Black Arrow - [Sugawara Akitada 04]

by I. J. Parker

  Akitada nodded. “A good plan. How many oxen did you take?”

  “Two. To carry the bowls.”

  “So you were on your way home. Why did you stop at the inn so early in the day?”

  “Tired. I walk and walk, and then I rest and walk again. Sometimes I rest at night, sometimes in the day.”

  “So you went to sleep at the inn as soon as you got there? Did you sleep all day?”

  Takagi looked puzzled. “I wake up hungry. I ask for food, but no food. The girl is with the mistress. So I go to the market and buy noodles. For a copper. The coppers are mine to keep. The gold belongs to the village. Will you give it back? I have to go home.”

  “What time was it when you saw the mistress?”

  He leaned his head back and studied the ceiling. His plain face contorted with the effort, but he finally said, “Don’t know.”

  “Where was her husband?”

  The face became blank. “Husband?”

  “How did you get the knife?”

  He began to frown deeply again, then smiled. “I know. The knife was from the kitchen.”

  “How do you know?”

  Takagi frowned again and scratched his head. “A nice big one.” He held his hands apart about a foot. “The girl is cutting a big radish with a little bit of a knife for our dinner. The big knife is better for big radish.”

  “So!” Akitada slammed his fist on his writing table, “Confess! You liked the big knife so well you stole it. And that night you started looking for something else to steal and found the innkeeper ill in his room. You killed him, took his money, sharing it with the other two so they would keep quiet, and the three of you made your escape. And you kept the nice large knife for a souvenir.” He straightened up and added coldly, “Confess now, and the law will be merciful.”

  Takagi looked dully at him, shaking his head from side to side. “Stealing is wrong. Demons bite off your hands.” He held out his big, work-scarred paws. “See? I didn’t steal.”

  “Then how did the knife get in your bundle?”

  Takagi looked blank again.

  “What did you do with your bundle at the inn?”

  “The girl said to put it in the kitchen. When I walk, I carry it on a stick over my shoulder.”

  “Did you take it to the market with you?”

  “No. The maid said to leave it behind the rice basket.”

  “Weren’t you afraid someone might take your gold pieces?”

  Takagi laughed out loud. “No gold in bundle. Oh no. Father said, ‘Put gold inside scarf and tie it around your waist.’“ He patted his middle and remembered his loss. “Three pieces of gold. Will you give them back?”

  Akitada stared hard at the farmer and then waved to Hitomaro to take him away. “I wonder,” he muttered to Tora. “Someone must have seen these three in the market. They’re memorable enough.”

  “And how! I don’t know about the other two, but it looks bad for Takagi. He’s not too bright. The fool admitted that he saw the knife and liked it.”

  “True, that was not very bright, but it gives his story a certain convincing ring. And remember, of the three he is the only one who did not confess. You were right. Not one of the three is the criminal type. Umehara seems just what he claims to be, a middle-aged traveling salesman. Any number of locals may be able to testify to his character. Perhaps the magistrate will make an effort to verify his story, and that of the others, but I’m beginning to have my doubts. The actor Okano is afraid of his own shadow, and the peasant is slow-witted enough to believe that demons punish people for crimes. I cannot imagine who accepted that ridiculous tale that they are members of a gang.” He sighed. “I am convinced. We must check into the case.” Giving Tora a quizzical look, he added, “I expect you are just the man to talk to the maid at the inn.”

  Tora jumped up eagerly.

  “Not so fast. You haven’t shown much diplomacy so far, and I am very reluctant to interfere with a properly appointed judge in the execution of his duty. Only the thought of having this kind of abuse going on makes me intervene. Be very careful about what you say or do.”

  Before Tora could depart, Hitomaro came in to announce a visitor. The new arrival was a warrior in full armor bearing the Uesugi crest. He had a strip of white cotton tied about his helmet.

  “A messenger from Takata, sir,” Hitomaro said unnecessarily.

  Akitada looked at the white cotton band and sat up. “Speak,” he told the man.

  The warrior knelt and bowed snappily. “This humble person announces the death of the great Lord of Takata, Uesugi Maro, High Constable of Echigo, Barbarian-Subduing General, and head of his clan. May the Buddha guide his soul to paradise.”

  The news was not unexpected, and Akitada made a suitably pious response, adding, “Tell his son, the new lord, that I shall express my condolences formally and in person.”

  When the messenger had left, Akitada looked at his lieutenants. “This changes everything. We must not lose any more time. I want both of you to go out immediately. You, Tora, will ask questions in the market and go to the inn to talk to the maid. I have decided to investigate the handling of criminal cases. The official reason will be suspicion of negligence by the court. Judge Hisamatsu will have to explain the abuse of suspects among other things.

  “Hitomaro, it is time to contact Genba again. After that I want you to check on the outcasts. The younger Uesugi has an irrational hatred for them. I want to know why. You must both be quick and discreet and report back as soon as possible.”

  They left, and Akitada went in search of his wife. While he would never admit such a thing to her, he found great comfort in her good sense and loving care.

