Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“No!” She was sobbing now. “No, it isn’t true. I swear by Amida that I’m innocent. I have been faithful to my husband. Why are you tormenting me?”

Feeling dizzy, Akitada dabbed at the perspiration on his face with a sleeve. He had to frighten her into a confession. “The servants knew about your lovers. They will tell the truth in court. The penalty for adultery and murder of one’s husband is death by flogging. I suggest you tell the truth soon, before the constables strip you naked in the open courtroom and whip you with bamboo canes till you talk.”

He had expected her to scream or faint, but she merely pressed her sleeve to her mouth. Her eyes glittered strangely. Suddenly she prostrated herself before him.

“This unnatural creature confesses,” she said. “I betrayed my husband, but I did not kill him. I know I must pay the price for having been unfaithful, but I am young and did not know what I was doing till it was too late. Oh, please have pity.”

Her hands crept toward Akitada’s feet, but he stepped away. Looking down at her, he commanded, “Tell me what happened.”

In a muffled voice, she sobbed, “I was seduced by loving words. Afterward, when I realized what I had done, I wished to end the affair, but he forced me to lie with him by threatening to tell my husband. Since my husband never came to my rooms after dark, my lover visited whenever he wished. He made me unlock the garden gate for him after everyone was asleep.”

Akitada’s neck and back were soaked with sweat, his under-robe and collar clinging uncomfortably to his skin. “Get to the night of the murder!” he rasped.

“My husband returned late from the governor’s party, and for some reason he came into my room. He found us together and threatened to expose our affair to the world. My lover seized the vase and killed him.” She covered her face. “It was horrible. He made me help him hide the crime.”

“Then you are as guilty as he.”

She wailed, “I am not. I am not. It was he who struck him,” and burst into a torrent of tears, beating the floor with her fists.

“Stop that!” shouted Akitada, and choked on the sharp pain in his throat.

To his surprise, she sat up, retied her sash, and dried her face with her sleeve. “My lord,” she said quietly, “in your wisdom and generosity, you must see that a naive girl from the country would be easy prey for the sweet words of a handsome soldier. My husband encouraged our friendship. It is true I fell in love with a cruel monster, but I did not know then what he was. My lord, you cannot wish a foolish girl to suffer for a murder she did not commit?”

Akitada snapped, “If you are accusing Captain Yukinari, your lies prove you guilty. The captain was out of town during the night of the murder. You are protecting the real killer. Confess. Your lies will do you no good. Your only hope for a merciful judgment is to give evidence against your lover. It is all over.”

Her pretty face contorted with fury. She jumped up and rushed at him, fingernails clawing at his face. He flung her away, then watched in disbelief as she ripped open her clothes again and viciously scratched her own neck and breasts until they bled.

Then she screamed for help.

The door flew open, and the nurse took one look at her mistress and added her own screams. The noise reverberated in Akitada’s painful skull. Helplessly, he sat back down and covered his ears.

The widow stopped screaming long enough to say, “You fool. The house is empty. Quick, run to the prefecture. Get the constables. This man has violated me. Hurry!”

The woman ran, and the room became blissfully quiet. Akitada lowered his hands. It occurred to him that the nurse was probably an accessory. And she was on her way to Ikeda. Too late now to rethink the situation. Events must take their course.

“You will regret this!” the lady hissed. “We’ll see who will be believed now. You’re a stranger here, one of those depraved nobles from the capital we hear so much about, while I am the widow of the former governor. You’ll be sorry you ever meddled with me.”

Akitada cocked an ear toward the gallery outside. After a little while, he heard the expected sound of heavy boots on the wooden boards. Lady Tachibana scurried into a corner and let her clothes fall open to reveal her bleeding breasts. She arranged herself in a pose of abject terror. When the door slid open, she was sobbing pitifully.

Soldiers in the uniform of the governor’s guard pressed into the room and goggled at the half-naked woman.

