Tora had developed a soft spot for the boy. Kinjiro had fallen into a life of crime because he had been abandoned and nothing else had offered. He was trying to make the best of it, but apparently he was not such an enthusiastic gang member after all. Maybe his upbringing in a decent home by a respectable father had something to do with that. Or maybe he lacked the selfish cruelty and bovine stupidity which made for contentment in a life of crime.
“If you could be anything in the world, what would you be?” Tora asked.
Wielding his broom viciously, Kinjiro swept some debris out into the street. “His Excellency, the chancellor, of course,” he sneered. “He’s got more wealth than anybody and tells the emperor what to do.”
“No, seriously.”
The boy leaned on his broom. “I’d want to be what my father was.” He immediately began his sweeping again. “And you?” he asked. “You think you’ll have it easy here? Just drill the students for a few hours every day? Maybe walk to the market with Kata
Sensei,
watching out for his enemies? You’re a bigger fool than me. If you had any sense, you’d leave now and never come back.”
The last was said so fiercely that Tora’s uneasiness returned. He got up and grasped Kinjiro’s arm. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What’s happened?”
Kinjiro shook loose. “Nothing. I’m just talking,” he muttered and went for an old rag, which he put under his broom to dust and polish the floorboards to pristine cleanliness before the afternoon’s lessons.
“Kinjiro, you heard something. They talked about me, didn’t they? I know Matsue’s trying to get me. He almost did. And now the Scarecrow thinks I’m spying on him. I can’t seem to do anything right.”
Kinjiro glared at him. “Maybe they’ve got reason. You’ve been snooping.”
Tora’s heart plummeted. He looked around nervously. If they suspected him, surely they wouldn’t leave him here with just the boy. He locked eyes with Kinjiro. There was not much point in protesting his innocence. “What are they going to do?”
“How should I know? But I wouldn’t hang around to find out if I were you.”
It was good advice. Unless they were lying in wait outside. “Are you supposed to keep an eye on me?” Tora asked suspiciously.
“What if ?”
“You’d be in trouble if I ran.”
Kinjiro stared at him. Then he said, “You’re a fool, Tora. Go! What do you care what happens to me?”
“I care. I don’t treat my friends that way.”
Kinjiro said fiercely, “Then go ahead and get killed. Because that’s what they’ll do as soon as they figure out what you’re up to.” When Tora made no move to leave, he cried, “They’ll probably do it slowly. An ear first, then another. Then your nose and your tongue. After that, a hand, a foot, your privates. You aren’t going to know about the rest.” He was practically in tears.
Tora took the boy by his bony shoulders and shook him. “If you know all this about them, what are you doing here? What would your father say?”
Kinjiro tried to free himself. When Tora held on, he cursed and kicked and punched him. Tora ended up wrapping both arms around the thin, gasping figure and holding him until he calmed down. Kinjiro shook with sobs.
He released the boy then but left his hands on his shoulders. “I think we’d both better get out of here,” he said.
Kinjiro sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I could go back to the post stable,” he said miserably. He put away the broom and rag and brushed off his clothes. “All right. I’m ready. Let’s go before they get back.”
But they were too late. The peace of the midday hour was broken by the sound of a large number of people approaching outside. They looked out and saw the gang. Led by the Scarecrow, they walked close together with an air of grim anticipation. It took Tora only a moment to realize the magnitude of the trouble he was in; the group parted and revealed in its midst a lopsided creature who was grinning malevolently at him. The beggar from the market.
Tora thought of making a dash for it. In fact, he had taken a few steps toward the back door, when it opened and Matsue and Kata walked in.
After that, things moved quickly. The gang entered from the street and slid the doors shut. They formed a circle around Tora. Cut off from the outside world, the hall had become dim and secretive. Nobody talked.
The Scarecrow took the beggar by the arm and led him to Kata. “He’s got quite a story to tell,” he announced grimly.
Kata let his eyes slide to Tora, then told the beggar, “Talk.”
The beggar bowed deeply and whined, “Important information, Master. Worth at least a gold coin.”
Kata raised a fist. “I pay you, scum. You work for me.”
