Текст книги "Death on an Autumn River "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter Two

The Old Couple

Akitada muttered under his breath as he dressed and gathered his belongings.  He was very angry.  Sadenari had managed to become a thorn in his side already.

The trick of arranging his bedding so that it would look occupied was juvenile.  Common sense dictated ignoring this ruse and, if he did not make an appearance soon, continuing the journey alone.  After all, the youth was nineteen and should know how to take care of himself.

On the other hand, he felt a responsibility for someone as naïve about the world as Sadenari was, and besides, the young man’s father would hold him responsible if harm came to his child.

Sadenari had probably slipped out to sample the harlots, or possibly he had followed up on his obsession with the drowned girl.  Either way, there was little to be done about it.

Akitada stepped outside the monastery gate and looked down the road toward Eguchi.  In the east, the darkness was lifting, but the town was still asleep.  The lights in the brothels had dimmed, and paper lanterns swayed ghostlike in the breeze from the river.  Akitada sniffed.  He could smell the open sea.  The air was fresher here than in the capital, which was enclosed by mountains and tended to have stagnant summer days.

With an impatient sigh, he turned back into the monastery compound and sought out the dining hall for his breakfast.  The monks had already been up for early morning lessons and now were chatting over their gruel.  He ate what they ate, millet gruel with some vegetables added, and drank water.  Two young monks sat near him, their shaved heads together, and whispered.  He caught the word “drowned.”

Belatedly, it occurred to Akitada that this must be the monastery in charge of the dead girl’s funeral, and that she must have been brought here already.

When he asked the two monks, they flushed furiously.  They were young and perhaps new to their vows, but it troubled him that, instead of sadness for a life lost so young, this death should cause prurient thoughts.  Sadenari had also flushed because the nameless girl had aroused desire in him.

After his breakfast, he sought out the abbot, introduced himself, and asked if the warden had paid for the funeral.

“Oh, no,” the elderly abbot said quickly.  “We don’t require payment.  The poor young girl has no family and no money.  But late last night a young woman from the town left some silver to have prayers read.  They are very protective of each other.”

Akitada did not mention the gold piece he had given the warden.  Though he could not really afford it, he took out another one, saying, “Allow me to make a small contribution also.”  He asked for the name of the other donor – hoping that the girl had had a family after all—but the abbot did not know.

When he left the monastery, the sun was up, and still there was no sign of Sadenari.

He walked the entire length of Eguchi, passing several drunks sleeping in doorways, but none was Sadenari.  At the wharf, the boats swayed gently in the river current, making soft bumping sounds.  Here, too, he saw no one.  The deep blue of the sky promised another fine day.  Until the body of the girl had been discovered, the river journey had been very pleasant.  Akitada decided to continue the short distance to Naniwa by water.  He looked at the sun.  There was time for a stroll before the first boat would leave.

Touching the drowned girl’s amulet in his sash, he felt obscurely guilty for abandoning her to a crooked warden and a quick cremation by the monks.  She had been too young to be in this profession, perhaps as young as twelve or thirteen.

It was a pity what happened to poor children—for the pleasure houses also provided boys to their customers.  Their parents frequently were too poor to feed them.  What a shocking life the dead girl must have found here.  He thought of his little daughter and shuddered.

He saw the first signs of life in the streets.  A woman opened shutters on one of the houses, a drunk staggered homeward holding his head, and the owner of the restaurant where they had eaten the night before was shouting at two maids who swept last night’s dirt out into the street.  Akitada remembered the old waiter.

“Good morning,” he called out to the owner.  “My clerk and I happened to eat here last night.”  The man hurried over and bowed.  “You had an unpleasant incident,” Akitada added.

“My deepest apologies.  I assure you, sir, that the worthless waiter has been dismissed.  We take pride in giving only the best service.”

“I watched the incident. Your waiter was most likely innocent.  The two men who complained were not who they pretended to be.  I suspect they created the incident to get a free meal.”

To his surprise, the man nodded.  “That is so, sir.”

“You suspected them?”

“It’s happened before.  In my business you have to keep your eyes and ears open.”

“But in that case, why blame the waiter?”

“He was getting too old anyway.  I lost the payment for two meals and wine, but my customers think I got rid of a careless waiter.”

Outraged, Akitada snapped, “What you did was unjust and heartless.  You should go and apologize to that old man and ask him to come back.”

