Yamada Monogatari: To Break the Demon Gate (7 page)

In recognition of the
asobi
’s skill, I would have contributed if I had any means to do so. I did not and had no reason to remain. I moved on past the shrine and down to the river, but there was no sign of the boy. When I returned to the Widow Tamahara’s establishment, there was another message waiting for me, but this time the sender had not bothered to conceal his identity:

The stung badger retreats

to his new burrow to heal.

Struck once by the wasp,

He will remember the nest.

Even wasps must sleep sometime.

—Kenji

I sighed and lay the scroll aside. While I had to admire the attempt, I sincerely prayed that Kenji’s efforts at refinement didn’t take; the idea of getting poetry from him on a regular basis was too terrible to contemplate. Besides, I didn’t have the faintest idea of what he was talking about. I idly wondered if Kenji himself did, but there was only one way to find out, and since the hunt for Nidai had proved fruitless, there was no reason not to change targets. Not that I believed that finding Kenji would be difficult; the man’s habits were more fixed than a watchman’s.

Sure enough, one more brisk walk brought me to the Demon Gate at the northeast corner of the city, and there was the priest Kenji in his mendicant aspect, sitting beside the gate with a broad straw
boshi
covering his head and face, his begging bowl resting in front of him. Around fifty, he had one of those young-old faces that seemed infinitely adaptable to a man’s intentions. Kenji could look pious or lecherous as the mood took him, and one would think that either expression was perfectly normal for him.

“They say that evil spirits enter the city by this gate,” I said. “Clearly this is true.”

Kenji didn’t look up. “And friendly greeting to you as well, Yamada-san. Now sit down and listen for a change.”

Kenji had a tone of voice that he used rarely, but I’d learned to pay attention. It meant he was serious. I found a relatively clean spot beside the gate and in the near vicinity of Kenji. The people coming in and out of the northeast gate continued to do so, and no one paid us the least attention.

“Now,” I said, “what’s this about a badger avoiding wasps? Sounds like proper advice, but I’m not a badger.”

“It’s proper advice for anyone, but of course you’re not the badger. The badger is Lord Sentaro,” Kenji said, though his eyes were on the people passing through the gate.

“I think you’re marking a trail, but I can’t seem to find it. What has this to do with Lord Sentaro?”

Kenji sighed, and when he spoke again he sounded more as if he was talking to himself than to me. “It’s possible? He hasn’t heard? I didn’t think he’d been drunk
that
long.”

“As the mountain complains about the depth of the sea . . . I’ve had my fill of poetry for the moment. Speak plainly.”

“The edict of banishment against Lord Sentaro has been lifted.”

I just sat there for many long moments. Kenji seemed in no hurry to resume the conversation, and I was glad of that. It seemed that my capacity for surprise would never cease to be tested.

“Lord Sentaro is coming back to the Imperial Court? That’s not possible.” At least, I hoped it wasn’t, nor did I understand how it could be so. Even a man like Lord Sentaro didn’t suffer the suspicion of the death of a princess and resume his office as if nothing had happened. Such a blow could force even an Emperor to retire.

“I never said it was possible. I never said he was coming back to Court,” Kenji pointed out. “I said the Edict of Exile had been
lifted.
There were, of course, conditions. A few days ago Lord Sentaro took the tonsure at Mount Hiea.”

Which at least explained how Kenji had been privy to this information; doubtless he had several acquaintances within the monastic community, where such news would travel quickly.

“Lord Sentaro? A simple monk? This is priceless.”

“Again you assume too much. Is your brain pickled?” Kenji sighed. “Lord Sentaro? A monk? Hardly. Yamada-san, he’s been named Hojo of Enryaku-ji, as the former holder of that position felt the sudden need to retire to a more austere monastery somewhere in the vicinity of Edo. Need I spell out the implications?”

He did not, and I was feeling a chill to the depths of my being. The temple complex on Mount Hiei had first been established by order of the Emperor Kanmu, to protect the northeast entrance to his new capital from evil spirits. While the founding priest, Saicho of the Tendai Sect, had been a humble and devout man, Enryaku-ji had soon grown far beyond his original tenets. Not only was the temple deeply involved in Imperial affairs, these days it had its own private army of warrior monks, easily outnumbering the guards of the Imperial household. Lord Sentaro might not be returning to the Imperial Court directly, but as Chief Priest of the temple, he would have the power base he needed to work behind the scenes. If, in fact, that was his intention.

