“Out of the question,” the Minister of the Right said firmly.
“You could have the scroll, but we might not be able to find it,” said the other minister.
“But if we could find it, you wouldn’t be able to read it,” said the other one.
“And if you could read it, you wouldn’t understand it,” added the first one.
“Even if you understood it—” the other one continued.
“He wouldn’t,” the first one interrupted.
“But if he did,” said the second one.
“Stop it!” Seikei shouted. His voice sent echoes around the vast hall.
They stared at him.
“You’re not allowed to shout in here,” the Minister of the Right said.
“Unless you have good reason,” his colleague added.
“But you don’t,” said the first minister.
Seikei replied before the other minister could. “Yes, I do. I am on official business for the shogun, and on his authority I request to see the scroll. I can bring samurai to enforce his orders, if necessary.”
“Oh, the shogun,” the Minister of the Right said in a mocking voice.
“The emperor is superior to the shogun,” the Minister of the Left informed Seikei.
“In all things,” said the other minister. Together, they gave Seikei smug looks. On this point, apparently, they were not going to contradict each other.
Seikei felt angry. “The emperor is not here,” he said. “What if he orders you to show me the scroll?” Seikei knew this was highly unlikely, but he wanted to jolt the ministers out of their feelings of superiority.
He didn’t succeed. “The emperor is young,” said the Minister of the Right.
“Young people,” said the second one with a meaningful look at Seikei, “need guidance.”
“He may not be able to exercise good judgment,” said the first minister. “That is why we are here to advise him.”
“Or he may exercise good judgment,” pointed out the second one.
“In either case, we will decide.”
“If we agree.”
And of course, thought Seikei, the two ministers would never agree on anything.
6
DEATH VISITS THE MONASTERY
Seikei left the palace with a feeling of helplessness. Very likely the governor would not go so far as to send samurai to compel the ministers to give up the scroll. And Seikei’s threat to ask the emperor to issue an order was an empty one. Who could tell if the emperor would even speak to him again?
Kushi showed him the way back to the governor’s residence. There, Seikei was given a guesthouse separate from the main building. He could order anything he liked for his evening meal, but failure had robbed him of hunger. After picking at a tray of tea and plain rice, he sat trying to think of a plan until sleep overcame him.
When he awakened, someone was rapping at his door. Annoyed, he wanted to ignore it until he heard Kushi’s voice. When Seikei slid the door open, he saw not only Kushi but two other samurai. The looks on their faces were considerably less friendly than the ones Seikei had encountered yesterday. “Get dressed,” Kushi said. It was not a request. “The governor wants to see you immediately.” No one asked if Seikei would like tea.
Neither did the governor. He was finding many wrinkles in his clothing this morning, and the look he gave Seikei seemed to suggest who was to blame.
“There has been an unfortunate development,” said the governor.
Seikei had guessed that much.
“The emperor has disappeared again.”
Seikei blinked. He would not have guessed that. “I thought the monks were guarding him.”
“Yes, the monks.” The governor pulled fiercely at one of his sleeves. “Some of them were killed.”
Killed? “How did this happen?”
“You do not know?”
“How could I know? Have you sent a magistrate to investigate? My father Judge Ooka—”
The governor’s angry look cut him off. “I am aware of your foster father’s reputation. However, another of the shogun’s officials is already investigating the case. He is at the monastery. My men will take you there.” The governor smoothed out a few more of the distracting wrinkles. “My advice,” he told Seikei, “is to tell him the truth, because he will have you tortured if you don’t.”
Seikei could do nothing but stare.
On the way to the monastery, Seikei realized that the three samurai were there to keep him from fleeing. But how could the governor think he had anything to do with these new events?
Once more they left their horses at the monastery gate. This time, at least six other horses were tethered there as well. Seikei wanted to study the path inside to look for traces that intruders might have left, but the samurai hustled him forward.
At the pagoda, several monks were at work. Two were washing the wooden steps, while others burned incense and chanted. Seikei understood clearly that a violent death had occurred here. No doubt the heavyset monk with the jitte had been overcome, at the cost of his life. Here too, Seikei tried to stop to examine the scene, but his guards would not permit it.
As they rounded the side of the pagoda, Seikei beheld the same scene that had appeared so beautiful yesterday. Now, death had blighted it. Some of the chrysanthemums at the edge of the pond had been trampled and broken. Samurai who had not left their swords behind were searching the banks, and it was true: The presence of their weapons disrupted the serenity of the garden.
Two of the samurai were standing over what first appeared to be a bundle of wet cloth. As Seikei came closer, he realized it was the body of a monk they had apparently pulled from the lake. Even more disturbing, at least to Seikei, was the appearance of someone he had not expected to meet here in Kyoto.
Walking toward Seikei was Yabuta Sukehachi, the chief of the Guards of the Inner Garden—the very person Judge Ooka had warned Seikei not to come afoul of. The look on Yabuta’s face indicated he was not about to congratulate Seikei on his success at persuading the emperor to resume his duties.
“You were here yesterday,” said Yabuta, just stating a fact. Seikei nodded.
