Текст книги "The Dragon Scroll "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Something flickered in her small eyes, then the woman drew herself up stiffly. “I don’t speak of private things to strangers.”

Against his will, Akitada felt himself flush. “Don’t be ridiculous, woman,” he snapped. “The prefect will ask you the same question shortly. It is customary in cases of sudden death. I only wondered if Lord Tachibana mentioned my intended visit to his wife.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then said sullenly, “I don’t know. I was asleep.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “The master rarely visited his lady’s room. The age difference made him like a father to her, poor little flower. She has no one now but me. The servants in this house are all liars and thieves, but my lord always protected my young lady. Oh, what will become of us now?” She raised a sleeve to her face and snuffled.

“You will both be taken care of,” Akitada said quickly and walked away.

He passed through the hall, where the monks were still chanting, and stepped outside. The broad daylight caused him to blink, but the fresh cold air was a relief after the incense-laden atmosphere inside. Putting his wooden clogs back on, he stepped down into the courtyard and turned toward the studio. When he reached the intersection of paths, he found Junjiro in conversation with a middle-aged woman. They saw him, looked at each other, and bowed deeply.

“This woman,” said Junjiro, “is my mother. She works in the kitchen and has something to tell you.”

Akitada remembered the animosity of the servants toward their mistress. “Well?” he asked curtly.

“Junjiro said I must speak,” the woman said timidly. She had a plain, pleasant face and looked with adoring pride at her son. “It’s about the honorable captain, sir. I saw him pass the kitchen window this morning before sunrise. I remember, because I was thinking the mistress will want her rice gruel now.” She blushed crimson and added, “She always does right after the captain leaves.”

Akitada stood frozen, his thoughts in turmoil. “What do you mean?” he asked stupidly. “Are you saying the captain was visiting Lady Tachibana before I came?”

“It was still dark,” the woman said. She cringed before his angry, searching eyes.

Junjiro put an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “Please don’t tell the mistress we told you, sir. Mother did not want to speak, but I figured we had to, now that the master is dead. Mother once mentioned the captain’s visits to old Kiku, and Kiku blabbed to the nurse. Next thing the constables came and took old Kiku away for stealing her ladyship’s jacket. They found it in her bedroll. We don’t think it was old Kiku who put it there, but the master believed her ladyship.”

It was a bad tale and getting worse. Akitada stared at the two suspiciously. Sometimes disgruntled servants accused their innocent masters of horrible offenses. “How could you recognize the captain if it was dark?” he asked the woman harshly.

She quailed at his tone. “The light from the kitchen shone on his helmet, sir, and he was running for the back gate. That’s the way he always used to come and go.”

Akitada raised his head and looked past them toward the rear wall, unaware that his hands were clenched so tightly that his nails were drawing blood. “Inform the prefect when he returns,” he said dully.

The light was fading. Akitada turned and walked back to the front gate. At the gatehouse he paused and knocked. Nothing. He repeated his peremptory pounding and finally a bleary-eyed Sato opened the door and fell to his knees. “Sorry, Excellency,” he cried, beating his old head against the dirt floor. “I must have dozed off. So much coming and going. All these monks. I haven’t closed an eye all day.”

“Never mind. I have some questions to ask you.” Akitada pushed the door wider and walked in. The small room contained only a ragged mat, a pallet, and a brazier.

“But this is no place for Your Excellency,” protested Sato. “Perhaps in the main house?”

“No. This will do.” Akitada seated himself on the pallet. Sato closed the door, knelt, and waited uneasily.

“Did the prefect and his people remove any papers from the studio?”

“Oh, no, Excellency. I watched carefully and locked up after they left.”

“When your master returned last night, what did he do?”

“Why, I think he must have gone to bed. He told me he did not need me, so I went to bed myself.”

“Did you see him this morning? Did you take him his morning rice or help him dress?”

“No, Your Excellency. His lordship was much stronger than I. He liked to rise before dawn and hated troubling me. He made his own tea in the morning, saying that food did not sit well in his stomach so early. His stomach has always been delicate since his troubles last year.”

“Then how did you know he would be in his studio when I arrived?” Akitada suddenly shouted at him.

Sato flinched. “But he always went there first thing every morning,” he cried.

“Were you aware that Captain Yukinari was in this house before I arrived?”

