me.’
The one with the broken arm blustered, ‘He’s a thief. We caught him. We were gonna turn him in.’
Tora fingered the knife. ‘And I’m the Empress Jingo. Try again.’
The other backed away. ‘He’s got a lot of gold hidden.’ He glanced at his companions and offered, ‘We might share with you.’
Their victim raised his voice. ‘They’re lying.’
‘Hmm.’ Tora eyed the small man and decided that he did look like a thief, but a poor one. He turned back to the trio. ‘Let’s see. What should I do with you? I could call for the constables.’
They merely stared at that suggestion. For some reason, the victim was the one who cried, ‘No.’
Tora glowered at the youths. ‘Get out of here before I change my mind and cut you up a little.’
The one with the broken arm hesitated only a moment, then turned and ran. The tall one staggered to his feet, cursed Tora, and pulled his groggy friend up. They limped off, clutching each other for support.
After making sure they were gone, Tora checked the miserable heap still sitting on the ground. His shoulders were heaving, and he made a strange wheezing noise. Tora thought he was weeping, but when he bent down, he saw that the wheezing was laughter. The little fellow shook with it. A small claw-like hand shot out and pointed. Down the street, the tall youth Tora had kicked was bent over, vomiting.
‘Hehehe!’ wheezed the small fellow. ‘Hehehehehe. Son o’ a bitch knows how it feels to get kicked inna balls! Tha’ss worth a piece o’ gold, that.’
He had trouble speaking and stopped to feel his front teeth. One of them was loose and started bleeding again. ‘Damn bassards beat me,’ he said unnecessarily.
Tora reached out to help him to his feet. ‘Who are you? Are you really a thief?’
The other stood gingerly and groaned a bit. Then he looked up at Tora. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I’m Jirokichi. And you, my hero?’
Tora stared.
‘You’re
Jirokichi? Jirokichi, the thief?’ he asked, dumbfounded.
The other nodded. The little fellow was anywhere between thirty and fifty, for all Tora could tell. With his buck teeth, sharp features, and close-set eyes, he resembled a rodent, but Jirokichi, also known as the Rat, was a legendary and magical person, and this creature looked altogether insignificant in his plain and dirty brown cotton clothes. And his manner was ingratiating.
‘Well,’ said Tora, ‘whatever. I’m Tora, and you look like you could use a cup of wine. Come along. I’m buying.’
The little man gave a chuckle and followed obediently. Toraheaded back towards the market. After a while, Jirokichi mumbled, ‘Don’t believe me, do you?’
Tora looked back, hesitated. The real Jirokichi could make himself invisible. Because of this, he could enter wealthy people’s homes while they slept to steal their gold. Among the poor, a kind of religion had developed that venerated the image of a rat, presenting gifts to it and praying that Jirokichi share his wealth with them. There were claims that such prayers had been heard, and that people had found gold in their empty rice bin or under a wooden bucket, or stuffed into their outdoor shoes.
‘Maybe your name is Jirokichi, and maybe you’re a thief,’ Tora said cautiously. ‘It doesn’t matter. We both need a drink.’
But the fellow tugged at Tora’s sleeve. ‘It matters to me.’ The broken tooth caused him to make whistling sounds when he talked.
‘OK, I believe you,’ said Tora, suppressing a grin.
At the market, Jirokichi pointed to a small wine shop with benches outside. This time of day it was nearly empty. Tora saw only a few other guests. Inside, a monk ate something from a bowl and two old men drank wine and played
go
. Outside, a shifty-eyed man sat and watched the crowd. He gave them a brief glance, then turned his attention back to the market.
Jirokichi lowered himself gingerly on to the bench and shouted, ‘Hoshina! Wine.’
A large young woman
The one with the broken arm blustered, ‘He’s a thief. We caught him. We were gonna turn him in.’
Tora fingered the knife. ‘And I’m the Empress Jingo. Try again.’
The other backed away. ‘He’s got a lot of gold hidden.’ He glanced at his companions and offered, ‘We might share with you.’
Their victim raised his voice. ‘They’re lying.’
‘Hmm.’ Tora eyed the small man and decided that he did look like a thief, but a poor one. He turned back to the trio. ‘Let’s see. What should I do with you? I could call for the constables.’
They merely stared at that suggestion. For some reason, the victim was the one who cried, ‘No.’
Tora glowered at the youths. ‘Get out of here before I change my mind and cut you up a little.’
The one with the broken arm hesitated only a moment, then turned and ran. The tall one staggered to his feet, cursed Tora, and pulled his groggy friend up. They limped off, clutching each other for support.
After making sure they were gone, Tora checked the miserable heap still sitting on the ground. His shoulders were heaving, and he made a strange wheezing noise. Tora thought he was weeping, but when he bent down, he saw that the wheezing was laughter. The little fellow shook with it. A small claw-like hand shot out and pointed. Down the street, the tall youth Tora had kicked was bent over, vomiting.
‘Hehehe!’ wheezed the small fellow. ‘Hehehehehe. Son o’ a bitch knows how it feels to get kicked inna balls! Tha’ss worth a piece o’ gold, that.’
He had trouble speaking and stopped to feel his front teeth. One of them was loose and started bleeding again. ‘Damn bassards beat me,’ he said unnecessarily.
Tora reached out to help him to his feet. ‘Who are you? Are you really a thief?’
The other stood gingerly and groaned a bit. Then he looked up at Tora. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I’m Jirokichi. And you, my hero?’
Tora stared.
‘You’re
Jirokichi? Jirokichi, the thief?’ he asked, dumbfounded.
The other nodded. The little fellow was anywhere between thirty and fifty, for all Tora could tell. With his buck teeth, sharp features, and close-set eyes, he resembled a rodent, but Jirokichi, also known as the Rat, was a legendary and magical person, and this creature looked altogether insignificant in his plain and dirty brown cotton clothes. And his manner was ingratiating.
‘Well,’ said Tora, ‘whatever. I’m Tora, and you look like you could use a cup of wine. Come along. I’m buying.’
The little man gave a chuckle and followed obediently. Toraheaded back towards the market. After a while, Jirokichi mumbled, ‘Don’t believe me, do you?’
Tora looked back, hesitated. The real Jirokichi could make himself invisible. Because of this, he could enter wealthy people’s homes while they slept to steal their gold. Among the poor, a kind of religion had developed that venerated the image of a rat, presenting gifts to it and praying that Jirokichi share his wealth with them. There were claims that such prayers had been heard, and that people had found gold in their empty rice bin or under a wooden bucket, or stuffed into their outdoor shoes.
‘Maybe your name is Jirokichi, and maybe you’re a thief,’ Tora said cautiously. ‘It doesn’t matter. We both need a drink.’
But the fellow tugged at Tora’s sleeve. ‘It matters to me.’ The broken tooth caused him to make whistling sounds when he talked.
‘OK, I believe you,’ said Tora, suppressing a grin.
At the market, Jirokichi pointed to a small wine shop with benches outside. This time of day it was nearly empty. Tora saw only a few other guests. Inside, a monk ate something from a bowl and two old men drank wine and played
go
. Outside, a shifty-eyed man sat and watched the crowd. He gave them a brief glance, then turned his attention back to the market.
Jirokichi lowered himself gingerly on to the bench and shouted, ‘Hoshina! Wine.’
A large young woman
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