Текст книги "Black Arrow "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

TWELVE

THE TWISTED WAYS

OF LOVE

T

he early morning gathering in Akitada’s icy private office was subdued. Day was breaking outside, but the shutters were closed against the cold and a candle flickered in the drafts. Akitada himself sat white-faced with fatigue, his shoulders hunched against the chill, his shaking hands tucked into his wide sleeves. Tora had been nodding off and jerking himself awake earlier but was staring at Hitomaro now, who had just finished his report and was waiting with the rigid face of a man expecting a reprimand.

When Akitada said nothing, Tora could not restrain himself. “You mean you let that bastard walk away from a cold-blooded murder? Committed in broad daylight in front of a large crowd? By the same man who sent his thugs after you once before? I can’t believe you’d be afraid to teach him a lesson when you caught him in the act!”

Hitomaro, who was seated stiffly next to him, compressed his lips but did not take his eyes from Akitada’s tired face. “If I have acted improperly, sir,” he said, “I offer my resignation.”

Outside the wind splattered wet sleet against the shutters like fistfuls of small pebbles.

Akitada shivered again and blinked. “No, no. Pay no attention to Tora. He is half asleep with exhaustion. You did quite right. A confrontation would have availed nothing and innocent people would have been hurt. Sunada is not going to abscond.” He gestured toward some documents on the desk. “I’ll have a look at the depositions later.” He sighed. “At the moment we have a more urgent problem. The Uesugi servant’s grandson has disappeared. Tora and I spent the night turning Takata manor and the surrounding country upside down.” In a weary voice he told Hitomaro of their investigation.

Hitomaro relaxed a little. “The boy must be dead or you would have picked up some trail.”

Akitada clenched a hand. “I refuse to believe that. It’s what they want us to think. Sooner or later there will be a clue.”

“In that case,” grumbled Tora, “I wish you’d gone home when the doctor did, instead of wasting a whole night searching that accursed foxes’ den.”

Hitomaro frowned his disapproval of such insolence, but Akitada said quite calmly, “It served its purpose. After we talked to everyone and searched everywhere, neither Uesugi nor his steward will dare punish the maid for reporting the disappearance. And it may have gained us some goodwill from the servants. They seemed genuinely fond of Toneo.”

“Well,” muttered Tora after a huge yawn, “I don’t care what you two do next. I’m going to bed. Send for me later if you have any orders.” He got up and stretched, yawning again.

“Tora!” hissed Hitomaro.

“Sit down, Tora. Hitomaro is not finished.” Akitada’s voice was flat with exhaustion. “Go ahead, Hitomaro. You met Genba later, after you had taken the depositions?”

“Yes, sir. Genba stayed in the crowd to watch and listen.” Hitomaro smiled a little. “If there had been a confrontation, Sunada’s thugs would’ve had their second surprise. You would not recognize Genba. He’s huge and can toss a grown man farther than I can jump. He will win that match, I’m sure of it. After he saw that I was letting Sunada and his goons go, Genba went to Flying Goose village. The fisherman Rikio”—Hitomaro tapped the depositions on the desk—”is one of Sunada’s men. He got in debt and Sunada helped him out. Now he’s working off the debt in Sunada’s warehouses when he’s not fishing. A lot of fishermen are in the same ... er ... boat.”

Nobody chuckled. Akitada was rummaging among the papers on his desk. “Yes, I thought so,” he muttered, shivering. “No doubt the sake merchant is equally obligated to Sunada. Where is Seimei? Is there any hot tea? Wine will put me to sleep and there is too much work to be done.”

Hitomaro rose to call for Seimei. The old man arrived quickly, bowing to Akitada, and placing the tea utensils on the desk. Coughing, he muttered something about hot water and left again.

“I wish there were even the smallest sign of support for imperial authority,” Akitada said peevishly. “I dislike the idea of serving as high constable, although there is both precedent and cause for it. If I could count on just a small faction to oppose Uesugi, I would gladly forgo that dubious honor.”