“Arrest that man,” Lady Tachibana quavered, pointing at Akitada. “He raped me. He came here pretending to offer sympathy and then attacked me viciously when he saw that I had no protection. Oh, thank heaven there is justice for poor widows.”

“Lieutenant Kenko, I believe?” said Akitada, nodding to the officer in charge, who took his eyes off Lady Tachibana’s breasts and snapped to attention. “I see Secretary Akinobu has explained the matter. You have been very prompt. I want Lady Tachibana placed under arrest for the murder of her husband.”

The widow cried, “How so? You have no authority here. And these men are not from the prefecture. No doubt you have bribed them. I refuse to go until the constables arrive.”

The lieutenant cast an uneasy glance at Akitada. Then the door was flung open again, and the nurse ran in, followed by Ikeda and a group of red-coated constables.

“There he is,” the nurse cried, pointing to Akitada.

Ikeda himself! It could not be worse. All Akitada could do now was to play the game carefully and hope his opponent made a wrong move. Easier said than done, when his head was pounding and his strategies seemed to swim about like so many slippery tadpoles.

Ikeda took in the soldiers and then saw Akitada. “Your Excellency?” he said, feigning confusion. “What happened? I was on my way to investigate a murder in the brothel district when this silly woman came running down the street screaming that her mistress was being violated. I see there must be some mistake.”

“Your arrival is timely, Prefect,” said Akitada, hoping his voice did not give away his nervousness. “Here, too, a crime has been committed. I am charging Lady Tachibana and her nurse with the murder of the late Lord Tachibana.”

“Your Honor!” the nurse called out, trying to push past the soldiers to Ikeda. Two brawny fellows caught her around the middle and lifted her off the ground. Grinning widely, they held her as she kicked and cursed.

Holding her gown together with one hand, Lady Tachibana tripped across the room to slap her nurse soundly. “Be quiet!” she hissed. The woman closed her mouth and became limp. Her voice trembling with fury, the widow turned to the lieutenant and said, “Lord Sugawara told a pack of lies to escape a charge of raping a defenseless widow. My nurse is a witness to his depravity. Release her immediately!”

Akitada felt his control of the situation slipping. The pounding pain in his head and the soreness of his throat had been joined by more nausea. With an effort he turned to Ikeda. “I’m afraid the evidence of murder is incontrovertible. A vase just like the one over there was the murder weapon. Lord Tachibana fell there, bleeding into the carpet. The stain is still visible. Lady Tachibana, her nurse, and a male visitor carried the body through the garden to the studio and arranged it to suggest an accidental fall. Then one of them swept the path. One of the maids and another witness saw the male accomplice escape into the alley behind the house.”

Swallowing nervously, Ikeda looked around the room. The pause stretched as he weighed his options. “Who is this alleged accomplice?” the prefect finally asked.

“Lady Tachibana has refused to identify the man. She briefly tried to blame the murder on Captain Yukinari, but I happen to know that he was not in town the night of the murder.”

Ikeda stared at him, then cleared his throat. “Horrible,” he said. “Murder. Who would have thought? I don’t see how I could have missed ...”

Akitada’s stomach churned as nausea threatened again. He had to get away from here, get outside into the clean, fresh air. He glared at Ikeda. “Well, what are you waiting for now, man?” he snapped. “This crime is heinous. It touches the most sacred foundations of our nation.” He knew he sounded pompous but did not care. “Respect and duty to husband and master have been foully perverted by these women. Or don’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely!” gasped Ikeda, glancing nervously at the women. Lady Tachibana stared back at him. He cleared his throat again. “For a wife to raise her hand against her husband or for a servant to assist in the killing of her master is frightful indeed. The most severe penalty permitted by the law must be imposed.” He waved to his constables. “Arrest these women!”

The nurse began to jabber wildly.

“Gag her!” snapped Ikeda. With the help of Kenko’s soldiers, the constables subdued the maid. Lady Tachibana wept softly but offered no further resistance.

It was over.

