The Dragon Scroll

by I. J. Parker

The president smiled unpleasantly. "If you intended a different outcome, you should have chosen a different man. Not even you could have been blind to this man's ability. I have reviewed Sugawara's background and read his reports. He took top honors from the university in both Chinese studies and the law, no mean feat, which should have secured him a promising position in the administration. Instead he ends up in your dusty archives. His reports are more than competent and reveal an intelligence unexpected in one of your clerks. Such a man should have been watched more carefully."

  The minister wailed, "That is precisely what I did. But he began meddling in murder cases, stirring up trouble for everyone and making himself a reputation. Finally, in desperation, I suggested him for this assignment. Your Excellency told me yourself that whoever went would fail. Failure would have removed him forever to some remote provincial administration."

  The president leaned forward, fixing the minister with a cold eye. "Do not dare to shift the blame! Regrettably, you miscalculated. I had nothing to do with your private vendetta, although I may regret having put my trust in you."

  The minister paled. "I... I... It was not my intention ..."

  "Enough," said Minamoto coldly. "The matter is closed."

  As soon as his visitor had bowed himself out, the president clapped for his clerk. "Send in Sugawara," he ordered.

  Akitada stumbled over the threshold, lost his balance, and reached up to steady his court hat, while sinking to his knees clumsily. He had been waiting outside for over an hour, during which his superior, the minister, had arrived, walking past him without so much as a nod. Just now Soga had reemerged, mopping his face and giving him a look of such open fury that Akitada had gaped after the minister in shocked confusion.

  Now here he was himself, prostrated before one of the most powerful men in the government, a man who was said to have neither friends nor enemies because he was so widely feared. Akitada quailed at the thought of what was about to be done to him.

  "Approach," ordered the thin voice, icy as the floor Akitada knelt on.

  He slid closer to the desk and stole a glance at the great man. It was not reassuring. Cold eyes, reminiscent of a snake's unblinking inspection of a mouse, measured him from half-closed lids.

  "You are the person we sent to Kazusa as inspector to the outgoing governor?"

  "Yes, Your Excellency."

  "I have read your report. As regards the taxes, it reveals incredibly lax standards of investigation, a rashness of action that borders on madness, and an appalling lack of concern for the most fundamental rules of behavior. You succeeded in your assignment only because of amazing luck and favorable circumstances. What do you have to say?"

  "I regret extremely my foolish mistakes and shall endeavor to learn from them."

  There was a moment of silence. When Akitada glanced up, the president's eyes were looking into the distance, as if Akitada were no longer worthy of regard. "If you are implying," Minamoto finally said flatly, "that you expect a similar assignment, or any other position of responsibility, you are even less intelligent than I thought. We cannot afford to employ bunglers."

  Akitada turned cold with apprehension.

  "Still, you write clearly and seem to have handled the review of provincial accounts well enough. Those skills are of some use in the administration. Because others seem to be more impressed with your activities in Kazusa than I am, I am recommending your transfer to the Ministry of Ceremonial. The position of senior recorder has fallen vacant. This amounts to a promotion in rank by half a grade and an increase in salary. In my opinion, you do not deserve either."

  Akitada's heart froze. The Ministry of Ceremonial? He would be keeping the records of all officials, their ranks, offices, appointments, and dismissals. During palace ceremonies, he would be responsible for program, entertainment, attendance, and protocol. The post provided status and income without challenge or future.

  He rebelled. Meeting the president's eyes, he said, "I respectfully decline, Your Excellency. My training is in law, not ceremonial. I had hoped for another assignment within my expertise. If this is not feasible, I should prefer to return to my old position as clerk in the Ministry of Justice." As soon as he had spoken, he was aware of having committed an unheard-of breach of etiquette. In his confusion he prostrated himself.

  For a while there was no sound but the president's breathing and the tapping of his fingernails on the desk. Both sounds conveyed suppressed anger.

  When the president spoke, his voice dripped icicles of derision. "So you refuse a promotion? You cannot be fully cognizant of your offenses," he said with exaggerated patience. "Let me point out merely a few of your errors in judgment. You were sent to investigate a shortage, a mere accounting matter. Instead you took it upon yourself to employ military and civilian forces to uncover certain irregularities in a local temple. In the process you seem to have left a trail of murders and a mountain of paperwork." He thundered suddenly, "Look up!" Akitada jerked upright. The president pointed to the stacks of records. "These documents are a small sampling of what your visit to Kazusa has wrought. Here are reports from four separate ministries you managed to involve in the investigation. These are the files pertaining to confiscated temple properties, accompanied by petitions from Buddhist clergy both here and in Kazusa. This stack is private correspondence from highly placed nobles and officials, either demanding that we outlaw Buddhism altogether or that we exile you as an enemy of the true faith." The president's cold eyes bored into Akitada. "Clearly you have exceeded your responsibilities. What can you possibly say in your defense?"

