Текст книги "Rashomon Gate "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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The crone cackled again. "What's the matter? Afraid of the dead? Look hard, pretty boy! That's what your sweetheart'll look like soon enough!"

Tora had seen bodies before and glanced at the corpse. She was young and very slender except for her bloated face and abdomen. Short-haired and thin, she bore no resemblance to Michiko, whose every limb was plump and whose hair reached past her waist. The dead woman's eyes were open, turned up and showing only yellow-tinged whites. As Tora looked, a sluggish fly emerged from between the cracked lips. If the sweetish smell of corruption had not warned him that this one had been left here at the last possible moment, the purple discoloration in irregular splotches on the yellowing skin would have told him that she had been dead for a day or two. He shuddered and sighed.

"Pretty, ain't she?" The old crone cackled again. "If you want to lie with her, she's free. She won't give you no argument neither."

"Shut up!" Tora raised an arm as if to strike her. She scuttled away a few steps, dropping a long knife in her haste. Tora cursed and snatched it up. "What's that for, you she-devil?" he snarled, coming after her with the knife.

She backed against a wall, raising spindly arms to cover her face. "Nothing," she wailed. "There's no law against it. She'll not be needin' it."

Tora stopped. "What?"

The crone reached into her robe and stretched out a bony arm. From her fist dangled a long twist of black hair.

Tora cursed again and turned away. So she had come to rob the dead woman of the only valuable thing she had left. There was a good market for women's hair. The wealthy and noble ladies liked to augment their own thin or short tresses artificially; little did they know where their borrowed beauty came from. Glancing down at the dead woman, Tora saw that she might have been quite pretty once with her long and shining hair. His stomach twisted again with anger, but he restrained himself. The old one had to live too, and he knew well what poverty could make people do.

"I'm looking for the body of an old man," he said. The crone stuffed the hair back into her robe and picked up her lantern. "He's about a head shorter than me, skinny, big nose. A drowning victim. Have you seen anyone like that?"

"Gimme back my knife!"

He returned it to her reluctantly.

"What you want him for?" she asked slyly, shoving the knife into her belt. "Think he's got some gold on him?"

"No. He's a beggar."

Her eyes shifted past him. She muttered, "Don't know nothing. Gotta go." Kicking at Tora's lantern, she left him standing in the sudden darkness.

"Hey!" He cursed and groped his way forward, hoping he would not step on any more corpses or tumble down the stairwell. He touched a wall and moved along it cautiously. Somewhere ahead of him steps shuffled away. Then the wall ended. Tora decided to abandon his lantern rather than come in contact with the corpse again. A doorway opened into another room, dimly lit by moonlight coming through wooden shutters. Tora entered and threw the shutters wide. The room was empty except for a pile of refuse and a scurrying rat.

Back in the hallway, he found that he could see well enough now to make out several other doors opening into rooms similar to the last one. He stumbled over another body, which turned out to be still alive. He did not bother to check whether the person was drunk or dying. Checking rooms systematically while clutching his Fudo amulet, he finally found what he had come for in the fifth and last room.

A dark shape lay in the middle of the floor. When he bent to touch it, he found wet garments and went to open the shutters wide. The moon was about to disappear behind clouds again, and he quickly turned back to the corpse.

It was Umakai.

He had not been dead long when he had been fished out of the water. His face was blue; his eyes, their whites bloodshot, protruded; and his tongue showed between toothless gums. The wet rags notwithstanding, he did not look like a drowned man. Puzzled, Tora bent to check the dead man's throat the way he remembered his master doing with the girl Omaki.

At that moment the back of his head seemed to explode, and he fell into blackness.

• • •

When he came to, he was lying on his side, his arms tied behind his back and his feet tied together and drawn up. There was an evil-tasting gag in his mouth, his head hurt blindingly and he felt nauseated.

Opening one eye, he peered cautiously at his surroundings and saw that he was still in Rashomon. The beggar's body was gone, but someone else had taken its place. A man sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, reading a book by the light of an oil lamp. The man looked familiar.

Slowly memory returned. It was the robber-warrior who had been downstairs earlier. His sword was still slung across his back, but he had laid the bow and arrows aside.