Seimei reappeared with a steaming pot and prepared the tea.

“Well, there’s the doctor,” Tora offered.

Akitada said, “Yes. Thank you for reminding me, Tora. Oyoshi is a good man and a loyal friend, I think.”

Seimei poured water and offered Akitada a steaming cup. “Friendship is a rare jewel,” he said, suppressing another cough. “It may take more than a year to make a friend, but only a moment to offend him. Remember that, Tora.”

“Thank you, Seimei.” Akitada drank, then warmed his stiff fingers on the cup. “Tell me about the victim, Hito.”

“His name is Koichi. He was a porter when he could get work, but he had a bad reputation and several convictions for theft and robbery.”

Akitada clapped his hands and shouted, “Hamaya!” When the senior clerk bustled in and knelt, he asked, “Do you remember a defendant by the name of Koichi?”

“Koichi the porter? Oh, yes. Theft, robbery, intimidation, assault, and rape. A familiar face in the courtroom and a man who does not seem to feel the pain of the bamboo. A hardened case, sir. Is he in trouble again?”

“He is the murdered man brought in yesterday. I suppose Sunada will claim to have performed a civic duty.”

Hamaya looked astonished. “Koichi is the man Mr. Sunada killed? That is strange!”

“How so?”

“Mr. Sunada employed Koichi after his last jail term. I thought it most generous because Koichi’s reputation is well known. And now he attacked his benefactor!” Hamaya shook his head in amazement.

“Thank you, Hamaya.”

When the clerk had left, Akitada remarked sourly, “The reports of Sunada’s good deeds multiply like flies on a dead rat.”

Seimei, on his way out, paused at the door. “This Sunada sounds very suspicious to me. Best watch out for him. He is the kind they call a devil chanting prayers.” He coughed again and left.

Silence fell. Akitada hunched more deeply into his robe and stared into space. Tora snored, began to topple sideways, and came awake. “Wha ... ?”

“Tora,” said Akitada, “go get some sleep. We’re done for now.”

Tora nodded groggily and staggered from the room.

“Sir, I am unworthy of your great trust,” Hitomaro said, as soon as they were alone. He shifted to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor. “I have let a personal matter interfere with my duty.”

Akitada smiled a little. “Do not look so worried. I have no doubt that you will rectify whatever troubles you.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall try harder in the future.” Hitomaro paused, then said, “What Seimei said about friendship, sir? I shall not forget it again.”

“He meant it for Tora,” Akitada said, surprised.

“I know, sir. But I almost hit Genba yesterday, and he was very kind ...” Hitomaro broke off, overcome with the memory of his friend’s generosity.

Akitada got up and touched his shoulder. “Never mind, Hito. These are difficult times for all of us.” He sighed deeply. “That little boy asked my help. I cannot forget his eyes.”

Hitomaro stood. “What can I do to help, sir?”

Akitada pulled his earlobe and frowned. “I wish I knew. There is Judge Hisamatsu. I am not sure he is mad—he struck me more as a fool—but what you told me about his association with Chobei is very strange. He is close to Uesugi and his home is on the road to Takata. You might see if you can find out anything.”

Hitomaro nodded.

“But first there is the matter of the fishmonger and his missing brother. It is time that case was settled. Arrest the fishmonger, and ask Captain Takesuke for more information about the brother.”

♦

Hitomaro glanced at the sky. The clouds were as low and thick as ever, and gusts of wind drove painfully sharp grains of sleet into his face and the backs of his hands. His armor was covered with a straw rain cape, and instead of a helmet he wore a straw hat which the wind would have torn off if he had not tied it on firmly. As it was, icy blasts pulled at the bow and quiver he had slung over his shoulder and blew wisps of straw into his eyes.

Back at the tribunal, Tora would be snoring in his warm quilts, and their master, no doubt, had also retired. Hitomaro did not begrudge them the rest after their night scouring Takata for the boy, but he, too, had lost sleep, though far more pleasantly. In fact, lost sleep had been a matter of both joy and shame to him for many days now.

