I. Parker - Death of a Doll Maker

Back at the tribunal, Tora awaited with eager questions about the food and the women at the banquet.

Akitada answered curtly, then said, “The doll maker has confessed to the murder, so your case is closed.”

“Maeda won’t have liked that,” Tora commented. “And I think he’s right. There was something else going on.”

“But you will not have time for it in the future. Your duties at the tribunal are waiting.”

Akitada did not open Fragrant Orchid’s letter until he was in his room and alone.

It was brief. The message, written in a somewhat awkward hand simply read, “Please come to me. I have something to tell you.”

He firmly resisted regret, tore up the scrap, and sat down to add a few lines to his letter to Tamako, describing the banquet and the foods, though not his companion.

Temptation can be a powerful force for change.

Akitada brooded for days about the way he had reacted to Fragrant Orchid. Her presence had distracted him from asking more questions about conditions in Hakata and the province; he had felt so strong a physical response to her that he was now filled with shame.

His letter to Tamako and the dolls were dispatched for home, along with letters from Tora and Saburo and other small gifts. They all missed their families. The difference for Akitada was that Tamako was in the last weeks of her pregnancy.

He threw himself into administrative work. Apart from dealing with the two homeless children, Tora and Saburo stayed at the tribunal. Tora was training his guards while Saburo saw to the smooth running of the household.

In Hakata, Mitsui had confessed and now awaited trial.

Akitada began the process of removing Captain Okata from office. This was by no means simple. The odd arrangement by which such appointments had been handled by the governor general’s office meant he had to make a case against Okata. He had to gather evidence and prove Okata was unfit for his position. This he hoped to achieve by posting notices in Hakata asking people to report police brutality or malfeasance to the provincial tribunal.

Okata responded with a formal protest to the vice governor general. He, in turn, asked for a written explanation from Akitada. Akitada replied that he hoped to improve law enforcement in the port city, an important first step to dealing with smuggling and treasonable contacts between China and their own country. A populace intimidated by its police was not likely to cooperate with it. Unpleasant though all of this was, a number of serious complaints had already been filed.

Saburo’s report about Hayashi’s activities was a disappointment. It had not revealed any illegalities. While a long meeting with Feng and the shrine priest Kuroda might be suggestive, it could also be perfectly harmless. He did not send Saburo back for another look at the guild master.

The only bright spot was that the attack on the two children had led to their finding a home. Tora had mentioned their plight to Sergeant Maeda, who had the bright idea to take them to Mrs. Kimura, the old lady who grew the tiny trees. Now the children’s birds and her miniature forest coexisted happily in her garden, and the children were company for her.

There was, however, also good news of another kind. A ship finally brought long-awaited letters from the capital. Akitada broke open his packet immediately, scanned the contents, and found Tamako’s thick sheaf of pages. She had done what he did, written a little every day about the events of the day, giving him news of the children and the household. She apologized that her news was so trivial, but Akitada devoured every line joyously. Most important was the fact that they were all well. He began to relax. The child would be born in its time, and Tamako would recover as she had before. She was healthy woman.

The two weeks after the banquet passed with only one puzzling piece of news. Among the paperwork sent to Akitada from the Governor General’s Office in Dazaifu was a brief note from Fujiwara Korenori to the effect that a strange report had reached his office.

It appeared the former governor had not been seen or heard of for over a month now. He had been expected to touch land in two provinces on his journey home. The ship with his possessions and retainers had arrived and left as scheduled, but there had been no sign of their master.

This was not Akitada’s business, but it troubled him. Something had happened to the man, and the peculiar way in which his departure had been handled, meant that no one in Kyushu had missed him. As far as was known, he had left Hakata, and presumably Kyushu, two weeks before Akitada had arrived. He had disappeared somewhere between Hakata and his scheduled first stop.

Akitada and Mori were checking tax reports in hopes of collecting delinquent taxes and shoring up the treasury when Tora walked into the office.

“Maeda sent for me, sir,” he said, nodding to Mori. “He says Mrs. Kuroki’s disappeared.”

“Who is Mrs. Kuroki?”

“She’s the Mitsuis’ neighbor across the street. It may have something to do with the case.”

“I thought the man had confessed and was going to trial.”

“Yes. The trial’s tomorrow. But I think he made a false confession.”

Akitada stared at Tora. “Because of beatings?”

“Maybe, though Maeda hasn’t allowed any more mistreatment. People do foolish things.”

“True, but you can hardly base an argument on this assertion. I hope this isn’t an excuse to spend all your time in Hakata.”

Tora was offended. “I haven’t started kidnapping women, if that’s what you’re implying, sir.”

Mori looked shocked at such impudence, but Akitada said only, “I think it will be best if you attend the trial. I’d like to know how they are handled in Hakata. Afterward you can see what Maeda is doing about the missing female. I hope he isn’t about to make a mistake. The paperwork is almost complete for dismissing Okata, and the vice governor general is not about to overlook irregularities.”

The Hakata court sessions were held in an annex to the jail. The courtroom was modest in size, but the murder of Mrs. Mitsui had attracted an interested crowd which spilled over into the courtyard outside.

Tora and Maeda pushed through and into the courtroom. Maeda usually attended the trials of his own arrests. Technically, Mitsui was Okata’s arrest, but Okata could not be bothered with token appearances.

The judge, an elderly man with a sparse beard and a tired expression, was already in his place on the dais. A scribe sat to one side, and four constables were lined up below and on either side of him. When the judge rapped his baton, two jailers brought in Mitsui. He was in chains, and they pushed him down in front of the judge. When the dazed-looking doll maker did not immediately bow to the judge, one of them kicked him forward making his face hit the floor.

Mitsui looked pitiful. The beating he had received had left his face badly discolored. At least they had given him a clean shirt and pants for his trial, and washed the blood off him. He looked at the judge, the constables, and the crowd pressing in all around him, and his face puckered up.

“Why does the prisoner’s face look like that?” demanded the judge.

“He resisted the police who arrested him and the guards in jail,” asserted one of his guards.

“Hah! Another one of those?” The judge shook his head. “You seem to have trouble controlling your prisoners.”

“Not me, your Honor.” The jailer grinned and snapped the short whip he carried in the air. The crowd laughed, and Mitsui shrank into himself.

The judge leaned forward and fixed his eyes on Mitsui. “You are the doll maker Mitsui, husband of the dead woman Mei?”