I. Parker - Death on an Autumn River

“Yes, in Kawajiri. The pirates have a hideout on a small island. It has no name, but it’s past Azukishima. I think they took Tora there.”

“That hideout is common knowledge in Kawajiri?”

“No. I have a friend who owes me a favor.”

It sounded very dubious, but Akitada could not afford to brush the ugly man off again. “What else did this friend tell you?”

“Very little. He thinks they were making a delivery in Kawajiri but doesn’t know or won’t say to whom.”

Akitada studied the ugly creature across from him. It was human nature to link a repulsive appearance with an evil character. Tora must have taken him for a demon. Yes, that was probably the reason why he had not heeded the warning. It tended to prove that the man was telling the truth. He asked, “What do you want for your information?”

The man looked down at his empty bowl and shook his head. “You owe me nothing,” he said. Then he looked up. “Did you get the amulet?”

“Yes. Thank you. Very clever.” No point in asking where he got it. Why he had returned it was puzzling, though. “Why are you doing this? Why are you following us around? Nobody goes to this much trouble for nothing.”

“Since I have no work, I must hope to earn my food with small services of this kind. Following people and asking questions are the only things I know. And you seemed to require information.”

Akitada made up his mind. “Very well. You can work for me until we find Tora. What’s your name?”

The smile was a little sad. “It’s still Saburo.”

“Come along then. We must find a way to get Tora back.”

Easier said than done. He had an offer of armed men from the prefect, but Akitada could not go to him. The same was true of the governor, even if he had returned by now. That left Watamaro. Everything depended on the merchant now. He had the ships, and had offered his help before.

After asking questions in the harbor, they found him in one of his warehouses. It dated back to the time when Naniwa had had a bustling harbor. Built high above ground on thick tree trunks to protect it from flooding, it was in good repair, and Watamaro kept an office there, tucked under the eaves of a large, dim, open space filled with stacks of goods ranging from bales of rice to imported woods, jars of medicines, and other, unidentifiable goods stored in the dark recesses. It smelled exotic.

Watamaro was at his desk, working with an abacus over an open ledger. He looked up when he heard their steps and rose immediately.

“What a surprise! Welcome to my workplace, my Lord. Please forgive the poor and rough surroundings. I regret there is no news yet of your assistant.”

“Please don’t apologize. I came to bring you the news that my clerk has been found in Eguchi.” Akitada looked around at shelves filled with more goods, some wrapped, some plain, and at other shelves holding ledgers. A large map hung on the wall behind Watamaro. It showed the lands surrounding the Inland Sea, with harbors marked all the way to Hakata.

Watamaro chuckled. “Enjoying himself, no doubt. A great relief to you and his family, I’m sure. Shall we sit down?”

Akitada accepted and said diffidently, “I’m afraid I have another favor to ask. A bigger one this time. Last night my retainer Tora was taken by pirates in Kawajiri. Saburo here brought me the news.” He turned to his companion. “Tell Watamaro what you told me.”

Listening to the tale with apparent astonishment, Watamaro exclaimed, “Outrageous! And they anchored in Kawajiri, only a few miles from here? How dare they? You will want a ship to search for them.” He paused, frowned. “But they may not have gone far. That storm last night was terrible. A number of ships foundered or lost their cargo in the harbor. I have been adding up the losses for my own fleet.”

Akitada bit his lip. “Thank you. I must hope that he is alive.” Saying it did nothing to dissolve the heavy lump in his belly that seemed to take his breath away. He must not lose Tora, too.

Watamaro got busy. He issued orders, and servants ran. They waited, and then Watamaro himself accompanied them to the harbor where a flat-bottomed vessel waited.

“It’s small,” he said apologetically, but it will save time not having to go to Kawajiri first, and the weather is quite calm again. With any luck, we’ll find them quickly and be back by nightfall.”

The chief sent Tora and Dragon Tattoo to one of the small caves some distance from the main one. Apparently he had no fear whatsoever that Dragon Tattoo would doze off and let Tora escape.

The cave was a mere ten feet deep and fifteen high. Grass and weeds grew at its entrance, but inside the surface was dry, hard rock. It was also cold. A very small oil lamp sat on a ledge. Not much chance of sleep, even if either man had been tempted. They settled down against opposite walls, staring at each other suspiciously.

Tora was desperately tired. His body had finally rebelled against the abuses of the previous night and the hard labor of the day. Every muscle hurt, and his headache, which had lessened during the day, grew worse again. Besides, his eyes felt as if they were covered with sand. He doubted that Dragon Tattoo could be this sore and tired.

Would he attack? He had Tora’s sword lying next to his right hand.

Time passed slowly. The silence was worst. Neither spoke, and the camp went to sleep after the hard work of the day. Tora thought of home and Seimei. He tried to suppress his grief when he felt tears filling his eyes. Too late. He sniffled, and Dragon Tattoo bent forward to peer at him.

“So,” the pirate said with a sneer, “you’re nothing but a cry baby after all. Maybe I should make an end of you now. It’s a pitiful sight to see a grown man cry.” His hand touched the sword.

Tora said nothing, but he wiped the tears from his face. This what not the time to mourn. The old man would have expected better from him. He searched his mind for an appropriate lesson from Seimei’s favorite Kung-Fu-tse, and settled on “A man must be wary before a move and gain his end by well-laid plans.” Yes, he had got into this trouble by not thinking before he rushed into action. This time, he would think carefully about his next move.

He tried to settle himself more comfortably against the rock, but there was no comfort to be found among all this hardness at his back and the sharp edges of loose stones he sat on. An idea began to form in his mind.

He gauged the distance between them and eyed the flickering oil lamp. Outside, it was dark, but there was a somewhat feeble new moon. Without the oil lamp, the world outside the cave entrance would be much lighter, but here they would be plunged into utter darkness. Good for sleep but not for defending yourself against someone swinging a sword.

It was too soon. Someone in the camp might still be awake. Dragon Tattoo also seemed to be waiting. Tora had no illusions that the bastard would obey the chief. He had read murder in the other man’s eyes. The pirate had little to lose and could always claim that his prisoner had attempted to escape. It would be easy. He would kill Tora, and then start shouting for help. Who was to prove him wrong?

On the other hand . . .

“You’re a coward,” said Tora into the stillness.

The other man’s eyes flared and his hand went to the sword again, but then he relaxed. “Why don’t you make a run for it and find out?”

“I know already. Back at the hostel, you gutless dog brought your friends to help you. You’ll always be a coward. Doesn’t matter what happens.”

“Shut up,” growled the other, “you’re a dead man. Dead men don’t talk.”