The Old Men of Omi

by I. J. Parker

  Akitada was helping the archivist return the papers to their boxes. He nodded. “I’ll have a bite in the city. Don’t wait up for me. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Much better than risking another meeting with Yukiko. But he could not help the pain this thought brought with it.

  ∞

  Akitada walked to Otsu Harbor. He wished he could have told Takechi what they had discovered, but it was too late. The chief had gone home to his family.

  Not having any family to go to, Akitada had a quick meal in a busy restaurant catering to travelers. The food was barely edible, but he had little appetite anyway. He paid and asked directions to the business of the rice merchant Fumi. He was told that Fumi Tokiari lived in a substantial home close to the harbor. It turned out to be one of several such properties belonging to wealthy merchants and ship owners. In this case, there was still a sort of business in the front of the large building where people could purchase rice for their households, but Akitada had been told that most of the family’s business was in shipping large amounts of rice to the capital and that part of the business operated from warehouses close to the port.

  Still, given the Fumi wealth, Akitada approved of the modesty that still acknowledged humble beginnings when many another rich man had already moved to an estate in the suburbs. He passed into the shop, where he was greeted politely by two clerks, and asked to speak to Fumi Tokiari. A clerk dashed off to announce him, and a moment later a heavy-set elderly man in a sober black silk robe emerged from the back.

  “I am Sugawara,” Akitada introduced himself, “and temporarily attached to the governor’s office. His Excellency has asked me to look into some troubling local crimes. You could be most helpful by giving me some information.”

  Fumi looked surprised and uneasy, but he bowed deeply and led the way to the back of the house. There, in the well-furnished office where he conducted his business he offered Akitada a seat and refreshments.

  “Nothing, thank you. I’m not altogether sure what your relationship to Fumi Takahiro is, but my interest concerns him rather than you.”

  “He was my brother.”

  Akitada thought the man’s nervousness had increased and wondered at it. “I understand he was the victim of a murder on the estate of Lord Taira Sukenori?”

  Fumi compressed his lips. “Yes.”

  It was clear that Akitada would have to work for his information.

  “The man who confessed to the crime was Lord Taira’s betto, a man by the name of Hatta. He was sentenced to life in the mines in the north. Apparently his son later attacked Lord Taira. Do you happen to know why he should have done such a thing?”

  “I know very little about the case, sir. My brother had some business with Lord Taira and, since he enjoyed hunting, he had been invited to the Taira estate. Lord Taira was a great hunter. The murder happened during a hunt. Lord Taira at first claimed it was an accident, but the arrow tip protruded from my poor brother’s back and the authorities decided he must have been shot by someone very close and facing him. This caused a lot of rumors and I pressed for an investigation. It was then that the man Hatta confessed.”

  “But what was his motive?”

  Fumi made a face. “The man had the nerve to claim that my brother had attacked his young daughter sexually.”

  “That would constitute a strong motive. A father has a right to protect his children. You clearly did not believe this. Why wasn’t Hatta given consideration during the sentencing.?”

  Fumi had reddened with anger. “Because it was a foul lie! My brother would never have laid a hand on the girl.”

  “It does you credit to defend your brother,” Akitada said dubiously.

  “Of course I defend my brother, but in this case there was proof that my brother was innocent.”

  “How so?”

  “My brother preferred men to women. He was unmarried and had never shown any interest in females.” Fumi paused. “That’s why I am his heir. He never had any children.”

  “Ah!” Akitada nodded. “That is very interesting. You must have wondered at the time who would make up such stories.”

  “Not at all. Hatta lied.”

  “Yes, perhaps. What sort of business did your brother have with Lord Taira?”

  The look of uneasiness returned to the rice merchant’s face. “My brother had advanced his lordship some funds from time to time. It was good business. The money earned a satisfactory interest. Lord Taira had a great estate to administer and a certain manner of living that required a good deal of money.”

  “I see. When you came to settle your brother’s estate, had all the debts been paid?”

  Fumi fidgeted. “No. And I never got the money either. Lord Taira claimed there was no debt, that he had paid my brother before his death. I tried to collect from his son after he died, but he also refused.”

  “Was it a large debt?”

  “Very large. I almost lost the business.”

  Akitada studied the merchant with interest. Fumi certainly had no love for the Taira family, father or son. He might well have a good motive for murdering Sukemichi. Sukemichi had never fitted very well with the other victims. But after a moment, he discarded the notion, thanked Fumi, and left.

  It was getting dark by then and he was tired, but instead of returning to the villa, he stayed on in the tribunal for several more hours, working on the legal documents on his desk. Only a servant was still in the archives, and he felt guilty for keeping the man from his bed. But he felt a great urgency to finish this assignment and return to the capital. The children would be disappointed that they would not attend the great shrine festival after all, but he would try to make it up to them.

  When he finally closed the last document box and stretched, the servant was fast asleep leaning against a pillar. Akitada looked with satisfaction at the pile of pages that constituted his notes. Tomorrow he would draft his report, discuss it with the members of his group, and then give it the final polish. The clerks would make copies, he and the others would sign, and they would all return to their homes.

