At that moment the rope parted. Tora was drenched with sweat and his breath was coming in gasps. He loosened the halter around his neck, straightened his painful back, and brought his arms forward. His wrists were a bloody mess, and he grimaced as he undid the rest of the knots with his teeth. Then he untied his feet.
Just in time.
“Hey,” shouted the beggar. “Someone quick! He’s escaping.”
Cursing under his breath, Tora pounced on him and knocked him out again, stifling the man’s shriek. He felt no compunction and had no time to worry about the evil little toad.
Outside, Kinjiro had stopped working the lock and was wrenching at the door instead.
“Back away,” Tora shouted and delivered a mighty kick to where he knew the lock was. The door flew open and he shot out.
“Hurry,” Kinjiro cried, his voice squeaking with panic. “The bastard’s going to be back any second. We’ve got to run for it.”
Their luck ran out immediately. When they rounded the corner, the guard was strolling toward them. His jaw sagged comically; he let out a yell. Tora barreled into him, knocking him down, the boy slid past, and together they ran for the next corner, dimly aware of shouts and pounding feet.
After that they ran for their lives. They dodged piles of refuse, sprinted past a funeral procession, knocked down a small child who had stepped into the street to stare, dove down alleys, and zigzagged through two wards to throw off their unseen pursuers. They did not slow down or look behind them until they reached Ninth Avenue, a busy street marking the southern perimeter of the capital. Here they attracted curious stares. Tora caught up with Kinjiro. “Slow down,” he gasped, “or we’ll have the constables after us, too.”
Kinjiro nodded, but he kept looking over his shoulder. At the intersection with Suzako Avenue, he turned toward Rashomon, the gate leading out of the city.
“Not that way,” Tora said. He pointed to the large temple on the other side of the street. “Quick, in there!”
The Eastern Temple was an ancient complex adjoining Rashomon. It had been designated “Temple for the Protection of the Land.” A steady trickle of people moved through its large gate. The epidemic had brought them here to offer their prayers for relief. Tora and the boy joined the worshippers and climbed the steps to the temple gate. An elderly monk stood there, holding a large collection bowl, his eyes unfocused and his head bobbing rhythmically as each visitor dropped his offering. Tora parted with his last three coppers as they passed through. Instead of following the others to the main hall, he and Kinjiro cut across the courtyard toward the pagoda.
As Tora had guessed, they were the only visitors to the small altar room whose walls and pillars were covered with paintings of the two Buddhist worlds. Exhausted, he collapsed on the steps that led to the floors above.
“Well,” he told the boy, who was inspecting the pictures, “we did it. Thanks for your timely help.”
“Don’t mention it.” The boy suddenly turned and grinned. “That was very good. I can’t remember when I’ve had more fun. Don’t you wish you could see their faces? Bet they’re running around like a bunch of ants back there.” He chortled and came to sit beside Tora. “We’ve got to leave town. How much money have you got, Tora?”
“I just gave the baldpate my last coppers.”
“Stupid.”
“Hey. Remember where you are. You want to go to hell?”
Kinjiro grinned. “Too late to worry about that. We’ll walk a few miles and offer to help a farmer for a meal and a dry place to sleep. Just so we get out of the capital.”
Tora shook his head. “No, we can’t. There’s unfinished business.”
Kinjiro sat up. “Are you mad? You want to go back there again? They’ll kill you. You heard Kata. And Matsue won’t put it off this time.”
“Yes, I know. That’s the point. What we know about Kata and his gang is not much good unless we tell the police.”
Now Kinjiro was on his feet, his face filled with shock and disgust. “You work for the police. The beggar told the truth.” He clenched his fists and cried, “And I trusted you.” He made a sound between a sob and a curse, and rushed out. Tora went after him, groaning when his much abused muscles refused to cooperate. He stumbled down the pagoda steps after the boy, who was already halfway across the courtyard. Tora had visions of his running to warn Kata. He was not afraid that the gang would escape the law, but that they would take their revenge on Kinjiro for letting Tora go. By dint of superhuman effort, he managed to catch up and snag the boy’s shirt just as he was dashing through the temple gate. They fell sprawling at the feet of the gatekeeper. People stopped to see what was happening.
The monk was not amused. “What are you doing?” he demanded sternly, hauling the boy up by the scruff of his neck, and glaring at Tora. “And you a full-grown man, too. Aren’t you ashamed to behave this way in a holy place?”
“Er-” said Tora, quickly hiding his bloody wrists and hands in his sleeves, “ah, well, my son here got frightened and tried to run away. He doesn’t like temples, you see. Says they’re full of ghosts and goblins. I’ve been trying to show him that there’s nothing to be afraid of, but he’s very stubborn. Don’t let him go, please.”
The monk, who had been about to release Kinjiro, got a firmer grip on him. “Is that so?” he asked, looking from one to the other. Kinjiro glared at Tora and attempted a kick at the monk’s shins. “Yes, I see what you mean,” the monk said, giving the boy a shake. “Now, son, if you don’t obey your father, I’ll have to lock you up. There is nothing to be afraid of in a temple. Ghosts and goblins don’t dare enter sacred places. Who has told you such silly and blasphemous tales?”
Kinjiro snapped, “My mother.”
“Amida!” The monk shook his head. “You both have my sympathy. Women are evil and corrupt creatures and will never enter the Pure Land. That is why they spread such tales. Don’t believe their wicked tongues.”
Kinjiro stared at him, then said with feeling, “You’re right. They are evil. I won’t ever believe one again.”
“Then you’ll go quietly in with your father?”
“Yes.” Kinjiro nodded fervently, and the monk released him.
Tora immediately put a protective arm around the boy, smiled at the onlookers, and bowed to the monk. “Thank you for your wise counsel. May the Buddha bless and reward you.”
The monk nodded graciously, and they walked with the others into the courtyard and ascended the steps to the main hall. Tora, who kept his arm firmly around the boy’s shoulders, became aware that they were shaking and that tears seemed to be running down his cheeks. Then he realized that the boy was not crying but laughing. They entered the Buddha hall side by side and found a dark recess near the doors. Up ahead a huge Buddha figure presided over prayer services for the protection of the capital. People knelt and monks chanted, but they were alone in their corner.
“That was so funny,” the boy choked out.
“It was not.” Tora was tired, sore, and irritated. “I almost lost you and I bruised my knees and elbows. You never give a person a chance to explain, do you?”
Kinjiro was still laughing. “That monk must’ve met my mother. Explain what?”
“Promise not to run again?” The boy nodded and Tora removed his arm. “I’m not with the police. I’m trying to clear myself of a murder charge.”
Kinjiro stopped laughing and asked suspiciously, “How come you’re not in jail?”
“My master got me out on his pledge to have me back in court for the trial. He convinced the judge that the police didn’t have a strong enough case against me. You see, I found the murdered woman and was arrested in her room. She was a friend of mine.”