Island of Exiles sa-5

by I. J. Parker

  Yamada raised his head. His mud-streaked face and disordered hair would have looked comical, if it had not been for his tears. “I discovered a month ago that two bars of silver were not what they were supposed to be. Masako and I have been trying ever since to save the money to replace them. One has already been purchased, but we shall not be in time to replace the second one. Osawa was not supposed to visit until the end of the month, and I would have received my salary by then, as well as Masako’s pay for prison maintenance. It was enough to make up another bar. Now it is all for nothing.”

  “What do you mean, ‘two bars were not what they were supposed to be’?”

  “I accidentally dropped one of them and it broke. It was only clay covered with a thin layer of silver foil. I frantically checked and found another one. Now it will be thought that I made the substitution. They will say I stole the silver to equip my son, who is an officer with the northern army. But that is not so. I sold everything we owned to do that. Then I started this garden and dismissed all my servants. We were so poor when I discovered what had happened to the silver that I could not make good the loss. I was desperate, but Masako thought we might save and earn some extra money and put the silver back before the annual inspection. She took over the duties of the kitchen staff for the prison. I was against it, because it would ruin her reputation. But she argued that my disgrace would also ruin her, and this way we might salvage a great deal, particularly my son’s career. And now, poor child, she has suffered to no purpose.” Yamada fell to weeping again, the tears leaving wet tracks on his dirt-smudged cheeks. Akitada’s heart went out to him and to the girl who had borne her hardship without complaint.

  “But,” he said, still mystified, “why didn’t you arrest the person who deposited the fake bars?”

  Yamada’s misery deepened. “I couldn’t,” he whispered. “No record.”

  “The thief gave a false name?”

  “I wouldn’t know. There was a small fire. It destroyed a ledger.”

  “Good heavens! Are you the only one who takes care of the Valuables Office?”

  “I used to have a clerk, but had to let him go. I discovered the clay bars when I checked the stored goods against my own records after the fire. I was trying to piece together some sort of documentation from the charred remnants of the ledgers.” Akitada mentally raised his brows that Yamada had not checked deposits regularly before but only said, “The governor has given me permission to help you get ready for the inspection.”

  “Very kind of him,” muttered Yamada, “but it won’t do any good. I might as well go to him now and confess the whole thing. I will be dismissed, of course, but the worst part is the dishonor. It will ruin my son’s career and Masako’s prospects of marriage.” He brushed fresh tears from his face and rose.

  Akitada caught his sleeve. “Wait!”

  “Oh, I forgot.” Yamada turned, his expression, if anything, more dismal than before. “Masako must be told. Would you do it?” He raised his hands in a pathetic gesture of entreaty. “I don’t have the belly for it.”

  The thought of facing Masako with this bit of news daunted Akitada also. “Don’t give up yet,” he urged. “Perhaps we can buy some time. Could I have a look at the Valuables Office?” In spite of Yamada’s distress, he looked shocked. “There are rules against allowing people into the storage area,” he said.

  “And you being a prisoner-well, I don’t think-”

  “In that case,” said Akitada, “I don’t see how I can help you.

  But surely if you are with me, an exception might be made?” Yamada hesitated. “Why do you want to see it?”

  “To get an idea how the theft was done and perhaps find the thief.”

  “It could be anyone. I told you, the records are gone.” But Yamada’s fear was so great that he took Akitada across the compound to a small building in the far corner.

  The Valuables Office had been fitted into the outer wall so that its front faced out into the main street, where it was acces-sible to merchants and farmers, while the rest of the building was within the walls of the guarded compound. Apart from the front, its plaster walls were windowless and it had only one rear door.

  Yamada and Akitada entered through this back door, which Yamada unlocked with a set of keys he carried. He lit a lantern that stood on a shelf beside the doorway. By its light, Akitada could make out rows of shelving filled with all sorts of objects. In one corner was an iron-bound chest for money and many bags of rice. Silver and copper coins were a more practical form of tender, but less common than the ubiquitous rice as a medium of exchange.

