“That is not at all the same thing as opposing an imperial investigator sent here specifically to check into irregularities because the investigation may prove uncomfortable for Oga and his lapdog Munata. Both officials have gained nothing from their behavior but my suspicion that their hands are dirty. And mind you, that was not what I expected when I first arrived. At that time, I considered all of you innocent. But I found that you, Nakahara, have either been following their orders by choice, or they are holding something over you that allows them to dictate your actions.”
“No, oh no! Nothing of the sort.” Near tears, Nakahara waved his hands again. “You’re wrong about them, about me. It’s just . . . a matter of friendship. Of loyalty. Nothing more. We are congenial. My son works in the provincial administration, and Governor Oga has been very kind to him.” Nakahara paused, then confided, “His Honor has even mentioned that one of his daughters is coming of age, and that he might not be averse to a connection between the families. That would indeed be a great honor and a blessing for a man of my lowly status. I’m not what you would call a successful man.” He paused, then added, “And I’m a father.” He heaved a sigh and added in an aggrieved tone, “My poverty is proof enough that I haven’t enriched myself in my post.”
The situation was a common enough. Provincial lords and court appointees tried to obligate local officials and wealthy landowners by offering favors and forming alliances through marriage. It was a dangerous practice. No one in the central government knew precisely who owed what to whom and what obligations would be called in when a local lord decided to rebel. Nakahara’s situation smacked of conspiracy, but it did not constitute criminal behavior.
“What do you propose to do to clear yourself of the suspicion that has fallen on you?”
Nakahara looked at Akitada dumbly and shook his head.
They were wasting time. Akitada rose. “From what I have seen, the paperwork of your office has been careless. Put your clerks to work-both of them-getting documents in order. I shall examine them again before I return to the capital. Now I’m going to call on the governor and the prefect to see what they have to say to the matter. Where exactly is Munata’s residence?”
Nakahara looked relieved that nothing worse had happened. “Munata has a manor outside the city. It’s on one of the smaller arms of the river. He has rice lands there and also works fields belonging to the governor’s family. But the governor is not there any longer. His Honor has returned to the provincial capital.”
Akitada muttered, “Inconvenient,” and decided to call in at the prefecture. As he rose, Nakahara said. “Oh, this came for you during the night.” He held out a letter. “By special courier.”
Akitada recognized Tamako’s elegant, spidery hand.. He snatched it from Nakahara’s hand, muttered a “Thanks,” and rushed out. At the door, he almost collided with Tameaki carrying a huge stack of documents.
He tore open the folded letter in the hallway.
It was trouble.
Chapter Thirteen
Tora, had set out even earlier, dressed in his neat blue robe and white trousers. These, along with the black hat and boots and the sword pushed through his black sash, were typical for upper servants in noble houses. He planned to have his morning meal before tackling the post office.
But on his way out, he found the skinny girl crouching just inside the door, looking hungrier and paler than any child should. Her fat lout of a father was nowhere in sight. The sight of the child took his appetite away.
“Hello, there,” he said with a smile.
She stared back and said nothing. He wondered for a moment if she was mute but then remembered hearing her talk to her father.
“I’m just on my way to have a bite to eat,” he said. “Have you had your morning gruel?”
She shook her head. The tip of her tongue appeared briefly and she swallowed. The sight twisted Tora’s heart. “Don’t they feed you, then?”
No answer, just that hungry, hopeless look.
He said, “Don’t go away. I’ll bring you something.”
He hurried from the hostel and almost immediately came across a man who was selling hot stuffed dumplings from a steaming kettle. Tora bought a generous helping and carried it back, wrapped into oiled paper.
The girl had moved to the door and watched him as he came running back.
“Here,” he said, out of breath. “They smell good. Eat!”
She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder, then held out her hands.
“Careful. They’re hot.”
She took the food, flinching a little, bowed her head in a nod, and dashed inside.
Tora looked after her, a silly smile on his face. Poor little one, running off to eat in some corner so no one could snatch the precious food away. Then he heard a masculine roar and the sound of a slap.
“Stupid little bitch! Look what you did!”
Tora went in. The fat manager sat at his desk, chewing. The savory dumplings lay before him. There was a greasy stain on his ledger. The little girl cowered in a corner, holding her cheek.
“What the devil?” roared Tora. “I bought the food for her, not for you, you lazy bastard. Give it back to her!”
The man’s mouth dropped open, dribbling bits of dumpling and stuffing down his chest. “Umm,” said and swallowed. “She’s my daughter. She’s a good girl and gives her father what she gets. That’s only proper. Honor your father and mother!What’s it to you, if she shares her food?”
“You’re not sharing, and you hit her. I heard you.”
“Stupid girl made a mess on my ledger,” he said, wiping his chin with his sleeve and dabbing at the stain on his robe. “She’s a bit slow.” He touched his head. “I’ve got to be after her all day long. It’s a great trial, raising a backward child. You got to knock some sense into them.”
Tora took a large step forward, grabbed the neck of the man’s shirt, twisted, and jerked him forward until their faces nearly touched. “If I catch you beating her again,” he snarled, “I’ll make sure you get a double dose of that medicine. Now give the food back to her. She looks starved.”
The manager’s face turned red, and he made choking sounds, but he nodded his head. Tora released him.
“Here, Fumiko,” the man said to the child. “You should’ve told me that it was yours. Thank the gentleman and then go into the kitchen and eat it.”
The girl slunk forward, bobbed her head at Tora, snatched the food, and ran.
Tora nodded. “Good! And remember what I said about hitting her.” Then he walked out of the hostel.
Still very upset, he made for the harbor. He liked harbors. There was always business there, people coming and going, some waiting for boats to arrive, others waiting to leave on far journeys. One could learn things because people liked to chat while they waited. Besides, there was also a sense of excitement in the air. What would the next boat bring? What would the travelers find at their destination?
But it was still early. The gates of the post station were closed. He wandered about for a while, stopping for a bowl of noodles, eyeing the boats, chatting with a porter about loading and unloading goods and with a sailor about his home port and the places he had visited.
Eventually, the large gates of the post station opened. The large compound was marked by a fluttering banner and conveniently located between the harbor and on the main road inland. It served as one of the government barriers where travelers had to show permits and pay tolls. An office, stables for post horses, and fields for the horses to graze made up the whole.