Black Arrow

by I. J. Parker

  Hitomaro snapped. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Genba peered into a large pot of soup in a noodle stall. The vendor reached for his ladle and a bowl. “Some nice fresh noodles in my special soup for the gentlemen?” he cried in a high singsong voice. “Best herbs and vegetables only! Gathered this very morning! Only two coppers.”

  “Come along,” Hitomaro growled.

  Genba sighed. “I suppose after the match, I’ll be put on short rations anyway.”

  “Be good for you. The tribunal stairs won’t take your weight.” Hitomaro’s arm shot out, pulling Genba behind the straw canopy of a stall. He hissed, “Duck! There’s the bastard now.”

  Two men passed, walking purposefully. One was Chobei. The former sergeant of the tribunal wore a new blue cotton robe, matching trousers, and straw boots. His companion was a short fat man in brown silk and a black sash with an official’s black cap on his head. Chobei talked and waved his hands about. His companion looked haughty and kept shaking his head. They disappeared in the crowd.

  Hitomaro stared after them. “Now I’ve seen everything!”

  “Who was that with him?” Genba asked.

  Someone giggled at their feet. A pretty girl with bright black eyes raised a hand to cover her mouth. She sat among her earthenware dishes and bowls, the owner of the stall they had ducked into.

  “Please forgive the intrusion, miss,” Genba said politely. “We didn’t want to talk to those men and took advantage of your canopy.”

  Her eyes were on Hitomaro. “Maybe I can help. Which one are you interested in? That good-for-nothing Chobei or the judge?”

  “That Chobei!” Hitomaro growled. “Where the hell did he get new clothes? And since when does that bastard keep company with the judge?”

  She giggled again. “Since Judge Hisamatsu made him his overseer. That’s how he got the new clothes, and a fine house besides. It’s on the judge’s property.”

  “How come that ignorant rascal had such luck?” Genba marveled.

  She rolled her eyes. “The judge isn’t right in the head.”

  Hitomaro gave a snort. “You can say that again. Chobei’s worthless.”

  “No. Really. He thinks he’s somebody else.”

  Hitomaro gave her his attention. She responded with a coy smile, and Hitomaro squatted and smiled back. “Who does he think he is? And how come you know these things?”

  She brushed back her hair and smiled. “Easy. My mother works for the judge. She says he thinks he’s really a grand minister.”

  Hitomaro frowned. “He didn’t sound mad to me. What does he want Chobei for?”

  A woman stopped at the stand and picked up one of the bowls. The girl hesitated. “I’ve got a customer.”

  Hitomaro grabbed her arm. “Answer me!”

  She pouted and freed her arm. “The judge hired Chobei to run his estate,” she snapped. “He said a nobleman needs retainers.”

  The customer cleared her throat and glared at Hitomaro, who glared back and stalked away. Genba muttered an apology and put down a handful of coins before following him.

  “That’s a really strange story,” Genba said when he caught up. He got no answer, and chuckled. “Your mind’s on other things. You’re looking at girls again. I bet you’ve got a girlfriend.”

  Hitomaro turned on him. “What business of yours is my private life?”

  “Sorry, brother. I meant nothing by it.” Genba’s eyes were large with shock and hurt. He muttered, “Maybe I’d better go.”

  Hitomaro slowly unclenched his fists. “No. It was nothing. Forget it.”

  But Genba’s cheerful face had turned grave. “Hito, this isn’t like you. Are you in some kind of trouble? We’ve been through too much together for you to act this way. Either you let me help, or we part company here and now.”

  Hitomaro stopped. He bit his lip. “The trouble is someone else’s. I have promised not to tell.” He paused. “Could you lend me some silver without asking what it’s for?”

  Genba’s eyebrows shot up. “Silver? When you’ve been putting away every copper cash toward a piece of land. You’ve saved twenty bars of silver already.”

  “I... it’s all gone. Please don’t ask.” Hitomaro made a helpless gesture.

