The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn (20 page)

They turned a corner and Seikei
saw an immense wall that stretched far down the street. He caught
his breath. This was a yashiki that was so huge that it dwarfed any
other in the city. In fact, it must be . . .

“Is this the shogun’s palace?” he
asked.

Bunzo nodded. “That’s where you’re
going.”

Seikei felt his stomach jump.
“Aren’t you coming with me?”

Bunzo gave him a little smile, the
first time he had ever shown any sympathy for Seikei. “It’s a great
honor. I have been there before, but my orders are to turn you over
to the guards.”

When they reached the entrance,
Bunzo dismounted and Seikei followed. Bunzo spoke a few words to
the samurai guards there, and then turned to Seikei. “They’ll show
you the way from here. Remember, at a tea ceremony, you must act
the way a guest would normally do. No matter who else is present.”
Bunzo glanced at him. “Whoever that person might be. Do you
understand?”

“Yes,” said Seikei.

“Watch the judge and do whatever
he does if you are uncertain,” said Bunzo.

Seikei was
bewildered. Clearly, he wasn’t going to be punished, but he was
awed by the fact that he would be allowed inside the shogun’s
palace.
If only father could see me
now
, he thought.

He had little time to think about
it, for two of the guards motioned for him to cross the bridge
across the moat and follow them. Inside, stone-covered paths led in
all directions and Seikei saw dozens of the shogun’s officials
hurrying from one of the many buildings to another.

The guards led him toward the
center of the huge complex, and Seikei gazed with awe on the mighty
fortress that was the home of the shogun. That was not their
destination, however. One of the paths wound through a high hedge
of yew bushes. On the other side was a stone garden like the one
Seikei had seen at the judge’s house. They walked around it,
heading toward a small hut with a thatched roof at the far
end.

As he came closer, Seikei saw that
the hut was constructed of wooden beams that looked very old.
Wormholes and cracks covered the wood, and crumbling dried clay
filled the gaps between the beams. On this side, the hut had two
small windows, but both were covered with wax paper so that no one
could see in or out.

The entrance to the hut was a
small opening, only as high as Seikei’s waist. One of the guards
pointed to it, and Seikei quickly removed his sandals, setting them
beside two other pairs next to the doorway. He glanced at the
guards, and they nodded. Seikei was to go in alone.

He stooped low, remembering that
one must crawl through the doorway on hands and knees. This part of
the tea ceremony was intended to humble everyone who went inside,
another reminder that ranks were set aside. Within, even a
merchant’s son was the equal of anyone he encountered.

Inside, two men knelt on the bare
wooden floor, sitting back on their heels. One was Judge Ooka, and
the other... Seikei recognized him from the night before. Though
the man was now dressed in a plain, undecorated kimono, it was he
who had given the signal for the samurai to strike off Tomomi’s
head.

Seikei realized that he was in the
presence of the shogun. He was relieved to see Judge Ooka smile and
gesture for Seikei to join them. Seikei knelt as the others had,
and lowered his eyes shyly. He stared into the hot coals that
glowed in a small pit in the center of the hut. A stick of incense
and some pine needles had been placed within the pit to sweeten the
smell of the smoke. A teakettle rested on a small grill over the
coals.

“Here is the fine young man who
has been so helpful,” he heard the judge say.

“Welcome,” said the shogun. “The
water is almost boiling. I hope you will enjoy the tea.”

It was impolite not to answer, and
Seikei forced himself to look up. “I am sure that it will be a
pleasant occasion,” he replied, using one of the phrases he
remembered from the ritual.

The shogun smiled. He was a
heavy-set man about forty years old, the same age as Seikei’s
father. His face was soft and jowly, and when he smiled, tiny
wrinkles appeared under his eyes. In fact, Seikei thought, he
looked much like the merchants in Osaka who were his father’s
friends. Seikei reminded himself not to speak such a thought
aloud.

