Tamako looked troubled. “She doesn’t use his name. There is no real proof.”
Turning the journal in his hands, Akitada nodded. “Yes, Tamako is right. There is no real proof, just suspicion.”
Akiko jumped up. “Oh, you’re both blind. Can’t you see he’s the obvious one? What was simpler than to send her up to the villa and stage a suicide while he could claim to have been with Kosehira?”
“It could have been as you say,” said Akitada. “But this must have happened while she was still supposed to live in the palace. It could also have been someone else.” He sighed and put down the journal. “And now I think I’ll go and have a nice long soak in the bath.”
He did not mention that he had recognized a line in the journal.
The Bathhouse
Saburo was aware that his suspicion could be wrong and an embarrassing waste of time. Even given the two pieces of information which supported it, they could fit any number of different people. Yet he could not shake the feeling that he was right.
He spent every free minute watching. This was complicated and expensive because he did not want to attract notice and scare his suspect off. He sat outside a wine shop to keep his eyes on a door farther down the street, hoping his man would emerge or enter. Eventually, he had to abandon his watch to go to work before he laid eyes on him.
The following night, he was back at his spot, and this time he was in luck. His quarry emerged and walked away down the street. Saburo followed at a distance, watching, waiting for the other to make a mistake. Once or twice he thought he did, but he could not be sure.
The next day, he met with Tora and Genba.
He was surprised to see Genba free. They embraced and then walked to a nearby restaurant to celebrate.
Genba and Tora took turns filling him in on all that happened since Genba had been released.
“I don’t mind telling you,” said Genba, his face shining with joy, “I was flabbergasted. The superintendent himself came to set me free. It was almost like he meant to tell me how sorry he was except, of course, he didn’t do that.”
Tora broke in, “He should’ve apologized. He had no business treating you or any of us who work for our master in this fashion.”
“Well, I was glad enough, except there was Ohiro. I hardly dared ask about her, but I did, and he said to wait outside and she’d be with me. And it wasn’t any time at all before she came, looking just as confused as I felt. I can’t tell you how good it was to see her.”
“So what are your plans?” Saburo asked, wondering if Genba really intended to make a prostitute his wife.
“Oh, that’s the best part,” Tora said. “The master made her welcome. We’re on our way now to hire the carpenter. Genba will need a separate place for his wife and children. We’ll use part of the stables. There’s plenty of room there, and the master’s given us his blessing. Genba and Ohiro will have a cozy room or two with a small kitchen, just like Hanae and me.”
“Ah, in the stable?” said Saburo, thinking this would mean losing the room he and Genba had shared.
“Well, it’s the best place, and the two love birds can move in within a week. But I haven’t told you about the master’s accident yet.”
Tora related the frightening hours spent on the mountainside. Genba spoiled the suspense by saying too quickly, “But the master’s fine. Just a pulled shoulder joint and some bruises.”
“Don’t forget the cut on his head,” Tora pointed out. “He was unconscious for hours, lying there on that narrow ledge. I talked myself hoarse, telling him not to move.”
Saburo shook his head. “A terrible accident … if it was one.”
Tora frowned. “Of course it was. He says e slipped.”
“Hmm. Did you and the master find out who killed the lady?”
“Not yet, but we will. He has her diary. What about you? Any progress on Tokuzo?”
Saburo hesitated. “Yes and no. I have an idea that’s pretty vague. Still it keeps nagging at me. I’ve taken to following someone.”
The other two looked blank. “What are you talking about?” Tora asked
Saburo explained.
Tora said, “I know him, and I don’t believe it. He is what he is. And that means he couldn’t have killed Tokuzo.”
Saburo glowered. “Really? Why not? For a shinobi it’s the best disguise in the world.”
They gaped at him. Genba nodded slowly. “There was that smell. And I had hold of the guy. He was very strong and very quick. But I don’t see how anyone could get away with it for long.”
Saburo said, “He mostly goes out after dark. One night I nearly ran into him. He stopped first. That’s what gave me the idea.”
Tora said, “It proves nothing. Their hearing is very good.”
Saburo sighed. “I know. It does make sense, though, especially when people are so used to seeing them about. I did check out the Satake family. They’d come down in the world and, in my experience, people like that have a good deal of pride. After the parents died, the grandparents raised the two children. The girl’s name was Nariko, and the boy’s Narimitsu. Shokichi said Miyagi could read and write.”
“Didn’t do her much good,” Tora observed dryly. He still had trouble reading and his writing was nearly illegible.
Saburo gave him a look. “What I meant was the son must’ve hated having his sister earn their living on the street. It explains why she didn’t write her brother until it was too late.”
Genba asked, “You think he got her letter and came home only to find her dead? And then decided to kill Tokuzo?”
Saburo nodded.
“That would do it for me,” observed Tora. “But how do we prove it?”
Saburo said, “We must confront him. He’ll deny it, of course, but I don’t see another option.”
“All of us?” Genba asked, perhaps thinking of their errand and the waiting Ohiro.
“It’s best. If I’m right, he’s dangerous and will be desperate.”
Tora nodded. “Let’s go then. You know where he is?”
