I Parker: The Convict's sword

The market thronged with people. Maidservants and housewives shopped and chattered as they filled their baskets with fish and vegetables for the evening rice. Young gallants strolled about, ogling pretty prostitutes who tripped by in their colorful finery and peered at them over their painted fans. Solicitation was illegal here, but the law turned a blind eye unless quarrels broke out.

Akitada liked markets. They were noisy, smelly, and full of excitement. Vendors cried their wares, and porters passed through the crowd with their heavy baskets suspended from the ends of long poles, shouting, “Watch out! Watch out!” Musicians played, jugglers juggled, live birds in cages sang, cooks fried, boiled, and stewed snacks on small portable stoves, singing out their specialties, and stray dogs searched the garbage that lay about in corners.

Each of the city’s two gated markets covered several city blocks with its shops and stands. The market office provided constables, controlled the many shopkeepers and vendors, and maintained the drum tower, which rose four stories into the air and overlooked the market and part of the city. On its top floor was a large drum that gave warning of fires, while the middle levels allowed constables to keep an eye out for pickpockets, quarrelsome drunks, and thieves in the crowds below. The lowest level was used by popular performers, and here was Tora’s latest conquest.

A crowd had gathered to listen to her. She stood above them, small and very slender in her plain white cotton gown. Her long hair was twisted into a knot low on her neck. This very modest appearance, along with the fact that she was neither young nor pretty-her face was badly scarred-astonished Akitada profoundly. What could Tora possibly see in her?

Female street singers, as a rule, were vagrants who eked out their poor daytime earnings by selling their bodies at night. Akitada considered them a public nuisance because they kept stubbornly outside the law. But as this woman was blind, he was willing to make some concessions. Besides, she had a pleasant voice.

She looked detached from her surroundings as she sang, her sightless eyes turned into the distance and a fixed expression of unhappiness on her scarred face. Her remarkably elegant hands worked the strings of a lute. The instrument was a nice one, made of sandalwood. Street singers usually accompanied themselves on small hand drums that required little musical talent.

So Akitada granted her a modicum of respect. She played her lute well, her voice was full and warm, and she told a good story about two unhappy lovers who died in war. Akitada knew it. A young woman had followed her lover into battle disguised as a common soldier. When he found her fatally wounded on the battlefield, they bade each other a touching farewell, and he ended her suffering by striking off her head and then plunged the sword into his own belly. It was a story of love and death, designed to please a simple crowd and romantic enough to be performed by a woman.

There was a smattering of applause, the singer bowed, and a few small coins fell at her feet. Tora, a silly grin on his face, shouted into Akitada’s ear, “Isn’t she wonderful?” and made his way to the front. His master wished himself elsewhere, but the blind woman began another song and Tora stood rooted at her feet with a look of rapture on his face.

Something tugged at the skirt of Akitada’s robe and he looked down. A half-naked beggar crouched there. He extended a filthy hand, keeping a firm hold on Akitada’s silk robe with the other. “A copper from the rich lord?” he whined. “In Buddha’s name? Only a copper?”

“Let go of my robe this instant,” Akitada snapped, seeing the dirty streaks he was leaving on the fabric.

It was against the law for beggars to seize people’s clothes or harass them in any way, but this fellow was not easily intimidated. He grinned, revealing nearly toothless gums, and released Akitada only after rubbing the material between his fingers and saying, “Such thick silk! It must be lovely to have that against your skin. I’d be grateful for a bit of food in my empty belly.”

Frowning, Akitada dug a copper out of his sash and dropped it into the grimy hand with its long, curling yellow fingernails. “You should not grab people,” he said severely. “The constables frown on that. Besides, next time you may get a kick instead of alms.” He looked the man over. The beggar was middle-aged, bony, and utterly filthy, but he did not seem to be crippled. “What’s wrong with you anyway? Why don’t you work?”

The beggar tucked the coin into a small pouch he wore on the rope around his waist. “My health is poor,” he whined. “Can’t afford to buy medicine. It’s a hard life.” He coughed.

Akitada gave a snort and looked around for a good example of a working man. His eye fell on the street singer. “Look at her,” he said. “She’s blind, yet she works for her daily rice.”

The beggar spat. “Her! She’s a whore. You think she’s living on the coppers she gets singing a few songs? She isn’t pretty, but she’s got a mouth and men have cocks. They give her silver and when she’s done singing, she’ll give them her personal attention.”

A well-dressed man standing near them laughed. “When the sun sets, the pleasure women drop their silken sashes. It’s easy to forget a face then.”

The beggar was disgusting, and the stranger was not much better, but Akitada knew that they were probably right. This woman was not attractive enough for anything but the most basic of sexual services, though silver was hardly what she would earn for that.

Tora had climbed the steps and was talking to her, pleading even, and she touched his arm in a familiar manner. Akitada regretted his generous impulse. Trust Tora to set up an assignation while his master waited.

The beggar snickered. “See? She’ll open her mouth and spread her legs for that one all right. You’d think a blind whore wouldn’t care who she does it with, but that bitch thinks she’s somebody special.”

Akitada snapped, “Keep your dirty gossip to yourself!” and stalked to the steps of the tower. “Tora!”

Tora came down. “Sorry, sir, this is not a good time. She can’t leave yet.”

“Tora?” asked the woman on the platform, her hand searching the air. “Where are you?” A street urchin burst into laughter, and someone in the crowd joined in. Akitada saw that the pile of coppers at her feet was pitifully small and felt a twinge of guilt. The blind engaged in certain professions because it was the only work they could do. They did not need eyes to sing a few songs, to wash someone’s hair, or to massage a body. And women needed no eyes to provide sexual services either.

“I’ll tell her you’ll see her later,” Tora said.

“No.”

Too late. Akitada glared after Tora as he ran back up the steps. He told the woman, “We’ll come back and you’ll tell him what you told me, won’t you? He’s very good at solving mysteries.”

Akitada raised his voice. “Tora!”

The woman turned her head toward him and bowed a little from the waist. She said in her warm voice, “You are doing too much honor to this insignificant person, my lord.”

Akitada said brusquely, “We were only passing.” He had no intention of listening to a street singer’s private affairs. Tossing a few coppers at her feet, he snapped, “Come, Tora. It’s getting late.”

Tora looked stricken. He said hurriedly to the woman, “I’ll try to be back in time, but if I’m not, remember what I told you. And lock your door.” Then he joined the fuming Akitada.

Akitada said, “Next time don’t get me involved with your women.”