  * * * *

  FIVE

  THE GOLDEN CARP

  T

  ora and Hitomaro slipped out of the tribunal by removing some loose boards from the back palisade and stepping into a weed-choked alley. Dressed in the rough, quilted cotton jackets and short pants of laborers, they walked to the market, a collection of shops crammed together under the deep overhanging eaves of the houses that lined the main street. Here they parted company.

  Tora headed toward the outskirts of town to Sato’s inn. He raised his eyebrows at a large new sign above its open gate. A gilded fish sported on it, and the words “Golden Carp” and “Mrs. Sato, Proprietress” were executed in elegant lettering. As the old couple had predicted, the new management planned to cater to a better type of guest. With old Sato barely dispatched to the judge of the underworld, Tora thought such haste a little unseemly.

  As he pondered what this might mean, a lanky youth came through the gate and began to sweep. Tora strolled across the street. The youth stopped what he was doing and stared at him.

  “You’re a good worker,” Tora commented. “Your boss is a lucky man. If you play your cards right, he’ll invite you to marry his daughter some day and, before you know it, you’ll be the boss yourself.”

  The youth spat. “Hah! My boss is a woman,” he said.

  “Even better. Marry her. Never mind if she’s a bit long in the tooth, you’ll be all the more precious to her.”

  “Shows what you know!” snapped the youth and kicked the last chunk of horse dung into the road before disappearing into the inn’s stable.

  Tora looked after him. Apparently the beautiful widow had not endeared herself to her staff. He crossed the yard of the Golden Carp and, since no one else was about, he walked into the inn.

  Today the hallway was scrupulously clean. In the kitchen, he found his objective. She was scrubbing vegetables with a vicious fury.

  He leaned against the door frame and whistled softly. The maid swung around. When she saw Tora, her eyes widened and she dropped her radish. He stroked his mustache and let his eyes travel appreciatively over her tall, sturdy frame. Her scowl changed to a smile. She was a plain-faced girl and her teeth were crooked, but Tora could make even pretty girls forget the simplest prudence. And he distinctly recalled the shapely limbs
under her dirty skirt.

  “Well-met, pretty flower,” he said with a bow. “How is it that you do this dirty work when you ought to save your charms to greet the guests?”

  She put on a tragic look. “I’m just the kitchen maid. Somebody’s got to do the work around here now that we’ve become fancy, with a cook and singsong girls to serve to the guests.” She eyed Tora’s patched clothes. “I hate to tell you, but if you’re hoping to spend the night, it costs a fortune and you don’t look like a rich man.”

  “Ah.” Tora made a face, but he knew that old clothes did little to hide his strong physique and flexed his shoulders.

  “It’s a great pity,” she said, watching him. “If it were up to me . . .” She dimpled.

  Tora smiled back. “The old man across the street warned me, but I thought I’d look in anyway. Where is everybody?”

  She jerked her head toward the back of the house. “One of the guests is sick and the mistress is wetting herself for fear it’ll hurt her business.”

  “Didn’t someone just die here? This must be a pretty unhealthy place.”

  “Shh! Not so loud.” The girl peered down the hall. “It’s all right. She’s still in his room. We’re not supposed to talk about it. It’s her husband that died and he was murdered. But she’s had an exorcism, so you needn’t fear. That’s why she’s so upset about the sick one. She was all for dumping him in the temple grounds during the night to let the monks tend to him, but that might get back to the authorities, so she sent for the doctor.”

  “And here I am, at your service,” announced a reedy voice from the hall. A small gray-haired man stood in the passage, carrying a bamboo case and peering at them with sharp black eyes under grizzled eyebrows. He looked a bit like an old monkey, thought Tora.

  “Well, Kiyo, where’s the patient?”

  “This way, Dr. Oyoshi. The mistress is with him.” The maid wiped her hands on her apron, and led the way down the dark hall. Tora, who was curious about her mistress, followed.

  In one of the rooms a small group of people stood around a gasping figure under a quilt. Three handsome girls with painted faces and colorful robes, the lanky youth from the yard, and the landlady all stared down at the sick man. So did the doctor and the maid when they joined the group.

  Tora gaped at the landlady.

  The widow Sato was still in her early twenties, with a dainty figure in a dark blue silk gown, shining hair neatly pinned, skin like pale ivory, and eyes that were almond-shaped and luminous. She was a beauty. At the moment, however, she looked very angry. “So you finally get here, Oyoshi,” she cried to the doctor. “Do something. This person refuses to leave. He claims he’s too ill. Hah! He wants free lodging, that’s all. Everybody is trying to take advantage of a single woman. Look him over and then make him get out. The rest of you, back to work!”

  She whisked out of the room without glancing at Tora, who had retreated into the shadows, hoping she would take him for the doctor’s assistant. He watched her trip lightly down the corridor, then turned his attention back to the scene in the room.