“At work.”
The Jade Arbor was doing a good business after hours. People usually came from work to relax before their evening rice and sleep. Or perhaps they planned a visit to the amusement quarter.
They paid their fee to the woman at the door and walked toward the steamy rooms with the communal tubs. Smaller rooms opened off the corridor, their doors either open or closed for privacy. The bathhouse offered specialized services and kept a staff of masseurs and attractive women for this purpose.
In a room with shelves and benches, they stripped, handed their clothing to the attendant, a youth wearing nothing but his loincloth, his skin beaded with moisture from the steam in the next room. He stared when he saw their scars and became very accommodating.
In a larger room filled with a hot white fog, three big wooden tubs served the bathers. Heads showed above their rims. Tora, Genba, and Saburo took small pails and bags of rice chaff from a shelf and crouched on the slatted wood floor to scrub themselves clean. Then they climbed into one of the tubs, muttering greetings to the two men who already soaked in the hot water.
Nearby was a tub full of chattering and giggling women, but their two companions were content to doze with their eyes closed.
Genba muttered, “This will be difficult.”
When Saburo said nothing and Tora merely grunted, Genba fell silent. They sat, letting the heat loosen their muscles and relax their tension.
The two men eventually left, and Tora said in a low voice, “We have to risk it, Genba. He’ll hardly agree to a meeting in some lonely grove someplace.”
“Then let’s get on with it,” said Genba, heaving his huge bulk out of the water.
The attendant brought dry hemp kimonos. They wrapped themselves into these and asked for the masseur.
“All of you with the same masseur?” asked the youngster.
“Yes. Bashan. He’s said to be the best. We’ll take turns.”
Saburo took off his kimono and lay face down on this, while Tora and Genba crouched against one of the walls.
After a short wait, they heard Bashan’s staff tapping along the corridor. The door was pushed open.
“Gentlemen?” Bashan asked, his half-closed eyes seeming to scan the room as he waited for a response. Saburo lay with his head turned to the wall.
Tora said, “There are three of us. You can start with my friend. We’ll take turns.”
Bashan bowed in his direction. “Just a regular massage or a treatment?”
“Just the massage.”
Bashan approached the platform, tapping with his staff and then leaning it against the wall. He set down the bamboo case he carried in the other hand, and touched Saburo’s naked back. “Do you wish me to give special attention to any part?” he asked Saburo.
Saburo grunted, “No. Just the usual.”
Watched by Tora, Bashan bent to remove a stoneware flask from his case. He poured oil on his hands, then began kneading and rubbing Saburo’s back from the neck to the waist.
Genba moved quietly to the door, blocking it with his bulk.
Tora said, “I know they call you Bashan. What’s your real name?”
“My name is Bashan.”
“I think your family name is Satake. You’re Satake Narimitsu.”
Bashan froze, his body suddenly tense. “I don’t understand.”
Tora got to his feet. “You had a sister called Nariko, didn’t you?”
“I have no sister.”
Tora watched the man’s back. It had the stillness of a coiled snake. “You can stop what you’re doing. We really came to have a chat with you. Turn around.”
“I’m paid to give massages to customers. If you don’t want me to do that, I’ll leave.” Bashan fumbled for his staff. Tora snatched it away.
“You don’t need this. I believe you can see as well as anyone.”
Bashan finally turned. He moved his head from side to side as if trying to locate Tora. Genba grinned and flexed his muscles. Saburo sat up and put on his kimono.
“What do you want?” Bashan said, inching toward his case. “I can call for help.”
“I’d better take charge of this,” Saburo said, taking Bashan’s case and moving it away from him. “Can’t have you reaching for your needles.”
Bashan turned his head. “You!”
“I told you he can see,” Saburo said with great satisfaction. “You recognize me, don’t you, Bashan?”
“I recognize your voice, you ungrateful cur,” snarled the masseur. “Is this the thanks I get for patching you up?”
“Thanks? After you nearly cracked my skull?”
A brief silence fell.
Tora and Genba flexed their hands. Saburo looked frustrated.
Bashan abruptly sat down on the platform. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “there’s no point in going on with this game. I was getting heartily tired of it anyway, but it’s a way to earn some money. What do you want?”
Tora made introductions.
Bashan stared at Genba. “Are you the one they arrested?”
“Yes,” snapped Tora. “You let them arrest an innocent man and woman. They tried to beat confessions out of both of them.”
Bashan grimaced. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It wasn’t my doing. Fate put you in the way of the ignorant police. How is it that you’re free?”
Genba said, “They let us go. No proof.”
“No proof?” Bashan smiled. “Yes. There was none in your case, and there won’t be any in mine either.”
Tora glared at him. “We can’t leave things the way they are. There’s been a murder. What if the police arrest someone else?”
Bashan said, “It isn’t likely, is it? Or are they even stupider than I thought?”
Saburo straightened up. “Why are you still here? If your only purpose was to avenge your sister’s death, then you should have left for the north days ago.”
“You think it was just revenge? That would merely have been a selfish act.”
“What else could it be?” Tora growled. “You’re Miyagi’s brother, aren’t you? You see, we know who you are and what made you do it.”
