The Scarecrow pushed Tora into the training hall. They arrived in the middle of some sort of celebration. Tora relaxed a little; surely they would not be quite this happy discussing methods of killing him.
Kata waved and shouted, “There’s a general amnesty.”
The Scarecrow gave a whoop and pulled Tora into the gathering. “That’ll mean three, four more men, and times are good. Lots of empty houses.”
“I make it six,” said Kata. “Denzo and Kiheiji sent word they’re coming to us.”
Tora tried to look cheerful. If the emperor had called for an amnesty-and because of the epidemic it was all too likely-the jails would be emptied immediately. The gang had reason to celebrate, but heaven help the decent citizens in the weeks and months to come. As for hoping to have the police arrest Kata and his men for their crimes, the thought was ludicrous. His masquerade was not only dangerous, it had also just become pointless. Tomoe’s death would not be avenged lawfully.
But at least there was no immediate danger. One or two of the men, the Scarecrow among them, still scowled when they looked at him, but Kata seemed friendly enough. The Scarecrow had taken Kata aside to report right after they arrived, but the conversation ended with Kata firmly shaking his head and the Scarecrow slinking off.
Kata was in excellent spirits, smiling broadly and joking with his men until it was time to push back the sliding doors and begin the daily lessons.
For the first time Kata put Tora to work drilling students. Hoping to pick up a little more information before drifting away from the place for good, Tora complied. He worried about the man in the storehouse. During one of the breaks, he asked Kata about the epidemic.
“Good for business,” was the only comment he got.
“The Scarecrow said we’re moving to another place. Where are we going?”
Kata waved him away. “Back to work. You’ll find out soon enough.”
The morning passed slowly. Tora was not yet up to continuous sword practice, even when it was not competitive. He tried to conserve his strength, but felt Kata’s watchful eye on his back. He was also wary of Matsue, but his archenemy did not show up. In fact, the other gang members left, leaving only the students, Kata, Tora, and Kinjiro.
At midday, the lessons stopped. The morning students departed and Kata also disappeared. Tora collapsed against a wall and closed his eyes. Rest was blissful until his stomach began to growl.
With a sigh he fished out his last three coppers and looked at them dubiously. Kata had not mentioned pay. Still, he could not complain: He had offered to work for room and board, and that had been provided. The trouble was, he had eaten little the night before and only two small rice cakes that morning. He glanced toward Kinjiro, who was replacing the wooden swords in their rack. “Hey, Kinjiro? You want to go to the market for some noodle soup?”
Kinjiro stopped. “Can’t. I’m supposed to watch the place till they get back. You go ahead.”
Tora put his coppers away. He wondered why the boy seemed subdued today and got to his feet. “No. I’ll keep you company. Too much food makes me sluggish anyway.”
Kinjiro grunted and went to get a broom. Apparently cleaning the training hall between sessions was part of his duties. Tora watched him for a while, then said, “Wouldn’t you rather do some other work? You could be an apprentice…” His voice trailed off. Honest trades, like mat weaving, cloth dying, paper making and so forth, would not appeal much to the youngster after the exciting adventures promised by Kata and his men. The danger in a criminal career was part of the thrill. Kinjiro probably dreamed of moving up through the ranks until he became an officer himself, maybe even someone like Matsue.
Kinjiro gave a snort of derision. “Too late for that.”
This surprised Tora. “What do you mean?”
The boy shot him a pitying look. “No tradesman’s going to take me on. I’ve got a reputation.” He said it almost proudly.
“You’ve been stealing,” Tora accused.
“That too. But mainly I collect the money.”
Tora opened his mouth and closed it again. Of course. Kata was taking protection money from merchants in the market. Tora could not recall who had told him. For a weekly fee, Kata’s hoods were supposed to protect the merchants from other gangs. If a man did not pay up, they would demonstrate the foolishness of such behavior by ransacking his business themselves. And Kinjiro was sent to collect the money. Naturally he could not now apply for honest work.
