Death of a Doll Maker (22 page)

Saburo found a place as far away as possible from Feng’s clerk while still within sight of him. The man had looked to see who had come in; this suggested he was waiting for someone.

A waitress appeared by Saburo’s side. He ordered some cheap wine and relaxed. Like last time, the crowd consisted of rough laborers and sailors. Feng’s clerk definitely did not belong. Saburo decided to have a closer look at the store later on.

Just before it became necessary to order another flask of the sour wine, another man entered and looked around. He was a young, clean-shaven but dirty, and of the same laboring class as the rest of the Dragon’s Lair’s customers. When he saw Feng’s clerk, he grinned and went to join him.

Well, he was not Fingers, but Saburo decided a meeting between the clerk and this laborer was still interesting.

The young man sat down uninvited. The clerk frowned at him, wrinkled his nose, and turned down the corners of his mouth. He asked a question, got another smile, and an emphatic nod. The young man leaned closer and spoke at some length. The clerk nodded and reached into his robe to pull out a small but weighty bag. This he pushed toward the young man, who snatched it up and peered inside. He looked very pleased, tucked the small bag inside his dirty shirt, and called for wine. The clerk, looking disgusted, rose and left the Dragon’s Lair without another word to the laborer. He had done what he had come for and had clearly not enjoyed the errand.

Not long after, the young laborer paid for his wine, gulped it down quickly, and also left.

Saburo had been so engrossed in the meeting he had not noticed the waitress hovering by his side with another flask of wine.

“No, thanks,” he growled, getting up. “Your rot gut has given me a belly ache.”

Outside, the young man was just picking up the handles of a handcart. Without a backward glance, he trotted off down the street toward town. The cart made enough noise to drown out footsteps, and the effort of pulling it meant he could not easily turn his head to look behind him. Saburo followed. Possibly the man’s errand had involved nothing illegal after all, but there had been the bag of money, large enough to suggest Feng’s clerk had paid the man for more than a simple delivery.

The cart was nearly empty. As they passed a lighted doorway, Saburo saw it contained only some ragged blankets that had perhaps been used to protect an earlier cargo.

Gradually they left behind the gaudy lights and noise of the harbor dives and brothels and passed through streets with shops that were shuttered at this hour. It was quiet here and the wheels of the cart seemed very loud. Saburo kept in the shadow of buildings, but the carter did not pause to look behind him. Soon they were crossing the river and heading into a residential quarter. The man and his cart made for a rundown area. Some of the houses had been abandoned and were falling to ruin. Saburo guessed they were near the shrine where the children had kept their birds.

The cart came to an abrupt halt next to a broken wall. Saburo melted into the shadow of a large tree. For the first time, the carter seemed to become cautious. He looked all around and listened. When he was satisfied he was alone, he reached under the rags in his cart and pulled forth a bundle. With this under his arm, he climbed over the rubble of the broken wall and disappeared.

Saburo approached the opening but could see nothing. Hearing the receding footsteps of the man, he scaled some of the rubble to reach the top of the wall. In the dim moonlight, a deserted courtyard lay before him. All around were more ruins and remnants of buildings. It had either been a small temple or monastery once, or perhaps an official’s house. No one had lived there for a long time.

The carter had not gone far. In the center of the courtyard stood a group of trees and under the trees seemed to be more rubble. Saburo could not see what the man was doing because the darkness was dense under the trees. He heard a strange scraping noise, a pause, and more scraping.

The carter emerged from the darkness, wiping his hands on his clothes, and strode back toward the street. He no longer had the bundle.

Saburo jumped down and hurried back under his tree just in time to see the carter emerge, look up and down the street, then take up the handles of his cart, and trot off.

There was no time to inspect the ruined courtyard, but Saburo thought he could easily come back later. He followed the cart to see where it would take him.

It took him to the quarter where the children now lived with the kind Mrs. Kimura. Saburo had visited and knew the quarter. His quarry pulled the cart down a dark alley. When Saburo reached the alley, he had disappeared into one of the houses, leaving the cart next to a fence.

