“You are Kata?” he demanded.
“Yes, that is my name.” The man bowed again. “I hope the gentleman has not suffered any ill effects from this stupid mistake?” The students eyed Akitada as if they hoped the opposite.
“Mistake? Someone threw a rock at me, and then a crowd attacked me. I might have been killed. Did you see who was involved?”
“I’m very sorry, but I was in the middle of a lesson. There are many rude and stupid youngsters about.” He turned to his students. “Did any of you see anything?” They shook their heads as one, and chorused, “No, Master.”
A lie, of course. Kata had been looking at Akitada only a moment before the incident. Akitada narrowed his eyes. “I wish to speak to the man who stood behind you and left just before the incident. What is his name?”
Kata gestured. “These are all of my students for today. Please feel free to speak to the one you mean.”
“No. There was another man. Back there.” Akitada gestured to the back of the hall. “He spoke to you and then left.”
“He spoke to me?” The master looked blank. “Impossible. Nobody interrupts me during a lesson.” He turned to his students. “Isn’t that so?”
They all nodded and said in unison, “That is so, Master.”
Akitada let his eyes move from face to face. They gloated, each man locking away his knowledge firmly. For a moment he was tempted to force the issue, but they all clutched their wooden swords and poles, and his ragged attackers no doubt still hovered nearby.
“I shall report this incident to the authorities,” he threatened. “They will get the information from you, or your business will be closed.”
Kata bowed, but not soon enough. Akitada had caught the fear in his eyes.
He met Tora coming back from his own futile errand and told him about Kata’s words. Tora said angrily, “He lied. And those students are cutthroats if ever I saw any.”
“Probably. The man is nervous about being investigated. Whatever his background, and I suspect he’s a former army officer, he’s illegally training common roughnecks.” In order to keep the peace, the carrying of arms was strictly regulated in the capital. Only men of good family and their retainers could carry swords, but few paid attention to such laws any longer.
Tora looked back over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Kata was training them to be bandits.”
“And the fellow who ran away was one of them. When he saw us looking at him, he got frightened.”
Tora looked down at himself. “Amida,” he muttered. “I think you’ve got it. I look like a thief-taker to them. Should’ve worn my sword.”
Akitada suppressed a smile. Having once belonged to the class not permitted to wear or use a sword, Tora was inordinately proud of his present status as a retainer.
But life is a candle in the wind, and not all men can have what they wish for. Akitada had hoped for a modest career of legal scholarship, drafting codes and writing commentaries on the law, or perhaps a minor governorship administering those laws in some distant province. Instead he had been assigned to the Ministry of Justice, where a vengeful Soga had kept him at dull paperwork. And now he had even lost that position. And he had failed again to keep his promise to Haseo. As head of his family, for his people, and for his son’s future, he must return to duty until Soga returned. And then he must suffer Soga’s insults in order to avoid a negative evaluation that would make it impossible to get another appointment.
But sacrifices are not without their rewards. Happy laughter greeted him at home. Genba was cavorting about the lantern-lit courtyard with Yori on his back as Seimei and Tamako watched from the veranda.
Genba had joined Akitada’s household shortly before his master’s marriage and had made himself indispensable without quite achieving the closeness that existed between Tora and his master. For one thing, Genba was too much in awe of his master. He was a huge man, taller than either Akitada or Tora, both of whom were above average, and he was quite fat these days. He had developed a passion for food when he had prepared to become a wrestler.
Now his face was red from exertion, and sweat glistened on his bulging neck as he pranced and huffed around in a circle, his belly and buttocks bobbing, while Yori shouted and made passes with his sword at the straw man Tora had built.
Tora gave a sharp whistle, and Genba whinnied and stopped, letting the boy slip from his shoulders before he trotted to the house and collapsed on the veranda steps.
“Father, Father,” cried Yori, catapulting himself into Akitada’s arms. “I hit him six, no, seven times. It could have been more, but Genba is so slow and clumsy.”
“Genba is no horse,” said his father. The big man was wiping the sweat off his crimson face, and his huge chest rose and fell as he drew breath. “Perhaps we should get you a small horse instead. What do you think, Tora?”
Tora was dubious. “Not many around that are small enough. Maybe a donkey?”
“No,” shouted Yori, outraged. “A horse. A proper horse. I shall not sit on a donkey.”
Tamako called out anxiously, “You are too young for a horse, my son. Wait a few years first.”
Akitada regretted his rash offer. Putting Yori down, he said, “I shall consider your request, Yori, when your writing improves.”
He went to greet Tamako and Seimei and then sat down beside Genba to remove his shoes. He was very tired. They had walked far, and his old leg injury still ached occasionally.
Seimei said, “That nice young man from the ministry stopped by on his way home.”
Akitada’s heart stopped for a moment. He looked up at the old man. “Some problem at the ministry?”
“No, sir. He said to tell you that all was quiet still. His exact words. I wondered why he would bother to bring such a message.”
But Akitada knew. Nakatoshi had warned him that, though Soga had not returned today, he might be back tomorrow. Well, it was settled. Akitada would return to work in the morning. The game was over-and he had lost.
He had little appetite for his evening rice that night and soon retreated to his own room. Taking a slim roll of brocade from the bookshelf, he went out onto the veranda. The air had cooled off and it was quite dark, but a few stars glimmered in the heavens. This was the time of night when trees and shrubs took on an impenetrable blackness and loomed against the lighter sky and the faint glow of the city beyond. He thought of the blind woman. Once he had been buried underground for many days and found his terror of the darkness had been greater than his fear of his captors. Tora was right: People should not turn their backs on those whose distress was manifest. He would at least listen to the woman’s problem.
From the corner of the house, a cicada called, and another answered from the neighboring garden. Now and then there was a small splash, as one of the carp in the tiny fishpond jumped for an insect.
Akitada unrolled the brocade and took out his flute. He touched the familiar shape lovingly. As always, when he placed the flute to his lips and began to play, his sadness lifted, the tension in his muscles eased, and his mind emptied itself of worries. He felt as light as a moth on the night wind.
Much, much later he stopped. He was still tired, but his mind was calm now. Putting the flute back into its cover, he rose and went inside. Someone had spread his bedding. Tamako. He felt vaguely guilty but was too tired to go to her. Taking off his robe, he slipped under the quilt and closed his eyes.
In that last half-conscious moment before sleep, it occurred to him that the swordsmith had said something significant, but he was too tired to remember.
CHAPTER FOUR
Seimei shook him awake long before he was ready. Heavy with unfinished sleep, he struggled to a sitting position. It was pitch dark outside, but Akitada customarily arrived at the ministry before sunrise. “Is it time already?” he grumbled. “I feel as if I’d just lain down.”
