by I. J. Parker
For brothers, they were dissimilar. The taller and older one wore a simple dark robe and looked glum, while his companion was a short and fleshy man in cheap, colorful pants and quilted jacket. When Akitada stopped, he saw that he had a black eye and cut lip.
He introduced himself and found that they were indeed the Miyaharas. He said, “I heard about your problem. What made you think your father came to this temple?”
The older brother took a folded note from his sleeve and handed it to Akitada. It was a short letter, addressed to “My elder son.” In it, the father explained that he would not arrive until New Year’s Day because he was making a stop at the Pure Water Temple. When Akitada looked up, the older brother said, “He never arrived. It isn’t like him, sir. We always celebrate the New Year at my house.”
Akitada returned the letter. “Could he have forgotten and made other plans?”
The younger brother offered, “Father is never forgetful. His mind is very sharp. He used to be a teacher.” His brother tugged his sleeve, and the younger blushed and hung his head.
Something about that exchange made Akitada take a chance. “Does the name Ueda mean anything to either of you?”
They looked at each other. “How did you know, sir?” the older brother asked. “It’s a family secret. After my father left the palace, he went into trade and changed his name.”
Akitada hid his surprise, saying only, “Ah, that explains it. In that case, I too would like to speak to him. Will you let me know as soon as he turns up?”
They bowed, looking puzzled, and he left them.
At home he soaked his sore leg in a hot bath, and considered the problem. He let his mind move freely and in no particular order among the bits of information he had gathered. What had happened all those years ago to force a well-born and learned man to change his name and take up a trade? It must have been a serious offense. Why then had Sesshin put his trust in such a man? He next thought about the prince and his young woman and what would make them so careless with their correspondence. And he pondered the abbot’s behavior. The man had been too quick to reject the possibility of murder and had refused to call in the authorities. Why?
Finally he considered the missing letter that had started this whole business. Since it had been offered for sale to the prince bishop, the motive for the theft had been greed. Greed was a very common motive for all sorts of things. The temple was in need of funds. And the Miyahara brothers might well be desperate for money.
Remembering the younger brother’s black eye, Akitada decided that Tora, his trusty servant and assistant, could make inquiries about the brothers. Satisfied with this decision, he closed his eyes and dozed. Images of crows and cats flitted in and out of his semiconscious state, leaving him with an oddly unpleasant feeling. He cut his bath short.
Tora accepted his assignment with pleasure and was gone all night. The next morning, Akitada was in his study, frowning at a tray of moon cakes left by his wife, a reminder that neither food nor human effort should go unappreciated, when Tora strolled in to make his report.
Yutaka, the older brother appeared to be a well-liked and respected merchant who traded in paper and writing utensils. The younger, Hikaru, was a penniless artist. People thought him a harmless idler who drank too much, gambled, and periodically had to be bailed out of jail by his older brother. This year for the first time, the older brother had not been able to discharge all his debts and his suppliers refused him credit. The shop was on the point of closing. The younger brother’s injuries seemed to be due to a drunken brawl.
Akitada pursed his lips. “So he’s a wastrel and criminal, that younger brother. He is ruining the older one, and that means both have a motive for killing their father and taking the letter.”
Tora shook his head. “Don’t think so, sir. I liked the fellow. He’s full of good cheer and likes women, wine shops, and good conversation.” Tora grinned. “It was like old times, chatting him up. You owe me five pieces of silver, by the way.”
Akitada glowered. “Five pieces of silver for a night of debauchery with a good-for-nothing? And you a married man and father? How could you? I will not support such a shocking lifestyle.”
Tora looked hurt. “An investigation involves certain expenses,” he pointed out. “This brother wouldn’t have jabbered so freely if I hadn’t put him in the right frame of mind. He had got a lecture from his older brother and was pretty glum when I found him in his rented room.”
Akitada relented a little. “Well, what did you get for my money?”
Tora helped himself to one of the sweet cakes. Chewing, he said, “Years ago, the old man ran afoul of the chancellor when he walloped one of the imperial princes. Seems the little bastard set a cat on fire.”
Akitada sat up. “Ueda laid hands on an imperial child? It’s a wonder he was not executed.”
Tora nodded and eyed another cake. “These are delicious. Your lady is a treasure. Anyway, it was touch and go. Your friend, the bishop, put in a good word.”
“I see.” Before his ill-chosen remark about the moon cakes, Tora had said something that jogged a memory, but Akitada could not now recall what it had been. He said peevishly, “Stop stuffing yourself. In any case, none of it explains why the old man should have disappeared now. I think I’d better speak to the bishop again.”
• • •
The bishop’s secretary admitted him and asked eagerly, “Any news?” When Akitada shook his head, Shinnyo said, “A pity. He is worse today. Good news would have cheered him.” Akitada felt guilty as, no doubt, was intended.
