Tora turned to glance at Turtle, who had shifted his small

twisted body behind Tora’s bulk and looked terrified. “Is there a

local law against hiring someone to carry your baggage?”

“There’s a law against associating with felons. You!” the

policeman snapped, advancing on Turtle. “Out of here! Now!”

Turtle dropped Tora’s bundle and scurried off.

“Stop!” roared Tora, and Turtle came to a wobbly halt.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide with fear. “Stay

there.” Tora turned back to the policeman. “What is your name,

Lieutenant?” he asked in a dangerously soft voice.

There was a pause while they stared at each other. Then the

policeman said, “Wada,” and added, “I’ll get you another bearer.

Hey, you! Over here! A job for you.”

A big fellow with bulging muscles and the brutish expres-

sion of an animal trotted over.

“No,” said Tora. “I like the one I picked. Now, if you don’t

mind, I have business to take care of. I wouldn’t want to explain

to your governor that I was detained by the local police.” He

turned his back on Wada, picked up the bundle, and took it over

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I . J . P a r k e r

to the cripple. With a nervous glance at the policeman, Turtle

accepted his burden again, and they continued on their way.

Wada’s shrill voice sounded after them, “I’m warning you,

bastard. The ship leaves in the morning. Make sure you’re on it.”

Tora froze.

“Don’t, please! He’s a bad man,” whispered Turtle on his heels.

Tora threw up an arm in acknowledgment of Wada’s words

and started walking again. “He says you’re a felon,” he told Turtle.

“Huh?”

“A felon’s someone who’s committed a crime and been con-

victed,” Tora explained.

“Then he told a lie,” Turtle cried in a tone of outrage. “Him

and his constables are always picking on me. I’m innocent as a

newborn child. More so.”

“Very funny.”

It became obvious that the inn was not close by. They

passed through most of Mano to a run-down area on the out-

skirts. The term “inn” could hardly be applied to the place. It

was the worst sort of hostel Tora had ever seen, a small, dirty

tenement which appeared to cater to the occasional whore and

her customers.

Turtle bustled ahead and brought out a slatternly woman

who was nursing a child and dragging along several toddlers

clinging to her ragged skirt. Other children in various degrees of

undress and filth peered out at them. This landlady, or brothel

keeper if you wanted to split hairs, was grinning widely at the

sight of a well-to-do customer. A missing tooth and a certain

scrawniness suggested a family connection with Turtle. Sure

enough, he introduced her as his sister. Tora glanced around,

wrinkled his nose at the aroma of sweat and rancid food,

sighed, and asked for a room and a bath.

The bath was to be had down the street in a very fine public

establishment, Turtle offered cheerfully. Was ten coppers too

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

245

much for the room? Tora looked at the skinny children and

their mother’s avid eyes and passed over a handful of coppers

with a request for a hot meal in the evening. The woman bowed

so deeply that the child at her breast let out a shrill cry.

Tora followed Turtle down a narrow, odorous hallway to a

small dark room. It was hot and airless. Tora immediately threw

open the shutters and looked out at a side yard where several

rats scurried from a pile of garbage and a few rags dried on a

broken bamboo fence.

Turtle had placed Tora’s bundle in a corner and was drag-

ging in an armful of grimy bedding.

“Never mind that,” Tora said quickly. “I always sleep on the

bare floor.”

Turtle looked stricken. “It’s very soft and nice,” he urged

anxiously. “And the nights get cold here. Besides, it’s only a

dirt floor.”

Hard use and filth had smoothed and polished the ground

until it could be taken for dark wood in the half-light. Tora had

slept on the bare earth before, but usually in the open and in

cleaner places than this. He weakened. “Well . . . just one quilt,

then.” He knew he would regret it, but the poor wretch looked

relieved. Turning his back on the accommodations, he looked

out over the neighboring tenements toward the curved roofs of

the provincial headquarters on the hillside. Its flags fluttered in the breeze, and he was suddenly impatient.

He was halfway out the hostel’s door when he heard Turtle

shouting after him, “Wait, master. I’ll come with you or you’ll

get lost. I know everything about Mano and can be very useful.”

Before Tora could refuse, a small boy rushed in from the

street and collided with him. Vegetables, salted fish, a small bag

of rice, and a few copper coins in change spilled from his basket.

His uncle fell to scolding him, and Tora realized that his money

had bought a feast for a starving family.

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I . J . P a r k e r

“Very well, Turtle,” he said, when the nephew had disap-

peared into the kitchen, “you can be my servant while I’m here.

I’ll pay you two coppers a day plus your food.”

Turtle whooped, then fell to his knees and beat his head on

the floor in gratitude. Tora turned away, embarrassed. “Hurry

up,” he growled. “We’re going to see the governor.”

“Yes, master. We’re going to see the governor.” Turtle was up

and hopping away, chanting happily, “We’re going to see the

governor.”

Tora caught up. “Stop that,” he snapped. “I want to ask you

something.” Turtle was all attention. “Tell me about that police

officer. What happened?”

The crippled man touched his nose and misshapen ear.

“Wada is a bad man,” he said again, shaking his head. “Very bad.

Watch out. He doesn’t like you.” He glanced around to make

sure they were alone and added in a whisper, “He kills people.

Me, I just get beaten.”

Tora frowned. “Why do you get beaten? Didn’t you tell me

that you’re as innocent as a babe?”

Turtle shrugged. “I get in his way.”

“That’s no reason. You must’ve done something. He called

you a fel . . . er, criminal.”

Turtle drew himself up. “I’m an honest man,” he said. “Be-

sides, I’m not the only one that gets beaten up for nothing by

the constables. Wada likes to watch. Just ask around.”

“Why don’t you complain? Ring the bell at the tribunal and

lay a charge against him?”

“Hah,” said Turtle. “There’s a bell, all right, but nobody rings

it. Especially not now. The governor has his own troubles.”

Tora had been momentarily distracted from Turtle’s chatter

by a very pretty shop girl. He winked at her and was pleased when

she blushed and smiled. “Troubles?” he asked absently, craning

his neck for another glimpse of her trim waist and sparkling eyes.

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

247

“The governor’s son poisoned the prince. Hadn’t you heard?

It was a bad affair. He was about to go before the judge, but he

ran away from the prison here. People say the governor helped

him and that he’ll be recalled. So he’s hardly going to listen to

complaints from someone like me.”

Turtle had Tora’s full attention now. “The son escaped?

When did that happen?”

Turtle frowned. “Seven—no, eight days ago. They couldn’t

find him in Mano or the other towns and villages, so they’re

searching the mountains now. I bet he’s long gone on one of the

pirate boats.”

It made sense. Everybody knew about the pirates who plied

their trade between the mainland and Sadoshima. If the Sa-