I. Parker - Black Arrow

“How do you know?”

Takagi frowned again and scratched his head. “A nice big one.” He held his hands apart about a foot. “The girl is cutting a big radish with a little bit of a knife for our dinner. The big knife is better for big radish.”

“So!” Akitada slammed his fist on his writing table, “Confess! You liked the big knife so well you stole it. And that night you started looking for something else to steal and found the innkeeper ill in his room. You killed him, took his money, sharing it with the other two so they would keep quiet, and the three of you made your escape. And you kept the nice large knife for a souvenir.” He straightened up and added coldly, “Confess now, and the law will be merciful.”

Takagi looked dully at him, shaking his head from side to side. “Stealing is wrong. Demons bite off your hands.” He held out his big, work-scarred paws. “See? I didn’t steal.”

“Then how did the knife get in your bundle?”

Takagi looked blank again.

“What did you do with your bundle at the inn?”

“The girl said to put it in the kitchen. When I walk, I carry it on a stick over my shoulder.”

“Did you take it to the market with you?”

“No. The maid said to leave it behind the rice basket.”

“Weren’t you afraid someone might take your gold pieces?”

Takagi laughed out loud. “No gold in bundle. Oh no. Father said, ‘Put gold inside scarf and tie it around your waist.’“ He patted his middle and remembered his loss. “Three pieces of gold. Will you give them back?”

Akitada stared hard at the farmer and then waved to Hitomaro to take him away. “I wonder,” he muttered to Tora. “Someone must have seen these three in the market. They’re memorable enough.”

“And how! I don’t know about the other two, but it looks bad for Takagi. He’s not too bright. The fool admitted that he saw the knife and liked it.”

“True, that was not very bright, but it gives his story a certain convincing ring. And remember, of the three he is the only one who did not confess. You were right. Not one of the three is the criminal type. Umehara seems just what he claims to be, a middle-aged traveling salesman. Any number of locals may be able to testify to his character. Perhaps the magistrate will make an effort to verify his story, and that of the others, but I’m beginning to have my doubts. The actor Okano is afraid of his own shadow, and the peasant is slow-witted enough to believe that demons punish people for crimes. I cannot imagine who accepted that ridiculous tale that they are members of a gang.” He sighed. “I am convinced. We must check into the case.” Giving Tora a quizzical look, he added, “I expect you are just the man to talk to the maid at the inn.”

Tora jumped up eagerly.

“Not so fast. You haven’t shown much diplomacy so far, and I am very reluctant to interfere with a properly appointed judge in the execution of his duty. Only the thought of having this kind of abuse going on makes me intervene. Be very careful about what you say or do.”

Before Tora could depart, Hitomaro came in to announce a visitor. The new arrival was a warrior in full armor bearing the Uesugi crest. He had a strip of white cotton tied about his helmet.

“A messenger from Takata, sir,” Hitomaro said unnecessarily.

Akitada looked at the white cotton band and sat up. “Speak,” he told the man.

The warrior knelt and bowed snappily. “This humble person announces the death of the great Lord of Takata, Uesugi Maro, High Constable of Echigo, Barbarian-Subduing General, and head of his clan. May the Buddha guide his soul to paradise.”

The news was not unexpected, and Akitada made a suitably pious response, adding, “Tell his son, the new lord, that I shall express my condolences formally and in person.”

When the messenger had left, Akitada looked at his lieutenants. “This changes everything. We must not lose any more time. I want both of you to go out immediately. You, Tora, will ask questions in the market and go to the inn to talk to the maid. I have decided to investigate the handling of criminal cases. The official reason will be suspicion of negligence by the court. Judge Hisamatsu will have to explain the abuse of suspects among other things.

“Hitomaro, it is time to contact Genba again. After that I want you to check on the outcasts. The younger Uesugi has an irrational hatred for them. I want to know why. You must both be quick and discreet and report back as soon as possible.”

They left, and Akitada went in search of his wife. While he would never admit such a thing to her, he found great comfort in her good sense and loving care.

Tora and Hitomaro slipped out of the tribunal by removing some loose boards from the back palisade and stepping into a weed-choked alley. Dressed in the rough, quilted cotton jackets and short pants of laborers, they walked to the market, a collection of shops crammed together under the deep overhanging eaves of the houses that lined the main street. Here they parted company.

Tora headed toward the outskirts of town to Sato’s inn. He raised his eyebrows at a large new sign above its open gate. A gilded fish sported on it, and the words “Golden Carp” and “Mrs. Sato, Proprietress” were executed in elegant lettering. As the old couple had predicted, the new management planned to cater to a better type of guest. With old Sato barely dispatched to the judge of the underworld, Tora thought such haste a little unseemly.

As he pondered what this might mean, a lanky youth came through the gate and began to sweep. Tora strolled across the street. The youth stopped what he was doing and stared at him.

“You’re a good worker,” Tora commented. “Your boss is a lucky man. If you play your cards right, he’ll invite you to marry his daughter some day and, before you know it, you’ll be the boss yourself.”

The youth spat. “Hah! My boss is a woman,” he said.

“Even better. Marry her. Never mind if she’s a bit long in the tooth, you’ll be all the more precious to her.”

“Shows what you know!” snapped the youth and kicked the last chunk of horse dung into the road before disappearing into the inn’s stable.

Tora looked after him. Apparently the beautiful widow had not endeared herself to her staff. He crossed the yard of the Golden Carp and, since no one else was about, he walked into the inn.

Today the hallway was scrupulously clean. In the kitchen, he found his objective. She was scrubbing vegetables with a vicious fury.

He leaned against the door frame and whistled softly. The maid swung around. When she saw Tora, her eyes widened and she dropped her radish. He stroked his mustache and let his eyes travel appreciatively over her tall, sturdy frame. Her scowl changed to a smile. She was a plain-faced girl and her teeth were crooked, but Tora could make even pretty girls forget the simplest prudence. And he distinctly recalled the shapely limbs under her dirty skirt.

“Well-met, pretty flower,” he said with a bow. “How is it that you do this dirty work when you ought to save your charms to greet the guests?”

She put on a tragic look. “I’m just the kitchen maid. Somebody’s got to do the work around here now that we’ve become fancy, with a cook and singsong girls to serve to the guests.” She eyed Tora’s patched clothes. “I hate to tell you, but if you’re hoping to spend the night, it costs a fortune and you don’t look like a rich man.”

“Ah.” Tora made a face, but he knew that old clothes did little to hide his strong physique and flexed his shoulders.

“It’s a great pity,” she said, watching him. “If it were up to me . . .” She dimpled.