bars?” He burped loudly.

“I didn’t.” Shiro clutched his bag of coins. “It doesn’t matter.

I’ll go now. Thank you very much. So sorry for the inconve-

nience.”

But Yamada had lost his patience. He rose, glowered at Shiro,

and snapped, “Not so fast. This man has accused you of a crime.

You are under arrest pending a full investigation. Guard!”

Shiro fell to his knees and began to weep. “I didn’t want to

do it. Tosan made me do it, your honor. And I gave him most of

the money. I only got thirty coppers for my trouble.”

“Tosan? Who’s Tosan?” Akitada asked.

“He’s Shiro’s neighbor,” volunteered the old drunk.

“Tosan used to work here,” muttered Shiro.

Yamada was dumbfounded. “You mean my own clerk

planned this?” he asked. Both the beggar and Shiro nodded

their heads. Yamada looked at the waiting guard. “Send someone

to bring Tosan here this instant!” The guard saluted and left.

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I . J . P a r k e r

Akitada said, “You made the clay bars from your wife’s

clay and fired them in her kiln, didn’t you, Shiro?” The man

nodded miserably. “Then you covered them with foil and

brought them to the Valuables Office, and the clerk Tosan paid

you two strings of cash for them, and you and Tosan divided the

money later?” Again the man nodded. “Did Tosan help you set

fire to the office, too?”

“Oh, the evil creature!” Yamada cried, his eyes round with

shock.

“I didn’t set the fire,” whimpered the thin man.

“Never mind,” said Akitada. “The judge will have the whole

story out of both of you with a good flogging. And then, you

dog, it will be the mines for a skinny fellow like you.”

It was an inspired threat.

“No! Not the mines. I’ll talk, but not the mines.” Prostrating

himself before them, Shiro knocked his head on the ground.

“Let’s hear the whole story, then,” demanded Akitada.

“We’ve been wondering how an ordinary thief could pull such a

trick, but as you had clay handy and a clay oven hot enough to

bake it and melt a bit of silver, that part is clear as water. How

did you get involved?”

“Tosan made me do it because I owed him money.”

Yamada said disgustedly, “I should have fired that crook a

long time ago.”

At this the man calmed down a little—thinking perhaps

that he had two sympathetic listeners—and poured out his

story.

Leaving aside the fact that he cast himself as the helpless

victim of Tosan, the mastermind, it had a strong element of

truth. As neighbors, Tosan and Shiro had spent their evenings

together, drinking as they watched Shiro’s wife making her pot-

tery. Tosan complained about his work, his low wages, and his

master’s unfair reprimands, while Shiro blamed his misfortunes

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

117

on ill luck. Tosan often described the stored wealth in glowing

terms to Shiro, and the two men would discuss the pleasures

that could be had with just one bar of silver. Once Tosan picked

up some fresh clay to shape into an approximation of a silver

bar. That moment the idea was born. Shiro shaped the clay,

glazed and baked it, wrapped it in a few sheets of silver foil, and thus produced two replicas of silver bars which met with

Tosan’s approval. The next day, Shiro deposited the bars and

took away two strings of a thousand cash each. They split the

proceeds that very night. Soon after, Yamada dismissed Tosan

for laziness.

On Tosan’s instruction, Shiro had given a false name and

place of residence, but as the entry was in Tosan’s handwriting,

the ex-clerk decided that a bit of arson might serve to destroy

the evidence and also be a nice revenge, since Yamada would

have to replace the ledgers or suffer severe reprimands himself.

Shiro claimed his part in this had merely been to carry the lad-

der Tosan used to break the high window panel and toss the

torch down on the ledgers.

At this opportune moment, two constables arrived with

Tosan. He was a fat man with the red, puffy face of a habitual

drinker, and he took in the situation at a glance.

Yamada greeted him with a shout of fury. “You miserable

dog! Not enough that you spent half your time here drunk out

of your head or asleep; you had the ingratitude to reward my

trust and patience by stealing and setting fire to the Valuables

Office.”

“What?” cried Tosan. “Who told lies about me?” He looked

at the old drunk, who grinned back impudently. “Him? A beg-

gar? He’s a piece of dung who makes up stories to get wine.” He

turned to Shiro, who still knelt weeping in front of Yamada’s

desk. “Or him? He’s owed me money for months and is proba-

bly trying to weasel out of paying me.”

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I . J . P a r k e r

For a moment, Yamada looked dangerously close to having

a fit. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before find-

ing his voice. “We’ll see who speaks the truth,” he finally said, his eyes flashing. “You are both under arrest. And the charge is plotting to overthrow His Majesty’s government. You, Tosan, have

misused your official position to steal goods placed into the

government’s safekeeping for the express purpose of stirring up

popular unrest against the emperor.”

Akitada’s jaw dropped. The charge was as ridiculous as it

was brilliant. Treason on a penal colony warranted the death

penalty. The clerk knew it, too. He uttered a strangled croak and

fainted.

Yamada stood beside Akitada outside the Valuables Office

when they took away their two thieves. “Thank heaven it’s over,”

he said with a deep sigh of relief. “I had given up all hope, but

now all is well. And I even have my silver back.”

“Well, yes,” said Akitada, “though you might express your

appreciation to the drunk. He did identify the thief.”

◆

That night, Tosan and Shiro signed their confessions, and

Masako came to Akitada for the third time.

Her eyes shone as she slipped under Akitada’s blanket.

“Thank you, Taketsuna,” she whispered, reaching for him.

“Father could never have done it without your help.”

Akitada put her hands from his body and sat up. “No,

Masako,” he said, “not tonight or any other night. You are beau-

tiful and you know quite well that I find you most desirable, but

I cannot take you to wife. What has happened between us was a

mistake, my mistake, which I regret deeply. I’m already married,

and there can be no formal relationship between us. Because I

value your father’s good opinion, I will not make love to you

again.”

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

119

Making this speech had been extraordinarily hard. He had

lain awake wondering what to say to her. Having spent every

moment since their first encounter in self-recriminations, he

had added self-disgust after he succumbed to his desire for her

a second time. A third time would, by custom, formalize their

relationship, and he could not bring himself to take that step.

But he did not like hurting her and watched her face anxiously,

expecting a torrent of grief and arguments.

But Masako neither wept nor argued. She said calmly, “I did

not expect you to marry me. But I thought we might be lovers.

I like to pay my debts.”

He flinched a little. “You owe me nothing. You and your

father have offered me hospitality and I have done little enough

in return. I am in your debt.”

“As you wish.” She got up then and bent for her discarded

undergown. Turning away a little, she slipped it back on. The