Текст книги "The Convict's Sword "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Her eyes went to Haseo’s sword at his side. “Please be careful.”

When Akitada reached the farmhouse, he saw that the area inside the stone wall was littered with a number of dead chickens. He had no time to investigate, because the live ones began to cluck noisily, and the door swung open. The man on the threshold shaded his eyes against the sun, but Akitada knew him instantly. They had met. On three separate occasions.

In the broad sunlight the resemblance was not pronounced. Matsue’s features were coarser and fleshier, the eyes colder and more calculating. Akitada saw that his right hand was no longer bandaged; the stumps of the missing fingers had scabbed over by now, but he held the hand awkwardly as if it still pained him.

Akitada approached until only the length of two swords separated them. Matsue’s expression was unwelcoming. “Yes?” he asked, frowning.

“Are you Sangoro?”

“I am.” The frown deepened. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“Not precisely, though I know who you are. In the capital you pass under the name Matsue. I’m Sugawara.”

Matsue’s eyebrows rose. “What do you want with me?”

Akitada put his hand on the sword. “During a recent raid of a robber’s den in the capital, the police found this sword in a room you used to occupy. It belongs to the Tomonari family. How did you get it?”

Matsue took a step forward and extended his left hand. “That’s mine. Hand it over!”

Akitada stood his ground. “By what right do you claim it?”

“More right than you have.” Recognition finally dawned and Matsue flushed with anger. “It’s you again.”

Akitada kept his eye on Matsue’s good left hand, but it was the other, the wounded right hand, which suddenly lashed out. The blow landed on Akitada’s temple and would have knocked him out, if it had not been injured. Still, Akitada lost his balance, stumbled, and fell to one knee. His sight darkened long enough for the sword to be snatched from its scabbard. He heard the soft hiss of the blade and scrambled to his feet and out of striking range, realizing that he had fallen for a child’s trick that was about to cost him his life.

But Matsue stepped back, the sword in his left hand and a lazy smile on his face. Akitada realized that he was trapped against the stone wall. He waited for Matsue’s attack. Akitada had hoped for death. Now he was about to have his wish.

“Don’t try to run,” Matsue drawled, strolling into striking distance. “You’d lose your head in an instant. I find I’m getting almost as good with my left hand as with my right.” He lashed out and neatly decapitated a chicken that had strayed within his reach. The headless fowl walked about drunkenly before falling on its side, twitching a couple of times, and lying still. “You see? Now what’s all this business about the sword? Why are you following me? The Tomonaris are dead and gone.”

“Except for you.”

Matsue’s eyes flickered. Akitada watched him, wondering vaguely if there was a chance he could get the sword back by keeping him talking.

Matsue looked at Haseo’s sword and smiled unpleasantly. “Nowadays I’m my mother’s son, not my father’s. It appears the Tomonari name has fallen into disrepute. Still, this sword is mine by rights. It should’ve been mine from the start. I’m the older, even if the spoiled brat got the teachers, the money, and the attention.”

Akitada began to inch along the wall. “Your mother was a peasant. At best you were a bastard.”

Matsue’s eyes flashed. He cried, “My mother came of good stock and was serving his first wife when my father took her as concubine. I was born three months before my pampered half-brother.”

Akitada shifted his position a little more. “So? Dalliance with maids is common. The resulting children have no claims unless their father legitimizes them. Tomonari did not recognize you.”

“You lie.” Matsue swept up the point of the sword until it touched Akitada’s throat. “He acknowledged me. Ask anyone around here.” He made a sweeping gesture with the sword. “He gave my mother this farm. Why else would he do that?” The sword point returned to Akitada’s throat.

So Tora had been right about the document. Akitada did not doubt that Matsue was Tomonari’s son, but a man who was so determined to protect the succession that he had forced a rebellious Haseo to accept his family duties would hardly legitimize a bastard child. Still, such casual relationships could leave deep emotional scars. Akitada would have felt some sympathy, had he not been convinced by now that Matsue was the killer. Dodging the sword point by stepping aside, he said, “If it is as you say, why did Tomonari not keep you and your mother in his household instead of sending both of you away when you started making claims on him?”

Matsue glared. “Maybe my mother didn’t want to stay. Maybe she wanted her own place. This place. But we were welcome in the great house anytime. My mother nursed my half-brother along with me and we grew up together. It was our home as much as theirs.”

