Death on an Autumn River (13 page)

It would do until he could return to the capital.

The little girl stood near the door and watched him with lackluster eyes that seemed too large for her narrow face.  Akitada became uncomfortably aware that he was without money.  He said gently, “Thank you, my dear.  You shall have a copper later.”

She bowed and crept out, closing the door behind her.

Akitada stepped onto the narrow strip of veranda and stared at the tall fence a few feet away.  He had stormed out of the meeting in Nakahara’s office without wasting much thought on his immediate future.  Now he could do nothing until the inn’s servant came with his bags.  His own contained a small amount of money, though hardly enough for an extended stay.  At least he had a roof over his head, and that expense was covered by the government.

A cricket’s strident song broke into his thoughts.  The night was hot and oppressive, but the autumn crickets signaled cooler days. Sadness crept into his heart.  As always, autumn brought sadness. 

But his greatest loss had come to him in early summer a few years ago.  He had lost his little son to smallpox and grieved into that fall, a dark and hopeless time.

Sitting down on the veranda, he let his legs dangle, listened to the cricket, and wished for his flute.  The sky was clouding over; there would soon be a thunderstorm.  Already, the hot air was moving.

He missed his family:  his wife, Tamako, who was a part of him, and his little daughter who always put her small arms around his neck and planted wet kisses on his face.  He missed old Seimei, too. On this dark night far away from them, the cricket’s call reminded him that Seimei, too, might soon leave him.  Life held as many certainties as uncertainties.

He blinked away the moisture, and cursed the cricket. There was no time for foolish fancies.  He must consider his options.  But every way he turned his mind, circumstances seemed against him.  The governor and Munata had flatly refused his request for help and mocked his investigation.  Offended, Nakahara — the only man he had power over — had joined them.  The ministry’s instructions had spelled out clearly that the director and his staff were to give him every assistance.  Nakahara would be in trouble as soon as Akitada reported him, but even so he had made his choice.

Of course, turning in Nakahara also meant admitting his own failure.  Not only had he not discovered the spy, but he had lost his clerk and angered the local authorities.  He could not remember a time when he had felt more inadequate.

The first large raindrops drove him inside.  Akitada closed the doors against the storm.  He must send for Tora.  He also needed money, supplies, his sword, and another clerk.  But above all, he needed Tora.

Thunder cracked, and the cricket fell silent.  Then the rain came drumming and gushing down.  The night turned noisy with the storm. 

Someone scratched at the inner door, and Akitada opened it.  Outside stood the little girl, drenched and clutching one of the bags.  This she dragged inside and disappeared.  Akitada went after her and caught her at the front door of the hostelry.  She was struggling with the other bag, Sadenari’s.  The fat man sat and watched.

“What’s the matter with you, you oaf?” Akitada asked him, taking the heavy bag from the girl’s wet hand.  “Can’t you see she’s too small to carry this?”

The fat man looked at him blankly.  “She’s strong,” he said.  “She carried both of them all the way from Nakahara’s place.”

Akitada’s hand itched to slap that fat complacent face.  He looked down at the girl.  She was wet and looked exhausted.  “Thank you,” he said.  “Come and you shall have something for your trouble.”

In his room, Akitada found the rest of his funds where he had tucked them into his spare clothing, and counted off ten coppers.  This generous sum he gave to the little girl, who received it with a bow and no other sign of gratification before slipping from the room.  It occurred to Akitada that the fat man would probably collect the money from her.  Perhaps he was her father.

With a sigh, he took off his outer robe, folded it carefully on top of his bag, and lay down on the thin bedding.

*

In spite of the storm, he fell asleep instantly.  When he woke, there was daylight in the room.  Akitada stretched, remembered where he was, and sat up.

He stared at the doors.  They stood open.  Cool, moist air came in after the night’s storm.  He recalled closing those doors before going to sleep.  The hostelry had not struck him as the sort that would wake patrons with light and fresh air.

