Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

FIVE

THE WINTER BUTTERFLY

W

hen Akitada awoke, the room seemed filled with an unearthly light. He blinked. It was not sunshine; the light was too gray for that. Then he remembered the events of the previous night, and the weight of utter failure descended again. Motosuke, who was his prime suspect—his only one—could not be charged because of his daughter’s upcoming marriage to the emperor. Akitada had been unable to sleep after the banquet, but at some point he must have dozed off and overslept, for it was daylight outside.

With a sigh he slipped from the warm cocoon of the silk quilt into the chilly room. Tossing his robe over his underclothes, he eased open one of the shutters.

A new world met his eye. Thin layers of undisturbed snow covered the graveled courtyard, capped the earthen wall, and turned the curving tiled roofs of the halls and offices into large luminous rectangles suspended in the silver gray of an overcast sky. From the bare branches of the persimmon tree next to the veranda a white cloud of dust descended; a pair of brown sparrows, their feathers fluffed up against the cold, eyed him with cocked heads and beady eyes. One of them chirped, and Akitada’s spirits lifted.

He turned back into the room for one of the rice cakes the governor’s servant had left. Pulling it apart, he tossed the crumbs out into the snow. His two visitors swooped down, chattering loudly. Within seconds their call had been heard, and the snow below the veranda was covered with noisy, fluttering sparrows. They fought angrily over every crumb, pushing aside the weaker ones, pecking at the youngsters. One little fellow in particular hovered on the outskirts, making determined efforts to break through and snatch the food but suffering repeatedly from the vicious beaks of his elders. Akitada aimed the crumbs in his direction but only succeeded in causing worse hostilities. Eventually the little sparrow flew up and landed next to the building, practically at Akitada’s feet, where a scattering of small bits had escaped his more cowardly fellows.

Akitada watched the little bird eat his fill and smiled. Survival in nature, as in his own world, depended on determination, courage, and finding alternate solutions to problems. Perhaps his enemies had planned to bring him to certain ruin with this assignment. In case his youth and lack of influence would not bring him to grief, they had assigned him to a crime they believed was unsolvable. Motosuke could only be accused of stealing the taxes if Akitada was willing to face imperial displeasure. Either way he would be ruined.

But here was a little sparrow that had found a way past his enemies. And Akitada would also seize an opportunity: Lord Tachibana’s invitation. He brushed rice dust from his hands, closed the shutter, and turned to finish dressing.

♦

It was really too early to call on a gentleman, Akitada realized, as he strode through the snowy streets of the city, but his was no courtesy visit. The more he thought about the ex-governor’s whispered words and the circumstances of the dinner, the more convinced he became that Tachibana had been afraid and had turned to him for help.

Akitada lengthened his stride. When he reached the quarter where substantial private compounds, secluded behind high walls, lined the streets, he asked directions of a beggar, tossing him a few copper coins in return.

Lord Tachibana’s villa was not far, but after Akitada knocked at the fine old wooden gate, there was a considerable delay before it creaked open. He was admitted by an aged male servant, so bent and decrepit that Akitada expected him to creak like the gate. Beyond the small courtyard rose the main house, its steep roof covered with snowy thatch, and its wooden walls and shutters, blackened by years of exposure to the weather, stark in their contrast.

“I am Sugawara,” Akitada told the old man, who raised a hand to his ear and blinked at him uncertainly. “Lord Tachibana asked me to call today,” Akitada shouted.

Without a word, the servant turned and shuffled off down a snowy path that led past the main house into the garden. After a moment’s hesitation, Akitada followed.

The garden had been laid out by a master. Elegantly clustered rocks, shrubs, and clipped pine trees, beautiful even in this season, were covered with new snow. The path wound past a stone lantern and a small pond, where, with flashes of silver and gold, carp moved sluggishly on the murky bottom.

Their path joined another, this one swept clean of snow, and they came to a small building, a secluded pavilion surrounded by a wooden veranda.

The old servant climbed the steps slowly and slipped out of his wooden clogs. Akitada, following, bent to take off his boots. He heard the sound of the door sliding open, then a cry. Quickly pulling off his boots, he looked into a spacious studio, its walls lined with shelves of books and document boxes, and its floor covered with thick grass matting.

The servant had his back to him. “Master?” he quavered. “Oh, my poor Master! Oh, sir. Would you see if he is alive? Oh, I must run for the doctor. Oh, dear! How terrible!”

