Black Arrow (30 page)

Kaibara’s eyes went from Akitada to the open tomb and Oyoshi’s instrument case. A slow, crafty smile came into his face. “Is this so? A blasphemous insult to the late Lord of Takata. And a highly illegal proceeding, I believe. Loyalty to my master unfortunately makes it impossible to accede to your Excellency’s request.”

Oyoshi walked up to Kaibara angrily. “Listen here, Kaibara,” he cried. “Don’t be an infernal fool and—”

Kaibara was quick. With the flat side of his sword he dealt the older man a vici6us blow across the face. Blood spurted briefly, and Oyoshi cried out and fell. Placing a foot on Oyoshi’s chest, Kaibara raised his sword with both hands to strike down. “Pray to be reborn, pill peddler!” he cried.

“No!” Akitada leaped and grabbed for Kaibara’s sword arm. Kaibara was hampered by his armor, but he twisted away and lashed out with his other arm to punch viciously at Akitada’s chest. Akitada gasped for breath but held on, determined to protect Oyoshi. He shouted, “Drop that sword!” and twisted Kaibara’s arm back. Kaibara grunted and turned. Akitada saw the murderous fury in the other man’s eyes, knew that the next stroke would be for him, and suddenly the struggle for the sword had turned into a fight to the death.

It had not occurred to Akitada that he was in danger of being killed. He had feared charges of trespass, sacrilege, grave robbery, and other serious offences involving recall and trial, but not cold-blooded murder. He put all his strength into disarming Kaibara, but as he adjusted his stance to gain leverage, he slipped on a patch of ice and landed on his knees.

Kaibara laughed out loud. He stepped back and bared his teeth. “This is much the simplest way,” he snarled. “Begging on your knees won’t help you now, dog official.” He raised the sword again. The blade flashed dull silver in the moonlight.

Oyoshi screamed for help, and the blade hissed as it cut through the air. Akitada flung himself aside, scrabbling desperately on the muddy ground. Kaibara followed, loomed above him again. Akitada’s fingers closed around a dead branch. He parried the stroke as it came. The branch slowed the blade but it bit into Akitada’s arm near the shoulder, and the pain, when it came, was paralyzing. Kaibara straddled him, his body monstrous in the heavy armor, the sword raised for the fatal stroke. Akitada thought of how he had failed Tamako and his unborn child and closed his eyes.

He felt a crushing blow to his chest. A giant hand compressed his rib cage and he could not breathe. And then the night was shot through by flames and stars and a suffocating blanket of fog. His last thought was, “So this is what it feels like to die.”

But death was slow in coming. Sounds penetrated the fog. Someone was shouting and cursing. The crushing weight was lifted from his chest, and he tried a deep, shuddering breath, savoring the cold, fresh air, savoring even the sharp pain. He welcomed it, because it meant he was alive.

“Here, move him on his side and let me get a look at that shoulder.”

Oyoshi sounded strangely tongue-tied. And he was making spitting noises.

“It’s all my fault. I wish I was dead.”

Akitada opened his eyes. Tora was peering down at him with a stricken expression. “Don’t be an idiot,” Akitada muttered. “You’ll have to close the tomb.”

Oyoshi snorted. “Good! You’re conscious. Sit up, sir, so I can bandage your wound. Kaibara got you, I’m afraid.”

With Tora’s help, Akitada struggled up. He gritted his teeth as Tora and Oyoshi eased the gown from his shoulder. “Kaibara. Where is he?” Tora stepped out of the way, and Akitada saw the lifeless form of the steward on the ground nearby. “Did you kill him, Tora?”

“I got here too late.” Tora sounded bitter.

“But who ...” Akitada’s eyes went to Oyoshi. The doctor’s face was puffy and covered with blood. His eyes were almost swollen shut.

“Don’t look at me,” Oyoshi mumbled through cut lips. “He collapsed on top of you before he could strike again.” He tied the last knot of the bandage and stood up. Tora helped Akitada put his arm back into his sleeve.

Wincing with pain and clutching Tora’s arm, Akitada staggered to his feet. Kaibara lay prone, his arms and legs flung out, and his face turned sideways. His helmet had slipped and a dark puddle of blood was seeping from under his face.

When he bent closer, Akitada saw what had killed the man. From the narrow gap between the top of the armor and the helmet guard protruded the long shaft of a black arrow crowned with a black eagle’s feather. It had hit Kaibara’s neck in one of the few instantly fatal places on the human body.

* * * *

THE FISHMONGER

itomaro walked through the tribunal gate with a light step, returning the guard’s brisk salute and smiling with satisfaction at the trim appearance of the constables sweeping the courtyard. Kaoru was doing a fine job with them.

After the stormy weather, the skies had cleared and the sun sparkled on many small icicles hanging from the eaves of buildings. Hitomaro glanced toward the far corner of the tribunal compound where a small wooden house stood. Private yet convenient, it would make a fine home for a tribunal officer and his spouse. Today he would ask permission to live there with Ofumi. The place was humble but in good repair, and in time they would furnish the two rooms to their liking. They would save their money and buy some land where they would build a larger house and raise a family.

