It was the wisest choice, but something held Tora-—a strange and perverse urge to get over the wall and into the slasher’s lair as soon as possible.
Shivering with cold and light-headedness and in spite of a monstrous headache and assorted other pains, Tora retraced his steps to the back of the property and took a closer look at the ramshackle storehouses.
He found a section of broken but sturdy fencing, just long enough to prop against the wall for a ladder. He listened. Everything was quiet, and he decided that whoever was inside had gone to bed.
Tora climbed up, straddled the wall, and looked down on the other side. A far jump, but it could not be helped. Thick stalks of bamboo grew close to the wall and he leaned out to take hold of one to break his fall and jumped. The bamboo bent and made an infernal noise, creaking and rustling as if a huge bear were rampaging about, but Tora landed quite softly. After the bamboo had snapped back with more hideous racket, he waited for a few moments, but all remained quiet.
Carefully he made his way through the grove, pausing from time to time to make sure that the rustling sounds around him were no more than the night breeze in the leaves or some small animal. In the darkness it took him a long time to get close enough to the house to see its size and layout. It was larger than he had expected and in good repair. But the garden had been allowed to grow into a tangled wilderness, the bamboo covering everything except a small area surrounding a large leafless tree some distance away.
The house was plunged in silence and darkness. Tora considered going inside, but without knowing precisely where the slasher was, this was impracticable. At a loss, Tora glanced around the garden again. A distant crackling sound attracted his attention. Whatever was moving through the bamboo sounded larger than a rat or cat. He decided to explore.
The sounds came from the direction of the tree. He followed a narrow well-trodden path through the bamboo thicket to the clearing and stopped. Pale in the murky darkness, rolls of paper lay scattered about. A large upturned basket rested among them, and a long rope dangled from a branch of the tree. There was nobody about.
Tora approached cautiously. A container of brushes and a large inkstone and water container stood near the basket. Beside the tree, a water bucket lay on its side among some rags. Whoever had worked here was messy; Tora decided. He kicked one of the papers and it unrolled.
There were drawings on it. In the gloom it was hard to see, but they seemed to be pictures of a nearly naked man tied to a tree. Tora eyed the tree and the rope. Then he picked up the picture, and another, and a third. Swallowing sudden nausea, he went to take a closer look at the rope and rags.
The rags had been wet and were beginning to stiffen in the freezing temperature. The rope, also wet, looked frayed. Some shorter pieces of rope on the ground showed dark stains. Picking up one of these, Tora raised it to his nose. Blood! He had found the slasher, and he had been torturing some other poor bastard even as Tora closed in on him. Tora wondered if the monster had dragged away a corpse to bury it. Perhaps that was when he had heard something. He glanced around the perimeter of the clearing.
He was lucky, for at that moment he caught sight of someone rushing down the path toward him. In this light, it seemed an apparition, moving silently, its face distorted like a goblin’s and a long knife in its right hand.
Shaking off a superstitious panic, Tora dropped the piece of rope and sidestepped the slashing ball of fury, tripping him as he passed. The creature was, thank heaven, real enough, and he flung himself on top of the thrashing figure. This time, he took no chances. He remembered the strength of this small, agile creature. Catching the flailing knife arm, he twisted it back so violently that the man’s shoulder dislocated with a snap. With a shrill scream, the slasher stopped moving.
Tora threw the knife deep into the bamboo, made sure his captive had fainted, and got the rope pieces to tie him up securely.
Meanwhile, the night had become less murky. His surroundings began to take shape with sharp outlines. It must be close to dawn. In the faint light, Tora saw that the rope ends he was using were frayed and torn, not cut. Whoever had been tied to that tree had managed to free himself. Breaking the heavy rope must have taken extraordinary patience and strength.
Tora rose to his feet. The clearing lay empty and silent. He called out, “Hey! It’s safe! You can come out now.”
No response. Somewhere a bird chirped sleepily. It occurred to Tora that whoever had escaped the slasher’s torture would hardly emerge from his hiding place at the invitation.
Making a methodical circuit of the clearing, he saw where dried weeds and fallen leaves had been disturbed by something large rolling or dragging through the bamboo. For a moment, Tora feared that the slasher had managed to kill his victim after all and had dragged the corpse away. But then he found the partial print of a bare foot. The monster’s victim had been too weak to walk and had crawled away, pushing and clawing forward with toes and hands. Cursing under his breath, Tora followed the track as quickly as he could, prepared at any moment to stumble over the dead or unconscious body of a mutilated person.
Preoccupied with the ground, he did not see the wall or the pale figure leaning against it. One moment his eyes were fixed on the earth, the next there was a flash of movement, and he felt a blinding pain on the back of his skull. Sagging to his knees, he plunged into darkness.
Tora was the last person Akitada had expected to see emerging from the bamboo thicket. Thinking only of Noami, he put the last shred of his remaining strength into raising and bringing down the rock at the precise moment when the leaves parted. It seemed an eternity passed, and when the moment finally came, Akitada’s arms acted independently. He could do no more than slow the violent descent of the rock at the last moment. Too weak to control the downward stroke, he watched in horror as Tora crumpled before him. Letting the stone drop from his lifeless hands, he began to shake again. He had killed his friend who had come to his rescue.
He fell to his knees beside Tora. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he sobbed, hot tears stinging his cheeks as he rocked back and forth. He stroked Tora’s head and his swollen hands were covered with warm blood. With an inarticulate cry, he collapsed across Tora’s broad back.
“Sir? Sir? Is that you, sir?”
When the words penetrated the fog of weakness and misery, Akitada struggled up. “Are you alive, Tora?” he asked feebly. “I thought you were Noami, come back to finish me off.”
Tora sat up, too, holding his head. He chuckled weakly. “And I thought you were the slasher’s accomplice. That’s the third knock my head caught tonight.”
The sky above had turned a silvery gray, and birds chirped all around them.
“I’m sorry,” Akitada said again. He was still shaking, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably, but he looked at Tora with joy. “I’m so glad you came. Yori got home, then?”
“Yori?” Tora lowered his hands and stared at his master. “Holy heaven!” he exclaimed. “What did that bastard do to you?”
Akitada smiled bitterly through chattering teeth. “An experiment in artistic realism. The effect of freezing on the human body. For the hell screen,” he said with some difficulty, and struggled to his feet. “Never mind that. What about Yori?”
Tora stood up. “I don’t know about Yori. I haven’t been home since yesterday morning.”
Akitada suddenly felt faint. “Dear heaven! Then the child is still lost. Come. We must find Yori.” He grasped Tora’s shoulder for support. “Before Noami catches us.”
“If he’s an ugly little runt with spiky hair, I’ve caught him.” Tora slipped off his ragged coat and shirt. These he wrapped around his master and then put his arm about him to support him. “Your hands, sir,” he muttered. “They look terrible.” Akitada hid them inside Tora’s quilted jacket.