Текст книги "The Hell Screen"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“Come, there are only two of them. And we have Tora and Genba. Besides, Kojiro and Toshikage will lend a hand. It should not be too difficult to capture two individuals, and one of them a woman.” Kobe looked irresolute, and Akitada urged, “We could at least confront them with Kojiro and see what happens.”

Kobe bit his lip and glanced around. It was completely dark by now. The attendants were taking down the colored lanterns and replacing them with torches. “Very well,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go see what that dancer has to say.”

As they made their way behind the viewing stands to the actors’ tent behind the stage, the booming sounds of the big drum announced the demon chase. The other drums followed, the beat against the taut leather a rising crescendo like approaching thunder. Then the higher notes of the shoulder drums, tapped out with the drummers’ fingers, followed, and unearthly squeals produced by flutes and human voices tore through the throbbing noise until the night air vibrated with the din.

They caught a glimpse of the stage, filled with shrieking, jumping creatures in fearful masks and costumes. Kobe stopped when the drumming paused abruptly and the flutists broke into high wailing trills, A large figure burst into the middle of the hopping goblins. This creature wore a brilliant orange silk costume with embroidered apron and train and fiery red trousers. A huge, snarling black mask with rolling eyes and large white fangs rested on its broad shoulders, and long tufts of red hair shot out of its head like flames, which licked its back and shoulders. The king of demons had begun his dance. The monster jumped and twisted, facing this way and that as if scanning the crowd for victims, its talons slashing wildly about.

The audience screamed.

“The king of the demons,” said Akitada. “I expect Danjuro will soon appear as the demon-slaying general and engage him in fierce combat. Perfect timing to confront Mrs. Nagaoka and force a confession out of her.”

Nobody paid attention to the six men as they skirted the stands and ducked under the rope by the actors’ tent. There was no one about. Most of the actors were on the stage, jumping about and screeching. The red-maned demon king faced off against a figure in gilded helmet and armor. The battle had begun.

Akitada and Kobe slipped into the tent, while Kojiro waited outside with Toshikage. Tora and Genba left to intercept Danjuro when he returned from his performance.

Inside the tent the noise of the drums and shrieks receded, but they walked into the middle of a noisy confrontation.

“I’ll teach you manners,” the little acrobat called Gold shouted, advancing with balled fists toward the tall lead dancer.

Nagaoka’s widow was without her headdress but still wore the pasty makeup, while Gold had stripped down to a pair of full trousers. Both looked murderous.

“How dare you hit our master?” Gold demanded, waving her fist in the other woman’s face. “What kind of filth are you? Uemon’s like a father to us.”

The beautiful Nobuko retreated a step. “You’re fired,” she shrieked. “You and your sister can pack up and leave. And take the old man with you. You’re nothing without Danjuro and my money, do you hear?”

Gold slapped her hard, just as Kobe roared, “Quiet! In the name of the emperor!”

They all jumped and turned to look at them. Old Uemon still sat on a stool, pale, the imprint of a hand stark against his skin. Gold dropped her arm; her adversary stood frozen, a hand raised to her cheek.

“I am Kobe, superintendent of police,” snapped Kobe, glaring around at the cowering women in various stages of undress, “and this is a murder investigation.”

Old Uemon groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“You there,” snapped Kobe, pointing at the tall dancer. “Step over here!”

Mrs. Nagaoka approached slowly. “What’s all this about?” she asked. “I know nothing about any murders. I just joined these people. Whatever it is they’ve done, it has nothing to do with me.”

Kobe snorted. “That’s what you think!” He reached back to lift the tent flap. Kojiro, followed by Toshikage, ducked in and faced the woman. Kojiro nodded.

“You!” She stared at Kojiro, her eyes suddenly wide with fear.

Kojiro made her a mocking bow. “Surprised to see me, sister-in-law?”

She drew herself up. “You are mistaken, Kojiro. I may look like Nobuko, but I’m her sister Yugao. And you killed her! How is it that you’re allowed to run around free? Where is the justice in this country, when a man can murder a woman and soon after consort with the superintendent of police?” She glared at Kobe, who looked dumbfounded.

Akitada said, “It won’t work, Mrs. Nagaoka. Your sister died years ago. Your father tried to confuse us the same way when we asked him questions about your husband’s murder. He did it to protect you. Even in prison he suffered flogging without revealing your murderous plot. But you sent your lover Danjuro, disguised in his Fukko costume, to kill your own father so he would not reveal your identity.”