Blinking into the sunlight, Hitomaro stretched, laughed out loud, and ran up the steps to the barracks room he shared with Tora. He could hardly wait to see Tora’s face when he told him the news.

Whistling happily, he pulled off his boots and placed them next to Tora’s.

“Hey, Tora!” he shouted. “Wait till you hear! I’ll take you out tonight and buy you the best meal in town and all the wine—” He walked in and came to an abrupt halt. “What—?”

Tora was seated cross-legged on a piece of white cloth. His torso was bare, because he had slipped his robe off his shoulders. In front of him lay a sheet of paper, covered with clumsy brush strokes, and on this rested his short sword. There was an expression of intense concentration on Tora’s face.

“What are you doing?” Hitomaro asked, his heart skipping in his chest because he guessed at the significance of these preparations.

Tora bowed lightly. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said with uncharacteristic calm. “Will you assist me?” He reached for the other, longer sword beside him and extended it toward Hitomaro.

Hitomaro did not touch it. “Why? What happened?”

Tora laid the sword down again. “Last night we went to dig up the body of the old lord,” he said tonelessly. “Kaibara surprised the master and almost killed him.”

Comprehension began to dawn. “Where were you?”

For a moment, Tora’s shoulders sagged. “Being sick with fear.”

“Is the master badly hurt?”

“A cut near the shoulder.” Tora added bitterly, “I wish Kaibara had carved out my heart instead.”

“That’s not too bad,” Hitomaro said soothingly. “I expect Kaibara waited till you were out of the way.”

“You don’t understand. I should have hurried back, but I was afraid of the ghost and trembling like a foolish woman. The master had no sword. Kaibara would have killed him, if someone else hadn’t done my job for me and shot the bastard.”

“Kaibara’s dead? Who did it?”

“It was dark. We found no one.”

“Does the master know about your ... this?”

Tora reached for the piece of paper and handed it to Hitomaro. “He will when he reads this ... if he can make out the writing. I can’t do anything right.” He touched the short sword and looked up at Hitomaro with earnest eyes. “Help me do this one thing well, Hito. I am only the son of peasants, but you with your fine upbringing know the proper way for a soldier to die. I’ve bathed, shaved, put on clean clothes and tied up my hair. I’m ready. I thought I would just sort of fall forward on my short sword, but now that you’re here, I might try shoving it in my belly with both hands. Then, if I’m losing my strength before I’m done cutting across, you can cut off my head. That’s the way it’s done, isn’t it?”

Hitomaro dropped the paper and scowled. “Have you thought what this will do to the master? How do you think he’ll feel? Last night you did not mean to desert him, but now you are. And he’s in much greater danger now. This whole province is in turmoil. If you wish to die, at least die fighting against his enemies.”

Tora stared at him. “But how can I show my face?” he asked uneasily.

Hitomaro reached down and tore up Tora’s suicide note. “You will tell the master how you feel and that you owe him two lives instead of one. What did you do with Kaibara’s body?”

Tora looked blank. “I thought this would make it all right,” he said, looking about the room helplessly.

“No!” Hitomaro’s voice was sharp. “You can die later. For now the master needs your help.” He waited until Tora nodded slowly. “Where is Kaibara?”

Tora scrambled up and rearranged his clothing. “We brought the body back. He’s with the others.”

“Come on then. I want to take a look at him. You can fill me in on the way.”

“Hito?” Tora asked plaintively on the veranda as they put on their boots. “What would you have done in my place? I mean, if you had failed like I have?”

Hitomaro scowled at his boots. “I would’ve tried harder and complained less,” he snapped. Getting up, he put his hand on Tora’s shoulder and added more gently, “Come on now, brother. We’re none of us perfect. All we can do is try. Now no more talk. We have work to do.”

Four covered bodies awaited them in the icy storeroom, their temporary morgue. Hitomaro shook his head. “If this keeps up, we’ll have to move them to a larger building. Thank heaven it’s cold.”

Tora drew back the reed mat from the nearest corpse. The dead man lay on his back, and the mat got caught on the tip of the arrow protruding from his neck. Tora untangled it carefully.

Hitomaro bent closer and peered at the face. “So that’s Kaibara,” he said. “Funny, I’ve never seen the bastard up close. He’s in full armor. That means whoever got off that shot was either very lucky or very good.” His eyes went to the arrow. “Isn’t that one of yours?” he asked, astonished.

Tora nodded.

“But I thought you said—”

“There was another arrow. It looked unusual. The master had the doctor take it out and put one of mine in.” Turning away abruptly, Tora cursed and flung the mat violently across the room. “To my shame!” he cried, burying his face in his hands. “His way of telling me that I should have shot the bastard.”

“You know very well that was not why the master did it. He would never shame you. Still, it was a strange thing to do. Did he explain?”

Tora did not answer. He had gone to pick up the reed mat he had thrown. It had fallen across another body, disarranging the mat covering it. Now he stood bent, staring down at the corpse’s shaven head.