I. Parker: Island of Exiles

Mutobe fidgeted. “I must warn you. No matter how hard we try to intercept messages, Okisada’s people always hear of news in the capital. Pirate ships carry their letters. I am afraid this is going to be very dangerous indeed. Of course, you must do as you wish, only don’t count on me to save you. Kumo’s people don’t stop at murder, and with my son’s life at stake . . .” His voice trailed off.

He looked at Akitada’s face again and shook his head. Reaching for a slender porcelain flask, he poured wine into two fine porcelain cups and extended one to his visitor. “I was told you almost died at sea and then were beaten by Wada’s constables.” Akitada emptied his cup thirstily, nodded in appreciation, and passed it back for a refill. “Wada is the police official who greeted me at the dock? If he treats all arriving prisoners that way, something should be done about him, but for the present it does not matter. The incident lent a certain realism.” Mutobe shook his head again. “I don’t want to belabor the point, but I wonder if you realize that even under the best circumstances an ordinary prisoner’s life is worthless here. Wada is a brutal beast and his constables act as he wishes. The high constable has made a special pet of Wada. Between them, they claim to keep the peace on Sado, reminding me that my function here is purely judicial and administrative. And it seems the prince, whom I have had to remind of his status many times, still has friends in the government.”

Akitada was becoming impatient with Mutobe’s whining.

His ill-considered actions against the high constable and his dilatoriness in reporting the trouble to the council of state had provoked the situation. He suspected that the governor had let a personal power struggle get out of hand. He changed the subject. “Did you send that very drunk physician to me?” Mutobe looked embarrassed. “Ogata is my coroner and tends to the prisoners. When I got the captain’s letter, I went to take a look at you. I was shocked by your wounds and thought you needed medical attention. Ogata drinks, but he is a perfectly capable physician. In fact, if it had not been for his drinking and slovenly appearance, he would have treated the late prince. The prince’s doctor, Nakatomi, is more interested in wealth than healing. Ogata can be trusted. He is absolutely unbribable because he has neither ambition nor greed.”

“A rare man indeed. I was not complaining but wanted to thank you.”

The governor relaxed and smiled for the first time. “Apparently Ogata liked you, too. He told me that I had to find you a place here because you might not survive the hardships of roadwork or mining. When I pretended lack of interest, he offered to make you his assistant because he was getting too old for his work. He put on quite a good performance, gasping and pressing a hand to his heart. He even groaned as he bowed.”

Akitada laughed. “He must think me a weakling. I thought I was in excellent physical condition.”

“Working on roads or breaking rock is not the same as a bout with the sword or some hard riding. In any case, I will find you a place in the archives where I can keep in touch with you.”

“I am not sure that is a good idea. Any close contact between us will cause suspicion. Also I must be able to travel.”

“But I thought . . .” The governor looked upset and said in an almost pleading tone, “Surely you will want to meet my son?

To get his story? Then I’ll do my best to send you away.” Akitada weakened. “Well, perhaps. If it is only for a day or two. Do you have a map of Sadoshima?” Mutobe rose and delved into one of the lacquered trunks.

He produced a large rolled-up scroll and spread this out on the desk between them.

The island’s shape resembled a large butterfly flying northeast, its body flat heartland, the wings mountainous. The governor pointed to the southwestern opening between the two wings.

“We are here, on Sawata Bay. The murder happened in Minato, a small town on Lake Kamo near the opposite coast. Okisada was the guest of honor at the villa of a retired professor there.

Okisada’s own manor is in Tsukahara, not far from the lake. The central plain northeast of us is full of rice farms. Kumo’s estate is there.” Mutobe pointed to the center of the island. “Most of the farmed land belongs to the descendants of earlier exiles. I mention this because some families still bear a grudge against the government. Kumo and Okisada may have formed allies there.” Akitada nodded. “Tell me about Kumo.”

“He is thirty-eight years old. His great-grandfather was sent here on trumped-up charges. The family has been cleared, but since the descendants had become wealthy on Sadoshima, they stayed here. Kumo now controls one-third of the rice land in the province. He also owns two silver mines. Kumo’s father was appointed high constable, either because of his wealth and influence on the island, or because of the emperor’s guilty conscience. His son inherited the office.”

“What sort of man is he?”

Mutobe made a face. “Handsome, arrogant, and fiercely possessive of the island. He regards imperial appointees as a form of harassment for the natives and claims that the non-political prisoners are responsible for all the crime. Hence his support for Wada.”

Akitada thought about this. “Who really controls Sado?” Mutobe flinched. “There is no need to be so blunt,” he said stiffly. “I am fully aware that you were dispatched here because it is thought that I have failed in my duties.”

“No, that was not the reason,” Akitada said quickly. “You are in no position to investigate this murder. But let’s not waste time. I cannot remain in conference with you indefinitely before someone will take notice.”

Mutobe took a deep breath. “Yes. Sorry. It is just that I have not slept much since . . . the murder. Briefly, then: nominally, I have administrative authority over the whole province; however, the special nature of Sado as a prison for exiles of different types gives extraordinary powers to the kebiishicho , that is Wada, and the high constable, namely, Kumo.” The provincial kebiishicho was the police department run by an officer from the capital. Their original purpose had been to assist the governors in curbing the power of provincial strongmen.

In Sadoshima, this seemed to have backfired. Evidently Lieutenant Wada had allied himself with Kumo and ignored Mutobe’s wishes.

Mutobe explained, “Political exiles are generally well-behaved, but men who are sent here for piracy, robbery, and other violent crimes are another matter. There is a small garri-son to protect provincial headquarters, but the soldiers are all local men and the commandant is an elderly captain for whom the assignment was tantamount to retirement. And, of course, Kumo controls the landowners and most of the farmers.”

“Farmers are generally a peaceable lot.”

“Yes, but large landowners like Kumo are not, properly speaking, farmers. They own most of the land and therefore the wealth of Sado. Since we must maintain ourselves and the

prisoners and exiles with their families, we need their rice, and the emperor needs their silver.”

“I see. Where is your son?”

Again Mutobe’s hands twisted. “My son is in jail,” he said bitterly.

Akitada sat up. “In jail? You mean here in the provincial jail?

Is that not somewhat unusual?”

“Yes. Well, there was some thought of putting him in the stockade, but I managed to avert that. He could have given his word and been put under house arrest, but they insisted on jail-ing him like a common criminal.” Mutobe buried his face in his hands. “Every day I fear for his life. In a jail cell it is so simple to fake a suicide.”