“Ah. The nurse Yasura was your mother.” Ki’s secretary had mentioned that she lived close enough to walk to work every day. And if Matsue was the murderer, she had the strongest reason of all to lie. “She lied to protect you,” Akitada said. “Because it was you who killed them.”

Matsue’s face hardened. “You made a mistake hounding me,” he said softly. “What you guess won’t matter, because you won’t live to tell it. Yes, I killed them. And then I hid and I watched as my brother found their bodies. Sometimes the gods do right a wrong.”

Akitada said angrily, “You let him go to trial for something he had not done.”

Matsue laughed and raised the sword a little to caress Akitada’s jaw. “My honored brother wasn’t a bit grateful that I rid him of our father and made him Lord Tomonari. He wept like a child; he clutched his mother’s corpse; and he pulled his sword—this sword in my hand—from our father’s chest. My mother was wailing her head off until he shook her and asked her who’d done the deed. For a moment I was afraid she’d tell, but she didn’t, and that’s when I knew I was safe. All I had to do was disappear and let things take their course.”

Akitada was sickened. “Why did you kill them?”

Matsue’s face darkened. “They pushed me too far. I’d come home to ask my father for a little money to pay some debts, but he laughed at me. I reminded him that I was his son and that he’d given a hundred times as much to my half-brother. He got angry and called me names. Our shouting brought his wife and my mother. When they turned on my mother, blaming her, it was too much. I saw my precious brother’s fine new sword lying there, and I killed them both.” Matsue raised the sword into the sun and squinted along the blade. “I could never afford a fine weapon like this. Not a nick in it, and it sliced through her neck bones without a sound.” He lowered the blade and chuckled. “Can you imagine, her head stayed on. You should have seen her face. But she put her hand to her throat and it looked like she pushed it off herself. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He gave a high-pitched laugh.

He was a madman, Akitada thought, one of those demonic creatures who take pleasure in killing. He discovered, with mild surprise, that he did not want to die, especially not here, not like this. He would not wait to be cut down, perhaps after a desperate cat-and-mouse game of dodging Matsue’s blade. He would attack and get the sword back. He would almost certainly take a sword wound, perhaps be killed, but if he was quick, he would be inside Matsue’s reach before the other man could execute a fatal strike.

He gathered himself, set his eyes on the hand which grasped the sword hilt, and charged.

But Matsue did not react the way he had hoped. Instead of striking out, he sidestepped and tripped Akitada, who ended up prone. Putting a foot on Akitada’s back, Matsue placed the sword’s point just where the jawbone joins the neck and laughed.

“That was stupid,” he drawled. “Of course I can’t let you live.”

With his face pressed into fresh chicken droppings, Akitada prepared to die. Death was never pretty, but better in chicken dung and by the sword than the way poor Yori had died. Better in a fight like a man, not like a blind woman running from a maniac’s knife. He thought of Tamako and braced himself.

But Matsue did not strike. Somewhere in the distance Akitada heard the sound of a galloping horse. He twisted aside, felt Matsue’s foot slipping, and grabbed for his legs. Matsue came down on top of him and knocked the breath out of his lungs. Akitada had only one thought, to get the sword back. A violent struggle ensued, but this time it was Akitada who rose with the sword in his hand.

The rider came to a halt in a cloud of dust and squawking, fluttering chickens. The slender figure in gray straddled the horse, controlling the animal with expert ease. Hiroko was certainly no obedient female.

“Is he the murderer?” she demanded.

Wiping the dung off his face, Akitada thought she looked as magnificent as those ancient warrior goddesses who rode and fought like men. “Yes,” he said wearily.

Matsue got up and stared at the fierce woman on the horse.

She looked back at him and her face contorted into a mask of fury. “Then what are you waiting for?” she cried. “You’ve got the sword back. Use it.”

Matsue exploded into action and flung himself at Akitada with a howl. Again they struggled for the sword, again the chickens scattered and cackled. Hiroko shouted. The horse snorted and danced just feet away. Matsue was desperate, but this time Akitada hung on to the sword and managed to free his arm. He started to back off, when Matsue delivered a vicious kick to his stomach that sent him staggering backward to the ground.

Hiroko screamed shrilly, and Akitada scrambled to his feet.

The horse burst past him, tossing him aside, its hooves barely missing him. He heard a shout, the sound of a thudding impact, and a howl of pain. Matsue was down. He lay moaning and twitching, as Hiroko spun the horse around in a spray of gravel and rode over him a second time. This time, Matsue lay still.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

KOBE

Matsue was motionless, but he was alive. Blood trickled from a head wound, and he had a broken leg and probably other injuries.