The restaurant owner started a laugh, turned it into a cough, and bowed.  “Your pardon, sir, but my business waits.”  He disappeared into his establishment.

Akitada stared after him in helpless fury when one of the maids, an older woman sidled over with her broom and started sweeping.  She murmured, “Fukuda lives behind the temple,” and moved away.

Akitada bit his lip.  Sadenari was still gone.  Perhaps he should give him a bit more time and take the later boat.  He walked to the small temple not far from the landing stage and found a narrow footpath leading through a bamboo grove.  Within moments, the world became peaceful.  A rabbit started and dove into the undergrowth, and very small birds fluttered up as he passed.  The lush leaves above his head shut out the sky and were in a continuous rustling motion.  From time to time, smaller footpaths crossed or led away from the one he was on until he feared he would become lost in this green world.

But the stems of bamboo thinned abruptly, and he found himself at the edge of a garden filled with vegetables and melon plants.  A tiny house stood under a wide catalpa tree beyond the neat woven fencing that protected the garden from wildlife.  And there an old woman was feeding a small flock of chickens and ducks.

He startled her when he called out, but she made him the most graceful bow.  It would have done honor to an imperial princess, yet she was a frail white-haired creature, barefoot and in patched rags.  For some obscure reason, he felt extremely flattered, and on his best behavior, he bowed also and said, “Please forgive me for startling you.  I’m looking for a man called Fukuda.  He is said to live nearby.”

“He lives here, my Lord,” she said, her voice still strong and quite beautiful.  “May I announce you?”

Akitada glanced at the poor shack, the squawking fowl, the rows of vegetables.  He felt silly, giving her his name as if he were calling on some great lord, but he did so anyway and watched her perform another flawless obeisance.  She walked away from him as gracefully as a young woman, then ducked inside the hut.

It came to him that she must have been one of the courtesans at one time, perhaps even the ranking beauty.  Her hair, twisted up in back, was still thick and long, though white as snow, and the wrinkled face retained some former beauty.  Only the most rigorous training could have produced such perfect manners and posture.

She reappeared with two plain cushions.  These she placed in the shade of the catalpa tree and invited him to sit.  “It’s a pleasant morning,” she said.  “Fukuda thought you would be more comfortable here than inside.”

Akitada sat and smiled up at her.  “An excellent idea.”

“Please forgive this slow old woman,” she said and tripped off into the vegetable patch to select a ripe melon.  This she cut up with a knife she carried tied to a string around her waist.  She presented it to him on a large cabbage leaf.

Akitada said, “Thank you.  You take too much trouble.  Please sit down and rest.”

But Fukuda had appeared in the doorway of the hut.  He was leaning on a stick and made his way painfully toward them.  She went quickly to offer her arm for support and helped him down on the other cushion.  Then she knelt behind him on the bare ground, much like a trained courtesan attending to her client.

Fukuda had a black eye and angry bruises on his scrawny neck.  He bowed deeply to Akitada.  “You’re welcome here, sir.  Please forgive this poor hospitality.”  Turning to the woman, he asked, “Is there no wine, my dear?”

Akitada said quickly, “Thank you, but it’s far too early for wine for me.”  He reached for a slice of melon.  “Your wife was kind enough to bring this fresh melon.”  He took a bite.  The fruit was sweet and fragrant, better than any he had ever tasted. “Wonderful!” he said.

They smiled at him.  Fukuda said, “Melons grow very well here. But Harima is not my wife, though I ask her often enough.”

She raised a hand to cover her face and protested, “It would not be proper. I used to be an entertainer.”

Fukuda looked at her with loving pride. “Harima was elected choja two years in a row.  She was the most desired woman in Eguchi.  I don’t know why she puts up with a poor old stick like me.”

She smiled and reached forward to touch his hand.

Akitada was moved.  They were clearly very much in love, even at their advanced ages.  And though Fukuda was only a waiter, and she had somehow missed her chance for a good marriage or for the wealth leading courtesans accumulated from the generous gifts of past lovers, they considered themselves fortunate in each other’s affection.

He recalled his purpose.

“I was in the restaurant last night when you were treated so badly by your customers and your employer,” he said to Fukuda.

Fukuda touched his swollen eye.  “I should have been more careful,” he said.

“I believe those two men created a scene to get a free meal.”

Fukuda nodded.  “Yes, I should have suspected as much and made it more difficult for them to cheat my employer.  It was very good of you to come here to tell me, sir, but I knew quite well what was going on.”