  “I have fifteen bars. They’re yours.”

  “Thanks, brother. I swear, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

  “Keep it. I don’t need it. If I win the contest, and I think I will, there’s a prize of ten bars of silver and a new silk robe in it for me. Come, now that your problem’s been solved, let’s celebrate in that eating place over there. They make a very fine fish stew.”

  This time Hitomaro did not argue. They found a couple of empty spaces on a bench outside, ordered wine and two bowls of stew, and watched the passersby.

  But before their food arrived, a commotion caused a general rush up the street. A woman screamed. Someone shouted for constables.

  Hitomaro was on his feet. Genba heaved himself up, casting a despairing look toward the waitress who was coming with their order, and followed.

  Hitomaro plunged into the press of people. Genba made his way by simply lifting people out of his path until he caught up with Hitomaro.

  In an open space in the center of the market street, a tall well-dressed man was bending over the body of a young beggar. The crowd watched the scene, transfixed. A woman sobbed hysterically, but the rest looked merely shocked or curious. The well-dressed man wiped the blade of a slender knife on the man’s rags, then straightened up. Looking about him with a frown, he tucked the knife into his sash. He was a very handsome man, yet Hitomaro felt an instant surge of hatred.

  Genba made a growling noise in the back of his throat and moved forward, but Hitomaro held him back. “No, brother,” he said in a low voice. “Stay out of this! If I’m not much mistaken, this is no ordinary brawl.”

  Hitomaro pushed aside the people in front of him and went to the body. Getting on one knee, he checked the victim. The beggar had been stabbed once in the chest and was quite dead. “What happened here?” he asked, getting to his feet.

  The handsome gentleman raised his brows. “Who are you?” He took a paper tissue from his sleeve and wiped his fingers.

  “Lieutenant Hitomaro, provincial tribunal. Who are you? And what happened?” Hitomaro gestured to the inert figure on the ground. “Did you kill him?”

  “Ah, Lieutenant,” said the elegant stranger. “So many questions. It is difficult to guess your rank without your uniform. Yes, I’m afraid I had to kill the villain. A drunken lout who attacked me. I’m Sunada.”

  The name rang a bell, and Hitomaro gave him a sharp glance before bending over the body again. The dead man had the look of a ruffian and had been knifed through the heart. Straightening up, Hitomaro extended his hand. “The weapon?”

  Sunada sighed but handed over a dully gleaming blade with a beautifully made silver handle. Hitomaro ran his thumb over the blade. “A dangerous toy,” he commented, tucking the knife into his own sash. “Yours or his?”

  Sunada snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, man! Does he look like someone who can afford a fine blade like that?”

  “Then the victim was unarmed?”

  “How should I know? And if he was, so what?”

  “I’m wondering why you stabbed an unarmed person.”

  Sunada rolled his eyes. “Oh, you would try the patience of the Buddha himself! Look here, Lieutenant—if you are a lieutenant—I told you, he attacked me. I simply defended myself. Now get on with your duties. Have someone take the body away and write up your report. I’ll put my seal to it, and be on my way. I am already late for an important meeting. In case it is of interest, the governor has asked for my support with the local business leaders. He will not thank you if you delay me.”

  Hitomaro shook his head. “Sorry, sir. There are regulations. It will take more time than that.”

  Sunada snapped, “It is urgent. We are trying to find ways to avert open rebellion in thi
s city. Clearly you people at the tribunal are unable to handle anything.”

  Hitomaro smiled through gritted teeth. “There are rules to be followed in a case of violent death. And questions to be answered. For example, why and how did this man attack you?”

  “Dear heaven, what a thickheaded fellow! I’m a rich man, and Koichi’s poor, as any idiot can see.” Sunada clenched his fists in anger and turned to the crowd. “Tell him,” he cried. “You all saw it, didn’t you?”

  The crowd began to inch away. Some people shook their heads.

