drunk out of your head or asleep; you had the ingratitude to reward my trust and patience by stealing and setting fire to the Valuables Office.”
“What?” cried Tosan. “Who told lies about me?” He looked at the old drunk, who grinned back impudently. “Him? A beggar? He’s a piece of dung who makes up stories to get wine.” He turned to Shiro, who still knelt weeping in front of Yamada’s desk. “Or him? He’s owed me money for months and is probably trying to weasel out of paying me.”
For a moment, Yamada looked dangerously close to having a fit. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finding his voice. “We’ll see who speaks the truth,” he finally said, his eyes flashing. “You are both under arrest. And the charge is plotting to overthrow His Majesty’s government. You, Tosan, have misused your official position to steal goods placed into the government’s safekeeping for the express purpose of stirring up popular unrest against the emperor.” Akitada’s jaw dropped. The charge was as ridiculous as it was brilliant. Treason on a penal colony warranted the death penalty. The clerk knew it, too. He uttered a strangled croak and fainted.
Yamada stood beside Akitada outside the Valuables Office when they took away their two thieves. “Thank heaven it’s over,” he said with a deep sigh of relief. “I had given up all hope, but now all is well. And I even have my silver back.”
“Well, yes,” said Akitada, “though you might express your appreciation to the drunk. He did identify the thief.”
That night, Tosan and Shiro signed their confessions, and Masako came to Akitada for the third time.
Her eyes shone as she slipped under Akitada’s blanket.
“Thank you, Taketsuna,” she whispered, reaching for him.
“Father could never have done it without your help.” Akitada put her hands from his body and sat up. “No, Masako,” he said, “not tonight or any other night. You are beautiful and you know quite well that I find you most desirable, but I cannot take you to wife. What has happened between us was a mistake, my mistake, which I regret deeply. I’m already married, and there can be no formal relationship between us. Because I value your father’s good opinion, I will not make love to you again.”
Making this speech had been extraordinarily hard. He had lain awake wondering what to say to her. Having spent every moment since their first encounter in self-recriminations, he had added self-disgust after he succumbed to his desire for her a second time. A third time would, by custom, formalize their relationship, and he could not bring himself to take that step.
But he did not like hurting her and watched her face anxiously, expecting a torrent of grief and arguments.
But Masako neither wept nor argued. She said calmly, “I did not expect you to marry me. But I thought we might be lovers.
I like to pay my debts.”
He flinched a little. “You owe me nothing. You and your father have offered me hospitality and I have done little enough in return. I am in your debt.”
“As you wish.” She got up then and bent for her discarded undergown. Turning away a little, she slipped it back on. The flickering candlelight made the thin silk transparent, and in her modesty she was more seductive than she had been when she had pressed her warm naked body to his. “When you leave us, will you remember me?” she asked without looking at him.
He felt ashamed. “I will never forget you, Masako,” he said and caught her hand to his cheek. “I am half in love with you.” She smiled a little then, and left.
The following morning, after Osawa approved Yamada’s books, Akitada departed on his journey to find Prince Okisada’s killer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Akitada welcomed the journey. Masako had slipped too deeply under his skin, and he was torn by feelings of shame and guilt.
And then there was the fact that he had put his assignment from his mind in order to satisfy his curiosity about the girl and her father. It was high time he did what he had come to do and went home to his family.
The day began inauspiciously in Yutaka’s office. The governor had sent the
“I know that you want to meet Kumo for yourself. Osawa always calls at his manor to go over the tax rolls with him and discuss the upcoming harvest and the mine production. After that you will travel on to Minato. Osawa has a letter from me to Professor Sakamoto, just a pretext to get you into his house. The return journey is to take you through Tsukahara. The prince’s manor is there and Taira still lives in it. Okisada also had many friends among the Buddhist clergy at the Konponji Temple nearby. The temple happens to be the district tax collector. You will probably find the monk Shunsei there. If word has reached Kumo, he may approach you first, but if he does not, then you will no doubt find a way to talk to him.” That was perhaps overly optimistic, but Akitada thanked him and asked, “Can you provide me with some signed paper in case I have to overrule your good Inspector Osawa?” Mutobe’s face fell. “Oh, dear. Yes, of course. I should have thought of that. Better not tell him anything yet, right? Osawa is all right, really. A bit lazy, but he’s unmarried and can travel whenever I need him. Besides, he is my only inspector and known to Kumo and Sakamoto and the others.” He helped himself to Yutaka’s ink, brush, and paper and dashed off a short letter, then gave it to Akitada, who read it and nodded. Mutobe took his seal from his sleeve, inked it with red ink, and impressed it next to his signature. Then he handed the folded note to Akitada, who was trying to tuck it away with his other papers when he made a disturbing discovery.
He was wearing his own clothes again, having packed his blue cotton clerk’s robe in his saddlebag. When he touched his neck where the fabric was doubled over and stitched into the stiff collar, he felt the papers inside, but the seam he had opened to pass the imperial document to Mutobe the day they met had been resewn. Masako must have discovered the loose stitches when she had cleaned his robe. Surely she had found the papers.
He felt beads of perspiration on his brow.
“What is the matter?” asked the governor, seeing his face.
“Nothing. Just wondering where to put this,” Akitada said, holding up the governor’s note. He quickly tucked it in his sash as footsteps approached and Yutaka entered with Osawa and one of the scribes, the big fellow called Genzo.
They knelt and bowed, the scribe looking sullen and giving Akitada a hate-filled look. Of the two who had been punished by Yutaka for the vicious beating they had given him, he was the one who had continued to bear Akitada a powerful grudge.
“Ah, yes, Yutaka,” said Mutobe. “Is this the man who is to go along?”
“Yes, Your Excellency. His name is Genzo.” Akitada was dismayed but could hardly object.
The governor continued, “I realize you cannot easily spare both Taketsuna and him, but it will only be for a few days, four at the most. They will take horses to make better speed. I have sent instructions to the stables to have them ready in two hours.”
“Horses?” gasped Osawa, then bowed immediately. “I beg your pardon, Excellency, but I did not expect . . . a great honor, of course . . . but I usually travel on foot. Perhaps a sedan chair?
Surely good bearers can move as quickly as a horse. And the two young men can run alongside.”
The big scribe’s jaw dropped.
“No,” said the governor brusquely, getting to his feet. “You will make all the speed you can. Oh. I am dispensing with a guard. Taketsuna has given his word not to escape.” He departed, leaving consternation behind.
Osawa stared at Akitada as if he were measuring his potential for unexpected violence.
“I can’t ride,” the scribe announced. “You’ll have to take Minoru instead.”
