I. J. Parker

The Crane Pavillion

1

Koshiro

Koshiro finished his bowl of rice gruel and set it down beside him. With a sigh of satisfaction, he looked across his garden where the cabbage, radish, and melon plants grew daily larger. The morning sun was quite warm already. It was autumn already, a time of clear skies and chills bringing the promise of winter. Then maybe he would hate his lonely life again, but just now, in this glorious morning sun, surrounded by birdsong and the scent of the rose bush, living in this small wooden house felt like a gift from the gods.

Peace.

Refuge.

And a new life.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sun-warmed boards. In a moment he would get up, wash his bowl, and start his chores. They were light, though the grounds were large. The owner hired workers for repairs and heavy work. Yes, Koshiro was blessed to have found this place.

And so were the others. He smiled. The student, the most recent arrival, still shied like a rabbit whenever they met. And he still feared every new arrival. But he was the only one. The professor was deaf, and the nun never paid attention. And the lady? Sometimes when there was a knocking, she got that look of longing on her face-as if she expected a lover to come and carry her away.

Koshiro hated that look. She was very beautiful, and it was to be expected that she should have known love and still wished for it. But she was here, as they all were. None of them would ever leave.

They would find consolation.

In time. Because time was all they had.

And each other.

He imagined himself and the lady becoming reconciled to their lives and to each other and smiled. There was hope. There always was hope.

And then he heard the children’s cries.

His eyes popped open. He looked in the direction of the sound but saw nothing beyond the lush green trees and shrubs where late shrubs still bloomed in shades of red. Getting to his feet, he shaded his eyes. It was quiet again. He decided the children had been at some silly game and relaxed again. They made a nuisance of themselves, but the lady loved children. He gave a low growl of irritation.

Picking up his bowl, he decided that today he must put his foot down and tell them to stop coming into the garden. When he straightened up, he saw them. Two small figures had burst from the trees, waving their arms and shouting.

Now what? They knew better than to bother him. He had let them know they weren’t welcome. He set the bowl back down, put on his most ferocious scowl, and started toward them.

The boy and girl were nine and ten respectively, the children of a woman who lived in the poor quarter across from the Takashina mansion. She was a widow who cleaned other people’s houses all day long. Ragged, thin, and left to their own resources, the children had climbed the wall and come into the garden to play. They reminded him of his own childhood, and he had been too permissive in the beginning. But his duties here meant that he was to guard the property against undesirable visitors, and it was only a matter of time before the professor or the nun would object to the noise of children and complain to the owner.

They were shouting “Come quick!” and “The poor lady!” Koshiro began to feel queasy and started to run

When they met, the children were babbling, their eyes wide with panic, and their arms flailing, pointing, gesturing. Something was wrong, though he could not make out what it was.

Lady Ogata occupied the Lake Pavilion, a graceful building overlooking a small artificial pond with koi and water lilies. Though she was noble and in her mid-twenties, Koshiro never thought of her without feeling desire. He himself was fifty years old and already had gray hairs among the black ones. But lust did not die with age, and a man had little control over his willful thoughts.

So Koshiro ran through the trees and bounded up the veranda steps of the Lake Pavilion. All was still. The shutters were closed except for one that stood partially open. He called out, “My lady? Are you all right? It’s Koshiro.”

There was no answer.

He pushed the shutter a little wider and looked inside.

The large, elegant room lay in deep shadow after the brightness outside. At first, he thought it was empty, its bare floor gleaming softly.

Puzzled, he blinked his eyes to adjust them. The little girl had caught up and was shaking his arm. “Look!” she cried. “Please take her down! Quick!”

He raised his eyes from the floor.

Something floated in the dim space, a dusky shape. A bundle of robes hung up to air? The silk gowns almost touched the floorboards and moved softly in the breeze from the open doorway. As he stared, the shape seemed to turn slightly toward him, and he saw a pair white-stockinged feet. They did not touch the floor.

In wonder, he stepped inside and went closer. That was when he realized that a woman was inside the robes. She was weightless, floating above the ground like one of the fairies in the western paradise.

He looked up, saw her face, and recoiled. It was Lady Ogata, but all of her beauty was gone. She looked shocking, her tongue protruding from her mouth like some huge slug, and her eyes rolled back so only the whites showed. Purple silk was looped around her neck and passed behind her head. It was tied around one of the rafters above. He muttered a prayer and reached for his amulet.

Lady Ogata hung, swaying and turning gently, while the little girl cried something and pulled at him. Swallowing down his nausea, Koshiro went to touch the limp hand. It was cold as ice.

“Too late,” he croaked, then turned away to run outside and vomit up his rice gruel.

So quickly can a man’s fortune turn from happiness to despair. All was lost. Nothing would ever be well again.

At that moment, Koshiro hated Lady Ogata as he had never hated anyone before.

2

The Sadness of Autumn

Less than a mile from the site of Lady Ogata’s death, Tora also sat in the sunshine on his small veranda. He, too, had eaten his morning gruel and contemplated the day ahead. Behind him, he could hear the voices of his wife Hanae and son Yuki. He, too, felt a sense of contentment.

But unlike Koshiro, Tora was fully aware that not all was well. It was autumn again, and they were home, and there were the shouts and laughter of children again, but the gloom of death hung heavy over this house.

The master had returned, a shadow of his former self, to his motherless children.

Lady Tamako had died in childbirth in the spring while her husband served as governor in distant Kyushu. Tora and Saburo had been with him, and they had feared for his sanity when he learned what had happened, knowing that his lady had been dead and buried weeks before he got the news and that it would be more weeks before he would set foot in his house again.

Tora got up and went inside where Hanae was putting away the bedding and tidying their main room. She was small and agile, his pretty Hanae, a former dancer and still as graceful and desirable as when they had first met. These days there was a new fear in his heart that he might give her a child again and she might die like Lady Tamako. After his return, he had hesitated to take her in his arms and make love to her, and she had wept until he explained. Now, they lay together again, but still he was afraid. All their lives had changed.

Yuki put his head in. “I put the firewood next to the fireplace, Mother,” he announced. When he saw his father, his eyes lit up. “Will you give me another stick fighting lesson today, Father?”

Tora was proud of his sturdy son, but the mention of stick fighting reminded him of his master. He had taught Lord Sugawara the moves and strategies of combat with a fighting stick many years ago when they had both been young and full of energy and laughter. Oh, how sadly things had changed!

“Another day perhaps,” he said vaguely and saw Yuki’s face fall. “Perhaps you and I can exercise the horses later,” he added.

Yuki clapped his hands. “I’ll go brush them now, Father,” he cried and disappeared.

Tora and Hanae looked at each other.

“I feel ashamed,” he said. “I have so much, and the master …” His voice trailed off.

She nodded. “He hardly eats and spends all his time sitting in his dark room. And the children have become so quiet. It’s bad for all of them. What should we do?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. We have all tried. His family and his friends. We’re still trying. I’d better look in on him, but the gods know I hate seeing him like this.”

She nodded. “Stay with him. Talk to him. Mention the children. It may help.”

“I’ll try, but he always sends me away when I remind him of them.”

*

Saburo had spent the night with Shokichi, a prostitute he had met a year ago while investigating the murder of a brothel owner. He was very fond of Shokichi, the first and only woman to treat him as a normal man. The disfigurement of his face that made him look like a goblin had frightened both children and adults.

These days he no longer looked quite so terrifying. He had grown a mustache and beard that hid most of the worst scars and deformities, and he used a paste concocted by Lady Tamako to conceal the rest. Except for one eye that he had trouble controlling he looked almost normal. But Shokichi had liked him even when he was a monster. She almost had not recognized him when he returned from Kyushu and went to visit her.

In the beginning, he had been shy and very careful not to expect anything beyond friendship. In fact, he had kept his distance, merely taking her to a restaurant now and then, or to a temple fair, or for a walk by the river under the late-flowering cherry trees. And there she had finally burst into tears.

Dismayed, he had begged her forgiveness for whatever he had done.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” sobbed Shokichi.

“I’ll do it,” he cried. “Right away. Just tell me what it is.”

That had made her chuckle through her tears. “Oh, Saburo, How could you be so dense? I want you to make love to me.”

He had gaped at her.

“I want you to lie with me,” she had said more insistently. “A man should want to lie with a woman if he likes her. Don’t you want to? Ever?”

He had been speechless with delighted surprise. “Yes, of course, but … but-.” How to explain that he did not want her “services” but rather her love?

Her face fell. “Oh, Saburo. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Is it that you cannot? Is it some wound? Something else those monsters did to you?”

Grinning foolishly, he had shaken his head. His arms had reached for her. And then he had kissed her so passionately that she had gasped, “Come, let’s go to my room now.”

And so Saburo had allowed himself to be seduced under the cherry trees and had made love to Shokichi ever since, as often as he could manage, to make up for years of near-celibacy.

His mind being thus occupied with love and being frequently away from home, he had been less affected than the others by the sadness which hung over the Sugawara compound. But he too had seen what his master had become. Most mornings, Saburo worked at estate matters by himself. On the few occasions when Akitada wandered into his study, he had merely stood for a moment, murmuring “Good Morning,” and then wandered out again. Saburo began to realize that his presence was what drove his master away. So he hurried with his work and left the place to the man who spent most of his time sitting there or on the veranda, brooding.

It was all very upsetting, and Saburo knew that Tora and Genba and the women were becoming frantic with worry. He felt guilty for escaping into the arms of Shokichi. And when he remembered Lady Tamako’s kindness to him and how she had mixed her pastes and paints until she achieved just the right shade for his skin, how she had understood his embarrassment, yet had been firm about teaching him her skill, then he felt most deeply ashamed. He had wept when the news had come to Kyushu. It pained him that they were probably thinking he did not care, that he, the most recent to join the Sugawara family, had not formed the bonds of loyalty and family they had. And so he fled whenever he could.

*

Genba’s wife was expecting a child. She had been afraid to hope. Her life as a prostitute had meant so many forced abortions that she had been certain she could no longer bear children. Or, what was even worse, she feared she might bear a deformed child. She watched him as he played with the master’s children, and tears rose to her eyes to think that she might disappoint him, this gentle mountain of a man who doted on children and animals and all things weak.

She pitied the master’s children, as did Genba. He spent too much time with them while chores were left undone. They should be more with their father, but he was so changed that he frightened them, and they much preferred Genba or Tora to keep them company.

Yasuko was getting to be a handful these days. She was seven now and lorded it over her little brother Yoshitada, Yoshi for short. Yoshi was five and timid. Tora frequently shook his head when Yoshi was fearful of the rough games his son Yuki played with Yasuko. To Ohiro’s mind, this was all backwards. Yasuko should be calm and ladylike, and her brother should be the one to play boys’ games. She had pointed this out to her husband, but he had simply laughed and said, “Children have their own ways. Just so long as they’re happy.”

But the master’s children were not really happy. They had cried and cried after their mother and their new brother had died. They had cried again when their father returned and had barely smiled at them. And now they stayed away from him, and he from them.

*

Akitada was unaware of the concern he caused his household. He was unaware of life around him in general. He ate what they brought him, answered their questions vaguely, stared at his children when they came to make their morning bows to him and murmured a greeting and the admonition to be good children and run along.

He was preoccupied with thoughts about the emptiness of his world. Not about the emptiness the Buddhist priests talked about when they meant the various human pursuits like lust, ambition, greed, desire, jealousy, and anger, but rather a very specific state affecting him alone, a man suddenly bereft of all that made his efforts meaningful. He no longer took pleasure in the beauty of the garden, the graceful movements of the koi in his pond, the challenge of tricky legal cases, or the discovery of a killer, and even-may the gods forgive him-the laughter of his children.

The swallows had returned to his house and had nested as before under the eaves outside his study. This had pained him, because the continuance of life was only a few steps from death. And there had been another death: the wisteria outside Tamako’s pavilion had died during the summer.

He read doom in this. Doom for himself and the rest of his life, which seemed to him to have begun with his marriage to Tamako, marked by his presenting her with a flowering branch from this very plant. The wisteria had been near death once before. That time they had drifted apart in mutual recriminations over Yori’s death. It had revived, as had their love. They had both become stronger. And now there was no more hope. What was he to do with himself?

A scratching at the door brought Tora. Akitada wished him away and did not greet him.

Tora glanced at the untouched bowl of rice and vegetables. “You must eat, sir,” he said.

“Leave me alone if you have nothing better to offer,” snarled Akitada.

“I can go to the market.” Tora tried a grin.

Akitada merely glared. “What do you want?”

“They’ve sent again from the ministry. The minister wonders if you’re ill.”

“Then tell him I am. Maybe then they’ll leave me alone.”

Tora sat down uninvited. “I doubt it. I think the minister would hurry over with his personal physician.”

“Send them to the devil if they come. I don’t want to see anyone.”

A heavy silence fell.

“There are the children,” Tora said after a while.

“What about them?”

“You are their father. You owe them something. Her ladyship would be appalled.”

Akitada jumped up. “How dare you? Get out!”

Tora paled, got up, and walked out like a beaten dog.

An hour later he came back to open the door with the words, “Superintendent Kobe, sir.”

Kobe walked in with a smile on his face, but before he could say anything, Akitada cursed.

Kobe stopped in his tracks. “What’s this?” he demanded. “I don’t recall you using such language before. What’s twisted your tail in a knot? And what have I done to get such a greeting?”

Akitada barely glanced at him. “Not you. Tora. I told him I didn’t want to see anyone only a moment ago.”

Kobe glanced at the congealed food and sat down. “Any chance of getting a cup of wine? I had a hot walk over here.

For a moment it looked as though Akitada would get up and leave, but he relaxed again and clapped his hands.

Tora’s face appeared in the door opening.

“Get these dishes out of here and bring some wine,” Akitada snapped, giving him an evil look.

Tora grinned, gathered up the tray with the uneaten food, and murmured, “Right away, sir.”

“He’s grown intolerable,” grumbled Akitada as soon as the door had closed behind him.

“You’re the one who’s grown intolerant. Tora loves you, as does the rest of your household. And your friends as well. It isn’t right to treat us like enemies.”

Akitada looked away. “I have not treated anyone as an enemy,” he protested feebly.

“And your children suffer. Your wife would be shocked, could she see it.”

Akitada clenched his hands. Then he got to his feet, and without a look or word, he left the room and went outside into the garden. It was unforgivably rude, but he could bear no more of this. Kobe had visited regularly, but never had he spoken as harshly as this. He felt tears rise to his eyes, hot and burning, and he bit his lip hard to gain control. He could not bear the thought of Tamako’s anger from beyond the grave, yet, he also could not find the strength to speak to his children. He had tried many times and each time he had run out of words and felt close to tears. He did not want them to see him weep and burst into tears themselves. Better they should play with Genba and Tora or be coddled by the women. They were too young to grieve.

A step crunched on the gravel behind him and Kobe put a hand on his shoulder. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve run out of ideas how to help you, and lost my patience.”

Akitada choked back the lump in his throat. “Your patience? You surprise me. I didn’t know you had any,” he said. The smile which was to accompany the comment failed.

But Kobe grip on his shoulder tightened briefly before he took his hand away. “Would you like me to send my children’s tutor over? Or could the children come to my house? My children would like that very much.” Kobe was pleading.

Emotion gripped Akitada again. “Thank you,” he choked out. “Yes, perhaps something like that … I suppose I should have … Time has a way of slipping past.”

“Good. I’ll send the man over. You’ll like him. He did very well at the university but unlike you he failed miserably as a young official and is now forced to earn his living teaching children.”

Akitada thought about his own career. Had he done well? He doubted it. And now? It was probably over. He had left his post in Kyushu without permission, had not reported when he reached the capital, and had not returned to his former position at the ministry. He had done nothing.

Fujiwara Kaneie had sent for him and later called in person, but Akitada had claimed illness so as not to have to deal with him. Would he end up teaching other people’s children? It was ridiculous when he could not even manage to teach his own. For the first time, it struck him that he had no income and that hunger and homelessness might be more unbearable than grief.

Or perhaps not. His grief was his own private world, but its effects were felt by his household. He had no right to it. A wave of self-pity washed over him. He had nothing; not even the right to grieve for Tamako’s death.

Kobe cleared his throat. “Don’t look so dismal. It will get better. I know. For a while you think nothing will ever be right again and then one day you find yourself laughing, and a bit later you will feel happy about something, and in the end the person you’ve lost will be a treasured memory of your youth.”

Akitada turned his head away. “You mean well, Kobe. I thank you for it, but telling me that the pain will pass will not speed up my recovery. Your reminder that I have obligations forces me to face the world when I lack the strength to do so.”

Kobe gave him a searching look. “You have always lived for your obligations, Akitada. Even at times when it was foolish to do so. I think you will do so again, and soon.” He touched Akitada’s arm. “I must go now, but you only have to send for me if there’s something I can do.”

Akitada remained in the garden a while longer. Then he went in search of the children. He found them outside Tamako’s pavilion and had to steel himself to go closer. Yoshi sat on the veranda, dangling his feet and watching his sister. His daughter had wrapped one of her mother’s gowns about her and paraded back and forth on the veranda, waving a fan and reciting something.

Akitada recognized the gown and felt a stab of pain. He was furious with his daughter. “Yasuko, take that off immediately,” he shouted. “How dare you dirty up your mother’s things in your silly games?”

Yasuko spun around and froze when she saw her father. Her eyes grew large and her chin trembled. Then, with a sob, she ran inside.

Yoshi was pleased. He jumped up and ran to embrace his father’s knees. “I told her not to do it, Father,” he cried. “She’s a bad girl.”

Akitada detached him. He stared at the pavilion in the summer sunshine. There on the veranda they had sat together, watching the children at play, looking at the garden, talking. It had been a regular occurrence every time he had spent the night with his wife.

No more. Not ever again.

He would not weep before his children. He would be strong and walk up the veranda steps. He would go inside, into the room where they had been together, and he would speak to his daughter calmly, explaining to her that her mother deserved respect even after her death.

But before he could do so, a woman appeared in the doorway. Tamako’s maid Oyuki. Yasuko’s tear-stained face peered out from behind her with frightened eyes.

“Sir? Is it you?” the maid said, bowing to him. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

The fact that they had apparently made themselves at home in Tamako’s pavilion angered him again. “Why should you be informed about my plans?” he snapped. “And what are you and the children doing here?”

“We live here.”

“You live here? By whose permission?” Akitada started toward them with a face like thunder.

The maid fell to her knees. “I’m sorry, sir. I only did as I was told. We’ll leave this moment. Please forgive the mistake.” She started knocking her forehead against the boards of the veranda floor. Yasuko burst into a wail, and behind him Yoshi began to cry as well.

Akitada stopped. He should not make his children cry. No matter how he felt himself, they were innocent of wrong doing. “Please get up, Oyuki,” he said more calmly. “Nobody told me. Who suggested that you and the children live here?”

Yoshi cried, “I don’t live here, Father. I have my own room.”

“Good,” said his father. “You must show me later.”

Oyuki, who was also weeping by now, got to her feet. “Lady Akiko thought it was best if Lady Yasuko took her mother’s room. Lady Akiko said I was to be Lady Yasuko’s maid now.”

Lady Akiko! His sister. Meddlesome as always. “Well,” he said, “I’m sorry if I spoke harshly to you. I didn’t know. I suppose this is a practical arrangement. Only my daughter seems rather young to take possession of my wife’s things.”

“We asked permission of Lady Akiko because Hanae said you weren’t to be bothered. Lady Akiko and I looked through Lady Tamako’s things and chose two gowns that could be shortened for Lady Yasuko. Lady Yasuko was trying on the gown, sir.”

And so he had been put in the wrong. He always seemed to become the ogre in his children’s eyes. A flash of another memory crossed his mind: Yori looking up at him with frightened eyes after a reprimand. Yori, who had died shortly afterward of smallpox. And his father had spent the years that had passed wishing he could take back his harshness, wishing he had instead held his son and told him that he loved him.

He raised his hands to his face and groaned. Then he lowered them, turned to his son and held out his hand, and said, “Come, Yoshi. Let us go up to your mother’s pavilion and see your sister’s room.”

Yoshi came reluctantly. “You will come and see mine also? I have a picture of a very fierce tiger.”

“I will come and see it.”

They climbed the steps together. Oyuki stepped aside, and Akitada looked down at his daughter’s tear-stained face. “I’m very sorry, Yasuko,” he said. “It’s been a very hard time for me. I miss your mother very much, you see.”

She burst into new tears and flung herself into his arms. He ended up kneeling on the veranda and holding his weeping children.

And weeping with them.

Oyuki sniffled and withdrew.

3

A Conspiracy

Later that day another visitor arrived. This time, Akitada made an effort to be hospitable.

The gentleman announced by Tora was Nakatoshi, formerly his clerk in the Ministry of Justice, but now senior secretary at the Ministry of Ceremonial. Nakatoshi had called before to express his condolences, but he had seen how deeply wounded Akitada was and left again quickly.

Nakatoshi was one of the few friends who had never asked Akitada for anything, while Akitada had gone to him on numerous occasions for assistance that always been freely given. He had obligations to Nakatoshi.

Nakatoshi came into Akitada’s study almost timidly. “Forgive me,” he said, just as if he were still his clerk. “I hate to intrude. You must tell me to go if it’s an imposition.”

It was an imposition, but Akitada would never say so. He rose to his feet, fixed a smile on his face, and went to greet Nakatoshi with an embrace. “Welcome, my friend,” he said, “and I hope I never hear you call me ‘sir’ again. I think by now you outrank me.” He grimaced. “If we give it another month, I’ll be lucky if they’ll let me serve as a junior clerk in your office.”

It was a feeble joke. Akitada expected a very serious reprimand for deserting his post.

Nakatoshi looked anxious. “Have you heard anything from the Central Affairs Office?”

Akitada shook his head. “Come, let us sit. You’ll take some wine?”

With their cups filled and tasted, they fell into an awkward silence. Akitada did not know what to say. He thought that Nakatoshi probably wondered how he was handling his loss but could not ask such a question. Clearly word was out that he was handling it poorly. But to his surprise, Nakatoshi had something very different on his mind.

“I’ve come to beg a favor, Akitada,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I know I shouldn’t burden you with this, but I cannot talk about it to anyone else.”

Oh yes, there were obligations! Obligations had a way of stepping in your path and forcing you to go in another direction whether you wanted to or not.

Akitada nodded and said, “As you know, my friend, I’m very much in your debt. Please tell me what I can do.”

Nakatoshi flushed deeply. “No, no,” he said quickly, “you mustn’t feel like that, Akitada. I’ve done nothing. I’m the one who always benefitted from your assistance.”

Akitada shook his head and smiled a little. “Please speak freely.”

Nakatoshi took a gulp of wine. “I think you may remember the Abbot Genshin of the Daiun-ji near Mount Hiei?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He used to be Takashina Tasuku. You were at the university together, I heard.”

“Tasuku? Yes. I know Tasuku. And I did know that he took the tonsure many years ago. He’s an abbot now?”

Nakatoshi nodded.

Tasuku, the handsome heir of a powerful and wealthy family, had been blessed with extraordinary looks and the attention of the most beautiful women at court. But he had engaged in secret trysts with an imperial concubine who was murdered on her way back to the palace. In remorse or to escape punishment, Tasuku had become the monk Genshin. Tasuku an abbot of a monastery?

“Not surprising, given his family’s influence. What about him?” Akitada said, curious in spite of himself.

“Someone living in his mansion, a woman, was found hanged a week ago. It’s being called a suicide, but Abbot Genshin is uneasy about the matter. He came to me and asked if I would speak to you.”

Akitada frowned. He did not like the fact that a man who had once been his friend had taken such a roundabout way to approach him. True, Tasuku knew that Akitada had strongly disapproved of him in the past and held him responsible for the concubine’s death. And now he was apparently again involved in some scandal with a woman, and this woman had also died. But perhaps Nakatoshi owed him a favor much as Akitada owed many to Nakatoshi. It was the way of the world. Never mind that he had meant to escape it.

“What was this woman to the abbot?” he asked, his voice cold.

Nakatoshi looked startled. “Nothing. Or rather, she found refuge on his estate. A matter of charity.”

Akitada snorted.

“Have I touched on a sore subject? You must forgive me. I know very little about Abbot Genshin and nothing whatsoever about the lady.”

Akitada saw no reason to beat about the bush. “The reverend abbot was a great philanderer before he took the tonsure. I believe he did so only because he was involved in a scandal. The other woman also died.”

“Dear heaven. Can it be so? He has the reputation of being a truly holy man. There’s talk he will be made a bishop soon. Do you believe he is responsible for this lady’s suicide?”

Akitada did not answer this. “Did the police investigate?”

“Yes. Apparently there was no doubt. She was alone in her pavilion, pushed one of her trunks under a rafter, climbed up, and tied a length of silk around the rafter and her neck, then jumped off the trunk. Two children who lived in the neighborhood and sometimes visited her found her the next morning.” Nakatoshi paused, then added, “Abbot Genshin was on Mount Hiei with his monks. He hadn’t been in the capital for many months.”

Akitada sat in silence, thinking about it. “I don’t like it,” he said finally. “What is it that he expects me to do?”

Nakatoshi flushed again. “I hardly dare propose it, but could you take a look at the place, and maybe talk to the people who live there?”

“Other people live there? In the Takashina mansion?”

“Yes. A nun, a student, and a retired professor. All absolutely respectable people who have fallen on very hard times. There’s also a caretaker and some artist, and Genshin has people from the city make repairs and trim the gardens.”

“How very odd! I recall the place. It used to be quite big, covering a whole city block on Tsuchimikado.”

“Yes, that’s it. Badly overgrown these days, but as I said, it’s kept in fairly decent shape. The main house is empty, since Genshin doesn’t use it, but some of the rooms in the wings and pavilions are occupied by the people I mentioned. Will you look into it?”

Akitada had been home for months now and had not left the house in all this time. He was aware of the fact that he was becoming a burden to his people who felt the need to hover protectively over him. Perhaps it was time to emerge from this self-imposed confinement and escape their supervision for a day. He nodded. “Don’t expect much. Only that I’ll visit the mansion and perhaps talk to the people who live there on Tasuku’s charity.” He shook his head at the notion of a charitable Tasuku. “It’s the oddest thing I’ve ever heard,” he muttered.

Nakatoshi smiled his relief and jumped up, thanking him profusely. The next moment he was gone.

Akitada also got up and stretched. He was wearing his old house robe and had torn slippers on his feet. The robe was badly worn and stained. He did not care about such things, but he could not go among strangers like this. He headed out of the house to find Tora.

When he reached the front veranda, he saw Nakatoshi and Tora in the courtyard below. They were in conversation, and Tora was grinning broadly. When they parted, Tora called after Nakatoshi, “I knew you could do it! Thank you, sir.” And then he did a little dance while Nakatoshi could be heard chuckling on his way out the gate.

Akitada waited until the gate had closed behind his visitor, then he called down to Tora, “Come in for a moment.”

Tora rearranged his face and bounded up the steps. “What a nice gentleman Secretary Nakatoshi is! I’m very glad you received him, sir.”

Akitada looked at him, decided to say nothing, and requested a change of clothes.

Formal attire, which was what was called for in this instance, was by no means easy to put on. And Akitada had not bothered with it for months now. Tora dug around in one of the trunks, the one for summer clothing, and brought forth white silk trousers and a short coat and robe of matching dark blue, figured silk. “Will this do, sir?”

Akitada looked at them. They were wrinkled. Tamako used to look after his wardrobe. “Hmm.” He reached for them.

“Maybe the women could do something about the wrinkles,” Tora said dubiously.

“No time,” muttered his master, stepping into the trousers and tying them at his waist. Tora held out the blue coat for him and then the outer robe. Reaching back into the trunk, he brought out a somewhat battered hat of stiffened black gauze, a pair of black slippers, and a blue sash. The sash he wound tightly around his master’s waist, folding over the ends in front. Akitada slipped on the shoes and tied the hat under his chin as Tora held up the big round silver mirror.

Tora stepped back, cocked his head critically, and remarked, “You’re getting as thin as a stork, sir. Shall I come with you?”

“If you keep your comments about my appearance to yourself,” Akitada snapped.

Tora grinned.

*

They went first to speak to Kobe. Their arrival brought the superintendent to his office door with a smile on his face. “Good work, Tora,” he said. “Come in, come in!”

Akitada looked from one to the other and shook his head. But he entered, sat down, and accepted a cup of wine. Tora hovered near the door.

Kobe was still grinning. “Let me guess. You’re here about the suicide of a Lady Ogata. Right?”

Akitada turned to give Tora another look. Tora studied the ceiling. Turning back to Kobe, Akitada said with a frown, “Was this just a conspiracy to get me out of the house, or is there really something wrong about her death?”

Kobe laughed but had the grace to look guilty. “There may be something odd about it. Mind you, it’s nothing we could prove, but I got the feeling the characters living in the good abbot’s house have their secrets. No doubt she did, too. As there was little we could do, it seemed just the thing for you to investigate.”

Akitada compressed his lips. “I’d hate to think someone died to give me a chance to exercise my mind. I do wish you wouldn’t meddle in my life.”

Kobe threw up his hands. “It wasn’t me. Well, not right away. Secretary Nakatoshi wrote to Lord Kosehira for his advice, and he suggested he talk to you.”

“The plot deepens. And you were to find a suitable murder for me?” Akitada paused. “But this is no murder, if I understand you correctly. The police have decided it’s a suicide. Surely you could have found something better.”

Kobe looked uncomfortable. “Well, let’s say there was no immediate suggestion of foul play in this instance. Look, if you insist on a clear-cut murder, I could use some help with several other cases. It’s not as if greed and violence aren’t alive and well in the capital.”

Akitada shook his head. “No, thanks,” he said a little bitterly. “Since you and my other friends have seen fit to interrupt my peace, I’ll take a look. But I had hoped that you could at least tell me there was something wrong about the suicide.”

“Well, there was no note. And the others seemed very surprised that she should do such a thing. But it looked very much like a suicide and the coroner concurred.”

“Tell me what you know about these ‘others’.”

Kobe thought. “There isn’t very much. They all live there by invitation. Since the abbot isn’t using his mansion and has no family to speak of, he has allowed certain people to take up residence there. Lady Ogata is said to have been a waiting woman to one of the emperor’s concubines. She was without family and very poor. There’s a retired university professor. I think he taught Chinese. His name is Suketada. He’s elderly. The youngest is a student, Takechi Akushiro. He is from one of the provinces and doesn’t seem to have much money. Or else, he squanders it on loose living. The last is a nun. She’s also old, but seems healthier than the professor. I know nothing about her background. Oh, and then there is the painter Yoshizane. He’s in his fifties and lives there because he supplies the abbot’s temple with his paintings.”

“What about servants?”

“No servants. Just a caretaker, a fairly shiftless character called Koshiro.”

“Thank you.” Akitada rose with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll take a look. Don’t expect anything, though.”

Kobe also got to his feet. “Akitada,” he said, “I’m truly sorry if we troubled you, but your friends care. The forty-eight days since your wife’s death are long past, and yet you still hide in your room. As for Lady Ogata, I have no proof that her death was not a suicide, but both Nakatoshi and Kosehira thought you would be interested since it happened to someone connected to Abbot Genshin. He was a friend of yours, I believe?”

Akitada nodded. “At one time. But back then, Takashina Tasuku was hardly the sort of young man I’d wish my own children to meet.”

Kobe’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t say? The good abbot is known as a most saintly person now. People change, you know.”

“Over the years, I’ve had reason to doubt that.” Akitada grimaced. “In any case, you and my other keepers have done well.”

4

The Old Professor

The Takashina property slept in the autumn sun behind high walls and closed gates. Not a sound but the singing of birds came from inside. Here and there, curved, tiled roofs showed above the trees. The roofs and outer walls appeared in good repair, but the place was clearly half-abandoned. An estate of this size occupied by a noble family and its retainers would have attracted innumerable sheds and lean-tos against its sturdy walls, especially along the street where the main gate was. Poor people hoped to benefit from the traffic a wealthy and powerful household attracted and set up stands to sell food and other goods. Besides, some of the poorer servants often received permission to attach their humble homes to the estate’s walls.

There was nothing of the sort here.

The huge roofed gate was closed and the gatekeeper’s window blocked by a piece of wood. Tora went to pound on the gate, shouting, “Ho! Anyone home? Open up.”

Nothing happened.

“Shall I try to climb in, sir?”

“Not yet. Knock again.”

Tora was still belaboring the heavy gate, when a tall, elderly gentleman came down the street. He was dressed in a fusty black robe, bareheaded, and leaning on a knobby stick. When he reached them, he stopped and watched Tora.

Tora had turned red with his efforts and now delivered a vicious kick to the gate. “No good, sir,” he said, turning away. “We’ll have to become thieves and climb over.”

The gentleman chuckled. “Or you could use the small gate,” he said gleefully. “We all do. Of course, your master may consider it beneath his dignity.” He cast a glance at Akitada’s fine clothes.

“Not at all,” Akitada said stiffly. “Lead the way, sir.”

The gentleman approached the small gate, which was cut into the larger one, poked it open with his stick, and stepped through. Akitada and Tora followed.

Inside, he paid them no further attention and strode off toward the main house.

Akitada took in the weedy gravel of the wide front courtyard, the massive center section of the main house with two galleries branching out toward its wings, and what must be service buildings to his left.

“A moment, sir,” he called after the gentleman. The man paused and looked over his shoulder. Akitada went after him and said, “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

Bushy gray eyebrows rose. “And I don’t know yours. Let’s leave well enough alone, shall we?” And the man started off again.

Akitada followed. “Please forgive me, sir, but I’m looking for someone who knew Lady Ogata.”

This time the man stopped and glowered at Akitada. “And what prurient curiosity brings you here?”

Taken aback, Akitada snapped, “I’m Sugawara Akitada.”

The eyebrows rose another fraction. “And what precisely should that tell me?”

Tora joined them. “Now look here, sir. What gives you the right to be rude to a man of my master’s standing?”

The man eyed him. Suddenly he smiled. The smile made him appear younger and almost charming. He said, “I’m older than you. At my age, I can get away with bluntness. You can’t, and neither can he.”

“Old people are supposed to have learned wisdom,” Tora pointed out angrily.

The man snorted and turned to walk away again. Tora was about to lay hands on him, but Akitada pulled him back. “Are you by chance the retired professor who lives here on the charity of the owner?”

The man kept going. “What if I am?”

“The abbot is an acquaintance of mine and has asked me to pay his tenants a visit. It seems to me the least you can do is answer a few questions.”

The man turned. “I see. Yes, I’m Professor Suketada.” He gave Akitada a long measuring glance, then nodded. “If you must be a nuisance, follow me. It’s hot in this sun, and I must conserve my energy. My room is just this way.”

Perhaps the comment about living on charity had shamed the professor. He seemed somehow shrunken, diminished in stature. He climbed the steps to the covered corridor and then walked to one of the wings of the mansion. There he paused among a row of doors. Inside was a smallish room. Shutters on the opposite side let in some light, and Akitada saw that most of the space was taken up by books and papers. These were stacked along the walls or piled on surfaces of stands and desks. One larger desk, its lacquer cracked, held more papers and writing utensils. A single tattered tatami mat lay in the middle of the room, and some bedding was rolled up in a corner. He saw no clothes chests, but against one wall stood a leaning clothes rack, heavily laden with robes and other paraphernalia of dress. All of it seemed to be of the same rusty black color as the professor’s current outfit.

“Have a seat,” he told them, gesturing to the mat. “I have no wine, but I’ve just bought a stuffed dumpling from a vendor. He claimed it contains fresh fish, but I doubt it.” He took a small package wrapped in oiled paper from his sleeve and sniffed it. It released a strong odor of rancid fish. “Do you want some?”

Akitada said quickly. “Thank you, we have just eaten. We need nothing.”

Their host looked relieved and placed the greasy package on a small, chipped tray.

Poverty, thought Akitada. Such extreme poverty that he is probably hungry most of the time. What must that be like for a man of his background? What could have brought a scholar so low?

Professor Suketada went over to the shutters and threw them wide. Light flooded in. Outside, the lush plants of the overgrown garden approached to within a few feet of the narrow ledge. “No candles or oil, but the sun will do for me,” he said, rubbing his hands. “I’m very happy here.”

Perhaps this comment was meant to take some of the sting out of being very poor and living on someone’s charity. He did not look at all happy.

After he came back to sit down with them, he and Akitada took each other’s measure. Close up, the professor looked worn, tired, and unhealthy. His skin was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, and his tall frame sagged. As if they had aged with his body, his shoes and clothes were not just threadbare; they had gaping holes. “Sugawara?” he said. “Didn’t you take a first at the university?”

Surprised, Akitada nodded. “A long time ago. I’m afraid I don’t recall you, sir.”

The professor’s eyes were watery. He blinked several times. “I don’t see too well, but I think you used to have a mustache then. I was very young myself. You were always chasing after women. Disgraceful, as I recall. You’re lucky the quality of your Chinese essays made up for it.”

“I don’t think …” Akitada paused, then guessed the mistake. “It might have been my father, sir. He was Sugawara Koretada.”

“Yes, yes. That’s the one.” He squinted at Akitada. “Yes, I was a mere child myself then. Anyway, good family. Honor your name, or you’ll come to this.” He gestured at his abode.

Akitada wondered again how the man had come to this. Professors who taught at the Imperial University were well-born, with family money and connections in addition to their stipend.

But his purpose was to discover what had happened to Lady Ogata. Or more precisely, what role Tasuku had played in her death. He considered how to bring up the subject.

The professor eyed his dumpling longingly. “Now, what do you want?” he said, his voice impatient.

“I used to come here when Abbot Genshin was still Takashina Tasuku. We were at the university together. As I recall, he, too, had an interest in women.”

Suketada frowned. “Perhaps.”

“You have had a death here recently. A Lady Ogata died. I believe, she, too, was a permanent resident in the Takashina mansion.”

The professor was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Under the circumstances, there’s nothing permanent about such a residency. She’s dead, and I won’t be around much longer myself. Young man, get to the point. I thought you had questions to ask. So far you’ve only uttered statements.”

“Well then, what was Abbot Genshin’s relationship with the dead woman?”

Suketada stared at him. “I have no idea. Do you mean were they lovers?”

Akitada was becoming frustrated. “Well, were they?”

There was a moment’s silence, then Suketada’s lip twitched. “Do you seriously expect me to blacken the character of the man on whose charity I live here?”

Akitada flushed. “Forgive me. My question was clumsy. Let me explain. I’ve promised to find out what happened, why the lady would suddenly commit suicide. Can you throw some light on this?”

“No.”

“Well, do you know how she came to live here?”

“Considering your questions, you and your friends seem to know next to nothing about the lady. I don’t know any more, but I can guess. The answer is most likely that she was poor and alone in the world.”

“Surely the abbot knew her personally. I would think he knows you and his other lodgers. Why else would he offer these accommodations?”

“Ah. You think there is a story? Possibly a romance? True, the lady was quite beautiful, if my old eyes haven’t fooled me. I may be going on in years, but I do know female beauty.”

“Yes. Perhaps they knew each other before he took the tonsure. Did he ever visit her here?

“That I do not know. He comes here very rarely and doesn’t spend the night. As for his past, I didn’t know him then.”

“I see. Did you get to know her after she came to live here?”

“No. I’m past the age of paying visits to young women.” Suketada’s lip twitched. “Not sorry, you know. Women are trouble. I have my work to occupy me and, unlike you, I’m not curious about other people/s lives. We’d meet sometimes. Fetching water from the well or leaving or returning from an errand. She seemed very pleasant.”

“I see. What about the others who live here? Might they have been closer to her?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I keep my nose in my books all day and sleep at night, but I rather doubt the student studies much. At his age, he’s probably a night animal. The young are always roaming about. As for the nun, well, she’s another woman. The two of them probably had things to talk about.”

“How long have you lived here, sir?”

“Six years in another month. And don’t bother to ask how I came to accept charity or why it was offered, because I won’t tell you.”

Akitada acknowledged this with a small nod. “And Lady Ogata? How long has she been here?”

“She came a year later, I think. I couldn’t tell you exactly when. My memory’s going, and besides I wasn’t interested. One day I came across her in the garden. I asked her what she doing there, and she said she lived in the crane pavilion. Silly name. She meant the lake pavilion.”

“Did you not wonder at her being here?”

“Not at all. It’s none of my business.” Casting another glance at the malodorous food package, the professor added testily, “For that matter, what is your interest in her, Sugawara? I don’t believe you explained the real reason for your visit. Are you here in an official capacity?”

Akitada thought of the Ministry of Justice. He had probably already lost his position. On an impulse, he said, “I investigate crimes.”

The professor’s jaw dropped for a moment. Then he said in a tone of utter astonishment, “You think someone killed her?”

“The police believe it was suicide. Were you surprised when you were told of her death?”

After a pause, the professor said, “No.”

“Then you must have expected it. Were you aware of something being amiss, of an event or a fact that would have driven her to take her life?”

Professor Suketada looked away. “‘One cannot ask loneliness how and where it starts,’” he quoted, then glanced pointedly around his room. “You are a fortunate man, Sugawara. I had almost forgotten that there are people alive who do not find their lives a burden. No, I know of nothing that would have made her life harder to bear than mine.”

The darkness settled back on Akitada. Only hours ago, he had thought his own life an unbearable burden. He had done so for every hour of the past weeks and months since the news of Tamako’s death had reached him in that far-off place. He had railed against obligations which forced him to go on living, to return to an empty home, to take on the care of two young children and a house full of dependents. Was his grief so shallow that a mere tale of an unexplained suicide should have caused him to forget? No doubt, Lady Ogata could have had her own reasons for stepping off that trunk.

Slowly he got to his feet. “I’m sorry I troubled you, Professor. Please forgive the rude intrusion. Perhaps it is better not to ask too many questions. We may not like the answers.” He bowed. “Thank you for your candor.”

The professor nodded. His eyes had already moved to his dumpling.

His visitors left.

*

Outside again, Tora said eagerly, “What a weird fellow! If the rest are like him, we’ll find all sorts of mysteries here. What do you suppose would bring a learned man to live like beggar? The food he bought was rotten. I bet he begged for it.”

Akitada winced. “This is not a happy place. Far from having found a peaceful hermitage, the professor suffers hunger and spends his time contemplating his misfortune.”

“I think a man should keep active and go among other people. Sitting around in one small room, brooding over his misfortune, isn’t healthy. Maybe that’s what made the lady end her life.” He shot Akitada a sidelong glance.

“I thought you were convinced a crime had been committed. If you’ve changed your mind, perhaps we should return home now. I wouldn’t mind some peace and quiet in my room.”

Tora looked guilty. “Well, now that we’re here, let’s see what the others have to say first. Better get the job done properly or Secretary Nakatoshi will be disappointed.”

Akitada sighed, but he turned to look across the gardens. Seeing part of a tiled roof beyond the dense mass of trees, he said, “If I’m not mistaken that’s the lake pavilion over there. Let’s have a look at Lady Ogata’s quarters.”

5

The Student

The pavilion, for all its distance from the main house and its location in an untamed jungle of plants and vines, was a far more elegant abode than the professor’s room off one of the galleries. Akitada wondered what this might suggest for Lady Ogata’s importance or her closeness to the abbot. Tasuku was his own age, and the lady had been in her twenties. It was an age well past the time when women were courted, but she was younger than Tasuku. She could well have been his lover, for apparently she had been beautiful.

And what better place to stash away a lover than this hidden pavilion on his own estate? The abbot could visit any time he wished without exciting comment, yet hardly anyone would know about the woman waiting for him here.

Tora voiced the same thought. “Nice place for an occasional cuddle,” he said, grinning.

They climbed the steps to the door. Perhaps the interior would offer more clues to the lady’s character and her relationship to the saintly abbot.

When Akitada pushed open the door, he thought he heard a sound inside, but the room was empty when he stepped inside, Tora at his heels.

“She didn’t have much,” Tora commented, looking around at the bare floor and the two clothes chests pushed against one wall. There was also an empty clothes rack and a small bare writing desk.

Akitada said nothing. Tamako had owned four trunks for her clothing, one for each season of the year, and her pavilion had contained many more things for her comfort. Thick tatami mats had covered her floor, and there were cushions to sit on. For her enjoyment, she had had several finely painted screens, book cases filled with books, writing desks and utensils, scrolls of paintings and all the more useful items such as candle sticks, braziers both for heating the room and for heating water for tea, water containers, mirrors and cosmetics boxes and so forth. All of these comforts were lacking here. He wondered how Lady Ogata had eaten and where her meals had come from. Had she gone out like the professor to buy a small prepared meal from a stand or a peddler? Who had supported her? The abbot? Where were her servants? Had there been at least a maid?

Tora went to fling open the shutters and let in more light. The dark floor was badly scuffed and dusty. Both Akitada and Tora raised their eyes to the beams overhead.

“The police report said she’d climbed on one of the trunks to reach the rafter,” Tora said. “I guess someone put it back.”

The floor was scratched and showed where the trunk on the left had been dragged to the center of the room and then back again. Akitada eyed the scratches, then walked across to inspect the trunk. He started back with a cry when a tall figure suddenly rose from behind it and confronted them.

“What are you doing here?” demanded a pale-faced youth with glaring eyes. “This is private property. You have no permission to be here. Get out! Get out this instant!” His voice rose hysterically on the last words.

Akitada caught his breath. “And you? What is your business here?” he demanded. “I believe you were hiding.”

Tora moved to block the young man’s escape.

Cornered, the youngster looked from one to the other and tried to bluster. “I live here. And I don’t know you, so you’ve no right to be here.”

Akitada flung open the lid of the trunk. It was filled with clothes. He held up a red Chinese jacket embroidered with butterflies. “And on what occasion do you wear this?” he asked.

Tora guffawed and mimed fanning himself. “He must be one of those man-women,” he said in a high voice, “who dress up in girly finery in private.”

The student’s face flushed with fury, and he went for Tora, fists flying. Tora stopped him by catching one hand and twisting his arm. With a choking cry, the student fell to one knee.

“Let him go, Tora.” Akitada folded the jacket carefully and replaced it, closing the lid of the trunk. “You must be the student Takechi Akushiro. My name is Sugawara. This is Tora, my retainer. We are here to look into Lady Ogata’s sudden death. I know these are her quarters and her clothes.”

The student rose and rubbed his wrist. He was suddenly subdued and looked frightened. “I’ve heard of you,” he said. “You’re the one who investigates crimes. She … she took her own life.” His voice shook over the last words.

Akitada had taken note of the young man’s red-rimmed eyes and guessed that there had been a romantic attachment. The question was how far this had gone. Had it been merely a young man’s infatuation with an older woman or had they been lovers? He said, “I take it you live in the mansion at the invitation of Abbot Genshin, just like the others?”

The student nodded without lifting his eyes.

