stained them black, and doors did not shut properly or were miss-

ing entirely. Here and there whole boards were gone, put to use in

other places. He glanced into empty rooms, each no more than

a tiny cubicle, hardly large enough for two people to lie down

together, and passed others, inadequately covered by ragged quilts

pinned up in the doorway, where he heard the grunts and squeals

of lovemaking. Oyoshi opened the last door and said to someone

inside, “Here he is, dear. Mind you, you don’t have to have him.”

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Tora ducked into a dark space. In the dim flicker from his

hostess’s oil lamp, he made out a cowering figure in one corner.

“We’ll need a candle,” he said.

“I have no candles, Master Tora. Too much money,” his

hostess said sadly. “I can leave my lamp, but please bring it back.

Oil’s expensive, too.” She closed the door behind him.

The oil also stank and smoked. He squatted on the floor, and

they looked at each other by the fitful light. Tora thought at first that she was a little girl of ten or eleven. Little Flower was tiny and small-boned, and perhaps she had been pretty once, but

now she looked sick and discontented; her eyes were ringed

with dark circles, her lips pinched, and her thin cheeks unnatu-

rally flushed. She gave him a nod and a tremulous smile.

He saw no obvious bruises on her and said, “I’ve been told

that one of your customers has hurt you badly. Is that so?”

She trembled a bit then, and nodded again. “I can’t lie down

on my back, but I could be on top, if the gentleman liked. Or I

could kneel and—” Her voice, soft and girlish, was breathless

with desperate eagerness to please.

Tora interrupted quickly. “I didn’t come for that.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “I thought . . .”

Tora pulled a handful of coppers from his sash. “I’ll pay for

your time, of course. Whatever you would get from a customer.”

The slender face lit up, and he thought that she had very

pretty, soft eyes. “Thank you, sir,” she said in her childlike voice.

“Would ten coppers be too much?”

“Not at all.” Tora counted out fifteen and pushed them

toward her.

She did not touch the money. “I’m called Little Flower. Does

the gentleman have a name?”

“Tora.”

She smiled again, and Tora was glad that Wada had not

touched her face.

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

273

“What shall I do for you, Master Tora?”

“Tell me about Wada.”

Her eyes widened. She shook her head and pushed the

fifteen coppers his way. “No. He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

Tora pushed the money back. “He won’t find out. Can I see

what he did to you?”

She hesitated. A flush spread from her cheeks to her ears and

neck. It made her look prettier and healthier. She got to her feet, clumsily, supporting herself with one hand against the wall.

Tora saw that she wore a wrinkled hemp gown dyed in a blue

and white pattern of flowers. Around her tiny middle was a

brown-and-black-striped sash. It was tied loosely, and when she

undid the knot, it dropped to the floor and her gown fell open.

Underneath, she was naked and, except for small, high breasts,

entirely childlike, since she had shaved off all body hair. Tora’s

skin prickled unpleasantly. He was ashamed for staring.

Turning slowly, she let the gown fall from her shoulders.

Tora felt sick. Muttering a curse, he got to his feet and raised

the oil lamp to look at her back and buttocks. The blood had

dried, but the welts, and there were many of them crisscrossing

each other from the nape of her neck to the back of her knees,

looked swollen and inflamed. He could hardly imagine the pain

she must endure at every move. And she had offered to service

him anyway.

He picked up her gown and placed it very gently around her

shoulders again. “Has a doctor treated you?”

She shook her head.

He opened the door and shouted for the landlady. She

appeared at a trot, dragging two toddlers behind her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked anxiously.

“Send for a doctor,” he snapped. “I’ll pay for it.” Then he

slammed the door in her face and turned back to Little Flower.

She was tying her sash. Her head was lowered, but he could see

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I . J . P a r k e r

the tears running down her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me

help you down.”

She settled on the floor, carefully, and brushed away her

tears, giving Tora a little smile. “I’ll be all right,” she murmured.

“It’ll heal.”

He stared at her in helpless anger. His familiarity with the

pleasure quarters of the capital had taught him that there were

men who enjoyed sex only when they could inflict pain on their

partner. But this? He asked harshly, “And next time? Will you let

him beat you to death?”

She flinched a little at his tone. “Perhaps he won’t want me

anymore.”

Tora ran his eye over her appraisingly. He liked his women

well padded and lusty. But a man like that bastard Wada proba-

bly got his kicks out of abusing children, and she looked more

childlike than ever, cowering there and wiping at her tears with

the back of her hand. “What if he does?”

She looked away. “Life is hard. It’s my karma because I did

bad things in my previous life.”

He said fiercely, “No. Wada is the evil one, and I’ll make him

pay for this.”

She gave him a startled look, then leaned forward and put

a small, somewhat dirty hand on his arm. “You’re very kind,

Master Tora,” she said softly, “but please do not go near Master

Wada. You’re younger, stronger, and very much more hand-

some, but he’ll kill you.”

Tora threw back his head with a shout of laughter.

“What? That little bug? Listen, Little Flower, you don’t know

me very well. If he weren’t so repulsive, I’d chew him up and

spit him out.”

She started to weep again, covering her face and rocking

back and forth.

“What’s wrong? What did I say?”

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

275

“Oh,” she said, her voice muffled, “you don’t know him.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping you’d explain. See, I

need some information from the bastard. I think he knows

something about someone I’m trying to find.”

She looked up then. A shadow passed over her face. “Is she

someone . . . like me?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s . . . a man. He came here about

a month ago as a prisoner and has disappeared.”

She brightened, but shook her head. “Then he’s dead. Or in

the mines, which is the same thing.”

Tora clenched his fists. “I’ve got to make sure.”

“Is it your father, or brother?”

“No. I can’t tell you. Just talk to me about Wada. Whatever

you know. His habits, the places he goes after dark, where he

eats, his friends.”

She gave a snort. “He’s the head of the police. They have no

friends. His constables are worse than the criminals. Every-

body’s afraid of them. Those who complain are dead a day later.

So nobody complains ever.”

Turtle had said the same thing. “Has it always been this way?”

She frowned. “It’s worse now. Anyway, Master Wada’s got no

friends, unless you count the constables, and most of them hate

him, too. He eats in the best places for free, compliments of the

owners. I don’t know about his habits, except for what he does

to girls like me.”

“He has other women?”

“Sometimes. But he likes me best.” She said this almost

proudly.

“Where were you when he did this to you?”

“At the Golden Phoenix. He sent word for me to come there.