“The man from the market. And he still looks like Haseo.”
He must have felt their eyes on him, for he turned his head their way, then leaned forward to say something to the master. The master, a short middle-aged man with the wide-legged stance of the professional soldier, shot a sharp glance toward Akitada and Tora.
Tora muttered, “They’ve seen us. In this crowd we stand out like a pair of hawks among crows.”
It was true. Even Tora’s plain blue cotton robe looked almost distinguished among the multihued assortment of rags, loose shirts, and short pants that covered those around them, and Akitada wore his official’s silk robe and small black hat. He met hostile stares from the crowd but was not about to retreat. “Come,” he said, touching Tora’s arm, “we’ll have a word with Master Kata and his friend. I want a closer look at the fellow.” He moved past two burly loafers toward the training hall.
Inside, the man from the market spoke again, rapidly, to the master, then melted into the shadows as if he had never been.
“Quick,” said Akitada. “Around the back. He’s getting away.”
They separated, each running for a corner of the long building. But suddenly Akitada’s progress was impeded. People moved into his path, legs were extended, elbows protruded, and a basket of bamboo scraps fell over, scattering in the dirt before his feet. He heard shouts and curses, and finally the cry, “Stop, thief!” When he finally reached his corner, he had a shouting mob on his heels. A rock hit the back of his head, knocking off his small black hat and causing him to stumble. Someone laughed, and the next moment he was face down in the dirt with people on top of him. He struggled, then roared, “Stop! In the name of the emperor.” Instantly more weight piled on, taking his breath away. He tried to cry out again, but there was dirt in his mouth and he had trouble breathing. Strangely, what he felt most at that moment was a sense of outrage that the rabble had dared attack an official.
Through the roaring in his ears, he heard Tora shouting. Then-blessed relief-the weight eased, lifted. He was rolled on his back, and Tora’s anxious face peered down at him.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Of course not, you idiot,” gasped Akitada ungratefully and struggled to sit up. “What is the matter with these people? Are they mad?” He wiped the dirt from his face and looked around him. The ragged creatures had retreated; a few were nursing bloody noses and black eyes. Dull, hostile eyes.
“This is a bad neighborhood,” said Tora, shaking a broken fence rail in their direction before giving him a hand to get up. “They don’t like officials here.”
“Outrageous!” Akitada glowered at his attackers. “Who threw that rock?” he demanded. There was no answer, but they retreated a little more. He raised his voice. “Where is the warden for this quarter?” They began to melt away, slinking along the wall of the building and disappearing down alleyways. “It seems they do have a little respect for authority,” Akitada said sourly, feeling a tender lump on the back of his head. “I suppose the fellow got away.”
“Afraid so. When I saw the crowd going after you, I turned around. I expect he’s long gone by now.”
Akitada scooped his hat from the dusty road, brushed it off, and tucked it into his robe. “I’m going to have a word with this Kata. You go take a look around the neighborhood. See what you can find out about Haseo’s double.”
Tora trotted off, and Akitada approached the training hall again. The master, surrounded by his pupils, was waiting. The pupils looked belligerent, their hands on their swords, but the master bowed deeply. He had the broad, flat face and squat build common among the peasants of the South, but his military stance and the scars on his face told Akitada that he had an army background.
“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.