Huygens fingered the youth's cold, flaccid arm and found a vein. When he pierced it with the sharp canula, the boy didn't even flinch. Huygens turned to Nirin.
The commander bravely proffered his arm at Huygens's request. He winced as the canula entered his flesh, and blood trickled out. Huygens slipped one end of the dog's limp vein over the canulas blunt exposed portion. The other he attached to the canula protruding from the boys arm.
oOpen and close your fist, he told Nirin, demonstrating.
The dog's vein reddened as blood flowed through it. From outside drifted the voices of the guards, who had gone out to hide the dog's corpse "another of Deshima's many secrets. A waiting silence pervaded the surgery. Nirin watched his son's face. Huygens felt the pulse in the boy's neck gradually strengthen. Color returned to his skin; his eyelids fluttered open.
oFather, he whispered.
Nirin's hard features softened; he touched his son's cheek. The interpreter cheered. For a moment Huygens felt the elation that saving a life always brought him.
Then dread and misery returned. Even medical miracles didn't compensate for everything lost when he'd joined the East India Company. Spaen's death couldn't restore what was gone forever, or end the hatred that Huygens still felt for him. If Investigator Sano learned the truth about Huygens, he would look no further for the killer of Jan Spaen.
Chapter 27
THE RAIN-DRENCHED cityscape of Nagasaki blurred past Hirata as he trudged through wet streets, down fetid alleys, and up slippery staircases. Cold and exhausted, he yearned for a hot bath, food, and sleep. But he had no money, and he had to keep moving to evade capture by the troops who still combed the city in search of him, despite the threat of war.
Last night, while hunting for the smugglers, he'd heard noises in the cove and returned just in time to see the police arrest Sano and Kiyoshi. Then the harbor patrol had stormed after him. More troops had later joined the chase. He'd spent the night running through the forest, climbing hills, crawling over fields, and wading across streams in a desperate attempt to escape. If he didn't remain free, who would save Sano? Toward dawn, exhausted to the brink of collapse, Hirata had snatched an hour's rest in a tree. Yet sleep had brought no peace, because he'd dreamed of his former mentor, the ambush in the teahouse, and his own cowardly flight, which had given him a second chance to prove his worth as a samurai.
Hirata had sneaked back into the city just as the gates opened. Now he was glad that he wore the costume in which he was most comfortable: his old doshin uniform of short kimono, cotton leggings, wicker hat, short sword, and jitte. As long as he kept his face hidden, he could pass for a Nagasaki police officer. And for a while, his disguise had served his purpose.
First he'd found out what had happened to Sano. All over town, newssellers hawked broadsheets: oThe shogun's ssakan is a traitor. Read all about it!
Hirata snatched a paper. Dismay flooded him as he read the outrageous charges against his master, followed by relief upon learning that Sano would remain alive and free until the tribunal convened in three days. Hirata had time to gather evidence against the real criminals and exonerate Sano.
He'd begun with a visit to Urabe. Outside the merchants foreign goods shop, he'd met Urabe's daughter, Junko, who had begged Hirata to save Kiyoshi.
oKiyoshi is innocent. You must tell your superiors, so they'll let him go! In her agitation, Junko had pounded delicate fists against Hirata's chest, sobbing. oPlease, I don't want him to die!
oIf Kiyoshi isn't a smuggler, then what was he doing in the cove? Hirata had asked.
Junko related a tale about how Kiyoshi had chased the mysterious lights, trying to catch ghosts who would give them enough gold so they could afford to marry. oMy Kiyoshi is a good samurai. He would never break the law. Weeping, she said, oHe's so kind, obedient, and loyal!
Enough to sacrifice his life to protect someone else? Hirata remembered Sano's suspicion that Urabe had aided Jan Spaen in the smuggling, perhaps by selling the goods on the black market. Had Kiyoshi lied to save Junko, who would share her father's punishment for the crime?