All the utensils for the tea
ceremony were set neatly beside the shogun. He picked up the bowl
in which the tea would be brewed. At first glance, it appeared to
be a simple bowl made of glazed clay. But Seikei saw that the glaze
had been applied to make the bowl resemble a natural object, like
something found in the forest by a hermit. The shogun poured a
little hot water into it, swirled it around, and then discarded the
liquid.

Now he opened a shiny lacquer box,
and the scent of tea wafted into the room. Using a bamboo dipper,
the shogun scooped some of the dark green powder into the purified
bowl. By now, the water in the pot over the fire was bubbling
softly, and the shogun gently added some to the bowl, stirring it
with a whisk. As the powdered tea dissolved, the water turned into
a thick, soupy liquid. When the brew was ready, the shogun handed
the cup to Judge Ooka, who bowed his head in thanks, took three
sips, and complimented the shogun on its taste.

Then he wiped the edge of the cup
with a napkin and handed it to Seikei. Seikei accepted the bowl
with both hands. Raising the bowl to his lips, Seikei discovered
that the drink was smooth and full of subtle flavors. It was not
mere politeness that caused him to take a second sip, and then a
third.

“This is a very rare tea,” he
exclaimed. “It must have been grown on the western slopes of Mount
Fuji, near Shizuoka.” Remembering himself, he returned the cup to
the shogun. “I thank you for allowing me to share such an excellent
tea,” Seikei said.

He noticed that both of the men
were looking at him with interest. “I am pleased that you enjoyed
the tea,” said the shogun. He paused. “May I ask how you were able
to identify the place where it was grown?” Seikei’s face grew hot.
“I have tasted it before. My father has many different kinds of
tea...in his store.” The shogun’s eyes widened, and then he broke
into a smile. Looking at Judge Ooka, he said, “Another of your
surprises, my old friend.”

“This young man has many talents,”
the judge replied. “I commend him highly.”

The shogun looked at Seikei, who
was trying not to show how much pride he felt in the judge’s words.
“As you know,” the shogun said, “a tea ceremony is intended to give
relief from everyday cares. Guests usually discuss such things as
the tea, art, the beauty of nature.”

Seikei nodded. Those were the
things his father’s friends spoke of at the ceremony he had
attended. He had had to struggle not to let his boredom
show.

“However,” the shogun went on, “I
always find it most enjoyable to hear how my friend Judge Ooka has
solved a crime. In this case, I would particularly like to know how
he contrived to bring the criminal before me to confess his crime
and then demand his execution.” He looked sternly at the judge, who
bowed his head to conceal a smile.

The shogun looked back at Seikei.
“Since you were involved in this matter, he thought you would enjoy
it as well. But of course if you do not wish to hear about such a
disturbing affair, it would not be polite to discuss
it.”

Seikei’s mouth dropped. “Oh, no. I
mean . . . that would give me great pleasure.”

The shogun nodded and offered
Seikei a tray of sweet little rice and bean cakes. Seikei took one
and passed the tray to the judge, who said, ‘You will probably want
more than one. Keep the tray, for I am already too fat.” Then he
reached out and murmured, “Perhaps just one, for the sake of
politeness.”

Seikei took a bite of his cake.
“It has a delicious taste,” he remembered to say. He looked over to
see that the judge’s cake had already disappeared. The shogun
offered the judge another, but he shook his head firmly. “It is
time to examine the path that we followed.”

25: The End of the Path

“Truthfully,” the judge began,
“Seikei’s alertness provided me with all the information I needed.
When the jewel was stolen, it was apparent that the thief could not
have been the paper-maker and his daughter, in whose room it was
found. Surely they would have expected to be searched and would
have tried to escape before morning came.”

The judge looked at Seikei. “You
were brave enough to admit that you had seen a spirit during the
night. That was unusual enough to cause me to investigate. The
jewel might have been stolen by a spirit, but I have yet to find
even one case in which that was the solution.” He shrugged. “Of
course, life holds many strange things. But a spirit would not need
to escape through a tunnel. So I advised you to follow
it.”