“How did this come about?”

Takechi Akushiro glanced at him. “How do you mean? I needed a place to stay. He offered.”

“But why? Are you paying for your room?”

“No.” A slow flush crept up the student’s neck. “It was a kindness,” he said. “My parents were too poor to send me to the university. He convinced them to let me come. He also pays my fees and for my books, and paper and ink. I work evenings and earn the money for my food.”

“Good for you,” Akitada said. “And how are your studies coming along?”

“All right.” Akushiro avoided Akitada’s eyes and fidgeted.

“I see. But none of this explains what you are doing here in the lady’s room.”

The flush returned to the youth’s slightly pimply face. “I … I come here sometimes. To remember her.” He shuddered. “It was terrible.”

“Were you lovers?”

The student jerked upright and stared at him. “No. Never. She wouldn’t have me,” He nearly sobbed. “I wouldn’t have dared. Oh, dear heaven!” And now he broke down. Turning away, he hid his face in his hands. Akitada could see his shoulders shaking as he wept. “Let me go!” he pleaded. “I can’t bear it.” He started for the door.

Tora moved to stop him, but Akitada said, “No. Let him go.”

The student having disappeared at a run, they looked at each other.

“Did you believe him?” Tora asked. “I mean that there was nothing between them?”

“I think he was in love with her. At that age, love is a very powerful emotion. Perhaps she rejected his advances, or else she was unaware of them.” He looked around the room. “Not very luxurious,” he commented. “Hardly the accommodations one provides for a mistress. I may have misjudged Tasuku.” He opened the trunk again and looked at the Chinese jacket. Tamako had one like it. Hers was a rose color and had been a fairly costly present he had given her some years ago. In time it had become worn. This looked hardly worn and had been folded most carefully on top of the other clothes. He laid it aside and unpacked the trunk. It was filled with sumptuous gowns and undergowns, with shimmering trouser skirts, and embroidered slippers, with exquisitely painted fans and embroidered sashes. All of it seemed new, or nearly so, and each piece was deeply creased in the folds as if the clothes had rested in the trunk for a long time. He replaced everything, not as neatly as he wished, then opened the second trunk. This one held very different clothes. Only two gowns were silk, and they were badly worn. The rest of the clothes were as ordinary as what a shopkeeper’s wife might wear. And there were not many of them: two gowns for summer and two quilted ones for winter, plus some ordinary ramie undergowns and a few much mended white socks. The final garment was a white nun’s robe and shawl, the kind worn by women on pilgrimages. On top of these clothes, lay a small silk bag containing a few coins, hardly enough to buy food for a month.

The very bottom of the trunk was taken up by two books of scrolls and some writing paper. Akitada unrolled the books and found they were tales from Genji, the famous novel about the imperial prince with the many love affairs and his one true love for his Lady Murasaki. Lady Ogata, or someone else, had annotated the novel here and there. The handwriting was elegant. Replacing the contents of the second trunk, Akitada sighed.

She had once led an elegant life, perhaps at court or else as wife or daughter of a powerful nobleman. The expensive clothing proved this much. Her education had made her a woman with refined tastes in reading. But something had happened, and she had found refuge here, no longer protected by wealth, but so poor that she wore ordinary clothes and mended her socks. What had brought her to this?

Tora called from a dark corner under the far eaves. “Come look at this.”

Akitada joined him and saw a rough wooden board that held a plain brazier with some remnants of ashes, an iron pot, two bowls, a basket with half a turnip and a bundle of wilted greens, a small sack of rice, and another of beans. On a shriveled leaf rested two dried-out slices of yokan, a sweet made from bean paste, honey, and chestnuts. “Surely she didn’t cook her own meals,” he said, shocked by the poor fare and equipment.

Tora was unmoved. “Oh, it’s easy enough to boil a bit of rice gruel and add some radish and greens. Quite tasty, I’d say.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. But for a wellborn lady this spells abject poverty. If the good abbot was a truly charitable man, he would not have let her live like this. Let’s go find this caretaker. He should know more about the owner, the people he has taken in, and their stories.

6

Murder in a Bathhouse

After hurrying to finish with the Sugawara accounts, Saburo left the main house and went to the kitchen. The cook, a new member of the household, hired by Lady Sugawara while they had been in Kyushu, was a round, short country woman who was missing some of her front teeth. Unlike her predecessor, she was cheerful and did not mind work.

Saburo had asked her what had happened to her teeth. It appeared that her husband had knocked them out one night when he had come home drunk and she made the mistake of telling him he shouldn’t have spent their last coppers on wine.

Saburo had pitied her, but she just laughed. “It was a good thing, Saburo,” she explained. “It made me leave the bastard before he got me with child. I’m done with men now. No offense.”

Ever since, Saburo had treated her with the greatest respect.

Today he found her starting the fire under the rice cooker. “Do you need anything from the market, Masumi?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve already been. Went early.” She straightened up and gave him a smile. “Go see your girl. Nobody’ll miss you. Not much happening since our lady died and her babe with her.”

Saburo nodded. The sadness was creeping back, and he hurried off into town. Shokichi would drive the demons of darkness from his mind.

Shokichi had given up prostitution and was earning some money by applying the make-up for entertainers and courtesans. Recently she had also begun to arrange their hair and select their costumes. She had always had a knack with this sort of thing, helping her friends get ready for their customers. Now she worked for a number of “aunties” who sent for her when they were rushed and needed to get a number of women ready for a party. Shokichi’s income was very small compared to what she could earn as a prostitute, but it was getting better and Saburo augmented it. She rented a room near the amusement quarter.

Saburo was glad she had given up her trade. Quite apart from the fact that he did not want to share her with other men, Shokichi was thirty. She was younger than he by fifteen years but becoming too old for her former occupation. On the other hand, her changed circumstances and their changed relationship presented new problems. Lately he had noticed a certain possessiveness in her. He loved Shokichi, but he did not want to get married. For one thing, he could not very well bring another ex-prostitute into his master’s house, expecting him to support an additional family, and for another … well, he really was not the marrying type. The present situation was what he liked: knowing she was there for him whenever he needed a woman’s touch.

When he turned down her street, he saw Shokichi come flying out of her door and taking off at a run.

“Shokichi,” he shouted, hurrying to catch up.

She turned, flushed with excitement. “Saburo, I’m so glad you’re early. You must come quickly.”

First things first. Saburo took Shokichi in his arms and swung her around. “I’m happy to see you, too,” he murmured into her ear.

She struggled free. “No time for that now. A terrible thing has happened. They’re going to arrest Sachi. They say she killed a customer.”

Saburo searched his memory. Ah! Sachi was one of Shokichi’s friends. She was the blind girl. He asked, “Why did she kill him or her?”

Shokichi stamped her foot impatiently. “She didn’t. And it was a man, a horrid man. His name’s Nakamura. They say she slit his throat with the razor. Come on. You must stop them.”

The blind Sachi earned a living by shampooing and shaving customers. Blind people frequently took such jobs because they could perform them by touch. Sachi was supposed to be popular with her customers for her gentle hands, and possibly also because she was pretty.

“Could it have been an accident?” he asked. “Maybe her hand slipped?”

“I don’t think so. Let’s go.” Shokichi pulled at his arm.

He resisted. “If the police have been called, surely it’s too late. What’s the rush? There’s nothing I can do.”

“Oh, Saburo,” she wailed. “Why do you do this to me?”

He gave up. They ran down the street together and cut over to the next thoroughfare, Shokichi in front, her skirts gathered with one hand so that he could see her shapely legs moving swiftly and seductively in front of him. “Is it far?” he cried, trying to keep up and hoping that this would at least earn him some lovemaking later on.

“Next street. In the Daikoku-yu.”

The Daikoku-yu was a bathhouse. The next street marked the boundary between the amusement quarter and the business area of the city. The owner of the Daikoku-yu, which was named for the god of wealth, had chosen an excellent location where he could draw his clientele from both ways of life and earn the largest possible income. In the nature of things, the shopkeepers and businessmen were not averse to sharing a bath with the pretty women from the quarter and so both benefitted, and the Daikoku-yu did an excellent business.

A crowd had gathered outside the bathhouse, craning their necks. Through the double doors, Saburo could see the red coats of police. But before he and Shokichi reached the entrance, the crowd parted, and a line of policemen came marching out. In their midst was a slight figure in a white gown now terribly stained with blood. Sachi was still young and quite good-looking but for her fixed eyes. Now her head was raised, the sightless eyes seeming to search the sky for rescue. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she moaned softly. Her hands were chained together in front and two burly policemen dragged her along by this chain. As she could not see, she stumbled and started to fall once or twice. The policemen jerked her upright with a shout to “walk faster!”

Before Saburo could stop her, Shokichi screamed “Sachi!” and rushed among the policemen to throw her arms around the blind woman. This earned her a back-handed slap from one of the constables. For good measure, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her aside so roughly that she fell to the ground. The police escort marched its prisoner away, and Saburo went to pick Shokichi up.

She wept and railed at him for not stopping the police while he searched for a tissue in his sash to stem her tears.

“Please,” he begged, “calm down, my love. Are you hurt? That animal! How dared he strike a woman. I’ll file a complaint against him. Hold still and hush.”

She snatched the tissue from his hand, blew her nose, and said angrily, “This is not about me. Didn’t you see how they treated Sachi? She’s also a woman. And she’s blind.”

“Yes, but there was no point in making matters worse. Let’s find out first what happened.”

Shokichi looked upset but followed him inside.

The wet steamy smell of the bathhouse met them, but there was also a whiff of something else, both sickening and disturbing. Saburo knew the smell. He had smelled blood before, his own and that of others. It seemed to come from a room at the end of the hallway to the left. Its door was open, and a few people had gathered there. Another redcoat stood at the door beside a fat man in a brown ramie robe that showed large sweat stains under the arms and around his neck.

Saburo stopped. Shokichi had turned rather pale. He said, “I think it will be best if you stay back. Find someone who knew Sachi. Start with the bathhouse staff. Ask them if they know what happened and who the victim is. Can you do that?”

She nodded. “What will you do?”

“I want to have a look at the room where it happened. I’ll come to find you.”

To his relief, Shokichi went off obediently. For a moment there, he had been afraid her anger over Sachi’s treatment by the police had spilled over to him.

Saburo approached the fat man who was talking to the policeman. “Your pardon for the interruption,” he said, peering past them. “We came for a bath and wondered what happened.”

The fat man turned and bowed to the customer. “Please forgive the inconvenience,” he said in an oily voice. “A small disturbance merely. I’m Jinzaemon, the owner. Allow me to show you the way.”

Saburo eyed him with disfavor. “Someone died in there. I can smell the blood. What happened?”

Jinzaemon fluttered a fat hand. “Sssh! No need to upset other guests. It was just a quarrel between a harlot and her customer. We discourage women soliciting here, but I’m afraid it happens anyway. The police have taken her away. It’s perfectly safe now.” He reached out to take Saburo’s elbow and lead him away, but Saburo side-stepped and slipped past the policeman to peer into the small room.

It was barely large enough for a reed mat. Apparently it was used for massages or moxa treatments, but the scattered metal bowl, towels, and bloody shaving knife showed that Sachi had worked here, giving shampoos and shaves. Across the reed mat lay a skinny man on his side. His gray hair was undone and still wet. He wore only the thin cotton yukata provided by the bathhouse. The yukata, the reed mat, most of the towels, and part of the floor were covered with his blood. The blood had also spattered across one of the walls, making a strange swirling pattern as if the dead man had turned the moment his throat had been cut.

A black-robed monk was rising to his feet beside the body. He wiped his bloody hands on a towel, then dropped it. “You can take him away now,” he told the policeman.

The policeman elbowed Saburo out of the way, and let the monk out of the room. “Did she do anything else to him?” he asked the monk.

The monk shook his head. “Just the slashed throat. It was quick.”

The policeman noticed Saburo and opened his mouth to speak.

“Who is the dead man?” Saburo asked quickly.

The monk glanced at him. “Nakamura Minobe. To live is to die.”

The policeman growled, “Get out! This is an official investigation.”

Saburo retreated to stand with some of the other watchers, as the monk walked away. Several young women, prostitutes to judge by their colorful wraps and the smudged makeup on their faces, stood about. The one closest to him said, “He was a bastard. Sachi did a lot of people a favor.”

Saburo eyed her with interest. “How so?”

She glanced at him, stared at his scars and his rolling eye, and stepped back a little. Close-up, Saburo was still a shocking sight to women. He made an effort to control his eye and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Nakamura’s got more money than the emperor,” she said. “The stingy bastard’s a regular here. People think he’s Daitoku himself.” She laughed harshly. “He lends money to people and charges twice the monks’ rate. The monks are choosy who they lend money to, but Nakamura doesn’t care as long as they pay or own something he can sell.”

A money lender? Saburo was pleased with the information. “A lot of people want a moneylender dead. And if he was wealthy, there’ll be some who’ll benefit from his death. So why would the police arrest a blind shampoo girl?”

The woman gave another laugh. “Because she did it. Don’t ask me why. Sachi’s crazy. Who knows what such a person will do? Maybe her hand slipped, or maybe she made it slip. But if you ask me, I think he made a pass and she killed him for it. He’s a dirty old man and she doesn’t like to be touched.”

“Really? How do you know?”

The woman made a face. “She acts like she’s better than us. Some of us took pity on her and tried to get her work in one of the houses, but she wouldn’t do it. Now look at her. No better than a beggar and a murderess.”

There was an interruption as some sweepers came in with a litter. They went into the small room, wrapped the dead man into the blood-soaked mat, and placed him on the stretcher. The onlookers, shying away from contamination by the dead, dispersed, and the prostitute gathered her skirts and scuttled away on her wooden geta.

Saburo stayed. The sweepers carried the corpse away at a brisk trot. He got only a brief glimpse of the man’s face between the folds of the mat. Nakamura’s face was gray and his fleshy lips had opened in an expression of surprise.

The observation was not helpful. Saburo imagined he would have been as surprised at being cut by the shampoo girl as by one of his disgruntled clients attacking him. With a sigh, he went in search of Shokichi.

He found her near the entrance where the owner loitered, attempting to reassure possible customers. Shokichi was talking to the prostitute. When she saw Saburo, she bowed to the woman and came to him. “Komachi says there was blood everywhere,” she informed Saburo.

He nodded. “People bleed out quickly when you cut their throat,” he said, looking after the prostitute. “Do you know her?”

“Yes. Komachi’s a bitch and hates Sachi.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. I think it’s because Sachi wouldn’t sell herself. Some of the women wanted to help her because she’s pretty. You saw her.” She gave Saburo a searching glance.

He nodded absentmindedly. “So the prostitutes hate her because she refused to become one of them?” Shokichi said nothing for a moment. “Well? Is that all they hold against her, that she tried to keep her self-respect?”

Shokichi flushed and stared at him. “I guess so,” she finally said tonelessly.

“Then they should be ashamed!”

“She was starving. They meant to help. They tried very hard to get one of the houses to take her on. The woman who owns it didn’t want a blind girl. She said it would be a turn-off for the customers. But in the end she agreed, and they got her to offer Sachi a place. Sachi absolutely refused. She made a lot of enemies in the amusement quarter.”

“Hmm.” Saburo thought this over. “I wonder what she said when they accused her of murder,” he muttered.

Jinzaemon, overheard him. “The stupid bitch called for help,” he said. He directed one of the bath attendants, who carried two buckets of water, to the room where Nakamura had died. “Hurry,” he told the woman. “We’ll need the room later.”

Jinzaemon was clearly above all a businessman. A murder on his premises was something that must be erased from people’s minds as quickly as possible.

“Now, then, sir,” he said to Saburo. “Let me show you and the little woman where to go. You’ve paid already, haven’t you?”

Saburo shook his head. “We’ve changed our minds.” He took Shokichi’s arm and started to walk out.

Shokichi shook him off. “Look,” she pleaded with Jinzaemon, “Sachi’s my friend. We need to help her. Could someone else have done this?”

Jinzaemon lost his good humor. “You should pick better friends,” he said and started to walk away.

“Wait.” Saburo reached into his sash and pulled out a handful of coppers. “Here,” he said. “I bet you lost some business over this.”

Jinzaemon stopped and took the coins. “You’re right,” he said, bowing. “And he was a very good customer, too. A real loss.”

“You said she called for help. Did she know what she’d done?”

“I would imagine. She’d enough common sense to say she’d stepped out the room for something and found him dead when she got back. Of course, no one believed that. She was covered with his blood. She would’ve been better off just running away as fast as possible.”

“A blind girl?”

“Whatever. Look, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the tip. Come back another time. This isn’t a good day.”

No, it was not a good day.

Saburo found Shokichi staring into space, her face white and frozen. He thought the smell of blood must have nauseated her. Somehow the mix of steam and blood had settled in his own nose and throat. He put an arm around her and walked her outside.

Shokichi asked tonelessly, “What will you do next?”

“The owner says your friend claimed she was out of the room when Nakamura was killed.”

“If she said so, it’s true.”

Saburo chuckled. “Why?”

She glared at him. “Because she doesn’t lie. Poor Sachi.” She wrung her hands. “They’ll beat her till she confesses. This is so unjust.”

Saburo cleared his throat and spat. He needed some wine to wash away the taste of blood. “Well, there’s nothing to be done at the moment,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders again. “Let’s go have a bite to eat and a cup of wine.”

She flung his arm off. “You don’t care because we’re nothing to you.” And with that she walked away.

“Wait!” Saburo ran after her. “Please, Shokichi, don’t be stupid!”

It was the wrong thing to say. She flung about. “You think I’m stupid? Maybe you’re right. I’ve been stupid to think you cared for me. Go away, Saburo. This is my problem, not yours. I made a mistake. You and I are nothing to each other. I don’t want to see you again.”

7

The Caretaker and the Artist

Tora was pleased that the plan had worked so well. Not only had they lured his master out of the house, but he already looked a changed man. Gone was the mild, abstracted manner, the urge to flee from conversations, the lack of interest in the outside world. Instead, his master looked more like the man they had feared left behind in Kyushu. His expression was intent, his eyes sharp, and he had developed a new energy.

The trouble was they had tempted him with a case that was not really a case. He might be curious about the lady’s death now, but once he was satisfied that no crime had been committed, he would be angry with them and retreat again. In fact, Superintendent Kobe had pointed out just such a possibility. With so clear-cut a case of suicide, the Sugawara interest would flag almost immediately.

But all was still well. His lordship, purposeful and energetic, announced, “Let’s go see the caretaker next. He should know more about this odd group of people.”

Akitada was dimly aware of Tora’s worries. His initial irritation at being manipulated had given way to the knowledge that only real friends would go to such extremes. He was very moved by this. Furthermore, this alleged suicide-and Akitada was by no means convinced that the lady’s death had not been murder-touched on that other case in his past. It, too, had involved Tasuku and the death of a woman. Akitada believed there must be a story linking this woman with his former friend, and he very much wanted to know what it was.

He was instinctively suspicious of Tasuku, or Abbot Genshin as he had become. Perhaps it still rankled that Tasuku had escaped punishment for his callous behavior in the past by taking the tonsure and was now living comfortably as a wealthy and respected cleric. Or perhaps it was the conviction that a womanizer of Tasuku’s cut could not possibly become a celibate saint.

In any case, he wanted to know more.

When they emerged from Lady Ogata’s pavilion, they found another odd-looking individual waiting for them.

The man was short and stocky, in his forties, and clearly curious what they were doing. He was also unkempt. His hair stuck out from a carelessly tied topknot, his face was covered with three days’ worth of stubble, and his green robe and yellow trousers appeared ragged, filthy, and stained with paint.

His manners left something to be desired also. “Who are you?” he demanded, looking them over rudely.

“I’m Lord Sugawara.” Akitada eyed the paint-stains with a frown. “And you?”

The man cocked his head and scratched his jaw. “Yoshizane,” He jerked his head toward Tora. “And that one?”

Akitada ignored this. “You must be the painter.” His frown deepened. He had reason to dislike painters. One of them had abducted his young son and had drugged, tortured, and nearly killed Akitada. Since then, he had an ingrained suspicion that painters were madmen at heart who would stop at nothing for the sake of their profession.

Seeing his master’s scowl, Tora interceded. “We’re looking for the caretaker. Can you direct us?”

Yoshizane laughed. “Lucky coincidence! I was just going to see the lazy bastard myself. Come along, Come along.” He turned and skipped off along a path.

Akitada grumbled but followed. They passed empty stables and kitchen buildings and reached a small house built against the outer wall of the compound.

The painter pointed at it. “That’s his. Koshiro and I take a cup of wine together this time of day.” He chuckled. “Or any other, if truth be told. He buys better wine than I. Heaven knows where he gets the money.” He shouted, “Ho, Koshiro?”

The door opened and a man with short, gray hair put out his head.

“You got visitors,” the painter called out. “Important ones by the look of them.”

Koshiro emerged fully. He was tall and muscular and wore an ordinary checked jacket and short black pants. On his feet were straw sandals.

The man clearly did not welcome the visit. In fact, he looked curiously uneasy.

Akitada approached. “I’m Sugawara. I came to talk to you and the others about Lady Ogata’s death.”

Koshiro blinked, then opened the door wider and invited them in. “We’ve told the police everything we know,” he said with a glance at the painter who followed, smiling and nodding.

Koshiro’s quarters were simple but clean. To Akitada’s surprise, the man owned a number of books. Caretakers were not usually literate. They derived their appointments from the fact that they were trusted family servants, but here was an educated man, someone who could earn a good deal more by using his skills elsewhere or in another capacity. In the capital, there was always a great demand for scribes and men who could manage bureaus, offices, archives, and documents.

Koshiro brought some rush mats for them to sit on, then sat down himself. The painter looked around for the wine, but decided to wait.

Akitada began by asking the question that had just occurred to him. “How did you come to take on this work?”

Koshiro met his eyes briefly and looked away. He will lie, thought Akitada, fascinated.

“His Reverence needed someone to look after the place,” the caretaker said, “and I needed a place to live. I’m alone in the world and like the arrangement.”

Ah. Not a lie perhaps, but certainly not an answer that contained any information. How did the two men meet? Why was Koshiro alone in the world? Why would he accept such a lowly position? And finally, perhaps most intriguingly, what was it about his life here that was so attractive?

Akitada did not get to ask those questions, because the painter said cheerfully, “We all like it here. It’s peaceful, and we’re peaceful people.”

Akitada eyed him without pleasure. “You almost make it sound as if the residents are hiding from someone or something.”

Koshiro made a sudden movement, and the painter said quickly, “People. We hide from people. I have my work and hate interruptions; the student has his studies, the nun lives like hermit and does her devotions, and Koshiro’s shy.”

Akitada eyed the caretaker. “Shy?” The caretaker did not seem shy. He seemed very uncomfortable. “And Lady Ogata?”

“Well,” said the painter with a laugh, “women without families must find refuge someplace, right?”

“So she had no family? How did that come about?”

“How should I know? I don’t ask questions. It was enough to see her sometimes.” The painter’s eyes closed, and he smiled. “An exquisite beauty! A man could go mad with desire for such a one.”

Koshiro snapped, “Shame on you, Yoshizane! You’re disrespectful of the dead.”

The painter opened his eyes and grinned. “No offense, Koshiro. I’m an artist after all. My eyes are always searching out the most memorable and revealing features of the world around me.”

These words must have carried some secret meaning, for Koshiro now looked at the painter with a murderous expression. Akitada became convinced that the men who lived here had not been indifferent to the beautiful woman among them. He had already noted that the student, though younger than the dead woman, had been enamored of her. Such passions could create jealousies and bitter resentments, and these frequently led to murder.

But he said nothing of this. Instead he changed the subject to Abbot Genshin’s charity. “How is it that all the residents live here by Abbot Genshin’s generosity?”

Koshiro said quickly, “I work here. I’m the caretaker of the property. This small house is part of my pay.”

The painter smirked. “Not that his work is very heavy, considering there are always people from the outside coming in to sweep and rake, to trim and tidy up. As for me? Yes, I have use of some space in one of the wings. I do my painting there and pay for its use by donating some of my work to the abbot’s temple.”

Koshiro snorted.

By now both men glared at each other, and Akitada decided to change the subject again. “Tell me what you know about Lady Ogata.”

The painter said, “She kept to herself. Well, we all do mostly. The student, of course, leaves for his classes. I think the nun might know more about her than the men. The two women did visit each other sometimes.”

“How do you know that? From what I gather, both Lady Ogata’s pavilion and the nun’s are hidden by trees from the main house.”

The painter flushed.

Koshiro stared at him. “Been spying on her, have you, Yoshizane?” he sneered.

“No more than you, you dirty old man.”

Koshiro started up, fists clenched.

Tora stepped between them. “Sit down, both of you. We don’t care about you watching a pretty female, though I’m sure she might have. We want to know what you saw while you were ogling her charms from the bushes.”

Akitada gave him a look. “What Tora means,” he said, “is that you have all lived here together for a number of years. It stands to reason that you should know about each other’s lives, activities, moods, backgrounds, and even why each one of you came here to live.”

It was a mistake. Both men clamped their lips together and glowered. He heard Tora heave a sigh.

“So, “Akitada declared, “there was something wrong with her death, and you two know what it was.”

“No,” cried Koshiro, turning white.

“What do you mean?” protested the painter. “What could have been wrong?

“Could she have been murdered? Did someone have reason to kill her? Did she quarrel with anyone? Threaten anyone? Did she know something that made her dangerous to someone? Was she in someone’s way? Come on! There was something! Speak up!”

The painter gulped.

Koshiro, who was breathing fast, said, “The police have been here. They looked at everything. They said it was suicide. I found her that morning. There was no way anyone could have done this.”

Akitada raised his brows. “How so?”

“Well … it looked … you know … like suicide.” Koshiro wiped a suddenly sweaty brow. “She was alone, and she’d pushed a trunk under a rafter. She’d climbed up, tied a piece of silk around it and then around her neck and … and jumped off.”

“The only way you can know this for certain is if you saw her do it,” Akitada commented.

Speechless, Koshiro shook his head.

The painter said, “It probably did happen that way. What makes you think it was murder, sir?”

“It may have happened that way, but things could also have been arranged to make her death look like suicide. Your refusal to talk about her and the others suggests that there were secrets you hoped to keep hidden. It’s suspicious.”

Koshiro rose. “I have nothing else to tell you. You may as well go away and talk to the others.”

The painter nodded. “I also have no secrets to tell. Perhaps Lady Ogata shared her thoughts with the nun. She wasn’t likely to confide in any of the men.” He smiled. “Trouble is, Seikan’s not here at the moment. Gone on a pilgrimage. Left just after Lady Ogata died. To pray for her soul.”

He and Koshiro exchanged a glance. They seemed to have overcome their resentment of each other and decided to stick together on this matter.

Akitada sighed and rose. “In that case, we’ll be back.”

Outside Koshiro’s house, Tora said, “I think they’re hiding something. We should’ve pressed them harder.”

“To what point? Let’s go home.”

Akitada felt the darkness descending again. He had done enough, at least for one day. There was no point in any of this beyond the fact that Tora and the others cared about him and it would have been heartless not to make the gesture. But what was there for him except the eventual return to a home that had become empty and a life that was purposeless?

It would be a relief to become like these people living here in obscurity, each alone, each without obligations to anyone but him- or herself. Whatever had brought them here, he thought, must have been painful. Well, who was he to rob them of their peace?

Tora walked a step or so behind, as was fitting. “Will we really come back?” he asked.

Akitada heard the fear in his voice. “Yes,” he said and stopped to look at Tora. Tora’s concern filled his face, having wiped away the usual bright smile for once. “Thank you for making me forget for a little while. But you must be patient with me.”

“I will. We all will, sir.”

Now there were tears in Tora’s eyes. Overcome by so much devotion, Akitada turned and walked more quickly, perhaps fleeing a burden he could not escape.

8

Talk of the Town

Saburo was thunderstruck by Shokichi’s behavior. For the first time in many years he had given a woman his love, and she had broken his heart. And for no good reason. He did not recall hearing about this Sachi before today, and yet Shokichi was ready to break off their relationship because he had not rushed in to free the blind woman from the police. Shokichi was too stupid to see that this would have led to more trouble for the girl, and would have got him arrested. But clearly she did not really care about what happened to him.

She had ended it by saying very clearly and loudly, so everyone could hear, “You and I are nothing to each other.”

And he had actually considered marrying the woman. He had finally allowed a female to get close to him. He had trusted her, and this was what she did to him. Over a blind shampoo girl!

When Shokichi walked away from him, leaving him standing in the street, Saburo turned and started walking home, anger in his heart and the conviction that he would never find love or companionship.

The realization of what lay ahead in the Sugawara household depressed him further. He was still the outsider there. Both Tora and Genba had wives, and the master had at least his children. Only he, Saburo, had nothing.

Nothing but the raw pain of having been rejected again.

Then the thought of showing Shokichi what she had so casually thrown away occurred to him. Yes, he owed it to himself to prove that he was worth any number of her girlfriends. And the best way of doing this was to solve the murder of the moneylender Nakamura. Then Shokichi would be ashamed and would come to thank him and beg him to forgive her, and he would tell her quite coldly that she had been right all along: they had nothing in common and no future together.

Saburo walked back to the wine shop near the Daikoku-yu where he had intended to take his beloved only a few hours ago. Now he was a single man again, and there was no reason why he should be deprived of the meal and a few cups of wine while he thought about the moneylender.

After a bowl of tasty fish stew and some very decent sake, he had worked out a plan of sorts. His past training suggested surreptitious surveillance of suspects, but he had no suspects yet, merely suspicions.

Among those suspicions was that one of Nakamura’s customers had resorted to murder to close out a debt he could not pay. Another possibility concerned the heirs of a man who was, by all accounts, very wealthy.

Saburo had a low opinion of men who would lend money to the poor at very high interest. He considered them excessively greedy and assumed that their relatives were not much better.

Having paid for his food and wine, he set out briskly for the Daikoku-yu. By now it was the middle of the day, the slackest time for bathhouses and people who did not work. He was not surprised to see Jinzaemon standing outside, chatting with a couple. His expressions and gestures showed that the subject was the bloody murder committed on his premises.

Gossips gather at more places than wells, Saburo thought, and they were not all women. In this case, they were an old man and a middle-aged housewife. He sidled up and listened.

“Four years she’s worked here off and on,” Jinzaemon said to the old man who was leaning on his stick, listening avidly. “Four years I let her make money from my customers, and this is what she does to me? Nakamura was one of my best customers, regular like clockwork every morning for his shave and shampoo, and regular every night for his bath. Not many men take such good care of themselves.”

“I bet he came to ogle the women,” said the woman, who was quite fat and unattractive. “Some men cannot get enough. And that blind girl was young.”

The old man chortled. “And couldn’t see what an ugly bastard he was.”

Jinzaemon frowned at this. “Now hold it right there. There was never anything like that between them. I keep a decent place.”

His listeners burst out laughing. Even Saburo laughed. This caused Jinzaemon to notice him.

“You’re back again?” he said sourly but decided he now had a witness to the damage he had suffered. He told his listeners, “This man was here this morning when the police came. He saw Nakamura’s body and what the room looked like. We scrubbed for hours to get it looking halfway decent again.” He pulled Saburo forward. “Tell Genzo and Mrs. Ozaki about all the blood. Tell them what that stupid girl did. They won’t believe me.”

The old man and the fat woman looked at Saburo expectantly.

“There was a lot of blood,” Saburo acknowledged, “but the blind girl said she didn’t kill him. I’m for keeping an open mind. What do you think happened?”

Jinzaemon snorted his disgust, but the woman had thought the matter over. “You’re right. Sachi’s a slight little thing. No meat on her bones. Not much strength either. I don’t see her killing him. A woman needs strength to deal with men.”

The old man cackled. “What’s she need strength for? She had a sharp knife in her hand and her hand on his neck.”

She rounded on him. “Why would the blind girl ruin herself by killing a customer?”

He said, “ Nakamura’s a man and he’s got eyes. And hands. And something else. He could see she was young and pretty. A girl doesn’t need eyes to make love. Most of you wait until it’s dark anyway. A man can always find what he’s looking for. Even in a dark garden, the jade warrior can find the cinnabar cave, right?” The old man winked at Saburo.

The woman gave him a push that sent him stumbling. “You’ve got a dirty mouth, Genzo. Maybe that Sachi’s a good girl. She didn’t want to sell herself.”

Jinzaemon snorted. “A good girl, you say? She thought she was too good for a man like Nakamura-san. Maybe he tried to get a little feel, and she cut him? Has that occurred to you?”

The woman blinked, and Saburo seized the opening. “So this Nakamura chased the girls? Did he make a point of asking for Sachi?”

Jinzaemon flushed. “Nothing of the sort. He’d heard she was good at massaging the scalp and wanted to try her.”

The old man guffawed. “His scalp? Is that what they call it now?” He skipped aside when the woman slapped at him.

The bathhouse owner glared. “What if Nakamura did have an eye for girls? What if he wanted something extra now and then? He always tipped the girls. They were glad enough to make themselves pleasant. But not this one. Oh, no!”

“I take it,” said Saburo, “that it was the first time Sachi … er … waited on him?”

Jinzaemon chewed his lip. “I wish I’d sent for someone else, but I thought she could use a bit extra. Who would think that a blind shampoo girl would kill a grown man?”

“So did this Nakamura expect special services from the shampoo girl?”

“Of course, he did,” cried the old man gleefully. “That one never missed a chance. In the quarter, they call him a champion. He’s a real bull, that man.”

That meant Nakamura was a steady and well-known customer in the amusement quarter. Apparently, his interest in women carried over to bathhouses.

The fat woman gave the old man another push. “Men are all alike,” she said, making a face. “Their minds are always in the gutter. A real bull? That skinny runt wasn’t young enough to get it up, let alone get a reputation.”

Her companion rubbed his arm. “What do you know, woman? Do you spend time in the quarter? Do you listen to the women talking? I tell you, he was always there. Every day! He has his favorites and goes regularly to some of the houses. He’s got the money. Why shouldn’t he?”

The conversation was getting away from Sachi. Saburo said, “Come on, Jinzaemon. You haven’t answered. Did Nakamura ask for Sachi because he wanted her to perform sexual services?”

The bathhouse owner said sullenly, “He asked for her. I don’t know what he wanted. I told you, I run a decent establishment.”

The other two promptly giggled again. The old man told Saburo, “Jinzaemon has an arrangement with some of the women from the quarter. If one of his customers asks for something special-he waggled his eyebrows-he sends for them and puts them in a private room. The girls share their fees with him, and the customers tip him generously.”

Jinzaemon flushed with anger. “That’s a lie, Genzo! Don’t you go about telling such tales, you sorry piece of shit!”

He started for the old man, but Saburo caught his arm. “Hold on. Jinzaemon. You don’t need any more trouble today.”

Jinzaemon glared, muttered something, and went back into his place of business. The old man and the woman looked pleased with themselves. They had come for a gossip and had enjoyed it. No doubt, they would carry the information with them to entertain friends and neighbors. And gradually the story would become ever more outrageous. Saburo almost felt sorry for Jinzaemon.

Still, those two had little to fill their days. The old man could not work any longer and spent his time talking to the women in the amusement quarter, no doubt a vicarious pleasure at his age. And the woman probably had a daughter-in-law or two at home and could leave the housework to them. It is said, if you gossip about a person, his shadow will appear. In this case, they knew a good deal about the victim, and Saburo wanted information about Nakamura. He asked, “Where did this Nakamura live?”

“Above his shop on Gojo-Bomon,” the woman said promptly. “He’s a curio dealer, but that’s mostly just for show. Why do you want to know?”

Saburo saw rekindled interest in her eyes and laughed. “Maybe I just want to see where the famous bull resided. Or maybe I want to pick up some tips on getting women.”

They chuckled. Genzo said slyly, “My throat got dry from all this talking on a hot day. What say we have a cup of wine?”

Saburo agreed eagerly. “I’m pretty dry myself. Allow me to invite both of you.”

They looked at each other and grinned. The threesome walked to the same wine shop where Saburo has eaten and sat down outside on one of the benches.

They proved how parched they were from all the talking by consuming three flasks of strong sake each, but the wine oiled their tongues amazingly. Putting aside their squabbles, they took pleasure in regaling Saburo with Nakamura’s habits, background, family, and business methods.

The picture that emerged was very unpleasant. Saburo developed an intense hostility toward Nakamura. Men like that deserved killing. In fact, the killer had done his fellow citizens a big favor by ridding the world of the man. Perhaps a few, like Jinzaemon and a handful of aunties and harlots regretted his passing, but for the rest things must be looking up.

And even the women in the quarter might feel a relief. According to Genzo. Nakamura had enjoyed inflicting pain. Mrs. Ozaki was well-informed about Nakamura’s household. He lived in the fourth quarter in a fine merchant’s house he had bought a few years ago. A small curio shop in the front catered to the nobility by offering high-priced art objects, but Nakamura’s money mostly came from the loans he extended to people.

“Any chance he might have creditors among the good people?” Saburo asked Mrs. Ozaki.

“Creditors?”

“People who owe him money.”

She looked vague. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”

Genzo said, “He did most of his business in the quarter and on the market. The shop is run by his son.”

“What about his family? A rich man has many wives and sons. What are they like?”

Mrs. Ozaki downed another cup of wine. “No wife. She died. At his age, he likes the harlots much better. He has a son and three daughters. The son’s married. They say the daughters are very ugly, but two have husbands. I expect that cost him dearly. The third keeps house for her father. It’s not a big job. He’s never home. In the daytime he goes about making money, and the night he spends with the whores.”

Genzo chuckled. “What a life!”

Mrs. Ozaki snapped, “It got him killed, didn’t it? So you’d best think again.”

Genzo protested, “It wasn’t the money or the sex that got him killed. It was a clumsy shampoo girl. He should’ve grown a beard.” He felt his own clean-shaven chin. “Maybe I’ll grow one myself.”

They laughed at him. Mrs. Ozaki cried, “Too late for you, unless you can grow more than hair.” This amused her so much she fell into choking giggles and had to have her back thumped by Saburo.

Genzo raised an admonitory finger. “Don’t trust a woman, Saburo, even if she’s borne you seven children.”

Struck by the truth of this saying as much as by the fact that his guests were getting into a drunken quarrel, Saburo paid for the wine and left.

9

The Tides of Life

The next morning, Akitada felt a great yearning to go to Tamako’s room and sit there, thinking of her, talking to her, perhaps telling her about the suicide of Lady Ogata and about the strange characters he had met that day.

Alas, it was not to be. Even this intangible bond with his wife was denied him. He went to his own room when he got home. It was blessedly empty of Saburo, but here the deepest darkness seemed to reside, a loneliness so profound that he could not bear it any longer.

He stepped out onto his narrow veranda. The weather had turned. The sky was clouded over and the scent of rain hung in the air. The garden was still lush with foliage, a small bird darted at a worm and flew off, and a few gnats still danced above the fish pond. It was late in the year, and soon the bird would huddle on a branch, shivering in the cold. A fish jumped for the gnats, but the pond, too, would become still and dark, and the fish would burrow into the muddy bottom.

He spotted something white on the side of the pond and went to investigate. It was a dead koi. He bent to pick it up by its tail and saw that it was a female. Laying it gently among some of the ferns, he took it as another omen that death would walk beside him from now on, that, even though at a great distance from Tamako when she died, he had become contaminated by death. His Shinto faith forbade physical closeness to death and dying, but it struck him that a physical closeness between two people in life must necessarily mean that one person’s death would touch the other. So it had been when he had lost his first son.

He stared at the dead fish, then went to move one of the rocks behind the pond. Using his bare hands to make a shallow hole in the soft earth underneath, he laid the fish in it. Then he replaced the rock.

He had missed Tamako’s funeral.

The day they returned from Kyushu, his sister Akiko and her husband Toshikage had arrived before Akitada had been able to do more than greet his children and flee to his room. In the weeks of travel, he had tried to prepare himself for this homecoming. He had built a shell around his heart, impervious to the raw emotions he would encounter and feel. It had not worked. When he had stepped out onto the veranda, grief had seized him so violently that he had been forced to grasp hold of the support beam or his knees would have buckled.

Akiko had burst in at that moment, crying out her pity for him, clasping him in her arms, looking him over, informing him that he looked dreadful, and then she had sat him down to describe in detail Tamako’s death and the subsequent decisions she had made for a proper funeral, complete with procession and cremation at Toribeno.

He had somehow borne it, saying nothing, trying to shut out her voice, and yet hearing words that would haunted him forever. He should be grateful to his sister for performing these duties in his absence, but he could not bring himself to thank her. Toshikage had finally interrupted her steady flow of chatter, saying, “My dear, Akitada looks dreadfully tired. We must let him rest now.”

Months had passed since then, and his grief had not become less.

He dusted the dirt off his hands, rinsing them in the pond, when Tora’s voice startled him.

“Sorry, sir, but you didn’t hear me. There’s a visitor.”

Akitada straightened, drying his hands on the lining of his full sleeves.

Beside Tora stood a short gentleman, who was, for such a young man, very properly and formally dressed in black robe and trousers and soft hat. Someone with a message from the ministry? Or something even worse? A summons before the board of censors?

He was a little surprised how calm he was. There was a time when the expectation of a reprimand from his superiors would have had him in a cold sweat. Now he just looked at the young official and nodded.

The young man bowed rather deeply for someone bringing bad news. “My name is Motonari, your Excellency. Superintendent Kobe has asked me to present myself. He said you might need a tutor for your children.”

“Ah, yes. Yes, he did mention it. It will be temporary only. I cannot well deprive him of you permanently. Let’s go inside and sit down.” Akitada glanced at Tora, who left.

He sat down behind his desk, and the young man took a seat opposite him. Akitada noticed for the first time the thick layer of dust covering his desk, his writing utensils, and assorted papers and books. He felt a little ashamed. The young man waited expectantly.

“I have a daughter, Yasuko, who is eight. She writes and reads moderately well. My son, Yoshitada, is only five. I’ve been absent and don’t know how much schooling he’s had. How old are the superintendent’s children?”

The young tutor bowed. “I only teach the boys. At present, I have five pupils. His Excellency’s oldest son is twelve, his second son is ten, his third son is also ten, his fourth son is eight, and his youngest is seven. I have taught them now for nearly a year.” He paused and added, “Ever since I graduated from the university.”

Akitada digested this information. For all that Kobe and he had become good friends over the years-after rather stormy beginnings-he had been unaware of the superintendent’s thriving family. Like most men of rank, Kobe had several wives, which accounted for so many sons, some close in age. He had never had more than one wife. Except for once, he had not wished for more. Tamako had filled his whole world. No doubt, he would soon be pressured to take another wife, or wives. But it was best not to dwell on his situation. What interested him about Kobe’s family was the fact that apparently no girls were included in the lessons. He asked about this.

“His Excellency believes that his daughters are better served being taught by their mothers. Only the boys need to learn to read, write, and speak Chinese.”

Another painful reminder of Tamako. She had received an excellent education from her father, who had been a professor at the Imperial University. Their own daughter Yasuko had benefited greatly from this. Even he had been impressed by how well she wrote when he received their letters. Tamako’s death was a great loss to the children. Perhaps Yoshi was too young, but surely Yasuko must miss her terribly. He sighed.

The tutor moved restlessly, probably wondering at the long silences in their conversation. Akitada pulled himself together. “I’d like my daughter to receive the same instruction as boys of her age,” he said. “And there will be another boy. He is Yuki, Tora’s son. He’s a year older than my daughter, but I don’t know how much instruction he has had. It will be as well if he joins the lessons.” He was aware how negligent he had been. Not only had he not kept up with his own children, but he had made no provisions for Tora’s son. Heaven forbid Yuki should grow up illiterate like his father.

Motonari bowed. “As you wish, your Excellency. But as for teaching Chinese to young ladies …”

“Why not? I believe she may already have some rudiments. She was taught by her mother who was the only child of a professor at the Imperial University.”

“Ah, I see. My salary is paid by the superintendent, so there is no charge.”

“Nonsense. You will receive ten pieces of silver for a month’s work. If the superintendent can spare you for two hours a day, I would be grateful.”

The young man flushed with pleasure and bowed very deeply. “Thank you, sir. I could start now, if it’s convenient” he offered.

Akitada rose. “Very well. After their lessons, I hope you will set them work to do until the next day. Now let me introduce you to the children.”

They took the east gallery to Tamako’s pavilion. It was still a very difficult journey for Akitada. The knowledge that she would never again be found in her room or garden twisted his stomach.

Oyuki was inside with some sewing. Perhaps it was another gown for Yasuko. Akitada tried not to look at the fabric. If it was one of Tamako’s gowns, it would bring back memories. The children were outside, kicking a kemari ball around. He called them in. Yuki had grown remarkably tall in the past months. Akitada explained about the lessons and made the introductions.

The children looked aghast. Yuki said quickly, “Well, that leaves me out. Bye.” He was almost out the door, when Akitada said, “No, Yuki. You, too. It’s time you stopped wasting your days with play.”

Yuki looked offended. “I help in the stables, sir.”

“Yes, I know, but I also want you to learn to read and write. So come back here. Master Motonari has kindly offered to start teaching all of you. He also teaches the sons of Superintendent Kobe so you must work really hard to make a good impression. Will you do this?”

The children nodded. Yoshi stared at the tutor. He had evidently become speechless at the notion of lessons, but Yasuko smiled and made a little bow to the young man. “Welcome, Master Motonari,” she said. “Will you teach me also?”

The tutor smiled. “Yes, Lady Yasuko. Your father wishes it.”

Reassured, she glanced up at her father. “I will work extra hard, Father. For Mother’s sake.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Akitada choked on his own grief, briefly touched her head, and turned to flee. His escape was preempted by the arrival of his sister, who had three of her children with her.

Akitada’s irritation served to stifle the sickness that had seized him. He took a deep breath. “Akiko,” he said sharply, “You must let me know your plans in the future. This is Master Motonari who has come to start the children’s lessons. As they are here, your brood may benefit by joining them. You and I will go to my room.”

Akiko opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind. She greeted the tutor politely, instructed her three, two boys and a girl, to behave themselves and be quiet, and then left with Akitada.

“Well,” she said as they walked along the gallery, “that was a very rude greeting when I’m doing my best to help your children cope. And I find you making things worse for them. The loss of their mother is much too recent to start their lessons again. You have always been too strict in that regard. I hope you aren’t making another mistake.”

Akitada stopped. His sister’s lackadaisical attitude toward her own brood inspired no confidence in him. On the other hand, she had touched a very painful memory. Just before his firstborn, Yori, fell ill with smallpox, he and Tamako had had a serious disagreement over his excessive strictness with the boy’s studies. This had added to his guilt after the child died. Now it also added to his grief of having lost the boy’s mother.

Akiko’s eyes widened when she saw his face.

