The Dragon Scroll (14 page)

“And pretty?”

Akitada fidgeted. “Yes, you could call her quite beautiful.”

“There,” said Tora, clapping his hands, “is your motive. The handsome captain seduces the young bride. When the old man finds out the captain is mining for his treasure, having the better tools, so to speak, there’s a quarrel and the captain hits him over the head.”

“Nonsense!” Akitada jumped up, glaring at Tora. “Seimei is right. Your foolish tongue runs away with your dirty mind.”

Seimei stared up at Akitada. “Oh,” he remarked, “the boy may have a point, sir, though he puts it crudely. Not all married women are wives, you know. Such a great discrepancy in age creates disharmony in a household. But it will be easy to discover the truth from the servants. They say only a husband does not know what is going on. Women are creatures without morals.”

Akitada snapped, “Enough! We are not getting anywhere on the tax thefts. Tora, you have been on your own this past week. While Seimei and I were going through the governor’s accounts, you were supposed to talk to the local people. What do you have to report?”

Tora looked uneasy. “I spent a lot of time at Higekuro’s, sir. Trying to get a picture of local conditions.”

Seimei snorted.

“And what are the local conditions?” Akitada asked coldly.

“Well, it’s a rich province. Plenty of rice, good climate, good soil. Besides, they have started making silk.”

“Come, that’s not news,” said Akitada impatiently. “We saw the mulberry groves on our journey from the harbor. And silk was part of the tax shipments.”

“Whatever it is, it’s made a fortune for Higekuro’s neighbor. Otomi said the fellow started out with a little shop, selling cheap cotton and hemp. Then he got to trading in silks, and before you knew it, he was a wholesaler with warehouses in the harbor and here in town. Threw up a high wall around his land and no longer speaks to his neighbors.”

“Ah.” Seimei nodded. “That sounds suspicious. The sage said: ‘Virtue is never a hermit. It always has neighbors.’ The silk merchant lacks virtue, or he would share his joy with his neighbors.” 

“Perhaps he’s just afraid of being robbed,” Akitada said dryly. “Is there much crime in the city, Tora?”

“No more than any place where there’s money. Higekuro says there would be a lot more if it weren’t for all the soldiers in the garrison.”

“Captain Yukinari mentioned reinforcements at the garrison since the tax shipments started disappearing.” Akitada pulled his earlobe thoughtfully. “I would have thought that the number of new recruits, along with the disciples Joto is attracting to his temple, must cause problems in the city.”

Tora wagged his head. “I got the feeling that the people like the soldiers, and they put up with the monks because they make money out of the pilgrims. Even Higekuro and the girls are much better off now. Some of the soldiers come to the school for lessons, and Otomi does a nice little business selling her pictures to the pilgrims.”

“Pictures?” asked Akitada.

“Oh, didn’t I mention it? That girl’s a fine painter. She paints scrolls of saints and Buddhist
mandalas,
and the pilgrims pay very good money for them, as much as a silver bar for a large one. You should see her work. It looks so real you’d think you were there.”

“Where?” asked Seimei, literal-minded as always. “Saints and
mandalas
are not real. How can she paint them as real people or places?”

“Well,” said Tora defensively, “maybe not those, but she did some real nice pictures of mountains and the sea.”

“I should like to meet your friends sometime.” Akitada smiled. “Otomi must be a remarkable artist if you praise her work, Tora.”

Tora looked pleased. Casting a shy glance in Seimei’s direction, he asked, “Do you think, sir, that someone like me could learn to write?” Seeing the astonished faces of the other two, he added with a blush, “I mean just a few characters. Some pleasant words a girl might like to hear?”

Seimei snorted again. “I’ll teach you how to hold a brush and place the strokes,” he said, “but such a skill is worth a great deal more than writing love notes to women. Women cannot read or write anyway. Their heads cannot grasp such matters.”

“Oh, I promise to try very hard to learn whatever you teach me, Seimei,” said Tora, “but you are wrong about Otomi. She reads and writes all the time.”

“What about the other daughter?” asked Akitada.

Tora grimaced. “Ayako? She’s a mannish sort of girl. Helps her father train his students in martial arts. You wouldn’t like her, sir.”

“Perhaps not, at least not in the way you mean,” Akitada said, and thought of the fragile beauty at the Tachibana mansion. He got up, brushing down his silk gown, and said briskly, “I think I shall pay a proper condolence visit to Lady Tachibana. She is very young and inexperienced and may need some help in settling her late husband’s estate. Seimei, you will draw up the final releases for the governor. And you, Tora, had better start to do some useful work talking to the people in this city.”

Seimei regarded his young master fixedly and said, “More dangerous than a tiger is the scarlet silk of a woman’s undergown.”

