by I. J. Parker
An hour later, one of the sailors sighted a ship. It was on the opposite course and, with the wind in its sails, approached quickly.
Akitada joined Watamaro. “What ship is it?”
“A merchant. Probably bound for Kawajiri. There. They’re hailing us. They may want to sell something or ask for news.”
As the ships drew closer, Akitada could make out the faces of the sailors on the larger ship. They shouted from one ship to the other in a local dialect Akitada did not understand. Watamaro apparently spoke the language and looked excited.
“They say they have two castaways on board,” he told Akitada. “One of them says his name is Tora and he is from Naniwa.”
Akitada’s heart started pounding. “Can you take me across?”
“No. We’ll bring them over here. The ship is bound for Kawajiri, and they’re glad to get rid of them.” He left to give orders.
A short time later, Akitada was leaning over the side to peer down into the boat as it returned. Two men lay on its floor between the legs of the rowers.
Saburo pointed. “That one looks like your man, sir.”
“Yes. Yes, I think it’s Tora. Are they unconscious? I hope Tora isn’t badly hurt. Is that blood on him?”
When they hoisted the two limp figures aboard, Tora was so filthy and ragged, his clothes covered with dried blood, his hair and beard tangled and his face red and swollen that he was hardly recognizable. His companion was not in much better shape.
But Tora’s eyes were open, and he managed a weak smile. “Thank God, it’s you, sir,” he mumbled.
Akitada felt limp with a mixture relief and concern. He turned to Watamaro. “It’s Tora. He must have escaped.” He knelt beside Tora. “You’re covered with blood. Where are you wounded?”
A weak chuckle. “Not mine. Had to kill a man who wouldn’t give up my sword. But my head hurts like blazes.” He sighed and closed his eyes.
Akitada felt Tora’s scalp and found a large swelling. Getting to his feet, he told Watamaro, “He has a head injury. Tora is very dear to me.” He looked down at the exhausted men. “I think it will be best if we make all speed back to Naniwa. He’ll need medical care.”
Tora protested. Watamaro hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Fate had a hand in this,” he said, “and so, no doubt, did your friend’s resourcefulness. We should be home by nightfall. There’s a very good physician who lives near my warehouse.”
Akitada had hoped for better, but he accepted the offer. Tora looked very weak.
Several of Watamaro’s sailors helped the two men into the cabin, where they were made comfortable on the floor. Tora opened his eyes again, and muttered, “He’s Masaji.” Akitada glanced at the other patient.
“Masaji’s my disciple,” Tora said with a grin. “I’m trying to live up to his good opinion.”
Akitada thought Masaji looked like a terrified rabbit and wondered for a moment if Tora was hallucinating. “He must be mad,” Akitada said, smiling.
Tora chuckled. “You never had great faith in me. He’s a simple man and does.”
Saburo came up and leaned over Akitada’s shoulder.
“Aiiih!” Tora came upright, his eyes wide with terror. “The demon!”
Akitada pushed him back gently. “No. This is Saburo. He’s had a very hard life, but he is a good man. He’s helped me find you.”
Tora blinked, then asked Saburo, “Who the devil did that to you, man?”
Saburo raised a hand to his face. “Human devils. But that’s in the past. It’s the present I’m worried about, sir.”
“Why?” asked Akitada.
“What if Watamaro is working with the pirates? Who is that man with you, Tora?”
“Masaji. He’s one of the pirates, but you can trust him. He helped me escape.”
“He knows. Look at him. If I’m right, they’ll kill him and all of us.”
They all looked at the terrified Masaji, who looked back and nodded. Akitada blamed himself. He should have suspected Watamaro. Who, after all, was more likely to be involved in piracy? And the man’s sympathies clearly lay with the pirates.
He glanced outside, where Watamaro was busy directing his sailors. Trying to stay calm, Akitada said, “You may be wrong, but it’s as well to be cautious.” He added to Tora, “I think you and Masaji, had better pretend ignorance.”
Tora sighed and closed his eyes again.
