Seven Paths to Death

by Dorothy Hoobler

  Seikei saw that the repair work was in its earliest stages. Large logs, whose bark had been stripped, were being carefully sawed into planks. One end of a log was propped into the air on a scaffold. Men scrambled to the top, using large handsaws to cut through the length of the trunk. It was hard, hot work and the men had stripped to their loin-cloths so they wouldn’t soil their clothing with sweat. If any of them had a large tattoo on his back, he would have been easy to see—but none did. Seikei moved on to another part of the temple grounds.

  A young monk, head shaved and wearing a saffron robe, approached him. “Unfortunately, the temple is closed while repairs are being made,” he said.

  “I am looking for a carpenter,” said Seikei.

  “There are many here and throughout the city,” replied the monk.

  “This one has an elaborate tattoo on his back.”

  The monk raised his eyebrows.

  “You have seen someone like that?” Seikei asked.

  “No, but someone else was here earlier, also looking for such a person.”

  “A man with yellow eyes?”

  “Ah, you know him then,” the monk said, nodding. “Perhaps he is a friend of yours?”

  “He is a friend of no one’s,” said Seikei. “What did you tell him?”

  “He went to make a donation to Marishi-ten. After that he may have found an answer.”

  Seikei realized that the monk was hinting that he too should make a donation. “Marishi-ten is the patroness of all warriors, isn’t she?” he asked the monk.

  “Indeed so, and the image of her that is honored here brought success to Ieyasu, the ancestor of our present shogun. During Ieyasu’s struggle to defeat his enemies, he carried this image with his army.”

  Seikei remembered hearing the story. “Will Marishi-ten help me?”

  “She helps all who revere her. She shines her light in the eyes of their enemies. Blinded, they cannot see where Marishi-ten’s friends are going.”

  Seikei thought he understood. “If I make a donation, will I see where the yellow-eyed man has gone?”

  “I would not delay, if I were you,” said the monk.

  11

  MESSAGE AT THE TEMPLE

  The statue of Marishi-ten was in a separate building that the fire had not damaged. To prevent the blaze from reaching it, the monks had carried water in baskets and doused any sparks that landed on the roof. As a result, the interior of the shrine had a musty smell.

  Candles—dozens of them—surrounded the statue, throwing flickering shadows on the tall, multicolored figure. As Seikei approached, he saw that the goddess actually had three heads, as well as six arms, each of which held a weapon.

  It was impressive and a little frightening to look up at Marishi-ten’s fierce visages. He realized that each face represented a different aspect of the true warrior. One face was wide-eyed and ferocious: courage. Another was composed and peaceful: the serenity that comes from the acceptance of life and death as part of an endless cycle. The third was more puzzling. It had a face that amazingly resembled a pig. Seikei noticed now that Marishi-ten actually stood on a cart that was drawn by a team of pigs.

  Mysterious, as were many things in Buddhist temples. Seikei waited for enlightenment. He knew that Kitsune had been here and received some kind of answer by making an offering. Seikei took a five-ryo coin and placed it in the basket that sat before the statues. Five ryo had been enough to tempt Bunji and his friends to rob Seikei. Maybe it would bring a better result this time.

  He knelt before the image, trying to clear his mind so that an answer could come to him. Irritatingly, the image of the pig’s head filled his mind as other thoughts departed. Seikei couldn’t do anything about it: the pig ran free of its own accord.

  The pig must be the side of every person that acted without thinking, like an animal. The judge had once told Seikei that everyone was capable of committing a crime.

  “If you do not recognize that you have a part of yourself that could commit crimes, then you may not be alert enough to stop yourself when the temptation comes,” said the judge. The image of Marishi-ten was a reminder of that.

  Discovering the meaning of the pig’s head allowed Seikei to dismiss it from his mind. Suspended like an insect floating on the surface of a fog-shrouded pond, he waited now for the answer he was seeking.

  Gloves.

  The man who called himself Bunji wore gloves—even when he came to meet Seikei at the noodle house. Even when his intention was to rob Seikei.