Since he seemed incapable of movement, let alone running, Akitada said, “Calm yourself,” and stepped past him.

Lord Tachibana, bareheaded and dressed in a plain gray silk robe, lay facedown next to his desk and just below one of the walls of shelves. A stepping stool was beside him, on its side, and loose papers, half-opened document boxes, and rolls of records were strewn about his lifeless figure.

Akitada knelt and felt for a pulse on the old man’s neck. There was none and the body was quite cold. A very small amount of blood had seeped into the matting under Lord Tachibana’s head. Akitada tried to recall what the medical texts had said about timing a person’s death. He touched the old man’s hand, flexed the fingers, and moved the wrist. There was some resistance: the body was stiffening. It meant that death had occurred many—he was not sure how many—hours ago.

But did it really matter when? On one corner of the writing desk were traces of blood and a few gray hairs. Akitada glanced up at the shelves. One of them, quite high up, was partially empty. And there was the toppled stool and the scattered papers. Apparently the former governor had suffered an accidental fall while reaching for some documents.

“I’m afraid your master is dead,” Akitada said, rising to his feet.

The old man stared at him. His eyes dimmed with tears, but he did not respond.

“There is no need to go for the doctor,” Akitada said, raising his voice. “Your master died last night. He may have fallen while standing on that stool and reaching for the boxes on those shelves up there.”

“Oh, dear, oh dear.” The old man turned alarmingly white and clutched his chest.

Putting an arm around his shoulders, Akitada walked him to the open door. “Take a few deep breaths,” he said. After a moment, recalling Lord Tachibana’s stumbling the night before, he asked, “Was your master troubled by dizzy spells?”

“Never. He was very healthy” The old servant gulped and suddenly became voluble. “Oh, yes, quite energetic and agile. I often envied him. And now he is dead.” A slightly smug look crossed his face as he shook his head at the unpredictability of fate.

Akitada, remembering the frail old gentleman clutching his arm for support the night before, raised his eyebrows. “But he had a doctor? You were about to call him.”

“Oh, no. Not his doctor. The master never had a doctor. Not even last summer when he had that stomach complaint. He did not hold with doctors, said they just made people sicker and poisoned them with their medicines. Clean living and hard work, he used to say, that’s what kept him in such good shape. He told me to eat more onions and to stop sleeping so much and my backache would go away.”

Fascinated, Akitada asked, “And did it?”

“It is very hard for me to stay awake and I don’t like onions. But the master cured himself of the stomach cramps. Oh, yes. He cooked his own rice with special herbs and got well right away.”

“I see,” said Akitada. “Well, if you feel up to it, perhaps you had better tell Lady Tachibana what happened. Then you must go and report Lord Tachibana’s death to the authorities. Go to the prefectural office. They will know what to do. I shall wait here until they come.”

The old servant cast a sorrowful glance over his shoulder and nodded. “Terrible.” He sighed. “I shall run as fast as I can, sir.”

Akitada stood in the doorway and watched him as he lowered himself painfully to the first step to put his clogs back on. His eyes fell on a second set of wooden clogs standing near the door. They must be Lord Tachibana’s. He bent to touch them. They were quite dry.

Eventually the old servant staggered to his feet and shuffled off in the direction of the house. There would be plenty of time before anyone came back.

Akitada went back inside and knelt beside the body. This time he studied the position of the corpse carefully and then felt the dead man’s skull. Through the thinning gray hair just above the topknot, he felt a depression the size and shape of a large oyster shell. The bone gave under his touch, and when he removed his fingers they were stained with blood and brain tissue. He was about to wipe his hand on the grass mat when he caught the glint of something green among the hairs of the topknot and carefully extracted a small bloodstained shard, no bigger than his small fingernail. This he placed on one of the scattered sheets of paper. It was slightly curved, with a shiny green outer side and a dull white inner one. The broken edges were red clay. The shard reminded him of the colored tiles used on roofs, except that commonly their color was more bluish. He looked about the room and then stepped out on the veranda again. No tiles in sight anywhere! Every building in the Tachibana compound was thatched.

Returning to the studio, he wrapped the shard in the piece of paper and tucked it into his sash. Then he sat down to think.

