the time. He and the old master were friends. After the old master died, the prince and the young master’d ride out hunting with kites. People said they were like father and son.
Some even said the prince would be recalled and become emperor, and then he’d make the master his chancellor. But that’s just silly talk, I think.”
The cook smirked. “That’s because the fools think the prince was sleeping with the master’s mother.” Yume said, “Don’t go spreading those lies. Besides, you and I know better, don’t we?”
They cook guffawed and nodded.
“Oh, come,” urged Akitada, raising his cup. “I love a good story, even if there’s no truth to it.” But Yume shook his head. “It’s just silly talk. Nothing in it, believe me.”
And then the cook made the most puzzling remark of the evening. “You know, the way the prince died reminds me of that time they thought I’d poisoned him.” Akitada was so taken aback that he stared at the cook. “How was that?”
The cook grinned. “Oh, he had this hobby. Liked to fix his own dishes. Well, one day he got really ill at a banquet. I was frightened out of my wits, I tell you, but it turned out he’d eaten something before the banquet.”
Yume nodded. “One of the house servants saw it. The prince started choking, and then his chopsticks dropped from his fingers and he fell down like dead. His eyes were open, but he couldn’t talk or move his limbs. They thought he was dying, but after a while he came around and acted as if nothing had happened.”
The cook said, “Everybody blamed me till it turned out he’d cooked up something for himself. Probably poisonous mushrooms.”
That night Akitada retired more confused than ever.
Before slipping under Yume’s redolent quilts, he took the flute from his sleeve, wrapped it carefully into his outer robe, and placed the roll under his head.
It was not until the following morning that Akitada recalled his appointment with Kumo’s secretary. Shiba had promised to send someone for him the night before. Nobody had come, but perhaps Akitada had missed the summons-as he had missed his evening rice-by playing the flute in the garden. He dressed quickly in his blue scribe’s robe and packed his own gown and the flute into his saddlebag.
The secretary greeted him with reserve and did not mention their appointment.
“I hope,” Akitada told him, “that we did not miss each other last night. I was late returning to the servants’ quarters.”
“No, no,” Shiba said quickly. “Do not concern yourself. I had urgent business to attend to. This is a rather busy time for me.
Regrettable. Especially since you are to leave today. Perhaps next time?”
It did not sound very convincing, but Akitada nodded and went to his desk. Genzo had not arrived yet but left a stack of last night’s copies.
Akitada had little interest in Genzo’s work, or his own, for that matter. All of it was just a subterfuge to meet Kumo. If Kumo had been informed about the prisoner Taketsuna and his background, he had given no indication of it. But Akitada had learned enough. Kumo’s leading an uprising seemed less likely than he had feared. The governor had painted a villainous image of the high constable, but the man who rescued convicts from unbearable working conditions, trained them, and then treated them with generosity and respect was surely no villain. In Akitada’s view such goodness could hardly coexist with a desire for bloody vengeance against the emperor. In fact, Akitada began to doubt Mutobe, an unpleasant state of mind comparable to feeling the earth shift during an earthquake.
Kumo seemed to have done his best to ease suffering, while Mutobe apparently turned a blind eye to the abuse of prisoners by guards and police alike.
But he was puzzled by the change in Shiba’s manner. Last night the secretary had been friendly and eager for news of the capital, yet today his greeting had been cool, distant, and nervous, as if Akitada had suddenly become an undesirable acquaintance. What had happened? Akitada briefly considered his meeting with Kumo’s senile grandmother, but what was in that?
Perhaps the change had nothing to do with him, but instead with the man from Aikawa bringing some bad news. A fire?
Akitada sighed and looked at Genzo’s copies. They were better than the first batch, but one or two pages had to be rewritten, and he settled down to the chore. He was just bundling up the finished document when Genzo made his sullen appearance.
“Any more instructions, boss?” he demanded. His tone was hostile and impudent-or it would have been impudent, had he not been speaking to a convict.
Akitada sorted through the stack of records, looking for something to occupy Genzo’s time. He came across an account of the silver production of a mine called Two Rocks. As he glanced at some of the figures, he was struck by the modest yields for what was, according to Yume, one of the best silver deposits on the island. But then, he knew nothing about silver mines. Passing the sheaf of papers to Genzo, he asked him to make copies.
Toward midday, Inspector Osawa arrived, clearly suffering from the effects of too much wine. He listened with half an ear to Akitada’s report, glanced at the copies and notes, and said,
“Good. Finish up, will you? We are leaving for the coast as soon as you can be ready. I’m going to lie down a bit. I don’t feel at all well today.”
Akitada wished him a speedy recovery. There was little more work to be done. At one point, he sought out the secretary again to ask a question, but more to gauge the man’s changed manner than to gain useful answers.
Shiba answered freely until Akitada mentioned the Two Rocks mine, saying, “I noticed some papers relating to it, and wondered where it might be located.” Shiba blinked and fidgeted. “Mine?” he asked. “In the mountains, I suppose.” Seeing Akitada’s astonishment at this vague reply, he added, “I know nothing about that part of the master’s business, but all the mines are in the mountains of Greater Sadoshima, that is, the northern half. Our mines must be there also.”
Well, it was hardly a satisfactory answer, but Akitada knew from the governor’s map that the closest coast to the mountainous areas was the one facing away from the mainland, a particularly rocky area not used by regular shipping, but familiar to local fishermen and pirates. He wondered about the “pack trains to the coast” mentioned by the supervisor from the Kumo mine. But perhaps he had said “coast” when he had meant Sawata Bay and the harbor at Mano where all the silver was loaded for the trip to the mainland.
The secretary busied himself with paperwork, muttering,
“Forgive me, but there is much work. If there’s nothing else . . . ?” Akitada gave up.
Osawa eventually reappeared in traveling costume. Under his direction, Akitada and Genzo carried the documents out to the waiting horses and packed them in the saddlebags.
Kumo came to bid Osawa farewell. “All ready to leave?” he boomed cheerfully. Turning to Akitada, he said, “I hope my people gave you all the assistance you needed?” Mildly astonished by such belated attention, Akitada bowed and praised the secretarial staff.
“And you have been made quite at home here, I trust?” Kumo continued, his light eyes boring into Akitada’s.
Was the man hinting at Akitada’s trespassing in his garden?
Meeting the high constable’s sharp eyes, Akitada said, “Yes, thank you. I have been treated with unusual kindness and respect. A man in my position learns not to expect such courtesy. And your beautiful garden brought memories of a happier past. I shall always remember my stay here with pleasure.”
“In that case you must return often,” Kumo said, then turned to Osawa, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. “And where are you off to next, my friend?”
Osawa glowered at his horse. “All the way to Minato on that miserable animal. At least the weather is dry.” He put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up with a grunt.
Kumo stood transfixed. “Minato?” he asked, his voice suddenly tense. “Why Minato? I thought you were on an inspection tour.”
