He heard the horseman returning and twisted his head to look.

Wada dismounted. He was giving orders, speaking to the

constables separately until each man nodded. Akitada tried to

guess where he had been and what these orders were by reading

expressions and gestures. The faces were mostly glum. Wada

looked determined, but his men were not happy with whatever

they were to do. Akitada took courage from this.

After a while, four of the constables left on foot, leading the

mule. Wada was busy talking to the two men who were left.

Their faces got longer and longer, and they cast angry looks in

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Akitada’s direction. Finally they walked off also, and Wada came

toward him alone.

The short police officer paused beside him and looked

down with an unreadable expression. Panic seized Akitada. He

croaked, “Let me go. I won’t report you. If anybody asks, you

can claim you had provocation because I tried to escape.”

Wada chuckled. It was a very unpleasant sound. “No,” he

said. “You are to disappear. Mind you, if it had been my choice,

you’d have disappeared permanently here today, but . . .” He

used his foot to roll Akitada on his back. “Sit up!”

Akitada struggled into a sitting position, and his knee

promptly went into another spasm. He doubled over with the

pain and gasped.

Wada bent down and roughly straightened the injured leg.

When Akitada turned a scream into a groan, Wada laughed.

“You pampered nobles are all alike, Sugawara,” he said, probing

the knee with pleasure in the torment he caused his prisoner.

“You turn into whimpering babes at the first little pain. This is

nothing but a bruise, but I’m in a hurry, so you can ride.”

Pain and humiliation registered first. Akitada clenched his

jaws to keep from groaning as Wada poked, turned, and twisted.

He would not give the bastard the satisfaction of mocking

him again.

But then, sweat-drenched and dazed, he opened his eyes

wide and stared up at Wada. “What . . . did you call me?”

Wada rose and looked down at his prisoner with smug tri-

umph. “Sugawara? Yes, I know you’re not the Yoshimine Taket-

suna you pretended to be when you got off the ship. Oh, no.

You’re Sugawara Akitada, an official from Echigo, come to

catch us fools at our misdeeds. Look who’s the fool now!” He

bent until his face was close to Akitada’s. “This is Sadoshima,

my lord, not the capital. You made a bad mistake when you

became a convict and put yourself into our hands.”

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So. The charade was over.

“Since you know who I am and why I am here,” Akitada

snapped coldly, “you also know that continuing this will cost

you your life.”

Wada threw back his head and laughed. “You still don’t

get it,” he cried, pointing an exulting finger at Akitada. “It’s

not my life, but yours that’s lost. Quick or slow, you’ll die. Have no doubt about that. We’ll take you to a place you won’t leave

alive and where it won’t matter how loudly you proclaim your

name, your rank, and your former position, for nobody will

come to your rescue.” Still laughing and shaking his head,

he walked away.

Surprisingly, Akitada’s only reaction was relief that he no

longer needed to pretend. While he had not precisely disliked

the convict Taketsuna, Taketsuna had been a man who had

humbled himself with a cheerfulness which had cost Akitada

such effort that he had become both foolish and careless about

other matters. No wonder a creature like Wada sneered.

He considered his next step. Of course, there was no longer

any doubt that Wada was part of the conspiracy. Akitada had

not missed Wada’s use of the word “we” when he had talked

about his prisoner’s future. Whoever had arrived and given

Wada his orders had, for some reason, decided that a slow death

was preferable to a quick demise. That was interesting in itself,

but more immediately it meant he had gained precious time.

Had Wada continued the beating, he could not have saved him-

self. Now, however unpleasant the immediate future, he might

get another chance to escape.

Apparently he would be moved soon, and far enough to

make riding necessary. He looked at his swollen knee. The pain

was fading a little. Wada’s manipulation had not necessarily

reassured him that nothing was broken, though. He must try to

move it as little as possible. At the moment, when even the

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237

smallest jolt caused shooting pains all the way up his thigh and

down his leg, he was not tempted. He wriggled his wrists again.

Was the chain looser than before?

They were coming back, Wada and two constables, each

leading a saddled horse. Wada got in his saddle and watched

as the two men untied Akitada’s chain from the tree and then

led a horse over. Three horses and four men? Was one of the

constables expected to run alongside?

On the whole, while they looked sullen, their treatment of

him on this occasion showed a marked improvement. They

lifted him into the saddle, a process which was only moderately

painful because they allowed him to clutch his knee until

he could prop his foot into the stirrup. Their consideration

made him wonder what he was being saved for. Once he was in

the saddle, they briefly freed his wrists to rechain them in front

so he could hold the reins.

To all of this Akitada submitted passively and without com-

ment. He felt as weak as a newborn. All his strength was focused

on protecting the injured knee. He realized that, even supported

by the stirrup, his leg would respond to every step of the horse,

and that the journey, possibly a long one, might make him

reconsider the option of a quick death.

But before they could start, there was another shout from

the road. Wada stiffened. “Keep an eye on him,” he snapped, and

cantered off.

Two thoughts occurred to Akitada: Someone, foe or friend,

was on the road. And the two constables were not as watchful as

they should be, because they took the opportunity of Wada’s

absence to get into a bitter argument about who was riding the

third horse. He would not get another chance like this.

Kicking the horse as hard as he could with his good leg,

he took off after Wada. His knee spasmed, behind him the con-

stables shouted, before him branches whipped at his face, but

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I . J . P a r k e r

he burst into the open at a full gallop. Wada was on the road,

talking to another rider. He turned, his mouth sagging open

in surprise. Then he flung about his horse to intercept him.

But Akitada’s eyes had already moved to the other man.

Kumo. He made a desperate attempt to wheel away, but his

injured leg refused to cooperate. The horse, confused by mixed

signals, stopped and danced, and Wada kept coming. In an in-

stant they faced each other. Wada, his sword raised, looked

murderous. At the last moment, Akitada raised his chained

hands to catch the descending blade in the loop of chain be-

tween them. The force of the strike jerked him forward and

sideways. Miraculously, he caught the reins and clung on as his

horse reared and shot forward. Then another horse closed in,

they collided, and both animals reared wildly.

This time, he was flung off backward, and landed hard. For

a single breath, he looked up at the blue sky, tried to hold back

the darkness that blotted out the day, tried to deny the pain, the