I. Parker: Death on an Autumn River

The sun was past its zenith, and his back was stiff when it struck him that Sadenari had not yet returned. He got up to stretch. Really, he must send the youth back in disgrace and request a replacement. Angrily, he strode down the hallway to Nakahara’s office. Nakahara was dictating to Tameaki while the other clerk, Yuki, sat nearby transcribing something.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Akitada said, “but I’m still looking for my clerk. I was told that he left early this morning with, er, Yuki. And I see Yuki has returned.”

The friendly Yuki jumped up and bowed. “Sadenari only required my help for a little while. Once I had explained about the harbors and how to get to Kawajiri, he said he was able to handle his assignment alone and sent me back.”

“Kawajiri? Assignment?” Akitada asked blankly, getting a hollow feeling in his stomach.

“He wished to gather information about the pirates, sir. I told him about the docks and the wine shops frequented by sailors.”

Nakahara cleared his throat. “Was that entirely wise, Yuki? There are some very rough characters on the waterfront.”

Tameaki sniggered.

Yuki looked at Akitada uneasily. “He insisted he was acting under your instructions, sir. I tried to be helpful. I hope I haven’t done wrong.”

Tameaki said snidely, “And Yuki is very knowledgeable about those low places. Sadenari asked my help also, but I left it to Yuki’s expertise to give him assistance.”

Akitada found his tongue. “Thank you. There may have been a misunderstanding. I’d better go after him.”

Yuki cried, “Oh, allow me, sir. That is, if Director Nakahara can spare me?”

Nakahara said, “Of course.”

But Akitada was already heading for the door. “No, thank you. We have taken up too much of your time. I understand it isn’t far. I believe I shall manage. No doubt we’ll both be back by nightfall.”

To avoid further argument, he left quickly. He did not want witnesses to the dressing-down he intended to give Sadenari before packing him off on the next homeward-bound boat.

*

Down at the dock, he found a boatman eager to take him to Kawajiri. Once the fee was agreed upon, he went about his business of poling them along efficiently enough, but because the labor was hard for one man, he was disinclined for conversation.

The journey took them along several canals through a flat landscape of reeds, marshes, and swamps. The reeds were tall and golden this time of year. Akitada gazed at this confusing watery world and felt out of his depth. People engaged in the water trade lived here in this warren of marshes, small islands, sandbanks, and fishermen’s huts hidden deep in the reed beds. They navigated the obscure waterways the way farmers knew the tracks and byways of their villages. They were desperately poor people, the men working as sailors or fishermen. It was likely that poverty drove them to piracy and prostitution. Piracy was the local equivalent of highway robbery. Pirates attacked the big ships in the open waters of Naniwa Bay and the Inland Sea beyond, and then hurried back into their hideaways. Still, no desperately poor man could afford a ship. Someone was financing the attacks.

Here and there on a river bank, a group of fishermen’s huts appeared and disappeared. Once he saw that the land rose in the distance, and ordinary farm houses appeared on higher ground, shaded by groves of trees. Then the landscape changed. The waterway widened and bridges crossed it. There were more boats boat and barges.

Sweat poured off the boatman’s back as he maneuvered expertly between other vessels. Buildings crept closer to the shores, and in the distance pagodas above roofs. Before Akitada’s eyes, the scene opened up to the bay again. Many large ships lay at anchor, their square sails white against the immense blue of sea and sky.

Lumber yards encroached on the shoreline. Barges carried boards and beams, and large rafts of tree trunks, tied together with vines or hemp ropes, bobbed on the river.

In the harbor, several large ships were tied up at docks. On land, warehouses stood in rows, many more than in Naniwa, also built on tall stilts to protect the goods from storm tides. A steady flow of porters went between them and the docks, loading or unloading cargo.

Akitada felt a surge of pride at the sight of so much healthy commerce. His was a great nation, and his people were surely the most industrious on this earth.

Goods used by the court, fine utensils and art works displayed in the great temples, the sustenance of nobles and commoners came this way. Kawajiri was the end of the sea route from Kyushu and the western provinces. Tribute and tax goods, as well as goods and people from foreign countries sailed across the waters of the Inland Sea to this place.

When he set him ashore, his boatman looked exhausted. Akitada paid him with the agreed upon government token and a handful of coins from his own funds. The man bowed deeply and raised his hands to his forehead, then jumped back into his boat to pick up another customer for the return trip. Akitada looked after him and marveled at how hard the man worked for a few coins.

He walked along the crowded harbor, stopping from time to time to ask if anyone had seen Sadenari. Not surprisingly, he had no luck at all. One of the ships had the colorful name Black Dragon and a painted carving of a black dragon with red eyes, white teeth, and red flames shooting from its body at its bow. He admired more ships with names like Great Phoenix, Flying Crane, Cloud Falcon, and Curling Wave. Sailors had poetic souls, it seemed, but he detected signs of hostility whenever he asked his question. Tora would have handled this better. Akitada felt humble.

When he had his fill of the smells of tar and fish and the often incomprehensible language, he turned inland. Bales and cases were stacked along the docks, and two-wheeled carts waited to be loaded. The warehouses stood in enclosures, no doubt for security. He noted watchmen and red-coated police at the open gates. Clearly, theft was much easier before the ship reached this port.

“Who owns all the warehouses?” he asked a porter, who stood waiting beside his cart.

“The ones with the flags belong to the emperor,” he said in a broad dialect. “It’s part of the palace storehouses. The others are mostly Master Watamaro’s or belong to temples.”

“Watamaro? He must be a rich man if he owns so much.”

The man rolled his eyes. “He’s very rich. Richer than the emperor maybe, but a lot more generous to the poor.”

Akitada was taken aback by the comparison but let it go. It was past the time of the midday rice and his stomach growled. Turning his back on the harbor, he took one of the narrow streets beside the customs house. It led into town and was crowded with signs and paper lanterns belonging to small wine shops and eating places. They were much smaller and more modest than the crab restaurant Nakahara had taken him to, but Akitada was ravenous. He chose a restaurant that seemed busier than the rest, perhaps because of the delectable smell of fried fish and a sign that promised “delicacies to make the gods smile”.

Inside, he found a wooden platform extending toward the back where a fat cook dipped into a large cauldron for golden nuggets of fish. Nobody seemed to mind the heat. A number of guests sat near the open doors singly or in small groups. They looked like small tradesmen and travellers. He threaded his way past them and found an open space where a slight breeze from the doorway made the heat seem less oppressive. It was too warm for comfort, and the smells coming from the cauldron made him slightly nauseous .

A waitress came with wine and recited a selection of seafood. Akitada turned down the wine with a shudder and asked for something simple, soup for example. The waitress frowned but said they had noodle soup with fish and vegetables. Good enough.