“But you were at the other end
when I came out,” Seikei recalled.

“Yes. I had heard that a kabuki
troupe had performed nearby that evening. I thought that perhaps
what you saw in the hallway of the inn might have been an actor,
dressed in a costume.

“As you followed the tunnel, I
walked to the temple grounds where the play had been performed. Of
course, if you had come out in some other place, that would have
told me that I was wrong.”

“You were right,” nodded Seikei.
“It was Tomomi, dressed as a woman.”

“If one of Lord Hakuseki’s guards
had been as alert as you, Tomomi would merely have posed as a
geisha come to serve the daimyo.” The judge paused for a sip of
tea.

“I now knew how the crime had been
committed,” he continued. “However, the discovery of the tunnel
showed me that the innkeeper was also suspect. For the kabuki
actors could not have dug the tunnel. That required much time and
work, and the innkeeper would surely have noticed such activity. So
I ordered him arrested.”

Seikei remembered the night of the
bon festival when he had feared the spirit of the innkeeper. “But
he killed himself under torture.”

“Torture?” The judge shook his
head. “No, I do not use torture. The shogun and I have discussed
this before.”

“And disagreed,” grumbled the
shogun.

“My feeling is that torture is
useless in solving crimes,” Judge Ooka said. “Most people will
confess to anything if they are tortured long enough, whether they
have committed a crime or not. My assistants merely show suspects
the instruments of torture. In this case, the innkeeper was left
alone with them, and he used a sword to commit seppuku. That showed
me how unusual a crime this was. It told me all I needed to
know.”

“I remember your telling me that
it meant he was a samurai,” Seikei said.

The judge nodded. “A samurai who
was willing to give up his own life to protect the man he served. A
samurai working as an innkeeper is quite unusual. Killing himself
to protect a kabuki actor would have been unthinkable—unless the
actor was his lord.”

The judge’s hand crept toward the
plate of sweet cakes, and Seikei moved it so that he could take
one. By now, the second bowl of tea was ready—a sweeter, lighter
drink than the first one. The judge gratefully sipped it and passed
the bowl to Seikei.

“So you and I pursued the path of the thief,” the judge went
on. “He seemed unlikely to abandon his disguise, and I decided that
he would try to lose himself in the crowds at Ise. When I
discovered that a kabuki troupe was presenting
The
Forty-Seven
Ronin
,
my
suspicions were aroused.” He looked at Seikei.

“You have certainly noticed the
similarity between that story and this case.”

Seikei nodded. ‘To avenge their
lord, the ronin assumed roles that make people think they had lost
their honor. Just as Tomomi did. But all the time, he was
planning...”

“His revenge,” nodded the judge.
“That came later. Seeing Tomomi on stage, I realized what a cunning
figure he was, and I sensed that he would be wary of someone
pursuing him. I am too old and fat for that role, so I left you to
follow the path.”

Seikei shifted his legs. He wanted
to ask the judge why he couldn’t have made the message a little
clearer. But the judge smiled, as if he had read Seikei’s thoughts.
“Left on your own, I assumed you would be resourceful. And don’t
forget, Bunzo was following to keep you from harm. He had already
informed me of your confrontation with Tomomi in the
teahouse.”

Seikei felt humiliated. The judge
knew, then, how Tomomi had taken the sword from him. “The next
morning, Tomomi placed the jewel at the shrine, asking me to tell
you.”

The judge nodded. “He hoped that I
would concentrate my efforts on recovering the jewel. But as you
now know, it was merely another false jewel. He kept the real one,
for all along he intended to present it to the shogun
himself.”

Judge Ooka looked at the shogun.
“You see, it wasnot through any cleverness on my part that you
witnessed the end of the drama. That was intended by Tomomi, or
should we call him by his real name? Takezaki Genji. He announced
that name in response to a challenge by Seikei.”