The old man paled and looked away. “No, Your Excellency.”

“You lie.” Akitada struck the floor with his fist. “It is an open secret among the servants that the captain was having an affair with your mistress under your master’s nose. This very morning he was seen leaving by the back gate. Shortly afterward I found your master dead. What do you know about the disgraceful state of affairs in this house?”

Sato cried out and beat his forehead on the dirt floor. “Forgive this worthless one, Excellency. There was some talk, but I paid no attention. Women’s gossip. I thought the captain came to visit the master. They both liked to garden.”

“Did you let him in last night or this morning?”

“Oh, no. He used to come and go on his own.” Sato remained crouched on the floor but began to shake. “I cannot be everywhere at once,” he wailed through chattering teeth, “and my memory is not what it used to be, but I try to do my work well. There is so much to be taken care of, to remember.”

“You failed your master when he needed you,” Akitada said in an icy voice. “Outsiders have ready access and egress by the rear gate while you lie here and sleep the day away. Your master would still be alive if you had done your duty.” He rose, dusted off his robe, and walked out.

Behind him Sato wailed, “But how was I to prevent the master from falling?”

♦

Akitada returned to his quarters in a ferocious mood. He kicked his clogs off on the veranda and, hearing voices, burst in, thinking that Tora had returned with information.

To his surprise he saw that Seimei was drinking tea with the governor.

“There you are, Sugawara,” exclaimed Motosuke, his round face lighting up. “I am getting some excellent pointers about herbal remedies for my back pains. Seimei is a treasure. You are to be envied. It is like traveling with your own physician.”

Seimei smirked.

“What brings you, Governor?” Akitada asked curtly.

“Why so glum, my dear fellow?” asked Motosuke. “Seimei tells me that you are finished with my dreary accounts. Now we shall finally have a chance for pleasant chats about the capital and some local entertainment. What sports do you play? Football? Horse racing? Do you like games? Play musical instruments? Paint? Or would you like to meet some delightfully pretty local girls? Their manners are a bit rough, but they make up for it with other skills.” He slapped his thighs and laughed.

“I have no time for such things,” Akitada snapped. “You may have forgotten the matter of the missing taxes. I could use your assistance with that.”

Motosuke’s face fell. “You are such a very serious fellow for your age,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I shall have to call you ‘elder brother’ though you are not much older than my daughter. In fact, I’d like nothing better than to have you settle this nasty tax matter. It is something of a blot on my record. But it will be quite impossible, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dispatches from the capital.” Motosuke pointed to a sealed package on the low table. “I expect yours contains the same news as mine.”

Akitada snatched up the package and tore open the seal of the imperial chancery. Scanning the message quickly, he paled and let it drop from his hand.

“What’s the matter?” asked Seimei.

“I have been recalled,” Akitada said tonelessly.

* * * *

NINE

THE DRAGON SCROLL

C

heer up! Cheer up!” cried the governor, seeing their long faces. “I have already dispatched a request that you be allowed to travel back to the capital in my cortege. There is plenty of time for you to explore this city and countryside a bit before we leave. The point is, you no longer need to worry about those confounded taxes. The powers in our august capital, in their wisdom, have decided to forget the matter completely.” He paused and looked puzzled. “I wonder why.”

Akitada stared at him. If Motosuke was involved in the crime, there was no point in playing games any longer, and if he was not, surely he could not be that dense. He said, “I assume because of the honor the emperor will do your daughter.”

Motosuke looked blank. “What does that have to do with it?” Belatedly, realization dawned and he flushed deeply.

Meeting his eyes squarely, Akitada said, “Yes. Officially, you are now above suspicion.” He saw the sudden pain in the round, comfortable face, but he no longer cared about Motosuke’s feelings.

Motosuke sat silent, looking down at his folded hands. “You think I’m guilty,” he finally said sadly. “Everyone thinks I’m guilty.” He heaved a sigh.

“Face it, you always were the most likely suspect,” Akitada pointed out. “However, your secretary, for one, has given you a shining testimonial of faith.”

To Akitada’s dismay, tears began running down Motosuke’s cheeks. “Good old Akinobu,” he muttered. “Poor fellow. This suspicion touches him, too. And he has no fine new career to go to. I must see what I can do for the man.”

Against his will, Akitada softened and, on the spur of the moment, asked, “Tell me, what possessed you to attempt to bribe me?”

