Island of Exiles

by I. J. Parker

  He caught glimpses of the seated men and saw servants popping up and disappearing as they brought food, knelt to serve, and then left again. The closer he got, the more chance there was that someone would glance his way and notice the head of a swimmer bobbing in the lake. And this time he would not be able to talk himself out of it with Kumo.

  When he was within a hundred feet, he turned back toward the reeds and slipped into their protection. Progress became slow and difficult. Akitada moved in a crouch, using channels left by fishermen whenever possible. Once he froze after raising an egret. It flew off, awkwardly flapping its huge wings until it was airborne and soared like a silver ghost across the darkening sky.

  Abruptly the reeds stopped, and an open channel of water stretched between him and the pavilion. Someone had cleared away the water grasses to make sure no boats could approach the pavilion unseen. Such precautions made his undertaking seem all the more vital.

  Up in the pavilion, in the yellow light of lanterns hanging from the eaves, he could see the four men. They sat facing each other and were eating and talking quietly.

  Kumo, the only one who wore his hair loose, had his back to Akitada. Next to Kumo sat the gray-haired, round-shouldered Sakamoto. Another old man, probably Taira, with white hair and improbably black brows, looking bent with age and scrawny as an old crow in his black robe, sat across from Sakamoto. The fourth man must be Nakatomi. He was partially hidden by Kumo’s broad back, but wore a rich robe of patterned blue brocade. Whoever he was, fortune had treated him well.

  But Akitada could not remain forever in the shelter of the reeds. He did not relish the idea of crossing open water, but decided that, being in the light, the four men would not notice a lone swimmer in the dark lake. This conviction was almost immediately put to the test when Kumo got up and stepped to the balustrade. Akitada sank down, keeping his face half submerged. But Kumo merely emptied the dregs from his wine cup and returned to the others.

  Moving slowly and smoothly so he would not make any noisy splashes, Akitada half swam, half crawled through the shallow water, keeping his face down so that his dark hair would blend with the water.

  When he was close enough to hear them, the water no longer covered him completely and he had to hurry. Slithering across the mud on his belly, he scraped his skin painfully on stubble, but he kept his face down until he reached cover.

  He had almost made it when there was a shout above, and he stopped. Naked and defenseless, he lay in the mud, imagining an arrow in his back, though it was not likely that any of the four was armed. But nothing happened, and after a moment he peered up. The surly servant was running up the steps, and Sakamoto asked for more wine.

  With a sigh of relief, Akitada crawled into the darkness under the pavilion and waited for his heart to stop pounding and his eyes to adjust. A few straggling weeds grew on the muddy bank he crouched on. If he raised himself to his knees, he could touch the boards above his head. Wide cracks between the boards let light fall through in slender ribbons which undulated on the waves slapping softly against the timbers and creeping up the shore. He could hear the conversation of the men above as perfectly as if he were sitting beside them.

  The supporting beams—there were eight of them—rested on large flat rocks covered with slimy moss. The three outermost supports disappeared into the lake water. Beyond was the lake and darkness.

  Someone—he did not recognize the voice—was saying in a peevish tone, “You should really maintain your property better, Taro. These boards creak alarmingly every time that fat servant steps on them.”

  Sakamoto sounded humble and apologetic. “I had no intention of ever using this place again after the tragedy. But the present emergency—”

  There was a snort of derision.

  Kumo cut in, “We all agreed that this meeting needs the privacy which only this pavilion affords.”

  Akitada smiled to himself and brushed off a mosquito with muddy fingers. More of the pesky insects hovered in the thin beams of light, and he considered slipping back into the water. Someone moved above, and a thin cloud of dust descended. He looked up, wondering how strong the old floor was.

  They had fallen silent after Kumo’s words. Someone belched loudly.

  Then the first speaker—he guessed it was Taira—spoke again. “I personally saw no need for all this fuss,” he said, his voice tight and bitter and the tone accusatory. “The worst possible thing you could do was to draw attention to us at this juncture. The trial is next week, and I see no reason why it should not go the way we expect. Tomo will make certain; won’t you, Tomo?”

