The boy had not strayed very far at all. Akitada could see the warden’s point. Children will roam from their homes without their parents’ knowledge. And the poor are often malnourished. But he had not been mistaken about the bruises on the child’s body.
Most of the men were probably out on the lake. The surface of the water was dotted with white sails and rowboats as far as the eye could see, almost to the blue mountains in the distance.
They passed an old woman sitting in the doorway of the first house. Like a piece of driftwood, her black clothing was bleached a dirty grey that blended into the weathered wood behind her. She was weaving bamboo strips into fish traps, but had stopped to stare at them.
Akitada said, ‘Go ask her where the Mimuras live.’
Tora dismounted without a word and walked over to the old woman. A conversation ensued. The old one shook her head and talked, her toothless mouth like a knothole in an ancient tree. She scowled, gestured, and spat. Tora returned. The old woman got up and limped to the fence to look after him.
‘She didn’t seem very friendly,’ Akitada commented.
‘Hates Mimura,’ Tora said. ‘A devil, she calls him. I wouldn’t trust a man that his own neighbors curse. Anyway, it’s the third house from the end, and he’s not home.’
Tora was evidently still angry. ‘We’ll have to manage without him then,’ said Akitada, trying to reestablish working relations. ‘It does seem strange that he should have made such bitter enemies in his own village.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
Akitada realized that he had not yet told Tora about the boy, but they had reached their destination and there was no time, so he merely said, ‘I’m trying to buy a boy from them. They starved and abused him.’
That got Tora’s attention. ‘A boy? You’re buying a boy?’ His expression suggested that Akitada must have lost his mind. ‘But… there are plenty of starving boys in the capital. Why come here?’
Akitada dismounted. ‘Later. First let’s make sure the child is here and safe.’
There was a strong smell of fish in the air. The walls of the decrepit wooden house, built on stilts like the others, were so weather-stained that they were nearly black. The small porch and steps leaned precariously, and the roof was covered with ancient, ragged boards, which had grass growing from them. Nearby stood a smaller, but much newer, storehouse.
Smoke came from an opening in the roof of the house, and the door stood open, so somebody was at home. Down on the shore, the children paused in their play to stare at the visitors, but the boy was not among them.
‘Mrs Mimura?’ Akitada called.
The frowzy female from their last meeting appeared in the doorway. She wore a new, boldly patterned robe tied around her thick middle with a bright-orange sash. Squinting into the sun, she recognized Akitada when he walked towards her. She was not at all pleased to see him.
‘Mrs Mimura,’ said Akitada, looking up at her, ‘I came to speak to you and your husband about the boy.’ Her eyes flicked towards the storehouse. Akitada was certain now that she was afraid of him.
‘My husband’s out fishing,’ she said. ‘He’s taken the boy with him. What did you want to talk about?’
Akitada did not answer right away. The children, two boys and a smaller girl, joined them. They were sturdy, tough-looking children with flat round faces and looked nothing at all like the deaf-mute boy. ‘Are these your other children?’ Akitada asked.
‘Yes.’
It seemed a very short answer for a mother to give. She was anxious to get rid of him, and he was beginning to be uneasy. ‘You say your husband has taken the little boy. Surely he’s younger than these children.’
‘He was begging so, my husband took pity.’
Neither her tone nor her smile was convincing. Akitada frowned. ‘I thought he was deaf-mute. Surely he’s not much help on a boat.’
The oldest boy guffawed. ‘Moron,’ he said.
‘Shut up.’ His mother glared at him. ‘It’s true he isn’t much help, poor cripple,’ she said, turning back to Akitada. ‘My husband lets him ride along for a treat.’
‘Ah.’
She flushed. ‘We’re taking good care of him, sir. We give him only the best, thanks to your kindness, only the best. He eats like a prince. The other children are jealous. Aren’t you, my pets?’
The children ignored her. Akitada was undecided. He looked out over the lake, wishing Mimura’s boat would return. Overhead swooped white gulls with raucous cries; higher up, two black kites performed their slow circles silently. Several gulls had taken up position on the roof of the storehouse, where they were walking back and forth with watchful eyes.
And then Akitada heard the sound of sweeping from somewhere beyond the storehouse.
Mrs Mimura heard it too and said quickly, ‘We always tell them it’s to make up for his being deaf and dumb. We all look after him like a little treasure, don’t we?’
The children looked at their mother in surprise. The oldest said, ‘Huh?’
Akitada looked at the storehouse. It was solidly constructed on sturdy timber supports. The sweeping sounds continued. ‘Tora,’ he called.
Tora dismounted, tied up the horses, and strolled over.
Mrs Mimura raised her voice a little and started down the steps. ‘I’m sorry that my husband isn’t home. Or the boy either. You’ve wasted a trip. How about coming back another day? Or maybe we could bring him to you in Otsu. Say tomorrow?’
Akitada bent to peer under the storehouse. It was raised several feet above ground on its supports, perhaps in case of flooding from the lake. In the shelter under the building, Mimura stored tools of his trade: spare oars, parts of a boat, three-pronged spears, and bamboo fishing rods and lines. Fishing traps, like the one the old woman had been making, and baskets hung from nails, and a large net was strung between the supports. But Akitada saw movement behind all of these objects, on the far side of the storehouse.
‘Go see what’s behind the storehouse,’ he told Tora.
Tora walked off, and the woman went flying after him to grab his sleeve. ‘Wait,’ she cried. ‘We keep a vicious dog back there.’
Tora flung off her hand. ‘Don’t touch me, woman!’ he snapped. ‘I’ve dealt with dogs before. And with troublesome females.’ He disappeared around the storehouse in two or three great strides, the woman on his heels. The children followed.
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she cried. ‘You’ve got no right…’
For a moment there was silence. Then Tora’s voice, strangely tight, shouted, ‘Sir? Would you come back here a moment?’
Akitada ran around the storehouse and came to an abrupt halt.
It was a weedy area where Mimura cleaned his fish and dumped unsold wares and other garbage. The rotting fish was piled in a stinking mound beside an old basket. Flies buzzed everywhere.
And there was the boy. He held a broken broom in his small hands and was once again dressed in a filthy rag. New bruises, including a black eye and a swollen lip, had joined the old ones. His eyes were wide with fear.
But what made Akitada’s blood boil was that he had a heavy leather collar around his thin neck. From the collar, a rusty chain about ten feet in length led to one of the supports of the storehouse, where it was fastened to an iron ring.
The child had stopped sweeping the malodorous mess of fish entrails; his eyes were on Mrs Mimura.
Tora cursed softly.
Barely controlling his rage, Akitada turned to the woman. ‘Is this your vicious dog?’
She cringed away from his face. ‘He will run away, sir,’ she wailed. ‘It’s for his own good. You know he runs away.’
‘So you tie him up like a dog? Worse, for I see neither food nor water bowls.’
‘He eats in the house. He’s only been here a little while. I’ve got work to do and can’t watch him all the time. It was just for a little while until I got supper started.’