When he had first laid eyes on the body, disappointment had struck him like a physical blow, and he had been ashamed of his selfishness. Then he had remembered the urgency of Lord Tachibana’s summons, and a suspicion had taken shape in his mind that this death was too convenient to be an accident.

Had someone overheard them last night and followed the old man home?

Akitada wondered if he would find an answer among the dead man’s papers. The label on the fallen box read “Agricultural Products.” Akitada glanced up at the shelves. There were other boxes for “Fishing and Shipping,” “Silk Production,” “Local Customs and Curiosities,” “Temples and Shrines” (this might contain information about Abbot Joto’s temple), “Merchants and Artisans,” “Plants and Animals,” “Entertainers and Courtesans,” and “Crime and Local Administration” (another interesting title). Akitada looked for a box that might deal with tax collection but found nothing. There was only one other box, called “Dwelling Among Frogs and Cicadas.” Intrigued, he took this down and opened it.

Inside he found an odd assortment of papers. On top lay several poems praising nature—Akitada was no connoisseur of poetry and merely glanced at these; then came ink sketches of rocks, plants, and flowers, in juxtaposition and in differing arrangements, followed by notations about cultural matters, copies of various old Chinese texts describing famous people’s gardens, and finally, on the bottom of the box, a treatise entitled “Dwelling Among Frogs and Cicadas.” It described the pleasures and chores of making a garden and bore Tachibana’s seal.

Akitada was charmed by this private passion of the scholarly man and suddenly felt a sharp sense of loss at not having had the chance to know such a man. He was sadly closing the box when he heard the sound of running steps outside.

Replacing it quickly, he turned toward the door and noticed two pairs of square indentations in the straw matting. Each pair was about two feet apart, with a distance of four feet between the pairs. Something heavy must have stood there on four square legs.

Outside someone scrabbled at the veranda steps. Akitada went to take a look.

A thin boy of about twelve or thirteen was kneeling there. He stared up at Akitada with anguished eyes. “The master? Is it true?” he squeaked, his voice breaking.

Akitada nodded. “Lord Tachibana took a fall. He is dead.”

The boy swallowed, looked woeful, then said, “I am to offer my assistance.”

Akitada smiled. “You are very young. Where are the other servants?”

“Aside from old Sato, there’s only the women,” the boy said dismissively.

“What is your name?”

“I am Junjiro, Your Honor.”

Again that catch in his voice. Akitada looked at him more closely. “You were fond of your master?” he asked.

The boy nodded and ran a grubby hand over his face. “What are Your Honor’s commands?” he asked gruffly.

“You can point out your mistress’s quarters. Has she been informed yet?”

A stubborn look crossed Junjiro’s face. “We don’t go there. Only her nurse is allowed. It’s that way.” He flung up an arm and pointed at one of the sloping roofs among the trees.

Akitada’s eyes narrowed. He could not have mistaken the animosity of the tone, nor the ferocious glare that accompanied the words and gesture.

“Do I take it that her nurse is something of a dragon?” he guessed. “I’m obliged for the warning.”

The boy sniffed. “She won’t try her tricks on a gentleman. It’s just us servants she hates. Telling lies about us to his lordship. Saying we steal and break stuff and we don’t do our work. And when we get near her ladyship’s quarters, she says we’re snooping. She’s an evil one, that one. She got most of the servants dismissed and yesterday she was at it again, telling the master that Sato’s too old for his work and sleeps all day.” He bit his lip. “I don’t know what’s to become of us now.”

“I’m sure in time things will settle down,” Akitada said soothingly. “Your master will have left a will that makes provision for the household servants. Now, I am waiting for the authorities who should arrive at any moment. Why don’t you go and watch for them at the gate? You can show them the way.”

The boy bowed and dashed off.

Akitada returned to Lord Tachibana’s studio and bent over the indentations. They were sharp and clearly defined. Whatever had stood there had been moved recently before the fibers could resume their shape. He looked about the room. The low writing desk was the only piece exactly the right size to have made the depressions. In fact, it became obvious now that the desk was placed awkwardly. A man working at it would be facing the wall. Was it likely that Lord Tachibana would turn his back on the lovely landscape outside? Why had he moved the desk? Or if not he, who had, and why?

He considered the position of the fatal wound, the blood on the corner of the desk, the whole scene of the supposed accident, and looked grim.

