Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Akitada nodded. “Thank you. You confirm my suspicions. It may be that you can do something after all. We will speak of it later.”

Yukinari stood and bowed, then looked at him with empty eyes. “If I can be of any assistance in the other . . . case, I would be grateful for the chance, Your Excellency.”

Akitada found Tora regaling an eager group of soldiers with stories of his military exploits in the north. They parted company reluctantly.

“You were right, sir,” Tora said excitedly. “Hidesato’s been here. Filled out his application and left again.”

“I know. And it was accepted, but when they tried to notify him, he had moved.”

“Oh.” Tora’s face fell. “One of the soldiers said he saw him in town. In the brothel quarter. I suppose I’ll try there next.”

“Very well. Lead the way.”

“You?” cried Tora. “In the brothel quarter? No. I’ll go by myself.”

“We go together.” Akitada’s expression allowed no argument.

* * * *

TWELVE

RAT’S TALES

T

he brothels were in the southwest quadrant, not far from the market, but in an area of poor tenements and cheap wine shops. In narrow, dirty streets littered with human and inanimate debris, cripples and blind beggars huddled wherever they could find a sunny wall. Filthy, half-naked children covered with bruises and sores ran about, screaming. Few healthy young men were in evidence, and those had hungry eyes that watched Akitada and Tora speculatively. Now and then one would approach and offer to show them to a “love house” with “first-rate girls” or introduce them to “jesters.”

“Jesters?” asked Akitada.

Tora made a face. “Pretty boys,” he said.

They asked about Hidesato and twice paid good coppers to be led to him, only to discover that their guide had willfully misunderstood and taken them to a brothel instead.

Eventually the streets grew dark and chill. Here and there a lantern bobbed, marking the arrival of customers. Raucous laughter and song rang into the dark streets every time someone lifted the gaudy curtains of wine shops and brothels. From behind bamboo grilles female voices called out to them, and when they looked, they saw behind the bars ghostly creatures, their eyes and lips garish in masklike faces turned a sickly green, yellow, or lavender by the colored lights of paper lanterns. Love was for sale in every color of the rainbow.

The thought of buying one of those grotesque females nauseated Akitada. He thought of Ayako and how clean she was, how sweet the scent of her skin, how naturally she had come into his arms. His longing for her suddenly overwhelmed him. He stopped in the middle of the street. “Tora,” he said, “I think we have done enough today. Why not stop by Higekuro’s before we turn in for the night?”

Tora agreed immediately.

The quiet street of Higekuro’s school was a different world. In the dusk, neighbors were having their evening chats in the street. Ayako, too, was outside her door, leaning on a broom and laughing with an elderly woman who held a small child in her arms. Ayako wore only a simple gown and had her hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon, but Akitada’s heart missed a beat.

When she saw him, her face lit up. She smoothed back her hair with unconscious feminine grace and smiled shyly.

Tora whistled between his teeth. “Now there’s a change for the better,” he said. “I guess all that girl needed to turn her into a proper female was a man in her bed.”

Akitada gave him a look of cold fury. “Ayako risked her life last night,” he said through clenched teeth. “If I ever hear you insult her again, it will be the last time you will speak in my presence. Do you understand?”

Tora’s chin sagged. Akitada went to greet Ayako, seeking in her eyes what he felt in his heart, hoping that she was no longer angry. The neighbor muttered a good night and scuttled across the street.

“How are you?” Akitada asked softly.

“Very well. And your shoulders?”

“Much better. I am...” he searched for words, “deeply grateful.”

Her eyes softened.

“Perhaps,” he suggested daringly, “we could repeat the treatment in the morning?”

She blushed. “Why not? If your shoulders still give you pain.”

“Tomorrow then.” He added more loudly, “We’ve come for a visit.”

“Oh.”

They looked at each other hungrily. Belatedly, Akitada remembered Tora. When he turned, he found Tora pretending to study the massive gate of the house next door. Set into a new ten-foot-high wall, it was studded with heavy iron nails and had a forbidding appearance.

