The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn Read online

  The Samurai Detective Series

  by Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler

  The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn

  The Demon in the Teahouse

  In Darkness, Death

  A Samurai Never fears Death

  The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass

  Seven Paths to Death

  The Red-Headed Demon

  “With a sharply authentic voice and an adeptly plotted story that progresses from the haunting ghost legend to the dark, volatile world of a traveling kabuki show, this mystery builds with stirring intrigue and plays out to a most satisfying conclusion.” —Booklist

  ♦ “The Hooblers employ suspense, action, superstition and mystery to entrance readers with this tale of 18th century Japan and a boy’s search for honor. . . . Full of adventure, offering a vivid portrait of Shogun- era Japan, this is a remarkable novel.”

  —Kirkus Reviews, pointer review

  The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn

  DOROTHY & THOMAS HOOBLER

  Smashwords Edition

  copyright 1999, 2014 by

  Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler

  ISBN: 978-1311562302

  Dear Reader,

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. We have put a low price on it because we want anyone to be able to afford it. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

  Sample other titles by Tom Hoobler at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/3337

  To our daughter, Ellen

  Contents

  Preface

  1. On the Tokaido Road

  2. The Inn

  3. A Ghost Story

  4. The Hour of the Rat

  5. Prisoners in the Inn

  6. Looking for a Ghost

  7. In the Tunnel

  8. A Sword for Seikei

  9. The Road to Ise

  10. The Forty-Seven Ronin

  11. The Floating World

  12. An Offering to Amaterasu

  13. A Hard Path to Follow

  14. A New Role

  15. Under the Komuso’s Mask

  16. The Magic of Kabuki

  17. The Double Suicide

  18. A Sword Fight

  19. The Shogun’s City

  20. A Promise to the Spirits

  21. The Rehearsal

  22. The Performance

  23. The Play Is Finished

  24. A Tea Ceremony

  25. The End of the Path

  Author’s Note

  Preface

  By one way of measuring time, it was the year 1735. In Japan, it was known as the twenty-sixth year of the reign of the Emperor Nakamikado. It was the age of the samurai, the hereditary warriors whose code required one’s every action to be guided by loyalty, courage, and honor.

  Japan had known peace for more than a century. In 1603, Ieyasu Tokugawa had defeated the last of his rivals in battle. The emperor made Tokugawa the shogun, or military governor. His descendants had held that title ever since, ruling from their castle in the city of Edo.

  The emperor lived in the city of Kyoto, where he attended to more important matters. Each year he would ask his ancestor, the sun goddess Amaterasu, to continue to protect the land she had founded.

  Between the emperor’s city and the shogun’s city stretched what was then the world’s busiest highway— the Tokaido Road. Thousands of travelers set their feet on the sand-and-stone road each day. Merchants and artisans carried silk, tea, pottery, and shiny lacquered boxes in backpacks or on mules. Pilgrims made the journey to one of Japan’s sacred shrines, hoping the kami who lived there would bestow a blessing or a favor. Occasionally, samurai rode by on their horses. The shogun forbade all carts and carriages on the road, so that their wheels would not create ruts in the smooth gravel.

  On this particular day, a girl and her father stopped to rest by the side of the road. Along came a kago, a passenger-box carried on poles by two husky men wearing loincloths. Inside the kago was a boy about to become a man, about to step inside his dreams. . . .

  1: On the Tokaido Road

  Seikei was tired of riding. The kago swayed back and forth endlessly, making him feel dizzy and sick. Though the floor was lined with silk pillows, the summer heat made the air inside the kago hot and sticky. Seikei slid open the bamboo door and peered outside.

  A girl and an older man were sitting under a pine tree by the side of the road. The girl had removed her sandals and was rubbing her feet. Just at that moment, she looked up and met Seikei’s eyes. Embarrassed, he quickly drew his head inside the kago.