He said in an unsteady voice, “You’ve been very kind to look after the children so far. I am grateful. Now I’m trying to do my best to take over. Perhaps it’s too soon, but Kobe didn’t think so. You must let me do the best I can, Akiko. Believe me, I’d much rather leave all of this-he gestured vaguely around-to you and others.”

His sister reached for his hand. “I know,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ve been worried about you. You must not give in.” She squeezed his hand. “Never give in, Akitada. She would not have wished it.”

He felt the tears well up and turned away to walk to his room, her hand still in his.

It had started to rain. In the courtyard below, a woman passed, Genba’s wife Ohiro, with one hand resting protectively on her belly while the other pulled her skirt over her head. He had noticed that she was pregnant, but neither Genba nor Ohiro had come to tell him. They were probably afraid to share their happiness while he was grieving for Tamako.

The tides of life, he thought. Death and birth, an end and a new beginning. It went on and on. He was so weary of the struggle.

And outside the rain fell as if the heavens grieved the coming death of the year.

10

The Moneylenders

The next day, Saburo found the Nakamura house easily. It shared a street with similar merchants’ houses, ample in size and well-kept, with shops in front and living quarters in back and above. In this case, the shop was closed. No wonder, since the family had just been informed of the owner’s murder.

Saburo went closer and peered through the shutters at a dim interior. He made out shelves with assorted objects, many of them ceramics and wooden boxes. He decided to pound on the shop door. Nothing happened, and he pounded again.

Finally, he heard a voice. “Go away! We’re closed.”

He shouted, “I take it, the police have informed you. I have some additional information about Nakamura-san’s death.”

After a moment, he heard a rattle, and then the door opened a crack. A young man with somewhat bulbous eyes and a mustache peered out. “Who are you?”

“Saburo. I’m an investigator and work for Secretary Sugawara of the Ministry of Justice. I was in the Daikoku-yu after your father’s murder and questioned people. You can’t always take the word of a constable for what happened.”

The bulbous eyes narrowed, and the door opened far enough to admit him.

“It was a terrible shock,” the young man said mournfully. “You cannot imagine. Come back with me. My sister and my father’s partner are at wits’ ends.”

They passed through the dim shop. Saburo glanced at it. It struck him that the shelves held only a small selection of objects, though these might, of course, be very rare and expensive. Still, it confirmed his impression that the curio shop was merely a front for a thriving money-lending business, which Nakamura had carried out not here but on his daily visits to the business and amusement quarters.

The main room behind the shop was hardly luxurious. Perhaps the son and daughter lived elsewhere. As it turned out, this was the case.

Nakamura’s daughter was a hard-featured, silent woman with the same protruding eyes as her brother. She barely nodded to Saburo. He was more interested in the partner who turned out to be a grossly fat man with the name Yasohachi Saito.

After explaining Saburo’s presence and asking him to sit down, the son said, “My uncle has met us here because we’re trying to go through my father’s accounts. It has all been very upsetting, as you may guess.”

“Your uncle?” Saburo asked, eyeing the fat man.

“My grandfather adopted him. He prefers to use his own name. What is it exactly that you can tell us?”

“As I said, I’m an investigator and happened to be in the Daikoku-yu just after Nakamura-san was found dead. Perhaps you have been told that your father was killed by a blind shampoo girl?”

They all nodded, looking at him intently.

“Well, there’s quite a bit of doubt about that. Nobody saw what happened, and the blind woman says she found him dead. It struck me that in such a case the victim’s family might be anxious to make certain that the real killer isn’t still free. Of course, I have no idea what your involvement in Nakamura-san’s business may have been, but if someone had a grudge against him …”

He let this sink in. Their expressions ranged from looking startled to becoming positively alarmed.

“Well,” he went on, “you see my reasoning. It occurred to me that you might like to have someone take a closer look to make sure that you are quite safe.”

The word “safe” caused some additional panic.

“What do you mean?” cried the daughter.

“What are you talking about?” growled the fat Saito. “Why should we worry? The woman has been arrested.”

Saburo pursed his lips. “The money-lending business is difficult. People are your friend when they want you to lend them your gold, but when you ask for its return along with your fees, they suddenly hate you. Isn’t that right?”

They looked at each other. The son spoke first. “You think that someone hated my father enough to kill him and may do the same to us?” His sister cried out in alarm and clutched his arm.

Saito snapped, “That’s nonsense. This is a business like any other.”

“I assume you know your creditors and whether any among them are desperate enough to cancel a debt by murder?” Saburo asked him.

Saito fixed Saburo with a cold eye. “I’m not directly involved in my brother’s business. Manjiro handles the books. But I think what you say is ridiculous. In my opinion, you just want to make money from our loss. Seeing that my brother’s children are still dealing with their grief, I consider that despicable. If this were my house, I’d throw you out.”

The son gasped and got to his feet. “Is that right?” he asked Saburo. “Are you selling us some sort of service?”

“No. You haven’t been listening. I work for Lord Sugawara. You don’t owe me anything. But I see that you don’t want my help.” He sighed and got to his feet. “Sooner or later the police will come and check your books to find out who could have killed your father.”

Manjiro’s jaw dropped. “The police will look at our books?”

“They can’t do that,” Saito said, but he sounded uncertain.

Saburo turned away. “I can find my way out. Good luck!”

Nakamura’s daughter cried, “Wait. Perhaps we should listen. He doesn’t want any money. It couldn’t hurt to listen.”

Saburo decided that all three were equally greedy, though the son was perhaps a little less so. He had guessed correctly that an investigation of their business would reveal unsavory details. He really liked them for suspects in this murder and wondered how to discover if any of them had been to the bathhouse that morning. But instead of irritating them further, he asked, “Can you give me the names of people who owed your father money and either couldn’t pay or bore him a grudge because of his business practices?”

Saito snapped, “There’s nothing wrong with our business practices. They’re strictly standard in the city. Because we deal with unscrupulous people who’ll take our money and refuse to pay it back, we carry a big risk that they’ll run away with it.”

“And so you charge how much?”

They balked at answering. Finally Manjiro said, “A third or maybe a half in very risky cases.”

His sister added, “We barely break even at that. People are so unreliable.”

Saburo grimaced. At those rates, there should be a wide field of suspects. “Can you list those who were most desperate or might have reason to feel angry?”

Again Manjiro and Saito exchanged glances, then Manjiro nodded and got up. His sister finally recalled herself to her duties as a hostess and brought some wine and cups. The wine was atrocious. Saburo noticed that Saito did not drink it.

Saburo asked him, “Are there any others who might have had personal reasons to hate your partner? I believe he was quite well-known in the amusement quarter. Perhaps there was a woman whose husband or boyfriend resented him?”

Saito gave him a pitying look. “The women in the quarter work for money. Why should they or their relatives be resentful?”

Nakamura’s daughter shook her head when Saburo turned to her. “They’re cheap sluts,” she said in a venomous tone.

Saburo thought this interesting. Had her father’s amorous escapades threatened her security? It was another thing he could not ask about, so he said nothing.

Eventually Manjiro returned with a list of names. This he passed first to Saito, who scrutinized it, nodded, and handed it to Saburo.

As expected, it was long. Saburo heaved a mental sigh. He handed it back to Manjiro. “Mark those who might be most likely.”

Manjiro passed it to Saito who took the list and studied it. Then he rose and went to the desk to make marks next to several names.

Saburo asked a few more questions about the “marked” persons, and promised to return if he uncovered anything.

Outside, the rain had started. It was getting colder, and Saburo huddled into his robe as he hurried along.

*

The first of the desperate borrowers was a schoolmaster. His house was not far. As it turned out, it was not only modest, but in terrible condition. The roof was missing thatch and looked as though it was ready to collapse in places. The fence had been mended cheaply, and so had the gate.

Saburo opened it and splashed through puddles toward the house. Before he could reach the door, it opened and a woman looked out. She was pale, thin, highly pregnant, and accompanied by two small, skinny children who clung to her worn cotton gown.

Blinking against the rain, she ran a hand over her hair that was coming loose from the twist at her neck. “Yes?” she asked instead of a greeting. She looked frightened.

“Mrs. Kajiwara? My name’s Saburo. I work for Lord Sugawara.”

“Yes?” she said again, now looking puzzled rather than afraid.

“Would your husband be in?”

She nodded. “What is this about?”

Saburo gestured at the rain. “May I come in? It’s about Nakamura Minobe.”

Now the fear was back. Surely he could not have found his killer already. He looked at her and at the wide-eyed little children and hoped not.

She stepped aside, pulling the children with her, and gestured for him to come in.

The house was dark and-in the way of poor homes-smelled of cheap oil, cabbage, and beans. She led the way to the back.

There, in a larger room mostly empty of furnishings, they found the schoolmaster bowed over a desk. He was writing. Beside him lay a small stack of closely written pages. Somewhere, rainwater dripped from the ceiling.

“What is it, Hatsuko?” the schoolmaster asked without looking up.

“This man has come from Nakamura-san.”

The schoolmaster straightened up and turned. Saburo saw that he was near middle-age, thin and pale, with a clean-shaven face. He regarded Saburo with distaste and said, “I don’t have the money. Tell your master I’m working day and night to earn it, but the children have to eat.”

Apparently, the man did not know about Nakamura’s murder.

Saburo said, “I don’t work for Nakamura, sir. I’m here because he was murdered this morning.”

There was a moment’s utter relief on the other man’s face. His wife cried out, “Thank the gods and Amida!”

Her husband said, “I’m ashamed of you, Hatsuko. How can you say such a thing when a man has died?”

“He was an evil man,” she protested.

“Even so.”

Saburo asked, “May I sit down, sir.”

The schoolmaster apologized. “I’m afraid we didn’t expect this news. Forgive my manners. Also forgive the lack of hospitality. We have nothing to offer a guest but water.”

“Water would be very refreshing.”

His wife ran out to get the water, and the schoolmaster studied Saburo for a moment. Then he said, “But surely your purpose for coming here wasn’t to inform me of this murder. Why are you here?”

In answer, Saburo brought out the list Nakamura’s son had made. This he passed to Kajiwara. “The police have arrested a blind shampoo girl, but it’s likely she’ll be cleared. I work for Lord Sugawara and decided to speak to the dead man’s family and his partner. They suggested that the people on this lists might be suspects. Your name was at the top.”

There was a crash. Mrs. Kajiwara had dropped the earthenware pitcher of water. “Oh, husband!” she wailed. “Not more misfortune!”

“Calm down, my dear,” said her husband. “This gentleman will surely explain. Do we have another pitcher?”

She shook her head and crouched to clean up the shards. Saburo got up and took some coppers from his sash. “As it was me who caused the accident,” he said, “allow me to pay for the damage. And I’m not at all thirsty any more. Thank you for your trouble.”

She glanced at her husband, blushed, and took the money. “Thank you, sir. You are kind.”

Her husband muttered, “There was no need.”

Saburo resumed his seat, and the schoolmaster’s wife left the room. Saburo looked at the dim, chilly room, listened to the sounds of water dripping through a torn roof somewhere, and eyed the pages of writing beside the school master. “You’re trying to earn money doing copying work?”

The other man nodded. “I’ll never make enough to pay back all I owe. I should never have gone to Nakamura, but no one else would lend us money. You see, our youngest child got sick this past winter. We tried everything, and in the end the cost of the doctor and his medicines got so high that I borrowed twenty pieces of silver from Nakamura to pay what I owed.” He brushed tears from his eyes. “My little daughter died anyway. Nakamura was very kind and offered me money for her funeral. And after that, he said, ‘Look, you need to get back on your feet. I’ll advance you another twenty. Take your time repaying it.’ I did. Then his partner showed up and demanded repayment. Suddenly I owed more than two hundred pieces of silver. I’ve paid back the first twenty and the second twenty, but I still owe one hundred and sixty. It’s hopeless. I’ve thought of killing myself, but I cannot leave my family with this debt. I’m going to sell the house and we’ll go away, someplace where there are no men like Nakamura and Saito.” He bowed his head and wept.

“I’m very sorry,” said Saburo. “Why aren’t you teaching? Surely that pays better than copying.”

“I lost my post teaching the children in the household of a nobleman. One of the servants accused me of making lewd remarks to one of his lordship’s daughters. It wasn’t true, but no one will let me teach children now.”

His wife had come back quietly. She went to kneel beside her husband. Putting a hand on his, she said, “It was a foul lie. My husband would never do what they said. That man was angry because I refused to sleep with him.”

Kajiwara squeezed her hand. “Ssh! Saburo doesn’t need to know all of our troubles.” He looked at Saburo. “So now I’m accused of murder? Will the police show up on my door step next?”

“Don’t worry. It will take them a while to clear the blind girl. After that there is Nakamura’s family. He was very wealthy. And perhaps also his partner. I came here to understand how they’ve been operating. The list is long. They’ve driven many people to the point of desperation.” He glanced at the stack of finished pages. “Were you home all day?”

“Yes!” husband and wife called out together.

“You didn’t by chance visit the Daikoku-yu?”

“A bathhouse? I can’t afford such luxuries,” the schoolmaster said with a snort.

“Good. One last question: do you know of anyone who might have murdered Nakamura?”

The schoolmaster shook his head.

Saburo rose, bowed to both of them, and left.

The rain still fell, casting the city into a gloomy grayness that matched Saburo’s mood. The Kajiwara story depressed him. The poor family needed help Saburo could not provide. He decided to speak to his master. Then it struck him that the murder case itself was just the sort of thing to lure his lordship from his self-imposed house arrest.

Greatly cheered, he hurried home.

11

Fire in a Jar

Akiko was not a woman to remain soft-hearted for long. Once they had reached Akitada’s study, she wasted no time speaking her mind.

“You have worried us long enough,” she said. “It’s time you returned to your duties. Sitting for hours in a dark room, as Tora and Hanae assure me you have been doing, does no one any good, least of all your children and your people who depend on you. Over the last few years, you have taken on responsibilities beyond those of your own family. Soon there will be many more mouths to feed. Genba’s wife is expecting.”

Akitada covered his face with his hands as if he could thus stop the onslaught of accusation and reproof. “I only just noticed,” he muttered. “They didn’t tell me.”

“They’re afraid to. They all walk about on tiptoes so they won’t disturb you.”

Akitada lowered his hands. “Not quite.” He decided to distract Akiko from the issue of his not having returned to work yet. “It seems Kobe, Nakatoshi, and Tora have plotted together to get me involved in the investigation of a strange death. Do you recall my former friend Tasuku?”

Her eyes flashed with interest. “The handsome Tasuku? He’s the very splendid abbot of Daiun-ji now, did you know?”

“Yes. Well, it seems a beautiful and mysterious woman has hanged herself in his mansion.”

“No!” Eyes round with delighted shock, Akiko sank down on a cushion. “Tell me! I want to know all. A mysterious woman, you say? Just the sort of thing to stimulate the mind.”

Akitada looked at her in dismay. He had only meant to stop the flood of recriminations. Instead he had given her exactly what would make her an intolerable nuisance. She would not rest now until she was part of the investigation, and that meant she would be here every day until the case was solved.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said weakly. “The police have investigated and confirmed the death as suicide. But … “ He thought of the two sweets on her shelf.

“So you suspect murder?” Akiko’s eyes glittered. “What’s the lady’s name?”

“Her name is Ogata. It may be an assumed name.”

“Ogata? Hmm. A good family, but not well known. Now where have I met someone by that name?” Akiko was off on the trail.

Akitada sighed. “Well, perhaps it will come to you later,” he said, hoping it would encourage her to leave and continue her research from her home.

But his sister was not so easily distracted. “Yes,” she said. “It can wait. Right now I want to know everything you know. Did you speak to Abbot Genshin? What does he say?”

“I have not spoken to him,” Akitada said quickly. “We did not part on very friendly terms years ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Ah, yes. I recall you were always critical of him.” Akiko giggled. “You can be very judgmental in matters of romance, dear brother. You didn’t approve of the man because he was very good-looking and adored by many women.”

Akitada frowned. “His offense was rather more serious than flirtations.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You don’t say. What exactly did he do?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

She pouted. “Oh, very well, but you won’t get off so easily about this case. You think the evil abbot murdered the Ogata woman, right?”

“Don’t call him an evil abbot, and I don’t think anything of the sort. Really, Akiko, you jump to conclusions much too fast to make a good investigator.”

Her eyes shone. “Then you’ll let me help?”

He sighed. “Very well, but you must promise to be discreet. We can’t afford to offend the abbot. He seems to be a favorite with the court.”

“I promise. Not a whisper of his secret shall pass my lips.”

Akitada’s lip twitched. “That shouldn’t be hard, since you don’t know what it is.”

She smiled. “I don’t know it yet. Well, what can I do? I mean besides finding out what I can about this Ogata person?”

“That will be quite enough for the moment. She was known as Lady Ogata, so is most likely a member of one of the good families. She was in her mid-twenties, and is said to have been very beautiful.”

“At that age? Who said so?”

His sister was a shrewd observer of female looks.

“My information comes from a middle-aged caretaker, a young student, and an elderly professor. Perhaps they overlooked her age.”

He had joked, but she took him seriously.

“Yes. And all are male. Women have sharper eyes. Who’s the professor?”

“His name is Suketada. He is retired. But there is also a painter. Surely he knows beauty when he sees it.”

“They all sound dreary. And the student, I take it, is at that awkward age when his face is covered with spots?”

It was true, but Akitada said, “You women are very hard on men. He’s just an ordinary-looking youngster.”

“Very well.” She got to her feet. “I’ll see what I can do. Send for me if there’s any new information.” She eyed him a moment. “You look better. Good. I’m glad I took you out of that dreadful state of melancholy. Mind you take care of business.”

She swept to his side to give him a quick hug, and was gone.

Akitada sighed. He would hardly have any peace from now on. He looked about the dim room and at the dust on his desk. On an impulse he opened a lacquer box that held writing paper. Inside, hidden under blank pages, lay his letter of resignation from his position at the ministry. His post as governor of Chikuzen province he had resigned before leaving Kyushu. Presumably, the news had been transmitted to the government here. But he felt very ill at ease about this. The act of resigning and leaving his post without permission should long since have brought him his due punishment in the form of being called in to account, but nothing whatsoever had happened. The resignation from the ministry was presumably pointless, because he would be dismissed anyway. Only his friendship with the minister, Fujiwara Kaneie, had made him write out the formal letter. He had not sent it. Their friendship really required that he hand-deliver it.

Here he was, ignoring his responsibilities in every conceivable fashion. Dabbling in the peculiar activities of someone from his past was hardly what was required. He sighed again. He would go to see Kaneie and apologize.

He had barely come to this decision when there was a scratching at the door, and Saburo put his head in. “Do I disturb you, sir?” he asked, looking at him anxiously.

“No.” Akitada added ungraciously, “It seems everyone else has been to see me today.”

Saburo came in hesitantly and bowed. “It’s a private matter, sir. I can go away again.”

More responsibilities. Come to think of it, Tora had mentioned that Saburo had found a girlfriend. Perhaps he, too, had decided to start a family. Akitada glanced despairingly at his resignation letter and closed the box.

“Sit down.”

Saburo sat. “This morning,” he started, “I went to visit a young woman in the city.”

Her it comes, thought Akitada, but managed to nod encouragingly.

“Her name is Shokichi. She earns a living by doing the make-up and hair of entertainers. Her good friend is blind and works as a shampoo girl at a bathhouse. Her name is Sachi. I didn’t know of this friendship until today, sir.”

Akitada frowned. Where was this going? What was he to do about hairdressers and shampoo girls?

Saburo saw his expression and gulped. “Er, to make a long story short, sir, this Sachi was arrested this morning for murdering a customer. Shokichi and I went to the bathhouse to see if we could help, but the police had already arrested her. Shokichi says her friend couldn’t have done it.”

Akitada said nothing. It was clear now that this was another attempt to get him out of the house and involved in every crime that happened in the capital.

Saburo waited a moment, then continued in a rush. “I’ve spoken with the bathhouse owner, a dubious character who washes his hands of the girl, and I also went to see the victim’s family. The victim was one Nakamura, a moneylender with a reputation of charging so much interest that he ruined people. He preyed on the most desperate cases only and had become a very wealthy man, sir. His heirs are his son and daughter. Then there’s also a stepbrother who is his business partner, a very suspicious character called Saito. No doubt there are many others who had reason to kill the man.”

He paused to draw breath.

Akitada asked in a dangerously quiet voice, “Why are you telling me this?”

Saburo caught the tone. “I … I hoped you might give me your advice, sir. I don’t know where to begin?” He swallowed.

“I see that I’ve been negligent in keeping you busy with your duties,” Akitada said. “You seem to have too much time on your hands and meddle in affairs that have nothing whatsoever to do with your work. Apparently you’ve used your ample leisure to set up as an investigator on your own account. I absolutely forbid my people to engage in activities that don’t have my approval. So my advice to you is to abandon the matter and make yourself useful around my residence.”

Even behind all the facial hair and the paste Saburo used to hide his scars, Akitada could see him change color. He sat still for a moment. Only his injured eye rolled uncontrollably, betraying his shock. Then he got to his feet and bowed.

“I beg your pardon, sir. Of course, I’ll obey your wishes. But you’ll find that the accounts are in order. So as not to disturb you unduly I’ve been working on them at night. And I’ve made sure I wasn’t needed before going into town today. Is there any particular thing you’d like me to do now?”

“No.” Akitada felt guilty for having been so harsh with Saburo. It was likely that he had come to tell him about bathhouse murder for much the same reason as the others when they had tried to interest him in Lady Ogata’s death. He cleared his throat. “Umm, I appreciate that you have made sure that your chores were done, Saburo. I’ll have a look at the accounts later. Harumph. It’s been a rather busy day and I’ve been distracted by other matters.” He paused uncertainly. “Umm, I’m sure the police can handle crimes in the city, but if you have any information, you may give it to Superintendent Kobe.”

“Thank you, sir.” Saburo bowed and left.

Akitada felt more than ever inadequate for what lay before him. Never mind the alleged suicide of some woman or the violent murder of a moneylender. Those were other people’s problems. He had neglected his own duties while reprimanding Saburo. With a sigh, he got up and went to look at the accounts. Saburo had indeed kept them faithfully.

But he was shocked to see how very little gold was left. Running his eyes over the entries, he saw the large payments that had been made for Tamako’s funeral and a number of bills the household had incurred in his absence. Missing were his usual salary payments to offset such big expenses. Since he had abandoned his position in Kyushu, he had not drawn his salary for it or for his large travel expenses. Meanwhile, income from his farm outside the capital and from some land he still owned in the north from his service as governor in Echigo was not expected until after the fall harvests.

Worse, apparently none of his people had received any pay since his return. Saburo had not told him, perhaps because he had assumed that his master would check the accounts.

No wonder they were all so eager for him to get over his grief.

No, that was unjust. None of them was doing this for the money. He was being unfair to the people who served him, just as he had been unfair to his children. He closed the account book.

For a moment he went out on his veranda and stared at the wet greenery without seeing it. He could not do as he wished. He could not even do as they had hoped he would, that is by letting himself be distracted by an investigation into a suicide or a murder. He must go back to work.

He went inside and took his resignation from the box. Tearing it up, he dropped the pieces on the glowing charcoal under his water pot and watched it flare up and burn.

Suddenly, he had the strange feeling that he was not alone. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as he listened. Had he heard a shuffling step? A dry cough? He looked around wildly, half afraid and half hopefully. The room was empty.

And yet he knew he was not alone. Perhaps the beneficent spirits of the dead who had loved people stayed around or paid their visits when needed.

“How are you, old friend?” he murmured into the dim air. “You always know, don’t you?”

If old Seimei had still been with him, he knew what he would have told him. “Fire does not burn in a jar,” he would have said. And then he would have quoted Master Kung-fu-tse on the duty of a gentleman to keep active and look after his people.

Locking himself away in his room to mourn Tamako had been wrong. It had been a form of escape. He was alive, and Tamako had trusted him to look after the children and their people. Now he must make an effort for them. However distasteful it was, he must return to work. It would mean begging forgiveness and pleading for even the most humble position.

He would start with a visit to the ministry and a talk with Fujiwara Kaneie.

12

The Blind Girl

Saburo felt resentful. He did not think he had deserved his master’s anger, and though he tried to make allowances, the scene rankled. The next morning, he went to look for Tora or Genba.

Genba was in the stable, feeding the horses. He looked glum. “I don’t know what we’ll do for food for these animals,” he said to Saburo. “You’ve got to talk to the master. I need money to buy more hay and straw.”

Saburo perched on an upturned water bucket. “I can’t talk to him. I just told him about a murder in the city and a poor blind girl the police arrested, and he got very angry, saying I had no business meddling in police affairs and neglecting my chores. I haven’t been neglecting my chores.”

Genba nodded. “He’s not well. We’ve got to be patient. But money is another matter. We’ll all starve soon along with the horses. Cook says she’s been cutting back on her marketing. You’ve got to talk to him.”

“I can’t. At least not just now.”

Genba sighed. “We haven’t told him our news yet.”

Saburo nodded. He knew that Genba and Ohiro were expecting a child in another three months and that they had been afraid to tell the master.”

“We can’t wait much longer. Ohiro shows already.”

Saburo nodded again. They looked at each miserably, then Saburo got up. “I’ll see what Tora thinks.”

“Oh, Tora’s in great spirits. He got the master to inspect some place where a lady hanged herself. The mansion belongs to one of the master’s friends.”

Saburo’s resentment grew by a few notches. So Tora got a favorable hearing. Maybe because that death concerned one of the good people. He spat into the straw and left.

Tora was on his way out. Of course, he looked happy, Saburo thought sourly. Here he lived in a comfortable house with a pretty wife and handsome son, and his master favored him above all his other retainers. Even Genba, for all his grumbling, was a lucky family man. Only he, Saburo, had neither wife nor family.

And now not even a girlfriend any longer.

“Hey, Saburo. Why the long face?” Tora grinned at him.

“I can’t seem to do anything right.” Saburo’s resentment grew. Tora could do no wrong. Fortune smiled on him. “The master just laid into me because I told him about a murder in the city. All I wanted to do was to get him interested again. You know he hasn’t been out of that room in months and has made no effort to return to work. And we’re almost out of money. I don’t know what to do. Genba’s worried about feed for the horses. When I told him about the murder, the master accused me of gallivanting about on my own business instead of doing my chores. But I’d stayed up nights to work on the account so as not to be in his way. Frankly, Tora, I don’t know what to do any more.”

As he poured out his pent-up feelings, Tora’s face gradually lost its smile. Now the handsome Tiger scratched his head. “It’s that bad about the money?” he asked, getting to the most urgent of the problems.”

Saburo nodded.

“I think it’ll be all right,” Tora said cautiously. “He’s starting to take an interest again. Sorry you got a lecture. It’s probably all been a bit much for him. See, I got him to look into the suicide of this Lady Ogata this morning, and then his sister came. She always makes him irritable. What’s this about a murder in the city?”

Saburo felt a little ashamed of having blamed Tora for being the master’s favorite. He said, “I’m sorry, Tora. It’s not your fault. I’ve had a bad day over this murder of a moneylender in one of the bathhouses. The police arrested one of Shokichi’s friends, a blind shampoo girl who worked at the Daikoku-yu. Shokichi broke off with me because she thought I didn’t do enough to help her friend. I hoped maybe the master might look into it, but you’d already got him to look into your case.” He sighed.

“It’s not my case. Lord Nakatoshi told the master about it. As it turns out, some of the master’s friends have been plotting to get him out of the house. And it worked, too. I just happened to be the one to go with him. I tell you what, Saburo. I was about to go see Superintendent Kobe to report. Why don’t you come along? You can talk to him about your blind shampoo girl.”

Saburo accepted gratefully. He was experiencing a strong feeling of kinship with Sachi and the poor schoolmaster. Once he had been like them: poor and therefore preyed upon by everyone. The good people looked through you as if you didn’t exist. Your presence appalled them and offended their sensibilities, so they closed their eyes to your suffering. The rich merchants drove you from their doorstep, and the rest stole from you or took out their frustrations by beating you up.

He had convinced himself that the blind girl had been a convenient scapegoat, and the poor schoolmaster had been brought to his abject condition by the greed of the Nakamuras. He still felt a little resentful that his master had behaved the way all the other good people did and ignored the needs of the poor.

It was no longer raining, but the sky was overcast and a cold wind blew down from Mount Hiei. They huddled into their quilted jackets as they walked to the prison where police headquarters were located.

Saburo voiced his thoughts to Tora on the way.

Tora glared at him. “If you think that of the master, then you don’t know him. He’s never turned his back on the poor. If you can’t see that he’s been buried under a mountain of grief since his lady died, along with the little son, then you’ve really lost your mind.”

Saburo flushed. “I didn’t really think he was like the rest.”

“He’s not!”

A brief silence fell. After a while, Tora said more calmly, “Mind you, when I first met him, I made the same mistake. You see, it’s all that book learning that makes him a bit stiff when it comes to rules, and I thought he was cruel and uncaring. As it turned out, he saved my neck when I was about to be taken up for a highwayman, and then he saved Genba and Hachiro from being arrested for murder, when all they’d done was to defend their honor. For that matter, he took you on, too, didn’t he? The way you looked back then, I wouldn’t have given you a chance.”

Saburo hung his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry I said what I did, but I think someone has to help Sachi and the schoolmaster.”

“Tell me about them.”

As they walked, Saburo told the story from the beginning: his meeting with Shokichi and the murder in the bathhouse, his break-up with Shokichi and his decision to solve the murder himself, his visit to Nakamura’s house, and the plight of the schoolmaster. He summed up, “When I saw what that crook had brought this poor family to, I knew there was no point in hunting down all the other borrowers. They’re all going to be the same kind of poor devils. That’s when I went to ask the master’s advice.”

Tora had listened without interrupting. Now he said, “You can’t know that they’re all the same. But I’ll help you as much as I can, and Genba, too. Well, here we are. Let’s talk to Kobe. Maybe we can see this blind girl of yours and find out if she knows anything.”

Kobe was busy and made them wait. They sat outside his office, watching the coming and going of constables and senior police officers.

“So you and Shokichi have broken up?” Tora asked after a while.

Saburo’s irritation with Shokichi’s unreasonable behavior rose again. “She says she’ll have nothing more to do with me. That sounded pretty final to me.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen her so stubborn. Would you believe she expected me to attack the constables and free Sachi?”

Tora raised his brows. “Doesn’t sound like her. This Sachi, do you at all think she might have done it?”

Saburo looked morose. “Not really. But considering Shokichi’s behavior, it strikes me women lose their minds sometimes. Who’s to say Sachi didn’t cut Nakamura’s throat if he said something she didn’t like? Women!”

Tora laughed. “Let’s assume she didn’t do it. I like the moneylenders much better for it. They have no conscience. You know, we need to go to that bathhouse and start asking questions about the people who were there.”

Saburo slapped his forehead. “Of course. Honestly, the quarrel with Shokichi upset me so I couldn’t think straight.”

At this point, a constable stuck his head out of Kobe’s office and asked them to come in.

Kobe sat behind a desk that was laden with papers as usual. Several clerks worked on more paperwork.

The superintendent smiled. “So, what do you have to tell me? Did he go to check out that suicide?”

Tora grinned back. “Yes, sir. It worked beautifully. He not only looked at the room where the lady hanged herself, but he talked to three of the people living there. A really odd bunch of people, if you ask me. And he came away suspecting Abbot Genshin of having had a hand in it somehow. Apparently the abbot was a holy terror among the ladies in his younger years.”

Kobe laughed. “True, but these days the reverend abbot is in such great favor with the court and Buddhist hierarchy that he can certainly shrug off Lord Sugawara’s suspicions. I wish I’d been there.” He paused. Suddenly looking worried, he asked, “Did he think there was something wrong with that suicide?”

“Not really. He did look through the lady’s things and, as I said, he asked some questions. But he seems to be mostly curious why the lady and the others were living there.”

“Well, let’s hope it means he’ll return to a more normal life now.” Kobe’s eyes went to Saburo. “Glad to see you again, Saburo. Your looks are greatly improved, I notice.”

“Thank you, sir.” Saburo hung his head a moment. “It was Lady Sugawara’s help as much as anything,” he added softly.

“Ah. A great loss, that lady.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Kobe said, “You went along with your master and Tora?”

“No, sir. I’m here about something else.” Saburo gave an account of the murder in the bathhouse and his conviction that the blind girl had not done the crime. “I’d hoped to get the master’s help, but he’s too busy now, and I don’t know how to proceed, or if I should.”

He had managed to sound dejected, and Kobe smiled. “I see Sugawara’s entire household is trying to do my work for me again. No doubt, Lady Akiko will shortly make her appearance.”

Tora chuckled. “She was talking to the master when we left, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“May the heavens help me,” said Kobe. “I may have made a bad mistake. As for the blind girl, frankly I had my doubts when I heard about it. The say she’s absolutely adamant that she didn’t do it and was out of the room when it happened. We’ll look into the matter, so there’s no need for you to do anything else.”

Saburo’s heart sank. He had little faith in police investigations. “Could I talk to her, sir?”

Kobe frowned. “Very well, but don’t make her any promises and stay out of it afterward.” He told a young constable to take Tora and Saburo to the jail so they could visit the girl.

Sachi cowered in a corner of the cell on some dirty straw. An evil-smelling bucket was in the opposite corner. She turned a frightened face toward the door as it opened. Saburo was struck again by how pretty she was when you discounted that bluish cast of blindness in her eyes.

Tora also whistled under his breath, and the blind girl shrank against the wall and cried, “Don’t, please!”

Saburo said quickly, “Don’t be afraid, Sachi. I’m Shokichi’s friend. She sent me to help. I brought a friend with me. We don’t mean you any harm.”

She relaxed a little. “Shokichi? She was there when they arrested me.”

“Yes. Me, too. She wanted me to fight the constables. Now she’s angry with me.”

A tiny smile appeared on her face. “You’re Saburo?”

“Yes. And my friend is Tora. Say ‘hello’, Tora.”

Tora obeyed. “Hello, Sachi. I’m sorry I whistled. It was the surprise. I guess you know you’re very pretty.”

She cried, “I wish I wasn’t.”

“Why?” Tora asked, “Did the constables or guards try anything?”

She nodded. “They tried.”

Tora growled. “Wait until the superintendent hears. Who was it, the constables or the jail guards?”

“One of the guards. Maybe two.”

“Right. I’ll put a stop to that. Saburo wants to help, too. Maybe you’d better tell us how all this happened.”

It appeared that Nakamura had requested her services at the Daikoku-yu a few days earlier.

“He was very generous. He paid me extra. It was all right at first, but he started saying things.” She blushed. “I didn’t understand at first, but then he also touched me when he said them, and I understood.” She lowered her head again. I told Jinzaemon I didn’t want to work for Nakamura-san anymore, but …” She made a helpless gesture with her hands. “I owed Jinzaemon some money. He wanted it back and I didn’t have it. He said he would forget the debt if I took care of Nakamura-san.”

“The swine,” muttered Tora.

“Go on,” said Saburo, who wanted to find out what happened on the day of the murder.

“It was difficult,” she said, bowing her head some more. “Nakamura-san insisted on touching me and he wanted me touch him. I said something about getting some special oil and ran out of the room. I went to Jinzaemon and said I couldn’t do what Nakamura-san wanted, but Jinzaemon sent me back in. He said I had to finish the session, and after that I could leave. So I went back into the room. I think I made some excuse. There was no answer, and there was a smell. I reached for the towel on Nakamura-san’s head, but he had fallen forward.” She gulped and stopped.

“Was he dead?”

Sachi nodded. She murmured, “I felt for him. There was blood. I touched it. A lot of blood. I thought maybe he’d had a nosebleed. Sometimes bathers cannot take the heat and their noses start bleeding. I think I asked him if he needed help. He didn’t answer. Then I put my hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t react, and I got scared. I shouted for help and tried to lift him up. I got a lot of blood on me then.” She shuddered.

“You had just finished shaving him?” Tora asked.

“No. I’d only washed his hair.”

Tora exchanged a glance with Saburo and asked, “You mean you left him there with the towel wrapped around his head?”

She nodded.

“Was anyone outside the room when you left? I take it, there are ways to recognize people without being able to see them.”

“Sometimes. I can smell some of them. Others have a certain way of walking and I can tell by their footfall.”

Saburo had been content to leave the questions to Tora as a gesture of gratitude for his help. But he could not restrain himself any longer. “In that case, do you remember anyone near the room when you stepped outside to fetch the oil? Or did you meet someone in the corridor?”

She frowned, trying to remember. “There was someone, maybe more than one. I recall smelling a scent. Jinzaemon was down the corridor and asked me what I was doing. I have a notion that there was some other man there also. Perhaps he was waiting to be my next customer. Do you think the killer was outside the room, waiting for me to leave? But how could he have known I would go to get some oil? I only did this because Nakamura-san’s attentions were becoming obnoxious.”

“Yes,” said Saburo. “We know, but this person could have been waiting for you to finish.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “How terrible! And yet I wish he had waited.”

“Never mind!” Tora said cheerfully. “We’ll do our best to find out who really killed Nakamura.

“Thank you,” she said, bowing deeply and wiping away her tears.

13

A Hopeless Case

Akitada was on his way out when Tora and Saburo returned. They met in the courtyard. Akitada, still chafing from the many ways he had been manipulated by his people, his friends, and his own sister, glowered at them.

Saburo shrank back, but Tora, not easily discouraged by his master’s moods, grinned, flashing his fine teeth. “A chilly day, sir. Winter may be early this year. We’re just back from speaking to the superintendent. Seems Saburo here is on the trail of a vicious killer.”

Akitada shot Saburo another resentful look. “I told him to leave it to the police,” he snapped.

Tora chuckled. “I can’t believe my ears, sir. That’s not been our custom in the past. You’ve caught many a killer the police would’ve let get away. We talked to Sachi-with the superintendent’s permission-and it looks like someone pinned the murder on the blind girl, sir. She’s frightened and lost.”

Akitada glanced at the gray sky. He hoped it would not rain again. He was in his best court robe and hat. “I’m on my way to the ministry,” he said. And on more unpalatable visits to regain my income, he thought. “I cannot be bothered with this. Since you’ve talked to Kobe, it seems to me you can now leave it to him. And I’ll remind you not to make remarks about the incompetence of the imperial police. It isn’t true and will lose us Kobe’s friendship.”

With this he brushed by Tora and walked out through the gate.

The halls and streets of the Daidairi greeted him like a soldier returning from frontier service. It felt at once familiar and strange. He saw no familiar faces, and people passed without a greeting. He felt awkward and embarrassed when he walked into the ministry. A young servant was sweeping the corridor and did not recognize him. Akitada had already become a stranger.

To his credit, the youngster leaned the broom against the wall and came to greet Akitada with a bow. “May I announce you, sir?” he asked in a voice that had not quite broken yet.

“I’m Sugawara Akitada. Would you let the minister know that I’m here to see him?”

The youngster shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. His Excellency is not available. May I take you to someone else?”

The boy had memorized his little speech well, but Kaneie’s method of keeping interruptions to a minimum was causing a problem. Akitada knew the minister was in. If he had not been, the boy would have said so.

“Please just tell him I’m here,” he told the youngster.

“I shall announce you to Senior Secretary Sakanoue. Just a moment.”

He scampered off before Akitada could stop him. Senior Secretary Sakanoue? They had replaced him already. He searched his mind for Sakanoue and failed to remember him. Perhaps he was a provincial official who had been given Akitada’s position.

He decided not to stand about to be further embarrassed and walked quickly toward Kaneie’s office. As he passed the archives someone inside noticed him. He heard him call out but did not stop. Excited chatter followed him to Kaneie’s door, where a senior servant stood guard. This man recognized Akitada.

Before he could speak to the man, someone hurried up behind him.

“A moment, sir,” said a clipped voice.

Akitada turned to see a pale, tall man in elegant silk robes. He was younger than Akitada and had a hard glint in his eyes. “You are Sugawara?” he demanded.

Akitada nodded.

“I did not give it credence. That boy is an idiot. You should not have come here.”

“I beg your pardon,” Akitada said. “Do I know you?”

“Sakanoue. Senior Secretary. Perhaps you’d better come to my office.”

“Why? I came to see the minister.”

“Impossible. He will not see you.”

Akitada stared at the man for a moment, then turned to the servant at the door. “Please announce me, Kunyoshi.

The servant smiled broadly. “Welcome back, sir,” he said, forgetting to bow in his excitement. “We’ve missed you, sir. It hasn’t been the same.” He shot a glance toward Sakanoue. “Oh, this is a very lucky day!”

Sakanoue snapped, “You forget yourself, Kunyoshi!”

The servant’s simple joy moved Akitada greatly after his humbling reception. “It’s very good to see you also, Kunyoshi,” he said. “Do you suppose the minister will see me?”

“Oh, yes. Just a moment.”

Kunyoshi opened the door and put his head inside. “Your Excellency, Lord Sugawara is here.” Then he threw it wide.

Akitada walked in. Kaneie was at his desk, looking startled.

Sakanoue pushed past Akitada. “I protest, Excellency. I told Lord Sugawara you were busy, but this stupid man defied me and let him in anyway.”

Kaneie’s face took on an expression of distaste. “I’ll take care of it, Sakanoue. Go away.”

Sakanoue bowed, gave Akitada a hard look, and walked out.

“Can’t stand that weasel,” muttered Kaneie. “Sit down, Akitada.”

Akitada sat. “Has he taken my position?” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

“Not my doing.” Kaneie gave Akitada a searching look. “How are you?”

“As well as can be expected. Thank you for your letter. I’m afraid I haven’t answered it. Please accept my apologies. Things have been … difficult.”

“I can see you’ve been ill. Terrible climate in Kyushu.”

Akitada did not know what to make of this. “Umm, it wasn’t too bad, as I recall. I left before the summer heat.”

Kaneie frowned. “Problems at home?”

“Yes. I’m just beginning to get matters in order.” He reflected that this could not well be achieved unless he had some income. And the fact that Sakanoue now occupied his position did not promise well. “It was my plan to speak to report to Central Affairs to apologize for leaving my post so suddenly.”

Kaneie looked uneasy. “Forgive me, but why did you leave so suddenly? There have been questions.”

“But … surely you knew? The assistant governor general in Kyushu had my letter of resignation and must have reported. I left because my wife died.” He swallowed. Saying it was still very hard. My wife died. Three words that could not possibly encompass what the loss had meant, still meant. He added weakly, “My children are still small.”

Kaneie’s eyes widened. “Yes, but … surely the other ladies … it’s none of my business, but I think it has caused some raised eyebrows among our superiors.”

For a moment, Akitada did not understand. What other ladies? Then he realized for the first time that most men in his position could not conceive of a man having only one wife and a household too small to cope with her loss. He said quietly, “Tamako was my only wife. There was no one else. I needed to return to take care of my children.” Anger rose again, as it had in Kyushu. He said more sharply, “It seems to me that I did the country a significant service by clearing up the murder of my predecessor in Kyushu. I arrested several individuals who had plotted against the nation and could have involved us in a war with China. The least the chancellor and the senior minister could do was to allow me some time to mourn my wife and look after my children.” He found he was so upset that his hands were shaking and got to his feet. “Thank you for warning me. I see that I have a battle on my hands.”

Kaneie said, “Please sit down again, Akitada. Don’t rush off in a fit of anger. We must devise some strategy. I’m your friend, you know. I tried to hold your position but was overruled.”

Akitada subsided onto his cushion. He felt ashamed for having doubted Kaneie, who had always supported him. Yes, they were friends, or at least had been. This matter might well have strained their relationship.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I forgot for a moment what I owe you. Please let me hear your thoughts on the situation.”

“Well, you know you’ve always had your detractors in high places. I’m afraid they’ve been very busy. Your friend, Fujiwara Kosehira, has tried to counter the attacks, but he isn’t in the capital and has lost much of his influence. I’m not sure if matters were handled properly by the Dazaifu either. You may have followed procedure by tendering your resignation there, but that news should have reached the Ministry of Central Affairs by now and it hasn’t.”

Akitada recalled his visits to the Dazaifu and the unorthodox way in which affairs had been handled in Kyushu. This thought was not reassuring.

“What do you suggest? I suppose I had better go to explain. But to whom?”

Kaneie pursed his lips. “Hard to say. Your case may have gone to the censors by now.”

The censors were the dreaded watchdogs of the emperor. They investigated officials, even the highest-ranking ones, when they were suspected of malfeasance in office.

Akitada said blankly, “The censors? But what have I done wrong?”

“You left your post.”

“Yes, but I resigned because I could not desert my family.”

Kaneie sighed. “I know and I do understand, my dear Akitada, but those in power do not consider that an adequate excuse. Now if you had been too ill to function …” His voice trailed off, and he gave Akitada a sidelong glance.

“I wasn’t ill. I was mourning my wife.”

“Hmm. And of course you won’t try to make excuses. Yes. I don’t know, Akitada. It’s difficult. Most of the officials I know would make the round of all their friends and supporters and call in some favors.”

Appalled, Akitada said, “Favors?”

“Never mind. Well, I don’t know what to suggest. I suppose you must throw yourself on their mercy. Why not start with Central Affairs? Your appointment for the post in Kyushu originated there.”

Akitada said nothing. He had already made up his mind to making his apologies, but from what Kaneie said, his case was conceived to be far worse than he had naively supposed. Those in power in the government did not consider the death of a spouse to be cause for more than the customary ritual withdrawal. After that, a man was expected to return to work as if nothing had happened. Furthermore, Akitada had neglected to inform everyone of the death and beg dispensation to attend to his family. He, of all people, should have known to follow the rules.

Strangely, he felt a little relieved that his own actions had caused the situation. It was better than having undeserved misfortune brought down upon oneself.

He sighed and said, “You’re quite right. Thank you for being so frank. I will follow your advice.” He paused. “By the way, do you happen to know anything about Abbot Genshin?”

Kaneie was startled by this change of subject and looked at Akitada uncertainly. “Does this have anything to do with your situation?”

Akitada smiled. “In case I find myself without an income, I had thought to take up private investigations again, and there has been a rather strange death at the abbot’s residence.”

“Oh, surely things aren’t going to come to such an end.” But Kaneie’s interest was raised. “When you refer to his residence, I take it you don’t mean the monastery?”

“No, his mansion here in the city. It seems he has allowed an odd assortment of people to make use of it. One of his guests, a Lady Ogata, has hanged herself.”

“Lady Ogata?” Kaneie frowned. “It sounds vaguely familiar.” He shook his head. “Sorry. It escapes me. But why investigate a suicide?”

“It may not have been a suicide. I knew the abbot in his womanizing past, and that has raised certain suspicions in my mind.”

Kaneie sat up, alarmed. “Oh, you cannot get involved. It will ruin you. Genshin is the special pet of the empress.”