Tora felt sick. He had been a fool to trust the beggar. Who better to keep an eye on the market and Kata’s clients than he? And the bastard was even missing a finger, often a sign of gang membership.
The beggar knelt, crying, “Yes, yes. Of course, Master. Right away. Only you’ll see, it’s of the greatest importance to you. All I ask is that you remember the service this insignificant person is doing you. I’m a poor man . . . Aiihh!” He squealed as the Scarecrow’s booted foot connected with his ribs.
Kata pointed to Tora. “You know him?”
The beggar nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes. He abused me not two days ago. When I cried for help, he tried to bribe me to tell him about you. I didn’t tell him, but he already knew something. He works for the police. When the others told me he was passing himself off as one of us, I knew right away you were in danger and came to warn you.”
Kata looked at Tora. “You disappoint me,” he said sadly. “I liked you. But I don’t like being made a fool of. I don’t like liars. And I especially don’t like police informers.”
Tora’s mind raced. “The scum is lying. I would never work for the police. That’s a serious insult to a man’s character. The crooked little bastard tried to extort money from me, claiming I kicked him. I took the slug aside and gave him a drubbing, and now he’s getting his revenge by telling lies about me.”
Kata’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I believe you?”
“Look at him! He’d kill his grandfather for a few coppers. And if the bastard lies about me, he’ll lie about you. Today he’s selling me; tomorrow it’ll be you. Remember, he’s the one that told me about you in the first place.”
Kata looked confused by this logic, but he turned on the beggar, “What did you tell him about me?” he growled.
The beggar shrunk away. “Nothing. I swear. He was asking about the blind singer. He thought you’d killed her.”
Kata’s jaw sagged. “Tomoe? He thought I’d killed Tomoe?”
“Yeah. Just like a stupid policeman.” The beggar tried a conciliatory grin.
Kata turned to Tora. “What do you know about Tomoe’s murder?”
Tora decided his safest bet was to claim ignorance. “Nothing. He’s making it all up.”
This brazen denial outraged the beggar, who began to jump up and down. “You threatened me. You said you were police. You said you were investigating her murder. You wanted to know who the gang boss was that had been talking to her. You choked me and made me tell you—”
Kata’s face turned an angry red. “So you did talk.” He back-handed the beggar so viciously that he went flying into two of the gang members. Then he turned back to Tora. “You told the truth about that, but everything else was a lie, wasn’t it?”
“I’m not with the police,” said Tora, trying to bluster. “And I’ll not be insulted and called a liar. I have my pride. You can have your job.” He turned to walk off, but the circle of men closed against him. Tora clenched his fists. “Tell your goons to let me pass. You can’t keep me here against my will.”
Matsue spoke for the first time. He drawled, “Search him!”
Tora tried to make a break for it, but instantly five knives were inches from his throat and he could smell the bad breath of the thugs who crowded around him.
Matsue laughed. “What can you do now, mouse catcher? If you are who you say you are, nobody’ll miss you. And if you’re working for the police, you’re guilty. Either way, you’re a dead man.”
Tora hoped he was wrong, but then Kata said, “Search both of them.”
Of course they found Matsue’s document. They passed it to Kata, who glanced at it and passed it to Matsue.
Matsue stared at it and then at Tora. “So,” he said, “you’re a snoop
and
a thief. There’s more to this than looking for the blind bitch’s killer. I’m going to enjoy getting the truth out of you before I kill you.”
The beggar was next. He squealed with outrage when they took away the pouch he carried on the rope that held up his pants. The pouch contained a large number of coppers and two pieces of silver. Kata was about to put them back when he looked more closely at one of the silver pieces. “Matsue,” he said, “have a look.”
Matsue looked. “Two characters are missing. Is that the one you gave her?”
Kata nodded. He kept the coin and threw the pouch back at the beggar. Then he turned to Tora. “You’re not stupid, whoever you are. You know we can’t let you go.” He gestured and the men around Tora stepped back.
Tora scanned implacable faces. Only Kinjiro cowered in a corner, his eyes wide with terror. “What’re you going to do?” Tora asked hoarsely.