Sesshin’s eyes were dull and his voice weaker. “Well?” he asked, while the secretary fussed around him with tea and an extra stole.
Akitada felt uncomfortable discussing the case with Shinnyo there but decided that the ailing bishop needed him. He reported all that had happened and what he and Tora had managed to learn. The bishop closed his eyes and compressed his lips when Akitada spoke of Hossho’s death.
A silence fell. Akitada grieved for the old prince and felt ashamed that he had failed. He offered somewhat desperately, “Reverence, I could speak to the young lady if it is permitted.”
Sesshin did not reply for a long while, then nodded. “Yes. I shall arrange it. You may call on her father tomorrow morning.”
• • •
The home of the second prince’s beloved stood among the residences of minor officials. Like Akitada’s home, it had fallen on hard times. The overgrown garden looked tangled, and parts of the compound were in ruins. Akitada did not know what to expect of the family. The prince’s relationship with the young woman was very unclear to him. Was she a mere kept mistress or an innocent girl who had caught the eye of an heir to the throne? Perhaps her father’s manner would explain the situation.
Lord Yoshida served as assistant director in the Bureau of Statistics and looked suited to his duties. A dull and proper man, he did not smile and behaved so correctly and spoke so properly that Akitada felt slovenly by comparison.
He had been informed of the reason for the visit and reluctantly permitted Akitada to speak to his daughter in his presence. It was impossible to guess what his feelings were about the affair between the girl and the imperial heir, but he was clearly upset that the letter should have disappeared from his house. He seemed to look at its loss as a personal failure.
After Yoshida sent for his daughter, Akitada had another surprise. The young woman came quickly. She was alone and carried a fan which she used gracefully, but without the pretense of shyness that causes great ladies to hide behind screens. Perhaps it was her youth or her father’s lack of position, but Akitada found her forthright manner charming and unaffected. No wonder the second prince had lost his heart.
Her father said, “Lord Sugawara has come to help us. Please answer his questions, my dear.”
The young woman bowed and gave Akitada a tiny smile over her fan. “I am honored, sir,” she said in a pretty voice. “It concerns His Highness’s letter, d
oesn’t it?”
“Yes.” Akitada, grateful for such directness, decided to be equally direct. “Its loss is causing some awkwardness for him. I wondered if you or your father could help me find the thief who took it, for it must have been taken from this house.”
She looked at her father. “But it cannot have happened that way. Nobody but His Highness ever comes to my room.”
Akitada blushed, embarrassed by such artless candor. The young woman’s father cleared his throat. “It was no thief,” he said stiffly. “The house is very well protected by guards. My daughter’s letter must have been misplaced, and a copy must have fallen into the wrong hands elsewhere.”
The daughter added quickly, “We have turned my rooms upside down.”
Akitada assumed that the guards had been provided by the second prince and accepted the fact that no outsider could have entered the compound to steal the letter. The possibility had been remote from the start. He asked, “Where did you keep your letters?”
“In a small box in a trunk with my gowns. At first, I took it out and slept with it beside me, but there have been other letters since.”
Akitada’s heart melted. Oh, to be so young and in love again! He thought of his own troubled marriage and grieved the loss of such happiness. Turning to her father, he asked, “Have any of your servants left the household recently?”
The other man looked taken aback. “Not recently, no. My daughter’s nurse got married last year and now lives with her husband who is a brush maker. But that was months ago.”
“Was it before or after this particular letter arrived?”
Father and daughter looked at each other. She said after a moment, “It was shortly after, I think, but Kogimi would never—” She broke off, looking upset.
It was what Akitada had hoped to hear. He left with directions to the nurse’s house.
• • •
The former nurse lived with her husband in a quarter of small shops, but her modest house was getting an addition and had new shutters across the front. Noting this, Akitada knocked on the door. A young maid opened and informed him that the master was away.
“Your mistress, then,” Akitada said firmly, causing the little maid to open the door wider so he could step inside. Instead of waiting, he followed her down a stone-flagged hallway, passing a kitchen on one side and a work room on the other. The main living area was on a raised section in the back. Seeing the shiny boards and new tatami mats, Akitada slipped off his boots before stepping up.
The nurse sat beside a warming brazier, sewing some garment. She was hardly a blushing bride. Well past her first youth and broad-faced, she had a sturdy body that would soon go to fat.
She looked at him with shrewd eyes and bowed. “My husband’s away,” she said. “Can I give him a message, sir?”
Having taken in the signs of recent affluence, Akitada was satisfied that he had found his blackmailer. “No,” he said. “My business is with you. It concerns the letter you stole and sold to His Reverence.”
She dropped her sewing and gasped. “Wh …what can you mean, sir?”
