Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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“Nonsense!” Akitada repeated, somewhat absently. He peered down a dark alley. At its end torches flickered and he could hear excited voices. “Something is wrong down there.”

“If there are people, let’s go ask one more time.”

“Very well. But after that we get some rest.”

When they reached the torch-lit scene, they found that a crowd had gathered because of a crime in a dilapidated two-story house with the ill-written sign “Fragrant Bower of Beauty” dangling lopsidedly from a single nail. A red-coated police constable stood guard at the doorway, glaring impartially at a knot of poorly dressed people clustered before him.

Akitada pushed through the curious and demanded, “What happened here?” Just then the door opened and two more constables appeared, bearing a body on a stretcher. It was covered by a woman’s bloodstained gown.

The constable, seeing a tall, official-sounding stranger before him, puffed himself up. “A vagrant slashed a whore’s throat,” he barked. Then he grinned, baring crooked yellow teeth. “But he didn’t get very far, and there’s plenty of women left inside, so help yourself, sir.” He winked, stepped aside, and strode off after his colleagues.

Seimei stumbled after him. “Constable! Wait!” he croaked hoarsely through another bout of coughing. The constable did not hear him, and Seimei returned to seize Akitada’s sleeve, his face flushed and tense. “You must follow, sir. It’s a murder. You know all about murder, and I have a feeling it has something to do with Tora.”

“Nonsense. You are ill and exhausted, and I cannot get involved in a murder investigation here. I am on assignment to Kazusa.”

“Please, sir. At least we could ask about him at the police station. It would make me feel better.”

With a sigh, Akitada gave in. The police station was near the center of Fujisawa, its entrance marked by a large paper lantern bearing the characters “Police.” Inside they found a lieutenant and two clerks occupied with questioning a fat man in a greasy blue cotton robe.

“I admit I was wrong about the color of his jacket, Officer,” the obese man was saying, spreading small hands with fingers like fat slugs. “But you couldn’t miss the scar on his face. I swear it’s the same man. Poor Violet! She was just building a nice clientele, too. A big loss, that, Officer. And who will indemnify me? I paid six rolls of the best silk for that girl four years ago. I fed her, trained her, and was just realizing a small profit when . . . poof...” His hands flew into the air, encircling emptiness, when his eyes took in the weary, travel-worn figures of Akitada and Seimei. “It is really too bad how much riffraff is allowed to travel the great Eastern Road nowadays. An honest businessman is no longer safe in this town.”

The police lieutenant turned. “What do you want?” he asked peevishly. “Can’t you see I’m busy? If it’s about travel permits or directions, you’ll have to come back in the morning.”

Akitada was tired and frustrated. He knew Seimei was feeling worse, and he had no intention of wasting any more time. “Pass the man my papers, Seimei,” he snapped, and watched impatiently as the lieutenant unrolled them and paled as he read the imperial instructions to give the bearer all possible assistance. After raising the document reverently to his brow, he fell to his knees and apologized.

“Get up!” said Akitada wearily. “We sent our servant Tora ahead to arrange for lodging. He seems to have disappeared. I wish him found immediately.”

The lieutenant jumped up and asked for particulars. When Akitada gave a description of Tora, his face grew longer and longer. The fat man cried out in astonishment also, and the clerks sat watching with round eyes.

“We took such a person into custody a short while ago,” the lieutenant admitted. “For murdering a prostitute. He was arrested not far from the scene of a murder on the word of this eyewitness here.” He pointed to the fat man, who suddenly looked nervous.

“Well,” the fat man stammered, “it was getting dark, but I recognized the scar when I saw his face at the noodle stall. Perhaps these gentlemen are not aware of the violent character of their servant.”

“Can we see the prisoner?” Akitada asked the officer.

“Certainly. Right away, Your Excellency!” The lieutenant clapped his hands.

A few moments later Tora stood before them, chained, bloodied, bruised, and held firmly on either side by two brawny guards.

“Sir!” he cried, and took a step toward Akitada. The constables jerked him back by his chains.

Akitada said, “There has been some mistake. This is my servant. Set him free instantly.”

“But, Excellency,” protested the officer. “He has been positively identified by a respected citizen of this town. I’m afraid—”

Akitada glared. “I said, set him free.”

Tora was released and came to them, rubbing his wrists and muttering his thanks.

