him for their livelihood seemed to place total trust in his ability to provide. “Don’t be a fool,” he snapped. “I just took off a few hours. The minister is only going to be away for a short time.”
Tora looked at him. “Slacking off ’s not like you, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I am not slacking off. Sometimes more important matters take precedence.”
“I guess you don’t want his high and mighty lordship to find out, because that bastard’s just waiting for you to make a mistake.”
Akitada glared at Tora. “You must think me a coward.”
“No, sir. I know better. But you’ll do crazy things when you think it’s your duty to do them. And I’m confused. You used to think being an official and working for the emperor was the most important thing in the world.”
Akitada had no answer to this. He had walked away from his work because he could no longer bear Soga’s insults and the dull routine of paperwork. Would he have put aside a more challenging and interesting assignment for Haseo’s sake? Haseo had died five years ago on a distant island, and they had hardly known each other. It struck Akitada forcibly that he was trying to solve a criminal case without knowing what crime had been committed, who the victim was, or where it had happened. All he had was the name of the alleged culprit. It would have been so much easier if the government did not expunge the records every time someone made a case for doing so. To Akitada, records were inviolable.
But he said stubbornly, “A promise to a dying man cannot be broken.”
Tora nodded and finished his wine. “Maybe we’ll pick up something at the next school,” he said with a sigh.
As they rose, Akitada glanced out at the market. Though the sun had not quite set, a lantern lighter was already lighting the big paper lanterns in front of the restaurant. The housewives and maids with their baskets had disappeared, and the crowd was mostly male now. Government clerks, artisans, laborers, farmers on a city visit, soldiers, servants on their night off, teachers, and a few young rakes of noble blood strolled about, eyeing the wares of fan sellers and comb shops for a present to give to some woman, peering at waitresses, and shouting rude compliments at the pretty harlots. Tora’s singer had left. The tower platform was empty except for a tall man who was leaning against one of the pillars.
Akitada looked, then looked again. It could not be. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
“What is it?” Tora asked, following his glance.
The man turned his head a little, and Akitada took a deep breath.
“A ghost.”
The stranger walked down the steps of the tower and disappeared in the crowd.
“A ghost?”
“That man at the tower. I swear it was Haseo.”
“Ah.” Tora nodded wisely. “It happens when you’re thinking too much about the dead. They take shape in someone’s body. Even animals sometimes. I had an aunt who…”
“Never mind your aunt. You’re right. I must be seeing things. Let’s go.” Akitada paid for their meal and they left the market just as the temple bells began to ring.
Akitada still felt shaken. The image had been so vivid. It was nothing but foolishness, of course, or an overwrought conscience, not ghosts. The man had not really looked much like Haseo. He had worn good clothes, and his hair and beard had been trimmed neatly, while Akitada and poor Haseo had been in rags and half-naked, their hair and beards grown long and tangled.
Kata’s training hall was on the wrong side of the city and surrounded by the huts and tenements of the poor. The building, a former warehouse, was open to the street. A small crowd of ragged idlers had gathered there to watch the lesson. They expressed their interest with raucous cries of, “Kill the filthy bastard!,” “Cut off his nose and ears!,” “Split him down the middle!,” and “Show us some blood!”
This was a far cry from the quiet, intense silence of concentration that had prevailed at the other two schools. Several students watched two of their fellows circling each other, wooden swords in hand. Two other men practiced stick fighting with long bamboo poles, and several more tumbled, kicked, and wrestled on mats. They looked like unemployed soldiers or underweight wrestlers, and the fighting style had an aggressive edge to it which had more to do with achieving a quick kill than matching skills in single combat. Akitada doubted that Haseo would be known here, and was about to turn and tell Tora so, when he caught sight of a familiar figure in the shadows. There, on the far side of the hall, just behind the master, stood the man from the drum tower.
Akitada blinked, but the shadowy figure remained, a silent onlooker of the swordfighting bout. Again, Akitada was shaken by the resemblance. It was in the way the man stood, wide-shouldered and with an unconscious grace, and also in the way he held his head.
“Tora,” Akitada said in a low voice, “look at the man in the shadows behind the master.”
Tora leaned forward and peered. “So?”
“The man from the market. And he still looks like Haseo.”
He must have felt their eyes on him, for he turned his head their way, then leaned forward to say something to the master. The master, a short middle-aged man with the wide-legged stance of the professional soldier, shot a sharp glance toward Akitada and Tora.
Tora muttered, “They’ve seen us. In this crowd we stand out like a pair of hawks among crows.”
It was true. Even Tora’s plain blue cotton robe looked almost distinguished among the multihued assortment of rags, loose shirts, and short pants that covered those around them, and Akitada wore his official’s silk robe and small black hat. He met hostile stares from the crowd but was not about to retreat. “Come,” he said, touching Tora’s arm, “we’ll have a word with Master Kata and his friend. I want a closer look at the fellow.” He moved past two burly loafers toward the training hall.
Inside, the man from the market spoke again, rapidly, to the master, then melted into the shadows as if he had never been.
“Quick,” said Akitada. “Around the back. He’s getting away.”
They separated, each running for a corner of the long building. But suddenly Akitada’s progress was impeded. People moved into his path, legs were extended, elbows protruded, and a basket of bamboo scraps fell over, scattering in the dirt before his feet. He heard shouts and curses, and finally the cry, “Stop, thief!” When he finally reached his corner, he had a shouting mob on his heels. A rock hit the back of his head, knocking off his small black hat and causing him to stumble. Someone laughed, and the next moment he was face down in the dirt with people on top of him. He struggled, then roared, “Stop! In the name of the emperor.” Instantly more weight piled on, taking his breath away. He tried to cry out again, but there was dirt in his mouth and he had trouble breathing. Strangely, what he felt most at that moment was a sense of outrage that the rabble had dared attack an official.
Through the roaring in his ears, he heard Tora shouting. Then-blessed relief-the weight eased, lifted. He was rolled on his back, and Tora’s anxious face peered down at him.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Of course not, you idiot,” gasped Akitada ungratefully and struggled to sit up. “What is the matter with these people? Are they mad?” He wiped the dirt from his face and looked around him. The ragged creatures had retreated; a few were nursing bloody noses and black eyes. Dull, hostile eyes.
“This is a bad neighborhood,” said Tora, shaking a broken fence rail in their direction before giving him a hand to get up. “They don’t like officials here.”
“Outrageous!” Akitada glowered at his attackers. “Who threw that rock?” he demanded. There was no answer, but they retreated a little more. He raised his voice. “Where is the warden for this quarter?” They began to melt away, slinking along the wall of the building and disappearing down alleyways. “It seems they do have a little respect for authority,” Akitada said sourly, feeling a tender lump on the back of his head. “I suppose the fellow got away.”
“Afraid so. When I saw the crowd going after you, I turned around. I expect he’s long gone by now.”
Akitada scooped his hat from the dusty road, brushed it off, and tucked it into his robe. “I’m going to have a word with this Kata. You go take a look around the neighborhood. See what you can find out about Haseo’s double.”
Tora trotted off, and Akitada approached the training hall again. The master, surrounded by his pupils, was waiting. The pupils looked belligerent, their hands on their swords, but the master bowed deeply. He had the broad, flat face and squat build common among the peasants of the South, but his military stance and the scars on his face told Akitada that he had an army background.