Akitada went to speak to Watamaro. The merchant was pacing the deck like a cat walking on hot coals. Akitada suppressed a surge of panic. All of them, including the renegade pirate Masaji, were in Watamaro’s power. On the high seas, they would not have a chance if Watamaro decided to do away with them. Their chances were minimally better back in Naniwa.
He said, “I’m very concerned about Tora’s head injury. He rambles, claims he’s Bishamon and the other man is his disciple. He doesn’t seem to know what happened to him. Can we make more speed?”
Watamaro was solicitous. They would do their utmost to get back to Naniwa. The wind was with them now and was freshening. In a couple of hours perhaps. Akitada thanked him.
The heavens alone knew what awaited them on land.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Sword in his Belly
They reached Naniwa at dusk. Watamaro’s manner had changed. He was still moderately courteous but cool. As they walked to his warehouse, Tora leaning on Akitada while Saburo and Masaji tottered behind, Watamaro’s men surrounded them on all sides. Escape was impossible.
They were prisoners.
At the warehouse, Watamaro took them to his office and gave orders to his men to stand watch. Then he closed the door and turned. “Please sit down.” They all sat. Watamaro’s eyes rested thoughtfully on Tora and Masaji. “It seems we have a problem, my Lord.”
For a moment, Akitada was tempted to continue the pretense of ignorance, but then he nodded. “You mean, you have a problem. Perhaps you’d better tell me about your relationship with the pirates.”
“Ah, I see you guessed. Very clever of you to make me think Tora had lost his memory. The man with him works for me. He knows he’s a dead man.”
Masaji prostrated himself with a wail. Tora glared at Watamaro. “He saved my life. I won’t let you touch him.”
“Your words do you honor, Tora, but he belongs to me.” Watamaro turned back to Akitada. “I think two reasonable men can find a solution to this unfortunate situation. I’ve come to have the greatest regard for you, not because of your birth and rank, but because I found you care about common people. You will agree that’s a very rare commodity among the nobility. Your feelings for the poor young girl who died in Eguchi impressed me.”
Akitada said coldly, “I hope my respect for life extends to all beings, both great and small. Pirates and their masters have little respect for lives or property.”
Watamaro sighed. “There’s nothing to be gained by anger. I know this well enough because I’ve been angry most of my life. The young girl you found could have been my sister. We were poor, and she was very pretty. Alas, the pretty daughters of the poor are unlucky.”
“Good or bad fortune may come to all people,” Akitada said. “I’m sorry about your sister, but that doesn’t excuse your present activities. You’ve become a very rich ship-owner through using both poor fishermen and the local authorities. When you got greedy and enriched yourself further by engaging in piracy in addition to ordinary shipping, you lost the right to take this moral tone.”
Watamaro nodded. “Fair enough, though I’ve brought prosperity to many poor people. But let me make you a proposition. I’m far richer and more powerful than either Lord Oga or the prefect. You, on the other hand, have nothing but a house in the capital and a poorly paid position in the lower ranks of the administration. Oh, yes. I informed myself about you the moment I met you and realized why you had come. I found you to be a capable and decent man. I can use someone like you, and I’ll be far more generous than your current masters. If you agree to help me, you w
ould continue your present life but receive monthly retainers from me. I would only contact you when I needed legal advice in righting an injustice. I would not expect you to do anything illegal. What do you say?”
Akitada flushed with anger. “I’m not for sale. It was you who sent two armed men to my home, wasn’t it? They took the life of a man who had been like a father to me.”
Watamaro raised his hands. “They didn’t intend harm. It was an unfortunate accident. I sent them, yes, but only to make you give up your investigation, nothing else.”
Silence fell.
Watamaro looked down at his folded hands. When he looked up again, his eyes went over all of them and came to rest on Masaji. “A pity,” he said heavily. He looked suddenly old and sad. “I hate shedding blood.”
Masaji scooted forward on his knees to clutch Tora. Tora growled. “You’re not touching him.”
Watamaro stood. “You’ve recovered very quickly, Tora. Perhaps it would be best if you gave me your sword.” He held out his hand.
