leaning against one of the pillars. Both were naked and their
bodies were crimson with blood.
A second glance showed why. Wada had been cutting Little
Flower’s breasts and belly with the sharp blade of his sword. She
was covered with crisscrossing cuts, not deep enough to kill but
enough to cover her and Wada with blood. When she saw Tora,
she gave a little sob and sagged against the ropes that tied her
wrists behind the pillar.
Wada cursed viciously, his face distorted with fury, and
came for Tora with his bloody sword.
Tora, tall and athletic, had been rigorously active all of his
life. Wada was shorter, older, and had gone soft about the mid-
dle from too much good living and debauchery. It should have
been easy. Tora stepped aside, thinking to disarm the man in
one swift, smooth movement. But Wada, for all his years of bad
living, had one advantage. Unlike Tora, he had been trained by a
master in the military arts, and his use of the sword had become
instinctive.
Thus Wada corrected instantly and slashed at Tora’s belly so
quickly that only Tora’s alertness and youth allowed him to
twist aside in time. He bit his lip and concentrated on blocking
Wada’s blade, which seemed to come at him from all directions.
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The man’s technique was far superior to his own, and he could
only count on the fact that Wada’s fury would cause him to
make a mistake sooner or later. And even then, he could not kill
the man. Everything depended on his taking Wada alive.
In the end, it was neither Wada’s superior swordsmanship
nor Tora’s cool deliberation that ended the fight. Part of the
broken door separated from its frame and fell; Wada dodged,
stepped into some of Little Flower’s blood, and slipped, sinking
momentarily to one knee. Tora moved forward instantly, hitting
Wada’s sword arm hard with the flat side of his blade and
disarming him.
Wada’s sword skittered into a corner, and Wada clutched
his arm, doubling up in pain. Tora dropped his sword, then bent
and raised Wada’s head by its topknot. “You’re finished, bas-
tard,” he hissed, and struck him full in the face with his fist.
Blood spurted from Wada’s nose and mouth and he passed out.
Taking up his sword again, Tora went to Little Flower and
cut her loose. She collapsed into his arms, whimpering softly.
“That was a stupid thing to do,” he scolded. “He might’ve
killed you.”
She gulped and mumbled, “I thought you’d never come. He
started cutting deep when I told him about you.”
She was clinging to him, and he thought he felt blood seep-
ing through his robe. “Why did you tell him?” he asked.
“I was afraid. When he used his sword on me, I thought he’d
kill me, so I told him I left a message for someone. He wanted to
know who and kept cutting me until I told him. Then he got
really angry. He called me a cheating whore and said he’d watch
me bleed to death and . . . and . . .” She sagged abruptly and
Tora laid her down on the mat, so recently cleaned by the old
woman and now covered with gore beyond repair. Little Flower
had many cuts, all of them bleeding, but two or three looked
ugly. He snatched her thin undergown from the pile of clothing
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and, tearing it, pressed the fabric to the worst wounds, wonder-
ing what to do next. He could hardly call for help with Wada
lying there unconscious.
He was still crouching over the unconscious Little Flower,
both hands pressing fabric to her wounds, when he heard steps
outside. Heavy male boots, and at least three pairs.
He twisted around just in time to see Wada on all fours
crawling toward his sword. Then the broken door flew back
and the brawny figures of Wada’s constables appeared on the
threshold, Sergeant Ikugoro in the lead and evidently bent on
delivering Tora’s message.
It was an awkward moment, and Tora had no time to con-
sider his strategy.
He abandoned Little Flower and plunged for Wada, putting
his foot so hard on Wada’s outstretched hand that he could
hear a bone snap. Wada screamed. Tora turned his head toward
Ikugoro and said, “Good work, Sergeant. Just in time to help me
tie up the prisoner.”
Ikugoro’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. “Wha . . . what’s
going on here?” he managed. Wada moaned and twisted on
the floor, his hand still under Tora’s foot. For a moment, the
outcome hung in a delicate balance.
“Well?” growled Tora. “What are you waiting for? I thought
you were a man of decision.”
“Kill him, you fools,” screamed Wada. “Kill him now!”
Ikugoro stepped forward. “Er, yes, sir,” he mumbled, looking
uneasily from Wada to Tora, “but what happened? Why are you
arresting Lieutenant Wada, Inspector?”
“Look around you. Attempted murder—mine and hers—
for a start. Now let me see if you have the qualities to uphold the law in Sadoshima.”
Wada shouted, “You idiot. Don’t listen to him.”
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321
Ikugoro glanced at Little Flower, sprawled naked and bleed-
ing on the floor, and made up his mind. “Yes, sir. All right, men.
Tie him up!”
The constables stepped forward, unwound the thin chains
they carried around their waists to secure prisoners, and
glanced doubtfully from Tora to Wada. “Which one, Sergeant?”
asked the bravest one finally.
“The lieutenant, you fool. You heard the inspector. The lieu-
tenant’s been at it again, and this time he’s killed the whore.
Better put some clothes on him first, though. Knock him out, if
you have to.”
Tora took his foot off Wada’s hand and left him to the con-
stables. They actually grinned as they pulled up their cursing,
screaming, and kicking commander, put his clothes back on
him, and tied his wrists and ankles. Wada’s hand was turning
dark and swelling to twice its size. He squealed like a wounded
animal at their rough handling. Ikugoro watched the struggle
impatiently, then snapped, “I told you to knock him out.”
“Sorry, Sergeant,” grunted the big constable, and slapped
Wada so hard that his head bounced off the wall and he crum-
pled to the floor.
Ikugoro shook his head. “They never liked the lieutenant
much,” he informed Tora.
“I see. Thank you, Sergeant. Well done. I’ll see this gets men-
tioned in my report. Now we’d better get a doctor to see to
the girl.”
Ikugoro walked over to Little Flower and bent down.
Straightening up, he said, “Not required, sir. She’s dead.”
It was true. Little Flower had lost too much blood, and the
already weakened body had been unable to deal with the deep
wounds Wada had inflicted. Rage filled Tora, rage against the
man who had tormented her and finally killed her as he had
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promised to do, rage against himself for having come too late.
He snatched up his sword and swung around. Ikugoro and his
constables watched him uneasily.
Tora took a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said, and slowly
tucked his sword back into his sash. “Well. We have a crime
scene here, Sergeant. Send one of your men ahead to the coro-
ner. The other two can get a ladder or plank to put the body on
and take it to the tribunal. You, Sergeant, will help me here and
then transport the prisoner to jail.”
Ikugoro did not question the voice of authority, even if the
orders were questionable in the present circumstances. He sent