The Masuda Affair (9 page)

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she cried. ‘You’ve got no right …’

For a moment there was silence. Then Tora’s voice, strangely tight, shouted, ‘Sir? Would you come back here a moment?’

Akitada ran around the storehouse and came to an abrupt halt.

It was a weedy area where Mimura cleaned his fish and dumped unsold wares and other garbage. The rotting fish was piled in a stinking mound beside an old basket. Flies buzzed everywhere.

And there was the boy. He held a broken broom in his small hands and was once again dressed in a filthy rag. New bruises, including a black eye and a swollen lip, had joined the old ones. His eyes were wide with fear.

But what made Akitada’s blood boil was that he had a
heavy leather collar around his thin neck. From the collar, a rusty chain about ten feet in length led to one of the supports of the storehouse, where it was fastened to an iron ring.

The child had stopped sweeping the malodorous mess of fish entrails; his eyes were on Mrs Mimura.

Tora cursed softly.

Barely controlling his rage, Akitada turned to the woman. ‘Is this your vicious dog?’

She cringed away from his face. ‘He will run away, sir,’ she wailed. ‘It’s for his own good. You know he runs away.’

‘So you tie him up like a dog? Worse, for I see neither food nor water bowls.’

‘He eats in the house. He’s only been here a little while. I’ve got work to do and can’t watch him all the time. It was just for a little while until I got supper started.’

Akitada gave her another look that made her quail and went to the boy. The child whimpered and backed away. Akitada spoke to him, soothing meaningless phrases: ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s only me again. You remember me, don’t you? We met in the forest. It was raining then, but you rode to Otsu with me. I bought you a rice cake and we stayed at the inn. Do you remember?’ The boy gave no sign that he understood. His eyes shifted to Tora, who had come up beside him, and he jerked away in fear.

‘Hold still, little one,’ Tora said gently. ‘Let me take that collar off. You’ve done enough sweeping.’ But the boy ran.

Mrs Mimura, perhaps trying to be helpful, snatched at his chain and jerked it sharply. The boy flipped backward with a strangled cry and hit the dirt hard. Almost at the same instant Tora backhanded Mrs Mimura so viciously that she screamed and tumbled to the ground, holding her face with both hands.

Neither Tora nor Akitada paid attention to the blood spurting from her nose. They knelt on either side of child – who lay curled into a ball, clutching at his throat – and got in each other’s way trying to undo the collar.

‘That she-devil,’ Tora grunted. When the collar finally parted, they saw bloody welts on the boy’s slender neck.

Ignoring the stench and filth that clung to him, Akitada took the boy in his arms and held him, murmuring endearments, while Tora stood by. Behind them, Mrs Mimura got to her feet and ran back to the house. Her children ignored her and remained to watch.

When the boy stopped whimpering and relaxed against him, Akitada rose. Carrying the child, he said in a shaking voice, ‘Come, Tora. We’re taking him with us now. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay those monsters a single copper for him.’

When they got on their horses, the woman ran from the house, holding a rag to her face. ‘Where are you taking him?’ she cried. ‘You can’t have him. Not without pay.’

Akitada glared. ‘Count yourself lucky if I don’t have you and your husband arrested.’

She screamed, ‘Help! Help! Thieves. They’re stealing our child.’

The Mimura children shouted, ‘Thieves,’ and, ‘Help,’ and laughed at the excitement.

A small group of people from the village stood near the old crone’s house. They watched with detached interest. No one made a move to come to Mrs Mimura’s aid or stop them. The old one gave them a toothless smile and a wave as they passed.

Akitada held the trembling child and spurred his horse. He wanted to get away from this place of horror as fast and far as possible. They reached the road and turned into the forest.

There was no one else about, but after the rains the road surface was too treacherous for their current speed, especially as Akitada was distracted by the child and did not guide his horse as carefully as he should have. His mount stepped in a deep rut and stumbled. Akitada reined in. He was fond of his horse, a fine grey stallion he had brought back from the North Country, and realized with dismay that he was limping badly. Tora dismounted to inspect the damage.

‘A sprain,’ he said, feeling the animal’s right front leg. ‘Don’t know how bad.’