“Is he dead?” Hiroko slipped from Akitada’s horse and came to look. “No? I meant to kill him.”

“Why?”

“I’ve dreamed for years of murdering the man who destroyed us.” She handed Akitada the reins. “I’ll take the other horse and go on by myself.”

Akitada was aware of a sense of shame. Twice he had let Matsue get the upper hand and once he had been disarmed. And Hiroko had watched the whole ignominious affair. “No,” he said without looking at her. “I’m coming with you. You may run into your husband or his people.”

She said nothing and walked to the shed to get Matsue’s horse. Akitada looked after her, trying to think how to thank her for coming to his rescue. When she rejoined him, he said awkwardly, “You probably saved my life.”

“It was nothing. I’m only sorry he still lives.”

Her manner rankled. “Matsue must live to confess to his crime in court. Help me get him inside. He’s not going anywhere with that broken leg, and I’ll get back as quickly as I can.”

They had dragged the large Matsue almost to the threshold, when a small, bandy-legged peasant arrived and watched them in astonishment. He pointed at the unconscious Matsue. “What happened to my cousin?”

Akitada straightened up, wondering if this was a new complication. “An accident,” he said. “You must be the one who manages his property.”

The man thought the question over carefully, then nodded. “I work here.” He thought some more, letting his eyes move over them. “What kind of accident?”

“His horse threw him.”

The peasant looked at the horse and at the dead chickens and spat. “Horses aren’t for peasants. I told him so, but he got angry and hit me.” Shaking his head, he helped Akitada carry Matsue inside the house, where they dropped him on the floor.

Apparently the cousin had little love for Matsue and was not particularly bright. Akitada said, “He has a broken leg and got a knock on the head, so he may be babbling nonsense when he wakes up. Don’t pay any attention. Just put a splint on his leg, keep him still, and give him a bit of water now and then. We’ll borrow his horse for a little, but I shall bring it back by tonight.”

Matsue’s cousin nodded, and Akitada went back outside, where he helped Hiroko to mount and swung himself in the saddle.

They were both lost in unpleasant thoughts. Akitada ruminated about his pathetic performance with Matsue and assumed she did the same. No doubt she thought him completely inept. More to break the long, awkward silence than out of curiosity, he asked, “Where did you learn to ride like that?”

“Haseo taught all of us. It’s the warrior’s way.”

After another silence, Akitada said, “I should not have let so much time pass before righting this wrong.”

“It was good of you to think of us at all.”

He gave up. She had become indifferent, possibly even hostile. It served him right for desiring what could not be his. For a while they rode in silence through a land of green rice paddies, while he mulled over his long list of poor judgments and the human losses his inadequacy had caused. And always, in the back of his mind, the heaviest guilt of all. But that wound to his conscience was much too deep to dwell on, and he resolutely bent his mind to his purpose.

Breaking the second, longer silence, he asked, “Can you tell me anything that might help me find Tomoe’s children? I take it they are not with family or friends?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. What must be going through their minds now that their mother does not visit anymore.”

He did not mince his words. “They may be homeless. Or worse. The money their mother earned was for them. She lived on millet and water.” Hiroko turned a stricken face to him. He knew he burdened her with guilt also, but hiding the facts had brought nothing but tragedy to all of them. “I think they’re in someone’s care, and if that person depends on payment, he or she might be tempted to sell the children. Did she visit them often?”

“Dear heaven. I didn’t know. Yes. Every few weeks, I think. She would spend a day with them. She told me about Nobunari’s studies, and Nobuko’s pretty singing voice.”

“She was blind. How did she make the journey? Did someone take her?”

“No. She trusted no one, but she could make out shapes and managed to walk familiar streets.”

Akitada frowned. “She could have been followed without knowing it.”

Hiroko suddenly looked frightened. “Do you think Yasugi is behind this?”

“I don’t know who killed her. At the moment I’m worried about the children. You say the boy was being taught by someone. Did she mention a school or a tutor?”

“No. I should have asked. It seems now that I was always talking about my own troubles.” She hung her head.

A common failing, he thought, and more guilt to spread around.

But at least Hiroko was reunited with her daughter without further incident. When they reached the farm, the little girl was sitting under a tree.

“Suriko,” called Lady Yasugi. The little girl jumped up, shaded her eyes against the sun, and then ran toward them. Two women came from the house. Akitada looked for the men, but apparently they were working the fields.