She paled slightly but raised her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My husband and I know nothing about any murders. We are actors. My father gave out the story that I had died because he was ashamed of me for running away with Danjuro.”

Kobe frowned and looked at Akitada.

Akitada shook his head. “No. Your sister has been dead for years. You only joined Uemon’s Players a few weeks ago at the Eastern Mountain Temple. You took the place of the girl Ohisa after you and Danjuro killed her. As for running away, you ran away from your husband Nagaoka, not your father. And after the murder, you sent your father to collect blood money from him.”

A shocked muttering passed among the other women. Gold cried, “So that’s what happened to poor Ohisa!” She glared at Nobuko. “May you both rot in the worst hell for what you did. I remember how Danjuro came to us that morning, bringing you along, claiming Ohisa had left to go home, but that you were a dancer who happened to be on a pilgrimage—some pilgrimage, you she-devil—and that you’d fill in until he could find another professional. It was all lies, wasn’t it? What did you two do to Ohisa?”

There was a moment’s silence.

Then Akitada said softly, “Yes, Mrs. Nagaoka. What did you two do to Ohisa?”

She had no time to answer. The tent fabric parted and, in a flurry of orange and red silk, the demon king shot in. He slid to a halt, painted eyes goggling and red mane flaring wildly about the snarling features. Nobody said anything. With a grunt, he turned and ducked out again.

Mrs. Nagaoka cried out and made a move to go after him. Akitada cursed under his breath, caught her by the arm, and tossed her back to Kobe. Shrieking, she twisted, biting, scratching, and clawing like a wild animal, as Kobe and Kojiro struggled with her. Gold ended the tussle by planting her balled fist squarely in the other woman’s face and breaking her nose. Gushing blood, the tall dancer crumpled to the floor.

Kojiro looked aghast and bent to stem the bleeding.

“Leave her,” snapped Kobe harshly. “Go see what’s happened to her lover!” Snatching a sash from among the discarded costumes, he tied the unconscious woman’s hands behind her back. Toshikage knelt, following his example with her feet.

Akitada, aware only of having made a crucial mistake, waited just long enough to see the woman secured, then rushed out of the tent after Kojiro.

All hell seemed to have broken loose. Drums, flutes, screeches, and screams created a cacophony of noise. Lanterns and torches flickered and bobbed about as dark figures of demons and guests rushed pell-mell this way and that. Amid the shrieks, laughter mingled with curses and shouts. The demon chase had turned into a crowd-participation affair. Kojiro stood hesitant, turning his head this way and that. He was about to plunge into the melee when Akitada grabbed his arm.

“Listen,” he shouted over the din, “I was wrong. Danjuro is not the general; he’s the demon king. The demon king, do you hear? Stay away from him and tell the others!”

Kojiro stared at him blankly. In the flickering light his eyes gleamed strangely. “What?” He pointed at the milling crowd. “There’s no time for that! They’ve all gone mad. Yoshiko and the ladies are not safe.” He rushed off.

“Wait!” Akitada shouted after him, but it was too late. Kojiro had been swallowed up by the darkness and the crowd.

Akitada followed more slowly, dodging running figures of demons and guests, his eyes scanning the bobbing heads for the red-maned mask of the demon king. At one point, he rushed after a masked figure in orange, tackled it, and brought it down, only to discover he had caught one of the minor goblins who had become entangled in a red streamer. Immediately three or four spectators threw themselves upon them, wielding paper whips and rice straw brooms with abandon. Dizzy from the struggle and the wine-filled breath of the celebrants, Akitada staggered up. He plunged back into the swirling, shrieking crowd, but conditions deteriorated when someone began to extinguish lanterns, and the crowds helped themselves to torches in their mad pursuit of demons. The light diminished to isolated flames, and the screams now held real terror and pain.

Akitada gave up and cursed his carelessness. He had failed. Danjuro would hardly stay in his costume and more than likely had already fled the park.

Behind the actors’ tent, he found the discarded mask of the demon king. He also found Tora and Genba, who stood holding a torch and staring dismally at a weeping man in gilded armor who sat on the ground between them, clutching his groin. An elaborate gilded helmet and a broken wooden sword lay beside him.

Tora saw Akitada first. “Wrong man,” he said. “Poor bastard.”

“What happened?”

“We thought he was that snooty bastard Danjuro and had some fun with him.”

Genba bent down to the weeping man and patted his shoulder. “We’re sorry,” he said. “We thought you were someone else.”

The man sniffled. “You bastards!”

Akitada asked, “Is he hurt badly?”