  He didn’t need gloves for that.

  Seikei rose to his feet and mentally thanked Marishi-ten. Trying not to run, he left the shrine, but the monk, waiting outside, saw his eagerness.

  “Did you find the answer you were seeking?” he asked.

  “It was there all along, but I didn’t realize it,” Seikei responded.

  The monk nodded as if he understood perfectly. Seikei turned to go, but remembered something else he wanted to ask: “Did . . . did the man with yellow eyes find the answer he was seeking?”

  “I cannot say,” the monk replied, “but he seemed to have purpose and direction when he left.”

  Seikei hoped that Kitsune did not know Bunji was in jail. Though jail might seem a safe place to be, Seikei was sure that Kitsune was perfectly capable of getting in—or out, for that matter.

  Fortunately, when Seikei arrived, the magistrate reported that Bunji was still in a locked cell. A samurai guard showed Seikei to it and let him inside.

  Bunji stood up and smiled. “I’m glad you came back, sir,” he said. “I hope you’ll allow me to explain about the misunderstanding.”

  “The misunderstanding,” Seikei said, “is that I thought you and your friends were trying to rob me.”

  “No, we thought you were trying to rob us, you see, and—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Seikei said. “I know who you are.” He looked down at Bunji’s hands. The man was still wearing gloves. Seikei didn’t need to see his fingers.

  “Take off your kosode,” Seikei said. “I want to see your back.”

  Bunji took a step backward, leaning against the wall. “Why would you want me to do such a thing?” he asked.

  Seikei ignored him. “I can bring guards here to hold you down if I have to.”

  Bunji tried to bluff it out. “I’m not who you think I am. You’ve made a mistake.”

  “Your real name is Korin, and you have a tattoo on your back. You should be glad I’ve found you. There’s someone else searching for you who will slice the skin off and take it. I can get what I need just by making a copy.”

  Bunji shook his head. “She told us if we ever let someone do that, she would kill us anyway.”

  “Who?” Seikei already knew, but wanted Bunji to confirm it.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Lady Osuni?”

  Bunji’s eyes widened. “I never told you that.”

  “You have nothing to be afraid of,” Seikei said. “I will make sure—”

  Without warning, Bunji let out a cry and rushed across the cell, trying to grab one of Seikei’s swords.

  Seikei sidestepped the man, took him by the arm and slammed him headfirst against a wooden post. It was a maneuver Bunzo had taught him, but Seikei had never used it before. He was a little surprised it had worked so well. The man lay on the floor, dazed.

  Seikei called the guard, and they dragged Bunji into a room where there was better light. In the end, two guards had to hold down Bunji—or Korin, for it really was him—while Seikei copied the tattoo.

  The guards were puzzled that Korin was putting up so much of a fight. “He’s not going to hurt you,” one of them told him. “He’s only drawing a picture.”

  When Seikei finished, he went to the magistrate’s office. “You’ll have to keep the prisoner longer than I thought,” Seikei said.

  “What’s he done now?”

  “Nothing more than before, but someone will try to capture him.”

&
nbsp; The magistrate gave Seikei a skeptical look. “Why would anyone want to capture him? He’s already in jail.”

  “I don’t mean the shogun’s officials,” said Seikei. “Someone . . . someone else.”

  The magistrate shrugged and said, “We’ll keep him for a while, but this is not an inn. We’ll have to feed him, assign a guard to look in on him . . .”

  “He should be guarded at all times,” said Seikei.

  The magistrate shook his head. “Impossible. Frankly, it is my understanding that you have already made a copy of this map on his back.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So you are finished with him.”

  “But the idea is to keep anyone else from getting the map,” Seikei said.

  “I see,” said the magistrate, but Seikei realized that he didn’t.

  It couldn’t be helped. He had to get back to Edo and tell the judge he had found another map. Even more important, perhaps, the judge must be told about Kitsune. The fact that the ninja wanted the maps made the task of collecting them even more urgent.

