Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [385]
“Over there,” said the boy. He pointed at the establishment on the left and immediately took his leave.
Musashi, having expected a shop like the ones catering to travelers, was surprised. The grilled display window was eighteen feet long, and behind the shop there were two storehouses. The house, which was large and appeared to extend quite a way back from the high wall enclosing the rest of the compound, had an imposing entranceway, now closed.
With a certain hesitancy, Musashi opened the door and called, “Good day!” The large, dim interior reminded him of the inside of a sake brewery. Because of the dirt floor, the air was pleasantly cool.
A man stood in front of a bookkeeper’s cabinet in the office, a room with a raised floor covered with tatami.
Shutting the door behind him, Musashi explained what he wanted. Before he finished, the clerk nodded and said, “Well, well, so you’ve come for the boy.” He bowed and offered Musashi a cushion. “I’m sorry to say, you’ve just missed him. He showed up around midnight, while we were preparing for the master’s trip. Seems the woman he was traveling with was kidnapped, and he wanted the master to help find her. The master told him he’d be glad to try, but he couldn’t guarantee anything. If she’d been taken by a freebooter or bandit from around here, there’d be no problem. Apparently, though, it was another traveler, and he’d be sure to stay off the main roads.
“This morning, the master sent people out to look, but they didn’t find any clues. The boy broke down when he heard that, so the master suggested he come along with him. Then they could look for her on the way, or they might even run into you. The boy seemed eager to go, and they left shortly after that. I guess it’s been about four hours now. What a shame you missed them!”
Musashi was disappointed, though he wouldn’t have been in time even if he had started earlier and traveled faster. He consoled himself with the thought that there was always tomorrow.
“Where’s Daizō going?” he asked.
“It’s hard to say. We don’t run a shop in the ordinary sense. The herbs are prepared in the mountains and brought here. Twice a year, spring and fall, the salesmen stock up here and go out on the road. Since the master doesn’t have much to keep him busy, he often takes trips, sometimes to temples or shrines, sometimes to hot-spring resorts, other times to places famous for their scenery. This time I suspect he’ll go to the Zenkōji, travel around Echigo awhile and then go on to Edo. That’s only a hunch, though. He never mentioned where he was going…. Wouldn’t you like some tea?”
Musashi waited impatiently, ill at ease in such surroundings, while fresh tea was fetched from the kitchen. When the tea arrived, he asked what Daizō looked like.
“Oh, if you see him, you’ll recognize him right off. He’s fifty-two years old, quite robust—looks strong too—squarish, ruddy face with a few pockmarks. There’s a balding spot on his right temple.”
“How tall is he?”
“About average, I’d say.”
“How does he dress?”
“Now that you ask, I imagine that’s the easiest way to recognize him. He’s wearing a striped Chinese cotton kimono he ordered from Sakai especially for this trip. It’s a very unusual fabric. I doubt anybody else is wearing it yet.”
Musashi formed an impression of the man’s character, as well as his appearance. Out of politeness, he lingered long enough to finish the tea. He could not catch up with them before sundown, but he reckoned that if he traveled during the night, he’d be at Shiojiri Pass by dawn and could wait for them there.
By the time he came to the foot of the pass, the sun had disappeared, and an evening mist was descending softly over the highroad. It was late spring; lights in the houses along the road emphasized the loneliness of the mountains. It was still five miles to the top of the pass. Musashi climbed on, not stopping to relax until he reached Inojigahara, a high, level place hard by the pass. There he lay down among the stars and allowed his mind to wander. It was not