I. Parker - Death of a Doll Maker

“Don’t touch!” growled the brute, snatching the doll from his hand and putting it back.

Akitada gaped at him. He was at least a hand’s breadth taller and powerfully built. His face was flat, with small eyes, a broken nose, and fleshy lips. The hand which had grabbed the doll was missing two fingers. This fact and the broken nose suggested he was either a former soldier or a member of a gang of criminals. In either case, a dangerous man.

The shop assistant stepped between them. “It’s all right, Ling,” he said with a nervous laugh. “The gentleman is just looking for a present for his children.” He touched Akitada’s elbow and urged him back to the other dolls. “I’m afraid those dolls are already sold, sir. But we can make you a very good price on two of these.”

Akitada looked back toward the plain dolls and the glowering Chinese. “I’d rather order two dolls like those over there.”

The young man hesitated a moment. “Of course, but it may take a long time. Look,” he said in a wheedling tone, “this charming princess and this ferocious warrior are quite pretty and perfect for a girl and a boy. They are only twenty coppers a piece. Surely a bargain.”

They were a great bargain and very pretty. Akitada agreed and bought both. Then, having saved himself some money, he selected a very pretty piece of pale green silk gauze for his wife. The salesman thanked him profusely and bowed him out of the store.

Akitada left with his parcel under his arm and in a thoughtful mood. The sudden appearance of the threatening giant and the pale young man’s eagerness to be rid of the nosy customer troubled him. Hiring a powerful guard when the store contained so many precious objects was reasonable, but why had the man interfered so rudely with a customer?

It had probably meant nothing, but he thought Master Feng’s business and his employees would bear watching.

Akitada was strolling around his little cherry tree and longing for his own garden at home when Saburo appeared silently by his side.

“Good morning, sir. I’m happy to report most of the positions are now filled, and the new and old people seem to be working well together. Possibly the fact I have offered a small award to anyone who reports irregularities encourages them.”

“Thank you, Saburo.” Akitada frowned. “While we’re dealing with unusual circumstances here, I cannot believe spying on your co-workers creates a healthy relationship among the servants. Make sure you relax your rules as soon as possible.”

“Of course, sir.” Saburo came as close to pouting as at any time since he had started working for Akitada.

“I’m not blaming you. I told you myself to watch them.”

“We know they’re thieves, sir. And we don’t know who our enemies are.”

“Quite true, but I’ve been assured they were mistreated by my predecessor. Let’s at least make sure we deal fairly with them.”

Saburo nodded, then turned when he heard steps. Tora came outside, grinning broadly. “Beautiful morning, sir and Saburo,” he called out. “A great day for great deeds.”

Saburo snorted his disgust. Akitada looked at him. “What’s wrong, Saburo?”

The maimed man was immediately contrite. “Forgive me, sir. Ascribe it to frustration. After the long journey confined to a ship, I feel confined again. Tora has something to look forward to, and you had a chance to visit Hakata. I feel useless as a house servant.”

“Oh!”

A brief silence fell, then Akitada said, “Your work here was more important and more urgent. But if you like, you may leave things in Mori’s hands now and ride into Hakata later.”

“Ride?” Saburo looked even unhappier.

“You can’t ride a horse, brother?” Tora asked, astonished.

“Not very well. And I have no assignment.”

Akitada was becoming impatient. At home everything went smoothly, and his retainers and servants knew what their duties were without his worrying about petty jealousies. “We only just got here,” he said sharply. “You will adjust and learn in time where your skills are most useful. Now, Tora, what are your plans?”

“Maeda and I will talk to some more neighbors. Someone must have seen something that night.” He made it a point to praise Maeda and mentioned his warning to Captain Okata.

Akitada nodded. “You did right. I have no use for men like Okata and want to establish proper protocol from the start. Crimes committed in Hakata are to be reported to me. If the man gives you any more problems, I’ll remove him.”

Tora grinned. “Maeda would make a good chief. I like him.”

“We’ll see. I’m interested in the doll maker for another reason. You said someone paid her in gold before her death? Any idea who it was?”

“She was working for Mr. Hayashi. But Suyin says it was payment for her dolls.”

Akitada thought. “Hayashi is the head of the merchants’ guild. A wealthy man?”

“Oh, yes. Suyin mentioned how fine his house is.”

“Saburo, see what you can find out about Hayashi.”

Saburo brightened.

“Very well. Now it’s my turn.” Akitada told of the conversation with the shrine priest Kuroda and his visit to Feng’s shop, mentioning the odd incident with the dolls. “It would have been sufficient to tell a customer these dolls were already sold. Perhaps it’s just the fact that this big Chinese bully didn’t speak our language well, but I got the strangest feeling both the salesman and the servant wanted me gone.” He smiled. “I got a very good price on two of the better dolls to send to the children.”

“Yuki doesn’t play with dolls,” Tora said. “Did they have anything a bit more manly?”

“Not really. But you’ll surely find something for your son. We’ll send our gifts with the next boat. You’d best write to Hanae while there’s time.”

“I miss them already.” Tora looked wistful. Taking a deep breath, he added, “Well, if that’s it, I’m off to meet Maeda.”

*

At Hakata police headquarters, Tora was told Maeda was at the jail, questioning the prisoner again. Tora thought it an excellent time to have a look at the conditions there.

It was not up to the standards in the capital, though it was large enough. The cells were dirty and prisoners were chained in airless, dim spaces. The place stank of human waste and sour food. The prisoners sat or lay in the dim spaces. One of them was weeping. In one cell were two women. They came to the door when Tora looked in. Both were young and filthy. One smiled and licked her lips. “How about it, handsome? I’ll show you a good time for some decent food.”

Tora also did not like the looks of the guards, three in number. They were dirty and brutish. The guard room was decorated with whips, chains, and various jitte and other metal instruments used to subdue obstreperous suspects. Some of these still showed traces of blood.

He said nothing, however, saving the information for his master, and instead joined Maeda, who was leaning against the wall of Mitsui’s cell.

Mitsui looked, if anything, worse than the day he had been arrested. The bruises had darkened on his skinny body, and his shirt was now torn, bloodstained, and filthy. He was very pale, but otherwise calm, almost listless.

Maeda’s greeting was followed by an apologetic, “Sorry about the state of the place. I try to tell the captain, but it doesn’t do any good.”

Tora nodded. “How are you, Mr. Mitsui?”

The elderly man sighed. “Not too bad,” he croaked. “They did beat me terrible at first, but Sergeant Maeda has put a stop to that. It’s much better now.”

Tora looked at the dim, filthy place with its thin, stained grass mat meant for both sitting and sleeping, at the refuse pail in the corner, and at the earthenware pitcher of water. Mitsui was chained like the other prisoners.