  Seikei wished the girl hadn’t seen him. He felt ashamed to be carried along like some precious cargo. He would have gladly walked. He wanted to see the countryside and enjoy the views of the sea and mountains. But his father would not permit that.

  Seikei’s father was a tea merchant from Osaka, the third of Japan’s major cities. He was going to Edo to open a new branch of his prosperous firm, and he took Seikei, his eldest son, along to learn the business. It was important to make a good impression, Seikei’s father said. They should not enter Edo on foot, like laborers in search of work.

  Remembering this, Seikei sighed and picked up the abacus that Father had given him. The abacus was a wooden frame with rods that held strings of beads. Those who were skilled in its use could rapidly calculate the prices, profits, and inventory needed to run a business.

  Seikei despised the abacus. He would much rather have written poetry. At school, he had won a prize for writing a haiku. But his father had not been pleased. “Writing haiku is a talent expected of a samurai,” Father had said.

  Seikei understood. He could never be a samurai. The only way was to be a member of a samurai family.

  Even though Seikei’s father was wealthy, owned a fine house, and traveled in a kago, he would never be the equal of a samurai. Nor would his children or their children. Rich or poor, they would remain merchants all their lives. And so it was far more important for Seikei to learn to use an abacus than to write haiku.

  Seikei’s thoughts went back again to the girl he had seen. In spite of his efforts to concentrate on the abacus, the words of a haiku began to form inside his head:

  A girl’s feet are sore.

  A merchant in a kago.

  How lazy he is!

  Hours later, Seikei was relieved when he felt the kago- bearers stop. As they set their burden on the ground, he opened the door and stepped out. It was good to stretch his legs, but he saw immediately that the journey was not yet over.

  They had reached a checkpoint in the road. The shogun’s officials were stopping everyone to ask what reason they had for traveling. And the wait would be a long one, for the road was choked with people waiting to be questioned by the officials.

  Dozens of pilgrims were making the journey to Ise, Japan’s holiest shrine. They were led by Buddhist priests and nuns, who tolled prayers on the strings of beads they wore over their orange robes. Two beggars moved through the crowd, holding their bowls out for offerings.

  The large kago that held Seikei’s father immediately attracted their attention. Seikei saw the door slide open, and his father’s hand drop coins into the bowls. Father believed in giving to the needy. He regularly made sacrifices at Buddhist temples, as well as at the shrines of the older Shinto religion. Most Japanese did the same. As Seikei’s father had told him, “All religions may have some truth to them. We must be sure not to offend any of the gods. Particularly since we have been favored with wealth.”

  Seikei looked at the sky. Storm clouds had b
lown in from the sea, and it would soon rain. He hoped they could pass through the checkpoint before the storm, for it would turn the road muddy and make the journey longer.

  Behind him, Seikei heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. As he turned, he saw horsemen holding bright banners with the mon, or crest, of a samurai family. “Make way!” they shouted. Seikei dropped to his knees and bowed his head. The pilgrims at the checkpoint moved quickly to the side of the road and did the same. It was unwise to fail to show a samurai proper respect.

  Cautiously, Seikei raised his eyes as the hoofbeats passed. There were about twenty horsemen. All of them wore the two swords that marked them as samurai. But it was clear that one of them was a daimyo, or lord, who commanded the others. He wore red leather armor and a hachimaki, or headband, that was decorated with his family crest: a fish inside a red square. For some reason, Seikei’s eyes went to the powerful right hand that the man used to hold the reins of his horse. On two of the fingers were massive golden rings.

  Seikei only caught a glimpse of the man’s face, but it was enough to see harsh eyes and a mouth that was scowling cruelly at the delay. Seikei shivered.

  Then, out of the comer of his eye, Seikei saw one of the beggars straighten up and hold out his bowl. “A great man is generous!” the beggar cried.

  Seikei watched, too fascinated to avert his gaze. He saw the samurai flick his reins slightly. Without a break in step, his horse instantly swerved toward the beggar. The man would be crushed beneath its hooves.