  Yamada passed through this room and unlocked a second door, which led into the front area where business was trans-acted. Here some light filtered in through high and narrow paper-covered windows. The walls still bore traces of smoke damage. From outside they could hear the voices of passersby and the sounds of wheels and horses’ hooves.

  “We only open for business on the first and tenth day of each month,” explained Yamada.

  Against the back wall stood shelves which held scales for weighing precious metals, an abacus, various writing tools, candle holders, and ledgers. Both the front door and the heavy door they had just passed through were protected by metal locks and a series of iron bands and studs.

  “Who, besides you, has keys to this place?” asked Akitada, walking over to the new-looking ledgers and turning the pages idly.

  “Nobody.”

  “Not even the clerk who used to work here?”

  “Certainly not. I did not trust him. He drank and made careless mistakes.”

  “And where do you keep your keys when you don’t carry them?

  Yamada frowned at this interrogation. “With me at all times.

  Why? The torch was thrown in from the street. Nobody broke in or unlocked any doors.”

  Akitada turned to look at Yamada in surprise. “A torch was thrown from the street? Why?”

  Yamada shook his head. “Who knows? There are too many criminals on this island. The fire was put out quickly, and we did not pursue the matter when we found the deposits safe

  behind their locked doors. The only loss was one ledger and a broken window screen. We moved the shelves against the back wall after that, and I copied what information I could gather from the charred ledger.”

  Akitada nodded and studied the entries. “You wrote all this?

  I see you loaned five strings of cash on five bars of silver. Is that the going rate?”

  “It’s generous but not unusual. If the person is known to us and reliable, as much as a thousand copper cash or fifty sho of rice are advanced for one bar of silver. About half its value.” Akitada whistled. “So two bars would have got a man enough to feed himself for a year. Let’s have a look at your treasures.”

  “Is this really necessary? If someone found out-”

  “You would be no worse off.”

  Yamada sighed and turned back into the storage room, taking the keys from his sash again to relock the door. Holding up the lantern, he led the way to the shelves which filled an area two or three times the size of the front room.

  Akitada saw that the shelves bore numbers, each number corresponding with a deposit. He walked along picking up this or that, while Yamada followed, watching nervously to make sure he replaced it in its assigned spot. The goods consisted of rolls of silk and brocade, lengths of cotton, various art objects, books, musical instruments, swords, elegant utensils in lacquer and inlaid metals, and numerous stacks of silver bars. He thought of the death of the Second Prince and the murder of little Jisei. Silver figured in both instances. The prince’s plot, if indeed there had been one, would have been financed with local silver, and the little convict had worked in one of the mines.

  “Here,” said Yamada, pointing to three silver bars in a corner of one of the shelves. “These are the two clay ones. The third one is the silver bar I purchased.”

  Akitada took them up one by one. The first two seemed a little ligh
ter than the third, and he saw that a piece had broken off one of these, revealing the red clay underneath. The second bar showed clay beneath some scratches, no doubt made by Yamada to verify that it, too, was counterfeit. Whoever had accepted these bars was criminally negligent. The scales in the other room would have revealed the problem instantly. “You said you checked all the rest?” Akitada asked, looking around at the many small piles of silver.

  “Yes, I checked them all.”

  “Hmm. Only two out of all of these. When did your clerk leave?”

  Yamada frowned. “It was before the fire. A very unreliable person. I had to speak to him repeatedly about sleeping during working hours, but after the fire I wished I had kept him on.”

  Akitada looked at another deposit. It was a large one, consisting of some fifteen silver bars and various boxes. Noting a small silk pouch, he picked it up. It was astonishingly heavy.

  “That is raw gold,” Yamada said.