Harima interjected, “I think it was cruel and unjust of Master Wakita to dismiss you.  And don’t tell me he didn’t give you that very nasty bruise on your leg.”

Fukuda smiled a little.  “She loves me,” he said apologetically. “It makes me sad.”

Akitada reached for another slice of melon.  “Why do you say that?  It should make you happy.”

The old man shook his head.  “Look at me.  I’m an ugly old man, and now I’ve become a burden to Harima.  How shall we eat?  I’ll die soon enough, but she?  What will become of her?”  He shuddered and put his head in his hands.

She shuffled forward on her knees and put an arm around him.  Looking at Akitada, she said, “I shall not let him die.  He won’t get away so easily.”  She shook the old man a little.  “Do you hear, Fukuda?  You’re not going to leave me.”

Fukuda dropped his hands and sighed. “A long life accumulates shame.  It’s best for a man to die before he reaches forty.”

By the waiter’s count, Akitada had only another five years.  Already his guilt and shame had accumulated.  He cleared his throat.  “Allow me to leave this small token of appreciation for your service last night.  I did not have time to give it to you.”  He took another gold piece from his slash and placed it with a slight bow before Fukuda.

Fukuda blinked but did not touch it.  Tears started down his wrinkled face.  It was Harima who made Akitada a deep bow and said, “Your generosity is greatly appreciated, sir.  Fukuda and I will say special prayers to the Buddha for you and yours.  Happiness has returned to our poor hovel.”

Akitada was embarrassed.  He looked around.  “You do your place an injustice.  It’s a hermitage rather than a hovel.  A man, or woman, or both, may live contentedly here among the chickens and bees and tend a garden.  And grow these superb melons.”  He took another slice and ate it, licking juice from his fingers.

She smiled behind her hand.  “Exactly what I always tell Fukuda.  He loves his garden, and now he will have more time to work in it.”

Fukuda glanced toward the vegetable plot with a watery smile.  “We cannot live on melons, no matter how delicious.”

Akitada had an idea. “But you could grow your fine vegetables and melons to sell to the restaurants in town.  And if you had more chickens and ducks, you could sell their eggs.”

They looked at each other.  Harima clapped her hands.  “Of course.  We could do that easily.  I’m quite strong and still have good connections in town.  What about it, Fukuda?”

Fukuda looked thoughtful, then nodded.  “Perhaps.  There’s enough land to make the garden larger.  Perhaps . . .”

*

As Akitada walked back through the bamboo grove, he wondered.  Fukuda was unlike any waiter he had ever known.  The man had sounded educated.  How had these two found each other and ended up here?  Surely, there was a story in that.

But he had no time to waste on the many mysteries of Eguchi, not even on the disappearance of Sadenari.  He had to catch a boat for Naniwa.

Chapter Three

Naniwa

The harbor at Naniwa was in the Yodo River delta.  Here, Akitada saw many more ships, but the largest ones were at a distance at anchor out in the bay, leaving the wharves to smaller craft.

The boat’s master, leaving the work of docking to his men, who performed the task several times each day, came to stand beside Akitada.

“It’s silted up bad,” he said, gesturing at the river delta.  “The big ships go to Kawajiri on the Mikuni River.  A new canal takes passengers and goods to the Yodo River and up to the capital.”

Akitada saw that the bay widened into the Inland Sea.  It was midmorning, and the sun cast an almost blinding light on the expanse of water.  The distance to the horizon seemed immense.  Above, in a cloudless sky, gulls whirled with raucous cries.  It would have been hot, except for a wonderfully cooling breeze from the sea. “Is Kawajiri far from here?” he asked.

“You get there by boat within two hours, or you can rent a horse and be there even sooner.”

Akitada studied the distant ships with their huge square sails.  “And that’s where all the shipping from the Inland Sea ends up?”

“Mostly.  All the tribute ships from the western provinces and foreign ships from Korea and China.  All the tax shipments twice a year, and all other merchant ships trading in the capital.  It’s a busy town.”

Akitada turned to look at Naniwa.  It had once been an imperial capital and the main port, but centuries had passed since then.  There was little left of former splendor.  Beyond the fishing boats tied up at the quay, gray-roofed wooden buildings on stilts stretched along the waterfront. The land was flat for half a mile or so, then began to rise slightly toward green hills.  There, among the trees, he saw a few blue-tiled, curved roofs of more substantial buildings – temples, mansions, and administrative offices probably.  A straight road led from the harbor.

