Her husband hovered timidly behind her. She did not invite them in but stood on the threshold and demanded, “What is it then? It’s the middle of the night, and I’m sick of being bothered about that slut. We’re hardworking decent people.”
Genba growled, “Mind your tongue, woman.”
She shot him a glance, taking in his size and bulk, and clamped her lips together.
“Mrs. Shigehira,” Akitada said, “we’re looking for Tora. Was he here recently?”
“Him?” She folded her arms across her broad chest and stuck out her chin. “No. We don’t deal with murderers. Stinking garbage!”
Genba, who was usually the gentlest of men, now stepped forward and bent to push his large face into hers. “Woman,” he growled, “I’ve warned you. One more insult like that and you’ll wish you’d not been born.”
She backed away, stepping on her husband’s toes. “Well,” she cried shrilly, “I saw him with the knife and I smelled him, didn’t I?”
Genba raised his fist, but Akitada pulled him back. “Just a moment,” he said. “What do you mean, you smelled him? When was that?”
She got some of her nastiness back. “When we broke in and saw him standing over her corpse, that’s when. There was a bad smell and he had the bloody knife. And now he’s loose to kill more people. What’s the world coming to? The nobles cover up for their own and harass the poor working man. But the gods know. Oh, yes, the gods know. They sent the sickness to punish them. Beware of the wrath of the gods!”
Genba muttered angrily, but Akitada raised his hand to silence him. “Never mind that,” he said to the woman. “What sort of smell was it?”
“Garbage. Rotten food. Filth.”
“Ah.” Akitada smiled at her. “Thank you. That was very helpful. Is there perhaps anything else you have remembered? Such as who was spying on Tomoe?”
She frowned. “Spying on her?”
“Someone had been watching her through the cracks in her back door. She knew about it, because she glued paper strips to the inside.”
The woman gaped. “Those? I thought that was to keep the cold out.”
“No. The man, or woman, simply made a new spy hole through the paper.”
She swung around to her husband. “You piece of shit. So, that’s what you’ve been up to every night, ogling her through the cracks in the door. And telling me you’re just going out for a pee.” He protested his innocence, then raised his arms in front of his face as she laid into him with feet and fists, shouting abuse. The stonemason was a big man, and his trade had made him strong, but under the onslaught of his fat and unattractive wife, he cowered against the wall and whimpered denials.
“Pitiful,” said Genba disgustedly.
Akitada considered. The mason could have killed his lodger-or perhaps the wife had killed her in a jealous rage, and the coward was too afraid to speak-but on the whole he was inclined to think that the Shigehiros were innocent of anything except cruel abandonment of the blind woman to her murderer. And now there was the wife’s puzzling mention of the stench. Tora had always been very clean in his habits.
In any case, they would not get any more information here. Akitada took Genba’s arm and pulled him away.
“Where to now?” Genba asked, as they walked away through the dark, silent streets.
Akitada shook his head in frustration. “I have no idea. It’s too late to knock on people’s doors and the market has closed down because of the disease. Where do criminals hole up at night?”
“They work at night and sleep by day. In abandoned houses, in temples, under gates, and sometimes in the house of a comrade.”
“We could check the charity hospitals, but I would rather not risk that unless we have some information that he’s there. Let’s go home and see what we can do in the morning with the help of the police.”
At that moment, several dark figures detached themselves from the shadows and jumped them. Akitada, who had only caught a sound and brief glimpse of their attackers, was thrown facedown in the dirt. Someone knelt on his back, cut the sword off his belt, and hissed into his ear, “Your money or you’re dead.” Akitada was conscious of a strong smell of garlic and furious at himself for letting a mere footpad disarm him so easily.
Curses, the sounds of kicks and moans, and Genba’s roar told Akitada that the much bigger Genba had to deal with more than one attacker. Akitada tried to unseat the man on his back by bucking upward and rolling. A foolish effort! His instant reward was a blindingly painful blow to the head with his own sword. At this point it seemed wisest to pretend unconsciousness, and he let himself go limp. His attacker rolled him on his back and searched his clothing. Akitada was dimly aware that Genba had fallen ominously silent. He could hear the robbers muttering to each other. Then a whistle sounded not far away, and in a moment they were gone. Akitada sat up. Genba was lying motionless a few feet away. He crawled over to him.
“Genba?” It was too dark to see much, but there was blood on Genba’s face. Helpless fury filled Akitada. The police were completely inadequate to the conditions prevailing in the capital-his capital. Nobody was safe in the streets any longer.
Genba stirred under his probing fingers. “Wha-where…?” He moaned.
“We’ve been attacked by robbers. Where are you wounded?”
Genba sat up slowly and felt himself. “By dose seebs to be broken. Thass all. I’b sorry, sir. It happe’d too fast.”
“Never mind. I know.” Akitada got to his feet and felt the lump on his head. At least it was not another black eye. Of course, the string of coppers and handful of silver coins he had carried were gone. More importantly, he had lost the Sugawara sword, a family heirloom. A fresh fury seized him. He would get it back, whatever it took.
A light appeared in the distance, and a large group of people approached. Akitada quickly pulled Genba into the dark recess that had hidden their attackers. The man in front carried a burning pine torch before a silent group of shuffling, shadowy creatures. In the light of the smoking, spluttering torch, the leader’s robe was a blaze of red against the column of black ghostlike shapes that followed.
Akitada stepped into their path. For a moment the torch swung violently, then a sword pointed at his throat. Akitada blinked against the brightness but stood firm.
“Who are you and what is your business here?” barked the man in red.
“I’m the official Sugawara Akitada. My retainer and I have just been attacked and robbed.”
The torch came a little closer until Akitada could feel its heat on his face, but the sword was withdrawn.
“Sorry, sir. It’s not safe in this area after dark. How many of them were there?”
“Four, I think. They beat us and took our money and my sword. When they heard a whistle-yours?-they ran. Please take the torch out of my face.”
The policeman obeyed, and after a moment Akitada could see that he had been speaking to a middle-aged sergeant who looked tired and unenthusiastic. The dark figures behind him were some of the sweepers he had seen earlier at police headquarters. And that gave Akitada an idea.
“How many sweepers did you bring with you?”
“Fifteen. Why?”
Akitada scanned the dark figures behind him. “I make it eleven now. What happened to the other four?”
The sergeant turned and counted. He cursed. “The lazy bastards have run off again.”
“You’re missing four men, and we were attacked by four,” Akitada pointed out.
The sergeant looked blank, then cursed again, more violently this time. He marched down the line of his followers. “All right. I want answers. Who saw the bastards leave and when?”
Nobody spoke.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have every last one of you curs whipped and see to it that you get no pay.”
A ragged individual stepped forward. “They were some of those from the jail. They took off just a few streets back. I think this is their neighborhood.”
“Show me!”
They all trooped behind the sweeper, who eventually stopped and pointed down an alley. “They ran down there.”
Akitada murmured to the sergeant, “Tell your patrol that there will be a reward for the man who finds the four who robbed us. Promise him two pieces of silver.”
