Seimei balked. ‘You aren’t thinking of looking for those young monsters who attacked Tora? They tortured some poor creature for days! You must not risk your life at this time. We shall cope.’
Akitada smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I shall be very careful.’
‘Please, sir.’ The old man’s voice rose a little. ‘Think of your wife and child if you won’t think of yourself.’
They had a right to worry and that made it doubly hard, but Akitada had no choice. Guilt made him peremptory. ‘Enough! This is no different from any other work I have ever done and certainly less dangerous than exile on Sado Island.’
That reminder made Seimei suck in his breath and turn away to look for old clothes for him. They were not precisely rags, but a dingy pair of trousers and a long jacket: comfortable, and indistinguishable from clothes worn by any poor man who had some business to attend to.
Since a sword would attract attention, Akitada pushed a knife in his sash under the jacket. If Akitada had not spoken harshly a moment ago, Seimei would no doubt have said that his master was jumping into a deep pool with a heavy stone in his arms.
THE RAIN
The distance to the Western Market seemed longer than Akitada remembered, but then he rarely had occasion to do much walking these days. At least the cloudy skies made the summer heat more bearable.
It was market day, an occasion that alternated once a week between the two markets on either side of the capital. After a lean and troubled year, Akitada had looked in amazement at the bustle of the eastern market. There, stands were selling sedge and bamboo blinds, paper fans, cotton or ramie cloth, religious objects and household vessels. Food sellers offered dumplings, cakes, noodles, soups, and stews. And entertainers were everywhere: a puppet master carried his stage on a tray tied around his neck; three musicians fluted and strummed and drummed; a young woman danced and sang; a storyteller entertained young and old; a fortune-teller sold his amulets; and acrobats performed their tricks among the shoppers. Here, the picture looked much bleaker. The goods were poor stuff, and most of the stands sold vegetables.
He found Hoshina’s wine shop easily, but there his luck ended. Tora’s description had suggested a flirtatious female, but he found a big, full-breasted woman, bustling back and forth among poorly-dressed customers.
She was in her thirties with a slightly pock-marked face and protruding front teeth. Her customers, though, seemed fond of her. They tried to pinch her bottom or lift her skirt as she passed and laughed uproariously when she slapped their hands away.
Eventually, Hoshina noticed him and stopped for his order.
‘Wine.’ He was hungry, but dared not try the food.
She appraised him for a moment, then said, ‘You want the good stuff.’
He nodded. ‘And I’d like to talk to you when you have a moment.’
She was surprised. ‘That could be a while,’ she said, eyeing him more closely.
‘I’m in a hurry. It concerns Tora.’
Her face closed. She took a step away and scanned the crowded room. ‘I’m busy. It’s market day.’ Her voice was tight and she left.
Akitada saw only ordinary working men snatching a quick bite or drink before returning to work. None of them were boys, but Tora’s mention of the three deaf mutes probably meant that any of these older males could be members of a gang. Tora had pointed out that the deaf mutes and the girl had protected the boys from the police. Hoshina was probably afraid to talk to him.
He wondered what to do next when Hoshina was back with a flask and a cup. She held out her hand. ‘Twenty coppers.’
It was dear, but Akitada gave her the money, saying in a low voice, ‘Tora is very ill. That’s why I came. It’s urgent.’
Her eyes widened briefly, then flew around the room again. She leaned down to pour the wine and murmured, ‘Later. After the market closes.’
That would not be until well after dark. Akitada asked in a low voice, ‘How is Jirokichi? Can’t you at least tell me where he is?’
She straightened, saying, ‘How should I know? The bastard’s left me. All men are bastards.’ She flounced away, swinging her hips to a chorus of raucous shouts.
Had that been the truth? He looked after her and knew that he could trust no one in this matter. Something was afoot that was far more important than the disappearance of Shokan’s protegee, and Jirokichi was at the center of it.
He tasted the wine. It had the strong flavor and murky consistency much loved by the common people. Leaving the rest, he walked out.
The clouds still hung low over the city. His mood had changed, and it seemed now that they cast a dull, depressing light on the city. He wished for rain because that would close the market early. He had not eaten all day, having been too tense about the hearing this morning. He looked at the foods offered by the few market vendors and settled for a bowl of noodles that he bought from a middle-aged woman who looked clean and was doing a good business.
He had chosen well. The noodles were plump, and the broth was nicely seasoned. Suddenly ravenous, he finished quickly and bought a second bowl. This earned him the woman’s gratitude.
‘Good, eh?’ she asked with a gap-toothed grin.
‘Very good,’ said Akitada, slurping noisily.
‘Hah.’ She laughed. ‘My old man, he says he only keeps me for my noodles. Better than fresh sea bream, he says. You’re not from around here, are you, sir?’
So much for trying to pass as a poor man. ‘I don’t come here very often,’ Akitada said vaguely, then changed the subject by nodding at the lowering sky. ‘You must be worried that the rain will close the market early.’
She glanced up and shook her head. ‘Not likely. It’ll hold off till dark.’ Her bright eyes looked Akitada over more closely. ‘So what are you doing in this part of town, if you’ll forgive a nosy woman’s question?’
She was a chatterbox, but there was a twinkle in her eyes and her friendliness was generous. Akitada chuckled and decided to ask a question or two himself. ‘You have sharp eyes. I was hoping that I wouldn’t be taken for an official. I’m looking for a young monk. His name is Kansei. He seems to have run away and his abbot is nearly frantic with worry.’
She cocked her head. ‘Now why would he run away? Plenty to eat in a monastery. Besides, where’s his faith in the Buddha?’
‘Not all boys go willingly into a monastery. Sometimes the father or mother hope to gain blessings. Or perhaps they cannot afford to feed a child.’
She nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘Is he a child then? They do run sometimes.’ She turned away to stir her pot of noodles and serve a customer. ‘Poor boy,’ she said when she turned back.
‘Why do you call him poor? As you said, the acolytes lead better lives than the children of the streets.’
She frowned. ‘Maybe. How old is this boy then?’
‘Well, he’s not precisely a child. I believe he’s about seventeen. The abbot thinks he got bored and joined a street gang.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, that’s bad. They’re young devils, if you ask me. And you should see how much money they have to throw around. Gold, even. Now, where would boys that age get gold? And they have no respect for working people. We all keep an eye out for them. They come here and take whatever they want and don’t pay. And if you make a fuss, they dump your food and dishes in the dirt and kick them around. Devils! I’ve seen them knock down a poor old man and laugh. One day they beat up a constable right over there.’ She pointed towards some leaning stands, their covers of woven reed mats supported by thin bamboo poles. ‘They pulled up those poles and were jumping around pretending to be stick-fighters. The man whose stand it was called the market constable, but they beat up the constable and he ran away.’
Akitada shook his head. ‘I see what you mean. Were they arrested?’
She uttered a bitter laugh. ‘Arrested? The police won’t touch them. The constable who got beaten up, he quit