Nobody answered. The others, even the whimpering beggar, had become very quiet. The silence was heavy with anticipation. Tora had witnessed it only once before when he was a soldier and had attended the execution of a deserter. Just like the condemned man’s comrades, they all knew what was next. He saw it in their faces. They looked back with avid eyes, moistened their lips, waited for his futile panic when Kata or Matsue would give the signal.
But instead the silence was broken by a knocking on the street doors.
“Sensei?”
One of Kata’s men cursed; another said, “It’s the students.”
Kata gave brisk orders. “Tie them both up and lock them in the shed until tonight. I want a watch kept on them.”
When the beggar tried to protest too loudly, Matsue knocked him out with a brutal blow to the temple. Tora allowed himself to be bound. They hobbled his legs and tied his wrists behind his back, looping the rope around his neck in such a way that he could not move his arms without strangling himself. Then they took him and the bound and unconscious beggar to the small shed where Tora had been left earlier. This time they locked the shed door and left a guard outside.
Tora did not waste time on self-recrimination. He considered his options. The trouble was, there did not seem to be any. His movements were restricted by the rope around his neck, and outside a guard was leaning against the locked shed door. The beggar was either dead or still unconscious. If the latter, he would come around soon and certainly raise an alarm if he saw Tora attempting to escape. Tora wondered why they had not been gagged, but realized that the guard outside could cut off any noise before it would disturb the neighbors who, probably knew better than to pay attention to the goings-on here.
The shed was flimsily built and old. No doubt a board or two could be loosened someplace, but how was he to accomplish this? And what was the alternative? To lie here, waiting patiently for the lessons to be over so the cutthroats could kill him without attracting too much notice? What with the amnesty and the raging epidemic in the city, nobody would bother to investigate two more bodies left in a ditch somewhere.
Tora decided to work on his bonds. The worst was the rope around his neck. He had to find a way to loosen that enough to allow himself some freedom to work on his wrists. He tried various contortions, but he only tightened the knots even more.
Breathing hard, he rested and thought about his bonds. He might get more slack in the rope if he knelt and arched his body backwards. Perhaps he could then reach the knot at his ankles. He managed to kneel, but there was not enough give to allow him to move his bound hands, though he could breathe a little more easily. On the other hand, the pain in his back, shoulders, and neck got worse.
They had tossed him down near the pile of sacks and boxes. He shuffled over on his knees to investigate it. The boxes were useless, but there was something hidden under the sacks.
How to move the sacks? Eventually he used his teeth and a slow and painful backward shuffle to drag off one sack at a time. The rope cut off his breath, choking him, and his neck and arm muscles went into spasms so that he had to rest several times, but he persisted and uncovered a large earthenware water jar. Such useful utensils are not abandoned in derelict sheds, but this one appeared to have sprung a leak. A thin crack ran down one side to the bottom.
Unfortunately, the jar was no more help than the boxes or sacks. If it were broken, it might be a different story. Shards had sharp edges and could be used to saw through rope. Tora was not sure how he could manage such a thing, but it was a moot point since he had no way of breaking the jar.
Defeated, he flopped down across the sacks to think about his chances of escaping once they came for him. Short of a miracle, they were nonexistent. He was forced to consider the jar again. He had neither tools nor the use of his hands, and his feet were hobbled too closely to allow him to kick the jar apart. But he could try to break it with his weight.
He checked on the beggar, who had not moved.
Getting up on his feet—not an easy thing to do—he shuffled into position and backed up. Then he sat down with as much force as he dared use with the guard outside. Pain stabbed his back and posterior, but the jar survived. He suppressed a groan, checked the beggar’s motionless figure, and scrambled up again to repeat the process. After the fifth attempt, he heard a faint cracking. On the next try, the jar collapsed. For a moment it felt as though a dozen knives had been stuck into his back and backside. He gritted his teeth and listened. The guard outside had taken to walking back and forth. He was muttering under his breath but appeared unaware of activity in the shed. Tora rolled off the jar and waited until some of the pain receded. The jar had become a pile of smaller pieces, with one large shard pointing upward from the flat bottom. He ignored the warm wetness seeping through his pants and maneuvered the shard into a corner by pushing it with his head, then backed up and brought his wrists up against it.