by I. J. Parker
“Are you in pain?” she asked softly.
“No,” he lied. “We have been discussing the schedule for the coming day. And Captain Takesuke was just here with a report.”
Her eyes searched his face. “All is well?”
“Yes. All is well.” He reached for the brocade bundle. “I have a gift for you.”
She came quickly and knelt by his side to undo the ties. Her hands shook a little. “Ah,” she cried when she saw the lacquered box. “A shell game! And how beautiful!”
He watched her excitement, the way she touched the box and opened it, then lifted and looked at each shell with little cries of pleasure, her slender hands graceful. She was trying very hard to be strong and filled him with pride. There was a touch of color in her cheeks, and her silken hair slipped charmingly over her shoulder. Suddenly he felt enormously wealthy and, like any rich man, he was afraid.
“Come,” he said. “Keep me company for a little while and play a game with me.”
Outside there was the silence of the cold predawn. Here, in the soft light of the lamp, Tamako, who bore his child, placed shells on his lacquered desk with little clicking sounds, and smiled at him, murmuring, “It is the most exquisite present.”
* * * *
SEVENTEEN
THE TRAP
T
here!” said Tamako, pushing the pair of shells toward him. “I won again. A perfect match!”
Akitada glanced at the lute players depicted on the shells and then at his wife. Her slender face was flushed and her eyes shone with pleasure. He thought her quite beautiful.
“You did indeed.” He sighed with mock chagrin. “This game turns out to be unlucky for me. Twice I was quite close to winning, but you beat me each time.”
“Oh,” she cried, dismayed, “you won’t take a dislike to the game? It is merely chance, you know. The next time it will be your turn to win.”
Before he could answer, the door opened and Captain Takesuke entered. He looked tired and glum. The sight of Akitada playing a game with his wife seemed to anger him.
“The enemy has withdrawn,” he announced.
“Oh! That is good news, Captain,” cried Akitada’s wife, rising to her feet, her eyes bright with relief. “You will take a cup of warm wine after your cold vigil?”
Takesuke seemed on the verge of declining, but changed his mind. “Thank you, Lady Sugawara.” On Akitada’s invitation, he sat down, holding himself stiffly erect and meeting Akitada’s eyes stonily.
Akitada gave an inward sigh but waited until Tamako had served them and withdrawn to her own room. Then he said, “You wished for an armed encounter, I think.”
Takesuke’s eyes flashed. “Any man of courage must regret a missed opportunity.”
Akitada managed not to flinch at the implied insult. He studied the other man’s face and noted the faint tinge of pink, the compressed lips, the defiant eyes. Yes, Takesuke despised him for a coward and had the courage to say so to his face. For such open insubordination, he might well be ordered to die. But Akitada had no intention of losing the service of a good officer and of one who had just saved their lives. Should he explain himself? Tell the man that he wished to avoid the loss of even a single innocent life in this struggle for power? He discarded the thought immediately. There was only one thing a man like Takesuke understood and respected, and that was higher authority.
“Captain,” he said coldly, “it would be best if you guarded your temper in the future. Only the fact that you have performed your duties so well restrains me from issuing an official reproof.”
Takesuke flushed more deeply and bowed, but the defiance did not leave his eyes.
“It is not,” Akitada continued in the same cold voice, “in any case, for you to judge matters which do not concern you. I arrived here with specific mandates and the authority to carry them out. Only his Imperial Majesty himself can change these mandates. You and I merely obey.”
He watched as the other man’s eyes widened with respect. Takesuke prostrated himself and cried, “This stupid soldier regrets extremely his careless words. They were spoken out of a fervent wish to offer up my life to his Majesty.”
“Very well,” Akitada said, grudgingly and with a deep scowl. “I suppose you were tired. You may go.”
Takesuke scrambled up.
“You may return to the garrison today but keep your men in readiness. I want a continuous watch put on Takata manor. All movements of Lord Uesugi, military or otherwise, are to be reported to me instantly.”
Takesuke saluted and left so rapidly that the door slipped out of his shaking hand. Akitada sighed with relief. The night was past and they were safe.
His eyes fell on the desk. The shells still lay scattered. He touched the pair Tamako had so proudly pushed forward and smiled again. It had been a mismatch. The two lutes were not the same, but he had not had the heart to tell her. He started to scoop them back into their containers, when a thought struck him. For several minutes he sat transfixed, staring into space. The lute. Surely it was only a coincidence. But the thought made him so uneasy that he decided he would pay the curio dealer Shikata a visit as soon as the sun was up.
♦
Akitada expected his trap to catch its prey. He took no pleasure in it, but watched wearily and with a sense of impending disaster as events unravelled. The curio dealer had confirmed his suspicion and raised new ones.
Right after his return from Shikata’s shop, Tora brought in the maid Kiyo and left her outside Akitada’s office to cool her heels and pour vituperations on him and the clerks. Akitada sat with Seimei, immersed in the ongoing chore of checking Hamaya’s roster of rice tax payments against the provincial register and old reports from granary masters. They could hear her angry voice wishing all officials to the devil for a wide range of depraved actions.
