Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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“What is it?” asked Tora from a safe distance.

“I’m not sure. It looks like an air shaft to an underground room.” Akitada’s voice was strained and flat.

Ayako came up beside him. “You’re right,” she said, staring down. “I don’t like this. It makes my skin crawl.” She moved closer to him.

“Hey! Someone’s coming,” Tora hissed from the corner of the building. “I think it’s the patrol.”

“Let’s go,” said Akitada.

They retraced their steps cautiously but quickly. The courtyard remained empty. They reached the gate between the storage yard and the kitchen area safely and were about to pass through and make a dash for the rain barrel when they heard voices. Ducking into the shadow of the wall, they waited.

The two guards came through the gate. Behind them hobbled an elderly monk. All three went to the first building.

“Dear heaven!” whispered Akitada. “We didn’t lock it.” He suddenly realized the very unpleasant situation they were in. Until then not even the pain in his shoulders had been able to break the spell of the night and the girl. Now they were about to be discovered. Neither in his present function as imperial inspector nor as a humble clerk in the ministry of justice could he afford to be charged with unlawful entry. And then what of the case against Joto? It would be a dismal failure and end his career. No. What was he thinking? They would not be permitted to leave. With a shudder, he thought of the air shaft.

They watched helplessly as the guards rattled the door, exclaimed, and fell to cursing their elderly companion.

“Why, you senile bastard!” one of them shouted. “You left the place unlocked again. This time His Reverence will be told and that will be it for you.” They punched and kicked the old monk. He cried out and started to run toward Akitada and his companions. They froze where they were, hoping that the darkness of their clothing blended with the shadow of the wall.

The old man did not get far. His tormentors were upon him in a minute, knocking him to the ground and beating him with their fists.

Tora muttered a curse, and Akitada, after the initial relief that they had not been discovered, flinched with every blow, blaming himself bitterly for his carelessness.

“Stop your noise.” One of the young monks yanked the old man up. “Or we’ll toss you in that shithole with old Gennin!”

The monk found his courage and cried shrilly, “You are devils! You are an abomination to the Lord Buddha, and your master grovels in the sins of flesh and corruption. You are killers and fornicators and will live in hell forever, where demons will... Ahh.”

A fist blow full to his mouth stopped his outcry. Akitada could bear no more. He made a move forward, but Ayako snatched at his shoulder. He gasped with the pain.

One of the watchmen raised his head and looked in their direction. For a moment his glance lingered and they thought they were lost.

“You hear anything?” he asked his companion.

The other man looked up from twisting the old monk’s arms behind his back and asked irritably, “What? No. Help me with this bastard.”

The first monk cast another glance their way. “I thought there was something over there. Something moved.”

“Probably a cat.”

The two guards dragged the old monk with them and entered the storehouse, presumably to check if anything was missing. A light flickered on inside.

“Quick!” whispered Ayako. “They’ll notice that the lantern is still warm. In a minute the whole place will be swarming.” As soon as she spoke, there was a shout from the storehouse: “Thieves! Help! Thieves!”

They dashed through the gate, ran for the rain barrel, and clambered up the wall. Tora and Akitada were ahead, pulling Ayako up behind them. In her hurry, she kicked the barrel over but reached the top of the wall, and then they were running along the tiles to the pines. There Tora and Akitada jumped down first, landing with jarring impact and barely catching themselves from tumbling over the cliff.

In the frantic rush of their escape Akitada had ignored the pain in his shoulders, but once he was outside the compound, his knees gave way and he had to lean against the wall for a moment.

From inside the temple compound came the sounds of shouting, then the clangor of a bell. Akitada looked up. Ayako was still on the wall, preparing to jump. She pushed off lightly and landed with a cry of pain. When he reached to steady her, she clutched at his arm.

“What is it?” Akitada asked.

“My ankle.” She shook him off, took a few steps, and staggered. “I twisted it,” she gasped. “It will be all right in a minute. Go ahead. Hurry!”

On the other side of the wall, voices cried out. Somebody had found the overturned rain barrel.

“No.” Akitada took her elbow. “It’s too dangerous for you to climb down alone. We’ll go together. That way, if you slip, I can catch you.”

Behind the wall the noise grew. A head appeared at the top of the wall. Ayako hesitated, then nodded.