“That must be the house of the successful silk merchant,” Akitada said to Ayako. “Do you know the family well?”

“Not at all. He’s a very unpleasant man, and his servants are rude. We don’t talk to them. No one on this street does. As to his family, they never come out. It must be his wealth that has made him so suspicious of everyone.”

“Perhaps,” said Akitada, frowning.

Ayako cleared her throat. “Please come in. I... we did not expect you, but you are very welcome.” Turning to open the door, she added, “I’m afraid we have one guest already. The Rat stopped by.”

“The Rat’s here?” Tora asked, coming up. “That old crook conned me out of half my wages for wine and new clothes.”

Ayako looked surprised, then smiled. “That was very kind of you, Tora,” she said, touching his arm. Tora blinked.

They passed through the empty exercise hall into the living quarters. Higekuro sat in his usual place. Otomi knelt beside him among small containers of paint, her brush poised over a sheet of paper. When she saw Tora, her eyes lit up.

A fire in the stove warmed the room, and something savory bubbled in a pot.

“Ho,” wheezed an old man who huddled beside the stove, “told you, Higekuro. No time at all and both girls will bring you the sons you never had.”

Ayako turned abruptly and ran upstairs.

Ignoring the Rat, Higekuro invited Akitada to sit next to him. Otomi gathered up her paints.

“You’re in time to join us for our evening meal,” Higekuro said cheerfully, pouring wine. “We got some particularly fine clams from a neighbor, so Otomi chopped fresh vegetables from the garden and made soup. Plain fare, but for once we have good rice with our meal instead of millet. A feast, in fact.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands, adding, “Though I have a fondness for millet also.”

Akitada admired this man’s joy in the poorest gifts life had to offer. He felt awkward, worried that Higekuro might suspect what had happened between himself and Ayako.

“And here’s the Rat, too.” Higekuro laughed. “He’s a great one for telling ghost stories when he’s drunk. We’ve been filling his cup for the past hour.”

“Hey, Rat,” said Tora, “how come you never let on about your talent? And where are the new clothes I paid for?” The beggar choked on his wine and fell into a fit of coughing and wheezing. “I love a good tale,” Tora said, slapping him on the back solicitously.

The Rat hunched up his bony shoulders. “Don’t mock the ghosts!” he croaked.

Akitada laughed. He felt inexplicably happy. “Never fear,” he said, “Tora has too much respect for ghosts.”

Higekuro said, “It’s a strange fact that the more superstitious men are, the more they want to hear about such things.”

“Did Ayako tell you what we found in the temple?” Akitada asked him in a lowered voice.

“Yes.” Higekuro became grave. “Not ghosts, I think. You’ve told the governor?”

“Not yet. He has left town.”

Ayako was coming down from the loft. She had changed into a chestnut-brown silk gown and tied a brown-and-white-patterned sash about her slender middle. Her hair was loose and, though it was not as long as that of ladies of the nobility, reaching only to her waist, it was thick and lustrous and curled slightly at the ends. Akitada’s eyes followed her as she busied herself gathering rice bowls and chopsticks. He was thinking how graceful and efficient all her movements were, when his ears picked up a phrase.

He looked at the Rat. “You saw ghosts in the Tachibana mansion? When? Come, speak up!” His voice was suddenly sharp and his tone peremptory.

The Rat recognized the tone of authority and cringed. “Not inside, Your Honor. Never inside. The Rat never goes where he’s not supposed to be. Just in the alley. I was looking through the garbage in the alley.”

“By heaven,” said Akitada. “Are there people who must eat rotten food that their betters would not give to their dogs?”

The Rat was offended. “I never eat rotten food,” he said. “The rich throw out good stuff. Last month I found a whole sea bream among the radish tops and abalone shells behind the rice merchant’s place.”

“About the Tachibana mansion,” Akitada said more gently.