“Is he? You know that doesn’t surprise me at all. His Majesty had better see to his household, I think.”

“Akitada, you’re playing with fire. Don’t say such things! Not to anyone!”

Akitada smiled again and rose. “Thanks, Kaneie, for the warning, but I expect you know me by now. Please try to remember what you know about Lady Ogata. Now I’d better make my report to the Office of Central Affairs.”

14

Gossip in the Bath

Tora ignored his master’s instructions to leave the bathhouse murder to the police. As soon as the gate closed behind Akitada, he said to Saburo, “Let’s go talk to some of the people in the bathhouse. Seems to me, you should have done that right away.”

Saburo glared at him. “How was I to know there was a killer loose? You may recall at the time I only knew a blind shampoo girl had killed a customer.”

“Well, chances are the real killer was still hanging about to see what was happening. Some killers do that, you know.”

Saburo shook his head. “That’s stupid. Seems to me he would have gotten out of there fast.”

“Not necessarily. Think how much he would have enjoyed watching the police take the blind girl away. Besides we need to know who was there that day. You have the list of those borrowers. Let’s see that.”

Together they bent over the names provided by Nakamura’s son. Tora had some problems making out the writing, but Saburo helped. Nakamura Junior had put some helpful comments beside each name, such as “sick child,” “father made threats,” “lost his job and cannot pay,” “claims family is starving,” and “well-known criminal.” The poor school master’s name was there. His comment was the one about the starving family. Apart from the criminal, all of the debtors seemed to be suffering such despair that it was at least possible they would try to end it by killing their tormentor.

“That Nakamura was a bastard,” said Tora when he had grasped the gist of it. “Let me get some money, and then we’ll go see if any of these people went for a bath that morning.”

“I’d rather it were Saito.”

“We can ask about him, too.”

They found the bathhouse busier than ever. Jinzaemon bustled about, greeting arrivals, chatting with regulars, collecting money.

His face fell when he saw Saburo. “You again? I hope this time you’ve come for a bath.”

“We have our own facilities,” Saburo told him. “And you’re not hurting for business. This must be your lucky day.”

“It won’t last. Most of them are here to look and gossip. They want to see the room where it happened. I’ve started charging them if they don’t stay for a bath or shampoo.”

Tora grimaced. “That’s disgusting!”

Jinzaemon gave him a black stare. “And who’re you? What business is it of yours? I’ll have you know I’ve lost the use of that room. People refuse to go in there for a massage or a moxa treatment. In fact, they’re nervous about getting themselves shaved.”

Saburo tried to calm the man. “That won’t last. People forget quickly. You’ll be doing a better business than ever in no time. I bet you picked up some new customers.”

Jinzaemon admitted it.

“Well, we’re interested in your old customers,” said Saburo. “Have a look at this list. Anybody there who’s a regular customer and was here that morning?”

Jinzaemon looked at the list and frowned. “Why?”

“Possible witnesses.”

“Since when do the police send civilians to find witnesses?” countered Jinzaemon, handing back the list. “I’d be out of business fast if I turned in my customers to be questioned by the police. I run a reputable business. That means I protect my customers’ privacy.”

Tora fished out a couple of silver coins and tossed them casually from hand to hand. Jinzaemon’s eyes flickered his way.

“Look,” Saburo tried again, “they won’t know you told us. We’ll go and ask them if they saw anything.”

Tora added a third coin and juggled all three. “Actually,” he said, “you should point out those that are your customers, even if you don’t recall seeing them that morning.”

Jinzaemon’s eyes had become fixated on the flying silver pieces. “You’re pretty good,” he said grudgingly.

Tora flashed him a smile. “Thanks! If you can distract me and I drop one, it’s yours.”

“Give me that list again,” said Jinzaemon.

Saburo passed it over. The coins spun smoothly.

“Well, a few names here I recognize.”

“Oops!” Tora dropped a coin.

“Let me see. Yes, I seem to remember Matsuoka.”

The remaining two coins flew back and forth.

“And Harada is a regular. He may have been here.” Jinzaemon paused. “And the same for Ozaki and Kato.” Tora dropped another coin. Jinzaemon eyed the remaining coin hungrily as Tora tossed it from hand to hand. “That’s it,” he said. “I don’t know the other people. Where’d you get those names anyway?”

Tora grinned. “One more question, my friend. Are Nakamura’s family and his brother Saito also regulars here?”

“Saito comes sometimes. Haven’t seen him recently. I don’t know Nakamura’s family.”

“Thanks!” Tora tossed Jinzaemon the last coin. “We’ll take a look around.” He rubbed his chin. “Then maybe we’ll have a bath.”

They walked away as Jinzaemon bent to scoop up the other two coins.

“You’re very extravagant with your money,” Saburo said. “That bastard didn’t deserve it.”

“You have to pay for information,” Tora told him. “And the nastier the informer, the higher the price.”

Saburo, who was very shy about showing his scarred body, said, “I don’t want a bath.”

Tora was unfeeling. “You’ll have to bear it if we can get some information that way.” He burst into laughter. “Bare it! You’ll have to bare it. Get it?”

Saburo gave him a sour look. “Ha ha.”

They peered into a number of rooms where men had massages or shaves. The workers were all men, two of them blind, all of them with the shaven heads of their profession. Saburo wondered whether the customers were afraid of women barbers since the murder.

In the steamy room where people soaked in two deep tubs, they also found customers, the men in one tub, the women in another. A screen separated the two. Either the bathhouse was always well attended at this hour, or the notoriety of the crime had brought more business to Jinzaemon.

Tora appeared to be satisfied with his inspection. He returned to the front, paid the fee for both of them, and they went to the dressing room where they left their clothes. In the steamy room of the tubs, the bathers paid them scant attention as they washed themselves and then climbed into the tub where three men were already soaking.

There were some stares at Saburo’s lean, scarred body, but they seemed more impressed with the muscular Tora, who also sported mementos from his military career and other violent encounters. The three bathers, most likely tradesmen, offered timid nods. A brief silence fell.

Tora broke it first. “There was a nasty murder here, we hear,” he offered.

They nodded eagerly. The fat man said, “A shampoo girl cut a fellow’s throat. Can you imagine?” He rolled his eyes.

“Intentionally?” Saburo asked.

They looked at each other. The bearded man snorted. “Maybe. She’s a hot number for all that she’s blind. The men like to make passes at her. It’s a kind of game.” He chuckled. “She gets pretty sharp, I can tell you.”

Saburo eyed him with a frown. “That doesn’t mean she’d kill someone.”

The man grinned and cocked his head. “Who knows what women may do? It’s easy enough to say the knife slipped.”

The other two nodded wisely.

“Were you here when it happened?” Saburo asked suspiciously.

Two shook their heads, but the third, an elderly man, nodded. “I was. I could hear the screaming all the way in here,” he said. “Everybody jumped out and ran to see what happened, They were stark naked and dripping water all over. There was a crowd in front of the room where it happened. I couldn’t get close, but they say there was blood everywhere. The girl was covered in it.”

“I say that proves she did it, right?” The fat man said..

The old man disagreed, “She says she found him dead but didn’t know what happened. She tried to help him. That’s how she got his blood on her clothes. It could have happened that way. She’s blind after all.”

The other two laughed at this suggestion.

Saburo asked the elderly man, “Did you see anyone you recognized in the crowd?”

“Several of the regulars. Mind you, I don’t know their names. I thought I saw one of the courtesans, though.” He chuckled and waggled his gray eyebrows at his companions. “I was wishing she’d jumped out of the bath wearing nothing but water. No such luck! She was in full costume, scarlet silk and dark green brocade. Probably drumming up custom for her house. The working girls come here a lot.”

“She sounds like a choja,” said one of the others. “Don’t they normally send someone else to do that?”

“Who knows? She was something, though. I was trying to get quite close.”

Saburo wanted to get the subject back to the murder. “A friend of mine was here that day. His name’s Matsuoka. Did you see him?”

The elderly man shook his head. “Don’t know him.”

“What about Harada or Kato?”

“Nope. Wait a minute, I did see a couple of regulars earlier. Ozaki was just leaving. He’s a tailor and always comes early to get back to his shop for opening time. And the man who owns the paper shop was here. I don’t know his name.” He frowned. “That reminds me. I’ve got to get to work.”

Not surprisingly, the other two also discovered they had places to be and scrambled out. The steaming vat was temporarily left to Tora and Saburo.

“So,” said Saburo with satisfaction, “we have two names. Both Matsuoka and Ozaki are on the list of debtors, and they were here that morning.”

Tora climbed out. “It’s something,” he said, toweling himself dry. “But it could still be anybody. Or at least anybody who was here. It needn’t be a regular customer either, just someone who owed Nakamura money.”

Saburo joined him. “In that case, we’re nowhere. So much for taking a bath we don’t need,” he said angrily. “I thought you’d be better at this. You used to want to be like the master. And now that you have a murder to work on, you lose interest.”

Tora headed for the dressing area. “You’re too impatient, Saburo. In a case like this, little bits of information come your way gradually. In the end you just put them all together. If you rush, you end up making bad mistakes.” He stepped into his trousers and added, “Like the police did when they arrested Sachi.”

“It’s not like you to advise patience,” Saburo grumbled. He hurried into his clothes.

“Even I can see that we cannot check out all these people.” Tora waved the list at Saburo. “That’s for the police to do. We must find another way.”

They were walking out of the bathhouse when Jinzaemon hurried up, smiling broadly.

Saburo muttered, “Don’t give that bastard any more money. We don’t have any to spare.”

Jinzaemon bowed. “A pleasant bath, gentlemen? I pride myself on having the roomiest tubs and the hottest water. And it’s always clean. Kamo river water from above the shrine, where it comes from the sacred mountains.”

“It was all right,” Tora remarked. “We had a chat with some of your customers.”

Jinzaemon looked anxious. “You didn’t trouble them, I hope?”

“Oh, no. They wanted to talk about the murder. That’s what brought them here. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you arranged the crime yourself to drum up some business.”

“Don’t make jokes like that!” cried Jinzaemon.

“Well, the police will be around. If I were you, I’d watch my step. From what I’ve seen and learned here, you act as a pimp, selling the favors of the neighborhood whores and forcing decent women to service your customers on the premises.”

The bathhouse owner paled. “That’s a lie!”

“No, it isn’t. Sachi’s talking to the police! And furthermore, you allow swindlers like Nakamura to come here to sell their services to poor people. Did he pay you for pointing out clients? Maybe you quarreled over the arrangement? Yes, you’d better watch it, Jinzaemon. The truth will out!” With that, he and Saburo left to a volley of curses from the owner.

Outside, the icy wind made short work of the pleasant warmth left by the bath.

15

In Disgrace

The Office of Central Affairs, or Nakatsukasa-sho, was not far from the Justice Ministry, but Akitada’s feet became heavy as he made his way there. The Nakatsukasa-sho was the most powerful ministry of the government, but its enclosure was deceptively modest. Akitada passed under a simple gate into a small graveled courtyard. Nobody stopped him. A few clerks walked quickly between halls, and two senior officials stood chatting. He climbed the steps to the main hall, his feet like lead. Inside the building, a servant finally approached and asked his business.

“My name is Sugawara. I came to make my report. Will you please advise His Excellency’s secretary?”

The servant bowed and disappeared. Akitada stood, gathering his courage. Within the next half hour he might be ruined. Actually, he might be ruined already and merely have come to get confirmation of the fact. He thought what he would do in that case and came up with nothing.

A clerk in a black silk robe appeared. He bowed. “May I confirm that you are Lord Sugawara Akitada, governor of Chikuzen province?”

“I resigned that post, but yes.”

The clerk’s brows shot up. “Resigned?” he asked. But he corrected himself quickly. “If you will please follow me.”

So the news of his resignation had not reached the Office of Central Affairs. This would be awkward. Akitada’s heart started to beat unpleasantly fast. He tried to calm himself by breathing deeply as he followed the clerk.

He was led into a large office, furnished plainly with a desk and some cushions, as well as the customary assortment of books on a stand. Three men stood in its center, looking curiously at him. He saw by the rank ribbons on their hats that all three outranked him by several steps, and one held the lesser third rank. He did not know any of them but bowed deeply.

The oldest man, gray-haired and smooth-shaven, was the highest ranking official. He had tired eyes that studied Akitada morosely as if he wondered who had saddled him with this new nuisance.

The next in rank was middle-aged and portly. The last was a young man, only in his early twenties. He had a stylish mustache as many young sparks did these days. He smiled, but not in a friendly manner. He seemed to be enjoying the coming confrontation.

The elderly man said, “I’m His Excellency’s senior secretary, Soga. His Excellency is unavailable. Did I understand the servant to say that you wished to report?”

Akitada bowed again. Another Soga? He still chafed under the memory of the late Minister Soga, his superior and Kaneie’s predecessor. It was unlikely that this man would treat him more fairly. “Yes, your Excellency. I had the honor to serve briefly as governor of Chikuzen province while certain crimes were committed there, and these led me to look into treasonable activities between Hakata businesses and China.”

The three men looked at each other. Secretary Soga said, “The Grand Minister has received a report from the Assistant Governor General at Dazaifu. It does not explain what you are doing here.”

Akitada swallowed. “Sir, I resigned my post when I received news of my wife’s death. I came home to look after my family.”

The portly man harrumphed. “You cannot resign. I assume you took unauthorized leave,” he said.

The young man’s grin broadened. It struck Akitada that they knew already what he had done and had merely waited for him to show up. That he had walked in on their meeting must give them great satisfaction.

The secretary asked, “Well, was it authorized leave?”

“Authorized?” Akitada felt himself flush. Did they not understand how a man might feel about the death of a beloved wife? No, clearly they did not. He said, “I properly informed my superior, the Assistant Governor General of the situation. I have two young children who were left without a parent. I also formally resigned my position, seeing that my return to the capital would take months. I thought it best to allow His Excellency, the Assistant Governor General, to appoint a replacement.”

A silence fell while they stared at him.

Then the young man said in a high, nasal voice, “You surprise me. I thought only the emperor made such appointments.”

“I meant an interim appointment,” Akitada corrected himself. He was beginning to sweat and could feel the moisture on his face and back.

The secretary frowned. “I see. Do I take it that the Assistant Governor General authorized your departure?”

“I assume so. I left before he could respond.”

Another silence. Akitada saw satisfaction on their faces. They had him now. He had left his appointed position without permission.

The heavy-set man asked in a silky tone, “And you returned to the capital when?”

“Early in the sixth month, sir.” Another pregnant pause ensued. In desperation, Akitada added, “I have been ill.” It was not a lie, though it hurt him to say it. He had been unable to function all this time, all these weeks, the entire summer. No wonder he was in deep trouble.

The admission, however, won him a temporary reprieve. The secretary said, “Well, it does explain some things. However, I think you will find that His Excellency, and indeed His Majesty himself, will consider your leaving your post so abruptly a serious offence. I shall inform His Excellency of your visit. You will, no doubt, hear from him.”

He was lost. The faces of his children and of his people, all trusting him to provide for his family, flashed across his mind. He bowed deeply again. Then, in despair and rising anger, he looked the secretary in the eyes and said, “Given the fact that I have served His Majesty well in uncovering the conspiracy and perhaps averting an invasion by our enemies, I had hoped for more understanding, sir.”

They were taken aback by his daring. The secretary cleared his throat and said coldly, “You will have to leave the decision regarding your service to His Excellency.”

Akitada bowed again and left.

Outside in the corridor a cluster of officials had gathered. They ducked away when he appeared or pretended to be in conversation. He bit his lip and walked away quickly. Behind him, he heard whispers and suppressed laughter.

It was the most humiliating moment of that day. He had been a fool to think that his reputation would see him through this trouble. His effort had been as pointless as hitching a horse with a rotten rope.

Many years ago, when he was still young, he had found himself in front of the censors to receive a stinging rebuke. That, too, had not been altogether deserved, but he had been young then, untried, and humble in his own inexperience. Now he was middle-aged and had served his country for more than twenty years. He had risked his own life and that of his retainers. He had lost Seimei, and Tamako had died in his absence because of the demands of his position.

Perhaps he might have averted her death if he had been here. He would at least have had a chance to ease it, to hold her in his arms, to tell her how much he loved her.

And for all his sacrifices and the many significant services he had performed for his country, he was now being humiliated, laughed at by men who had never had to risk anything. Anger welled up again and was instantly suppressed.

What did it matter when he had lost his wife-and the child he had never had a chance to get to know?

But he felt in need of some kindness and turned his feet toward the Ministry of Ceremonial. His friend Nakatoshi served as senior secretary there. Nakatoshi had once been Akitada’s clerk. His capabilities and family connections had earned him his present rank and position, and he had reached the same level as Akitada. Unlike others, Nakatoshi had been sorry to leave the Ministry of Justice and had in time become a close friend.

Nakatoshi was in-he had always been a most conscientious official-and greeted Akitada by getting up and coming to embrace him. His face shone with pleasure and concern.

“How are you, my dear friend?” he asked as he released him and invited him to sit. He studied Akitada’s face. “You look pale and thin. Are you well?”

Akitada gave a snort of bitter amusement. “Seeing that I’ve just lied to Kinsue’s Senior Secretary about having been too ill to report in a timely manner, that’s probably a good thing. No, my health is well enough, but I seem to have created a problem for myself.” He paused, then added, “And for my people. I seem to have lost my post at the ministry and am likely to be dismissed from government service.”

Nakatoshi gasped. “You must be joking.”

“It’s no joking matter, Nakatoshi.”

“Are you quite sure? I cannot believe it.”

Akitada gave him a bleak smile. “I come to you directly from the meeting. The truth is, I only know the Senior Secretary by name. The others didn’t bother to introduce themselves. One was middle-aged and fat. He had the look of one of the Fujiwaras of the chancellor’s family. The other was in his early twenties and supercilious. They enjoyed themselves.”

“But that’s outrageous! After all you’ve done and sacrificed for them! Does Kinsue know?”

“I have no idea.”

Nakatoshi sat stunned, shaking his head mutely. It was clear that he felt Akitada’s humiliation personally. It was why Akitada had come to his friend, and he started to feel a little better.

“Well,” he said more firmly, “I must make the best of it. If you know of any post that I might fill, anything at all that will keep the roof fixed and food on the table, I’d be very grateful.”

“Of course, but there is nothing a man like you could accept. Those posts are in the hands of the chancellor and his brothers. We must change their minds-if they have indeed already made them up. What about your old post at the ministry.”

“Already filled.”

“Already? Akitada, that suggests planning. Who hates you enough to want to ruin you?”

“Many people. The Sugawaras have never lacked for powerful enemies. We don’t have to do anything to make new ones. I should have known, but when the news came about Tamako … I wasn’t thinking straight. Nothing mattered then. All I felt was rage against fate. When fate itself was bent on destroying me, a few Fujiwaras hardly mattered.”

Nakatoshi frowned. “Yes, I can understand that. But we cannot be certain that the ruling family is behind this. There’s something about it that seems to be very bureaucratic. The censors?”

“These days I don’t even know who the censors are. Never mind. I must look about for something to do. And that reminds me. There was a time when I was forced to earn some money solving problems and finding people. I could do so again. As a matter of fact, it was you who brought a case to my attention. I refer to the lady who hanged herself in Abbot Genshin’s mansion. Just what was your interest in this?”

Nakatoshi looked embarrassed. “Well, Akitada,” he said after a moment, “it was really only that I had heard of it and hoped you might be interested. I had no other reason. It seemed to be a bit of a puzzle and I thought it would be a good idea to get you out of your room, that’s all.”

Akitada had suspected as much. “Then Genshin didn’t ask you to contact me?”

“No. But Akitada, if there’s anything odd about the death, we could bring it to his attention. He’s quite rich.”

“I’m aware of it. But I will not beg for work, especially not from Genshin.”

Nakatoshi hung his head.

After a moment, Akitada said, “What was Genshin’s involvement with the lady?”

Nakatoshi looked up. “None at all, as far as I know. Or rather that’s what he claims. He heard of her abject poverty and offered her refuge in his residence. She had no income, but he provided a small amount of his rice income to pay for her food.”

Akitada thought of the bare room and the two trunks, one filled with costly costumes, the other holding a few ordinary, rough pieces of clothing. But this charitable Genshin was nothing like the Tasuku he once knew. “And what do you think?” he asked.

“I have no knowledge. All I can say is that I believed the story. He’s well known for his charities and has done similar things before.”

Akitada nodded. “So they say. I used to know him many years ago. He chased women then, but only those most highly placed. He ruined many of them and cost one her life. I cannot get those tales out of my head. The similarities to this lady’s situation are too great. She seems to have ended up in such a destitute condition because of some scandal.”

“Oh.” Nakatoshi absorbed this. “If he’s involved, that would be very shocking indeed. Genshin is very highly respected and serves as Her Majesty’s religious teacher. It means he has access to the private apartments of the imperial ladies.”

“Dear heaven. Setting the fox to watch the chickens.” Akitada shook his head. “I wonder if I made a mistake many years ago when I agreed to keep his secret.” He sighed. “It’s so hard to know what to do sometimes. I must trust that others certainly knew what I knew then.”

Nakatoshi, though deeply shocked, had no comment, and the two friends parted soon afterward.

16

The Gamblers

Over the next week, Tora and Saburo waited. They hoped to find a good time to speak to Akitada. Finally, Tora tried to raise the subject of the blind girl, but Akitada snapped, “I have more important things on my mind. We are out of funds and it doesn’t look as though I can count on a salary for the foreseeable future.”

Shocked, Tora sat down uninvited. “What will you do, sir?”

“For the time being, I must await word from above. But it will be just as well if we make some preparations. Genba tells me that there is no more feed for the horses. You and Genba will take them to the farm tomorrow. They can graze there. I’m afraid I cannot pay you and the others more than a small portion of your pay. We must make certain we have money for food during the coming months. Tell the roofer that I have changed my mind, and the repairs will have to wait until spring.” Akitada thought for a moment. “I wish someone offered to pay us for looking into the case of Genshin’s mysterious lady.”

Tora offered, “He seems rich enough.”

“No! I will not ask him.” Akitada pursed his lips in thought. “Something is very strange about that story. I don’t like the cursory way her death was investigated. I think we’ll take another look at the people there and talk to the nun when she returns.”

Leaving aside their desperate need for money and Akitada’s refusal to listen to Saburo’s problem, Tora found something to be pleased about in this speech. His master had not sounded so determined in many months. He heaved a silent sigh of relief. Surely all would be well again.

“Yes, sir,” he said eagerly. That sounds fine to me.

*

When Tora gave Saburo the news a little later, Saburo sagged with disappointment. “I suppose I’ll have to look for another job now that things are so bad and the master has nothing for me to do,” he said.

Tora felt a little guilty for his own relief when Saburo was in bad grace with the master. “I tell you what, Saburo. We can still ask a few more questions about your murder. The master is waiting for an answer from the Ministry of Central Affairs.”

Saburo shook his head. “I don’t want to make him angry again. What bothers me most is the blind girl and that schoolmaster with his family. Nobody cares about them, Tora. I’ve been poor and helpless, but I was a male without a family. Sachi is a mere girl, and she’s blind. I think she was chosen by the killer because she’s blind and helpless. It makes my blood boil to think of such cruelty. And that poor schoolmaster slaving away at his copying work without any hope of ever getting out of debt! Meanwhile his children starve and his wife weeps. What kind of life is that?”

Tora nodded. “You’re right. Helping people like that is more important than obeying rules. I think we should go ahead. I’ll find a way to explain it to him.”

Saburo hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks, Tora. Do tell him I hate going against his wishes. I’ll make sure to do my work here first.”

Tora looked thoughtful. “You know, we need a schoolmaster here. The superintendent has been sending over his own tutor, but that cannot go on forever. Why don’t you tell the master about your man?”

“Oh, but he would get very angry if I mentioned the matter again.”

“Well, it’s up to you. It’s just a thought.”

“Yes. It’s a good thought. But there really isn’t any money for it. The superintendent’s tutor doesn’t cost anything.”

“True enough. Well, it’ll have to wait. Let’s talk to the moneylenders again. I have an urge to meet them for myself.”

*

They had to wait until after their evening rice. Their master’s new-found energy had provided new chores. Primary among these were some repairs to the roof, since the budget did not cover the expense of a new one, and the autumn weather had been miserably wet.

Both Tora and Saburo were tired and dirty when night fell. They would have liked to stay home. Tora had to leave early the next day with Genba to take the horses to the farm, and Saburo was likely to be needed for many things in their absence. Their only chance was this night.

They cleaned up as best they could and put on clean robes, then set out for the city. As before, Saburo knocked at Nakamura’s door, and as before, the bulbous-eyed son opened the door.

“Greetings,” said Saburo with a slight bow. “I brought a colleague. Two sets of ears are better than one, you know. We’ve come for more information.”

Nakamura Junior gestured them in, asking, “Then there’s no news?”

Saburo said vaguely, “This and that, but nothing conclusive. People didn’t like your father, and that’s a fact.”

The son said hotly, “People liked my father’s money well enough. They just don’t like to repay it. Thieves, the whole lot of them.”

Saburo said nothing. They followed the son into the main room of the house. The daughter was absent this time, but Saito sat in his usual place like a fat toad.

The son said, “Uncle went to the jail today. He says the police are sure they have the murderess. We may just be wasting time here.”

Tora spoke for the first time. “We also went to the jail. I don’t know who you talked to, Saito, but Superintendent Kobe told me he wasn’t happy with the situation. The blind girl denies the charge very firmly. The superintendent was very interested in the list of suspects you provided.”

“Suspects?” protested Saito. “Why would borrowing money make you a suspect? They weren’t there, and she was.”

“That’s not true,” countered Saburo. “We know two of them were there that morning and there may have been others. Keep in mind that your father did his money-lending business in the city, and that included the Daikoku-yu where he went every morning. But there may have been someone else, someone not on your list. So we need to know more about where your father found most of his customers.”

Tora added, “And you’d better tell us about his women. Maybe it wasn’t the money that was the motive, but his womanizing. Maybe he mistreated some women in the quarter. The owner of one of the houses might have paid someone to get rid of him. Or maybe he raped some young girl and her father took revenge.”

Nakamura’s son cried, “My father didn’t rape young girls. That’s a dirty lie. Who told you about that?”

Tora cocked his head. “So there was something? Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not as long as someone believed it. You’d better tell us everything you know, if you want us to solve your father’s murder.”

The son glared. “We’ve changed our minds. We don’t want you to go on with this. It’s very unpleasant to have such lies stirred up.”

Saburo looked at Saito. “You’ve said very little. Are you also content to leave matters as they are? You know it could be dangerous.”

Saito glanced at the younger man. “We’d better tell them about the note,” he said.

The son shook his head. “No. You know what he said. Not a word must get out.”

Saburo asked quickly, “What is it, Saito? Who has contacted you?”

Nakamura’s son rushed over to grasp Saito’s arm. “Don’t tell them!” he pleaded.

Saito shook him off. “We’ve received a warning to leave things alone.” His nephew collapsed, moaning.

“A warning?” Tora raised his brows. “Do tell!”

Saito glanced at the young man. “My nephew is afraid. The warning came from Kanemoto.”

“The gangster boss Kanemoto? How interesting! What did it say?”

Saito pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his sleeve and handed it over. Tora and Saburo bent over it together. The writing was large and careless, the characters malformed, but the message was clear: “You’ve been meddling! Leave it alone or you’ll be sorry. The police have the killer!”

Nakamura’s son cried, “Now you’ve done it. He’ll have killed, too.”

His uncle grimaced. “Be calm,” he told his nephew. “This man has spoken to the chief of the police. If anyone can protect us, it’s them.”

“As if the police cared about people like us!” protested his nephew.

Tora thought he had a point. He did not feel a great urge to return to Kobe and ask him to protect the Nakamura clan. But for the time being, he pretended willingness to be of help. “How is it that Kanemoto’s involved in this? What sort of business did you and your partner have with Kanemoto?”

Saito said, “I never met the man. I think my brother must’ve become involved over some deals he made in the willow quarter.”

Tora considered this. It made sense. Kanemoto was the sort of gangster who made his profits from gambling and prostitution. Because he had never, to their knowledge, been known to resort to violence, the police had turned a blind eye to his activities. Perhaps this had changed. Kanemoto had just become a suspect. But proving his guilt would be dangerous and might draw his attention not only to himself and Saburo. It might well also involve the whole Sugawara household. They would have to be very careful.

He said, “We’ll be back. Meanwhile, don’t tell anyone that you’ve talked to us.” He glanced with a frown at Saito’s nephew, who was still moaning and muttering.

Saito asked anxiously, “You will speak to the superintendent? About protection and to make sure they arrest Kanemoto and his gang?”

Tora said vaguely, “We’ll share our information with the police. And we’ll be back in case there are more messages from Kanemoto.”

Saito nodded glumly.

Outside the house, Tora rubbed his hands with satisfaction. “Couldn’t be better,” he said. “This will interest Kobe greatly. You’ll see your blind girl will be out in no time.”

Saburo thought about it. Perhaps Shokichi would forgive him then, but he no longer wanted to be forgiven. He was better off alone than with a wife who burst into angry recriminations whenever he did not do as she wanted. Perhaps he might tolerate such behavior in a mistress, but certainly not in a wife. Yes, why not? She could be his mistress. And he could leave whenever she behaved badly; she would soon learn to behave. The thought cheered him. “What next?” he asked Tora.

“Well, since Kanemoto hangs out in the willow quarter, we should go there.” Tora looked up at the moon. It was a cold clear night. “Come along, the day has started for the whores and gamblers.”

They returned home briefly to exchange their sober blue robes with the black sashes for the cheap but colorful clothing of young men bent on a night out.

As they walked through the empty streets on this cold night, Saburo became glum again. It troubled him that he always seemed to be in the wrong, not matter how hard he tried to please his master. He was beginning to suspect that he had never been forgiven for his past life as a spy or agent. In the end there had still been a certain dislike, a lack of trust, and whenever his lordship thought he saw something in Saburo’s actions that displeased him, the old prejudice emerged. That would never change.

But apart from the vague hope that Shokichi might change her mind, this time something else motivated Saburo to disobey. It was not only the arrest of the blind girl, though he did feel sorry for her. It was the memory of that schoolmaster, bent over his endless copying work with red-rimmed eyes as his hungry family watched. What would happen to them when winter came? That broken roof would collapse under the first snow, and they had no money for fuel. They would freeze to death if hunger had not killed them first.

Shivering in the wind and with this image before his eyes, Saburo followed Tora into the world of pleasures offered by the willow quarter. As soon as they passed under the gaudy gate, they were surrounded by lights, colors, sounds, smells of food and perfumes, and the sense that everyone was dancing in the streets.

Nobody danced, of course, but the busy scene with the colorful costumes of the women, the laughter of the men, and the sounds of music being played in wine shops, eating places, and houses of assignation gave the impression of joyous abandon.

Tora smiled happily as he looked around, and Saburo gave him a sour look. Tora’s visits to the quarter had become severely curtailed since his marriage and life as a husband and father, but he had clearly missed it.

“I wonder if the Bamboo Grove is still there,” Tora said. “Not first-class, but a lively place. They always had fresh young girls from the provinces, decent wine, and good card games.”

Saburo grimaced. “And how are those things going to help us find a gangster boss?”

Tora raised his brows. “You’re in a bad mood a lot lately, brother. There’s gambling everywhere. Gamblers know each other. If you’re serious about gambling, you make a study of your opponents. That means you watch and try to draw them out. Gamblers know what’s going on.”

“If you say so.” Saburo glared at the painted young women who made determined efforts to lure them into the premises where they worked. One put out her tongue at him and turned her attention to someone else.

Tora dealt with them by grinning and joking with the women, claiming that his wife would beat him if he succumbed to their charms. This sort of thing was clearly mutually enjoyable, and Saburo thought bitterly that he just did not have the knack for attracting women.

The Bamboo Grove still existed. It was now a wine shop catering to working men and small tradesmen, but it was still as lively as Tora remembered, and in the back room a noisy game of dice was being played.

Tora said wistfully, “I wish we had some funds. All I have is a string of coppers and one piece of silver. What about you?”

Saburo made a face. “I don’t think we should waste any more funds, and certainly not on gambling,” he said primly.

Tora eyed him askance. “I told you you’ve got to pay for information. I don’t think buying a cup of wine will get us what we want.”

Saburo felt in his sash. “Half a string and three pieces of silver.” He added accusingly, “I’d meant to give the silver to the schoolmaster.”

“Hmm. Use the coppers and one piece of silver, and play cautiously.” Tora strode into the backroom, eyed the gamblers, and cried, “Can I trust my eyes? Gengyo, is that you, you thieving rascal?”

Gengyo looked up from his pile of winnings. His face broke into a gap-toothed grin. “Tora, you randy dog! What, you’re chasing the whores again? I knew that marriage wouldn’t last.” He jumped up and embraced Tora, both laughing out loud and slapping each other’s backs. Saburo scowled.

“You’re wrong,” said Tora. “I’m still a dutiful married man and father. But I thought I might try my luck tonight. I brought my friend Saburo. Saburo, meet the sharpest dicer in the willow quarter. Can we sit in?”

Of course they could. Introductions were made and Tora decided that the clientele of the Bamboo Grove had declined a little. The one called Hankei looked like the sort of man they needed. But if he was a gangster, they would have to tread carefully. He hoped Saburo would not make any mistakes.

When told about the stakes, Tora grimaced. “We’re poor, guys. Can you take it down a bit?”

Hankei, who resembled a small monkey, objected. He already had a neat pile of winnings and claimed that any change might break his streak of luck. “If you run out of money,” he offered generously, “I’ll stake you. And the wine’s on me.”

Tora nodded. “Well, maybe your luck will rub off.” Making loans during games was one way unscrupulous moneylenders preyed on the poor and stupid. They settled down, put their money in and awaited their turn with the dice.

Tora watched Hankei rattle the dice in a cup and upend it on the floor, hiding the dice inside. They made their guesses, even or odd, and Hankei’s neighbor lifted the cup. Saburo had guessed correctly and received a share of the pot. Tora had lost.

The payout being settled, and the wine cups refilled, Tora asked, “Did you hear about Nakamura’s murder?”

They had all heard about it and expressed shock that a blind girl should go so far as to slash a man’s throat.

“Though mind you,” said one of the players, “he was known to abuse women. Some of the houses stopped admitting him. But the girls and their aunties are pretty desperate for money, and so he still had plenty of entertainment.”

“Yeah,” said Gengyo, “these days the whores gamble just as much as their clients. The one they call Phoenix owed Nakamura one thousand pieces of gold.”

Shouts of derision greeted this figure. “You must be crazy. Even in silver, that’s more money than anyone in the quarter has, let alone a whore.”

Gengyo defended himself. “The Phoenix is a choja. She makes a lot of money for her house. Her clothes alone are worth a fortune.”

They squabbled over it until Hankei, the monkey, said impatiently, “Come on! Let’s play. I came for a good game.” He pushed the cup and the dice toward his neighbor, who obediently picked them up and rattled the cup. Bets were made. More wine was dispensed and drunk. Money was added to the diminished pile, and the game went on. Tora won a few times, but Saburo only once.

Saburo asked, “Did this Nakamura gamble?”

“Never,” said one of the players. “But he’d ask enough questions about big losers.” He laughed. “Always on the look-out for people needing a loan, that one. No, he was much too smart or too tight to risk his own money.”

“He was a bastard,” one of the others commented. The monkey growled, and the game continued.

Saburo ran out of money and dropped out. The monkey grinned and held up five pieces of silver. “Here! Just give me a piece of paper that you’re good for it.”

Saburo refused. “I’ll watch.”

Tora was down to his last piece of silver. The monkey proposed raising the bets to that amount. With an inward sigh, Tora submitted, placing his coin with the other bets. “Anybody here know Kanemoto?” he asked. “He’s supposed to live in the quarter.”

Silence fell. Then Gengyo asked, “What do you want with him, Tora? He’s got a reputation for being a very unfriendly man.”

“He’s a gangster boss, you mean,” said Tora. “I know. I’ve never met him and thought it would be useful to make his acquaintance.”

Gengyo shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. He doesn’t want people to know him and makes sure he’s left alone. And working for Lord Sugawara isn’t going to protect you, if you make him nervous.”

“Game!” snapped the monkey, rattling the cup. They returned to the dice, placed their bets, and watched as the next man lifted the cup. A rapid calculation, and a general moan went up. Most had opted for “even” and the result was “odd.”

The monkey grinned and reached for the pile of coins, a clear winner.

That was when Saburo’s hand shot forward and seized the dice. Lifting them to his good eye, he scowled. “Look! The bastard used crooked dice!”

Shocked outcries ensued. The monkey jumped up and backed away. “That’s a lie!” he shouted, but the truth was on his face, and in the dice that bore only uneven numbers of pips.

The monkey ran, and Tora shot after him. Saburo only paused to collect Tora’s share of the money, then followed.

Outside, the streets were still filled with drunks and merry-makers. The monkey had disappeared, but Saburo saw Tora’s tall back in its green and yellow shirt disappearing at the end of the street. He dashed after, dodging people, and turned the corner where Tora had disappeared. He was in a darker, smaller, and less crowded street and caught up with Tora in front of a plain two-story house. Only the moonlight illuminated the scene. Tora was pounding on the door.

Saburo faded into the shadow and watched.

After more pounding and Tora’s shouts to let him in, the door opened. A burly, bearded man wearing nothing but his loincloth glared out. “What the flaming hell and all its devils do you want?” he roared.

“A thief just went into your house. I saw him.”

“Nobody came in. Who are you?”

“None of your business. I saw him with my own eyes. He must live here.”

“Nobody lives here but me and my old mother. And I’ve been asleep.”

“Then he must be visiting her,” Tora sneered. “I saw him and I’ll have the constables here if you don’t get him.”

The bearded man laughed. “Go ahead and call them. See if I care.” And with that he slammed the door and shot a bolt.

Tora gave it a kick, shouted, “I’ll be back,” and walked away. When he drew level with him, Saburo hissed. Tora jumped and cursed. “Don’t startle a man like that,” he snapped. “The little bastard’s inside that house. The guy who lives there lied about it. I didn’t think it was a good idea to push my way in.”

“A wise decision. Go home. It’s my turn. I’ll find another way in.”

“If you can’t get him, at least find out who the house belongs to.”

17

The Nun

Akitada woke again to emptiness. He would never again find the warm body of his wife curled up against his side. Never again would he smell the fragrance of her skin or touch the silky strands of her long hair. And he would never make love to her again.

But this time there was a difference to his sense of loss. He rolled on his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. He had not made love to a woman for well over eight months now, and he had woken with the need for Tamako. This need would not be satisfied unless he resorted to having a woman from the pleasure quarter, and that would surely dishonor his love for his dead wife. Tormented by his desire, he flung himself onto his belly and buried his face in his bedding. “Oh, Tamako!” he groaned. “What am I to do without you? Please help me.”

Steps in the corridor outside recalled him to the need for self-control, or Saburo, with hot water for his tea, was about to find him in an embarrassing condition. He sat up with a shudder.

The door opened, but it was Tora who peered in. “Ah, you’re awake, sir. I brought water for your tea.”

Astonished, Akitada asked, “Where’s Saburo?”

Tora sidled in, closed the door and busied himself with the preparation of Akitada’s tea. “Umm,” he muttered, stirring the half-dead coals in the small brazier and setting the iron kettle on it. “Not sure, sir. Where do you keep the tea? Oh, here it is, in this little box. How much do I put in the cup, sir?”

Tora never drank tea unless it was prescribed for some illness, and he was practically never ill. Akitada got up and went to help him. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why isn’t Saburo doing this?”

“Well, umm, I’m afraid something must have happened. Saburo would never stay away from his duties, not after the way you spoke to him yesterday.”

Akitada winced. He had been too harsh once again. Brushing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the cobwebs of such memories, he remembered instead the deep and humiliating trouble he was in with his superiors. He must not take out his frustrations on his people. He said rather mildly, “Did Saburo go out last night?”

Tora gave him a nervous look. “Yes, sir. We both did. After it got too dark to work on the roof. He was all torn up over the blind girl and some starving schoolmaster, and we thought we’d better make one more attempt before Genba and I leave with the horses today.”

The horses! The lack of money! The dire need of his household!

Tora had the grace to look ashamed. With Saburo gone, Akitada could not send both of his remaining retainers away. Irritation stirred again, but he restrained it. “What happened?”

“We chased a suspect, a crooked gambler, to a private house in the willow quarter. Saburo suggested I return home while he’d find out whose house it was and then follow. He never got back, sir.”

“A gambler? The willow quarter? Are you both mad? How can you be thinking of expensive amusements at this time?”

Saburo might have shrunk from this flash of anger, but Tora knew Akitada better and merely said, “We didn’t go to be amused, sir. We were trying to help people. You always told us to help the poor.”

Akitada bit his lip. “Yes, you did mention something about a blind woman. But I told Saburo to leave that to the police.”

“You did, but the police aren’t going to be much help. We just had the one night and decided to make one more effort. We’d heard that a gambling boss might be involved. I think Saburo got too close. The man’s a gangster called Kanemoto. Kanemoto controls gambling and prostitution in the willow quarter. I think the man we chased went into his house.”

With a sigh, Akitada said, “Well, you and Saburo have managed to foil my efforts to reduce family expenses while wait to hear from the court. The horses will have to remain here until Saburo’s back. Tell Genba to have some more fodder delivered.” He opened the box which held the pitifully small heap of silver coins and two remaining gold bars and took out a silver coin. “Give this to Genba. Then go look for Saburo. If you cannot get any answers at this gangster’s house without putting yourself into danger, go ask Kobe’s help.”

Chastened, Tora nodded. “Thank you, sir, for understanding. Saburo’s always had a soft spot for poor children, and that schoolmaster has a number of them. By any chance, could the man be useful here?”

Akitada shook his head. “I cannot take on another person, Tora. Feeling pity for the poor is all very well, but there are children in this household who may also soon stare at empty bowls.”

Tora nodded again and left.

Akitada sat, glumly contemplating the money box. He could not recall when it last had been so empty, and in the past he had not had so many mouths to feed. Yes, there could well be empty bowls, and that would mean that his people would have to leave to try and earn a living elsewhere. He could not bear the thought.

Getting up, he walked into his garden. It was fall. The chrysanthemums were fading and the maple had turned red. The cold weather of the past week had brought winter closer. Tamako had planted those chrysanthemums, a rare and wonderful dark copper color that looked magnificent with the maple’s brilliant red leaves. In her hands, his world had turned to beauty in so many ways. What gifts she had given him!

The children!

He had nearly forgotten them again. Ashamed, he decided to walk over to Tamako’s pavilion. It had become Yasuko’s pavilion now, but her brother and Tora’s son also spent most of their day there. Even though Yoshitada took such pride in having his own room in the main house, he always ended up there.

On an impulse, Akitada went to look into his son’s room. He found the boy still tangled in his quilts and softly sobbing.

“Yoshi?” he said alarmed, kneeling beside the weeping child. “What’s the matter? What has happened? Are you ill?”

The boy gave a cry and flung himself in his father’s arms, clinging to him with arms and legs. “I want Mother,” he wailed.

Akitada did not know what to say. He had marveled that the children had taken their mother’s death so calmly and both admired and resented their restraint. It had not occurred to him that they would suffer alone and in silence at night. He held Yoshi, rocking him in his arms.

“I do, too,” he said softly. “It’s always worst when I wake up. I miss her very much. She has gone to live in paradise where we hope to meet her again someday.”

The boy nodded against his chest and gulped.

“I’m sorry, Yoshi. What can I do to help?”

“N-nothing!” The arms clung a bit more tightly. “I’m sorry, too, Father.”

“I’m sure Yasuko will be missing her also. Shall we go to see her?”

Yoshi released him and got up. His clothing consisted of a rumpled shirt, but his father found a pair short pants and a jacket to put on over it. He was awkward about dressing his son, but Yoshi did not seem to mind the odd costume, and Akitada was in his old house robe. Both were barefoot, unwashed, and with their hair disordered. Akitada smiled at his son and wiped away his tears with his sleeve.

“This is no way to dress when visiting a young lady, but this once it will do.”

“Yasuko’s no lady,” said Yoshi dismissively and seized his father’s hand to pull him away.

They found Yasuko putting away the bedding with Tamako’s maid. The maid, herself still in her sleeping clothes, gave a little cry of embarrassment and ran out. This made Yoshi laugh and Yasuko scold.

“We aren’t dressed yet.” she told her brother. “You are not to enter a lady’s chamber without making sure she’s dressed. It’s improper.” Yasuko only wore a silk undergown over her skinny little body. This she had slept in, but it also served as her underclothes. Her gown was draped over a clothes stand. Akitada was amused that his children should already have adopted the manners of adults. Yoshi had wanted his own room even though he probably felt alone there, and Yasuko insisted on the respect due to her as a female.

“I’m sorry we are early. We came to see how you are,” he said, searching her face for tears. He saw none; perhaps sharing the room with the maid kept her from weeping. Letting go of Yoshi’s hand, he went to pull Yasuko close. How frail and fine-boned she was! Fear for his children’s future rose again. He must find a way to feed them, to raise them into strong, healthy adults.

He reached for her gown and offered to help her. She was quite adept at this process and giggled at her father’s ignorance.

Akitada watched her and thought that a daughter needed a family with money or influence who could secure her a good husband who would respect her and take care of her. And his son would need the same to make his way in the world, to get a good education and a government position so that he could support his own family some day.

Akitada’s own father, for all his harshness, had found a way to get Akitada into the imperial university and later into the ministry of justice. Such things came with fatherhood.

He reached again for his daughter, but Yasuko struggled in his arms. He released her quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

She reached for his hand. “You didn’t, but my gown will get wrinkled. Thank you for coming, Father. We have missed you.”

He was ashamed. “I’ll come every day if you like,” he said, adding with a teasing smile, “so be sure to be ready to receive me next time.”

She laughed.

“How are the lessons going?”

Yasuko and her brother exchanged glances. Yoshi said, “Sensei is not much fun. I get sleepy.”

His father said, “You must try harder. Lessons aren’t supposed to be fun.”

“We’ll try harder, Father, Yasuko said. “I’ll sit next to Yoshi and pinch him when he dozes off.”

The maid reappeared, having managed to get dressed and tie up her hair. She blushed and bowed. “Shall I bring the children’s gruel, sir?”

“Yes, and bring an extra bowl for me.”

As Akitada took his morning meal with the children, listening to their chatter, he made up his mind to do so as often as it might be managed. Of course, if he should be able to return to government service again, he would already have left the house by dawn.

And this reminded him of his responsibilities. He took his leave from the children and went back to his room, trying to think of men of influence who might be able to help him. In the end, he came up with no one but Kosehira and wrote his friend a letter. Kosehira had lost most of his influence at court since he had supported Prince Atsuhira recently and been suspected of treasonable activities.

