Island of Exiles (25 page)

He wondered briefly about Genzo, but the scribe’s laziness was by now so well established that he did not become suspicious until he saw Genzo’s saddlebags lying empty in a corner.

He finished saddling up, then went back into the inn, where he found the sharp-tongued mother of their hostess back in charge. She merely grunted in response to his greeting. When he asked about Genzo, she gave him a blank stare. “Who’s that? Another lazy layabout belonging to that piece of deadwood in there?” She jerked her head in the direction of Osawa’s room.

Akitada grinned and asked if Osawa was awake.

For some reason, she flushed crimson. “If you can call it that,” she snapped.

Akitada started down the corridor.

“Hey, you can’t go in there now!” she shouted after him.

Ignoring her shouts, he raised his hand to open the door to Osawa’s room, when he heard soft laughter inside.

He smiled to himself. The middle-aged, stuffy Osawa was revealing some astonishing talents in seduction. He knocked softly and called Osawa’s name. The abrupt silence inside gave way to the rustling of bedding. Osawa shouted, “What do you want?”

“I’ve saddled the horses, sir, but Genzo seems to have left already.”

Another silence.

“Left? What do you mean, he’s left? He’s probably sleeping someplace, the lazy lout. Wait, Takao!” Too late. The door opened abruptly, and Takao, looking almost pretty with her rosy flush and disordered hair, smiled up at Akitada. She clutched her loose gown to her middle, but there was little doubt that she was quite naked under it.

Osawa was sitting on his bedding and jerked up a quilt to cover his own nakedness.

When Takao stepped aside, Akitada walked in, closing the door behind himself. With a straight face he wished the inspector a very pleasant good morning and congratulated him on his amazing recovery.

“Get out!” Osawa snapped.“Can’t you see I’m not . . . dressed?” Akitada bowed to the landlady. “Your honorable mother is in the kitchen,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes, then turned to Osawa and said, “Please permit me to speak to my mother, dearest heart.” He blushed and waved a languid hand.

Takao winked at Akitada, then asked Osawa coyly, “Shall I get your gruel ready, since you are in such a hurry to leave me?” Osawa looked embarrassed. “Yes. Er, we’ll talk later.” When she was gone, he demanded, “Now, what is this about Genzo?”

“His saddlebags are empty. That suggests that he has left us.

Perhaps he has found better employment?” Osawa scowled. “That piece of dung?”

“I believe the last time anyone laid eyes on him was the night we arrived. He may have walked off as early as yesterday morning. If he left Minato, he is long gone, and if he stayed in town, he is keeping out of sight. What do you wish me to do?”

Osawa muttered a curse. He knew as well as Akitada that Genzo’s sudden flight made it likely that someone had lured him away. True, he was not a very good scribe, but scribes were scarce. And that was not all. Working for the provincial administration, Genzo was privy to information which could be valuable to criminal gangs or pirates, and Sadoshima certainly had those. Genzo knew the size and itinerary of tax collections, the contents of granaries and the provincial treasury, and the number of guards assigned to them. That made him a valuable source of information.

“I have to bathe and eat something before we leave,” Osawa grumbled. “Go into town and ask around if anyone has seen him. If you cannot find him, report him to the local warden.

Make up some tale. Say he has stolen the mule.”

“He hasn’t stolen the mule.”

“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Osawa. “Of course you’ll have to get rid of the mule. Just let it loose someplace.” He fluttered a pudgy hand in the direction of the door. “Go on! Go on!” Osawa’s manner seemed more irresponsible than usual. But then, Akitada was concerned about Genzo’s whereabouts for reasons other than the security of provincial taxes. Genzo hated him and had made one attempt already to cause him harm. Akitada had expected him to retaliate before now for his humiliation at Kumo’s place. Possibly Genzo’s departure meant that trouble was afoot.

He walked about town for an hour or so, asking shopkeep-ers, monks, and market women if they had seen a big man, dressed, like Akitada, in the blue robe and black cap of a provincial clerk. No one had. Genzo had disappeared into thin air, and Akitada felt the same puzzled unease as two nights ago, when the bird-faced man had followed him through the dark streets and alleys of Minato.