“I want you to look at something,” Yabuta said. He led Seikei to the body that had been pulled from the water. One of the samurai standing there turned it over on its back. “Do you recognize him?” asked Yabuta.
Seikei almost turned away. The eyes were open and the teeth still clenched in anger, even though a gash across his neck had drained the blood from the face. “It’s Oyuka, the monk who was teaching Ri—I mean, the emperor, to meditate.”
“Did you think he was dangerous?” The tone of Yabuta’s voice put Seikei on guard.
“This man? No, he wasn’t dangerous at all.”
“Would it surprise you to learn he was probably the most skilled person in the monastery at the art of jujutsu?”
Jujutsu? The art of combat without using weapons? Seikei had seen a demonstration of it by the ninja Tatsuno, who had brought down a horse and an armed warrior with only his hands. “I saw no indication of that,” said Seikei.
“How many people do you think it would have taken to overpower him?”
“He was old. Anyone might have overpowered him,” said Seikei, but he recalled the aura of authority that the monk had exuded.
“Five men could not have overpowered him,” Yabuta said firmly. “Unless it was a person he was told to protect and not touch.” Yabuta looked at Seikei. “Or someone who could approach him while concealing a knife and arouse no suspicion.”
Who could Yabuta be referring to? Seikei asked himself. The emperor? But why would—?
Yabuta snapped out a question. “What did you say to the emperor yesterday?”
Seikei tried to remember. It had been a confusing conversation.
Yabuta took his hesitation as weakness. “You were supposed to persuade him to resume his duties,” he reminded Seikei. “Did you?”
“Well . . . he said he wasn�
��t the emperor.”
“But of course you saw through that.” Now Yabuta was being sarcastic. “Let’s see if we can improve your memory.” He signaled to one of the samurai, and Seikei turned to see the Ministers of the Right and Left being led down the hill from the pagoda. They looked indignant, like two peacocks who have had their feathers ruffled by a hawk.
As they drew closer, one of them recognized Seikei and pointed. “That’s the one!” he called out. Yabuta smiled with satisfaction. The other minister glared suspiciously at Seikei, but remained silent.
“You have seen this samurai before?” Yabuta asked the minister who had spoken.
“He came to the palace yesterday,” the minister replied.
“Yesterday afternoon,” the second one added.
“He threatened us,” the first one said.
“Ordered, then threatened,” corrected the second one.
Yabuta broke in. “Ordered you?” he asked. “Ordered you to do what?”
“To give him a scroll from the palace library.”
“Acted as if he could understand it.”
“Said he would get the emperor to command us to give it to him.”
“Said he would—”
Yabuta cut off the conversation with a flick of his hand. He turned to Seikei. “Why did you ask for this scroll?”
“The emperor . . . ,” Seikei began.
“I thought you said he wasn’t the emperor,” Yabuta said.
“He said he wasn’t the emperor.” Seikei was aware that he was being made to sound foolish.
“Go ahead,” said Yabuta. “What was on this scroll?”
“I don’t know,” Seikei admitted. “The emperor—the boy who was here yesterday—said that the scroll would explain why he wasn’t the emperor.”
Both of the ministers drew back in horror. “Not the emperor?” one of them cried in a shrill voice. “That’s nonsense.”
“Sacrilege,” added the second. He turned to Yabuta. “You should execute him for insulting the emperor.”
“I will decide what action to take,” said Yabuta firmly. He looked at Seikei and in a silky voice said, “Tell me, what did the emperor say when you returned here?”
“When I returned? I did not return,” said Seikei.
“No? You told these ministers that you would obtain an order from the emperor, didn’t you?”
“I only wanted them to show me the scroll. That’s why I said that,” protested Seikei.
“But when they didn’t let you see it, you surely returned here to ask the emperor—”
“And then took him away,” the first minister cried out, as if seeing the plot clearly.
“Because he refused to give the order,” said the second one.
“I think there is another explanation,” Yabuta said. He signaled his guards to bring someone else from the pagoda. Seikei was astounded when he saw who it was.
7
FACING THE SHORT SWORD
Walking down the hill, bowing respectfully at everyone he passed, was Takanori, the ronin Seikei had met on the road to Kyoto. He looked a little better than when Seikei had seen him last, apparently having benefited from a bath and a change of clothing.
He bowed before Seikei, the two ministers, and finally—with the deepest bow of all—to Yabuta. Evidently Takanori had a good idea who was in charge here.
“Have you ever seen this young man before?” Yabuta asked Takanori.
Takanori looked briefly at Seikei, and replied, “Oh, certainly, Your Honor. Two days ago, on the Tokaido Road.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Something of great importance, sir. I told him the same thing I told you.”
“Which was?”
“That my daimyo, Lord Shima, had suffered a great—”
“Not that. What else did you tell him?”
“You mean about Lord Ponzu?”
“Yes.” Yabuta was impatient, Seikei saw. No doubt he was very quick to use torture if he suspected someone he was questioning was too slow with the truth.
Takanori licked his lips, trying to get this part of the story right. “Well, I reported that Lord Ponzu, whose men had killed my daimyo, was plotting an uprising against the shogun.”
“And what did this young samurai do,” Yabuta asked, “when you reported this startling piece of information to him?”
