When he bent closer, Akitada saw what had killed the man. From the narrow gap between the top of the armor and the helmet guard protruded the long shaft of a black arrow crowned with a black eagle’s feather. It had hit Kaibara’s neck in one of the few instantly fatal places on the human body.

* * * *

FOURTEEN

THE FISHMONGER

H

itomaro walked through the tribunal gate with a light step, returning the guard’s brisk salute and smiling with satisfaction at the trim appearance of the constables sweeping the courtyard. Kaoru was doing a fine job with them.

After the stormy weather, the skies had cleared and the sun sparkled on many small icicles hanging from the eaves of buildings. Hitomaro glanced toward the far corner of the tribunal compound where a small wooden house stood. Private yet convenient, it would make a fine home for a tribunal officer and his spouse. Today he would ask permission to live there with Ofumi. The place was humble but in good repair, and in time they would furnish the two rooms to their liking. They would save their money and buy some land where they would build a larger house and raise a family.

Blinking into the sunlight, Hitomaro stretched, laughed out loud, and ran up the steps to the barracks room he shared with Tora. He could hardly wait to see Tora’s face when he told him the news.

Whistling happily, he pulled off his boots and placed them next to Tora’s.

“Hey, Tora!” he shouted. “Wait till you hear! I’ll take you out tonight and buy you the best meal in town and all the wine—” He walked in and came to an abrupt halt. “What—?”

Tora was seated cross-legged on a piece of white cloth. His torso was bare, because he had slipped his robe off his shoulders. In front of him lay a sheet of paper, covered with clumsy brush strokes, and on this rested his short sword. There was an expression of intense concentration on Tora’s face.

“What are you doing?” Hitomaro asked, his heart skipping in his chest because he guessed at the significance of these preparations.

Tora bowed lightly. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said with uncharacteristic calm. “Will you assist me?” He reached for the other, longer sword beside him and extended it toward Hitomaro.

Hitomaro did not touch it. “Why? What happened?”

Tora laid the sword down again. “Last night we went to dig up the body of the old lord,” he said tonelessly. “Kaibara surprised the master and almost killed him.”

Comprehension began to dawn. “Where were you?”

For a moment, Tora’s shoulders sagged. “Being sick with fear.”

“Is the master badly hurt?”

“A cut near the shoulder.” Tora added bitterly, “I wish Kaibara had carved out my heart instead.”

“That’s not too bad,” Hitomaro said soothingly. “I expect Kaibara waited till you were out of the way.”

“You don’t understand. I should have hurried back, but I was afraid of the ghost and trembling like a foolish woman. The master had no sword. Kaibara would have killed him, if someone else hadn’t done my job for me and shot the bastard.”

“Kaibara’s dead? Who did it?”

“It was dark. We found no one.”

“Does the master know about your ... this?”

Tora reached for the piece of paper and handed it to Hitomaro. “He will when he reads this ... if he can make out the writing. I can’t do anything right.” He touched the short sword and looked up at Hitomaro with earnest eyes. “Help me do this one thing well, Hito. I am only the son of peasants, but you with your fine upbringing know the proper way for a soldier to die. I’ve bathed, shaved, put on clean clothes and tied up my hair. I’m ready. I thought I would just sort of fall forward on my short sword, but now that you’re here, I might try shoving it in my belly with both hands. Then, if I’m losing my strength before I’m done cutting across, you can cut off my head. That’s the way it’s done, isn’t it?”

Hitomaro dropped the paper and scowled. “Have you thought what this will do to the master? How do you think he’ll feel? Last night you did not mean to desert him, but now you are. And he’s in much greater danger now. This whole province is in turmoil. If you wish to die, at least die fighting against his enemies.”

Tora stared at him. “But how can I show my face?” he asked uneasily.

Hitomaro reached down and tore up Tora’s suicide note. “You will tell the master how you feel and that you owe him two lives instead of one. What did you do with Kaibara’s body?”

Tora looked blank. “I thought this would make it all right,” he said, looking about the room helplessly.

“No!” Hitomaro’s voice was sharp. “You can die later. For now the master needs your help.” He waited until Tora nodded slowly. “Where is Kaibara?”

Tora scrambled up and rearranged his clothing. “We brought the body back. He’s with the others.”

“Come on then. I want to take a look at him. You can fill me in on the way.”

“Hito?” Tora asked plaintively on the veranda as they put on their boots. “What would you have done in my place? I mean, if you had failed like I have?”

Hitomaro scowled at his boots. “I would’ve tried harder and complained less,” he snapped. Getting up, he put his hand on Tora’s shoulder and added more gently, “Come on now, brother. We’re none of us perfect. All we can do is try. Now no more talk. We have work to do.”

Four covered bodies awaited them in the icy storeroom, their temporary morgue. Hitomaro shook his head. “If this keeps up, we’ll have to move them to a larger building. Thank heaven it’s cold.”

Tora drew back the reed mat from the nearest corpse. The dead man lay on his back, and the mat got caught on the tip of the arrow protruding from his neck. Tora untangled it carefully.

Hitomaro bent closer and peered at the face. “So that’s Kaibara,” he said. “Funny, I’ve never seen the bastard up close. He’s in full armor. That means whoever got off that shot was either very lucky or very good.” His eyes went to the arrow. “Isn’t that one of yours?” he asked, astonished.

Tora nodded.

“But I thought you said—”

“There was another arrow. It looked unusual. The master had the doctor take it out and put one of mine in.” Turning away abruptly, Tora cursed and flung the mat violently across the room. “To my shame!” he cried, burying his face in his hands. “His way of telling me that I should have shot the bastard.”

“You know very well that was not why the master did it. He would never shame you. Still, it was a strange thing to do. Did he explain?”