He intended to do penance by working harder.

The garrison gates stood wide open in a welcoming manner. Hitomaro looked for guards and, finding them inexplicably absent, walked in.

Inside the palisades, among the wooden barracks and on the exercise fields, was more evidence of relaxed discipline, if that was the word for it. Garbage was stacked in corners, the courtyard was littered with horse droppings and dirty piles of snow, and the garrison flags, slapping wetly against their poles, were tattered and torn.

Hitomaro located the administrative building and entered. In the large hall, groups of soldiers were gathered about braziers, throwing dice, drinking, talking, or sleeping. After a casual glance at his bow and the sword protruding from under the straw cape, they paid no further attention to him, and Hitomaro walked past them to a corner that was screened off by makeshift stands covered with reed mats.

He had guessed that this must be the commander’s office. Pushing aside one of the screens, he found Captain Takesuke engaged in mutual fondling with a round-faced boy recruit. The youngster wore only a light robe and a loincloth, but the cold did not seem to bother him; he was flushed with wine or desire, and slow to disengage when both became aware of Hitomaro.

“What do you want?” snapped Takesuke. “Who sent you in here?”

Hitomaro suppressed his disapproval, snapped to attention, and saluted. “Sorry, sir. There was nobody at the gate, and the men outside seemed occupied. Lieutenant Hitomaro from the tribunal, on orders of the governor.”

Takesuke pushed the half-naked youth away. “Well, Lieutenant,” he growled, “what is it that you want?”

Hitomaro avoided eye contact and instead kept his gaze just above the captain’s right shoulder. “You are missing a soldier by the name of Ogai, and we have a mutilated body at the tribunal. Goto, a local fishmonger, has identified it as that of his brother Ogai. This Goto has laid murder charges against a neighbor, but we have reason to believe that Goto lied about the body. His Excellency has sent me for Ogai’s military documents.”

“Ogai? That lazy bastard?” Takesuke glowered. “You mean he’s not dead after all? By the Buddha, he’ll wish he were when I get my hands on him. Absent without leave again! He’s deserted, that’s what he’s done. And that sly weasel of a brother has made up the story to save his own skin.” He slapped his hands on his knees. “If only there were some action. That would keep the men out of trouble. Don’t you worry, Lieutenant. We’ll take care of the matter for his Excellency.”

“May I ask, sir, why Goto would tell such a lie?”

Takesuke stared. “Are you joking?”

Hitomaro shook his head. “Of course not, sir. I am puzzled why a man would lay a false murder charge against another man. That’s an offense punishable with a hundred lashes.”

Takesuke laughed. “What’s a hundred lashes to a man who’s about to lose his property? Goto stands surety for his brother. If Ogai deserts, his brother is a beggar.”

“Ah,” nodded Hitomaro. “Thank you, sir, and forgive the interruption.”

The prospect of punishing both Ogai and his brother made Takesuke jovial. “Not at all, Lieutenant.” He smiled. “Give my humble regards to the governor. He’ll have his report this very afternoon.”

From the garrison, Hitomaro walked to Goto’s shop. It was empty of customers, and the fishmonger was leaning on his slimy counter, swatting at flies. Several large wooden tubs held fish—bonito and bream, tuna and eels packed in melting blood-flecked snow or swimming in filthy water. Fat flies crawled everywhere. Only the grossest stench from fish offal would attract flies in this cold, Hitomaro thought, and held his breath.

Goto recognized him and straightened up. “Lieutenant!” He bowed several times. “An honor. You bring me news about my poor brother’s murder?”

“No. I’m here to arrest you for lying to the governor and accusing an innocent person of a capital offense.”

Goto’s jaw dropped. He tried a sickly smile. “You’re joking. Ha, ha, ha. Soldiers will have their fun. My poor brother was just such a one.”

