Island of Exiles

him, but Kumo stepped in to stop me. Then this business with Toshito happened.” He faltered miserably. An uncomfortable silence fell.

Mutobe asked diffidently, “I trust we can settle my son’s affairs once and for all now, my lord? It was suicide, not murder?” Akitada did not think much of the way Mutobe had carried out his duties, but there were extenuating circumstances. At least now that his son’s name would be cleared, the man should have the time to tend to business, and Akitada needed his cooperation. He started to explain Okisada’s death when he had second thoughts.

From what everyone had said about fugu poison, such a death was painful. Would a spoiled prince like Okisada really choose this method to end his life? Especially when his reason was to avoid the pain of a stomach disorder? How ill had Okisada really been? He had been well enough to travel and attend the gathering at Professor Sakamoto’s house. And had not his fellow conspirators, with the exception of the alcoholic professor, been rather complacent about his death and the failure of their enterprise? Only the professor had been truly upset. And perhaps Shunsei. The monk’s faith in his beloved’s achieving Buddhahood might have overcome his grief. But Kumo, Taira, and the physician had only been concerned with getting young Mutobe convicted.

And then there were Kumo’s strange final words. Something about making a sacrifice for his emperor.

Mutobe cleared his throat. “May I ask, my lord, what it is that you found out?”

Akitada was spared an answer. From outside came the sound of voices, and then the door flew open and revealed one of Mutobe’s men trying to bar Tora’s way.

“Let him in!” Akitada snapped.

Mutobe gave him a reproachful glance and nodded to his guard. The small incident reminded Akitada of his awkward position. He no longer had his imperial orders and had to depend on Mutobe’s cooperation.

Tora looked slightly shaken. He bowed to them, then addressed Akitada. “I went back for Turtle and that swine Wada.” Akitada nodded. “I hope you tied up Wada. He is under arrest.”

Tora shook his head. “He’s dead, sir.” Akitada gave him a sharp look. “How?” Tora hesitated. “Er, it wasn’t me, sir. I found him dead when I got there, sir. Turtle claims the soldiers did it.”

“Nonsense! We would have seen them stop. Kumo was in such a hurry to catch up with us that he did not bother to slow down.” Akitada frowned. And that was strange. Wada must have been dead already or unconscious, or he would surely have cried out to Kumo. Getting to his feet, he said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I think I’ll have a word with my lieutenant’s servant.

Come, Tora.”

Outside, he found a grinning and whistling Turtle holding the reins of the three horses. One of them had the corpse of Wada slung over its saddle. Blood dripped slowly into the dust. Akitada lifted the dead man’s head and saw that his throat had been slit. It did not look like a sword wound, and his eyes went to the servant’s waist. There was a bulge under his jacket.

“Show me your knife!” he ordered.

The smug expression on the small cripple’s face changed to unease. After a moment, he reached into his jacket and produced a small, sharp knife.

Akitada inspected it. The blade was clean, but traces of blood still clung to the joint between blade and hilt. “Did he give you trouble?” he asked mildly, gesturing toward the corpse.

A nod and a small cringing wiggle were his answer.

“You thought he might alert the soldiers?” Akitada was rewarded with a more energetic nod and a tentative grin.

“That took courage. The soldiers might have caught you.” Turtle cried, “I was quick, your honor. He was sitting up and looking at the soldiers coming toward us. I could tell he was glad to see them. I pulled my knife and reached around him like so.” He gestured vividly. “Then I jumped behind a bush like my master told me to.” Turtle straightened his shoulders proudly and gave Tora a wide smile. When Tora remained impassive, Turtle turned back to Akitada. “I did right, didn’t I, your honor?”

“You did right.” Akitada returned the knife. “Put Wada with the other corpses, Tora. I’m glad your servant spared you the trouble.”

Tora growled. “He deprived me of the satisfaction. The bastard should’ve died before he was born.” And with that peculiar logic, Tora slung the corpse of Wada, once the most feared man on Sadoshima, over his shoulder and walked away.

Akitada looked after him with affection and then retraced his steps to the passage where he had fought Kumo. The body was gone, though large bloodstains still marked where it and the other slain men had lain. How quickly it had been over! All those weeks in the mine he had thought of what he would say and do to Kumo when they finally met face to face. It had turned out very differently. They had exchanged few words, and those had been mostly Kumo’s, accusing Akitada of bloodlust.

He knew now that Kumo had been wrong, that a man may feel a certain exhilaration in fighting for his life or for a righteous cause, but that he would never kill for mere pleasure.

Surely Kumo must have known that he might die. He had simply not been a sword fighter. Akitada did not pride himself on special expertise and he had been exhausted, yet he had known immediately and with astonishing disappointment that the man was not much of an adversary. Kumo had talked about sacrifice and bowed with great reverence-as if he were about to carry out a sacred duty. Strange! The puzzle nagged at him.

Akitada went where Kumo had stood. As he recalled, the man had turned slightly toward his right. All that could be seen in that direction were two of the farm buildings and between them a narrow slice of the sparkling bay. No temple. No small shrine. No flying banners. Just a bit of water with a few fishing boats, some gulls, and that ship at anchor.

It was odd that there should be such a large ship outside a fishing harbor. What was it doing here? Why was it not at Mano?

He walked back up to the highway and looked across the houses of this small town. There was nothing of any significance on the waterfront. All the more substantial buildings-a temple and a few large farms like this one-were on higher ground. He shook his head in confusion and decided that he did not want to talk to Mutobe yet, not until he settled some of his uncertainties, some of the niggling suspicions in the back of his mind. And so he started walking along the road.

Something about the way Okisada had died still dissatisfied him. Shunsei had told him that Okisada habitually consumed fugu and had done so the night of the dinner because he had claimed to get relief from his constant pain by eating a small amount of the poison. It was Shunsei’s testimony which had convinced Akitada that the prince had died by his own hand.

Sakamoto had also thought that Okisada poisoned himself and that he had done so in order to throw suspicion on Toshito.

But Sakamoto had not been in the others’ confidence. No, Akitada was convinced the true conspirators were Kumo, Taira, and Nakatomi.

According to Haru, the expert in matters pertaining both to fugu and to men, the poison could make a man feel as though he had entered heaven and give him back his sexual strength. What was more likely than that the self-indulgent Okisada had also become an expert in those properties of the fugu poison? Would such a man kill himself with it, intentionally or accidentally?

Akitada became transfixed in the middle of the roadway, much to the consternation of a group of peasants who had to pass him in order to visit the site of the battle. They eyed him with fear, this bearded, gaunt creature in silk robe and trousers but with bare feet and a scowl on his face. Wondering perhaps if he was some supernatural creature, they kept to the shoulder of the road, bobbing deep bows as they edged past him.

Akitada had been seized by an awful suspicion. He swung around suddenly to look past the peasants to the ship in the harbor and cried, “Hah, they think they have been clever, the scoundrels. But by heaven, they shall not get away with it!” The peasants squawked and took off running.

Akitada walked back to the farmhouse, turning matters over in his mind before speaking to Mutobe. Nakatomi’s role had been crucial. And Taira had had a very good reason to refuse visitors at the manor. But he could not make out Shunsei. The monk had seemed too simpleminded for such an enormous deception. Amazingly, the clever plot had almost worked.