When the letter was done, he could not face sitting in his room any longer to wait for news from court. Getting up, he got dressed, then went to speak to Genba, who had returned with feed for the horses.

“Genba,” he said, “I’m going back to Abbot Genshin’s mansion. If anyone comes from the Daidairi, send the boy to fetch me.”

He wasn’t at all sure what he hoped to do there. Perhaps, if Genshin had an interest in finding out what had caused the lady’s death, the abbot might thank him by using his influence at court, but the very thought of asking such a favor sickened him.

No, he was going back on a whim, with a notion that there was a secret to be uncovered, and because it was an excuse to leave his house and forget his troubles and his grief for a little while.

This time he did not bother to knock at the small gate set into the large, imposing one but merely pushed it open and walked in. Like last time, the forecourt lay empty, weeds growing here and there, and the autumn chill had touched the trees beyond the main house with golden and auburn colors.

Akitada had no plan and no more questions to ask the inhabitants, but he wanted to look again at the dead woman’s pavilion. He felt strongly that the secret lay there, and while her room had revealed little, he wanted to see it again in hopes that he might learn something.

On this occasion, he wandered around the pavilion to look at the small lake behind it. The lake was fed by one of the many small streams that passed through the city and made possible the network of canals and the elaborate gardens of noble houses and palaces. This lake was home to a number of ducks, and as he came closer, he caused a pair of cranes to fly up with a clatter of wings. They were large, handsome creatures with their black and white plumage and brilliant red patches on their heads. Their wingspan was impressive, and they might have risen high into the sky to make for some larger watery habitat, like Lake Biwa, or even the Inland Sea. But they flew only to the opposite side of the lake and returned to stalking the fish. The lake seemed well-stocked with them. Perhaps the cranes had made a permanent home here.

He turned and studied the pavilion. Its curved tile roof swept out much like the wings of a large bird, overhanging verandas that must have offered the dead woman lovely views of the small lake. Here was, without a doubt, the best accommodation Abbot Genshin’s large and elegant residence had to offer. It was typically the sort of pavilion a man might reserve for a favored companion. Who had Lady Ogata been? What had she been to her host? And why had she died?

He had no proof that her death was anything but suicide, but then there was no proof it had been suicide except the placement of the trunk underneath a beam. What kept him coming back was the strong feeling that all was not as it had appeared. He knew that he should speak to Genshin about this but could not bring himself to do so.

He walked up to the pavilion and onto the veranda. From there he looked out over the garden. All was peaceful and serene.

And yet.

Pushing open a shutter, he walked again into that dim room. The few items of furniture were as they had been last time. She had been very poor but had clung to some of the clothes of a far more elegant past. A shocking event must have caused the change in her life. And yet it had not been enough for her to take her life when it had happened. So, why now?

He saw nothing to answer his questions, and eventually turned to go back out into the garden. He saw the path that led to the caretaker’s cottage. While the man had acted somewhat strangely, he had been forthright in his description of what he had found that morning. There were, of course, also the two children who had raised the alarm. He ought to try to find them.

Peering at the dense cover of trees that separated the pavilion from the outer wall, he thought of the city that lay beyond, and of the children who had come from there. He assumed they lived among the tenements or humble homes, for they were said to belong to a poor woman who had to work during the day, leaving them on their own.

Another female who was alone. All she had were her children.

But that was more than the dead woman had had.

He thought of his own loneliness. Yes, he was blessed by fortune in that it had left him his son and daughter. He had enjoyed his morning with them. They seemed to him handsome, affectionate, and loveable. It was a pity he had never taken enough time to get to know his own children. Now, like the poor mother, he must work to provide for them, and they would again grow distant.

As he gazed at the large garden of the rich man who had forsaken the world and its pleasures to become a monk, he wondered if Tasuku had really made a clean break from his former life.

Akitada decided there were no answers for him here. He must begin to call on men in the emperor’s service, begging them to support him. It was all very distasteful and humiliating, but it must be done.

He bowed his head and walked away from the mystery of Lady Ogata.

But in his abstraction, he took the wrong path. It curved away suddenly and plunged into some dense undergrowth before suddenly emerging in a small clearing with a rustic building made from logs and covered with a roof of cypress bark.

He stopped. This sort of thing was not unusual on large estates. Such places were used for religious observances, meditation, and perhaps childbirth when the owner feared the event would contaminate the main house. Shinto abhorred the uncleanness of death and birth equally.

He stood there, lost in thoughts about the human lifespan when he realized that the building’s single door was open. Walking closer, he called out, and a moment later a small gray figure appeared in the doorway.

The nun had returned.

Akitada went to the steps leading up to the small dwelling and bowed. “Forgive me for interrupting your peaceful life. I’m Sugawara Akitada and heard you were a friend to the poor lady who took her life here recently.”

She spoke quite sharply for such a slight person. “Sadako did not kill herself. And I know your name. I heard you were here asking questions. It’s about time someone looked into this.”

Akitada was taken aback by this forthright speech from a Buddhist nun who had, presumably, forsworn the concerns of the world around her. “You surprise me,” he said. “Do you have reasons to suspect something else?”

She compressed her lips. “You are here, aren’t you? Isn’t that reason enough?”

Akitada gestured to the narrow veranda. “May I sit down and talk to you?”

Aware of having neglected the most basic of courtesies, her pale face reddened. “Yes, of course. I’m called Seikan. Forgive me, but I’ve been distraught. Would you rather come inside?”

“No, thank you. It’s pleasant here.” Akitada went to perch on the veranda, but she stopped him. “Your robe. Wait while I get a cushion.”

He waited and she returned and placed a plain cushion made from woven grass for him, then sat down herself. Her gray robe apparently did not require much protection from dust.

Akitada asked, “What really made you think that your friend’s death may not have been her own choice?”

“Because she was content. After much suffering, she was finally at peace. She had no reason to wish for death.”

“The others, your neighbors here, call her Lady Ogata. Was that her real name?”

She waved a slender hand. “What are names? Since she has lived here, she has called herself the ‘lady of the crane pavilion.’ She said she had no past. Like the blessed in paradise, she lived from day to day in quiet joy.”

Akitada raised his brows at this. Nobody lived that way, particularly not someone who had exchanged a worldly life for this lonely existence. He said, “We cannot forget the past and must prepare for the future. That is our karma. For some, this is a heavy burden; for others it’s easier to bear; but none of us are without pain.”

She said nothing.

“What happened to the lady in her past life?”

Silence.

“What was her relationship with Abbot Genshin? Was she his lover?”

To his surprise, she turned to him with a little laugh. “You are a very silly man. Why is it that people always assume there must be a man in the case when a woman turns her back on the world?”

This startled him. Women who turned their backs on the world as a rule became nuns. And Seikan was a nun, but the dead woman had not chosen such a way. Irritated by her words, he said, “Because in many cases women do turn to the religious life because a lover deserted them or they suffered rejection by the men they fell in love with. Men, especially young men, are not considerate of the feelings of the females they bed. And Abbot Genshin was, to my personal knowledge, a rake in his younger years.”

She surprised him again by chuckling. “Quite right. Forgive me. But the answer to your question is no. Sadako never knew His Reverence until she came here to live and she was not his lover.”

“But why did she come here? What caused him to offer her refuge here? And what was she running away from?”

She shook her head. “I will not talk about her past, and know little enough as it is.”

“But you think someone killed her?”

“I don’t want to think so. It could have been an accident.”

Akitada thought of the scene that had been described to him and shook his head. “Hardly.”

The nun shuddered. “Then it was an evil act.”

“Evil acts are committed for a reason. The motive for murder often lies in a person’s past. If you want the murderer found, you should tell all you know.”

“What I know will not help you,” she said, looking away. “I may grieve my friend’s passing, but that does not mean I want to stir up things that are best forgotten. The past is past. Leave it undisturbed.”

Akitada gritted his teeth. “You knew who I was when I came here this morning. You knew quite well that I would not leave a murderer to go free. Why did you agree to talk to me if you have no intention of helping?”

She moved restlessly, then got to her feet. “You will find the truth yourself. I cannot help you. It is time for my devotions. Forgive me.” And she walked back into her hermitage, closing the door behind her.

18

A Tiger in the Dark

Saburo watched Tora melt into the darkness, then crept around the house where the gambler had taken refuge. He felt certain that people were watching because Tora had made such a racket pounding on their door.

The houses in the amusement quarter were built close together. Many were two stories tall. Unlike the shops and homes of merchants, they had few storage yards behind them. What there was opened to alleys where refuse was collected. At this hour, the brothels and wine shops were still busy. Many lights shone from upper and lower windows and doorways.

But the house that interested Saburo remained dark. It was a home, not a business. That did not mean that there were no watchers inside, peering out through chinks in the shutters. Saburo regretted that he was not wearing his black clothes, so much more suitable for surreptitious excursions. He moved cautiously from shadow to shadow, with the unconscious grace of a cat on the prowl, sliding around objects, dimly seen in the inadequate moonlight. When he reached the area behind the house, it lay in utter darkness and silence. The indistinct noise he heard came from the rest of the quarter.

Once he reached the back wall of the house, Saburo crawled along it, bent low beneath the few windows on this side. Behind one of the windows he suddenly saw a faint strip of light appear, and knew he had been right. People had been watching from the dark house and had decided that the troublemakers had finally left.

Unfortunately Saburo could not see inside. But the house was raised a few feet above ground level, and he found a gaping hole in the boards that allowed access to the space beneath. Crawling in, he got on his hands and knees and made his way cautiously through the dark in the general direction of the room where he had seen the light. It was dirty and smelled unpleasant, but it was warmer than it had been outside.

He soon heard indistinct voices and wriggled forward until he was directly beneath the room where the men were talking.

He recognized the voice of the monkey. The other voice was soft and silky but something about it sent a shiver down Saburo’s spine.

The monkey was making excuses. He sounded desperate.

The silky voice told him, “This is not the first time,” adding, “You’re useless scum!” The monkey tried again, his voice becoming shrill. The silky voice asked, “Why should I care?” The monkey pleaded. The silky voice lost some of its softness: “Enough. I’m at the end of my patience with you.”

It sounded very much as though the monkey had been working for the silky voice. Saburo began to suspect that the silly bastard had made the mistake of leading them straight to the home of his boss, Kanemoto. If so, he had every reason to be afraid.

As if to confirm this, the silky voice suddenly snapped, “Shut up, you dog! It’s not enough that you’re so bad at your game that a complete amateur caught you. You then allow yourself to be chased, and come straight here. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have opened my door to you. Do you know what will happen if anyone saw you come in?”

The monkey could be heard mumbling frantic apologies.

Saburo was beginning to enjoy himself. Any moment now, the monkey would say the other man’s name, confirming that silky voice was indeed Kanemoto. Tora could take this information to the police.

There was a loud crash above, and then the weasel screamed shrilly. This was followed by more crashes and the sound of blows. The screams went on, interspersed with “Shut up, you piece of dung. You’re not going to forget this.”

Saburo’s pleasure faded. Listening to another human being beaten to a pulp brought back bad memories. He was tempted to cover his ears but did not want to miss some crucial information.

The monkey shrieked, “Stop hitting me or I’ll …”

The blows ceased.

“You’ll do what?”

The monkey sobbed, “Nothing. I meant nothing, Kanemoto-sama.”

“Are you threatening me with the police? And what would happen to you then, scum?” asked the voice, silky once again.

Sounding desperate now, the monkey said, “I’ll go to jail rather than be beaten to death by you.”

Saburo almost applauded.

He did not hear the gangster’s response, because a woman’s voice called out, “What’s going on, Kanemoto? What’s all the screaming?”

Her refined nasal, singsong intonation marked her as a courtesan, one of the women in the quarter who had climbed to the top of their trade.

Kanemoto, finally identified, said, “It’s nothing, my love. Go back to bed. Just some business I have to take care of.”

He sounded different now. His voice was soft and the tone almost pleading. Saburo was not surprised when the woman did not obey. He heard the sound of a door sliding open and an exclamation of disgust. “Ugh! Who’s that? He’s been bleeding all over your gown and the floor.”

Before Kanemoto could react, the pathetic monkey made his next move. He wailed, “Lady Suzaku, dearest, kindest lady, most beautiful lady of the willow quarter! Please help me. I’ve done nothing.”

She squealed, “Don’t touch me, you filthy animal.”

There was the sound of another blow, followed by a groan, and Kanemoto snapped, “Stay away from her, you hear?” Then he added to the woman, “The bastard let himself be caught cheating at dice. Someone chased him, and the stupid fool led them straight to my house.”

The woman sucked in her breath sharply. “He’ll go to the warden, or even the police. They’ll come here. I’m leaving. I should never have come. You’re poison, Kanemoto.”

Kanemoto cried, “Don’t go, dearest. Nobody will come, and if they do, they’ll find nothing. Sweetheart, I’ll pay your debts.”

Below, in the darkness, Saburo shook his head. Even gangsters were fools about women.

She said, “I can’t come here again, but if I had a little place of my own, you could come to me. Away from the quarter. Someplace we can be together safely.”

Kanemoto pleaded, “I’ll find it. Only don’t leave me.”

“You must make sure he doesn’t talk. If he talks …”

They fell silent, but suddenly the monkey started sobbing and pleading again, his voice indistinct with panic.

Then Saburo heard a gurgling sound and the wild tapping of feet on the floor above, then a heavy thud and silence.

For a moment, he was unsure what had happened.

The woman said, “Pah! He pissed all over the floor. It’s disgusting. You could have waited until I’d gone.”

Kanemoto, panting slightly, replied, “Come, my dear. Surely you’re used to watching men die in your arms. Love and death, it’s all much the same.”

Saburo felt nausea rising. They’d killed the poor bastard! He heard the rustling of a gown, a door slid open above, and she was gone. Kanemoto muttered. A scraping, sliding noise followed. The gangster was moving the monkey’s body.

Saburo was still sickened by what he had heard, but he waited, curious to see how a gangster disposed of inconvenient corpses.

When the sounds above faded, Saburo crept back to the opening. It showed as a paler rectangle in the darkness and he hurried. Halfway there, he touched something warm and lashed out. Some creature spat, hissed, and attacked. Suddenly claws were imbedded in his face. The shock and pain almost made him cry out, but if Kanemoto found him, he would surely get rid of him also. So he fought silently, grasping the furry beast and pulling it from his head. It resisted viciously. In his distress and in the dark, it seemed to be a tiger. Eventually, he got his hands around the animal’s throat and squeezed. Before it went limp, its four claws tore at his face and arms. He flung the body aside and found that he was bleeding from his face, scalp, and both hands and arms.

Worse was about to come!

The paler square of the opening disappeared. For a moment, Saburo was disoriented and moved frantically this way and that in the darkness. Reason returned and, feeling about above himself, he managed to guess from the direction of the overhead beams where he was and started crawling again. On his way, he encountered the corpse of the animal and decided it was only a cat after all, though a rather large one.

But then a new noise reached his ears. Someone was hammering. He followed the sound, and when he reached the outer wall, he felt along it. The hammering stopped.

Alas, the opening was gone. Something soft and yielding blocked it. He felt it, touched clothing and hair, and realized he had been joined by the corpse of the gambler.

With some difficulty in the confined space he moved the gambler aside. The hole through which he had entered, and through which Kanemoto had shoved the body, was now closed off. He was trapped under the gangster chief’s house with the body of a murdered man.

19

The Dance of the Cranes

His visit with the nun Seikan left Akitada frustrated and irritable. Why is it that those who choose a religious life assume they are above the law and can make their own judgments? Perhaps they have stripped their souls of all capacity to feel anything by avoiding the troubles of those who lead normal lives, fall in love, have children, work hard to provide for them, and in consequence suffer the unbearable pain that comes with the loss of loved ones.

But Seikan had mourned the passing of her friend, though he still thought her feelings had not been engaged to a degree where she would fight for justice. Had the erstwhile Tasuku put aside his emotions when he became a monk?

Pondering these questions, Akitada stopped and looked around. What to do next?

The answer came immediately. He would go to speak to the children who used to visit Lady Ogata. But to find them, he must visit the caretaker Koshiro again.

He passed quickly through the gardens, skirting the lake where the two cranes were fishing again, and knocked on the caretaker’s door.

It opened quickly, and Akitada saw that his presence came as a shock to the man. He said reassuringly, “I won’t keep you, but it occurred to me to speak to the two children who visited Lady Ogata. Could you tell me where they live?”

Koshiro looked past him as if he pondered the question. It had been a simple question, and Akitada turned his head to see if someone was coming, but the path was empty.

Finally Koshiro said, “I don’t know. They’re poor children. Who knows what those are up to? They were a nuisance. I didn’t like them, but I ignored them because the lady enjoyed their visits.”

“Ah. You said a boy and a girl? About how old?”

Again the strange hesitation. “Yes, a boy and a girl. The girl was maybe nine and boy was younger. I’m not good at guessing ages.”

“Thank you. I must try my best to find them.” Akitada gave him a smile and left, wondering why Koshiro had been so unhelpful.

Back outside the compound, he circled around the block that was Genshin’s property and arrived at a quarter of very modest homes. Workers and artisans, scribes and low-ranking officials lived in these houses. The wall that protected the noble compound from the lower classes had a small gate on this side. He tested it and found it locked. Apparently, this had not been so before the lady’s death, but Koshiro had wasted no time keeping the children away in the future.

He glanced across the street and saw a group of children playing under a large catalpa tree. They were all younger than ten, he guessed, and both boys and girls. When he had walked across, he noticed an old woman sitting under the tree and was relieved that the children had not been left without some sort of supervision.

Seeing a formally dressed nobleman approaching, the old woman struggled to her feet and bowed deeply.

“I see you look after all these children,” Akitada said, smiling. “It must be difficult. They seem very energetic.”

She returned a toothless smile and bobbed another bow. “So they are, your Honor, so they are. Regular mice, they are so quick. But they’re mostly good children, and I really only look after my own.” She giggled and raised a hand to her mouth to stifle the merriment. “I mean my daughter’s children, of course. That’s them over there.” She pointed to a cluster of four boys engaged in kicking a small stone about.

“Sturdy boys,” Akitada complimented her. “I’m looking for two particular children, a girl and her smaller brother. I believe they live in this neighborhood and used to visit a lady in the big house over there.” He pointed across the street.

“Oh,” she said. “The poor lady who hanged herself?” Again the hand covered her mouth. “Sorry, sir. I shouldn’t talk about such things.”

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “I wonder, are those children here, by chance?”

She nodded and pointed to a pair who sat nearby, looking forlorn as they watched the other children. “The girl’s called Maeko and the boy Shiro. Their mother’s a widow who works as a cleaning woman. They’re alone during the day.” She shook her head. “That’s not a good way for children to grow up. Look at them. They just mope around. Are they in trouble for going over there?”

Akitada got the impression that she would have welcomed some trouble for them to prove the point that families had a duty to watch over their children. He thought of his own two who were close in age. But unlike the poor widow’s children, they had servants to look after them. Who knew what dire straits the mother was in? He said firmly, “No, no trouble at all. They seem to be good children and they were invited by the lady.”

“Not to start with,” corrected the old woman. “They went over there to look around because they were bored. I know they did. They came back talking about how beautiful the garden is and how there’s a lake with ducks and cranes and beautiful buildings. I had my hands full to keep the rest of the kids from running off to see.”

That explained her resentment. Akitada thanked her and walked over to the two children. They got to their feet, looking nervous, but making him a bow. The girl was thin but neat in her faded blue and white dress with her braid hanging down her back. The boy, in short pants and a simple shirt, was less tidy, and his short hair stood up in small uneven tufts. Both were barefoot. The weather was already too cold for such inadequate attire, but they did not seem to feel it.

Akitada smiled at them. “I think you must be Lady Ogata’s young friends.”

The girl’s eyes widened and she grasped her brother’s hand as if she were about to run away, taking him with her. Akitada crouched to bring his face to their level. He meant to reassure them when the boy burst into tears.

“I didn’t do it,” he cried. “I didn’t touch her. Please don’t hit me. I didn’t mean to.”

The girl put an arm around him. “Hush, Shiro. The honorable gentleman isn’t asking about that.”

The boy gulped and fell silent, but Akitada wondered. He stood up again and said gently, “Nobody is going to beat you. I won’t allow it. I just stopped by to tell you how grateful everybody is that you were so brave the morning you found her dead.”

The girl looked uncertain, but the boy brightened immediately. “I was brave. Did you hear, Maeko?” he told his sister. “The honorable gentleman just said so.” He wiped away his tears and smiled at Akitada, who smiled back and nodded.

Akitada asked the girl. “You must have been very sad that the lady died.”

She nodded. “We miss her a lot,” she said simply. “She was very good to us.”

Shiro said, “She gave us sweets.”

In spite of the lady’s great poverty, she had saved sweets for the children. She had expected them that day. Akitada said, “Yes, she was very kind. Many people must miss her like you do, but they don’t know that she has died. You see, we don’t know who she was, where her family lives.”

The girl looked puzzled. “Her name was Lady Ogata, but we call her the lady of the crane pavilion.”

Her brother explained, “’Cause there’s cranes there. Two of ‘em, and sometimes three. The lady owns the cranes. She said her house is called the crane pavilion because of the cranes.”

“A pretty name,” Akitada said. “But I wondered about her parents. Or perhaps she had brothers and sisters. They should be told, so they can pray for the lady’s soul. Did she ever talk about them?”

They looked at each other and shook their heads. “The lady was alone,” said the girl. “She never talked about anyone. We didn’t think she had a family. She liked us to come because she was lonely and we were alone, too. She told us stories, and sometimes she sang songs and we danced. She danced beautifully. She was going to teach me.” Her eyes filled with tears at the memory.

It was not much, but the singing and dancing raised a new idea in Akitada’s mind. What if this “Lady Ogata” had really been an entertainer? Some of those talented young women made names for themselves and even married into good families. They often ended up being kept by noblemen in separate establishments where they could be visited without the wives being any the wiser.

And that, of course, again made him think of Tasuku, or rather Abbot Genshin. Though, if she had indeed been the abbot’s mistress, he had hardly provided her with the luxuries such women expected. No. There must be another mystery here.

“If it doesn’t trouble you too much,” he asked, “could you tell me about your last visit?”

They looked at each other. The boy’s lower lip started to tremble, and Akitada was sorry he had asked. But Maeko nodded and gave her account about how they had come as usual, only to find Lady Ogata hanging by the neck from one of the rafters. They had thought to run away, but Maeko had decided to call for help and headed toward Koshiro’s house. She had had a vague idea that Koshiro, being tall and strong, could untie the scarf and lift her down, and all would be well. They knew better now and were very sad.

A brief silence fell when she finished. Into this, the boy said again, “I really didn’t mean to do it. Honestly!” Tears threatened to spill again.

Akitada crouched again. “Don’t cry, Shiro,” he said. “You’re a brave boy and brave boys don’t cry.”

Shiro sniffled and nodded.

“What did you do that worries you so? I promise you won’t be in trouble.”

The boy looked up at his sister first, then said, “I touched her. Just a little. She moved. Like she was floating.” He hung his head.

His sister said, “He really only barely touched her foot. He didn’t know any better.”

“Well, it was natural enough,” Akitada said, patting the boy’s shoulder. But he rose to his feet, puzzled by something. “The lady isn’t there any longer. The pavilion is empty. Would you mind very much going there with me?”

Again they consulted by looking at each other. Then the girl said, “We wouldn’t mind.”

“Thank you.”

Akitada went back to the old woman. “I’m taking the children across to the lady’s pavilion for just a little while. My name is Sugawara. I am from the Ministry of Justice.”

She stared at him. “Are you investigating? Has she been murdered then? They said she hanged herself.”

This was awkward. Akitada said quickly, “The police are satisfied it was suicide. But the lady’s relatives are eager to know what may have caused her to take this tragic step. The children may be helpful.”

The avid interest disappeared. She nodded, slightly deflated. “Yes, of course. I’m sure they’re safe enough with you, my Lord.”

*

He hated taking the children back to the place where the woman had died. The boy seemed eager enough, now that he knew he was not in trouble for having touched Lady Ogata’s dangling feet. His sister, however, had become very quiet.

When they neared the pavilion and looked out over the lake, he saw that the cranes had returned. Turning to Maeko, he asked, “Are those cranes always there?”

She nodded.

“And that is why you called this place the crane pavilion?”

“She called it that. She loved the ducks and cranes, but the cranes especially. She said they reminded her of when she was young.”

“How so?”

“There was a dance she used to do. It was called ‘Cranes Dancing at the Shore.’”

There it was again, the hint that the dead woman had been an entertainer.

As they stood watching the peculiar slow movements of the cranes, Maeko slipped her hand into his and looked up at him. “She taught me a little bit of it. Would you like to see?”

“Oh, I would be delighted.”

“No, let’s go,” Shiro said, pulling his hand free. In a moment he had scrambled up the incline to the pavilion.

“Shiro!” cried his sister. “Come back here.”

“Never mind,” said Akitada. “Let him go. I would very much like to see you dance.”

She blushed a little, but stepped away a few feet. And there on the mossy ground she began a slow and charming dance, moving fluidly, lifting her arms as if she were shaking out her wings, bending toward the ground as if searching for fish in the water. With some slow steps, the girl-bird spread its wings, raised itself upward and then dipped low, only to raise its head again. Maeko stopped suddenly. “That’s all I know how to do. There’s more. It’s better with music. The lady used to hum along.”

“It was beautiful. Thank you. Did the lady talk much about her youth?”

“Not really. Only about how she was chosen to dance for the emperor.”

Akitada’s eyebrows rose. So! Not an entertainer in the willow quarter then. The word “chosen” suggested a special court festivity. Girls or very young women belonging to good families appeared for certain annual events involving performances. They marked their entrance into the world of eligible brides. This was becoming interesting.

“Are you sure she never talked about other things in her life?”

Maeko shook her head. “No. Never. She got sad when we asked her questions.”

“Well, let’s go and see what your brother is doing.”

Shiro was standing on the veranda railing, investigating a bird’s nest under the eaves.

Maeko cried, “Get down, Shiro. You might fall and tear your new shirt. Mother would be very unhappy.”

“I’ll be careful,” replied the boy, trying to climb the veranda column.

Akitada plucked him down. “Come, Shiro,” he said. “I need you to take a look at the room and show me exactly what you did that morning. You don’t have to go inside, just look in from the door.”

The door was unlocked. The children stayed outside while Akitada walked in and opened the shutters; sunlight streamed in. The place looked untouched from his last visit. Maeko looked frightened, but Shiro pointed to the center of the room, his eyes fixed on the beam that had supported the body of Lady Ogata.

“I went just there,” he said. “Her feet were in front of my face.” He gestured to his chin. “But she wasn’t standing on them. She was floating. Like a fairy. I went up to her and gave her a little push, and she started swinging.” He looked at Akitada. “I didn’t mean to,” he said again defensively.

“I know. I can see that you wanted to know how she could float in the air.”

The boy nodded.

“Did you see anything else nearby? Her fan maybe, or the clothes rack? Or one of the trunks?”

The boy shook his head. “No.”

With a profound sense of satisfaction, Akitada turned to Maeko. “And you didn’t see anything either?

She shook her head.

“Was everything the same as now?”

She looked again, then pointed to one of the trunks. “I think that was a little closer to the other trunk.”

He and Tora had inspected the trunks, but he knew they had not moved them. He nodded. “Thank you, my dears. You have been a big help and shall have a present. Let’s go back now before your mother starts to worry.”

He delivered the children into the hands of the old woman, having given each a piece of silver. He could not afford it, but they were poorer than he was, and they had been good children.

And they had given him proof that Lady Ogata had been murdered.

20

Lady Akiko’s News

After his satisfaction over having been proven correct in his suspicions, Akitada suffered a strong depression. As he walked homeward from the mansion, it struck him that his pleasure at having discovered a crime was shameful. A suicide was tragic, but murder was much worse; it shifted emotions from grief and regret to horror and anger. It also meant the story was just beginning, and it would not have a pleasant end. He should not be proud that he had set out to prove a man guilty simply because he detested him. For that matter, there was no proof that the saintly abbot had had anything to do with this. He still had no idea how or why the killer had ended the lady’s life.

He ruminated over these considerations as he came within sight of his own gate and realized that for the span of the past hour or so he had forgotten Tamako. Grief and pain washed over him, and he stopped in the street, gazing miserably at his house. Would it happen this way? Would he forget her so easily, so completely?

As if she had never been?

Yes. He knew in his heart that he would stop thinking of her eventually. Perhaps not right away, but as the years passed. The pity of this forgetting choked him and he wept.

Weeping in the middle of the street and within sight of his neighbors who might emerge at any moment would not do. They already thought him eccentric and possibly dangerous because of his involvement in crimes. He dashed away the tears with his sleeve and hurried to his gate.

Genba admitted him. “Lady Akiko is here, sir,” he said with a smile. The smile faded when he saw his master’s face.

To forestall a comment, Akitada asked, “Any sign of Tora or Saburo?”

“No, sir. It’s troubling. I hope Tora finds him.”

Akitada nodded and walked quickly to the main house. He did not want to see Akiko just now. What he really wanted to do was to go to the small family shrine where they kept the altar and the ancestral plaques. There he wanted to kneel, not to pray to the Buddha figure on the altar, but to talk to his wife as he used to do when she was alive. He had kept to this habit every day since his return.

It would have to wait. Tamako would understand. He stopped in his room to take off his outer robe and rearrange his face. Then he went in search of his sister.

Akiko had brought her children again. They were gathered on the floor of Tamako’s room, laughing at some pictures on a scroll. Seeing the cheerful faces of his own children, he forgave his sister. It was enough that he should feel the pain. Children should be happy. He thought of the ones he had seen at play earlier, and of Maeko and Shiro, and hoped he had not grieved them too much with his questions.

Akiko greeted him enthusiastically. “Finally! I’ve been in a perfect agony waiting for you. I have such news!” She jumped up and took his hand. “Come, let’s go to your room to talk about it.”

Irritated, Akitada detached himself and went to greet the children. The scroll they were looking at had drawings of small animals, monkeys, frogs, and weasels, dressed up in human clothes and prancing across the paper in imitation of various human activities. A number of them wore court robes and walked in solemn procession. It was a clever and daring comment on his own class. On paper, noble lords were reduced to the level of animals, and their most treasured functions looked silly.

But he thought it a little insulting since he was himself a member of this class. He was about to comment on the unsuitability of such a work for impressionable children when he realized they did not get the message and merely laughed at the antics of animals.

He left them to it, pulled away by the eager hand of Akiko.

In his study, she said, “Sit!” and made herself comfortable on one of the cushions.

Akitada sat and frowned at her. “Better tell me what burns on your tongue,” he said. “I’m rather busy.”

“Briefly then. Your Lady Ogata may have been married to Minamoto Masakane. What do you think of that?”

“Minamoto Masakane? You mean the man who was condemned for treason?”

“Exactly. But there’s more. If she is the same woman, she is Sadako, the daughter of Soga Ietada.” Akiko smiled triumphantly. “What a story this will make! And you will be famous.”

Famous? What was she talking about? But Akitada had heard that name again: Soga! Still, it was a large family, and this Soga might not be a close relative of the hateful minister he had worked for. “Explain!” he said curtly.

“You mean you don’t recall the scandal of Masakane being sent into exile for raising his hand to the emperor?”

A dim memory stirred. Masakane had been a young courtier, a hanger-on among the imperial followers. Clearly, he had also been a man who could not control his temper. Akitada said, “Ah, I see. It would explain why she took another name and lived as she did. How did you discover this?”

“Her name and the time of her taking up residence in Abbot Genshin’s house. Ogata is one among the Minamoto clan names. I thought I recognized it when you told me. Then I just thought back to five years ago because you said she had come to live there about then, and there it was.”

Akitada regarded his sister with grudging admiration. “That was very clever. What is this about her father?”

“Oh, I asked who Masakane’s wife had been. And there he was: Soga Ietada, one of the most ambitious men in the government.” She smiled. “How he must have hated his son-in-law!”

“Who exactly is Soga Ietada?”

“Oh, Akitada! Sometimes I lose all patience with you. You make no effort at all to familiarize yourself with the names of people who could be important to your career.” She paused. “Or who could hurt you. What’s this I hear that you’re in trouble again?”

Akitada flushed. His sister had a habit of probing sore spots. “I’ve tried to explain to my superiors that I returned from Kyushu to tend to my children. They don’t seem to think this a good reason for resigning a position.” He did not mention that apparently his resignation had not been passed on by the Assistant Governor General at Dazaifu..

Akiko was shocked. “Well, clearly you’ve been careless again. Surely you know by now that there are men who are just waiting for you to make a mistake. What do you plan to do about this?”

She had veered away from the murder of Lady Ogata so quickly that his head was spinning. To Akiko a person’s status was most important, and Akitada had disappointed, just as he used to disappoint her mother. He said nothing.

“Could they dismiss you?”

“Yes.” He met her eyes defiantly. “I don’t really care about honors and positions, but I must feed my family somehow.”

“Oh, Akitada,” she wailed. “It’s so unfair. How can they treat you like this? How shall you mange? Do you need money?”

He flushed painfully. “Not yet, but thanks.”

“Toshikage is very well off, you know. The harvests on his estates have been excellent.”

Whatever her irritating qualities-and this embarrassing probing of his financial situation was surely one-Akiko could be very generous. He forgave her and steered the conversation back to safer ground. “So what about this Soga?”

She blinked. “Yes, well, he is one of the major counselors. At present, he serves as Senior Secretary under the Prime Minister. He couldn’t be more influential. I thought that very interesting under the circumstances. Imagine! One of his daughters living in the Takashina mansion under a false name?”

Akitada thought of the very unpleasant interview in the Central Affairs Ministry. So Lady Ogata’s father was indeed the man he had met. He was not certain what this meant, but surely meddling in the death of Lord Soga’s daughter was not the way to gain favors from this man. He said, “That’s rather inconvenient”

His sister’s face fell. She gasped. “Oh. Was he one of the men you reported to?”

“Yes. But they claimed they had no authority in my case.”

“Not true!” Akiko got up and started pacing. “He has the grand minister’s ear. Oh, Akitada, this will not do. We must abandon the murder. It’s much too dangerous under the circumstances. And I had such hopes! How could you let this happen?”

Disappointment emanated like a physical force from her, from the flashing eyes, the clenched hands, the agitated step. Akitada felt the blame. His own shortcomings had once again robbed his sister of a triumph.

He said somewhat sarcastically, “As I said, it’s very inconvenient, especially when I just discovered that the poor woman was murdered.”

She swung around to stare at him. “You’re sure?”

“Oh, yes. The police based their verdict of suicide primarily on the fact that the body was found just above a clothing trunk. They assumed Lady Ogata had pushed the trunk under the beam, climbed up, used a length of silk to hang herself, and then stepped off the trunk.”

“And she didn’t?”

“No. There was no trunk there when the children found her. Someone, possibly the caretaker, rearranged the scene for the police.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And how did you find out?”

“I talked to the children.”

Akiko sank back on her pillow. She was a very graceful creature, Akitada noted. His other sister, Yasuko, had the prettier face, but Akiko always was the one people called beautiful and elegant.

She chewed her lower lip. “It makes no difference,” she finally said. “Let it go. We must think how to extricate you from this mess you got into again.”

“Again?”

She made a face and threw up her hands. “Again! Don’t glower like that. You are quite brilliant in most things, but you have never had the knack of making useful friends. Oh, I know you have a few friends, but they aren’t able to help you. Kosehira’s under a cloud himself, and Kobe has a hard enough time holding on to his position. They want to replace him with one of the Fujiwara youngsters. Only the fact that he controls the capital and makes them relatively safe keeps him in his place. And Nakatoshi? He’s not much more advanced than you are. There is no one to impress on the grand ministers that you have served them well.”

She was well-informed and right. But Akitada also knew that the sort of person who had the power and influence to promote a Sugawara’s interest was not the man he wished to call his friend. He did not like the way things were done and that favors were given to undeserving men because of their birth. He asked, “Is Kobe really in trouble? How can they even consider handing over the post of police chief to a Fujiwara boy simply because he’s old enough to receive a position befitting his rank?”

“They could and they have done it before. See, that’s what I mean. You don’t know what’s going on and you make no effort to learn.” She heaved a deep sigh. “If only Toshikage had more influence, but he isn’t much better than you.”

This went too far. Akitada, in his present mood, accepted blame for his own failures, but he was genuinely fond of his brother-in-law who was a generous and doting husband and the sort of cheerful person who saw only the best in everyone and everything. Akitada snapped, “Enough! I will not have you worry Toshikage with this. Let’s face it. There’s nothing to be done until they send for me. I’ve decided that I will not sit here, waiting. I’m going to look into this murder. If she is indeed Soga’s daughter and this displeases her father, so be it. Keep in mind that he may also be grateful that someone cared enough.”

Her eyes widened at his firmness. “It’s very dangerous,” she muttered.

“Ah, but I have you to help me,” he said slyly. “Surely between us we may steer this search for the killer in such a way that we don’t ruffle the great man’s feathers.”

She giggled. “I’ve seen him. He looks like a stork.”

He smiled. “Or a crane. His daughter called her home the crane pavilion.”

Akiko sat up. “Oh! I wonder.”

“What?”

“There may have been another scandal. The crane dance is part of the gosechi dancers’ performance.”

“Really?”

“Yes. What if Soga Sadako was a gosechi dancer? I bet I can find out.”

The gosechi dances were performed before the emperor by four specially chosen young girls on the second day of the dragon in the eleventh month. The entire court attended, and the young women wore feathered robes as they portrayed the dancing of celestial beings. To be chosen for this performance amounted to an immense honor and opportunity. The gosechi dancers were much sought after as brides of the most powerful and highly placed men. And this matched the story the girl Maeko had told.

Akitada said, “I believe you’re right. If she is indeed the same, her life certainly did not turn out the way her father must have imagined it.”

“Yes.” cried his sister, her eyes shining. She rose. “I’ll go right now to find out.”

And she was gone with a rustle of silken skirts, leaving her brother smiling to himself.

He recalled himself to his situation quickly, however, and sighed. Instead of lighting incense at the family altar, he went outside into the garden that Tamako had loved. The chrysanthemums were almost gone, but the maple blazed in its most brilliant red. He wandered about, imagining her beside him, picturing her face as he told her about the lady of the crane bower and how he had just gotten the better of Akiko by sending her off in search of court gossip. He could almost hear her laughter. Tamako had had a very pretty laugh. He paused and covered his face with his hands.

Oh, how he missed his wife!

21

Arrest

In the daytime, the house of the gangster boss Kanemoto looked harmless, just another small, well-kept place in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. The amusement quarter was also peaceful at this hour. After the night’s carousing, its inhabitants mostly slept or relaxed at nearby bath houses.

Tora saw no sign of life either in front or at the back of the house. Returning to the front after his inspection, he pounded on the door. There was no answer. Finally, a woman next door put her head out to glare at Tora. She shouted, “He’s left.”

Tora responded with an apology and a smile. “I had a message,” he lied, “about some emergency. Do you happen to know what’s going on?”

Her face relaxed, perhaps because even in middle age she appreciated a handsome man smiling at her. “No, but there was a lot of noise late last night with people pounding on his door. And then he was up before dawn, building something in his backyard. And right after that, he left.” She shook her head. “Not like him at all.”

Tora thanked her and walked around back again. He hoped to find some sign of what might have happened to Saburo. As he eyed the back wall of the house and studied marks in the dirt, he heard a sound. His eyes fixed on some wooden boards that had been hastily nailed up, most likely by Kanemoto himself last night. A scratching noise came from behind them.

He bent his face close to the boards and shouted, “Saburo?”

The scratching stopped, and then came Saburo’s croak, “Tora?”

“What the hell are you doing under there?”

“Scratching my way out.”

Looking around the yard, Tora saw a discarded wooden bucket with a missing stave. Prying off another stave, he returned and shoved the stave under one of the boards, prying it loose. Another few moments, and he had made an opening large enough for Saburo to peer out at him.

“Amida!” Tora jumped back.

Saburo slowly crept out. He said nothing.

Tora eyed Saburo’s bloody clothes and stared at his face again. “Dear gods,” he muttered, “not again! The bastards didn’t torture you again?”

Saburo got to his feet somewhat painfully. He looked down at his hands, caked with dirt and blood and now also with oozing blood from his fingernails. “No!” he said wearily. “There was a wildcat down there.” He paused. “And a dead man. And Kanemoto nailed us in together.”

There was a well in the far corner of the yard. Tora put an arm around Saburo and led him over. Hauling up some water, he helped him wash off the blood and dirt.

“Thank you for coming,” Saburo said. “I’m getting too old for this work. In my younger years, this wouldn’t have happened. He sat down on the well rim.

Tora was about to start asking the questions burning on his tongue when they heard the trotting of many feet on the street in front of the house. A moment later, ten constables appeared around the corner of the house and surrounded them, their jitte prongs extended in a threatening manner.

They were under arrest.

“What for?” demanded Tora, aware that Saburo’s blood-stained clothing and the wounds on his face and hands were unlikely to convince the constables of their harmlessness.

He was right. A jitte poked him a little, and the senior constable said, “Report of robbers making a public disturbance.”

Tora suppressed a curse. No doubt the neighbor woman had kept watch and seen him prying loose the boards. He said, “The robbers are gone. You can see my friend here is a victim.”

They looked Saburo over. The senior constable said, “Those look like scratches. Are you telling us that robbers use their fingernails these days?”

That brought some guffaws from the rest.

The senior constable snapped, “Stop cackling like monkeys. Chain them.”

Tora protested.

“You can tell your story to the police,” the senior constable told him.

Tora did not want to bring the Sugawara name into this yet. He exchanged a glance with Saburo.

Saburo said, “There’s a dead man under the house. And the wildcat that scratched me. The dead man’s a gambler called Hankei. The man who killed him is Kanemoto. It’s his house. I was under the house and heard them arguing. Then it was suddenly silent. The next thing I knew, Kanemoto was shoving a body under the house and nailing boards over the opening. My friend here came looking for me and just released me.”

Tora knew right away that it had been a mistake.

They goggled at this. The senior constable walked over and studied the loose boards with their bent nails, then peered into the darkness under the house. “You, Joshu! You’re the smallest. Crawl in there and check it out!”

Joshu made a face but obeyed. He disappeared under the house. Some unintelligible sounds emerged, and then he shot back out. “Amida,” he gasped. “The place is full of corpses. I’m not going down there again.” He rushed over to the well to wash his hands and rinse out his mouth.

Tora grinned.

His amusement was short-lived. When the constables had dragged out the body of Hankei, looking more than ever like a dead monkey, along with the strangled cat, they decided to charge Tora and Saburo with murder and lock them up in the local warden’s jail.

This created an unanticipated difficulty. At the city jail, they might have had a chance to identify themselves and explain, but here nobody knew them or cared.

The warden and constables did, however, know Kanemoto, who was, by the willow quarter’s standards, a respected businessman and, in any case, not home.

Tora and Saburo were locked into a small cell that stank of vomit and worse. It was also hot and airless, and the stench got worse during the long day. The one meal they were offered was inedible and the water so dirty and stale they only took a few sips.

They talked, though.

Tora said, “You could have been killed, too.”

Saburo picked at his lacerated hands. “That cat was something else.”

“I mean by Kanemoto. Are you sure he didn’t know you were down there? Why nail you in, if he didn’t know?”

“He was just covering the hole to keep people from finding the monkey.”

“Dead bodies stink after a while.”

“I don’t know, Tora. Maybe he planned to come tonight and take the body elsewhere.”

“Maybe. I wish we could arrange for a reception committee.”

They fell silent.

Saburo said suddenly, “There was a woman there. Kanemoto’s mistress. She saw what happened.”

“Then I expect she’s run away, too. Did Kanemoto call her by name?”

“No. Just ‘sweetheart’ and ‘my love.’ It was disgusting. I’d expected better from a gangster boss.”

Tora chuckled.

“It’s not funny. What can we do? What about the master?”

“Oh, well, he sent me to look for you. I expect he’ll tell Kobe about it.”

“He sent you to look for me?”

“Of course. What did you expect?”

“But he was angry?”

“A little. Not too much.”

Saburo gave a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

“Stop that. It’s not manly.”

Saburo sniffled. “It’s just … I didn’t expect him to care what happens to me.”

“I told you you were wrong about that.”

Another silence fell.

After nightfall, there finally was some activity in the front room of the jail. They could hear the warden’s voice and some sharp commands. Then the sound of feet came their way, and the cell door was opened. The faces of several red-coated policemen peered in at them.

Tora stood. “About time, fellows,” he said. “We’ve been stewing here since daybreak.”

The man in front wore the insignia of a sergeant. He wrinkled his nose. “What a sty!” he said, then asked, “Are you the men arrested for a murder last night?”

They nodded.

“We’re here to take you to the city jail,” the sergeant announced.

“To the jail?” yelped Tora. “We’re not guilty. These yokels got it all wrong.”

The sergeant chuckled. “I wish I had a copper for every criminal who said that. I could retire and live at my ease in my country house.”

Tora protested, “Look here, I’m Lieutenant Sashima and served the governor of Chikuzen province.”

The sergeant laughed. “You can tell it to the judge.”, but

Saburo tugged at Tora’s sleeve. “Let it go,” he muttered. “We’ll explain to Kobe.”

But this was not to be, or at least not until much later. Their protestations of innocence fell on deaf ears at the jail. It was late by then, and the day shift was getting ready to go home. Neither the constables who delivered them, nor the guards who locked them into a somewhat cleaner cell wanted to delay their departure by a lengthy investigation.

When the night shift arrived, Tora attracted their attention by shouting, This met with a stern admonition that he was to sleep and let others also get their rest. The alternative, he was told, was a bad whipping with the bamboo rod.

The following morning, Tora and Saburo had calmed down considerably. Kobe was unlikely to be available until later, and when the guard brought some unappetizing stew of beans and vegetables, Tora not only asked politely to have the superintendent notified but also asked about Sachi.

“The blind girl?” The guard shook his head. “She’s pretty low. Her trial starts tomorrow.

“Tomorrow?” Tora yelped.

Saburo joined him. “How can this be? Her case hasn’t been investigated. It’s only been a few days.”

The guard shrugged. “They’ve got enough on her and someone’s pushing for a quick trial.”

Tora cursed. How could this have happened? It was unheard of. Usually, prisoners waited for months before a judge could be found and witnesses rounded up. “Who wants her to be tried tomorrow?” he asked.

The guard shook his head. “Don’t ask me. I haven’t been consulted.”

“What will happen to her?” Saburo asked.

