Akitada thought he detected a sneer and nearly growled. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Two ruffians attacked me with long knives, and there’s a good chance that the same thing happened to Sadenari. He’s a mere youngster and has been gone for a day and a night.”
Munata stared at him. “I see. Yes. How shocking . . . if true. I had no idea matters were so serious. Allow me to apologize for the prefecture. I shall look into it immediately.” He made a motion toward the door, but Akitada lost his temper and grabbed his sleeve.
“Not so fast, Munata. You’ll do more than ‘look into it’, as you put it. Sit down. There is also the matter of treason.”
Munata gaped at him. “Treason?” Akitada glared back. The prefect went to sit down.
Akitada sat down himself. “Nakahara will confirm that my real assignment here involved the recent pirate activity. It appears that someone has been passing confidential information to these pirates.”
“I find it hard to believe . . .”
Akitada cut in curtly, “I don’t care what you believe, Prefect. You will take your orders from me and stop arguing.”
Munata drew himself up. “I take my orders from the governor,” he said stiffly.
“Where is Oga anyway?” demanded Akitada, pointedly skipping the honorifics. Munata needed a reminder that Akitada’s standing in this instance was equivalent to Oga’s. He was here under direct orders from the Minister of the Right. Besides the Sugawara name was older and more respected than the governor’s. “I understood that he was staying with you. Surely Nakahara’s clerk included him in the call for a meeting.”
“My home is on the outskirts of Naniwa,” said Munata. “I dispatched a messenger. Frankly, I hope this won’t make him angry.”
Akitada swallowed his disgust. “You will go to Kawajiri with soldiers to organize the local police there. Take however many people you have at your command. I want a ship-by-ship and house-by-house search made for my clerk. No ships or boats are to leave, and traffic on the roads must be inspected. I also want an armed escort to accompany me to the place where I was attacked. I plan to have a look at this Hostel of the Flying Cranes.”
Munata shot Nakahara a look, then got up with a bow, and left the room. Akitada looked after him. The prefect’s opposition was troubling.
The door closed, and silence fell.
After a moment, Akitada turned back to Nakahara. “Why is Munata so hostile?”
Nakahara shifted nervously. Perhaps he recalled his own flare-up the night before. “Munata is a strange man,” he said. “He’s perfectly agreeable until his ability is questioned. I think he feels strongly that you are doing so now.”
Such behavior by a lower-grade official would not be tolerated in the capital, but Akitada was not in the capital and in a place like Naniwa different rules might apply. That, of course, made his work harder. If he could not make people like Munata and Nakahara obey him, he would hardly do so with the governor, a man of rank, privilege, and power.
“What exactly is Munata’s relationship to the governor?” he asked.
“His is the most important district of the state. Governor Oga appointed him, and he is loyal to the governor. The Munatas have also been overseers of the Oga estates here. That’s why the governor stays at Munata’s country residence whenever he is here.”
This threw an interesting light on the division of power and the bonds of personal relationships. Akitada was becoming very curious about both men. “And you? How do you feel about them? I know they were your guests last night, but I assumed they were invited as a courtesy to me and to the governor. Perhaps you, too, have closer ties?”
Nakahara flushed. “You have an extraordinary way of accusing me of impropriety. Apparently you think that I’ve been plotting against my emperor, stealing government property, and aiding the pirates. Frankly, I resent your manner, sir. You’re an official visitor, carrying powers from the Minister of the Right, so I cannot very well bid you be gone, but if you find Munata’s manners wanting, what should I say about yours?” The director bristled with belligerence. It almost seemed as if each of his sparse hairs were trying to stand up. Akitada was tempted to laugh, but of course that would have made matters even worse, and he was in fact Nakahara’s guest. Besides, perhaps he should have controlled his temper better with both officials.
He sighed and said, “Calm down. Put yourself in my position. I was sent here to find out who is behind the pirate attacks. Within a day, my clerk disappears, and I’m lured into the slums of Kawajiri to be assassinated. It seems to me I’m no longer dealing with a minor leak of information, but with a conspiracy which may include everyone who has any power in this state. And you have been sitting at the very center of this web, pretending not to know what is going on. How can I possibly trust you, or believe anything you tell me?”
Nakahara did not answer. He had turned his head away.
Akitada got up with a grunt of impatience. “I have to go now to find the foolish young man who thought he could solve this case on his own. May your conscience forgive you if I find him dead.”
*
When he stepped from the boat in Kawajiri harbor, a contingent of police in their red coats was assembling. In the brilliant sunlight reflected by the sea, they appeared to be bathed in blood. Akitada pictured the torn corpse of young Sadenari and shuddered.
The commander, a grey-haired Lieutenant Saeki, who looked like an ex-military man, was mounted, and a second horse was waiting.
Akitada introduced himself, and swung himself into the saddle. They set off at a moderate trot, the policemen jogging along behind them. Apparently the lieutenant had been given instructions. He led the way to the dead end of the alleyway where Akitada had encountered the two thugs.
There was no sign that the fight had taken place. The dirt was scuffed about, and his coins and the amulet were gone. There were also no blood stains or bodies. Someone had cleaned up, and if there had been corpses or wounded men here, they had been moved. He would have liked proof of the attack, but then he would be hard pressed to explain how he had wounded or killed two armed men without a weapon of his own.
Akitada did not like losing his money, but he had additional funds in his baggage and could send for more. What troubled him more was the loss of the amulet. It felt as if another veil had been drawn across the death of the young Korean girl. He said nothing about all this to the police, however.
On the command of Lieutenant Saeki, the men spread out and searched. They found nothing that pointed to the attackers, but it appeared that a narrow footpath wound through the shrubbery to a breach in the wall where the plaster and mud had crumbled, leaving a mound of rubble and easy passage to the back of the Hostel of the Flying Cranes.
“So,” said the lieutenant, “the criminals came from there. Not surprising. Let’s take a look.”
They left the horses with one of the constables and climbed over the pile of rubble. On the other side, they found a storage shed in the back of the hostel. Given the long and imposing roofline of the building, the lower level looked pathetic. The boards were rotting away in places, and doorways and windows were covered with torn and dirty fabric. Part of the shed was a makeshift kitchen. A nasty stench came from barrels of refuse.
Lieutenant Saeki gave orders for some of his men to station themselves at the doors and windows. Then he and Akitada, accompanied by four of his burliest constables, walked around the corner to the front door.
This stood invitingly open, and they marched in, the police in front and Akitada trailing behind.
The interior was primitive and simple. The ground floor was earth, long since compacted and turned a shiny black from many feet, bare or sandaled. Huge timbers rose from the floor to support the roof. Here and there, a second level had been made by linking crossbeams and covering them with boards. Simple ladders reached up to those sleeping lofts. Below, there were few room dividers. Most spaces were open and served many guests. Dirty covers lay rolled up against walls or were stacked up in convenient piles along with headrests. A few simple sea chests probably held the belongings of current guests. The smell of dirt, sweat, and unwashed bodies lingered. In one corner, a man snored rhythmically.