‘It was my fault,’ muttered Akitada, stroking the animal’s neck.

‘Take my horse, and I’ll walk yours to Otsu,’ Tora offered, even though he knew this meant he would not get back to Hanae tonight.

Akitada looked at the boy and saw that he clung to him and was watching the woods as if he expected monsters to emerge at any moment. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We’ll go on to Otsu, spend the night at the inn there, and continue in the morning. If necessary, we can rent a horse.’

Tora reached up, intending to lift the boy down, but the child panicked and fell into the mud. He got up immediately and clutched at Akitada’s boot.

Akitada’s heart contracted with pity and love. He got down and lifted the boy, a muddy, malodorous bundle, into Tora’s saddle before mounting behind him. They continued their journey at a slower pace.

T
he innkeeper’s jaw dropped when Akitada walked in, holding the same ragged child by the hand. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of rotten fish and eyed the filthy tatters with disgust. ‘Don’t tell me, sir,’ he said with a sneer, ‘You want a room, a bath, hot food, and new clothes for this boy.’

Akitada glared at him and passed across a handful of silver before signing the register. ‘My servant is bringing an injured horse. We will need stabling for two horses and the services of a groom who knows about sprains.’

The innkeeper nodded and led the way to the same room they had occupied before.

And as before, they bathed, and then ate. The child had new bruises – bad ones – from the punishment he had suffered since Akitada had relinquished him to the Mimuras. And he clung more desperately to Akitada, eating little when the maid brought their meal.

Though filled with anger and guilt at the child’s condition, Akitada was also deeply content. He talked to the boy about Yori, about the home they were going to, about Tora, and Seimei, Genba and the cook and maid. And also – a little uncertainly – about Tamako. The child watched his lips with wide eyes and smiled a little now and then, and soon fell asleep. Akitada covered him with a blanket.

Tora arrived shortly after. They moved away from the sleeping child and talked softly, for Akitada was becoming more and more convinced that the boy could hear at least some sounds. Tora reported that the horse was having a poultice applied to the injured leg and that the groom was hopeful that the swelling would recede by morning.

He looked at the boy, shook his head, and muttered, ‘That
female! She isn’t human. She’s an animal. No. Wild animals wouldn’t do that to their young. How is he, sir?’

‘As you see. When we get him home, he will be fine.’

‘You said you’d tell me about him.’

Akitada did. Tora became excited when he heard about the cat, the deserted villa, and the toy sword. ‘It was your karma, sir, and his,’ he said. ‘All of it. You finding the boy. The boy finding the cat. The cat taking you to the house. Maybe his poor mother’s ghost turned into that cat, looking for her child. And what about the little sword being like the one you bought for Yori? The gods have a hand in this.’ He paused, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I had something to tell you. About the courtesan Peony. At least – it’s about a courtesan with the same name. But now I think it must be your Peony’ He gestured to the boy. ‘That poor little fellow’s mother.’

Akitada had made some of the same assumptions, but suddenly there were too many coincidences, too much supernatural manipulation of human affairs. A man like Tora would believe there was a spiritual link between the boy, the cat, and a dead woman, but then Tora was absurdly gullible when it came to ghostly phenomena.

No, the boy probably belonged to the Mimuras, or at least he was an abandoned child who had become a burden to some starving peasant woman or streetwalker. It was better that way. If he belonged to someone who wanted him back, he would lose him again. That cat had been one of thousands of feral cats, finding shelter wherever it could. And the broken toy sword meant nothing. There were plenty of those about, too. But Tora had got over his sullenness, so Akitada nodded and said, ‘What about the courtesan Peony?’

‘Hanae says about six or seven years ago a
choja
vanished from the capital. She left a debt of a hundred gold bars.’ He paused for effect. ‘Her professional name was Peony.’

Akitada shook his head. ‘A dubious tale, Tora. A hundred bars of gold is a great fortune. What did she need the money for? Who would lend that much to a courtesan? If she was indeed so deeply indebted, her creditor would have demanded a thorough investigation. This has all the earmarks of legend. No, a hundred bars of gold is quite an outrageous value to
put on a prostitute. Besides, if she was indeed famous, she could not have disappeared without a trace. Her new lover would have bragged, her former lovers would have discovered her whereabouts, and then her creditors would have taken the case to court.’

