last year.”

Akitada thought of his own young family. He had not yet

achieved Mutobe’s status. Would he, too, be condemned to

spend the rest of his career in Echigo, far from the capital and

with no chance at promotion? What if he lost Tamako and

found himself raising his son alone? He suddenly felt great sym-

pathy for the pale, elderly man across from him. He said, “I see.

Please continue.”

“The witnesses were all in agreement about what hap-

pened . . . well, Taira, of course, cannot be trusted, but the others had no reason to lie. Sakamoto lives quietly, except for visits by the prince. Apparently the prince took an interest in the history Sakamoto is writing. And Shunsei is just a young monk

the prince has befriended. Kumo, of course, did not attend

because I was to be there. Anyway, they all claim that after din-

ner Toshito was left alone with the prince in the lake pavilion.

They were walking back to the house when they heard Okisada

shout for help. Toshito was bent over the seated prince with

both hands at his throat. They ran back and found the prince

dead. Toshito denied having attacked Okisada, but he was not

believed.”

“Strange. What did the coroner say?”

“His report shows that Okisada died of poison.”

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

49

Akitada stared at him. “Poison? I do not understand. Why is

your son in jail?”

“Unfortunately, Toshito had taken a favorite dish to the

prince. There was not enough for the others, so Okisada alone

ate it. The prince complained about the taste and a pain in his

belly before he died. Later, when someone let a dog lick the bowl

which had contained the stew, the animal died in convulsions.”

Akitada shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. I assume, of

course, that your son also denies poisoning the dish.”

“Of course.”

“Why was the monk there? Was the prince religious?”

“I have been told that he had become so lately. I’m afraid the

prince led a very private life. I don’t know anything about the

monk.”

“Do you have any idea how and why this murder happened?”

The governor compressed his lips. “I am convinced Kumo

had a hand in it. My son was set up. I would be in his place if I

had accepted the invitation.”

Akitada thought about this. He still did not like it. “Have

you made any public threats against Okisada?”

Mutobe flushed. “Yes. Okisada made outrageous public

comments charging me with dishonest practices. A month ago

I sent him a letter warning him that I would take steps to stop

his libelous attacks on me and my administration. When he

apologized, I put the matter from my mind.”

“I see. It seems an incredible story. If you can arrange it, I’d

like to meet your son first, but then I must try to see Kumo and

the men who attended the dinner. Do you send inspectors to

outlying districts?”

“Yes. One is to leave soon.” Mutobe clapped his hands

together. “Of course. That’s it. You can go along as a scribe. Both Kumo’s manor and Shunsei’s monastery are on his regular

circuit.”

50

I . J . P a r k e r

“Perfect.” Akitada rose and smiled. “I pride myself on my

calligraphy.”

Mutobe also stood. “In that case,” he said eagerly, “you

might start by working in the archives. I will have a pass pre-

pared for you. It gives you a limited amount of freedom. While

you are in this compound, you won’t be locked up, but you can-

not leave it alone. I’m afraid I can only offer you quarters with

the prison superintendent.”

“A jail cell would be more convincing, but perhaps it is bet-

ter not to keep such very close contact with your son.”

They walked out together, Akitada falling several steps be-

hind when the governor clapped his hands for the guard outside.

“Take him back,” Mutobe told the man. “Tomorrow he is to

report to the shijo. Pick him up at dawn. I want reports on his behavior as soon as possible.” He turned on his heel and walked

back to his office without another glance at Akitada.

Akitada followed the guard meekly back across town. His

return raised no interest. Only the silent Haseo was still there,

curled up in his corner, apparently fast asleep. When Akitada

asked one of the sleepy guards, “What happened to the others?”

he got a grunted “None of your business” in reply. He decided

that the prisoners had been moved at night and hoped that lit-

tle Jisei had been released. Then he lay down and tried to catch

a few hours’ sleep before dawn.

◆

The guard reappeared early and took Akitada back to the tribu-

nal before he had a chance to eat his morning gruel. At this time

of day, the merchants were opening shutters, and the first farm-

ers were bringing their vegetables to market. Nobody paid

much attention to a guard with a chained prisoner.

In the government compound there were also signs of

life. The guard removed the chains, and Akitada looked about

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

51

curiously. Soldiers passed back and forth, a clerk or scribe

with papers and document boxes under his arm rushed be-

tween buildings, and a few civilian petitioners hung about in

deferential groups.

They crossed the graveled compound to a small building

with deep eaves. Its interior was cool and smelled pleasantly of

wood, paper, and ink. A gaunt man, bent from years of poring

over manuscripts, came toward them.

The shijo, or head scribe, was nearsighted and hard of hearing. He had the guard repeat the governor’s instructions.

“Good, good,” he finally said. “We’re very short-handed. Very

much so.” Peering up at Akitada, he said dubiously, “You are tall

for a scribe. How many characters do you know?”

“I’m afraid I never counted them.”

“Counting? There’s no counting required. You are to write.

Can you use the brush?”

Akitada raised his voice. “Yes. I studied Chinese as a boy and

young man. I believe you will be satisfied with my calligraphy.”

“Don’t shout. Hmph. We’ll see. They all brag. The fools

think copying work is easier than carrying rocks or digging tun-

nels. Never mind. I’ll know soon enough. Soon enough, yes.

What’s your name?”

“Yoshimine Taketsuna.”

“What? Which is it?”

Raising his voice again, Akitada repeated the double name,

adding that the first was his family name.

The old man stared at him. “If you’re one of the ‘good

people,’ where are your servants? Yes, where are your servants,

eh? And why were you sent to me? Only common criminals

work.”

“I killed a man,” shouted Akitada.

The shijo jumped back, suddenly pale. “I hope you don’t

have a violent disposition.”

52

I . J . P a r k e r

Akitada lowered his voice a little. “Not at all, sir. It was a per-

sonal matter, a matter of loyalty.”

“Oh. Loyalty.” The other man seemed only partly reassured

but said, “I’m called Yutaka and you will be plain Taketsuna

here. Come along, Taketsuna.”

Sado’s provincial archives were neat and orderly. Akitada

looked about with interest. Rows of shelves with document

boxes divided the open interior of the hall into convenient

smaller spaces. In each was a low table for making entries or

searching through records. There were altogether six of these

work areas, but only two were occupied by clerks copying doc-

uments. The largest space was Yutaka’s own, and he took his

new clerk there.

“Sit down,” he said, peering up at one of the shelves. He