The Dragon Scroll (38 page)

A pleased smile crossed the old man’s face. “Do you mean Otomi and her sister? They came by. After they had left, some young men asked for her.” He smiled again. “She’s a very pretty girl.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said we were all well and thanked the girls for their concern.”

Akitada gritted his teeth and found they were chattering again. He looked at Tora, who bellowed, “What did you tell the men?”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so? I told them where the girls went, of course.”

Akitada groaned. “Where?” he shouted, twisting the reins between his clenched fists.

“You don’t look at all well, sir,” said the ancient one, peering worriedly up at Akitada’s face. “Please honor our poor temple for a short rest. If you like, Kashin, our pharmacist, will brew you one of his herbal teas.”

Akitada took a deep breath, fought down his desperation, and managed to say more calmly, “Thank you. Some other time. We’re in a hurry. Those men you sent after Otomi and her sister mean them harm. Where did the girls go?”

The monk’s chin sagged. “Harm? Oh, dear. I hope you are wrong, sir. Otomi told me she wanted to paint the Kannon, so I sent the young men to the old temple in the southeast corner of the city. There’s a lovely painting of the Goddess of Mercy enthroned on a large lotus blossom in the main hall. The temple is locked, but there’s a back door—” Akitada and Tora were already galloping down the narrow street.

They clattered through quiet neighborhoods where curious householders peered out of lit doorways at the sound of their racing hoof beats. The light was failing quickly. Clouds moved in like black curtains drawn across the opalescent sky.

“It’ll be dark soon,” shouted Tora to Akitada, “and we’ve brought no lanterns.”

“Quiet!” Akitada reined in his horse. Before them rose a dark mass of curved temple roofs and trees. A three-storied pagoda loomed like a dark sentinel beside the black rectangle that was the main hall. Tile-topped walls enclosed the temple buildings and a whole city block of wildly tangled shrubs and trees.

Akitada dismounted and tied his horse to a bare willow tree at the street corner. Shivering in the cold wind, he stood listening until Tora joined him.

“Did you see someone?” Tora whispered.

Akitada shook his head. “Ssh!”

The wind rustled the dead leaves, and branches rubbed together. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.

Akitada moved. “I thought I heard voices,” he said. “Come. We’ll have to find a way in. The front gates will have been nailed shut. Be quiet.”

Tora gripped his stave more fiercely. “I look forward to getting my hands on those butchers.”

They crossed the street and moved along the shadow of the wall, looking for broken masonry. When a curious hissing noise came from the other side, they froze. Nothing else happened, and they were about to move on when there was a suppressed curse and the sound of breaking shrubbery. A muffled male voice in the distance shouted something that sounded like an order, and the rustling receded.

“They’re here,” said Tora.

Akitada nodded. “It sounds as though they’re searching. We may be in time.”

They continued to inspect the wall. It was in frustratingly good condition. There was not so much as a foothold to climb over, and Akitada was not about to propose another attempt by Tora to scale a temple wall via his shoulders. In his present weakened state, he could not support a small child, let alone a full-grown man.

“Let’s try the main entrance,” he said finally. At that moment, the silent air was rent by a woman’s scream.

“They got the girls,” said Tora, staring frantically at the top of the wall.

“That was Ayako.” Akitada was already running toward the roofed gatehouse. Both wings of the ornate gate gaped wide, and they ran inside.

The courtyard was empty, silent, and vaguely ominous. To their right, the pagoda roofs spread their dark wings; to the left crouched a small reliquary; and before them loomed the vast shape of the great hall whose immense curving roof they had seen from the road. Its doors stood open on a darkness as absolute as the gaping maw of death.

“The cry came from the back of the hall,” Akitada said. “The fastest way is through it.”

They ran up the steps of the hall. The official seals on the massive doors had been broken. The anteroom got some light from the outside and was empty. To its right was the office of the temple custodian, a monk who accepted donations from worshippers and handed out incense sticks. Ahead lay the vast interior of the temple hall. They stopped to listen and heard nothing.

“Come,” said Akitada. “They are in the garden in back.”

“We can’t see anything without a lantern,” Tora muttered under his breath. “I bet I’ll find some in that office.”

“No. There’s no time and we can’t show a light.”

They went into the pitch-black hall, sliding one foot in front of the other and feeling their way with outstretched hands. Akitada tried to remember temple construction and hoped to gain the rear wall. Something fell with a clatter.

“What happened?” Akitada asked.

“Caught my foot on something and lost my stave.”

Akitada heard Tora’s hands scrabbling across the floor. “Let it be,” he said, moving on. Tora abandoned the stave and joined him. When Akitada’s hands finally touched the rear wall, Tora cursed. There was a dull thud, then silence.

“What’s the matter now?”

No answer, just a slithering sound coming closer. Before his better sense could prevent him, Akitada had moved toward it. A viselike grip seized him around the knees, jerked, and then he fell backward, barely remembering to twist to keep his skull from striking the floor. The fall knocked the breath out of him.