While pretending to search Urabe's establishment for the fugitive, he'd questioned the merchant regarding his whereabouts on crucial nights. Urabe had claimed that he'd been working late, alone, in his store at the time of the smuggling, Peony's murder, and Jan Spaen's disappearance. However, two events weakened his shaky alibi and strengthened his motive for smuggling.
Three raffish-looking peasants had come to the shop, their tattooed arms marking them as gangsters. When they accepted from Urabe a bulky package in exchange for strings of coins, Hirata had smelled a crooked deal. Then a moneylender had seized Urabe's goods as payment for a bad debt. The merchant was obviously in dire financial straits. And if those gangsters were black marketeers, he had the contacts to dispose of smuggled goods.
Then troops had arrived to search the shop; Hirata had barely escaped. Since then, hours ago, he'd accomplished nothing except mere survival, which didn't help Sano.
Marching footsteps heralded danger again. Hirata fled into the marketplace. Stalls sheltered vendors, merchandise, and customers from the rain. The smell of frying food made his mouth water. Famished, he walked to a stall that sold skewers of grilled seafood and vegetables.
oGive me five of those, he told the vendor, oand a large bowl of rice.
The man set the food on the narrow ledge that served as a table. oThat will be ten coppers, master.
oI am the law! Hirata said, waving his jitte. oI don't have to pay.
The frightened vendor went meekly back to his grill. Hirata wolfed the food while shame tore his spirit and he remembered the words of his father: oAn honorable doshin does not abuse his power, because that would make him no better than the criminals he is supposed to discipline.
Now Hirata convinced himself that his mission justified thievery, and duty to his master overrode all other concerns. Finishing the food, he went to a tea seller and extorted a drink. With hunger and thirst slaked, his strength and inspiration returned. Avoiding the troops and police, he headed toward the waterfront.
A TALK WITH residents of Chief Ohira's street revealed nothing about Ohira except that he lived frugally and had a reputation as a strict, law-abiding leader. Hirata found no evidence that he profited from smuggling Dutch goods. When asked for information about Interpreter Iishino, the residents had told him, oYou ought to go see Madam Kihara, the wife of the city treasurer. She's the go-between who arranged Interpreter Iishino's marriage, and she always investigates prospective spouses very thoroughly. o
They'd directed Hirata to the hillside below the governor's mansion. In the broad avenues, clerks and messengers dodged palanquins; mounted administrators and diplomats passed through the gates of the walled estates of Nagasaki's officials; merchants conversed about prices, profits, and taxes on imported and exported goods. Neither a citywide manhunt nor the threat of war could halt foreign trade, or the bureaucratic machine that regulated it.
Hirata navigated the district with an air of purpose, as if on legitimate business. But his extra sense blared a continuous warning siren in his head; glances from passersby stabbed him like knives. He told himself that his uniform was adequate disguise, and no one would expect a fugitive to stride boldly into Nagasaki's seat of power. The troops were fewer here. Yet only Hirata's desire to save his master kept him from bolting.
He located the estate with the square crest above the gate and told a guard he wanted to see Madam Kihara. The guard, assuming he was a marriage client, summoned a servant who led him through the garden and into the house's entry porch.
oYour shoes and weapons, master? the servant reminded him politely.
Every instinct in Hirata rebelled against removing his sandals, jitte, and sword as custom required. What if troops should search the house while he was inside? Reluctantly he slipped off his sandals, donned a pair of guest slippers, and placed his weapons on the shelf, knowing that refusal would arouse suspicion. Th
e servant escorted him into the house. From down the corridor came a deep, cracked voice, saying:
oI need a complete dossier on the Ono boy's family. Canvass the shops and moneylenders and find out what debts they owe. A phlegmy cough interrupted the orders. oCheck the pleasure quarter and see if the boy has a mistress there. Visit his superior and ask if he's likely to rise any higher. Then find out who his friends are, and if they've ever been in trouble with the law.
Hirata's spirits lifted with anticipation. If that was Madam Kihara speaking, she must know everything there was to know about people whose marriages she arranged. He followed the servant to the reception room. Its paper wall glowed with yellow lamplight. A samurai wearing the Kihara crest came out. The servant ushered Hirata inside and announced, oMaster Watanabe Monemon to see you, Madam, using the alias Hirata had supplied.