Akitada stumbled up. He managed to nod to the lieutenant and Ikeda before walking quickly out of the door. The icy air hit his sweat-covered face like a burst of cold water. For a moment he stood swaying, breathing in deep gulps of it. Then the nausea rose again, and he staggered down into the garden to vomit.

He did not know how he managed to get back to their quarters, but he found them dark and empty. Dimly recalling that Seimei and Tora were still on their errand, he lay down on the floor as he was and closed his eyes.

Later he roused himself. He was burning with fever. Tearing off his clothing, all but the thin silk underrobe that clung to his wet skin, he crawled over to his desk to drink the remnants of cold tea from Seimei’s teapot. Then he collapsed into uneasy sleep again.

When he awoke a second time, he was shaking with cold. He tried to call for Seimei, but his voice was gone and his teeth chattered so badly, he gave up. The room was completely dark. He got up and attempted to reach the trunk that held the bedding but was unable to control the trembling of his arms and legs. Dizziness caused him to sit down abruptly, and he vomited up the tea. Though his throat still felt as if he had swallowed hot coals and his head pounded like a drum, the nausea was gone. Covering himself with his clothes, he lay back down.

Strange dreams and nightmares filled his sleep. Lady Tachibana hovered above him, eagle’s talons instead of hands ripping open his throat while her butterfly wings gently fanned his burning brow. Ayako appeared and disappeared in clouds of steam, beckoning to him, while he groped blindly and futilely for her. At one point the green shard in his fingers turned into a leaf and fluttered away to join a blue flower: asagao, he thought, the morning glory. It nodded in the moonlight, and the dew-drop on its petals turned to blood.

* * * *

FIFTEEN

THE BLOOD-RED CURTAIN

T

he stout waitress recognized Seimei immediately. Her pockmarked face split into a grin flashing crooked yellow teeth the minute she saw them at the door. “Master Seimei!” she shouted, plopping down a flask of wine so suddenly between two customers that most of it spilled. “Master Seimei!” She started toward them with flapping sleeves.

Seimei shot behind Tora’s broad back with a gasp. “We cannot stay, Tora,” he hissed. Someone in the room burst into laughter.

“Come in, come in,” the woman cried, reaching around Tora and pulling Seimei out by his arm. “It’s cold outside and I’ve a good seat for you by the fire. What will you eat? Some fine kisu fish stewed in wine and soy sauce? Salted mushrooms and pickled eggplant? We have boiled sweet potatoes I could mash for you with a little honey if you have a sweet tooth.”

“No, no,” gasped Seimei, pulling away from her grasp. “We are in a great hurry. Isn’t that right, Tora? No time at all. We just stopped to ask you a question.”

She bared her teeth again. “No need to ask.” Without letting go of his arm, she playfully poked Seimei’s bony chest with a stubby forefinger. “I’m free in another hour.” Seimei looked blank. She pursed her lips over her buckteeth in disappointment. “Well, come in and sit down at least,” she pleaded. “Just to rest your legs. You’re not as young as you used to be.” Looking at the grinning Tora, she added, “You should look after your uncle a little better. It’s hard on a man his age when he has no wife to see to his comfort.”

Seimei glared. “I am not at all tired,” he snapped. “And it is not polite to call people old.”

Chuckling, she patted his cheek. “Oh, there’s lots of life left in you yet,” she said. “You’re just the sort of man I like.”

Seimei retreated behind Tora again, to more laughter from their audience. “You talk to her, Tora,” he yelped.

Tora stopped grinning and put on a ferocious face. “Pay attention, woman!” he growled. “We’re here on official business.”

She cocked her head at him. “Go ahead, ask.”

“There was a peddler here selling his wares the day you served us. He got knocked about a bit and spilled all his stuff in the street. Do you remember?”

Her eyes suddenly moist with sentiment, she peered around Tora. “Do I! It was so sweet of you, Master Seimei, to make me a present of the peddler’s things. See here?” She raised a hand to pat her hair. “That’s the pretty comb you gave me. I wear it every day and think of you.”