Motosuke’s head came up. “Bribe you? I never bribed you.”

“A matter of ten bars of gold delivered to my quarters on the day of my arrival could hardly be anything else.”

Motosuke looked aghast. “It was to cover your expenses. I had precise instructions about that. You mean they did not tell you? The minister of civil affairs himself wrote to me. He said that in the rush you had not been issued any funds in the capital and that I was to rectify the matter.”

“Oh.” They looked at each other in mutual embarrassment. Akitada, painfully aware of the grave offense he had given Motosuke, realized that, against all rules of jurisprudence, he had built a case against this man based on a totally false impression of his character. He had prejudged him.

Motosuke broke into Akitada’s frantic search for an adequate apology with a shout of laughter. “What a tangle!” he cried gleefully. “So that’s why you sent back the gold without a word of explanation and glared at me every time we met. Ho, ho, ho! I thought you the rudest man alive. I even wondered if you had been sent by my enemies to falsify my accounts.” He hooted with laughter. “Both of us ...” he choked, “both of us suspecting the other... ho, ho...and all the time you thought...” He subsided into weak giggles.

Akitada managed a hint of a smile. “You are very good to take it so lightly. I made a very stupid mistake,” he said. “I’m afraid I am new at being an inspector. No one told me that I was to be paid.”

This caused more giggles from Motosuke, and Seimei, who had been listening with openmouthed astonishment, now said complacently, “There! I thought all along that you must be wrong, sir. In fact, I told you so. ‘Suspicion raises demons from the dark,’ I said. Isn’t it pleasant to have the matter cleared up?”

Akitada gave him a sour look. To Motosuke, he said, “At least I shall have a chance to make it up to you by trying to clear your name completely. How much time is there?”

Motosuke waved a careless hand. “Oh, weeks, I should think.”

“If I had not been so foolish, I would have asked you about those who might really be responsible for the robberies.”

Motosuke sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t considered everyone already, but ask away.”

“What sort of person is Ikeda?”

“Not likely, I would say. Eager, hardworking, ambitious. A thoroughly dull dog, but a good man to run the prefectural administration. A man like that would do well in the capital, but Ikeda comes from common stock and wouldn’t have got this far there unless he had married well. Speaking of which, Ikeda had the nerve to approach me for my daughter’s hand, but I set him right and he apologized handsomely. Even Yukinari has better connections.”

“Yukinari wished to marry your daughter?”

“Oh, yes. He saw my daughter and was head over heels in love. Silver Orchid was not averse to him. He’s a handsome youngster, and the military uniform turns a girl’s head. It worried me no end but came to nothing. Praise heaven!”

That explained Yukinari’s reaction when Motosuke had announced his daughter’s future. The garrison commander certainly led a complicated love life. The thought of him as the lover of Lady Tachibana was still astonishingly painful. That weeping child! Akitada forced his mind back to the present. “And Tachibana?”

“Poor old Tachibana. Who would have thought he’d go so quickly? I liked the old man, but he kept to himself. Early on he asked permission to use the archives for his research, and I’d run across him there and invite him for a cup of wine. Then he married again, most unsuitably, and we lost touch. You met the widow?”

“Yes.” Sensing disapproval of the beautiful child-wife, Akitada changed the subject. “I’m afraid her husband died under suspicious circumstances.”

“Suspicious circumstances? What do you mean?”

Akitada told Motosuke of the whispered invitation and described what he found on his visit. The governor’s face registered puzzlement, surprise, and horror in quick succession. “I wondered,” Akitada concluded, “why Ikeda would pronounce the death accidental.”

Motosuke got up and started pacing. “Murder! I can hardly believe it. You’re right, it isn’t like Ikeda to make such a mistake. A very careful official as a rule. But Yukinari was there. I wonder if that explains his lack of attention. They are bitter enemies, you know. There was much jealousy when they were rivals for my daughter, and Yukinari has always despised Ikeda for his background.”

Akitada did not want to think about Yukinari’s love life. “It occurred to me that Tachibana was murdered because he knew what happened to the taxes.”

“It looks like it.” Motosuke sat down again and shook his head. “He should have brought it to my attention, but then he evidently suspected me, too. If he had not spoken to you, I would have blamed his death on a burglar. That houseman of his is senile. They say anybody can walk in while the man is sleeping.”

