“We’ll be reborn,” he whispered.
Akitada said dully, “I hope so,” and went to look for Tora and Saburo in the dim back reaches of the stored goods.
He found them using halberds and swords to hack at the back wall. The wood was old and tough, the boards thick. The air was slightly better here, but even so, both coughed and glistened with sweat. He had lost his sword, but he picked up an iron bar and joined them.
Tora looked at him from red-rimmed eyes. “Sit down, sir. You’ll open that wound again.”
Akitada shook his head. “I have to do something.” He shoved the point of the bar between two boards and pried. Nothing. He tried again, this time using both hands. A board popped loose with a satisfying crack. The smoke was growing thicker. Akitada suppressed a cough.
The silence suddenly seemed ominous. Where were Watamaro and his people? “Do you think they can hear us?” he asked hoarsely.
“I hope not.” Tora shoved a halberd under the board Akitada had loosened and between them they forced two more boards out. Fresh air blew in, but the opening was still too narrow. Behind them, the fire crackled. Something fell with a crash, then a thick cloud of smoke engulfed them, and when they turned, the whole front of the warehouse was a fiery hell.
They worked feverishly. Saburo found a coil of rope. He tied it to the nearest beam, tested the knot, and then fed it through the opening.
Akitada put his head out and looked down. It was dark and smoky; he could not see the ground. He doubted he could hold on to the rope and make his way down. His back was already sticky again with fresh blood, and he could barely lift the iron bar. From what he recalled, it was too far to jump without risking two broken legs. The Naniwa warehouses had been built high above the ground to withstand tsunami.
Tora went back into the smoke and fire that roared behind them. Akitada felt the searing heat and croaked Tora’s name in a panic.
“Coming.” Tora appeared, dragging Masaji and coughing. He dropped Masaji next to the hole and peered out. “You go first, sir.” He tossed some weapons out.
Akitada hesitated. A voice outside bellowed, “Hey! They’re getting out.”
Tora cursed. He pushed Akitada toward the opening. “Now, sir. Go!”
Akitada seized the rope and stepped into emptiness.
For a moment he hung suspended. He tried to catch the rope with his feet and go down hand over hand, but his grip slipped immediately and he began to slide. The hemp burned and tore his palms, but he managed to end up on his feet, jarred by the impact. His hands were on fire.
It was dark and smoky under the warehouse. Watamaro’s man stood only a few feet away, staring. When he lunged, Akitada barely managed to snatch up a sword.
The sword grip slipped in his raw and burning palm, but he was lucky. The other man tripped over something and fell. Akitada put a foot on his back, and stabbed downward. Agonizing pain shot up his wrist. It was too dark to see if he had struck a vital organ, but he heard a choking cry and felt a weak movement under his foot. Withdrawing the sword, he stabbed down again and again.
Then Tora was beside him. “He’s done for, sir,” he gasped. “Get ready for the others.” Above them the fire cracked and roared, and sparks showered the darkness.
Akitada looked up. The night sky was red, and the rope whipped about in circles. Smoke billowed from the opening, and then Saburo slid down and joined them. He pointed past Akitada. Dark shadows moved under the warehouse in the lurid smoke rent by flames and showers of burning debris.
Akitada still held the sword, but his hand was nearly useless. Trying to get a grip hurt as if his palm had been scorched by the flames. “It’s no use, Tora,” he called out. “We must get away. There are too many. We cannot fight them all.”
Tora shook his head. “Not without Masaji, sir. You go.”
Saburo came to stand beside them with his halberd.
Put to shame, Akitada made up his mind to fight. Above them the fire raged. Debris had accumulated under the warehouse and around it. In front of them, their attackers came out of the smoke, their weapons swinging. How many? It did not matter. They would stand and fight until they could fight no more.
A tall man with a long sword was the first to reach them. “Give up,” he shouted, breathing hard, “and you’ll live.” He looked nervous and held his sword as if he were unused to it.
Akitada charged. The man jumped back quickly, looking over his shoulder. The others came and metal rang as Tora and Saburo moved nearby, swinging, grunting, slashing. Akitada went for the tall man again and sent him running. He turned to meet two others-more experienced fighters-who forced him back. One of them fought with a staff, the other had a long sword. Akitada lunged at the swordsman, twisting away just before the staff hit him. But he stumbled over something, barely caught his balance, and knew his strength was ebbing. He could not parry or deflect another attack.
Tora appeared beside him, ducking past the man with the staff, to gore the swordsman in the side. Akitada slashed at the arm of the second man. The staff fell, and the man ran, clutching his arm. He disappeared into a cloud of smoke and fire as the front of the warehouse collapsed. Suddenly they were alone.
Saburo threw down his halberd and loped over. “How are you, sir?”
Akitada felt little beyond relief that he could let go of the sword. He said, “All right,” and looked at his palms.
Saburo checked his back. “The bleeding stopped, I think.”
A scream. “No, Masaji!”
They jumped. Tora stood looking up at the hole in the side of the warehouse. In the opening stood Masaji, smoke and flames outlining his swaying figure.
Tora ran for the rope, slipped, fell, and scrambled up again, while Masaji swayed above, a smile flashing wide in his sooty face. “I’m coming, Bishamon,” he croaked and tumbled forward. His body struck Tora a glancing blow and landed with a sickening thud on the ground.
Akitada and Saburo ran to them. Tora struggled up, rubbing his shoulder. Masaji lay still.
“Damn you, Masaji!” Tora groaned. “Why couldn’t you wait? I was coming.” He knelt, taking Masaji’s hand and touching the still smiling face.
Saburo checked the pirate. “He’s dead, Tora,” He lifted Masaji’s blood-soaked tunic and revealed a big wound in his belly. “He was dying before he fell.”
Tora hung his head. “I owe him my life.”
Guilt washed over Akitada. This, too, was his fault. None of the past horrors would have happened if it had not been for his foolish mistake of trusting Watamaro.
“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I’m sorry I caused all of this. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Tora only shook his head.
Saburo produced his horrible grin. “Never mind, sir. Even monkeys fall out of trees.” Then he raised his head. “I hear horses.”
It was too late to run. Torches appeared. Metal and leather clanked. Hooves clattered across the hard ground, and the prefect’s military guard surrounded them.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The prefect’s soldiers raised their bows and placed their arrows in unison. Then they pulled back. Twenty-six arrows pointed at three tired and wounded men.
“Well-trained,” Tora muttered.
Akitada straightened up slowly. He felt incredibly weary. There was little point in this, but he must make the effort. He took a step toward their commander and said, “You’re a little late, but I thank you for coming at all. I’m Sugawara Akitada, special investigator from the capital. These are my people. We will need horses and transport for the dead man. Take us to the prefecture.”
The commander shoved his helmet back a little and stared at him. He next looked at Tora, then Saburo with a grimace of disgust, and finally at the body of Masaji. He said coldly, “You’re under arrest for fighting and setting fires. Setting fires is a capital offense.” He turned to his men. “Tie them up.”