Akitada and the Way of Justice (Akitada Stories)

by I. J. Parker

  Immersed in such disturbing thoughts, Akitada almost passed another humble shrine to the paddy god. This one was near the road, perhaps so that passing travelers could offer their prayers.

  Akitada dismounted to repeat his requests for a plentiful harvest. When he reached the decorated pine, he saw that the offerings, a small bowl of rice and another of nuts, were much more modest than Katahachi’s. But then Katahachi had been at pains to counteract the pollution of his daughter’s murder. He had heaped several bowls with the best rice, added a large flask of rice wine, plus assorted nuts and fruits and, for good measure, a plate of copper coins.

  Akitada clapped his hands to announce his presence to the god and then bowed deeply. As he murmured his prayer, a strange idea entered his mind. He straightened, stared at the bowls, then bowed again more deeply, giving his thanks to the god.

  The rest of the journey to the capital he accomplished at a brisk canter. He went directly to the Western Jail and demanded to see the prisoner right away. The sergeant of the guard hedged, but then compromised by having Akitada admitted while sending a message to Kobe.

  The monk looked, if anything, more repulsive than before. He had been snoring until the rattling of the cell door woke him and he started up, his mouth sagging open and his bulbous eyes peering up nearsightedly. He made an unpleasant snorting sound in the back of his throat and wiped some spittle from his chin. “Arhem,” he rasped, making a move to rise and subsiding with a groan. “Is it you again, sir? You catch me at a disadvantage. Day and night are no longer distinct, and so I sleep whenever I can. It’s one of the benefits of being incarcerated.”

  The guard snapped, “We’ll see about that. Criminals of your kind shouldn’t be allowed to sleep. Next you’ll kill and rape people just so you can get in jail and lie about all day snoring your head off, you lazy beast.”

  Akitada told the guard, “You may lock me in and leave. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  The man gave Akitada’s slender figure a dubious glance and went to check the prisoner’s chains. “I suppose you’re safe enough if you stay away from him, sir.”

  “I’ve just returned from Higa,” Akitada told the monk when they were alone. “Tell me, Ennin, why did you not stay at the temple while you were in the village?”

  The ugly face flushed, and the protruding eyes became moist. “They threw me out,” he muttered, hanging his head. “It’s my drinking. You know that I get into mischief when I drink.”

  There it was again, the sense that this ugly, unloved human being had somehow become convinced he was responsible for all sorts of misdeeds while drunk. “Were you already fond of wine when you became a monk?” Akitada asked curiously.

  “Oh, no. It was due to my work. And it came upon me so gradually, so very pleasantly, that I considered myself especially blessed. You see, I was put in charge of brewing the sake.”

  “You were brewing sake in a monastery?”

  “Oh, yes. By imperial order. We made the finest sake you could wish to taste. And I made sure of it by tasting every batch. I have a very fine tongue for good sake, sir.”

  Akitada leaned against the cell wall and marveled at the contradictions of the Buddhist faith, which forbade the consumption of sake but most practically turned its hand to providing the rest of the nation with it. And so Ennin, tasting his brew industriously, had become too fond of it and got into “mischief.” Whereupon his monastery had, no doubt regretfully, decided to do without his superior brewing skills.

  “The rice must be polished most thoroughly, you see, to aid in the fermentation,” Ennin was telling him, “and then it’s boiled in the finest spring water. Fushimi has especially good water. Then yeast is added and it’s steamed again, and more water and rice are added, altogether three times … but you will not wish to hear all that, I’m sure. Toward the end I made a few mistakes. The tasting—sometimes you cannot be certain and must make adjustments, and the sake was of the sweetest, most potent kind—everyone said so—and I made some miscalculations, fell asleep at a crucial time, overturned a barrel or two, and spoiled a few batches.” He sagged in dejection. “They were quite right to send me away.”

  “You must have missed your daily ration of sake,” commented Akitada dryly.

  Ennin gave a rueful nod. “People are very good, but they don’t offer wine to a monk.”

  “But you bought wine from the woman at the hostel in Higa, didn’t you?”

  Ennin cringed, but nodded again.

  “Where did you get the copper coins?”

  The monk shrank further into himself. “Some people give money to poor monks,” he whispered.

  “Who gave you those coins?”

  No answer.

  “Did you steal them?”

  Ennin raised both hands to his face and began to sob.

  “I saw where you slept in one of Katahachi’s sheds. Did you steal the coins from his shrine to the paddy god?”

  The fat monk wailed and moaned, making snuffling, gulping noises.

  Akitada waited until he became calmer, then said more gently, “You know, you should have told the police about this. They think you bought the wine with the silver in Katahachi’s box.”

  Ennin raised a blubbery face from his hands and gaped at Akitada. “But I must have done so. The box was in the well when they arrested me. Along with poor Tsume.”

