I Parker - The Fires of the Gods

‘That’s nonsense. He’s been living here since he was five years old.’

‘He doesn’t belong.’

‘You mean he wouldn’t make a good monk?’

‘That, too.’

Akitada bit his lip. ‘Can you at least describe the boys you saw with him?’

Saishin frowned. ‘Scum. Criminals. Sometimes there were only two, sometimes five or six. They were his age, but bad. They had knives and the scars from knife fights. Devil’s spawn, all of them.’

‘No doubt,’ Akitada said dryly. ‘Do I take it that you kept a regular watch on the market area in order to keep the abbot informed about Kansei’s company?’

Saishin flushed. ‘I may have combined other errands with keeping an eye on one of our acolytes.’

And that meant that Saishin had done his best to blacken the boy’s reputation with the abbot. It might be immaterial, but Akitada kept it in mind.

‘What about the boy’s mother. Do you know where she lives?’

‘No. His Reverence asked me to find her, but she had moved away.’

Akitada gave up and got his horse.

At home, Trouble greeted him with the usual exuberance, but Genba and Seimei had their heads together studying a piece of paper.

Akitada dismounted and waited for Genba to take his horse to the stable. ‘Where’s Tora?’ he asked, looking around.

‘Tora got tired of sitting around so he offered to go to run an errand for cook,’ Genba said. ‘He’ll be back soon.’

Seimei still stood with the piece of paper in his hand. ‘What is it?’ Akitada asked. ‘Did someone bring a message?’

Seimei came and said, ‘After a fashion, sir.’ He held out the scrap of paper. It was dirty and crumpled, and Akitada hesitated to take it. ‘It was wrapped about a large stone and thrown over the back wall,’ Seimei explained.

Akitada took it and smoothed it out. The writing was in a good hand. It said, ‘Beware of fire.’

Tora carried the shopping basket over his good arm, but his true errand did not involve shopping. The rain had let up, but the streets were muddy. Apart from some puddle-jumping urchins, people seemed to slink about like half-drowned rats.

The market was closed today, and he found Jirokichi’s girl-friend in a nearly empty wine shop, listlessly sweeping the dirt floor. She stopped when she saw Tora and looked him over. ‘I thought you were at death’s door,’ she said. ‘Your fine friends lie a lot.’

‘My fine friends never lie, though they may worry more than need be.’ Tora did not sit down and had no smile for Hoshina. ‘I want to see Jirokichi now,’ he said.

She did not refuse him, but glanced at the lone customer in the corner. ‘I can’t leave,’ she said.

‘Then tell me where he is.’

‘He’s much worse off than you are,’ she said.

Tora just gave her a stare. ‘I don’t care. I want to see him.’ He raised his voice. ‘Now!’

She turned away and went over to the customer. ‘Sorry, Jinzaemon,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to lock up. Come back tomorrow, please.’

The man was elderly and timid. He got up obediently and shuffled out. Hoshina locked and barred the door. Then she filled an earthenware pot with the stew that remained and took the empty cauldron outside.

Tora waited impatiently. When she returned with the clean cauldron, she set the rest of the shop to rights, then placed the earthenware pot in Tora’s basket and told him to follow her.

To his surprise, Hoshina took him to the other side of the capital where affluent and law-abiding people lived. There in the Seventh Ward, they entered a substantial house of the type normally occupied by minor officials or clerks working for the government. Tora doubted that her wine shop earned enough to support this lifestyle and gained a new respect for Jirokichi’s abilities as a thief.

Hoshina called out, ‘I’m home. I’ve brought Tora.’

Jirokichi’s voice came from the back of the house. ‘You’re early. Did you say you brought Tora?’

Hoshina turned from the flagstoned hallway into a kitchen, where she deposited the stew pot and Tora’s basket. ‘Come,’ she said.

Jirokichi reclined near the open veranda door of the main room. He was leaning on an armrest and had a quilt across his lap. His face was turned towards them, but hard to see against the watery light coming from outside.

Tora’s eyes went past him to an extraordinary garden, now glistening with moisture from the recent rain. Lush green cabbages grew next to a patch of healthy onions; cucumbers and beans climbed up a bamboo trellis; and enormous mounds of leaves cradled golden melons. Among all that bounty pecked some chickens, and two fat ducks poked their heads out of a bamboo cage.

Jirokichi laughed at Tora’s amazement, ‘Welcome to my humble abode, my hero. Hoshina and I are just a pair of humble farmers. How are you?’

Tora, seeing him lounging at his ease, scowled. ‘Alive, no thanks to you, Rat.’ But now he saw the effects of the vicious beating on Jirokichi’s face. His nose and mouth were heavily scabbed and swollen, one eye was still closed and black, and his body bore colorful bruises wherever his skin was bare. He moved only with difficulty and grimaced at the slightest change in position. Tora sat down and softened his tone. ‘And how goes it with you?’

Jirokichi gave him a lopsided grin. ‘It goes. It’ll be a while before I’ll be able to earn an honest gold piece again, but in time perhaps some slight activity will be possible.’

Hoshina snapped, ‘No more activity for you. You’re retired.’

Jirokichi winked at Tora. ‘She loves me. Can you believe it? And she thinks love gives her the right to mistreat me. Hoshina, my dove, some of the special wine for my friend.’

Tora looked after her. Jirokichi was right. Hanae bossed him around much the same way Hoshina did Jirokichi. It was strange that women treated the men they loved like bad little boys.

But he was here for a purpose, and the visit was long overdue. Reaching inside his shirt, he brought out a small package. He laid it down in front of Jirokichi. ‘Your gold. Count it.’

Jirokichi pushed it back. ‘You shame me,’ he said. ‘I owe you my life. Twice.’

Tora snapped, ‘I told you I don’t want your gold. I want to know about the fires.’

Jirokichi looked away. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And I’ll tell you. I pay my debts, and this one… Well, it could cost me my life, but I owe you that. Very probably the knowledge will cost you yours, so be sure you know what you ask for.’

‘How the devil can I know, if you won’t tell me?’

Hoshina returned with wine and cups. ‘I brought home some of the bean stew. Do you want to eat?’

Tora shook his head, but Jirokichi smacked his lips. ‘Your good bean stew? Excellent! Tora will eat when he tastes it. The beans are from our garden.’

Hoshina left.

‘Well?’ said Tora, getting angry again.

‘Those boys, the ones that caught me?’

‘Yes, what about them?’

‘They’ve been working for a rich merchant in the Fifth Ward.’

Suddenly, a vivid memory surfaced: a fat man huddled with some street kids. He stared at Jirokichi. ‘Watanabe?’

Jirokichi looked offended. ‘You’ve known that all along? Then why bother me?’

‘I didn’t know I knew it. I saw him talking to some young rascals.’ Tora scowled and clenched his fists. ‘And that fat toad pretended to feel sorry for those poor bastards dying. Oh, he’ll be sorry for what he’s done.’

Jirokichi looked nervous. ‘Better leave it be.’

‘You’re a great coward, Jirokichi. How did you find out?’

Jirokichi fidgeted. ‘You won’t tell the police, will you?’