  Akitada swallowed. He was only too aware of his many blunders, of his responsibility for the deaths of innocent and guilty alike. But his intentions had been pure, so he said, "I am afraid, Your Excellency, that I judged the activities of the monk Joto to be a threat to our government. In my subsequent decisions I acted at all times within the oath of office I swore when I became a servant of His August Majesty. Anything less would have been a dereliction of my duty."

  "You dare defend yourself?" The president leaned forward with a sneer. "You had neither the maturity nor the experience to make such a judgment. It was ridiculous! No mere provincial monk could pose a threat against our government. The proper move would have been to lay immediate charges in the local courts against this man and his supporters. Instead you waited, no doubt to win personal acclaim, and the criminals had time to kill more people."

  It was true. Higekuro would still be alive if Akitada had acted sooner. The child would be playing with his New Year's gifts if Akitada had not put him and others at risk. The matter weighed heavily on his conscience, and he prostrated himself again.

  "I mentioned earlier," continued the president, "that you succeeded only by chance. Perhaps you need to be reminded that it was mere accident that the blind girl's painting fell into your hands. You had the good luck of clearing up the murder of Lord Tachibana because of the incredibly careless manner in which his killers had left the body. Happily for you the garrison commander had an alibi, or you would have had him tried for murder. And the arrest of Joto's supporters was only possible because of a convenient temple festival that allowed you to hide a whole garrison of soldiers in the temple grounds. An idiot would have succeeded. As it was, you managed the matter so badly that the fellow killed a child and attacked you. When the child's mother had to kill this renegade monk to save your life, it cost us the testimony of the prime suspect."

  Akitada knocked his forehead against the floor mat. Seeing the justice of the president's strictures, he was ashamed of the hopes for reward that had accompanied him on the long journey back to the capital. He sought for words of apology.

  "Since you insist, you may return to your former duties in the Ministry of Justice. Naturally they do not justify a rank increase. You may go."

  Akitada rose, making a series of formal deep obeisances as he retreated backward to the door. When his heel touched it, he cleared his throat. The great man looked up
impatiently from the document he was reading.

  "I beg Your Excellency to forgive my impertinent curiosity," Akitada began nervously, "but I had wondered about the disposition of the case."

  "It is hardly your business any longer, but we ordered that the guilty monks be defrocked and assigned to hard labor at the northern frontier. If they behave themselves, they will be allowed to enlist in the frontier armies. The former leadership of the temple has been confirmed, and a new prefect has been appointed to the district." Noting Akitada's dismay, the president added grudgingly, "The high praise of former governor Fujiwara for two of his people has resulted in their promotions. His secretary, Akinobu, will become assistant governor. Of course, the governor's post itself will go to His August Majesty's brother, who will remain in the capital. The other promotion concerns the garrison commander Yukinari, who will join the imperial guard. I believe that is all."

  Akitada was happy for Akinobu and Yukinari, but there was the other matter that troubled him more. "I brought a prisoner to the capital, Your Excellency," he said. "He is charged in another case, in the disappearance of Lady--"

  "Silence!" roared the president, jumping up. He pointed a quivering finger at Akitada. "You are to forget that matter or risk permanent exile. You are to ask no questions, mention no part of your investigation, nor contact anyone remotely connected with it, ever. Do you understand?"

  "Yes. Forgive me."

  "Dismissed."

  Akitada fled out of the dim halls and into the graveled courtyard, where he took a deep breath of cold air and then passed quickly through the roofed gate into the street. To his right lay the vast enclosure of the Palace of the Eight Ministries, where the emperor presided over his administration to rule his people. Beyond it was another large enclosure, the Palace of Court Festivals. And beyond that, among many smaller courts, was the Ministry of Justice. It was his duty to go there to report his return immediately, but the look of loathing on Soga's face was still vivid in his memory. He turned his steps toward the great gate and the city beyond.

  A dusting of snow covered roofs and streets. Pine-bough decorations marked the coming new year. People on elevated wooden sandals hurried along with an air of excitement and happiness. Tomorrow the emperor would announce new assignments and promotions. Customarily, the happy recipients of the august benevolence would then celebrate their good fortune by inviting all who had not fared so well. Akitada himself was expected at Kosehira's mansion for a great party given by his cousin Motosuke, who was staying there until his own residence was ready to receive the new councilor.

  Turning his steps homeward, Akitada considered how to break his news to his mother. She would be very angry with him for failing again. They had barely enough to support themselves, and he had returned with another mouth to feed. Lady Sugawara's reaction to Tora had been mixed. After expressing her displeasure privately to Akitada, she had taken Tora as her personal attendant.

  The thought of Tora cheered Akitada a little. Perhaps it would all work out. They would have time for their morning exercises again. And today he was going to show Tora the city. Akitada smiled. At least he would not have to transfer to the Ministry of Ceremonial.

  The following evening, considerably the worse for a night on the town with Tora, Akitada approached Kosehira's mansion. Introducing the "Tiger of the Tokaido" to the pleasures of the capital, not the least of which were the wine shops, had finally blotted out the image of Minamoto's reptilian eyes, but it was exacting its price now, for his head hurt and there was a dull ache behind his eyes.