Hitomaro slowly unwound a thin chain from his waist. “Put your arms behind your back!”

Goto backed away. His eyes measured the distance to the door, but Hitomaro’s bulk blocked the way. “I didn’t lie,” he cried. “I could’ve made a mistake. The worry about my missing brother ... we were like two beans in one pod. I was expecting the worst. You know how it is, Lieutenant.”

“I know nothing.” Hitomaro stretched the chain experimentally between his fists. “Turn around.”

“If it was not my brother, what a relief! What good news! You must allow me to invite you to a celebration. Wine and dinner. In the best restaurant. Yes, and bring your friends. I am very grateful.” Goto laughed too loudly.

Hitomaro sighed. Transferring the chain to his left hand, he stepped forward and gave the fishmonger’s shoulder a quick jab, wrapped his other arm around the man’s neck, and squeezed. Goto went limp. Hitomaro let him fall and rolled the inert body over to tie the man’s wrists behind his back. Then he filled a bucket with icy water from the fish tub and poured it over Goto’s head. Goto jerked up, coughing and spitting, small fish flapping in his shirt and sliding off his hair.

“Get up and march!” ordered Hitomaro, pointing him in the right direction with a kick to his posterior. Amid grins from neighbors and jeers from small boys, they walked to the tribunal, where one of the constables locked the half-frozen fishmonger into a cell.

This done, Hitomaro stopped by the main hall, fully expecting to be told by Hamaya that his Excellency was still sleeping. But Akitada was in the archives, bent over a map of the district. He was making notes on a slip of paper.

“Yes, what is it, Hitomaro?” he asked absently.

“Goto’s in jail. Captain Takesuke told me that he stood surety for his brother Ogai.”

Akitada straightened up. “Good work! That does explain his persistence in the face of the obvious age difference of the corpse.”

“Surely it solves the murder, too, sir? He must have killed a vagrant to save his brother’s skin and his own property. And he probably shaved the victim’s head to make his identification more convincing.”

“But why write the note? And I doubt he can write in any case. No, I believe Goto only took advantage of the incident at our gate.”

Hitomaro’s face fell.

“You did very well,” Akitada said consolingly. “What did you think of the garrison?”

“Very lax discipline, sir. No guards at the gate, soldiers gambling and drinking, and I walked in on the commandant making love to one of his men in the middle of the day.”

“I would not put too much importance on Takesuke’s sexual preferences,” Akitada said. “Such things are common amongst warriors. Garrison life breeds familiarity. But if Takesuke supports Uesugi, the lack of discipline may be good news for us.”

Hitomaro nodded. “I thought I’d talk to the judge next. Undercover.”

Akitada raised his brows. “I thought you had met.”

“It was pretty dark and I don’t think he bothered to look at me. Chobei, of course, could be a problem.”

“Well, good luck. Be careful what you say to him. We don’t want to alarm our enemy yet.”

Hitomaro returned to his quarters to change. He put on a plain dark blue gown of the type any scribe or student might wear and tucked a small black cap in his sleeve. After a moment’s thought, he removed a small package from a spare pair of boots and placed it in the other sleeve. Then he put on his straw cape, hat, and boots again, and went to saddle his horse.

♦

By the time he approached the thatched gate of the judge’s country house, the weather had turned bitterly cold. The sleeting had stopped, but now a sharp wind pushed the gray clouds across the sky at great speed, tossing the bare branches of the willows beside Hisamatsu’s villa and cutting like ice needles through Hitomaro’s light clothes. He knocked at the gate with his fist.

It creaked open slowly. An old man peered out, grumbling irritably when he saw the horseman.

“Is your master at home?” Hitomaro asked.

“The maids are out, the boy’s out, the groom and Mr. Chobei are visiting West village, but me and the master are in.”