I had thought I was done with Lord Sentaro. Now I wondered if he was done with me. “This is very disturbing news.” I went on to tell Kenji about the poem that had arrived that same day.

Kenji looked thoughtful. “Lord Sentaro?”

“It was written by a woman,” I said.

He dismissed that. “It may well have been,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t choose the words, and if you think being Hojo of Enryaku-ji will mean that he has no women about him, you’re more simple than I think you. And that’s not even speaking of the nuns housed there.”

I smiled then. “If Lord Sentaro’s renunciation of the world actually meant anything, he would not do so, but we both know that’s probably not the case. Apparently his contrition must have appeared sincere, at least enough to satisfy His Majesty.”

Kenji just sighed. “You know that, whatever Lord Sentaro really intends, taking the tonsure was an entirely appropriate action on his part, considering the cloud of suspicion hanging over him. I imagine the Emperor would have been in a very delicate position in regard to this, had he refused.”

I considered this and realized Kenji was probably right. Go-Reizei would not be the first Emperor forced by the Fujiwara into an early retirement, should he make such a political missstep. The form of Lord Sentaro’s contrition was correct, and in the Imperial Court, form was paramount.

“So Lord Sentaro gives up little and gains much,” I said, “including release from exile and a base of power. I’ll give the man his due: this was well played. Still . . . ”

“Still what?”

“Assuming that the earlier poem did indeed come from the former Lord Sentaro, what are his intentions? He must know that there is no way my fortunes could be restored in this manner, and I’d hardly be fool enough to believe so. As for my father’s good name, well, that moment has passed as well. As bait goes, that was rather weak.”

“So you’d like to believe.”

I shrugged. “All right then, I admit it—I’m interested, but it’s impossible. Even if there were some way to prove the charges against my father were false, his lands have all been given away to Court favorites or awarded as prizes to provincial lords. Even the Emperor could not restore them now. Whoever sent the poem was hinting at what cannot be.”

“Even so, what if his ultimate intention was not to entice you?”

“Then, pray, tell me what his intentions are?”

Kenji turned his eyes towards the heavens. “You know very well that Lord Sentaro’s goals remain as they were before the death of Princess Teiko—to place a Fujiwara on the throne. While I don’t know all the details of the events that led to Lord Sentaro’s disgrace, I
do
know you were deeply involved and that Lord Sentaro does not regard you kindly. I’m guessing revenge would simply be pickles for his rice, not the main ingredient. Your earlier message might be some part of this or it may not. It might not even be from Lord Sentaro, but I think it’s in your interest to find out. Whatever the result, you can rest assured that this matter is far greater than you.”

“Most matters are,” I said, then added, “thank you, Kenji-san.”

He frowned. “Gratitude? I’m astonished.”

“ ‘Even the devils take their fee.’ You’ve told me something I needed to know and shown concern for my well-being, and gratitude is the only appropriate response. Especially since, at the moment, I have nothing else to give.”

Kenji glanced wryly at his begging bowl. “Typical, and a common condition these days, alas . . . oh.”

“What is it? By the way, have you seen Nidai?

“I see an opportunity. Pardon me while I redirect my business. As for Nidai, try the southeast gate. He often loiters there.”

Kenji rose quickly and, at a near run, caught up with a bent old man who had just hobbled through the gate. “Grandfather, may I speak to you?” he asked in an overly loud voice.

Kenji’s shout caused several pairs of eyes to turn toward him. The old man turned as well, frowning. “Yes, priest? What do you—”

Kenji didn’t give him time to finish. In one swift motion he pulled a piece of paper from his sleeve and slapped it on the old man’s head.

“How dareeeekkkkkk!”

The last bit came out as a shriek as the “old man” immediately shimmered and transformed into an even uglier creature of middling height with black wings and a large, beak-like nose.

A tengu
. . .
?