“The judge is Hirokane. He doesn’t like women, and he especially doesn’t like those who work in bath houses and the amusement quarter. She’ll get a hard whipping and deportation.” He paused and made face. “If she survives the whipping, she’ll be sent to the swamps. A woman like that, and blind on top of it, won’t last long.” He eyed Tora and Saburo. “You two are made of tougher stuff. You might last a few years anyway.” He laughed and walked away.

22

An Old Acquaintance

Much as he disliked it, Akitada knew he had put off for too long speaking with his former friend Tasuku or, as he was now known, the Reverent Abbot Genshin. He wished he had kept up better with the abbot’s religious career. All he knew was that he had great influence at court-not much surprise there, given his youth spent in idle seduction of court ladies-and was considered a holy man and brilliant teacher. This last, Akitada found hard to swallow, but given his low opinion of the views of men and women at court, he could well believe it.

Nakatoshi had told him Genshin’s monastery was at the foot of Mount Hiei and called Daiunji. Akitada decided he would inform himself of its exact location and then ride into the mountains north of the capital. It was lucky that he had not yet sent the horses into the country.

As it turned out, Daiun-ji was a mere six miles from his house. It would be an easy journey through a mountain scenery in all its autumn glory. The temple had been founded by a Fujiwara almost a hundred years ago and was a favorite with the court because it allowed visits by women and was much easier to reach than the temples on the steep sides of Mount Hiei. None of this surprised Akitada. He had expected Tasuku to choose a retreat close to the capital and the court. Of course, this convenience also made possible frequent visits to his former home and a kept mistress there.

The weather had been sunny again, and the air was fresh without being cold. Akitada had been cooped up inside for much too long.

After making arrangements for his absence and putting aside worries over Saburo and Tora as premature, he set out early the day after his sister’s astonishing revelations. He hoped to find out the truth about the dead woman once and for all. In the back of his mind lurked the suspicion that Tasuku had had a hand in this woman’s death also.

The road was well kept and smooth, no doubt to make travel by ox carriage more comfortable for ladies or pampered courtiers. It wound pleasantly through foothills covered with stands of pine and cryptomeria. Here and there, touches of brilliant red marked the season when maples suddenly burst into flame.

In the valley that the road followed as it wound its way into more mountainous regions, the rice had been harvested, leaving only yellow stubbles behind. Akitada was vaguely aware that it had been a good year. Much of what had happened in the world around him he had noted only as if through a mist or heard as indistinct noise from far away. He had built a cocoon about himself to keep life out while he dwelled inside with his thoughts of death.

Even now, he felt guilty for taking pleasure in the beauty of the day, the slow and elegant gliding of a hawk in the blue sky, the smooth movement of his favorite horse beneath him.

He reached the village of Iwakura before noon and got directions to Daiun-ji. The Great Cloud Temple was not precisely in the clouds; Mount Hiei loomed high above it. It was, however in a high valley of the foot hills and hidden from view. The location was quite beautiful and peaceful. Having been well-endowed by the Fujiwara family, it had become the favorite temple and monastery of imperial princes. A charming pagoda and many elegant halls nestled in the idyllic landscape.

Akitada handed over his horse to one of the monks, then announced himself to the gate keeper by name with the request to see abbot Genshin.

The gatekeeper, used to more impressive visitors, said, “His Reverence regretfully does not receive visitors. He is in seclusion.”

Akitada was irritated, but there was no point in taking his resentment out on this monk. He asked for paper and ink and wrote a short note: “I came to see the morning glories. Alas, I find them long gone, and only the sound of the waterfall is in my ears.”

The woman whose death had sent his former friend to take his vows had been called Asagao, the morning glory flower. It was perhaps unkind to remind the revered abbot of his past, but Akitada thought it would get him an interview. He was after all the only man who knew that shameful story.

He gave the monk the note, asking that it be delivered, and then strolled into the temple grounds. The main halls were quite large and beautifully made, with their green tile roofs curving elegantly above the white plaster, black beams, and brilliantly red railings. It looks like the great halls of the Daidairi, the imperial city in the capital below, he thought. He had no interest in seeing the inside of any of them but noted smaller buildings, some richly tiled, others with dark bark-covered roofs, tucked away here and there among the trees of the hillside. All of them were, no doubt, residences for monks of imperial blood or semi-retired royals. It was a peaceful and comfortable life here, far distant from the political and social struggles and stresses of the capital below. He wondered which of the buildings served as the abbot’s quarters, and thought that the former Tasuku had been greatly honored to have been named abbot of a monastery where so many of much higher rank had sought refuge.

These thoughts still preoccupied him when a slender young monk in a rather fine silk stole called out to him. The young monk looked at him curiously as he offered to take him to see Genshin.

“His Reverence normally does not see visitors during his meditations,” he told Akitada, hoping for an explanation.

“I was not aware of the abbot’s schedule,” Akitada said with a smile.

This cast the monk into a shocked silence.

The abbot’s quarters turned out to be only a short distance from the zendo, the meditation hall. Akitada’s guide pointed this out.

“I’m glad he didn’t have far to go in that case,” Akitada commented dryly.

Another silence ensued and lasted until they had climbed the wide steps with finely lacquered railings to a veranda where the monk called out, “Lord Sugawara, Reverence” and threw wide a pair of double doors.

Akitada walked into a spacious room, dimly lit through latticed windows. The floor was highly polished black wood, and a raised platform ran along the back wall. It was covered with thick tatami mats. In its center, stood the abbot’s chair, and in it sat Tasuku, dressed in dark gray silk with a rich, multi-colored stole draped across his left shoulder.

For a moment, Akitada thought he was expected to kneel on the floor below and bow to this man. He stopped abruptly and scowled.

Abbot Genshin smiled and rose smoothly. Stepping down from the raised dais, he came toward Akitada with outstretched hands.

“My dear Akitada,” he said in the familiar warm voice. “I had almost given up hope. But what a joyous day it is! You look well, but thinner than I recall. Come sit with me in the garden-viewing room.” He gestured toward a door.

They walked into the next, much smaller room which contained little beyond the thick tatami mats on the floor and a cushion or two. But here the screened doors had been opened wide to a narrow veranda and beyond it, to the most beautiful small garden Akitada had ever seen. Perfectly clean white gravel separated the building from lush mossy ground where ferns and small, clipped azalea bushes gave way to pine, willow, eucalyptus, and maple. There were no flowers, but the willow had turned a brilliant yellow, and the maple a deep red. Willow leaves spread like gold across the dark green moss and a small stone lantern. It was exquisite.

But this beautiful view did nothing for Akitada’s mood. He did not want to be here. He sat down and looked resentfully at the abbot.

Genshin was both heavier and older, and this did not suit him. It gave Akitada some satisfaction to see that the years had not left the handsome Tasuku unscathed. Only the large, soulful eyes remained. No doubt they were still useful in turning people’s heads.

Before Akitada could say anything, a small boy, beautifully dressed in a red brocade robe and white silk trousers, came in with a tray which he placed between them.

Genshin smiled at him. “Thank you, Sadayoshi. That was very neatly done.”

The boy grinned, revealing a missing front tooth, and bowed before scampering out.

“A novice,” Genshin explained. “One of the sons of the chancellor. He is a good boy.”

Perhaps it was meant to impress or even intimidate him. Akitada did not know what to say to it. He would not wish a monastic life on his own son, even if there were compensations of comfortable living. But many of the highest ranking nobles dedicated younger sons and daughters to the religious life, hoping thereby to gain entrance to paradise after their own deaths. He covered the awkward silence by taking a drink from the lacquered cup. The fruit juice was delicious, with a taste of oranges and wild berries.

Genshin was studying him. “I heard something about you from time to time,” he said. “You are still in the Ministry of Justice, I think?”

Akitada was not, but he nodded rather than giving explanations.

“And your efforts at finding out evil and arresting evil-doers have, I think, brought you considerable distinction over the years,” Genshin went on. It was said teasingly, implying that such activities were trivial amusements.

Akitada did not take the bait, if that was what it had been. It must be an uncomfortable subject for the abbot, who had been involved in one of Akitada’s earliest investigations and had trusted him to keep a secret that would most certainly disqualify him from his present position.

“I’m still engaged in the same line of work,” he said stiffly.

Genshin smiled. “Ah, you came with an ulterior motive then. No, no, don’t apologize. I’m very grateful that your work has finally brought you to me, Akitada. I have often thought of you, and always with great fondness.”

The same was not true for Akitada, who had rarely ever thought of Tasuku, and when he did, it had been with distaste. But this was not the time to rake up the past. Suddenly aware of an oversight that must have struck the other man as very rude, he asked, “How are you these days?”

“Well enough, as you see.” Genshin’s manner had become cooler; perhaps he had finally sensed Akitada’s dislike.

It did not matter. Akitada said, “The fact is that I do have a particular reason for my visit.” He hoped to get the interview over with as quickly as possible. “There has been a death in your former home in the city. I assume you are aware of it?”

Genshin’s gaze did not waver. “Yes, of course. Regrettably, one of my tenants has chosen the path into the darkness rather than the Way to salvation. I was saddened to hear it.”

Akitada said curtly, “She was murdered.”

Genshin’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Perhaps you’ll consider it good news, in that the lady did not take her own life. I assume the Way is still open to her?”

Genshin compressed his lips. “Don’t sneer at such matters, Akitada. You have changed. You used to be kind and gentle when I knew you. Now you are hard and cruel. If this is what a life spent dealing with human violence does to a man, I regret it very much. As to your question, yes, if she did not take her own life, Lady Ogata may be well on her way to salvation by now. She was a good person and a devout believer. But I am sorry to think you have taken a false way, and that it has deprived you of the joy you once found in your life.”

Akitada flushed. It was true that his life had become joyless. And there had been other joyless periods before as well, but these had been caused by other losses. Every time, a man lost something he loved, he became diminished, and his life became more of a burden. But this was not the time to discuss such matters. He bit his lip and said, “You don’t seem at all curious about her murder. I’m interested in what you can tell me about the lady. You allowed her to live on your property, so I assume you were close?”

Genshin chuckled softly. “I see you don’t believe I could change. In your eyes, I shall always be the frivolous seducer of women. Even in your youth, you disapproved strongly of my life, though you did not precisely say so then. I recall out final meeting. Perhaps I should have realized then how very disappointed and angry you were with me, but I was rather upset myself at the time. Never mind. I see we must speak more bluntly now. I was not Lady Ogata’s lover. Neither recently, nor before I took my vows. I have not touched a woman since then.” He made a face. “The sacred scriptures teach us that women are dirty and unworthy of salvation because of their inferior condition. Women seduce us to satisfy their own desires for pleasure, pleasure that is both physical and mental. They glory in their power over us, and in our weakness we stray from the path to salvation.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence with such nonsense,” snapped Akitada. “I lost my wife this past spring. She was the purest creature I ever knew, the kindest and most supportive of wives, the most generous and forbearing companion. She is the one who gave me strength. You know nothing about women in spite of your wild past.”

Genshin raised his brows. “I did not know of your loss. I’m very sorry, Akitada.”

“Spare me the condolences. I’m anxious to be on my way. Just tell me what you know about Lady Ogata and why you decided to offer her shelter and support.”

The abbot looked at Akitada reproachfully and said nothing.

“Can you live with your conscience, letting a killer go free?”

“I rather doubt this will happen,” Genshin said, making a face. “You are not the man to let a murder rest. But I will not betray a confidence. You used to respect such things long ago.”

Akitada got up. “Don’t remind me! You, too, have changed, Tasuku,” he said harshly. “You used to be merely a selfish courtier, taking your pleasure wherever you pleased. But I see you’ve become something altogether more despicable.”

Genshin turned his head slightly, and Akitada saw that the door to the interior was slightly open, and a number of avidly listening monks and young boys were peering at them. They looked aghast. No doubt they had never heard their holy abbot spoken to in this manner. He knew he should apologize and leave as quickly as possible.

Genshin said quite calmly to his listeners, “Close the door and go away, please. There is no need for concern.” To Akitada he said, “Sit down again, Akitada. I regret that you think so poorly of me. I will tell you what I may without betraying the confidence.”

Akitada said nothing but sat down again.

“One of the men who worship here came one day and told me of the shocking condition of a young woman of high birth. Having made a foolish marriage, she found herself abandoned by her family and her husband. She lived in a small shack beside the Kamo River where kind people would sometimes leave her some food. Greatly shocked by the story, I went to see for myself, and found this to be true. She gave her name as Lady Ogata and accepted refuge in my house in the city and a small stipend from the temple. It is barely enough for her food and certainly not what a rich man would spend on his mistress.” Genshin gave Akitada another reproachful look. “I could do no more without setting tongues wagging-clearly a forlorn hope, given your visit. You may think what you wish, but over the years I have given refuge to others like her, and they promised to look after her. I never saw her again after that day.”

Akitada thought this over. “You say she was of high birth. Who was she? Why was she abandoned?”

Genshin shook his head. “That I will not tell you. When I was told she had committed suicide, I believed it. She had lived a short and very sad life. But she did not seem desperate to me when I talked to her beside the Kamo River. Rather there was a strange joy about her. I took it to be of a spiritual nature. She said she was a devout believer in the Way.” He paused. “And now I must see to my duties. I wish you well, Akitada. I wish you the serenity of Lady Ogata.”

Akitada made his return journey in such a temper that he no longer saw the beauty of the mountains around him, or the vast view of the capital, spread before him in the golden haze of the evening sun.

23

A Good Name is Forever

It was nearly dark by the time he entered the capital. As soon as he reached First Avenue, he headed east, turned down one of the smaller streets and arrived at his sister’s home.

His brother-in-law, Toshikage, held a modest rank similar to his own, but unlike Akitada he had inherited vast provincial estates so that his income was only affected by an occasional poor harvest. The ready supply of funds allowed him to settle for posts that did not strain his energy while allowing his wife to enjoy the company of the highest-ranking ladies in the nation.

It was the latter fact that made her a very useful ally in the present case, and Akitada was eager to share with her the information he had gleaned from Genshin. It was little enough, but with her own knowledge of society gossip it might be enough.

Toshikage’s servants knew him well and took his horse, directing him to their master’s study. Toshikage, it seemed, was home early. This was not unusual, and Akitada was happy enough to see him. He liked Toshikage.

He found his brother-in-law dusting and rearranging his collection of small figurines and lacquer boxes. They had, in fact, met over Toshikage’s love and care for small works of art, though in that case it had been a figurine belonging to the emperor which had mysteriously disappeared while in Toshikage’s possession. Akitada had just returned from service in the far north and found his older sister married to a man suspected of having stolen imperial treasures, and his younger sister’s lover in jail on a murder charge. Those had been tumultuous months in his life, also marked by the death of his step-mother. Both men had proved to be innocent, and both had won Akitada’s respect and gratitude as he theirs.

Now Toshikage greeted him with a cry of joy and a long embrace. “My dear Akitada,” he kept repeating while squeezing him quite hard. “My very dear Akitada. It gives me such pleasure to see you.” He released Akitada long enough to study his face anxiously. “How are you, brother? Holding up all right? Must be strong for the children, you know. She would have wished it.”

Akitada smiled a little bleakly as he freed himself. “I know,” he said. “I try. But enough sad talk. I’m parched from a ride into the mountains. Any chance of some of your good wine?”

Toshikage bustled off to fetch two cups and a flask of wine, carried these to his veranda and placed two pillows. Akitada sat down gratefully. He had become stiff in all the weeks he had kept to his room without any exercise. Now he was tired, and his back and weak leg pained him.

“So you had a pleasant ride?” Toshikage asked, smiling at him. “Good, good. Can’t sit still all day. Bad for the constitution. You’ll soon be your old self again, you’ll see.”

Akitada smiled back and nodded. He would never be his old self again, he knew, but Toshikage was such a naturally cheerful fellow that talk of death and loss made him quite miserable.

“I went to speak to an old acquaintance of mine, Abbot Genshin.”

“Oh, him! He’s got quite a reputation I hear. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours.”

“Not a friend.” Akitada grimaced at the memory of that very unpleasant meeting. “Or at least not any longer. I knew him as a student when he was Takashina Tasuku.”

“I see. He no longer pleases you? He’s supposed to be a very learned and holy man.”

“Learned perhaps. Tasuku was always a very good student. Holy, I doubt. He still flatters the powerful and seeks their company.”

Toshikage chuckled. “Akiko would remind you that you should learn from him.”

Akitada managed another smile. “Yes. I actually came to speak to her also. She knows a little about a case I’m interested in.”

Toshikage clapped his hands. “Oh, good! You’re working again. That’s great news. I don’t mind telling you, we were very worried about you. Yes, very worried. Akiko couldn’t sleep at night for thinking about you and the children.”

This surprised Akitada, but his sister had surprised him once or twice before. He promised himself to be more patient with her irritating habits in the future. He said, “I’m sorry to hear it. It’s been very difficult, and still is. She may have told you that I lost my position in the ministry and, unless the grand minister relents, I am without income for the foreseeable future. It seems I shouldn’t have left my post in Kyushu to come home.”

Toshikage’s face fell. “She did say something, but surely, brother, such a thing will not be allowed to happen. No, I think you both take a much too negative view of things.” His face brightened. “Come, take another cup of wine and cheer up.”

Toshikage was notorious for not worrying about imminent disasters. But he might be right in this case. There was no point in assuming the worst would come to pass. Akitada drank another cup of wine and felt grateful for Toshikage’s cheerful outlook.

They were interrupted at this point by Akiko, who sailed in, her face flushed and her silk robes fluttering behind her. When she saw her brother, she stopped. “Akitada!” she cried. “Why didn’t someone tell me? Is anything wrong? Did you get news from court?”

Her worries about his career and livelihood were foremost in her mind, and for Akitada this cancelled out the more positive mood her husband’s optimism had produced.

He shook his head. “No, Akiko. At least … I haven’t been home yet. I just returned from a visit to the Daiun-ji temple.”

“Oh?”

Toshikage smiled at his wife. “On your way to see the empress? My dear, your costume is exquisite! And so are you!” He turned to Akitada, “Isn’t she breathtaking? No woman can carry off those colors with such grace and elegance.”

Akiko brightened and paraded her finery. “It did turn out well,” she said smugly.

Akitada knew little about courtly color schemes. But he saw she wore traditional fall colors ranging from darkest green to glowing reds. Toshikage was right. The colors suited her much better than the gentler tones Tamako had favored. Akiko was forceful and spirited to a degree that was surely unsuitable in a woman of her rank, but possibly this very flaw made her a favorite among ladies of the highest rank. Akitada got a sudden inkling that women might wish to be more like her. In any case, she was blessed in having found a husband who so doted on her that she could do no wrong in his eyes.

He looked at both with affectionate tolerance. They were his family, he thought, and felt grateful.

Having shown off her costume, Akiko sat down and returned to her other current interest. “So you went to talk to the much-revered abbot, Akitada? And what did he have to say?”

Akitada made a face. “Very little, as it turned out. It wasn’t a pleasant visit. I don’t like the man.”

Akiko frowned. “Honestly, Akitada, I sometimes despair of you. I expect you let him know that.”

“Perhaps.”

“No wonder he would not give you any information. Why should he? And have you forgotten how much influence he has with the emperor and the Fujiwaras? He could have helped you.”

Akitada was disgusted at the thought of being obligated to Genshin for any favors and said so.

Akiko heaved an impatient sigh. “Well, did you find out anything at all, or was it a wasted trip? And possibly a big mistake.”

Akitada snapped, “I will not, at my age, beg for favors from men like him. I ought not to have to beg in any case. It’s undignified.”

To his surprise, Akiko smiled. “Then you should act like it. Demand the recognition you deserve.”

“Yes, brother,” cried Toshikage. “Akiko has it right. Why should you kneel and bow and beg. They owe you. Listen to your sister. She’s brilliant, as always.”

Akiko gave her husband an impatient glance. “Akitada doesn’t listen to my advice. Never mind. Now tell me already what Genshin said.”

“He claims Lady Ogata was stranger to him, that someone told him of her homeless plight-she was living in a shack beside the Kamo River, he says-and that he offered her a home and a small amount of money from the temple.”

Akiko gasped. “She lived in a shack?”

“It may be a lie.”

“Oh, I don’t know. If she’s Masakane’s widow, it’s likely enough. I’m on my way to find out.”

“Wait. Masakane is dead?”

“Yes. They say he died in exile. Apparently it was an accident.”

This could explain why Genshin had believed Lady Ogata’s suicide. Akitada said, “But we cannot be certain it is the same woman, can we?”

Akiko got up as gracefully as she had sat down. “That is precisely why I’m on my way to pay a courtesy visit to Her Majesty.” She gave Akitada a triumphant smile.

“How did you wrangle that?”

Akiko gathered her train and headed for the door. “Oh, I have my ways,” she threw back over her shoulder and left.

Toshikage’s eyes were on the door as it closed behind his wife. “Isn’t she magnificent?” he breathed.

Akitada chuckled, then sobered quickly. Toshikage’s doting on his wife reminded him of his own loss. “Well,” he said. “I’d better be on my way also. I’ll look in on Kobe tomorrow to tell him what we’ve learned so far.”

*

Kobe greeted him eagerly and dismissed his staff. When they were alone, he asked with a searching look, “My dear Akitada, how are you? I’ve been expecting you.”

Akitada seated himself and brushed a hand over his face. “Since you ask, I don’t know how I am. I’ve put grieving aside to take care of urgent business and look some more into the death of Lady Ogata.” He was suddenly struck by something. “You’ve been expecting me? Why?”

Kobe looked uneasy. “I thought you’d come about Saburo.”

“Oh! Have you found him? Tora was out looking for him.”

“We’ve found both of them,” Kobe said heavily. “They are under arrest.”

In Akitada’s family this was not an unusual state of affairs. Both Tora and Saburo, singly or together, got caught from time to time in some questionable activities while they pursued investigations. He said therefore, “What have they done this time?”

“The charge is murder.”

Still not greatly disturbed, Akitada raised his brows. “Whom did they kill?”

“A man called Hankei. Apparently a crooked gambler. Saburo confronted him with using false dice, and the man ran. The next day, the warden sent constables to a house in the quarter where neighbors observed suspicious activities. They found Tora and Saburo trying to get rid of Hankei’s body.”

“Yesterday Tora returned home alone after their night of gambling-which they engaged in as part of an investigation into the murder of a moneylender. He told me they got separated. When Saburo didn’t return, I sent Tora to look for him. Neither would kill a smalltime gambler over a crooked game.”

Kobe nodded. “Probably not, but it looks bad for them.”

Akitada shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, come! What do they say?”

“That they found him already dead.”

“That’s it then. You’d better let them go.”

“I can’t.” Kobe shuffled about among the papers on his desk and handed Akitada a letter. It bore the seal of the Ministry of Justice and was signed by Senior Secretary Sakanoue. The text was short and to the point: “You are hereby advised that Sugawara Akitada is under investigation for various infractions and that any collaboration between the imperial police and Sugawara will force the government to institute a separate investigation of your office for improprieties in procedure.”

Akitada swallowed. He was deeply shocked by this news. It meant that Kobe was suspected of having perverted justice as a favor to him. For an awful moment, he wondered if Kobe’s political problems stemmed from this. Then he realized that the letter had not been signed by the minister, Fujiwara Kaneie. It must all be Sakanoue’s doing. The man feared for his job and wanted to make as much trouble as possible for him. But there might still be someone else behind this.

He returned the letter. “Kaneie didn’t sign,” he said.

Kobe nodded. “Who is this Sakanoue? He has your old position, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. I only met him briefly and didn’t like him, and not just because I have been supplanted by him. I take it this isn’t about Tora and Saburo?”

Kobe sighed. “I don’t know. If it is, I have spies about me. But it doesn’t really matter. You can see I cannot let them go.”

“Yes. We must endeavor to clear them before you release them.” He wanted to add that Tora had spent the night in question at home, but he did not know when the man had died, and Tora and Saburo had both gambled with him and had probably been seen running after him.

Kobe looked miserable. “I’m sorry, Akitada. There is another complication. They were involved in a murder case that is about to go to trial. I think someone is making very sure they don’t interfere again.”

Akitada sat up, suddenly alert. Could Genshin have taken this step to foil him and protect himself? “Which case?”

“A blind woman allegedly killed a man because he made sexual advances to her. Saburo has been looking into this, and Tora joined him. That’s why they were gambling. They suspected a man called Kanemoto of having had a hand in the murder. Kanemoto is a gangster chief. And Saburo claims Kanemoto killed the gambler.”

Akitada tried to take all this in. “Yes,” he said, “I knew something about it. I’d told Saburo to leave the matter alone. But it troubled him enough to disobey me. Tora offered his help. It makes me think the blind woman is indeed innocent.”

Kobe was grave. “Perhaps so, but the trial is tomorrow, and she’ll be found guilty. There’s nothing I can do about it. Later, when talk has died down, it may be possible to clear Tora and Saburo. It’s all happening at a very bad time. You should not become involved while you are under investigation. And I …” He let his voice trail off.

Akitada’s spirits sank. Kobe was right. He, too, was in trouble. Somehow his unauthorized return from Kyushu had affected all of them in this impossible situation. And the blind girl would die for it, because those who could help her were in no condition to do so.

He said quietly, “Yes, I understand. I’m very sorry that I should have made things worse for you. Don’t become involved any further. Tora and Saburo are my responsibility. If you think it won’t cause more trouble, I’d like to see them.”

“Of course.” Kobe gave him a searching look. “You’ll leave it alone, won’t you? Until some time has passed?”

Akitada smiled at him. “Don’t worry,” he said.

But he would not leave it alone. A man’s good name is forever, and honor demands that he protect his people and clear his reputation.

*

The conversation with Kobe set Akitada on a different path. The fact that his life had changed from bad to worse and now affected his people, his friends, and total strangers angered him so deeply that he decided to do everything in his power to clear the blind woman and then to find the killer of Lady Ogata.

The urgency of the blind woman’s situation made her case his priority.

Kobe did not accompany him to the jail. Instead, he sent a young police recruit with him. They would from now on keep a distance from each other.

Tora and Saburo were in separate cells, a fact that made speaking to them awkward. Akitada asked to see Saburo first.

Saburo prostrated himself and started a long string of abject apologies for having disobeyed. Akitada cut these short.

“Never mind,” he said bluntly. “That can wait until later. Tell me how you came to be arrested.”

Saburo explained and told what he had overheard while under Kanemoto’s house.

“So there is a witness to the gambler’s murder,” said Akitada. “This woman. The man’s lover. Who is she?”

“I don’t know, but it was clear he doted on her. I think she works in the quarter. She asked him for a house of her own, away from the quarter, so they could meet there without interruptions from Kanemoto’s unsavory gang.”

“Good. That helps. We’ll find her. Now what about the blind woman?”

Saburo hung his head. “They’ll try Sachi tomorrow, sir. By then it will be too late. It was all for nothing.”

“It isn’t over yet. Did you find out who killed the moneylender?”

Saburo shook his head miserably. “No.”

“Any suspects?”

“Well, we suspected the moneylenders. Nakamura’s son and his brother Saito. They had the most to gain. But they weren’t at the bathhouse. Then we tried to find out if any of the more desperate debtors might have done it. That’s how I came across the poor schoolmaster.” Saburo gave Akitada a glance and sighed. “I didn’t have much taste for pinning it on any other poor soul after that, but two names cropped up as having been in the bathhouse that morning, two men called Matsuoka and Ozaki.”

Akitada frowned. “You mustn’t let your pity blind you to the fact that people will kill out of desperation.”

“I know, but by then Saito had received the threat from Kanemoto, warning him and his nephew to leave things alone. Nakamura’s son was afraid and didn’t want us to know but his uncle showed us the letter. That’s how we got involved with Kanemoto.”

Akitada had listened with growing astonishment and some respect. “I see,” he said noncommittally. “Well, you have certainly provided some groundwork for me.”

Saburo raised his head. “You mean you’ll look into it yourself, sir?”

“Don’t get up your hopes. I think there is someone at work who wants to make sure the blind woman is found guilty. And that person is also behind your arrests.”

“I thought there was something strange about the way the constables arrived so quickly. But what can you do, sir?”

“I’ll have a closer look at this Kanemoto and his mistress. It will be easier for me. The trouble is we must find the killer without involving Kobe. Otherwise, it would be very simple indeed. Be patient. I’ll go have a word with Tora now.”

Tora was very angry. Akitada found him pacing in his cell, chains rattling with every step and turn. When he saw Akitada, he stopped.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, teeth clenched. “Someone set us up.”

“I know. Unfortunately we cannot do anything about it. Superintendent Kobe must not become involved.”

Tora glowered. “You mean he’s letting this happen? He won’t do anything about it? We’re to rot here in prison? Then he’s not the man I thought he was!” He started pacing again, muttering under his breath.

Akitada sighed. It was his fault, too. “Please stop that. It’s making me dizzy, and there’s not much time,” he said as calmly as he could.

Tora stopped and went to lean against a wall. “Sorry. I wouldn’t have had you troubled if I could’ve helped it.”

“I know. The only way to get you out is to find the killer before the trial tomorrow. I’ve talked to Saburo. He gave me the story and named some suspects.” Akitada told Tora what Saburo had said, then asked, “Do you have anything to add to it?”

Tora shook his head. “It’s always been Saburo’s case. I came into it too late to do much good. I wish they’d at least let me go. I could help. All they have on me is that I was helping Saburo from under the house. I don’t know why no one is looking for Kanemoto. Surely they ought to talk to him since the body was found under his house.”

“It seems he has given a statement that he wasn’t home when all this happened and knows nothing about it.”

“That’s a lie.” Tora started pacing again.

Akitada said nothing.

After a moment, Tora stopped, his handsome face worried. “You’ll be careful, sir? He’s a gangster. They’ll will kill you if you get too close.”

“I’m aware of it. Well, if there’s nothing else …” He crossed the space between them and embraced Tora.

Tora flung his arms around him tightly. “Thank you, sir,” he said in a muffled voice.

Akitada left quickly.

24

The Search

Looking grim and feeling tired, Akitada returned home to change out of his good robe and wash his hands and face. After his ablutions, he felt marginally better. Sending for Genba, he told him about Saburo and Tora.

Genba was stunned. “And the superintendent won’t let them go?” he asked in a tone of disbelief. “They haven’t really done anything, have they?”

“No. Someone is putting pressure on Kobe to keep him from interfering in the blind woman’s conviction. I’m going to find out what is going on.”

Genba wrinkled his broad brow. “The weather’s turning. Do you want me to come?”

“No, Genba. You’re the only one left. You must keep an eye on the others.” The thought crossed his mind that his family had been attacked before, and that Genba would not be able to stop armed soldiers. But this time, he did not think he was dealing with warlords. No, this was a different type of enemy. “Is Hanae around?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I tell her about Tora?”

“No. Send her to me. I have something to ask her.”

Hanae arrived, having been told by Genba what had happened to her husband. She bowed deeply, then asked, “You have seen him, sir?”

“Yes, Hanae. He is well but very angry.”

She smiled. “That’s my Tora,” she said softly. “Genba says you have a question for me?”

“Yes. Do you remember the man who gave you dancing lessons years ago?”

“Ohiya!” She chuckled. “It seems like an age ago. You met him, sir.”

“Yes. He was helpful to us when we tried to find out what had happened to you. Is he still around?”

Her face fell. “I heard he has fallen on hard times, sir. He’s moved away from the quarter. I don’t know where he lives now.”

“Ah. Well someone will know. Thank you, Hanae.” He looked at her dainty, neat figure and thought how lucky Tora was to have found such a wife. In fact, they were all lucky. He said, “Hanae, I have never thanked you for writing to me about my wife’s death. And I haven’t thanked you for being with her and for looking after my children.” He choked up a little, thinking about it.

Hanae said quickly, “I was glad to be here, sir. We are like family. I loved my lady, and she’s loved all of us. She would have done the same for me.”

Akitada’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you. I shall never forget it.” He blinked once or twice, then said quickly, “Well, I’d better be on my way and see what can be done to restore your husband to you.”

*

He walked to the willow quarter in heavy wind gusts. The sky was clouding over quickly and it was getting cold again. He had been to the “floating world” of courtesans and prostitutes before, but that was years ago now. He expected changes, but all seemed the same. The business of pleasure still thrived in the capital.

When he entered the quarter’s warden’s office, he found it busy with the affairs of drunks and customer complaints, ranging from theft to being overcharged, but his silk robe and hat got him quick attention, and he asked about Ohiya.

The warden himself consulted a ledger and informed him that Ohiya had moved to the southern quarter on Inokuma Street in the ninth ward. Akitada thanked him and left.

It was a long way to the southernmost part of the city, and Akitada had not yet recovered from his ride into the mountains. He had also not eaten since breakfast, having been too distracted with all that had happened. But he plodded southward through the city, pulling his robe up around his neck against the sharp wind.

Inokuma was a dirt road. The area was not far from where Tora used to have a small house where he and Hanae had lived because they were afraid to tell him of their marriage. The area was still as rustic as ever. It had also started to rain, and Akitada had to watch where he placed his feet. The road was used by farm animals and deeply cut by wheels.

Ohiya shared a house with a widow who kept chickens and sold their eggs. It was a shocking environment for the elegant dancing master, but Ohiya himself answered the door to Akitada’s knock. He did not recognize Akitada but regarded him with astonishment.

“Your honor has come to see me? And in this weather?” he asked in the familiar fluting voice. He gave a slight, nervous laugh. “I doubt a gentleman like you would be here to buy eggs. What can I do?” he performed a perfect bow, deep and elaborate.

Akitada shivered. “Can we go inside? I’ve come to you for help again. We met some years ago when Hanae was abducted.”

Recognition dawned and Ohiya stepped aside. “Lord Sugawara? Can it be?” He glanced down at his creased and stained robe and the tattered slippers on his feet. “I’m sadly changed, my lord,” he said. “Nobody comes to Ohiya anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Akitada said, feeling some pity though Ohiya was a product of the flesh trade and a lover of boys on top of that. He had never approved of either way of life, but Ohiya had eventually revealed some empathy for poor Hanae and helped to find her.

Ohiya led him to a room cluttered with the remnants of the dance master former life. Colorful robes, now faded and wrinkled, hung from a clothes stand, and trunks, utensils, mats, and bedding looked dusty and worn. On a finely lacquered trunk that had lost chunks of its finish rested some earthenware dishes and a rusty cooking pot.

“Please forgive this poor abode,” Ohiya said, placing the better of two old cushions for him. “May I offer you some wine, my lord?” he asked.

Akitada was very thirsty after his long walk here. He nodded. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” It was good to be out of the wind and rain and to sit down, resting his weak leg.

Ohiya produced a large pitcher and poured two cups. One of them he emptied quickly, refilling it before joining Akitada.

Akitada reached for his wine, but noting that the cup was dirty, he put it back down. “I am sorry to see you in such surroundings,” he said politely.

Ohiya looked at him bleakly. “Alas, old age has caught up with me. That and the changes in this world. They say, the sky in autumn changes seven times. I’ve lived too long.” He sighed dramatically and drank, filling his cup for the third time. It dawned on Akitada that the man had become a drunkard. It was not clear whether this had led to his loss of work or whether the loss of work had driven him to drink. He hoped it hadn’t muddled his brain.

“You are not teaching the young women to dance any longer? Hanae always said you were her best teacher.”

Ohiya became sentimental. “Ah, Hanae! Such grace and quickness. Her feet did not touch the ground. She was exquisite. My best student. What a loss!”

“Well, she married Tora, my senior retainer. They are very happy and have a sturdy son.”

Downing another cup of wine, Ohiya said magnanimously, “Yes, I don’t blame her. Tora is incredibly good-looking. Even I … alas, he did not care for me. The best ones never do.” This sad comment on his love life required another draft. “But what pains me is the decline of my art. All used to be elegance and respect for the classical movements. Now it is fads and seduction merely.”

This conversation reminded Akitada of Lady Ogata. “By any chance, are you familiar with gosechi dances?”

Ohiya’s face lit up. “Of course. I used to teach the dancers.” He shook his head. “That was in the days of my glory. Oh, those little ladies were so charming. You can always tell quality. Mind you, they had their own minds, and their nursemaids-ugly old things-would encourage their little darlings. But I knew how to manage. I flatter myself that we put on stunning performances during the years I had the honor to work at the palace.”

Akitada glanced around the shabby room again. It was indeed a comedown from the imperial halls. Ohiya drank again and belched.

“I heard there was something called ‘the dance of the cranes,’” Akitada said. “Are you familiar with it?”

“Oh, that? We only performed it once. We had a tall girl that year. Perfect for that long-legged bird. She did very well, as I recall.” Ohiya smiled. “Her father sent me two pieces of gold when it was over. He wanted her to catch the crown prince’s eye. It didn’t happen, but she caught plenty of other eyes. Did you know that cranes dance when they are mating?”

Akitada nodded. “Who was the girl?”

Ohiya thought, fueled his effort with another cup of wine, and shook his head. “Forgot. I’m getting old.”

He was also getting drunk. Akitada was becoming worried and returned to his original purpose to get his answers as quickly as possible. He said, “Better slow down on the wine a little.”

Ohiya flushed and said apologetically, “I have been practicing my craft. It’s thirsty work. Please ask me anything.”

“I need some information about two people who are well-known in the willow quarter. Do you keep in touch with your former friends?”

Ohiya grimaced. “Friends? I have no friends,” he said bitterly. “But it is my life. A few still care about true elegance. The clientele has changed since quite common people have come into money. Such people want to see low entertainment. Girls dress up in men’s clothing and dance with swords these days. It’s shocking. No properly trained asobi would have done such a thing in my day. They’ve picked up the abominable and depraved behavior of the kugutsu vagrants.” He sighed deeply and reached for his wine.

“Do you know the man they call Kanemoto?”

Ohiya almost dropped his cup. “No,” he cried. “Not really. Please don’t ask.”

He knew enough, apparently, to be panicked by the mere name. “I thought you might. He seems to be mostly involved with gambling and prostitution. My interest is in his personal life.”

Ohiya relaxed a little. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. He prefers women,” he said.

“Any particular one?”

Ohiya drank and belched again. He put his hand to his mouth and gave Akitada a comical look. “Oops! Your pardon, sir. My stomach isn’t what it used to be. I’m getting old.” The thought made him teary-eyed. “You should’ve seen me in my youth. Oh, they all thought I was so handsome. I got love letters even from the most highly-placed gentlemen. Very highly-placed! And from some of the ladies, too.” He giggled. “And more than letters. But I mustn’t tell. No, no. I mustn’t. But it was such fun.” And now he wept openly, brushing the tears away with his hands. “Oh, what I have come to!” He swung an arm about, gesturing at his shabby abode and knocking over his wine cup. “Oops! Lucky it was empty.” He laughed and poured himself more wine.

“You were about to tell me who Kanemoto’s girlfriend is.”

“Oh, her!” Ohiya waved dismissively. This time the wine sprayed from the full cup in his hand. He stared at it. “What happened? Did I drink it?” He giggled. “Never mind.” He poured some more.

Akitada, who had barely been missed the shower of wine, reached across and took the cup from his hand. “Who is she?”

“Who?”

Akitada bit back an angry comment. “The woman who sleeps with Kanemoto?”

Ohiya screwed up his face in thought. “Now who is she? A drop of wine would help me remember,” he added in a wheedling tone.

“You drink too much. That’s why you no longer teach.”

Ohiya protested weakly, “I still teach. I have three promising pupils. The wine is for after work.” Self-pity seized him again. His face crumpled and he sobbed. “I’m old. That’s what it is. They’ve all left me because I’m old. All my boys, my lovers, my pets are gone. I’m all alone!”

Akitada’s disgust melted on that last wail. Loneliness was everywhere. The lady in the crane pavilion, the professor, the painter, perhaps even the student. And Genshin? Was he lonely now that he was a monk? He, too, had lost his good look. Would the women at court give him a second glance these days?

And what of his own loneliness?

Akitada was not a vain man and had never thought of himself as handsome. He had reached middle age and already discovered a white hair or two. Would any woman still consider him a suitable husband or lover?

But what was he thinking of? Tamako had not even been gone a year.

He looked at Ohiya, whose head had sunk to his chest. Was the man asleep? Yes, that was the sound of a snore. Suddenly frustrated, Akitada jumped up and took Ohiya by the shoulders-thin, bony shoulders-and shook him violently. Ohiya’s eyes opened and stared.

“Wha-?”

“What’s the name of Kanemoto’s woman, you drunken sot?” Akitada roared.

“Phoenix. They call her Phoenix. Lucky bitch. He’s buying her a house.”

Akitada let Ohiya go and straightened up.

Ohiya rubbed his shoulders. “You hurt me,” he complained.

Ashamed, Akitada fished a silver coin from his sash and dropped it on the floor.

The sight revived the man amazingly. He snatched up the coin and staggered to his feet to perform one of his elaborate bows. “How generous!” he cried, staggering a little. “May Amida bless you a thousand fold! May you never lack beautiful women and may you have many sons!”

Not likely, thought Akitada and turned to leave.

25

Phoenix

It was getting dark and the rain was heavier when Akitada left the dance master’s place. As he walked away into the dusk, he heard the sound of a small drum and Ohiyah’s voice, strangely melodious for a man who was drunk, begin an old song. The sound was soothing, and Akitada’s frustrations melted. He felt sorry for the man who had nothing to look forward to but death. He also became aware of extreme fatigue and a very painful left leg. He felt a great temptation to go home to his warm bed. For that matter, he wished he could just close his eyes for a very short rest, but wind and rain buffeted him and time was running out.

The memory of Tora and Saburo in their cells and of the blind woman only a night away from being found guilty of a grisly murder made him continue. His stubborn journey took him all the way back to the willow quarter. Ohiya had provided the professional name of the woman who had witnessed the gambler’s murder, but he still had no idea where she could be found. As things stood, he could not ask Kobe to take up the investigation.

When he reached the willow quarter, it was blazing with colored lights even in this miserable weather. Snatches of music floated on the perfumed air and the hanging paper lanterns swung in the wind, giving the scene an air of wild abandon. Perhaps it had always been thus, but Akitada was impressed in spite of his aversion to the hedonistic world of prostitution and gambling. He got a sense of what drove men to squander their hard-earned money here. It was more than lust for women; it was a desperate hunger for an experience that would blot out their real lives for the span of a night. To the women and professional gamblers as well as a host of others this was the only real life, and they stood ready to collect their wages.

Akitada made his way back to the warden’s office. It was busy. The drunken brawls, the heart attacks of middle-aged men, the theft reports, and the unconscious revelers had to be dealt with. The constables were on their rounds, and the cells were full.

He was so wet, tired, and sore that he wished he could sit down for a while and rest, even in one of those cells. But the stares from guards and drunks made him ashamed to give in to weariness.

The warden, a man habitually engaged in dealing with the grossest behavior of people, eyed his appearance with a frown.

“I was here earlier,” Akitada said.

The warden merely looked back and waited.

“I need more information. A few days ago there was a murder in a bath house in the next quarter.”

The warden nodded. “The Daikoku-yu.”

“Yes. It appears the young woman charged with crime may be innocent. Meanwhile, there has been a second murder in your quarter. A gambler was found strangled.”

Again the warden nodded. “They arrested two men. They lost heavily and accused him of cheating. Maybe he did. It happens. No reason to kill a man.”

“Yes. But these two men work for me, and that gambler worked for a man called Kanemoto. The body was found under Kanemoto’s house. Why wasn’t Kanemoto interrogated about the incident?”

“There’s no evidence the dead man worked for Kanemoto. And Kanemoto wasn’t home at the time.”

“How do you know?”

“The house was empty, and the neighbors saw him leave.”

“And they were certain about the time?”

“Yes.”

“Then they lied. One of my men had been watching Kanemoto’s house.”

The warden stared at him. “Why would he do that?”

“Kanemoto is a notorious gangster, and he seems to be involved in the murder of a moneylender.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “I think, sir,” he said, “that you must speak to the police about this. It’s out of my hands.”

It was clear that this man would not answer the question, and that was an answer of sorts. Kanemoto was not interfered with because the warden either feared or respected him. Perhaps it was a little of both. Akitada thanked the warden and turned to leave. He had not handled this very well. He should have approached the subject of Kanemoto more casually.

Never mind. He was in the willow quarter and should be able to get some information elsewhere. He thought about this, and it occurred to him that such assignations were made through a go-between. A question directed to one of the messenger boys running past brought him to a house where such a business was arranged.

In spite of his wet condition, he was received with smiles and bows by a fat man in a green-figured black silk robe. “What a night!” he said. “The gentleman wishes for one of our famous beauties to help him pass the storm in comfort and pleasure?” he asked in an oily voice, after leading Akitada to a small room that was quite luxuriously furnished with thick tatami and silk cushions.

Akitada collapsed with a groan and looked around. It struck him belatedly that this would cost money. He said, “Well, I haven’t made up my mind. I hoped you could assist me with your expertise.”

The fat man bowed more deeply, and murmured, “Certainly, certainly. You honor me, sir. But first perhaps a little wine and some tasty snacks? If you’ll forgive me, your lordship looks very cold and tired. It wouldn’t do to spoil a whole night of exquisite pleasure by falling asleep.” He chuckled deep in his chest, making a sound that resembled distant thunder. Clapping his hands, he instructed a maid to bring refreshments.

The refreshments arrived while they were still exchanging casual comments on the weather and on politics. The wine was excellent, and Akitada, being parched and having resisted Ohiya’s wine, drank thirstily. He might as well get his money’s worth, he thought, and reached for the platter of pickled vegetables and nuts. The wine was excellent and so were the snacks. It would clearly be expensive, but he was beginning to relax and feel warm. Akitada remembered the piece of silver he had left Ohiya. He could not remember if he had another one. Never mind. This was the place to get information.

“Perhaps you’ll make some suggestions,” he began.

The fat man smiled broadly. Gesturing to the other pillow, he said, “If you permit?”

“Of course.”

The man sat, or rather plummeted to the ground, his stiff robe making a protesting sigh. “What sort of pleasures would your lordship require?” he asked.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, though I’d like a more refined person. And, of course, a beauty. If she has musical talents, I would be pleased, but I don’t insist on it. A conversable girl, though. Someone who pleases with her tongues as much as with her body.”

The go-between rubbed his hands. “No problem, sir. No problem at all. There are many such. We have the most talented and exquisite beauties in the country.”

Akitada doubted this. “Please describe them.”

What followed was a lengthy account of the appearance and talents, both musical and amorous, of the leading courtesans of the day. Akitada listened, but looked dissatisfied. When the supply had been exhausted, he said, “”What of the one they call the Phoenix? Did you mention her?”

The fat man chuckled. “Ah, the gentleman is well informed. Yes, Chiyo is superb. She is a choja, a courtesan of the first rank. But I’m afraid she’s not available.”

Akitada looked disappointed. “In that case, I’d better return another time.”

