I. Parker - Black Arrow

Tora smiled back. “The old man across the street warned me, but I thought I’d look in anyway. Where is everybody?”

She jerked her head toward the back of the house. “One of the guests is sick and the mistress is wetting herself for fear it’ll hurt her business.”

“Didn’t someone just die here? This must be a pretty unhealthy place.”

“Shh! Not so loud.” The girl peered down the hall. “It’s all right. She’s still in his room. We’re not supposed to talk about it. It’s her husband that died and he was murdered. But she’s had an exorcism, so you needn’t fear. That’s why she’s so upset about the sick one. She was all for dumping him in the temple grounds during the night to let the monks tend to him, but that might get back to the authorities, so she sent for the doctor.”

“And here I am, at your service,” announced a reedy voice from the hall. A small gray-haired man stood in the passage, carrying a bamboo case and peering at them with sharp black eyes under grizzled eyebrows. He looked a bit like an old monkey, thought Tora.

“Well, Kiyo, where’s the patient?”

“This way, Dr. Oyoshi. The mistress is with him.” The maid wiped her hands on her apron, and led the way down the dark hall. Tora, who was curious about her mistress, followed.

In one of the rooms a small group of people stood around a gasping figure under a quilt. Three handsome girls with painted faces and colorful robes, the lanky youth from the yard, and the landlady all stared down at the sick man. So did the doctor and the maid when they joined the group.

Tora gaped at the landlady.

The widow Sato was still in her early twenties, with a dainty figure in a dark blue silk gown, shining hair neatly pinned, skin like pale ivory, and eyes that were almond-shaped and luminous. She was a beauty. At the moment, however, she looked very angry. “So you finally get here, Oyoshi,” she cried to the doctor. “Do something. This person refuses to leave. He claims he’s too ill. Hah! He wants free lodging, that’s all. Everybody is trying to take advantage of a single woman. Look him over and then make him get out. The rest of you, back to work!”

She whisked out of the room without glancing at Tora, who had retreated into the shadows, hoping she would take him for the doctor’s assistant. He watched her trip lightly down the corridor, then turned his attention back to the scene in the room.

The doctor knelt on the floor beside the shivering figure and pulled back the quilt. The sick man’s face was white and wet with perspiration. His eyes were glassy and his mouth slack. His breath came and went in shuddering gasps. Middle-aged and gray-haired, he looked ordinary except that an old injury had taken a small piece from one of his large earlobes.

Oyoshi spoke to him softly, but got no response. He felt the patient’s forehead, peered into his mouth, and then parted the man’s gown to lay his ear against the heaving chest. A rattling cough racked the patient, and a thin dribble of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. The doctor covered him up again and rose with a sigh.

“He’s much too ill to be moved,” he said, pulling Kiyo aside. “I’ll give you some medicine to ease him a bit, but it does not look good. The end is near, I’m afraid.”

One of the painted girls said with a shudder, “The mistress won’t like it. Can’t we take him to the monks?”

The doctor looked shocked. “Certainly not. I won’t allow you to put the poor soul through that, and I’ll tell your mistress so.”

“Tell me what?” The widow appeared in the doorway. “Why isn’t he up yet? I tell you, he cannot stay. He has no money left, and I don’t run a charity hospital. Besides, nobody will spend the night in a house where there’s a sick person. We learned that well enough when Sato was ill. Oh, that this should come to plague me now when the old lord’s funeral will fill all the inns and hostels for miles around!” She stamped her dainty foot in frustration.

The doctor said in a low but firm voice, “This man is not able to speak or stand, Mrs. Sato, let alone travel. He must remain where he is. Believe me, it won’t be long. I’ll leave some medicine and give you a note certifying that he does not have smallpox or any other infectious disease.”

The beauty flushed and cried, “Tell me, since you are so high and mighty about the matter, who will pay for his lodging and nursing? He’s nothing but a vagabond. He has no money. I’ve looked. And who will pay for all your treatments, pray? Surely you don’t expect me to come up with the money?”

The doctor said coldly, “I do not expect anything but common courtesy from you, madam.”

She tossed her head and went back into her room. The doctor returned to the kitchen with Kiyo and Tora. There he sat down and opened his case. Taking out writing materials and rubbing his ink stone with a few drops of water supplied by Kiyo, he dashed off a note. Then he poured several powders into a paper, twisted it, and said, “Make an infusion of this with boiling water and try to get half a cupful down him every two hours. And keep him warm! A brazier of coals day and night.” He closed his case and fished around in his sleeve. “Here’s some money for the coals. Send for me if I’m needed. And give the note to your mistress!”

Tora followed the doctor out into the courtyard. “Sir?” he called, holding out some coins. “I’d like to pay for the poor fellow’s treatment.”

The doctor stopped and peered up at him from under grizzled brows. “Ah. It’s you. I didn’t recognize you before.” He took the money “Very kind of you. How is your master feeling? Still troubled by those cramps?”

Tora’s jaw sagged.

“Are you incognito then, my dear fellow? Well, there’s no one about just now. I wondered because his Excellency had all the symptoms of acute intestinal distress at Takata. You are one of his lieutenants, aren’t you? I’ve seen you about and, if I’m not much mistaken, that was you under all those animal skins that night?”

Tora grinned weakly. “Your eyes are sharper than mine, sir. You’re right, and my master still suffers a little from the same complaint.”

“Say no more.” Oyoshi set down his box and rummaged in it. “Here you are. My own recipe! Powdered oyster shell and ground bark of the cherry tree, mixed with the dried leaves of chamomile and some powdered rhubarb root, along with a bit of honey to hold it all together. Have him dissolve each pill in a little hot wine and take it with every meal. Can you remember that?”

Tora nodded and tucked the small package away. “What do I owe you for this?”

“Let your master settle with me if the medicine works.”

Tora thanked him, then said, “You seem to know these people. Did you see the innkeeper after he died?”

Dr. Oyoshi nodded and smiled. “Ah, I thought that was why you were here. Is your master looking into the matter then?”

“Uh …”

“Never mind. I treated old Sato when he was ill. Chronic chest pains. Wasn’t getting any better, but should’ve lasted at least another year. Imagine my surprise, when I found him with his throat slit! The maid, Kiyo, sent for me. The lady of the house was away-visiting her family, I’m told. What is it that you want to know?”

“Anything you can tell me about the death.”

“I see. Groping in the dark. Well, I don’t think I can help you. He died during the evening or night and did not do it himself. When I saw him he was stone cold and stiff. The maid threw a fit. Nothing unusual in that. The constables eventually showed up and asked a few foolish questions. That, too, was as usual.”

“If the three travelers hadn’t stayed here, who would you think would’ve done such a thing? His widow’s young and handsome, and he was an old geezer. There could’ve been all sorts of mischief.”