starts.Goto says Kimura’s father sold the land to him. Kimura says Goto’s a liar, thathis father would never have sold that land, especially not to Goto. He didn’tlike him, and besides he’d had a better offer.”
“That should be easy enough toprove,” Hitomaro said. “Just have Kimura come to the tribunal and file acomplaint against Goto. His Excellency, the governor, will untangle the matterfast enough.”
There was a chorus of angrycurses at that.
“Forget it,” the spokesman sneered. “Kimura tried that. Poor people can’t get justice at the tribunal. Thejudge gave the land to Goto. Seems the sneaky bastard’s been paying the taxes.But Kimura had the last word. He dammed up his stream and diverted it. That’swhat made Goto so mad. Now he’s got a piece of barren land.” They all laughed.
Hitomaro opened his mouth toargue, but Genba touched his arm. “Well, thanks for clearing that up,” he said.“We’d better be on our way, but it’s been a real pleasure.” He tossed a handfulof coins on the table. “Have another flask on us, fellows.”
“What do you think?” Genbaasked when they were out of earshot. Hitomaro turned and walked rapidly towardthe tribunal. “Hey, where are you going?”
“I want to pay that bastardChobei a visit.”
“But what about having a talkwith the plasterer first?”
Hitomaro stopped and gloweredat him. “Any fool knows that Kimura will tell the same story. I don’t have timeto waste, but you do as you please.”
Genba’s cheerful face fell. “Whathave I done, brother?” he called after Hitomaro, who was off again. Hitomarodid not answer, and Genba galloped after him and pulled his sleeve. “What’swrong, Hito?” he asked. “Why are you so angry? Has something happened?”
“You’re wasting time on gameswhen the master’s in trouble-and we along with him.”
“Is that what the master said?”
“No, it’s what I say.”
Genba looked unhappy. “Allright. We’ll do it your way.”
They heard the sound of drumsand gongs and the voices of street musicians long before they reached themarket stalls. The market was crammed with crowds of shoppers clustering aroundacrobats and dancers or bargaining with shopkeepers.
“What’s going on?” Hitomaroasked.
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Genbatossed a coin to a vendor and took a steaming paper envelope of roastedchestnuts. “It’s the last market day of the year. The farmers won’t be comingto town again till the snows melt next summer. So everyone’s having a party.Isn’t it nice? Here, have some hot chestnuts. Put them in your sleeves and warmyour hands on them.”
Ignoring the offer, Hitomarosaid, “If Chobei is in this crowd, he’ll be about as easy to find as an ant inan ant hill.” Cursing under his breath, he climbed on an empty basket to peerover the bobbing heads of the crowd. As far as he could see down the mainstreet with its overhanging thatched roofs, people milled, eddying in streamspast stalls and around groups of performers. The steam from a hundred cook potshung in clouds about them, and the noise from laughter, chatter, and snatchesof music was deafening.
He climbed down and found thatGenba had attracted his own audience. A small group stood around him, admiringhis enormous size and bulk and asking questions about the coming match. Menfelt his muscles, and women held up their baby boys to touch him, hoping thathis strength would pass from him to their sons.
A dumpling seller was offeringhis wares nearby, and an admirer pressed Genba to accept a small snack.
“What do you think you’re doing now?” Hitomaro asked testily.
Genba chewed and smacked hislips. “Good. The bean paste might be sweeter. But,” his round face split into awide grin, “these dumplings are light as a feather and larger than any I’vehad. Hey,” he called out to the dumpling man, “a couple more, if you please.”
“We have to find Chobei, youmountain of lard!” Hitomaro gritted out.
Genba’s fans glared at him. Thedumpling man bobbed a bow and passed over the dumplings. “Master Genba mustkeep up his strength,” he said reprovingly to Hitomaro.
To Hitomaro’s annoyance and thenoisy approval of the bystanders, the dumpling man began to gyrate and chant, “Tie‘em into knots-ooh, ouch!-pick ‘em up, and throw ‘em down-whoosh!-kick ‘em offtheir feet-whack!-knock ‘em down and fall on ‘em-splat!” He concluded with abrutal knockout punch into the air, followed by a comical pratfall. The crowdloved it, and when the dumpling man bounced back up, they cheered and boughtdumplings. With a grin, he tended to his business.
Genba chuckled until Hitomarocursed wrestling matches and bean paste dumplings roundly and eloquently.Shoving the rest of the dumpling in his mouth, Genba chewed and swallowed. “I’msorry, brother,” he said. “What would you have me do?”
But Hitomaro had turned hisback and walked away.
When Hitomaro stopped to lookafter a well-dressed female, Genba caught up. “Hey,” he said. “You’re notlooking for Chobei. You’re looking at pretty women.”
Hitomaro snapped. “Don’t be anidiot.”
Genba peered into a large potof soup in a noodle stall. The vendor reached for his ladle and a bowl. “Somenice fresh noodles in my special soup for the gentlemen?” he cried in a highsingsong voice. “Best herbs and vegetables only! Gathered this very morning!Only two coppers.”
“Come along,” Hitomaro growled.
Genba sighed. “I suppose afterthe match, I’ll be put on short rations anyway.”
“Be good for you. The tribunalstairs won’t take your weight.” Hitomaro’s arm shot out, pulling Genba behindthe straw canopy of a stall. He hissed, “Duck! There’s the bastard now.”
Two men passed, walkingpurposefully. One was Chobei. The former sergeant of the tribunal wore a newblue cotton robe, matching trousers, and straw boots. His companion was a shortfat man in brown silk and a black sash with an official’s black cap on hishead. Chobei talked and waved his hands about. His companion looked haughty andkept shaking his head. They disappeared in the crowd.
Hitomaro stared after them. “NowI’ve seen everything!”
“Who was that with him?” Genbaasked.
Someone giggled at their feet.A pretty girl with bright black eyes raised a hand to cover her mouth. She satamong her earthenware dishes and bowls, the owner of the stall they had duckedinto.
“Please forgive the intrusion,miss,” Genba said politely. “We didn’t want to talk to those men and tookadvantage of your canopy.”
Her eyes were on Hitomaro. “MaybeI can help. Which one are you interested in? That good-for-nothing Chobei orthe judge?”
“That Chobei!” Hitomarogrowled. “Where the hell did he get new clothes? And since when does thatbastard keep company with the judge?”
She giggled again. “Since JudgeHisamatsu made him his overseer. That’s how he got the new clothes, and a finehouse besides. It’s on the judge’s property.”
“How come that ignorant rascalhad such luck?” Genba marveled.
She rolled her eyes. “The judgeisn’t right in the head.”
Hitomaro gave a snort. “You cansay that again. Chobei’s worthless.”
“No. Really. He thinks he’ssomebody else.”
Hitomaro gave her hisattention. She responded with a coy smile, and Hitomaro squatted and smiledback. “Who does he think he is? And how come you know these things?”
She brushed back her hair and smiled. “Easy. My mother works for the judge. She says he thinks he’s really a grand minister.”
Hitomaro frowned. “He didn’t sound mad to me. What does he want Chobei for?”
A woman stopped at the standand picked up one of the bowls. The girl hesitated. “I’ve got a customer.”
Hitomaro grabbed her arm. “Answerme!”
She pouted and freed her arm. “Thejudge hired Chobei to run his estate,” she snapped. “He said a nobleman needsretainers.”
The customer cleared her throatand glared at Hitomaro, who glared back and stalked away. Genba muttered anapology and put down a handful of coins before following him.