On the desk were the usual writing materials, a neat pile of blank rice paper with a new writing brush next to it. The ink block in its jade container was well used and the water container was full. Akitada touched the ink block. It was quite dry. More surprisingly, he saw neither lamp nor candle, not even a lantern in the room.

He was about to bend down to the fallen papers when he became aware of a soft rustling behind him. He whirled and stood transfixed.

On the threshold stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Her eyes—lovely long-lashed slanted eyes in a perfect oval of a face—were on him, studying him carefully. The childlike soft lips were slightly open. She licked them and swallowed. “Where is my husband?” The soft words were no more than a breath. A slender hand emerged from the full sleeve of the shimmering blue silk jacket embroidered with colorful flowers and brushed a loose strand of glossy hair from her cheek. “You are ... ?”

With an effort Akitada returned to earth. He bowed more deeply than the occasion required and said, “Sugawara Akitada, your ladyship. I was calling on your husband when ... But perhaps you will allow me to take you back to your quarters. This is no place for you.”

Her eyes flickered from his to the floor. Akitada hoped his tall figure was blocking her view, but she gasped. “It is true? My lord is ... dead?” The soft voice sounded utterly forlorn. Akitada saw that her skin was so pale, it was almost translucent and felt helpless.

“I am deeply...er...yes,” he stuttered, making a hopeless gesture with his hands. “I am afraid he ... there has been an accident. Please allow me to take you back. You should not be here. Your servants should have looked after you better.” He took a few steps toward her, but she slipped past him.

For a moment she stood transfixed, much like the old servant, staring down at her husband’s body. Then she began to sway. Akitada caught her before she crumpled on top of the corpse and lifted her into his arms.

Her body was quite limp, a very slight and soft burden in his arms. He caught a flowery fragrance, whether from her robe or her long silken hair he did not know. The experience of holding a female of his own class in his arms was as novel to him as it was unthinkable in their rigid society. He felt himself flush with embarrassment. What was he to do with her? He could not carry her back through the garden. If one of the servants saw them, all sorts of gossip would arise. Even worse, the prefect, that dried-up, rule-abiding, dirty-minded Ikeda, would arrive at any moment with his coroner and constables.

“Lady Tachibana,” he said urgently into a shell-pink ear near his mouth. He gave her a little shake. “Please, Lady Tachibana.”

She stirred. Good. He shook her again. In response, two soft arms wrapped themselves around his neck and a silken cheek touched his. She breathed a piteous “Oh” and began to cry quietly into his shoulder.

He felt like a cruel boor, and for a moment just held her close as she sobbed. Then he tried again. “Lady Tachibana? You must try to be strong. Someone may come any moment.”

The arms reluctantly released him, and she slipped down to stand unsteadily on the floor. He put one arm around her to steady her.

“You are very kind,” she said softly, averting her face. “Forgive me. I had to come to see for myself.” Her voice broke. She detached herself gently and took a few steps toward the door.

“Let me escort you back,” Akitada said, following.

“No.” At the door she turned and looked at him. Her eyes were filled with tears. Akitada thought them the saddest and most beautiful eyes in the world. Then she smiled, a tiny, heart-breakingly brave smile, and said with a little bow, “I have been very honored to meet you, Lord Sugawara. I shall not forget your kindness.”

Akitada took another step and opened his mouth to respond, but she had already slipped away with a silken rustle, leaving behind her only the scent of her presence.

He stood on the threshold, bemused and oddly bereft, and watched her walk back to the house, her colorful jacket and graceful movements reminding him of a gorgeous butterfly caught incongruously in a world of winter snow.

* * * *

SIX

FANNING A FOG

A

kitada turned away from the empty, wintry garden and back to its maker’s corpse. Bending to the scattered documents, he began to sift through them. Not surprisingly, given his suspicions, they had no bearing on the tax thefts.

With a sigh he replaced them roughly the way he had found them and stood up to stretch. Then he heard voices outside, one of them belonging to the boy Junjiro. Apparently the authorities had arrived.

He was mistaken, for it was a uniformed Captain Yukinari who was disputing with the boy. When Yukinari saw Akitada in the doorway, he bowed with military precision.

“I came as soon as I heard, Excellency,” he said, running up the steps purposefully. “It’s truly terrible news.”

Akitada thought Yukinari looked pale under his tan and that his eyes had a tired, haunted look. Was it grief for Lord Tachibana? Surely not. They could not have been very close. There was the difference in their ages, plus the fact that Yukinari had only been in Kazusa since summer. Yet he looked as if he had not slept at all. Akitada said noncommittally, “Yes, indeed, Captain. But what brings you here?”

