scar flamed against his dark skin, but he shrugged off Hitomaro’s hand. “Not here,” he ground out. “You heard the cook. Mr. Sunada doesn’t like public fights. But we’ll meet again.” He brought his brutish face close to Hitomaro’s. “I’ll know how to find you, asshole. Not here and now, but soon. You won’t forget this day.” He bared yellow teeth in an unpleasant grin and strode away toward the harbor. His band of toughs barred the way until Boshu had gained some distance, then followed him.
Hitomaro looked after them with a frown. When he returned to the restaurant, Genba and the others were gathered about the baker, muttering angrily.
Genba said, “His jaw’s all right, but he bit his tongue and lost two teeth.”
“Who was that bastard?”
The cook looked apologetic. “Boshu is Sunada’s manager. They’re regulars here. I wish I’d seen him come in.”
“Sunada’s the richest man in this part of the country. Can’t blame a man for defending his master,” said Genba peaceably.
Hitomaro exchanged a glance with him, then poured the baker a cup of wine. He said, “I’d better be on my way before they decide to come back and make more trouble.”
Genba nodded. “I’ll walk out with you.”
Outside the road was empty. A salt-laden gust of icy wind hit their faces. In the distance they could hear the roar of the ocean. Flying Goose village, a small huddle of low brown buildings gathered about a larger compound, marked the distant harbor. The square sails of several big ships and the masts of many small fishing boats rocked uneasily in a choppy gray sea. The horizon was lost in a milky haze.
Hitomaro. said, “The bastard wouldn’t fight. Strange, when you think about it. There were enough of them. I don’t like it. It’s a good thing nobody knows who you really are. Find out what you can about this Sunada.”
Genba nodded.
“Last night the old warlord died. Our master thinks his son is the one who’s plotting against us. Are you sure the local people aren’t hostile toward us?”
“They’re good people. You saw what they’re like. This wrestling match is about the only thing they have to look forward to. Their sons are sent to war with the Ezo, and taxes have made them poor. They work too hard to have time for plotting.”
Hitomaro said, “Tora’s working on a murder case, but you and I are to report anything that will help the master get control. I’m off to become acquainted with the hinin women.”
Genba raised his brows. “Better you than me, brother. Not my kind of training. Come to think of it, it’s not much in your line either. Tora should make that sacrifice.” He chortled.
Hitomaro did not smile. “Well, I have no choice. It’s a good way to get information. If you have some more news, we’ll meet at the shrine near the hour of the boar. I’m to report to the master tonight.”
Genba nodded and ducked back inside.
Walking quickly back to the market, Hitomaro dodged the muffled housewives with their baskets near the vegetable stalls, found the pharmacy, and turned down a narrow alley. The deep eaves of adjoining houses almost met overhead. He had been told that the city streets would become tunnels underneath mountains of snow, but at the moment he saw gray sky above. The small Shinto shrine in the next block lay deserted under its pines. He passed it and found another street of small, tidy houses.
Hitomaro hardly knew what to expect of the local pleasure quarter, but it was not this quiet line of modest houses behind bamboo fences. Neither garish banners nor paper lanterns marked this street as special. There were no painted women calling from windows, nor male touts running up and down the street looking for customers. And for music there was only the solitary sound of a single lute. He passed a fan and comb shop without customers and saw only one other person on the street but
Hitomaro looked after them with a frown. When he returned to the restaurant, Genba and the others were gathered about the baker, muttering angrily.
Genba said, “His jaw’s all right, but he bit his tongue and lost two teeth.”
“Who was that bastard?”
The cook looked apologetic. “Boshu is Sunada’s manager. They’re regulars here. I wish I’d seen him come in.”
“Sunada’s the richest man in this part of the country. Can’t blame a man for defending his master,” said Genba peaceably.
Hitomaro exchanged a glance with him, then poured the baker a cup of wine. He said, “I’d better be on my way before they decide to come back and make more trouble.”
Genba nodded. “I’ll walk out with you.”
Outside the road was empty. A salt-laden gust of icy wind hit their faces. In the distance they could hear the roar of the ocean. Flying Goose village, a small huddle of low brown buildings gathered about a larger compound, marked the distant harbor. The square sails of several big ships and the masts of many small fishing boats rocked uneasily in a choppy gray sea. The horizon was lost in a milky haze.
Hitomaro. said, “The bastard wouldn’t fight. Strange, when you think about it. There were enough of them. I don’t like it. It’s a good thing nobody knows who you really are. Find out what you can about this Sunada.”
Genba nodded.
“Last night the old warlord died. Our master thinks his son is the one who’s plotting against us. Are you sure the local people aren’t hostile toward us?”
“They’re good people. You saw what they’re like. This wrestling match is about the only thing they have to look forward to. Their sons are sent to war with the Ezo, and taxes have made them poor. They work too hard to have time for plotting.”
Hitomaro said, “Tora’s working on a murder case, but you and I are to report anything that will help the master get control. I’m off to become acquainted with the hinin women.”
Genba raised his brows. “Better you than me, brother. Not my kind of training. Come to think of it, it’s not much in your line either. Tora should make that sacrifice.” He chortled.
Hitomaro did not smile. “Well, I have no choice. It’s a good way to get information. If you have some more news, we’ll meet at the shrine near the hour of the boar. I’m to report to the master tonight.”
Genba nodded and ducked back inside.
Walking quickly back to the market, Hitomaro dodged the muffled housewives with their baskets near the vegetable stalls, found the pharmacy, and turned down a narrow alley. The deep eaves of adjoining houses almost met overhead. He had been told that the city streets would become tunnels underneath mountains of snow, but at the moment he saw gray sky above. The small Shinto shrine in the next block lay deserted under its pines. He passed it and found another street of small, tidy houses.
Hitomaro hardly knew what to expect of the local pleasure quarter, but it was not this quiet line of modest houses behind bamboo fences. Neither garish banners nor paper lanterns marked this street as special. There were no painted women calling from windows, nor male touts running up and down the street looking for customers. And for music there was only the solitary sound of a single lute. He passed a fan and comb shop without customers and saw only one other person on the street but
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