  For a moment, he recalled her image as he had seen her last, a slender figure in blue surrounded by the golden light of the rising sun. He had made his farewells on that occasion, telling her that he would always remember her just like that.

  He doubted it was enough to live on in the future.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Wood Shed

  The path leading up the side of the mountain was rough and stony. The rain had stopped, but everything was wet. They slipped and scrambled as they climbed. Tora was getting very tired and wondered how Saburo, for whom this was the same climb in less than eight hours, managed. The track took them back into dense woods and into a twilight that persisted even though the sun must be well up. After quite a long time, Tora asked, “How much farther?”

  Saburo paused and looked back. “It was dark when I came this way before. I’m not sure. I’m not sure where we are or if we are on the right path. I’m moving by instinct only.”

  Tora cursed. His head still hurt and the physical exertion made the pain worse. “Let’s stop to check. There must be a clearing somewhere.” He looked around and pointed. “Over there. Maybe we can get a glimpse of the valley and you can fix on the direction.”

  Saburo grunted his assent, and they left the path to clamber along the steep slope toward where light appeared between the trees. Not for the first time, Tora cursed his sword which managed to get in his way in this thicket. Saburo, who did not have a sword, but who carried secret weapons hidden in the sleeves and linings of his clothes and inside his boots, was better off.

  The outlook, when they reached it, showed them that they had climbed quite a way, but there was no sign of any dwelling. Forest stretched along both sides of the valley and below there were only glimpses of a small stream and an occasional section of the narrow road.

  “Well?” Tora asked.

  Saburo frowned. “Maybe a little more to the
east. We should have stayed on the path.”

  Tora leaned forward to peer toward the east. “Is that smoke or mist?” he asked.

  “I can’t make it out, but it could be them. Cooking their morning rice.”

  “Let’s go!” Tora said grimly and turned back.

  “Wait!”

  “What now?”

  “You sound pretty touchy, brother. And you don’t look well, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “I do mind. Let’s get this over with and kill the bastards.”

  “We have to be careful. We don’t know who else might have come since I last saw them. And when we get close, we have to creep through the trees. It will be better if we surprise them.”

  “Right, but if we wait around talking about it, they may find us before we find them.”

  Saburo said no more. Together they reached the path again and followed it for a short while until the trees started to thin and light could be seen.

  “All right,” Saburo said in a low voice. “From now on we creep.” He left the path and Tora followed. With great care, they reached a promontory, and there just below them, was a fair-sized wooden hut with a wooden shelter a little farther along the road . Smoke rose from an opening in the roof of the hut. The shelter contained stacked firewood. The narrow road passed in front of these buildings, probably the same one that also passed the hermit’s dwelling at the other end of the valley. The road disappeared around another rocky outcropping like the one Tora and Saburo lay on.

  There was no sign of life other than the smoke, though the sun was already high. They watched in silence for a while, then Tora said, “Are you sure they’re all there?”

  “They were yesterday.”

  “Maybe they left?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Shall we go down to check?”

  Saburo hesitated, then nodded. “Careful. They could be coming out.”

  “Right.” Tora got to his feet, checked his sword, and rubbed his sore head. Even his eyes hurt. What was wrong with him? He had had the headaches for more than a year now, but they had never happened as often or been as long-lasting and severe.”

  “Wait,” Saburo hissed.

  Tora turned and looked.

  A couple had appeared on the road. They were poorly dressed and both had large, woven baskets slung over their shoulders. The man also carried a toddler.

  “Wood gatherers,” said Tora.

  “More like wood thieves.”

  The couple halted by the shed. The man put down the toddler and both took off their baskets and carried them to the wood piles in the shelter where they started loading them. The toddler staggered to his feet and explored his surroundings.

  “This isn’t good,” Tora observed.

  “We can’t get down there fast enough to warn them.”

  They watched with growing anxiety as the child made its circuitous and frequently interrupted way to the door of the hut. His parents had cast an occasional glance his way but seemed unconcerned.

  “They don’t know anybody’s there,” Saburo commented.

  Tora said hopefully, “Maybe they’re right.”

  “You forget the smoke.”

  The child crawled up the steps to the door and sat down on the small porch. For a while nothing else happened. The parents had almost filled their baskets.

  Tora gritted his teeth. “They have enough. Why don’t they leave well enough alone, get the kid, and head home?”

  But they stacked their loads precariously high. Then the man helped the woman put on her basket. Its heavy load bent her almost double. The husband crouched, slipped on his own basket, and rose.

  They could not hear it, but one of them, or perhaps both, called out to the child to come. The toddler was an obedient boy. He got up, climbed laboriously down the three steps, and turned to run to his parents.

  At that moment, the door of the hut flew open and one of the sohei appeared on the threshold.

  “Too late,” groaned Tora.

  Things happened quickly after that. The sohei alerted his companions who came out, armed with swords and naginata, and started after the couple, viciously kicking the toddler out of their way. There were five of them.

  “Come,” cried Tora, and started down the side of the mountain.