Yukinari flushed. “I had business at the prefecture when Sato brought the news. Forgive the rude question, Excellency, but how is it that you are involved in this?”

“I was paying a courtesy call and found the body.”

Yukinari came closer, but Akitada made no move to invite him in.

“He fell, I was told,” Yukinari said, trying to peer over Akitada’s shoulder. “I have asked him many times to be careful. He was becoming quite frail. You know perhaps that he had passed his sixtieth year? A very great age, that.”

This made Akitada think of the beautiful young girl he had held in his arms and he was inclined to agree. He said, “You must have known him then. He did not look particularly infirm to me. Such thin, ascetic-looking people often live much longer than their more well-fed contemporaries.”

The captain seemed at a loss for words. He looked nervously down the path and scratched his chin. “Ikeda is on his way. He’s coming himself. If you have more important business elsewhere, Excellency, I could stay here. I daresay you would just as soon not be bothered with this matter.” His eye fell on Junjiro, who was hovering nearby, listening avidly to every word. He frowned at him.

“Thank you, but no,” said Akitada, pretending shock. “I feel it is my civic duty. You, on the other hand, are not at all involved, are you? Though, of course, you may wish to offer your support to Lady Tachibana.”

Yukinari’s head jerked around. He stared at Akitada, opened his mouth, closed it again, then bowed and strode away rapidly. Akitada watched him turn toward the gate. He was puzzled. This was the second time in as many days that Yukinari had betrayed some strong emotion.

Akitada was still pondering the meaning of Yukinari’s behavior when Ikeda and his people, led by old Sato, appeared around the corner. Ikeda wore the same dark blue silk robe from the evening before, making Akitada wonder if anyone had slept the night before. With him were two minor officials and two constables in red coats, bearing the bows and quivers of their office.

When Ikeda saw Akitada, he made a formal deep bow. The others, looking confused, followed suit.

“What an unexpected honor,” Ikeda murmured, coming up the steps. “The servant told me that Your Excellency had the unpleasant experience of finding the body. An extraordinary coincidence.” He managed to make the last sound like a question, as if Akitada’s presence were somehow suspicious.

“No more extraordinary than your presence, Prefect,” Akitada said. “Do you always investigate accidental deaths personally? Surely this is the duty of the local magistrate.”

Ikeda’s gray skin took on an unhealthy flush. “Our magistrate is visiting a neighboring district,” he said stiffly. “Besides, for Lord Tachibana I would have come myself in any case. Out of respect.” He paused, then added, “Not that we were at all close. His lordship did not encourage familiarity from subordinates.”

“Oh, you served as prefect under him?”

A strange expression passed over Ikeda’s face. Bitterness and resentment were there, but also a sly satisfaction. “I did,” he said, then gestured to his companions. “Allow me to present my secretary, Oga, and the coroner, Dr. Atsushige.” They exchanged bows, and the prefect, all smiles again, said, “Perhaps Your Excellency would share some estimable insights into this matter while my people have a look at the body?”

Akitada nodded and stepped aside. Ikeda and his team removed their footgear and entered the studio.

Akitada described his arrival, keeping strictly to matters of time, condition and position of the body, and the general appearance of the room. Ikeda looked and listened politely, then excused himself to join the coroner, who was examining the body. The secretary knelt near them taking notes. The coroner finished very quickly, but there was a lengthy whispered exchange between him and Ikeda before the latter nodded and returned to Akitada.

“Pretty clear case, as I am sure you saw, Excellency.” Ikeda rubbed his hands, a gesture that irritated Akitada. “Poor old fellow was working late, climbed on that stool, lost his balance, slipped, hit his head on the corner of that desk, and died. The stool, the scattered documents, the position of the body, and the traces of blood and hair on the desk all support that. It probably happened late last night. However, my poor provincial skills are hardly a match for Your Excellency’s vastly superior training. I humbly beg your views.”

Akitada hesitated, then said, “It is winter and the early morning hours are chilly. Death could have occurred much later during the night or even early this morning. And the wound in the skull suggests a heavy blow to the top of the head, I think.”

