The Dragon Scroll

by I. J. Parker

  Akitada noted the relationship between Joto and Motosuke and decided to look into the source of the funds for the temple expansion. "How many monks live in the monastery now?" he asked Joto.

  The remarkable hooded eyes fixed themselves on him. "The number is about two hundred. Your Excellency takes an interest in our faith?"

  "I am astonished at your great success such a distance from court," Akitada said truthfully "And I hear that many of the monks are young, surely a comment on your persuasiveness as a teacher. Tell me, are you a follower of the Tendai or Shingon philosophy?"

  A fleeting irritation passed across Joto's handsome features. "There is too much dissension in the world," he said severely. "Though the way to the Buddha is only a single way, yet all paths lead to him. I follow no way and yet I follow all ways."

  A reverent silence followed that pronouncement. Akitada considered it. Clever, he decided. If the man had rejected Shingon with its emphasis on aesthetics, he would have offended the imperial court. Yet Tendai was a far more spiritual practice.

  "I shall give myself the pleasure of visiting the temple in the very near future," he announced. "In fact, far from thinking Kisarazu a dull town, Governor, I find it very lively. The market is large and busy, and there were many people about. Surely all these visitors create security problems and increase crime?"

  With a sharp glance in Ikeda's direction, Yukinari said quickly, "The garrison stands ready to keep the peace and protect the people and local government even if--"

  "I wonder what happened to that fellow who used to run the garrison," Lord Tachibana broke in suddenly.

  There was an embarrassed silence.

  "I thought," Akitada remarked blandly to Yukinari, "you told me the man committed suicide because he had lost the tax convoys."

  Yukinari flushed and glanced at Motosuke. "That is correct, Excellency," he murmured.

  Prefect Ikeda, on Akitada's right, suddenly leaned closer and said quite loudly, "The memory's gone, I'm afraid. Oh, don't worry. He can't hear me. Age, you know." Seeing Akitada's astonishment, he nodded and smirked. "Sometimes a man loses his life force."

  Akitada drew back in disgust, but Ikeda, flushed with wine, was not at all discouraged. Seizing Akitada's arm in a familiar manner and breathing heavily into his ear, he whispered audibly, "In this case it's a female. Tachibana has a young wife. Very young and very beautiful." Ikeda licked his lips, winked, and touched his nose. "She was too much for him. He's practically senile now. What a waste."

  Akitada detached himself from Ikeda's grip. He strongly disapproved of the man's words and the manner in which they had been delivered, but he welcomed the information. If Tachibana was indeed senile, he was no longer a suspect. He suppressed his disgust and searched for a reprimand that would not make it impossible to work with Ikeda in the future.

  Yukinari, on the prefect's other side, saved him the trouble. "I am certain, Ikeda," he ground through clenched teeth, "that His Excellency recognized that offensive comment as typical of a certain type of low-bred individual."

  Ikeda turned white with fury. Joto cleared his throat and looked at them with reproachful eyes.

  Motosuke rose and clapped his hands. "Allow me to make an announcement." Everyone looked at him in surprise. Smiling at them, he said, "You are all aware that I am scheduled to depart from my post and return to the capital before the New Year." There were polite murmurs of regret. "That is why we have the pleasure of Lord Sugawara's company. He is to certify that I am leaving no debts behind. Ha ha." His laughter sounded a little forced, and all eyes turned warily toward Akitada. "But," cried Motosuke, "there is another, happier reason for my return to court." The attention swiveled back to Motosuke. "I have been," he said, trying to look modest, "immensely honored by His August Majesty. My only daughter, who spent the past four years in these rustic surroundings, will enter the imperial household. As soon as we reach the capital, I shall have the great joy of presenting her to His Majesty."

  There was a sudden crash. Yukinari stood up, staring dazedly at his toppled tray table and scattered dishes. Wine and sauces were seeping into the grass matting.

  Servants appeared quickly to clean up, and everyone made an effort to gloss over the incident. The captain sat back down, looking stunned, while a beaming Motosuke received the awed congratulations of his guests.

  In the midst of presenting his polite wishes to his host, Akitada was gripped by icy despair. He had lost his chance--no, he had never really had one--to prove his enemies wrong, to make a name for himself against the odds. Motosuke's daughter was entering the imperial household because she had been selected as a new consort, perhaps to become empress someday. No law could touch her father now, regardless of his offense, and Akitada's report must clear the emperor's future father-in-law of all suspicion. He sat stonily through a lengthy prayer by Joto for the happiness of Motosuke's daughter.

  The party broke up soon after. It was during the confusion of farewells at the door that Lord Tachibana stumbled against Akitada and clutched his arm. As Akitada reached out to steady the old gentleman, he remembered his foolish suspicions. All of a sudden Tachibana whispered something. Then he detached himself quickly and hobbled out.

  Akitada stared after him, not sure if he had heard correctly. What the retired governor seemed to have said with great urgency was "I must talk to you. Come tomorrow and tell no one."

