The little girl stood near the door and watched him with lackluster eyes that seemed too large for her narrow face. Akitada became uncomfortably aware that he was without money. He said gently, “Thank you, my dear. You shall have a copper later.”
She bowed and crept out, closing the door behind her.
Akitada stepped onto the narrow strip of veranda and stared at the tall fence a few feet away. He had stormed out of the meeting in Nakahara’s office without wasting much thought on his immediate future. Now he could do nothing until the inn’s servant came with his bags. His own contained a small amount of money, though hardly enough for an extended stay. At least he had a roof over his head, and that expense was covered by the government.
A cricket’s strident song broke into his thoughts. The night was hot and oppressive, but the autumn crickets signaled cooler days. Sadness crept into his heart. As always, autumn brought sadness.
But his greatest loss had come to him in early summer a few years ago. He had lost his little son to smallpox and grieved into that fall, a dark and hopeless time.
Sitting down on the veranda, he let his legs dangle, listened to the cricket, and wished for his flute. The sky was clouding over; there would soon be a thunderstorm. Already, the hot air was moving.
He missed his family: his wife, Tamako, who was a part of him, and his little daughter who always put her small arms around his neck and planted wet kisses on his face. He missed old Seimei, too. On this dark night far away from them, the cricket’s call reminded him that Seimei, too, might soon leave him. Life held as many certainties as uncertainties.
He blinked away the moisture, and cursed the cricket. There was no time for foolish fancies. He must consider his options. But every way he turned his mind, circumstances seemed against him. The governor and Munata had flatly refused his request for help and mocked his investigation. Offended, Nakahara – the only man he had power over – had joined them. The ministry’s instructions had spelled out clearly that the director and his staff were to give him every assistance. Nakahara would be in trouble as soon as Akitada reported him, but even so he had made his choice.
Of course, turning in Nakahara also meant admitting his own failure. Not only had he not discovered the spy, but he had lost his clerk and angered the local authorities. He could not remember a time when he had felt more inadequate.
The first large raindrops drove him inside. Akitada closed the doors against the storm. He must send for Tora. He also needed money, supplies, his sword, and another clerk. But above all, he needed Tora.
Thunder cracked, and the cricket fell silent. Then the rain came drumming and gushing down. The night turned noisy with the storm.
Someone scratched at the inner door, and Akitada opened it. Outside stood the little girl, drenched and clutching one of the bags. This she dragged inside and disappeared. Akitada went after her and caught her at the front door of the hostelry. She was struggling with the other bag, Sadenari’s. The fat man sat and watched.
“What’s the matter with you, you oaf?” Akitada asked him, taking the heavy bag from the girl’s wet hand. “Can’t you see she’s too small to carry this?”
The fat man looked at him blankly. “She’s strong,” he said. “She carried both of them all the way from Nakahara’s place.”
Akitada’s hand itched to slap that fat complacent face. He looked down at the girl. She was wet and looked exhausted. “Thank you,” he said. “Come and you shall have something for your trouble.”
In his room, Akitada found the rest of his funds where he had tucked them into his spare clothing, and counted off ten coppers. This generous sum he gave to the little girl, who received it with a bow and no other sign of gratification before slipping from the room. It occurred to Akitada that the fat man would probably collect the money from her. Perhaps he was her father.
With a sigh, he took off his outer robe, folded it carefully on top of his bag, and lay down on the thin bedding.
*
In spite of the storm, he fell asleep instantly. When he woke, there was daylight in the room. Akitada stretched, remembered where he was, and sat up.
He stared at the doors. They stood open. Cool, moist air came in after the night’s storm. He recalled closing those doors before going to sleep. The hostelry had not struck him as the sort that would wake patrons with light and fresh air.
He turned his head to check the door to the hallway but stopped at the sight of a half-naked man sitting on the floor. He was hunched over and seemed engaged in prayer or meditation. Akitada drew in a breath sharply and jumped up. “Who the devil are you? What are you doing in my room?”
The man’s head came up. “Oh, forgive me, sir. I did not mean to startle you. I came late last night, but you were asleep, so I waited.”
The ugly man had returned.
Akitada was outraged at the intrusion. “Why? And how did you get in?”
The ugly man smiled a crooked smile and gestured up. Akitada raised his eyes but saw nothing beyond the bare rafters and the darkness of the roof above. He frowned. “I don’t understand. How did you know I was here, and where are your clothes?” His initial panic subsided, but he was still very uneasy about this visitor.
The ugly man chuckled. “I came through the roof. It seemed best not to announce my presence to the fat bastard at the front door. And I took off my clothes to dry them. There was a terrible storm earlier. As for how I knew you were here, I followed you.”
Akitada peered around the room and now saw that a gray shirt and a pair of short pants lay spread on the floor boards. The ugly man wore only a loincloth. Akitada sat down and said, “I see,” though he did not really see anything at all. “What do you want, er . . .”
“Saburo,” said the ugly man helpfully.
“Why are you following me, Saburo?”
“I have information that may be useful to you and an offer that may benefit both of us. I thought this way we could meet unobserved.”
Akitada looked at the man in silence. He really wished he had brought his sword. While this strange creature had indubitably saved his life, his behavior had been and remained suspicious. But there was nothing to be gained from throwing him out. At the present state of his affairs, he might as well listen to what Saburo had to say.
“What information?”
“Everyone knows you’re looking for the young man who traveled with you.” He gave Akitada his crooked smile and recited, “‘The sailing clouds understand the traveller’s dreams, but the setting sun must go away like parting friends.’ Young men are full of enthusiasm and care little about the worry they cause their friends. Though perhaps this parting is more of an inconvenience than a grief?”
The man was astounding. The poem he quoted sounded familiar. Akitada had taken him for a common man, and a vagrant at that. “An inconvenience is putting it mildly. He may already be dead. Go on.”
“Oh, but he may also be alive. I came to offer you my help in finding him.”
Akitada waved that away as a mere ploy to get money. “Thank you, but the matter is in good hands. He was seen going on board of one of the ships. He’ll be brought back . . . if he is alive. And even if he’s dead, I shall know what happened to him.”
Saburo cocked his head. The damaged eye leered horribly at Akitada. “What if I told you he’s not on the Black Dragon?”
Akitada sat up. “How do you know that?”
The ugly man chuckled. “I had no other work to occupy me and decided to do some work for you . . . on account, so to speak. In other words, I kept my eyes and ears open.”
Akitada said quickly, “I cannot pay for information that isn’t verified.”
The other man nodded. “I only mentioned it to prove I can be useful. You need not pay me a copper coin if you’re not satisfied with the information.”
Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Akitada asked, “Who are you exactly? What is your profession?”