  Tomo? Oh, yes. Nakatomi, the physician.

  “I shall testify to nothing but the truth,” a sharp, slightly nasal voice responded.

  Someone muttered something.

  “Yes, Tomo,” drawled Kumo, “provided you can confine yourself to the cause of death.”

  “What else would a physician be asked about? I am not a witness or a suspect. I was not here at the time, as you recall.”

  “Suspect?” cried Sakamoto. “You think we are suspects? Dear heaven, has it come to that? Oh, why did this have to happen?”

  “Stop that foolish whining,” snapped Taira.

  “What if the judge asks Nakatomi about the prince’s health? What will we do then?” Sakamoto’s voice was tense and worried. “He was his personal physician, after all.”

  “The only thing I worry about is a case of nerves like yours,” Taira reproved him. “Such loss of self-control could ruin us all.”

  There was a gasp, then Sakamoto’s trembling voice: “Forgive me, my lord. You know you can count on me. It’s just that this was not in the plan.”

  Below, Akitada let out a soft sigh. So there had been a plan. Perhaps there still was one. But the prince’s death had not been part of their scheme. What had happened?

  Kumo said abruptly, “There is no need to quarrel among ourselves. It strikes me, though, that Shunsei is not here, and him I do worry about. He is emotional and not very bright. And he is a witness who will testify at the trial.”

  Taira said, “Shunsei is not here because he is no part of this and knows nothing for the reasons you have just stated. However, I have had a talk with him about his testimony.”

  Two people spoke up at once. Akitada could not make out their words.

  Then Taira spoke slowly and clearly, as if to foolish children. “No. Shunsei is completely loyal to the prince, whom he worships even more assiduously than the Buddha. I made it clear to him that revealing any part of the prince’s private life would destroy his memory. The fellow wept and swore by all that’s holy that he would never besmirch the name of his beloved.”

  Nakatomi laughed. He said something about splitting the peach to find the Buddha, but Kumo warned, “Careful! Here comes more wine.”

  There was a short silence. Akitada heard the pavilion stairs groaning and creaking. Then heavy slapping steps crossed above. Apparently the fat barefooted youth had arrived to refill the wine flasks. He looked up at the black-stained boards above his head, and saw them bending. More clouds of dust descended. The thought crossed Akitada’s mind that he might be crushed underneath the combined weight of the pavilion, the four conspirators, and the fat servant.

  What happened was not quite that bad, but bad enough.

  Sakamoto cried, “Watch out, you oaf!”

  Next there was a heavy thump, and a sharp cracking sound, then a tearing and splintering. One of the wide boards split and a fat naked leg descended to the accompaniment of a terrific squeal of pain. Akitada stared at a dirty foot, dangling and twitching inches from his face. Above, all hell broke loose. Men shouted, dishes clattered, more steps caused more dust and splinters to descend. And the fat servant still wailed. He wailed steadily for more than a minute before he settled down to moaning and sobbing.

  Akitada withdrew to a corner near the outer edge of the pavilion.

  Upstairs, the other servant joined the fracas and shouted at the unfortunat
e fat youth to get his leg out of the hole. Akitada could see that the dangling limb was bleeding slightly. The fat upper thigh was held in place by a large splinter which threatened to penetrate more deeply if the leg was pulled upward. The youth explained his predicament amid loud groans and sobs.

  “Well, go down there and free him,” snapped Kumo.

  The other servant protested shrilly that he could not swim. The lakeside balustrade creaked, and Kumo pointed out that the water was quite shallow. Kumo, and perhaps the others, were scanning the surrounding lake and shore. Akitada was trapped under the pavilion, and the surly servant was about to join him. Discovery was imminent. Keeping close to the corner support, Akitada let his body slip into the water until only his head protruded.

  Sounds from the stairs suggested that some of the guests were abandoning the pavilion for safer ground from which to watch the rescue operation. Next came the telltale squelching as the servant approached through the mud from the lake side. He had to bend to squeeze under the pavilion. Akitada could see him only as a darker blob against the faintly lit grayness outside. The man muttered under his breath, then called out, “Where the devil are you? I can’t see a thing.”

