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[continuing chapter 10]
The sun was low over the western hills, but still strong enough to warm Hiroki as he made his way north along crowded Muromachi to the rented mansion and evening rice. He was pleased with the results of his meeting with Katsumi, if only because they represented progress on one task — even if that task wasn’t his primary responsibility. He intended to present the two names he had learned to Hosokawa Katsunata, and see if that well-connected young man could provide him with any useful information. And I will be very surprised if he cannot, Hiroki said to himself, shifting toward the centre of the street to pass two porters who were too slow, encumbered as they were, to get out of his way.
About his primary responsibility he was mostly depressed. He could not complain that he had learned nothing over the past few days. Unfortunately, everything he had learned had served only to eliminate suspects from his consideration. Even Lord Miyoshi appeared now to believe that his secretary, Kanegawa, was innocent. Likewise Togashi Shokan, who should have been the best suspect, appeared now to have been nowhere near the capital, much less Lady Tomiko, when the unfortunate woman was killed.
The only remaining suspect — and then only because he knew so little that there was no way of removing her from the list of possible killers — was his mother. How am I going to learn what she is up to, he wondered, if she truly does work for the imperial palace? He had no desire to reveal his true name and rank, and that was what he would have to do if he seriously intended to approach the palace administration on the arms master’s behalf. Perhaps the maids at the lord’s compound know more than they have admitted. He did not want to put anyone to torture, but torturing low-born women was infinitely preferable to letting a murderer go unpunished.
Now his way was blocked again, this time by a single porter whose heavy load was strapped to his shoulders and to his forehead. Angered at the lack of deference the man showed a member of a superior class, Hiroki shouted at him to get out of the way, edging himself to the man’s right side as an opening in the crowd presented itself.
A heavy blow stunned him. He staggered, felt his legs give way, and went to the ground. For a moment the world was suspended in nothingness, a frozen void. Then the pain rushed in to fill him, along with the sounds of shouts and screams.
The porter lay across his torso and legs. The heavy box he carried had smashed into Hiroki’s left leg and now pinned him into the soft, damp surface of the street. “Get up, you clumsy idiot,” Hiroki began.
Then he saw the arrow shaft protruding from the man’s chest. At the same instance a second arrow thumped into the man’s shoulder, a mere hand-span from Hiroki’s own chest. Get me out of here, he prayed.
Then, since he couldn’t move to save himself, he turned his head as best he could to follow the path the arrow must have taken. And there, sure enough, was the bowman, perched on the roof of a two-story shop across the street and about twenty paces to the north.
“There!” he shouted, to anyone who would listen. “He’s on the roof of that shop!”
Hiroki wasn’t entirely certain of what he expected his call to do, but the angry shouts surprised him. And he was astonished when, apparently emerging from nowhere, people bearing staffs and gardening tools charged toward the shop. Another neighbourhood association, he thought through the distraction of the pain.
The bowman hadn’t expected this either, it seemed: he paused in the act of notching a third arrow, stiffened into momentary immobility, then disappeared from the roof and into the rear yard of the shop. No longer at risk, Hiroki gazed at the dead porter’s face. It was a crude thing, indistinguishable from that of any other manual worker in the city. Death had come so suddenly the eyes were still open, giving the man a look of surprise that would only vanish when the body was burned.
And any moment now the dead bowels would loosen. “Help me,” Hiroki called to the crowd that seemed to swim in and out of his vision like so many carp in a pond. “I’m trapped under this box.”
It took three shopkeepers to lift the porter and his burden from Hiroki, and for a brief moment Hiroki thought respectfully about the weight a porter was able to lift. It was only a moment, though, and then a fresh spasm of pain flooded up from his knees to his head and he had no ability to think at all.
When he came to his senses again he was in a palanquin, being carried home. The bearers seemed to know their jobs well, but it would be going too far to say that Hiroki was comfortable. Every time the palanquin shifted for any reason the result was a fresh thrust of pain. There were pain-relieving herbs in his kit back at the mansion; only question was, would he be in a fit state to brew them up when he reached them?
Next Characters Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10
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