I. Parker: Island of Exiles

And what is this poison your senile servant tried to palm off on us?”

Akitada flushed. “Just some herbal tea. It is considered very healthful. No doubt Seimei-who is my secretary, by the way-

felt that you might need a restorative after your long journey.” The short stranger turned down the corners of his mouth.

“He must be demented. Do you drink this stuff?” Akitada assured him that both he and his family had found Seimei’s teas most helpful in the past.

“Then you must be demented also.” He turned to the thin man. “I think we are wasting our time here.” Akitada was beginning to hope so, too, but the tall man shook his head. “No. I think not.” His voice was dry and he barely moved his thin lips when he spoke. “And keep in mind that we have no choice.” The other man subsided with a frown.

Somehow this was not encouraging. Akitada offered, “Shall I send for some wine instead?”

“By all means,” said the thin man, with a smile that was almost jovial. He looked at Akitada with an interest which reminded him uncomfortably of a cat eyeing a fat sparrow.

Akitada clapped his hands for Seimei. “Some wine please, Seimei.”

Seimei removed the full teacups with a little sniff but mercifully did not argue the point. When they were alone again, Akitada searched for polite words to ask who his visitors were.

“I am afraid,” he began, “that I have not had the pleasure of meeting . . . Your Excellencies in the capital.” He paused.

His visitors exchanged glances.

The short man said, “It is not necessary for you to know who we are.”

Stranger and stranger. Akitada decided that this could not have anything to do with his inadequate administration of the chaotic affairs in Echigo. Neither, sadly, did it sound as though they were bringing his release. He cleared his throat nervously.

“May I ask, then, what brings you here?” The short man said, “In due time. First we have some questions ourselves. And we have yet to be offered adequate refreshments.”

Akitada flushed. He was becoming annoyed with their rudeness and wished they would get to the point and leave.

They sat in silence until Seimei appeared with a large tray holding three small pitchers of wine and three cups. They were unmatched, badly chipped, and of the cheapest clayware. Bowing to each gentleman in turn, Seimei poured wine into a cup, presented it, and placed the small pitcher before him.

Akitada asked if there were any plum pickles left.

Shaking his head, Seimei offered, “I could slice some fresh radish from my garden.”

The short man, who had made a face when he tasted his wine, muttered, “Fresh radish? What does the fool take us for?”

Akitada bit his lip. Considering their probable rank, their rudeness to him was one thing, but he was fond of Seimei, who had been like a father to him and served him still with unfailing love and devotion. On the other hand, these men were potentially powerful and he could not afford to offend them. He said,

“I regret extremely the poor hospitality. Had we known of your arrival, we might have prepared more suitable refreshments, though this poor province has little with which to please someone like yourselves.”

The short man grunted, but the thin one raised his brows, and Akitada realized that he had not sounded at all deferential.

He fell silent again and waited.

“We have had worse wine on our journey here, Mototsune,” said the thin man thoughtfully.

The short man smirked. “Once, To .” Akitada stared at the thin man. He was not certain he had heard right. To was the title of the emperor’s two first secretaries, the highest position in the sovereign’s private office. Each held the fourth rank. How could a man of such illustrious status be sitting in his office in the ramshackle tribunal of a remote province like Echigo?

“Are you acquainted with the Second Prince?” the thin man asked him.

The question was unexpected and flustered Akitada even more, but he managed to nod. The Second Prince was really the eldest son of the late emperor and had once been crown prince and emperor-designate. But when he had been in his twenties, his father had suddenly decided to make another son by a sec-ondary empress his heir, and Okisada had become the Second Prince. Angered, he started an intrigue against his much younger half-brother, and the emperor had punished him by sending him to Kyushu. Okisada had apologized and been allowed to return to the capital to live there in powerless comfort and luxury for the next ten years. Then his father, worried about his health, had abdicated in favor of Okisada’s half-brother. One of the court nobles, a Lord Miyoshi, discovered that Okisada was involved in a plot to kill his half-brother and seize the throne. This time his punishment had been permanent exile to Sadoshima, where he had remained for the past decade.

“Well? Have you lost your voice?” the thin man demanded.

“I beg your pardon, Excellency. I was waiting for you to explain further. I know something of Prince Okisada and once, when I was a boy, I saw him in passing. He is at present living in exile on Sadoshima.”

The thin man shook his head. “Incorrect. The prince is dead. He has been murdered.”

Akitada sat up. This was extraordinary news. A murder of an imperial prince on the island of exiles? What could be going on there? Sadoshima was in the Sea of Japan, about twenty miles north of the coast of Echigo. Exile to Sadoshima was the most severe form of punishment short of execution. Only very violent or politically dangerous criminals were sent there. But what did this have to do with him?

The thin man smiled. “Ah,” he said. “I see we finally have your attention. You have the reputation of being clever at solving murders. We want you to go to Sado Island and find out what happened.”

Akitada’s eyes widened, but he shook his head. “I am sorry, Excellency, but I have no authority to leave my post. Neither do I have the power to meddle in the affairs of another province. I expect Sadoshima’s governor has already begun an investigation into the crime.”

“Pah! The investigation is tainted. The murderer is Governor Mutobe’s son.”

“What?” Akitada stared at his mysterious visitor. “Are you certain, Excellency? Or do you mean that he has only been accused of the crime?”

The thin man made an impatient gesture. “Accused, arrested, and up for trial. Apparently the prince was poisoned by some food the young man provided. The facts are not disputed.” That was a tricky situation, and Akitada was thoroughly intrigued, but he said again, “Even so, I regret that I am not able to accede to your request.”

The short man turned a deeper shade and blustered, “Must I remind you that you are nothing but a clerk in the ministry of justice on temporary assignment here?” Akitada bowed. “That is very true and I regret extremely not to be able to do as you wish. But my instructions state precisely that I am to take my orders only from my superior or a representative of the emperor.”

They looked at each other. Then the lean gentleman took some rolled-up documents from his sleeve. As he sorted through these, Akitada saw the yellow silk ribbons used for imperial documents and felt his skin crawl. The thin man looked up, saw Akitada’s expression, and smiled. He unrolled one of the yellow-ribboned papers partially and displayed the large crimson seal of the sovereign’s private office. “Do you recognize the seal?”

“Yes, Excellency.” Akitada bowed to touch his forehead to the desk. Perhaps, he thought, he should prostrate himself, but he did not quite know how to move from behind the desk and stretch out on the floor without getting up first. An imperial seal represented His Majesty, and one never stood before such an object.