The Dragon Scroll (32 page)

Akitada felt his control of the situation slipping. The pounding pain in his head and the soreness of his throat had been joined by more nausea. With an effort he turned to Ikeda. “I’m afraid the evidence of murder is incontrovertible. A vase just like the one over there was the murder weapon. Lord Tachibana fell there, bleeding into the carpet. The stain is still visible. Lady Tachibana, her nurse, and a male visitor carried the body through the garden to the studio and arranged it to suggest an accidental fall. Then one of them swept the path. One of the maids and another witness saw the male accomplice escape into the alley behind the house.”

Swallowing nervously, Ikeda looked around the room. The pause stretched as he weighed his options. “Who is this alleged accomplice?” the prefect finally asked.

“Lady Tachibana has refused to identify the man. She briefly tried to blame the murder on Captain Yukinari, but I happen to know that he was not in town the night of the murder.”

Ikeda stared at him, then cleared his throat. “Horrible,” he said. “Murder. Who would have thought? I don’t see how I could have missed ...”

Akitada’s stomach churned as nausea threatened again. He had to get away from here, get outside into the clean, fresh air. He glared at Ikeda. “Well, what are you waiting for now, man?” he snapped. “This crime is heinous. It touches the most sacred foundations of our nation.” He knew he sounded pompous but did not care. “Respect and duty to husband and master have been foully perverted by these women. Or don’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely!” gasped Ikeda, glancing nervously at the women. Lady Tachibana stared back at him. He cleared his throat again. “For a wife to raise her hand against her husband or for a servant to assist in the killing of her master is frightful indeed. The most severe penalty permitted by the law must be imposed.” He waved to his constables. “Arrest these women!”

The nurse began to jabber wildly.

“Gag her!” snapped Ikeda. With the help of Kenko’s soldiers, the constables subdued the maid. Lady Tachibana wept softly but offered no further resistance.

It was over.

Akitada stumbled up. He managed to nod to the lieutenant and Ikeda before walking quickly out of the door. The icy air hit his sweat-covered face like a burst of cold water. For a moment he stood swaying, breathing in deep gulps of it. Then the nausea rose again, and he staggered down into the garden to vomit.

He did not know how he managed to get back to their quarters, but he found them dark and empty. Dimly recalling that Seimei and Tora were still on their errand, he lay down on the floor as he was and closed his eyes.

Later he roused himself. He was burning with fever. Tearing off his clothing, all but the thin silk underrobe that clung to his wet skin, he crawled over to his desk to drink the remnants of cold tea from Seimei’s teapot. Then he collapsed into uneasy sleep again.

When he awoke a second time, he was shaking with cold. He tried to call for Seimei, but his voice was gone and his teeth chattered so badly, he gave up. The room was completely dark. He got up and attempted to reach the trunk that held the bedding but was unable to control the trembling of his arms and legs. Dizziness caused him to sit down abruptly, and he vomited up the tea. Though his throat still felt as if he had swallowed hot coals and his head pounded like a drum, the nausea was gone. Covering himself with his clothes, he lay back down.

Strange dreams and nightmares filled his sleep. Lady Tachibana hovered above him, eagle’s talons instead of hands ripping open his throat while her butterfly wings gently fanned his burning brow. Ayako appeared and disappeared in clouds of steam, beckoning to him, while he groped blindly and futilely for her. At one point the green shard in his fingers turned into a leaf and fluttered away to join a blue flower:
asagao,
he thought, the morning glory. It nodded in the moonlight, and the dew-drop on its petals turned to blood.

* * * *

FIFTEEN

THE BLOOD-RED CURTAIN

he stout waitress recognized Seimei immediately. Her pockmarked face split into a grin flashing crooked yellow teeth the minute she saw them at the door. “Master Seimei!” she shouted, plopping down a flask of wine so suddenly between two customers that most of it spilled. “Master Seimei!” She started toward them with flapping sleeves.

Seimei shot behind Tora’s broad back with a gasp. “We cannot stay, Tora,” he hissed. Someone in the room burst into laughter.

“Come in, come in,” the woman cried, reaching around Tora and pulling Seimei out by his arm. “It’s cold outside and I’ve a good seat for you by the fire. What will you eat? Some fine
kisu
fish stewed in wine and soy sauce? Salted mushrooms and pickled eggplant? We have boiled sweet potatoes I could mash for you with a little honey if you have a sweet tooth.”

“No, no,” gasped Seimei, pulling away from her grasp. “We are in a great hurry. Isn’t that right, Tora? No time at all. We just stopped to ask you a question.”

She bared her teeth again. “No need to ask.” Without letting go of his arm, she playfully poked Seimei’s bony chest with a stubby forefinger. “I’m free in another hour.” Seimei looked blank. She pursed her lips over her buckteeth in disappointment. “Well, come in and sit down at least,” she pleaded. “Just to rest your legs. You’re not as young as you used to be.” Looking at the grinning Tora, she added, “You should look after your uncle a little better. It’s hard on a man his age when he has no wife to see to his comfort.”

Seimei glared. “I am not at all tired,” he snapped. “And it is not polite to call people old.”