Hiroko slid from the saddle to scoop up the little girl, and Akitada’s heart contracted. Just so he used to catch Yori into his arms. He would never again feel his son’s arms around his neck. A child—boy or girl, it mattered not—was a gift from the gods.

Holding her daughter, Lady Yasugi lifted a face shining with joy. When she saw his expression, she sobered. “Thank you,” she said. “I shall never forget this.”

He nodded, then turned to speak to the women who had come to join them. It was surprisingly easy to tell them that Lady Yasugi had come to take her daughter with her for a short visit. They smiled and bowed, and in minutes the little girl and her bundle were on Hiroko’s horse with her, and they galloped off.

The small temple where they proposed to seek refuge looked safe enough, but Akitada disliked leaving them. When they parted, he took some gold from his saddlebags and handed it to her. She refused.

“Don’t be silly,” he said harshly. “You’ll be expected to make some sort of donation and you need the goodwill of the nuns. Pay me back later.”

She accepted then, and he swung himself into the saddle. To his surprise, she came close and put her hand on his. Looking up at him, she said, “Don’t forget your wife, Akitada. Go back to her. Go now.”

Akitada took her words for a final rejection and was seized by such desolation that he could not speak. Wherever he looked in his life, he saw only failure and loss. Yes, he would go home to Tamako, though he knew what he would find. There was such a distance between them, so great a separation of mind and body, that nothing could bridge it. Only his sense of duty made him face it, for the alternative—to divorce his wife—filled him with more shame than he could bear. And this extraordinary woman, this woman who had rushed to save him from Matsue with the skill and courage of a warrior, seemed more beautiful and desirable to him than ever before, and that also filled him with shame. Without another word, he turned his horse and left her.

He found Matsue-Sangoro conscious and cursing. Apparently his demands that his cousin send for Lord Yasugi had been ignored. Akitada warmed to the foolish relative and, after checking the splint on the broken leg, he secured his prisoner and bedded down nearby for a restless night.

At the first sign of dawn he had the cousin help him tie Matsue onto his horse. The man showed no interest in their destination and asked no questions. The process of tying Matsue’s wrists and legs was painful to him; Matsue gnashed his teeth, cursed them both, and glowered at Akitada from blood-shot eyes. Akitada, whose belly still ached from Matsue’s kick, ignored him. When he gave the cousin some silver for his trouble, Matsue spat at both of them. Akitada picked up a piece of the rope they had used and lashed Matsue across the face with it. The cousin grinned foolishly.

Mistreating a bound and wounded man was cowardly, but Matsue’s actions, past and present, filled Akitada with such rage that the man was lucky he was still alive. Since Yori’s death, something seemed to have hardened at his core. He had no empathy left. During the journey, he ignored his prisoner’s complaints about a swollen wrist, as well as his curses. They stopped only once to water the horses and to allow Matsue to relieve himself.

At midday they reached the capital. Smoke still hung thickly over Toribeno, but both markets were open, and people had crept from their houses to buy food. There was an air of new hope in the city.

Akitada took Matsue to police headquarters and turned him over to an officer. Then he went to Kobe, who looked drawn and tired but was willing to listen in spite of their recent quarrel. Kobe even offered wine, which Akitada accepted gladly. It had been a long journey, and he had eaten nothing since the previous day.

Kobe watched him and nodded. “Good. You’re starting to get some color back.” He refilled the cup. “What in the name of Amida happened?”

“I brought in the man who killed Tomonari Nobutoshi and his wife. The crime happened five years ago in the Tsuzuki District. Tomonari’s son Haseo was found guilty and exiled to Sadoshima.”

Kobe sat up. His eyes sharpened with interest. “I remember the case. The son was supposed to have slaughtered his aged parents in front of his old nurse. The nurse’s testimony was damning.”

Akitada downed another cup of wine and held it out for a refill. If he kept this up, he might become sufficiently numb to face his wife. “The nurse was the real killer’s mother,” he said. “She blamed the murder on Haseo to save her son. Apparently this Sangoro was Haseo’s half-brother.”

Kobe snorted. “They certainly kept their quarrels in the family. Do I take it that the nurse has confessed now?”

“No, she’s dead. Sangoro has confessed.”

“Ah. But will he repeat his confession in court?”

“Probably. If he does not, Lady Yasugi will testify against him and against her husband.”

Kobe’s eyes widened. “Yasugi is involved?”