Tora decided that he was in an extremely unpleasant situation and surreptitiously tested his bonds. Not a chance! If it was his companion who had trussed him up, he knew his business. His legs were bent at the knees, and a short piece of rope connected the bonds of his ankles and wrists. The shoulder he lay on hurt like the devil, and something dug painfully into his ribs. He had lost sensation in one arm. But the gag was the worst. It was an evil-smelling rag, no doubt part of the refuse left after the grave robbers had picked their victims clean. A wave of nausea rose, and Tora concentrated on subduing it. If he were to vomit while gagged, he would suffocate. Slowly his stomach settled and he could breathe again.

The armed man turned to another page.

That a robber should read books in his spare time astonished Tora. The man looked to be about his size, but was more thickly built, with a broad chest and powerful arms. His face was slightly scarred, perhaps from superficial sword cuts. There was a daredevil handsomeness about his features, and the well-trimmed beard and mustache suited him. His clothes, too, were worn but clean and of good quality.

Steps sounded on the stairs outside, and the man quickly rolled up the book and tucked it inside his robe. He glanced at Tora and then at the doorway. Three men entered. Two of them were dressed like poor laborers; one of these was a big and clumsy fellow, the other not much more than four feet tall and very thin. The third man was a monk. Though he was bareheaded now, carrying the straw hat in his hand, Tora thought he was the same one who had been downstairs earlier, probably pretending to be asleep. He was still young, with a round, plain face and broad shoulders. The stubble of hair on his head and chin suggested that he was casual about his vows.

"Well, was it taken care of to your satisfaction?" asked the armed man.

The tall brute lumbered towards one of the walls and sat down. He gave a loud sniff.

"Stop sniveling, Spike!" said his short companion sharply. He had a high voice like a boy's and his face was smooth like a child's, but there were lines of age around his eyes and mouth. "Yeah," he answered the warrior's question, "we put our old buddy away neat and proper like we promised him. Dug a nice dry hole near the wall, and Monk here did the honors, saying some of his mumbo-jumbo while Spike wailed like a baby."

Spike sniffed again, and the monk asked in a deep, rumbling voice, "What about our prisoner?"

They all turned to stare at Tora, who shut his eyes quickly.

"Hasn't moved," said the warrior. "What will you do with him?"

"I should've killed the bastard!" quavered Spike. Tora's eyes snapped open. He now saw the pointed metal rod protruding from the man's right sleeve. No wonder his head felt the way it did. In fact, it was a miracle he was alive. His skull must be cracked.

The monk said, "No. There will be no bloodshed."

The armed man cleared his throat. "I think we've got a problem. Since he's an official and has had time to memorize our faces,"– he broke off, jumped up and came over to grab Tora's collar and jerk him to his knees—"he'll have the police down on us before you can say 'Praise the Buddha's name!'There! I thought he was awake."

Waves of pain pounded the inside of Tora's skull. He shut his eyes and heard from a great distance the monk's voice. "He looks ill. Not much fight left in him. Why don't we loosen the rope a little? When he starts feeling a bit better, he can work himself loose. By that time we'll have gone to ground somewhere. Nail here knows a couple of places."

Spike made some outraged protest, and Tora opened his eyes cautiously. The room still spun a little and the rough boards under his knees seemed to move. He attempted a few pleading grunts.

The armed man regarded him with distaste. "I don't know, Monk," he said. "If you give an official enough rope, he'll hang another poor sot with it."

The monk choked back a laugh. "Well, we could just leave him for the scavengers."

Tora grunted again and tried to shake his head, but the room turned dark again. He barely managed to stay on his knees.

"I believe the fellow's trying to talk," the armed man remarked. "Take the gag out, Nail, and let's see what he has to say."

"He'll call for help!" Nail objected.

Tora shook his head again, and this time the pain was so acute that he sagged to the floor.

A hand grasped his arm and pulled him upright. The monk's deep voice asked, "How hard did you hit him, Spike? He looks very ill." He took the gag out of Tora's mouth.

Tora sucked in a big gulp of night air, spat out some stinking fibers, and straightened up as much as he could. "If you loosen the rope in back a little," he croaked, "we'll be able to have a comfortable chat."

The Spike cursed, but the armed man chuckled. "I like your spirit, official, but I think we'll leave well enough alone. What were you doing here?"

"I'm no official. I'm a retainer. My master sent me to find a beggar called Umakai. Turns out I was too late. A whore told me you picked up a drowning victim to bring him here. Then, just when I found old Umakai, some bastard knocked me out. That's all! Now why don't you untie me, so we can introduce ourselves properly?"