Someone applauded and shouted some lewd advice.

Seimei made a choking sound and clutched convulsively at Tora, who said, “Never mind that now. Where can we find the peddler?”

She said slyly, “I’ll tell you if Master Seimei comes back.”

Tora elbowed Seimei, who croaked, “Yes. As soon as we can.”

“Jisai hasn’t been back since your master paid him, but you can ask his friend.”

The friend turned out to be the Rat, who was taking his ease with a cup of wine.

“Getting drunk already?” Tora greeted him.

“Just keeping out the cold,” wheezed the Rat, looking at Seimei. “Who’s the old geezer?”

“I’ll wait outside,” Seimei snapped and turned to leave.

Tora caught his sleeve. “We’re all going. The Rat’s going to show us the way to Jisai’s place.”

“Jisai?” The Rat looked interested. “What’s he done?”

“We just have some questions,” Tora said. “You coming or not?”

“What’s it worth to you?”

“We’ll pay your tab if you’re quick about it.”

The Rat jumped up, grabbed his crutch, and hopped off toward the street.

The bucktoothed waitress grinned. “He’s had three flasks of the best wine and a platter of pickled plums,” she informed Tora.

Tora whispered in her ear, “Your boyfriend here has the cash. But you’ll have to be nice to him. He hates parting with it.” Aloud he said, “Pay her, Seimei. A promise is a promise, and the master’s in a hurry.”

Eyeing the woman warily, Seimei pulled out a string of coppers. “That man was a walking lesson on why drinking is a shortcut to poverty,” he said. “How much does he owe?”

“Forty-five coppers.”

“Forty-five ...” Seimei blanched and clutched the money to his chest.

She leaned forward to tap his cheek playfully. “But for you, my dear,” she murmured, batting her eyes flirtatiously, “I’ll make it a special price.” Seimei stared at her teeth like a drowning man at a shark’s jaws. “Make it ten coppers, love,” she cooed, “and we’ll spend the rest together.”

Applause and shouts of encouragement broke out all around them.

Seimei counted out ten copper coins with trembling hands and ran.

“Don’t forget your promise!” she called after him.

“Only ten coppers for all that wine!” Tora said outside, slapping Seimei on the back. “You’ll have to tell me your secret with women, old man.”

Seimei glowered at him and then turned his wrath on the cheerfully whistling Rat. “Start walking! Even a dog that wags its tail can be beaten,” he said.

The Rat pulled in his tail. Hopping along on his crutch and complaining of the cold, the long way, and his indifferent health, he took them through dirty alleys, a derelict burial ground, and the courtyards of several tenement buildings where frozen laundry drooped from lines and women emptied their slops into the yard. Eventually he dispensed with his fake handicap, leaving the crutch in a hollow tree. Seimei maintained a disapproving silence.

Thoroughly chilled and frustrated, they reached an area of open ground near the southern palisade of the city. Among a scattering of bare trees stood the makeshift tents and grass-covered huts of squatters. Black smoke rose against the twilight sky from open fires. Ragged women and children tended to their families’ dinners, while the men huddled near the warmth, drinking and rolling dice.

Exchanging cheerful greetings, the Rat dodged a line of frozen rags strung between two trees, kicked a snapping dog, and stopped in front of a particularly depressing hovel.

A ragged mat covered its entrance, and broken cooking utensils littered the ground. Flicking the mat aside unceremoniously, the Rat ducked in and Tora followed. Seimei, wrinkling his nose at the stench released from inside, stayed outside. A spate of excited talk came from the hut.

A group of dirty children quickly gathered around Seimei with pitiful wails: “Give us a copper.” “Just a copper for a bowl of soup, master.” They pushed against him, fingering the fabric of his robe, pointing at his black cap, feeling his sleeves, and inserting inquisitive hands under his sash. Seimei slapped the hands away and shouted, “Be quick about it, Tora!”