Tora had developed a soft spot for the boy. Kinjiro had fallen into a life of crime because he had been abandoned and nothing else had offered. He was trying to make the best of it, but apparently he was not such an enthusiastic gang member after all. Maybe his upbringing in a decent home by a respectable father had something to do with that. Or maybe he lacked the selfish cruelty and bovine stupidity which made for contentment in a life of crime.
“If you could be anything in the world, what would you be?” Tora asked.
Wielding his broom viciously, Kinjiro swept some debris out into the street. “His Excellency, the chancellor, of course,” he sneered. “He’s got more wealth than anybody and tells the emperor what to do.”
“No, seriously.”
The boy leaned on his broom. “I’d want to be what my father was.” He immediately began his sweeping again. “And you?” he asked. “You think you’ll have it easy here? Just drill the students for a few hours every day? Maybe walk to the market with Kata Sensei, watching out for his enemies? You’re a bigger fool than me. If you had any sense, you’d leave now and never come back.”
The last was said so fiercely that Tora’s uneasiness returned. He got up and grasped Kinjiro’s arm. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What’s happened?”
Kinjiro shook loose. “Nothing. I’m just talking,” he muttered and went for an old rag, which he put under his broom to dust and polish the floorboards to pristine cleanliness before the afternoon’s lessons.
“Kinjiro, you heard something. They talked about me, didn’t they? I know Matsue’s trying to get me. He almost did. And now the Scarecrow thinks I’m spying on him. I can’t seem to do anything right.”
Kinjiro glared at him. “Maybe they’ve got reason. You’ve been snooping.”
Tora’s heart plummeted. He looked around nervously. If they suspected him, surely they wouldn’t leave him here with just the boy. He locked eyes with Kinjiro. There was not much point in protesting his innocence. “What are they going to do?”
“How should I know? But I wouldn’t hang around to find out if I were you.”
It was good advice. Unless they were lying in wait outside. “Are you supposed to keep an eye on me?” Tora asked suspiciously.
“What if?”
“You’d be in trouble if I ran.”
Kinjiro stared at him. Then he said, “You’re a fool, Tora. Go! What do you care what happens to me?”
“I care. I don’t treat my friends that way.”
Kinjiro said fiercely, “Then go ahead and get killed. Because that’s what they’ll do as soon as they figure out what you’re up to.” When Tora made no move to leave, he cried, “They’ll probably do it slowly. An ear first, then another. Then your nose and your tongue. After that, a hand, a foot, your privates. You aren’t going to know about the rest.” He was practically in tears.
Tora took the boy by his bony shoulders and shook him. “If you know all this about them, what are you doing here? What would your father say?”
Kinjiro tried to free himself. When Tora held on, he cursed and kicked and punched him. Tora ended up wrapping both arms around the thin, gasping figure and holding him until he calmed down. Kinjiro shook with sobs.
He released the boy then but left his hands on his shoulders. “I think we’d both better get out of here,” he said.
Kinjiro sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I could go back to the post stable,” he said miserably. He put away the broom and rag and brushed off his clothes. “All right. I’m ready. Let’s go before they get back.”
But they were too late. The peace of the midday hour was broken by the sound of a large number of people approaching outside. They looked out and saw the gang. Led by the Scarecrow, they walked close together with an air of grim anticipation. It took Tora only a moment to realize the magnitude of the trouble he was in; the group parted and revealed in its midst a lopsided creature who was grinning malevolently at him. The beggar from the market.
Tora thought of making a dash for it. In fact, he had taken a few steps toward the back door, when it opened and Matsue and Kata walked in.
After that, things moved quickly. The gang entered from the street and slid the doors shut. They formed a circle around Tora. Cut off from the outside world, the hall had become dim and secretive. Nobody talked.
The Scarecrow took the beggar by the arm and led him to Kata. “He’s got quite a story to tell,” he announced grimly.
Kata let his eyes slide to Tora, then told the beggar, “Talk.”
The beggar bowed deeply and whined, “Important information, Master. Worth at least a gold coin.”
Kata raised a fist. “I pay you, scum. You work for me.”
Tora felt sick. He had been a fool to trust the beggar. Who better to keep an eye on the market and Kata’s clients than he? And the bastard was even missing a finger, often a sign of gang membership.
