I. Parker - Island of Exiles

“What are you doing out on the streets this time of night?” Tora asked the boy.

“Mom sent me. I’ve been looking for you for hours. She says to come home right away. Little Flower’s in some sort of trouble.” Tora cursed roundly. “Go tell your mother I haven’t got time to go chasing all over town because of some stupid woman.” Turtle looked shocked. He said, “Oyoshi won’t like it. She’s taken to that girl. We’d better go see what happened. It’s not far.” Tora gritted his teeth, but gave in. He hoped Ikugoro would not find Wada right away.

They found Oyoshi pacing up and down by a cold hearth to keep herself warm in the frigid drafts that whistled through the cracks. “There you are,” she cried when she saw Tora. “Where have you been? I’ve been going out of my mind with worry. It’s been hours. He’s probably killed her by now.”

“What did she do?” asked Tora, glowering.

Oyoshi wrung her hands. “Oh, the stupid girl. But it’s all your fault. Men!”

Tora clenched his fists to keep from strangling her. Turtle gave him a worried glance and told his sister, “The officer is an honored guest in your house, sister. You should not speak to him this way.”

Oyoshi flushed and bowed. “Oh, sorry. It’s the worry. Please forgive what I said, sir. It was very improper. Especially when you have been so generous.”

“Forget it and get on with the story,” Tora ground out.

“After you and my brother left, Little Flower came to me, all dressed up for work. She said she was going to the Golden Phoenix to meet that bastard Wada and to tell you so you could catch him. Oh, dear. It was such a long time ago. You must go immediately. The fool! She wanted to help you.” Tora turned on his heel and headed out the door, his face grim and his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Come on,” he flung over his shoulder to Turtle. But on the street, he came to a halt.

“No. Go back in and get my things,” he said. Digging in his sash, he passed a handful of money to Turtle. “Then run to the post station outside town and hire three horses. Bring the horses to the shrine behind the Golden Phoenix and wait for me.” A party was in full swing at the Golden Phoenix. Lights blazed in the main house, ribald songs and shrill laughter of women came from inside, and a drunk vomited into the gutter near the entrance. Tora, grateful that his clothes were dark, slipped past him into the garden. Someone had thoughtfully lit an oil lamp in a stone lantern marking the path to the cottage.

It was occupied. Dim lights glimmered behind the closed shutters.

Taking off his boots, Tora climbed the steps in his bare feet, testing each before he put his weight on it. Outside the door he paused and listened. At first he thought nothing had happened yet, but then he heard a soft moan, followed by a male murmur and a rich chuckle that sent chills down his spine.

He stretched out his hand to fling open the door, when common sense reminded him that a woman’s moan might denote pleasure as well as pain, and that someone else might have rented the cottage after all. He could hardly burst in on a pair of strangers without causing trouble.

He crept toward the nearest shuttered window, crouched down, and peered through a chink. A narrow field of vision showed only the naked leg and bare buttock of a man standing upright. Just beyond the muscular leg was another, paler, and more slender leg of a woman. But the legs might belong to anyone.

There was another moan. What were they doing? Making love standing up? Why not? He had done it himself.

Tora was about to rise a little to look for another chink when he saw a thin red line creeping down the woman’s leg. A second joined it before he realized that what he saw was blood.

He freed his sword and was at the door in an instant. It was locked. With a roar of rage and frustration, he stepped back and threw himself at it. The wood splintered and gave with a crash, and Tora burst into the room.

He took in the scene at a glance. Wada, also with a short sword in his hand, pulled away from Little Flower, who was leaning against one of the pillars. Both were naked and their bodies were crimson with blood.

A second glance showed why. Wada had been cutting Little Flower’s breasts and belly with the sharp blade of his sword. She was covered with crisscrossing cuts, not deep enough to kill but enough to cover her and Wada with blood. When she saw Tora, she gave a little sob and sagged against the ropes that tied her wrists behind the pillar.

Wada cursed viciously, his face distorted with fury, and came for Tora with his bloody sword.

Tora, tall and athletic, had been rigorously active all of his life. Wada was shorter, older, and had gone soft about the middle from too much good living and debauchery. It should have been easy. Tora stepped aside, thinking to disarm the man in one swift, smooth movement. But Wada, for all his years of bad living, had one advantage. Unlike Tora, he had been trained by a master in the military arts, and his use of the sword had become instinctive.

Thus Wada corrected instantly and slashed at Tora’s belly so quickly that only Tora’s alertness and youth allowed him to twist aside in time. He bit his lip and concentrated on blocking Wada’s blade, which seemed to come at him from all directions.

The man’s technique was far superior to his own, and he could only count on the fact that Wada’s fury would cause him to make a mistake sooner or later. And even then, he could not kill the man. Everything depended on his taking Wada alive.

In the end, it was neither Wada’s superior swordsmanship nor Tora’s cool deliberation that ended the fight. Part of the broken door separated from its frame and fell; Wada dodged, stepped into some of Little Flower’s blood, and slipped, sinking momentarily to one knee. Tora moved forward instantly, hitting Wada’s sword arm hard with the flat side of his blade and disarming him.

Wada’s sword skittered into a corner, and Wada clutched his arm, doubling up in pain. Tora dropped his sword, then bent and raised Wada’s head by its topknot. “You’re finished, bastard,” he hissed, and struck him full in the face with his fist.

Blood spurted from Wada’s nose and mouth and he passed out.

Taking up his sword again, Tora went to Little Flower and cut her loose. She collapsed into his arms, whimpering softly.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” he scolded. “He might’ve killed you.”

She gulped and mumbled, “I thought you’d never come. He started cutting deep when I told him about you.” She was clinging to him, and he thought he felt blood seeping through his robe. “Why did you tell him?” he asked.

“I was afraid. When he used his sword on me, I thought he’d kill me, so I told him I left a message for someone. He wanted to know who and kept cutting me until I told him. Then he got really angry. He called me a cheating whore and said he’d watch me bleed to death and . . . and . . .” She sagged abruptly and Tora laid her down on the mat, so recently cleaned by the old woman and now covered with gore beyond repair. Little Flower had many cuts, all of them bleeding, but two or three looked ugly. He snatched her thin undergown from the pile of clothing and, tearing it, pressed the fabric to the worst wounds, wondering what to do next. He could hardly call for help with Wada lying there unconscious.

He was still crouching over the unconscious Little Flower, both hands pressing fabric to her wounds, when he heard steps outside. Heavy male boots, and at least three pairs.

He twisted around just in time to see Wada on all fours crawling toward his sword. Then the broken door flew back and the brawny figures of Wada’s constables appeared on the threshold, Sergeant Ikugoro in the lead and evidently bent on delivering Tora’s message.