  Then something extremely strange happened. Seikei could not believe his eyes. The beggar did a back-flip as easily as acrobats Seikei had seen in Osaka. The samurai’s horse trampled across the spot where the beggar had knelt only a second before.

  The samurai went on, seeming not to notice. But two of his men, following him, touched the hilts of their swords. Seikei held his breath. He knew that if a samurai drew his sword, he was obliged by honor to use it. Their razor-sharp swords, made by the most honored craftsmen in Japan, could cut a man’s head off as easily as if it were a melon. Seikei had heard of that happening even in Osaka.

  However, seeing that their master had passed by and that the beggar posed no threat to him, the samurai did not draw their swords. They kicked the sides of their horses and rode on. The beggar, crouched on his haunches, gave them a terrible look. Seikei saw his face turn into a mask of hatred, and noticed that the man had a long scar on the right side of his face. He was glad that the samurai did not see that look. The beggar must be a madman!

  Seikei crept into his father’s kago and told what he had seen. Father shook his head. “All sorts of people are found on the road,” he said. “Robbers, swindlers, even Kirishitans.”

  Kirishitans? Over a century before, the shogun had banned the foreign religion, and executed all the Japanese who followed it. Seikei had never seen a Kirishitan, but rumors said that some of them still secretly practiced their mysterious faith.

  “You see,” Father went on, “how fortunate we are to be able to travel comfortably and safely in a kago.”

  “Still,” said Seikei, “it would be much better to be a samurai. To have everyone make way for you, bow as you pass by... and to carry the two swords for battle.”

  “For battle?” Seikei’s father snorted. “There have been no battles since the time of Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun. The samurai only use swords on impudent people who do not know their place in life.” He shook his finger at Seikei. “Like merchants’ sons who occupy their minds with poetry.”

  Seikei bowed his head. His father knew him well. And probably he was right. But still . . . Seikei dreamed.

  2: The Inn

  Seikei and his father finally passed through the checkpoint. A short time later, they entered the town of Kameyama, where they planned to spend the night. There were many inns here, and in front of each one stood beautiful girls who called to the travelers who passed by. Each girl urged them to stay at the inn she worked for. “Best food in Kameyama!” some called. “Many servants to see to all your needs,” said others. Two of the girls saw Seikei looking out from his kago. They smiled prettily and gestured for him to stop. When he slid the door shut quickly, he heard them giggling.

  Seikei knew that Father would not stop for these girls. He had made plans for the trip long before they set out. He had a map that unfolded to show each section of the road, and had marked on it the towns and inns where he planned to stay. Father had asked other merchants who had made the trip where the most comfortable places were.

  But when the bearers put Seikei’s kago down, he saw that three samurai guarded the front gate of this inn. They wore the crest of the powerful daimyo they had seen at the checkpoint.

  Seikei’s father stepped out of his kago and bowed deeply. The samurai took no notice. The gate of the inn opened and a man wearing a plain blue kimono came out. “Konnichi-wa! ” he said, greeting Seikei’s father with a bow. He was the innkeeper.

  “Konoike Toda,” said Seikei’s father, giving his family name first, as Japanese did. “A tea merchant from Osaka. Merchants there speak well of your inn.”

  “I am honored,” the innkeeper said. “You see there are guards here. We have an important guest, a daimyo, Lord Hakuseki. I am afraid I cannot offer you our best rooms.” He shrugged. “I can recommend another inn, if you wish.”

  Seikei’s father leaned close to the man and whispered something that Seikei could not hear. The innkeeper smiled and bowed. He made a quick gesture with his hand, and two women immediately appeared in the doorway. They took the traveling cases from the kagos. Seikei and his father followed them into the inn, slipping off their sandals at the door.

  Their room was in fact quite large and clean. The floor was large enough for at least four tatami sleeping mats, though they needed only two. “What did you say to the innkeeper?” Seikei asked.