The room was very bright, very warm, and filled with smoke. Oil lamps burned on a low table, and charcoal braziers radiated heat. Hirata's wet clothes began to steam. A squat, sallow woman perhaps sixty years of age, Madam Kihara knelt amid heaped cushions, sewing supplies, and a half-finished silk embroidery showing quail in a meadow. Her round face was wrinkled like a salted plum. The smoke came from her long silver pipe, which she held clenched in one corner of a smile from which several of her cosmetically blackened teeth were missing.
oSo you're looking for a bride, young master? Madam Kihara rasped. Bowing, she motioned for Hirata to kneel opposite her, which he did. oSome refreshment?
Along with the lamps, tobacco container, and matches, the table held a teapot, cups, and a plate of rice cakes. Though both tea and cakes tasted of smoke, Hirata ate and drank gratefully, comforted by Madam Kihara's presence. She reminded him of his aunt, who also smoked and sometimes acted as a matchmaker. Hirata wondered sadly if he would ever see her, or his other relatives, again.
Madam Kihara regarded him quizzically. oI don't believe we've met, she said, puffing on her pipe. oUsually I only arrange marriages as a favor to people I know. What is your family?
To avoid having to create a fictional background and direct the conversation to his real purpose, Hirata said, oEven though you're not acquainted with me or my family, there is a connection between us. I knew Chief Interpreter Iishino when we were young. We "studied with the same tutor for a while, he improvised, not wanting to claim too close a relationship. He also hoped Madam Kihara would overlook the ten-year age difference between him and Iishino, which weakened the story. oI understand you arranged his marriage, so I came hoping you could help me.
oThat's funny; I don't recall your name turning up during my investigation of Iishino. Madam Kihara squinted at Hirata through the haze of smoke. Already too warm, he began to sweat. Could she tell he was lying? Then Madam Kihara coughed and shrugged. oAh, well... I can't track down everyone a man has ever known, and it doesn't matter, as long as I don't miss any important contacts. And the negotiations did turn out well.
She preened. oInterpreter Iishino married the governor's niece. And the Nagai clan got rid of a girl who was born in the year of the horse "very unlucky. Madam Kihara refilled her pipe. oNow, tell me, young master: Have you any references who can vouch for your character?
Hirata was growing nervous, trapped in this stuffy room, unarmed, while the troops scoured the city for him. He wondered what Sano was doing. He thought of the Dutch ship sitting in the harbor like a bomb ready to explode, and the tribunal magistrates who would arrive in Nagasaki in two days. And to continue the charade would only increase his chance of exposing his fraud.
oBefore we talk about me, he said, oI need to know what kind of information you give clients about prospective matches. For instance, what did your investigation turn up on Interpreter Iishino?
Madam Kihara frowned. oThe results of my investigations are confidential. She paused, and Hirata waited, hoping that the enjoyment of learning and reporting facts about people was why she arranged marriages instead of idling away her time like most rich old ladies. o... However, since you're an old acquaintance of Iishino, it can't hurt to use him as an example of what I can do for you.
oInterpreter Iishino's service record was spotless. Madam Kihara picked up her embroidery and began to stitch. Hirata's heart dropped, then swelled with hope as she continued, oHis salary is twenty koku " higher than usual for a man of his rank "but he often takes out loans. She named last year's total, a sum almost equal to the cash equivalent of his rice-based government stipend. oHe always pays the money back promptly, though. He frequents the pleasure quarter but has no regular courtesan; he likes variety.