  “Gold?” The contents felt lumpy. Akitada opened the bag and saw small irregular chunks of the yellow metal inside. None was larger than the average pebble. “Where did this come from?” he asked.

  “Sometimes a farmer or some youngster finds a piece in a stream. Often they don’t know what it is and take it to a temple.”

  “And you don’t know its owner either?”

  “But I do. It belongs to the Kokubunji Temple. I remember the little bag of gold. Silver bars are more common.”

  “Yes. Hmm.” Akitada fell into deep thought, and Yamada began to fidget with the keys and shuffle his feet. “Yes,” said Akitada again, coming out of his reverie, “it might work. Here is what we’ll do to catch our thief.”

  Yamada’s eyes grew round as he listened, and he shook his head violently at first. But the more Akitada explained, the more he came around, and finally he nodded reluctantly.

  “Mind you,” warned Akitada, “you must tell the governor what happened. Throw yourself on his mercy. I believe he is an understanding man and will forgive you if you get the loan back and arrest the thief.”

  “But what about Masako? Do we tell her or not?” Akitada wanted to say no, but the girl deserved to be told.

  She had proven her devotion to her family and could be trusted with the secret. Akitada feared that she might feel some obligation to him. “Tell her, but don’t mention me,” he advised.

  Yamada shook his head. “No. I’m going to the governor now before I lose my courage. You should know that I am a very bad liar. Perhaps I may manage to claim credit for your idea with him, but Masako would have the truth out of me in a minute. You had better speak to her. Oh, dear! She’s at home, waiting for the vegetables. Would you mind taking them? I suppose people must eat.”

  “You had better wash before you see the governor.” Yamada looked at his hands and touched the drying mud on his face. “Oh, dear!” he muttered and made for the door. Outside he stopped and came back to pull Akitada out with him and relock the Valuables Office. Then he rushed off again.

  Akitada followed more slowly, amused to see Yamada washing himself at the kitchen well in order to avoid his daughter. He went through the garden to pick up the basket of vegetables. In the entrance he set down the basket and kicked off his sandals before stepping up on the wooden floor. There was no sign of Masako.

  “Anyone home?” he called out.

  “Yes.” Her voice came from the back, and he followed the sound.

  “It’s me,” he said loudly, faced with a hallway of closed doors. One of the doors flew open, and Masako looked out.

  “Taketsuna?”

  She was wearing the old scarf around her head, but her hair had escaped and was slipping down her back and across one cheek. Her face was hot and flushed, and she appeared to be wearing a man’s cotton shirt over an old pair of trousers. There was a smudge of dirt on her nose and one cheek. With her eyes wide and her lips half opened, she had never looked more desirable to Akitada, who stood transfixed.

  “I did not expect you at this time of day. Is anything wrong?”

  “No. I had a message for your father.”

  “Oh.” She became aware of his eyes on her, brushed helplessly at her hair and then wrapped her arms about her middle, looking at the floor in mortification. “I’m ashamed you caught me like this,” she murmured. “I was cleaning the floor and-”

  “You look beautiful,” he said hoarsely.

  “Oh, no. Oh, I wish I were more like other women, with their beautiful gowns and their elegant manners. I wish you . . .” And she burst into tears.

  Later he would find all sorts of excuses for what happened next: having embarrassed her so deeply, he had to reassure her-he merely wished to calm her so he could give her the news-he was only offering her brotherly support.

  None of these was true, of course. Akitada took the three steps separating them and opened his arms because he had wanted to hold her for a long time now, had wanted to feel that lithe body against his, had wanted to comfort her with his caresses and be caressed in turn.

  Masako came to him with a small cry of joy, nestling against him, murmuring endearments, and responding with a passion which startled him into partial sanity. He loosened his embrace and caught her hands on his bare chest where she had slipped them under his robe.

  “No, Masako,” he pleaded. “Please don’t tempt me. Your circumstances are sufficiently improper without this.”