“The last man who took my sword is dead.”
Watamaro turned to Akitada. “Tell him it’s hopeless.”
Akitada rose also. “It’s hopeless for you, Watamaro. Your threats will make no difference. I’m an imperial official with special powers. If you lay a hand on me and my people, His Majesty will send an army to eradicate you and all your followers. Their blood will be on your hands. It will be much better for you to give yourself up now.”
Watamaro snorted. “In the end, you spoiled aristocrats are all the same. You think no one can touch you. We’ll see about teaching you a lesson.” He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. They heard the sound of a metal lock falling into place.
Tora muttered, “Honey in his mouth, but a sword in his belly.” He got up, walked over to a bamboo stand, and swept the document boxes and papers from its shelves. With his sword, he cut the vines which held it together. The shelves clattered to the floor, and Tora hefted two of the bamboo supports in his hand. With a nod, he tossed one to Masaji. “They’re a bit short, but strong and heavy. Are you good at stick-fighting, Masaji?”
Masaji grinned. “We fought with boat poles.”
Tora passed his sword to Akitada. “You really ought to carry yours more, sir.”
Akitada nodded. “I’m sorry I got you into this. I counted ten men who brought us here. There could be another ten already in the warehouse.”
Tora nodded at the door. “We could break it down and rush them.”
“Much the best way,” agreed Saburo. “I think I saw weapons among the goods stored outside.”
They looked at Akitada. He nodded.
Saburo produced a pair of metal wires from his sleeve. He inserted these into the locking mechanism, then looked over his shoulder at the others. “Ready?” When they joined him, he pushed and twisted. The lock clicked. Tora flung himself against the door. It sprang open, and they fell upon two startled guards outside.
It had been a long time since Akitada had killed a man, and even then it had felt unnatural. He raised Tora’s sword, the guard froze, and Tora growled, “Kill him!”Akitada locked eyes with the man.
The other guard, who tried to escape from Tora and Masaji with their bamboo staves, shouted, “They’re escaping.”
They heard steps and the clatter of arms outside.
Akitada’s guard lashed out with his own sword. Akitada parried and shoved his blade into the man’s belly. When he withdrew it, the man collapsed with a scream and rolled on the floor in agony. Bile rose to Akitada’s mouth, but there was no time to be sick or to think about what he had done.
The large double doors to the outside flew open, and Watamaro’s men poured in. The other way, stacks and mountains of stored goods rose nearly to the rafters. Saburo was already climbing the nearest pile like a cat, shouting, “This way.” They scrambled after him over crates, bundles, sacks, stacks of lumber, boxes, and sake barrels, up high to the dim reaches under the roof. Loosely stacked goods shifted under their feet. Akitada sent an avalanche of rice bags rolling toward their pursuers, barely catching himself with a jump to a stack of lumber.
The warehouse filled with armed men looking up at them. Watamaro came and shouted, “Come down. You’re trapped. You’ll never fight your way out of this.”
They ignored him. Saburo had found a hoard of weapons, enough to outfit a small army, it seemed. He cut the ropes that tied them into bundles-the man seemed to have all sorts of tools on him-and tossed long swords to Akitada and Tora. Masaji exchanged his piece of bamboo for a halberd.
Some of Watamaro’s men below started climbing. Let them come, Akitada thought and realized that he was no longer sickened by having killed. He had found his fighting spirit after all.
At that moment, the first arrow hit the beam above his head and stuck there, humming softly.
“Take cover,” yelled Akitada, diving behind a box. Something gave under his feet, and he felt himself falling, sliding down with chests, bundles, and assorted sharp objects that seemed to have come alive. Ten, fifteen feet below him crashes and cries of pain. He scrambled wildly, reaching out with his free hand, when a fist grabbed the back of his robe and held on.
Tora.
“Thanks,” he gasped, found a foothold, and climbed away. The “thwack-thwack” of arrows resumed. There was another cry. Watamaro’s archers were not very good marksmen, but there were many of them and the distance short. Akitada and Tora found temporary safety behind a beam and surveyed the field.
