Akitada was surprised how well informed Osawa was about

Mutobe’s private life, but he was even more intent on watching

the high constable, hoping to get the measure of the man who

might have played a part in the late prince’s life and death. Sud-

denly he found himself the object of Kumo’s interest and

quickly lowered his eyes again. Too late.

128

I . J . P a r k e r

“You have a new assistant, I see,” drawled Kumo. “Usually

you bring only one scribe with you. This signifies some new

honor, I assume?”

Osawa flushed and laughed a little. “You are too kind, sir.

No, no. The fellow is a prisoner who happens to write well. The

governor is desperately short-handed and wished us to return

quickly.” He added in an aggrieved tone, “He even insisted we

ride horses on this occasion.”

“What? No bearers, and you not used to riding? My dear

Osawa, you must have a hot bath immediately and rest before

we talk business. Perhaps your assistants can start on the work

with the help of my secretary. Come,” he said, getting to his feet,

“I have just returned from hunting myself. We shall enjoy a

nice soaking together and you can fill me in on all the news

from Mano.”

To do Osawa justice, he hesitated. But then he rose. “You are

most kind, Your Honor,” he said. “I am a little fatigued. If your

secretary will be good enough to give the documents in ques-

tion to Taketsuna—the new fellow—he will show the scribe

what should be copied for our files. This Taketsuna has a good

education. I shall inspect their work in the morning.” Turning

to his companions, he said, “You heard me?”

Akitada nodded and bowed. Kumo and Osawa disappeared,

and a servant took him and Genzo into a large office where sev-

eral scribes were bent over writing desks or getting books and

boxes from the shelves which covered three sides of the room.

Kumo’s secretary was a small, pleasant man in his mid-

fifties. He took one look at Genzo’s broad face and dull eyes and

addressed Akitada. “I started gathering the relevant tax docu-

ments the moment I heard of Inspector Osawa’s arrival,” he

said, with a gesture to a desk covered with bulging document

boxes. “My name is Shiba. Please feel free to ask for anything.

My staff will see to it immediately.”

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

129

Kumo’s scribes, all pretending to be busy while casting curi-

ous glances at the visitors, were a far cry from the pitiful staff of the governor’s archives, and Akitada, encouraged by Shiba’s

courteous manner, said, “I am Taketsuna, an exile from the

mainland and still a stranger here. Forgive my curiosity, but I

was told that capable scribes and clerks are extremely rare. How

is it that your master seems so well supplied with them?”

Shiba chuckled. “We are part of his household. The master

and his father before him saved likely boys from work in the

mines by training them in different skills,” he said. “I, for exam-

ple, was sixteen when my mother died in poverty. Like you,

my father came here as a prisoner. My mother followed him

when I was four. My father died soon after our arrival, and my

poor mother worked in the fields to support us. She tried to

teach me a little, but when she succumbed also, I—being a boy

and small of stature—was sent to the mines. The master’s father

found me there and took me into his household, where he had

me taught by his son’s tutor. My master continues his father’s

legacy.”

Shiba’s image of Kumo differed diametrically from Mu-

tobe’s. The governor had called young Kumo “haughty and

overbearing,” but Akitada had seen no sign of it in the man who

had greeted a mere inspector like Osawa as a valued guest.

Turning with new interest to the documents, he saw quickly

that Shiba and his scribes had indeed been well trained. The sys-

tem of accounting was efficient and the brushwork of the

scribes far superior to Genzo’s. He quickly identified the rele-

vant reports and handed some of them to Genzo with instruc-

tions to begin copying.

Genzo folded his arms. “Do it yourself,” he growled. “I’m

not your servant.”

The man needed a good beating, but Akitada said peace-

ably, “Very well. Then you will have to read through those and

130

I . J . P a r k e r

summarize them for the governor.” He pointed to a stack of

documents he had set aside for himself.

Genzo went to look at the top document, frowned, then

said, “Dull stuff, this. I prefer the copying.” Having got his way, he settled down and started to rub ink. Akitada smiled.

Shiba had watched with interest. He said in a low voice,

“Forgive me, Taketsuna, but I see that you are a man not only of

superior education but also of wisdom. Perhaps, before your

trouble, you had the good fortune to live in the capital?”

“That is so.”

Shiba pressed his hands together and said fervently, “Truly,

how very blessed your life must have been. And by chance, have

you ever visited the imperial palace?”

Akitada smiled. “I used to work there and once I even saw

His Majesty from a distance. He rode in a gilded palanquin and

was accompanied by the empress and her ladies in their own

palanquins, a very beautiful sight.”

“Oh!” breathed Shiba. “I imagine it must have been like a

glimpse of the Western Paradise.” He was rapt with pleasure for

a moment, then remembered his duty. “Forgive my chatter. You

will want to get started. Perhaps tonight, after your work, you

might join me for a cup of wine?”

Akitada said regretfully, “You are most kind, but I do not

think Inspector Osawa will permit it.”

“Ah. Well, I think that may be managed. You are now in the

Kumo mansion. All men are treated with respect here. I’ll send

someone for you after your evening rice.”

Akitada spent an hour checking the tax statements and

writing brief summaries of the salient points, a chore he was

abundantly familiar with. At sundown, a gong sounded some-

where nearby. Genzo dropped his brush noisily in the water

container, yawned, and stretched. “About time they fed us,” he

muttered.

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

131

Akitada rose and went to look over Genzo’s shoulders. The

sheet of paper the man had been copying was splotched with

ink, and the characters were barely legible. Worse, a few were

missing so that whole phrases made no sense.

“You’ll have to do better,” he said. “We want clean copies,

and you left out words and characters. Do that one over

again more carefully.” He leaned forward to reach for the other

sheets, pathetically few for an hour’s work. “Is that all you’ve—”

he started to say, when Genzo suddenly lashed out, pushing

Akitada back so hard that he sat down on the floor.

The scribe was up quickly for someone of his size and gen-

eral lack of energy. “I’ll teach you to tell me what to do, filthy

scum,” he ground out and threw himself on Akitada.

Irritated past reason, Akitada met the attack by leaning back

and kicking him with both legs in the stomach. Genzo sucked in

his breath sharply as he flew back against the table, scattering

papers and ink. Akitada stood and pulled him up by the front of

his robe. He said through gritted teeth, “I have had enough of

you. Don’t think I don’t know you cut my saddle bands. One

more outburst from you, and I’ll make sure you never walk

again. Do you understand?”

Eyes bulging, Genzo nodded. He looked green and held his