Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [190]
This was said less out of resolution than because his emotions were so tangled he couldn’t bear to remain where he was a moment longer. He had to get away and put the whole dreadful day behind him as soon as possible.
With much commotion, the innkeeper was called and requested to take care of Akemi, a task he accepted only with reluctance, despite the money Seijūrō pressed on him.
“I’ll use your horse,” he said summarily to Ryōhei. Like a fleeing bandit, he jumped into the saddle and rode rapidly away through the dark rows of trees, leaving Ryōhei to follow along at a dead run.
The Drying Pole
“A guy with a monkey? Yes, he came by a while ago.”
“Did you notice which way he went?”
“That way, toward Nōjin Bridge. Didn’t cross it, though—looked like he went into the swordsmith’s shop down there.”
After conferring briefly, the Yoshioka students stormed off, leaving their informant gaping in wonder at what the fuss was all about.
Although it was just past closing time for the shops along the East Moat, the sword shop was still open. One of the men went in, consulted with the apprentice and emerged shouting, “Temma! He’s headed toward Temma!” And away they raced.
The apprentice had said that just as he was about to hang the shutters for the night, a samurai with a long forelock had thrown a monkey down near the front door, seated himself on a stool and asked to see the master. Told he was out, the samurai had said that he wanted to have his sword sharpened, but that it was much too valuable to entrust to anyone but the master himself. He had also insisted on seeing samples of the swordsmith’s work.
The apprentice had politely shown him some blades, but the samurai, after looking them over, showed nothing but disgust. “It seems all you handle here are ordinary weapons,” he said dryly. “I don’t think I’d better give you mine. It’s much too good, the work of a Bizen master. It’s called the Drying Pole. See? It’s perfect.” He had then held it up with obvious pride.
The apprentice, amused by the young man’s boasting, mumbled that the only remarkable features of the sword seemed to be its length and its straightness. The samurai, apparently offended, abruptly stood up and asked directions to the Temma-Kyoto ferry landing.
“I’ll have my sword taken care of in Kyoto,” he snapped. “All the Osaka swordsmiths I’ve visited seem to deal only in junk for ordinary foot soldiers. Sorry to have bothered you.” With a cold look in his eye, he had departed.
The apprentice’s story infuriated them all the more, as fresh evidence of what they already considered to be the young man’s excessive conceit. It was clear to them that cutting off Gion Tōji’s topknot had made the braggart cockier than ever.
“That’s our man for sure!”
“We’ve got him now. He’s as good as caught.”
The men continued their pursuit, not once stopping to rest, even when the sun began to set. Nearing the dock at Temma, someone exclaimed, “We’ve missed it,” referring to the last boat of the day.
“That’s impossible.”
“What makes you think we’ve missed it?” another asked.
“Can’t you see? Down there,” said the first man, pointing to the wharf. “The teashops are piling up their stools. The boat must’ve already pulled out.”
For a moment they all stood stock-still, the wind gone from their sails. Then, on making inquiries, they found that the samurai had indeed boarded the last boat. They also learned it had just left and wouldn’t be docking at the next stop, Toyosaki, for some time. The boats going upstream toward Kyoto were slow; they would have plenty of time to catch it at Toyosaki without even hurrying.
Knowing this, they took their time over tea, rice cakes and some cheap sweets before setting off at a brisk pace up the road along the riverbank. Ahead the river looked like a silver snake winding away into the distance. The Nakatsu and Temma rivers joined to form the Yodo, and near this fork a light flickered midstream.
“It’s the ship!” one man shouted.
The seven became animated and soon forgot the piercing cold.