  * * * *

  FIVE

  THE WINTER BUTTERFLY

  When Akitada awoke, the room seemed filled with an unearthly light. He blinked. It was not sunshine; the light was too gray for that. Then he remembered the events of the previous night, and the weight of utter failure descended again. Motosuke, who was his prime suspect--his only one--could not be charged because of his daughter's upcoming marriage to the emperor. Akitada had been unable to sleep after the banquet, but at some point he must have dozed off and overslept, for it was daylight outside.

  With a sigh he slipped from the warm cocoon of the silk quilt into the chilly room. Tossing his robe over his underclothes, he eased open one of the shutters.

  A new world met his eye. Thin layers of undisturbed snow covered the graveled courtyard, capped the earthen wall, and turned the curving tiled roofs of the halls and offices into large luminous rectangles suspended in the silver gray of an overcast sky. From the bare branches of the persimmon tree next to the veranda a white cloud of dust descended; a pair of brown sparrows, their feathers fluffed up against the cold, eyed him with cocked heads and beady eyes. One of them chirped, and Akitada's spirits lifted.

  He turned back into the room for one of the rice cakes the governor's servant had left. Pulling it apart, he tossed the crumbs out into the snow. His two visitors swooped down, chattering loudly. Within seconds their call had been heard, and the snow below the veranda was covered with noisy, fluttering sparrows. They fought angrily over every crumb, pushing aside the weaker ones, pecking at the youngsters. One little fellow in particular hovered on the outskirts, making determined efforts to break through and snatch the food but suffering repeatedly from the vicious beaks of his elders. Akitada aimed the crumbs in his direction but only succeeded in causing worse hostilities. Eventually the little sparrow flew up and landed next to the building, practically at Akitada's feet, where a scattering of small bits had escaped his more cowardly fellows.

  Akitada watched the little bird eat his fill and smiled. Survival in nature, as in his own world, depended on determination, courage, and finding alternate solutions to problems. Perhaps his enemies had planned to bring him to certain ruin with this assignment. In case his youth and lack of influence would not bring him to grief, they had assigned him to a crime they believed was unsolvable. Motosuke could only be accused of stealing the taxes if Akitada was willing to face imperial displeasure. Either way he would be ruined.

  But here was a little sparrow that had found a way past his enemies. And Akitada would also seize an opportunity: Lord Tachibana's invitation. He brushed ric
e dust from his hands, closed the shutter, and turned to finish dressing.

  It was really too early to call on a gentleman, Akitada realized, as he strode through the snowy streets of the city, but his was no courtesy visit. The more he thought about the ex-governor's whispered words and the circumstances of the dinner, the more convinced he became that Tachibana had been afraid and had turned to him for help.

  Akitada lengthened his stride. When he reached the quarter where substantial private compounds, secluded behind high walls, lined the streets, he asked directions of a beggar, tossing him a few copper coins in return.

  Lord Tachibana's villa was not far, but after Akitada knocked at the fine old wooden gate, there was a considerable delay before it creaked open. He was admitted by an aged male servant, so bent and decrepit that Akitada expected him to creak like the gate. Beyond the small courtyard rose the main house, its steep roof covered with snowy thatch, and its wooden walls and shutters, blackened by years of exposure to the weather, stark in their contrast.

  "I am Sugawara," Akitada told the old man, who raised a hand to his ear and blinked at him uncertainly. "Lord Tachibana asked me to call today," Akitada shouted.

  Without a word, the servant turned and shuffled off down a snowy path that led past the main house into the garden. After a moment's hesitation, Akitada followed.

  The garden had been laid out by a master. Elegantly clustered rocks, shrubs, and clipped pine trees, beautiful even in this season, were covered with new snow. The path wound past a stone lantern and a small pond, where, with flashes of silver and gold, carp moved sluggishly on the murky bottom.

  Their path joined another, this one swept clean of snow, and they came to a small building, a secluded pavilion surrounded by a wooden veranda.

  The old servant climbed the steps slowly and slipped out of his wooden clogs. Akitada, following, bent to take off his boots. He heard the sound of the door sliding open, then a cry. Quickly pulling off his boots, he looked into a spacious studio, its walls lined with shelves of books and document boxes, and its floor covered with thick grass matting.

  The servant had his back to him. "Master?" he quavered. "Oh, my poor Master! Oh, sir. Would you see if he is alive? Oh, I must run for the doctor. Oh, dear! How terrible!"

  Since he seemed incapable of movement, let alone running, Akitada said, "Calm yourself," and stepped past him.

  Lord Tachibana, bareheaded and dressed in a plain gray silk robe, lay facedown next to his desk and just below one of the walls of shelves. A stepping stool was beside him, on its side, and loose papers, half-opened document boxes, and rolls of records were strewn about his lifeless figure.

  Akitada knelt and felt for a pulse on the old man's neck. There was none and the body was quite cold. A very small amount of blood had seeped into the matting under Lord Tachibana's head. Akitada tried to recall what the medical texts had said about timing a person's death. He touched the old man's hand, flexed the fingers, and moved the wrist. There was some resistance: the body was stiffening. It meant that death had occurred many--he was not sure how many--hours ago.