  It was a long way down. They slipped and slid, holding on to branches, cursing, vaguely aware of the violence that was playing out below them. Once Saburo tumbled past Tora, who caught him before he fell.

  There was no point in being quiet any longer; the warrior monks were otherwise occupied and paid no attention to the hillside. As Tora and Saburo got closer, they could hear pitiful screams and the bawling of the child. They could no longer see the scene when the screams stopped and only the child still whimpered. They were now in some woods on the valley floor.

  Tora drew his sword and ran, dodging trees and shrubs, aware of Saburo’s rapid breath behind him.

  When they reached the road, they saw a pitiful scene. The child was softly whimpering where he had fallen while his father lay much too still between the two baskets of wood that had spilled their contents all across the road. The sohei and the woman had disappeared.

  Tora bent to check the child. His eyes were open but blood was coming from his mouth and nose. He was breathing in gasps and making an enervating mewling sound. Saburo was ahead, bent over the man.

  “How is he?” Tora asked when he reached him.

  Saburo straightened. “Dead. The kid?”

  “Bad, but alive.” Tora stared at the body. The young man lay on his stomach. A puddle of blood was slowly spreading under him. Tora started to bend down, but Saburo stopped him.

  “Leave it. They slashed his throat.”

  Of one accord they turned their eyes toward the shed. From this position they could not see much of the inside, but they heard voices and a woman’s pleading.

  Tora made a move, but Saburo caught his arm. “Careful,” he warned.

  They crept up to the wall of the shelter from behind it.

  Inside, one of the sohei shouted, “Give it to her! That’s right! Punish the thieving bitch good!”

  Someone laughed. Then another cried, “Harder! The bitch is enjoying it too much.” More laughter.

  “Slowly!” hissed Saburo, and they started for the corner.

  Just about then, the woman screamed shrilly. A burst of laughter followed, and Tora pushed Saburo aside and jumped around the corner.

  The scene was familiar. The old woman had described it when she had told them about the gang rape of the porter’s wife. Tora rushed past the nearest sohei and used his sword to slash the bare buttocks of the animal who was belaboring the woman under him.

  It was an almost fatal mistake. He heard shouts and the hissing sounds as swords slid from their scabbards. Desperately, he jumped aside, falling down among pieces of firewood. A naginata whistled past his thigh.

  After this there was only chaos. Tora tried to get up, slipped on a log, saw the blade of the naginata coming at him again. Raising himself on one knee, he used his sword to deflect the blade and felt the blow all the way to his shoulder. His arm went numb and he fell again. Somewhere a man screamed, and he gave Saburo a fleeting thought. But the naginata was not done with him, and this time he knew he could not manage to block it with the sword. In a desperate leap he jumped past the blade and seized the shaft with both hands. He tugged, and the sohei stumbled forward. Tora gave him a vicious kick in the groin, then pushed his short sword into his belly. The sohei screamed and fell.

  Before Tora could get a clear picture of the situation, two other sohei came for him with their swords. His sword arm was still numb, but he grabbed the fallen naginata and swung it at them. They retreated. Tora dropped the weapon and found his sword, seizing it with both hands. He charged them, aiming at their bellies. As he had expected, they separated, thinking to slash at him when he missed them, but he ducked, swerved, and buried his sword in the belly of the man to his rig
ht. With no time to retrieve it, he kept moving. How many were left? Two were down, one was coming after him. Where was Saburo?

  Then he saw him. He lay near the front of the shed. No time! He had to get out of the way of that sword.

  Unarmed, he stumbled over the naginata. Its owner was still curled up and groaning, but he snatched at Tora’s leg and made him fall. Tora’s hand caught the naginata and seized it. He kicked out at the sohei and stumbled to his feet just as a sword missed his left shoulder and struck the sohei instead. The sohei on the ground screamed only once but so horribly that his fellow froze just long enough for Tora to put some distance between them and turn.

  He was not trained in fighting with a naginata, but guessed it was not so different from the heavy oak staffs used in stick fighting and he was very good at that. Swinging the weapon out in a wide arc he then reversed into the opposite direction while running at the two remaining sohei who were coming for him with their swords. He saw their eyes widen in shock, saw that one was Kojo, saw him jumping aside, and the other raising his sword to deflect the halberd’s blade. But Tora’s force was too great. The sword went flying, and Tora slashed his belly. The man fell, clutching himself.

  Turning on his heel, Tora saw Kojo running out of the shelter and followed. A violent fury had seized him at what they had done to the wood gatherers, and this red-hot energy had not left him throughout the battle. He seemed to fly across the rough ground, down the rutted mountain road after the fleeing figure.

  He caught up with Kojo where the road made the turn and roared, “Coward! Stop and fight like a man!”

  The other, not having much choice in the matter, did stop soon after. Kojo still had his sword and the courage of despair.

  Kojo! The one he had wanted to kill with his own hands.

  Too late Tora realized that the sohei had stopped among trees and shrubs. The naginata was of little use here because he could not slash with it. This battle would have to be fought close up, and Tora no longer had his sword.

  Mere details, he decided in his fury.