Seimei made a face and said, “That woman’s voice will pierce a rock.”
There was a time when Akitada had been amused by the girl’s lack of respect for authority, but the persistence of her tirades made him thoughtful. When she was eventually admitted to his office toward noon, he looked at her with fresh interest. Tora, red-faced and white-knuckled, pushed her into a kneeling position, but she immediately raised her head again and glared defiantly at Akitada.
“Lieutenant,” growled Akitada, “what is the meaning of the infernal racket this female has been making?”
“Sorry, your Excellency. She seems to think she and unspecified others have been treated unjustly by this administration.”
Akitada stared at her with wrinkled brows. “Unjustly? What is your complaint, woman?”
“This is unjust,” she cried, waving an accusing arm at Akitada’s office and herself. “I’ve got a living to earn. I can’t be spending all day sitting around the tribunal when I’ve already told everything over and over again. People say there’ll never be an end to injustice now.”
That phrase rang a bell. The widow Sato had used it, too. “It is of no concern to this court what you or others may think,” Akitada said coldly. “Your duty is to cooperate in the investigation of a crime. But I have no time to explain this to you. Answer quickly! Who sent the inn’s stable boy away the day before Sato’s murder?”
For a moment she clamped her lips together stubbornly. Then she muttered, “The mistress, I suppose. Or maybe the master. What difference does it make?”
“Just answer the questions,” warned Tora, raising his fist.
Akitada asked, “Did the Satos treat their servants well?”
She looked at him blankly. “They were all right.”
“That’s not what you told me,” Tora said. “You called the wife a bitch and said she had lovers and treated you like dirt.”
“I did not,” the girl snapped.
Before Tora could contradict her, Akitada said quickly, “Very well. You may go for now, but there may be more questions tomorrow.”
She got up and walked out with a sniff.
“She’s lyi
ng,” Tora said, outraged.
“Yes. Let’s hope Hitomaro has something to report. I am beginning to share your opinion of the girl.”
Seimei shook a finger at Tora. “That woman is a she-devil. Let it be a lesson to you not to run after every skirt you see. Not all pockmarks are dimples, you know.”
Tora muttered something under his breath and left.
When Hitomaro walked in a little later he was accompanied by a middle-aged female with sharp features and quick eyes. She twitched a silk scarf on her head into place and gave Akitada an ingratiating smile.
“This is Mrs. Omeya, sir.” Hitomaro’s voice was clipped, his face expressionless. “She stopped the maid Kiyo outside the tribunal and engaged her in conversation.” He paused and swallowed. “I happen to know Mrs. Omeya. She runs a house of assignation behind the Fox Shrine.”
Akitada gave him a sharp look, but Hitomaro would not meet his eyes.
The woman raised a protest. “A house of assignation? No! The honorable lieutenant is making a mistake.” She knelt and bowed several times, bobbing up and down before Akitada. “I’m a poor widow,” she said, “and the house, which my late husband left me, is my only source of income. I rent rooms to respectable single women. One of them has, it appears, fallen in love with this handsome officer and somehow caused him to make such a mistake. I assure your Excellency that I was not aware of improprieties between them till recently, and that I will not permit his visits any longer.”
Akitada saw panic on Hitomaro’s face. He bit his lip and asked the woman, “Why did you stop the maid Kiyo on the street?”
“The girl works for an acquaintance of mine. I merely passed the time of day.”
Akitada raised his eyebrows but did not comment. He told Hitomaro to take Mrs.’ Omeya away and make her comfortable and to bring Tora and Kaoru back with him.
Hitomaro saluted.
When he returned with Tora and their new sergeant, Akitada sent Hitomaro to find Judge Hisamatsu and bring him in for questioning. He hoped that the errand would keep him away until nightfall.
“Our trap worked,” Akitada informed the other two when Hitomaro had left. “Hitomaro brought in a Mrs. Omeya who keeps a house of assignation. It’s behind the Fox Shrine and I have no doubt that you will find our elusive widow installed there. Go and arrest her.”
“Sir,” said Tora, “isn’t that where Hito’s ... ?” He faltered unhappily.
Akitada compressed his lips. He said pointedly, “Hitomaro has left for another assignment. Be quick about this. I intend to wrap up the Sato case during this afternoon’s session.”
The reports from Takata were that all was quiet, but Akitada had new worries to add to his fears of another Uesugi attack. When he entered the tribunal hall, he glanced nervously about. The session was well attended, and this time the crowd was respectful and orderly. Again, Hitomaro was absent, but this time Akitada had sent him on an errand because he wanted him out of the way. But Tora stood by and Kaoru awaited his signal. Akitada rapped his baton and started proceedings.
“Bring in the prisoner, Sergeant!” he called out.