  But did it really matter when? On one corner of the writing desk were traces of blood and a few gray hairs. Akitada glanced up at the shelves. One of them, quite high up, was partially empty. And there was the toppled stool and the scattered papers. Apparently the former governor had suffered an accidental fall while reaching for some documents.

  "I'm afraid your master is dead," Akitada said, rising to his feet.

  The old man stared at him. His eyes dimmed with tears, but he did not respond.

  "There is no need to go for the doctor," Akitada said, raising his voice. "Your master died last night. He may have fallen while standing on that stool and reaching for the boxes on those shelves up there."

  "Oh, dear, oh dear." The old man turned alarmingly white and clutched his chest.

  Putting an arm around his shoulders, Akitada walked him to the open door. "Take a few deep breaths," he said. After a moment, recalling Lord Tachibana's stumbling the night before, he asked, "Was your master troubled by dizzy spells?"

  "Never. He was very healthy" The old servant gulped and suddenly became voluble. "Oh, yes, quite energetic and agile. I often envied him. And now he is dead." A slightly smug look crossed his face as he shook his head at the unpredictability of fate.

  Akitada, remembering the frail old gentleman clutching his arm for support the night before, raised his eyebrows. "But he had a doctor? You were about to call him."

  "Oh, no. Not his doctor. The master never had a doctor. Not even last summer when he had that stomach complaint. He did not hold with doctors, said they just made people sicker and poisoned them with their medicines. Clean living and hard work, he used to say, that's what kept him in such good shape. He told me to eat more onions and to stop sleeping so much and my backache would go away."

  Fascinated, Akitada asked, "And did it?"

  "It is very hard for me to stay awake and I don't like onions. But the master cured himself of the stomach cramps. Oh, yes. He cooked his own rice with special herbs and got well right away."

  "I see," said Akitada. "Well, if you feel up to it, perhaps you had better tell Lady Tachibana what happened. Then you must go and report Lord Tachibana's death to the authorities. Go to the prefectural office. They will know what to do. I shall wait here until they come."

  The old servant cast a sorrowful glance over his shoulder and nodded. "Terrible." He sighed. "I shall run as fast as I can, sir."

  Akitada stood in the doorway and watched him as he lowered himself painfully to the first step to put his clogs back on. His eyes fell on a second set of wooden clogs standing near the door. They must be Lord Tachibana's. He bent to touch them. They were quite dry.

  Eventually the old servant staggered to his feet and shuffled off in the direction of the house. There would be plenty of time before anyone came back.

  Akitada went back inside and knelt beside the body. This time he studied the position of the corpse carefully and then felt the dead man's skull. Through the thinning gray hair just above the topknot, he felt a depression the size and shape of a large oyster shell. The bone gave under his touch, and when he removed his fingers they were stained with blood and brain tissue. He was about to wipe his hand on the grass mat when he caught the glint of something green among the hairs of the topknot and carefully extracted a small bloodstained shard, no bigger than his small fingernail. This he placed on one of the scattered sheets of paper. It was slightly curved, with a shiny green outer side and a dull white inner one. The broken edges were red clay. The shard reminded him of the colored tiles used on roofs, except that commonly their color was more bluish. He looked about the room and then stepped out on the veranda again. No tiles in sight anywhere! Every building in the Tachibana compound was thatched.

  Returning to the studio, he wrapped the shard in the piece of paper and tucked it into his sash. Then he sat down to think.

  When he had first laid eyes on the body, disappointment had struck him like a physical blow, and he had been ashamed of his selfishness. Then he had remembered the urgency of Lord Tachibana's summons, and a suspicion had taken shape in his mind that this death was too convenient to be an accident.

  Had someone overheard them last night and followed the old man home?

  Akitada wondered if he would find an answer among the dead man's papers. The label on the fallen box read "Agricultural Products." Akitada glanced up at the shelves. There were other boxes for "Fishing and Shipping," "Silk Production," "Local Customs and Curiosities," "Temples and Shrines" (this might contain information about Abbot Joto's temple), "Merchants and Artisans," "Plants and Animals," "Entertainers and Courtesans," and "Crime and Local Administration" (another interesting title). Akitada looked for a box that might deal with tax collection but found nothing. There was only one other box, called "Dwelling Among Frogs and Cicadas." Intrigued, he took this down and opened it.

  Inside he found an odd assortment
of papers. On top lay several poems praising nature--Akitada was no connoisseur of poetry and merely glanced at these; then came ink sketches of rocks, plants, and flowers, in juxtaposition and in differing arrangements, followed by notations about cultural matters, copies of various old Chinese texts describing famous people's gardens, and finally, on the bottom of the box, a treatise entitled "Dwelling Among Frogs and Cicadas." It described the pleasures and chores of making a garden and bore Tachibana's seal.

  Akitada was charmed by this private passion of the scholarly man and suddenly felt a sharp sense of loss at not having had the chance to know such a man. He was sadly closing the box when he heard the sound of running steps outside.

  Replacing it quickly, he turned toward the door and noticed two pairs of square indentations in the straw matting. Each pair was about two feet apart, with a distance of four feet between the pairs. Something heavy must have stood there on four square legs.

  Outside someone scrabbled at the veranda steps. Akitada went to take a look.