Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [155]
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.
The inspector seized the notebook and held it high in the air. “I’d like to have a look at this,” he barked.
“You have no right.”
“Just doing my job!”
“Butting into other people’s business—is that your job?”
“Why? Shouldn’t I look at it?”
“An oaf like you wouldn’t understand it.”
“I think I’d better keep it.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” cried the student warrior, making a grab for the notebook. Both pulled at it, ripping it in half.
“Watch yourself!” shouted the inspector. “You’d better have a good explanation, or I’ll turn you in.”
“On whose authority? You an officer?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s your group? Who’s your commander?”
“None of your business. But you might as well know that I’m under orders to investigate anyone around here who looks suspicious. Who gave you permission to make sketches?”
“I’m making a study of castles and geographic features for future reference. What’s wrong with that?”
“The place is swarming with enemy spies. They all have excuses like that. It doesn’t matter who you are. You’ll have to answer some questions. Come with me!”
“Are you accusing me of being a criminal?”
“Just hold your tongue and come along.”
“Rotten officials! Too used to making people cringe every time you open your big mouths!”
“Shut up—let’s go!”
“Try and make me!” The student warrior was adamant.
Angry veins popping up in his forehead, the inspector dropped his half of the notebook, ground it under foot, and pulled out his truncheon. The student warrior jumped back a pace to improve his position.
“If you’re not going to come along willingly, I’ll have to tie you up and drag you,” said the inspector.
Before the words were out, his adversary went into action. Uttering a great howl, he seized the inspector by the neck with one hand, grabbed the lower edge of his armor with the other, then hurled him at a large rock.
“Worthless lout!” he screamed, but not in time to be heard by the inspector, whose head split open on the rock like a watermelon. With a cry of horror, Matahachi covered his face with his hands to protect it from the globs of red pasty matter flying his way, while the student warrior quickly reverted to an attitude of complete calm.
Matahachi was appalled. Could the man be accustomed to murdering in this brutal fashion? Or was his sangfroid merely the letdown that follows an explosion of rage? Matahachi, shocked to the core, began to sweat profusely. From all he could tell, the other man could hardly have reached the age of thirty. His bony, sunburned face was blemished by pockmarks, and he appeared to have no chin, though this may have been due to a curiously shrunken scar from a deep sword wound.
The student warrior was in no hurry to flee. He gathered up the torn fragments of his notebook. Then he began looking quietly about for his hat, which had flown off when he made his mighty throw. After finding it, he placed it with care upon his head, once again concealing his eerie face from view. At a brisk pace he took his leave, gathering speed until he seemed to be flying on the wind.
The whole incident had happened so fast that neither the hundreds of laborers in the vicinity nor their overseers had noticed it. The workmen continued to toil like drones, as the supervisors, armed with whips and truncheons, bellowed orders at their sweating backs.
But one particular pair of eyes had seen it all. Standing atop a high scaffold commanding a view of the whole area was the general overseer of carpenters and log cutters. Seeing that the student warrior was escaping, he roared out a command, setting into motion a group of foot soldiers who had been drinking tea below the scaffold.
“What happened?”
“Another fight?”
Others heard the call to arms and soon stirred up a cloud