Hirata wondered why Iishino merited a high salary. Because he performed dubious tasks "like smuggling "at his superior's behest? Why did he need loans, and how did he repay them? Did Iishino patronize the Half Moon Pleasure House, where Peony had died?
oIishino's prospects were very solid, Madam Kihara went on. oDutch is a valuable skill. His only real fault is his personality "he's the most irritating man I've ever met! She stitched, puffed, and grimaced. oDo you know what he said to me?
o ~Madam Kihara, I must tell you something for your own good, your own good.' Head bobbing, eyes and smile wide, she did an excellent imitation of Iishino. o ~You shouldn't smoke; it's unfeminine, and the pipe draws attention to your missing teeth.' The gall of that man! Madam Kihara jabbed her needle into the cloth. oDuring the miai, I had to burn his arm with my pipe whenever he started to speak, so he wouldn't offend the Nagai family.
Hirata laughed at this amusing picture, despite his burgeoning need to reclaim his weapons and be gone. oBut you couldn't have hidden Iishino's problem forever. And surely the Nagai could have found a better match for the girl, even if she was born unlucky. Why did they accept Iishino's proposal?
oFor the same reason Governor Nagai and other officials tolerate him: He buys the favor of people he wants to impress, with gifts.
That might explain why Iishino needed loans. Perhaps Iishino borrowed money to cover his purchases, then paid his debts when he received a share of the smuggling profits. Maybe Peony had seen him remove goods from Deshima. But the interpreter had no apparent motive for killing Jan Spaen; there was no evidence to tie him to Spaen's murder, or Peony's. And without this, the tribunal wouldn't believe he'd framed Sano.
oPlease excuse me for rambling on so long, Madam Kihara said. oLet's talk about you now. Who are your people? What is your income? Do you expect to inherit any property? Speak up, don't be shy. Any good family will require this information before they consider a proposal from you.
Just as Hirata was wondering how to make a graceful exit, he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor, and men's voices: o... fugitive... reason to believe he's posing as a doshin... possible sightings reported... headed this way...
Aghast, Hirata bolted toward the outer door, reaching automatically for his jitte and sword "which were still sitting on the shelf in the entryway.
oWhat's wrong, young master? The pipe fell out of Madam Kihara's gaping mouth. oWhere are you going?
oForgive me, madam, Hirata stammered, sliding open the door. Panic arced through him when he saw three samurai searching the garden. One was the paunchy guard from Sano's mansion. Hirata leapt back into the house, but too late.
oThere he is! shouted the guard.
All three men rushed Hirata. At the same time, four more entered the reception room, swords drawn, trapping him.
oHow dare you attack my guest? Madam Kihara demanded. oGet out!
oThis man is a fugitive from the law, the leader told her. To Hirata he said, oCome along easy, and you won't get hurt.
As the soldiers converged on him, Hirata's scattered thoughts focused into a white-hot sun of determination: He would not be locked in a cell while his master's enemies went free. He lifted a charcoal brazier and spun around, flinging hot coals and ash at the soldiers.
They fell back, howling and clutching their faces. Madam Kihara shrieked. Over hot embers that burned through his cloth guest slippers, Hirata da
shed to the door, then froze at the sight of more troops swarming into the garden. He ran back into the room, where the wounded soldiers blocked his path to the main exit.
oStop! they cried, grabbing at him.
The room's side wall was translucent paper divided by thin wooden mullions. Hirata hurtled straight at it. With a splintering tear, he burst through the fragile partition. Then he was running through parlors and bedchambers, down passages. Frightened servants leapt out of his way. The troops stampeded after him. His body filmed with sweat, his heart thumping, he shot through a door and into a narrow courtyard inside the estates back wall. In the open gate stood the paunchy guard, long sword drawn, eyes red from the ash Hirata had thrown.
oI've got you now, he said, glaring at Hirata in angry triumph.
The wall was too high and smooth to climb. Troops filled the mansion. Laughing, the guard lunged. Powered by desperation, Hirata grabbed the guard's sword arm, then punched him in the eye. The guard yowled. Hirata slammed him against the wall and wrenched the sword away. The guard recovered, drew his short sword, and staggered between Hirata and the gate. Hirata heard the troops coming, their shouts echoing down the corridor behind him.
Laura Joh Rowland - Sano Ichiro 03 - Way of the Traitor Page 25