“Didn’t have time to look properly.” The Rat gave a wheeze and whispered, “Jikoku-ten struck me with his sword.”

“Jikoku-ten? The Guardian King of the East?”

The Rat nodded. “That’s the one. It’s a miracle I’m alive to tell about it,” he said darkly, wheezing a little for effect. “He was fetching the soul of the old governor.”

Tora stared at him. “You don’t mean it! Did he see you?”

The Rat rubbed his head. “How could he miss? There I was, by the back gate, looking up at him. He had burning pieces of charcoal for eyes and struck me with his sword—just there, feel it? I passed out. Next thing I knew, I was lying half-frozen in the snow under the kitchen window, and the maids inside were weeping and shouting about the old lord having passed away. I tell you, I haven’t been myself since.” He held out his empty cup.

Akitada was on his feet. Striding over to the Rat, he took his scrawny wrist in a viselike grip and removed the wine cup. “Pay attention!” he snapped. “When was this?”

The beggar cried out in pain or fear, and Ayako’s hand was on Akitada’s arm. “You’re frightening him,” she murmured. Akitada released the beggar.

The Rat shot him an aggrieved look and rubbed his wrist. “I sleep in the old fox shrine behind the Tachibana place, see. It’s real quiet there. Only night before last something woke me and I crept out in the alley for a pee. It was snowing, but there was that garbage barrel by the gate. I felt a little empty, so I went to take a look. That’s when the light started bobbing about.” The Rat shuddered, and Tora sucked in his breath. “All of a sudden there’s all this scraping and scratching and hissing like fire. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Only no smoke.”

“Go on. Go on,” urged Tora, his eyes wide.

“I was bending down to look through the boards of the gate when it flew open. I saw his boots first and a bit of his blue robe. Then I looked up and there were those fiery eyes piercing me. The last thing I remember is falling on my knees crying to the Buddha, then he struck me. I still got this monstrous pain in my head and I haven’t been able to eat a bite since.” The Rat glanced over at the stove and sniffed. “I’m a little better, I think.”

Akitada returned to his seat. “A strange ghost story,” he said with a frown.

Higekuro laughed. “The wine has done its work. Let’s see if he can tell us another one. Ayako, Otomi! Is the soup ready yet?”

The soup was excellent and Ayako sat demurely by Akitada’s side, serving him wine and placing choice bits of clam in his bowl. The Rat recovered his appetite and when the bowls were empty and the women were cleaning up, he embarked on another tale.

“I got a friend who watched an oni procession and lived to tell about it,” he said, scratching his belly and belching. “It happened in the city where the emperor lives. My friend says the palaces have golden roofs there and the high-born ladies are so beautiful, you’d think they were fairies in paradise. He would have stayed forever except for the demons.”

Tora shivered. “I bet he was as frightened as a mouse in the cat’s paw.”

Higekuro winked at Akitada and whispered, “And I bet the Rat’s friend also sampled some of that strong wine I remember from my younger years.”

The Rat heard him and nodded. “You’re right. It was the chrysanthemum festival and my friend was celebrating, but he was sober when he saw what he saw. He’d spent his last coppers that night and had no money for lodgings, so he slept in an old temple that was all boarded up. He put down his bundle, made himself comfortable, and dozed off. Now old temples like that are regular meeting places for evil spirits, only he didn’t know that. When he heard people singing and laughing, he thought it was a party and got up to look.” The Rat paused to empty his cup. Then he looked around and whispered, “It was no human party he saw,” and fell silent.

Tora, his eyes round with suspense, shook the Rat’s arm impatiently and made him cough again. Otomi refilled the Rat’s cup. He drank, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued.

“Oh, it was a gruesome sight,” he said, his voice rising a little. “It was a whole crowd of oni, as evil a set of devils as you’ll ever meet, and passing before his very eyes. There were near a hundred of them, he said, and they looked horrible. Some had only one eye in the middle of their face. Some had horns, or pointed ears and long noses, some had long red hair all over their bodies. There were some as thin as chopsticks, and some as round as chestnuts. And in front walked a giant with a face like fire and claws for hands. They all gathered by an old well in the middle of the temple courtyard.”

