Death on an Autumn River (A Sugawara Akitada Novel)

by I. J. Parker

  Yasuko woke.He held the little girl tightly, so tightly that she squirmed while she told him about the bad men and what they did to Seimei and poor Trouble.

  “What’s the matter with Trouble?” Akitada asked his wife.

  “He’s lame. And he doesn’t bark and rarely goes into the courtyard anymore.”

  “Not much of a guard dog, then,” said Akitada, putting his daughter down.

  “Don’t say that. He nearly died defending us.”

  Akitada nodded. “You’re right. It’s only . . . I wish Seimei had been spared.”

  In Seimei’s room he found Tora weeping like a baby and went to touch Seimei’s hands, half afraid he was too late. The hands were cold as ice, but at his touch the old man’s eyelids twitched. He said quite distinctly, “I’m a little cold.” Akitada found another quilt, put it over Seimei, and then sat down to warm his hands between his own. Seimei opened his eyes. “Is it snowing?”

  “No. It’s a beautiful autumn night.”

  “Autumn chill turns to winter cold. I’m a little cold, but isn’t snow beautiful?”

  Akitada shuddered, and Tora sniffed audibly, then shuffled closer. “Seimei? Can you hear me? It’s Tora.”

  “Tora? You must try harder with your brush. Then your father will be pleased. Your father loves you.”

  They exchanged a glance across the old man’s figure. “He has us confused,” Akitada said softly.

  Seimei smiled suddenly. “The gods have been good to me. Two such sons! What more could a man want?” His eyes looked from Tora to Akitada, and he grasped a hand of each. Then the smile faded, a distant look passed over his face, and he lost consciousness again. After a while, his breath resumed its horrible rattling.

  They sent for the doctor, but stayed at the old man’s bedside. Seimei did not wake again. The doctor arrived in time to pronounce death.

  *

  Early the next morning, Superintendent Kobe arrived. He was startled and dismayed to find the Sugawara household in mourning. After paying his respects to the dead Seimei, he met with Akitada in his study.

  “I’m very sorry,” he said simply. “I liked him and envied you such loyalty.”

  Akitada, who had sat up all night with the body, nodded wearily and tried to gather his thoughts. “Thank you for coming. The two men who killed him need to be found and arrested. My wife tells me that she has reported their descriptions.”

  “Yes, to the warden. The matter just reached me this morning. Apparently, these men were no ordinary criminals. Robbers in our capital do not carry swords and halberds. They use cheap knives that can be concealed easily. Neither do they wear half armor over figured silk. From their clothes and particularly their weapons, I would say they’re trained warriors attached to some nobleman’s household. That makes the situation serious and difficult.”

  “They may belong to someone in Naniwa. I think they didn’t intend to kill anyone, but rather to warn me away from my assignment in Naniwa. More than likely they are attached to either Governor Oga or his prefect, Munata.”

  Kobe frowned. “Then I doubt I can be of use. Perhaps you’d better report to His Excellency, the minister, and let him handle it.”

  Akitada sighed. “I will, but first I must take care of Seimei’s funeral.”

  Kobe left some of his men to guard Akitada’s residence and departed.

  Akitada returned to the reception hall where Seimei’s body, wrapped in white hemp, rested amidst tall candelabra. The candles cast weird shadows of the seated monks on the walls, and the draft from the open door stirred the shadows into a ghostly dance, as if the spirits of the underworld had also gathered to welcome Seimei’s soul.

  He closed the door and went to kneel beside the old man. Death had not been kind. The flesh seemed to have shrunken from his face, leaving only yellowed skin stretched taut over the skull. Already, he was a stranger. Akitada suppressed a shudder and reached for Seimei’s hand. Bowing his head, he let his thoughts go back to his childhood. Seimei, who could not have reached fifty yet, had seemed old even then. Akitada recalled kindness rather than embraces. Seimei’s hand on his head or shoulder, or holding his own small hand as they walked through the garden, were the most vivid memories of their closeness.

  Seimei’s hand had guided him into young adulthood. On the day the young Akitada had rebelled against his father’s harshness and left his home, there had been tears in Seimei’s eyes, and his hands had clutched Akitada’s shoulders almost desperately.