He took a deep breath of the air filled with smells of saltwater and fish.  The gulls swooped for fish entrails dropped overboard by fishermen who were readying their catch for market.  On his left was a building flying the flags of an official post station.  He left his and Sadenari’s bags there and took the road into the city.

It took him past the housing of the poor and open fields and eventually brought him eventually to the tree-shaded compounds of the well-to-do.  He paused at a gate with flags and signs marking it as the district prefecture.  The complex was well-maintained and included a number of large buildings, probably the jail and guards barrack.  Across the street was the Foreign Trade Office.  It was smaller in size but the compound also included several buildings.

The gatekeeper directed him to a hall that looked like a venerable building perhaps dating back to a time when Naniwa was an imperial capital.  It was now in rather poor repair with the lacquer peeling from its columns.  Akitada climbed the wide stone steps and walked through open double doors.  The building appeared to be empty.  He gave a shout, and after a moment, footsteps approached.  A pale and serious young man in a black robe approached with a deep bow.

“Welcome, sir,” he said, checking Akitada’s rank ribbon with a glance.  “His Lordship is in his office.  May I announce you?”

“Secretary Sugawara from the Ministry of Justice.I left my baggage at the post station.”

The young man looked momentarily startled, as well he might.  Ranking imperial officials did not arrive on foot and alone.  But he caught himself and bowed again. “You are expected, my Lord.  Someone will bring your things.  Please follow me.”

He showed Akitada into a large room, containing numerous boxes, crates, and piles of bundles.  The bundles were tied with ropes, and the wooden chests bound with metal and secured with enormous locks.  An amazing assortment of loose odds and ends – casks, lacquer ware, scrolls, porcelain, piles of silk fabrics, and leather goods– was piled so high and wide that, at first, he thought he was in a large and poorly organized treasure house.  He cleared his throat.  That raised a grumble from beyond the pile.

A deep voice growled, “More interruptions!  How many times do I have to tell you fools that I’m busy.  What is it this time?  Who’s there?”

“Sugawara.  From the Ministry of Justice,” Akitada snapped back, irritated by the tone.

“What?”

A clatter, an “ouch,” then quick steps.  Given the voice, a surprisingly small man shot around the corner of the pile and peered at him.  “Amida,” he said, flapping his hands apologetically.  “I thought those rascals were playing another joke on me.  You really are Sugawara.  At least, I take it that you are, because you said so.  It must be so. Unless those rascals have hired one of those good-for-nothing actors.”  He laughed nervously.  “You aren’t an actor, are you?”

It was hardly a proper reception, but Akitada was amused.  “No.  And who are you?” he asked, suppressing a smile.  This little man with the voice of a giant wore a green silk robe, somewhat stained across the chest.  His head was nearly bald except for a thin braid twisted on top and tied with a large amount of silk ribbon, perhaps to give the few gray hairs more substance.

“Nakahara, at your service.”  The short man peered more closely at Akitada’s face and said, “Hmm.  Can’t be too careful, you know.  Everybody and his dog walks in here.  So, you’re here, Sugawara, and what d’you think of the place?  Ever been to Naniwa before?  Know any of the local luminaries?  Got connections?”  He paused and moved quickly to look past Akitada.  “You’re alone? Tsk, tsk.  Should’ve brought your people.  You’ll have to do your own work then or use my people.  Well, let’s not stand here.  Come in, come in.”  Nakahara dashed back behind the pile of goods.

Akitada followed more slowly.  This did not promise well.  He had been told that Nakahara probably could be trusted, but this official seemed an oddly careless person and lacking in good sense.

On the other side of the pile of goods was a reasonably large area with Nakahara’s desk and several smaller desks.  Doors stood open to a courtyard.  Nakahara grabbed one of the new silk cushions from the pile and dropped it on the floor beside his desk.  The desk was large but barely visible underneath mounds of loose papers and open document boxes.  An abacus balanced precariously on top.

Nakahara waved at the cushion.  “Make yourself comfortable. It’s a little cluttered here, but for all that, it’s handy.  Well, mostly.  I think, I misplaced the lists of tribute goods from Chikuzen.”  He sat down and began to rummage.  The abacus slipped and would have struck his head if Akitada had not caught it.

