I. Parker - Death on an Autumn River

Akitada said angrily, “Nothing again!” and got to his feet. “I want you back in Naniwa instructing the local police to give me assistance as I need it. Nakahara will investigate his own staff, and you will prepare for me information about anyone in your district who has known ties to current or former pirates. That includes men who do business with the captains and fishermen who ply the Inland Sea.”

“But . . .” started Munata when the door opened abruptly and a tall young man burst in. “Uncle Koretoki -” He stopped, blinked, and muttered, “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t know you have a guest.” Her made a jerky movement toward the door, then stopped and stood at a loss.

Munata looked frustrated but controlled himself. “Lord Sugawara, allow me to present Oga Yoshiyo.”

Akitada’s eyebrows rose. The young man turned, made a quick bow, and stared at Akitada blankly. He looked unnaturally pale, and Akitada wondered if he was ill.

“Oga?” he asked. “Any relation to the governor?”

“Alas, I’m his son,” said the young man. “And I wish I’d never been born.”

“Please, Yoshiyo,” cried the prefect. “Not here and now.”

Taken aback, Akitada looked at the young man more closely. The bond between Munata and the governor evidently involved their families. Oga Yoshiyo was handsome for all his pallor and listlessness. He guessed the youngster was eighteen or nineteen years old. “Are you related to the prefect also?” he asked, trying to find out just how close the relationship was between governor and prefect.

The youth blinked and said, “ Oh, no !” so emphatically that Akitada’s brows shot up again.

Munata flushed and explained. “I’ve known His Excellency’s children since they were small. They are frequent guests here and do me the honor of calling me ‘uncle’.”

The governor’s son did not smile. He seemed irritated with the delay and said, “I came to inform you that I’m leaving. You may tell my father whatever you wish.”

Munata started to his feet. “Wait, Yoshiyo. Just wait another day. I promised your father -”

“No! We’ve said all there is to say.” Yoshiyo turned on his heel and stormed out.

Munata stood for a moment, then he murmured, “Forgive me. I must stop the young fool,” and rushed after him.

As he listened to Munata’s shouts until they receded, Akitada thought of Sadenari, who was about the same age as the governor’s son. The young were often rash and foolish. But the Miyoshis did not have the money and connections of the Ogas, and Sadenari’s foolishness could not be curbed like young Oga’s. The poor paid with their lives for mistakes. He shivered and felt the familiar anger at those who enriched themselves illegally at the cost of the throne and the rest of the country. In the larger scheme of things, he, too, would perish if he made a “foolish” mistake in this investigation. Men of power, like the ruling Fujiwara clan, or like Oga and Munata, yes, even such men as the wealthy merchant Watamaro, would crush him if he threatened their positions.

And yet he kept risking his life, his career, and now also his family. Was that courage and a desire for justice? Or was it mere stubbornness, a selfish wish to satisfy his own desires? What about Tamako and his little daughter? Would they want him to play the hero at all costs?

What would Seimei have advised?

Munata returned, looking agitated. He echoed some of Akitada’s thoughts. “I beg your pardon, but the young man is very upset, and I feel responsible for his actions while he’s here. When a young man is disappointed in love, he loses all common sense and may do himself or someone else harm.” He sat down, then jumped up again. “I must send people after him. The heavens know where he’s off to. His father will be angry.” He gave Akitada a pleading look.

It was not clear whether such anger would be directed at Munata or the young man, but Akitada decided that the governor’s family affairs were none of his business. Getting to his feet, he reminded Munata of his instructions and took his leave.

It was well past the hour of the midday rice when he reached the city, and he was very hungry. He had not been offered a meal by Munata, proof of how distracted the man had been. It had not been Akitada’s visit that had upset him most, but rather the governor’s son. And that proved that orders from the Fujiwara minister counted for less than the power of the governor of Settsu.

As Tora walked to the Naniwa waterfront, he got the peculiar feeling that he was being followed. A sudden turn to scan the street revealed nothing but harmless activity. No one paid any attention to him, and yet he felt it again a little later when he bought boat passage to Kawajiri-that sense that someone’s eyes were drilling holes into his back. He swung around and thought this time he saw a man’s back disappearing into an alley. Tora ran to check the alley, but only a scarecrow of a beggar was rifling through garbage for something to eat. He put it from his mind as a case of nerves.

The regular passenger boat took him swiftly and uneventfully to Kawajiri. Like Akitada, Tora was greatly impressed with the large ships docking and the sight of more ships at anchor in the bay. Unlike his master, he postponed sightseeing. He chose a narrow street leading to a district of small shops and poor shacks. It thronged with sailors and laborers. Cheap prostitutes leaned from windows even at this early hour.

Tora discovered what he was looking for within a block of the harbor. Squeezed between two larger buildings was a tiny shop that sold used clothing. He ducked in under the low lintel and found himself in a sort of cave where the walls and ceiling were made of clothing draped over beams, ropes, and racks. In the tiny open space sat a tiny woman sewing. She had a wrinkled face and her hair cut short like a nun’s. Peering up at him, she asked, “What will it be, handsome?”

The light was dim. Tora let his eyes adjust a little. Recalling what his master had said about the poor needing to make a living, he smiled at her. She smiled back.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

Her eyes twinkled. “What did you steal? Let me see it.”

“What? Do I look like a thief?”

“Maybe not, but you’d be surprised what people walk in here with stolen goods. Gamblers will stop at nothing.” She added glumly, “There ought to be a special hell for them,”

He crouched down. “This is legitimate business, auntie. I’m being followed and I need to throw them off my trail. For that I need to change clothes. I’ll pay you for the outfit, but I want you to keep my own clothes for me until I pick them up. Will you do that and not tell anyone?”

She stuck her needle into the woman’s robe she had been mending. “How exciting! Who’s been following you? Some girl who’s fallen for your looks? Or maybe her husband or brother?”

He laughed. “No, nothing so romantic. Find me some clothes that a man would wear who’s down on his luck.”

She cocked her head. “Plenty of those around,” she said, getting to her feet. She felt Tora’s robe. “Nice. I could get some money for this. The boots, too. And the sword. You sure you don’t want to sell?”

“I’m sure, and I’ll keep the sword. Where can I change?”

She pushed aside a curtain of clothing and revealed a narrow space between it and another line of robes, coats, and trousers. “As private as you could wish,” she said. “Is your business dangerous? Is that why you carry the sword?”

“Too many questions. Let me see what you have.”

She disappeared among her curtains of clothing. Tora sniffed stale air mixed with the smell of dirt and garbage.