The armed man grinned. "Good try! I can see that you're going far. They tell me that all the officials take lessons in fake sincerity and the pretense of humanity. I think you've got a brilliant career ahead of you. You got the tone just right, but your lies need a bit more work. I gather your master is one of the good people. Why should such a one care about the safety of an old beggar? No, no! It's much too far-fetched."

"Yeah! The bastard lies," growled Spike. "Let's shut his mouth for good and get out of here!"

The other two waited in silence.

"All right," snapped Tora. "Have it your way! The killer ought to thank you for your help. First you bury the corpse and then you want to kill the one guy who could help you get the bastard. Fine friends the poor old beggar had in you!" He spat again.

"You're a filthy piece of cow dung!" howled Spike, coming to his feet, metal rod raised high. Without changing his position, the Nail extended a leg and tripped him. The Spike landed with a crash.

"Neatly done, Nail!" complimented the armed man. "Now sit down, Spike, and let the man talk. I'm beginning to get interested. All right, you! When the beggar was fished out of a canal this morning, the warden certified death by drowning. What makes you think he was murdered?"

Instead of answering, Tora graphically mimicked bulging eyes and a protruding tongue.

The armed man nodded slowly. "I wondered about that. So, who killed him?"

"I don't know, but it's bound to be the same bastard who strangled a girl in the Spring Garden. Old Umakai saw her killer and could identify the swine. That's why my master sent me to look for him as soon as he heard they had let him out of jail."

"You lie, dog turd!" growled Spike. "The police said it was old Umakai did the killing. They near beat him to death. Bet you're one of them, come looking for him to put him back in jail so you'd have someone to pin it on. Maybe you killed him yourself!"

Tora turned to look at the big brute. "No," he said slowly and clearly, as if he were speaking to a small child. "If I had killed him, I wouldn't come here. It was my master that cleared him of those charges. That's why the police let him go. And that's why my master worried about his safety."

"Who is this extraordinary master of yours?" asked the armed man with raised brows.

"Lord Sugawara."Tora's proud announcement met with blank stares. He snapped, "If you four weren't such dunces, you'd have heard of him. He's famous for catching criminals. In Kazusa province last winter, he uncovered a dangerous conspiracy against the emperor. And while he was at it, he caught three killers on top of that."

After a moment's stunned silence, the monk said thoughtfully, "You know, I believe I've heard that story. This Sugawara is with the Ministry of Justice, I think."

The armed man growled, "That makes him a cursed official!" Glowering at Tora, he asked, "How is it that he solves murders for the municipal police?"

Tora's head started pounding again, and his back and shoulder muscles cramped. He sighed. "He doesn't. And he's not with the ministry just now. He teaches at the university. That's how come we found the dead girl in the park nearby. He called the police, and later we saw them arrest old Umakai. My master said right away that the old man wasn't guilty. The police chief wasn't listening at first, but my master proved it was so." Tora paused and glared at his captors. "I'm wasting my breath. With guys like you around, we would've been better off to keep our mouths shut."

A brief silence greeted that outburst. Then the monk said, "This Sugawara is a professor, a learned man who solves mysteries. Maybe we've made a mistake."

"Don't be a fool!" growled the armed man. "Those so-called academicians just put on a show. A good memory for some Chinese mumbo-jumbo and a hatred for everything Japanese will do the trick. It does not require intelligence."

Tora cried, "And where did you go to school? In a badger's hole?"

"Ah, Hitomaro!" laughed the monk. "He's got you there! All your reading's not going to help you without a proper teacher."

The armed man flushed. He was about to speak, but his eye fell on the window. "Never mind!" he said. "We're wasting time. It's almost dawn, and the scavengers will be here for the dead. What shall we do?"

"Let him go," said the monk quickly.

"Kill him," voted Spike.

The man called Hitomaro looked at the short fellow. "Well, Nail?" he asked.

Nail scratched his hair under the dirty rag he wore tied around it. "I don't know. He could be lying. But if he's telling the truth, there's a chance we could get the bastard that killed Umakai. I guess we'd better let him go, but make him swear first to bring the killer to us."

"Not much good," said Hitomaro. "If he's a liar, he'll swear to anything, and if he's an honest man, he'll swear to nothing he can't keep. I vote we let him go. We'll know soon enough what sort of man he is."

