Free Death on an Autumn River by I. J. Parker

reasonable men.
    They kept coming, slowly, a step at a time.  Warily, but with a predatory gleam in their eyes.  Enjoying themselves.
    Akitada pulled all his money from his sash and threw it on the dusty ground in front of them.  “There, take it!”
    They did not even glance at it.
    He backed away a little farther.
    The heavier man on the right grinned, his teeth a brief gleam in the twilight.
    “What do you want?” shouted Akitada.
    No answer, but they kept coming.  They meant to kill him here in this weed-overgrown, forgotten corner of Naniwa.
    Glancing around for something he could use as a weapon among the debris, he realized that he could not reach it in time.  He had only moments, but in that small space of time, memories of his wife and of their little daughter, of Tora and Seimei, of Genba, and even of the dog Trouble flashed through his mind.  They seemed incredibly precious because they were about to be lost forever.  And for what?  A foolish young man’s mistake?  Another ridiculous assignment from his superiors?  Or his own careless exploration of the slums of Kawajiri?
    From among these tangled thoughts, one crystallized:  even in a hopeless situation, a man must try to defend himself, must make at least an effort to escape.  He must fight the two killers with their long knives who had waited for him here.  And in the unlikely event that he got past these two, he must fight or evade at least one more.  Because those footsteps that had followed him meant that there was at least one more.
    Akitada moved suddenly, putting the tall attacker between himself and the other man.  Then he jumped.  He meant to twist the knife out of his hand, then slip past and run.
    It did not work. 
    The big man cursed and veered aside as he snatched for the knife, and Akitada fell.  He fell hard, on his face and right shoulder and nearly passed out from the sudden pain that shot through his arm and across his back.  At first he thought he had a knife in his back.  The relief that he did not was short-lived.  He was down and expected to be killed.  But the expected blow from the knife did not come.  Instead there were shouts and grunts.  He raised his head a little and blinked dirt out of his eyes.  Three pairs of legs moved before him.  He got to his knees.
    The thin robber stood quite still with a ludicrous expression of astonishment on his face, while the big man was falling to his knees, clutching at his neck.  Blood seeped from between his fingers.  A third man was moving between them like a grey ghost.
    Akitada stumbled to his feet.  His right shoulder and arm were stiff with pain and he was confused. The thin man made a choking sound and collapsed.  Both of his attackers were on the ground.
    None of it made sense.
    Beyond the failed attack on the big man, he had done nothing to account for the defeat of the two ruffians, and yet there was blood.  He had not touched the second man, yet he lay dead or unconscious on the ground, bleeding from his throat.
    Akitada looked at the third man.  His eyes still watered and the third man was a thin grey shape against the background of weathered fencing.  He moved to the fallen men and bent to feel their necks.
    Recognition came, and with it more confusion.  What the devil was he doing here? 
    The ugly man from the restaurant pushed one of the bodies out of the way and bent to pick up an object which he put inside his patched robe.
    Then he finally met Akitada’s eyes and said calmly, “We’d better leave before someone comes.”
    Akitada still gaped.  “You?  You followed me?”
    The ugly man took his elbow to pull him away.  Akitada gasped with pain.
    “Sorry.  Are you hurt?”
    “It’s nothing.  I fell.”  Akitada found his feet and started walking
    “Can you run?”
    They ran back the way he had come, Akitada cradling his arm and gritting his teeth.  For a while, he followed the man Saburo blindly.  He was about twenty years younger