“Please keep my suspicion to yourself for the time being.” Akitada paused, then said, “I’ve been puzzled about the abbot, though I cannot see how he is connected with the Tachibana murder. Joto’s temple seems to have become very wealthy very quickly. Do you know how this came about?”

Motosuke shifted uncomfortably. “They keep their benefactors secret, especially since large donations come from powerful families. The temple is also attracting hordes of pilgrims who make individual gifts. The source of the temple’s wealth is untraceable. By the way, Joto tells me that his building program is completed. The last hall has just been finished and will be dedicated in a few days. It will be a great occasion.”

“No doubt. Some of his monks have questionable morals. My servant found two of them assaulting a deaf-mute girl near the market.”

Motosuke sat up. “A deaf-mute? Not the painter?”

“I believe she paints,” said Akitada, astonished.

“Strange. She’s very good, they say. Yes, there have been reports of rowdiness. I spoke to Joto about it once, but that man always has a little sermon to fit every eventuality. Told me the way to serve the Buddha involves knowing both austerity and excess. The point he was making, I suppose, is that he has so many youngsters taking the tonsure that a few slips along the way are to be expected. The truth of the matter is that the local people are grateful to the monks for the trade they are bringing to the town, so they refuse to complain and don’t want us to make trouble.” Motosuke pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. “No, my dear fellow. Whatever else you try, I think you must forget about Joto and the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom.”

He took his leave soon after. Akitada and Seimei were just thinking of their evening meal when Tora walked in. He looked so uncharacteristically depressed that Akitada asked him what had happened.

Tora said glumly, “A wasted day. Nothing’s any good.”

“Sit down and tell us.”

Tora accepted a cup of wine from Seimei and plunged into an account of his frustrations.

When he was done, Akitada was baffled, but Seimei nodded with paternal satisfaction. “There is no need to feel discouraged, my son,” he said. “You have gone among evil people, but you have remained honest and you have tried to protect the weak. It was good. A man’s actions will return to him.”

Tora shook his head and said bleakly, “No, it’s no good. I just stopped in to tell you I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

“What?” cried Akitada and Seimei together.

Tora said, “I tried, but I cannot serve you. These clothes you gave me are what officials wear, and officials are the scum who suppress the poor workingman. You sent me to talk to people who wouldn’t tell their dog’s name to an official. I can’t do your work and I’m tired of explaining that I’m not an official and that you, a lord, are trying to help them. Even my friend Hidesato, who’s been like an older brother to me, took off when he heard who I was working for.”

It was a long and passionate speech for Tora and left Akitada wordless, but Seimei looked down at his own neat blue robe and asked, “What foolish talk is this? Our clothes mark our respectable and honorable work. In the capital ordinary people look up to us. How can you wish to remain a low person all your life?”

“That is not what Tora means, I think,” Akitada said quickly. “It seems people feel differently about our profession here. The honest farmer works in his paddies and the shopkeeper runs his little shop. Then the well-dressed official comes and takes their hard-earned money for the government and presses the men into military service or corvée.”

Tora nodded. “He steals, you mean. By the Buddha, I would not have worked for a cursed official like you for ten bars of gold if you hadn’t been a good man. You aren’t like the rest of them. But I can’t betray my own people. And Hidesato thinks I did.”

Akitada and Seimei looked at each other.

“Tell me about your friend,” Akitada said.

Tora sighed. “He was my sergeant when I was a raw recruit. Him and me, we’ve been through a lot together. He taught me stick fighting to take my mind off my parents dying. He also showed me how to shoot an arrow straight and how to lay my hands on a kind whore when we hadn’t been paid for months. He saved my neck more than once when I was in trouble, and I covered for him when he was drunk or out of the camp to visit his girl.” Tora paused and gave Akitada an apologetic look. “I know you saved my life, but that’s different. It was easy for you. All you had to do was tell the bastards who you were and they let me go. You’re a lord. Hidesato’s ... like a brother.”

Seimei bristled, but Akitada laid a restraining hand on the old man’s arm. He felt a sharp pang of envy for this stranger who had won Tora’s loyalty while he had failed to, but said only, “I understand. Perhaps we can find Hidesato together and explain to him.”

“You would do that?”

“Certainly. I consider you my friend.”

Tora flushed and hung his head. “Your kind of people don’t have friends among my kind of people.”