The monk got up, pulled a sharp knife from his sash and cut Tora's bonds. Tora straightened his legs and massaged his wrists with a grimace. "I'm Tora," he said, then asked, "Where did you put old Umakai? We'll have to dig him back up to prove he was murdered." He stood up, testing his legs cautiously. His head was feeling a bit better. "And where will I find you? There's bound to be questions."

"Don't tell him!" cried Nail. "He'll come back with the police to arrest us."

Hitomaro exchanged a look with the monk. Then he stiffened and turned his head towards the open shutters. "Ssh!" he said, getting to his feet and listening intently. "They're coming for the dead. Put out the light!"To Tora he said, "Umakai is in the old cemetery behind the West Temple. And you can leave a message for me by name at the wineshop next door to the temple."

The monk blew out the lamp. In the darkness, Hitomaro said, "If you turn us in, you're a dead man. You may get one or two of us, but the rest will find you."

Spike breathed down Tora's neck. "And it won't be pretty when we do," he snarled.

Fifteen

The Ghostly Mansion

The next morning Akitada was up early, dressed for work and full of brisk purpose. Tora, on the other hand, presented himself holding his head and looking distinctly green.

"Good heavens!" Akitada stared at him. "This is the third day in a row that you show up here after a night of debauchery. Even your constitution is not going to keep up with this."

"It is said," remarked Seimei with a sniff, setting down a tray with Akitada's morning rice, "that with the first cup man consumes wine, with the second, wine consumes wine, and with the third wine consumes man." He peered more closely at Tora and added, "You truly look ill."

"It's not wine," muttered Tora, collapsing on a cushion. "My skull collided with a metal spike some fellow was using for a hand." He sniffed hungrily, eyeing the steaming rice gruel in Akitada's bowl. "And I've missed supper and breakfast both."

Seimei went to inspect the large swelling under Tora's hair and left, muttering, to prepare an herbal compress. Akitada pushed his bowl towards Tora. "Eat first and then tell me what happened."

Raising the bowl to his mouth, Tora tilted back his head and drank the rice gruel in large gulps. Lowering the bowl, he licked his lips. "Thanks. That's better," he said with a sigh of satisfaction. "Well, I found the old beggar, poor bastard. Someone had got to him before I did. He was strangled, dumped in a canal, pronounced an accident and buried in the cemetery behind the Buddhist temple west of Rashomon– all in a day's work!"

Akitada looked grim. "Explain." Tora obliged in detail, while Seimei returned with another serving of gruel and a pungent herb pack which he applied to Tora's head, making clucking noises from time to time. It was not clear if he was commenting on the injury or Tora's story.

Akitada was deeply distressed by the beggar's death, but when Tora was done, he said only, "So! Our strangler again!" He got up and searched among his papers. "Here, show me on this map where the body was found!"

Tora pointed. "About there, from what I could make out."

"Hmm." Akitada pulled his earlobe and pursed his lips. "Between the river and to the east of the market."

"The business quarter. Merchant houses back up to the canal."

"Very strange. Not the kind of place to leave a body. Shoppers are passing back and forth, and the authorities keep an eye on things. More to the point, I cannot imagine what Umakai was doing there. They don't tolerate beggars."

"Well," said Tora. He scratched his head and dislodged the compress, causing another flurry of cluckings from Seimei. Tora ignored him. "The merchants close at a decent hour and go to bed. After that it gets pretty quiet at night. And I don't think many people would pass that way from the Willow Quarter."

"Regardless, the body must have been dumped at night, and even then the killer would have taken a chance." Akitada paused and considered. "Unless the murder happened inside one of the houses or in a courtyard." A vague idea began to take shape in his mind. Perhaps they had looked at the case the wrong way all along.

"Maybe," said Tora, "the killer was following Umakai and when he got to the canal, he strangled him, tossed him in the water, and walked away as if nothing had happened. It wouldn't take long with a decrepit old man like that."

"He would hardly get away with it in broad daylight. And where was Umakai all day? Nobody saw him after he left the city hall."

Tora had no answer to this problem.

"Merchants," said Akitada thoughtfully. "I wonder . . . Tora, as soon as you feel better I want you to go and find out who lives in the houses that back up to the canal. Seimei can take a note to Captain Kobe telling him where to look for Umakai's corpse. I hope the man has the sense to let the student go now."