He turned his head to check the door to the hallway but stopped at the sight of a half-naked man sitting on the floor.  He was hunched over and seemed engaged in prayer or meditation.  Akitada drew in a breath sharply and jumped up.  “Who the devil are you?  What are you doing in my room?”

The man’s head came up.  “Oh, forgive me, sir.  I did not mean to startle you.  I came late last night, but you were asleep, so I waited.”

The ugly man had returned. 

Akitada was outraged at the intrusion.  “Why?  And how did you get in?”

The ugly man smiled a crooked smile and gestured up.  Akitada raised his eyes but saw nothing beyond the bare rafters and the darkness of the roof above.  He frowned.  “I don’t understand.  How did you know I was here, and where are your clothes?”  His initial panic subsided, but he was still very uneasy about this visitor.

The ugly man chuckled.  “I came through the roof.  It seemed best not to announce my presence to the fat bastard at the front door.  And I took off my clothes to dry them.  There was a terrible storm earlier.  As for how I knew you were here, I followed you.”

Akitada peered around the room and now saw that a gray shirt and a pair of short pants lay spread on the floor boards.  The ugly man wore only a loincloth.  Akitada sat down and said, “I see,” though he did not really see anything at all.  “What do you want, er . . .”

“Saburo,” said the ugly man helpfully.

“Why are you following me, Saburo?”

“I have information that may be useful to you and an offer that may benefit both of us.  I thought this way we could meet unobserved.”

Akitada looked at the man in silence.  He really wished he had brought his sword.  While this strange creature had indubitably saved his life, his behavior had been and remained suspicious.  But there was nothing to be gained from throwing him out.  At the present state of his affairs, he might as well listen to what Saburo had to say.

“What information?”

“Everyone knows you’re looking for the young man who traveled with you.”  He gave Akitada his crooked smile and recited, “‘The sailing clouds understand the traveller’s dreams, but the setting sun must go away like parting friends.’ Young men are full of enthusiasm and care little about the worry they cause their friends.  Though perhaps this parting is more of an inconvenience than a grief?”

The man was astounding.  The poem he quoted sounded familiar.  Akitada had taken him for a common man, and a vagrant at that.  “An inconvenience is putting it mildly.  He may already be dead.  Go on.”

“Oh, but he may also be alive.  I came to offer you my help in finding him.”

Akitada waved that away as a mere ploy to get money.  “Thank you, but the matter is in good hands.  He was seen going on board of one of the ships.  He’ll be brought back . . . if he is alive.  And even if he’s dead, I shall know what happened to him.” 

Saburo cocked his head.  The damaged eye leered horribly at Akitada.  “What if I told you he’s not on the Black Dragon?”

Akitada sat up.  “How do you know that?”

The ugly man chuckled.  “I had no other work to occupy me and decided to do some work for you . . . on account, so to speak.  In other words, I kept my eyes and ears open.”

Akitada said quickly, “I cannot pay for information that isn’t verified.”

The other man nodded.  “I only mentioned it to prove I can be useful.  You need not pay me a copper coin if you’re not satisfied with the information.”

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Akitada asked, “Who are you exactly?  What is your profession?”

Saburo hesitated a moment. “I’m nobody now, but once I was a monk, a warrior, and an informer.”

  “A full life,” commented Akitada, raising his brows.  “Those two men who attacked me.  Did you kill them?”

The ugly man shook his head.  “The first one bled badly, but that was an accident.  Call it age and lack of practice.  The angle wasn’t right and I had no time to move.  His friend must’ve helped him away.  Anyway, their tracks showed they walked.”

“I’m relieved,” Akitada said dryly. “The police could have blamed me.  So you went back after you left me?”

Saburo nodded.

“You didn’t by any chance find the silver I threw to the robbers?”

“No.  Just footsteps and blood, and I got rid of those.”