Eventually he stopped at the warden’s office to report him missing. He did not claim that Genzo had stolen the mule but instead suggested the possibility of foul play. The warden was unimpressed. He seemed to think that any free man working for the governor was more likely to look for better employment elsewhere.

When Akitada returned to the inn, he found Osawa and the landlady walking about the courtyard. Osawa wore his boots and traveling clothes and had the contented air of a man of means. She was dressed in another pretty gown and clung to his arm, fanning herself lightly. He was pointing at features of the inn, while she listened attentively.

“And over here an addition,” he was saying, “as the family grows, you know. We wouldn’t want to lose guest rooms.” She giggled, hiding her face behind the fan.

As Akitada took his puzzled gaze off the couple, he noticed the landlady’s mother standing in the kitchen doorway. She waved to him, nodding her head and smiling broadly. This was so contrary to her usual behavior that he went to ask her what had happened.

“Happened?” she said vaguely, watching the couple in the courtyard. “Isn’t your master a handsome figure of a man? You’re lucky to be working for such a learned and dignified official.” Akitada turned to see if they were discussing the same person. The balding and round-bellied Osawa was patting the landlady’s hand and whispering in her ear. Perhaps the old crone was just happy to see him depart. But there was something proprietary in the way Osawa regarded the inn, and something equally proprietary in the way its owner clutched his arm. Akitada realized that Takao had used her charms to a purpose. She needed a man, and it looked as though she had caught Osawa.

Apparently he intended to give up his government job in order to run an inn and be pampered by a devoted wife. Mutobe had not only lost an undesirable scribe, but also his tax inspector.

Understandably, with a comfortable and leisurely future assured, Osawa washed his hands of Genzo and seemed to want to get through the rest of his duties as quickly as possible. He told Akitada to bring out the horses while he made his farewells to the “ladies.” He probably planned to hand Mutobe his resignation as soon as they reached Mano.

Shifting their saddlebags and Genzo’s empty ones to the mule, Akitada led all three animals into the courtyard. Osawa ignored the mule and climbed on his horse, waving to the women, who followed them to the gate.

It was a good day for travel. The weather continued clear and sunny, and Akitada relaxed for the first time in many days. He was glad to be rid of Genzo, whom he would have had to watch continuously. Osawa was in a pleasantly distracted mood, and Akitada felt that he had learned all he could in Minato. The rest of the puzzle would fall into place as soon as he saw Shunsei.

They headed south along the shore of the lake, the way they had come, but this time under a blue sky and with a light, refreshing wind at their backs. They trotted along easily, Osawa in front, and Akitada, leading the mule, following behind.

Osawa’s riding skills had improved as much as his mood.

When they had left the last houses of Minato behind and had the road to themselves, he suddenly broke into song.

Osawa’s voice was powerful but far from melodious. He made up for this with great enthusiasm and after his rendition of “Kamo Beach” he plunged straight into “Plum Blossoms,” following up with “Summer Night,” “The Maiden on Mount Yoshino,” and “My Recent Love Labors.” Finally he rendered

“Kamo Beach” a second time and turned around to ask Akitada how he liked the song.

“Very appropriate,” said Akitada with a straight face, “and your voice is truly amazing.”

Osawa smiled complacently. “Do you think so? Your praise is very welcome, since you are someone who has visited the capital and is bound to have heard many singers. Of course, I am strictly an amateur, but singing is a hobby of mine. Ha, ha, ha!

It’s very useful with the ladies sometimes.” Akitada raised his eyebrows. “I did not hear you sing to our charming hostess. Surely you made a conquest there without displaying your remarkable musical gifts.” Osawa laughed again. “I did, too. You just didn’t hear me.