"I feel fine," said Tora, getting up and losing the compress again. "And I can take the note on my way. I want to make sure old Umakai's friends don't get into trouble." He pressed the herbal pack into Seimei's hand.

Seimei protested, but Akitada said, "Leave him be, Seimei! I must say, Tora, you are unusually forgiving about the treatment you received. And conditions at Rashomon are getting appalling. The sooner the authorities are made aware of what is going on there, the better. This may just get them started cleaning out the riffraff around the gate."

Tora looked shocked. "You can't do that. Those guys let me go. I grant you Spike and Nail are a bit rough, but Monk and Hitomaro were very decent. They're educated men like you, reading books and everything. You can't throw people in jail for being down on their luck. You'd soon have nobody left to clean the streets and plow the fields."

Akitada grimaced. "You are right. Very well, I leave the matter in your hands." He rose and put on his hat. "Seimei, please make copies of the documents your chess partner promised to bring." At the door he paused and added, "Oh, and see if you can find out what tradesmen were supplying the wine, lanterns, cushions and so forth for the poetry competition. Try the housekeeping office in the Treasury and the office of the superintendent of the imperial parks."

Astonished, Tora and Seimei stared at each other.

The mansion that once belonged to Prince Yoakira was only a short distance from the Sugawara residence. A tall plaster wall topped with tiles protected a compound covering an entire block. Behind the wall rose the tops of tall trees and the tiled roofs of many halls. A great silence hung over the whole area.

The heavy, studded double gate was securely locked, but a smaller gate beside it stood open. Akitada walked in and crossed an imposing entry courtyard. It was deserted. To the right and left rose buildings with deep verandas and wide roof overhangs. They were connected by covered galleries through which one could see other courtyards, some with trees and shrubbery, and more halls, roofs and galleries. Once the place would have thronged with visitors and bustled with servants. Now the emptiness and silence were oppressive.

Akitada passed by the main building, containing the ceremonial rooms used only for public functions or great family celebrations. Probably the service conducted by Sesshin had taken place there, but now the hall lay closed and brooding in the morning sun.

Beyond it was another courtyard, this one with a group of pines, dark and stiff guardians over the adjoining private residences. Which one had been the prince's? They all looked alike. Here must also be the quarters occupied by his granddaughter and grandson. Where had the boy stood when he saw his grandfather rushing across the compound towards the building belonging to his sister?

Suddenly Akitada felt uncomfortably like an intruder caught in the act. He turned quickly, scanning the surroundings. Nothing. Yet it was as if he had disturbed the peace of some immanent force, and a shiver ran down his spine.

But then his ear caught a reassuringly human sound in this ghostly place. In the distance, someone was raking gravel.

Following the soft, swishing sounds, Akitada went in search of the lone gardener. After a few wrong turns, he passed through a gallery into a small inner courtyard which was shaded by a huge old paulownia tree. An old man in a loose hempen shirt and pants was busy sweeping up the fallen blossoms and yellowed leaves.

"Good morning, uncle," Akitada called out to him.

The old man started and peered towards him uncertainly. After a moment, he bowed deeply, saying in a cracked voice, "Good morning, Your Honor. I'm afraid you have come at the wrong time. There's no one at home. The family lives in the country now."

The old-timer was bent with age, but strong and sturdy still, his sad face deeply tanned and wrinkled, like old wood cracked by time, his hair and beard nearly white. Akitada said, "My name is Sugawara and I come from the young lord, who is my pupil. He has expressed concern for his people, and so I thought to ask for news."

The old man's face broke into a smile of great sweetness. "The young lord?" he cried. "Oh, how is the young lord, sir?" Tears rose to his eyes and spilled over. "Oh, the sad change! Oh!" he murmured, shaking his head in sorrow.

"The boy is well enough, and a very good student. Come, let us sit down over there and talk. What is your name, by the way?"

"I'm Kinsue, Your Honor." The greybeard carefully leaned his bamboo rake against the trunk of the old tree and followed Akitada to the veranda steps. "The old woman and me, we stayed behind to take care of the place." He stopped uncertainly. "But won't you come inside?"

"No, no." Akitada sat down on a step. "It is a beautiful day and I would much rather be in the fresh air. Young Lord Minamoto is concerned about the well-being of his sister and of the servants. Can you tell me about them?"