They made their way down the crevice with frustrating slowness. Akitada was unfamiliar with the footholds and he was descending blindly and backward. But mostly his attention was on guiding and supporting Ayako. The process involved, of necessity, close proximity. In spite of the difficulty and urgency of the situation, Akitada was intensely aware of her scent and her slender body whenever they touched. He felt a powerful sense of protectiveness and the stirrings of desire. When they reached the ground, she clung to him for a moment before pulling free and limping off into the trees at a half run.

They found their horses, mounted, and regained the road. Behind them, inside the temple, the bell stopped ringing, and the shouts faded away.

The ride back was without incident. They reached the city as the sun rose over the eastern hills. Akitada planned to deliver Ayako to her father’s place, then return to the tribunal for a few hours sleep, but the girl, looking flushed and beautiful in the golden light of the rising sun, stopped outside a bathhouse that was already open for business.

“There won’t be any hot water at my house,” she said to Akitada, “and I must soak my ankle.” She paused, then added in a rush, “Why don’t you let Tora take the horses and join me? Your shoulders must be stiffening badly by now.”

They looked at each other. Her eyes were luminous in the morning light. She smiled nervously. Akitada realized that she had known all along about his injury and was touched that she cared. It seemed natural to accept her invitation.

“Take the horses back, Tora. I’ll walk home,” he said and dismounted.

* * * *

ELEVEN

A WORLD OF DEW

T

he woman who took their money led them to a small room with a large covered wooden vat. A stool served both for sitting and for climbing into the bath. There was a drainage hole in the stone floor near the vat, with two small buckets and bran bags beside it. The only other amenity was a raised platform covered with grass matting. Two faded cotton kimonos hung from a hook, and the air was moist and warm, smelling of wet wood and grass.

The woman pushed aside the heavy lid, and thick, moist steam rose against the sunlight coming from a small window. For a moment it looked as though they had stepped into a cloud of liquefying light. Akitada heard Ayako murmuring something to the attendant but was too tired and bemused to pay attention. He had not slept since the previous night. Mechanically he began to strip, dropping his clothes on the grass mat. He filled one of the small buckets from the vat, crouched near the drain, and tried to scrub himself with a bran bag, dimly aware that Ayako was doing the same. Almost instantly a sharp pain shot through his shoulder and he gasped.

When her arm reached past him and took the bran bag from his hand to help him, he was too tired to protest.

“Now get into the water,” she told him. “You will feel better soon.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, nearly asleep in the moist warmth of the room. Recalling himself with an effort, he peered at her through the steam. Her golden skin was luminous in the white vapor—a creature from another world. He asked, “What about your ankle?”

“Don’t worry.” She limped past him, glistening in the warm fog, stepped on the stool, and slipped into the steaming bath with the same smooth ease with which she had scaled cliffs and climbed walls.

He followed more clumsily, entering the water with a splash. The heat enveloped him instantly, driving hours of bitter cold winds and chill night air from his mind. He lowered himself slowly until the water lapped at his chin, his long legs pulled in to allow her room. The hot water soaked into his every pore. He closed his eyes.

But his tiredness fled; he was suddenly wide awake. Akitada had never shared a bath with a woman before, though families regularly bathed together, and bathhouses allowed strangers of both sexes to enjoy communal baths. This was unremarkable, he reminded himself.

Only it was not so in this instance. It was absurd to pretend that this shared bath was simply a practical conclusion to their shared adventure. He had desired Ayako from the moment she had stripped to her waist before their bout with the fighting sticks. Since then he had been unable to take his eyes off her for long, tracing her body through her clothes. His skin had heated to her touch, and now he was aware of his physical arousal.

Ashamed, he looked at her through the wisps of steam, wondering what to do, wondering if she would be angry or disgusted, if she would accuse him of lack of self-control or perhaps, worst of all, laugh at him.

Her eyes were closed. Beads of moisture lay like pearls upon her cheeks, her nose, her lips, and sparkled on her lashes. Her wet hair clung in black tendrils to her slender neck and softly rounded shoulders. Dimly seen through the water, one strand disappeared between her breasts. She was very beautiful. Akitada’s mouth became dry. He wanted to look away but could not. There was a single drop of moisture on her upper lip that the sunlight touched with the colors of the rainbow—like jeweled dewdrops sparkling on the grass in the morning sun. He closed his eyes again.

He awoke to her touch, finding her kneeling between his outstretched legs and gently massaging his shoulders.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, smiling a little, her breath sweet on his lips.