  “You there!” Sunada pointed to a tall laborer. “Come here and tell this officer what happened.”

  The laborer shuffled closer, bowing many times to both Sunada and Hitomaro. “It is true what Mr. Sunada says,” he said humbly and attempted to slink back.

  “Wait.” Hitomaro stopped him. “What’s your name?”

  With an anxious glance at Sunada, the man muttered, “Rikio. A fisherman, sir, from Wild Swan village.”

  “All right. What did you see?”

  The fisherman pointed at the body. “I saw him. Koichi. He was in front of Mr. Sunada. He looked angry. His hands were waving, and he cursed. Koichi is a very bad person. A jailbird.”

  “Did he hit Mr. Sunada? Put his hands around Mr. Sunada’s throat? Throw stones? What did he do? What did he say?”

  The fisherman looked at Sunada and twisted his hands together. “He may have been hitting. I couldn’t hear the words.”

  At this point, another man in the dark brown ramie robe of a well-to-do merchant pushed through the crowd. After bowing to Sunada, he said to Hitomaro, “I am Tsuchiya, sake wholesaler. I live in the big house over there and saw everything from my upstairs window. Poor Mr. Sunada here was just walking along, when this dirty person stepped in his way. Mr. Sunada was trying to pass, speaking calmly, but the man was shouting and raising his arms. I myself thought he was mad and would kill Mr. Sunada. Thank heavens Mr. Sunada was quick. A great blessing to us all! What a loss Mr. Sunada’s death would have been to this city! I will gladly testify to Mr. Sunada’s total innocence and to his excellent reputation in this province.”

  Hitomaro regarded the sake merchant dubiously. Turning back to Sunada, he said, “What is your trade?”

  Sunada flushed angrily. “Everybody knows I buy and sell rice and other goods here and in other provinces. My warehouses are in Flying Goose village near the harbor, and I keep a fleet of sailing ships at anchor there. Now are you satisfied that I’m an honest citizen?”

  Hitomaro ignored the question. “Did you know the victim?”

  “I don’t keep company with criminals.”

  “If you have never seen the man before, how did you know his name? Koichi, I believe, you called him?”

  “Of course I had seen him and knew he was called Koichi. Everyone in this town knew him as a dangerous criminal.”

  “Ah! Have you ever been attacked by him before?”

  “No, but as you saw, I always carry a weapon.”

  Hitomaro nodded. “Very well. The rest can wait till later. You and your witnesses will follow me to the tribunal.” He looked about, saw two brawny bearers mingling with the crowd and whistled to them. Before he could tell them where to take the body, Sunada seized his arm.

  “Are you deaf or stupid? I told you that I don’t have the time,” he snapped. “If I can manage it, I shall stop by the tribunal sometime tomorrow.” Looking over Hitomaro’s shoulder at the sake merchant, he bowed slightly and said, “Good night, Tsuchiya. Give my best to your family.”

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Hitomaro caught Sunada’s elbow just as the man was turning and spun him around roughly. Sunada’s hand went to his empty sash. Hitomaro bared his teeth and said, “Not this time, my friend. So. Resisting an officer of the law and threatening him with bodily harm? I believe I shall put you in jail.”

  Sunada stepped back, his face pale with fury. He scanned the crowd, then raised his left hand, making a curious gesture with his thumb and forefinger.

  The ones close to them fell silent and moved back. Their places were taken by men in rough working clothes, brawny men with the deep tans of life outdoors, men with bulging shoulders and sinewy arms, men with the stubborn, dangerous faces of hired thugs.

  And there was Boshu, Sunada’s overseer. Boshu had a large iron spike in one hand and was tapping the palm of the other with it. “Mr. Sunada, sir,” he said to his master without taking his eyes off Hitomaro, “we wondered if there was any trouble.”

