city and the Fifth Ward.
Each ward in the more densely populated areas consisted of sixteen blocks arranged in a square and had a gateway on its southern periphery. The Fifth Ward contained mostly the homes of lower-ranking government officials and a few wealthy merchants. The first fire Tora had encountered had been in the adjoining Sixth Ward, a commercial area, but even here, there was fear. He saw a small altar erected and fresh flowers and fruit before it, and a holy man with bells around his neck danced around it, singing songs as people watched.
Stopping at the warden’s office, Tora asked if any trouble had been reported the night before.
The warden was eating his midday rice and was not inclined to be interrupted by someone wearing threadbare clothing. He shook his head and continued chewing.
‘Did you see or hear of any gangs of rowdy boys hanging about?’
Another shake of the head.
‘I know they were busy in the Sixth the other night. They knocked me down as they ran from the fire there.’
The warden frowned, swallowed, and said, ‘You the one tried to save the Kaneharus?’
News clearly traveled between wardens. Tora said, ‘That would be me. My name’s Tora. You keep yourself well informed.’
‘My business,’ said the warden, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully as he studied Tora.
‘So? About those gangs?’
‘No gangs in my ward.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I’m sure. No gangs here. No trouble.’ The warden was becoming angry at the imputation that he did not keep good order.
Tora sighed. ‘Thanks. Enjoy your meal.’
He wandered about for a while. Most of the houses were substantial, and quite a few had steep roofs. He asked people on the streets if they had heard any fighting or strange noises during the night. Mostly, the answer was no. People slept at night, and their sleeping quarters were in the backs of houses. One maid, who was airing out the family quilts, claimed she had heard screams, but her mistress shouted from the door that the girl was given to nightmares.
Tora left after that, feeling that he had done more than enough for Jirokichi and his troublesome girlfriend. What was he doing anyway, helping a common burglar? Jirokichi would turn up safe and sound, and Tora would give him back his gold.
End of story.
He left by the covered gateway that led out on to Rokujo Avenue, a broad street that passed between the Fifth and Sixth Wards. On the steps of the gateway sat an old beggar on a pile of rags. He held out an empty wooden bowl to Tora. The man was blind, his eyeballs bluish white below thin lids. Tora dropped a couple of coppers in the bowl.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ muttered the beggar, bowing from the waist in the general direction of the passer-by. ‘May the Buddha bless you, sir.’
‘You’re welcome, uncle.’ Looking at the beggar’s emaciated figure, Tora asked, ‘Have you eaten today?’
The old man thought this over, pushing his lips in and out in concentration. ‘Not today,’ he finally decided. ‘But I’ll eat now.’ He grinned, revealing a few yellowed teeth, and shook the bowl, making the coins rattle around inside.
Tora felt a little ashamed of his small gift. ‘Do you live nearby?’
The beggar nodded and pointed over his shoulder.
‘You live in the Fifth Ward?’ Tora thought that extremely unlikely. Wealthy people tended to keep beggars out of their neighborhoods.
‘There’s a hole in the wall of the gate. I sleep in there. Not bad in the summer, but I near froze to death last winter.’
Tora walked back under the roofed gateway and looked. Sure enough: there were a few loose boards in the wooden wall on one side. Perhaps a cart had backed into it and loosened them, and the beggar had helped matters along. Inside, he glimpsed more rags and an earthenware water pitcher. A thought occurred to him, and he returned to the beggar.
‘By any chance, did you see… I mean, did you hear anyone passing last night? Anyone who might have been in trouble? Or some young hoodlums?’
To his surprise, the beggar nodded. ‘Right. On both counts. Two boys going in. Recognized their voices from my hole. Talking about the Rat.’
‘The Rat? You mean an animal, or someone called the Rat?’
‘The Rat’s no animal. He’s a saint. He left me something when he passed by.’
Tora crouched beside the beggar, holding his breath against the stench that met his nose. ‘That was last night? The Rat passed you last night, and then the boys came?’
The beggar nodded.
‘Those boys, they’re the ones I mean,’ Tora said. ‘Did they come back out? Were they alone?’
‘Came back dragging someone. He was moaning. Don’t think they caught the Rat, though. He can make himself invisible.’
Tora’s heart beat faster. ‘Thanks, old man,’ he said, jumping up. ‘I’ll be back.’
He loped off looking for a food vendor. Near a bridge, he found a couple selling hot fish wrapped in cabbage leaves and rice cakes filled with vegetables. Spending nearly all his money, he bought one of each and ran back to the beggar.
‘Here,’ he said, placing the food in the beggar’s hands. ‘Eat. And then, if you can tell me where I can find those two boys, I’ll come back tomorrow with a gold coin.’
The blind man took the food with trembling fingers. For a moment he just sat there, then he muttered a choked, ‘May you live in paradise in the next life, young man. I don’t know where they came from. They just came. I could smell them, and then I heard them talking.’ He extended the food. ‘Do you want it back?’
‘No, of course not. Eat.’ Tora crouched beside the beggar and watched him eat fish and cabbage leaf in large gulps, then take huge bites from the rice cake. ‘Slow down,’ he said, ‘or you’ll choke.’
The beggar promptly choked and turned nearly blue coughing. He gestured frantically behind him. Tora slapped his bony back, then recalled the pitcher and dashed to get it. It was half full of water. The beggar drank, caught a deep breath and wiped the tears from his face.
‘I’m blessed,’ he said. ‘If you’d left me, I’d be dead now.’
Tora saw nothing blessed about the beggar’s life, but did not say so. Instead he pursued the question of the hoodlums. ‘You said they just came. Have they ever come before?’
‘Maybe. I seem to remember the smell.’
Tora sighed. Putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder, he said, ‘Thanks, old man. Keep out of their way. They’d just as soon kill a man than walk around him.’
‘You’re right about that.’
Tora got up to walk away, then stopped and turned. ‘You recognized them by their smell, you said?’
‘Yes. People smell. You smell of baby spit. They smelled of malt.’
Tora grinned. The old man had a very good nose. Yuki had, in fact, spit up on his shoulder that morning. Malt, he thought. Malt is used by sake brewers. It was something. He thanked the old beggar again and went off whistling.
His good humor did not last. If the same hoodlums had Jirokichi, the poor Rat was most likely already dead. Still, he suddenly felt a great urgency and walked more quickly.
At the Western Market, he pounded on the door of Hoshina’s wine shop. She opened it a crack, saw him, and threw the door wide.
‘What is it? Have you found him?’ she asked, the words spilling out in mingled hope and fear.
Tora stepped in and closed the door again. ‘No. But I picked up something. A blind man in the Fifth Ward heard some young louts talking about Jirokichi. He says they smelled of malt. I wondered if you might know where I could look for them.’
‘Oh, I hope those evil bastards haven’t got him again. They nearly killed him last time.’
