Black Arrow

EIGHTEEN
THE BROKEN LUTE

Akitada found it nearly impossible to raise his eyes from the blood-soaked sleeve. “Hitomaro… ?” he began and faltered.

Hitomaro’s voice was abject and his tone oddly detached. “Forgive the trouble I have caused. You saved my life once, but I should have known it was forfeit. I’ll make it easy for you. Once a killer, always a killer, they’ll say.”

A furious anger seized Akitada,and his voice shook. “Make it easy for me? Like Tora, you mean? You think that will make it easy? Why did you do it? You had your life before you. The other time you killed to avenge your wife’s honor. And I… I thought I had found a man I could trust with my life, a friend, and I counted myself lucky. I would have done anything, faced anything in this godforsaken place to avoid this.” He struck the desk with both fists. “Why, Hitomaro?”

Hitomaro lowered his eyes and shook his head mutely.

“Did you think to save me by killing the woman?”

“I thought of it. Also becauseI was angry that she had lied to me and used me to get to you.”

Akitada put his face in his hands and groaned.

After a moment, Hitomaro continued in the same dreamy tone, “I was so angry I could’ve killed her,perhaps I would’ve killed her . . . but when I saw her, she looked asleep. Her head was turned away and I couldn’t see at first. She wore that white robe-she must have changed into it after she got back from the tribunal-and I thoughtshe was covered with a piece of crimson silk. Strange, I wanted to kill her,but I also felt desire. She was so beautiful. . . lying there.”

Slowly Akitada raised his face from his hands and stared at Hitomaro. “You did not do it? She was dead? When you found her, she was already dead?”

Hitomaro nodded very slowly.His eyes were unfocused, staring past Akitada as if at a memory indeliblyetched on his brain. “I could see what was wrong when I came closer,” he saidin the same terrifyingly detached voice. His right hand touched his neck. “Herhead was almost cut off. She was lying there in her own blood. It was stillflowing… and warm. It was her blood that had turned the white silk red.”

“Dear heaven.”

The toneless voice went on. “Idrew my sword and went to look for her killer. In every room. There was no onethere, not even the maid servant. Then I went back to her. I… I tried to holdher, but her head … I thought, perhaps she’s not quite dead. So I tried totie up the wound. I cut some of the fabric of her gown with my sword. That’swhen they found me. The maidservant and the constables.”

“But you did not kill her,”Akitada confirmed again, relief was hing over him like a warm spring shower.

Hitomaro shook his head mutely.

“Have you any idea who did?”

Hitomaro plucked at hisblood-soaked sleeve. The glazed look was still with him.

“Hitomaro.” Akitada leanedforward. “Think! We must find the killer to clear you. Anything may help. Didshe complain about anyone? Who were her friends? Was she worried aboutanything?”

Hitomaro shook his head toevery question. He frowned, seemed to make an effort to think. “She asked a lotof questions about the murder investigation. But she also asked otherquestions, once about the judge.” His voice turned bitter. “I was the last manshe would have confided in. She used me to get information.” His eyes met Akitada’s for a moment. “Let it go, sir. This way she cannot make any moretrouble. If you start looking for her killer, the enemy will take other action.Now it will just be seen as a lover’s quarrel.”

“And you will die for it. Eventhe most lenient court in the capital will balk at passing over a secondmurder.”

Hitomaro’s mouth quirked into aghost of a smile. “Do not worry so. I am done with life.”

“What?” With that angry shout,Akitada rose. “Well, then, go to jail, for I cannot save you from that, but donot think that your friends will rest while you submit to trial, sentence, andexecution because you are tired of living.” He strode to a clothes chest andthrew it open, rummaging until he found his quilted hunting robe, heavyleggings, and an old fur-lined cap. Hitomaro watched without comment as Akitadaput those on, snatched his sword from its stand, slung it over his shoulder,and then clapped his hands.

The constable peered in.