  “I promised him large thank-money,” his father replied. “Comfort can usually be arranged, if one follows the polite way.”

  Seikei understood. To father, being polite meant offering enough money to get what he wanted. Not like a samurai, who would have slept in the open air rather than offer money to the greedy innkeeper.

  Seikei and his father went to the bathhouse that was attached to the inn and soaked themselves in wooden tubs. The warm water soothed Seikei’s bottom, still sore from being bounced around in the kago all day.

  After they returned to their room, the two serving women brought trays with fish, rice, and tea. The food—especially the tea—was not of the best quality. Father sighed audibly a few times, but made no comment. Seikei ate his meal silently. He wanted to go out afterward and see the town, but knew that Father would probably disapprove of the idea.

  Father loosened the obi around his waist as he finished his meal. He yawned, and Seikei knew it was useless to suggest leaving the inn. A voice sounded outside the sliding screen that served as a door to the room. Father called out permission to enter.

  The innkeeper stood there, bowing. “I hope the meal was satisfactory,” he said.

  “It was adequate,” Father replied. Seikei hid a smile. He knew father feared that the innkeeper wanted more thank-money. “Now we are tired, and were just about to go to bed.”

  “Did I understand you to say you are a tea merchant?” the innkeeper said.

  Father nodded.

  “My honored guest, Lord Hakuseki, has expressed his desire for some fine tea,” the innkeeper said. ‘The inn’s tea is not of the quality he is used to.”

  To Seikei’s surprise, Father replied, “I am sure he would find my tea quite ordinary. It is not meant for a daimyo.”

  The innkeeper paused for a moment. “I would not like to tell him you refused. It might seem rude.”

  Father spread his hands. “In that case, I will of course let him examine what I have. My son must bring it from my kago. Please leave us so that I can instruct him.”

  After the innkeeper departed, Seikei said, “Father, this is a wonder
ful opportunity!”

  Father smiled ruefully. “When you have more experience, you will know better,” he said. “Daimyos make very poor customers. They expect to buy everything at the lowest prices—that is, unless they force you into making a gift of your wares.”

  Father began to instruct Seikei carefully as to which tea he should bring. “Bring a box of the black tea from Nagano, and another box of the smaller black leaves from Tauyama. Lastly, a small portion of green tea that the farmer near Himeji ships us.”

  “You have better tea than that, Father,” Seikei said. “What about—”

  “I don’t need you to tell me about tea,” Father snapped. “The daimyo won’t know the difference. Now go!”

  Seikei went around to the back of the inn where the kagos had been left. The bearers were supposed to be guarding them, but were nowhere to be seen. Hearing the sounds of music and voices from a nearby tavern, Seikei guessed where they had gone.

  When he returned with the tea, he found that Father had changed into a better kimono. After making sure Seikei had brought the correct tea, Father said, “Would you like to come along?”

  Seikei nodded eagerly. He had not dared to ask.

  “It will do you good to see what a daimyo is really like,” Father said. “Chase some of those ideas about samurai out of your head.”

  Seikei quickly slipped off his travel-kimono and put on the one his mother had told him to wear when meeting customers.

  The innkeeper nodded approvingly when he saw them. He led them to Lord Hakuseki’s quarters, and motioned for them to kneel as he knocked on the door. When the door opened, they bowed their heads and moved across the floor on their knees.

  “Well? Is this the tea merchant?” came a loud voice. “You may face me.”

  Seikei raised his eyes. Lord Hakuseki sat cross-legged on a platform in the center of the room. His two swords rested by his side. He was the same daimyo who had ridden by them at the checkpoint that afternoon. Seikei even recognized the two golden rings that the daimyo had worn. Now he was dressed in a magnificent red silk kimono with the fish crest embroidered on it. Standing around the walls of the room were four young samurai, and at the daimyo’s feet were three servant women.