  “I don’t care,” she cried. “I have wanted you to love me since I first saw you. I don’t care about me. I don’t care about anything but you.” She pulled him into the room, closed the door behind them, and drew him down onto the matting, tugging feverishly at his sash.

  Kneeling above her, he caught her hands again. “No, Masako,” he said, “I cannot take a wife, and you must save yourself for a husband.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “Save myself? Don’t be ridiculous.

  I’m not a woman of your class.” She flushed. “Besides, it’s too late to worry about that.” When he still hesitated, her eyes filled with tears. “Oh. You do find me disgusting.”

  “No,” he cried. “You are beautiful. I want you. More than anything, but . . .” Weakening, filled with desire, he released her hands.

  She reached for his face, bringing it so close to her own that he could taste her breath as she whispered, “Prove it, then.” Her breath was so sweet that he tasted her lips with his own and was lost.

  Afterward, as they lay together, he cradling her nude body in his arms, she with her eyes closed and a smile curving her lips, he said in wonder, “I came to speak to you about your father’s problem and now I do not know how to face him.”

  “Father’s problem?” She sat up and looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Tell me.”

  It was difficult to concentrate. She had a lovely and utterly desirable body. “I am sorry, Masako,” he said, touching a long tress of hair and following it across one breast and down her small, flat belly. “I should not have done that.” She shivered at his touch, but caught his hand with hers.

  “What problem?” she demanded.

  He told her about the inspection. She paled and reached for her trousers. Putting them on and then slipping on the shirt, she asked, “Does this mean that the shortage is known?” He marveled at her. One moment she was all passionate seductive female, and the next as levelheaded and businesslike as any man. He said, “No, your father has a plan and, with the governor’s approval, we shall put it into operation tonight.” Reaching for her scarf, she cried, “Oh, no. The governor must not know. I hope Father has not had another urge to bare his soul.” She twisted her hair up and tied it quickly under the scarf. Akitada admired the way her breasts strained against the thin fabric of her shirt. Starting toward the door, she said, “I must talk to him immediately.”

  “Too late. He has already left to discuss the matter with His Excellency.”

  She turned with a wail. “Oh, no. Then all is lost. How could you let him do such a stupid thing?”

&nbs
p; “Because,” he said, getting to his feet and rearranging his own clothes, “I will not take part in an illegal act even if it is to catch a thief. And what we plan is against the law unless it has the approval of the governor.”

  “What?” She suddenly looked furiously angry. “So! I see it was your idea. To catch a thief according to the letter of the law, you will ruin my family. And you a convict yourself! What sort of man are you? Did you trade my father’s honor for your freedom?” He flinched and tried to mend things. “You misunderstand.

  What we have in mind will clear your father and allow you to return to a normal life. And your father will receive the credit for the capture of the thief.”

  After a moment, she asked suspiciously, “What is this plan?” He told her and watched her face begin to relax and her eyes to shine with excitement. “It might work. Very well, let’s get started right away. You and I can move the goods here, and then, after dark, we’ll make a hole in the outside wall.”

  “That will not be necessary, Masako. A torn paper covering on one of the windows, a broken lock, and an abandoned iron bar, and it will look convincing enough.” She nodded after a moment. “Yes. You’re right. Less damage is easier to fix.” That settled, she became suspicious again. “How did you find out about the silver bars?”

  “It’s a bit complicated.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Never mind! I want to know.”

  “Well, I wondered what would cast a family like yours into such abject poverty that you had to work like this.” He gestured at her clothing. She blushed, ripping off the unflattering cotton scarf so that her glossy long hair fell freely about her shoulders again. His fingers yearned to touch it, but he continued, “At first I wondered if either your father or your brother was a gambler, but then you said the hard times would soon be over. Since gamblers don’t change their habits, it occurred to me that some other costly mishap had befallen your father. Then I found out about his stewardship of the Valuables Office. Your reaction when I asked you about it proved that I had guessed correctly.