Akitada growled, “I hope you won’t make a habit of this, Tora. We’ve spent hours looking for you. If it hadn’t been for Seimei’s insistence, you might have rotted in this jail.” He saw Tora’s eyes moisten and relented. “What happened?”

“It serves me right, sir,” Tora said humbly. “I was hungry and cold and thought there was plenty of time, you being delayed at the post station. I stopped for some noodles in hot broth. I was just finishing them when all hell broke loose. The next thing I know, I’m on the ground with four constables beating and kicking me.”

Akitada turned to the lieutenant. “When did the crime take place?”

The fat man and the officer answered simultaneously, “Four hours ago.”

“How do you know?”

The lieutenant scowled at the witness who subsided into a dejected lump. “She was still a little warm when we got there, and that was almost two hours ago. Toyama here is her employer and he came straight to us after finding her dead.”

“But four hours ago it was not yet dark,” said Akitada, regarding the fat man suspiciously. In spite of his fatigue and against his best intentions, his interest was aroused. He wished he could see the body and question the dead woman’s friends. “When did this man see the murderer?”

The fat man spoke up nervously. “I saw him at the noodle stall on my way back with the constables. I knew right away he was the man. You see, the girls described Violet’s customer to me. The scar on his face, that’s what gave him away. The clothes ... as I said, we could be wrong about those. Anyway, when I saw him standing there, eating noodles as if he hadn’t a care in the world, I cried out and told the constables.”

“Ridiculous,” snapped Akitada. “If the murder happened four hours ago, my servant was still with me and my secretary several miles outside Fujisawa. I suggest you bring in your witnesses—and I don’t mean this man—and have them verify that this is not the man they saw. Then I expect my servant to be released with an apology. Tora, you will join us at our inn.”

“That will be the Phoenix Inn, sir. It is said to be the best,” Tora offered helpfully. But Akitada was reluctant to leave. He opened his mouth to offer advice to this obviously bumbling policeman, when Tora cried out and he heard a thud behind him. Turning, he saw Seimei’s frail body stretched out, unconscious, on the cold dirt floor.

* * * *

TWO

PEDDLERS, MONKS,

AND FUJIWARAS

F

or two days, Seimei was very ill with a feverish cold and a painful, tearing cough. Akitada sat by his bedside, filled with bitter self-recriminations for not having noticed his companion’s illness earlier, for having pushed the old man too hard on the journey, for having undertaken this assignment against the advice of his friends. He had frightening visions of losing Seimei here, in this strange town, far from the family the faithful soul had served so well all his life.

Tora undertook the nursing duties with patience and a gentleness no one would have expected from the rough tramp. At least in this respect, Akitada did not rue his impulse to save the young man from the brutality of the constables. Except for a reluctance to reveal his real identity, Tora spoke freely about his troubles. He was a farmer’s son who lost his family during the border wars and was pressed into military service. He deserted after beating up his lieutenant for raping a farm girl.

On the third day after his collapse, Seimei awoke from a deep sleep and asked for a drink. When Tora rushed up with a cup of wine, he pushed it aside and said peevishly, “You fool, don’t you know wine heats the blood? Are you trying to kill me? Tea. I need tea made from steeped juniper berries, mustard plant, and yarrow root. I suppose you expect me to get up and look for those things myself?”

“Sorry, old man,” Tora said meekly. “I’ll get your roots and berries if you tell me where to look for them.”

“Never mind, Tora.” Akitada put his hand on Seimei’s brow and found it dry and cool. “The local pharmacist will have all the ingredients. Take some money from my saddlebag and get what you need.” To Seimei he said, “I am very glad to see you better, old friend. We have been worried about you. Tora was tireless in caring for you, keeping you covered and putting cooling compresses on your head.”

Seimei looked a bit guilty. “Oh,” he mumbled. “How long have I been sick?”

“Two days and three nights.”

“Oh, no!” Seimei struggled to sit up. “Such a delay! We must go on immediately. I am certain I shall be able to get up after my herbal tea.”

Akitada pushed him back gently. “There is no hurry. I have need of your skills once we arrive, and you must be well rested and healthy. We shall stay here in this comfortable inn until you are completely well. Tora can look after you, and I shall use my time to find out what I can about the Kazusa matter and perhaps offer my help to the local police. They don’t seem at all competent to deal with that prostitute’s murder.”