Watamaro’s people had brought in more torches. The floor of the warehouse was well lit. Fortunately, the light did not reach the upper parts of the warehouse. Akitada counted some twenty men below, all armed in some way, but none wearing armor. Watamaro had not alerted the police, but he might have sent for the prefect. They would be lost, if troops arrived before they got away.
“What now?” asked Tora. “It’s a stand-off.”
“Not for long.” Akitada heard the bitterness in his voice. “They are between us and the doors. We’ll have to come down and charge through.”
Tora grunted.
Below, the men gathered around Watamaro for a conference. Akitada looked for Saburo and Masaji. Masaji huddled on a pile of lumber some twenty feet away. He saw no sign of Saburo and worried for a moment, then remembered the man’s talents and looked up into the rafters. Yes, there he crouched, peering down at them and raising a hand.
Tora moved impatiently. “What good is waiting? You don’t expect help from anyone, do you?”
“No.” For a moment, Akitada saw the dilemma with supernatural clarity. The four of them against twenty, fighting in unfamiliar surroundings. He was badly out of shape after years of government work sitting behind desks or in assemblies. Tora and his companion had spent a night and a day of rowing a small boat in a large sea, and Saburo might be clever and good at throwing odd items through the air, but he could not hold his own in hand-to-hand combat. This was most likely where they would lose their lives. For a brief moment, the pain of never seeing Tamako and his little daughter again twisted his heart.
“All right. Let’s go!” he shouted, gesturing their intention to the other two. He grasped the sword firmly and took the shortest route down, jumping, slipping, sliding- hearing Tora following behind. His feet touched solid ground. Though he knew he was facing death, he felt good.
Watamaro’s men fell back until Watamaro shouted orders. Then they came. Two, three men at a time. Even if Watamaro had wanted to deal with an imperial official more gently, the matter was now out of his hands. This battle was to the death. In the press of knives and swords coming at him, Akitada was oblivious to anything but the need to fight his way past them.
The long sword gave him reach over the weapons of the sailors and warehouse clerks, and he made bloody work of it. An arrow whizzed past his ear and struck someone behind him. He ignored the scream, slashed, cut, parried, twisted aside to avoid the slashing and cutting blades of the enemy. A
bowman loomed, the arrow pointed at his belly, the string pulled back, the man’s teeth already gleaming with the joy of hitting his target. He lunged, seized the bow with his left hand, pulling the man forward onto his sword. Something struck him from behind. He staggered into the bowman, pushed him away, freeing his sword as the man fell, and then he was past and saw the way clear to the great doors.
Watamaro, sword in hand, stepped in front of the doors. He looked past Akitada, and shouted an order. Akitada swung around, sword raised. Six or seven of the enemy came running. He crouched, but they rushed past him, the last one staggering as he ran. They were pursued by Tora, teeth bared and clothes soaked in blood. Tora stopped.
The warehouse doors slammed behind the enemy.
In the sudden silence, Tora kicked a body to see if the man was dead. Masaji sat slumped on a rice sack. He was badly wounded. And Saburo? Yes, there he was, grimacing as he pulled an arrow from his forearm.
The floor of the warehouse was covered with dead and wounded men and slippery with blood. Akitada’s sword dripped. In only a few moments, this carnage had happened. Suddenly he felt very tired.
“Saburo?” he asked. “How bad is it? And you, Masaji?”
“It’s nothing.” Saburo ripped a strip of fabric from his jacket and, using one hand and his teeth, made a bandage for his arm.
Masaji said nothing.
Tora killed one of the wounded. The man twitched and lay still. This was not like Tora, this slaughter of the wounded. The good feeling left Akitada. He felt dizzy and nauseated. Wiping his sword with the edge of his robe, he went to sit on a box.
“We need to get out,” Tora said.
This was obvious. Akitada did not bother to reply. Tora went to check on Masaji.
Akitada glanced at the great doors. Surely they had locked them. And if not, they were waiting outside. He wondered what time it was. If they could attract attention, perhaps . . . but no, it was late and the warehouse was on the waterside which was deserted at night.
