Well, tomorrow he would return to his job at the ministry and this time he would make every effort to excel at his work. He would be taking a wife and could not afford any longer to chafe at the long, dusty hours among the documents or avoid unpleasant meetings with his superiors. Sato and his wife had made far greater sacrifices for each other and their family. Such patience was more admirable than any heroics he might have dreamed of in his younger years. It spoke of devotion more loudly than any of the love songs recited at the poetry contest. And patience was a small price to pay for the delight he had found in Tamako.
Cheered by blissful thoughts of their future together, Akitada crossed Second Avenue and headed east along the high earthen wall of the government enclosure. Lightning cast the long wall, the buildings and the wind-tossed trees into a momentary blue brilliance. He skirted a fallen branch. Because of the late hour and the storm, he walked alone on this normally busy thoroughfare. The smell of rain was heavy in the air and large drops stung his face, along with small bits of gravel and windblown leaves, but at least the clouds had not yet opened up and released their torrents of water. With any luck, he might reach home in time.
At the corner of the palace grounds he turned north onto Omiya, and a sharp gust caught his lantern, flung it up and extinguished the light. No matter. Another five blocks would bring him to his own gate. And to Tamako. He warmed to the memory of her, imagined hearing her soft voice, smelling her subtle fragrance, touching her skin. She was as soft as silk under his hands. Her hair, long, smooth silken tresses against his palm… her thin robe, silk warmed by her flesh, shifting and trembling under his caressing fingers… her skin, softer than silk… softer, warmer and more alive than anything he had ever touched before.
He came back to reality reluctantly.
At first he was dimly aware of a sharp hissing sound somewhere on the palace wall, then of a violent rustling in the branches above his head. Thinking of the storm, Akitada glanced up. From the darkness of the leaves and branches of the tree an even denser darkness separated and hurtled towards him. Too late he tried to twist aside. A sharp pain seared through his head and shoulder as a crushing weight pushed him forward. He struck the ground, felt gravel bite sharply into his face, and then his chest was crushed and the night turned black.
Twenty-three. Fresh Shoots
Akitada regained consciousness in his own room. Dimly aware of discomfort, he opened his eyes on the familiar rafters of his ceiling, shadowy in lamplight. He easily deduced that it was nighttime and that he was stretched out on his own bedding, a fact further proven by the familiar feel of the hard headrest supporting his head.
Someone was talking softly.
He turned his head and immediately felt a sharp stab of pain run from his head to his shoulder. To his astonishment his small room seemed full of people. They sat around the oil lamp, their backs toward him, except for Seimei, who faced in his direction. It was he who was doing most of the talking while rummaging in his medicine case, holding up from time to time a jar or package to show to one of the others. Belatedly Akitada put names to the broad-shouldered backs: Genba, Hitomaro and Tora. Genba was the one who carried on the conversation with Seimei. The other two watched but said nothing.
Akitada croaked, cleared his throat, and tried again. "What are you doing?"
Immediately four anxious faces turned his way. Seimei and Tora got up to sit beside him.
"How are you feeling, sir?" Seimei asked, peering sympathetically down at him.
Akitada frowned and checked how he felt. His legs and arms seemed to behave normally. The skin on his face felt sore and tight, and his neck and shoulder still pained him at the slightest move. However, that discomfort was minor compared to the fact that his whole torso appeared to be paralyzed. He could not move his spine, and breathing was restricted and painful.
"I cannot move. What happened?" he asked, as a hazy memory joined panic. "Something fell on me, I think."
Tora answered. "You were attacked on the way home. By paid assassins, two of them, with knives."
"I have been stabbed?"
Seimei said, "No, no. Nothing like that. Hitomaro here got to you just in time. You only suffered a few cracked ribs when one of the brutes jumped on you out of the tree."
Akitada thought about his ribs and touched them gingerly. He felt absolutely nothing. "An overly optimistic diagnosis, old friend," he said grimly, panic tightening like a vise about his heart. "I'm afraid I am paralyzed."
To Akitada's hurt surprise, Seimei turned to grin at Genba who grinned back, then rose and joined them. He poked an exploratory forefinger into various places on Akitada's upper body. There was still no sensation. Akitada closed his eyes to hide his terror.
"I had to wrap your rib cage very tightly to keep the bones in place," boomed Genba's voice into his ears. "They should heal just fine, provided you avoid too much movement."
The relief was overwhelming. Akitada said weakly, "Oh!" and opened his eyes again. He thought. There had been something else he needed to ask. "But how did I get here? And what is this about Hitomaro?" He craned his neck, risking another jolt of pain, to look for the burly swordsman.
Tora told him, "It was a lucky thing Hitomaro did not trust that snake Okura and went back to follow you. Come over here, Hito, and tell him what you did."
Hitomaro crept up reluctantly. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you, sir," he muttered, his eyes lowered, "but glad I could be of service."
"What happened?"
"I caught up with you on Omiya Avenue, between the corner and the first palace gate where the paulownia trees hang over the walls of the palace. They were lying in wait for you, one in the tree above you, the other on the wall. When the first one dropped down on you, the other jumped from the wall with a knife. Only by then I was there and made short work of them."
Tora cried, "Beautiful work, brother! Couldn't have done better myself."
"Heavens," said Akitada weakly. "You saved my life. Who were they?"
Hitomaro hung his head even lower. "I'm afraid I had to kill them, sir. There was so little time. But I'm sure Okura was behind this. It occurred to me that if a man promises such rewards, he doesn't expect to be called to account." He gave Akitada an earnest look and added, "If the dead thugs cause any problems for you, sir, I am prepared to turn myself in."
Akitada could guess what such a promise would mean to him. "Nonsense!" he said. "I won't allow it. It seems I owe you an apology. I am sorry for the way I treated you. What happened to the bodies?"
"I had to leave them there and carry you back."
"If they are known criminals, chances are we won't hear any more about it. However, I am deeply indebted to you, my friend, especially since you tried to warn me. Facing two armed assassins single handedly was a very brave thing to do."
Hitomaro grinned. "Not at all, sir. They were not trained fighters, and I had my sword."
Akitada said, "You seem to have a remarkable understanding of human nature, Hitomaro. You were quite right to warn me, and I was careless. It was highly unlikely that Okura would let me live, let alone pay off so handsomely. I owe you my life and must find a way to repay you. We have very little money, but perhaps there is some other service I can do for you. Feel free to ask for anything that may be of use to you."
Hitomaro shook his head, but he exchanged a glance with Genba.