  The fat leg wiggled, and a pained voice cried, “Here. Be careful! It hurts dreadfully.”

  The older man found the leg and gave it an exploratory push upward, which resulted in an earsplitting scream. The rescuer abandoned the leg and splashed back to the edge of the pavilion.

  “Got to cut it off,” he shouted to someone on top. “I’ll need a knife and a saw.”

  The unfortunate youth above started babbling wildly that he did not want it cut off. A lengthy discussion followed, succeeded by a tense wait during which the older servant could be heard slapping mosquitoes and muttering imprecations against gluttony and stupidity. Above, the soft sobbing and moaning continued. And Akitada waited tensely.

  In time someone passed tools to the resentful rescuer below. He returned to the twitching leg and proceeded to saw and cut the boards, while the fat youth squealed and pleaded. Sakamoto added his own shouts from a safe distance, encouraging one servant while telling the other what a useless fool he was to destroy his master’s property.

  The time crawled for Akitada, but eventually the squealing above and cursing below stopped. The leg was free, and someone, Kumo presumably, hauled the youth out of the hole. The ill-tempered servant departed, still muttering, and silence fell.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Akitada emerged from under the pavilion. He listened and looked about. When all seemed clear, he quickly swam back into the reeds and from there to where he had left his clothes. As he dried himself with his loincloth and dressed again, the nervous tension of the past hour melted and he started shaking with laughter.

  It was a while before he calmed down and realized that, for all its farcical humor, the fat youth’s accident had spoiled his perfect chance to get the answers he had come for.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE MANDALA

  The following morning brought more surprises, the most disturbing of which was the disappearance of Genzo.

  As instructed, Akitada had risen early. Nobody else seemed to be awake yet. After carrying wood and water into the kitchen and washing at the well, he went to the stable to saddle their horses. He wondered briefly about Genzo, but the scribe’s laziness was by now so well established that he did not become suspicious until he saw Genzo’s saddlebags lying empty in a corner.

  He finished saddling up, then went back into the inn, where he found the sharp-tongued mother of their hostess back in charge. She merely grunted in response to his greeting. When he asked about Genzo, she gave him a blank stare. “Who’s that? Another lazy layabout belonging to that piece of deadwood in there?” She jerked her head in the direction of Osawa’s room.

  Akitada grinned and asked if Osawa was awake.

  For some reason, she flushed crimson. “If you can call it that,” she snapped.

  Akitada started down the corridor.

  “Hey, you can’t go in there now!” she shouted after him.

  Ignoring her shouts, he raised his hand to open the door to Osawa’s room, when he heard soft laughter inside. He smiled to himself. The middle-aged, stuffy Osawa was revealing some astonishing talents in seduction. He knocked softly and called Osawa’s name. The abrupt silence inside gave way to the rustling of bedding. Osawa shouted, “What do you want?”

  “I’ve saddled the horses, sir, but Genzo seems to have left already.”

  Another silence.

  “Left? What do you mean, he’s left? He’s probably sleeping someplace, the lazy lout. Wait, Takao!”

  Too late. The door opened abruptly, and Takao, looking almost pretty with her rosy flush and disordered hair, smiled up at Akitada. She clutched her loose gown to her middle, but there was little doubt that she was quite naked under it.

  Osawa was sitting on his bedding and jerked up a quilt to cover his own nakedness.

  When Takao stepped aside, Akitada walked in, closing the door behind himself. With a straight face he wished the inspector a very pleasant good morning and congratulated him on his amazing recovery.

  “Get out!” Osawa snapped. “Can’t you see I’m not . . . dressed?”

  Akitada bowed to the landlady. “Your honorable mother is in the kitchen,” he told her.

  She rolled her eyes, then turned to Osawa and said, “Please permit me to speak to my mother, dearest heart.”

  He blushed and waved a languid hand.

  Takao winked at Akitada, then asked Osawa coyly, “Shall I get your gruel ready, since you are in such a hurry to leave me?”

