I. Parker: Island of Exiles

Two of the guards took hold of the prisoner’s arms and jerked him upright. Half walking, half being dragged, he was taken from the dockside to a nearby stockade, where he was pushed into the middle of a group of other wretches huddling in the shadow of the wall. The heavy gates clanked shut, and most of the guards withdrew to a small guardhouse, except for the four or five on duty. These gathered in a shady corner near the gates, their long bows propped against the palisade, and chatted idly.

It was hot in the courtyard. The midday sun baked the gravel, and the tall stockade blocked the breeze from the ocean.

The prisoners huddled miserably around a wooden bucket. For a while no one said anything. The others looked at the newcomer with mild interest.

Taketsuna lay motionless for a few moments. Then he spat out a mouthful of blood. His eyes closed, he explored the inside of his mouth with his tongue. Thankful that no teeth seemed to be broken, he settled for a bitten tongue and split lip, opened his eyes, and struggled into a sitting position.

His eyes went slowly around, studying his fellow prisoners one by one: three huge muscular men and one little shrimp of a fellow, all as filthy and more ragged than he. Then he touched his face and winced. The side where the guard had punched him was swollen and tender to the touch, and his nose still bled a little. He dabbed at it with a sleeve and swallowed more blood.

The shrimp, who had bandaged knees and elbows, reached for the water bucket and pushed it toward him. Taketsuna nodded his thanks, dipped both hands into the warm water, and drank deeply. He was about to dip in one of his full sleeves when one of the other prisoners snatched the bucket away.

“Damn you,” he snarled, “for dirtying our drinking water with your stinking rags.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know.” The newcomer glanced across the courtyard to the well. Another bucket hung ready to be lowered.

He staggered to his feet and started toward it.

“Hey,” cried the shrimp. “Don’t do that. They’ll shoot you.” The prisoner stopped and glanced at the lounging gate guards, who seemed engrossed in a dice game. He continued to the well, when another “Hey!” louder than the first sounded behind him. Ignoring it, he lowered the bucket, filled it, and brought it up. There was a loud plonk, followed by a whirring sound. It drew his eyes to the crossbeam supporting the bucket.

An arrow stuck deep in the wood, vibrating softly. The prisoner set the bucket on the coping and began to splash the water over his face, hair, and neck. Then he washed his hands, the bloody sleeve, and the front of his robe.

A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Are you deaf?” the guard growled. “Washing is not allowed. Walking around is not allowed. Talking, shouting, and singing are not allowed. Get back with the others.” He gave the prisoner a vicious shove. Taketsuna staggered, then returned to his assigned spot, where he sat down and wrung out his sleeve.

The others were whispering together. One of the big men missed an eye. He said, “Don’t bother. He must be deaf. You saw what happened.”

“I’m not deaf,” said the new prisoner.

They gaped at him. The man with the crippled leg asked,

“Then why did you go to the well? Jisei warned you. You’re lucky the guard didn’t shoot you.”

“I wished to wash.”

Silence, as they looked at each other. “He wished to wash,” said the cripple, and laughed.

“Aren’t you afraid to die?” the small man with the bandaged knees and arms wanted to know.

“Very much. But I didn’t think they would shoot a man for washing his face.”

“Hah!” muttered the one-eyed fellow. They all shared a bitter laugh at the newcomer’s innocence. “What’s your name?” the small man asked.

“Yoshimine Taketsuna.”

The shrimp’s eyes grew round. “Two names. A gentleman.

No wonder you act like you own the place. How come they sent you here?”

“I killed someone.”

“Ah!” They looked at each other and nodded understanding.

Introductions followed. The small man with the bandages was Jisei; he had just returned from a work detail digging tunnels deep into the earth and bringing out rocks. His knees and elbows had become infected after a year’s crawling on all fours.

“I’ll be reassigned now,” he told Taketsuna importantly. “Maybe I’ll even get to go home.” He looked away, across the top of the stockade, a dreamy smile on his lined face.

Haseo, a huge burly man, spat. The others introduced him; apparently he rarely spoke himself and appeared to take little interest in the conversation. They only knew his name and imagined that he, too, must be a convicted killer. Haseo did not correct them.

They passed the long hot afternoon in desultory conversation interspersed with naps.

The two big fellows, one crippled with a badly set leg, the other one-eyed, were pirates, Kumaso and Yoshi. They passed the time telling of adventure at sea, of stolen treasure, monsters of the deep, and apparitions of floating fairies. According to Jisei, they also had an uncanny talent for predicting the weather.

Jisei, the shrimp, had been on Sadoshima longest, having been sent here for stealing a golden scepter from the hand of a temple statue.

All of them awaited reassignment, though none was as optimistic as Jisei. They expected to be put to work building roads, digging irrigation canals, building stockades, or repairing public buildings.

Taketsuna wanted to ask about Jisei’s strange tunneling when shouts sounded outside the gate. The guards rushed to throw open both sides of the double gate and stood to attention. A contingent of uniformed runners entered at a trot, carrying the banner of the governor of Sado. His Excellency followed on a fine horse, and more runners brought up the rear. “Make room for the governor!” shouted the frontrun-ners in unison, and the prisoners immediately prostrated themselves.

All but one, that is. Taketsuna wanted a good look at the man who ruled this island in the emperor’s name. The governor was an elderly man with a clean-shaven, intelligent face and eyes which roamed around the yard until they found the prisoners. For a moment he locked eyes with Taketsuna, then the new prisoner quickly prostrated himself with the rest. He had seen the expression on the other man’s face and wondered if he looked worse than he felt.

The governor’s visit was short and did not seem to concern the prisoners. The great man and his escort left after only the briefest stop in the guardhouse.

This was not the only excitement of the day, for an hour later there was another shout outside the gate. This time the guards were in no rush to admit the visitor. They exchanged some unintelligible words with someone outside and finally cracked the gate grudgingly to admit a fat man in the black robe of a minor official. He was followed by a ragged youngster with a bamboo case.

The fat man also cast a glance toward the prisoners and then waddled to the guardhouse.

“That’s the doctor,” Jisei informed Taketsuna. “Hope he looks at my knees. They been getting worse. What do you think?” Jisei lifted one of the stained rags around his knees.

Taketsuna looked and averted his eyes. A huge area of swollen, dirt-encrusted flesh, ringed by angry purplish red skin, oozed a bloody liquid and yellow pus. If Jisei did not get some medical attention soon, he would get a fever and die from the infection.

Moments later, one of the guards emerged from the guardhouse and strode briskly toward the prisoners. Jisei scrambled to his feet.

But the guard’s eye was on Taketsuna. “You,” he barked. “Get up. You’re to see the doctor.”

Taketsuna rose and followed him into the building, past disinterested guards, and into the far corner of the open space, where two screens of woven bamboo had been set up to create some privacy. The arrangement astonished the prisoner, but he was grateful for it. His present condition was still so novel that he found it difficult to put aside past habits of modesty.