“I believe he stirred up the trouble between the father and both sons. He may have suggested the murder to Sangoro, but in any case he took advantage of the situation afterward. Apparently he manipulated witnesses, especially the nurse, to testify against Haseo. Yasugi lusted after Haseo’s wife and the leases on the Tomonari Estate.”

Kobe murmured, “Hmm.” Then he shook his head. “I don’t give you much hope there.” Seeing Akitada’s anger flare up, he said quickly, “Oh, I believe you, but Yasugi is beyond the law in this instance. It will be the word of others against his, and Yasugi will certainly prevail. You can, of course, cause him some unpleasantness, but on the whole I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Akitada said hotly, “Not even if we can prove that he killed one of the Tomonari children? Not even if we link him to Tomoe’s murder?”

Kobe stared. “You can link him to the murder of the blind street singer?”

“Lady Yasugi and Tomoe were both married to Haseo. At the moment Tomoe’s children have disappeared. The boy is the heir.”

Kobe thought about it for a few moments. Then he poured himself and his guest more wine. They drank. “You have proof ?” he finally asked in a weak voice.

“No. I’ve pieced a plot together. I was hoping that you could get Matsue to implicate Yasugi. Matsue has a broken leg. Surely that will help during the interrogation.”

Kobe shook his head in wonder. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind. You want me to torture a confession out of this Matsue and also have him testify against Yasugi?”

“I know they’re both guilty,” Akitada said stubbornly. “As for the torture, they’ve done worse than that to innocent people. Let them find out what it feels like.” Akitada gulped down another cup of wine—he was not sure if it was his fourth or fifth—and decided it was time to go home. He stood up and immediately lost his balance. “I’ve got to go,” he said, slurring his words a little. “My wife’s home alone. Mourning our son.”

Kobe stood also and came around the desk. “Your son died? So that’s what’s wrong.”

Akitada nodded. To his shame, his eyes filled with tears. “S-smallpox,” he muttered and lurched from the room.

He was not sure how he got home. He let his horse find the way. Kobe’s wine had raised a thick haze between himself and his surroundings, but in his heart he was terrified of walking into a house which no longer held his son.

Genba opened the gate and shouted the news across the courtyard. Tora and Seimei came running. Akitada let himself slide from the saddle and stood unsteadily, peering at each in turn. Their faces and voices were filled with pity. He muttered, “Thank you. Is all well?”

He meant Tamako, but Tora answered, “All are well except Kinjiro.”

He had to think for a moment before he remembered the scrawny boy Tora had brought. “Kinjiro?”

“Smallpox. Just like Yori. He survived, thank the Buddha, but just barely.”

Struck by this news, Akitada looked toward the house. “Tamako’s taking care of him?”

“No,” said Seimei. “The boy left before we knew. Tora searched for him and found him days later in the hospital. He said he didn’t want to cause more trouble.”

Wine was supposed to desensitize a man, but when Akitada thought of the half-starved street urchin dragging his feverish body to a public hospital rather than add to the turmoil in the Sugawara household, he started to weep. His three retainers waited helplessly.

“See that he has what he needs and bring him back as soon as he’s better,” Akitada said thickly. Handing his reins to Genba, he rinsed his hands and face at the well and then went in to greet his wife.

Seimei helped him off with his boots and traveling clothes. Dressed in an old house robe, Akitada went to Tamako’s door and announced himself. For a moment there was silence, then he heard the rustling of her clothes, and she slid the door back.

They looked at each other. Tamako was pale but composed.

“I’m back,” he said unnecessarily.

She nodded and stepped aside to let him in. “I’m happy to welcome you home, my lord.” She spoke tonelessly, making him a formal bow.

After six years of marriage and the loss of a child, she should have shown some emotion, he thought, but too much had happened between them. Not knowing what words might be appropriate, he finally said, “I went to Tsuzuki . . . to arrest the killer of Haseo’s parents.”

“I see.” She invited him to sit and sat down herself. Her room was in semidarkness, the shutters to the outside closed. “Shall I send for some tea or food?” she asked.

Such propriety. He shook his head. “No. Kobe has filled me with wine. How are you?”

“Well.” She paused. “And you?”

He nodded. “They tell me Kinjiro is in the hospital.”

She made an apologetic gesture. “I didn’t know he was ill until he was gone, but he is better. Not everyone dies, it seems.”