He panicked at their closeness and drew away, saying hoarsely, “You don’t have to do this.” Hoping she wouldn’t stop.

“Kneading the muscles helps heal them,” she said practically.

“Someone may come,” he protested.

She laughed softly. “No. I told the woman not to disturb us.”

Akitada’s experience with public baths was limited, but he had never considered them places of assignation. It occurred to him that she must have brought other men here before him, and the thought caused his stomach to knot painfully.

She gazed back calmly, continuing to rub his shoulder muscles. Her touch was both wonderful and frustrating. Pain and pleasure fed desire equally.

“Ayako,” he gasped. “You should not do this.”

“Don’t you want me?” she asked and moved closer, touching him with her body. He felt her breasts, the nipples pressing against his skin, a sensation so exquisite he sighed and closed his eyes. A smooth thigh pressed gently against his groin. Her lips touched his and their breaths mingled.

“More than anything,” he murmured and reached for her.

For a moment she returned the embrace, then detached herself. “Come,” she said, taking his hand and rising.

Totally absorbed in each other, they left the water, helped each other into the cotton kimonos to dry their bodies, and then stretched out on the grass mat.

Ayako was experienced in the art of love. Even in his passion, Akitada noted that fact absently, yet not with reproach or distaste but gratitude. His own experience was limited. On the two occasions when he had made love to women of his own class, the business had been awkward. The women had insisted on complete darkness and on being fully clothed. A woman’s gown, worn over several underrobes and tied with a sash, could become a formidable obstacle, especially when he had to contend with his own full silk trousers at the same time. Both women had maintained complete silence and lassitude throughout.

There had also been a few prostitutes in his past. They were more accommodating and talkative, but their attentions had seemed mechanical and, he suspected, forced.

Ayako was like none of them. She engaged in love play like an adversary in a contest of skill, meeting his clumsy urgency with skillful evasions, then seeking out every sensitive part of his body with caresses until he learned to reciprocate and discovered that giving pleasure was more pleasurable than taking it. She was teacher and participant and devoted herself with the same passion and skill to lovemaking as to stick fighting.

When she finally submitted to him with a little mewling cry and he took her, he knew that she was taking him also. Head thrown back, eyes closed, her face beautiful in its abandon, she cried out her triumph.

His absurd confusion of martial arts and lovemaking made him smile and he was still smiling at her when they drew apart.

“I like you, Akitada,” she said in a tone of surprise.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” he said happily.

But she was matter-of-fact and explained. “I knew you wanted to make love to me when you stared at my breasts last night. Since I wanted you, too, I brought you here. Many men have looked at me in that way. Some I have brought here, but none I really liked.”

Her casual admission felt like a sudden shower of icy water. He sat up, hurt that he had been no more than a convenient palliative for her physical need, and said lightly, “I gather they did not come up to expectation,” then flushed because it sounded boastful.

“No. That wasn’t it.” Getting up, she said, “Come. Other customers are waiting.”

He watched as she filled the bucket again and washed off the traces of their lovemaking without the least embarrassment. Her body, always beautiful in his eyes, was now familiar and precious to him, like a favorite possession, and the thought frightened him. He was jealous but had no claim on her. He certainly could not offer her marriage even if she were to accept it.

“We will have to walk back,” he said. “How is your foot?”

She stood, looking down at her swollen ankle. He gently felt it, manipulating the joint. It did not seem too bad. “Can you walk?” he asked.

“Perfectly,” she said and demonstrated, looking back over her shoulder at him.

He let his eyes travel from her smiling lips to the straight shoulders, down the long, golden back and shapely buttocks to slim thighs and legs ending in narrow ankles and feet. The water in the bath had cooled and there was less steam now, but beads of moisture still clung to the back of her neck and her shoulder blades. He wanted to taste them, taste her again. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he told her.

She began to put on her clothes rapidly. “No,” she said. “I’m too tall and too thin. I look like a scrawny boy. Otomi is beautiful. Any man would prefer her to me.”

“Not I,” said Akitada.

There was a silence. Then she filled the bucket again. “Come! I’ll help you.”

But Akitada refused her help this time. His shoulders felt much better. He dressed and said, “I’ll walk you home,” wondering how he was to face her father.

“No. I have an errand,” she said flatly.