The fat man became agitated. “Oh, sir, that won’t do. That won’t do at all. Chiyo has been bought out, you see. She now lives in a fine house near the Rokujo Palace.”

“Who bought her out?” Akitada demanded angrily.

The other man blinked. “Don’t be upset, sir. These things happen. I’m sure we can find another woman who is as beautiful and talented. Chiyo, while beautiful, was no longer in her first youth. And then as a choja she was very proud. Many gentlemen complained about her haughty manner and the demands she made. Believe me, sir, Chiyo would not have suited at all.”

Akitada rose and staggered. “Thank you for your information. Perhaps another time. This is not a good day.”

The fat man stumbled up and bowed, wringing his hands with disappointment and making other enticing suggestions as he followed Akitada out.

26

Walk into Danger

An icy gust of wind hit Akitada as he emerged from the ageya. There was less rain mixed in with the cold air, but he was already drenched, his robe heavy with moisture, and he shivered. But his tiredness was worse. He worried if he was getting sick. He was so sleepy and his head felt so fuzzy by now that his surroundings had become a confusing blur. He limped out of the quarter, bumping into people and staggering once. No doubt they thought him just another drunk.

Outside the quarter, the street was dark and empty. An occasional man or woman hurried homeward with a lantern, its light making wet walls and shrubs glisten. Akitada turned north in search of the Rokujo Palace. The Palace was a minor imperial residence that took its name from Rokujo Avenue, or Sixth Avenue. It occupied large grounds and was frequently inhabited by imperial women. That a courtesan had moved into the neighborhood must raise some eyebrows when people became aware of it. Otherwise, the locale was so far removed from the willow quarter and its activities that a man like Kanemoto would find it a perfect place to hide his demanding mistress. It was also another long walk.

When Akitada reached Rokujo Avenue after having had to rest several times, he saw that the palace took up two city blocks but was hidden behind high walls, a two-story gate, and tree-covered grounds inside. The trees tossed in the wind, and their wet leaves covered the street.

The other houses on Rokujo Avenue were substantial and probably belonged to high-ranking officials or important families. These would not be within the reach of a gangster, no matter high rich or powerful. The side streets were another matter. Here there were tidy houses in small gardens, belonging perhaps to minor officials or military officers. And here he would be more likely to find Kanemoto and the woman called the Phoenix.

His feet slow and his mind dulled by exhaustion, he hardly knew where to start. Fortunately, his search was brief. He encountered a servant who was hurrying homeward with a barrel of sake on his shoulder. On Akitada’s question about new neighbors, he pointed to a house at the end of the street.

Like the others, this house hid behind a tall fence. Its gate was closed, and Akitada could see only the roof of a building beyond. But someone was home, for light shimmered in the wet branches of a tree. Akitada pulled a rope, and somewhere inside a small bell sounded.

Through the latticed window of the gate, Akitada could see a garden path of stones laid into moss. It curved around a bush and disappeared. Suddenly, a small figure skipped around the bush, a young girl, exquisitely dressed in many-colored silks, her wooden sandals clacking on the stones. She was holding a large piece of oiled paper over her head with both hands and her long hair was flying behind her. She was smiling at him.

For a moment, Akitada was transported to an elegant restaurant in Hakata and a small girl like this one waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs to give him a note from a beautiful woman. That woman had subsequently died because he had not accepted her invitation.

This young girl, like the other one, was a courtesan-in-training and served a ruling choja. He knew he had found the right house, and was about to meet the woman who had witnessed a murder. It had been surprisingly easy in the end.

As he thought this, the gate opened, and the smiling girl peered up at him.

“Please take me to your mistress,” he said, smiling back at her.

“You are expected, sir?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said firmly, then felt guilty for lying to a child. It was ridiculous, because this young girl was learning things that were much worse than telling a lie.

She bowed and stepped aside as he walked in. Suddenly exhaustion seized him again and he could barely walk. The long day and night and the many miles he had traveled had taken their toll. His old injury caused a shooting pain in his left knee every time he put weight on it. Gritting his teeth, he limped after the small girl, aware that he made a very poor figure as a prospective lover.

He hardly saw where he was going until they reached the main room, a spacious affair with tatami mats on the floor, green shades across shutters in the back, and an inordinate number of clothes racks covered with silks in all colors. Three women were busy unpacking the many trunks that stood open and revealed more luxurious clothing. Akitada took in the scene at a quick glance. Two of the women were maids by their ordinary clothing, but the third was the one he had come to find.

Chiyo, or the Phoenix as she was being called in the willow quarter, resembled the bird of paradise in her multi-colored silks, but there the comparison ended for Akitada. He saw a tall woman of above average weight-though he guessed at the latter because her face was round. Her elaborate clothing hid much of her body. He supposed that many men would find her attractive, even seductive. Her height and bearing were impressive, her features even, and she had long, glossy hair, now tied in back with a red silk ribbon. But he did not think her graceful enough, nor her figure particularly pleasing.

She looked at him with an expression that was part irritation and part curiosity. He wondered if she would turn away a nobleman simply because he was wet and his visit was inconvenient. Before he could speak, she said, “What gives me the pleasure, sir?” and made him a slight bow.

Well, she had some manners in any case. Still, if Saburo’s tale had been accurate, she was the mistress of a notorious gangster, had witnessed a murder, and had used her knowledge to extort this house and payment of her debts from the murderer. The little girl’s readiness to admit him also suggested that she was not faithful to Kanemoto.

He said, “You are the courtesan Chiyo, known as the Phoenix?”

She smiled. “I am a private person now.”

“I believe you know a man called Kanemoto. Is he here?”

The smile disappeared. “Nobody is here but a few women.” She gestured at her scattered belongings. “We have just arrived. I think you must have come to the wrong house.”

Akitada realized he was too tired to think straight. “Do you mind if I rest for a moment?”

At her gesture, one of the maids brought him a silk cushion. She said, “Please rest, sir. Perhaps a cup of wine?” Without waiting for his answer, she clapped her hands. “Quick, Kimi and Keiko. Wine and snacks.” The maids left, and Akitada sank down on the cushion with a slight groan. She came to kneel across from him.

“You are exhausted, sir. You are not ill, I hope?” she said, eyeing him searchingly from rather fine eyes.

“No, not ill. Just tired. Thank you. I shall be all right in a moment. Perhaps water would be better than wine.” He had had too much wine already.

She rose smoothly and went to fetch it. He sat, and rested, emptying his mind. Somewhere a gate closed, and Akitada fell into a brief doze.

A moment later, he awoke. The Phoenix was back, pouring him a cup of water from a pitcher as one of the maids set out a tray with small rice cakes, nuts, and a flask of wine.

He drank thirstily and held out the cup for more water. She refilled it. Slowly, he came to his senses again. It was most pleasant, sitting here in a warm, dry house surrounded by young women. A delightful scent emanated from Phoenix, who had moved a little closer. The maids returned to their unpacking.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to focus on his hostess. “You are very kind.”

This was not what he should be saying to this woman.

She bowed a little. “Not at all, sir. It gives me great pleasure to do this. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, I was just tired and thirsty,” Akitada said, pleased at such solicitude. It felt good to rest and now that he had found her there was no hurry. But it would not be easy to get this woman to come with him and tell her story to the police. He wished he had money to offer her.

No, he could not pay for her testimony. It would be tainted. For that matter, somebody might already suspect that she had been paid to accuse Kanemoto. He tried to ponder this difficulty while she made light conversation and he gave casual answers. To his surprise, he found he was sipping wine and enjoying the warmth suffusing his belly. With a great effort, he pulled himself together.

“I came to ask you for your help,” he said.

“But of course, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“It involves telling the police about Kanemoto.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Who is this Kanemoto?”

Akitada was frustrated. She had decided to play the innocent. “There are witnesses who say you are Kanemoto’s mistress. One witness knows you were with Kanemoto in his house when Kanemoto strangled a man.”

She pretended to be shocked. “What a dreadful story! Please don’t frighten me like this.”

Akitada’s head felt fuzzy. He gestured at their surroundings. “Don’t lie. Kanemoto gave you this house and paid your debts to keep you quiet. I’m afraid it won’t do. I will not have a man who works for me saddled with a gangster’s crime.”

Outside a gate slammed again, and suddenly he was alert, recalling the sound from earlier. Someone had left then and was now returning. Who? And why?

The answer came immediately: she had sent one of her maids for Kanemoto. He must get out. Rising to his feet, he looked around. “Where’s the privy?”

She looked up at him. “Wait a moment and I’ll show you the way.”

He heard footsteps approaching, heavy ones. Not one of the maids, but a man, no, several men. Akitada turned, and Phoenix snatched at his robe to stop him. He tore himself free and ran to the green shades. Pushing them aside, he flung back a shutter. Outside lay a dark garden, no more than black silhouettes of trees and shrubs beyond a veranda railing. Behind him he heard male shouts and the woman’s voice. He vaulted over the railing, surprising himself and landing in a small shrub of some kind. Without regard for his robe, he pulled free to the sound of tearing silk and ran to the far end of the garden. He hoped to find a gate to a back alley there.

By now he could hear his pursuers thrashing about the shrubbery, as he moved desperately along a tall fence looking for a way out.

When he found the gate, they found him, too. There were three of them, big black shadows against the stormy night sky and the light from the distant house. They grabbed him, and he felt a searing pain in his upper back and another a little lower, His knees buckled. They let him drop.

“Got him!” shouted a man’s voice.

From the distance another man asked, “Dead?”

Rough hands turned Akitada over. He was limp.

“Yup!” shouted the first voice.

“Fine.” The second voice was closer now. “Get rid of the body. Leave him behind one of the other houses. Be careful and come back quick.”

They grabbed Akitada’s feet and pulled him away, out through the gate and along a dirt road. He might have been glad that he was not face down, but by then he had trouble breathing and tasted blood on his tongue. They had stabbed him in the back. Twice. And now he would die in an alley somewhere behind a whore’s house.

27

Rising Mist

Tora woke when the guard unlocked the cell door and admitted Superintendent Kobe.

Kobe ducked in, nodded to Tora, and told the guard, “Get the chains off him.”

Tora stood, and when the chains fell off, he rubbed his wrists, and smiled. “So, what happened, sir?” he asked. “You’re letting us go? Did you arrest Kanemoto?”

Kobe, looking gray and tired, shook his head. “No such luck. Saburo stays, but you can go since you weren’t there when the murder happened and only came in the morning to look for Saburo. The neighbor saw you.”

Tora’s face fell. “Oh! You mean this wasn’t my master’s doing? What about the blind girl?”

“Nothing has changed. She’s still going to trial.”

Tora rubbed the sleep from his face and brushed his hair out of eyes. Kobe was headed away down the jail’s corridor. Hurrying to catch up, Tora asked, “How can you let this happen, sir? She’s an innocent woman who will die for this while the real killer gets away with it.”

Kobe turned an angry face to him. “That’s why I’m setting you free in the middle of the night. It gives you a few hours to find the killer or a witness who can clear the blind girl.”

Tora stopped in disbelief. It must be near morning. Was he to perform miracles? Kobe walked away. After a moment, Tora shook his head. He could not do this alone. He must speak to Akitada, see if he had found a clue. Then perhaps they could work together.

He walked home through the faint drizzle as fast as he could. It was not only pitch dark, but a slight fog hung in the night air. The Sugawara house was silent and remote when he reached it.

Genba, half asleep, admitted him, after he had pounded on the gate for a while.

“Tora? What happened?”

“Kobe let me go. Where’s the master?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t come home. I’m worried, but there’s no one here but me.”

Genba meant he was the only adult male of the household present and could not leave. Tora was on his own. He asked, “Did he come home after seeing us?”

“Yes. He changed clothes and sent for Hanae. She says he asked about her dancing master. He was trying to get you and Saburo out of jail. But he’s been gone a long time now. There was a storm.”

Tora bit his lip. “He was looking for Kanemoto. I don’t like this at all.” He looked up at the sky. It was invisible in the fog but seemed lighter. It must be near dawn. “I’m going to look for him,” Tora said, and made for his house.

“Wait,” cried Genba. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I’ll be fine. I think I know where the master is.”

Hanae woke from her sleep as he rummaged in his clothes trunk. “Tora?” She scrambled out of her bedding to fling her arms around him. “Did the master make them release you? And Saburo, too?”

Tora hugged his wife briefly. “No. Kobe let me out. The master seems to be lost. I’ve got to find him.” He bent to the trunk and brought out two swords. The larger one he strapped around his waist and the short one he pushed through his belt.

Hanae watched this with frightened eyes. “You’ll be careful?” she asked.

He nodded and walked out.

Genba waited at the gate. He looked miserable. “I should come with you,” he said again.

Tora shook his head. “It wouldn’t help.”

The gate closed behind him. It was still too early for people to be up in this quarter, and the lights in the houses and businesses had been extinguished. The fog was heavier and muffled all sound. Trees and houses appeared like apparitions against the paler gray. Here and there, leaves and branches lay on the ground, scattered by the storm.

Unlike Akitada, Tora did not waste his time on Ohiya. He felt a sense of urgency, of panic almost. The master and he, they had known each other for too many years not to have formed a bond of brotherhood. They guessed each other’s thoughts and felt the other’s moods. Tora knew something was very badly wrong with his master.

The willow quarter was still awake, but only barely. Here, too, the fog dimmed lights and softened sounds. A few revelers staggered homeward, and some of the courtesans headed home from houses of assignation. The wine shops were still lit up and raucous song and laughter came from them.

Tora went to the warden’s office. The constables were still rounding up drunks and the warden was alone except for some prisoners kept behind bamboo bars. They were mostly asleep.

So was the warden. Tora grabbed his shoulder and shook him awake. “Has Lord Sugawara been here?” he asked.

The warden blinked, then nodded. “Twice,” he said. “Who are you?”

“I’m helping the police look into his disappearance. What did he want?”

The warden blinked. “He’s disappeared? I know nothing about it. The first time he wanted to know about an old dancing master. I sent him to the southern part of the city. When he came back, he made an accusation against a local businessman. I told him to go to the police.”

Tora eyed the man for as moment and decided there was no point in beating him up. “Where does the courtesan Chiyo live?” he demanded.

But the warden had enough of him. He was getting angry. “Who the hell are you and why the devil were you shaking me?” he demanded, coming to his feet.

Tora grabbed him by the neck of his robe and pulled him close. “I want to know what house Chiyo works for. Be quick about it, or else?”

The man pushed back with a curse, and Tora drew his short sword, placing its point against the warden’s throat. The man’s eyes widened with shock. He realized he was alone, and said, “The Ogiya.”

Tora lowered the sword and gave the warden a push so that he sat back down on the floor. “Go back to sleep.”

He found the Ogiya, a large house run by a former courtesan. There the scene repeated itself, except that the owner was still awake, no doubt waiting for her charges to return from their nightly labors. And she offered less resistance when she saw Tora’s face and his swords.

“She’s not here,” she cried, retreating from his menacing figure. “Gone away. Not living here anymore.”

“Where then?” roared Tora.

“Don’t know. She’s been bought out. Gone to live with the man.”

“What man? Where?”

She shook her head in a panic. Tora’s hand went to his sword again. She gasped, “Behind the Rokujo Palace.”

Tora ran out. It was taking too long. Fear settled in his belly, and he ran all the way to the Rokujo Palace. Here more time was wasted as he ran up and down the streets adjoining the palace grounds without seeing anyone to ask.

As he was rounding a corner and finding himself on Rokujo Avenue again, two men emerged from the next side street. They jogged away fast, shoulders hunched and heads lowered as if they did not want to be recognized. Tora ran down the street they had come from. Some lights had come on here and there. A new day was about to begin. At the last house the gate stood open. Tora walked in and approached the house cautiously, listening. When he rounded a corner, he thought he could hear faint voices and followed the sound. The voices were agitated: a man and a woman. At the back of the house, a light gleamed.

He was afraid he was wasting more time, but there was something about this place he did not like. And the panic in his belly was greater than ever. Following his instinct, he went closer.

A joint in the closed shutter let a ray of light escape. It fell across Tora’s path and gleamed on the moist stones at the bottom of the veranda steps.

He stopped. Someone had left prints on the steps recently. They continued down a path to the back of the property. Abandoning the arguing couple, Tora followed them. He came to a small gate in the wall. Like the front gate, it stood open. Beyond lay a foggy alleyway. Multiple footprints were clearly visible in the muddy ground in front of the gate. Something had happened here. Outside the gate, the tracks turned sharply toward the left. Here something heavy had been dragged through the mud, obscuring some of the footprints. There had been at least three sets of prints before the gate. Tora peered down the alley. The usual objects stood behind houses: refuse barrels, abandoned household goods, a small cart. But up ahead, a dark bundle lay in the middle of the path.

His heart in his throat, Tora ran to it and found the body of a man.

He knew, even without being able to see clearly in the darkness and fog, and fell to his knees. He felt his master’s body gingerly. He was on his back. His face and hands felt icy cold. The rain had soaked his silk robe, and Tora could not be certain if he felt blood, but his master was not moving and something was clearly very wrong. His heart frozen, he cried, “Sir? Sir, speak to me. Are you all right?”

A stupid question, and there was no answer.

He needed lights and help. Bending his face close to his master’s, he tried to detect breathing and failed.

He was not all right.

He would never be all right again.

Overcome with grief, Tora burst into tears. “Amida!” he prayed, “please not this. Not after all he’s been through! Not after all we’ve done together! Take me instead. Oh, dear heaven, no, no, no!”

Then, among his sobs and prayers, he thought he heard a sound and became silent for a moment, listening intently. Yes, he heard it again, a soft groan.

“Sir?” he cried, “where are you wounded? I can’t see. It’s too dark here.”

But there was nothing else.

“I’ll get help,” he said, getting up. “Don’t move!”

And that was foolish also, for Akitada was in no shape to move.

*

He felt very cold and very tired. Tora’s voice had taken him from a pleasant dream of holding Tamako in his arms again. Soon, very soon, they would be together again. He knew it, felt it in the center of his being. There was surprisingly little pain, but he had realized long since that two deep knife thrusts to his back were eventually fatal. So it was time, and he did not regret leaving.

But then Tora had arrived and had wept and grieved, and because he had not wanted to be recalled after starting on his journey, he had tried to speak.

After Tora left, he attempted to resume his voyage to the other side and found it hard going. Tamako’s image faded quickly when he managed to recall it. Instead, Tora’s face crowded in, and the faces of his children. No, he thought. This is wrong. I should be thinking of Tamako and Yori. They are my family now. I must go with them. With great effort, he remembered his little son, his firstborn, as he had been before his death, all bright eyes and trusting hand thrust into his own. He felt the guilt again of having exposed his child to the disease that had swept through the city. He had been too stubborn to give in to panic. He also recalled that he had been too harsh a father to this child, and that Yori had gone to his death having had few joys in life to balance against the darkness. Yes, he must get to Yori in that other world and make it up to him.

Then the lights came and voices. And someone grabbed his shoulder and turned him over, and all went black.

28

Twilight before the Dark

They carried him home on a litter. By then the sun had risen and the mist dissipated enough for Tora, who walked beside the litter, to see clearly the white, still face and the traces of blood on his master’s lips. He had seen enough battle casualties to know that things were very bad and was tempted from time to time to make the bearers stop so he could check to see if his master was still alive. But he controlled himself. Getting him home was the most important thing now.

The bearers were constables from the Sixth Ward. He had also sent someone to the Sugawara family’s physician. Tora hoped he would meet them at the house.

Genba answered their pounding, gasped, and threw wide the gates. They brought in the litter, hesitated for directions, then followed Tora into the main house.

In Akitada’s room, Tora unrolled the bedding. “Where’s the doctor?” he snapped at Genba.

Genba, his eyes wide with shock and his face pale, came to help. “Doctor? How bad is it?”

“Bad. Go see about getting the doctor here. Send the boy. Tell him to hurry.”

Tora pushed a bearer aside and put his hands under Akitada’s torso to lift him. “Careful!” he hissed as they laid his master down on his back. Akitada did not open his eyes, but a slight twitch passed across his face.

“Sorry, sir,” Tora muttered, kneeling beside him.

The bearers stood around the litter, until Tora looked up. “You can go,” he said, adding belatedly, “Thanks.”

Then he looked at his hands and saw they were covered with blood.

The next space of time was among the worst Tora had ever passed. As the morning light made its way into the room, he saw that blood had soaked into the dark silk of his master’s robe. There was too much of it, mostly toward the back, and perhaps the bleeding had not stopped. Tora was afraid to move his master again to see. Where was the cursed doctor?

The doctor who came was a new man. Their previous physician had died. This one was irritated and only half dressed, having been pulled from his bed by the boy. He bustled in, glanced at the patient and told Tora, “Open those shutters. I need light.”

After a brief check of Akitada’s pulse and appearance, he asked, “Where’s the wound? I see some blood but no wound.”

An irrational thought passed through Tora’s mind. Perhaps there was no wound. Perhaps this was someone else’s blood, someone his master had fought with. Common sense rejected it. “Probably in his back,” he said dully.

“Why didn’t you say so? Help me take his clothes off and turn him over.”

Genba had tiptoed into the room with the doctor. Together, they undressed Akitada. They were as gentle as they could, removing layers of clothing with shaking hands, and then turning him on his stomach. His back was covered with blood.

“Water!” barked the doctor.

Genba ran.

Meanwhile the doctor probed for wounds. “Knife thrusts,” he muttered. “Two. Maybe more.”

Genba returned with Hanae, who carried a basin of warm water. It was she who cleaned away the blood.

The doctor shook his head and tsked. “Only two, but deep. Not much bleeding now, but that may mean it’s all but over.”

Hanae cried out in protest, and Genba sucked in his breath.

Tora seized the doctor by the neck of his robe and snarled, “You bastard! You’ve done nothing for him yet. Don’t you dare say it’s over. He’s still breathing. Get busy, and if you don’t do a good job, I’ll personally help you to hell.” He released him with a push.

The doctor muttered something, but he scurried to his bamboo case. There he unearthed ointments, plasters, bandages, and various herbal medicines. He busied himself with applying a yellow paste to the wounds, then covering them with large plasters. While Tora and Genba held Akitada, he bandaged his torso then indicated that they could lay him down again.

After cleaning away more blood, Hanae covered their master with a quilt. Then they all looked at the patient.

“He’s breathing,” said Tora.

“Barely,” said the doctor spitefully.

“I wish he’d open his eyes. Is he in pain, do you think?” Hanae asked.

The doctor growled, “No. He’s already where you cannot feel pain anymore.” Tora clenched his fists and hissed. The doctor scooted away a few steps. “I’ve served noble families for many years,” he said angrily. “It grieves me to find Lord Sugawara like this, but threatening me isn’t going to save his life.”

Tora looked away. “Just do the best you can,” he muttered.

“I’m done for the time being. Those packets contain some herbs. If he lives long enough to get the fever, boil them in some water and try to make him swallow the liquid. You can send for me, if there’s a change.”

And with that, he turned to leave.

“Your fee, doctor,” cried Hanae.

“You can send it later.” And he was gone.

They knelt beside their master without speaking. Genba brushed silent tears from his face. After a while, Hanae said, “The children! I should bring them.”

They all knew what she meant. Their father was dying, and they had a right to be by his side.

Tora nodded. “The children first, then the others.”

*

The journey into the darkness was very painful. Akitada thought for a while that he had arrived in one of the many hells, the one inhabited by the devils with the long knives. He knew he must run to escape them, but his feet were heavy … so heavy … and he needed sleep. He had not slept for so long and now his eyes would no longer stay open. And so one of the devils caught him and he felt the pain of his knife plunging deep into his back and fell.

Much later he thought about being in hell. There would be no Tamako there. Nor his small son Yori. He hoped they knew he had tried to reach them, had tried very hard and had failed.

He had failed them in so many ways.

Tora’s face appeared before him. He looked angry, as well he might. He had let them all down. Even at the very end. There had been something. Something urgent and important he had had to do. But it was gone. Failed again. He had given them grief instead of joy, poverty instead of comfort, abandonment instead of protection. No wonder they were angry. No wonder they wept. The weeping troubled him a good deal.

What of his other children? They too would be abandoned, now that he was taking this dark road to a place from which none returned. He had abandoned them just as his own father had abandoned him. No, that wasn’t right. It was he who had abandoned his father. He had chosen Seimei instead. And now he was choosing to be with Seimei in death. We die to repeat our mistakes and sins.

On grasping this truth, the darkness seized him again.

*

The children and the others had left again, and only Tora and Genba remained. They sat beside their master, one on each side, much as if he were a corpse already. Neither man had prayed, though the women had.

Genba thought of his master’s children, sighed, and shook his head. They had not cried, but their eyes had been filled with pain and fear. It was all happening to them again, first their mother and little brother, and now their father.

Tora watched him and asked, “What?”

Genba started. Seeing Tora’s eyes on him, he said, “The children. I cannot bear it. What must they be feeling?” And his tears came again until he covered his face in shame.

Tora said fiercely, “They are strong like their father. He’ll live. I know he will.”

Genba sniffed and nodded. “I’m sorry. Shokichi’s pregnant. It makes a man protective,” he said apologetically.

Tora sighed. “You’d better go and tell Saburo. He has a right to know.”

Genba nodded and got to his feet.

But at the jail, they turned him away. Orders from the Superintendent, they said.

Genba went to Kobe’s office, arriving there the moment Kobe himself got in. He saw Genba, frowned, then paused to give him a second look.

“Anything wrong?” he asked brusquely.

Genba was past caring about proper greetings and bows. His voice choking, he said, “The master’s dying. I need to tell Saburo, but the guards turned me away.”

Kobe stared. “What?”

Genba sighed and started over, “There’s not much time, I think. Tora sent me. The doctor said-” He stopped for another gulp of air and said, “Tora found the master before daylight this morning. Someone had stabbed him in the back. Twice. He must’ve been lying in that alley all night. The doctor says there’s no hope. He may die any moment.”

Kobe had turned white. He said to one of his officers, “Go to the jail and bring Saburo. Be quick about it.”

Genba’s knees started shaking. “Thank you, sir,” he muttered.

“Sit down and tell me what you know.”

So Genba did, and then Saburo came, hovering between disbelief and shock. And Genba told the story again as they walked back, Kobe in the middle and Genba and Saburo on either side. Three of Kobe’s police officers followed behind. By the time they reached the Sugawara compound, Kobe knew all about Kanemoto, Phoenix, the secret house near the Rokujo Palace, and their somewhat tenuous connection to the trial of the blind shampoo girl. He made his officers wait on the veranda of the main house and went in to see Akitada.

Tora rose when they entered. The room was dim again. A sharp smell of herbs and a faint whiff of blood hung in the air. Kobe nodded to Tora and bent to look at Akitada.

Tora said, “He’s not moved, sir, but he’s still breathing.”

Kobe nodded. “The doctor has given up hope?”

Tora looked away. “What do doctors know?”

Saburo went to kneel beside the bedding and touched his master’s hand. “He feels cold,” he said. “It might be from losing so much blood.”

Nobody said it, but they all thought, “Or because he’s dying.”

Tora bethought himself and brought a cushion for Kobe. The superintendent shook his head. “No,” he said. “I have delayed too long. This wouldn’t have happened if I had trusted him and taken action. Now there is nothing I can do for him except finish his work. Send for me if there is … any change.”

And with this he nodded and left.

Saburo wiped his face and looked up at Tora. “Does that mean I’m free to stay?”

“I don’t know. I think so.” Tora sat back down.

Saburo bowed his head. “I have done this,” he said. “I have brought nothing but evil fortune to all of you. And now I’ve killed him, too.”

Tora said fiercely, “Shut up! He won’t die.”

Genba sighed. “I suppose I’d better see what needs to be done. What do you think Kobe is up to?”

Tora eyed him bitterly. “He’ll find Kanemoto and Phoenix and arrest them. Then he’ll stop the trial. After that he’ll get the bastard who knifed the master. It will all get done, but I’d give anything if it had gotten done without this.”

Genba left, and Tora and Saburo sat together, watching anxiously for Akitada’s every breath.

29

Kobe Risks All

Superintendent Kobe left the Sugawara house with a heavy heart but a quick step. His men could barely keep up with him. As he walked, he issued orders and as soon as they reached police headquarters, they gathered constables who dashed off in different directions. Kobe himself went to the jail to talk to Sachi.

He found her sitting dejectedly on her pallet, but she raised her head when she heard the lock. In the manner of the blind, she did not look at him directly but cocked her head to hear better.

“Sachi?” he said. “I’m Superintendent Kobe. I have some more questions to ask you.”

She got on her knees and bowed. “Thank you, sir,” she said, “but I’m to go to my trial this morning. Surely it’s too late for questions. Forgive me, but I’d hoped to spend the little time I have left with my thoughts and prayers.”

He felt a pang of pity, and somehow this confirmed him in his decision. “I’m here because I hope to help you. You have friends, you know, and your friends have been working very hard to prove that someone else killed Nakamura. Even at this late hour, we may be able to set you free.”

She sat up a little at his words. “Oh, I remember. Two men came to see me here. Are they the ones? They said they were going to help, but they didn’t come back, and I thought they’d given up.”

He explained how Saburo and Tora, and finally even Akitada had become involved in her case, and she grew thoughtful.

“It was very good of them,” she said. “But why would they care about me? I don’t understand any of this.”

Kobe could see that what Akitada and his men had done passed understanding for most people who acted either out of self-interest or obligation. He started again, and this time Sachi began to look hopeful.

“Oh,” she said. “They did all that for me? They must be saints.”

Kobe did not tell her that Akitada would most likely pay with his life for her freedom. Instead he asked his questions.

“I was told you left the room at the Daikoku-yu because Nakamura made sexual advances. What did he do that upset you?” He had been troubled by this because, like most people, he assumed that shampoo girls who worked in bathhouses were accustomed to earning extra money by performing sexual services.

Sachi blushed and covered her face. “He asked me to use my mouth … to do a dirty thing. I said that I didn’t do such things. Then he touched me.” She gestured to her breasts and groin. “I … I didn’t want to make a scene and I made an excuse to get some lotion. I told Jinzaemon, but he made me go back and finish my job.”

“Did you make an exception with Nakamura or would you have refused sexual services to anyone?”

“To anyone, sir. I made it clear to Jinzaemon that I would not do such things. He didn’t like it. I think I was about to lose my job.”

“I see. Now to a more important question. Do you know who might have killed Nakamura while you went to get the lotion?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you hear or notice anyone near the room when you left it or when you returned?”

This time she did not answer right away. She sat very still, then said, “It’s a long time ago now, but I think there were two people there. One was outside the room when I came out. I heard a footstep walking away. It sounded heavy, and so perhaps it was a man. The other I passed in the corridor when I came back. I smelled her.”

“A woman?” asked Kobe quickly.

She nodded. “I’ve thought about this ever since Shokichi’s friends came to talk to me. They asked the same questions. I smelled a scent. It was a woman’s scent. I think it was a special incense. Sandalwood and something else, maybe fragrant olive. It was quite strong. But there was another odor.”

“What other odor?”

She blushed again. “I smelled blood. I didn’t realize it was Nakamura’s until much later.”

Kobe stared at her, then understood. “You think she had just killed Nakamura?”

Sachi nodded. “Perhaps. I smelled blood, but it was very faint on her.”

“Is there anything else you recall about this woman?”

She thought. “She walked fast, and she wore silk. I heard it rustle as she passed me. The man earlier had not worn silk. He didn’t make that sort of sound.”

“Good! That will be helpful. Now, do not worry. If I cannot stop the trial, I’ll be there and make sure the judge hears this new information.”

Sachi bowed again, very deeply. When she straightened up, her face was wet with tears, but she smiled.

Her beauty took Kobe’s breath away

*

When Kobe got back to his office, Lieutenant Harada was waiting.

“The house was empty, sir,” he announced.

Kobe nodded. “It was to be expected. You searched the place?”

“Yes, sir. The house was filled of women’s things, gowns, mirrors, make-up boxes, trunks. I’ve never seen so many clothes. Phoenix must have owned at least four trunks full of clothes for every season. And all of them were the best silks and brocades. Who could imagine a whore would have all that?” The man rolled his eyes.

“No need to be impressed, Harada,” Kobe said. “She’s a ranking courtesan, and her clothing was probably on loan from the house she worked for.”

Harada shook his head. “What’s the world coming to? Kanemoto dared buy a house for such a woman next to the Rokujo Palace?”

Kobe sighed. “Thanks to lax policing, the man is quite wealthy. As are a number of other unsavory characters involved in this. This is connected with the case of the blind shampoo girl and the murder of the moneylender. Go on with your report.”

“There was nothing else of interest in the house, though it looked as if they’d left suddenly. There was stuff strewn about everywhere. But we didn’t find anything incriminating until we got outside. There must have been a fight near the back gate to an alley. We found the dirt all scuffed up. And out in the alley we found blood. We followed a trail of blood, and there was one place where a lot of blood had soaked into the ground. I think that’s where Lord Sugawara must have fallen.”

Kobe wondered if Akitada was still alive and if he should send to ask, but decided against it. “Yes. Thank you. I want you to stay here and keep the search for Kanemoto and Phoenix organized. Send for me if there’s an arrest. I have to see Judge Hirokane but should be back in an hour.”

*

The judge lived in a quiet residential street west of the Daidairi. Kobe’s thoughts were on Akitada and on the conspiracy that had brought them all to this point. He was driven by shame and anger that he had been manipulated to allow such a miscarriage of justice.

Judge Hirokane was a part of that conspiracy, and Kobe intended to find out just who was behind it. It would cost him his position and ruin the future of his children, but at least they would know that their father had, in the end, made the right decision.

Even if it was too late to save his friend.

Kobe was admitted by a servant and greeted by a very surprised judge.

“Superintendent Kobe! What gives me the honor?” the middle-aged, heavy-jowled man asked with a puzzled expression. He looked past Kobe for his retinue and found no one. “And all alone?”

Kobe kept his face expressionless. “What we have to discuss is best said in privacy.”

The judge compressed his lips. “I see. Well, do come in. I have very little time. I hear a case in less than an hour, you know.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. You must postpone the trial.”

The judge’s sparse eyebrows rose. “Impossible, my dear sir. Much as I respect you, the law must take its due course.”

They had entered the judge’s study, a musty, dark place with dusty books and documents piled up here and there. Only the judge’s desk was bare, but it bore the rings and stains familiar from wood surfaces in cheap wine shops. Apparently the desk was mostly used for eating and drinking.

Kobe sat down while the judge rummaged about for wine to offer his guest, and finally shouted for a servant. Kobe said, “Nothing for me, if you please. I’m working.”

“As am I,” said the judge, looking resentful. The servant appeared and was dismissed.

Kobe wasted no time. “The blind woman is innocent. My men are even now on their way to arrest the real killer of the moneylender Nakamura. You must stop the trial.”

Biting his lip, the judge spread his hands apologetically. “I’m afraid you bring me this information too late. I might add that the prompt resolution of this case is of particular interest to a very important person.”

“And who is that?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal his name.”

Kobe leaned forward and said angrily, “You’re implying that this person is more important than the superintendent of police? That someone is interfering with the proper investigation of crimes in the capital, and doing so over my objections?”

Judge Hirokane looked a little uneasy. “I was under the impression that you had been informed.”

“Informed of what?” Kobe swelled with righteous anger. “I was informed of the time of the trial, and that was by you, and several days ago when the investigation was incomplete. You, my dear sir, are not in a position to overrule me.”

Hirokane looked away. “Well, I thought you had approved. If you were not contacted, it must have been an oversight. I can only say that the matter is out of my hands. And now I had better get ready.” He made a move to rise.

“Sit down,” roared Kobe, “and listen!”

The judge gaped at this rude command in his own house, but he complied.

“If you go ahead with the trial of an innocent woman, I shall attend and I shall make a public protest. If we have the real killer by then, she will be brought before you, and I’ll make certain that everyone in attendance will know that you planned to sentence an innocent woman because you were told to. So neither you nor whoever is behind this will escape the outrage of the people of this city, and you may be sure His Majesty will order an investigation of the affair.”

Having turned rather pale, the judge shook his head and said through clenched teeth, “If I obey you, I’m lost. But I think, if you proceed in this matter, you too will be lost.”

Kobe’s heart sank. He had failed. Getting to his feet, he said, “So be it then,” and left.

He returned to headquarters, hoping to find that Kanemoto and his woman had been arrested, but there was no news. He next walked over to the jail again.

Sachi had been told that she would shortly be taken to the court building for her trial and had made an effort to look decent. Her plain dress she could not change, and it was dirty by now, but she had tidied her hair, braiding it in the back, and she had washed.

When Kobe walked in, she turned her head. “Superintendent? Is that you again? Are you here to take me?”

He was impressed and flattered that she had recognized his footfall-or had she smelled him? “No, Sachi,” he said, his voice gentle, “I’ve come to tell you that I’ve failed to postpone or cancel your trial. You must go. I’m very sorry. But I will be there, and I will speak for you, so you mustn’t be afraid.”

She made him a deep bow, her hands pressed together. “You are a good man,” she said softly. “I didn’t know how good men can be. Thank you. Whatever happens, you must not blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

Kobe disagreed, but he had no time to argue. He muttered, “Thank you,” and left her cell.

His next visit was to the Sugawara house.

Saburo opened the gate. Kobe saw from his face that things were not good. He asked anyway, “Any change?”

Saburo shook his head. “Nothing. I blame myself.”

“Why? You did nothing. You were in jail.”

“It started because I had a fight with my girlfriend,” Saburo said bitterly. “A stupid fight with a stupid woman.”

Kobe was not interested. He said, “Nonsense,” and went into the house.

Tora was still sitting with his master. It looked as if he had not moved since Kobe had been there earlier. Now he got to his feet.

“How is he, Tora?” Kobe asked, bending over Akitada.

“Not good.”

“He looks much better to me. There’s color in his face. He was very white last time I was here.”

“It’s the fever, sir. The doctor said so. And he feels hot.”

“Oh!”

Kobe sat down and looked bleakly at Tora. “We must hope,” he said.

Tora nodded and sat back down. “Any news, sir?”

“Well, my men are combing the city. So far nothing. A man like Kanemoto has many friends who will hide him. I tried to change the judge’s mind, but he refused to be swayed. Someone has threatened him. If it were money, he would have given in. I told Sachi I would be at the trial and do my best for her, so I’ll have to leave in a little while.”

Tora said listlessly, “That was kind of you, sir. The master would have been grateful.”

To their surprise, Akitada took this moment to mutter something. Both bent over him eagerly.

“What is it, Akitada?” asked Kobe.

“Sir, the superintendent is here,” said Tora.

It was no good. Akitada grimaced and groaned. His hands roamed about on the quilt that covered him, but he did not open his eyes. “So dark!” he muttered. They waited, but that was all.

“He spoke. That’s surely a good sign,” said Kobe.

“In a fever, people talk. It’s like dreaming. Or nightmares,” said Tora.

They fell silent again, but the patient said nothing else. After a while, Kobe got to his feet. “I must go. I promised. Don’t get up.” he said.

Tora nodded dully.

*

Kobe returned to headquarters before going on to the court hall. This time he found some news. Lieutenant Harada reported that one of the units dispatched to search for Kanemoto had picked up a lead and was following it.

It was good news, but not good enough. Kobe nodded, then changed into his official uniform and ordered a contingent of ten policemen to accompany him. He did not expect an unruly crowd, but it was as well to be prepared. Besides, he intended to make an entrance.

The trial had already begun. Judge Hirokane was addressing the defendant, who knelt below his dais. When Kobe marched in, his expression stern and businesslike, people started whispering. Hirokane rapped his baton. “Silence!” he shouted.

This made things worse, and some people could be heard shouting questions, while others pressed forward to see what was happening.

Kobe ignored the uproar of the crowd. Followed by his grim-faced constables, he stopped in front of the dais. The guards took a few steps toward him, then stopped, confused.

“What’s this?” shouted the judge. “Who dares interrupt these proceedings?”

Kobe turned a little to face both Hirokane and the crowd. “I am Lord Kobe,” he announced, “Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police. I have come to stop this trial.”

The crowd responded with shouts and applause. Hirokane pounded his baton. Both police and court room guards spread out to control the crowd. A measure of silence ensued.

Kobe continued, “The defendant is a blind woman called Sachi. She is wrongly accused of a crime committed by another. The guilty person has been arrested. I am here to see to it that Sachi is released. I call on Judge Hirokane to give the order.” He turned to look at the judge.

Hirokane was flushed with fury, but he straightened his features quickly. “This is against all protocol,” he shouted. “I object.”

The crowd roared its protest. Hirokane pounded his baton, and police and guards attempted to control matters.

As soon as it grew quiet again, the judge said, “All of you here are my witnesses that I had nothing to do with this. Let the superintendent and his men take the prisoner. I cannot refuse a police order, no matter how wrong or unlawful it is. I shall, of course, report this outrage to the Ministry of Justice.” With this, he gathered his robe about him, got up, and stalked out.

Kobe let his eyes roam over the crowd. He had not liked the judge’s quick capitulation. Yes, there were several officials present from two or three ministries. Hirokane had arranged for witnesses who would be certain to testify against him.

Biting his lip, he gestured to his men to take the chains off the defendant. He went himself to help her to her feet and reassure her.

“I came,” he said when he saw that she was trembling with fear. No wonder. She was blind and could not have known what was happening all around her.

She lifted her head toward him and gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes,” he said simply.

“Do you have a home?”

She nodded.

“Two of my men will take you there and find someone to stay with you. Don’t be afraid. It’s all over.”

She inclined her head. “I’m not afraid now that you are here.” She stood there quietly, waiting. Kobe saw again how lovely she was, and how young, and got the strangest feeling that she had just told him that she loved him.

Embarrassed by this thought, he looked up. The officials who had witnessed his release of the prisoner were leaving the hall. There was nothing left for him to do except to await his punishment. He hoped at least that his lie about having arrested the murderer would not remain a lie much longer and that Sachi would remain free.

Selecting two of his men, he sent them with her, telling them to make sure she was safe and had a friend with her. The crowd still hung about, watching avidly. Sachi walked away, holding the sleeve of one of the policemen, and people pressed closer, congratulating her, calling her blessed, and reaching out to touch her for luck. No defendant had ever been saved like this from such a dreadful fate.

30

The Quiet Sadness of Autumn Rain

He strove for patience. Dying was harder than anything he had ever done before. The long periods of pain and even longer stretches of feeling the fires of hell consuming him must be borne if he was to accomplish this final task. As soon as he prevailed, they would be together again.

Life, it is said, is but a bridge of dreams linking two eternal worlds. He had nearly crossed his bridge of dreams and would soon be with Tamako.

And with Yori and Seimei. What joy to see old Seimei again!

And so he was patient.

Sometimes he seemed to move along the dark path expeditiously, but then the voices returned. He tried to ignore them, but the devils with their knives started their work again, and pain racked him. At those times, he plunged into an abyss of terrors. The darkness was impenetrable, and he floundered about, calling Tamako’s name. But no answer came.

How much farther to the other side? When would he cross into that other land, the land of the blessed, the islands where Tamako dwelled?

In the end, he failed. The voices became louder and more insistent until they broke through the darkness and he woke to the dream again.

“Drink, sir!”

“Sir, can you hear me?

“Help me roll him over.”

That one brought back the pain, and he moaned.

“Sir, it’s the doctor. He’s taking a look at your wounds. It will be over in a moment.”

It was not over in a moment. The fools, he thought, they won’t let a man die in peace.

“How are you feeling, my friend?”

Someone was sobbing as he asked this stupid question that deserved no answer.

In the end, they left him alone, and he drifted off again.

*

The next time he woke to the sound of rain. It was a soothing sound, and he felt cool after the hellish fires he had passed through. He lay quite still, his eyes closed, and listened to the splashing of the water falling from the eaves to the boards of the veranda. Mingling with that louder music, was a distant soft watery gurgling, rippling, thrumming, and rushing. Steady rain pattered on the surface of the small pond, a million drips of water drummed on wet leaves and fell down to the earth, and the trees sighed with the pleasure of all this moisture.

Dreams are seductive, and so is life!

And he was thirsty.

After a moment’s hesitation, he opened his eyes. He was in his own room in bed. The light was dim, but that was because it was raining outside and all but one shutter was closed against the weather. The open shutter was in the far corner. Through the narrow aperture he could see a silvery light, the light of a cloudy day reflected in a million raindrops and watery surfaces. It shimmered and was beautiful.

But he was very thirsty, and reluctantly his eyes let go of the shimmering light to search for something to drink. There was nothing, and he was alone. Again after due consideration, he decided to call out. His voice was a mere croak, so weak it would not have alerted a dozing companion. He tried again, and some of the hoarseness improved but he was still too weak to make himself heard. Deciding he needed more rest, he went back to sleep.

*

He became aware that he was no longer alone because he could hear breathing and an occasional rustling of fabric. He tried to guess who might be with him but failed and opened his eyes again. A lamp was lit behind a screen and cast a faint golden light. Nighttime.

The other person was a black silhouette, a male, his head sunk forward until his chin rested on his chest, and his breathing was slow and deep. He was asleep.

Memory stirred. Poor Tora, worn out with watching over him, had fallen asleep. He did not have the heart to wake him by asking for water.

But lying still was impossible. He was on his side and his shoulder hurt. He let himself roll on his back and almost cried out at the sudden pain. As it was, he could not avoid a soft moan.

Tora’s head jerked up, he looked around the room, then peered at him. They made eye contact, and Tora cried out, “Are you awake, sir?” He sounded astonished and put his hand to Akitada’s brow, then he jumped up to move the screen. The light made Akitada blink.

He croaked a little peevishly, “There’s something on my back and it hurts.” His voice was still weak and slurred a little. Also, his mouth was incredibly dry. “Is there any water?”

Tora burst into a shout of laughter and began to dance about like some lunatic. Akitada waited it out. Presumably playing nursemaid had been hard on the fellow.

Tora eventually stopped and came to kneel beside him again. He asked anxiously, “How are you, sir?”

“Thirsty!”

“Thirsty!” Tora grinned again and clapped his hands. “Thirsty!” he cried. “He wakes up as if nothing happened and says he’s thirsty! What do you think of that?”

“I think you should get me some water,” Akitada growled.

“Oh! Oh, sorry, sir. Right away.” Tora turned aside for a pitcher and poured, then held a cup to his lips, supporting his head with one hand.

Akitada drank, said, “More!” and drank that also. Then he sighed and let his head fall back. “What’s the matter with me?”

“You’ve been stabbed, sir. Don’t you remember?”

“Stabbed?”

“In an alley behind the house belonging to Kanemoto’s woman.”

“Phoenix.” Memory returned in a rush. He struggled to rise and Tora had to restrain him.

“Don’t move, sir. You’ll open the wounds.”

