The boy took another step back, then turned and ran away toward his house.
Taro stood up languidly, like a snake coiling around a tree, and placed his basket hat upon his head. He brushed his fallen hair from his shoulders, wrapped his right hand in linen once again, adjusted his swords and his jitte. Shota disappeared into a house a few doors down the street. Taro watched him go.
* * *
Then, abruptly, he sat up. The room was dark. He had just been standing in the street, in full daylight! Now it was dark. He could feel the coolness of the night air, hear the chatter of crickets and frogs outside, the distant rustle of the surf.
He jumped to his feet, throwing the blanket aside. He was still clothed, and his weapons lay beside the sleeping mat. He looked around. This was a small room in a house, too poor and plain to be an inn. Where was he?
A moment of panic shot through him. Not again! More of his life had disappeared, and he found himself with no idea of where he was or how he had come to be there. He swore fervently. What was wrong with him?
What was that horrific smell? Death. Blood and death.
He could see clearly in the dark and looked down at his clothes. They were spattered with stiff, dark stains. He snatched up his weapons and thrust them through his sash. Then he stepped up to the thin paper door of the small room and shoved it aside.
The buzzing of flies filled the small room with the sound of death and pestilence. Shiny black specks glittered in the light of the dying fire in the central fire pit, clustering on the blood-spattered faces, crawling through the congealing blood. Five shapes, two large, three small, all lying scattered and broken around the room. And the smell was . . . delicious.
No!
Why did he think such things? That was . . . horrible!
He lunged for the front door, threw it open, and plunged down the street, running as fast as he could. The horror of what he had seen in that house paled beside the knowledge that he had done it, and that horror choked his throat closed until he could hardly breathe, and his breath wheezed and gurgled from his mouth.
Taro did not stop running for a long time.
Fourteen
Behind me the moon
Brushes shadows of pine trees
Lightly on the floor
—Kikaku
The days passed into weeks, and the village returned to normal after the waves of gossip created by Tetta’s disappearance subsided into a period of quiet mourning. Ken’ishi sometimes heard whispers of fear as the townsfolk speculated on what could have happened to the innkeeper. A few still refused to accept the story that Yellow Tiger had killed him. It was as if people simply speculated and made up stories because those were more exciting than the truth. Perhaps it was because they never found Tetta’s corpse. Perhaps it was because Norikage and Ken’ishi were outsiders. Some still speculated that Tetta might be alive somewhere. Did a hungry ghost take him? Did he fall into the sea and drown? Had a trickster fox lured him away? Perhaps he went mad and wandered away. Did someone kill him and hide his body in the forest? Perhaps the whore had killed her master.
Idle suspicion thrown at Kiosé was something Ken’ishi had not expected, and it made him angry. Norikage told him, “That is what I was speaking of when I told you how insular these villagers can be. Kiosé is an outsider, like you and me, and worse, she is a whore. I suspected there were some who might blame her.”
But the weeks passed, and the cool, wet spring became a hot and humid summer. The air thickened, heavy and stifling. The heat did not relent, even at night. Ken’ishi often awoke in the morning soaked with sweat. Villagers toiled and complained just as they always had. Fireflies danced in the summer darkness. The sea beat against the shore with its unceasing rhythm. Monkeys chattered and screeched in the shade of the tree boughs. Frogs chirped in night-swathed bogs. The rice crop greened and grew, and the plums swelled and ripened on their branches. Kiosé began to swell also.
Throughout this time, Ken’ishi and Norikage watched Chiba and his brothers like falcons. Chiba remained defiant and reticent, but he gave them no proof or even further reason to believe he had anything to do with Tetta’s disappearance.
Then one day Ken’ishi’s noon meal was interrupted by a commotion outside his house, loud voices shouting his name. The day was hot and humid, his clothes clung to his back and arms, and the insects had been insistent in irritating him. As he put on his sword, he strode to the front door and slid it open. “What is it?” he demanded.
Standing outside his house were a dozen villagers, men and women, and he noticed that most of the men were woodsmen and carpenters. Their faces held the wide-eyed, hesitant look of people expected to be protected.
One of the carpenters stepped forward, a man named Ryu. “Ken’ishi-sama, there has been another disappearance! Gorobei is missing!”
Ken’ishi’s belly turned into a stone ball. Gorobei was a good man, a skilled carpenter with a kind spirit, and he had helped smooth the way for Ken’ishi’s grudging acceptance into village society. For a long moment, no words would come. Finally, he swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “Does anyone know where he was last seen?”
One man said, “I saw him two days ago.”
“He went to the inn two nights ago.”
“He said he was going into the forest sometime soon to find a special kind of wood.”
“The forest?” Ken’ishi said. “Which direction?”
The man who had spoken was another carpenter, one of Gorobei’s friendly rivals. “I don’t know. He was working on a very special thing, he said, and said that regular wood would not do for it.”
“What was it?” Ken’ishi asked.
“I don’t know.”
Ken’ishi said, “Everyone, be calm. I will get to the bottom of this.”
A voice from the back sneered, “That is what you said last time!”
Another voice said, “You brought us this bad fortune!”
“It all started after you came!”
