The Ennin Mysteries: Collected Series 1 – 5 (25 Stories) MEGAPACK

by Ben Stevens

  ‘No other way at all,’ confirmed the priest – but with several long strides my master was now stood in front of the Buddha statue.

  ‘The lamp, please,’ he requested, holding out one hand behind him.

  The priest handed him the desired item, and then looked on along with myself as my master performed a curiously ‘close’ examination of the gold statue.

  ‘Something… interests you about this statue, Ennin-sensei?’ inquired the priest, trying (but failing) to make his tone sound merely casual.

  Suddenly, I felt my suspicions being pricked. I was at once certain that this was in fact no lazy, bumbling person unfit to be called a priest – this was actually a very clever man, acting out a role…

  Stepping away from the statue of Buddha, about three-quarters as tall as a man and depicted in a pose of cross-legged meditation, my master now looked up at the statue of the blue-colored demon holding a large sword. (The other demon was painted red, and held a spear.) The demon’s eyes were bulging, its sharp teeth bared. The full-sized sword grasped in the painted wooden hand was clearly ‘real’ – the steel of the blade was dark and tarnished by age, yet still it looked sharp enough.

  ‘The blade of this weapon was cleaned… after?’ asked my master quietly.

  It was hardly a cryptic question, and the priest nodded as he replied –

  ‘Yes; but there was certainly blood on it before. I saw it with my own eyes.’

  ‘And also blood on the floor,’ declared my master, looking down at the rock surface still discolored in places, most noticeably in the area where the gravely-injured Chinese priest must have fallen.

  ‘I think I have seen all I need to,’ said my master then, abruptly walking back towards the entrance. I remembered his claustrophobia, the one ‘weakness’ I knew for certain he had. He would not want to remain in this cave, carved out of the very rock, for a second longer than was necessary.

  ‘One last question,’ he said then, returning the lamp to the priest as we neared the entrance.

  ‘Yes?’ returned the priest, fanning out the flame before placing the lamp back on a narrow rocky ledge that was before the door. It seemed to me now that the priest’s evasive eyes were full of suspicion, along with a certain slyness…

  ‘The gardener here – for how long has he been employed?’

  With an expression of some surprise, the priest seemed to consider this for a few moments. Was he merely attempting to recall the exact date; or was he analyzing the very nature of my master’s strange question…?

  ‘I think… for around eighteen months,’ said the priest then. ‘We had a gardener before, but one day he just quit. Motoki – that is the name of the gardener now – happened to come by just a few weeks later, asking if we had any need of help. When I saw the quality of his work – I asked him to demonstrate this first – I hired him immediately.’

  ‘Thank you, Jushoku,’ said my master.

  ‘That is all?’ returned the priest.

  ‘That is all – for now.’

  3

  ‘I don’t trust him, master. He is playing a part; he is not what he seems. Of that I am certain.’

  So I said, as we walked away from the temple with its mausoleum carved out of a rock-face.

  ‘That priest, Kukai?’ returned my master, with a short laugh. ‘If so, I’m afraid your suspicions are ill-founded. The man is something of a weak-willed fool, but that is all. I would not read anything else into his character.’

  ‘Really?’ I returned, not entirely convinced even though it was my master saying so.

  ‘You might instead be tempted to turn your attention to a humble gardener’s hands, and a dense bamboo grove at the edge of a cliff-face,’ continued my master.

  I looked a little sharply at him, aware that he was giving me some clue, some source of information. And yet I had absolutely no idea as to what he was referring.

  That gardener with the low brow, and the look of a frightened animal about his dull grey eyes? How could he possibly be associated with the murder of a Chinese priest – by the statue of a guardian demon, if the story of the two condemned monks was to be believed?

  Myself, I was no longer sure of their innocence. I wondered if my master was, for all that he’d said earlier. They seemed to have been exceptionally arrogant individuals, treating everyone they viewed as being beneath them like dirt (even, in the case of the gardener, striking them!), and I wondered if it wasn’t so difficult to assume that they might have sought to steal some treasure from the mausoleum – perhaps even that statue of the Buddha itself.