  Later, Seimei had fitted himself into Akitada’s young family, being ever present and caring. He had kept the accounts, served as Akitada’s secretary when the young official could not afford to hire one, treated the family’s wounds and illnesses with his homegrown herbs and medicines, taught his young master’s son, and stood by Akitada when the boy had died.

  What would they do now? Who would he turn to for advice?

  Who would fill the awful void that twisted and sickened his belly?

  The candles flickered, and the chanting stumbled briefly. A touch on his shoulder.

  He looked up and saw his wife’s face, her eyes swollen and red from weeping. He rose and together they walked out into the corridor. The monks continued their chanting, and Tamako slipped into his arms and sobbed against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could take away your pain, but I have too much of my own. I loved him as I did my father.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said, grief thick in his throat. “I know.” He had not loved his father. Seimei had taken that place.

  She detached herself. Taking his hand, she led him to Seimei’s room. An oil lamp flickered on the floor and cast its light on Seimei’s books and boxes. “I’ve been sitting here, thinking about all he has done for us. And . . . and about how little we’ve done for him. I’m so ashamed, Akitada. He had so little in his life.”

  Akitada looked around at the simple shelves holding Seimei’s treasured books on Kung Fu Tse and his herbals; at his small jars of medicines with the neat lettering on them; at the plain and worn roll of bedding and the plain and threadbare robe that hung over a stand; at a picture young Yori had drawn and another, a mere daub that was likely Yasuko’s work. “No,” he said almost angrily, “don’t say that. He loved us and we loved him. He was happy. We were his family.”

  She sniffled and nodded her head. “Yes. It’s just that I wish I’d told him how we felt.”

  “Our worst fears and doubts make us look for blame. Tora is angry with Genba. I blame myself for having caused this with my work.”

  “Genba is blameless, and so are you,” Tamako said firmly and turned to leave the room. “No one is to blame. It happened. It was karma.”

  Akitada would have none of it. “It happened because of my investigation in Naniwa. Someone wanted to make sure I abandoned it.”

  Tamako stopped in the corridor and looked back at him. “Are you meddling in something very dangerous?”

  He did not like that “meddling” but said only, “Perhaps. It has to do with the pirates on the Inland Sea. They may have abducted Sadenari, sent thugs after me in Naniwa, and now they have struck at my family. This time they succeeded.”

  She drew in her breath sharply. “I don’t suppose you can get out of it?”

  “Not unless the Minister of the Right drops the investigation or replaces me.”

  “You must be careful of yourself, promise me.”

  Akitada promised and they parted, she to see to household matters, and he to work on his report. He would have to use a messenger. Because of Seimei’s death, they were ritually unclean and could go out only for emergencies, and then only while wearing a tablet to warn people in case they had been preparing for Shinto worship and would have to begin their elaborate purification rites all over again. Members of the court were particularly likely to be involved in Shinto ceremonies.

  *

  He had just sent off the messenger, when Tora brought Superintendent Kobe into his study.

  “I’m
back.” Kobe gave Akitada a sharp look. “You look terrible.”

  Akitada brushed a weary hand over his face. “Is there any news?”

  Kobe sat down. They had been close friends for years now and dispensed with formalities. “It seems your attackers were strangers in the capital. We checked all the retainers of the local families. As you suspect, they must serve some provincial lord.”

  Seimei would have arrived by now with wine and refreshments. For a moment, Akitada felt utterly bereft; then he got to his feet. “Excuse me. There must be some wine.” He looked about, at a loss.

  Kobe said, “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, no. I’ll be only a moment.”

  In the kitchen, Akitada found wine, cups, and some nuts. He carried these back to his room.

  Kobe served himself and then filled Akitada’s cup. “We’re now checking the hostels and temples that provide lodging. Something may turn up there. They enjoyed a certain degree of status. Good quality clothing and arms. If they arrived on horses, they would have stabled them someplace, and the innkeepers or monasteries can tell us more.”

  Akitada sighed. “I’m sure these men have been sent from Naniwa or Kawajiri. Someone protects not only a lucrative business but also a position of considerable power. It’s possible that piracy is only a small part of a larger conspiracy directed against the emperor himself. I don’t like this at all.”