For so big and strong a man,Hitomaro looked oddly shrunken and helpless, sitting there slumped, his headbowed, and his broad hands resting limply on his knees.

“Take the lieutenant to thejail and lock him up,” snapped Akitada.

There was the usual crowd of ghouls when Akitada got off his horse in front of theOmeya house. Only Tora and Genba, both grim-faced, accompanied him. In hishurry, Akitada had dispensed with the usual runners, banner bearers, andscribes, but he was recognized nevertheless, and the people parted before himsilently.

Akitada glanced at them, thenlooked up and down the street, at the neighboring houses, and at the reargarden of the Fox Shrine across the road. When he had an idea of thesurroundings, he entered the Omeya house.

A thin girl with a grotesquelylarge head and thin, greasy hair twisted into a bun tried to fade into the wallof the hallway leading to the rear of the house. Behind her, steep steps led upto the second floor.

“You there!” Akitada called tothe girl. “Come here!”

She shook her head violentlyand turned to scramble up the steps with the agility of a monkey.

“Get her!” Akitada snapped toTora and walked into the first room. It was furnished as a reception room andempty. He continued down the corridor, opening doors and closing them again onunoccupied rooms. Upstairs he heard Tora’s pounding footsteps and the squealsof the girl.

At the end of the corridor aconstable suddenly appeared from one of the doors. “Out!” he shouted, wavingboth hands. “No one is allowed! How many times do I have to tell you bastards… ?” As Akitada stepped from the shadows, the constable fell abruptly silentand dropped to his knees. Akitada walked around him and into the room the manhad come from.

The murder scene was asHitomaro had described. Genba, who came in behind him, gasped audibly, thenwent to feel for a pulse behind the dead woman’s ear. A heavy, sweet smell ofblood mingled with an exotic blend of incense. The bloodied gown, which hadseemed like crimson satin to Hitomaro, was now a dark rust color, and thepuddle the woman lay in had partly congealed and partly soaked into the grassmat.

Akitada bent to undo theblood-soaked bandages Hitomaro had wrapped around the severed neck. Both neckand chest looked like a single massive wound, but the pale face and glossyblack hair were untouched and still achingly beautiful. Akitada stood lookingdown at the woman he had known as Mrs. Sato, but who had also been Hitomaro’sOfumi.

Tora walked in, dragging alongthe maidservant. “She won’t talk, sir. Doesn’t make a sound. Maybe the shockhas addled her brain.” He glanced at the body and whistled. “Merciful Amida! Ican see how it would.” He released the girl.

She scuttled into a corner,where she cowered on her knees and bobbed up and down in silent obeisance.

Akitada approached hercautiously. “Don’t be frightened, girl,” he said. “Nobody is going to harm you.”

She bobbed more violently.

“Stop that!” Akitada ordered,stamping his foot. “Look at me!”

She became still and raisedsmall, anxious eyes to his face. Her bony, work-reddened hands hovered beforeher face and then touched her ears.

“Were you here during the day?”Akitada asked.

She only looked at him withwide, frightened eyes.

“Did you see anyone in thishouse after the midday rice?”

Still no answer.

“Were you here when this womanreturned? Speak, girl! You won’t be punished.”

“Sir?” Genba joined him. “Ithink she’s a deaf-mute. I’ve seen them make that sign with their hands. Youknow, pointing to their mouth and ears.”

“Good heavens, what next?” saidAkitada in disgust. “A witness who may have seen the killer and can’t speak.”

“She may read lips. Let me try,sir,” Genba offered and crouched down next to the girl.

Akitada turned away. The room’sluxury and good taste astonished him. Even the mat on which the body lay was atleast two inches thick and woven of the finest grass, its edges bound in purplebrocade. He bent to touch its surface. The mat was smooth, soft, and springyand must have cost a great deal. Around it stood curtain rails of paintedlacquer draped with robes embroidered in silk and gold threads with a design ofcherry blossoms, birds, and pine branches. The brazier, its coals barelyglimmering under a thick layer of ashes, was a finely chased bronze replica ofa pair of mandarin ducks, symbol of faithful lovers. The four clothing boxes ofgold-dusted lacquer, each decorated with symbols of the season-plum blossomsfor spring, wisteria for summer, chrysanthemums for autumn, and snow-coveredgrasses for winter-stood stacked against a wall. He flung them open one by one.Each contained a rich wardrobe of women’s robes for that time of year.