  That statue…

  ‘Master,’ I began. ‘Forgive me, but you seemed to stare rather intently at that gold statue…’

  My master nodded as we continued to walk. (To where, I had no idea.)

  ‘At its back – carved into the gold itself, and through age worn almost invisible, save to the closest of examinations – is a Chinese character that is no longer used,’ began my master.

  ‘Once, however, several hundred years ago, it had meaning – it was used for the number ‘6’.’

  ‘This statue comes from China – it is part of a series,’ I exclaimed, understanding dawning.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded my master thoughtfully. ‘And I have heard of the legend behind this series. There were six statues in total – and the sixth statue remains the one that has yet to be recovered.’

  ‘Master?’ I returned, again instantly baffled.

  ‘Enough for now,’ said my master decisively. ‘You are probably wondering where we are walking to. Now, ahead of you, you can see the vermillion-colored gates of a Chinese Buddhist temple. It is the one of which Ganjin was priest – built to serve the Chinese community here.

  ‘We will stop in there, although I believe we will learn nothing of any importance at this place. I happen to know, however, that a Chinese ship is currently docked in the harbor of this town – and that due to the complicated tides of this region, a return journey to that country would best be commenced this coming Monday morning.

  ‘That,’ concluded my master thoughtfully, ‘together with a gardener’s hands, a somewhat lonely bamboo grove, and an ancient Chinese character for the number ‘6’, provide me with almost all the pieces I need to solve this particular mystery…’

  My head in a spin, I could do nothing else except follow my master inside the large open gates of the Chinese temple.

  4

  It was a somewhat depressing place, all dusty statues and smoky beams of timber. A middle-aged woman who worked there, cooking and cleaning and such, cried as she talked about the slain priest. He’d been a good man, she said. Kind and wise. No, she’d no idea what he’d been doing in the mausoleum of the other temple. The whole thing was a mystery…

  My master then attempted to talk with a monk who’d just finished chanting in the main hall. But this monk also declared that he had no idea what could have happened that morning, before quickly excusing himself from our company.

  ‘Nothing to be learnt there,’ declared my master, as we left the temple and began walking towards the inn where we were staying. It was located close to the harbor, amid the hustle and bustle of innumerable shops, inns, trading houses and other businesses.

  ‘That monk seemed rather too close-mouthed…’ I mused.

  My master glanced at me with some amusement.

  ‘Really, Kukai, you must learn to direct your suspicions rather more accurately…! But soon, I think, you will know the answer to this mystery. It has been a relatively easy one to solve, and yet…’

  ‘And yet?’ I prompted, slightly nettled by my master’s comment concerning myself.

  ‘For another crime to take place – and so the answer to this mystery to actually be made known – the two monks must first be beheaded…’

  My mouth fell open.

  ‘But… but master,’ I stammered. ‘I thought you were certain of their innocence.’

  ‘Indeed I am,’ shrugged my master. ‘But that
said, to all intents and purposes, they still have to die…’

  I fell silent, perplexed by my master’s words.

  Upon our return to the inn, we had lunch together and then my master went back out. I took the opportunity to rest in the room we’d taken. When my master returned, his eyes had that ‘bright’ look I knew so well. Where he’d been and what he’d done, I knew not, yet I had absolutely no doubt that it related to the case of the slain priest, Ganjin.

  Then what my master said next shook me to the core –

  ‘I have seen the daimyo of this region, and successfully requested that the two monks be executed in private, rather than in public, at noon this coming Saturday. So the beheadings will now be carried out within the daimyo’s castle, rather than the square that is near here.’

  ‘What – why?’ I blurted.

  ‘The fact that they were monks lends them a slightly special status,’ shrugged my master. ‘As such, they will at least be permitted a private execution.’

  Something in the airy way my master was speaking, along with that slight ‘brightness’ (really, I do not know how else to describe it) to his eyes, informed me that he wasn’t being entirely serious – or rather, truthful.

