He smiled at her with relief. “I don’t mind.” Her speech was more refined than he had expected in a kitchen maid, and his eyes went again to the pale silk hem. As she moved, a dainty bare foot, dirty but white and slender, appeared for a moment.
She scooped something from a large iron kettle into a bowl and handed it to him. Whatever it was, it looked and smelled unappetizing-some kind of millet mush with a few wilted greens. Akitada held the dripping bowl gingerly away from his clothes and looked about for a place to sit. Finding none, he leaned against the kitchen wall and raised the bowl to his lips. But the mush had thickened, and he had trouble drinking it.
“Would you happen to have some chopsticks?” he asked the girl, who was sweeping the floor in a haphazard fashion.
She stopped and stared at him. “Chopsticks? For a prisoner?”
“A little joke.” He chuckled. “I suppose there’s not much hope in asking for wine, so maybe I’d better settle for water, right?”
“Right!” She pointed to a large bucket in the corner.
He did not dare ask for a cup. Instead he used the dipper to pour some water into his food, stirred it with his finger, and then drank it down in several hungry gulps. It had little taste, but he gladly accepted the refill she offered. This, too, he mixed with water, and when he was done, he poured more water in the bowl, took it outside to rinse it, and refilled it to drink.
The girl had watched him surreptitiously. When he returned the bowl to her with a bow and a smile, he said, “Thank you. My name is Taketsuna. You’re very kind. And very pretty. May I ask your name?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m Masako,” she snapped. “And my father’s the superintendent, so you’d better watch yourself.” He was so astonished, he was speechless. The superintendent of a provincial jail, though of low rank, was still an official.
How could such a man allow his daughter to work in the prison’s kitchen? It occurred to him that she might be the result of an affair with a native woman, and he said, “Certainly. I’m to report to him. Can you show me the way?”
“You’ll have to wait. I have to finish cleaning up first.” She put his bowl into the basket and bent to pick it up.
“Allow me to carry that for you. Perhaps I could help you wash up?”
She regarded his tall figure thoughtfully for a moment. Her lip twitched. “All right. You can do with a wash yourself. Come along, then, Taketsuna.”
He followed her across the courtyard to the well and hauled buckets of water, while she washed the bowls and restacked them in the basket. “Now take off your robe,” she told him. “You won’t get a bath tonight, so you’d better wash here.” He glanced around. The courtyard was empty, so he obeyed, draping his stained gown carefully over the rim of the well while he stood in his loincloth, sluicing himself down with the cold well water, uncomfortably aware of her eyes on his body. When he reached for his robe, she snatched it away. “It’s filthy. I’ll wash it for you later. Get the basket and come with me.”
“B-but,” he stammered, looking down at his wet self, “I can’t go like this. I have nothing to wear.” She was walking away. “Nonsense. Nobody cares what a prisoner wears,” she snapped over her shoulder.
He picked up the basket and followed. The guards outside the gate threw it open as they passed, and two constables appeared, carrying a litter between them. Behind them waddled Ogata, the fat physician.
Masako stopped, and Akitada quickly hid behind her, clutching the basket to his body.
As the litter passed, he saw that the slight shape on it was hidden under a woven grass cover. A dead child? He recalled that Ogata was also the local coroner. The child’s death must have been suspicious, or Ogata would hardly take this kind of interest in the corpse.
For once Ogata’s eyes were alert and sharp. He recognized the prisoner instantly and halted, letting his eyes move from the girl to Akitada and back again. “Are you keeping company with
half-naked men now, Masako?” he drawled. “In broad daylight, too. Must have a talk with your father.” Akitada saw the color rise in Masako’s pale neck. “If you go worrying Father, Uncle,” she cried, raising a clenched fist,
“I’ll . . .”
“Oho! Is that the way the wind blows? A secret affair.” Ogata raised his brows comically.
Masako dropped Akitada’s robe and picked up her skirts to rush at Ogata. The doctor held her away easily, laughing while she shouted at him.
The constables stopped and put down their litter to watch.
They, too, began to laugh, looking from the half-naked Akitada to the angry girl. Guards peered in at the gate and people came from buildings to stare.
Akitada put down the basket and snatched up his robe. Slipping it on, he joined the doctor and the girl. “Is a suspicious death an occasion for mirth on Sadoshima?” he asked.
Masako dropped her arms, looked at the stretcher, and stepped away from Ogata, who continued to chuckle helplessly.
After a moment the doctor choked back another peal and wiped his face. “Sorry,” he gasped, looking mildly shamefaced.
“The sight of you with our lovely Masako here drove this other matter from my mind for a moment. Masako’s my goddaughter, by the way, which accounts for my teasing her.” His eyes narrowed speculatively. “As a man like you knows how to use a brush, come along. I’m to do a postmortem on this man. You can take notes.” With a wave of the hand, he set the constables and their litter in motion and they moved off.
Akitada looked at Masako and the basket.
“Never mind,” she said crossly, still rosy with embarrassment. “You go along. I can manage. Come to the house when you’re done.” She pointed out a modest building which huddled under some trees behind a bamboo fence.
Akitada followed the litter into another low building not far from the kitchen. It contained only a long table, raised to waist height, a low desk with writing implements and paper, and several rough shelves with lanterns, oil lamps, and assorted medical instruments.
Ogata directed the constables to place the body on the table, and then to light the lanterns. He placed these himself so that the still-covered body was brightly illuminated. When all was arranged to his satisfaction, he turned to Akitada.
“Squeamish?” he asked.
“I’ve seen death before.”
“This man you know,” said Ogata and whipped aside the cover.
The corpse was nude and very small. Yellowish gray in death, his ribs and bones unnaturally prominent, his face contorted as if in pain, and his eyes mere slits, he lay childlike on his side with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped about his belly. The only wounds apparent were on both knees and elbows. It was little Jisei, the prisoner.
Akitada stifled an exclamation. “What happened?” he asked, stepping closer. “He was well yesterday. He said the ointment you had me apply eased the inflammation in his wounds. He looked forward to being released. How could he have died so quickly?”
“Not sure. That’s why we’re here.” Ogata told the constables to turn the body on its back and straighten the limbs. When one of them was careless and broke an arm, he snarled at the man,
“I’ll make sure to deal roughly with your carcass when your time comes. Which may be sooner than you think.” The constable blanched.
There were faint marks on the poor thin body in addition to the gruesome wounds on his knees and arms. Ogata said, “He got those crawling in and out of badger holes. When a prisoner’s as small as this one, that’s the work they make him do.”
“Badger holes? Why?”
“Mines. There’s silver in the mountains. The men tunnel in and bring it out. It’s grueling work. But that’s not what killed him.” He began to study every inch of the naked body, taking special note of the sunken area just below the rib cage, ordering the constables to turn Jisei on his stomach and then back again.