“She lived pretty well for awhore,” Tora commented.

“What?” Akitada was stilllooking about for an object that should have been there but was not.

“It’s clear where Hito’s moneywent,” Tora said, pointing at the clothes chests.

“Not Hitomaro’s money. Someoneelse’s,” said Akitada. “All of these things are of extraordinary quality andconsummate taste. The innkeeper’s widow, though apparently a woman of manytalents, did not have the education to select such treasures. Neither would shehave found them in this city.”

Genba scrambled to his feet andjoined them. “Sorry,” he said. “The girl’s not just deaf and dumb, but a bitslow. She kept shaking her head when I asked if Ofumi had had any visitors. Itseems she found the body when she came to turn down the bedding and she ran toget the constables. When they returned, they found a man, covered with blood,and with a bloodstained sword in his hand, crouching over the dead woman. Ithink it must’ve been Hito. She believes he was the killer. She kept pointingto the curtain stands. Apparently she thinks that he was hiding behind themwhen she came the first time.”

“That is no help at all!”Akitada snapped. He caught a glimpse of the girl’s pale, frightened face as sheslunk from the room.

“If it wasn’t Hito, then who?”asked Tora. “I mean who else would want her dead? The bastard who hanged theOmeya woman in jail so she wouldn’t testify against this one wouldn’t turnaround and kill her, too. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe not,” Genba said hotly, “butit wasn’t Hito. I’d bet my life on it. He loved that fox of a woman. And besides,he would never kill a defenseless female.”

“Hmm,” muttered Akitada. “Genba?When you asked that servant if anyone had come to see Ofumi, did you use theword ‘visitor’?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Look around you. Someone mayhave called who was not, in the servant’s eyes, a visitor but had a right to behere. Come on, both of you. We are going to Flying Goose village.”

The road to the coast was wide and lined with stands and roadside eateries, amongthem the shrimp shack where Hitomaro had first tangled with Sunada’s henchmanBoshu. The wind carried the tangy smell of the ocean. Now, in this icy weatherand at this time of day, the road was deserted. The gusts buffeted them andtossed the horses’ manes and tails. They were thankful when the gray easternsea came into sight beyond a forlorn cluster of fishermen’s wooden shacks andmore substantial warehouses. There were only traces of dirty snow about here,but the sky was an ominous gray and the waves roared and crashed onto the rockyshore. Far out, a fleet of three merchant vessels tossed and bucked on theiranchor ropes. All the smaller fishing boats, hundreds of them, lay pulled up onthe beach, weighted down with heavy nets and rocks.

Barely glancing at thewhitecapped sea, Akitada rode straight through Flying Goose village toward theonly buildings important enough to be Sunada’s residence. The large compoundwas enclosed by dirt walls and shaded by windswept pines.

Its main gate was made of heavybeams and boards, studded with big iron nails which had left bloody trails ofrust on wood grayed by the wet and salty sea air.

Tora pulled his sword from thescabbard and delivered a series of resounding knocks with its hilt. “Open up inthe name of the governor!” he bellowed.

The right side of the gate openedsoundlessly on well-oiled hinges. An elderly one-legged man on a crutch staredup at them. “What is it?” he croaked in the local dialect. “The master’sresting.”

“Out of the way!” Tora urgedhis horse forward and the man twisted aside, grabbing in vain for Tora’s bridlebefore he fell.

They galloped past largestorehouses, stables, and servants’ quarters to the main residence. There theydismounted, pushed past another gaping servant, this one missing an arm, andinto the interior of the house.

