When it was fully dark, Koji returned to announce that dinner was ready.
Akitada closed the document box and said, “I’ll eat in my rooms, Koji. Thank you, Mori. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
He was walking down the dark passage toward his quarters, when a stranger suddenly stepped from one of the rooms. Akitada jumped back, his heart in his throat. He reached for the sword he was not wearing. Angry at himself and the stranger who had somehow managed to get into the building, he demanded, “Who are you? What do you want?”
The intruder made a hissing sound, then said in Saburo’s voice, “I do beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Akitada’s relief was instant, but irritation followed, though he was mainly angry at himself. “What the devil are you doing with a beard, Saburo?”
“My disguise, sir. I thought it best if people don’t recognize me as your retainer.”
“Hmm. Yes. I see your point. Come into my room so I can get a better look at you.”
An oil lamp lit his study, making it almost cozy. He had arranged his trunk, his books, his sword stand and sword, and his writing box along the bare walls and on the few pieces of furniture. Now he took up the oil lamp to study Saburo’s appearance.
If Saburo had not spoken earlier, Akitada would still not have recognized him. A close-trimmed beard and mustache hid the worst scars of his lower face completely. The one damaged eye still had a cast, but this gave him merely a somewhat rakish appearance.
“I’m stunned,” he said. “Saburo, you’re quite handsome.”
The compliment astonished Saburo to such an extent that his eye started rolling again. “H-handsome, sir?” he asked, flushing.
“Have you looked in a mirror?”
“Why, yes. I had to, to glue on all this hair.”
“Can you control your eye the way you did before?”
“A little. I’ve been practicing.”
Akitada smiled. “Well,” he said, “the disguise is perfect. By the time my four years here are up, nobody in the capital will recognize poor Saburo.”
Saburo looked down. “Don’t joke, sir.”
“I’m not joking. You should consider growing that beard and mustache, but at the moment it’s better if you remain two different men.”
“Of course. I came to tell you I’m off to Hakata. To check on Hayashi. Anything else you’d like me to take a look at?”
“Well, the harbor. I suspect there are smugglers. And I’m interested in the shop of the merchant Feng. He employs a big brute with a broken nose and two fingers missing on his right hand. He has the look of a thug and made me wonder what sort of business Feng is engaged in.”
Saburo decided to check out Feng’s store first. It was not quite dark yet, and he wanted a good look at the premises from the outside. He saw immediately that they favored a clandestine visit. There were no living quarters for the owner above the store. Of course, this did not eliminate the possibility of an employee sleeping there at night. And such an amount of costly merchandise would require very careful locking-up at night.
As he strolled into the salesroom, a young shop attendant rushed forward to wait on him. Saburo asked about mirrors. Shown several very elegant items well beyond his means, he picked the best, a bright silver mirror, and checked the looks of his beard and mustache, going so far as to carry it to the door to admire his appearance by daylight.
He was secretly amazed and excited by the change the facial hair made. The horrible, deep and disfiguring scars around his mouth and left cheek were completely hidden. What still showed was nearly unnoticeable under the make-up paste Lady Sugawara had shown him how to mix. Only his left eye still had the disturbing cast in it, and it rolled uncontrollably unless he concentrated really hard. But he was no longer an ogre.
His hand trembled with emotion as he returned the mirror to the shop attendant and left. It took a while before he was calm enough to concentrate on his job.
The Hayashi house was unremarkable except for its large size. Saburo walked all around the property, noting possible means of ingress, then located a small restaurant a few houses away but within sight of Hayashi’s gate. There he took a seat outside and ordered a bowl of soup. The sun was setting, and people were going home from work. At the Hayashi house, the small gate in the wall opened, and a middle-aged woman walked out, carrying a small bundle in one hand. Saburo decided she was probably Suyin, the cleaning woman.
A short while later, a familiar figure came down the street. The portly gentleman in a green silk robe and neat black cap walked up to the Hayashi gate and announced himself. He was admitted.
Saburo’s memory was excellent. This was the shrine priest Kuroda. There was, of course, nothing suspicious about his visit to the chief of the merchants’ guild. Perhaps he was collecting contributions for his shrine.
But Saburo had barely time to consider this when two porters deposited a sedan chair at the gate. Another familiar figure emerged: the stocky person of Merchant Feng with his pointed chin beard, wearing his Chinese robe, narrow black silk pants, and the peculiar low, square hat worn by Chinese men of means or position. Feng paid the porters and also went through the gate.
Saburo pursed his lips. This was beginning to look like a meeting. He wondered who else would show up. For a very long time, nothing happened. Saburo was forced to pay for another bowl of soup. He had barely tasted this, when other men began to arrive and enter the Hayashi compound. He did not know any of them, but by their ages, clothes, and demeanor they appeared to be merchants or shopkeepers. This was then a regular meeting of the guild members. To prove the matter, the shrine priest soon emerged and walked off.
By then, the sun had set, and dusk was rapidly turning into night. Saburo left his soup partially eaten and walked to the harbor. A nearly full moon shone on a sea like mottled silver. The dark land and the black outlines of distant islands seemed to float upon the water. Now and then a cloud obscured the moon, but along the harbor, lanterns and torches attached to walls of buildings shed yellow pools of light. More lanterns suspended on the boats tied up on shore cast dancing beams across the landing as they rocked with the tide. Farther out in the bay, larger ships were at anchor, and there, too, lights gleamed and disappeared, then gleamed again with the motion of the waves. It was almost like looking at a reflection of the stars, Saburo thought. The bay was beautiful even at night.
Saburo had not shared his master’s uneasiness about Kyushu, but he had also been well aware of a sense of lurking danger. Perhaps nerves were more refined among the nobility. Or else it was the fact that his master had a lot to lose. He had a family he clearly adored and who adored him. Saburo had no such attachments. He could not recall a time when he had ever been afraid of death.
The torture he had suffered at the hands of the enemy he had accepted as well deserved for having been careless. A spy must never be careless. And whatever had happened to his mind later as the result of having his face permanently and cruelly altered with a sharp knife had not instilled fear in him either. But it had done other things to him that he was only dimly aware of. People’s disgust when they looked at him had filled him with anger and disdain for his fellow man. This was doubly true for the women he had met.
Beside the anger there was something else, a weakness he hated to acknowledge. He longed for the sort of human closeness his master had with his family. Tora had it also, and even clumsy, fat Genba had found it.
Saburo would never have it, but he was not afraid.
As he explored the waterfront, Saburo noticed two men, perhaps sailors, meeting with another man beside one of the docked ships. There was a brief argument, then money changed hands and disappeared into the shirt of one of the sailors. Both walked away, heading into town while the other man climbed back on board.