Tora disliked the postmaster very much by now. He thought of the dead girl, and shook his head. “Thanks, not for me. My wife’s enough for me. And children don’t appeal to me that way. It’s unnatural. Like sleeping with your own children. I just overheard some talk on the boat coming down. Umm, it’s getting late.”
But Toyoda did not give up easily. He described a variety of bed partners and their amazing skills to Tora and told him about a barbarian woman from the far north who had some enticing peculiarities.
In desperation, Tora reminded Toyoda that he had to get back to work, even if postmasters lived more leisurely lives. He paid the large bill, and they walked back to the post station, the postmaster singing a bawdy song, and Tora nursing a headache.
At the post station, Tora questioned the porters and the two clerks about Sadenari.
They had no information. Apart from Sadenari’s sending a letter to Nakahara, he had extracted nothing useful in his morning’s work, while his funds had shrunk considerably.
He was walking glumly from the post station, when his master hailed him. Startled, Tora stopped. The look on his master’s face told him that he had bad news.
Chapter Fourteen
The journey was rapid and allowed little time for conversation. In Naniwa, as they waited for horses to be saddled, Akitada had read Tora his wife’s letter. They reached home after dark.
Tora pounded on the gates and called out. A fully armed Genba threw them wide. He knelt, knocking his head on the gravel of the courtyard. “Forgive me, sir,” he cried.
Akitada said, “Get up, Genba. This was not your fault.”
He and Tora dismounted, leaving the horses to Genba, and ran straight to the main house. Monks chanted in the reception room. Tamako came to meet them, bowed to her husband, and said in a low voice, “He’s very weak. Oh, Akitada, I’m so afraid.”
It was not a proper greeting, and Tamako was always proper. Akitada took her hand and drew her close as Tora looked away. “Are you and Yasuko well?” Akitada asked, his cheek against her hair. Her familiar scent moved him deeply. All that was precious to him was contained in his home.
She nodded against his chest. “Genba blames himself.”
“Why?” demanded Tora suspiciously.
Tamako gently moved from Akitada’s arms. “He was not here, Tora. Cook had sent him to the market. He thinks if he’d hurried more, he could have stopped them. It’s nonsense, of course.”
“Yes,” said Akitada heavily. “Come, I want to see Seimei now.”
He lay in his room, stretched out on his bedding, pretty screens set around, incense wafting from a small brazier, and costly wax candles lighting his pale and rigid face. He was very still; only his breath rattled softly.
Akitada knew the signs. Death was near. He sank down on his knees beside the old man and whispered, “Seimei?”
Seimei’s lids flicked open. “S-sir?” It was no more than a breath. Then, with an effort, “I t-tried to stop them.”
“I know, old friend. Don’t exert yourself. Tora and I came as soon as we heard. How are you feeling?”
The lips quirked into a smile. “You’re home,” he whispered. And after a pause for a breath, “In time.” Then he sighed and fainted.
Tora plopped down on Seimei’s other side. “Seimei,” he cried, “Seimei, it’s me, Tora. Speak to me? Don’t die, old man. Not yet. Not without a word to me.”
“Sssh.” Akitada put his finger to the old man’s neck. “He isn’t gone yet, Tora,” he said softly and got to his feet. “He’s just resting, I think.” He glanced at Tamako. “How bad is it?”
“He took a blow to the back of the head and lost a lot of blood. At his age . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she wrung her hands. “I’m afraid, Akitada.”
“Yes,” Akitada said heavily. He looked down at the frail body, the waxen face with its sharp hollows, already like those on a lifeless skull, the hands with fingers that were bones held barely in place by transparent skin. “Yes,” he said again. “Let’s go to my study. Tora, will you stay and call us if he wakes?”
In his study, he took Tamako into his arms again. “I’m so glad you and my daughter were not hurt,” he said. “That thought was too terrible to contemplate.”
She clung to him for a moment. “It was you I was worried about.”
He released her reluctantly. They went to sit on the veranda, and looked at the dark garden where fireflies danced above the moss and over the koi pond. “What exactly happened?” he asked.
“They came just before midday. Two armed men wearing half armor. Genba had left for the market because cook wanted a sea bream. Seimei opened the gate to their pounding. He thought they’d lost their way and greeted them politely, but they stormed in, flinging him aside. Trouble rushed out, barking, and snapped at their legs. One of them struck him with his halberd and nearly killed him. He’s lame and still very weak. Seimei ran after them and tried to bar their way into the house. That’s when they swung the halberd at his head. A glancing blow, but . . .” She bit her lip. “Cook and Hanae came out of the kitchen and saw it all. When they started screaming, the villains drove them into the kitchen building and locked them in. Then they came to find me.” Tamako gulped and took a deep breath.
Akitada reached for her hand. She squeezed it and went on. “Yuki and Yasuku were with me in my room. They came in with their weapons ready, and Yuki attacked the first one. I screamed. I was so afraid they’d kill the child, kill us all. But they pushed Yuki at me and only delivered a message. ‘Tell your husband to come home and look after his own, or we’ll be back and you will die.’ Then they walked out quite calmly.”
Akitada felt a deep anger. “Did they say who they worked for? Who sent the message?”
“No. I think it has something to do with your work in Naniwa.”
“Yes. Probably.” Akitada was no closer to knowing what was going on, while the person behind the pirate attacks had evidently felt he was getting much too close. “Come,” he said, “Let me take a peek at Yasuko. Then I’ll go back to Seimei.”
Yasuko woke.He held the little girl tightly, so tightly that she squirmed while she told him about the bad men and what they did to Seimei and poor Trouble.
“What’s the matter with Trouble?” Akitada asked his wife.
“He’s lame. And he doesn’t bark and rarely goes into the courtyard anymore.”
“Not much of a guard dog, then,” said Akitada, putting his daughter down.
“Don’t say that. He nearly died defending us.”
Akitada nodded. “You’re right. It’s only . . . I wish Seimei had been spared.”
In Seimei’s room he found Tora weeping like a baby and went to touch Seimei’s hands, half afraid he was too late. The hands were cold as ice, but at his touch the old man’s eyelids twitched. He said quite distinctly, “I’m a little cold.” Akitada found another quilt, put it over Seimei, and then sat down to warm his hands between his own. Seimei opened his eyes. “Is it snowing?”
“No. It’s a beautiful autumn night.”
“Autumn chill turns to winter cold. I’m a little cold, but isn’t snow beautiful?”
Akitada shuddered, and Tora sniffed audibly, then shuffled closer. “Seimei? Can you hear me? It’s Tora.”
“Tora? You must try harder with your brush. Then your father will be pleased. Your father loves you.”
They exchanged a glance across the old man’s figure. “He has us confused,” Akitada said softly.
Seimei smiled suddenly. “The gods have been good to me. Two such sons! What more could a man want?” His eyes looked from Tora to Akitada, and he grasped a hand of each. Then the smile faded, a distant look passed over his face, and he lost consciousness again. After a while, his breath resumed its horrible rattling.