Akitada saw with one glancethat the mansion was spacious and built from the finest woods but in the styleof well-to-do merchants’ houses. He turned to the servant who had fallen to hisknees before him and seemed to be objecting in his heavy dialect.

“What is he saying?” Akitadagrowled to Genba, who was more likely than Tora to have picked up the localpatois.

“I think he says that hismaster’s sick.” Genba sounded dubious and added, “The fishermen hereabout talkdifferently from the townspeople.”

“Sick? Ask him if Sunada hasbeen out today?”

Genba did so, but the man keptshaking his head and repeating the same phrase while wringing his hands.

Akitada grumbled, “Come on! We’llfind the patient ourselves.”

The anteroom opened into alarge, gloomy reception hall where heavy pillars rose to the high rafters. Thetatami mats looked thick and springy, and on the walls paintings on silk-courtiers and ladies moving among willow trees and graceful villas-glimmered inthe dim half-light. At the far end, a long dais stretched the entire width ofthe room. It held only a single red silk cushion in its center.

Genba muttered, “If this is howa merchant lives, sir, Takata manor cannot be much better.”

“Not much more impressiveanyway,” said Akitada. With a glance at the paintings, he added, “And lessrichly furnished, I think.”

“Come on,” cried Tora from acorner behind the dais. “Here’s a door to the private quarters.”

They entered a smaller room, asort of study. A lacquered desk with elegant ivory writing utensils stood inthe center. Handsomely covered document boxes lined one wall, and doors openedonto a small garden. But this room, too, was quite empty and had the tidinessof disuse: a new ink cake, an empty water container, new brushes, and neatstacks of fine writing paper.

“Let’s look in those boxes,”said Genba. “I bet that’s where he keeps all his business accounts.”

“Later!”

In the dim hall, the servantstill hovered near the other end of the dais. When he saw them coming back, heducked behind one of the pillars and was gone.

Tora cursed. “Where did thatsneaky bastard go? We’d better catch him before he warns Sunada.”

“After him, Tora,” Akitadasaid. “Genba and I will check the rooms.”

They opened door after door onempty room after empty room. The roar of wind and tide was faint here; only thesoft hiss of the sliding doors on their well-oiled tracks and the sound oftheir breathing accompanied them through luxurious, unlived-in spaces. Therewere more paintings, carved and gilded statues, pristine silk cushionsprecisely positioned and unmarked by human limbs, lacquered armrests, bronzeincense burners without a trace of ash, copper braziers without coals,innumerable fine carvings, and containers of wood, ivory, jade, or gold.

“It’s like he’s emptied out atreasure house to furnish this place for a bride,” said Genba in one room,looking into brocade-covered boxes of picture scrolls and illustrated bookswhich filled the shelves of one wall.

They reached the end of thehallway without seeing anyone. Heavy double doors led outside to a broadveranda that extended across the back of the villa and continued along twowings on either side. Below was a large garden. Pines tossed in the wind andlarge shrubs hid paths leading off in all directions. Roofs of other buildings,large and small, were half-hidden by the trees.

“Which way now?” asked Genba,looking from side to side. “Should I shout for Tora?”

“No. Listen! I thought I heardmusic.”

But the rhythmic boom of thesea and creaking and rustling of the trees covered all human noise.

Akitada shook his head. “Itmust have been the wind. You take the right wing! I’ll go left.”

“What about the garden?”

“When you’re done. We’ll meetby that bridge over there.”

Akitada strode down thegallery, flinging open doors, checking more empty rooms. One of them containeda large painting of three ships at sea, the same ships, unless he was mistaken,as those in the harbor. Some odd-sized document rolls lay stacked on a largechest and he quickly unrolled the top one. It was a map, carefully prepared, ofan unidentified shoreline. Strange symbols marked the land, and lines separatedprovinces and districts. On the water tiny fleets approached harbors. He wasabout to roll it up again, when he noticed one of the symbols. It was theemblem drawn by Takesuke’s soldier, from the mysterious banner carried by someof Uesugi’s troops. Proof that Sunada was at the heart of the conspiracy.

