Akitada. She clutched her loose gown to her middle, but there was little doubt that she was quite naked under it.
Osawa was sitting on his bedding and jerked up a quilt to cover his own nakedness.
When Takao stepped aside, Akitada walked in, closing the door behind himself. With a straight face he wished the inspector a very pleasant good morning and congratulated him on his amazing recovery.
“Get out!” Osawa snapped.“Can’t you see I’m not . . . dressed?” Akitada bowed to the landlady. “Your honorable mother is in the kitchen,” he told her.
She rolled her eyes, then turned to Osawa and said, “Please permit me to speak to my mother, dearest heart.” He blushed and waved a languid hand.
Takao winked at Akitada, then asked Osawa coyly, “Shall I get your gruel ready, since you are in such a hurry to leave me?” Osawa looked embarrassed. “Yes. Er, we’ll talk later.” When she was gone, he demanded, “Now, what is this about Genzo?”
“His saddlebags are empty. That suggests that he has left us.
Perhaps he has found better employment?” Osawa scowled. “That piece of dung?”
“I believe the last time anyone laid eyes on him was the night we arrived. He may have walked off as early as yesterday morning. If he left Minato, he is long gone, and if he stayed in town, he is keeping out of sight. What do you wish me to do?”
Osawa muttered a curse. He knew as well as Akitada that Genzo’s sudden flight made it likely that someone had lured him away. True, he was not a very good scribe, but scribes were scarce. And that was not all. Working for the provincial administration, Genzo was privy to information which could be valuable to criminal gangs or pirates, and Sadoshima certainly had those. Genzo knew the size and itinerary of tax collections, the contents of granaries and the provincial treasury, and the number of guards assigned to them. That made him a valuable source of information.
“I have to bathe and eat something before we leave,” Osawa grumbled. “Go into town and ask around if anyone has seen him. If you cannot find him, report him to the local warden.
Make up some tale. Say he has stolen the mule.”
“He hasn’t stolen the mule.”
“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Osawa. “Of course you’ll have to get rid of the mule. Just let it loose someplace.” He fluttered a pudgy hand in the direction of the door. “Go on! Go on!” Osawa’s manner seemed more irresponsible than usual. But then, Akitada was concerned about Genzo’s whereabouts for reasons other than the security of provincial taxes. Genzo hated him and had made one attempt already to cause him harm. Akitada had expected him to retaliate before now for his humiliation at Kumo’s place. Possibly Genzo’s departure meant that trouble was afoot.
He walked about town for an hour or so, asking shopkeep-ers, monks, and market women if they had seen a big man, dressed, like Akitada, in the blue robe and black cap of a provincial clerk. No one had. Genzo had disappeared into thin air, and Akitada felt the same puzzled unease as two nights ago, when the bird-faced man had followed him through the dark streets and alleys of Minato.
Eventually he stopped at the warden’s office to report him missing. He did not claim that Genzo had stolen the mule but instead suggested the possibility of foul play. The warden was unimpressed. He seemed to think that any free man working for the governor was more likely to look for better employment elsewhere.
When Akitada returned to the inn, he found Osawa and the landlady walking about the courtyard. Osawa wore his boots and traveling clothes and had the contented air of a man of means. She was dressed in another pretty gown and clung to his arm, fanning herself lightly. He was pointing at features of the inn, while she listened attentively.
“And over here an addition,” he was saying, “as the family grows, you know. We wouldn’t want to lose guest rooms.” She giggled, hiding her face behind the fan.
As Akitada took his puzzled gaze off the couple, he noticed the landlady’s mother standing in the kitchen doorway. She waved to him, nodding her head and smiling broadly. This was so contrary to her usual behavior that he went to ask her what had happened.
“Happened?” she said vaguely, watching the couple in the courtyard. “Isn’t your master a handsome figure of a man? You’re lucky to be working for such a learned and dignified official.” Akitada turned to see if they were discussing the same person. The balding and round-bellied Osawa was patting the landlady’s hand and whispering in her ear. Perhaps the old crone was just happy to see him depart. But there was something proprietary in the way Osawa regarded the inn, and something equally proprietary in the way its owner clutched his arm. Akitada realized that Takao had used her charms to a purpose. She needed a man, and it looked as though she had caught Osawa.
Apparently he intended to give up his government job in order to run an inn and be pampered by a devoted wife. Mutobe had not only lost an undesirable scribe, but also his tax inspector.
Understandably, with a comfortable and leisurely future assured, Osawa washed his hands of Genzo and seemed to want to get through the rest of his duties as quickly as possible. He told Akitada to bring out the horses while he made his farewells to the “ladies.” He probably planned to hand Mutobe his resignation as soon as they reached Mano.
Shifting their saddlebags and Genzo’s empty ones to the mule, Akitada led all three animals into the courtyard. Osawa ignored the mule and climbed on his horse, waving to the women, who followed them to the gate.
It was a good day for travel. The weather continued clear and sunny, and Akitada relaxed for the first time in many days. He was glad to be rid of Genzo, whom he would have had to watch continuously. Osawa was in a pleasantly distracted mood, and Akitada felt that he had learned all he could in Minato. The rest of the puzzle would fall into place as soon as he saw Shunsei.
They headed south along the shore of the lake, the way they had come, but this time under a blue sky and with a light, refreshing wind at their backs. They trotted along easily, Osawa in front, and Akitada, leading the mule, following behind.
Osawa’s riding skills had improved as much as his mood.
When they had left the last houses of Minato behind and had the road to themselves, he suddenly broke into song.
Osawa’s voice was powerful but far from melodious. He made up for this with great enthusiasm and after his rendition of “Kamo Beach” he plunged straight into “Plum Blossoms,” following up with “Summer Night,” “The Maiden on Mount Yoshino,” and “My Recent Love Labors.” Finally he rendered
“Kamo Beach” a second time and turned around to ask Akitada how he liked the song.
“Very appropriate,” said Akitada with a straight face, “and your voice is truly amazing.”
Osawa smiled complacently. “Do you think so? Your praise is very welcome, since you are someone who has visited the capital and is bound to have heard many singers. Of course, I am strictly an amateur, but singing is a hobby of mine. Ha, ha, ha!
It’s very useful with the ladies sometimes.” Akitada raised his eyebrows. “I did not hear you sing to our charming hostess. Surely you made a conquest there without displaying your remarkable musical gifts.” Osawa laughed again. “I did, too. You just didn’t hear me.
You were at Sakamoto’s. I entertained the little woman all afternoon. In fact, Takao had mentioned you playing your flute for her, so I thought I’d show her what I could do. She was impressed.” He laughed again, a happy man. “How about taking out your flute now and playing along with me?” Osawa’s present good humor was an immense improvement over his previous irritability, but Akitada cringed at riding down the road while playing his flute to accompany Osawa’s off-key love songs. Still, he could not offend him. He needed a free hand with Shunsei and could not hope for another distraction like a cold or an attractive landlady. So he dug the flute out of his saddlebag and played whatever suited Osawa’s repertoire.