They remained another two days in Fujisawa. Seimei improved greatly and took out his frustrations by nagging Tora. Akitada made several visits to the police station. To his regret he was given no information, nor were his questions about the murder answered. The lieutenant, scrupulously polite, assured him his servant had been cleared of all charges. The brothel keeper had quickly retracted his accusation when his girls denied ever laying eyes on Tora. His Excellency was free to travel on.

Thus, on the fifth morning, in balmy weather and with Seimei nearly well again, they took passage on a ship and crossed Sagami Bay to Kisarazu in Kazusa province. The trip by water, though dangerous in bad weather, saved them a week’s hard riding across country.

Instead of proceeding directly to the provincial tribunal, Akitada took lodgings in a modest inn next to the city market. He wanted a look at the city and its people before announcing his arrival to the governor.

Leaving Seimei there to rest, he and Tora set out to explore the town.

Kisarazu bustled with activity. Akitada guessed at a population of nearly ten thousand, but there seemed to be many visitors also. Their inn had been packed, and in the unseasonably warm sun the market was bustling with vendors, shoppers, and people out catching fresh air and sunshine. The large gated enclosure of the provincial administration looked substantial, even elegant. Kazusa province seemed a very good assignment, even for a Fujiwara governor. Had the present incumbent improved it by appropriating to himself three years’ worth of tax goods due to the emperor?

Around the hour of the evening rice, they returned to the inn and sat at one of the tables outside. Seimei joined them, and they ordered a simple meal from a stout, middle-aged waitress with a pronounced overbite. Tora took one look at her, grimaced, and watched the shoppers instead.

“I could swear that tall fellow lost his ear in a tangle with a chain and ball,” he said, nodding toward a group of young Buddhist monks passing the inn.

Akitada followed his glance and saw what Tora meant. The chain and ball was a vicious weapon used by violent gangs. This monk shared only the saffron robe and shaven head with the pasty-faced and soft-bodied clerics Akitada had met in the capital. Tall, ruddy, and very muscular, he walked with a swagger and had the face of a cutthroat. And Akitada saw with surprise that his companions were like him. They passed through the crowds almost disdainfully, speaking to no one, their eyes roaming everywhere. People scurried out of their way.

“Hmm,” said Akitada. “Odd. If he has had a checkered past, let us hope he has seen the error of his ways and chosen to atone.”

Seimei, being a good Confucianist like his master, also distrusted the Buddhist religion. He looked after the monks and shook his head. “You cannot make a crow white even if you wash it for a year.”

The waitress, who was serving their food and wine, burst into loud giggles and poked him with her elbow. Seimei glared at her.

“You used to say the same about me, old man,” Tora reminded Seimei.

“Exactly. And look at him now!” Akitada smiled at Tora with great satisfaction. They had done some shopping. The ragged tramp was wearing a new blue cotton robe with a black sash. His long hair was pulled back neatly into a topknot tied with a black cord, and his face clean shaven except for a small mustache. The scar had faded, and Tora attracted admiring glances from passing young women.

“I may have been wrong about you,” Seimei conceded. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “We shall see. But remember, Master Kung Fu says that a man should be distressed by his own lack of ability, not by the failure of others to recognize his merits.”

Tora reached for his bowl of rice and vegetables. “A very good saying, that,” he said, nodding. “You must teach me more about your Master Kung Fu.”

Seimei looked pleased. Akitada hoped that the old man was beginning to take a fatherly interest in Tora; it would be a welcome distraction if he found someone else to scold and instruct.

They ate and drank contentedly, watching the bustling crowd in the market.

“This looks like a healthy and prosperous province,” remarked Seimei to Akitada, echoing Akitada’s earlier thoughts. “The rice paddies and mulberry plantations we passed on the way here are well kept, and this market is selling an abundance of goods.”

“Yes.” Akitada had seen no signs of neglect or grinding poverty among the peasants. He knew that a dishonest administration satisfied its greed by excessive taxation and minimal maintenance of roads and fortifications.

“Something’s not right here,” Tora said. “I’ve a feeling about such things. Those bastard officials wouldn’t have to rob the peasants if they kept all the taxes for themselves. The governor’s palace has green roof tiles and gilded dragon spouts like a temple. Where did he get the money for that?”