  “I think the day of Tsume’s death you went to get Katahachi’s offerings as usual, eating the food, drinking the wine, and taking the coins. Then you bought more wine and got drunk. On your way back to Katahachi’s shed, you stumbled into the old well and passed out. Someone else later threw the dead girl and the box down there.”

  For a long time Ennin said nothing. Then he whispered, “Thank you. Amida is good,” and bowed his head in prayer.

  Heavy steps approached outside and the cell door clanked open again. Kobe strode in with a broad smile. “I was told you were here,” he said genially, “and came right away. The trial is to start tomorrow. If there’s anything new, I would be grateful for the information. We like to give the judge a sound case.”

  Akitada explained how Ennin had been helping himself to Katahachi’s offerings to the paddy god.

  Kobe frowned. “What paddy god? You don’t mean that farmer’s been leaving money lying about for anyone to steal?” The prisoner put his head in his hands again and gave a low moan.

  “Katahachi is such a miser that his generosity to the paddy god is the talk of the village,” said Akitada. “Of course, in a rice-growing community nobody would dare touch what is the god’s. They fear a bad harvest too much. Katahachi was convinced the god was accepting his gifts until the day Tsume died.”

  “The fool.” Kobe glared at Ennin. “And nobody but a Buddhist monk would steal from the paddy god. You probably thought a bad harvest would bring more worshippers to Buddha.”

  “Oh no,” wailed the prisoner. “I would never do such a thing. My own monastery had a shrine right in its grounds. We respect the ancient gods as deeply as you. I don’t know what came over me. At first it was the food. I had not eaten in more than a day, and I thought the god wouldn’t mind if we shared. But there was also a flask of wine there and … I took just a tiny taste, for memory’s sake. It was delicious, but I could not quite make out how it differed from our own wine and took another sip. I’m afraid, Superintendent, after that I couldn’t control myself, and my old weakness was upon me again. It got worse, and one day I couldn’t resist taking a few coppers to buy more wine. And after that …” His voice trailed off miserably.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself!” snapped Kobe. “Where’s your self-control? Anyway, you’re by no means in the clear. It only explains where you got the money for the wine.”

  The monk nodded. “I know. But the gentleman thinks I’m innocent. And I’ve been thinking and thinking these many days, and I really never believed I could have done what they accused me of. Tsume was very kind to me. I used to think how lovely she was. Ju
st like a beautiful flower. Beauty is very precious to me because I’m so ugly myself, you see. So I really don’t think I would have done anything to harm Tsume.”

  Kobe stared at him. “And I suppose that means you’re retracting your confession,” he snapped and turned abruptly to leave. Akitada nodded to Ennin and followed Kobe back to the prison supervisor’s office.

  There Kobe faced him. “Do you by chance have another suspect to offer in his place?” he demanded.

  Akitada hesitated. “No. But …”

  “Yes, yes. I had my doubts. But what now?” When Akitada said nothing, Kobe sighed deeply. “Well, it’s not your problem after all. I’ll think of something.” And when Akitada still did not speak, he bowed with formal politeness. “Since our paths will hardly cross after you take up your high office in Kyushu, allow me to express my gratitude for your sage counsel in this trifling matter.”

  There was a time when Kobe’s quick mood changes had angered Akitada, but with success had come understanding. His new assignment was not announced yet, so he did not comment on it and merely said mildly, “You didn’t let me finish. As I indicated, I have visited Higa village. I think you must find the silver. When you do, you’ll also discover who killed the girl, for she gave her life for Katahachi’s silver.”

  Kobe snorted. “Do you expect me to search every farm, stable, hostel, shrine, hut, or temple there? Where am I to start? What if the silver is gone? It doesn’t take long to get rid of money in the capital. It’s only a few hours from the village.”

  “So it is,” said Akitada quickly. “So it is. How clever of you! I had not thought of that. Then all you have to do is to ask who has visited the capital since the murder.”

  “Well, we know Katahachi did. You don’t suppose he lost the money gambling and only pretended someone stole it?”

  “Ah! Entirely possible. But would he kill his daughter?”

  Kobe chewed on his mustache. “No, I suppose not. He might have beaten her, but he needed her to tend his fields. What about that constable who had his eye on her?”

  “Another good possibility. She was promised to another man and rejected his attentions. He may have become angry enough to attack her. Perhaps he didn’t mean to kill her, but once she was dead, he could have taken the silver.”

  “And then the bastard tried to pin it on the monk.”

  “Yes, he did beat him and got a confession. But did he leave for the capital during the crucial time? Of course you can always search his place for the silver.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Good. And you might ask a few questions of a certain Hanzo who seems to be his friend. The owner of the hostel, Mrs. Endo, made some comment that he’s been unusually flush with money—I saw him pay with a silver coin—after returning from the pleasure quarter of the capital.”