Akitada groaned, partially from the pain on his back and partially because he had been so close, yet failed. “The trial?” he asked. “They found her guilty?” And then Tora’s presence brought another question and a glimmer of hope, “You were released? And Saburo, too? What happened?”

Tora kept nodding and grinning. “They let me out since they didn’t have anything to hold me on. When Genba told me you had left the day before and not come back, I went looking for you and found you.”

Akitada was astonished. “How did you know where to go? I’d only just traced the infernal woman myself.” And the triumph of having done so had made him shockingly careless.

“The woman who runs the house Phoenix worked in told me. After that it was easy. Only I didn’t expect to find you near death in the alley.” Tora paused. “There’s more, sir, but I should go tell the others you’re awake. They’ve been grieving.”

Shame and gratitude overcame Akitada. “Yes, of course,” he said and watched Tora hurry out of the room before allowing the tears to come to his eyes. Fear of upsetting everyone again made him control himself after a moment. They would only be reassured if he behaved as normally as possible. He could indulge in emotion later when he was alone.

And what of having lost Tamako once again?

He relived for a moment the intense joy he had felt when he had thought of holding her in his arms, having her back, knowing they would never be parted again. He weighed this against the claims of the living and found he was willing to be alive.

That life was also filled with worries and fears did not seem to matter. He looked forward to being again among those he loved and to the challenges that lay ahead. He thought very briefly of the punishment he was likely to receive for having left his post in Kyushu, then put that thought aside.

They came in, one by one, tentative smiles on their faces: Hanae was first, asking, “Is it really true? You’re better? Oh, that’s wonderful? What can I get you? Something to drink? A little broth? There’s a fine fish broth simmering in the kitchen. Could you sip a little of that?”

Akitada smiled at her. “Tora’s given me some water, but I’m still very thirsty.”

“Oh, sir!” she cried, overcome by his reply. She found the water and his cup, filled it, and brought it to him.

He drank, thanked her, then said, “I would like a little of that broth, I think. And maybe a small piece of fish.”

“You shall have them right away,” she cried happily and ran to get the food

The others pressed around him then, Genba, wiping away tears, Saburo having trouble controlling his rolling eye, the boy, grinning widely, the cook and Tamako’s maid who brought Yasuko and Yoshi.

Akitada extended his hand toward his children. They came and knelt beside him.

Yasuko said earnestly, “I’m very glad you’re better, father. Were you very ill?”

He smiled at her. “Never mind that now. You see I’m getting better.”

Yoshi said nothing, but he smiled shyly and extended a sheet of paper. Akitada took it, saw it was covered with large and lopsided characters that seemed to form a letter addressed to him. Yoshi was five and had been practicing his characters under the instruction of Kobe’s tutor. Clearly he had made progress.

But Akitada was getting tired again. “Thank you,” he told Yoshi, tucking the letter inside his robe, and touching the boy’s head. “I’ll read it later.”

He was rescued from doing more by Hanae who bustled in with a tray of food. The others departed, wishing him a speedy recovery. Akitada made an effort to sip some broth and eat a tiny bit of fish. Then he sighed and said, “Enough. Maybe later. Thank you, Hanae.”

In the end, only Tora remained. “You’ve had many visitors,” he informed him. “Lady Akiko was here every day and her husband came several times. And the superintendent checked on you many times, and your friend Nakatoshi was here also. Even his Excellency, the minister himself came to see how you were doing.”

Akitada nodded. “Any official messages?”

“No, sir, but I think the court has been notified of your condition.”

“What about the blind girl?” Akitada was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Tora grinned. “She’s free. The superintendent took that in hand himself. He ordered a search for Phoenix and Kanemoto and then attended the trial. He told the judge to release Sachi. The judge was furious, but he had no choice. The crowd got angry when he tried to refuse. I wish I could’ve seen it. It must’ve been something. And then they caught the gangster and his girlfriend. She thought the police would let her go, if she told them about Kanemoto killing the gambler Hankei. That’s when Kanemoto informed them that she’d killed the moneylender. Seems she owed him a lot of gold. A fine pair!”

But Akitada’s eyelids had got too heavy and he was already asleep.

31

The Bridge of Dreams

When Akitada awoke next, he was instantly aware that he had rejoined the living and that this was no reason to rejoice. He was in pain and needed to relieve himself. Any effort on his part to rise from his bedding was foiled by excruciating pain in his back and an extraordinary weakness.

And he was alone.

Perhaps it was a sign that he was really getting well, but he could have done with some attention at the moment. He decided to wait.

Tora had been reporting on the case of the blind shampoo girl when he was dozing off. What exactly had he had said? He searched his memory and came up with something about Kobe going to the trial. Surely that had been odd. And yes, Tora had said the girl was free. It sounded as if Kobe had meddled when he should not have done so. Akitada suddenly felt anxious about all these events.

And he really must relieve himself or suffer a shameful accident.

He shouted, “Tora? Saburo?”

Nothing.

Cautiously he rolled on his better side and pulled up his knees. If he could get on his knees, he might be able to stand. His back protested, but with a groan he got to his knees. But getting up was impossible. He felt as limp as a rag, and one of his arms refused to support him..

The door opened.

Tora gasped, “Sir, what are you doing?”

Through gritted teeth, Akitada said, “Going to the privy.”

“But you can’t.”

“Call Genba. The two of you together can get me there. And be quick about it.”

Tora was quick, and Genba followed on his heels. They put their arms around his waist and he put his around their necks. In this manner, they lifted him to his feet. Then they started for the privy, half carrying their master, who was trying not to cry out at each jolt.

Somehow the errand was accomplished, and on the way back Akitada moved his legs a little better and put some of his weight on them. Nevertheless, he was sweating and exhausted when they laid him back down.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “That’s much better.”

Genba grinned. “I expect it is, sir.”

Tora frowned. “What about your back?”

“It’s fine,” Akitada lied.

Hanae joined them then. “I heard you got up, sir,” she said with a smile, setting down a tray with a bowl of steaming gruel.

Akitada blushed. “Oh, some gruel,” he said quickly, “and very welcome, too.”

He was hungry, as it turned out, and ate all of the gruel to the immense pleasure of Tora, Hanae, and Genba, who stood around him, watching him eat.

But there were more trials ahead. The doctor arrived and removed the bandages, leaning over the wounds to sniff them like a hungry dog. “Hmm,” he said with a frown.

“I’m feeling much better,” offered Akitada.

The physician looked at him sadly. “Many patients with such wounds experience dramatic improvements only to die anyway.”

Tora, who had brought the doctor in, snapped, “Don’t say things like that. You probably frightened your patients to death.”

“People are abysmally ignorant,” the doctor said, giving him a dirty look. He began to lay out an amazing number of sharp instruments and knives.

“What are you going to do?” yelped Tora.

“I have to probe the wounds to look for lurking poison.”

“You mean you’re going to cut him open again?”

Akitada felt overlooked in this discussion. He said, “No!” as loudly as he could.

The doctor jumped.

Tora grinned and nodded. “There you are,” he said. “If there’s nothing else you have to offer, you can leave. We’ll take it from here.”

“Well!” The physician sounded deeply offended. “On your head be it! If there’s any seed of poison left in him, he’ll fall into another raving fever and die.” With those ominous words, he gathered his tools into his basket and departed, having first collected his fee.

“You should get another doctor,” Tora said angrily. “I don’ trust this one any longer.”

“I’m in your hands, brother.” Akitada smiled at him. He knew he was getting better. His desperate attempt to join Tamako and Yori on the other side had failed. He had not reached the end of the bridge of dreams that spanned the two worlds.

Strangely, this failure no longer pained him. He had seen the faces of his family, had known their joy that he was still with them, and realized he should never have wished for death.

Akiko and Toshikage arrived soon after, happy to find him better. His sister suppressed her joy after the first, uncharacteristically emotional, embrace, and said, “Well, that was a very stupid thing to do. You could have been killed! And then what would have become of our case?”

Toshikage protested, “What a thing to say, Akiko! You must forgive her, Brother. She’s just a silly woman.”

This amused Akitada so much that he chortled.

Akiko had the good sense to see the humor and laugh. “Seriously, Akitada,” she said, “are you feeling better? Tora said something about the doctor being dissatisfied.”

“Tora and I have decided that we need another doctor.”

“But he comes most highly recommended. Fujiwara Moronaga uses him, and he was most helpful when Lady Kumoi fell into fits.”

Akitada grimaced. “More reasons for making a change.”

Her husband said soothingly, “Of course you shall have another doctor, Brother. We’ll find you a good one, one who’s gentle and very, very clever.”

His sister sighed. “Well, never mind. You do sound more like yourself. Contradictory and obstinate.” She settled herself beside him. “I don’t have much time,” she said. “”Toshikage is giving a little party. I’ve promised to see to the refreshments. Though when it comes to men, they don’t want much beyond a supply of good wine and a platter of salted vegetables.”

“Very good wine!” nodded Toshikage. “And that reminds me. I’m on my way to buy that wine, so forgive me if I dash away.”

When her husband had departed, Akiko asked, “Are you up to talking about Lady Ogata?”

He felt surprisingly tolerant of Akiko. Perhaps he had been too hard on her. His sister, for all her interest in high society, was both intelligent and supportive. “Why not?” he said. “Though I haven’t really thought about her at all and I still tire easily.” This last was true, but he mentioned it mainly because it was a perfect excuse for getting rid of her.

“You recall our last conversation?” she asked, giving him an anxious look

“Yes. At your house, and you were on your way to court in a stunning robe.”

She smiled and touched his cheek. “Thank you, Akitada. It was stunning, wasn’t it? I attended the empress that day. Her Majesty looks a good deal thinner since the birth of the child. And much older.” She shook her head.

The empress was several years older than the young emperor, who had initially taken no interest in bedding her. Akiko went on to say that there was already gossip that His Majesty had turned elsewhere, having done his duty.

Akitada, always impatient with court gossip, interrupted her. “You were going to ask them about Lady Ogata.”

She frowned. “You see? You pay no attention to important news. When an emperor discards one female for another, he can set the entire government on its ears. However, I did pick up one piece of interesting gossip and confirmed everything we had found out so far. Secretary Soga’s daughter Sadako married Minamoto Masakane and disappeared from court at the time of his arrest. Until then, she’d been serving as one of the emperor’s handmaidens, having been chosen for the post after the gosechi dancing. What do you think of that?”

“Are you suggesting that His Majesty was enamored of her, and that this is what caused Masakane to strike him?”

She smiled and nodded. “Ah, you have paid attention. Well, it’s likely that Masakane objected to his new wife finding favor in His Majesty’s eyes.”

Akitada snapped, “That is utterly repulsive. Even emperors should respect other men’s wives.”

Akiko laughed.

“You cannot be suggesting the emperor himself is behind her murder?” her brother protested. “That she was killed because she was an embarrassment?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly. But if her father had known that the emperor was interested, he could have seen to it that her husband disappeared.”

“Indeed! And so he did!”

Akiko stared at her brother. “The trouble is the story of that attack wasn’t trumped up as a reason to send Masakane into exile. There were witnesses. It really happened.”

Akitada sighed. “You’re right. There was that nun’s robe among her clothes. I thought she had kept it for a pilgrimage, but it seems more likely that Lady Ogata, or Lady Sadako, to use her own name, probably did become a nun when her husband was convicted. It would have been customary and what her father would have wished. But it doesn’t explain the rest of it. Why did she leave the nunnery to live in a shack beside the river?”

“Perhaps she became deranged. From all accounts she loved Masakane madly.”

“Hmm. She didn’t sound deranged from what others said about her. The nun spoke of her deep faith, and Genshin suggested the same thing.”

“Two people who have taken their vows.”

Akitada sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it. And I can’t think. I’m too tired.”

Akiko’s face softened. “Then rest, brother. Maybe I can find out. We’ll solve the mystery tomorrow.” She embraced him and was gone.

Akitada smiled-there were advantages to being wounded-and fell asleep.

32

A Lotus Flower in the Mud

Akitada healed surprisingly fast after this, but he still spent a great deal of time resting and kept standing and walking to the barest minimum. A number of physicians made their appearance, inspected the wounds, and listened to explanations. Most seemed to think his lordship’s survival was due to a miracle, but they agreed that he seemed likely to survive if he did not move too much.

In the end, there was only one doctor left. He was a somewhat rough-looking individual, a warrior in the east in his younger years, and blunt in his speech to the point of rudeness. He stared at the scars a long time, then probed with his fingers, and finally said, “Well, you were lucky.”

Akitada liked him for his plain speech, but he was a little surprised. “Lucky? Surely not. I nearly died.”

“Lucky that only one knife thrust passed through the rib cage. That one fortunately did no serious damage. The other slipped off the shoulder blade and was deflected into the muscles for your arm. And that’s not your sword arm, I think. Lucky again.”

Somewhat irritated that his sufferings were being dismissed as rather minor complaints, Akitada said, “I lost a great deal of blood.”

“Yes,” said the physician, “but no doubt you had some to spare. In any case, you have no need of me. You should get up and start moving about or you’ll end up a cripple from laziness.”

Handing him his fee, Akitada said, “You don’t have much of a bedside manner, you know.”

The other man snorted and picked up his medicine case. “No time for it. I have patients waiting.” And with that he left.

Akitada fell back on his bedding and started to laugh. It hurt, but he felt a great deal better already. It struck him that this man had experience with wounds and was most likely right. He should get up and be about his business.

*

The next day turned out to be rather busy because of visitors. Nakatoshi was the first to arrive. He was overjoyed to find Akitada dressed and sitting up. They shared a cup of wine, and Akitada regaled his friend with the tale of the doctor’s visit.

They laughed together, but Nakatoshi said, “You mustn’t overdo it, you know. People have been known to get up too early only to collapse again.”

Akitada, who had been gritting his teeth against stabs of pain from his back and shoulder, nodded. “I promise to rest frequently, but your visit gives me joy.” He paused. “My family and my friends have given me back my life by their devotion. I have been blessed.”

Nakatoshi was visibly moved and touched Akitada’s hand. “I have some reassuring news,” he said. “In view of your having been at death’s door, several of the most powerful Fujiwaras have been getting nervous. They’ve had prayers said for you in the shrine to your ancestor, and they have cancelled the investigation into your conduct.”

Akitada made a face. “I suppose I should be grateful, but nothing less than an apology and acknowledgment of my service in Kyushu will make me forgive them.”

“I know. It made me angry too, but we must think of the future now that you’re with us again.”

Nakatoshi left soon after to make room for Akitada’s brother-in-law. He brought the same news and a message from Akiko that she hoped soon to have more information about Lady Ogata.

This did not, however, materialize. Lady Akiko was more frustrated than Akitada, who thought of the crane pavilion murder off and on, but without real interest. It seemed clear enough that Lady Ogata was Sadako, the daughter of Soga Ietada and wife of Minamoto Masakane. Her death must be connected to her past. Masakane’s rash act of slapping an emperor had affected not only the young man but also his wife and the people around her.

His next visitor was Fujiwara Kaneie. He came to report with great satisfaction on a change of heart by the grand minister.

“I’m overjoyed to see you up and around,” he said, after congratulating Akitada on having escaped official censure. “My only regret is that I’m still stuck with that infernal Sakanoue who has been acting as if I didn’t exist. In fact, I’ve had to file a complaint against him. He had the nerve to sign some important papers without consulting me.”

Akitada smiled. “I, too, regret that you’re stuck with him.”

“I wish there were some way to get rid of him, but I have thoroughly irritated my powerful cousins by my repeated protestations.”

“I think you have done so on my account, sir. I’m very grateful for your support and friendship.”

Kaneie blushed. “Not at all, my dear Akitada. I’m in your debt. All I know about the law I learned from you.” He sighed. “It’s all been so unfair!”

“Well, I seem to have been forgiven at any rate.”

On this happier note, Kaneie chatted a little about life at the ministry and then took his leave.

Akitada still spent much time resting. Pain radiated over his entire back if he was sitting or standing for any amount of time, and his left arm hurt down to the fingertips every time he moved it. He was also easily tired, but sleep escaped him. Sometimes, as he lay there, waiting for the pain to subside and sleep to come, he thought of the lady of the crane pavilion. Now that they knew her story, they should be able to put a name to her killer.

He wondered if perhaps Lady Sadako’s father had not really rejected her. But if so, why had she left the nunnery and taken up life beside the Kamo River, living on alms? And why had she later hidden herself away in the Takashina mansion?

Genshin knew her past but protected her secret. Unlike the nun Seikan, Genshin had not questioned her suicide. But both the nun and he had spoken of Sadako as being happy. Genshin had ascribed her contentment to her faith in Buddha. It did not make sense. But since he found no answer, Akitada usually fell asleep.

One day, there was a pleasant surprise. A messenger arrived with a heavy package containing ten gold bars and a bag of silver coins. The Minister of the Right had released Akitada’s accumulated salary for the past six months, plus a rather generous additional payment to cover expenses he had incurred in travelling to Kyushu and furnishing the tribunal there. The money was very welcome, and Akitada spent the day with Saburo, organizing the Sugawara accounts and ordering much needed supplies.

“Saburo,” he said, looking at the neat figures in his account book, “we can afford a tutor for the children. What about that poor schoolmaster of yours?”

Saburo clapped his hands. “Oh, thank you, sir! Tora and I have taken them a bit of money and some food, but they’re still in dire straits. May I go tell them?”

“Yes, but make sure he understands that he comes on trial.”

The schoolmaster came, nearly speechless with hope. Akitada probed his background with some questions, and being satisfied, introduced him to the children. The arrangement proved satisfactory, and Kobe’s tutor returned to his former duties with a present.

In time the pain in Akitada’s back lessened. But about that time, Tora brought some shocking news. “Sir, the superintendent has been dismissed from office.”

“What?”

“They say it was over the case of the blind shampoo girl. The judge filed a complaint.”

Akitada did not know what to say. So it had happened after all. Kobe had warned him that he was in danger. But he had risked his position anyway to do what Akitada had intended. He had interrupted the trial to save an innocent woman. Akitada did not doubt for a moment that Kobe had taken this step because he, Akitada, had been lying at death’s door and there was no one else to finish the job.

“I have incurred a great debt,” he said to Tora. “I wish I knew how to help Kobe. I want to see him. I wonder if I could manage to get on my horse.”

“Absolutely not, sir. You can’t leave the house yet.”

“Well, maybe a chair could be called? Where is Kobe? At his home?”

“I think so. But sir, it’s too soon. Do you want me to take a message?”

In the end, Akitada wrote a letter and Tora delivered it himself. An hour later, Kobe arrived at the Sugawara house.

He looked a little anxious when he entered Akitada’s room. More shocking was the fact that he was no longer in his impressive crimson uniform but wore an ordinary gray silk robe and a small black hat. He could have been any low-level clerk bustling about in one of the many administrative halls at the beck and call of every nobleman and guards officer. The change in clothing diminished him; he looked smaller, older, and less distinguished.

Akitada managed a smile as he gestured to a cushion. “Forgive me for not rising. I’m afraid it still hurts too much to get to my feet and then sit back down.

Kobe sat and smiled back. “I’m very glad to see you’re so much better than I’d been led to believe. Should you be up already?”

“Yes. Besides I’m impatient to catch up on what I’ve missed.” He paused to give Kobe a searching look. “Tora told me your bad news. I’m deeply sorry and very angry that they’ve treated you this way.”

Kobe’s mouth twisted. “Karma and shadows follow a man everywhere. You know that well enough.”

“My fortune seems to have improved. I seem to have been forgiven, and today they sent me my pay. I feel all the more responsible for what happened to you.”

Kobe looked astonished. “Why? I came to my senses almost too late. In fact, if I’d acted sooner, you wouldn’t have been attacked. So don’t talk to me of responsibility.”

“I hear you arrested Kanemoto and his woman.”

“Yes, and they couldn’t wait to heap accusations on one another. She told us about Kanemoto’s strangling of the gambler Hankei. Naturally, she claimed she was an innocent bystander. When I didn’t believe her, she threatened me with retaliation. It seems one of her clients holds a rather important position in the government. I ignored this and told Kanemoto what she had said. He retaliated by informing us that she had killed the moneylender Nakamura.”

“She owed Nakamura money?”

“Oh, yes. It seems Kanemoto refused to pay her debts and told her to take care of them herself, so she did. By killing the man! She told Nakamura that she would meet him at the bathhouse and buy back her IOUs. Instead she cut his throat and took the papers she had signed, letting Sachi take the blame for the murder.”

“That poor girl!” Akitada said, shaking his head. “She must have been terrified.”

Kobe said angrily, “Sachi had no business working there. The men are animals. Nakamura tried to rape her. He would have succeeded, too. The bathhouse owner forced her to accede to his wishes. She is well out of there.”

“Is she?” Akitada raised his brows, and Kobe flushed.

“What has become of her?” Akitada asked.

“She’s at my house for the present.”

“That was very kind of you.” Akitada smiled.

Kobe glanced at him. He was clearly embarrassed. “My first lady decided to forsake the world when she heard of my dismissal. My second lady isn’t going quite so far, but she blames me for ruining our children’s futures and keeps to herself. I’m alone these days.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Akitada had always assumed Kobe’s household to be a happy one and was thunderstruck by these revelations.

“I’ve always envied you, Akitada. Lady Tamako was all that a wife could be. I was jealous of your happiness. You never wanted another woman, having all that a man needs in this one. Forgive me! I know it must pain you to think of it.”

Akitada shook his head. “You are right about us, though there were some years-.” He paused.

Kobe brushed a hand over his face. “Well, it made me see women differently. And then there was Sachi, this poor blind girl who wanted so little from life and had nothing. It occurred to me … but it’s too soon to speak of it. Forgive me.”

Akitada understood. Kobe had found his lotus flower in the mud and had fallen in love. It shocked him that a man of Kobe’s background would consider living with a bathhouse attendant. And a blind one at that.

He changed the subject. “Did you find evidence against the courtesan Phoenix apart from what Kanemoto told you?”

Kobe nodded. “Nakamura kept meticulous accounts of all his loan transactions. We found some of them hidden in an empty jar in his kitchen. It seems he didn’t trust his partner Saito or his children. Phoenix owed the equivalent of thirty bars of gold. It had accumulated over the years as she spent on her wardrobe.”

“Dear heaven! Thirty bars of gold for gowns? It’s unbelievable.”

“Murders have been committed for far less. By the way, Sachi said she smelled her. She has a very good nose. She smelled perfume and also a faint whiff of blood when she passed her in the corridor on her way back to Nakamura. The bathhouse owner testified that the Phoenix was there at the time of the murder. Saburo had already alerted us to the fact that some of the courtesans were hanging around the murder scene.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s over. Saburo got himself into trouble pursuing this case.”

Kobe smiled. “And so did you. Are you truly on the mend?”

“I think so. What will you do now?”

“Oh, I need the rest. I expect I’ll retire to the country. Life costs less there, and I have always wanted to do some hunting. I hope you and Tora will be my guests soon.”

*

Kobe’s dismissal upset Akitada a great deal. The superintendent had been facing the threat of replacement for a few years now. Still, the crisis had come over the trial of the blind girl. Akitada considered the fact that Phoenix had claimed to be under the protection of some great lord. It seemed odd, given what he knew of her, but it would explain why Sachi’s trial had been pushed forward after Saburo had started asking questions.

The morning following Kobe’s visit, he talked with Tora and Saburo about the case. They had followed events and knew that Kanemoto had confessed. Phoenix had persisted with her denials at first and suffered severe floggings. In the end, she had admitted killing Nakamura.

“The superintendent handled it perfectly,” Tora commented. “Something should be done about his dismissal when he was right all along. He said the Ministry of Justice was behind it. Can you find out why your former boss would do such a thing?”

Akitada was astonished. “It wasn’t Kaneie,” he said with conviction. “He would have told me. There must be some mistake.”

The outcome was that Akitada wrote Kaneie to ask what he knew about the situation. Kaneie came to see him, bringing with him some documents. It turned out that Sakanoue had ordered the trial to be moved up. And it had been Sakanoue again who had forwarded Judge Hirokane’s complaint about Kobe’s behavior. The cover letter objected in the strongest terms against Superintendent Kobe’s meddling again in affairs properly part of the Ministry of Justice. All of Sakanoue’s letters claimed to have been written on orders of Fujiwara Kaneie.

“I knew he had done some things,” said Kaneie, who was furiously angry. “But I had no idea of this. When I got your letter, I went immediately and demanded to see these documents. As you may imagine, I have protested and demanded the man be prosecuted.”

“I see,” said Akitada, very pleased with this outcome. “Do you think it will get Kobe his position back?”

“I have no idea. They’ve wanted to replace him for a long time. But that they should do it this way, and use my name!” Kaneie was turning purple with anger again.

“Well,” said Akitada. “I’m very glad anyway. And you got rid of Sakanoue. Any idea why he did it?”

“No, but I’ll have it out of him. I’m going back to the ministry to call him to account.” Kaneie waved the documents triumphantly as he left.

33

The Lady of the Crane Pavilion

When Lady Akiko next called on her brother, she looked glum.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m at the end of my wits. I’ve talked and probed, gossiped and snooped, flattered and teased. I can get nothing more. Masako was a gosechi dancer, was chosen as an imperial handmaiden, and met Masakane. Once she lived in the imperial palace, the handsome rascal pursued her, gained access to her chamber, and the pair confronted her father with their clandestine marriage.”

Akitada nodded. “Yes, that sounds pretty much like what I’d expect from that crowd these days.”

Akiko raised her brows. “Don’t moralize, Akitada. These were young people, and the palace isn’t exactly a family home. Besides, if I recall, your marriage started with just such a clandestine visit.”

Akitada blushed, then laughed. Yes, he had been very much in love with Tamako and had dared everything that night. He had been lucky; she had wanted him as much as he wanted her. The memory brought tears to his eyes. He had not thought of Tamako as much lately.

His sister said, “I’m sorry, Akitada. That was thoughtless of me.”

“You remind me of how happy we were,” he said, smiling. “And you’re quite right. I must not judge Sadako and Masakane. I take it that his offense happened soon after?”

Akiko nodded. “Most of the women I spoke to think Masakane deserved his fate. They seemed to feel that His Majesty had some claim on Sadako, and that Masakane should have been apologetic instead of striking His Majesty.”

“Death is a rather cruel punishment for a man defending his wife’s honor.”

“If he really died.”

“You mean there is some doubt?”

“Strange things happen in those faraway places. They sent Masakane to Mutsu province. He’s supposed to have died from an injury. What if he’s still alive?”

Akitada considered this. “It would explain why Lady Sadako suddenly left the nunnery and hid herself away. She heard that Masakane was alive and she was waiting for him. It also explains her strange happiness. But how are we to prove this? And more importantly, what does this mean for her murder?”

They stared at each other. Akiko said, “This is becoming very interesting. Akitada, you must get better quickly. What a story!”

Akitada thought about it. “I wasn’t finished with her fellow lodgers and should have followed through when I realized that someone had moved the trunk under her body after her death. It was the trunk, standing right there in the middle of the room, that caused the police to declare the death a suicide. What a fool I’ve been! I hope it isn’t too late.”

“The murderer must have done that. He wanted everyone to think she hanged herself.”

“Yes, but he must have been very quick. When the children found her, there was no trunk there. The boy stood right below her and gave her feet a push to see if she could fly. They ran to get the caretaker and he sent for the constables. Hmm! Now I wonder.”

“What?”

“The caretaker didn’t say anything about the trunk.” Akitada frowned. What was his name again? Koshiro. A peculiar fellow. He looked more like a ruffian than a caretaker.”

“You think he killed her?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. He was strong enough.” Akitada got to his feet, grimacing a little as his back protested. “I must go back. I haven’t asked the right questions. All of them are suspects, with the possible exception of the nun who is too small and frail to pull Lady Sadako’s body up by that rope.”

Lady Akiko got to her feet also. “Shall we go now?”

Akitada shook his head “I cannot walk that far.”

“We’ll go by palanquin,” said his sister with an airy wave. “You’ll do very well, sitting down, and I shall be with you.”

“No, Akiko. You cannot go. It’s not suitable and may be dangerous.” He thought of the disgusting habits of the professor and the odd figure of the artist.

“Nonsense. I’m a married woman. I can go anywhere I please.”

Akitada chuckled. “Not quite. I’ll take Tora and report to you. How’s that?”

“No!” Akiko practically wailed. “You can’t do this to me after all I’ve done. It isn’t fair.”

And since she was right, she got her way. Tora was summoned, the plan explained to him, and a short time later, all three were on their way to the Takashina mansion, Akitada and his sister in separate palanquins, and Tora, who had armed himself, striding along beside them.

As on his last visit, the gates stood open and the mansion lay silent and apparently empty under cloudy skies. The storm had made way for colder weather, and a sharp wind blew leaves across the gravel as Tora helped Akitada and Lady Akiko from their conveyances and told the bearers to wait in the courtyard.

They were again on their own. The main house lay in front of them, but Akitada turned toward the stables and the caretaker’s quarters just beyond. To his satisfaction, he saw smoke coming from the opening in Koshiro’s roof.

Akiko had been looking around with great curiosity. “You’d think,” she said, “the abbot would let a family of some substance live here. He could collect rent or favors that way and the property would be taken care of. It’s eerie, seeing it empty like this.”

“The abbot practices charity, not greed,” Akitada said without much conviction. “The caretaker appears to be home. I bet we’ll get better answers from him this time.”

Tora snorted. “There’s something sly about him. If he’s our killer, he won’t come clean.”

Koshiro had seen them coming and met them at the door. He was pale as he looked from Akitada to Tora and then to Akiko. He looked at her the longest.

“As you see,” said Akitada, “we are back. The lady is my sister who takes a great interest in Lady Ogata’s fate.”

Koshiro swallowed, stepping aside to let them enter. Inside, the painter sat in front of a go board. They had interrupted a game. The painter looked pleased to see them and bowed.

“I still don’t know anything,” Koshiro said. “I’ve told you and the police everything.”

“Not quite,” said Akitada with a nod to the painter. He led his sister to a cushion, then seated himself. Tora leaned against the door and glowered.

Koshiro hesitated, then sat down beside Yoshizane. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“You misled us and the police,” Akitada said. “That was very foolish. It makes you look guilty.”

Koshiro yelped, “Guilty?”

Tora growled, “Is your name really Koshiro?”

“That’s the name I’m known by.”

“Maybe now, but I’ll bet you had a different one before you came here. The police will become very interested when we tell them about you.”

Koshiro’s eyes went to the door. Tora put his hand to his sword.

“But I haven’t done anything,” the caretaker protested.

Akitada said, “You rearranged Lady Ogata’s room so the police would think she had committed suicide. Did you kill her?”

The caretaker turned absolutely white and looked about him in desperation.

The painter had listened with great interest and asked, “Did you, Koshiro? Shame on you! Whatever had she done to you?”

“Nothing. It’s a lie, or a mistake. You know me, Yoshizane. I worshipped her.”

The painter giggled. “You and the student, and maybe all of us. But you and the student are crazy.”

Koshiro stared at Akitada with a hopeless expression. He said, “You’re right. I did push the trunk under her, but I didn’t kill her. I would never have hurt her. She was good, truly good. She made me feel decent.”

Akitada watched him. “Tell us about it.”

“I was afraid the police would find out about me. Years ago I did something I’m ashamed of and was sent to prison. I was building a road with other prisoners, and one day I ran away. I begged for food at temples and monasteries. One day, something happened to me at a temple. I saw a vision of the goddess Kannon. When the monks found me crying and praying, they asked what was the matter. They took me to their abbot and I confessed everything. When I was done, he said the goddess had forgiven me. He said he needed someone to look after this mansion and gave me this job. When he brought the lady to live here, I saw she was very kind and beautiful. She was an incarnation of Kannon to me. I would never have hurt her. That cursed day when the children came to fetch me, and I saw what had happened, I fell to my knees and prayed. That’s when I saw the trunk and knew what I had to do. And that’s what I did, and it’s all I did.”

Silence fell.

The painter broke it first. “But,” he said, “that means someone else killed her.”

Akitada nodded. “Yes, someone did kill her.”

Koshiro flung himself down before Akitada, knocking the go board aside and scattering the stones. “I swear I’m innocent. I don’t know what happened.”

Akitada sighed and got to his feet, extending a hand to Lady Akiko. “Come,” he said. “There’s nothing more for us here. We must find the killer elsewhere.”

Koshiro wailed, “What will happen to me?”

“If you’re innocent, nothing. But if you have lied or kept anything hidden again, I’ll see to it that the law falls upon you with special heaviness.”

Outside again, he turned to his sister. “Be warned by his story. These people have led rough lives. If we confront the murderer, he may become violent.”

She laughed. “I look forward to it. Life gets pretty dull when you see nobody but people of your own kind. And I’m not at all the refined creature you take me for.”

She was probably right about that.

They walked back to the main house and entered the wing occupied by Genshin’s guests.

Hearing their steps, the professor opened his door and looked out into the corridor. He was bleary-eyed and stank of wine. His eyes moved from Akitada and Tora to Lady Akiko and widened. “Dear me,” he said. “Do my eyes deceive me or is this a celestial being?”

“You may remember me,” Akitada said coldly. “The lady is my sister. She takes an interest in Lady Ogata’s story. Akiko, this is Professor Suketada.”

The professor blinked. “I hardly dare offer my hospitality,” he said, bowing, “but I’m a poor man and perhaps, in her kindness, her ladyship may overlook the shortcomings of my current abode.”

He stepped aside. Akiko looked at the cluttered room, wrinkled her nose, and decided to stand near the doors to the veranda.

“We needn’t trouble you long,” Akitada said. “What do you know about the caretaker?”

“He’s as lazy as they come. Caretaker? He only takes care of himself.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Let me see. About as long as I. I think he showed up right after I moved in and introduced himself. I’m afraid I don’t waste my time talking to caretakers. You’ll have to ask Yoshizane. They’re fast friends.”

Akiko interjected, “Do you ever take on private pupils, Professor?”

Akitada stared at her. Surely she was not thinking of hiring this wine-sodden individual for his children.

The professor made her another bow. “Very rarely, my dear lady. My research takes up all of my time. I’m engaged in writing a history of the Imperial University, you see.”

“It will be a most learned work, I’m sure,” Akiko said. “But you have had private students in the past?”

The professor waved a hand. “A few. Not worth the effort. The young are irritating dolts. I offered to help our young Akushiro recently and found him very unstable. Apart from the fact that he can’t keep his mind on anything but women, he’s dangerously violent.”

Akitada asked, “Violent? He seemed more the frightened rabbit type. What happened?”

The professor rubbed his chin and grimaced. “He was supposed to be writing an essay on Kung Fu Tse and scribbled some silly poem instead. I made a scathing comment on his poetic skills and he hit me. That ended our lessons.”

Akitada raised his brows. “It seems I was wrong about that young man. I intend to have a word with him. Where is his room?”

The professor took them along the corridor and pointed to a door. “He may not be in,” he cautioned. “Now and then he actually attends a lecture at the university.”

As soon as the tall figure of the professor had bowed and disappeared into his own room again, Akitada tapped on the student’s door. Getting no response, he opened it and walked in, followed by Akiko and Tora.

The student’s room was not very tidy, but since he had not accumulated as many books and papers as Professor Suketada, it appeared cleaner and more spacious. The shutters to the outside were closed, but strips of light filtered in and revealed a clothing trunk, a small desk, a stand with books, a roll of bedding, a few utensils, and an old wooden box of the type that held money or important papers.

Akitada made straight for this box and found it locked.

Tora joined him. “It looks pretty flimsy. Shall I have a try at breaking it open, sir?”

Akitada hesitated.

“Go ahead!” urged Lady Akiko.

Tora picked up the box with both hands and shook it. It made a rustling sound. “Not money anyway,” he said. “Sounds like papers.”

“Papers,” cried Lady Akiko. “That’s much better than money. Open it.”

The lock turned out to be loose, having lost a nail in the past and being held by a single remaining nail which Tora pried out with his knife. Opened, the box revealed loose sheets of paper covered with poetry and a thin notebook.”

Lady Akiko snatched the notebook, while Akitada leafed through the poems. They seemed to be passionate love poems or dealt with death. Clearly the student had been in love with Lady Ogata. Akitada sighed and put the poems back. “Anything there?” he asked his sister.

She was absorbed in the notebook. “It’s a diary,” she muttered. “I think … it’s a woman’s diary. It must be hers.”

“Let me see.”

“Just a moment. Yes, she talks about her husband’s death here. It’s very sad.”

Akitada took hold of the diary and tugged.

“Wait. I want to see the end. It may give us a clue about her killer.

At that moment, the door opened, and the student walked in. He stopped, flushed as red as the lacquered railings outside the Takashina mansion, and gasped, “What are you doing in my room?”

With his next glance he recognized the diary in Lady Akiko’s hands, howled like some mad thing, and flung himself at her. Akitada moved to intercept him, but the impact threw him to the floor, where he landed so awkwardly that he nearly passed out from the pain in his half-healed back and shoulder.

As everything turned black, he heard Akiko’s scream and a shout from Tora. More screams and shouts followed, and when Akitada finally managed to catch his breath and open his eyes, the student flailed on the floor with Tora kneeling on his back and twisting one of his arms across it. The screams came from the student. Akiko lay beyond them, curled up and moaning.

Tora asked Akitada, “Are you all right, sir?”

“Yes.” Akitada struggled to sit up and fell back. “I’ll be all right in a moment,” he ground out.

Tora cursed and punched the side of the student’s head; the student screamed again. “Shut up, you disgusting coward,” snarled Tora and twisted his arm viciously.

Akitada remonstrated weakly.

Attracted by all the screaming, the professor walked in and stared at the scene. “What’s going on?”

This time, Akitada managed to sit up. “Stop twisting his arm, Tora,” he said. The screams turned to whimpers. Akitada crawled over to his sister. “Akiko? Are you hurt?”

She took a hand from her face and held it out to him. It was covered with blood. “He hit me,” she said in a tone of outrage.

Akitada helped her to sit up and took a look. “A nosebleed,” he said. “I don’t think it’s broken. He found a paper tissue in his sash and handed it to her.

She held this to her nose and peered at Tora and the student. “He’s the killer!” she said in a muffled voice and a tone of conviction.

“Oh, yes,” said Akitada, feeling his back to see if his wounds had opened up again. They had not, though they still hurt. “Yes, I think so. Everything points to it.”

“Yes,” agreed the professor. “I told you he was violent.”

The student sobbed.

“But why?” Akiko dabbed at her nose and studied the bloody tissue. “What possible reason could he have had?”

“Professor, would you give me hand? I’ve been wounded and this incident has taken the strength from my knees.” Akitada held out a hand to the professor who grasped it and pulled him to his feet. Akitada stood a moment, swaying.

“He attacked you, too?” the professor asked. “Where are you wounded?”

“They are old wounds. He rushed my sister and me because we were looking at Lady Ogata’s diary. He must have stolen it from her trunk after he killed her.”

A wail from the student, “I didn’t mean to hurt her! I loved her more than my life.”

“A fine way to show it,” growled Tora, pulling the student’s head back by his topknot. This produced another squeal. “You’re nothing but a crybaby,” Tora told the youth. “Why should a lady like that even look at you?”

The student whimpered, “You’re hurting me.”

“Let him get up,” Akitada said, “but have your sword ready in case he makes a break for it.” He moved gingerly. The pain was going away. Akiko was also standing now, the blood-stained tissue pressed to her nose, but a distinct gleam in her eyes as she watched the student getting to his feet. He was a pitiful sight, his hair loose and his face blubbered with tears and snot. He looked around at the circle of his grim-faced accusers and shivered.

“Very well,” said Lady Akiko. “You’ve admitted killing her, but you say you didn’t mean it. Explain!”

The youth hung his head and dabbed a sleeve at his face. “She made me so angry. She mocked me!” He dabbed again and raised his eyes to look at Akiko. “Women are cruel!”

Akiko chuckled. “Nonsense.”

He cried, “Look at you! You don’t care. You come into my room and go through my things and you laugh at me. How would you like being laughed at?”

Akitada went to pick up the fallen diary and held it up. “It seems to me you did the same thing and you stole what you found. This was surely among Lady Ogata’s things.”

“I had to take it after … I had to make sure she hadn’t written about me.”

“And had she?” Lady Akiko asked.

He glowered. “She was a fox! She teased me, pretending she liked me. I wrote her poems and she lied. She said the poems were beautiful. But in her diary she says she couldn’t stand me and that my poems are horrible. Like a fox, she tricked me and made me reveal my feelings when I was caught by her beauty and false kindness. Then, when I poured out my love for her, she laughed at me. I got angry! I shook her to stop those evil words. When she was silent, I let her go.” His face crumpled. “She fell, and I saw she was dead, and I was frightened.”

“And you decided to make it look as if she’d committed suicide?” Akitada asked.

The student nodded. “It was hard. She was heavy.” His tone was accusatory, as if he blamed the dead woman for this also.

“You thought people would think she had done it herself?”

The student nodded.

Akitada said, “But unless she had used a trunk to stand on, she couldn’t have hanged herself. And there was no trunk there when she was found. Can you explain that?”

The student looked puzzled. “But everyone said the trunk was there. I must have put it there. I was very upset at the time. I thought of the diary and searched for it. When I found it, I took it away with me. I don’t remember what else I did, but I must have put the trunk under her.”

“Very odd!” said the professor, who had listened with great attention to all of these revelations. “Clearly, killing the poor lady caused him to lose whatever small amount of sense he had before.”

“I wish it had been you, you drunken sot,” the student snarled at him.

Tora drew his short sword and raised it. “Down on your knees!” he snapped.

The student obeyed.

Suddenly Akitada felt utterly spent. He swayed and only caught himself by putting one hand on the small book stand.

Tora held out his sword. “Professor, if you’d take over for a moment, I’ll find something to tie this brat up with. And then we’d better send for the police.” He glanced at Akitada, who nodded wordlessly.

Akitada felt faint and hoped he would neither faint nor vomit. Akiko came to stand beside him and touched his hand. “Time to go home,” she said softly. “Tora can handle matters here, can’t you, Tora?”

34

Senior Secretary Soga

The student Takechi Akushiro was arrested. The professor, perhaps because of his outrage over the moral turpitude of the younger generation, accompanied Tora to police headquarters to support his charges against him. The student confessed readily, though not without putting blame on Lady Ogata for having provoked him.

The case was closed, and yet Akitada felt dissatisfied. There was the matter of Lady Ogata’s real identity. On his instructions, Tora had not revealed this to the police, but Akitada felt her family should know of her death.

But he was not equal to taking such a tale to a man like Senior Secretary Soga and was still fretting when, to his consternation, Saburo admitted the Senior Secretary to his study the next day.

Soga Ietada, tall and thin, walked in briskly, cast a curious glance around at all the books collected by Akitada and a long line of learned Sugawaras, and a more penetrating one at Akitada. His expression was grim.

Akitada knelt and bowed deeply, ignoring the pain in his back, and wondering what new disaster was about to strike.

“Please be comfortable, Sugawara,” said the secretary. “I understand you are recovering from a knife attack?”

“Yes, Excellency. Thank you. Saburo, a cushion for his Excellency and some refreshments.”

“No refreshments.” Soga sat down. “And please, no interruptions either. I have private business with your master.”

Saburo bowed and withdrew.

Akitada said quickly, “I should have come in person to express my thanks that you … that His Excellency the Prime Minister has decided to overlook my precipitate departure from Kyushu, but as you know I’ve not been well.” Flushing with embarrassment, he stumbled on, “And of course I’m also grateful for the generous remittance of my past salary.”

Soga’s grim look did not change. He said, “What? Oh, yes. But I’m not here about that.”

Could this have something to do with Soga’s daughter? But how had he found out? This time Akitada waited.

Soga sighed deeply. “I understand you are acquainted with Abbot Genshin?”

“We were students together.”

“Ah. His Reverence came to see me late last night because some news had reached him. He told me a rather strange story that involved you also.” Soga paused.

Akitada nodded. “Please continue, Excellency.”

“It seems about five years ago he found a young noblewoman living in great poverty and brought her to his Takashina mansion. She called herself Lady Ogata. She remained there, living quietly, until some three weeks ago when the abbot’s caretaker found she had hanged herself.” Soga shuddered, but his voice was level when he continued. “At any rate, the police called it a suicide, but the abbot tells me, you thought this death suspicious. Is this true?”

“Yes, Excellency. The young lady was murdered. Yesterday the police arrested a student who confessed to strangling her and creating the scenario the police found.”

Soga nodded, his eyes probing Akitada’s. “That is what brought Abbot Genshin to me. That and the knowledge he had.” He paused, obviously deeply pained, then tried again, “You see, he knew that I have, or had, a daughter …” He stopped again and closed his eyes.

Akitada said gently, “Yes, your Excellency. I believe Lady Ogata was indeed your daughter. I’m deeply sorry.”

The Senior Secretary opened his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “Thank you. That was the question I wanted to ask. You are quite certain?”

“Not certain, but it seemed likely, given the facts. If it won’t pain you too much, allow me to tell you what I learned.”

Soga nodded and Akitada told the story of his investigation. When he was done, Soga said, “Yes, it all seems to fit. My poor child! She left the nunnery when a rumor reached her that Masakane had escaped. She hoped he would send for her but dared not tell anyone about it. Alas, the rumor was false, but she never knew. She never knew.” He shook his head, then rose and walked to the door.

Akitada struggled to his feet. “I’m very sorry, Excellency,” he said again.

Soga turned. His face was wet with tears. “Forgive me,” he said. “I should have thanked you properly. I think you will keep her secret. My poor child’s death would rake up the old scandal, and I don’t want her memory to become court gossip again.”

Akitada bowed. “You have my word, Excellency.”

Soga still hesitated. “I’m glad the unfortunate matter of your return from Kyushu was settled. I understand your former position was given to someone else?”

Akitada hesitated. “Yes, your Excellency, but I gave my word without any condition.”

“I understand, but I wish to be of some service to you. It would help me deal with my loss.”

For a moment, Akitada’s mind rebelled against trading his silence for Kobe’s reinstatement, then he said, “I was told that Superintendent Kobe was unjustly removed from his position on the word of a junior official in the Ministry of Justice. If your Excellency would look into this matter, I think not only I but the people of the city would be grateful.”

Soga came back and sat down again. “Tell me about this.”

After the Senior Secretary had left, Akitada sat for a long time, thinking about the strong young woman whose love had defied an emperor and her family’s wishes, yes, even convention and danger to be with Masakane. It sickened him that she should have died at the hands of a pathetic weakling who knew nothing of love or loyalty.

Akitada finally rose with a sigh and walked outside where crimson maple leaves covered the moss as if the tree had bled to death.

A squirrel came to stir them up and paused to stare at him. For a moment, man and animal became motionless in time. Then the shouts of children playing broke their trance. The squirrel fled, and life went on.

Content

I. J. Parker
The Crane Pavillion

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