“Wait,” cried Akitada. “You’re making a mistake. You should be arresting Watamaro. He attacked us and set the fire.”
The officer gave him a contemptuous look. “Don’t be stupid. Why would he burn down his own warehouse? Besides he’s a respected man in this province.”
Four of his constables had dismounted and now approached with the thin chains used to tie up dangerous criminals. Tora got up and stepped in their way. “I’d rather die than have you put those on my master,” he growled.
The soldier closest to him swung the thin chain viciously. It struck the side of Tora’s face and wrapped around his head. Tora choked down a cry and clawed at the chain. Blood trickled down his face.
“You’ll pay for this,” Akitada snapped, but it did no good. The chain came off Tora’s head, leaving him bleeding and dazed, and all three had their hands tied. The soldiers attached the chains to three of the horses.
Akitada had seen this sort of thing before and knew what was coming. They would be taken to jail, and if they could not keep up with the horses, they would be dragged along the streets. “Look, Officer,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, would you at least notify the prefect before you do this? He won’t thank you when the central government in the capital punishes him for mistreating an imperial emissary.”
The man laughed. “It’s the middle of the night. And you don’t look like an imperial emissary to me.”
They were covered with blood and soot. Akitada’s silk robe was filthy and torn. He had lost his hat, and his topknot had come loose. No doubt he looked like a hoodlum, though he was not quite as ragged as his companions. He felt his sash for some sort of identification but found nothing. Even his silver was gone.
“At least put us on horses and tie us there. We’re tired and wounded.”
“Serves you right,” snapped the officer and raised his hand. “Let’s go.”
A nightmarish journey took them up the long thoroughfare Akitada had walked many times. They were forced to trot alongside the horses. Akitada stumbled once, and only caught himself by grasping the horse’s tail. His hands hurt badly, and he barely escaped a kick. When they reached the prefecture, the gates slammed shut behind them and the horses stopped. Akitada collapsed on the gravel and tried to steady his breathing. He heard the officer call out, “They claim to be imperial emissaries, sir. Thought you might get a good laugh out of that. No question about it, they’re dangerous criminals. The warehouse burned to the ground, and we counted at least ten bodies.”
Akitada raised his head. Munata was coming down the steps. Perhaps the warehouse fire had roused him early. Behind him, dawn was just breaking. A new day.
Perhaps their last.
He struggled to his feet. “Tell your man who I am,” he said. His voice sounded gravelly and incredibly tired.
Munata paused, then came closer. Akitada saw his eyes widen.
“Dear heaven, what happened?” he asked, then bowed. “My deepest apologies, my Lord. Ihara, untie His Excellency immediately.”
The officer’s face fell comically, but Akitada was too miserable to enjoy the moment or to complain. After a scramble and some agitated muttering, the chain fell from Akitada’s wrists. He cradled his sore hands against his chest. “Untie my men, too. Then have the merchant Watamaro arrested along with all those involved in the battle at the warehouse. We need medical attention, baths, and clean clothes. The dead man needs a funeral.” He ran out of breath. Perhaps Munata would avoid open defiance of the court and instead try, by whatever means, to clear his name.
Munata looked deeply shocked. His eyes went from Akitada to his companions and the corpse of Masaji on one of the horses, then back again. “Watamaro did this?” Akitada said nothing. He was past speech. “Never mind, sir. My house is at your disposal. But you cannot walk. Perhaps by kago? Shall we send for chairmen?”
An offer of a litter and luxurious accommodations?
Akitada looked at his companions and took a deep breath. “No, thank you. We’re only going across the street to the official lodging house. You will be here the rest of the day?”
“Yes, Excellency, but allow me to arrange for more comfortable quarters. And my personal physician is at your service.”
“Send the physician by all means. I shall speak to you later, after we have rested.”
Akitada nodded to his companions, and together they walked out of the prefecture. Akitada forced himself to walk with a straight back and a firm step until they were out of Munata’s sight. Then he slumped and heaved a sigh of utter exhaustion.
“I thought they’d put us in irons,” Tora remarked, taking his arm. “Are you in pain, sir?”
“No,” Akitada lied. “Just exhausted. How’s your face?”
Tora touched his cheek. “Stings a bit.”
“And you, Saburo?”
“Fine, sir.” Saburo grimaced. Akitada was beginning to distinguish between his scowls and smiles. Saburo was smiling.
“You’re a good fighter, Saburo,” Tora said, “but never wake a man again from a sound sleep by sticking that face of yours at him.”
Saburo nodded meekly. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
The lodging house seemed almost like home after what they had been through. The same fat man received them, looking both wary and disgusted by their appearance. “What happened to you?” he asked rudely.
“None of your business,” snapped Tora. “Where’s your daughter? If that’s what she is.”
The man scowled. “The wife left me and took her. Good riddance. And it’s none of your business.”
Akitada interrupted and ordered baths to be prepared. A skinny youth showed them to a room and then brought Akitada’s and Tora’s bags from the storage room where they had left them. They looked forward to taking off their blood-soaked clothes. Saburo had nothing to wear, but they managed to find him a pair of trousers and a shirt.
The prefect’s physician arrived right after their baths. He seemed capable, cleaned their wounds, and bandaged them. Akitada needed a plaster on the cut on his back, but he refused to have his hands bandaged. Tora’s face had only cuts, but Saburo’s arrow wound worried the doctor . The arrow had gone through the fleshy part of Saburo’s lower arm, and he had trouble moving his hand.
Afterward, they slept. Akitada was in no hurry to face Munata.
*
When Akitada woke, it was afternoon and Tora was gone. Saburo meditated in the lotus position again.
Akitada sat up gingerly, and found that the wound on his back felt better. His palms, though, were stiff and sore. He got up.
Saburo opened his eyes. “How are you?”
“I feel better. And you?”
Saburo grimaced a smile. “I’ve had much worse.”
“Yes. Where’s Tora?”
“He said he’d check on the little girl and would be back soon.”
Akitada nodded. He put on his best robe and trousers. “I’m going to the prefecture and won’t need either of you for some hours. Here.” He gave Saburo several pieces of silver. “Buy yourself a decent robe and trousers like those Tora normally wears. And a small black cap. A shave and haircut would also be nice. If you’re working for me, you’ll have to look the part.”
Saburo bowed. “I’m sorry to point out, sir, that new clothes and a shave and haircut will not make me as handsome as Tora. Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”
“I’m sure.”
*
This time, the guards and attendants at the prefecture greeted Akitada with nervous respect. Clothes, especially when they bore court rank insignia, had this effect. Munata met him in the reception hall of the prefecture. He had not bothered to change into better clothes, looked pale and distraught, and bowed deeply. He led Akitada with great courtesy to a set of cushions on the raised dais.