He was confused by her sudden distance but did not argue. They went out into the hallway. The voices of other bathers could be heard through the thin boards. The woman put her head out of a doorway, nodded, and grinned broadly. Ayako quickened her step. “What will you do about the buried monks?” she asked in a tight voice.

Ugly reality was back with them.

Akitada held the entrance curtain aside for her as they emerged into the sunny street. “I don’t have the faintest idea,” he said. “I suppose this is something that only the governor can handle. I plan to see him as soon as I get back to the tribunal.” He paused, remembering. “Those words your sister wrote last night, the last ones, about the pack train, what were they?”

She looked away. “’Another life.’ She wrote it several times, not very legibly because she was upset. I don’t know what it means.”

Akitada’s lips tightened. “We must die in order to begin another life,” he said. “I think that you must watch over your sister carefully in the future.”

Her eyes flew to his in alarm.

Putting his hand on her arm, he looked at her. She was almost as tall as he. “About what has happened between us...” he started awkwardly, hoping for some acknowledgment of affection, but there was nothing in her expression. He dropped his hand. “I never thanked you for showing us the temple’s secrets. It was a very brave thing to do.”

A strange, angry look came into her eyes. She stepped back.

“Yes, I know. For a girl!” she said and walked away from him.

♦

When Akitada asked to see Motosuke, he was told that the governor had left early that morning for the country to buy horses for their journey to the capital. With a sigh, Akitada went to his quarters, ate some rice gruel, and slept for a few hours.

He woke to the sound of Tora scratching himself.

Looking at his servant drowsily, he said, “Throw away those filthy rags and take a bath.”

Tora grinned. “Later. You promised to help me look for Hidesato.”

Akitada sat up with a groan. “Very well. But find some other clothes.”

A little later, wearing clean but plain robes, they walked out through the tribunal gate and turned south into the city. It was midday, the sun had warmed up considerably, and the air was almost springlike. Akitada was silent, his thoughts on Ayako.

When they reached the market, Tora stopped a street urchin to ask where he might buy some fried rice cakes. The boy held out a grimy hand, but when Tora placed a copper coin into it, he ducked away into the crowd. Tora cursed.

“Is your stomach more important than your friend?” Akitada asked irritably. He was beginning to regret his promise to Tora.

“I’m looking for the rice-cake vendor, sir,” Tora explained. “I still have his money. He looked half-starved. I’m sure he needs it back.”

“Oh.” Akitada was chastened. “Perhaps he only works in the evenings?” he suggested.

But he was wrong. Moments later Tora caught the familiar smell of fried cakes and took off after it with quivering nostrils. Akitada followed and found Tora in conversation with a thin young man in ragged clothes. The vendor was staring at the silver Tora had placed in his hands.

“We caught the crooks,” Tora was saying, “so you don’t have to pay them ever again. Next time report the trouble to the constables.”

The young man gave a bitter laugh. “Thanks for the advice,” he said, tucking the silver away. “You say you caught the bastards, but they’re on the streets again. Who do you think the constables work for? Everyone gets a cut from the take.”

“What do you mean?” Akitada demanded sternly.

The vendor gave him a startled look and muttered, “Nothing, sir.” He snatched up his bamboo yoke, hooked the hampers to it, and trotted off.

Tora looked after him. “Crooked officials. Just like I told you,” he said heavily. “That’s why those murderous bastards are on the loose again.” He spat in disgust.

“I don’t believe it,” said Akitada. “Ikeda seemed efficient, and the governor didn’t mention any problems. It must be idle gossip. Are we near that wine shop where you met Hidesato? Good. Perhaps your friend has returned to it.”

“It’s not your kind of place. Only common trash like me goes there.”

Akitada stopped. “As long as you work for me, you are not to refer to yourself in those terms again!”

Tora grinned reluctantly. “Sorry, sir.”

The fat host of the Heavenly Abode welcomed Tora like an old friend but only nodded to Akitada. Except for a drowsy old man, the place was empty.

“What’s this about those hoodlums being out of jail already?” Tora asked.

The host rolled his eyes. “The bastards! Next time they walk in here, I’ll cut out their stomachs,” he boasted. “I keep a sharp knife under the counter.”

“I didn’t see you doing any belly-cutting the other night.”

The host waved a hand. “You two had things well in hand.”

The solitary guest, ancient and bent almost double, suddenly cried in a cracking voice, “Amida is great. Amida saves.”

