Akitada’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean it!”

The groom grinned and slapped his shoulder. “Just arrived

on Sadoshima? Cheer up! Life’s not over. You can live quite

well here if you serve the right master. Now, our master only

employs convicts. Says they’re grateful to be treated like humans

and work twice as hard. And he’s right. We’d all die for him.”

“He must be a good master,” Akitada said in a wistful tone.

He was surprised by the constant praise heaped on Kumo. In his

experience, wealthy and powerful men rarely earned such ven-

eration from their servants.

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

145

“He’s a saint. Better than anyone you’d find on the mainland

or in the capital.”

Akitada hung his head again. “You’re lucky. I’ve had nothing

but beatings and little to eat since I set foot on this island six

days ago.”

The groom narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to peer at

Akitada’s head, where the scabs and bruises from the beating

Genzo and his partner had given him were still visible. “Is that

how you got those?”

Akitada nodded. When he lifted his sleeve to show the pur-

plish bruises left by his fall from the horse that day, the groom

sucked in his breath. “You poor bastard.” He patted Akitada’s

back sympathetically. “Well, at least we can look after you while

you’re here. I’m Yume, the head groom, by the way.” They

bowed to each other. “How about sharing my quarters while

you’re here?”

“That’s very good of you, Yume. Are you sure it’s permitted?”

“Of course. Have you had your evening rice?”

“Well, no. I missed it. Working late.”

“Bastards!” growled the groom. “Come along. We’ll get you

something in the kitchen.”

The kitchen was a place of good smells, and Akitada was

ravenously hungry by now. The groom had eaten earlier, but to

be companionable he joined his new acquaintance in a bowl of

noodle soup.

“Good, isn’t it?” he said.

Drinking the last drop, Akitada nodded, smacked his lips,

and looked hungrily toward the large iron kettle suspended over

the fire. The soup had been thick with succulent noodles and

tasty bits of fish and vegetables. Kumo’s people ate well.

Yume laughed and got up to get him a refill. The cook, a fat

man who had lost a leg but moved with surprising agility about

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I . J . P a r k e r

the kitchen on his crutch, was pleased and gave Akitada a nod.

It was a comfortable place to live and work. Akitada thought

that Seimei would have had a saying for it: In a rich man’s house

there are no lean dogs.

“You look strong,” Yume said. “Maybe you could work for

the master, too. Trouble is, there’s no opening here, but the mas-

ter always needs good men at the mines. If you don’t mind

roughing it a bit, it’d be worth a try.”

Akitada shook his head. “I met a little guy with running

sores on his arms and knees from working the mines. They say

lots of prisoners die or come out crippled for life.”

“See the cook? He lost his leg in a rock slide. The difference

is the master looks after his people.”

“Really? Where exactly are your master’s mines?”

“Near Aikawa. Why don’t you talk to Kita? He’s the mine

foreman. Maybe he’ll take you on to keep records.”

Akitada shook his head and sighed. “It sounds tempting, but

I’d never be allowed to leave my present place. Especially not

now when we’re just starting an inspection tour.”

The talk turned to horses. Kumo’s had been brought over

from the mainland about a year ago. The high constable had

sent an agent to purchase the finest animals anywhere at what-

ever cost. He planned to breed superior horses in Sadoshima.

“He loves hunting and fighting on the back of a horse. We often

have races,” Yume informed Akitada proudly.

When the cook finished his chores, he came to join them,

bearing a flask of warm wine. Though he had suffered his crip-

pling injury in one of Kumo’s silver mines, he also spoke of his

master with great affection. Urged by Akitada, he talked about

working conditions for miners. He seemed to take the hardships

lightly, stressing instead the master’s kindness and certain

amenities. “There’s foreign women there. Rough-looking bitches

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

147

and not much to talk to, but brother, do they give you a good

time. In fact, there was one . . .” A dreamy look came to his face

and his voice trailed off.

When Akitada raised the subject of the murder of the Second

Prince, Yume and the cook looked at each other. “That was a

funny thing,” said the cook. “Why would the governor’s son go kill

the prince? You would’ve thought he’d poison the master instead.”

“Why?” asked Akitada, who could guess the answer.

“Because that stuck-up tyrant hates our master. Why, they

had such a fight we thought he’d show up with his soldiers

and arrest him. We were ready, but somebody must’ve warned

Mutobe off and he’s minded his manners since. And now his

own son’s in jail. We’ll soon be rid of him for good.” He grinned

with satisfaction.

That confirmed what Mutobe had told Akitada. He asked,

“Were your master and the prince close?”

Yume said, “Of course. The Second Prince used to come

here all the time. He and the old master were friends. After the

old master died, the prince and the young master’d ride out

hunting with kites. People said they were like father and son.

Some even said the prince would be recalled and become

emperor, and then he’d make the master his chancellor. But

that’s just silly talk, I think.”

The cook smirked. “That’s because the fools think the

prince was sleeping with the master’s mother.”

Yume said, “Don’t go spreading those lies. Besides, you and

I know better, don’t we?”

They cook guffawed and nodded.

“Oh, come,” urged Akitada, raising his cup. “I love a good

story, even if there’s no truth to it.”

But Yume shook his head. “It’s just silly talk. Nothing in it,

believe me.”

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I . J . P a r k e r

And then the cook made the most puzzling remark of the

evening. “You know, the way the prince died reminds me of that

time they thought I’d poisoned him.”

Akitada was so taken aback that he stared at the cook. “How

was that?”

The cook grinned. “Oh, he had this hobby. Liked to fix his

own dishes. Well, one day he got really ill at a banquet. I was

frightened out of my wits, I tell you, but it turned out he’d eaten something before the banquet.”

Yume nodded. “One of the house servants saw it. The prince

started choking, and then his chopsticks dropped from his fin-

gers and he fell down like dead. His eyes were open, but he

couldn’t talk or move his limbs. They thought he was dying,

but after a while he came around and acted as if nothing had

happened.”

The cook said, “Everybody blamed me till it turned out

he’d cooked up something for himself. Probably poisonous

mushrooms.”

That night Akitada retired more confused than ever.

Before slipping under Yume’s redolent quilts, he took the

flute from his sleeve, wrapped it carefully into his outer robe,

and placed the roll under his head.

◆

It was not until the following morning that Akitada recalled his

appointment with Kumo’s secretary. Shiba had promised to

send someone for him the night before. Nobody had come, but

perhaps Akitada had missed the summons—as he had missed

his evening rice—by playing the flute in the garden. He dressed