Akitada exchanged a smile with Ayako. He enjoyed the tale and was beginning to feel benevolent toward the Rat.

“Now,” continued the Rat, “what with the moon and all them torches, it was bright as day, and my friend could see they had a young lady with them. The young lady was as beautiful as a fairy and had jewels in her hair and she was crying. But the evil demons only laughed and mocked her, pulling her this way and that. They tore off her gown and ripped the jewels from her hair, and she was lying there in the dirt...” The Rat paused and looked at Ayako. “Storytelling is hungry work. Would there be some soup left?”

Ayako went to fill a bowl and brought it to him. He raised it to his lips, slurped noisily, chewed, and asked, “Where was I?”

Tora said impatiently, “The beautiful lady was lying there all naked ...”

“Not naked,” cried the Rat, shocked. “I never said ‘naked.’ You have a filthy mind, Tora. No, she was still wearing her underrobe. But not for long ...”

“There, I knew it!” muttered Tora.

“Will you shut up? If you keep interrupting, I’ll never get done. I said not for long, because the giant with the red eyes and fiery flames shooting from his face got in a fight with the others over the jewels. He roared like the fiend he was, but the other devils were too fast for him and ran away. So he roared some more and then he saw the lady lying there in her thin gown and went to get that off her. The lady screamed, and he ripped, and she fought him. And then he took his knife, shoved it in her, and fell upon her body ...”

Ayako gasped, and the Rat broke off and said piously, “In the presence of ladies I can’t talk about what happened next, but demons are nasty creatures. Anyway, when he was done with her, he dumped her in the well and went away. My friend was frightened to death and left the capital that very night.”

Tora heaved a sigh of pleasurable horror, but Ayako glared at the Rat. “I might have known you’d come up with something dirty,” she spat. “I don’t believe a word about this friend of yours. You made up the whole thing yourself, you and your nasty mind.”

The Rat wheezed. “I saw you. You had your ears wide open, girl.” He cackled. “Women act like prudes, but they talk dirt with their girlfriends.”

“Why, you...” Ayako half rose amid the general laughter.

Akitada caught her hand to pull her back down beside him when his eyes met Higekuro’s knowing smile.

* * * *

THIRTEEN

HIDESATO AND

THE HARLOT

T

he following morning Akitada attempted to see the governor again but was told that Motosuke had returned late and was still asleep. Tora, chastened by his master’s outburst the evening before, made no comment when Akitada canceled their usual workout for a visit to the bathhouse. Seimei was another matter.

“What is wrong with the tribunal bath?” he asked.

“Nothing. But the bathhouse has...masseurs, and since I injured my shoulder . . .” Trailing off, Akitada busied himself with his morning rice.

Seimei was distracted from the bathhouse issue. “You were lucky you only hurt your shoulder. Your ancestors must shudder at the risks you take with their good name. Stealing into a monastery with low-class companions like thieves in the middle of the night! Imagine the scandal if you had been caught. It would have been the end of your career.”

“More than likely it would have been the end of my life.” Akitada smiled, his mind on Ayako.

“It is no joking matter,” cried Seimei. “After years of disappointment, you got this chance to make a name for yourself. Imperial inspector before your twenty-sixth year and you choose to behave in this reckless fashion! Remember, the path to success makes for a long and troublesome journey, but the way back is quick and easy.” Seimei’s voice broke.

Akitada’s conscience smote him. “I’m sorry I made you worry, old friend,” he said. “You’re right, it was a very risky thing to do, but I had no other choice. Consider it part of the troublesome journey to success.”

Seimei’s face lit up. “Ah. You have solved the case.”

“Not quite. Let’s say we are closer to the answer.” Pushing away his empty bowl, Akitada rose and went to keep his appointment at the bathhouse.