“He’ll be all right,” said Tora. “We didn’t hit him near as hard as Miss Plumblossom kicked me.”

“Well, it was my fault,” said Akitada, fishing a gold coin from his sash and pressing it into the sobbing man’s hand. “I told you to look for the general, but Danjuro played the demon king. And by now he knows what’s up and got away in the confusion.”

Tora cursed,

Genba helped the unfortunate general to his feet. The actor held the coin to his eyes, then made Akitada a deep bow before scooping up his helmet and limping away.

Genba asked, “What about the woman?”

“Kobe has her safe.”

A new burst of screams drew their attention to the viewing stands. Someone had managed to set one of them on fire, and red flames shot up from the wooden, fabric-covered construction.

Appalled, Akitada cried, “Come on!” and rushed off.

But already panic had seized the crowd. People were running everywhere, and acrid smoke drifted on the night air. The noble families were departing in terror, their ox-drawn carriages adding to the confusion. Everywhere drivers where shouting and whipping their oxen or other drivers. The crown prince and his court had withdrawn to the gallery of the lake pavilion, whence they were fearfully gazing at the fire among the stands.

Their own frantic progress was impeded by the stream of people leaving the grounds. Flames cast a lurid light on the milling scene, smoke obscured other areas, actors in demon costumes dodged in and out of the crowd. The demon chase had become real.

They came to a halt when three carriages suddenly collided. The ensuing hysterics of the elegant ladies inside and of the plunging oxen outside stopped all traffic and blocked the way to the Sugawara stand. Directing Tora and Genba to lend a hand, Akitada climbed the tall wheel of one of the carriages to peer over its roof. He caught a glimpse of Seimei outside the screened enclosure. The old man was walking anxiously back and forth, scanning the crowd. Thank heaven all seemed well. Jumping back down, Akitada lent a hand to the drivers. After a few minutes of concentrated effort, the carriages finally pulled apart and moved off. Akitada turned toward their viewing stand.

But Seimei was gone and instead Kojiro was there, backing away from a figure in red and orange silk. As Akitada looked, the demon king lunged forward and pushed the much smaller Kojiro so violently into the screened enclosure of the stand that it toppled inward.

Shouting for Tora and Genba, Akitada tried to push through the milling crowd, but another carriage blocked his way. The huge wheel almost ran over Akitada’s foot, and when he jumped out of the way, he fell over someone behind him. Scrambling up and forward again, he saw that his stand had collapsed and its occupants were in full view of the crowd. Danjuro jumped about among fallen benches, flinging the elderly Seimei aside and making for the cluster of women in the corner. Akitada vaulted over some debris in the road and shouted. He saw Danjuro dodging a bench which came flying through the air. The bench was followed by Miss Plumblossom’s large bulk in a flutter of black silk skirts and red ribbons. She collided violently with the fiery demon king, bringing both of them down with a crash that Akitada could hear over the noise of the fleeing crowd.

Pushing people out of his way, dodging the hooves of oxen, and squeezing between two carriages barely in time before one of the large wheels almost caught him again, Akitada managed finally to reach his family. To his relief, Tamako and Yoshiko huddled together on a bench, their arms around each other and Yori. Kojiro stood over them, his face flushed and an ugly bruise marring one cheek.

They all looked at a pile of overturned seats where Miss Plumblossom sat among the broken boards and splintered bench legs. She had lost her wig, and her bald scalp shone in the torchlight. Her gown was ripped down the front, and a broad streak of mud decorated her ruddy face. But she looked triumphant.

“Miss Plumblossom,” gasped Akitada, sliding to a halt, “are you hurt?”

Groping for her wig with its red ribbons, she grinned. “Not a bit, sir. Look, I caught me the head goblin himself. If that isn’t good luck, I don’t know what is.”

Seimei staggered over, rubbing his shoulder and holding his head. “Thank heaven you’ve returned, sir. This madman attacked Mr. Kojiro and then ran into the ladies’ enclosure. But fleeing from the tiger’s den, he ran into the dragon. If it hadn’t been for Miss Plumblossom, I don’t know what we should have done.”

Akitada stepped closer. On the ground, pinned between Miss Plumblossom’s massive haunches, lay a figure dressed in orange and red silk. Danjuro was on his back, his eyes closed and his face contorted with pain. Miss Plumblossom chuckled and stuck her wig on his head. The actor jerked away and started bucking and moaning. His struggle had perversely sexual overtones. Dressed in his orange finery, with the wig on his head, and straddled by a bald Miss Plumblossom, he resembled the female partner of a lecherous priest.

