TWENTY-ONE

The Mended Flute

When Tora regained consciousness, he thought at first that he had fallen the rest of the way down the ruined pagoda. But the rustling of leaves eventually penetrated the thick fog of pain in his head, and he rolled onto his back to stare up at the night sky. Fronds of bamboo dipped over a garden wall and soughed dryly at the slightest breath of air. He sat up and immediately reached for his head. The stars above were dancing wildly, and the wall undulated like a snake. He had to blink hard several times before the world settled down to its usual solidity.

At that point memory returned. The bamboo grove. The slasher. And someone had jumped him from behind. He felt for the string of coppers in his sash and found it. At least the bastard had not got the rest of his money. That amounted to a miracle. Then Tora recalled the short hooded figure who had twisted from his grip at the gate.

He felt his head again. The crusty lump he had sustained in his earlier fall had spawned a twin. The whole back of his skull was swollen and tender. A short man had struck this blow, and that convinced him that his attacker had been the hooded fellow—the slasher himself ?

It seemed wise to move in case he returned to finish the job.

Tora staggered to his feet, waited a moment for his stomach to settle, then groped along the wall toward the rear of the property. The place was large and the wall high and well maintained but appeared to have no other gates.

The blind backs of storage sheds, belonging to the next street and surrounded by broken fencing, weeds, and shrubbery, adjoined in the rear. Feeling dizzy, Tora sat down to think over his options.

If his attacker had been the slasher himself, it was strange that he had left him unconscious next to his hideout. Why not make sure his victim would not raise an outcry? Maybe he had gone back for his knife. Tora shuddered. On the other hand, leaving a murdered man lying about would cause some awkward questions even in this part of town.

Tora started feeling better, but the sharp night air penetrated his thick clothing. He got to his feet and became aware of a faint moving glow above the dark mass of bamboo behind the wall. Someone was walking around inside with a lantern. He listened and thought he heard a faint voice. So the bastard was not alone!

Tora continued along the wall until he reached the street again, verifying his suspicion that there was no back gate. What now? He could go home and tend to his wounds. After all, it was the middle of the night. Besides, he had probably alerted his quarry. Tomorrow, by daylight, he could return with Genba, knock on the gate, and force his way in. The little creep might be strong for his size, but he was no match for the combined skills of Tora and Genba.

It was the wisest choice, but something held Tora-—a strange and perverse urge to get over the wall and into the slasher’s lair as soon as possible.

Shivering with cold and light-headedness and in spite of a monstrous headache and assorted other pains, Tora retraced his steps to the back of the property and took a closer look at the ramshackle storehouses.

He found a section of broken but sturdy fencing, just long enough to prop against the wall for a ladder. He listened. Everything was quiet, and he decided that whoever was inside had gone to bed.

Tora climbed up, straddled the wall, and looked down on the other side. A far jump, but it could not be helped. Thick stalks of bamboo grew close to the wall and he leaned out to take hold of one to break his fall and jumped. The bamboo bent and made an infernal noise, creaking and rustling as if a huge bear were rampaging about, but Tora landed quite softly. After the bamboo had snapped back with more hideous racket, he waited for a few moments, but all remained quiet.

Carefully he made his way through the grove, pausing from time to time to make sure that the rustling sounds around him were no more than the night breeze in the leaves or some small animal. In the darkness it took him a long time to get close enough to the house to see its size and layout. It was larger than he had expected and in good repair. But the garden had been allowed to grow into a tangled wilderness, the bamboo covering everything except a small area surrounding a large leafless tree some distance away.

The house was plunged in silence and darkness. Tora considered going inside, but without knowing precisely where the slasher was, this was impracticable. At a loss, Tora glanced around the garden again. A distant crackling sound attracted his attention. Whatever was moving through the bamboo sounded larger than a rat or cat. He decided to explore.

The sounds came from the direction of the tree. He followed a narrow well-trodden path through the bamboo thicket to the clearing and stopped. Pale in the murky darkness, rolls of paper lay scattered about. A large upturned basket rested among them, and a long rope dangled from a branch of the tree. There was nobody about.

Tora approached cautiously. A container of brushes and a large inkstone and water container stood near the basket. Beside the tree, a water bucket lay on its side among some rags. Whoever had worked here was messy; Tora decided. He kicked one of the papers and it unrolled.

There were drawings on it. In the gloom it was hard to see, but they seemed to be pictures of a nearly naked man tied to a tree. Tora eyed the tree and the rope. Then he picked up the picture, and another, and a third. Swallowing sudden nausea, he went to take a closer look at the rope and rags.

The rags had been wet and were beginning to stiffen in the freezing temperature. The rope, also wet, looked frayed. Some shorter pieces of rope on the ground showed dark stains. Picking up one of these, Tora raised it to his nose. Blood! He had found the slasher, and he had been torturing some other poor bastard even as Tora closed in on him. Tora wondered if the monster had dragged away a corpse to bury it. Perhaps that was when he had heard something. He glanced around the perimeter of the clearing.

He was lucky, for at that moment he caught sight of someone rushing down the path toward him. In this light, it seemed an apparition, moving silently, its face distorted like a goblin’s and a long knife in its right hand.

Shaking off a superstitious panic, Tora dropped the piece of rope and sidestepped the slashing ball of fury, tripping him as he passed. The creature was, thank heaven, real enough, and he flung himself on top of the thrashing figure. This time, he took no chances. He remembered the strength of this small, agile creature. Catching the flailing knife arm, he twisted it back so violently that the man’s shoulder dislocated with a snap. With a shrill scream, the slasher stopped moving.

Tora threw the knife deep into the bamboo, made sure his captive had fainted, and got the rope pieces to tie him up securely.

Meanwhile, the night had become less murky. His surroundings began to take shape with sharp outlines. It must be close to dawn. In the faint light, Tora saw that the rope ends he was using were frayed and torn, not cut. Whoever had been tied to that tree had managed to free himself. Breaking the heavy rope must have taken extraordinary patience and strength.

Tora rose to his feet. The clearing lay empty and silent. He called out, “Hey! It’s safe! You can come out now.”

No response. Somewhere a bird chirped sleepily. It occurred to Tora that whoever had escaped the slasher’s torture would hardly emerge from his hiding place at the invitation.

Making a methodical circuit of the clearing, he saw where dried weeds and fallen leaves had been disturbed by something large rolling or dragging through the bamboo. For a moment, Tora feared that the slasher had managed to kill his victim after all and had dragged the corpse away. But then he found the partial print of a bare foot. The monster’s victim had been too weak to walk and had crawled away, pushing and clawing forward with toes and hands. Cursing under his breath, Tora followed the track as quickly as he could, prepared at any moment to stumble over the dead or unconscious body of a mutilated person.