* * * *

SEVEN

LOW LIFE

ora decided to reassure himself of the safety of Higekuro and the girls. The day was overcast again and it was chilly, but no new snow was falling. His mind on Otomi, he strode out so briskly that he did not feel the cold.

He was passing the shrine down the street from Higekuro’s when he caught sight of two saffron-robed figures and quickly stepped in the shrine entrance to watch them.

The two monks appeared to be begging for food. They knocked on a door, waited till someone opened, said a few words, and extended their bowls. The householder gave them food, and the monks moved on. Tora began to feel hungry himself. It was past midday, and his master’s meals were light by Tora’s standards. He was thinking resentfully of those full bowls when, to his amazement, the monks emptied the food into a patch of weeds and began the process of knocking and begging again. Could those ill-begotten monks be so spoiled that they were looking for particular delicacies?

It was not until they reached the house opposite Higekuro’s school that Tora realized their true purpose. Here an elderly maid stepped into the street and pointed across the way. The monks asked questions, and the woman nodded, gesturing to her ears and lips as she spoke. After she went back into her house, the monks stood staring at the school a moment longer, then turned and quickly walked back the way they had come.

So the bastards had tracked down Otomi!

Higekuro was alone in the exercise hall when Tora burst in. He was practicing his archery with such concentration that he did not turn his head. Seated on a stool, he dispatched arrow after arrow, effortlessly and smoothly, into a series of small targets some sixty feet away, without once missing his mark. Only when the quiver was empty did he lower the great bow and look over his shoulder.

Tora applauded. “I thought I could handle a bow,” he said, “but not like that. Why are the arrows so long, and how much do you charge for lessons?”

“These are competition arrows.” Higekuro chuckled. “You use shorter ones in the army. And for my friends the lessons are free.”

“I can pay now that I have steady work. Can we start right away?”

“Never refuse a gift from a grateful man. It diminishes him. Your lessons will be free, but today I’m expecting students. Will you mind returning another time?”

“No, but I need to see Otomi. Those monks have been snooping around again.”

Higekuro raised his brows. “Really? Well, she’ll be back shortly.”

Tora frowned. “I’ll wait for her then,” he said.

“Suit yourself.” Higekuro chuckled again and turned back to his practice.

Tora paced, getting upset and imagining the worst, until the door opened and Otomi and Ayako walked in, shopping baskets over their arms. He snapped, “Where the devil have you two been? Don’t you know it’s dangerous out there for two women alone?”

Otomi was frightened by his scowl, but her sister frowned and demanded, “What the devil business is it of yours?”

Higekuro cleared his throat. “Won’t you join us for a bite now that the girls are here, Tora?”

“Thanks, but I have no time.” Tora glared at Ayako. “Those damned monks found out where you live. I was worried about your sister.”

“Why?” She glared back.

Her father cleared his throat again and said, “It was kind of you, my friend, but I think Ayako can handle a couple of monks quite easily.”

Stung to the quick, Tora shot back, “How would you know? You haven’t seen them in action. You’re not safe if those bastards make a real effort. Just a couple of girls and a ...” He stopped.

“‘Cripple,’ were you going to say?” Higekuro’s laughter rumbled from his barrel-like chest. “My friend, I should be offended! How can you have so little faith in my skills and Ayako’s? Teaching self-defense is our business. And the locks on our doors are strong. Don’t worry! We will make sure that Otomi is not alone in the future. I don’t think those fellows will be back. They would be very foolish to risk a bad beating just for a pretty girl.” And he laughed again.

Ayako laughed also, and after a moment Otomi joined in.

Tora knew Ayako mocked him and was offended. He glowered at her and gave Otomi a reproachful look. “I’m warning you,” he said, “those monks are mean bastards.” This produced new gales of laughter. He snapped, “Forget it,” and turned on his heel.

At the door, he collided with two of Higekuro’s students, a couple of burly lieutenants from the garrison who looked scornfully at Tora’s plain blue gown and swaggered past him. Tora felt like starting a fight but controlled his temper.

Outside, another saffron robe had appeared on the street. This monk made no pretense of begging but strode purposefully up the street to the large, heavy gate belonging to Higekuro’s successful neighbor. His knock was answered quickly, and he disappeared inside.

Tora’s ego was too bruised to go back inside with another warning and get laughed at again. Instead he remembered his empty belly and headed for the market, hoping to pick up information with a meal.

After studying the market crowd, he stopped a passing vendor and exchanged a copper for a handful of hot chestnuts. The man scooped a steaming serving into Tora’s hands.

Tora howled. “May demons devour your testicles!” he cried, hopping about and tossing the hot chestnuts from one painful palm to the other.

The vendor watched with wide-eyed innocence. “You must hold them in your sleeve or you’ll burn your fingers, sir,” he advised.

“Thanks a lot for telling me,” Tora snapped and walked away.

“One of those stupid officials,” the vendor commented loudly to his next customer.