  But as Seikei walked to the stables to get his horse, Bunzo came riding up.

  “I thought I’d find you near the magistrate’s headquarters,” the judge’s assistant said. “Did you get yourself tossed in jail again?”

  Seikei felt his face redden. “That happened only once,” he said.

  “Never happened to me,” Bunzo growled. “Anyway, we found the firefighter with a tattoo on his back. The judge wanted to know if you stumbled across the carpenter.”

  “Actually, I did,” said Seikei. “He’s in the jail here.”

  “You made a copy of his tattoo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has the magistrate released him?”

  “No.” Seikei explained about Kitsune. “We’ve got to keep him from capturing the carpenter.”

  “We can do better than that,” said Bunzo. “You’re sure Kitsune will try to take the carpenter from the jail?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll be waiting, and turn the tables on him.”

  “How?”

  “We’ll capture Kitsune. Lady Osuni won’t be able to carry out her scheme without him.”

  Seikei drew a sharp breath. Could even Bunzo do that?

  12

  OVER CONFIDENCE

  It was a new experience for Seikei to share a cell with Bunzo. They occupied the one next to the carpenter’s. As soon as Kitsune made his move, Bunzo and Seikei would trap him.

  At least, that was the plan. Although Seikei couldn’t exactly see any flaw in it, he felt they were underestimating Kitsune. “I saw him defeat three men before they even realized they were being attacked,” Seikei warned Bunzo. “And he was only using his hands and a fighting stick.”

  “They were carpenters,” replied Bunzo. “You could probably have defeated them yourself if you’d been more alert.”

  Seikei had to admit he’d been off guard. “But Kitsune has many weapons. And he can change into the form of a fox.”

  “If he’s a fox, he can’t drag our prisoner very far,” Bunzo said. “You know what Kitsune’s greatest weakness is?”

  Seikei was curious. As far as he knew, Kitsune had no weaknesses.

  “His overconfidence,” Bunzo declared. “He’s so used to people fearing him because he knows a few tricks and sneaks around in the middle of the night that he thinks he cannot be defeated. I’m surprised that you believe it. Remember when you marched onto his sacred mountain and forced him to confess to a murder?”

  Seikei could hardly have forgotten. It was one of his proudest moments. He had been given his two swords in recognition. “But when that happened,” he reminded Bunzo, “I had a gofu, a stone that contained a spirit. I traded it for the confession.”

  Bunzo shrugged. “I have something better than a magic rock.” He patted the two hilts at his obi. “I have my swords.”

  Seikei’s spine tingled. He’d seen Bunzo practicing with wooden swords, which he wielded so swiftly that the air whistled. As for his real swords, Seikei had seen Bunzo unsheathe them to polish and sharpen them. Only once had he seen Bunzo use them. To test the long blade’s sharpness, Bunzo had taken Seikei to the execution grounds. There the dead bodies of criminals were displayed as a warning to those tempted to violate the law.

  Bunzo had found a body that was relatively fresh and suspended it from a rope. With one blow of his sword, he had sliced it in two. Witnessing that, Seikei felt a mixture of awe and fear that anyone could wield such power. The same emotions swept through him now as he wondered how he would feel if Bunzo did the same thing to Kitsune.

  Time passed. Seikei could hear snores coming from the cell next door. They had not wanted to alarm the carpenter by telling him they were there for his protection. Seikei himself felt weary, but he was too nervous to sleep. Across the cell, he knew Bunzo sat as alert as a cat—breathing softly, ready to spring into action. That thought alone was enough to prevent Seikei from falling asleep.

  Seikei remembered Kitsune’s warning that Seikei could not defeat him. “Then I will die in the attempt,” Seikei had told the ninja.

  Were those only words? Or did they have a meaning? Seikei reminded himself, as he often did, that a samurai faced the truth that others shrank from: that someday he must die. And so, why not die bravely, with honor, instead of crawling on your belly to extend life a little longer?

  He knew that Bunzo didn’t need to ask himself such questions, and that made it a little easier for Seikei to sit here, waiting for death.