  Feeling suddenly irritated, I decided not to be made a fool of any longer. Events would reveal themselves in time, as indeed they always did in any case involving my master.

  ‘I see,’ I said shortly.

  The talk of the entire town seemed to be about the forthcoming execution of the two monks, Matsuda and Fujioka. Then noon passed that Saturday and they were dead, executed by beheading. My master did not comment on it and neither did I make any reference to the case, although secretly I was aflame with curiosity to know exactly what strange game my master was playing.

  We ate a splendid meal that Saturday evening, entertained by several geisha in a private room of the inn. My master seemed entirely at ease as he sat there drinking sake, alternately laughing and then tapping his hand on the tatami, in time to the plaintive picking of a shamisen by one of the white-faced women.

  We spent a leisurely Sunday daytime, with my master again disappearing on some errand for an hour or so. Then as evening descended, the shadows slowly lengthening, a sudden change overcame my master. He was at once alert, intent.

  ‘Come, Kukai,’ he said. ‘We have work to do. I feel a little guilty at the way I have withheld certain facts from you, concerning the case of the murdered Chinese priest, but you are by now well aware of my methods – and in any case, rest assured that shortly you will know everything.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all I felt able to reply, although my master’s veiled apology somewhat pacified my recent feeling of irritation.

  ‘There will be a little danger,’ said my master, as we left the inn. ‘For we are going now to the mausoleum, where we will confront the real killer of the priest named Ganjin.’

  The real killer? Then just yesterday, my master had allowed two innocent men to be executed for this crime…!

  I gave it up. All I had to do now was follow my master’s instructions; it was pointless to consider anything else, no matter how inexplicable it seemed.

  ‘I am ready for anything, master,’ I declared.

  5

  I was surprised to discover that my master already had the keys to the mausoleum, with which he let us in.

  ‘I obtained them earlier, from the priest,’ he informed me, lighting a lamp before closing the door behind. A slight grimace was his only indication of the sudden sense of claustrophobia this induced.

  ‘Soon, Kukai, I will extinguish this light, and we will wait in pitch-darkness for Ganjin’s murderer to reveal himself,’ declared my master.

  ‘That is why you haven’t locked the door behind us, then, master?’ I questioned.

  ‘No,’ returned my master. ‘The murderer will not be entering through this door, but rather by another entrance – a secret one.’

  I looked askance, first at my master and then around the small mausoleum. There was no other entrance, surely, secret or otherwise. For the ceiling, and the walls all around, running in places behind the marble tombs, were carved out of sheer rock!

  ‘It is almost dark outside now, Kukai, so I will blow out this lamp,’ said my master. ‘It is essential we wait as close to this door as possible; I believe the murderer will show himself close by the gold statue of the Buddha, which is, after all, what he intends to steal. He will be carrying a lamp, naturally, and whatever happens he must not see us before we have a chance to grab him. He is a desperate man, and powerfully built.

  ‘When I judge the moment to be right – presumably when the murderer’s back is turned fully towards us – I will touch your arm and we will advance upon him, quickly. Is this all clear?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ I said, although in reality it was about as ‘clear’ as mud. From where, exactly, was this ‘murderer’ supposed to appear? And how did my master know he now wished to steal the gold statue of the Buddha?

  But I knew instinctively when it was appropriate to ask questions, and when I had just to do exactly as my master requested. Now, it was certainly time to do the latter.

  My master blew out the lamp, and there in the deep darkness we waited in silence. Time seemed to drag by… although in reality I doubt it was anything more than an hour later when I suddenly heard a slight scraping sound. I tensed, sensing rather than feeling my master do the same beside me. Then a chink of light showed, shining out from beneath the marble door of a tomb that was slowly being opened!

  I felt a thrill of terror course through me. What, exactly, was about to present itself? This thing crawling out of a tomb? But then a head appeared, a set of shoulders… A man lying on his back, pushing himself through the gap while keeping the heavy marble slab of a door raised with his hands.