Unspoken, her reproach for Yori’s death rose between them and sent an icy shiver through his body. He shied away from the subject and began an account of his trip. Her eyes went to his face when he spoke of Hiroko, but she did not interrupt. When he was finished, she said only, “How terrible! Poor women. I’m glad you could help Lady Yasugi.”

“I still have to find Tomoe’s children.” He got to his feet and bowed. “Thank you for taking care of things in my absence.”

She rose also and bowed back. “It was my duty. I’m sorry I did not perform it better.”

“Not at all. You do everything very well.”

But he knew that her efficiency as the mistress of his household mattered little when they no longer shared each other’s lives.

Seimei had food and tea waiting for him in his room, and Tora was waiting also.

“What happened to Mr. Chikamatsu?” Akitada asked.

Tora gave a snort. “He’s back home, supervising the building of a higher wall between him and his nosy neighbor. And he wants Kinjiro to come live with him when he gets better.”

Akitada nodded and, finding that he was very hungry after all, ate and drank while he filled them in on what had happened in Tsuzuki. When he was done, Tora said, “So she did it for her children. And you think Yasugi was behind all of it, don’t you? You think he’s going to kill Tomoe’s children too.”

Akitada hesitated. He hated Yasugi, wanted to believe the worst of him, but he really had no proof. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Perhaps.”

“Tomoe was afraid of him,” persisted Tora, “and Yasugi’s own wife thinks he had her son killed. I’m going to find those children.” He got to his feet.

Seimei murmured, “A hasty hand bungles.”

Akitada was nearly sober, but his head had started to ache. He should have been exhausted, but the same nervous energy that had pushed him since Yori’s death was still with him. He frowned at the tangle of problems and wished he had not drunk so much of Kobe’s wine. “We have no proof that Yasugi is killing Haseo’s sons to prevent future claims on the estate,” he said, “but there are other reasons for finding the children quickly. The trouble is, unless we know where to look, it could take weeks. Tomoe was too protective to mention their whereabouts to anyone. She trusted no one.” He rubbed his temples and thought about it. “We know that she paid for their keep and went to visit them regularly. The boy, who is the heir, was probably getting some sort of schooling. It isn’t much, but it’s suggestive. I think the children are staying with a peasant family just outside the city. It won’t be far because she walked there. If her son receives instruction, it may be near a temple or district school. She certainly did not earn enough money for a private tutor.”

Tora said eagerly, “I’ll scour the countryside around the capital.”

“A blind woman would stay on well-traveled roads in case she got lost. I think you must look south of the city,” Akitada said. “I wonder if her parents owned property there. She would choose a place she knew from her childhood.” He stood up abruptly. “Seimei, my good robe and hat. We’re going to see Kunyoshi again, and then I’ll report at the ministry.”

Kunyoshi was well and seemed to have grown even more efficient. The disease had spared the old and struck the young. When Akitada asked his question, he plunged eagerly into his dusty documents and reported that the Atsumis owned two farms. One was too far away, but the other lay just south of the capital and near a minor temple.

“That must be it,” said Akitada with a sigh of satisfaction.

Tora said, “I can be there in less than an hour. Are you sure she wouldn’t have gone farther away?”

“Remember, she was blind. Go home and saddle a horse. No, two. The boy is twelve and will have learned to ride. Get the children and put them in my wife’s care. She will know what to do.”

With Tora dispatched, Akitada walked to the ministry. To his amazement, all seemed business as usual. The anteroom held a modest number of petitioners, and Sakae bustled about with papers under his arm. When he saw Akitada, his complacent manner gave way to dismay. “Oh, you’re back,” he cried.

Akitada raised his brows at this rudeness. “I trust you and Nakatoshi have managed in my absence?”

Sakae averted his eyes. “Yes . . . er . . . perhaps you should report to His Excellency. The, er, provisional minister.” He nodded toward Soga’s office.

“The provisional . . . someone has been appointed already?” Such efficiency during a state of emergency was nothing short of stunning. Akitada was still staring at Sakae, his mind in turmoil, when the door opened and the cheerful face of a short and chubby individual peered out.

“Hah! Thought I recognized your voice, Akitada,” he cried warmly. “Come in, come in.”

Akitada barely managed to hide his astonishment. In a reasonably steady voice he said, “Kosehira. What a very pleasant surprise!”

Fujiwara Kosehira embraced him, then pulled him into the office and closed the door on Sakae’s avid interest. He immediately became serious. “My poor fellow! I heard the news about your little son. I am so sorry for you. You look terrible and shouldn’t have hurried back to work so soon.”