“Why not? I look forward to meeting Hidesato and hope you will introduce me to the crippled wrestler and his daughters.”

Tora’s face lit up. “Higekuro? How about right now? He should be finished with his last students.”

Akitada smiled. “Why not?”

♦

They found Higekuro and Otomi playing a game of go while Ayako was mending one of the bows.

Tora made the introductions. Akitada was astonished at the crippled man’s size and muscular build. Even more impressive was the natural manner with which he received Akitada. There was nothing servile in his courteous bow or in the unaffected way in which he directed his daughters to bring some wine for his noble guest. He made no apologies for the poor offerings, and his speech was that of an educated man.

Akitada looked about the simple room with pleasure. It was clean and seemed to have everything a man might need in a home: a comfortable dais on which to rest and play a game, warmth from the cooking stoves on which simmered a savory meal, a few boxes for his belongings, and children who honored and served him.

The two young women wore the plainest of cotton gowns, but they were slender and graceful, one very pretty and shy, the other quick in her movements and openly curious about him. When Akitada gave her a smile, she tossed her head a little. The gesture was unexpectedly charming.

Higekuro stroked his thick black beard and asked about wrestling in the capital. Akitada told him what he knew, and they fell into an easy conversation about various sports and how they were played in the capital and in the provincial towns. Akitada recalled his own pastimes: football games, horse races around the imperial guard barracks, a brief but enjoyable set of lessons from a wrestling champion, and the continuous and exacting training in swordsmanship. Higekuro countered with similar childhood memories until Akitada asked in great surprise, “Do I take it that you, too, were raised in the capital?”

“Yes, but I was exiled as a young man.” Higekuro smiled at Akitada’s astonishment. “Come, the story is not unusual. I was raised in one of the ‘good’ families and trained for a military career. When one of my uncles was convicted of treason, all the members of our family were sentenced to exile, their property confiscated, their honors revoked. I was a married man with a young family, and my only skill was wrestling. Fortunately, that profession allowed me to support my parents till they died. I lost my wife soon after but raised my daughters to adulthood before I had the accident that crippled me.”

Throughout this tragic tale, the smile did not leave his face, and Akitada was deeply moved by such courage. “You have had a very difficult life,” he said awkwardly.

“Not at all. I’m a fortunate man. Ayako helps me run the school, and Otomi is earning more every day with her paintings.” He smiled with great pride and affection at his daughters.

Akitada met the serious eyes of Ayako, who had seated herself near them to listen to their talk. Her hands lay idly in her lap, but he saw their finely drawn strength and the long, capable fingers with their blunt nails and guessed at their strength.

Her sister had convinced Tora to play a game with her. Otomi was smiling up at him. He smiled back in a besotted fashion as she placed a game piece on the board with a softly rounded feminine hand. Into Akitada’s mind flashed the memory of the small cold hand of the widowed child in the Tachibana mansion, and he was struck by the differences between the three young women.

With an effort he returned to his conversation with Higekuro. “The governor mentioned your daughter’s fine reputation as a painter. May I see some of her work?”

“The governor, you say?” Higekuro clapped his hands sharply. But Otomi and Tora were bent over their game and oblivious to the others. When her sister put a hand on Otomi’s shoulder, she turned. A series of quick hand and lip movements passed between father and daughter, then Otomi bowed and smiled at Akitada. She rose and went up the steps to the loft, returning with an armful of scrolls. She placed them on the dais before returning to Tora and the go board.

Akitada unrolled the paintings one by one, while Higekuro looked on and Ayako came to stand beside him. Otomi’s talent was remarkable. As a classical scholar, Akitada preferred the subdued landscapes to the more colorful, but to his mind gaudy, saints and mandalas, although the latter were painted with great skill and a fine eye for detail and effect. He had seen enough religious paintings to know that Otomi’s rivaled anything in the capital.

Ayako made herself useful unrolling and holding up the scrolls. When Akitada remarked on a rocky landscape hidden in mist, she said eagerly, “We, too, prefer the landscapes. But the Buddhist paintings bring in money from the pilgrims and from local people, too. Otomi is very careful about accuracy. She visits famous temples to copy their paintings and to receive instruction in their significance.”

Akitada smiled at her. “I would like to buy a landscape painting. Do you think there is one of beautiful Sagami Bay? When I’m back in the capital, it would remind me of my journey.”