It was nearly midday before he got back. He took up Otomi’s scrolls and walked across the compound to the governor’s residence. Akinobu greeted him with a smile and led the way to the library.

They found Motosuke, sleek as usual, in figured blue silk over pale green trousers, eating heartily from a large number of dishes.

“His Excellency is here, sir,” announced Akinobu, and withdrew.

“Elder brother!” Motosuke cried, apparently still enamored of his new honorific for Akitada. He smiled and waved his chopsticks in the air. “Welcome, welcome! Forgive my not rising. I got back late last night and here I am, just now eating my morning rice. Shameful, isn’t it?” He pointed the chopsticks at a cushion near him. “Have a seat. Have some fish. Or some abalone? Pickled radish? Nothing? Well, then, Akinobu says you stopped by twice, last evening and again this morning. I am devastated that I missed you. What happened?”

“It’s a long story. Permit me.” Akitada went to hang Otomi’s scrolls from a standing screen.

Motosuke peered at them, then clapped his hands. “The deaf-mute girl! You’ve found her. Oh, they are very nice. Very nice, indeed. And is she as pretty as they say, eh?”

“She is very pretty, yes. But that is not why I brought the pictures.”

“If you say so. I am delighted you discovered a local beauty.” Akitada flushed against his will, and Motosuke’s eyes twinkled. “Ah! I see the way it is. Ha, ha. And I thought you a dull dog. Or worse, a fondler of boys, like our saintly abbot.”

“Joto?”

“Ahem.” They looked up and saw Akinobu at the door, his face expressionless. Beside him stood the abbot.

Joto came in smoothly. “Did I hear my name?” he asked, adroitly avoiding the difficult rank distinction by bowing to Motosuke and Akitada simultaneously. Without waiting for an invitation, he seated himself and looked at Motosuke’s array of food. “I see I am late for the midday rice,” he said with a smile.

“Merely unexpected,” said Motosuke dryly. He clapped his hands. When Akinobu looked in, he said, “The abbot is hungry. Have them send in some vegetarian dishes and”—he paused and looked at Joto—”fruit juice or tea, Abbot?”

“No food, just tea, Akinobu.” Turning to his host, Joto said, “I apologize for my small joke, Governor. It is too early for our only meal of the day, and besides, I have come on business.” He noticed the scroll paintings. “Are these new? A local artist?” he asked.

“I think you know her,” Akitada said, watching Joto’s face. “She is a young deaf-mute woman who specializes in Buddhist paintings.”

“Ah, Otomi.” Joto squinted again at the scrolls. “Poor girl. We have given her every assistance by allowing her to copy our originals and by introducing her to wealthy visitors.”

There was a scratching at the door, and a servant entered to serve tea. He departed, leaving the large teapot simmering on a brazier.

“You said you came on business?” Motosuke asked the moment the servant had gone, his brusqueness with Joto more noticeable. Akitada wondered if he just wished to be rid of him or whether there was another reason for his lack of courtesy.

Joto seemed not to notice. “I came to extend a humble invitation to you,” he said, bowing to Motosuke. “And to His Excellency also.” He bowed to Akitada. “We hope that you will both be our honored guests for the dedication ceremonies for our new hall. The presence of two representatives of our august emperor will lend special significance to our simple celebration and inspire the local people with due reverence. Dare I hope that you will say a few words?”

Motosuke put down his chopsticks and wiped his mouth with a sheet of soft mulberry paper he withdrew from one of his sleeves. “You may count on me,” he said graciously.

Akitada added his own acceptance, hoping he would be spared the speech.

To their surprise, Joto lingered after giving the particulars. “There is another, less pleasant matter I wished to bring to your attention, Governor,” he said. “It concerns a crime. Blasphemous thieves have become bold enough to rob the Buddha himself.”

Akitada knew what was coming.

“Really?” asked Motosuke, astonished. “I expect word of your treasures is getting out. What did they get away with?”