Chuckling, she patted his cheek. “Oh, there’s lots of life left in you yet,” she said. “You’re just the sort of man I like.”

Seimei retreated behind Tora again, to more laughter from their audience. “You talk to her, Tora,” he yelped.

Tora stopped grinning and put on a ferocious face. “Pay attention, woman!” he growled. “We’re here on official business.”

She cocked her head at him. “Go ahead, ask.”

“There was a peddler here selling his wares the day you served us. He got knocked about a bit and spilled all his stuff in the street. Do you remember?”

Her eyes suddenly moist with sentiment, she peered around Tora. “Do I! It was so sweet of you, Master Seimei, to make me a present of the peddler’s things. See here?” She raised a hand to pat her hair. “That’s the pretty comb you gave me. I wear it every day and think of you.”

Someone applauded and shouted some lewd advice.

Seimei made a choking sound and clutched convulsively at Tora, who said, “Never mind that now. Where can we find the peddler?”

She said slyly, “I’ll tell you if Master Seimei comes back.”

Tora elbowed Seimei, who croaked, “Yes. As soon as we can.”

“Jisai hasn’t been back since your master paid him, but you can ask his friend.”

The friend turned out to be the Rat, who was taking his ease with a cup of wine.

“Getting drunk already?” Tora greeted him.

“Just keeping out the cold,” wheezed the Rat, looking at Seimei. “Who’s the old geezer?”

“I’ll wait outside,” Seimei snapped and turned to leave.

Tora caught his sleeve. “We’re all going. The Rat’s going to show us the way to Jisai’s place.”

“Jisai?” The Rat looked interested. “What’s he done?”

“We just have some questions,” Tora said. “You coming or not?”

“What’s it worth to you?”

“We’ll pay your tab if you’re quick about it.”

The Rat jumped up, grabbed his crutch, and hopped off toward the street.

The bucktoothed waitress grinned. “He’s had three flasks of the best wine and a platter of pickled plums,” she informed Tora.

Tora whispered in her ear, “Your boyfriend here has the cash. But you’ll have to be nice to him. He hates parting with it.” Aloud he said, “Pay her, Seimei. A promise is a promise, and the master’s in a hurry.”

Eyeing the woman warily, Seimei pulled out a string of coppers. “That man was a walking lesson on why drinking is a shortcut to poverty,” he said. “How much does he owe?”

“Forty-five coppers.”

“Forty-five ...” Seimei blanched and clutched the money to his chest.

She leaned forward to tap his cheek playfully. “But for you, my dear,” she murmured, batting her eyes flirtatiously, “I’ll make it a special price.” Seimei stared at her teeth like a drowning man at a shark’s jaws. “Make it ten coppers, love,” she cooed, “and we’ll spend the rest together.”

Applause and shouts of encouragement broke out all around them.

Seimei counted out ten copper coins with trembling hands and ran.

“Don’t forget your promise!” she called after him.

“Only ten coppers for all that wine!” Tora said outside, slapping Seimei on the back. “You’ll have to tell me your secret with women, old man.”

Seimei glowered at him and then turned his wrath on the cheerfully whistling Rat. “Start walking! Even a dog that wags its tail can be beaten,” he said.

The Rat pulled in his tail. Hopping along on his crutch and complaining of the cold, the long way, and his indifferent health, he took them through dirty alleys, a derelict burial ground, and the courtyards of several tenement buildings where frozen laundry drooped from lines and women emptied their slops into the yard. Eventually he dispensed with his fake handicap, leaving the crutch in a hollow tree. Seimei maintained a disapproving silence.

Thoroughly chilled and frustrated, they reached an area of open ground near the southern palisade of the city. Among a scattering of bare trees stood the makeshift tents and grass-covered huts of squatters. Black smoke rose against the twilight sky from open fires. Ragged women and children tended to their families’ dinners, while the men huddled near the warmth, drinking and rolling dice.

Exchanging cheerful greetings, the Rat dodged a line of frozen rags strung between two trees, kicked a snapping dog, and stopped in front of a particularly depressing hovel.

A ragged mat covered its entrance, and broken cooking utensils littered the ground. Flicking the mat aside unceremoniously, the Rat ducked in and Tora followed. Seimei, wrinkling his nose at the stench released from inside, stayed outside. A spate of excited talk came from the hut.

A group of dirty children quickly gathered around Seimei with pitiful wails: “Give us a copper.” “Just a copper for a bowl of soup, master.” They pushed against him, fingering the fabric of his robe, pointing at his black cap, feeling his sleeves, and inserting inquisitive hands under his sash. Seimei slapped the hands away and shouted, “Be quick about it, Tora!”

Instead of an answer, Tora’s arm shot out from behind the mat and pulled him inside. Seimei choked. Blinded by the sudden murky darkness, he felt as if he had been swallowed by some large, foul-smelling creature. Then he made out a human being cowering on a pallet covered with ragged blankets. The blankets had long since faded to the grayness of dirt, and the frail creature was of the same hue: gray skin, thin gray hair like cobwebs on a pale skull, grayish layers of clothing. Deep-set black eyes stared at Seimei with dull curiosity.