The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn by Tom Hoobler Page B

strained to see above the
crowd. On the wooden porch of the shrine stood a group of
white-robed Shinto priests. No one but them could actually go
inside the shrine.
    As the people passed by, the
priests waved smoking sticks of incense at them. The pilgrims
reached out to catch the perfumed smoke in their hands and wave it
over their bodies, for it was said to cure illness. Seikei saw a
mother carrying a child with no legs, trying to get close to the
smoke. He could hear people in the crowd crying out with joy or
weeping softly as the smoke wafted over them.
    Finally his part of the crowd
reached the steps of the shrine. Seikei saw large bowls there,
overflowing with coins and countless other offerings that people
had left. Many families had brought food that they had grown. A
little girl left an onion; an aged farmer set down a gourd that
grew in such an unusual shape he was convinced a kami lived within.
Craftsmen offered examples of their finest work—statues of the
goddess, beautifully woven mats and cloth, paper fans and
umbrellas. Among the offerings was a little doll that a child must
have given.
    Seikei thought of Michiko, and was
glad she could not see him now. Disgraced by the loss of his sword!
If he could not recover it, the only honorable thing to do was kill
himself. That was what a samurai would do.
    Suddenly, he felt someone grasp
his elbow. As he turned, he saw Tomomi’s face glaring down at him.
“I thought you would be here sooner,” Tomomi said. “Laziness is a
bad habit in one who would pretend to be a samurai.”
    “So is deceit,”
Seikei replied hotly. He pointed to his sword, hanging from
Tomomi’s belt. “And theft.”
    “No theft,” said Tomomi, “I won it
from you in combat.”
    “What about the jewel that belongs
to Lord Hakuseki?” Seikei replied.
    Tomomi raised his eyebrows and
opened his eyes wide. “How do you know about that?” he asked in a
low voice.
    Seikei knew he
should not have spoken of the jewel. “I... I was in the inn on the night
it was stolen,” Seikei said. “But it was found,” he added hastily.
“In the room of a paper-maker.”
    Tomomi cocked his head and looked
strangely at Seikei. “I have the feeling I have seen you somewhere
else, before last night. Tell me, if the jewel was found, why did
you mention it now, to me? Do you mean to accuse me of a crime I
didn’t commit?”
    Seikei felt caught by the man’s
piercing eyes. He tried to think of an answer.
    “No matter,” Tomomi said with a
shrug. “It seems that fate has brought you to see this.” He reached
into his robe, and drew something out of it. He held his clenched
fist under Seikei’s nose, and slowly unfolded his
fingers.
    The shining red jewel rested on
his palm. Seikei gasped. Light shone from deep within it, like
blood pouring out onto Tomomi’s hand. It was not like glass at all.
Seikei realized why people prized jewels so highly. This one must
be almost as beautiful as the ancient jewel that was supposed to be
kept here in the temple of Ise. That jewel was the very one
Amaterasu herself had given to the first emperor long, long ago, as
a sign of her blessing.
    “A worthy offering for Amaterasu,
don’t you think?” said Tomomi.
    Seikei tore his eyes away from the
jewel and looked at Tomomi. What could he mean? It must be one of
his cruel jests. Yet as Seikei watched, Tomomi turned and dropped
the ruby into one of the offering-bowls at the foot of the temple
steps. It rolled off the pile of coins and lay on the edge of the
bowl.
    It took a great effort for Seikei
to control himself. He wanted to reach down and take the jewel
back. That, of course, was unthinkable.
    He turned back to Tomomi, who
smiled as if he were basking in the applause of an audience.
Slowly, he drew the wooden sword from his belt. “Here,” he said.
“You have served me, and I fulfill my part of the bargain.” He
turned and began to walk away.
    Seikei caught him by the sleeve.
“Wait. I don’t understand.