  Gradually he became aware of another sound, just a little less loud than the snoring. It sounded like scratching. A mouse chewing through one of the pine walls?

  He sniffed the air. Very faintly, he detected smoke. He started to warn Bunzo, but the giant samurai was already on his feet. Noiselessly, he opened the cell door. Seikei rose and stood behind him. There was no doubt that the smell was stronger here.

  No one else had noticed, for the snoring in the other cells continued peacefully. Seikei felt Bunzo press something into his hand: the key that would unlock the carpenter’s cell. “Get him out of the way,” Bunzo whispered. “I’m going after the ninja.”

  He headed for the doorway, not waiting for questions. Seikei unlocked the cell door and found the carpenter asleep on a mat. He shook the man roughly. “Hurry up,” he said frantically. “We’ve got to get out of here.” The smoke was starting to seep in through chinks in the wooden wall. It was there, outside the jail, that Kitsune was setting a fire.

  Korin, the carpenter, misunderstood what Seikei was trying to do. “No!” he cried, rolling across the floor. “I’m not going! Help!” he screamed. “Where are the guards?”

  He had moved just in time, for at that moment the wall next to his sleeping mat burst into flames. The ninja must have used something to make it burn quickly.

  “I’m trying to save you!” Seikei shouted at the carpenter. “Come with me. Now!”

  The man stared at the flames, his face torn with uncertainty. Then he realized there was only one way out. He looked at Seikei and nodded.

  Seikei led him into the hallway. Other guards were awake now, unlocking cell doors. People were shouting. It was impossible to hear what might be going on outside. Seikei wanted to go and help Bunzo, but his duty was to keep the carpenter safe. He grasped the man’s arm and pulled him toward the other side of the building. Men ran past them carrying buckets of water. With any luck they would be able to extinguish the fire before it spread. Seikei knew it would be a mistake to bring the carpenter outside: that was what Kitsune was hoping for. Out in the open he could capture the carpenter as he had the monkey-keeper.

  But the carpenter had other ideas. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “Where you’ll be safe,” said Seikei.

  “The building is on fire! We’ve got to get out!”

  “You’ll be protected here,” Seikei reassured him.

  “No!” With a lunge, the man
broke free and began to run in the other direction.

  Seikei followed, but by now the building was filling with smoke. He breathed in some of it and began to cough.

  Stumbling forward, he reached the entrance to the cells. Surely the carpenter would have turned toward the outer entrance here. Seikei went in that direction and found his way blocked by a crowd of prisoners who had been assembled there to save them from the fire. Seikei saw one of the two men who had helped Korin attack him. “Have you seen Kor—, I mean Bunji?” he asked the man, who gave him a suspicious look.

  “He was running away from somebody,” the man said.

  “He doesn’t understand,” Seikei protested. “I’m trying to save him.”

  The man shrugged and pointed toward the front of the building.

  Seikei pushed his way through the crowd and found his way to the entrance, which was guarded by two samurai. “Did anyone come through here?” he asked them.

  “A samurai brought a prisoner out,” one of them replied.

  “A samurai? What did he look like?”

  The two guards looked at each other, puzzled. “Did you get a good look at him?” one of them asked.

  “I can’t recall,” the other responded.

  It must have been Kitsune, Seikei thought. That was one of the ninja skills—to pass by people unnoticed. “How about the prisoner?” he asked. “Did you see him?”

  “Oh, yes,” said one of the guards. “Top-heavy man. Big chest, short legs. About thirty years old. Looked harmless.”

  Seikei’s heart sank. A perfect description of Korin. Kitsune must have caught him after all. But then . . . what had happened to Bunzo?

  Alarmed, Seikei rushed outside and ran around the side of the building. Firefighters had already arrived and were climbing ladders, pulling burning pieces of the roof off. Others brought buckets of water, keeping the fire confined to one section of the wall.

  Seikei found his path blocked by a burly firefighter. “You can’t go back there,” the man said.