I. Parker: Island of Exiles

“Damn you to hell!” Toshito spat. “How dare you call me a traitor? You ran like the coward you are, leaving two helpless women to the attentions of . . . soldiers, low creatures without principle.” He waved at the bodies which still lay about the courtyard and had attracted a small crowd of jabbering villagers.

Akitada bit his lip and said again, “I am sorry. It was a mistake.”

Mutobe stepped between them. “Toshito,” he said sharply,

“you forget yourself. Lord Sugawara is under imperial orders and has done us a great service. Apologize.” His son compressed his lips and glared.

Yamada asked, “Do you really think they hurt the women?” Suddenly Akitada had had enough. He told Mutobe coldly,

“Tell your son to take the sedan chair and some of the men to bring the ladies here. Meanwhile, there are other matters to discuss. Inside. It is hot out here and stinks of blood.” The farmer, his wife, and several female relatives or maids prostrated themselves when they entered the house. Mutobe demanded use of their main room, and a place for them to wash themselves. Akitada was grateful for the last, for the clothes he had borrowed from Tora were stiff with drying blood, and his skin and scalp itched under layers of sweat and filth.

One of the women brought a large bowl of water and hemp cloth for drying, but he asked for the well. There he stripped and poured bucket after bucket of clean water over himself, scrubbing his face, beard, hair, and body until he felt clean again. Someone brought him a silk robe-one of the governor’s, to judge by its quality and size-and he ran his fingers through his hair and twisted it up into a topknot. When he went back into the house, Mutobe and Yamada both looked relieved at his changed appearance.

“Have some of this wine,” offered Mutobe. “It is only ordinary, but it will give you some strength.”

Strength. Yes, he could use that. The cold water had temporarily dispelled his exhaustion, but now he sank down on the wooden planks of the farmer’s best room and gulped the rough wine gratefully.

Yamada and Mutobe watched him expectantly, too polite to burst into excited questions, but clearly hopeful that the wine would loosen his tongue.

Akitada’s first thought was Haseo. “What has been done about my friend’s body?”

“He will be taken back to Mano,” said Mutobe quickly. “My men are building a stretcher. I hope that is satisfactory?” Akitada nodded. “Where is Tora?”

“Your lieutenant suddenly recalled having left some people behind. He took horses to get them.” Akitada had forgotten the wretched Wada and the strange little man with the crippled leg. “One of the men he left behind is the police official Wada,” he told the governor. “I assume you know him?”

Mutobe made a face. “Er. Yes. Not perhaps what one could wish. There have been some complaints.”

“You have, of course, investigated them?” Akitada asked.

Mutobe flushed. “Why? Even if they proved true, what would you have me do about it?”

Akitada snapped, “Well, he could receive a reprimand and warning. Or he could be arrested and tried and sent to jail. Or he could be sent back to the capital as unsuitable. I gather you took none of these options. Wada was working for Kumo when he waylaid me. He had me beaten half to death by his constables, and when Kumo interfered he took me to a gold mine where I was left to die.”

The two men stared at him.

“A gold mine?” asked Mutobe.

“My mistake. I meant to say silver mine.”

“Terrible,” cried Yamada. “My dear Taketsuna, I wish I had known. Oh, dear! Forgive me. Lord Sugawara, I mean. You will have to do something about that man, Governor.” Mutobe stiffened his back. “Certainly. I will have him arrested immediately. I had no idea. Up until now there were just a few concerns about his rough treatment of criminals and vagrants or prostitutes. . . .” Seeing Akitada’s expression, he flushed again. “Well. I tried to discipline him, but Kumo stepped in to stop me. Then this business with Toshito happened.” He faltered miserably. An uncomfortable silence fell.

Mutobe asked diffidently, “I trust we can settle my son’s affairs once and for all now, my lord? It was suicide, not murder?” Akitada did not think much of the way Mutobe had carried out his duties, but there were extenuating circumstances. At least now that his son’s name would be cleared, the man should have the time to tend to business, and Akitada needed his cooperation. He started to explain Okisada’s death when he had second thoughts.

From what everyone had said about fugu poison, such a death was painful. Would a spoiled prince like Okisada really choose this method to end his life? Especially when his reason was to avoid the pain of a stomach disorder? How ill had Okisada really been? He had been well enough to travel and attend the gathering at Professor Sakamoto’s house. And had not his fellow conspirators, with the exception of the alcoholic professor, been rather complacent about his death and the failure of their enterprise? Only the professor had been truly upset. And perhaps Shunsei. The monk’s faith in his beloved’s achieving Buddhahood might have overcome his grief. But Kumo, Taira, and the physician had only been concerned with getting young Mutobe convicted.

And then there were Kumo’s strange final words. Something about making a sacrifice for his emperor.

Mutobe cleared his throat. “May I ask, my lord, what it is that you found out?”

Akitada was spared an answer. From outside came the sound of voices, and then the door flew open and revealed one of Mutobe’s men trying to bar Tora’s way.

“Let him in!” Akitada snapped.

Mutobe gave him a reproachful glance and nodded to his guard. The small incident reminded Akitada of his awkward position. He no longer had his imperial orders and had to depend on Mutobe’s cooperation.

Tora looked slightly shaken. He bowed to them, then addressed Akitada. “I went back for Turtle and that swine Wada.” Akitada nodded. “I hope you tied up Wada. He is under arrest.”

Tora shook his head. “He’s dead, sir.” Akitada gave him a sharp look. “How?” Tora hesitated. “Er, it wasn’t me, sir. I found him dead when I got there, sir. Turtle claims the soldiers did it.”

“Nonsense! We would have seen them stop. Kumo was in such a hurry to catch up with us that he did not bother to slow down.” Akitada frowned. And that was strange. Wada must have been dead already or unconscious, or he would surely have cried out to Kumo. Getting to his feet, he said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I think I’ll have a word with my lieutenant’s servant.

Come, Tora.”

Outside, he found a grinning and whistling Turtle holding the reins of the three horses. One of them had the corpse of Wada slung over its saddle. Blood dripped slowly into the dust. Akitada lifted the dead man’s head and saw that his throat had been slit. It did not look like a sword wound, and his eyes went to the servant’s waist. There was a bulge under his jacket.

“Show me your knife!” he ordered.

The smug expression on the small cripple’s face changed to unease. After a moment, he reached into his jacket and produced a small, sharp knife.

Akitada inspected it. The blade was clean, but traces of blood still clung to the joint between blade and hilt. “Did he give you trouble?” he asked mildly, gesturing toward the corpse.

A nod and a small cringing wiggle were his answer.

“You thought he might alert the soldiers?” Akitada was rewarded with a more energetic nod and a tentative grin.

“That took courage. The soldiers might have caught you.” Turtle cried, “I was quick, your honor. He was sitting up and looking at the soldiers coming toward us. I could tell he was glad to see them. I pulled my knife and reached around him like so.” He gestured vividly. “Then I jumped behind a bush like my master told me to.” Turtle straightened his shoulders proudly and gave Tora a wide smile. When Tora remained impassive, Turtle turned back to Akitada. “I did right, didn’t I, your honor?”