Akitada ran down the steps atthe corner of the building and joined Genba on the bridge.

“Well?” he asked, seeing Genba’sface.

“The whole wing’s one hugeroom, sir. But I couldn’t get in. It’s locked.”

“Come,” cried Akitada runningahead. “That must be where he is. Couldn’t you force the door?”-this last in atone of frustration. Genba was, after all, immensely strong. If he could liftand toss a trained giant from the ring, why could he not break open a meredoor?

The answer became obvious. Thiswas no ordinary door. Its hinged, double-sided panels were made of thick slabsof oiled wood and embossed with bronze plates incised with gildedornamentation. The locking mechanism was hidden in a bronze plate decoratedwith the same emblem as on the banners and the maps, only here there was nodoubt what it represented: an ear of rice. And now Akitada understood the largewarehouses outside. No doubt they held a good part of the province’s riceharvests. The crest was that of a rice merchant. Sunada.

Akitada listened at the door.Nothing. Inside all was as silent as a grave. He turned away when he heard acry of pain in the garden. They rushed down the stairs and along a path thatled into the shrubberies. At a fork, they separated. Akitada found a rusticgarden house, little more than a tiled roof supported by slender woodencolumns. A heavy layer of dead vines curtained it. He thought he saw the vinesmove and flung the brittle tangle aside. Nothing. He turned to leave whensomeone flung himself on him, knocking him down.

“Got you, bastard!” snarledTora, yanking Akitada’s arms back. Akitada shouted at the pain in his shoulder,and the rest was confusion, because Genba arrived next and swung at Tora,knocking him across the narrow space and against one of the pillars. With acrash, the pillar gave and the garden house collapsed.

They disentangled themselves.Tora rubbed his back. “Sorry, sir. When I saw someone slipping into the gardenhouse, I. . .”

“And I heard the master cryout,” Genba said, “and thought some scoundrel had got hold of him. This is avery strange place. Where are all of Sunada’s people? There is nobody here butus and two old cripples. Why surround yourself with cripples when you’re asrich as Sunada?”

Akitada massaged his throbbingshoulder. “Sunada is a strange character. I remember he behaved with the utmosthumility at Takata, but in the city he swaggered among the merchants andattempted to control my staff. Apparently he lives alone here, in a house whichis large and empty-for we have seen neither bedding nor clothes boxes for afamily-yet in the city he keeps women and indulges in lavish and luxuriousparties. He hires cutthroats to intimidate the little people outside, butemploys injured fishermen who can no longer make a living on the sea.”

“Fishermen?” Genba asked,surprised.

“The two servants. Both of themare local men by their dialect and both are maimed.”

“No wonder they wouldn’t helpus.”

“Yes. But I wonder why thehouseman looked so worried.” Akitada turned to Tora. “Did you see anythingunusual?”

Tora grumbled, “This wholeplace is haunted. There are ghosts in the trees playing lutes.”

Genba laughed. “You’ve got tostop seeing ghosts all the time, Tora. It’s addling your brains.”

“Playing lutes?” said Akitada,grasping Tora’s arm. “Where did you hear that? Show me!”

Tora retraced his steps. Suddenly,faintly, through the whistling of the wind in the boughs, they heard it.Someone was playing a lute.

Tora froze. “There. That’s whatI heard.”

Akitada pursued the sound,followed by Genba and, reluctantly, Tora. They broke through a thicket at theend of the property and stood before a small pavilion. Beyond, the dunes beganand sere grasses grew all around and up to its bleached wooden steps. The windwas loud here, but so was the sound of a lute, inexpertly plucked, buthauntingly sad in this desolate place.

Akitada’s face was grim. Heturned and said, “Both of you wait here till I call you.”

He walked quickly up the stepsof the small veranda, almost stumbling over the huddled shape of the one-armedservant who was cowering there, and flung open the door.

