The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn by Tom Hoobler

with straw roofs, where they sold tea,
noodles, fish, pickles, and rice. The judge decided to stop at one
of them. Seikei slipped down from his horse. His legs felt wobbly
as he followed the judge into the hut. Inside, an old lady with
gray hair stirred a large pot of miso soup.
    Seikei’s mouth began to water as
he smelled the aroma from the pot. He realized that he had not
eaten anything since breakfast. Judge Ooka placed a coin on a rough
wooden table in front of the shopkeeper. She ladled noodles and
broth into two bowls and set them down. Seikei finished his
quickly, and the judge ordered another. “Pretty soon, you’ll be as
fat as me,” he said.
    Seikei thought it would take a
long time, but said nothing. After the judge ate his noodles, he
asked the shopkeeper, “Have you seen any kabuki actors on the road
today?”
    The old lady glanced at the two
swords at the judge’s belt. “So many people pass by, Lord. I don’t
see them all.’’
    Judge Ooka placed another coin on
the table. The woman slipped it into her sleeve so quickly that if
Seikei had blinked he would not have seen it.
    She sucked on her teeth and cocked
her head. “But early this morning something unusual happened. A
group of men passed with a horse loaded with two large black
trunks, like the ones actors sometimes use to carry their costumes
and such. One of them wanted a bowl of noodles, but the others
urged him not to stop. They wanted to go on.”
    “That was not unusual,” murmured
the judge.
    She nodded and smiled, showing
that she had only a few teeth. “Oh, yes, but this fellow said he
had no money. He offered to do a trick for me if I gave him
noodles.” She put her hand over her mouth. “I cannot help laughing
as I think of it. It was very funny. I let him have a bowl, for he
made a face with very sad eyes. Just like an actor, you
know?”
    The judge nodded. “And
then?”
    “He took the bowl of noodles in
his hand—just where you’re standing now—and flipped backward, heels
over head, into the road. Landed on his feet. But he didn’t spill a
drop of the soup! I don’t know how he did it. I laughed and
laughed. It was worth the soup to see that.”
    “Was he short?” Seikei broke in
suddenly. “With a scar on his cheek, here?” He drew a line across
his face.
    The woman nodded and touched her
cheek. “Oh, yes. Must have cut himself somehow. But he had a lovely
face, even so. I never saw anybody with such beautiful
eyes.”
    The judge thanked the woman and
left her another coin. He and Seikei mounted their horses and rode
on.
    “Why did you ask the shopkeeper if
she had seen a short man with a scar on his cheek?” the judge
asked.
    Seikei told the judge about the
incident at the checkpoint. When the beggar stood in Lord
Hakuseki’s way and then flipped backward to avoid being trampled.
“It seemed to me that they must be the same man,” said
Seikei.
    Judge Ooka nodded in approval.
“You are observant,” he said.
    “Could he be the one who stole the
jewel?” asked Seikei.
    The judge smiled. “Can you see a
connection? Did the spirit you saw look anything like the man in
the road?”
    Seikei tried to remember. “I think
the spirit was much taller. It had horns, and its face was very
white. I didn’t see any scar.”
    “The hallway was dark,” the judge
pointed out.
    As they rode along, Seikei
realized that only yesterday, he yearned to travel the road like
this—out in the open, where he could see everything. The road wound
along the seacoast here, and he looked out over the waves crashing
against the stone-covered shore on his right. Seikei took a deep
breath of the air, smelling the salt of the surf.
    An ancient pine tree, twisted and
bent by the winds, clung to a crevice in a rock at the edge of the
sea. It drew Seikei’s attention. He wondered how the tree managed
to survive. He thought about how many people had passed by it
during the years it had grown there. For some reason, it made him
feel