I Parker - The Fires of the Gods

‘I’m busy.’ She tugged back.

Tora held on, grinning. ‘Come on,’ he wheedled. ‘I’ll show you a very good time if you’ll let me. Better than the young fellow in the blue and white robe.’

She gasped, ‘Shut up!’

‘What do you care? They’re deaf.’

‘They can read lips.’

‘Really? Never mind. Come, give me a kiss and I’ll buy you a cup of wine.’ Tora jerked her arm suddenly and she fell into his lap.

That was when he heard a growl. The gray-beard was up and coming for him. He had a heavy tread, his fists were clenched, and his face was red with anger.

Tora pushed the girl off and jumped up. The thug was older than he, but he was large and looked strong. And he was not alone, for his companions joined him. Tora considered pulling the knife in his boot.

At this point, the beggar intervened. He approached the gray-beard with a bow and said, ‘How’re you feeling tonight, Koichi? Lively and strong as ever, I hope? Greetings, Seiji and Shinichi. Has the sergeant been good to you? And Lady Haru grows more beautiful every day.’ He performed more bows, the last to the girl, then cast a longing glance towards the kettle.

The girl smiled at the beggar and told the one called Koichi, ‘Leave it be, Pa. He’s a stranger. We don’t want trouble.’

Koichi looked over the beggar’s head at Tora and glowered. Then he gestured towards the beggar, and Haru filled a bowl for the old man. Koichi and his companions lumbered back to their seats, and Tora sat back down.

The beggar received his bowl of food, bowed his gratitude to Koichi and the girl, and sat down beside Tora to eat.

The girl Haru said, ‘Koichi’s my father. He gets protective.’

‘It does him honor,’ Tora said. He was not sure what he regretted more: her father’s affliction or her relationship to him.

She looked a little wistful. ‘He doesn’t like me seeing men.’

Tora nodded, grinned. ‘That does make it hard, but maybe we can talk outside?’

She smiled a little. The beggar belched and returned his bowl for a refill.

Tora fished out another three coppers and gave them to her with a polite bow. ‘The soup was delicious, miss,’ he said aloud. ‘Please forgive my bad manners.’ He raised a hand to the three deaf mutes, nodded to the beggar, and left.

Outside, Tora stepped around the corner into the alley and waited. The stars had disappeared and he heard distant thunder. The girl did not come out. Maybe she was busy. Or maybe she had never intended to. A gust of hot wind stirred the dust of the street. Tora sighed and decided to go home.

But first he went back to check the road between the warehouses. Lightning flickered and he saw that the stretch lay empty. It was really a mere lane that passed between two rows of warehouses and storage yards. He walked down quickly, checking the walls. When he found the place where he had cowered, he waited for more lightning. Then he saw it, a deep slash in the weathered wood exposing pale splinters. It was the sort of gash the knife in his boot would have left, had he thrown it hard from a short distance.

So! Some bastard had tried to kill him.

He was not a likely object for robbery. Whoever had followed him had had another reason.

Shaking his head, Tora hurried homeward.

The storm moved in very quickly. Thunder rumbled, and flashes of lightning threw the streets into an eerie light. When Tora reached Suzako Avenue the first large drops splattered into the hot dust at his feet, and the trees tossed and turned in the wind. The darkness and the storm reminded him of the night of the fire. He looked around and sniffed the air. There had been too many fires and not nearly enough rain. Then he saw it: a thin line of red above the roofs of the merchants’ quarter to his right. It was unreal and hellish in this darkness and with the thunder and lightning of the storm. He shuddered. Perhaps the gods were angry after all.

Suzako Avenue had been empty of people, but now Tora heard a shout and saw four our five dark figures running. They were coming towards him, laughing as they came. Lightning flashed and lit up the excited faces of boys. They passed him and disappeared.

Tora turned down a side street. The rain was coming down more heavily. As he ran, Tora thought one of the boys had looked vaguely familiar. He could smell the smoke now and saw the red glow flickering and fading. Near the gateway to the quarter, he collided with another youngster. Like the others, he had been running.

He was strong and agile, but this time Tora was not drunk. He clasped the struggling figure against him, had a weird feeling of going back in time, but held on. He managed to twist the youngster’s arm, bringing him to his knees. No point in being gentle. The boy cried out.

‘Why are you running from that fire?’

‘I’m not,’ moaned the other and made a valiant effort to buck upward and throw Tora off. Tora twisted the arm a little harder, and the boy went limp and sobbed.

‘Be still,’ Tora snapped, ‘or I’ll break your arm. I think it was you who stole my gold the other night. And you were running from that fire, too.’

‘It wasn’t me. Let me go or I’ll shout for help.’

‘Go ahead.’ Tora put a little more pressure on the arm and got another groan and more sobs, but the boy did not cry for help.

‘Well?’

‘W-what do you want?’

‘My gold. Think. Near Nijo? That’s where you picked up my gold, didn’t you?’

A pause and then, ‘Maybe. But I didn’t mean to take it.’

Tora gave a snort, twisted again, and got another wail. ‘You didn’t mean to pick up my gold?’ he sneered.

The boy ground his teeth. ‘I was going to give it to you. You can have it back, if you let go.’

Tora laughed. ‘I think I’ll let you explain to the constables.’ He shouted, ‘Hey, police! Over here!’

The boy jerked and wailed, ‘Don’t! Please.’

A flash of lightning lit up the boy’s face. Tora had caught the handsome boy from the Western Market.

The one that looked like the Kiyowara heir.

‘Who are you?’

The boy groaned. ‘Tojiro.’

Tojiro’s blue and white robe also looked familiar. Tora had last seen it in an alley, in the passionate embrace of Haru. Tojiro certainly got around.

In his astonishment, Tora relaxed his hold. The boy twisted free, and a moment later he was running down the street.

The late Lord Kiyowara’s major-domo was called Fuhito. Akitada had not paid much attention to him on his last visit and made up for it now. He was a slender, reserved man in his early sixties and exhibited a sense of extreme propriety. As was appropriate in a house of mourning, he wore a pale hemp robe over the dark-brown silk that was probably his usual attire. In a great noble house, even the major-domo could be a gentleman, perhaps a member of a junior branch of his master’s family.

True to custom, Fuhito was stiffly formal. He spoke in a refined voice, and his speech was that of an educated man. His bow and his welcome to Akitada were precisely gauged to the occasion and to the visitor’s rank. He led Akitada to his own office, which resembled a gentleman’s study, and had him served with refreshments before their conversation began.

Akitada was impatient with such punctiliousness. Violent death seemed to him to call for a relaxation of customs. ‘I expect Lady Kiyowara has informed you of the purpose of my visit?’

Fuhito bowed. ‘She has. We are to answer all your questions truthfully. I have so instructed the other servants. You are to be given access to everyone and shown around the property.’ He seemed to want to say something else, but decided against it.

‘Do you know who came to see Lord Kiyowara the afternoon of his death?’