The clerk returned with a fat ledger. This he opened and held toward Akitada. “The fourteenth day of the second month, sir. As you can see, there were four ships leaving Hakata harbor. His Excellency’s ship was the Phoenix. Its captain is called Ueda.”
Akitada peered at the ledger and saw one of the ships was indeed the Phoenix. “How do you know this was the ship?” he asked astonished.
“I served His Excellency’s captain myself. I know him. He was very angry when he got the message to go on without his Excellency and came here to ask what he should do.”
“You’re a remarkable man,” Akitada told the clerk with a smile. “By any chance, do you also know who brought him the message?”
“No, sir.” The clerk closed his ledger. “The captain said it was one of the governor’s own men. Still, he thought it strange and waited for his Excellency until the last moment before the tide turned.”
“I see. Thank you. Your memory does you credit.”
Akitada studied the ledger again and asked about other boats Lord Tachibana might have taken passage on. There were only two, and both had since returned and left again. Apparently neither captain had mentioned giving passage to the ex-governor. And that was unlikely.
When Akitada turned to leave the harbor office, he saw Tora was gone. So was the man who had stood beside the door. Outside, it was turning dark. Suddenly a strong feeling of danger seized him. It was not altogether irrational. For all they knew there might be more than just one man watching them. If the last governor had met with a violent end, he could well be next. The faces of his family flashed before his eyes. He had no right to take such risks. He had come to Hakata without armed men, and now he had sent Tora after someone who had probably been watching them. He wished he had at least worn his sword, regardless of propriety.
For a moment, he debated what to do next, then he walked away from the harbor office as quickly as he could without attracting more curiosity. He reached police headquarters safely, though out of breath and ashamed of his panic.
There he left a message for Tora to return to the tribunal, swung himself on his horse, and left Hakata.
20
When Tora had not returned by nightfall, Akitada was concerned but not overly so. He mentioned the watcher in the harbor office to Saburo, who stopped by before leaving on his own assignment.
Saburo listened and said, “Tora knows how to handle himself. He may have decided to have another look at the willow quarter to ask questions about Fragrant Orchid.” He smirked. “He was really interested in her.”
Given Tora’s past among the flowers of the floating world, it was likely, so Akitada nodded, dismissed Saburo, and went to bed.
This time Saburo had taken pains with his preparations. Not only was his homemade beard in place, but he had opted for his patched and stained black clothes with the clever pouches for assorted weapons and tools. The brown jacket he wore over it to hide its peculiarities was new. He had lost its predecessor in the capital, but a seamstress he knew had constructed a new one to his specifications. It was also brown, since he had a fondness for that color. The previous jacket with its full sleeves and loose fit had to be taken off before making a climb to a roof and into someone’s house. This was how Saburo had lost it.
The new jacket was an invention of his and did not have this disadvantage. It had two sides. The outer brown side was fuller than the inner black one. All he had to do was to turn the jacket inside out, and it became black as the night and fitted snugly enough not to snag on things when climbing.
He looked like a poor working man as he made his way on foot into Hakata. It was a nuisance to have to walk so far before reaching his objective, but like his master and Tora, he needed the exercise to get in shape. Tired and footsore by the time he reached Hakata harbor, he surveyed the craft tied up at the docks. The ship where he had first seen Fingers was gone.
He next turned down the street to the wine shop where Fingers had met with his cohorts before following the children. He hoped it was their regular meeting place. It was unlikely they would recognize him. Bearded men were common here, and last time he had worn his good clothes and a hat. Now he looked like the regular customers.
The Dragon’s Lair was crowded, and the smells of smoke, oil, and sour wine were thicker than last time. Saburo stopped at the door and scanned the room. His quarry was not here, but to his surprise he saw the pimply-faced salesclerk from Feng’s shop. He wore old clothes, and Saburo might not have noticed him if he had not raised his head to look toward the door. He gave no sign of recognition, however, and lowered his head again. He sat alone in a corner near a torch light, reading a book of some sort and sipping from a cup of wine.
Saburo found a place as far away as possible from Feng’s clerk while still within sight of him. The man had looked to see who had come in; this suggested he was waiting for someone.
A waitress appeared by Saburo’s side. He ordered some cheap wine and relaxed. Like last time, the crowd consisted of rough laborers and sailors. Feng’s clerk definitely did not belong. Saburo decided to have a closer look at the store later on.
Just before it became necessary to order another flask of the sour wine, another man entered and looked around. He was a young, clean-shaven but dirty, and of the same laboring class as the rest of the Dragon’s Lair’s customers. When he saw Feng’s clerk, he grinned and went to join him.
Well, he was not Fingers, but Saburo decided a meeting between the clerk and this laborer was still interesting.
The young man sat down uninvited. The clerk frowned at him, wrinkled his nose, and turned down the corners of his mouth. He asked a question, got another smile, and an emphatic nod. The young man leaned closer and spoke at some length. The clerk nodded and reached into his robe to pull out a small but weighty bag. This he pushed toward the young man, who snatched it up and peered inside. He looked very pleased, tucked the small bag inside his dirty shirt, and called for wine. The clerk, looking disgusted, rose and left the Dragon’s Lair without another word to the laborer. He had done what he had come for and had clearly not enjoyed the errand.
Not long after, the young laborer paid for his wine, gulped it down quickly, and also left.
Saburo had been so engrossed in the meeting he had not noticed the waitress hovering by his side with another flask of wine.
“No, thanks,” he growled, getting up. “Your rot gut has given me a belly ache.”
Outside, the young man was just picking up the handles of a handcart. Without a backward glance, he trotted off down the street toward town. The cart made enough noise to drown out footsteps, and the effort of pulling it meant he could not easily turn his head to look behind him. Saburo followed. Possibly the man’s errand had involved nothing illegal after all, but there had been the bag of money, large enough to suggest Feng’s clerk had paid the man for more than a simple delivery.
The cart was nearly empty. As they passed a lighted doorway, Saburo saw it contained only some ragged blankets that had perhaps been used to protect an earlier cargo.
Gradually they left behind the gaudy lights and noise of the harbor dives and brothels and passed through streets with shops that were shuttered at this hour. It was quiet here and the wheels of the cart seemed very loud. Saburo kept in the shadow of buildings, but the carter did not pause to look behind him. Soon they were crossing the river and heading into a residential quarter. The man and his cart made for a rundown area. Some of the houses had been abandoned and were falling to ruin. Saburo guessed they were near the shrine where the children had kept their birds.