“Glad to, sir. Maeda and I are making friends, and Hakata is an interesting place.”

“Yes. Saburo will also do some exploring as soon as his domestic chores are taken care of. You’ve done well, both of you. By the way, I’m appointing you provincial inspector with a rank of lieutenant. Saburo is to be the betto and manage the tribunal staff. Mori will become senior tribunal clerk.”

Tora grinned. “Thanks. I’ll have to see about a uniform.”

But their satisfaction would be short-lived. The big problems still existed. Akitada said, “We must be careful what we say around the local people, even Mori and the stable boy. You will remember, won’t you?”

“Saburo said the same thing, but the old man and the boy were the only ones that made us welcome. Surely they can be trusted.”

“Someone may have placed them here to find out our plans. At the moment, we seem to have restored some order and sanity, but it can be dangerous to trust too much in appearances.”

“Oh.” They looked at each other, both serious now. Then Tora walked softly to the door and pushed it open to stick his head out and look up and down the corridor. When he had closed the door again, he said, “We may have to talk outside in the garden.”

“At least it’s the season for it.”

As soon as Tora left, Akitada went back to the tribunal office. Mori was arranging the provincial documents on their shelf.

“Anything missing?” asked Akitada.

“Not so far, Excellency. But what a thing to do! If I find out who is responsible, I’ll take his name for punishment.”

“I have decided to appoint you senior clerk, Mori.”

The old man gaped. “S-senior c-clerk, sir? I was only a junior all these years. The senior clerk is always someone of higher rank and with university learning. I am neither.”

“It doesn’t matter as long as you’re familiar with the work required of a senior clerk. Are you?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve done it in the past when the senior was not available.”

“Very well. You are now senior clerk.”

Tears rose to Mori’s eyes. “Thank you, Excellency. Thank you very much. I shall endeavor to give satisfaction.” He knelt and touched his head to the floor.

“Don’t do that,” said Akitada. “Remember your new position.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry.” Mori popped back up, saw the smile on Akitada’s face, and chuckled, rubbing his hands.

Afraid of more outpourings of joy, Akitada said quickly, “To work then. I have many questions about the daily affairs of the province. You can be a great help to me. I’m not Lord Tachibana and will probably do things differently, but let’s start with the routine you’re familiar with.”

Mori was eager to explain. As it turned out, the last governor had only spent an hour or two each day in the tribunal office. He had rarely heard criminal cases, leaving this to the judge and court attached to the Hakata police station. During the hours he had spent with Mori, he had gone over the account books and tax registers.

His Excellency was very particular about assessments,” said Mori. “He was forever finding reasons to raise taxes, and many a time we set out to inspect rice fields and manors. Almost always he found some reason to raise the assessment.”

Akitada frowned. “I see. The content of the granary doesn’t show much profit from this.”

“Oh, the expenses of the administration are paid in rice. And so was his Excellency’s salary.”

Akitada nodded. He knew anything beyond the moneys paid out to him in the capital, funds meant to cover travel expenses and his first year’s salary, should come from Chikuzen’s taxes. It was a reasonable arrangement, given the danger of shipping gold on the pirate-threatened Inland Sea. But the granary had contained a very small amount of rice, not enough to see the inhabitants through a season after a bad harvest or some other crisis. He did not say this, though.

Mori produced the tax registers. They sat together looking at the entries, most in Mori’s neat writing with occasional broader and more careless brush strokes marking changes Lord Tachibana had made.

“Did you like your master?” Akitada asked.

This startled Mori. “I … I admired him. He was a man of elevated learning, a connoisseur of the arts. He was quite brilliant.”

The tax registers were dull work. Akitada closed them and looked at the old clerk. His question had made the man nervous. “It’s all right,” he said with a smile. “I won’t tell him what you said. So he liked art?” He glanced up at the walls where scrolls had been hanging. “I noticed he took his pictures with him.”

“Oh, yes. He was very particular about having us pack them correctly. To protect them against moisture on the ship. I was surprised he didn’t go with them.”

“You mean he sent them on a different ship?”

“Yes. He decided at the last moment to change his plans.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It happened after he left here.” Mori frowned. “His captain sent one of his sailors to ask if the governor had really changed his mind, but his lordship was already gone by then, and so the captain had no choice but to leave without him.”

Well, Tachibana’s travel arrangements were none of his business. Akitada reached for another document box.

This contained papers relating to the various harbors and shipping in Chikuzen province. Hakata and Hakozaki were the biggest ports, but there was another landing stage near the Korokan. Akitada set the box aside. “I shall study these later at greater leisure.”

Mori nodded. “Lord Tachibana also took a great interest in shipping and harbor dues when he first arrived.”

“But not later?”

“Not so much. I expect he regulated matters so they needed less attention. He spent a good deal of time in Hakata.”

“No doubt,” said Akitada dryly. “Are you from Hakata yourself?”

“No, Excellency. I came here many years ago with another governor. I was a single man then, but I married a local woman and stayed.”

“So you have family here in Minami?”

“Not any more. My wife died, and so did my three children. I live alone now.”

Akitada’s thoughts went to his own family, and his fears rose again. He said, “It must be a lonely life.”

Mori smiled a little sadly. “It’s quite all right, Excellency. I need little and my life is here.”

Akitada could not afford to trust anyone, yet this old man had proved his loyalty to the provincial administration. He said, “I’m sure you will do very well, Mori. And I’m sorry about all the work falling on your shoulders now. The Assistant Governor General has promised to send us more staff, including some clerks.”

They worked past the middle of the night. When a guard outside struck the gong and shouted out the hour of the ox, Akitada stretched and closed the last document. “Tomorrow is another day. Thank you for your help, Mori.”

Left alone in the office, Akitada felt again the amorphous threat of the place. The darkness and silence of the night outside seemed to close in on him. He sat quite still and listened. Mori’s steps had long since receded, but somewhere a door closed, and a small draft set the candle flickering. He got up quickly and flung open the office door. The corridor was a black tunnel. He returned for an oil lamp and walked down the corridor, holding the lamp high. Nothing! All was empty and silent.

Ashamed of his panic, he returned to the office to extinguish the candle, then walked to his own room.

7

THE UNFILIAL CHILD

The next day began with the arrival of a contingent of fifteen armed men led by a middle-aged sergeant with a thick beard and mustache.

Tora met them in the forecourt.

Their sergeant eyed him askance and demanded, “Who are you?”

Tora folded his arms across his chest and grinned, “Where are your manners, Sarge?”

The man bristled. “I’m Sergeant Ueda and these are my men. We’ve been assigned to this tribunal. And now who are you?”