“Oh, Morito?” a youthful male voice called from beyond the pile of goods.  A smiling young face looked around the boxes. “Dear me, you’ve got company.  Hello, there.  Morito, we’re sending out for food.  We thought Uzura’s Crabhouse would be nice.  Can we order something for you and your friend?”

Akitada’s jaw nearly dropped at this young man’s casual manner.  Nakahara seemed to see nothing wrong with it.  He smiled.  “No, thank you, Yuki.  This is Lord Sugawara.  Just arrived from the ministry in the capital.  You might tell Tameaki to find a room for him in my house.  I expect we’ll walk into town for a while.  He’ll want to have a look around.” To Akitada, he added, “You never said if you’ve been here before.”

Akitada shook his head, still speechless.

“Good,” said Nakahara, rubbing his hands briskly.  “That’s what we’ll do.  But it was very good of you to ask, Yuki, and the crab rolls at Uzura’s are very fine.  Very fine.”  He licked his lips. “ Perhaps we’ll . . . but never mind, I’ll leave it up to our guest.  So run along, Yuki.”

The youth grinned.  “Well, if you’re headed there, stay away from the sake.  Uzura spikes it with something that’ll curl your hair.  You know what happened last time.”  His chuckle turned into a peal of laughter and he vanished.

Akitada found his voice.  “Who was that?”

Nakahara looked a little shamefaced.  “Oh, that’s my senior clerk, Nariyuki.  We call him Yuki.  A very funny fellow.  Likes to tease.  You’ll like him.”  He lowered his booming voice to a whisper, “Nothing like that stiff and proper black crow Tameaki.  That one has no sense of humor or friendliness.”

Akitada took it that Tameaki was the very serious young man who had shown him in.  His opinion of Nakahara plummeted further.  He took his papers and the documents from his sleeve and passed them across.  “The Minister of the Right has asked me to deliver these letters and to assist you in any way I can.  He has signed my credentials himself, as you will see.”

Nakahara stared at the batch.  “Did he now?  You must be important, then.”  He flipped through them.  “Where is it?  Oh, never mind.  I’ll read it all later.”  He shuffled Akitada’s documents together, found a loose piece of silk cord and tied them up.  “Now, what do you say?  Shall we walk into town?”  Not waiting for an answer, he hopped up and headed past Akitada to the door.

Being accustomed to the bone-chilling formality of the court, Akitada was stunned.  Far from reading the minister’s missive after raising it reverently to his forehead, Nakahara had pushed it and the other papers under his piles of unfinished work.  And now he was off, no doubt having crab rolls and sake on his mind.  The man was not just eccentric;  he must be demented.  And what was more worrying, apparently any number of people had access to his documents.  Even pirates might learn all about the richest shipments.

With a sigh, he got up again and followed Nakahara.  Nakahara passed through the hall and out into the entrance courtyard, waving gaily to the guards and shouting that he would be gone for the rest of the afternoon.

Making things easy for spies, thought Akitada.

As they left his compound, Nakahara pointed to a building near the prefecture.  “Look, over there is the government lodging house for couriers and those on official business.  Of course, I hope you’ll be my guest while you’re here.”

The government quarters looked adequate, and Akitada could have stayed there.  There was much to be said for maintaining a neutral distance, but in this case it seemed better to meet the people around Nakahara.  He accepted the invitation.

They walked back down to the harbor.  Nakahara talked about the river and canal silting up and making shipping difficult, but the fate of the Naniwa harbor was of little interest to Akitada.  The theft of imperial goods had taken place on the high seas, not here.

Akitada put up with the chatter for a while, then interrupted. “All of this is very interesting, sir, but the attention at court is on the recent piracies on the Inland Sea.”

Nakahara stopped.  “Do please call me Morito.  Everybody does.  It’s friendlier.”

“If you wish.  I take it you’re aware of the increased pirate activity?”

“Mmm, Yes.  There has been talk.”  Nakahara avoided his eyes.  “Are you certain that there is nothing else you would like to see?  The old storehouses are this way, and we could have a look at Shitenno-ji.  Everyone who comes here visits the temple.

Akitada declined the offer and returned to the issue of piracy. “It is the Dazaifu that dispatches the cargo from Kyushu to Naniwa.  But apparently, that office has maintained the strictest secrecy.  Besides, some tribute ships from the provinces have also been lost.”

“Coincidence probably, but someone in the capital always gets worried about conspiracies.  And usually they think it must be happening here.”