“You have angered the spirits!”
“The kami hate you!”
Ken’ishi shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched for a moment, and his gaze flicked toward those voices, but he was unable to distinguish who had said those things. His ears began to burn. “Go home. Norikage and I will investigate, and we will find out what has happened to him.” But even as he spoke the words, he felt their hollowness. “Go home.” His eyes scanned the crowd and met nothing but unpleasant stares. “Go home. We will get to the bottom of this! I swear upon my honor!”
The villagers began to shuffle back to their homes. He overheard some of them speculating about the cause of the disappearances. Was it a kappa? A fox? Maybe it was a tengu playing tricks. He caught many skeptical glances as he waited for the crowd to disperse. Something terrible was happening, and only Ken’ishi could stop it. There was no one else.
He went to the constabulary and found Norikage already deep in thought. He told Norikage the news.
“I heard them out there,” Norikage said. “What do you want to do?”
“Go to Gorobei’s house and see if we find anything there.”
“Very well. Let us go.”
The house of Gorobei the carpenter was on the outer edge of the village, where he lived alone. He had no wife or living family. His skill earned him a good living in a modest house. Gorobei’s workshop was redolent with the rich, earthy smells of wood and oil, mixed with the sharp tang of lacquer. Lying in the corner were several similar-looking scraps of wood. All of them looked like abandoned attempts to create a scabbard for a sword.
“Now why would he be making a scabbard?” Norikage wondered aloud.
“I don’t know. You didn’t ask him?”
“I did not.” Norikage fingered his thin mustache. “Who would he make such a thing for? Perhaps he was making the scabbard for you. There are no other samurai in the area. I doubt that he somehow acquired a sword for himself. I know he made many bokken for you. Were you friendly wit
h him?”
“We sometimes drank his plum wine together after he finished a commission.”
“Perhaps he was making a gift for you, a new scabbard. That scabbard you have was beautiful once, but now it is a bit battered.”
Ken’ishi scowled. “It is old! It was my father’s scabbard.”
“Of course. I meant no offense, Ken’ishi. But only the blade of a sword lasts forever. Sometimes the hilt and wrappings must be replaced. Look here! A small bag of polished stones and some mother-of-pearl. Perhaps he was going to use them for ornamentation. These discarded pieces of wood are rough. Perhaps he was unhappy with them. They would fit your blade if they were finished.”
Ken’ishi nodded. “So it seems. He asked about my sword last time I saw him, asked me to show it to him. And I did.”
“The forest? Is there something in the forest?”
“But there are so many villagers who come and go in the forest.”
Norikage’s brow furrowed, and he rubbed his chin. “It could be anything. A robber, a band of thieves, hungry ghosts, tanuki, kitsune, demons, spirits. Ah, so many dangers in the forest!”
“Something must be done. We can’t wait for more people to disappear and hope for a clue. I’ll go into the forest. I’ll be the bait in my own trap.”
“Ken’ishi! We do not know what could be out there!”
“I’ll find out. This bait is not a piece of dead meat. It has teeth of its own.”
* * *
The villagers were afraid to venture out of the village. The farmers should have been tending their fields and gardens, but they were afraid to leave their homes. As Ken’ishi went back to his house, he received several suspicious and hostile looks from the bolder villagers, especially Chiba and his brothers.
Akao fell in beside him as he walked. Even his usually happy face was grim. “Trouble.”
“Yes.”
“Something bad.”
“I know. I’m going to find it.”
Akao stopped and looked up into his eyes. “Are you going to fight?”
Ken’ishi stopped and looked down at him. “If I have to.”
“Not a fighter.”
“I know. You’re a hunter. It will be dangerous.”
“Ask me?”
“No, I won’t ask you to help me.”
“Fool. Never refuse you.”
“That is why I don’t ask. If something happens to me, you must look after Kiosé.”
“What, and raise her pup?” Akao laughed.
Ken’ishi could not help but laugh as well. “You would be a good father,” he said.
“And so will you. Coming with you.”
Ken’ishi smiled. “As you wish.”
When they reached his house, he packed up his bedroll, gathered some food and water, his sword and his bow, and ventured into the wooded countryside. For several hours, he and Akao moved in concentric paths around the village, searching for any evidence of any of the missing villagers, anything unusual, but they found nothing. They once came upon an area that reeked of death, but when they followed the stench, they found only the carcass of a dead deer, bloated and crawling with maggots. Ken’ishi hoped this was not an omen of things to come.
* * *
Norikage sat in his office, rubbing his hands. He thought about the disappearances, and the unknowable hostility of the forest, and felt that no good could come to Ken’ishi out there alone. His dog would help him, but if he met serious trouble. . . . But there was no one else. Norikage knew he himself would have been worse than useless if he had accompanied Ken’ishi into the forest. He could not fight, only get in Ken’ishi’s way if danger appeared.
For that matter, how safe was Norikage in the village with Ken’ishi gone? Chiba and his brothers, if they were the true culprits, might take the opportunity to enact another mysterious disappearance. He noted well that they had several times walked past the office, looking toward the shuttered windows as if they could see Norikage sitting inside. He, of course, saw them through the slats, and something in their looks made him uneasy. They knew that Ken’ishi had gone into the forest. Norikage always kept a dagger secreted within his robes, but he knew that he would be pitifully inept if he tried to use it.