  Akitada was probably the only guest who arrived on foot for Motosuke's celebration. Torches lit Kosehira's street and his courtyard, where at least fifty carriages of all types had been crammed together. The oxen had been unhitched and stood about, munching hay, while their drivers sat around small fires, talking or throwing dice.

  Akitada knew his way and went to the main hall with its reception rooms. Servants were everywhere. Someone helped him remove his boots, someone else took his quilted outer robe, and a third man held a mirror so that he could adjust his hat.

  Loud talk and laughter came from the rooms beyond. Akitada looked in each of them for Kosehira's familiar round shape and cheerful face. The company was intimidating. To judge from the colors of the court robes and the rank ribbons on the hats, Motosuke had illustrious friends. Perhaps, thought Akitada, still smarting from his meeting with President Minamoto, he should just send a message of congratulation to Motosuke and leave quietly.

  Too late! Kosehira had spied him.

  "Here is the man of the hour!" he cried. "Come in, Akitada. Everyone's been waiting to meet you."

  Akitada flushed with embarrassment. He cast an anxious look around and recognized three imperial princes, two ministers, several imperial councilors--Motosuke's prospective colleagues--and one of the sovereign's uncles. Kosehira bounced forward and pulled him into the room by his sleeve. His good cheer was infectious; Akitada met with smiling faces everywhere. He was asked questions, which he answered briefly and cautiously, hoping he was not breaking some rule he had not been warned about.

  His head still felt fuzzy and, worried that he might say the wrong thing, he refused the offered wine. It was ironic that so many people of rank appeared pleased with his success while the two men who held his future in their hands regarded him as a fool and a bungler.

  Kosehira steered Akitada through the throng into the next room. There, in the place of honor sat Motosuke, resplendent in purple and flushed with wine and happiness. When he saw Akitada, he jumped up to embrace him and led him to a cushion next to his own.

  "This is the man to whom I owe my good fortune," he announced. "If you ever get yourself into deep water, call on him and your fortune will be made."

  That caused laughter and more questions. This time Akitada's reticence about the events in Kazusa was futile, for Motosuke took it upon himself to give a detailed and colorful description of everything that had happened, interspersed with such highly flattering comments about Akitada's brilliance that the latter wished the floor would swallow him.

  Kosehira eventually rescued him. "Enough babbling, cousin," he said irreverently to the new councilor. "There is someone who wants to see Akitada."

  They left the main hall by one of the covered galleries, walking toward Kosehira's private quarters. Akitada was curious, but Kosehira maintained an air of secrecy. The sound of voices and laughter faded, trees blocked the light of the torches and lanterns, and the quiet of the wintry garden surrounded them.

  Akitada saw the lake where Kosehira had given him his farewell party before his departure for the east. "How different the garden looks," he said. "Is there really someone waiting, or are we just having a quiet chat?"

  "You will know in a moment," said Kosehira mysteriously. They entered the dim corridor that led to Kosehira's study. Before the door, Kosehira put his hand on Akitada's sleeve. "He is inside. Join us again when you can." Then he left.

  Akitada slid the door open. The room was lit only by the moonlight and the snow outside. On the veranda sat the still figure of a young monk in a black robe. His back was to Akitada, and a string of prayer beads moved slowly through his fingers.

  There must be some mistake. What business could he possibly have with a monk? He was about to withdraw quietly when a soft voice asked, "Is that you, Akitada?"

  Recognition came suddenly and painfully. "Yes, Tasuku. Kosehira sent me."

  The other gestured toward a pillow lying near him, and Akitada went to sit down.

  Now that he could see his friend's face, he was shocked. It was not merely that the thick, glossy hair had been shaved off, leaving nothing but a naked skull tinged an unearthly silver-blue in this light. Tasuku's once handsome face looked almost emaciated. Gone was the youthful roundness of cheeks, chin, and lips, and gone was the healthy tan. The eyes still burned darkly, but the full lips were compressed. Worse, the bones in his friend's wrists stood out, and his once muscular shoulders d
rooped as if the thin black hemp of his robe were too heavy to support.

  "Tasuku," Akitada cried, "have you been ill?"

  "My name is Genshin now." He smiled a little, sadly. "I am well. And you? You have returned to great honors, I am told. It seems we were all wrong when we tried to dissuade you from your journey."

  Akitada glanced across the snow-covered garden to the lake, where they had sat composing their poems so many months ago. If he had known then that he would meet violent death in so many dreadful forms, he would have accepted the conditions of his life. He saw again, in his mind, the broken body of the child, Higekuro's split skull and the carnage around him, Joto's blood bubbling from his lips, the frail corpse of Lord Tachibana.

  On the large terrace of the main house, Motosuke's guests strolled about admiring the moonlit scene. Someone was leaning against the balustrade to look out over the trees. Just so had Ayako stood.

  Akitada sighed. "No. You were right after all. It was the most difficult thing I have ever done."

  His friend glanced at him, then looked up at the moon. "The same moon," he said, "but, oh, how changed we are."