was over. The judge, once informed of the facts, would know

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

223

what questions to ask. If Shunsei was too weak to travel, he

could sign an affidavit. Taira would be called to testify, and

Haru. Nakatomi would be forced to speak about Okisada’s ill-

ness. Finally, Sakamoto would be confronted with the mass of

evidence, and he would break and reveal the plot to build a

murder case against the governor’s son. Yes, it should all unravel

nicely, even without Shunsei’s presence.

He used his fingers to comb his beard and hair, retied his

topknot, and checked the neck of his robe again. It bulged a bit,

refused to lie down flat. He patted the fabric down firmly, but it

still buckled. With his index finger he checked the seam where

he had inserted the documents and found it torn.

His heart pounding, Akitada fished out the papers and

unfolded them. For a long time he stared in disbelief at the

blank sheets of ordinary paper.

He turned them this way and that, wondering foolishly

if the august words had somehow faded, not wanting to believe

the obvious, that someone had stolen his imperial orders and

the governor’s safe conduct, and with them his identity.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. He tried to remember

when he had last seen the documents. They had still been there

after he left Mano, after Masako had found them without real-

izing what they were.

Or perhaps she had realized only too well! For the docu-

ments to have been stolen from such a hiding place, the thief

must have known what to look for and where. Had Masako

revealed his secret, perhaps unintentionally?

If so, he had been allowed to leave Mano with the docu-

ments. Yes, the papers had still been in his robe on the road to

Kumo’s manor. Later he had worn his blue clerk’s robe and,

foolishly, he had only checked the documents by touch, and

not often that. Where had the theft happened? At Kumo’s

manor or in Minato? He had slept with the saddlebags under

224

I . J . P a r k e r

his head in the groom’s room and also later in Takao’s kitchen,

but there had been many times when his saddlebags had lain

somewhere while he was doing Osawa’s bidding. He had wor-

ried more about the flute than the documents.

Anyone could have removed the papers anywhere between

Minato and here, but surely the most likely thief was Genzo.

Seimei would say, “Spilled water does not return to its

pail.” It was more important to think about what would hap-

pen next.

He could not raise an outcry. What could Osawa do, even if

he believed him? No, he must return to Mano as quickly as pos-

sible. Thank heaven Mutobe had seen the papers and could

vouch for him.

Akitada packed the blue robe, the flute, and his other be-

longings into his saddlebags and walked through the waking

forest to the monastery stable to saddle the horses. But there a

second shock awaited him.

A distraught Osawa was getting in the saddle, while a red-

cheeked novice was holding the reins and listening to Osawa’s

agitated instructions with an expression of blank confusion on

his young face.

“Why the rush, Master Osawa?” Akitada called out.

Osawa turned. “Oh, there you are. Good. I have no time. I’m

off to Minato this instant. Takao’s had an accident. Very bad.

You must go on to Mano. There”—he flung a hand toward a

small pile of boxes and bundles—“are the records. All of them.

Also my letter of resignation. Make my excuses to the governor.”

He pulled the reins from the novice’s hand and dug his heels in

the horse’s flank.

“Wait . . .” cried Akitada, but Osawa was already cantering

down the forest path at breakneck speed, the skirts of his gown

fluttering behind him as he disappeared around the first bend

of the track.

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

225

Akitada and the novice looked at each other. The novice

shrugged and smiled.

“What happened?” Akitada asked.

“Not sure. I couldn’t understand the gentleman too well. He

came rushing up to the stable, shouting for his horse. I didn’t

know which one, and he was jumping up and down, crying it

was a matter of life and death. I finally found the right horse,

and he had all these instructions. For you, I suppose. I didn’t

really understand them at all.”

“But how . . . ? Did a messenger arrive for him?”

The novice nodded. “A man came on a horse and asked the

way to the gentleman’s room. I took his horse and showed him.”

“His name?”

The youngster looked blank again. “I didn’t ask. He was

short and had a nose like a beak.”

Akitada stared down the path Osawa had taken. So the bird-

faced man had reappeared. He wished Osawa had knocked

on his door or at least discussed the matter before taking off so

precipitously.

“Get my horse,” he told the novice, then changed his mind.

“Never mind. I’ll do it.” He ran to the stable. Dropping his sad-

dlebags on the ground beside the mule, he threw blanket and

saddle on his horse, which sensed his agitation and sidestepped

nervously. The young monk came to lend a hand. Leading the

horse out, Akitada told him, “I’ll be back. Load the mule in the

meantime!” Then he swung himself into the saddle and kicked

his heels into the animal’s flanks.

He plunged down the path after Osawa, bent forward, his

eye on the path, worried that his mount might stumble and

hurt itself but almost hoping that Osawa, not the best rider, had

been thrown. No such luck. The ground leveled, and Tsukahara

lay ahead, and beyond stretched the empty road. Akitada reined

in and turned back. He could not catch up with Osawa without

226

I . J . P a r k e r

injuring his animal, and he needed it to get to Mano as quickly

as possible.

He worried briefly about what the unsuspecting Osawa might

be running into, hoping it had nothing to do with the theft of his

papers. But he did not believe in coincidence and knew better. In

any case, the urgency of reaching Mano had just increased a hun-

dredfold. The message to Osawa was almost certainly a fabrica-

tion, Takao’s accident trumped up to send Osawa back to Minato,

leaving Akitada unaccompanied and without papers. For a pris-

oner to be caught without proper documentation while in posses-

sion of an official’s property was enough to subject him at the very least to the most severe and painful interrogation. His only safety lay in reaching provincial headquarters before he was stopped.

Back at the monastery stables, the young monk had the

mule ready, and Akitada asked directions to Mano. He would

have to go down the mountain to Tsukahara again, he was told,

and from there take a road southwestward along the foot of the

mountains. “Not far!” the novice said with a cheerful smile.

“Only a day by horse.”

Only a day!

Akitada left the monastery, convinced he was riding into an

ambush. Saving his horse and the laden mule, he descended the

mountain much more slowly this time. His eyes roamed ahead

constantly, and he worried about every bend in the road, keep-

ing his ears alert for the sound of weapons and armor, knowing

that he had nothing with which to defend himself.

He reached the valley safely, but Tsukahara, the home of

Lord Taira, was the next danger spot. He passed through the vil-

lage quickly, keeping a wary eye out, suspecting even a harmless

group of poor farmers who had gathered before the shrine. But