Then his assailant was upon him, trying to pin his arm while fumbling for his throat. The move was a standard form of attack among wrestlers. Akitada had never been in worse shape to fight off a murderous thug, but his wrestling experience came to his aid. He reacted instinctively with the correct defensive move. But the other man, though thin, fought desperately and was quicker than Akitada. They rolled about on the rough planks of the floor, fighting silently for their lives.

Fortunately, Akitada’s assailant was also handicapped by the darkness. He could not always find the right hold immediately and gave Akitada time to twist out of his reach. Eventually Akitada had enough purchase for a hard kick. Somewhat to his surprise his foot made contact. The body slid across the floor, hit a column with a soft thud, and was silent. Akitada rose to his knees and called out to Tora. No response. He debated checking on his attacker, then felt around for Tora. He found him breathing and brought him around by shaking him. Tora groaned, sat up, and almost immediately lashed out, knocking Akitada into a pillar.

“Ouch! It’s me.”

Tora croaked, “What...? Oh! Sorry. Somebody grabbed my foot.” Then fury seized him. “Where are the bastards?” he growled. “I’ll tear their heads off and kick them around this infernal pit of hell.”

Rubbing his bruised shoulder, Akitada felt like laughing despite their danger. “Calm down. There was only one. He tried the same thing with me, but I got in a lucky kick and knocked him out. That leaves only four outside. We’ll have to tie this one up and gag him. Give me your belt.”

But when they groped their way back to where Akitada had left their attacker, he was gone. They felt around for a few seconds, then Akitada put his hand on Tora’s arm. They listened. A soft noise moved away from them toward the entrance. Akitada made out a shadow against the faint light from the outside and leapt after it. Wrapping both arms around the other man’s body, he brought him down and landed heavily on his back.

But the cry of pain was female, and Akitada’s hands under the slim body confirmed the fact. Akitada rolled off. Then recognition came: Ayako!

He opened his mouth to speak her name, shaking with the relief of having found her safe and sound, and reached out to gather her into his arms, when some heavy object struck the side of his head. The darkness flashed into burning light and then vanished.

♦

Tora had heard Ayako’s cry and Akitada’s fall. He, too, rushed across the intervening space and collided violently with a large unfamiliar body. Cursing, he pulled back his fist to lash out at the new enemy when Hidesato’s voice asked, “Tora? Is that you?”

Tora lowered his arm. “Hidesato! What are you doing here?”

“I followed on foot. Good thing, too. I think one of the bastards got hold of Ayako. Ayako? Where are you? This cursed darkness. A man can’t see what he’s doing.”

Tora struck a flint. In the brief flash, he saw Hidesato with a long, heavy bamboo stave in his hand and Ayako crouching on the floor over Akitada’s prostrate figure. Then the light went out again.

“You fool.” Ayako sounded bitter. “You hit Akitada and probably killed him.”

Tora left them, groping his way toward the entrance. He returned a moment later carrying an ancient lantern that shed a flickering light. “How bad is he?” he asked.

“He’s breathing.” She held up a bloody hand.

“Where’s Otomi?” Tora asked.

“I made her hide. Tora, there’s so much blood.”

Tora was on his knees, tearing strips of fabric from his shirt for a bandage. “He shouldn’t have come,” he muttered, looking at the pale face of the unconscious Akitada in Ayako’s lap.

“I didn’t know,” Hidesato said miserably.

Ayako said scornfully, “You’re a stupid, bumbling fool who can’t do anything right.”

Hidesato sagged to the floor and put his head in his hands. The other two ignored him. Around them heavy columns rose into the distant darkness. The enormous painting of the Goddess of Mercy seemed to float in space, and the reds, pinks, and soft browns of her robes shifted and trembled in the unsteady light of the lantern flame, while the gold of her jewelry and halo flashed like fire in the gloom.

“If you’ll stay with him till he comes around,” Tora said when they had put a bandage on Akitada’s head, “Hidesato and I’ll go out and get those cursed bastards before they find Otomi.”

He expected an argument, but Ayako merely nodded.

Hidesato looked at her. “I’m sorry, Ayako,” he said hoarsely, brushing at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to do it. It was dark. I know I’ve been worse than useless. He nearly killed me because what happened was my fault. I swear I’ll try to make it up to you. If it’s the last thing I do.” He turned away.

Tora scooped up his bamboo stave and followed Hidesato out. Ayako, in the dim circle of lantern light, looked after them with a puzzled frown, then turned back to the unconscious Akitada, cradling his face in her hands.

♦

Outside, the darkness was less opaque. From a far corner of the garden came a crashing noise and someone cursed.

“Thank the gods. They haven’t found her yet,” Tora said. He leaned his stave against the railing. “Too many trees to use these. I guess it’ll have to be our bare hands.”

Hidesato put down his own bamboo pole.

Their quarry was making so much noise thrashing through the shrubbery that they did not have to be very careful. The monks had separated to cover a larger area in their search, and Tora and Hidesato surprised two of them. Tora knocked out his man with a handy piece of broken roof tile, while Hidesato produced a length of thin chain from under his jacket and threw this over the other man’s head, snapping it back so suddenly that they heard his neck snap. The monk dropped without a sound.

“Your master won’t be able to talk to this one,” Hidesato said. “What about yours?”

Tora shook his head. “I hit him too hard.”