“I was afraid. When he used his sword on me, I thought he’d kill me, so I told him I left a message for someone. He wanted to know who and kept cutting me until I told him. Then he got really angry. He called me a cheating whore and said he’d watch me bleed to death and . . . and . . .” She sagged abruptly and Tora laid her down on the mat, so recently cleaned by the old woman and now covered with gore beyond repair. Little Flower had many cuts, all of them bleeding, but two or three looked ugly. He snatched her thin undergown from the pile of clothing and, tearing it, pressed the fabric to the worst wounds, wondering what to do next. He could hardly call for help with Wada lying there unconscious.
He was still crouching over the unconscious Little Flower, both hands pressing fabric to her wounds, when he heard steps outside. Heavy male boots, and at least three pairs.
He twisted around just in time to see Wada on all fours crawling toward his sword. Then the broken door flew back and the brawny figures of Wada’s constables appeared on the threshold, Sergeant Ikugoro in the lead and evidently bent on delivering Tora’s message.
It was an awkward moment, and Tora had no time to consider his strategy.
He abandoned Little Flower and plunged for Wada, putting his foot so hard on Wada’s outstretched hand that he could hear a bone snap. Wada screamed. Tora turned his head toward Ikugoro and said, “Good work, Sergeant. Just in time to help me tie up the prisoner.”
Ikugoro’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. “Wha . . . what’s going on here?” he managed. Wada moaned and twisted on the floor, his hand still under Tora’s foot. For a moment, the outcome hung in a delicate balance.
“Well?” growled Tora. “What are you waiting for? I thought you were a man of decision.”
“Kill him, you fools,” screamed Wada. “Kill him now!” Ikugoro stepped forward. “Er, yes, sir,” he mumbled, looking uneasily from Wada to Tora, “but what happened? Why are you arresting Lieutenant Wada, Inspector?”
“Look around you. Attempted murder-mine and hers-
for a start. Now let me see if you have the qualities to uphold the law in Sadoshima.”
Wada shouted, “You idiot. Don’t listen to him.”
Ikugoro glanced at Little Flower, sprawled naked and bleeding on the floor, and made up his mind. “Yes, sir. All right, men.
Tie him up!”
The constables stepped forward, unwound the thin chains they carried around their waists to secure prisoners, and glanced doubtfully from Tora to Wada. “Which one, Sergeant?” asked the bravest one finally.
“The lieutenant, you fool. You heard the inspector. The lieutenant’s been at it again, and this time he’s killed the whore.
Better put some clothes on him first, though. Knock him out, if you have to.”
Tora took his foot off Wada’s hand and left him to the constables. They actually grinned as they pulled up their cursing, screaming, and kicking commander, put his clothes back on him, and tied his wrists and ankles. Wada’s hand was turning dark and swelling to twice its size. He squealed like a wounded animal at their rough handling. Ikugoro watched the struggle impatiently, then snapped, “I told you to knock him out.”
“Sorry, Sergeant,” grunted the big constable, and slapped Wada so hard that his head bounced off the wall and he crum-pled to the floor.
Ikugoro shook his head. “They never liked the lieutenant much,” he informed Tora.
“I see. Thank you, Sergeant. Well done. I’ll see this gets mentioned in my report. Now we’d better get a doctor to see to the girl.”
Ikugoro walked over to Little Flower and bent down.
Straightening up, he said, “Not required, sir. She’s dead.” It was true. Little Flower had lost too much blood, and the already weakened body had been unable to deal with the deep wounds Wada had inflicted. Rage filled Tora, rage against the man who had tormented her and finally killed her as he had promised to do, rage against himself for having come too late.
He snatched up his sword and swung around. Ikugoro and his constables watched him uneasily.
Tora took a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said, and slowly tucked his sword back into his sash. “Well. We have a crime scene here, Sergeant. Send one of your men ahead to the coroner. The other two can get a ladder or plank to put the body on and take it to the tribunal. You, Sergeant, will help me here and then transport the prisoner to jail.” Ikugoro did not question the voice of authority, even if the orders were questionable in the present circumstances. He sent the constables about their duties and then helped Tora go through the motions of observing the evidence of what had happened here. Wada looked much the worse for wear when they turned their attention to him. His lip was split, his nose was purple and bloody, and both eyes were nearly swollen shut.
When they asked him questions, he mumbled unintelligibly.
Together they dragged him out into the garden. Tora cast a glance toward the back fence. Beyond lay the densely wooded shrine precinct. He hoped Turtle was waiting with the horses.
“Tell you what, Sergeant,” he said. “We don’t want to attract too much attention. You’ve got to make sure the coast is clear.
Go out front to wait for your men and post one of them at the gate. Then come back.”
As soon as Ikugoro had trotted off, Tora slung Wada over his shoulder and headed for the back fence. Dropping Wada over like a big bag of rice, he vaulted after, and dragged him off into the shrubbery.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Akitada lay among the bracken and looked at the tops of gently swaying trees and at the winking stars until he was dizzy.
The world was filled with the scent of grass and clover, the clear chirruping of waking birds, the touch of a cool, dew-laden breeze. He had no wish for more.
But Haseo did. “The chains,” he said softly, creeping up.
“We’ve got to get the chains off. Do you still have your chisel or hammer?”
Akitada knew he did not, but he sat up and felt his clothing.
“I lost them somewhere inside.” He looked at the dark form of his companion and felt ashamed and irresponsible. “I’m sorry.
That was careless,” he said humbly. “I should have remembered.” All that work and now they would be caught because the chains would keep them from getting away from the search parties which would soon start combing the mountainsides. He glanced at the sky again. There was a faint but perceptible lightening toward their left. The east. As far as he could make out, they were on the far side of the mountain, well above and to the back of the cliff with the badger holes. This was good, because they could not be seen or heard from the work site.
Haseo sighed. “Never mind. I lost mine, too. Look, maybe you’d better tie up my leg. I’m getting a bit faint. Here. Tear up my shirt.”
Akitada could not see much of Haseo, but he felt the fabric thrust at him and groped for Haseo’s leg. His fingers touched blood, lots of it, warm and slick under his touch. He ripped the shirt into strips, folded a part of the fabric, and told Haseo to press it over the wound, then tied it into place as firmly as he could.
“Stay here,” he told Haseo, “while I look for a rock to work on those chains.”
After much trial and failure, they found that draping the chain over a rock outcropping and then hammering away at it with a loose stone would eventually break a link. The small chinking noise terrified them in case someone should hear, and they paused many times to listen. All remained quiet, and they decided finally that they were too far from the mine entrance to be heard. But they were both exhausted by the time they had freed themselves.
And it was no longer night. The light had changed to a translucent gray, and the mountainside around them was filled with ominous dark shapes and obscure forms. They were far from safe, for with daylight their pursuers would find them gone. All around rose other peaks, wooded and rocky. Night still hung over the west, or they might have seen the sea. They would have to make their way down this mountain and get as far away from the mine as