Instead of an answer, Tora’s arm shot out from behind the mat and pulled him inside. Seimei choked. Blinded by the sudden murky darkness, he felt as if he had been swallowed by some large, foul-smelling creature. Then he made out a human being cowering on a pallet covered with ragged blankets. The blankets had long since faded to the grayness of dirt, and the frail creature was of the same hue: gray skin, thin gray hair like cobwebs on a pale skull, grayish layers of clothing. Deep-set black eyes stared at Seimei with dull curiosity.

Thinking they were in the wrong place, he was backing out again when Tora moved and he saw that the frail figure was an old woman and that the peddler Jisai sat cross-legged beside her. He wore the same rags, probably, thought Seimei, still caked with the same mud. Between them stood a cracked brazier that produced more acrid smoke than warmth.

Seimei held a sleeve over his nose and mouth and told Tora, “That’s the man. Ask him and let’s go.”

“Where’s your manners, old-timer?” sneered the Rat, who seated himself on the bare dirt floor near the peddler. “We just got here. Sit down and be sociable.”

Seimei cast a pleading glance at Tora, who ignored him and settled down also. After a moment, lifting the back of his blue robe carefully above his hips, Seimei lowered himself to the floor.

What followed next, to the extreme frustration of the fastidious Seimei, was a leisurely discussion of the weather and conditions among the squatters. Then the ill health of the peddler’s wife was examined symptom by symptom. Seimei was consulted about medicines and thawed a little. He was urged to take the old woman’s pulse and look into her eyes. Teas, ointments, and plasters were weighed for their efficacy, and anecdotal evidence of local curatives—frog skins, charred mole meat, and powdered cockroach featured in these—heavily laced the conversation.

With weak quavers from the patient, a shrill whine from the peddler, Tora’s deep voice, and the Rat’s wheezing commentary, the dissonant but cozy chat proceeded in unhurried fashion without the least reference to the purpose of their visit.

When Seimei’s store of advice was as exhausted as the old woman’s litany of complaints, the conversation began to lag. Tora stretched and said, “Well, it’s good to see old friends again, Jisai. Our master sent us to make sure those bastards that tripped you up did no permanent damage.”

His words were ill-advised. The peddler and his wife now fell to reciting a whole string of Jisai’s physical problems, supposedly incurred during the incident. His back ached, one hip was out of joint, a knee inexplicably refused to bend, and he had terrible headaches followed by bouts of dizziness. In short, he was totally disabled, could not work, did not sleep well at night, was in constant pain, would never work again. Doctors’ bills were mounting, what with two patients, and they had had nothing to eat for days.

Seimei gave a snort and lifted the lid of a pot that stood on a rickety bamboo stand beside him. “Bean soup?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“A kind neighbor brought it,” said the peddler. “A waste! The wife’s too sick to eat it cold, and I’m too weak to build a fire to heat it.” He sighed deeply and added, “Even if I had some wood.”

Seimei snorted again.

Tora said, “Maybe we can help.” He stretched out his hand for Seimei’s string of coppers. “Our master’s a very charitable man. He would wish us to leave a little something.”

Seimei, muttering under his breath, counted out a coin at a time until Tora withdrew his hand and placed a small stack of money before the old woman. She gave them a toothless smile and said, “A great man, your master. You’re blessed to be working for such a saint.”

“And you’re a wise woman, Auntie,” said Tora. He rose. “Well, we’d better go.” Seimei opened his mouth in outraged protest when Tora added casually, “By the way, there was a little blue flower among the stuff you sold the master. You remember it?”

The peddler nodded. “A fine piece.” he croaked. “Pure gold. Worth a whole string of coppers.”

Tora ignored this. “Remember where you got it?”

The peddler’s eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t say. I picked it up someplace. What’s so special about it?”

“Nothing. My master was going to throw it away, so I took it to give to my girl. Now she wants more stuff like it.”

“Would you spend some real money, say a silver bar?” the peddler suggested.