Kinsue remained standing respectfully. "Not much, Your Honor," he said. "You see when I came back from the mountains, the wagons were all packed to go. The young lady and all the other servants left soon after. There was to be no mourning, because the master had been transported to Nirvana, you see. Lord Sakanoue said it was a matter for rejoicing." He looked down at his hempen outfit, traditionally worn by a dead man's servants, and brushed the fabric awkwardly. "It seemed disrespectful." Gazing across the courtyard, towards the tree, he wiped his eyes. "Forgive me, sir, but I'm an old man," he said brokenly, "and I cannot help weeping. To me it was dreadful, the day we lost our master. Lord Sakanoue took the young lord away and when he came back, he told me and my wife to stay behind. We were not wanted. He took the last wagon to the country himself."

"But he is back in the capital. Does he not reside here?"

"No. He went to see everyone settled and then came back alone. But he doesn't live here. There's talk of ghosts, you see. It's only me and the old woman who live here and look after the master's home." The old man sighed. "You can't blame Lord Sakanoue. The soothsayer warned us. He said evil would befall this house. But the master had him whipped from the gate. Now the master's dead and the halls are without life. Even this tree is dying. My wife and I, we say our prayers for the master's spirit every day. The forty-nine days will be up in another week. Maybe then he will have rest. May the Buddha grant it." He bowed his head and let the tears drip unchecked into the gravel.

Akitada did not know what to say in the face of such grief and superstition. His eyes went to the pile of yellow leaves under the tree. It was early summer still. Why was the tree losing its leaves? He looked up at the dense crown above. There was an astonishing number of yellowing leaves amongst the green. It must be the hot, dry weather. Soon the summer rains would come. Surely the old tree would recover then.

As if he had shared his thought, the old man before him began to talk again. "We try to keep his place the way he would like it," he said. "Every day I put fresh flowers in his room and offerings of fruit and rice. When I am there I talk to him a little. Nothing much. About the weather and what part of the house we are going to clean next. I shall tell him what you said about his grandson being such a fine scholar. He will be so pleased; he loved the young lord. He was a very good master." Again Kinsue brushed awkwardly at his wet face with a gnarled hand. "Would Your Honor like to see the master's room?" he asked timidly.

Akitada accepted and found that he had been sitting on the steps leading to the prince's pavilion. Kinsue climbed the steps and opened a finely carved door leading into a large, bright space divided by means of painted screens into three smaller areas. One of these, the old man explained, had been where the prince had slept. It was now bare of mats and bedding. A fine low writing desk and shelves with a few books occupied the next space. Here, in a niche with a hanging calligraphy scroll, Kinsue had placed his offerings: a sheaf of purple irises in a porcelain vase, and two bowls of food, one of oranges and another of rice. Set carefully beside these traditional offerings to buddhas and spirits of the dead were a pair of new straw sandals and a small pile of copper coins.

Looking searchingly at the old man, Akitada pointed to these and asked, "Do you not believe the story of the miracle? If your master is with the Buddha now, he will not need such things."

Kinsue shrunk into himself. "I don't know about such things," he muttered miserably. "Here it's like he speaks to me, and he's . . . not happy."

Akitada shivered involuntarily. The atmosphere in the room was certainly more intensely unsettling than it had been outside. "Did you say you went to the mountain temple with him that day?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I was his driver and I saw it all, everything that happened."

Akitada narrowed his eyes. "Everything? You saw your master get into the carriage here and you saw him get out at the Ninna temple?"

The old man nodded. "That I did. And he was a splendid sight in that fine purple robe. His train was so long it was dragging up the steps to the temple hall."

Akitada pursued that thought. "Did he have problems getting in and out of the carriage?"

Kinsue frowned. "The ox was acting up, and I wasn't looking, but I don't think so. My master was wonderfully well for a man of his age, almost like a young man sometimes. I remember thinking so when he ran up the steps to the temple. So eager to worship the Buddha!"

"Then he was in a good mood? Smiling, talking to his friends?"

"Oh no. They were with the horses both times. I was the only one there, holding the ox when he got in the carriage and again when he got out later."

Akitada sighed. It was becoming clear that the old man prided himself on his powers of observation and attention to his master, but had been prevented by his duties and the darkness from seeing everything that was going on. "And Lord Sakanoue? Did he ride with the prince in the carriage?"