“Well,” said Akitada, shaking his head doubtfully, “I find it hard to associate wholesale thievery of taxes with an otherwise excellent administration.”

Tora suddenly whistled.

“What’s the matter?” Seimei asked, raising his eyes from peering into the empty wine pitcher.

Tora pointed. “Look at that girl! She’s a beauty. What a neck! And those hips and thighs!”

Across from the inn, a vegetable vendor had set up his baskets of turnips, radishes, beans, herbs, sweet potatoes, and chestnuts. A pretty young girl, her hair tied up in the style of women of the lower class, and her slender figure wrapped tightly in a plain striped cotton gown, was bargaining with many gestures for a bunch of large radishes.

“Don’t stare, Tora,” Seimei scolded. “Women should neither be seen nor heard.” He called for their waitress. She arrived eagerly to take his order for more wine and pickles. “And don’t try to charge us for those pickles this time,” he told the woman. “They come with the wine.” She bobbed her head, grinned at him toothily, and padded away. He scowled after her and muttered, “Women can’t be trusted. Charging for pickles and pocketing the money herself, I bet.” Turning back to Tora, he said, “Mark my words and stay away from females. A young man in your position must keep his mind pure or he will be ruined by some flirtatious light-skirt.”

Too late. Tora, a look of determination on his face, jumped up and disappeared in a passing group of shoppers.

There seemed to be some kind of commotion. People turned their heads to stare. But when the crowd thinned, there was no trace of either Tora or the girl.

“Well!” exploded Seimei. “Did you see that? Outrageous! He jumped up without a word to run after the first skirt that appeals to him. What shall we do now?”

“Nothing. Here’s the waitress, Seimei. Let’s drink our wine and eat these excellent free pickles. If Tora has not returned by the time we are done, we’ll retire. You can lecture him about his behavior tomorrow.”

“Hah! Trying to talk to that one is like taking the whip to the bullock’s horns.”

They were idly watching people again, when a peddler approached some guests at the other end of the porch. He was the first poor man they had seen in the city.

Ancient, bent, and skeletal, he was barely able to support the tray of merchandise strapped around his birdlike neck and shoulders. As he hobbled among the guests, he kept propping the tray up on tables every chance he got. Through the holes and tatters of his shirt patches of leathery skin could be seen, and he was bare-legged to his loincloth.

The guests were mostly merchants eating their rice. They made threatening noises and gestures at the peddler. But he persisted, either hard of hearing or desperate to make a sale, until one of the men became impatient and delivered a vicious kick to the peddler’s backside. The old man fell face forward into the street, across his tray of knickknacks, which scattered in the mud. The merchants laughed uproariously, and some street urchins darted forward to scoop up what they could carry.

Akitada was by the side of the fallen peddler in a moment, scattering the boys. Helping the old man up, he led him to their bench. “I am sorry for the treatment you got, old man,” he told him. “Here, have some wine. It will warm you and give you some strength.”

The old peddler shivered and moaned, but the wine produced results, and his whimper turned into intelligible words. It appeared he was a great deal more concerned about his loss of merchandise than his injuries.

Akitada looked at him and marveled at a life where the threat of starvation was far more serious than bruises or broken bones. “Seimei,” he said, “go see if you can find any of his things and bring them over here.”

Seimei, his face a study in outrage, returned with the tray of muddied objects and placed it on the table next to the peddler. Taking a sheet of paper from his sash, he tore it carefully in half, wiped his hands thoroughly, and tucked away the rest.

The peddler, seeing the few grimy remnants of his stock-in-trade, uttered a string of shrill wails. Akitada rashly offered to buy what was left and the old man stopped his noise immediately. He quoted an exorbitant price, which Akitada paid. Without a word of thanks the peddler dumped the contents of the tray on the table, flung its rope around his neck, and disappeared into the crowd at a lively pace.

“Oh, the vile person was pretending all the time,” cried Seimei. “What are we to do with this filthy junk?” He poked at the cheap combs and pins with his chopstick. “It isn’t worth two coppers and you gave him twenty. And it’s all women’s stuff anyway. And dirty. No doubt we will both become ill from touching the creature and his trash.”

“You might make our waitress a gift of them,” suggested Akitada. “She seems to be particularly taken with you.”