“Ah, just as I said.” Ikeda nodded. “The servant told me his master often works quite late. The evidence speaks for itself. The old gentleman comes home from our little dinner, perhaps a bit dizzy from all the food and wine. He works awhile. Then, sleepy or light-headed, he climbs on the stool to get some documents. They fall on his head, stun him, and he slips. Nothing could be clearer. I am certainly grateful for Your Excellency’s observation. Now we shall finish our paperwork, and I need detain Your Excellency no further.”

Akitada glanced once more at the body, nodded to Ikeda and his staff, and left the studio. Outside the sun had finally come out. He put on his shoes, passed the two constables, and walked up to Sato and Junjiro, who still stood on the path.

“I must be on my way,” he said to Sato, “but I hope you will see to it that none of the papers in the studio are disturbed. The prefect has decided that your master’s death was due to an accidental fall. He and his staff are finishing up now and should not have any need for the documents. I should prefer it if you would not mention my interest in your master’s papers to anyone.”

The old man bowed. Junjiro offered eagerly, “I’ll stay right on the veranda and watch day and night.”

Akitada smiled. “That is not at all necessary. I expect you will all be very busy during the next few days.”

“Oh, heavens, yes,” said Sato. “You haven’t even finished sweeping the paths yet, Junjiro. Run, get your broom. I can’t think how I could have forgotten. What a day!” He shook his head.

“Wait.” Akitada looked at the path. “Junjiro, did you sweep here after it stopped snowing?”

Junjiro was surprised. “No, Your Honor. I haven’t swept at all today. I was just going to when Sato came to tell us about the master’s death.”

“Well, it’s time you started, boy.” Sato glowered; and Junjiro dashed away.

Sato accompanied Akitada to the street. At the gate, Akitada asked him, “Did Lord Tachibana entertain many friends?”

“Not lately, sir. In the old days we had many guests. His lordship’s first lady was still alive then. But that’s all changed.” He looked around sadly.

“I see you have served your master a long time,” Akitada said sympathetically. “Nowadays it is rare to find older servants still carrying on. Most of them retire and let young people take over.”

Sato sucked in his breath. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he cried. “I’m as strong as an ox. People shouldn’t think that an old man cannot do the same work as a young one. I’ve been with my master for forty-five years, sir. Since long before the second ladyship, and I’ve always given good service.” He was shaking with emotion, and tears stood in his eyes.

Akitada remembered something Junjiro had mentioned and decided to probe a little further. “The present Lady Tachibana came recently?”

Sato took a breath and brushed at his eyes. “Yes, sir. She’s the daughter of an old friend of the master’s. My lord took her in as his second lady because of a promise he made to her dying father. When the first lady died, the second lady took over the household.” Sato compressed his lips and shot an angry glance toward the house. He obviously had little affection for his young mistress.

Akitada said coldly, “There are always difficult adjustments to be made. It isn’t easy to switch one’s loyalty so quickly. Besides, so young a lady is not, perhaps, very experienced in household matters.” He thought of the slender childlike creature who had smiled tremulously up at him.

“It may be so,” Sato said dully. “There was gossip when her first ladyship died and most of the servants had to leave. There are only five of us left, and we mind our business. Junjiro and I are the only men, and Junjiro is just a foolish boy. I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer, but I shall be back to go through your master’s papers. Is there some side gate I can use without disturbing the mourners?”

“We have a small gate to the alley behind the property. It’s kept locked, but if you send word, I can have Junjiro let you in.”

“Yes. Thank you. That will do very well.”

Sato struggled to open the gate. Akitada, giving him a hand, asked, “You did not move any of the furniture in the studio recently, did you?”

“Oh, no, sir. His lordship didn’t like his things disturbed. He was very particular about that.”

♦

When Akitada walked into their private courtyard at the tribunal, he found Tora sitting in the sun on the veranda steps, looking glum. Two long bamboo staves were leaning against one of the posts. Tora said accusingly, “I’ve been waiting for hours. You are very late.”

Even among equals this speech would have been ill-natured. From a servant it amounted to gross insubordination. Many another master would have had Tora beaten unmercifully. Akitada winced. He had decided to accept Tora on Tora’s terms because he could not bring himself to spoil a friendship that was as strange as it was satisfying. Tora’s total lack of subservience, his complete honesty, and his bluntness of speech and sentiment were more valuable to Akitada than mere obedience and submission. And Akitada was afraid that any attempt to change Tora would surely drive him away.