Bashan suddenly looked tired and pale. “Yes, I’m Nariko’s brother. I left them to seek my fortune with the army. They starved until Nariko was sold to that animal. I didn’t know any of it, but I should have looked after them. All those years, Nariko never once asked for help, until her last letter. I’m not making excuses, but that is what happened. By the time I got back, she had died and so had our grandparents.” He raised his head and looked at each of them in turn. “Do you understand now? All of it was my fault. I hoped to make up for my sin.”
Genba, always softhearted, said, “I think I understand. You decided to do something to help others like your sister, and so you killed Tokuzo for abusing the women who worked for him.”
Bashan nodded. “I had learned the use of needles and moxa from some monks in the north, and massage is easy enough. It turned out to be a useful skill in the army. When I needed a disguise, I added blindness and became a masseur.”
Tora snorted. “Saburo said you’re a hired killer. I don’t buy your story.”
Bashan drew himself up. “I’m a soldier. The needle I dropped was meant for Tokuzo. If I hadn’t lost it, nobody would have known it was murder. My colliding with Genba was fate.” He pointed to Saburo. “And fate brought him to the brothel that night.”
Genba said, “I picked up the needle and gave it to Saburo. He did say it was an assassin’s needle because he knows about such things. I don’t mind admitting that shook me up a bit.”
Bashan studied Saburo and nodded. “I see. It all hangs together now. What will you do?”
They looked at each other. Tora said, “The master won’t like this.”
Genba shook his head. “The master’s a good man but he serves the emperor. We cannot just let you go.”
“You’ve trained as a shinobi, I think,” Saburo said. “Do you plan to stay and work here?”
Bashan looked shocked. “No. I told you, I only did what I did to help those poor women.”
“It was you who returned the contracts to them?”
“Yes. It’s why I went back after I killed him. I was upset that night. It was a botched job.”
Tora said dryly, “It may interest you to know that almost all the women sold themselves again. Some went back to work for Tokuzo’s mother.”
“At least the old one doesn’t treat them badly. I’ve stayed to keep an eye on her.”
Someone pounded on the door of their room. “Hey, Bashan? What’s taking so long? You’ve got a customer waiting.”
Saburo straightened up. “Nothing will be solved tonight. I suggest we all go and think about what is best to be done. We’ll meet again tomorrow. Where, Bashan?”
Bashan did not answer right away. He looked at Saburo, then at Tora and Genba. “Yes,” he finally said softly. “That will be best. Let’s meet after sundown at the beggars’ temple. It may be that the priest Kenko has a solution.”
The others nodded and left one by one, Tora abandoning the staff and Saburo returning the case to Bashan. The attendant met them outside to collect three fees for their massages.
When they were back outside in the street, Tora said, “He’ll run.”
Saburo nodded. “Oh, yes.”
Genba pondered for a moment. “I don’t think his running solves our problem.”
The other two looked at each other and sighed.
“Let’s go get that carpenter,” Tora said.
The Horse
Akitada slept deeply after his bath and woke refreshed and quite clear-headed. He lay, watching the shafts of sunlight that entered through his shutters. Tiny sparks danced in them, dust particles so small they floated. He pondered the nature of light and of knowledge. They made
visible what darkness and confusion had obscured.
Darkness was the time when human trickery was most active. Saburo could testify to that.
The murder of Lady Masako had probably happened in darkness, or at least at dusk. If the prince had not been so late that night he might have prevented what happened.
Or died himself.
Since the attack on him, Akitada had suspected that the killer haunted the place. Was his conscience troubled, or were there other forces at work? There had been Lady Hiroko’s dream. Even in the telling, it had seemed strangely vivid with a sense of the cold and snow and night that were part of Lady Masako’s final moments.
Night fell early in winter, and it must have been overcast that day. New snow had fallen and obscured the murderer’s tracks. Riding or even walking those mountain paths at night must have been difficult. Still, the prince had chosen to make the journey, perhaps not realizing snow would soon make things even more difficult. Surely it was proof he cared for Masako and his unborn child.
Akitada sat up abruptly. The old woman had seen and recognized the prince. How was this possible if he had arrived long after dark? Surely by then, both old people had gone to bed. And how could she have seen him clearly enough to recognize him?
It must have been his horse she had recognized, a familiar horse with a white blaze on its forehead. Something was not right about this.
He got up quickly, threw on his old robe, and walked across the courtyard to Tora’s place. Trouble came limping from the stable, wagging his tail and pressing his cold nose into his hand. Akitada patted him absent-mindedly. A pile of boards and timbers lay outside the stables. Soon he would welcome another member into his family. Would Ohiro fit in? Whatever the situation, he would make the best of it. He owed it to Genba.
On Tora’s veranda, he whistled softly. All was quiet inside. They must have worked late to get Genba settled.
Tora appeared in his shirt, yawning and scratching his head. “Morning, sir. Is something wrong?”
“No. Can you get dressed and come to the house? I’d like your opinion on an idea I just had.”
The Emperor's Woman (Akitada Mysteries) Page 24