Now what?

His suspect’s proximity to the children made Saburo unhappy. While he was not Fingers or one of his cohorts, he might have some connection with them. After a moment’s reflection, Saburo felt his way down the dark alley to the cart. It was too dark to see much. Houses and trees blocked whatever little moonlight there was. He felt around in the bed of the cart, but found nothing but stinking rags.

Leaving things as they were, he followed the alley to the street. There he walked to the next corner and looked down the line of houses backing onto the alley. And there, in the middle, was Mrs. Kimura’s house. If he had counted correctly, the carter had gone into the house next door.

This was very worrisome, but as it was the middle of the night, and Mrs. Kimura’s house was dark, Saburo turned back and retraced the route to the abandoned ruin.

There he made his way to the clump of trees and looked for the bundle the man had left. He did not see it, but while groping about, he caught his toe on a loose board and heard the same scraping noise the carter had made. Reaching down, he found the board was part of a wooden rectangle and heavy, since it was weighted down with rocks. He removed these and flung the board back, nearly tumbling head first into a black, stinking hole the board had covered.

He had found an old well, and the bundle must be down there along with rotting garbage. It was much too dark to investigate further. That had to wait for daylight. He replaced the cover and the rocks, and left.

Somewhere a watchman called out the hour. He had another two hours until dawn. By now he was very tired and his feet hurt quite badly, but his master had expressed an interest in Fingers, and Saburo had not found him yet. He made his way somewhat painfully toward Feng’s store.

To his surprise, he saw a faint light behind one of the grilles covering the windows. It seemed to come from somewhere far in the back of the store. His spirits lifted. Having surveyed the lay-out on his recent visit, he guessed someone was in a backroom kept for storage or paperwork. He slipped around the building, took off his loose jacket and turned it inside out. Putting its black version back on, he smeared a handful of dirt over his face, then climbed the tall wall at the back of the premises and jumped softly down into a yard. This service area was filled with boxes and packing materials but otherwise empty. He studied the building. No light at all showed on this side. The back wall of the store had only one opening, a pair of wide doors. The tiled roofs clearly defeated even the cleverest burglar or spy.

With a sigh, he crept up to the door. It was heavy and well-made. The lock looked massive and well-oiled. What he was about to do was dangerous, but he had no other options. Saburo felt through the various pouches of his clever garments and extracted a small set of metal hooks and slides. With these, he began to work on the lock mechanism, cringing at every scrape and click. It was a mechanism foreign to him, so it took trial and error before he finally heard something move. Tucking his implements away, he used his fingertips to move the left panel of the door very slightly. To his relief, the person who had installed such a fine and complicated lock had also oiled the hinges on the door. The heavy panel moved softly and silently.

Saburo opened the door only a little and put his good eye to the crack. He saw an empty corridor and could hear faint voices. There was some light, but it came from under a closed door. He was about to risk opening his door a little more when the other one was flung wide, spilling light into the corridor as someone came from the room.

Saburo’s instinct was to run, but something made him hesitate. The person who had stepped into the dark corridor also paused. His silhouette was outlined against the bright rectangle beyond. He was a man, heavyset, and dressed in the Chinese fashion. When he turned his head, Saburo saw he had a small chin beard.

Master Feng, himself.

Feng said to someone in the room, “You’re getting greedy. Let’s hope you haven’t caused trouble. Don’t forget what may happen then.” Then he switched to Chinese, which Saburo did not understand.

It probably meant there were at least two other people inside. And Saburo’s time was running out, because now Feng turned and came toward the backdoor.

There was no time to scale the wall, so Saburo dashed behind some of the boxes, and cowered there, saying a quick prayer.

Feng reached the door and found it open. He cursed in his own tongue and called out to the others. Two people joined him, one very tall and bulky, the other shorter and slender.

Fingers and the clerk.

