Read Online The Way of the Traitor: A Samurai Mystery by Laura Joh Rowland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laura Joh Rowland
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scrambled after it. He landed in the next yard, retrieved the box, ran out the gate, and sped down the street, dodging pedestrians. Ducking into an alley, he leaned against the wall and burst out laughing.
What a perfect getaway! Now he was free as the wind, his dinner in hand. He would overlook Old Carp's thievery just this once. With tears of mirth still wet on his cheeks, Hirata opened the box and found ten round white buns. Eagerly he ate them, savoring the prawns, soy sauce, and scallions in the filling. He licked his fingers and dropped the box in a wooden wastebin. Stomach full and humor restored, he cautiously emerged from the alley, looking both ways. No trace of his guards. He started downhill toward the waterfront in search of leads on the Dutch barbarian.
The streets grew narrower and more crowded as the mansions of Nagasaki's affluent merchants gave way to the modest quarters of humbler townsfolk. Keeping an eye out for the guards, Hirata passed open storefronts and the red torii gate of a Shinto shrine. As he descended a stone staircase, he looked over the rooftops and saw soldiers storming a pottery workshop. More soldiers rushed up the street. One grabbed Hirata by the front of his kimono.
oHave you seen the barbarian? he shouted. oSpeak up, rnin!
oNo, master, Hirata said.
The soldier released him and turned to question someone else. Hirata continued on his way, pleased that the soldier had mistaken him for a masterless samurai. Where he intended to go, he would blend right in.
The sea's fishy smell grew stronger, the screech of gulls louder. Sentries patrolled the beach. The harbor had been cleared of all craft except for the patrol barges and foreign ships. Wooden shacks cluttered the hills' lowest reaches. Nets covered thatched roofs; buckets and ropes cluttered doorsteps and balconies. Interspersed between the shacks were tiny teahouses. Tattered blue curtains hung from the eaves, partially shielding patrons from streets thronged with fisher-folk. Hirata selected a teahouse at random.
Two patrons sat on the edge of the raised floor. Both were old men with wrinkled, weathered skin. Through eyes permanently narrowed against sun and wind, they peered at passersby while clutching sake cups in gnarled hands. oHello, Grandfathers. Hirata bowed. oMay I join you?
They regarded him with lively interest. Heads bobbed on frail necks; grunts arose from scrawny chests as they moved over to make room. Hirata sat in the middle. The proprietor came up behind him.
oA round of sake, Hirata said.
Eagerly the old men raised their cups, cackling, oThank you, master. The proprietor filled their cups, and one for Hirata. They drank. Then the man on Hirata's left peered into his face. oDon't recall seeing you before. He had only three teeth, and his voice was too loud.
oI just arrived in Nagasaki today, Hirata said.
oEh? The man cupped his hand around a hair-filled ear.
Hirata repeated his words, then said loudly, oI just met some soldiers who were looking for a missing barbarian.
The man to Hirata's right snorted. He was so stooped that his chin almost touched his knees. The pipe between his lips shook with the constant tremor of his body. oThey'll never find him.
Hirata asked, oWhy do you say that?
oLet me tell you this, young stranger. Pipe jabbed a bony elbow into Hirata's side. oThere've been some very odd things happening around Deshima. He nodded sagely. oI'm not at all surprised that the barbarian disappeared.
oWhat kind of odd things? Hirata signaled the proprietor for more sake.
Everyone drank, then Pipe, speaking loudly enough for Deaf to hear, said, oEveryone in town knows about the mysterious lights around the island at night. They're purple and green and white, and make a lot of smoke. They float over the water toward Deshima, blinking. He sketched a slow, drifting movement, knotty fist opening and closing to simulate flashes. oAnd then they disappear.
oWhat are these lights?
What a perfect getaway! Now he was free as the wind, his dinner in hand. He would overlook Old Carp's thievery just this once. With tears of mirth still wet on his cheeks, Hirata opened the box and found ten round white buns. Eagerly he ate them, savoring the prawns, soy sauce, and scallions in the filling. He licked his fingers and dropped the box in a wooden wastebin. Stomach full and humor restored, he cautiously emerged from the alley, looking both ways. No trace of his guards. He started downhill toward the waterfront in search of leads on the Dutch barbarian.
The streets grew narrower and more crowded as the mansions of Nagasaki's affluent merchants gave way to the modest quarters of humbler townsfolk. Keeping an eye out for the guards, Hirata passed open storefronts and the red torii gate of a Shinto shrine. As he descended a stone staircase, he looked over the rooftops and saw soldiers storming a pottery workshop. More soldiers rushed up the street. One grabbed Hirata by the front of his kimono.
oHave you seen the barbarian? he shouted. oSpeak up, rnin!
oNo, master, Hirata said.
The soldier released him and turned to question someone else. Hirata continued on his way, pleased that the soldier had mistaken him for a masterless samurai. Where he intended to go, he would blend right in.
The sea's fishy smell grew stronger, the screech of gulls louder. Sentries patrolled the beach. The harbor had been cleared of all craft except for the patrol barges and foreign ships. Wooden shacks cluttered the hills' lowest reaches. Nets covered thatched roofs; buckets and ropes cluttered doorsteps and balconies. Interspersed between the shacks were tiny teahouses. Tattered blue curtains hung from the eaves, partially shielding patrons from streets thronged with fisher-folk. Hirata selected a teahouse at random.
Two patrons sat on the edge of the raised floor. Both were old men with wrinkled, weathered skin. Through eyes permanently narrowed against sun and wind, they peered at passersby while clutching sake cups in gnarled hands. oHello, Grandfathers. Hirata bowed. oMay I join you?
They regarded him with lively interest. Heads bobbed on frail necks; grunts arose from scrawny chests as they moved over to make room. Hirata sat in the middle. The proprietor came up behind him.
oA round of sake, Hirata said.
Eagerly the old men raised their cups, cackling, oThank you, master. The proprietor filled their cups, and one for Hirata. They drank. Then the man on Hirata's left peered into his face. oDon't recall seeing you before. He had only three teeth, and his voice was too loud.
oI just arrived in Nagasaki today, Hirata said.
oEh? The man cupped his hand around a hair-filled ear.
Hirata repeated his words, then said loudly, oI just met some soldiers who were looking for a missing barbarian.
The man to Hirata's right snorted. He was so stooped that his chin almost touched his knees. The pipe between his lips shook with the constant tremor of his body. oThey'll never find him.
Hirata asked, oWhy do you say that?
oLet me tell you this, young stranger. Pipe jabbed a bony elbow into Hirata's side. oThere've been some very odd things happening around Deshima. He nodded sagely. oI'm not at all surprised that the barbarian disappeared.
oWhat kind of odd things? Hirata signaled the proprietor for more sake.
Everyone drank, then Pipe, speaking loudly enough for Deaf to hear, said, oEveryone in town knows about the mysterious lights around the island at night. They're purple and green and white, and make a lot of smoke. They float over the water toward Deshima, blinking. He sketched a slow, drifting movement, knotty fist opening and closing to simulate flashes. oAnd then they disappear.
oWhat are these lights?