Tora’s face fell a little, but he was not giving up so easily. ‘I think it could be the same woman, all the same. A hundred bars of gold is not so much when you think of their expenses. They invest a fortune in their gowns alone. And then there’s jewelry, cosmetics, scents, and servants. A high-ranking courtesan has a maid to carry her things and a man servant to hold her large umbrella. And if she sings and dances, she’ll have to pay the musicians. And what of her house? Courtesans don’t live in tenements or rent rooms over shops. Besides, she may have taken up the life because of her parents’ debt.’

Akitada raised his brows. ‘You’re extremely well informed about loose women. Perhaps it would be better if you looked into the cost of lumber and found the name of a good carpenter.’

Tora flushed. ‘We were trying to help. Hanae’s promised to ask around for you. She knows people in the quarter. There must be someone who knew this Peony. She’ll find out for us.’

‘Who is this Hanae? As if I couldn’t guess.’

Tora bristled. ‘Hanae is a dancer, a very good one. She’s no courtesan, but her work takes her places where the best courtesans go. That’s why I know a little about that life. As soon as we get home, I’ll talk to her again.’

‘Spare me. You’ve spent most of your waking hours with such women. We just discussed your regrettable habits this very morning. No, I think you’ll be better employed working at home for a while.’

‘Sir, I can’t,’ Tora cried in alarm. ‘I promised.’

Akitada glanced at the sleeping child. ‘Shh! What do you mean?’

‘I’m worried about her. I meant to speak to you …’

Akitada had had enough. ‘Not another word. You will, for once, make yourself useful. As long as we’re here, you can talk to the neighbors of the dead woman and report
back to me tonight. But when we get back to the capital, I absolutely forbid another visit to your paramour until all the chores around the house are done. That should occupy your time for the next month or two.’

Tora stood up, stared at Akitada for a moment, then left.

Akitada thought, he no longer even bothers to bow when he is sulking. Then he lay down beside the boy. Like Yori, this child had a fragile, helpless beauty in his sleep, which made one want to protect and shelter him. Half afraid of the future, he listened to the child’s soft breathing and stared at the ceiling, wondering how to patch up his marriage, his household, and his relationship with Tora.

Eventually, he must have dozed off, because a noise at the door startled him into wakefulness. Someone was whispering. Tora had closed the door, but now it was open by just a crack, and he thought he saw an eye peering in. He was about to get up and confront those outside, when the door flew back and several people poured over the threshold.

‘There!’ cried Mrs Mimura, pointing a triumphant finger at him. Beside her stood the solid figure of the local warden. The innkeeper and Mr Mimura peered over their shoulders, and several others, constables and assorted strangers, pressed in behind them, trying to catch a glimpse of the room. Their expressions ranged from avid interest to disapproval, shock, and anger.

Outrage seized Akitada. He felt the frightened boy creeping into his arms and responded by pulling him close. Someone snickered. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

Warden Takechi looked embarrassed. He glanced down at Mrs Mimura, who looked more repulsive than ever with her swollen nose and mouth. ‘Er, this woman has laid charges against you and your servant, sir.’

Akitada bit his lip. Of course. The miserable creature was vengeful and greedy enough to make trouble. He should have known. If it had not been for his foolish haste, they would be well away from Otsu by now, perhaps even at home in the capital. The child in his arms trembled. Akitada patted his thin back and said, ‘Don’t be afraid. I shall take care of this,’ before putting him back on his blanket and
standing up. The child instantly clasped his leg and began to sob.

‘Warden,’ Akitada said, ‘I can explain, but these people are frightening the boy. Make them wait outside and close the door.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Mimura cried, pushing his wife aside and stepping forward. ‘I’m his father and I want to hear what’s being said. There won’t be any deals this time. We can all see what’s going on here. If the so-called ‘good people’ think they can go to an honest working man’s house, beat up his wife, and steal his son for their foul pleasures, it’s time we stood up for ourselves. No, Warden, this time I’m laying charges against him. I demand that he’s arrested, along with his servant, and put in jail until we can get a hearing before a proper judge.’