“That much? No kidding? Well, that’s too bad. My girl will be disappointed,” said Tora calmly, and stooped to gather up the coins he had laid before Jisai’s wife. “We’re on our way then. My master will be glad to hear that you’ve recovered and how good your business is.”

“Wait, wait!” cried the peddler, jumping up with astonishing agility. “I just remembered. I got it from one of the whores. She wanted drink money for her man. I don’t know where she got it. I don’t ask questions.”

“Who is she and where does she live?” Tora let the coppers jingle in his hand.

“Her name’s Jasmin. Lives near the market, I think.”

Surprisingly, the Rat grunted, “That’s Scarface’s slut. I know her.”

Tora stared at the Rat, then tossed the coins to the peddler. “There, you old rascal,” he snapped. “You’d better use the money to get back in business, or both you and your old woman will have your backbones poking through your navels.”

Outside Tora grasped the Rat by his bony shoulder. “What’s this about Jasmin and that Scarface bastard?”

The Rat twitched his shoulder free and whimpered, “Is that the thanks I get? I help you get what you want and you knock me around for it?”

“Sorry.” Tora let him go.

“I’m cold again.” The Rat shivered. “And thirsty.”

“No more wine,” warned Seimei.

Tora took Seimei’s arm and walked him a few steps away. “Look,” he said, “this guy needs wine to go on. You’ve got your work, and your proper robe and hat, and your medicines, and your master and me to nag. He’s got nothing. Wine is all he lives for. Not everybody’s as lucky as we are.”

Seimei blinked. Then he said, “But wine has ruined him. It will kill him. Look at the pathetic creature. And he calls me an old geezer!”

Tora sighed. “Dying is easy; it’s the living that’s hard. Wine makes him forget a little.”

Seimei stared at the Rat. “How old are you?” he called to him.

The Rat cocked his head. “Fifty-two. And you?”

“I shall be sixty,” Seimei said proudly, straightening his back and giving the Rat a pitying glance. “You look worn out, poor fellow. Let’s go find some warm place where you can rest a little before we go on.”

The Rat knew all the wine shops and led them to a place where they could warm their backs near the cooking ovens and their stomachs with a flask of warm wine.

“All right,” said Tora. “Start talking!”

The Rat drank deeply and said, “Far as I can tell, this Scarface showed up a couple of weeks ago and started working the street girls. Then he got to collecting from the vendors. They say he takes in a lot of money, but he gambles. Jasmin, the stupid skirt, is besotted with him.” The Rat shook his head and drank again. “He’s ugly enough to scare a ghost and he beats her.”

Tora nodded. “We met. He had a couple of thugs with him, a big drooling idiot and a short weasel of a guy.”

“Yushi and Jubei. Better watch yourself. They use knives and they don’t ask ‘May I?’“

Seimei did not like the sound of this. “Who is this Jasmin?” he asked nervously.

“A friend of a friend,” Tora said. “I guess we’d better go ask her about that flower. You’ve had enough wine for today, Rat. Let’s go.”

Outside, darkness had fallen. A bitter wind whistled through the narrow streets and blew bits of refuse and dead leaves along. They passed through dark alleys where rats scurried away and drunks and vagrants were curled up in corners. Gradually the glow of lights rose above the dark roofs.

“The market,” said Tora.

Seimei shivered, more with dread than cold, for he wore a quilted gown under his blue robe. He was not used to seeing so much filth and misery in one day and worried about meeting Scarface and his friends. The market seemed to lie at the center of all their troubles. They had started their ill-fated visit there and kept returning to it. Each time it led to greater unpleasantness. It was almost as if he were trapped in some sort of maze from which there was no escape.

Just then there was the sound of running feet, and he swung around with a gasp. But it was only some boys. They shouted as they ran past.

Tora frowned. “Something’s happened ahead,” he said. “They’ve sent for the prefect.”

“Must be a murder,” cried the Rat, hopping about excitedly. “We don’t call the prefect for a fight or an accident. Let’s go see!” He disappeared around the next corner, Tora hard on his heels.