They glanced at him and looked away.

“I’ve lost touch with my buddy,” Tora said. “Has he been back?”

“No.” Seeing Tora’s disappointment, the fat man offered, “But if he comes in, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks.” Tora turned to go.

When Akitada saw Tora’s dejected face, he followed him out and said, “I think we should try the garrison. Hidesato was a sergeant. Perhaps he put in for duty there.”

Tora brightened. “You’re right. He might do that.”

The garrison was beside the Western Gate, surrounded by high palisades and with colorful banners flying from its large main gate. Akitada gave his name and rank to the guard and asked to see the commandant. The man looked dubiously at their plain clothes but sent a recruit to report.

The recruit returned with an older man, dark-skinned and husky, his face ringed with a graying beard. He wore short baggy pants, leggings, and half-armor over a shirt and looked sharply at them.

“Lieutenant Nakano,” he introduced himself in a gravelly voice after Akitada had repeated his name and rank. “The captain’s in his office.”

The garrison covered a city block and contained several long, low buildings—soldiers’ quarters and stables—and a large hall that served as headquarters. In the open courtyard, foot soldiers were drilling with halberds and long shields, and beyond it, mounted men circled a target at full gallop, their bows stretched, loosing arrows at it in measured volleys.

“Would you look at that?” Tora said. “For soldiers they’re as good as any I’ve seen. That captain must be a good man.”

Leaving Tora outside, Akitada followed Lieutenant Nakano into the hall. They passed busy clerks and aides to the back, where the lieutenant opened a door and announced, “Lord Sugawara.”

Akitada stopped on the threshold. Captain Yukinari’s head wore a bloody bandage. He rose but looked pale and seemed to sway on his feet as he bowed.

“That’s all, Lieutenant,” Yukinari said. The door closed.

“What happened to you?” Akitada asked.

“It’s nothing. A freak accident. Please be seated, sir.”

As they sat down, Akitada saw that the captain held his left arm tucked close to his chest. “Your injuries look serious. Were you attacked?”

Yukinari wiped perspiration from his forehead. “No, no. A foolish accident. I work out early every morning before the men get up. When I’m done, I ring a big bronze bell in the exercise yard. It signals the men to assembly. This morning, when I gave the bell the usual hard push, it fell. Fortunately, it only clipped my head and my left shoulder or it would have killed me. Apparently a wooden beam was rotten and gave way.”

“I see. Then I’m glad you escaped. I shall be brief. Would you mind telling me exactly how you traced the most recent tax convoy?”

Yukinari nodded. “The first two raids happened before my time, but I was very careful with my orders for the last convoy. They were to proceed by land, following the coast road until it joins the Great Eastern Road. Instead of using regular bearers and grooms for the pack train, I substituted foot soldiers. In addition, the convoy was preceded by twenty mounted warriors and followed by twenty more. The men were handpicked, superb archers and swordsmen.” He sighed. “Lieutenant Ono was in command, an experienced soldier who had been an aide to my predecessor. He volunteered. A brave man.”

Akitada made note of this “volunteer” but said only, “I don’t doubt it.”

“Two weeks later I sent a scout by boat across the bay. He returned and reported that the convoy did not reach Fujisawa. I immediately set out myself with a small force and followed the route taken by Lieutenant Ono. We lost all trace of them in Shimosa province. It was as if they had disappeared into thin air. One day they were approaching a large village near the border of Musashi province; the next day they were gone. The barrier guards had not seen them.”

“What about the local authorities in Shimosa province?”

“Not cooperative.”

Akitada raised his brows. “Do you suspect them or the barrier guards of abetting robbers?”

“No. We raised the question of highway robbery, and they were offended. To them, we sounded critical of law and order in their province. I have no doubt they reported my insulting manner to the military authorities in the capital.” He grimaced. “Frankly, I look forward to reassignment to the front,” he said.

His tone was fatalistic. Akitada wondered about that. The captain’s pallid face might be due to the accident or it might have other causes. Yukinari looked like a very unhappy man. Akitada cleared his throat apologetically. “There is another, unrelated matter that you may be able to help me with. My servant Tora has a very close friend, a Sergeant Hidesato. They met briefly in this city two nights ago but lost touch again. I thought the sergeant might have reported here to offer his services. I understand he was out of work.”