Seimei’s jaw sagged until he saw Akitada’s grin. He prepared to sweep everything onto the empty pickle tray when Akitada reached out and plucked one small piece from the pile and cleaned it off carefully. “If I am not mistaken,” he said, “this is Chinese cloisonné work, a very strange sort of thing to find in a peddler’s tray. Look, Seimei, it’s a morning glory, and beautifully made, each blue petal and green leaf outlined with gold wire. I wonder how that old man got an exquisite thing like this.” He scanned the crowd for a glimpse of the peddler.

Seimei peered at the tiny flower. “It’s very small. Is it worth twenty coppers?”

“Not in its present condition. Once it was part of a hair ornament, and worth a hundred times that. But few women, even of the noblest houses, wear jewelry nowadays. It’s a puzzle.” Akitada frowned in concentration, then shook his head. “Perhaps it came from a temple robbery. Ancient statues of goddesses often have such ornaments. I shall keep it as a souvenir. Leave the other things for the waitress and let’s go to bed.”

♦

Tora had not returned by the following morning. Akitada was torn between disappointment that Tora should have left so quickly when he no longer needed protection, and fear that he had got himself into some new trouble. But either way, there was nothing he could do until he had met with the governor.

When Seimei found his master dressed in his usual hunting robe and clean cotton trousers tucked into boots, he objected, insisting that Akitada put on formal court attire for the occasion. Akitada controlled his temper because of Seimei’s recent illness. He sat, quietly fuming, while Seimei unpacked and aired out his one good silk robe, white silk court trousers, and the formal hat of stiffened black gauze, accompanying his ministrations with bitter recriminations about Tora. Putting on the awkward costume did little to improve Akitada’s mood, already tense in anticipation of the coming interview.

The walled compound that housed the provincial government dwarfed the adjoining district administration. Akitada and Seimei passed through a roofed gate supported by red-lacquered pillars. The two trim soldiers, standing stiffly on guard, their halberds pointing skyward, did not prevent their entry but eyed them curiously.

Inside stretched a large courtyard covered with gravel and bisected by a paved walk, about fifty yards long and leading straight to the steps of the main hall. Behind its tall, tiled roof they could see more roofs, some thatched and some tiled, no doubt offices, quarters for the governor’s personal guard, prison, archives, storehouses, and the governor’s private residence and guest quarters.

The reason for the complacent behavior of the two gate guards became apparent. A whole company of guardsmen was drilling, and an official in the sober dark robe of a clerk detached himself from a small group of watchers and came toward them.

“May I direct you?” he asked, bowing deeply because Akitada’s silk robe and stiffened black cap marked him as a person of rank.

“I am Sugawara Akitada, the inspector, just arrived from the imperial capital,” Akitada told him, suddenly glad that he had submitted to Seimei’s demands. “You may take me to the governor.”

The other man started, then paled and fell to his knees, bowing his head to the ground. “This insignificant person is the governor’s secretary, Akinobu. Your Excellency is expected, but we thought... That is, the forerunner of an official cortege usually arrives well ahead of the dignitary. A thousand pardons for not being prepared to receive Your Excellency with the appropriate honors. I hope Your Excellency had no trouble on the journey?”

Akitada noted the man’s nervousness and took secret satisfaction from their unorthodox arrival. He said breezily, “None at all. I traveled on horseback, accompanied by my secretary, Seimei, and one servant who will arrive later. Please rise.”

Akinobu rose, his thin face a study of alarm and puzzlement, but he said nothing, merely bowed and led them through the main administration hall, a large empty space with beautifully polished dark floors and painted beams supporting the soaring roof. This building, Akitada knew, was for official receptions and public hearings. Beyond the main hall they crossed another wide courtyard and entered a second, somewhat smaller hall, this one divided by tall screens into individual offices, where many clerks were busily copying records, filing documents, and consulting registers.

“The governor’s library,” Akinobu said, ushering them into an elegant room furnished with shelves of leather document boxes, handsome lacquer desks, and paintings. The wooden floor was covered with thick grass mats, and several silk cushions rested on these. “Please be seated. His Excellency will join you immediately.”

When Akinobu had withdrawn and they had sat down on the silk cushions, Seimei whispered, “Who would have expected such elegant surroundings in a province?”

Akitada did not answer. He was looking at a set of very fine scroll paintings of the four seasons displayed on a standing screen. The governor was a man of taste as well as wealth.

