my going by myself, I decided to take something simple. I knew

that the prince was particularly fond of the prawn stew a

woman in Minato made, so I decided to take him this instead.”

Ah! A second unplanned event.

“This woman, did she know the stew was for the prince?”

“I mentioned my purpose when I picked it up, I think. She

lives not far from Professor Sakamoto’s villa and knows about

the prince’s tastes.”

“Could she have poisoned the stew intentionally?”

Young Mutobe shook his head. “No. She’s just a simple fish-

erman’s wife who runs a small restaurant. She would never do

such a thing.”

That was naïve, but then the governor’s son seemed rather

naïve in other ways, too.

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“Could the stew have become poisoned by accident?”

“I don’t know. I expect the police have investigated.”

The superintendent nodded. “They have. Apparently the

woman served the same stew to her customers without ill

effects. It seems you are the only one who could have added

something to the dish after it left her premises.”

Toshito said sharply, “What about Professor Sakamoto, his

servants, or his other guests?”

Akitada shot a glance at the prisoner. So the young man was

not completely resigned to his fate.

Yamada sighed. “The guests and servants testified that you

arrived late and presented the dish to His Highness, who placed

it on the tray before him. The servants had already served the

prince and neither of his neighbors was close enough to add

anything to the stew without being seen. I’m afraid the burden

of the charge does fall on you . . . unless you can account for

some other instance in which someone might have tampered

with the food?”

The superintendent was trying to help, but the prisoner

shook his head. “I’ve had weeks to think about it, and I cannot

understand what happened. Perhaps the stew was fine and the

poison was in something else.”

Yamada shook his head. “You forget the dog died.”

“Perhaps the dog died from some other cause.”

Yamada moved restlessly. “Too much of a coincidence. And

such speculations are remote indeed when motive is consid-

ered. Who in that house that night would have had a reason to

kill Prince Okisada?”

“I don’t know,” cried young Mutobe, his voice rising in frus-

tration. “How could I know? That is for the authorities to dis-

cover. Why ask me what I cannot speak to?”

The superintendent cleared his throat. “I am sorry. You’re

quite right. Let us return to the questions. You are accused of

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71

attempting to strangle His Highness the moment the other

guests left the pavilion. You have testified that you were merely

loosening the prince’s collar as he had asked you to do. Why

then did he scream for help?”

Toshito raised his hands helplessly. “I cannot say, except that

he was in distress. He seemed to be gasping for breath.”

“A man who is choking cannot call out,” Yamada pointed

out. “And according to the physician, the poison caused pains in

the belly and later convulsions.”

The prisoner shook his head. “All I know is that it happened.

I have no explanation.”

With a sigh, the superintendent folded his papers and put

them back in his sleeve. “Is there anything you can say in your

defense?” he asked. “For example, do you know of anyone at all

who might have wanted to kill the prince?”

Toshito cried, “I did not want to kill him, but they arrested

me. He was not a likable man, but why would anyone kill him

for that?”

There. It was out. The motive was not his, but his father’s.

The charge would be that Governor Mutobe had prevailed

upon his son to poison Okisada because the prince had become

a threat to Mutobe’s career.

Yamada rose abruptly. “That is all. We’ll leave you in peace

now.” He looked distressed at his choice of words and muttered

something.

Akitada cleared his throat. “Your pardon, sir,” he said, “but

being new at this kind of thing, I’m concerned about accuracy

because my notes might be used in court. Could I clear up a

small matter to make sure I wrote it correctly?”

“What is it?”

“Whose idea was the prawn stew? It seemed to me the ac-

cused said the prince had asked for it, and that was why he

thought to bring it.”

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The superintendent turned to the prisoner. “Well, was it

your idea or the prince’s request?”

The young man looked confused. “I cannot recall. Surely it

was mine. I believe the prince had talked about his fondness of

stewed prawns on a previous occasion, but I was the one who

decided that day to stop at the restaurant. The owner’s prawn

stew is well known in the area.”

Yamada pressed him, “Perhaps your father suggested it? I

assume he was the one who told you of the prince’s taste for

prawns?”

The prisoner sprang to his feet. “He may have heard him

talk about it,” he cried, his eyes flashing. “The prince was always talking about food. But no, he never made such a suggestion. It

would never have occurred to him to take such a humble gift.

He had nothing to do with the stew. The stew was my idea, no

one else’s, do you hear?”

With a sigh, Yamada nodded. Akitada, whose eyes had hung

on the prisoner during his outburst, hurriedly wrote down

the final questions and responses, then bundled up his notes.

Bowing to the prisoner, he followed the superintendent out of

the jail.

Yamada looked dejected. “Poor young man,” he said. “It will

go hard with him. And with the governor, too. He loves the boy

dearly.” He heaved a deep sigh and added with a breaking voice,

“Life is full of suffering, but nothing compares to a father’s pain when he causes misery for his child.” He stretched out his hand

for the notes of the interview and said in a more normal tone,

“Thank you, young man. Better report to Yutaka now.” Then he

turned and walked away.

◆

Akitada spent the rest of the day in the archives, wielding his

brush and thinking over what Yamada had said. Apparently he

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

73

believed the governor had used his son to carry out the murder

of the prince. That was shocking enough, but Akitada could not

rid himself of the conviction that Yamada had also spoken of

himself. If so, he must have been thinking about the drudgery,

which the lovely Masako accepted so readily, but which seemed

shockingly cruel to Akitada. What would make a father demand

such a sacrifice from his daughter?

He decided to ask Yutaka.

Taking one of the documents as a pretext, he left his cubicle

and sought out the superintendent of archives.

Yutaka was at his desk, bent over some papers, with his thin

back to the entrance. Apparently the shortage of scribes kept

him as busy as his clerks.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Akitada said, raising his voice a lit-

tle, “but I have a question about this.”

There was no answer, and Akitada saw that the brush had

fallen from Yutaka’s hand. With a sudden sense of foreboding, he

stepped quickly around Yutaka. The elderly man’s chin had sunk

into his chest and his eyes were closed. The brush had left a jagged line on the paper, and his lifeless hand hung limp. Fearing that the man was dead, Akitada put his hand on his head to raise it.

“Wh . . . what?” Yutaka, coming awake, jerked away, stared

up at Akitada, and shrieked for help.

“Sir! Sir!” cried Akitada, dismayed. “Please calm down. I did