  Kobe’s chin sagged. “What? Nobody mentioned him to us.”

  Akitada smiled. “Village people don’t volunteer gossip to strange policemen but talk quite readily to each other. I suggest we go back. If you invite the whole village to a hearing, you may discover other secrets.”

  Kobe considered, then smiled broadly. “Did you say ‘we’?”

  • • •

  When Akitada and Kobe entered the hostel the next day, the villagers and local police had already assembled. Gombei stood stiffly at attention in front of the other constables. Toward the back, the reedy youth Hanzo waited next to a tall, stiff-backed elderly female with the sturdy, sun-burned features of a farmer’s wife. She held a bamboo fan and stretched to stare at Kobe and Akitada. Katahachi, looking expectant, waited in front of a group of farmers.

  Akitada nodded a greeting to Mrs. Endo, who hovered, bright-eyed with curiosity, near the wine barrels. He and Kobe removed their boots and seated themselves on the wooden platform. Everyone bowed, and Kobe told Gombei and Katahachi to approach. The old man and the young one knelt and bowed again.

  “I have assembled the village here, because there are more questions concerning Tsume’s death and the theft of Katahachi’s silver,” Kobe announced. “Suspicions have been raised about police procedure in the investigation. Corporal Gombei has been accused of beating a false confession out of the monk Ennin.” He gestured and two burly guards from the capital moved to the front and turned to face the villagers, chains and metal rods clanking at their leather belts, their leather whips at the ready. Gombei began to tremble. “Take a good look, Corporal,” Kobe growled. “That’s the equipment we use in the capital when prisoners won’t tell the truth during official interrogations. These men are specially trained and hate corrupt policemen, but they won’t use their fists and boots on you while nobody is looking. Oh, no, they only use their whips openly and only in the service of justice. Now, what do you know about this silver?”

  Gombei shuddered and cried, “I didn’t touch the silver.”

  “Hah!” Kobe smiled unpleasantly. “But you know who did.”

  Gombei looked around desperately. “No … I didn’t mean …” He broke off when one of the guards began to unwind the leather thongs of his whip.

  “You were saying?” Kobe asked in a silky voice.

  “Wait,” a woman’s voice interrupted.

  The elderly female at Hanzo’s side pushed forward through the crowd and knelt.

  “This insignificant person humbly begs to be heard,” she said. When Kobe nodded, she turned to point her fan at Gombei. “That person has long been a bad influence in this village. Everybody knows that he drinks and fights and chases after women, and that he’s been bothering Tsume for months. If the monk didn’t do it, then Gombei’s the guilty one. But my son and I have nothing to do with any of this. Please allow us to return to our planting.”

  “If you have no information, why do you interfere in this hearing?” Kobe barked. “State your name!”

  She bowed. “This humble person is the widow of Masazaemon.”

  Akitada said to Kobe, “She must be the mother of the man who had intended to marry the dead girl.”

  Mrs. Masazaemon bridled. “No. That’s not true. We turned down an offer because the girl was quite unsuitable.”

  Katahachi immediately called her a liar. As soon as he had been admonished and fallen silent, Kobe told the widow, “It seems you’re a material witness and will remain.”

  The woman bowed and returned to her place beside her son. The two whispered together.

  Kobe turned back to Gombei. “You were about to tell us who took the silver,” he reminded him.

  Gombei was sweating. “Your Honor misunderstood. What I said has nothing to do with this crime. A friend offered me the loan of two silver pieces when I complained that my uniform was getting shabby.” He added virtuously, “Of course I had to refuse. A policeman cannot afford to be indebted to someone in his village.”

  This was so patently lame that Kobe merely snapped, “This friend’s name?”

  Gombei flushed and muttered something.

  “Speak up!” snarled a guard, tapping him sharply on the head with his whip handle.

  “It was Hanzo,” Gombei admitted sullenly. “He always has money to spare. His mother gives it to him.”

  Hanzo’s mother cried, “Gombei’s a liar. Hanzo has no silver. We’re very poor.”

  One of the farmers shouted, “You’re poor because you let him spend all the harvest money in the capital. He even sold your seed rice. That’s why you have no rice seedlings to plant this spring. I told you so when you came asking for some of mine.”

  Furiously, Hanzo’s mother turned on him. “You talk too much. It’s not Hanzo’s fault that his father died and left him nothing. The boy’s not strong enough to be a farmer. He goes to the capital to study to become a teacher.”

  There was subdued mirth at this among the farmers. Akitada remembered the young man’s flashy clothes and the carelessly tossed silver coin. “I think,” he said aloud, “that a parent may not always know what a grown son does. You didn’t see him pay for wine with a silver
coin as I did yesterday.”