  * * * *

  TWELVE

  THE TWISTED WAYS

  OF LOVE

  T

  he early morning gathering in Akitada’s icy private office was subdued. Day was breaking outside, but the shutters were closed against the cold and a candle flickered in the drafts. Akitada himself sat white-faced with fatigue, his shoulders hunched against the chill, his shaking hands tucked into his wide sleeves. Tora had been nodding off and jerking himself awake earlier but was staring at Hitomaro now, who had just finished his report and was waiting with the rigid face of a man expecting a reprimand.

  When Akitada said nothing, Tora could not restrain himself. “You mean you let that bastard walk away from a cold-blooded murder? Committed in broad daylight in front of a large crowd? By the same man who sent his thugs after you once before? I can’t believe you’d be afraid to teach him a lesson when you caught him in the act!”

  Hitomaro, who was seated stiffly next to him, compressed his lips but did not take his eyes from Akitada’s tired face. “If I have acted improperly, sir,” he said, “I offer my resignation.”

  Outside the wind splattered wet sleet against the shutters like fistfuls of small pebbles.

  Akitada shivered again and blinked. “No, no. Pay no attention to Tora. He is half asleep with exhaustion. You did quite right. A confrontation would have availed nothing and innocent people would have been hurt. Sunada is not going to abscond.” He gestured toward some documents on the desk. “I’ll have a look at the depositions later.” He sighed. “At the moment we have a more urgent problem. The Uesugi servant’s grandson has disappeared. Tora and I spent the night turning Takata manor and the surrounding country upside down.” In a weary voice he told Hitomaro of their investigation.

  Hitomaro relaxed a little. “The boy must be dead or you would have picked up some trail.”

  Akitada clenched a hand. “I refuse to believe that. It’s what they want us to think. Sooner or later there will be a clue.”

  “In that case,” grumbled Tora, “I wish you’d gone home when the doctor did, instead of wasting a whole night searching that accursed foxes’ den.”

  Hitomaro frowned his disapproval of such insolence, but Akitada said quite calmly, “It served its purpose. After we talked to everyone and searched everywhere, neither Uesugi nor his steward will dare punish the maid for reporting the disappearance. And it may have gained us some goodwill from the servants. They seemed genuinely fond of Toneo.”

  “Well,” muttered Tora after a huge yawn, “I don’t care what you two do next. I’m going to bed. Send for me later if you have any orders.” He got up and stretched, yawning again.

  “Tora!” hissed Hitomaro.

  “Sit down, Tora. Hitomaro is not finished.” Akitada’s voice was flat with exhaustion. “Go ahead, Hitomaro. You met Genba later, after you had taken the depositions?”

  “Yes, sir. Genba stayed in the crowd to watch and listen.” Hitomaro smiled a little. “If there had been a confrontation, Sunada’s thugs would’ve had their second surprise. You would not recognize Genba. He’s huge and can toss a grown man farther than I can jump. He will win that match, I’m sure of it. After he saw that I was letting Sunada and his goons go, Genba went to Flying Goose village. The fisherman Rikio”—Hitomaro tapped the depositions on the desk—”is one of Sunada’s men. He got in debt and Sunada helped him out. Now he’s working off the debt in Sunada’s warehouses when he’s not fishing. A lot of fishermen
are in the same ... er ... boat.”

  Nobody chuckled. Akitada was rummaging among the papers on his desk. “Yes, I thought so,” he muttered, shivering. “No doubt the sake merchant is equally obligated to Sunada. Where is Seimei? Is there any hot tea? Wine will put me to sleep and there is too much work to be done.”

  Hitomaro rose to call for Seimei. The old man arrived quickly, bowing to Akitada, and placing the tea utensils on the desk. Coughing, he muttered something about hot water and left again.

  “I wish there were even the smallest sign of support for imperial authority,” Akitada said peevishly. “I dislike the idea of serving as high constable, although there is both precedent and cause for it. If I could count on just a small faction to oppose Uesugi, I would gladly forgo that dubious honor.”