  Kobe raised his brows. “You’re thinking there is another Sumitomo uprising brewing?”

  “Perhaps. The government has been notoriously lax about controlling provincial governors and local families. That proved dangerous in the past. They contained the Sumitomo and Masakada rebellions with a loss of many lives and at great expense — and the expense matters more to them. This time they may not be so lucky. Our man may think that they’ll be unwilling to interfere on this occasion.”

  “But who is behind it?” Kobe refilled his cup.

  “I have no idea. I have not only failed in my assignment, but brought about tragic calamities. No doubt, I shall soon hear from the Ministry of the Right. Perhaps they’ll send me back. Or they’ll reprimand me and send someone else in my place. If they send me back, my family will be in great danger.”

  Kobe cleared his throat. “You know, Akitada, you have a very bad habit of always looking at the worst outcome. And you certainly lack confidence in your abilities. You should be a little more like Tora. He thinks he can do anything.”

  Stung, Akitada said, “Even Tora makes mistakes. And I cannot afford to make mistakes.”

  Kobe raised his hands. “Forgive me. That was a thoughtless remark, especially under the circumstances. If they send you back to Naniwa, I’ll do my best to keep your family safe.”

  “Thank you. I’m deeply grateful. Unsolved cases make me peevish.” Akitada emptied his cup. He trusted Kobe, but at the moment he could imagine all sorts of circumstances that could arise and leave his home unprotected. He forced a smile. “No doubt, this one will unravel in time. Let me tell you what I’ve learned so far.”

  Kobe listened attentively to Akitada’s account. “It seems to me,” he said finally, “that the matter is in Sanesuke’s hands. There’s little sense in proceeding until you know what the great man and his brothers wish to do. They may be protecting private interests on the Inland Sea.”

  Akitada agreed glumly. Since Fujiwara Michinaga’s retirement, the government had been in the hands of three of his sons, Yorimichi, Kinsue, and Sanesuke. They occasionally changed places, but one of them usually occupied the chancellor’s seat, while the other two served as the two ministers of state. At the moment, Sanesuke was Minister of the Right.

  They sat quietly for a while, considering the political difficulties. Eventually, Akitada abandoned the subject and mentioned the drowned girl and Professor Otomo’s strange idea that young Korean girls were being abducted and prostituted in Eguchi. Kobe was intrigued and chuckled. “You’re insatiable. Not satisfied with a case of high treason and piracy, you find a drowning victim and suspect multiple murders of child prostitutes. But this case at least is a good deal more promising and less dangerous. Let us pray that Sanesuke drops his investigation, and you can solve a simple murder instead.”

  *

  For a while it seemed as if this was precisely what would happen. Akitada’s report to Sanesuke’s staff received no more than an acknowledgment. The Ministry of Justice was another matter. His immediate superior, Fujiwara Kaneie, a distant relative of the ruling Fujiwaras, was nominally in charge of all that pertained to import taxes and the laws governing foreign goods and merchants. He responded by letter, expressing considerable anxiety and shock at the attack on Akitada’s family. Kaneie was a decent man and begged Akitada to take the time to bury his faithful friend before reporting to the ministry.

  Akitada made funeral arrangements and had several talks with Genba and Tora. Genba said little, but his eyes were bleak, and Tamako told Akitada that he had lost his usual appetite and barely touched his food. It was Genba who took care of the injured Trouble. Trouble was Tora’s dog, and Genba’s care of the poor dog eventually touched Tora. This, more than any words from Akitada, healed the rift between them.

  The funeral was quiet, but Akitada saw to it that it was done properly and with the care for detail that Seimei would have approved of. Seimei’s idol, Master Kung, had liked ritual. After the funeral, Akitada and Tora took Seimei’s ashes to his ancestral temple, where another service was performed.

  When they returned home and Akitada walked into his house, he felt Seimei’s presence almost physically. For forty-nine days, a man’s soul lingered in the place where he had died, but Akitada thought Seimei would be with them much longer. This had been his home, this house and the Sugawara family. He could not leave them. Rather he would be a benevolent spirit watching over them.