It could not be better. Hitomaro smiled at the grumpy servant, who opened the gate fractionally wider. Hitomaro rode into a dirt courtyard. The villa, a one-story house thatched in a rustic manner, had five or six outbuildings and storehouses. The old servant led the way to the main house where Hitomaro dismounted and tied his horse to a post. In the entryway, he shed his wet straw cape and boots and put on his black cap.

“Tell your master,’’ he said, “that I’m a student and have come from afar to make the judge’s acquaintance.”

The old man grunted and took him to a spacious room. It was dark because the shutters had been closed against the weather, but he lit a few rush lights, which provided meager illumination. Shelves filled with books and papers sprang into being, but the light was too feeble to reach them. Hitomaro was about to take a closer look when a door squeaked behind him. He swung around and found himself facing the judge.

“I am Hisamatsu,” the judge announced in a nasal voice, enunciating every syllable carefully. He blinked at his guest. “Who are you?”

Hitomaro bowed deeply and said, “It is a great pleasure to meet your Honor at long last. The fame of your accomplishments has reached far, and since I am visiting this province, I stopped to pay my respects and perhaps benefit from your wisdom. My name is Hitomaro.”

The judge came a little closer and peered at him nearsightedly. “Family name?” he demanded.

“Saga, your Honor. From Izumi province.”

“Really? A fine family.” Hisamatsu thawed. His round face broke into a smile. “You have come to congratulate me, no doubt. Please sit down!”

Hitomaro obeyed.

The judge lowered his stout figure with a grimace, clapped his hands for the servant, and ordered wine and food. The old man glared at him, then shuffled out, muttering under his breath.

“Forgive these rustic manners and surroundings,” Hisamatsu said, frowning after the servant. “I have not yet moved into my official residence.”

Hitomaro looked around. “You are too modest. Surely this is a charming and delightful retreat for a scholar.”

“Scholar?” His host glanced at the room vaguely. “Oh. You refer to my former work. I retired recently from a position as district judge. No time for that sort of thing now. As adviser to the Lord of Takata I can hardly worry about local crime. No, no.”

“Advisor to the Lord of Takata? Surely your talents lie in the legal field, your Honor.”

Hisamatsu pursed thin lips. “Young man, you cannot possibly know all my talents, as you call them. As a judge I am perfectly trained to formulate and administer laws, and for someone with vision there are no limits in government. The Lord of Takata is expanding his territories into Dewa province. In fact, the establishment of a northern empire is not out of the question. His Lordship relies on me for advice on the most confidential matters of state. Keep this to yourself, but I expect official appointment soon and will then take over the local administration.” Fixing Hitomaro with a sudden suspicious stare, he asked, “Is this not what brought you here in the first place? News of our august leader has surely spread to Izumi province.”

This sounded so patently mad it took Hitomaro’s breath away. The girl in the market had been right. He put on an apologetic expression and bowed deeply. “Forgive me, Excellency,” he stammered. “We have indeed heard rumors. I should have offered my humble felicitations right away but thought it wiser not to speak of it. Besides, I have always aspired to be a great judge like you and could not help thinking that your elevation must be a great loss to jurisprudence. Your children must be very proud of their father.”

“I have no children. Cannot abide them.” Hisamatsu was appeased by the flattery. “So you wish to be a judge? Let me tell you, there’s no advantage in it. Any upstart court official can order you about.” He nodded for emphasis. “But true genius rises above the common run of things. I’m afraid my own nature is quite different from yours.”

Hitomaro sincerely hoped so. “I could never compare myself to a great mind like yours,” he said. “Indeed, I feel that I am in the presence of an intellect like that of... of Master Confucius. In your presence I am ashamed of my lack of education. I managed to qualify for the imperial university in the capital, but family matters prevented my going. Now the best I can hope for is to become a tutor to merchants’ sons.”

A brief silence fell. Hisamatsu continued to stare at him. “You qualified for the imperial university, you say?” he finally asked. “And you are looking for work?”

Hitomaro bowed humbly.