Seimei strongly disapproved and followed more slowly. His day had been bad enough already. When he reached the corner, he saw a crowd at the end of the street. Lanterns bobbed, casting shifting shadows. People pressed around a narrow passageway between two old houses with cracked windowless walls, their rotten thatch mottled in the eerie glow from the market beyond. Tora and the Rat were pushing through the chattering crowd and disappeared into the dark passage.

Panic seized Seimei. They had abandoned him among harlots, thieves, and murderers, in a place where people did not bother to call the constables until it was too late. There was a killer loose, perhaps close by, and Seimei had no idea how to get back to the tribunal by himself.

He nervously approached the outer fringes of the crowd. A slatternly-looking young woman with a bawling child was talking to an old crone. “Serves the whore right,” she said with callous satisfaction. “One of her tricks, I bet. Filthy harlots. Women like her go after every man they can grab, even perverts.”

“They say he slit her throat from ear to ear,” said the crone.

Seimei shuddered. A very low crime. But he had no choice. He had to find Tora. He cleared his throat nervously.

The woman with the child turned, saw his blue robe and black hat, and said, “It’s the prefect! Let him pass!” The crowd parted and Seimei walked forward quickly, trying to look as official as possible. He scurried through the dark passageway and came to a torch-lit courtyard.

It was quieter here. More lanterns gleamed and dim lights shone from doors on the upper and lower floors. People were leaning on the railings and sitting on rickety stairs. They gave Seimei curious stares but quickly lost interest. The courtyard was covered with garbage, and ragged clothing dried on the railings. The air was smoky and odorous from cooking fires.

In the middle of the yard, a small group of people was looking up at a door on the second floor. Someone had hung a lantern near it. Its light shone on the red-patterned curtain.

Tora was not in sight, but the Rat stood leaning against a post. Seimei joined him. “What happened?” he asked. “Where is Tora?”

The Rat looked uncharacteristically glum. “Gone up for a look,” he wheezed, nodding toward the red curtain. “Looks like somebody finally did for the poor skirt.”

A fat woman in a dirty black silk dress was sitting on the steps gasping for breath and moaning. Two female friends supported her on either side, fanning her face and taking turns talking earnestly to her.

“Was that woman attacked, too?” Seimei asked.

“No. That’s the landlady. Nosy female came home and noticed the red curtain, so she went to look. Hah! Did she get a surprise, old cat!”

“She found the dead woman?”

“Yeah. She also found out what made the curtain red.”

Seimei looked up at the curtain and gulped. The cloth flapping heavily in a gust of icy wind had left lurid stains on the plaster of the wall.

Tora came down the stairs, his heavy boots echoing hollowly across the courtyard. He walked over to speak to the landlady.

Seimei had had enough of this nightmare assignment. Now Tora was getting them involved in this disgusting crime. Walking across the yard, he seized Tora’s arm and shook it. “Come along, Tora,” he said sharply. “We have no time to waste on sordid murders that don’t concern us. Let us go this instant!”

Tora looked at him blankly. “In a moment,” he said and turned back to the landlady. “On the next major street, you say, but one block over?”

“Tora!” Seimei stamped his foot and raised his voice. “You forget your place. We have no business with these people. No doubt this sort of thing is common around here. Foul-smelling things attract flies, they say. Let’s finish our assignment and return to the tribunal, where our master is waiting. I am worn out with all this walking around slums.”

Tora flung around. Taking Seimei by the shoulders, he lifted him off the ground. Seimei’s eyes grew large with shock at the fury in Tora’s face. “You silly old fool,” Tora hissed. “You worthless official and servant of worthless officials! What do I care if you’re tired or if you’re too good to rub shoulders with low people? That dead woman up there is Hidesato’s girl, Jasmin, and they’ll arrest him for her murder as soon as they talk to the landlady. I’ve got to go warn him. Now do you understand?”