The beggar knelt, crying, “Yes, yes. Of course, Master. Right away. Only you’ll see, it’s of the greatest importance to you. All I ask is that you remember the service this insignificant person is doing you. I’m a poor man… Aiihh!” He squealed as the Scarecrow’s booted foot connected with his ribs.
Kata pointed to Tora. “You know him?”
The beggar nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes. He abused me not two days ago. When I cried for help, he tried to bribe me to tell him about you. I didn’t tell him, but he already knew something. He works for the police. When the others told me he was passing himself off as one of us, I knew right away you were in danger and came to warn you.”
Kata looked at Tora. “You disappoint me,” he said sadly. “I liked you. But I don’t like being made a fool of. I don’t like liars. And I especially don’t like police informers.”
Tora’s mind raced. “The scum is lying. I would never work for the police. That’s a serious insult to a man’s character. The crooked little bastard tried to extort money from me, claiming I kicked him. I took the slug aside and gave him a drubbing, and now he’s getting his revenge by telling lies about me.”
Kata’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I believe you?”
“Look at him! He’d kill his grandfather for a few coppers. And if the bastard lies about me, he’ll lie about you. Today he’s selling me; tomorrow it’ll be you. Remember, he’s the one that told me about you in the first place.”
Kata looked confused by this logic, but he turned on the beggar, “What did you tell him about me?” he growled.
The beggar shrunk away. “Nothing. I swear. He was asking about the blind singer. He thought you’d killed her.”
Kata’s jaw sagged. “Tomoe? He thought I’d killed Tomoe?”
“Yeah. Just like a stupid policeman.” The beggar tried a conciliatory grin.
Kata turned to Tora. “What do you know about Tomoe’s murder?”
Tora decided his safest bet was to claim ignorance. “Nothing. He’s making it all up.”
This brazen denial outraged the beggar, who began to jump up and down. “You threatened me. You said you were police. You said you were investigating her murder. You wanted to know who the gang boss was that had been talking to her. You choked me and made me tell you-”
Kata’s face turned an angry red. “So you did talk.” He back-handed the beggar so viciously that he went flying into two of the gang members. Then he turned back to Tora. “You told the truth about that, but everything else was a lie, wasn’t it?”
“I’m not with the police,” said Tora, trying to bluster. “And I’ll not be insulted and called a liar. I have my pride. You can have your job.” He turned to walk off, but the circle of men closed against him. Tora clenched his fists. “Tell your goons to let me pass. You can’t keep me here against my will.”
Matsue spoke for the first time. He drawled, “Search him!”
Tora tried to make a break for it, but instantly five knives were inches from his throat and he could smell the bad breath of the thugs who crowded around him.
Matsue laughed. “What can you do now, mouse catcher? If you are who you say you are, nobody’ll miss you. And if you’re working for the police, you’re guilty. Either way, you’re a dead man.”
Tora hoped he was wrong, but then Kata said, “Search both of them.”
Of course they found Matsue’s document. They passed it to Kata, who glanced at it and passed it to Matsue.
Matsue stared at it and then at Tora. “So,” he said, “you’re a snoop and a thief. There’s more to this than looking for the blind bitch’s killer. I’m going to enjoy getting the truth out of you before I kill you.”
The beggar was next. He squealed with outrage when they took away the pouch he carried on the rope that held up his pants. The pouch contained a large number of coppers and two pieces of silver. Kata was about to put them back when he looked more closely at one of the silver pieces. “Matsue,” he said, “have a look.”
Matsue looked. “Two characters are missing. Is that the one you gave her?”
Kata nodded. He kept the coin and threw the pouch back at the beggar. Then he turned to Tora. “You’re not stupid, whoever you are. You know we can’t let you go.” He gestured and the men around Tora stepped back.
Tora scanned implacable faces. Only Kinjiro cowered in a corner, his eyes wide with terror. “What’re you going to do?” Tora asked hoarsely.
Nobody answered. The others, even the whimpering beggar, had become very quiet. The silence was heavy with anticipation. Tora had witnessed it only once before when he was a soldier and had attended the execution of a deserter. Just like the condemned man’s comrades, they all knew what was next. He saw it in their faces. They looked back with avid eyes, moistened their lips, waited for his futile panic when Kata or Matsue would give the signal.