“People become rather touchingly dependent on someone like me,” Hisamatsu said. “It pleases me to help them better their lot in life. Perhaps you could assist me. Mind you, I expect complete loyalty, and no doubt you have much to learn.” He sighed. “But I suppose we must expect to train our future officials.”

Hitomaro expressed himself overwhelmed with gratitude and then pointed to the books on the shelves. “Is that a complete set of the Chinese masters, I see?” he asked. “I’m afraid, Excellency, my Chinese is not fluent.”

Hisamatsu waved the objection away with a pudgy hand. “Never mind that. I don’t bother with Chinese. The locals are not able to grasp it. Those are translations.”

“In that case, how soon may I start? I hope with your guidance ...”

Hisamatsu interrupted, “I am a very busy man. But come tomorrow anyway. No sense in wasting time.” He looked at the door.

Recognizing dismissal, Hitomaro made several deep bows and murmured, “Thank you, Excellency. I am most grateful for the opportunity,” as he backed out of the room.

He almost fell over the old man crouching in the dark hallway.

“I’m leaving,” he told the servant, unnecessarily since he had clearly been eavesdropping.

The servant scowled. “Your horse is in the stable. Get it yourself. Do you think I have nothing better to do than wait on every fellow who calls?”

“I suppose,” Hitomaro said, “your master has many visitors since he has become such an important person.”

“Pah,” said the old man.

“Looking after all those important guests must be a chore for an elderly person like yourself. I assume they stay here? Perhaps even families with children?”

“Are you mad? He hates children, and nobody stays here. What is it to you?”

“I am to be his assistant.”

The old man made a sound that might have been a grunt or another “pah” and shuffled off down a dark hallway.

♦

By this time, dusk had fallen. Hitomaro got on his horse and glanced back at the villa huddling under the bare willows. No sane man would conceive of the scheme Hisamatsu had proposed. Merely mentioning such matters was high treason. But here in the north, so close to the barbarians, many things were not as they should be. Hitomaro debated for a moment whether to return to the tribunal to make his report. But he had another promise to keep, and there was no longer any urgency. Toneo was certainly not hidden in Hisamatsu’s house. The ill-tempered servant would have complained, had he been asked to look after a small boy. On the other hand, there might be other secrets, secrets connected with the mutilated corpse. How fortunate that the mad judge had offered him a job. All in all, it had been a very productive day, and Hitomaro felt he had earned a night of pleasure.

Spurring his horse, he hummed, “Ofumi, my love, loosen your sash and soothe my troubled heart.”

The sharp-nosed woman—he knew by now her name was Mrs. Omeya and that she claimed to be a respectable lute teacher, though, in fact, she was a procuress who purchased the services of young women by paying money to their parents– opened to his knock and helped him off with his wet straw cape and boots.

“You are later than usual, Lieutenant,” she gushed. “The pretty flower is waiting anxiously.” She accepted her usual fee, gave him a coy wink, and led him to the customary room, closing the sliding doors after him.

After the cold and stormy darkness outside, the room embraced him with perfumed warmth, soft light, and the gentle chords of music. He stood for a moment and drank in the scene, feeling, as always, the hot blood starting to pound in his temples and groin.

Silken bedding had been spread on the mats. Ofumi reclined on it, idly moving an ivory plectrum over the strings of a lute. She wore only the thinnest white silk robe, and her thick, long hair fell over her shoulders, framing her beautiful face.

Her resemblance to his late wife always moved him profoundly. Lost in the momentary memory of the dead past, he whispered, “Mitsuko,” then winced at the jarring sound from the lute.

She sat up, her beautiful face angry. “I have told you not to call me that.” Her loose robe had slipped, revealing pink-tipped breasts and a softly rounded belly. Hitomaro’s eyes greedily searched lower, but she snatched at the silk and covered herself.

He was instantly contrite. Falling to his knees beside her, he begged, “Forgive me, my beloved. Your beauty has bewitched me until I no longer know who or where I am.”