An argument ensued. The clerk at some point protested, “It wasn’t me. I came in through the front. Perhaps you didn’t close it properly, Master.”

Another curse and the sound of a slap. Then Feng started across the yard toward the small gate in the wall. The clerk, holding his cheek, ran to open the gate, bowed deeply, then closed it behind Feng, relocking it carefully.

He trudged back to the store, muttering, went inside, and slammed the backdoors. Saburo heard the lock click into place and grinned.

He had been lucky. Better not test that luck again tonight. He waited until all was still, then scaled the wall and went home.

21

THE TRAP

T
ora took an unobtrusive glance at the man lounging against the door jamb. He wore a workman’s rough clothes, and his hair was tied up in a colorful piece of cloth twisted into a rope. He was big, with coarse, scarred features and fists the size of sledge hammers.

A thug, Tora thought, and Chinese, so perhaps this was the man his master had encountered in Feng’s store. He sidled across the room, pretending interest in a loud argument that had broken out between a man and one of the clerks, and risked another glance. The thug’s attention was on Tora’s master and his interest in a ledger the clerk was holding up for his perusal. Both of the thug’s hands were in sight. None of his fingers was missing.

Nevertheless.

Tora turned and strolled toward the door as if he had become tired of the harbor office and was taking a look at the ships instead. The thug saw him coming and ducked out.

Well, this promised to be an interesting quarry after all. Tora intended to find out why he was watching them and who had told him to do so.

The man was big enough to be easily seen above the smaller people milling around. Besides, the colorful cloth twisted about his head waved like a flag. He walked with a lumbering gait, looking back only once.

Very odd. It was broad daylight, and the man knew he was being followed. Let him try to run. Tora felt quite confident he would catch him. The thug carried too much weight in those broad shoulders and chest.

They strolled into the Chinese quarter. Tora grew somewhat less confident: if he had to tackle the man, his fellow countrymen might take exception and jump to his rescue. But his quarry left the Chinese quarter behind and made for a warehouse district. Here he slowed down as if he were looking for a specific place. Tora decided it was time and speeded up.

The other man glanced over his shoulder again and ran through an open gate, Tora at his heels.

They were in a wide service yard of some sort. As Tora had known, the man was hardly fleet of foot. He made for one of the low buildings, but Tora snatched at the back of shirt, growling, “Hold it. I want a word.”

The man tore himself free and shouted something in Chinese as he ducked into the building.

Tora rushed after him.

After the bright sunlight, the darkness inside blinded him, and he slid to a halt. At that moment, a heavy blow struck the back of his head and sent him falling forward. He passed out before he hit the floor.

*

Pain. And voices. Dizziness. Nausea.

A strange smell. Of dirt and something else.

Never mind. Let it go. Blessed darkness.

The voices returned and with them the pain and the nausea.

Maybe he was having a dream. A nightmare.

Serves the bastard right. He’ll never interfere with me again.

More pain. A laugh.

This pain was fresh, sharp, and lasting. In his side. He wanted to scream but no sound came. Vomit rose to his mouth. He swallowed it down.

What’s next?

The convict ship. They can lose him on the way, if you want.

I want. But I’ll have a bit of fun first.
Laughter.

Two people. The voices were familiar. Well, not quite. It nagged at him, but his head felt like a sponge, and his side burned with every breath.

A very bad dream!

Do what you want, but don’t mark him up too badly. He’s as good as dead.

Who was that?

Tora’s eyes would not open. Had he become blind? Feet shuffled about on the floor. Clothes rustled. Then more pain. A leather strap. He screamed. Trying to twist away, he realized his arms were twisted behind his back, his wrists tied. Then he passed out.

When he came to next, he knew enough by now not to make a sound. Even breathing hurt. He lay still and slipped into semi-consciousness.

But this did not last. He pulled at his bonds. All it got him was new agony. He gasped and almost passed out again. They had kicked and beaten him. One of his ribs must be broken.

Watch out! He’s coming around!