutenant.” He smiled. “Give my humble regards to the governor. He’ll have his report this very afternoon.”

From the garrison, Hitomaro walked to Goto’s shop. It was empty of customers, and the fishmonger was leaning on his slimy counter, swatting at flies. Several large wooden tubs held fish—bonito and bream, tuna and eels packed in melting blood-flecked snow or swimming in filthy water. Fat flies crawled everywhere. Only the grossest stench from fish offal would attract flies in this cold, Hitomaro thought, and held his breath.

Goto recognized him and straightened up. “Lieutenant!” He bowed several times. “An honor. You bring me news about my poor brother’s murder?”

“No. I’m here to arrest you for lying to the governor and accusing an innocent person of a capital offense.”

Goto’s jaw dropped. He tried a sickly smile. “You’re joking. Ha, ha, ha. Soldiers will have their fun. My poor brother was just such a one.”

Hitomaro slowly unwound a thin chain from his waist. “Put your arms behind your back!”

Goto backed away. His eyes measured the distance to the door, but Hitomaro’s bulk blocked the way. “I didn’t lie,” he cried. “I could’ve made a mistake. The worry about my missing brother ... we were like two beans in one pod. I was expecting the worst. You know how it is, Lieutenant.”

“I know nothing.” Hitomaro stretched the chain experimentally between his fists. “Turn around.”

“If it was not my brother, what a relief! What good news! You must allow me to invite you to a celebration. Wine and dinner. In the best restaurant. Yes, and bring your friends. I am very grateful.” Goto laughed too loudly.

Hitomaro sighed. Transferring the chain to his left hand, he stepped forward and gave the fishmonger’s shoulder a quick jab, wrapped his other arm around the man’s neck, and squeezed. Goto went limp. Hitomaro let him fall and rolled the inert body over to tie the man’s wrists behind his back. Then he filled a bucket with icy water from the fish tub and poured it over Goto’s head. Goto jerked up, coughing and spitting, small fish flapping in his shirt and sliding off his hair.

“Get up and march!” ordered Hitomaro, pointing him in the right direction with a kick to his posterior. Amid grins from neighbors and jeers from small boys, they walked to the tribunal, where one of the constables locked the half-frozen fishmonger into a cell.

This done, Hitomaro stopped by the main hall, fully expecting to be told by Hamaya that his Excellency was still sleeping. But Akitada was in the archives, bent over a map of the district. He was making notes on a slip of paper.

“Yes, what is it, Hitomaro?” he asked absently.

“Goto’s in jail. Captain Takesuke told me that he stood surety for his brother Ogai.”