An anticipatory hush fell. When Kaoru reappeared, leading the widow Sato by a chain which tied her wrists behind her back, whispers passed through the crowd. Mrs. Sato looked pale and wild, her silk gown torn and her long black hair disheveled, but she was, if anything, more beautiful than before. When she reached the dais, she stumbled and began to weep loudly.
Akitada had decided to handle the woman with the greatest care. He relied heavily, and perhaps unreasonably, on her wish to appear cooperative. “Untie the prisoner!” he ordered.
Kaoru obeyed and announced in a loud voice, “The widow Sato, wanted for questioning in the murder of her husband. She was found hiding in a house of assignation behind the Fox Shrine. The owner of the premises was not home.”
“No, oh, no,” wailed the widow, dropping to her knees and wringing her hands, “I wasn’t hiding. I’m not a fugitive. I was a prisoner held against my will by that evil woman. I have suffered unspeakable things there.”
What now? An excited buzz went through the crowd. Those in front pressed forward to see and hear better. Akitada frowned. “Explain yourself!”
The widow sat back on her feet and dabbed at her face with a torn sleeve. “Forgive this poor, foolish female, sir,” she said, giving him a pitiable glance before lowering her lashes: “I’m ashamed to come before you like this—dishonored, dirty, unclean, foul.” She suddenly slipped her gown off her shoulders, revealing white breasts covered with bloody scratches. “Look!” she cried. The crowd pressed forward.
Though common sense told him that this was another act and the scratches were most likely self-inflicted, Akitada recoiled.
Kaoru stepped forward and smacked her sharply across the face with the back of his hand. She gasped and collapsed sobbing. The crowd muttered.
Akitada, feeling his ears burn with embarrassment, growled, “Make yourself decent. You are in a tribunal. You will either speak calmly and keep your clothes on or be removed for another flogging.”
She sat and pulled up her gown. “Forgive me, your Excellency,” she murmured. “I am not myself. First my poor husband is murdered, and then that demon Omeya let her accomplice torture me. Knowing well that I was alone and without protection, she lured me into her brothel by offering me free music lessons. I thought they would ease my grief and accepted. I studied the lute with her, always in the daytime, until one day a man accosted me as I was leaving.” She looked around the room as if she expected to see him there. “Mrs. Omeya suggested a meeting, but I refused. Then, three days ago, after a lesson, she offered me a cup of wine. I accepted out of courtesy.” She shuddered a little. “The wine must have been drugged because, when I woke up, I was lying naked on the floor, and the man who had accosted me was raping me.” She covered her face with her sleeve and burst into fresh tears.
Akitada saw the avid faces of the crowd and rapped his baton. He knew now that she was blackmailing him, but he was helpless to prevent it.
She raised her head and continued in a trembling voice, “After that night I was locked up. The same man returned again and again and she forced me to submit to him for unspeakable and painful acts. If I refused, they beat me or held a candle to my face or feet till I screamed and submitted. He enjoyed hurting me. Each time he came, the old woman greeted him and took money from him. When I called her a devil, she laughed in my face, saying, ‘Better be polite, or worse things will happen to you.’“ She bowed. “That is my story, your Excellency. I suffered the true torments of hell until your men released me. I ask for justice.”
Akitada did not speak immediately. Whatever he had expected, it was not this. The woman was fiendishly clever. Since her charge must be investigated, another public hearing would have to be called. On that occasion, Akitada had no doubt, she would manage to identify Hitomaro as the man who had raped and tortured her. This would, in turn, cause the maid Kiyo to come forward and bring rape charges against Tora. Thus the two women would effectively discredit not only his staff and administration, but his investigation into her late husband’s murder and, by extension, his authority in this province.
“I regret extremely,” he finally announced, “that any decent woman in our city should have suffered such an outrage. A full investigation will begin immediately. But, difficult as this must be at the present time, Mrs. Sato, you must answer a few questions first.”
“Oh,” she wailed, to a sympathetic murmur from the crowd.
“Pour the prisoner a cup of water,” Akitada instructed Kaoru. A reminder of her present status proved salutary. She pulled herself together and the crowd grew quiet again.
“You recently had a guest die at your inn?”
“Yes, your Excellency. The poor man died of a fever.” ‘
“What did you do with the body?”
“Why, the usual. I sent my stable boy to the temple to tell the monks to get it for the funeral. They did.”
“You saw them take it away?”
“No. I had much business to take care of after my husband’s death. They must have come in my absence.”
“How do you know this? Is there a servant who had instructions to turn over the corpse?”
She made a show of confusion. “I... I don’t really know what happened. We sent the message and left the body outside the gate to be picked up. Later it was gone. Naturally I assumed—”
“What do you mean, you assumed?” demanded Akitada. “It is illegal to dump corpses on the street as if they were so much garbage. It offends against every law of this nation. It offends our gods and the Buddha himself.”
She bowed her head. Then she prostrated herself, crying, “This poor widow admits her fault. Having lost a dear husband so recently and being burdened by grief and business worries and ignorant of legal matters, she has gravely offended. I beg your Excellency’s mercy.”
