The Dragon Scroll (42 page)

Tora’s cheerfulness faded abruptly. “Poor bastards. I’d like to get my hands on that smooth-faced devil Joto. They’re only half alive. Some of them haven’t seen the sun in years. They were so blind we had to lead them. Some couldn’t walk at all. And they’re the lucky ones. The place was full of graves the living dug with their hands. The old abbot is in bad shape, too weak to talk. The rest are a little stronger, but not much. I found three who’ll tell their story.”

Motosuke joined them. “Horrible!” he murmured. “And to think that none of us knew.”

Akitada sighed. “I suppose we’ll talk to them later. What has been done about the children?”

“Joto’s pretty little boys?” Tora rolled his eyes in disgust and jerked his head in the direction of the building before them. “I expect they’re playing at tops in the abbot’s quarters.”

“Their families must be anxious,” Motosuke said.

Akitada shook his head. “A little late,” he said bitterly. “They should have thought before giving them to monks.” Seeing Motosuke’s surprise, he amended his words. “I realize it is common practice, but it seems to me that at that age ... a little more time in a loving family...” He broke off awkwardly. His own childhood had hardly been spent in a loving home. Besides, revealing a personal prejudice against Buddhism was politically unwise.

Tora slapped his back. “Cheer up! We pulled it off. They’re going home, and we’ll drink to our luck later.”

Motosuke took Akitada’s arm and pulled him aside. “I know, elder brother, that your man is very capable, but he has the most peculiar manners. I’m sure the others must be shocked. No kneeling, not so much as a bow, no idea how to address you properly or how to acknowledge an order. Hadn’t you better mention it to him?”

Akitada found the thought amusing. “I doubt I could change Tora,” he said. “Besides, all that protocol wastes a great deal of time.”

At that moment one of the soldiers ran up to Yukinari. After a brief exchange, Yukinari turned to Akitada and Motosuke. “Forgive the interruption,” he said, “but there seems to be a problem about releasing the boys to their parents.”

“What do you mean?” asked Motosuke.

“They are locked in and nobody has a key. The parents are angry and threaten to break the door down.”

“Locked in?” Akitada got a hollow feeling in his stomach. “When was the last time someone checked on the children?”

“I don’t know, Excellency. I told one of my men to take the boys there as soon as we started rounding up the monks.”

Tora joined them and Akitada exchanged a glance with him. “Dear heaven, let me be wrong about this,” he muttered, feeling suddenly sick. “Come, Tora.”

They ran down a covered gallery toward the abbot’s private quarters. Before a pair of doors a small cluster of people stood shouting, pounding, and scratching at the heavy wooden panels.

When they saw Akitada and Tora coming, they fell back, their faces anxious.

Akitada told them, “We’ll have the door open in no time and your children will join you, but please wait outside the enclosure.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” blustered a young man with angry eyes. “I want my son and then I’ll kill every baldpate bastard who laid hands on him.”

Some of the women began to wail.

Akitada sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Stay here but keep quiet. Tora? Can you pick the lock?”

Tora nodded, pulling his wire tool from his sash. “Almost left it behind this morning,” he said, setting to work, “as not fitting with all this finery.” The lock clicked, and he opened the door.

A strange scene met their eyes. Joto, still dressed in his purple silk robe and the embroidered stole, was seated in the abbot’s chair on the dais. Around his slippered feet clustered the boys, who stared at them from round, startled eyes. On Joto’s lap sat the smallest boy, the one who had served Akitada juice during the festival. Joto’s prayer beads, a string of rose-colored quartz, were twisted around the child’s neck.

Before anyone could speak, the irate father pushed Akitada and Tora out of the way and made for Joto, shouting, “You devil, I’ll show you—” Akitada and Tora lunged quickly to snatch him back and restrain him. Behind them, the other parents crowded into the room, and Akitada regretted bitterly his earlier permission to let them stay.

“Very wise,” came the odiously smooth voice of the false abbot. “I see that you understand the situation.” Joto’s hand moved behind the small boy’s head, and the pink beads tightened around the child’s throat. The boy uttered a frightened cry. Joto said, “I shall kill this child if any of you come closer.”

Behind Tora and Akitada were gasps, and the father in their grip squirmed. “Tosuke,” he shouted. “Come here.”

A boy got up slowly, then ran to him. He clutched his father’s leg and burst into tears. “I want to go home!” he howled.

In a moment, the other children, all except the one on Joto’s lap, were also running to their parents. In the ensuing tumult, Joto rose, clutching his struggling hostage more tightly, and retreated a few feet.

Akitada let go of the father, who scooped up his son and ran.

Joto had lost his calm demeanor. His face was flushed, and his free hand was clamped tightly around the struggling boy’s neck. “I’ll kill him,” he mouthed over the noise of howling boys and shouting parents.

Akitada called to Tora, “Get everybody out! Close the door and guard it!”

Tora moved quickly, gathering the boys and their parents and pushing them out. In a moment, the room was silent and empty except for Joto, the child, and Akitada. Joto returned to his chair and sat down again.

“Let the boy go,” said Akitada. The child’s face had turned alarmingly red. Joto was twisting the beads until they cut into the soft throat. “He is not responsible for your predicament.”

Joto’s eyes narrowed. “And then you will arrest me?”