Joto placed the palms of his hands together and raised them to his lips. “Nothing, thanks be to Amida. Our people kept their eyes open and surprised them in the attempt. The villains fled, but we may not be so fortunate next time.”

“Shocking, if it is so,” said Akitada, shaking his head. “But didn’t you say that nothing was taken? Perhaps your monks simply surprised some curious pilgrims.”

Joto fixed him with a cold stare. “Impossible. We have learned to be careful of those who pretend devotion for evil purposes. Pilgrims are not admitted after dark, and those who spend the night in the monastery are locked into their rooms. Besides, my disciples got a good look at the three culprits as they scrambled over the wall. Their clothing and appearance marked them as professional robbers, the kind that roam our streets and highways with such impunity.”

Akitada raised his brows. “A very surprising thing for highwaymen to do, in my experience. There is another possibility, if I may make such a suggestion. Just as a criminal may hide under a pilgrim’s robe and straw hat, the same man may shave his head and put on the habit of a monk. Is Your Reverence certain that all the monks presently at the temple are, in fact, what they appear to be?”

Joto’s eyes glittered. “I cannot accept your theory,” he said. “It casts doubt on our community and undermines the good we have achieved in this province. Indeed, such rumors have been spread before, but only by our enemies.”

So hostilities had begun. Akitada put on a bland face. “Just a suggestion. It is equally possible that it was a prank by ghost-hunting youngsters. The temple is said to be haunted.”

“I cannot imagine where Your Excellency heard rumors of ghosts. We are trained to exorcise evil spirits, not to raise them.”

“Ah,” said Akitada, “this is very true. But the less enlightened souls among the local people often have a difficult time distinguishing between saints and demons. You must admit that in spiritual as well as worldly affairs things are not always as they appear to be.” He had the intense pleasure of seeing Joto at a loss for words.

Motosuke cleared his throat. “Have you reported the incident to Ikeda?” he asked. “He’s the man to talk to. I regret that I am already busy with travel plans. In fact, Lord Sugawara and I were in the middle of planning our route just now.”

Joto compressed his lips and rose. “In that case I regret my intrusion,” he said, bowing stiffly.

Akitada and Motosuke rose also. “Not at all,” the governor murmured, moving toward the door.

Joto managed to pass close to the scrolls. Before the painting of the storm dragon he seemed to miss a step for a moment, but then he walked rapidly to the door and left.

“Phew,” said Motosuke as they resumed their seats. “I thought the fellow would never leave. What a silly tale. Robbers in the temple. Now, what did you come to tell me?”

“That I was one of the robbers.”

Motosuke’s jaw dropped.

Akitada told him about their nighttime excursion and what they had found. Motosuke looked stunned, his eyes becoming rounder and rounder, and his initial amusement gradually giving way to horror.

“Holy heaven!” he cried when Akitada was done. “Do you mean to say that Joto has buried some of the monks alive? But why?”

“I suspect they refused to be converted to his teachings,” Akitada said dryly. “Does the name Gennin mean anything to you?”

“Of course. Gennin was abbot before Joto. He is supposed to have retired because of ill health. Are you saying he is down there?”

“I am afraid so. And Gennin is not alone. We heard voices chanting. How soon can we move in with constables and set them free?”

Motosuke shook his head. “I don’t see how... not with constables in any case. With that cache of naginata we need an army.” He twisted his hands in frustration.

“The man is a threat to the country’s security.” Akitada gestured to Otomi’s painting of the storm dragon. “That scroll is what made me suspicious of Joto and his temple in the first place. All the soldiers on that ship are armed with naginata, and a monk sits on the raised platform normally reserved for a captain or general.”

Motosuke got up and looked. “How very odd,” he said. “How did the deaf-mute girl come to paint this?”

