on being refused shelter by you. The message is bound to be important and urgent. If you make me go back to him with another refusal, he will return to Mano and report the snub. Your master will be in trouble.”
That shook the surly servant. He glared at the fat youth, who was leaning against the wall picking his nose, told Akitada to wait, and disappeared. Akitada ignored the hulking lout and sat down to remove his boots. Then he stepped up into the house.
The corridor led to a room overlooking the lake. It appeared to be empty. Sliding doors to the veranda and garden beyond had been pushed back for a lovely view across the shimmering water to Mount Kimpoku. The garden sloped down to the shore, terminating in a pavilion which appeared to project out over the water-the pavilion where the Second Prince had died.
Two men were standing at its balustrade watching the boats on the lake. One was certainly tall enough to be Kumo. They were joined by a third. The crabby servant was reporting his visit to the professor, the shorter, white- haired man. The professor said something to his tall guest and then hurried with the servant toward the house.
Akitada hoped that Kumo, if it was indeed Kumo down there in the pavilion, would stay well away from the house while he gave his message to the professor.
The professor’s eyes looked slightly bloodshot, his right temple was bruised, and there was a deep scratch on one cheekbone, mementos of last night’s bender and the tumble into the ditch. But this morning his beard and hair were neatly combed, and he wore a clean silk robe, somewhat threadbare but presentable. He scowled at Akitada.
“What’s all this?” he said, matching a curt nod to Akitada’s bow. “My servant tells me you have a letter from the governor?
Can you make it quick? The high constable is here.” The irritable tone was probably due to a hangover. Akitada bowed again. “I serve as secretary to Mr. Osawa, the governor’s inspector. Mr. Osawa wished to put His Excellency’s letter into your hands in person. Unfortunately, we found you absent from home yesterday, and today Mr. Osawa is too ill to come himself.
Rather than causing a further delay, he has asked me to deliver it.” He handed over the governor’s message.
Akitada’s speech caused Sakamoto to narrow his eyes and look at him more sharply. Then he unfolded the letter and glanced at it. “Oh, bother!” he grumbled. “I have absolutely nothing to add to the case. Well, you’d better come along while I respond to this. I see he expects a reply.” They went to the room overlooking the lake, evidently Sakamoto’s study, and comfortably though plainly furnished with well-worn mats, old bookcases, and a large desk with writing implements and a stack of paper. Two screens warded off cold drafts and a large bronze brazier the chill of winter.
Today there was no need for either. The sun shone brightly outside and no breeze stirred the trees. As Sakamoto reread the letter, Akitada watched the pavilion. Kumo still leaned on the balustrade, looking across the lake. It struck Akitada that the pavilion was perfectly suited for plotting treason. It was surrounded by open ground or water, assuring absolute privacy to anyone in the pavilion. No doubt that was why Kumo and Sakamoto had been talking there now. Akitada wished he could have heard their conversation.
Sakamoto gave a grunt, and Akitada took his eyes from the pavilion. The professor was frowning, almost glowering at him.
“Who exactly are you?” he asked. “Have we met before?
Osawa never had a personal secretary on previous visits.” Apart from their belligerent tone, the questions were probably due to Kumo’s visit. Kumo had shown a suspicious interest in the fact that they were headed for Minato. But Akitada had to answer and thought it best to stick to the original story. Whatever Kumo suspected, he could have no proof that Akitada was not what he pretended to be, or that Osawa’s trip was somehow connected with what everyone seemed so anxious to hide.
“My name is Yoshimine Taketsuna,” he began, patiently, as befitted his present status. “I am a convict. His Excellency, the governor, being short-handed in the provincial archives, heard that I have skill with the brush and employed me as a clerk. The governor told me to assist Mr. Osawa because he cannot spare the inspector for more than a few days. I doubt we can have met before. We only arrived in Minato last night.” Sakamoto was still frowning, and Akitada wondered if he had recognized his voice. “What were you convicted of?” the professor asked.
Akitada hedged a little. “That is surely not material to my errand, since both the governor and Mr. Osawa trusted me. However, I’m not ashamed of what I have done. I killed a man who got in my way. The man was a retainer of Lord Miyoshi.”
“Miyoshi?” Sakamoto’s eyebrows rose. A series of expressions passed across his face, surprise, curiosity, and perhaps relief. “What do you mean, he got in your way?” Akitada looked past him. “My object was Lord Miyoshi. I consider him a traitor.”
Sakamoto cried, “And so do I, though perhaps we had better not say so. I am sorry. You have my sympathy. Men like Miyoshi have few friends here.” He narrowed his eyes. “But it seems rather strange that Mutobe should trust you under the circumstances.”
Akitada laughed. “I doubt he knows. I arrived recently and the shortage of clerks in Mano is desperate.”
“Ah.” Sakamoto nodded. “It must be, and I expect you have an excellent education. Such men are very useful in Sadoshima.” He glanced toward the lake. The irritation returned to his face. He held up the governor’s letter. “Do you know what is in this?”
“No, but . . .”
“Well?”
“I heard that the governor’s son has been arrested for murdering the Second Prince. His trial is coming up shortly. Since the crime took place in your house, it might be that the governor is asking for information which might help to clear his son.” Sakamoto made a face. “You guessed it, and it’s an imposi-tion. He should know I have nothing to tell him that he does not know already. Unfortunately, I must answer, and answer in writing. You could not have come at a worse time. The high constable dropped by and I expect other guests shortly. Could you return tomorrow for your answer?” Akitada was instantly and overridingly curious about the other guests and decided to extend his stay as long as he could to see who else arrived. The fact that he could hardly insist on an immediate answer, nor give in too easily after creating a scene with the servants, gave him an idea. In a tone both regretful and sympathetic, he said, “I am very sorry to put you to this inconvenience, sir, but I don’t have the authority to make such a decision.” He paused to make a face. “The problem is aggravated by the fact that Inspector Osawa is still very unhappy about being turned away from your door last night.” Sakamoto looked vexed. “Yes, yes. I heard. Most unfortunate.
Tell him the servant in question has been disciplined severely. Of course, I shall make my apologies in person. Only not today.”
“If I might make a suggestion, sir? Perhaps I could compose the answer for you? All I need are a few particulars; then you can see to your guests while I write the letter for you.” Sakamoto stared at him. “Really? Could you?” he said, his face brightening. “Yes. Very generous of you to offer. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you have a cup of wine while I explain matters to my guest? Then we’ll discuss the letter, and you can write it out while I tend to business. How’s that?” It was precisely what Akitada had proposed. With any luck, he would be kept in Sakamoto’s house long enough to see the other guests arriving, while trying to find out what the professor knew of the murder.
After Sakamoto left, the long-faced servant brought a flask of wine and a cup on a tray. The offended expression on his face announced that he was not used to serving other people’s servants.
Akitada greeted him with a smile. “I’m sorry to be such trouble on a busy day. Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. I gather you expect guests?”
The servant set down the wine. “Don’t let it bother you,” he said with a scowl.
“Your master’s household is in capable hands. Please pour yourself a cup. I’m not very thirsty.” The surly fellow hesitated, torn between temptation and the need to show his resentment. The wine won. He poured and emptied the cup, licking his lips. Akitada nodded with an encouraging smile. “Thanks,” muttered the servant. “I needed that. It’s been a long night and a hectic day. Looks like I’m not getting any sleep tonight, either.”