As the hours passed, he sometimes practiced drawing the dagger quickly, trying to strike in the same movement at some imaginary adversary, and all the while he felt foolish, even though a persistent feeling of impending dread kept building in his belly like a nest of buzzing hornets. Ken’ishi would say that Norikage’s premonitions were the kami speaking to him, warning him of danger. But what could he do? He was a not a fighting man.
He spotted Kiosé coming toward his office. She was growing thicker around the middle. She looked pale and wan, and Norikage wondered if she was getting enough to eat. She glanced furtively up and down the street, and fear painted her face in broad brushstrokes. She, too, knew that Ken’ishi was absent. She was startled when he invited her in before she even reached the door.
She said, “I am sorry to bother you, Norikage-sama. I am too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Come in.”
“It’s just that . . . I’m frightened.”
He nodded. “Of course. You can stay here in my office as long as you like. These are bad days.”
She bowed low, and her voice was soft and quavering. “Thank you, Norikage-sama. I am sorry to be so much trouble.”
In the shadows of his office, she looked even paler. She looked ill. He said, “Are you well?”
She glanced in his direction without meeting his gaze. “I am sick much of the time. But Gonta’s mother tells me that it is just the baby causing the sickness.”
Norikage nodded. “I can understand your fears, with Ken’ishi being gone.”
“What if something happens to him?” The tremor in her voice increased, and he could hear the almost frantic emotions behind her words. “If something happens to him, I will die, too.”
“Now, there is no need for such talk.”
She continued as if he had not said a word. “Something will happen to me. Chiba will kill me. But maybe that is not so bad. At least then my child would not have a life of suffering.” Suddenly tears burst out of her eyes and rolled down her sunken cheeks.
Norikage felt a pang of pity for her. She was so helpless, so downtrodden. Empathy for others was not a common experience for him. He was much more accustomed to worrying about his own skin, but her plight touched even his jaded spirit.
“But even if Ken’ishi returns, what will happen to me?” she said. Her lips quivered with the fear and emotion bubbling out of her.
Why had she come to ask him these things?
“This child could belong to almost anyone. Sometimes I just want to walk into the sea and never return. I cannot return to my family. They would not have me.”
Norikage squirmed where he sat. He did not know how to deal with matters such as these. Furthermore, at this moment she reminded him of another fragile waif, a girl doomed to suffer the birth of a bastard child, the child of a careless, selfish young nobleman. But Kiosé was infinitely more unfortunate, because she had no one to care for her. Was she asking for his help? Was she plotting to run away?
She noticed his silence and glanced at him. In that instant, he saw in her eyes the reason she had come to him.
She trusted him.
Norikage’s mouth fell open. He considered himself to be among the least trustworthy people in the world, but somehow she trusted him. Even Ken’ishi did not fully trust him. Ken’ishi did not know it, but his distrust in Norikage was warranted. Norikage kept unpleasant secrets, secrets that would mean both their heads if they were revealed. For a long time, Kiosé sat there across from him, waiting for him to speak.
Finally, she moved to get up. “I am sorry, Norikage-sama. I was rude for coming.”
“Please wait,” he said, raising his hand. “It is good that you came to me, Kiosé. You are special to me. I don’t want any harm to befall you.”
It was her turn to look surprised, and Norikage was inwardly amused. She said, “Norikage-sama, you are a wise man. What should I do?” The look of helpless entreaty in her eyes moved him. She truly thought he had the answer to her question, as if all of life’s implacable questions had an answer.
He laughed. Stunned for a moment by his own inadequacy, he laughed. She shrank away from him, and the look in her eyes changed from entreaty to hurt.
“I’m sorry, Kiosé, please forgive me!” he said, still chuckling. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at me.”
“Wh . . . What?”
“I am the last person in the world who would know the answer to your question.”
Her crestfallen look deepened, but the hurt in her eyes diminished.
“It’s good not to worry,” he said brightly, smiling at her. “I’m sure Ken’ishi will be fine.”
“Shall I make some tea?”
“Of course,” Norikage said. She got up and began to prepare the tea. As she did so, he watched the simplicity of her movements, and thought about how her situation could be improved. Norikage had enough money left to buy her contract from Gonta and set her free, but not only was he loath to part with such a sum, there were other considerations as well. While she was in Gonta’s employ, she would probably have enough food to eat and a roof over her head, but she was his slave. If she was not in Gonta’s employ, she would be free, but she would have no place to live and no food to eat, and she would still be a fallen woman with a bastard child. Perhaps Norikage could keep her as his mistress. He would be grateful for a woman in his house. But then, she loved Ken’ishi.
After she prepared the pot of tea and poured him a cup, he said, “I’m afraid we have much time to pass before Ken’ishi returns. Do you know how to play Go?”
She shook her head, looking uncertain.
“Then I will teach you. I have been trying to teach Ken’ishi lately, but sometimes his skull is quite dense.” He flashed her a confidential smile.
Heart of the Ronin Page 33