But instead the silence was broken by a knocking on the street doors. “Sensei?”
One of Kata’s men cursed; another said, “It’s the students.”
Kata gave brisk orders. “Tie them both up and lock them in the shed until tonight. I want a watch kept on them.”
When the beggar tried to protest too loudly, Matsue knocked him out with a brutal blow to the temple. Tora allowed himself to be bound. They hobbled his legs and tied his wrists behind his back, looping the rope around his neck in such a way that he could not move his arms without strangling himself. Then they took him and the bound and unconscious beggar to the small shed where Tora had been left earlier. This time they locked the shed door and left a guard outside.
Tora did not waste time on self-recrimination. He considered his options. The trouble was, there did not seem to be any. His movements were restricted by the rope around his neck, and outside a guard was leaning against the locked shed door. The beggar was either dead or still unconscious. If the latter, he would come around soon and certainly raise an alarm if he saw Tora attempting to escape. Tora wondered why they had not been gagged, but realized that the guard outside could cut off any noise before it would disturb the neighbors who, probably knew better than to pay attention to the goings-on here.
The shed was flimsily built and old. No doubt a board or two could be loosened someplace, but how was he to accomplish this? And what was the alternative? To lie here, waiting patiently for the lessons to be over so the cutthroats could kill him without attracting too much notice? What with the amnesty and the raging epidemic in the city, nobody would bother to investigate two more bodies left in a ditch somewhere.
Tora decided to work on his bonds. The worst was the rope around his neck. He had to find a way to loosen that enough to allow himself some freedom to work on his wrists. He tried various contortions, but he only tightened the knots even more.
Breathing hard, he rested and thought about his bonds. He might get more slack in the rope if he knelt and arched his body backwards. Perhaps he could then reach the knot at his ankles. He managed to kneel, but there was not enough give to allow him to move his bound hands, though he could breathe a little more easily. On the other hand, the pain in his back, shoulders, and neck got worse.
They had tossed him down near the pile of sacks and boxes. He shuffled over on his knees to investigate it. The boxes were useless, but there was something hidden under the sacks.
How to move the sacks? Eventually he used his teeth and a slow and painful backward shuffle to drag off one sack at a time. The rope cut off his breath, choking him, and his neck and arm muscles went into spasms so that he had to rest several times, but he persisted and uncovered a large earthenware water jar. Such useful utensils are not abandoned in derelict sheds, but this one appeared to have sprung a leak. A thin crack ran down one side to the bottom.
Unfortunately, the jar was no more help than the boxes or sacks. If it were broken, it might be a different story. Shards had sharp edges and could be used to saw through rope. Tora was not sure how he could manage such a thing, but it was a moot point since he had no way of breaking the jar.
Defeated, he flopped down across the sacks to think about his chances of escaping once they came for him. Short of a miracle, they were nonexistent. He was forced to consider the jar again. He had neither tools nor the use of his hands, and his feet were hobbled too closely to allow him to kick the jar apart. But he could try to break it with his weight.
He checked on the beggar, who had not moved.
Getting up on his feet-not an easy thing to do-he shuffled into position and backed up. Then he sat down with as much force as he dared use with the guard outside. Pain stabbed his back and posterior, but the jar survived. He suppressed a groan, checked the beggar’s motionless figure, and scrambled up again to repeat the process. After the fifth attempt, he heard a faint cracking. On the next try, the jar collapsed. For a moment it felt as though a dozen knives had been stuck into his back and backside. He gritted his teeth and listened. The guard outside had taken to walking back and forth. He was muttering under his breath but appeared unaware of activity in the shed. Tora rolled off the jar and waited until some of the pain receded. The jar had become a pile of smaller pieces, with one large shard pointing upward from the flat bottom. He ignored the warm wetness seeping through his pants and maneuvered the shard into a corner by pushing it with his head, then backed up and brought his wrists up against it.
