Island of Exiles

all.”

“The only thing I worry about is a case of nerves like yours,” Taira reproved him. “Such loss of self-control could ruin us all.” There was a gasp, then Sakamoto’s trembling voice: “Forgive me, my lord. You know you can count on me. It’s just that this was not in the plan.”

Below, Akitada let out a soft sigh. So there had been a plan.

Perhaps there still was one. But the prince’s death had not been part of their scheme. What had happened?

Kumo said abruptly, “There is no need to quarrel among ourselves. It strikes me, though, that Shunsei is not here, and him I do worry about. He is emotional and not very bright. And he is a witness who will testify at the trial.” Taira said, “Shunsei is not here because he is no part of this and knows nothing for the reasons you have just stated. However, I have had a talk with him about his testimony.” Two people spoke up at once. Akitada could not make out their words.

Then Taira spoke slowly and clearly, as if to foolish children.

“No. Shunsei is completely loyal to the prince, whom he worships even more assiduously than the Buddha. I made it clear to him that revealing any part of the prince’s private life would destroy his memory. The fellow wept and swore by all that’s holy that he would never besmirch the name of his beloved.” Nakatomi laughed. He said something about splitting the peach to find the Buddha, but Kumo warned, “Careful! Here comes more wine.”

There was a short silence. Akitada heard the pavilion stairs groaning and creaking. Then heavy slapping steps crossed above. Apparently the fat barefooted youth had arrived to refill the wine flasks. He looked up at the black- stained boards above his head, and saw them bending. More clouds of dust descended. The thought crossed Akitada’s mind that he might be crushed underneath the combined weight of the pavilion, the four conspirators, and the fat servant.

What happened was not quite that bad, but bad enough.

Sakamoto cried, “Watch out, you oaf!” Next there was a heavy thump, and a sharp cracking sound, then a tearing and splintering. One of the wide boards split and a fat naked leg descended to the accompaniment of a terrific squeal of pain. Akitada stared at a dirty foot, dangling and twitching inches from his face. Above, all hell broke loose. Men shouted, dishes clattered, more steps caused more dust and splinters to descend. And the fat servant still wailed. He wailed steadily for more than a minute before he settled down to moaning and sobbing.

Akitada withdrew to a corner near the outer edge of the pavilion.

Upstairs, the other servant joined the fracas and shouted at the unfortunate fat youth to get his leg out of the hole. Akitada could see that the dangling limb was bleeding slightly. The fat upper thigh was held in place by a large splinter which threatened to penetrate more deeply if the leg was pulled upward. The youth explained his predicament amid loud groans and sobs.

“Well, go down there and free him,” snapped Kumo.

The other servant protested shrilly that he could not swim.

The lakeside balustrade creaked, and Kumo pointed out that the water was quite shallow. Kumo, and perhaps the others, were scanning the surrounding lake and shore. Akitada was trapped under the pavilion, and the surly servant was about to join him.

Discovery was imminent. Keeping close to the corner support, Akitada let his body slip into the water until only his head protruded.

Sounds from the stairs suggested that some of the guests were abandoning the pavilion for safer ground from which to watch the rescue operation. Next came the telltale squelching as the servant approached through the mud from the lake side. He had to bend to squeeze under the pavilion. Akitada could see him only as a darker blob against the faintly lit grayness outside.

The man muttered under his breath, then called out, “Where the devil are you? I can’t see a thing.” The fat leg wiggled, and a pained voice cried, “Here. Be careful! It hurts dreadfully.”

The older man found the leg and gave it an exploratory push upward, which resulted in an earsplitting scream. The rescuer abandoned the leg and splashed back to the edge of the pavilion.

“Got to cut it off,” he shouted to someone on top. “I’ll need a knife and a saw.”

The unfortunate youth above started babbling wildly that he did not want it cut off. A lengthy discussion followed, succeeded by a tense wait during which the older servant could be heard slapping mosquitoes and muttering imprecations against gluttony and stupidity. Above, the soft sobbing and moaning continued. And Akitada waited tensely.

In time someone passed tools to the resentful rescuer below.

He returned to the twitching leg and proceeded to saw and cut the boards, while the fat youth squealed and pleaded. Sakamoto added his own shouts from a safe distance, encouraging one servant while telling the other what a useless fool he was to destroy his master’s property.

The time crawled for Akitada, but eventually the squealing above and cursing below stopped. The leg was free, and someone, Kumo presumably, hauled the youth out of the hole. The ill-tempered servant departed, still muttering, and silence fell.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Akitada emerged from under the pavilion. He listened and looked about. When all seemed clear, he quickly swam back into the reeds and from there to where he had left his clothes. As he dried himself with his loincloth and dressed again, the nervous tension of the past hour melted and he started shaking with laughter.

It was a while before he calmed down and realized that, for all its farcical humor, the fat youth’s accident had spoiled his perfect chance to get the answers he had come for.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE MANDALA

The following morning brought more surprises, the most disturbing of which was the disappearance of Genzo.

As instructed, Akitada had risen early. Nobody else seemed to be awake yet. After carrying wood and water into the kitchen and washing at the well, he went to the stable to saddle their horses.

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