“I think she witnessed the ambush of the tax convoy and painted the criminals. If I’m not mistaken, those soldiers are armed monks. Yukinari just reported an encounter with a small band of naginata- armed monks.” Akitada paused, frowning. “I’m afraid that Joto may have realized just now what the scroll means.”

“He’s nearsighted. Besides, it looks like just another dragon painting. You did not find any trace of the tax goods at the temple?”

“No. They must be elsewhere. I have a suspicion about one of the local merchants, but that will have to wait. Gennin and the others must be released first.”

Motosuke sighed and looked at Akitada helplessly. “I don’t think you quite understand the problem, my dear Akitada. We cannot storm the temple with constables or soldiers. The local people will not permit it. They will rise up against anyone who attacks their benefactors.”

Too true. Akitada realized it immediately. The frustration caused him to burst into angry speech. “Then they must be made to see that it is not saints but monsters they protect.”

“But how?” yelped Motosuke.

Akitada suddenly had a wild idea and seized Motosuke’s arm. “The ceremony! The one we are invited to attend. Don’t you see? There will be a huge crowd. What more perfect excuse to move in soldiers? And when we bring out our proof in the person of the liberated Gennin, the people will be convinced of Joto’s guilt.”

Motosuke stared. “Holy Buddha! You can’t mean it. Oh, my dear friend, think of the risks.”

Akitada released Motosuke. Suddenly, he saw the situation from the other man’s perspective. If the Buddhist faction at court found out, as they must, that Akitada and Motosuke had disrupted a religious ceremony with arms and caused, as was probable, bloodshed, both Motosuke’s career and his daughter’s elevation to empress were in jeopardy. Against this the fate of a few elderly monks in a subterranean prison must weigh very lightly, indeed.

But the governor surprised him. Motosuke straightened his small, fat body and squared his round shoulders. He said firmly, “It is a brilliant idea, elder brother. We shall do it. Leave the details to me. There is only one problem. We are going to need Yukinari’s cooperation.”

“Yukinari will support us. As I mentioned, his patrol ran into a group of Joto’s monks. There have been bad feelings on both sides for a long time.”

Motosuke frowned. “When did you find out?”

“Yesterday. Incidentally, Yukinari had a strange accident before I saw him. A heavy bronze bell came off its support and nearly killed him. Such an accident could have been arranged quite easily. The monks may have an accomplice in the garrison.”

“I expect you worry too much. But we still don’t know Tachibana’s murderer. You thought Tachibana was killed because he knew something about the robberies. Do you now suspect Joto of that crime also?”

Akitada hesitated. So much had happened. They had evidence that Joto and his martial monks were behind the theft of the tax shipments, but that did not mean they had murdered the ex-governor. The mysterious nighttime visitor still needed to be accounted for. There was also the Rat’s peculiar story about Jikoku-ten. Jikoku-ten was usually portrayed as wearing armor, and he had been seen coming through the back gate. Akitada did not believe in manifestations. The Rat had not encountered an incarnation of one of the four divine generals, but a murderer, and the murderer had knocked the old beggar down, perhaps intending to kill him.

Motosuke cleared his throat.

“Forgive me,” said Akitada. “I just remembered another detail.” He explained the Rat’s adventure and added, “Lady Tachibana may have a lover.”

Motosuke raised his brows. “I cannot say I’m at all surprised. It was one of those spring and winter marriages. Tachibana gave her a home when her father, his best friend, died. She was a mere child while he was old enough to be her grandfather. Frankly, I thought he was in his dotage to do such a thing. Her background did not promise well either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her mother was a courtesan in the capital. Her father became enamored of this female on a visit there, bought her out, and brought her back with him as his concubine. After she bore him a child, he lost interest. The woman returned to her old life, taking the girl and a small fortune in gold with her. When she died, the girl was shipped back to her natural father, who, after the initial shock, ended up spoiling her terribly. Nothing was too good for her. She is said to have ruined him, and she tried to ruin Tachibana with her expensive tastes.” Motosuke looked disgusted. “I never met her. Is she very handsome?”