He needed to rub the rope against the upright shard until it parted-easier thought of than done. The shard kept moving and tipping. Since he could not see it, he had to turn around each time to check what had happened and to reposition it. Meanwhile, the rope-a strong new one-gave no signs of parting. The shard caught his skin more often than it did the rope until his hands were slippery with blood.
To make matters worse, the beggar started muttering and moaning in his corner.
Suddenly there was a scratching against the back wall of the shed, and a soft “Ssst.” Tora hissed back and waited. After a moment, Kinjiro’s voice whispered, “Tora?”
“Yes.” The beggar seemed to have drifted off again.
“Can you get loose?”
Tora could not, but whispered, “I’m working on it.”
“I’ll try to get rid of the guard.”
Tora did not know what to say. What could Kinjiro do? More to the point, what would they do to him if he were caught? He whispered, “Be careful,” but the boy had already gone.
He worked his wrists up and down feverishly. Outside Kinjiro was striking up a conversation with the guard. “Kata Sensei says to cover for you if you want to relieve yourself.”
“Kind of him,” grumbled the man. “I’m about to burst. That snack I had in the market didn’t agree with me. I’ve been stepping from one foot to the other forever.”
His rapid footsteps receded.
Tora heard Kinjiro working the lock. The lad seemed to be trying out keys. There was not much time. If Kinjiro could not open the shed quickly, the guard would be back, and their chance would be lost. He leaned into his labors with total concentration, ignoring the pain in his wrists, ignoring the choking halter around his neck, ignoring the cramping muscles in his arms and back. Outside Kinjiro cursed. Things were not going well. Tora made one more desperate effort, and this time he thought he felt the rope ease a little. Once more, and yes, a definite easing! Then several strands parted. He was almost there. He glanced at the beggar. The man’s eyes were open and watching him.
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.”
Kinjiro considered this. “The blind singer from the market? The one that got knifed? And you joined the gang because you thought Kata killed her?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, you’re wrong about that. Kata didn’t do it. She was his good luck. Since she’s been murdered, he’s been complaining how nothing turns out right any more. I bet he thinks your getting away is just the final blow.”
Tora remembered Kata’s astonishment that Tora should suspect him. Perhaps Kinjiro was right. He frowned. “So maybe he’s out of it, but that still leaves the others. What about Matsue? You said Matsue didn’t like Tomoe.”
Kinjiro thought about it. “I don’t know. I don’t see high and mighty Matsue Sensei sneaking after a street singer. He’d send somebody else.”
“I think you’re wrong. He’d do it himself so Kata wouldn’t find out.”
The boy considered it. “Maybe. But you can’t go back there. It’s too dangerous. Let the police figure out who killed the blind woman.”
“We have another problem. They’ve got some poor bastard locked up in the storehouse.”
Kinjiro looked puzzled. “Are you sure? He isn’t one of us and I would’ve heard if they’d been in a fight with another gang.”
“I’m sure. I think it’s an old man, and he may be sick. He called out for Buntaro.”
“Buntaro?” Kinjiro’s face lengthened. “Oh, my,” he said. “It may be his uncle. Oh, Buddha! He told us the old man had gone to visit relatives in the country. And they did have a bad quarrel the day before.”
Tora was shocked. “Why would he lock up his own uncle in a dark, hot, airless place like that?” Buntaro was the Scarecrow. He remembered the man’s anger when he had found Tora tampering with the storehouse lock. And then he had pounded on the door and shouted a warning about not making trouble or it would be the end of him. It had been meant for the old man inside as well. “What was the quarrel about?” he asked the boy.
“Oh, the same old thing. It’s the uncle’s place and he didn’t want us there. When the old man fetched the police, he scared the wits out of us, but all the constables did was order us to leave. Kata was in a terrible temper. He made us stay away for a day, but then Buntaro said his uncle had left for the country and we went back. I guess the old man never left.”
“Do you know where they keep the key?”
“I know where there are some keys.”
“Good. Come. We’re wasting time,” Tora said. “We’ve got to get him out before his nephew gets rid of him permanently.”
Kinjiro caught his sleeve. “You can’t. They’ll be checking the place. Matsue keeps his stuff there.”
“They’ll do more than check if we don’t hurry.”