  It was the gardener! I recognized him immediately. But now he was dressed completely in black, and carrying both a lamp (the reason for the light, of course) as well as a large brown sack.

  Fully emerged inside the mausoleum, he closed the marble door before staring directly at the area where my master and I were standing. For a moment I was certain that he saw us. But his lamp was not bright enough to illuminate even as far as the door – and in any case, he soon transferred his attention to the golden Buddha statue.

  He crouched down and put his hands underneath the legs, the base, obviously desiring to lift the statue clear of its raised, wooden stand before putting that brown sack over it…

  The slightest touch from my master, and as one we moved like the wind towards the thief. He gave a cry as we each seized one of his arms; he struggled, subsequently pulling the arm I held violently free of my grip. He was incredibly strong! But my master (who, after all, once managed with his bare hands to destroy the hideous beast described in The Demon King) immediately used his left leg to pinion the robber’s arm on the same side at the elbow, keeping hold of the right arm while using his left forearm to put a chokehold across the front of the would-be thief’s neck.

  ‘What is this – what are you doing?’ demanded the erstwhile gardener, his voice strained from the pressure on his throat.

  ‘Outside are hidden several samurai,’ returned my master. ‘I asked the daimyo of this region to provide them, stating that I could give him the real killer of the priest named Ganjin.’

  ‘The killers… the killers are those two monks…’ returned the thief hoarsely. ‘They were executed yesterday for the crime… beheaded within the daimyo’s castle at noon…’

  ‘No, they were not,’ declared my master. ‘They are at present occupying rather cramped quarters within that castle, but still have their heads firmly attached to their shoulders. I had to let you – and so almost everyone else – believe they had been killed, so that you would proceed with the theft of this statue.

  ‘Now,’ continued my master harshly – ‘where are you meeting the captain of the boat?’

  ‘What are you… what are you talking about…?’ rasped the
thief, who then began choking as my master expertly increased the pressure of his inner forearm upon the thief’s trachea.

  ‘I am all that stands between you and more-or-less immediate execution,’ stated my master. ‘So tell me everything I wish to know without further prevarication, if you wish me to make the slightest effort to save your wretched life…’

  ‘I am meeting him… meeting him in a backroom of the inn named ‘The Blue Dragon’,’ returned the thief.

  ‘I know it. What time?’

  ‘Soon – nine o’clock.’

  ‘And you killed the priest so that you could demand a higher fee for the statue from the captain himself?’

  ‘How do you… how do you know this?’ demanded the thief, his eyes (which no longer seemed anything like as dull and animal-like) straining to see behind him.

  ‘Do not flatter yourself that what you planned was some sort of masterstroke,’ said my master forcefully. ‘To kill the priest so that the captain of the ship had to deal directly with you, and thus be forced to pay a higher price for the statue; and also to make it seem as though those two arrogant, foolish young monks murdered Ganjin, thereby obtaining revenge – through their execution – for the eighteen months or so of petty ill-treatment you have been forced to endure at their hands, as you acted out your role.’

  ‘There is no way… No way you could know such things…’ croaked the thief, his voice nevertheless sounding stunned.

  ‘And yet I do,’ said my master, his own voice suddenly sounding bored. ‘Come – we will leave this oppressive place via the door. Not by the tunnel you discovered, which consequently allowed you to burrow like some foul rat into the back of one of the tombs.’

  With this, my master began dragging the thief (I realized suddenly I did not even know this character’s name) towards the door. We had not locked this behind us; in a few moments it was opened again and we exited into the night. My master gave a whistle, and several samurai emerged from hiding places nearby.

  ‘This is the true killer of the Chinese priest named Ganjin,’ said my master. ‘Whatever name he gives will be an alias, but be certain that he is both a dangerous and desperate man. Do not relax your vigilance towards him even for a second, no matter how defeated and pathetic he may make himself appear to be. As soon as he considers that you are off-guard, he will strike. And he is a bad foe.’