Akitada suppressed a sarcastic comment.  He was puzzled.  According to his information, Nakahara was above reproach.  Why, then, was he stalling?  “Perhaps it would be best to keep the matter between ourselves for the time being.  And make sure that your documents are safe from curious eyes.”

“You think I should?”  Nakahara chewed his lower lip.  “You may be right.  The whole town seems to be in and out of my office lately.”

“What makes the court suspect this area in particular?”

“The pirates have been attacking certain shipments and only on the last leg of their journey.  They must be local.  A cargo from China was carrying medicines and Buddhist scriptures and religious treasures for the Nara temple.  The monks discovered that some of their goods had been sold to rival temples and are furious.  Then two tribute ships for high-ranking officials disappeared.  In all of the cases, official lists from the Dazaifu were sent to us weeks earlier.”  Seeing Akitada’s surprise, Nakahara explained, “When the ships dock in Kawajiri, we check the cargo against those lists before they are transferred to smaller vessels.  It cuts down on captains helping themselves to things.  I think someone may have got hold of those lists.  I must say, it’s been somewhat embarrassing.”

That was an understatement.  Either Nakahara was covering up his own activities or he was incredibly incompetent.  It occurred to Akitada, not for the first time, that someone at court had a personal interest in the matter.

Nakahara chewed his lip.  “You should talk to Watamaro.  He’s a local merchant and ship owner.  He knows all about shipping and is a very charitable man.  I shall arrange a small dinner tonight so you can meet him and one or two other important men.”  The thought of entertaining apparently reminded Nakahara of his stomach, because he stopped and pointed down a narrow street.  “Look!  Uzura’s is just a few steps from here.”

Before Akitada could answer, he heard shouting.  “Sir, sir!  Wait up.  Please.”

The disheveled figure of Sadenari ran toward them, robe and trousers flapping, one hand holding onto his hat, the other waving frantically.

He had picked the perfect moment to show up.  Akitada could hardly dress him down in front of their host.  Seething,—Sadenari’s clothes were sadly wrinkled and stained, and his eyes were bloodshot—Akitada made the introductions.  At least Sadenari managed a decent bow and a courteous greeting.

Nakahara was all smiles.  “Delighted to meet you, young man.  You’ll be right at home with my clerks.  Young fellows know how to have a good time.”  He winked at Akitada.  “Except Tameaki, perhaps.  Come, you’re just in time to join us.  Best crab rolls you ever tasted.”

The crab rolls were very good, and Sadenari refrained from discussing his night of debauchery in Eguchi.  Instead, they talked about the capital.  It was amazing to see the relief with which Nakahara dropped the piracy topic.

Akitada was sorry that he had taken Sadenari into his confidence about the assignment.  At least he had not shared the details.  While they were here, he would put Sadenari to feeling out the young clerks.  That should keep him reasonably distracted while Akitada saw the local officials.  The depredations had been of such size and profitability that it was unlikely youngsters were behind them, but they might have observed some irregularities in the office.

*

Sadenari made his humble apology later that day and in private.  They had been assigned rooms in Nakahara’s home, a comfortable residence in the compound of the foreign trade office.

His story was simple.

Unable to sleep, he had stepped outside.  Curiosity had led him to stroll back into town to look around.  That was where he had met again the young men from the boat, and they had taken him to a wine house.

“I meant to have just one cup with them,” Sadenari said miserably.  “I thought I would ask them about the poor girl.  They are very experienced and were closer to her body.”  He gave Akitada a quick glance, perhaps to remind him that he had been ordered away from the dead girl.  “They thought maybe she’d been drowned by a jealous wife or by a rival.  I said, I didn’t think so.  We argued, and they kept refilling my cup, and then, of course, it was my turn to pay for wine, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a backroom.  There were women there . . .  but they were with the others.”  This last was added in a murmur of shame.

Akitada almost felt sorry for him.  All that frustrated desire, and in the end he had drunk too much to taste the pleasure.  “Your behavior was reprehensible enough, but it seems to me you still had plenty of time to join me on the boat in the morning,” he pointed out.

Sadenari hung his head.  “I had no money left, sir, so I walked.”

Well, it had been a salutary experience, and so Akitada said no more on the subject.  “Go and take a bath and change out of those disgraceful clothes,” he said, wrinkling his nose.  “As for our assignment here, keep your eyes and ears open but don’t talk about our real purpose.”

Sadenari thanked him fervently and dashed out.  Looking after him, Akitada shook his head.