“Oh, he bought me some soup.” Takanori bowed his head at Seikei to thank him again.
“Did he tell you to come with him to Edo so you could report it to the shogun’s officials?” asked Yabuta.
“No, he was very busy, sir. He had to get here to Kyoto in a hurry.”
Yabuta turned to Seikei. “And when you arrived here, did you report this startling news to the governor, as was your duty?”
“No,” said Seikei. “I didn’t find this man’s story believable.”
“But that wasn’t for you to decide, was it?” Yabuta asked. His tone was icy. “Are you one of the shogun’s magistrates, who are authorized to investigate such matters?”
Seikei shook his head. Yabuta was correct, of course, but he was twisting everything. Seikei recalled the judge’s warning outside the shogun’s castle in Edo.
“You’re wasting time,” Seikei said. “The emperor has been kidnapped and—”
“Yes, tell us about that, won’t you? Be truthful now and I will go easy on you.”
“I couldn’t have had anything to do with that!” Seikei protested. “Ask the guard who went with me to the palace. From there, we went back to the governor’s residence.”
“I have already asked him,” Yabuta said. “He did leave you at the governor’s, but you could easily have returned here by yourself, since you had learned the way.”
“You can’t believe that! Why would I want to kill these monks? What would I do with the emperor?”
Yabuta leaned closer to Seikei. His voice was lower now, as if he wanted it to be heard by Seikei alone. “I’ll tell you what I do believe,” he said. “You met this man on the road and he told you of a plot against the shogun. I have heard that you like to solve crimes as if you, not your foster father, were the judge. He isn’t here to lend you the cover of his authority, so you decided you would do this on your own. You took on something that was too big for you, in order to bring glory upon yourself.”
Yabuta’s voice had taken on a singsong quality, like the sound of a loom when a weaver is making cloth. It was as if he were weaving a terrible blanket of lies and truth to ensnare Seikei.
“You should have reported the plot,” said Yabuta. “You didn’t. Then you learned while you were here that the emperor was planning to escape—and instead of bringing that information to the governor, you went looking for the scroll so you could present the proof of the plot yourself.”
“I realized that he had plans to control the emperor,” added the Minister of the Left, pointing at Seikei.
“What have you done with him?” asked the other minister.
Annoyed, Yabuta motioned for a guard. “Take these two and put them someplace where they can’t talk to anyone,” he ordered.
As they were led away, the two ministers now resembled squawking chickens more than peacocks. Seikei’s satisfaction at the sight, however, was fleeting.
“Because you failed to perform your duty,” Yabuta told him, “a serious threat against the shogun—who trusted you—has arisen.”
“What threat?” Seikei demanded. “You can’t really believe this man’s story.” He pointed to the ronin, who bowed.
“You know only a part of what is happening,” Yabuta replied.
“And I deny having anything to do with the emperor’s disappearance,” Seikei said.
Yabuta’s dark, cold eyes opened wide. Seikei had to force himself not to shrink from them. He felt he was looking into a lake with no bottom. “But you allowed him to get away,” Yabuta said. “And free, he is dangerous.”
“I can’t imagine anyone less dangerous,” said Seikei.
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“No one cares what you imagine,” replied Yabuta.
“I will report to the governor—” Seikei began.
Yabuta cut him off. “He knows all about you already. In addition to your failure to inform him about a planned rebellion, you have other offenses. I have innkeepers’ bills showing that you ordered lavish meals at every stop between here and Edo. You demanded service fit for a daimyo, not for a courier who was supposed to be carrying out a task for the shogun.”
Seikei hung his head. He could not deny the truth of this, even though Yabuta made it sound worse than it had been.
“Wait,” Seikei said. “There was another man here yesterday. He may have heard what I said to the emperor. He could confirm—”
“Where is this man now?” snapped Yabuta.
“I don’t know, but he was dressed in a blue kimono, and he left two swords with the guard at the temple porch.” Seikei hesitated. “At least I think they were his.”
Yabuta curled his lip. “That’s hardly a precise description. No one else reported seeing this other samurai. Perhaps you imagined him.”
Seikei wanted to protest, but he saw that was useless. He bowed his head. “Then how may I help find the emperor?” he asked humbly.
“Find the emperor?” Yabuta didn’t try to suppress the gloating in his voice. “I don’t believe I need any more of your help.” He licked his lips, and asked, “Are you familiar with the saying, ‘A samurai has two swords. When the long one fails, the short one must succeed’?”
“Yes,” Seikei said after a pause. He knew what Yabuta meant.
“The guards will take you back to your room,” said Yabuta. “I suggest you consider what the effect would be if your disgrace is made public. Your foster father, Judge Ooka, will be humiliated as well. You—and only you—could spare him that.”
Seikei understood the meaning behind that as well. Numbly, he followed the guards, wondering how he could have made so many mistakes. The judge had even warned him about Yabuta, which made Seikei’s failure all the harder to bear.
At the governor’s residence, the guards took Seikei’s horse and left him at the guesthouse. They let him keep his swords, of course. Yabuta intended him to use them, or at least one of them.
The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass Page 4