They did not have to wait long. Fujiwara Motosuke bounced in, fluttering his hands excitedly, a wide smile on his face, and cried, “Welcome, welcome, welcome! How glad I am to see you, my dear Sugawara! All safe and sound? What very good fortune!” He spread his arms wide to embrace his guest.

Akitada was taken aback not only by the greeting but by Motosuke’s resemblance to his cousin Kosehira. Though the governor was about twenty years older than Akitada’s friend, he had the same short, stout body and, apparently, uncrushably cheerful disposition. There were a few silver threads in his well-oiled black hair and his mustache was thicker and grew downward, but Akitada had an eerie feeling that he was seeing an older Kosehira.

Seimei knelt, touching his forehead to the mat in the prescribed deep obeisance, but Akitada remained seated and merely inclined his head politely and without smiling. He was intensely aware of being rude, but he could hardly allow this man, who was under heavy suspicion of having diverted three years of provincial taxes into his own pockets, to embrace him like a long-lost brother.

The governor blinked. Under normal conditions, his rank and age placed him several degrees above Akitada, but Akitada had chosen to assert his temporary status as kageyushi, imperial inspector charged with examining the records of an outgoing governor.

Motosuke dropped his outstretched arms and seated himself, beginning a nervous spate of more welcoming words and concerns about their journey and probable fatigue.

Akitada interrupted. “Yes, yes, Governor,” he said curtly. “I will take all that for granted and am much obliged for your greeting, but my purpose here is neither personal nor ceremonial. Let us get to business without further delay. This is my confidential secretary, Seimei, who will now present my credentials.”

Motosuke looked shocked but received the scrolls with proper respect, touching their imperial seals to his forehead and bowing deeply before untying the silken cords to read.

He sighed when he was done. Carefully rolling up the papers again and returning them to Akitada, he said, “It is a great shame to me that these outrages should have been perpetrated during my administration.” He paused and gave Akitada an almost timid look. “My cousin wrote that you have great skill in solving puzzles of all sorts. It is my sincere hope that your inestimable experience may allow you to help me find the scoundrels and clear my record before I leave office.”

Akitada frowned. Much as he disliked the role he was forced to play, he had no intention of allowing Motosuke to transform him from official investigator into his personal adviser in the situation. He said coldly, “It will be necessary that we are given access to all your files immediately. You will so instruct your staff. My secretary will keep you informed if the investigation warrants it or if your testimony is required.” He rose.

Motosuke, who had paled at his words, scrambled up also. “Certainly. I shall make all the arrangements,” he said, then added timidly, “You ... you will wish to rest. I am having quarters prepared for you in my residence. May I take you there now? You will only have to tell the servants if there is anything, anything at all, that you might require.”

Akitada said stiffly, “Thank you, but I should prefer to stay in the tribunal compound. Surely you have guest quarters for official visitors?”

Beads of perspiration on his brow, Motosuke was wringing his hands. He sputtered, “Yes, of course. How stupid of me! Only, the guesthouses are not nearly so comfortable. And it is getting cold. A very uncongenial season, winter. I wish you had come earlier. We could have given you some excellent hunting and fishing. Still, I hope I may introduce you to some of the important persons in town. You will not like the tribunal food. It is for the soldiers and prisoners only. My personal kitchen, my servants, and my stables are completely at your disposal.” He was babbling and looked so distressed that Akitada softened.

“Thank you,” he said with a formal bow. “You are very kind. I shall be honored to make the acquaintance of the local dignitaries. Now, perhaps, you might show us to the archives. My secretary and I should like to meet your clerks.”

They spent the day in the archives, talking to clerks and making a superficial inspection of the records. Akitada was favorably impressed with the efficiency of the staff and the neatness of the paperwork, but he avoided questioning anyone about the missing taxes. When he had seen enough of the provincial recordkeeping, a servant led them to their quarters. It was getting dark, and a chill wind blew across the tribunal compound. The guest pavilion with its covered veranda turned out to be spacious and pleasant and had its own walled courtyard. Seimei gave their quarters a cursory glance and asked the servant for the way to the bathhouse.

“It’s still early,” protested Akitada. “I wanted to walk around the tribunal first.”

“You forget the dusty archives,” said Seimei. “Besides, who knows, the governor may call on us to make certain we are comfortable. He strikes me as a most polite gentleman.”

Akitada thought so, too, but would have preferred a less likable host.