I. Parker - Death on an Autumn River

*

He came half-awake to swaying and bobbing motions. He was wet, and there were strange noises, scraping of wood, splashing of water, rhythmic breathing. The back of his head hurt abominably, and he turned it a little. Nausea rose. He retched, then vomited and vomited again. This woke him completely. Still retching, he tried to sit up and failed because he was trussed up tightly, his feet tied together and his arms caught under loops of rope that passed around his chest. Above him was a dark and hazy sky. It was dawn or dusk-he did not know which- and when he moved his sore head a little, he made out the backs of four men rowing. They were in a boat, and all around was gray mist and black water.

It made no sense.

The boat hit a larger wave, rose up and plunged back down, and Tora’s head bounced against the bottom of the boat with such force that he passed out again.

He came round next because he was being manhandled into an upright position. He heard grunts and curses and felt rough hands on his body. Someone above him shouted, “Hurry up, you lazy bastards.”

He was still tied up but instinctively kicked out against the men who had hold of him. There were more curses and ringing slap to his head that made him see stars where there should not have been any, and then the bonds tightened around his chest, the hands fell away, and he rose up into the air, pulled by a rope attached to his back. It was daylight. As he swung, he saw first the side of a ship and then the open water and men in a boat below. And when he looked up, there were, against the pale sky, the outlines of dark heads peering down at him. Like a pendulum, he swung and rose, sometimes out over the angry waves below him, sometimes painfully against the rough timbers of the ship’s bow.

They dragged him over the side and let him drop. He vomited again and was kicked in the chest. Some time passed in a haze of misery. His face was raw from scraping against the ship, his head hurt like blazes, and he was dizzy. The kick to his chest might have broken a rib, he thought. There was an excruciating stab of pain whenever the ship rolled or he took a deep breath.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on taking shallow breaths and waited, feeling wretched. And always, there was the question: Why was he here? What did they want with him?

Ship’s noises. Men running about, shouting. Things like “Pull hard,” “Make fast,” “Heave”. Bare legs and feet scampered past his bleary eyes. He heard rattling, creaking, heavy breathing, curses, and a wet flapping sound. The wooden boards he lay on shifted, rose, and fell, and the rolling of the ship made him sick again.

After several more bouts of vomiting, he found that the rushing about had stopped. He turned his head to look. He was lying amidships near the railing. Across from him was a roofed cabin, and above two huge dark sails rose into the blue sky. Ropes fastened these to the front, back, and sides of the ship. The flapping sound came from these sails. Up ahead, four men stood in line, pushing long oars. As he looked at them, one began a rhythmic chant, hai , hai , hai , hai , with every stroke of the long oar. The others joined in one by one. The ship moved less sluggishly and with more purpose.

They were on their way. The ship was taking him away from land, from help, from any chance of being rescued or escaping. Already, the huge sails were filling as they caught a breeze.

He struggled into a more upright position and twisted his body to look back. A fierce pain in his side made him gasp and close his eyes. When the pain ebbed a little, he peered through the railing. He was not in a good place for seeing the land, and he dared not twist any more. As it was, he saw a sliver of the coast with some houses, and a ship or two. It was not enough to know where he was, but he guessed the houses belonged to Kawajiri or a neighboring village.

He had been knocked out and abducted by the men on this ship. If there was any mercy in his situation, it was the fact that they were much too busy to bother with him. But this was a temporary relief. In the moments of the ship’s departure, as the men had been running about on deck, he had seen a writhing dragon tattooed on one of the sturdy thighs.

It seemed a lot of trouble to go to for revenge.

Tora was reasonably sure he was on board a pirate ship. Dragon Tattoo would see to it that he could not talk himself out of his present dilemma by offering to become a pirate. He searched his mind for the man’s name. Toji? No, Tojo. At least that was the name the bastard had given at the hostel.

Tora scooted his bound body slowly and painfully against the side of the ship and leaned against the boards.

Nausea returned and dizziness joined it. Not seasickness, he thought, but the knock on his head. The back of his skull hurt badly enough to signal a crack. And there was blood, too. He could smell it. It had soaked into the back of shirt and jacket and stiffened. The rest of him was wet. They must have dragged him through water to get him into the boat.

They had taken his sword. No surprise there, but he had liked that weapon. It was short, but it had fit his hand perfectly, and its weight had been light enough for some clever wrist work. He mourned his sword for a while, breathed carefully, and watched the sailors at their work. Most seemed his own age, with some youngsters mixed in. Altogether, he counted eighteen men and boys, plus the helmsman. There might be more in the cabin and below deck, but he doubted it. The ship was quite large and had two masts with huge square sails. The helmsman at the rudder, issuing orders was probably the captain.

They were leaving the port of Kawajiri and heading out into the Bay of Naniwa-he assumed that was where they were-and this appeared to be tricky work. Where were they headed? The farther they got from the coast, the less likely it was that he could escape. He strained against his bonds. In vain. It was already too late. If and when they made landfall and he escaped, it would take him many days to return to Naniwa.

What would his master do? Would he worry and put himself in danger to find him? Of course, he would.

Bitter recriminations occupied him next: How could he have been so careless? That screaming female had been a decoy to lure him out of his room, and he had fallen for it like a mere novice. But why all this effort? It did not make sense that Dragon Tattoo would carry his revenge this far and get his shipmates to help him. Why not just beat him up or kill him behind the hostel?

He found no answer and turned his mind to how they had worked it. Kunimitsu must have sold him out. Maybe Kunimitsu had offered him up to Dragon Tattoo as an apology for having cheated him at dice. They had all been scared enough of the bastard. And most likely they had been scared because they had known that Dragon Tattoo was one of the pirates, and his companions would return with him to take care of Kunimitsu and his buddies. Add that they could not call on the police to protect them because of the gambling. It was likely that Kunimitsu had had dealings with pirates before.

At this point Tora dozed off.

He woke to a sudden, sharp pain to his injured chest and roared. Dragon Tattoo loomed above him, his foot still in the air. He grinned malevolently. The bastard had kicked him. Tora sucked in his breath and steeled himself for more. The pirate’s grin was spoiled by a fresh gap in his front teeth. Tora took some satisfaction from that.

But no other blows fell.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Tora croaked.

“It’s not what I did , scum. It’s what I’m going do,” said Dragon Tattoo, baring his missing teeth again. “You’ll be talking to my chief, and when he’s done with you, you die.”