The crowd around Kenji and the goblin gasped and drew back. Snarling, the
tengu
tried to rake Kenji with his claws but the monk had quickly stepped back out of reach. It glared at Kenji but took a look at the quickly forming crowd, including several
bushi
serving as escort to an oxcart carriage who were now drawing their swords, and the thing took to the air with one beat of its powerful wings and was soon out of sight over the mountains to the east.

“An evil spirit entered the city before our very noses,” Kenji said to the people assembled. “You saw. No one is safe. Yet with my talismans . . . ”

I didn’t wait around to hear the rest. For a moment I wondered if Kenji had been in league with the
tengu
to drum up business, but that notion was a little farfetched, even for Kenji. I worked my way around the crowd as Kenji for his part worked the crowd itself. Once I was clear of the mob, I turned away from the northeast gate and headed south toward Rashamon. Karasuma-dorii was the most direct route and I took it, even though it passed uncomfortably close to the Imperial Compound. I kept to the far side of the street but wasn’t otherwise overly concerned. If anyone in the Palace was looking for me, my exact position within the city would have been of little consequence.

The western gate to the Compound was shut, and the way was physically blocked by several
bushi
in Minamoto colors. While of course the entrances to the Imperial Compound were guarded, it was unusual to see them closed off in that manner. I wondered idly if there was some festival or ceremonial observance involved, but I couldn’t recall any specifically that fell on this date. I shrugged. Whatever the reason, it was—I hoped—no concern of mine. I kept moving.

I was already tired of walking; my four months inside a saké cup had taken their toll; in more ways than one, I realized. It was, now that I thought to look, a fine spring day. The
sakura
were in bloom all through the city. I took it as confirmation of my wretchedly demeaned state that it wasn’t until this, my second trip of the day out into the city, that I finally noticed. At least I wasn’t
beyond
noticing. I didn’t know if this was a good sign or not, but I appreciated the fact for what little it might be worth. I ignored the ache in my legs and kept moving until the Rasha Gate came into view.

Kenji hadn’t steered me wrong; I found Nidai playing at tops with a group of children not thirty paces from the southeast gate. He was, as the Widow Tamahara had said, immediately recognizable by his tattered red sash. No telling where the boy had acquired it, but he wore it among the other city children like a badge of honor. The other children immediately scattered as I approached. Nidai didn’t budge.

“Lord Yamada,” he said, ignoring his red spinning top as he gave me a formal bow. “She said you’d come.”

I stopped. “She?”

“The one who hired me to deliver your message earlier today,” he said. “That is who you’re really looking for, isn’t it?”

I smiled. “You seem to know a great deal of these matters.”

He sighed. “Very little, really, my lord. Not even the lady’s name, as she refused to tell me. She covered her face, too.”

I’d suspected no less. So, a woman had not only written the poem but had arranged for its delivery. It was nice to have this much confirmation. “Well, then,” I said, “it seems I’ve walked a long way for nothing.”

Nidai pulled a piece of paper from his sash that had been folded into a long strip and tied into a lover’s knot. “The second task of my hire,” he said. “When you meet the lady, tell her that I did everything just as she said. I am a good messenger.”

“I will be sure to tell her,” I said, noting that Nidai had said “when” and not “if.”

I took the paper, and Nidai immediately scooped up his faltering top and ran off to join the other children disappearing into the streets around the gate. I found a comfortable stone and sat down to read the message. I untied the knot in the paper and unfolded it, anxious despite myself. Kenji’s news today was disturbing and more than a little; I wasn’t entirely certain that the earlier poem didn’t have something to do with it, not that this new message gave much in the way of enlightenment. There was no poem, and very little else. Just a date, two days from now, directions to a particular place in the city, and an approximate hour which, this time of year, would be just after sunset. The message was written in the same delicate precise calligraphy of the earlier letter.

The message itself was obviously an appointment. All that remained was to decide if I wished to keep that appointment. It occurred to me I’d be a fool to accept not knowing what awaited me, but I’d perhaps be a bigger fool not to do so. I thought of visiting Seita for information; the ghost’s bridge was a fairly short walk from the Rasha Gate, but I didn’t have the fee; it seemed I was adrift and left to my own devices.