Yukinari’s eyebrows rose, but he did not express surprise that an imperial inspector should consult him about his servant’s problem. He clapped his hands and, when the lieutenant responded, relayed the question. Nakano saluted and disappeared on his errand.

Akitada wondered how he might next broach the Tachibana case. Yukinari relieved him of the problem.

Fidgeting with his writing utensils and avoiding Akitada’s eyes, he asked, “Is there any more information about Lord Tachibana’s death?”

“No, but I made a visit of condolence and found the widow very distraught. Apparently she has been deserted by everyone.”

Yukinari’s ears turned pink. “It is difficult to know what to do,” he said vaguely.

“I should have thought that your friendship with both would have made it proper and dutiful to offer your services to the young widow.”

Yukinari gave him a desperate look and mopped his brow again. “It...you don’t understand,” he stammered. “She would not expect it.”

“Just what is your connection with Lady Tachibana, Captain?” Akitada asked bluntly.

Yukinari turned crimson. “May I ask why you are interested, sir?”

Yukinari hardly looked like a killer, but love could do strange things to a man. Akitada decided on more shock tactics. “Lord Tachibana was murdered. You were seen in the Tachibana compound the night he died.”

Yukinari dropped his face into his hands and muttered, “Dear heaven.”

Akitada said, “Are you admitting the murder, Captain?”

Yukinari shook his head dazedly. “No, of course not. I respected him like a father.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Yukinari flushed again. “I don’t know. I feel responsible. Perhaps I should have told him.”

“Told him what?”

Yukinari looked distressed. “She is...was not happy. That is why she and I... we became lovers. I was ashamed to tell him. Didn’t want to hurt him ... or her.”

“Your presence in the Tachibana mansion on the night of the murder makes you a suspect, and you have just admitted to a motive.”

Yukinari shook his head and winced, raising his good hand to the bandage. “It wasn’t me. I was out of town that night and didn’t return until after sunrise. That’s when I heard of his accident. Besides, the affair was brief and it ended last summer.” Seeing Akitada’s dubious expression, he added quickly, “Believe me, I have regretted my behavior very deeply. I looked on Lord Tachibana as the father I never knew. He was kind to me.” He sighed. “I cannot expect you to understand, but their marriage was not like other marriages. The age difference made her more like an adopted daughter than a wife. In fact, she was...They didn’t...There were times when I thought he might even approve.”

Akitada drew himself up stiffly. Yukinari’s rationalization was, to his mind, utterly reprehensible. “Did the lady break off the relationship?”

“No, I did. She was angry with me, but I had other reasons by then.”

Akitada thought of that childlike creature and her tears. “I wonder that did not occur to you earlier,” he snapped. “What other reasons?”

“I... There was someone else,” the captain stammered. “It cannot matter now.” He gave a bitter laugh. “The poet Narihira said that love is as short-lived and deceitful as dew. He was right.” He dropped his face into his hands again.

The poetic image of dew reminded Akitada of the beads of moisture on Ayako’s golden skin. He stared at the captain and wondered what to say, when Lieutenant Nakano returned to report that a Sergeant Hidesato had applied for military service the previous week. His application had been approved, but Hidesato was no longer at the address he had given. He had been thrown out for nonpayment of rent, and no one knew where he had gone.

Yukinari nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Now please report to His Excellency about the incident in Hanifu village.”

Nakano snapped to attention and recited, “Two days ago, after sundown, we received word about an ambush of one of our patrols. The captain set out immediately with four cavalrymen. He returned after the morning rice the following day with our men. Four of them had been wounded in a fight with a group of hooded criminals armed with swords and halberds. Their attackers escaped, but one of them was a monk.” Seeing Akitada’s surprise, he added, “He lost his hood.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Akitada turned to Yukinari. “Have you had problems with the monks from the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom?”

Yukinari flushed angrily. “Have we?” he said. “There has been continuous friction between those hoodlums and my soldiers. This is only the latest incident, but this time they were armed. Every time my men encounter those baldpates, they come to blows with them. At first we punished our people severely, in spite of their protests that they had been provoked. Then I was a witness to the behavior of those monks in an incident with a local merchant. I have since complained repeatedly to Ikeda, most recently on the morning of the ... murder, but to no avail. In my opinion, the prefect is incompetent.” Yukinari stopped, swallowed, and added more calmly, “I have ordered my men to stay away from the monks. More I cannot do.”