  Osawa looked embarrassed. “Yes. Er, we’ll talk later.” When she was gone, he demanded, “Now, what is this about Genzo?”

  “His saddlebags are empty. That suggests that he has left us. Perhaps he has found better employment?”

  Osawa scowled. “That piece of dung?”

  “I believe the last time anyone laid eyes on him was the night we arrived. He may have walked off as early as yesterday morning. If he left Minato, he is long gone, and if he stayed in town, he is keeping out of sight. What do you wish me to do?”

  Osawa muttered a curse. He knew as well as Akitada that Genzo’s sudden flight made it likely that someone had lured him away. True, he was not a very good scribe, but scribes were scarce. And that was not all. Working for the provincial administration, Genzo was privy to information which could be valuable to criminal gangs or pirates, and Sadoshima certainly had those. Genzo knew the size and itinerary of tax collections, the contents of granaries and the provincial treasury, and the number of guards assigned to them. That made him a valuable source of information.

  “I have to bathe and eat something before we leave,” Osawa grumbled. “Go into town and ask around if anyone has seen him. If you cannot find him, report him to the local warden. Make up some tale. Say he has stolen the mule.”

  “He hasn’t stolen the mule.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” snapped Osawa. “Of course you’ll have to get rid of the mule. Just let it loose someplace.” He fluttered a pudgy hand in the direction of the door. “Go on! Go on!”

  Osawa’s manner seemed more irresponsible than usual. But then, Akitada was concerned about Genzo’s whereabouts for reasons other than the security of provincial taxes. Genzo hated him and had made one attempt already to cause him harm. Akitada had expected him to retaliate before now for his humiliation at Kumo’s place. Possibly Genzo’s departure meant that trouble was afoot.

  He walked about town for an hour or so, asking shopkeepers, monks, and market women if they had seen a big man, dressed, like Akitada, in the blue robe and black cap of a provincial clerk. No one had. Genzo had disappeared into thin air, and Akitada felt the same puzzled unease as two nights ago, when the bird-faced man had followed him through the dark streets and alleys of Minato.

  Eventually he stopped at the warden’s office to report him missing. He did not claim that Genzo
had stolen the mule but instead suggested the possibility of foul play. The warden was unimpressed. He seemed to think that any free man working for the governor was more likely to look for better employment elsewhere.

  When Akitada returned to the inn, he found Osawa and the landlady walking about the courtyard. Osawa wore his boots and traveling clothes and had the contented air of a man of means. She was dressed in another pretty gown and clung to his arm, fanning herself lightly. He was pointing at features of the inn, while she listened attentively.

  “And over here an addition,” he was saying, “as the family grows, you know. We wouldn’t want to lose guest rooms.”

  She giggled, hiding her face behind the fan.

  As Akitada took his puzzled gaze off the couple, he noticed the landlady’s mother standing in the kitchen doorway. She waved to him, nodding her head and smiling broadly. This was so contrary to her usual behavior that he went to ask her what had happened.

  “Happened?” she said vaguely, watching the couple in the courtyard. “Isn’t your master a handsome figure of a man? You’re lucky to be working for such a learned and dignified official.”

  Akitada turned to see if they were discussing the same person. The balding and round-bellied Osawa was patting the landlady’s hand and whispering in her ear. Perhaps the old crone was just happy to see him depart. But there was something proprietary in the way Osawa regarded the inn, and something equally proprietary in the way its owner clutched his arm. Akitada realized that Takao had used her charms to a purpose. She needed a man, and it looked as though she had caught Osawa. Apparently he intended to give up his government job in order to run an inn and be pampered by a devoted wife. Mutobe had not only lost an undesirable scribe, but also his tax inspector.

  Understandably, with a comfortable and leisurely future assured, Osawa washed his hands of Genzo and seemed to want to get through the rest of his duties as quickly as possible. He told Akitada to bring out the horses while he made his farewells to the “ladies.” He probably planned to hand Mutobe his resignation as soon as they reached Mano.