“Come, come!” Akitada glowered down at her. “You know the letter was properly paid for—or do you deny that?”
In an agony of indecision, she looked about the room. “N … no. I mean … what is this about?”
“Don’t play games with me,” Akitada thundered. “You took the gold but did not turn over the goods. You are a thief and will be arrested.”
That shocked her. She wailed, “But I gave it to the old monk. A very old one in a straw cape. He took the letter away with him. I swear by the merciful Kannon.” Getting on her knees, she knocked her head on the new tatami mat. “Dear heaven, how could I know he was a thief? He had the gold and asked for the letter. I’m just a simple woman. How could I know that there are such cheats in the world?”
Akitada poked her round figure with his foot. “Stop that wailing and tell me when this monk came here.”
“It was the last day of the year. Before dusk. It was snowing.”
“Can your husband confirm your story?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, he can. We were both home the whole day, waiting for him. That old villain of a monk read the letter, then he tucked it in his robe and walked off without so much as a thank you.”
Giving her a hard look, Akitada did the same. He was angry at her duplicity and wracked his brain how the couple might be punished without involving the second prince. Preoccupied with his anger, he did not see the cat that suddenly streaked out of the kitchen and into his path. It collided with his boot, hissed and spat, then climbed to a shelf high on the wall, looking balefully down at him.
At that moment, Akitada knew what had niggled at his mind.
Cats.
The cat the imperial child had set on fire and the cat at the bell tower. The cat at the bell tower had had that same baleful expression and had taken an altogether too persistent interest in the broken masonry.
Compressing his lips, Akitada hurried home for his horse.
At Kiyomizu-dera, the young monk was again helping the gatekeeper, but today he greeted Akitada with reserve.
“I want another look at your bell tower,” Akitada said, heading off in that direction.
The young monk ran after him. “Why?”
Akitada hurried up the steps, ignoring the warning twinge in his bad leg. “The cat,” he said.
“The cat?”
“Yes. The cat was hanging about there. I want to know why.”
“Mice, probably,” said the monk. “We’re in the forest here. The cat is wild, just like all the other animals. The abbot won’t let us trap them.”
“Quite right, too,” muttered Akitada. He was cold and miserable, and very uneasy about what he would find. “You’re forbidden to take another creature’s life.”
He halted before the bell tower’s damaged masonry and saw that it was as he had remembered. A part of the foundation had collapsed and someone had stacked the loose stones up again without mortar. He bent to peer more closely at the rubble. Here, under the protection of the wide eaves, the ground was dry and dusty. The tracks of tiny feet passed in and out through small openings between the stones. Nearby were the larger tracks of the cat.
“You see? It’s just mice,” said the young monk with a smirk.
Akitada sniffed. “What about the smell?”
The monk made a face. “Some of the mice must be dead.”
But Akitada had begun to kick at the loose stones. Two large chunks rolled free and the smell got stronger.
His companion pulled his sleeve. “Sir, please don’t damage the bell tower.”
Akitada shook him off. “Go, fetch the abbot.” He returned to his demolition of the foundation.
The poorly covered section of the foundation soon collapsed, revealing a hole. And in the hole were a pair of human feet shod in worn straw sandals. Holding his breath, Akitada seized them by the ankles and pulled. The corpse of an elderly man in monk’s robes slid out. He was dreadfully bruised about the face and head. Thin lines of blood had seeped from his nostrils and the swollen lips. In spite of this, the old man’s expression was astonishingly peaceful and content.
As he bent over the body, Akitada got an uncomfortable feeling that he was not alone, but when he turned to look, he saw only the cat watching him from a distance. No doubt the animal felt he was trespassing on its territory. He quickly searched the body. No letter! He peered into the hole but found nothing there except mouse droppings.
This time, he was positive that he had unearthed the missing Ueda. Had the murderer beaten him to death for the letter and taken it away? If so, he had not made any use of it—yet. And that promised a very bad situation. By now the letter might be in the hands of men of such power that neither Akitada nor the ailing bishop could stop the fate that hung over the second prince.
And the killer was under the protection of men of such power that solving the crime would put Akitada and his fam
ily in danger.
The sound of footsteps woke him from his gloomy thoughts. The abbot hurried up and stared at the corpse. He gave Akitada a bitter look and groaned, “Not again. How is it that you keep coming here, bringing dead people with you?”
It would have been funny under different circumstances, but Akitada only said, “You don’t know him?”
“I never saw him in my life.” The abbot looked again and said, “Great Heaven. Can this be the father of those two fellows?”
“I believe so.”
“Nothing to do with us,” the abbot said quickly. “He’s elderly and must have died naturally.”
Akitada bit back an angry remark. Elderly men did not inflict such injuries on themselves and crawl under bell towers to die.