The resemblance had not escaped Miss Plumblossom. She giggled and bounced. “Come on, lover,” she cooed. “Get it up. I’ve got you right where I want you. If you were a bit more of a man, I think I’d take you home with me.”

Seimei gasped.

Danjuro stopped struggling and moaned again. Akitada shot a glance at his wife and sister and said sternly, “Miss Plumblossom, get up! There are ladies watching.”

Miss Plumblossom made no move to obey. “Time they learned the way to please a man, if they haven’t by now. I don’t mind giving them pointers while Goblin here is twitching between my thighs, but the poor creature’s rod is a limp noodle. I wonder what all those girls have been seeing in him.”

Seimei gave a choking cry and clutched at Akitada’s arm. He looked so profoundly shocked that Akitada thought he was about to faint.

TWENTY-THREE

The Twofold Truth

The night between the old year and the new was long. Akitada did not return to his home and bed until just before dawn, to the cheerful noise from the Imperial Palace, where the members of the Imperial Guard were twanging their bows and officials were ringing bells to mark the new beginning.

After the capture of Danjuro in the Spring Garden, Akitada sent his family home and arranged to have Miss Plumblossom escorted by Tora and Genba. The tumult of the demon chase died down gradually, as Kobe and Akitada accompanied the prisoners to jail.

Kobe insisted on interrogating Danjuro and Nobuko immediately and separately. He commandeered the prison director’s office and sent the sleepy constables and guards rushing about, carrying messages and summons to clerks, physicians, and the women’s prison matron. Danjuro was dragged in first. Someone had decided that he was not injured badly enough to rate a litter. Danjuro did not agree and refused to cooperate. The two burly guards had to grip him under the arms and drag him in between them. They expressed their frustration by handling him as roughly as they could, and Danjuro cursed and screamed.

“Put him down!” shouted Kobe over the din. “Why is he screaming like that?”

They dropped him like a load of firewood. One guard grinned. “Broken rib, sir.”

“Oh.” Kobe eyed the whimpering prisoner on the floor. “Well, he’s calmed down,” he said carelessly. “The doctor can take a look at him later. But you shouldn’t have roughed him up before I had a chance to talk to him.”

“We didn’t,” protested the men. “That rib was already broken.”

Kobe turned to Akitada. “Did you have trouble with the bastard?”

“No. But Miss Plumblossom did.”

Kobe’s eyes widened. “Not that woman again? She’s better than any of my men. I may have to give her a job.” He chuckled. “That would stop her from criticizing the police. I could make her a warden of her quarter, maybe?”

“I should think she would like that very much,” Akitada said with a laugh.

Danjuro cursed again. One of the guards unhooked his two-pronged metal jitte from his belt and gave him a sharp prod with it.

“Sit up, you!” Kobe snapped.

“I can’t. She broke my back,” whined Danjuro. “She finished me. I’ll never act again. I want compensation.”

“You what?” Kobe guffawed. “Don’t worry! You’ll be compensated. And if you don’t sit up, I’ll make certain you cannot lie down for weeks.”

Danjuro bestirred himself weakly and with many moans and cries. His face was wet with sweat and tears when he finally faced them.

Kobe burst into another shout of laughter. “Behold the fierce demon king! You look more like an old woman without your mask. What a crybaby! How can someone like you play famous heroes and gods? You’re an insult to men everywhere.”

Danjuro shot him a malevolent glance and sniffled. “I’m an actor,” he said with an attempt at dignity, “not a crude soldier or constable. Besides, I’ve been viciously attacked and injured. Imagine finding yourself pushed into an enclosure where some man starts hitting you! I was defending myself as best I could when that female monster joined in and tried to kill me. You’d do better to arrest that pair than to torture me. Tomorrow I shall lay charges before a judge against my attackers and all of you. Now I demand to be treated by a physician.” He snapped his mouth shut and glared.

The guard jabbed Danjuro again with his jitte while his partner reached for his whip, but Kobe shook his head. “It is late, and I am tired,” he said, “so we’ll dispense with your amusing pretense of innocence. You are charged with murdering three people, specifically the actress Ohisa, the antiquarian Nagaoka, and the retired professor Yasaburo.”

“Ridiculous,” said Danjuro, feeling his ribs.

“Not at all. The actress Ohisa was a member of your troupe and one of your women. You strangled her during a stay at the Eastern Mountain Temple because you had tired of her, and had a new lover. Her murder may have been instigated by your new lover, Nagaoka’s wife. We know she helped you contrive an elaborate plot in which Ohisa’s body would be disguised as hers so that the murder could be pinned on Nagaoka’s brother.”