  The doctor knelt on the floor beside the shivering figure and pulled back the quilt. The sick man’s face was white and wet with perspiration. His eyes were glassy and his mouth slack. His breath came and went in shuddering gasps. Middle-aged and gray-haired, he looked ordinary except that an old injury had taken a small piece from one of his large earlobes.

  Oyoshi spoke to him softly, but got no response. He felt the patient’s forehead, peered into his mouth, and then parted the man’s gown to lay his ear against the heaving chest. A rattling cough racked the patient, and a thin dribble of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. The doctor covered him up again and rose with a sigh.

  “He’s much too ill to be moved,” he said, pulling Kiyo aside. “I’ll give you some medicine to ease him a bit, but it does not look good. The end is near, I’m afraid.”

  One of the painted girls said with a shudder, “The mistress won’t like it. Can’t we take him to the monks?”

  The doctor looked shocked. “Certainly not. I won’t allow you to put the poor soul through that, and I’ll tell your mistress so.”

  “Tell me what?” The widow appeared in the doorway. “Why isn’t he up yet? I tell you, he cannot stay. He has no money left, and I don’t run a charity hospital. Besides, nobody will spend the night in a house where there’s a sick person. We learned that well enough when Sato was ill. Oh, that this should come to plague me now when the old lord’s funeral will fill all the inns and hostels for miles around!” She stamped her dainty foot in frustration.

  The doctor said in a low but firm voice, “This man is not able to speak or stand, Mrs. Sato, let alone travel. He must remain where he is. Believe me, it won’t be long. I’ll leave some medicine and give you a note certifying that he does not have smallpox or any other infectious disease.”

  The beauty flushed and cried, “Tell me, since you are so high and mighty about the matter, who will pay for his lodging and nursing? He’s nothing but a vagabond. He has no money. I’ve looked. And who will pay for all your treatments, pray? Surely you don’t expect me to come up with the money?”

  The doctor said coldly, “I do not expect anything but common courtesy from you, madam.”

  She tossed her head and went back into her room. The doctor returned to the kitchen with Kiyo and Tora. There he sat down and opened his case. Taking out writing materials and rubbing his ink stone with a few drops of water supplied by Kiyo, he dashed off a note. Then he poured several powders into a paper, twisted it, and said, “Make an infusion of this with boiling water and try to get half a cupful down him every two hours. And keep him warm! A brazier of coals day and night.” He closed his case and fished around in his sleeve. “Here’s some money for the coals. Send for me if I’m needed. And give the note to your mistress!”

  Tora followed the doctor out into the courtyard. “Sir?” he called, holding out some coins. “I’d like to pay for the poor fellow’s treatment.”

  The doctor stopped and peered up at him from under grizzled brows. “Ah. It’s you. I didn’t recognize you before.” He took the money “Very kind of you. How is your master feeling? Still troubled by those cramps?”

  Tora’s jaw sagged.

  “Are you incognito then, my dear fellow? Well, there’s no one about just now. I wondered because his Excellency had all the symptoms of acute intestinal distress at Takata. You are one of his lieutenants, aren’t you? I’ve seen you about and, if I’m not much mistaken, that was you under all those animal skins that night?”

  Tora grinned weakly. “Your eyes are sharper than mine, sir. You’re right, and my master still suffers a little from the same complaint.”

  “Say no more.” Oyoshi set down his box and rummaged in it. “Here you are. My own recipe! Powdered oyster shell and ground bark of the cherry tree, mixed with the dried leaves of chamomile and some powdered rhubarb root, along with a bit of honey to hold it all together. Have him dissolve each pill in a little hot wine and take it with every meal. Can you remember that?”

  Tora nodded and tucked the small package away. “What do I owe you for this?”

  “Let your master settle with me if the medicine works.”

  Tora thanked him, then said, “You seem to know these people. Did you see the innkeeper after he died?”

  Dr. Oyoshi nodded and smiled. “Ah, I thought that was why you were here. Is your master looking into the matter then?”

  “Uh ...”

  “Never mind. I treated old Sato when he was ill. Chronic chest pains. Wasn’t getting any better, but should’ve lasted at least another year. Imagine my surprise, when I found him with his throat slit! The maid, Kiyo, sent for me. The lady of the house was away—visiting her family, I’m told. What is it that you want to know?”

  “Anything you can tell me about the death.”

  “I see. Groping in the dark. Well, I don’t think I can help you. He died during the evening or night
and did not do it himself. When I saw him he was stone cold and stiff. The maid threw a fit. Nothing unusual in that. The constables eventually showed up and asked a few foolish questions. That, too, was as usual.”

  “If the three travelers hadn’t stayed here, who would you think would’ve done such a thing? His widow’s young and handsome, and he was an old geezer. There could’ve been all sorts of mischief.”

  The doctor raised his grizzled eyebrows. “You didn’t like the beautiful Mrs. Sato? Too bossy? Been listening to gossip? Well, apart from the fact that she was not here and could not have done it herself, I’ve never heard anything against her. I expect the widow’s only problem is too much yang.”