‘I’ve seen them.’
It was not entirely true. It had been too dark to recognize anyone both times they had run past him. The only faces he had seen belonged to the five that had manhandled Jirokichi. That reminded him of the poor Rat. He peered through the gate. Nothing had changed. Fear seized him again that they were too late, that the pitiful corpse of Jirokichi would greet them inside the warehouse. ‘We can’t stand around chatting,’ he snapped. ‘Where’s your father with the others?’
‘He’s bringing Shinichi and Seiji.’
‘The two old guys I saw with him last time? There could be ten or more young men in that warehouse.’
‘Don’t you worry about my dad and Shinichi and Seiji,’ she said. A moment later, she glanced down the lane. ‘Here they come.’
The three deaf mutes came loping towards them, armed with cudgels and lengths of bamboo. They offered spares to Tora and the girl. Tora accepted a bamboo pole, weighed it in his hand, and executed a few stick-fighting swipes. They watched, impressed. Then Daddy kicked open the gate, and they stormed in.
THE MAJOR-DOMO
As soon as Tora left his study, Akitada got up to pace. A new energy had seized him. He wanted to run off and do any number of things immediately. Foremost in his mind was Kobe’s visit. Tamako’s suggestion that Kobe’s behavior could only be explained by some event Akitada knew nothing about made him want an instant explanation, but he could not confront Kobe, not after what had passed between them. He wasted time wondering who might know, and eventually accepted that he must wait for the answer.
Well, he still had two cases to solve. Tora was making a start on Abbot Shokan’s lost acolyte, though perhaps that would not bring any results. What then? He would have to return to Seikan-ji and talk to the other acolytes and the monks who knew him. It struck him that he had neglected to probe for details about the mother’s background – an embarrassing oversight, even if it was likely that Shokan had intentionally suppressed the information. There had been something almost coy in the way the imperial monk had parted with the smallest possible bits of information. Yes, perhaps he would return to the monastery in the woods tomorrow.
That left the Kiyowara case for today. He must go back and interview the servants. Someone must have seen something. Strange that Lady Aoi had insisted he suspected the wrong person when he had no suspects.
Or rather, they were all suspects: the heir, Katsumi, who was now Lord Kiyowara; his mother; Ono, if he was the mother’s lover; and perhaps even that stiffly proper major-domo. In fact, the late Kiyowara could have been killed by anyone on the property that afternoon. It meant he would need to spend considerable time with the servants to find out who else might have had a motive or access.
He stopped his pacing when he reached this conclusion and clapped his hands for Seimei. The old man appeared promptly. When he saw his master’s face, he smiled. ‘You have found an answer, sir. Truly, there’s blessedness even in adversity.’
‘I’m afraid I’m sadly short of answers, Seimei. No, I only wanted to tell you that I’m off to revisit the Kiyowara mansion. I may be late. Please inform my wife.’
‘Very good, sir. May misfortune turn into success.’ Then he chuckled. ‘The common people in the provinces believe that if a man has eyes and a nose, he may go to the capital. You have both and are already here.’
That made Akitada laugh, and he left in good spirits.
His hopes were dashed immediately when he reached the Kiyowara mansion and encountered a policeman at the gate. The policeman barred his way and demanded his name. When Akitada gave it, the man drew himself up and put his hand on his short sword.
‘You are forbidden to visit, sir, by order of His Majesty.’
Akitada was stunned for a moment. Then he realized that the emperor had had nothing to do with this. Kobe had simply applied the standard formula to an order, and the policeman had recited it. Anger rose again and nearly choked him. He turned away.
What could he do without access to possible witnesses of the crime? And why force him away from the case? Was this again politics? It made him think that one of the Kiyowaras or the Minister of Central Affairs was guilty, and that the chancellor or one of his powerful sons was protecting a murderer.
If that was the case, it was sufficient warning for him to stay away. He would have to return the gold Lady Kiyowara had paid him. The thought that he was made part to a cover-up sickened him.
But perhaps someone was simply making sure he would be ruined. Akitada almost hoped that was all it was. As for the Kiyowara murder, there was still one thing he could try. He set out at a brisk pace for the home of Major-domo Fuhito.
The sun was setting over the western hills in a spectacular conflagration of sky and clouds, and the heat was marginally less breath-taking. Fuhito’s house was one among several old villas in an equally old neighborhood. Akitada was familiar with this part of the city. Not only did his wife still own a piece of property here – a herb-, vegetable-, and flower-garden on the land where her late father’s home once stood – but also some of the people in this neighborhood had played significant roles in his past cases.
As he walked beneath the trees shading the street with green branches that overhung the walls and fences, Akitada thought of Hiroko – not the Hiroko who was Lady Kiyowara, but the woman he had loved in vain. The familiar longing still twisted his heart. He had never known a more beautiful creature, and even now the memory still made him dizzy with desire. He had been tempted, had offered her marriage, but nothing had come of it. Worse, her memory was forever tied to another loss that was more painful than hers.
Akitada reined in his memories, saddened and feeling mildly guilty of disloyalty towards Tamako.
Fuhito could still be at work – Akitada had no idea what hours a major-domo kept – but his servants must be home. Akitada would wait. When he reached the house, he saw that here, too, many old trees grew behind the cypress fence, promising green coolness after the sweltering day. He used a bamboo clapper to strike a small bell at the gate.
As he waited, he looked around. It was a quiet, peaceful street that resembled Akitada’s own and probably dated to the same time two centuries ago, though these lots were smaller, having been designed for lower-ranking officials and clerks. It was pleasant here, far from the clamor and clangor of the merchant quarters. Birds sang, and the scent of flowers drifted over the tall fence.
Akitada rang the bell again, more impatiently. Where were the servants?
This time, he heard a woman’s voice call out, ‘A moment. I’m coming.’ Then the gate creaked open and a rattle sounded. He looked down at a short old woman who was leaning on a cane and peering back at him. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘I don’t know you. Are you lost?’
To judge from her clothing, she was an upper servant, perhaps Fuhito’s housekeeper. Akitada smiled at her. ‘I hope not. My name is Sugawara Akitada, and I came to speak to Fuhito.’
‘He never comes home until dark,’ she said. For her age – the hair she wore twisted into a bun at her neck was snow-white – she held herself still proudly erect, in spite of the frailty and hollowness of great age.
‘Perhaps I might wait for him?’ he suggested.
She hesitated, and he wondered if she was afraid to admit him because she was alone in the house. He prepared to reassure her of his good character when she smiled quite sweetly, made him a bow, and said, ‘But of course, My Lord.’ She stepped aside, and he walked into a garden.
Perhaps this place had once had a courtyard and outbuildings to stable a horse or two, and to keep a cart or small carriage, but these were long since gone. Instead a narrow path of large, flat stones wound through shrubs and among trees towards a partially hidden home. The scent of flowers and the song of birds seemed intense.
‘Allow me to show you the way,’ she said, since the path was narrow and custom did not allow a servant or a female to walk ahead of a man.
Akitada nodded and followed. ‘How beautiful!’ he said, looking around. ‘Who made this garden?’
‘My son did most of it, though the trees were here long before our time.’
‘Ah, your son is a very talented gardener.’
She turned and smiled that charming smile again. ‘Yes, Fuhito loves this garden. It gives him peace.’
Taken aback, Akitada asked, ‘You are Fuhito’s mother? I beg your pardon.’ He searched his mind for a family