“Lies,” cried Danjuro. “Ohisa left to go home to her parents.”

“That will be easy enough to disprove,” Kobe said coldly. “Your next murder, that of your paramour’s husband, happened at Kohata in the home of her father. After extracting a fortune in blood money from him, you poisoned him and dumped him by the side of the highway, hoping we would blame it on robbers.”

Danjuro looked at the ceiling. “I know nothing of the man. Total stranger!”

“Then there is murder number three, also by poison. I suppose you found it worked very well the last time, or you had a supply left over. In any case, you entered the eastern jail disguised as a Buddhist monk and asked to see Yasaburo. When you were admitted to his cell, you passed him the poison in a gift of food and departed.”

“What a fantastic tale!” scoffed Danjuro. “Just because I’m an actor and you’ve seen me play a priest, you accuse me of murder. Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you were afraid that Yasaburo would identify his daughter and because he knew or suspected that you killed Nagaoka. Believe me, Danjuro, your game is up. You can save yourself some pain by confessing now.”

“You can’t scare me. I’m innocent,” Danjuro blustered.

“Don’t forget,” said Kobe, smiling ferociously, “we have your lover in custody. She will talk soon enough once the guards take the bamboo whips to her pretty backside. And she’ll blame it all on you.”

Danjuro sagged. Like a cornered animal’s, his eyes moved frantically this way and that, “Then she’ll be lying,” he muttered.

He was taken away to the doctor, and Nobuko was brought in. She was in tears, but had washed the makeup off her face and managed to rearrange her hair and fairy princess gown. She knelt without urging and bowed deeply to Kobe and Akitada.

“This insignificant person is the actress Yugao, daughter of Yasaburo Seijiro and wife of the actor Danjuro. I humbly ask your honors’ explanation of the charges brought against me.”

Kobe regarded her bowed figure with contempt. “You can stop acting now, Mrs. Nagaoka. We know who you are and what you and your current husband have done. It is in your interest to confess quickly and completely to your involvement in the triple murder of the girl Ohisa, your husband Nagaoka, and your father Yasaburo.”

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, then raised a hand to it and bit her knuckles. “Oh,” she wailed, “that you should think I could lay a hand on my own father for whom I grieve day and night. I have not always been a dutiful daughter to him and the guilt weighs heavily on me. May the gods of heaven and earth forgive me!”

Akitada thought it a fine performance, though perhaps just a little overdone. That last phrase especially sounded quaint, like some ancient Shinto prayer.

“Guards!” shouted Kobe. Two uniformed constables entered and stood to attention. “Bamboo whips!” Kobe ordered.

The prisoner dropped her pose, her beautiful face suddenly a mask of fear. “No, please not that,” she cried. “Ask me anything! I shall answer.”

Kobe dismissed the constables and glowered at the prisoner. “Did you join Uemon’s troupe on the sixth day of the Frost Month on the occasion of a pilgrimage to the Eastern Mountain Temple?”

“Yes. I had always aspired to be an actress, and our father encouraged us to participate in private performances. Theater was his passion. When I heard some actresses in the temple’s visitors’ quarters talking about one of their troupe having deserted them, I acted on impulse and offered to take; her place. It was to be for only one performance, but I fell in love with Danjuro and stayed.”

Regardless of what she called herself, this woman was not only beautiful and self-possessed but very clever. The story hung together. Both her father and Harada had spoken of performances with visiting actors, and Nagaoka and Kojiro had mentioned her talents in singing and dancing. A lonely middle-aged bachelor like Nagaoka would have been enchanted by her. Even now her manner was consciously flirtatious, the lips full and moist, every movement of her body provocative. Such a woman would hardly settle for the quiet devotion of a reserved, older husband, but would try to seduce the stolid Kojiro. Danjuro, a dashing ladies’ man and part-time hero onstage, would have been irresistible to her. Akitada leaned toward Kobe and whispered.

Kobe nodded. He asked the woman, “Did Uemon’s Players ever perform at your father’s house while you lived there?”

The question made her pause. “I… I can’t remember. They may have. It was such a long time ago.”

Kobe leaned forward. “We have a witness who says you met Danjuro there and later had an affair with him.”

She flushed. Kobe smiled triumphantly. Then she lowered her eyes. “Yes. It’s quite true. I was ashamed to admit it. It is the reason my father and I quarreled. He was terribly angry when he found out. I wanted to leave with Danjuro, but he forbade it.”