  He thought this rather guiltily and would not have shared such sentimental beliefs with anyone. Instead he put on a calm face and directed his family’s affairs with the utmost attention. He played with his little daughter and chatted with Tamako about Eguchi and Naniwa, subjects she seemed to find enormously interesting. The distraction was a welcome thing. She thought the disappearance of Sadenari most likely a matter of youthful hijinks and a lack of responsibility on the part of the youngster, but she was quite upset about the young drowning victim in Eguchi.

  “The way very young girls are forced into that profession breaks my heart.” Tamako got up to pace around the room. She paused before Akitada. “Can you imagine how they must feel? They are children who are suddenly in a different, harsher world where men are allowed to abuse them for money. Accustomed to the love of their family, they are abandoned to pain and despair. It’s no wonder they drown themselves.” She was flushed with anger and quite beautiful.

  Akitada wanted to argue that in a poor family such love was probably not very deep since it was the family who sold them, and that life as a pampered courtesan had its consolations, but he knew better and only said, “Hmm.”

  In the evenings Akitada withdrew to his study, ostensibly to work or to read, but really to remember Seimei. Akitada wept in private.

  *

  Two days after Seimei’s funeral, Akitada steeled himself to pay the overdue visit to Sadenari’s parents. Kaneie had suggested that the news would come better from him. He had been right.

  Dressed soberly, he made his way to the modest neighborhood where Sadenari’s father, a low level official in the bureau of palace repairs, lived with his family. As he walked, he prepared the sort of speech that would apprise the parents of their son’s disappearance without throwing them into a panic that he had been murdered.

  When he found the house and heard the cheerful voices of children, he felt worse. He should have informed himself better about Sadenari’s background. In retrospect, the youngster now seemed naïve and innocent rather than disobedient and willful. He knocked at the gate.

  Excited voices burst into shouts: “Someone’s at the gate!�
� “Tell Dad!” “Maybe it’s a letter from Sadenari.”The gate flew open, and five youngsters, boys and girls of assorted ages, stared at him. Their faces fell simultaneously. The biggest, a boy, said, “This is the Miyoshi house, sir. Did you want to speak to our father?”

  “Yes. Thank you. My name is Sugawara. Would you please announce me?”

  It was not necessary. A middle-aged man already hurried down the steps of the house, blue robe fluttering and a pair of incongruous straw sandals flapping on his bare feet.

  He clapped his hands. “Children, run along now! Don’t detain the gentleman.” He followed this up with a deep bow to Akitada. “Welcome, sir, welcome! Please come in. I apologize. My home is very humble, and my family large and uncouth. We don’t see visitors often.”

  Akitada smiled. “You’re blessed with a large family, Miyoshi. Most men would envy you. I’m Sugawara. Your oldest son works for me as a junior clerk at the ministry.”

  “Oh, indeed. Yes, that is so.” Miyoshi’s round face broadened into an even wider smile. “What an honor, sir!” he cried, bowing several times quite deeply. “Sadenari has spoken much about you, my Lord. He’ll be so pleased to hear that you have called on his family.” He caught sight of Akitada’s taboo tag. “Oh, my condolences. Not a close family member, I hope.”

  This was not the sort of thing that made Akitada’s errand easier. He cleared his throat. “Thank you. A trusted family retainer. Perhaps we could go inside?”

  “Oh. What was I thinking? Leaving you here standing in the open while I babble on. Please come into the house.” He made a move toward the stairs, then decided that the honored guest should go first. But how would he find the way? He stopped again in a small panic.

  “Perhaps you would be kind enough to lead the way?” Akitada said mildly.

  “Yes, thank you! This way then.”

  He bustled ahead, muttering apologies for the lack of comforts. The house was, in fact, small, plain, and so filled with people that the one room that should have been reserved for guests had been turned into family living space. It was cluttered with shabby trunks, piled higgledy-piggedly on top of each other, and enough rolled-up bedding for a small military contingent. In addition, abandoned robes, books, arm rests, small desks, braziers, cosmetic boxes, bird cages with birds, and the toys of small children had gathered in its four corners and along the walls.