Ayako looked uneasy. “There is one, but you will hardly consider it a landscape. It’s a ship in a storm.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“Actually, it’s a storm dragon picture. You know the one, Father?”

Higekuro also looked unhappy, but he nodded. “Show the gentleman the scroll,” he said after a glance at the two go players.

Ayako went to one of the stacked chests and took out a scroll. She unrolled it for Akitada, saying, “Otomi painted it on her last journey, but it upsets her, so we keep it locked away.”

The picture showed a ship in the coils of the storm dragon. Mountainous waves, black clouds, and jagged lightning surrounded a scene of imminent death and destruction for the people aboard. The detail was as fine as in the other paintings, but the brushstrokes here were rapid, almost violent, and the painting managed to convey a sense of chaos.

Akitada bent closer. There were soldiers on the ship, perhaps a military transport of sorts. They were armed with the halberds called naginata and accompanied by a solitary seated monk. Strangely, they appeared completely detached in the face of impending disaster. Perhaps, Akitada thought, the scroll told a religious tale. He studied the monk’s figure, trying to guess at its significance, and got the uneasy feeling that he had seen him somewhere.

“Will you ask your sister where she saw this scene?” he asked Ayako.

The girl hesitated, then went to Otomi to communicate Akitada’s question. The younger girl looked up and became agitated, shaking her head and gesturing wildly.

“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Ayako translated.

Akitada looked from the girls to their father. “I don’t wish to distress your daughter, but I have the strangest feeling that there is something significant about this picture.”

“Do you?” Higekuro’s eyes lit up. “I agree. About a month ago, just after the festival of the dead, Otomi joined a local group for a pilgrimage to the Temple of Infinite Light in Shimosa province. She went there for research. The storm dragon was one of the pictures she painted on that journey. When she returned, we noticed that she was changed. She brooded a lot and had terrible nightmares. I’ve always thought that something happened to her on the pilgrimage and that the scroll is part of the mystery. You think that it might be connected with the tax matter? The time is right. If there is a connection, you give me hope that we may help her.”

Akitada said, “You’re right. The time and place of your daughter’s pilgrimage roughly fit the date and route of the last tax convoy. Did your daughter take passage in a ship, or is this temple near the coastal highway?”

Higekuro stared at Akitada, then turned to Otomi and questioned her with sign language. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head violently. He persisted, using his hands to make her look at him. Eventually she nodded. Taking a piece of charred wood from the kitchen stove, she scribbled on the hard dirt floor while gesturing to her father. Higekuro translated, “She stayed in the guest quarters of the monastery. The highway passes just below the monastery walls, and the guest quarters overlook Sagami Bay.”

“Ask her if she saw a pack train passing by.”

But this time, when her father communicated the question, Otomi turned pale and trembled. Clutching the piece of charred wood, she scrawled an illegible series of characters, then threw away the wood and staggered to her feet.

“Enough!” cried Ayako, jumping up and catching the shaking, weeping girl in her arms. Her eyes flashed angrily at Akitada. “You are tormenting her.”

Akitada instantly revised his opinion about the sisters. Ayako was far more beautiful than the sweetly pretty Otomi. How could Tora be so blind? “I am very sorry,” he said, “but surely you must see that your sister will have no peace until she shares her memory.”

“My sister is an artist,” flashed Ayako, “not a rough person like myself. I believe she was attacked and violated. She cannot face the brutality of that without breaking. Believe me, if I were not afraid of hurting her, I would have found out who did this to her.” She took a deep breath and added fiercely, “I would have killed him!”

Otomi tore herself from her sister’s arms and fled to Tora, who was hovering near them and received her eagerly in his embrace.

Akitada could not take his eyes off Ayako. “I believe you are wrong. What makes you think she was raped?” he asked.

“What else?” she spat. “Look at her! She’s beautiful and men lust after her. Have you forgotten the monks who attacked her?” She glared at Tora. “No doubt your servant has similar designs.”

“I do not!” cried an outraged Tora.

“Ayako!” thundered Higekuro.

She flushed and bowed to Tora. “Forgive my words,” she said gruffly. “But not even in our unconventional family is it proper for you to embrace my sister.”

Tora immediately released Otomi, who sniffled a little, then scurried up to the loft.