Ingrid Parker - Rashomon Gate – A Mystery of Ancient Japan

Tora snorted, and Genba and Hitomaro turned their heads to study the sky. As if on command, a bright streak of lightning hung for a moment over the black trees and distant roofs, casting its white light over the whole room. It was followed quickly by a sharp crack of thunder.

Tora shook his head. "It's getting close. I can manage the prisoner by myself. Genba and Hitomaro will walk back with you, sir."

Akitada said quickly, "No. I don't trust Okura. All three of you go with him. And, Tora, remember to give my message to Kobe."

The men exchanged glances. Then Hitomaro said, "Genba and I cannot accompany Tora to the police."

Akitada stared at Hitomaro without comprehension. Outside the first heavy drops were striking the boards of the veranda. Then he understood and snapped, "I see your usefulness is limited to areas which are remote from the sharp eyes of the police. Go with Tora as far as possible and make certain that he and his prisoner get safely within the walls of police headquarters. Then wait for him and return home together."

Hitomaro's face had reddened. "As you wish, sir," he said dully.

"All right, let's go!"Tora urged.

But Hitomaro still hesitated. "Could I not come with you, sir? The streets are not safe at this hour."

"No!" Exhausted and irritated, Akitada made no effort to keep the anger out of his voice. "Do as you are told or you are both dismissed."

They trouped out the door, leaving him behind in the empty room, where the oil lamp still flickered on his desk, casting its uncertain light on student papers. Ashamed about his outburst, Akitada went to finish the paper Okura had interrupted. But he had lost his concentration and Tamako awaited him. Putting away his writing utensils, he used the flame from the oil lamp to light a lantern and set off for home.

The moment he stepped outside and locked the door, he became aware of a change in the atmosphere. The temperature had dropped, and a wet gust of wind tore at the skirts of his robe and knocked the lantern against the wall. Overhead the black clouds roiled as lightning flashed between and behind them. Thunder roared and grumbled almost continuously.

He ran quickly down the steps and into the courtyard. There another blast of wind threw wet sand into his face and blew off his hat. He caught it by the silk cord, winced as it bit into his barely healed skin, untied it and tucked the hat into his sleeve. Steadying his lantern with both hands, he bent forward into the wind.

He passed with long strides through the deserted university grounds, thinking of his bungled efforts at bringing three killers to justice. Although he had solved the cases and laid the ghosts of self-reproach about Hirata to rest, he could not be certain that Okura would be charged. He had even less assurance that Sakanoue would be confronted with his crime and punished. Only Kurata had been apprehended and would be convicted, and that was due more to Tora's efforts than his own.

Well, tomorrow he would return to his job at the ministry and this time he would make every effort to excel at his work. He would be taking a wife and could not afford any longer to chafe at the long, dusty hours among the documents or avoid unpleasant meetings with his superiors. Sato and his wife had made far greater sacrifices for each other and their family. Such patience was more admirable than any heroics he might have dreamed of in his younger years. It spoke of devotion more loudly than any of the love songs recited at the poetry contest. And patience was a small price to pay for the delight he had found in Tamako.

Cheered by blissful thoughts of their future together, Akitada crossed Second Avenue and headed east along the high earthen wall of the government enclosure. Lightning cast the long wall, the buildings and the wind-tossed trees into a momentary blue brilliance. He skirted a fallen branch. Because of the late hour and the storm, he walked alone on this normally busy thoroughfare. The smell of rain was heavy in the air and large drops stung his face, along with small bits of gravel and windblown leaves, but at least the clouds had not yet opened up and released their torrents of water. With any luck, he might reach home in time.

At the corner of the palace grounds he turned north onto Omiya, and a sharp gust caught his lantern, flung it up and extinguished the light. No matter. Another five blocks would bring him to his own gate. And to Tamako. He warmed to the memory of her, imagined hearing her soft voice, smelling her subtle fragrance, touching her skin. She was as soft as silk under his hands. Her hair, long, smooth silken tresses against his palm… her thin robe, silk warmed by her flesh, shifting and trembling under his caressing fingers… her skin, softer than silk… softer, warmer and more alive than anything he had ever touched before.

He came back to reality reluctantly.

At first he was dimly aware of a sharp hissing sound somewhere on the palace wall, then of a violent rustling in the branches above his head. Thinking of the storm, Akitada glanced up. From the darkness of the leaves and branches of the tree an even denser darkness separated and hurtled towards him. Too late he tried to twist aside. A sharp pain seared through his head and shoulder as a crushing weight pushed him forward. He struck the ground, felt gravel bite sharply into his face, and then his chest was crushed and the night turned black.

Akitada regained consciousness in his own room. Dimly aware of discomfort, he opened his eyes on the familiar rafters of his ceiling, shadowy in lamplight. He easily deduced that it was nighttime and that he was stretched out on his own bedding, a fact further proven by the familiar feel of the hard headrest supporting his head.

Someone was talking softly.

He turned his head and immediately felt a sharp stab of pain run from his head to his shoulder. To his astonishment his small room seemed full of people. They sat around the oil lamp, their backs toward him, except for Seimei, who faced in his direction. It was he who was doing most of the talking while rummaging in his medicine case, holding up from time to time a jar or package to show to one of the others. Belatedly Akitada put names to the broad-shouldered backs: Genba, Hitomaro and Tora. Genba was the one who carried on the conversation with Seimei. The other two watched but said nothing.

Akitada croaked, cleared his throat, and tried again. "What are you doing?"

Immediately four anxious faces turned his way. Seimei and Tora got up to sit beside him.

"How are you feeling, sir?" Seimei asked, peering sympathetically down at him.

Akitada frowned and checked how he felt. His legs and arms seemed to behave normally. The skin on his face felt sore and tight, and his neck and shoulder still pained him at the slightest move. However, that discomfort was minor compared to the fact that his whole torso appeared to be paralyzed. He could not move his spine, and breathing was restricted and painful.

"I cannot move. What happened?" he asked, as a hazy memory joined panic. "Something fell on me, I think."

Tora answered. "You were attacked on the way home. By paid assassins, two of them, with knives."

"I have been stabbed?"

Seimei said, "No, no. Nothing like that. Hitomaro here got to you just in time. You only suffered a few cracked ribs when one of the brutes jumped on you out of the tree."

Akitada thought about his ribs and touched them gingerly. He felt absolutely nothing. "An overly optimistic diagnosis, old friend," he said grimly, panic tightening like a vise about his heart. "I'm afraid I am paralyzed."

To Akitada's hurt surprise, Seimei turned to grin at Genba who grinned back, then rose and joined them. He poked an exploratory forefinger into various places on Akitada's upper body. There was still no sensation. Akitada closed his eyes to hide his terror.