You were at Sakamoto’s. I entertained the little woman all afternoon. In fact, Takao had mentioned you playing your flute for her, so I thought I’d show her what I could do. She was impressed.” He laughed again, a happy man. “How about taking out your flute now and playing along with me?” Osawa’s present good humor was an immense improvement over his previous irritability, but Akitada cringed at riding down the road while playing his flute to accompany Osawa’s off-key love songs. Still, he could not offend him. He needed a free hand with Shunsei and could not hope for another distraction like a cold or an attractive landlady. So he dug the flute out of his saddlebag and played whatever suited Osawa’s repertoire.

They attracted a certain amount of embarrassing notice.

In one lakeside village, a group of children abandoned their games to follow them, adding their own, astonishingly rude variations to Osawa’s song, and later an old woman gathering berries by the road clapped both hands over her ears as they passed. But Osawa was irrepressible.

Finally, toward noon, his throat rebelled, and they stopped for a rest at the crossroads to Tsukahara. A small grove of trees provided shade from the sun which had blazed down on them more and more fiercely as the day progressed. Osawa produced a basket of food and wine, which his betrothed and her mother had packed for him, and shared generously with Akitada while praising his bride’s talents and business acumen. Then he stretched out under a pine tree for a short nap.

Akitada went to sit on a rock near the two horses and the mule, who were grazing under a large cedar. From here he had a view of the road, the lake, and the mountains embracing them from either side. Far, far in the distance lay the ocean that separated him from all that mattered to him in this world. He wished he could solve this case and return. The trouble was he seemed to be no closer to finding Okisada’s murderer than before he started.

He thought about the four men in Minato and their meeting in the lake pavilion. There was no longer any doubt that they had been plotting and were still determined to rid themselves of Mutobe and son. Was Kumo planning a rebellion?

Sakamoto was too weak to be more than a minor player. From the cavalier fashion in which Taira had spoken to him, it was clear that the others thought the same. Taira and Nakatomi were unknown factors. Nakatomi had sounded both sly and clever, but his relatively modest status as a mere physician made it unlikely that the others would treat him as an equal. He had probably been used only to prove that Okisada had died from young Mutobe’s stew. And if so, what had Okisada really died from? And who had killed him? And why?

Akitada’s thoughts turned to Taira. He had been closer to the prince than anyone else, and even the few words the man had spoken before the fat servant’s accident proved that the others looked up to him. The trouble was that Taira was too old to lead a rebellion on his own account. And so Akitada came back to Kumo, a man he had come to respect, even admire. And to the prince’s murder.

He shook his head, dissatisfied, and glanced up the dirt road toward Tsukahara. Buddhist monks had settled in the foothills above Tsukahara, seeking higher ground to build Konponji, their temple. Shunsei lived there. Tsukahara was close enough for Okisada’s periodic visits to his friends at the lake and at least once, on his last visit, his fondness for Shunsei had caused him to bring the young monk along.

Akitada would have preferred not to probe into the details of a private love affair of two men, but Kumo had been worried that Shunsei might reveal some secret during the trial. Had the four men been talking about the fact that prince and monk had been lovers? It was possible, but given both Kumo’s and Sakamoto’s nervousness, Akitada suspected that there was another secret and that it had something to do with the murder.

The faint sound of rhythmic chanting caused him to look back toward the lake. He could not see who was coming, because the road disappeared around a bend. It seemed to be a day for singing, and this did not sound like a monk’s chant. It grew louder, and then a strange group appeared around the trees.

Two bearers, carrying a large sedan chair suspended from long poles on their shoulders, came trotting along. They were naked except for loincloths and scarves wrapped around their heads, and they chanted something that sounded like “Eisassa, eisassa.” The sedan chair’s grass curtains were rolled up on this warm day, and Akitada saw that it contained the hunched figure of an old man which bobbed and swung gently to the rhythm of the bearers’ gait.

Sedan chairs of this size and quality were rare even in the capital, where the old and infirm preferred ox-drawn carts or carriages. But Akitada’s surprise was complete when he saw who the traveler was.

The white hair and bushy black eyebrows were unmistakable. Lord Taira was on his way home from his meeting with Sakamoto and the others. Akitada got up quickly and went to busy himself with the horses, keeping his face down. The chanting stopped abruptly as the group drew level.