The room was tiny. All itcontained were a pristine grass mat and the owner of the estate. If he hadnoticed Akitada’s abrupt entrance, he gave no sign.

Sunada sat hunched over abeautiful lute, muttering to himself as he picked out a vaguely familiar tune. “Thesnows will come, and the snows will go,” he sang softly, “and then my heartwill melt into a flood of tears.”

“A famous old tune,” Akitadaremarked, closing the door behind him. “Where did you learn it?”

Sunada did not look up. “She usedto sing it.” His voice was brittle, like the dried leaves of the summerhouse. “Shesang beautifully. Astounding in someone of her class. I fell in love with herwhen I first heard her. Of course, there was also her physical beauty, butother girls had that.” He paused to pluck more notes, random ones, and smiled. “Ihave traveled far and had many women. She was like none of them.”

Akitada quietly lowered himselfto the floor.

“How did you find me?” Sunadaasked almost casually.

“The lute. The curio dealertold me that the woman Ofumi had one that was so rare and expensive that itcould only be purchased by you.”

“Ah. I did not plan this. Onedoes not plan an obsession. Imagine. The daughter of peasants and wife of adoss-house keeper on the post road! She could not speak properly when I firstmet her.’’

“How did you meet?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Purechance. The Omeya woman used to find entertainment for me. One day I came tomake arrangements for a small party and found her giving lute lessons to aperfect goddess. I canceled the party and spent the night with my goddessinstead.”

“She was willing?” Akitadathought of the widow’s claims that she had been forced to submit to Mrs. Omeya’scustomer.

Sunada finally looked at him,surprised. With a cynical grimace, he said, “Naturally-eager even, as soon asthe old one explained who I was. Oh, I always knew Ofumi for what she was, butI wanted her, needed her …” He grimaced again and broke off. Raising the lutewith both hands above his head, he brought it down violently, smashing thedelicate inlaid woods into splinters, and tearing at the strings with franticfingers until the wires parted with a sound that hung in the room like ascream, and blood ran from his hands.

“It was you who killed her,wasn’t it?” Akitada said softly.

“Dear heaven!” Sunada looked athis bleeding hands and began to weep. “This woman whom I raised from the gutterto become my consort, for whom I built and furnished this house, for whom I didunimaginable things-she betrayed me. Betrayed me with an oaf of asoldier. One of yours, Governor.” He clutched his head and rocked back andforth in his grief.

“You did not answer myquestion,” Akitada persisted.

Sunada lowered his hands andlooked at Akitada. “Come, Governor, don’t plague me with questions. Nothingmatters any longer.”

“What about Mrs. Omeya? Did youkill her?”‘

Sunada frowned. “That woman!You know what she whispered to me? That your lieutenant had been spending hisnights with my future wife. She thought I could use the information againstyou.” Sunada laughed. “The fool!”

Silence fell.

Akitada said, “I am arrestingyou for the-murders of the woman Ofumi, her landlady, Mrs. Omeya, and thevagrant Koichi.”

Sunada ignored him. He fingeredthe broken lute. “Music fades …” He raised his eyes to Akitada’s. “You know,”he said with a crooked smile, “Uesugi underestimated you, but I never made thatmistake. A worthy adversary is preferable in a contest for power, don’t youthink? And I was winning, too. Wasn’t I?”

Yes, thought Akitada, Sunadahad been winning all along. Had it not been for the merchant’s fatal obsessionwith that arch seductress, Akitada would have been powerless to prevent adisastrous uprising. Aloud he said, “No. The gods do not permit the destructionof divine harmony. You raised your hand against the Son of Heaven.”

Sunada sighed. “Always theofficial view.”

“It is over, Sunada.”

The other man nodded. “I nolonger care. You will find what you seek in my library, the large room in thewest wing. Behind the dragon curtain are documents, plans for the insurrection… it will be enough to end my life . .. and the lives of others.”