“Tell me that I am more beautiful than that dead wife of yours,” she demanded.

His heart rebelled, but his eyes wandered over her body, lingering where warm skin shimmered through the silk. “You are more beautiful than any woman living or dead,” he murmured, lightly touching a breast and then cupping it in his hand.

She shuddered and moved away. “How cold your hands are. Where have you been?”

His eyes fell on the lute. Even to his inexperienced eye this was a rare instrument. It was made of sandalwood and the front and back of the oval body were covered with an intricate floral design of inlaid amber, mother-of-pearl, and tortoiseshell. Such an instrument was worth a fortune. The bitter bile of jealousy rose in his throat. She had another lover.

“Who gave you this?” he asked hoarsely.

“The lute? Oh, I borrowed it. Isn’t it beautiful? An antique dealer saw me admiring it and let me try it out. When I told him how much I liked it, he insisted I take it home for a while. He said a beautiful lute must feel the touch of a beautiful woman to stay in tune. Wasn’t that charming?” She smiled up at him. “Will you buy it for me, Hito?”

“Anything, my beloved.” Hitomaro reached for her again.

“No, Hito! Your hands are like ice. I asked you where you have been.”

“An assignment outside the city. The wind is very cold.” He held his hands over the brazier of glowing coals and rubbed them briskly.

“Outside the city? Where?”

“The judge’s place.”

She cried, “You went to see Hisamatsu? Why?” Seeing his surprise, she added, “Surely a judge is beyond reproach.”

Hitomaro saw a flask of warm wine and two cups, and went to pour himself some with the idea of speeding up the warming process. “Not this one. He hired our former sergeant, a thorough scoundrel if ever there was one. I was sent to check him out, and what do you think I found? His honor is plotting some mad scheme of rebellion against the emperor.”

She stared. “You must be joking. Hisamatsu is a bit eccentric. Better not take it seriously or you’ll look a fine fool.” She held her breath, but when Hitomaro chuckled, she changed the subject. “There was some rumor about a murder in the market.”

Hitomaro disrobed, folding his clothes neatly. “A merchant killed a vagrant. He claims the man attacked him. I had to let him go.”

“What will happen in court tomorrow?” she asked as he stretched out beside her.

“Oh, I expect...”—he brushed back her hair, revealing a dainty ear and a soft white neck, and kissed both—”I expect his Excellency will announce the findings of this murder and report on the other pending cases.” He bent to breathe in the warm scent of her body, caressing her neck and shoulder with his lips.

She purred softly and turned toward him. Nuzzling his ear, she murmured, “What other cases?” Her fingers traced a design on his bare chest. “Is there new evidence? Will he pronounce any sentences?”

“Ofumi!” Hitomaro drew back. “What is the matter with you? Why all the questions? You know I come here to forget my work, and you want to do nothing but talk.”

“Oh.” She pouted. “How rude you are! You men are all the same. You only want to use our bodies. You care nothing for us as persons. I was trying to show you that I take an interest in what you do and that I think about you all day long.” Her soft lower lip quivered and tears gathered in her eyes. “To you I am just another whore,” she sobbed.

“No. Oh, no.” Hitomaro flushed with contrition. “Please don’t cry. You know how deeply I care for you. I want you to marry me, Ofumi.”

“Truly? Oh, Hito! If only it were possible! If only we could be together day and night! All our lives! It would be paradise.” She gave him a melting look, then turned away with a little sob. “It will never be. Too much money is owed to Mrs. Omeya. You said you did not have enough to buy me out.”

He reached for her with a soft laugh and pulled her into his arms. “I have a surprise, little one. See!” Reaching into his bundle of clothes, he extracted the small package. “Take it! There is enough to buy your freedom.”

She lifted the package. “It is small.”

“I changed the silver bars into gold. Now will you marry me?”

She unwrapped the gold and sat looking at it with a rapt expression.

“Well?”

“Oh, Hito,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “You are the most generous, the kindest, the strongest of men.”