Kobe and Akitada looked at each other. What was this? A confession wrapped into the old story of the maiden seduced and ruined by the villain?

Kobe muttered to Akitada, “That old man may have dug his own grave when he raised his daughter to associate with such riffraff.”

Akitada murmured back, “In this case, I suspect the woman corrupted the man.”

Kobe snorted and turned back to the prisoner. “We are not getting anywhere,” he snapped. “You lied earlier, claiming to be your sister Yugao. Are you now admitting the truth? That you are Nobuko, widow of the late Nagaoka?”

“The truth? Oh, no. The truth is that poor Nobuko was murdered. I’m Yugao. You must believe me. We look … looked as much alike as twins.”

Kobe frowned. “Do you claim that you and your sister spent the same night at the Eastern Mountain Temple? How could you not meet?”

She sighed. “It rained. Neither of us left her room, or I might have saved her life that night.”

She was good, thought Akitada. He cleared his throat. “This is pointless, Mrs. Nagaoka. Your brother-in-law told us that your sister Yugao died shortly after your marriage, certainly long before the night at the temple. There has been only one of you for years.”

She tossed her head. “You take the word of the drunken sot who murdered my poor sister?” Raising her chin, she glared at Kobe. “I ask you again, why is it that that murderer runs free, while I am accused of his crime?”

Kobe growled, “Do you want me to send for the whips again? You know very well that your sister’s death can be proven easily.”

She smiled sadly. “My death, you mean. I’m afraid you’ll not prove it. You see, my father was so angry when I ran away that he announced my death. He even went so far as to have an empty coffin cremated and a marker erected with all due ceremony. Father enjoyed making fun of the Buddhists that way.”

Akitada felt the first stab of unease. This sounded remarkably like Yasaburo. His unease changed into dismay when he realized how difficult it would be to prove the woman wrong. Who had seen both women together? Their father Yasaburo and Nobuko’s husband, both dead. The retarded servant? Harada, a recluse?

Kobe gave a disgusted grunt. “So! You persist in your tale! Very well. We shall prove your identity in court. You would do well to remember that the punishment for lying to a judge is one hundred lashes. Some have been known to die from it.”

She paled, but managed a smile. “Then I’m safe,” she said.

“Take her away!” Kobe snapped to the guards.

She walked out gracefully, her hips swaying lightly. One of the guards watched her and swallowed visibly. Kobe cursed.

Akitada shared Kobe’s frustration. If this was indeed Yugao, where was Nobuko? Dead? And what of the missing Ohisa? Worse! If this was not Nobuko, then the whole case against her and Danjuro fell apart and Kojiro would once again stand accused of Nobuko’s murder. But Akitada was certain that they had been right. He thought furiously.

Kobe looked despondent. He muttered, “Bitch! They did it, all right! That actor gave himself away. He’s the weak link, and we’ll beat it out of him. You’d think the woman would fall apart first, but she is the real demon. I was hoping to tie the case up before the New Year.”

Akitada nodded. He felt responsible. If he had checked the background of the people involved more carefully, this would not have happened. Yasaburo’s confusing references to daughters should have warned him. It had never been quite clear if he referred to Nobuko or both sisters. Kojiro had cleared up the discrepancy, but his information should have been checked, particularly since he had never met Nobuko’s sister. Harada had been vague also, probably because he never spent time with Yasaburo’s family and saw the girls only from a distance. It explained also why he had not recognized Nobuko in her makeup and costume.

Kobe growled, “Curse that man for producing two such daughters! What now?”

Akitada rose with a sigh. “We will go out and ask more questions.” He was still sore and tired easily, but he owed Kobe another effort and had made a promise to Kojiro. “I shall talk to Miss Plumblossom and the other actors again. Perhaps you could send someone to Kohata?”

Kobe nodded glumly. “I’ll go myself. A fine New Year’s Day, plodding through the mud for hours to talk to drunken farmers and locals. Not to mention that half-wit.”

The night air was thick with the scent of pine torches and greenery as Akitada walked south toward the river. A faintly lit haze of smoke hovered over the dark rooftops and towering pines. People were still celebrating with muffled cries and laughter, and here and there groups of drunken revelers staggered home. Some of them would tumble into the frozen canals and sober up quickly. Some perhaps would not have the strength to save themselves and would die an icy death.

Akitada shivered and walked faster, hoping to find Miss Plumblossom and the others still awake. He was encouraged by the sounds of lute and zither coming from the houses in the pleasure quarter, and by the many people crowding the streets.