It might be a lie, but considering that the man had saved his life, Akitada did not persist.  Still, the amulet was another matter.  “The money can be replaced, but I accidentally dropped a small amulet, a family heirloom.  It’s important to me.”

“Sorry.  They must’ve found it.”  Saburo paused, giving him a sideways glance something like an evil leer.  “I could try to get it back for you.”

Aha, thought Akitada, so he does have it.  He said, “Surely that would be difficult, even impossible.”

The other man grinned crookedly.  “Perhaps not.  I shall try.”

“Good.  It’s worth two pieces of silver to me.”

The ugly man waved the offer away grandly.  “Don’t mention it.  It’s all part of the job.”

“How did you manage to overcome two armed men so quickly?  They were younger and stronger than you and armed.  It almost looked like a magic trick.”

Saburo smirked and shoved a hand into the jacket that was drying on the floor near him.  He brought out a curious metal disk with prongs around its circumference.  It was about the size of an orange. This he handed to Akitada.  The disk was quite heavy and the prongs were sharp.

“What is it?”

“A
shuriken. 
It is thrown like a knife.  It
isn’t as efficient as a knife, but then no one takes it for a weapon.  That’s useful when a man is caught and searched.”

Akitada gave back the disk and glanced up at the beams.  Saburo reminded him of the clever thief Tora had rescued from a vicious gang of youths a few years back. “You mean you’re a thief?”

Saburo smiled.  “Never a common thief.  I was a
shinobi-mono
.  These days, I’m getting too old for such work.”

“What brought down the second man?”

Saburo reached again into his wet jacket and drew out two slender black sticks about a foot long.  “This,” he said, taking them apart to show that they were connected at one end by a thin chain.

“How?”

Saburo chuckled.  “It’s a
nunchaku.
”  He held one of the sticks and whirled the other through the air.  It made a strange humming noise, and the cricket outside answered.  Catching the flying stick deftly, he passed both to Akitada.  They were surprisingly heavy.

“Steel,” said Saburo.  “Small enough to hide inside my sleeve, but deadly when they strike a man’s head.  Also useful for strangling.”

Akitada dropped the sticks.  “So you’re a killer,” he said flatly.  “Why did you save my life?”

Saburo sighed and tucked the
nunchaku
away.  “I’m not a killer.  Those two who attacked you were the killers.  I did not kill them.”

Akitada grunted in disbelief, but the sound reminded him of the governor’s insulting huffing, and he cleared his throat.  “Perhaps you’d better explain yourself.”

“I told you I was a monk once.  It was the time when the great monasteries were jealous of each other.  I was very young then and an acolyte.”

Since he did not regard the Buddhist faith with the same reverence as the court did, Akitada was not favorably impressed by this, but he said nothing.

“My monastery trained its own warriors.  I wasn’t big and strong enough for battle, but I was quick and agile, so they sent me to Mount Koya.”

This did not help either.  Akitada thought that the arming of monks in order to kill other monks was disgusting behavior for someone who professed to live by the Buddha’s teachings.  The existence of heavily armed monks furthermore was dangerous to maintaining peace and harmony among the people and posed a threat to the government.

Saburo must have read his face, because he said apologetically, “I was very young and found the excitement of this training very much more to my taste than the constant round of praying, instruction, and meditation.”

Akitada nodded.  “To become a
shinobu-mono
, a shadow warrior?”

“Yes. The monks taught me the skills.  I was a scout.”

“You mean you were a spy,” Akitada snapped.  Many people considered spying a particularly cowardly way to fight in a war.  As an agent for Fujiwara Hidesato, the young Koharumaru had spied out Taira Masakado’s sleeping quarters in order to let his enemies surprise him.  Masakado discovered the plot in time, won the battle, and then hunted Koharomaru down and cut off his head.

Saburo leered at him with his crooked smile.  “We don’t all have choices in what we do.  I was very good once, but I had to give up spying after I was caught.” He gestured to his face.