bamboo, was a long plug of mud holding together large clumps of oblong
oban
gold coins.
“What?” Hishigawa asked, stunned.
“There’s your gold,” Kaze repeated.
“How?” Hishigawa said, shaking his head in befuddlement.
“When you went to get Goro and Hanzo, I opened your strongbox. Then I cored out this bamboo and dropped the gold coins from the strongbox down the bamboo. I used your pot for tea water to pourmud into the shaft so the coins wouldn’t move around or make noise. Most of your gold is in this shaft, but the other shaft also has some. I put rocks in the strongbox so it would be heavy and tied it up again.”
Hishigawa fell to his knees and reached up with a trembling hand to touch the bamboo shaft of the cart.
“It’s all there?” he asked in wonder.
“Yes.”
“My gold.”
“I thought it would be a shame to lose the gold, but, if necessary, I knew it would be so much easier to give the bandits the strongbox. The fact that I was able to give them the strongbox in a way that caused them great effort to retrieve it was just a gift from the Gods.”
“My gold,” Hishigawa repeated, still stunned by the sudden reversal of fortunes.
“Come on,” Kaze said, “let’s get down to the barrier.”
A s Hishigawa went into the guardhouse to report the bandits and arrange for an armed escort into Kamakura, Kaze took Goro and Hanzo to one of the nearby stands that served refreshments. These were simple structures made of bamboo lashed together into a crude framework, with a rough thatched roof and wooden benches that served as both seats and table for weary travelers. In one corner of this stand was a stove made of mud, where tea water was heated and food was cooked.
As he entered the stand, Kaze asked the proprietor, a wizened man with a face like old leather from working outdoors in the summer sun and winter cold, if he had seen a trio of travelers consisting of an old woman, a youth, and an old, thin servant.
“An obaasan, a grandmother, with a headband? On the headband the kanji for ‘revenge’?” the old man said.
“The same!”
“Yes. They went through here a few days ago. That was one tough old granny!” The man cackled. “I thought she was going to run me through with that spear she carries when I wouldn’t give her a discount.Argued with me for the longest time, then finally took her business next door. Heard her arguing over there, too. She was something.”
Having been so lucky, Kaze took a chance. “Is there a nine-year-old girl around here? She would have come within the past two years, possibly sold as a servant.”
The old man scratched his head. “No, sorry, Samurai, there’s nobody like that in these parts.”
Hiding his disappointment, Kaze thanked the old man for the information, sat on a bench, and ordered hot tea and roasted gingko nuts on tiny bamboo skewers. Goro and Hanzo, not used to partaking of the amenities of the world, sat together on a bench. They were curious about Kaze’s inquiries but so uncomfortable about being in the snack stand that they remained silent. The meager earnings from their farm made spending money on tea and service an unthinkable luxury.
Kaze was handed a brown earthenware cup, and then a woman with a coarse red face came by with a large copper teakettle that she used to fill it with steaming green tea. She went to serve Goro and Hanzo as Kaze lifted the cup to his face, content to drink the hot bitter liquid. He was happy he was going in the right direction to track down the trio and had decided to let his karma take him where it willed, even if it meant being recognized by the Tokugawa guards at the barrier. His mind was clear and he was unafraid.
He was in the midst of taking a second drink when he felt two men behind him. He put the cup down, stood, and turned before the men could get within a sword’s length of him.
“It’s the man who’s kind to flies,” one of the men said.
Kaze smiled. They were the two
oban
gold coins.
“What?” Hishigawa asked, stunned.
“There’s your gold,” Kaze repeated.
“How?” Hishigawa said, shaking his head in befuddlement.
“When you went to get Goro and Hanzo, I opened your strongbox. Then I cored out this bamboo and dropped the gold coins from the strongbox down the bamboo. I used your pot for tea water to pourmud into the shaft so the coins wouldn’t move around or make noise. Most of your gold is in this shaft, but the other shaft also has some. I put rocks in the strongbox so it would be heavy and tied it up again.”
Hishigawa fell to his knees and reached up with a trembling hand to touch the bamboo shaft of the cart.
“It’s all there?” he asked in wonder.
“Yes.”
“My gold.”
“I thought it would be a shame to lose the gold, but, if necessary, I knew it would be so much easier to give the bandits the strongbox. The fact that I was able to give them the strongbox in a way that caused them great effort to retrieve it was just a gift from the Gods.”
“My gold,” Hishigawa repeated, still stunned by the sudden reversal of fortunes.
“Come on,” Kaze said, “let’s get down to the barrier.”
A s Hishigawa went into the guardhouse to report the bandits and arrange for an armed escort into Kamakura, Kaze took Goro and Hanzo to one of the nearby stands that served refreshments. These were simple structures made of bamboo lashed together into a crude framework, with a rough thatched roof and wooden benches that served as both seats and table for weary travelers. In one corner of this stand was a stove made of mud, where tea water was heated and food was cooked.
As he entered the stand, Kaze asked the proprietor, a wizened man with a face like old leather from working outdoors in the summer sun and winter cold, if he had seen a trio of travelers consisting of an old woman, a youth, and an old, thin servant.
“An obaasan, a grandmother, with a headband? On the headband the kanji for ‘revenge’?” the old man said.
“The same!”
“Yes. They went through here a few days ago. That was one tough old granny!” The man cackled. “I thought she was going to run me through with that spear she carries when I wouldn’t give her a discount.Argued with me for the longest time, then finally took her business next door. Heard her arguing over there, too. She was something.”
Having been so lucky, Kaze took a chance. “Is there a nine-year-old girl around here? She would have come within the past two years, possibly sold as a servant.”
The old man scratched his head. “No, sorry, Samurai, there’s nobody like that in these parts.”
Hiding his disappointment, Kaze thanked the old man for the information, sat on a bench, and ordered hot tea and roasted gingko nuts on tiny bamboo skewers. Goro and Hanzo, not used to partaking of the amenities of the world, sat together on a bench. They were curious about Kaze’s inquiries but so uncomfortable about being in the snack stand that they remained silent. The meager earnings from their farm made spending money on tea and service an unthinkable luxury.
Kaze was handed a brown earthenware cup, and then a woman with a coarse red face came by with a large copper teakettle that she used to fill it with steaming green tea. She went to serve Goro and Hanzo as Kaze lifted the cup to his face, content to drink the hot bitter liquid. He was happy he was going in the right direction to track down the trio and had decided to let his karma take him where it willed, even if it meant being recognized by the Tokugawa guards at the barrier. His mind was clear and he was unafraid.
He was in the midst of taking a second drink when he felt two men behind him. He put the cup down, stood, and turned before the men could get within a sword’s length of him.
“It’s the man who’s kind to flies,” one of the men said.
Kaze smiled. They were the two
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