“You will have to answer certain charges, yes.”

“I have no intention of accommodating you.” Joto took his hand from the boy’s neck. The child gasped for breath, coughed, and then whimpered. Suddenly he let loose a shriek that made Akitada’s hair stand on end.

“Be quiet, little beast!” Joto slapped the boy hard with his free hand. The boy gasped and fell silent, his eyes wide with shock. Joto’s fingers had left white marks on the soft, tear-blotched face.

“You’re worse than an animal,” Akitada cried, clenching his fists.

“Let us say that I have weighed my life against his,” Joto remarked coldly, rearranging his hold on the child and getting a grip on the string of beads again, “and I found that my claims outweigh his. What does he have to offer humankind with his seven years of existence? In a few years he will even lose the beauty that makes him attractive now.” He twisted the boy’s face toward himself. “His skin will grow coarse and those soft cheeks will lose their fullness. The red lips will no longer offer affection, and the charming voice will become gruff and common. He will be useless. I, on the other hand, have yet to leave my mark on this nation. If it had not been for your rash and untimely interference, I would be well on my way to power now, the spiritual counselor and adviser of the nation.”

“His August Majesty does not deal with monks who bear arms, rob his treasury, and kill his subjects.”

“As I said, if it had not been for you, I would not be in this position. But you had to meddle in my affairs. We only sacrificed a few bearers and soldiers, an insignificant loss of life in any undertaking of this magnitude. But then you arrived, and Tachibana started making trouble. Even then, if Ikeda had not been careless in silencing Tachibana, the women would not have become a problem.” Joto let his voice trail off, then said abruptly, “But all is not lost. I have friends everywhere. I shall leave Kazusa for the time being and after a few years’ travel and meditation, who knows?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You will not be permitted to leave.”

Joto smiled unpleasantly. “You are unusually fond of children, I think. Take this little fellow, for instance. While I was hiding here among the boys, he told me that you had smiled at him. He seemed absurdly proud of this. Isn’t that so, Tatsuo? You like the gentleman, don’t you?”

The boy gulped. His large eyes filled with tears, and he whispered, “Please take me away, sir. I’ll be a good boy, honest.”

“Let him go!” Akitada said harshly. “I’ll do what I can for you.

Joto laughed softly. “No, no. You will set me free. And you will give me safe conduct out of the province.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Then he dies.” The beads jerked tight, and the boy’s mouth flew open. His hands scrabbled in the air.

“No!” screamed Akitada, taking a step and stopping. He would not be in time.

Joto loosened the beads slightly. The child gasped for air, his hands clawing at the beads. Joto laughed softly. “Why do you prolong his agony?” he asked.

Akitada thought frantically, but no solution came to him. “Very well,” he said, defeated. “I agree. Now let him go.”

“Come,” said the other man, “do not take me for a fool. He and I will be inseparable until I am safe.”

“Let the child go. He is ill. I will be your hostage instead.”

Joto shook his head.

Hopelessly, Akitada turned to make the arrangements, trying not to think of the report to his superiors in the capital, thinking instead of ways to free the child somehow later. Before he could open the door, it burst open. On the threshold stood a wild-eyed young woman, her face pale and frightened. When she looked past him and saw the boy, she screamed, “Tatsuo.”

The boy wailed, “Mother.”

Then things happened with incredible speed. The woman rushed past Akitada. Joto rose, causing his armchair to topple, and shouted, “Stay away!” Akitada reached out to stop the woman and caught her sleeve, but she pulled away so violently that the fabric ripped. Joto backed all the way to the wall. “Stay away or he dies,” he snarled to the mother.

But she was past hearing. The moment her hands touched the child’s body, Akitada saw Joto’s arm jerk. There was a snapping sound, and rose-colored beads hit the grass mat with the sound of hailstones on a thatched roof. The child fell limply into his mother’s arms. She stood, cradling him against her and whispering endearments.

For a moment, Akitada felt only relief, an enormous gratitude that fate had saved the child by breaking the string of prayer beads. Then he saw the way the boy’s head fell back, saw the lifeless eyes turned upward. In a blood-red fury of grief, he flung himself at Joto and seized his throat.

Joto gagged. Their eyes met and held for what seemed an eternity. And Akitada knew he could not kill this man and saw that Joto also knew it. “Why?” Akitada sobbed, shaking the abbot in helpless grief. “Why? I would have let you go.” The other man said nothing, merely stared back at him. With an exclamation of disgust, Akitada flung him aside and turned away.

The mother was still rocking her child, humming a tune and cradling his head against her breast. But her brows contracted with worry. “Tatsuo?” she pleaded. “Don’t go to sleep now, my little sparrow. Speak to your mother.”

Dear heaven, thought Akitada, what have I done? He ran to the door to call for assistance.

Outside a small group of people waited. The other parents had left with their children, but Tora, Motosuke, and the officials stood there anxiously, their relief fading when they saw his face.

“He killed the boy,” Akitada told them harshly.

Tora was the first to react. He took a sword from one of the soldiers and went to Joto, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll need chains.”

The mother suddenly screamed, only once, but it was a sound Akitada would never forget. Laying the dead child tenderly on the floor, she staggered toward Tora and Joto. Halfway there, her steps faltered, she swayed and began to fall. Tora jumped to catch her.