I. Parker - Death of a Doll Maker

Tora heaved a sigh of relief. He stepped forward and shouted back, “I’m a tribunal officer. This is an illegal ship engaged in murder for hire. Arrest the captain and put him in the hold. He’s in the pay of a criminal gang.”

One of the sailors burst out laughing. Others joined in. “Very funny!” the policeman shouted with a laugh. He had found his voice of authority. “You’re a convict. All of you’ve committed crimes and killed people. Give up, and you’ll serve your sentence. If you resist, you’ll die.”

“There’s your answer.” Shigeno sounded bitter. He was leaning against the side of the ship, looking pale beneath his tan. Several bodies lay about the deck, but there were still some six or eight men standing with the policeman, and other sailors were elsewhere. Tora did not see the two convicts. Perhaps they were both dead by now. There was a good deal of blood all over the deck.

What if this was a legitimate transport? Tora knew they had killed men. It was no use trying to explain it away. The memory sickened him as his blood still dripped down his arm and onto the boards he stood on.

He glanced again at Shigeno and told the policeman, “We don’t want to have to kill anyone else, but neither will you take us prisoner again. Tell your men to go down in the hold now, or this battle will continue.”

Brave words. He might be bleeding to death, and Shigeno looked badly wounded and had dropped his grappling hook.

“No,” said the policeman and shouted, “Go get them. They’re wounded and done for. If they try to fight, kill them.”

But his people hesitated. Then one of the sailors threw a knife. Tora jumped aside, and gasped as pain pierced his side. For a moment, he thought the knife had found its mark, but it had struck the rail where he had been standing a moment earlier. The man had thrown it with deadly accuracy.

Another knife flew past and into the sea. Tora thrust his good arm around Shigeno and dragged him behind the big mast.

“Let me at them,” Shigeno muttered. “I’ll show the bastards.”

“Follow me!” Tora cried and ran across the slippery deck, dodging bodies, hearing Shigeno’s sharp breath behind him.

Two against overwhelming odds.

Shigeno growled, “Cut them down!” and then they were among them, Tora swinging the long knife with his left hand, feeling it bite, hearing screams, seeing them scatter. “Give up!” he shouted, “or you’ll all die.” It was a mere croak.

And an empty threat. Shigeno stumbled and fell beside him as two sailors converged on them.

Someone yelled, “Look out! The ship! We’re going to strike”

Then pandemonium broke out. People were running everywhere, and Tora stopped to gape at the scene.

Beyond the ship a black mass had risen from the sea. For a moment he thought he losing consciousness … or hallucinating. “Dear gods,” he muttered, falling to his knees beside Shigeno who was struggling to get up.

Then Tora realized what must have happened. Distracted by the fighting, the sailors had not paid attention to their ship, and the wind or tide had carried it too close to land. The sudden peril of submerged rocks taking the keel out of the ship outweighed even the threat of two convicts trying to escape.

Tora saw the panic in the sailors’ faces. They rushed about, colliding with each other, some running for the rudder, others pulling at the big sails.

The dark shape of the cliff already towered over them like some monstrous sea creature.

Land, he thought. We’ve reached Tsushima. It was all for nothing. He dropped the knife, and asked Shigeno. “How are you, my friend?”

“Done for,” muttered the convict. “My legs have given out. How about you?”

“Not sure. I got a cut in the back.”

Shigeno looked at his back. “Can you move your arm?”

“A little, but there’s not much strength in it. It’s over anyway. We’re in Tsushima.”

Together they looked at the rocky shore which was still approaching in spite of the frantic efforts of the crew. Their captors no longer cared about them. They worked the ship and the oars, desperately trying to bring her away from the rocks. Even the policeman and guards lent a hand at the oars.

Shigeno chuckled weakly. “The fools. Serves them right. Can you swim?”

“Yes. You?”

Shigeno nodded. He seemed to be regaining some of his strength and was getting to his feet. “It’s not far.”

Tora reached over to lift the other man’s blood-soaked shirt. His chest and side had taken a number of cuts that were still bleeding, some more than others. Impossible to tell how deep they were, but he must have lost a lot of blood. How could they think of swimming? “Are you sure we’ll be shipwrecked?” he asked.

Shigeno flexed his limbs, gritting his teeth. “Any moment. Where are the other two?”

“Dead or unconscious.”

But as Tora glanced across the deck, he saw one of the bodies move, lift his head, and peer back at him. The thin man. After a glance around, he got to his feet and came to them in a crouching run.

“They’ll never make it,” he said, pointing at the cliff.

At that moment they struck.

With a grinding noise the ship lifted, sending them staggering. They heard the wooden bottom tearing and the crew yelling. Then the masts cracked and, like giant forest trees, they slowly began to lean and then fall. Timber and rigging snapped, taking spars and the huge sails as well as two sailors with them. A large spar missed Tora by a mere foot. The ship tilted sharply when the masts and sails hit the water and sank, pulling it over on its side. Tora slid, then fell.

He hit the water, ice cold and wildly surging, and went down. Kicking out, he swam for the surface but came up under a sodden sail in a tangle of lines. As he fought free, he thought this would be his grave. He dove again, came up, and found more sail pressing him down into the depths. Once more he dove and struggled back up again using the last of his strength. He reached the surface just as his chest and head were about to explode.

The search for Hiroshi-and Tora-continued into the middle of the night. At that point, Akitada, who had been waiting at police headquarters for news, decided to call it off. Sadamu had left already, though he was searching on his own. Akitada thanked the weary constables and the tribunal guard as they returned, and then he and his people went home.

Home ?

This place was more and more like the horrors of exile he had dreaded in the capital. Far from his true home, where his wife might even now be struggling to give birth to their child, and while he tried to come to grips with losing Tora, Akitada had nothing but pain to show for this appointment.

As tired as he was, he could not sleep. Instead, he lit as many oil lamps and candles in his room as he could find to keep the menacing darkness away and then sat at his desk to reread Tamako’s letters and to smile at the scrawls and drawings the children had included. He missed them all. His utter loneliness overwhelmed him, and he almost wept.

But his despair reminded him of Fragrant Orchid’s supposed suicide letter. He rummaged among his papers and finally found the note still in the sleeve of the robe he had worn the day Maeda had given it to him.

Unfolding the scrap, he read again: “Unmindful that ships must wait for high tide, I parted from you too soon. Oh, for a vermilion boat and a pair of jeweled oars so that I might row across to meet you on the other side.”

It sounded like a death poem. “The other side” was a standard reference to the afterlife. But the words still seemed vaguely familiar. And another thing struck him. It read as if it had been written by the one who had left, yet it was in Fragrant Orchid’s hand, and she had not left. It had been Lord Tachibana who had left her.