by I. J. Parker
“Nonsense. Go, Tora.”
Tamako arrived with a jar of ointment, heard part of the story, and peered at Saburo’s head. “His hair should be shaved off. And he needs to rest, not work.”
Saburo protested weakly, tears of shame on his scarred cheeks.
Akitada relented. “Just some ointment, I think. Is it the stuff you used on Yasuko’s skinned knee?”
“Yes,” she said. “We can try it. But you cannot wear your hair in a knot, Saburo. And if you don’t feel better tomorrow, we will call a physician.”
“I’m very sorry,” Saburo muttered.
After Tamako left, Tora returned to the subject of the beggars. “About those beggars, Saburo. I’ve wanted to get to know them for some years now, but they’re not likely to let someone like me into the guild. We should go back there together. Beggars are very useful people.”
Saburo frowned. “I’ve thought of that, but it’ll be best if I go back by myself first. They’re very shy about anyone connected with the law.”
“No doubt they have reason,” Akitada said drily.
“No doubt, sir.” Saburo turned to Genba, who had been sitting by silently and unhappily. “Sorry I wasn’t more useful, Genba. I was hoping to help.”
“Thank you, Saburo. I meant to tell you how grateful Ohiro and I are. I feel bad you got attacked on our account. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, you just have to ask.”
“We may find another way,” Saburo said, but he did not sound very hopeful.
Saburo went back to bed, and Genba returned to his chores, leaving Akitada and Tora together. Akitada told Tora about his visit to Masaie’s home.
“I’d like you to get some information about him from his servants tomorrow,” he added. “Don’t tell them who you are. Find out if Masaie was in the capital when his daughter was killed and what sort of family life they had. And if there are other children besides the son and daughter.”
Tora looked pleased when he left, and Akitada joined his wife and children for their evening meal. His worries about Kosehira and about Genba’s problem receded as they always did when he was with the children. Tamako would have questioned him more closely about his activities, but in the presence of the little ones, they both put their daily problems aside.
Tonight, Yasuko delighted her father by reciting a poem she had learned especially for him, and Yoshitada, who had a distressing habit of upending his bowl to play with the contents, for once behaved perfectly and enchanted Akitada with his knack of producing a wide smile every time their eyes met.
When Tamako’s maid had taken them to bed and they were alone, Tamako demanded a full account of events. Over the years, she had taken increasing interest in his work, particularly cases involving crimes. He had resisted her curiosity at first, not wanting to bring the ugly details of his work into his home or to worry her with the frequent danger to himself, but he had realized she deserved to know. Gradually, he had come to enjoy her interest, and once or twice she had been an invaluable source of advice.
But the case of Prince Atsuhira was still too murky. He had no bright ideas to present to her, and Tamako was nothing if not intelligent. Sometimes he had the uncomfortable feeling she could see right through him.
He had that feeling now as he related Kosehira’s predicament and the death of the Lady Masako at the bottom of a mountain cliff.
She listened without interrupting and then sat silent for a long time. “Do you think the political plot is real?” she finally asked. “And is the prince aware of it?”
Akitada felt a surge of pride. She had hit on the crux of the matter. He said, “It may be real. There are always discontents, and there are also people who hope to benefit from an alliance with a future emperor. I don’t know if it is a serious threat to the regent and his family. As for Prince Atsuhira, I doubt he has had a hand in it, though he may be aware of it. This isn’t the first time he’s had to deal with such suspicions.”
She sighed. “An impossible situation then, unless he can prove to the regent and his brothers that he doesn’t support such actions.”
“He can do that only by taking the tonsure. He claims he’s considering doing so. I don’t know if it’s due to his grief for the woman he loved or a wish to distance himself from the political wrangling. In any case, he won’t make the effort to defend himself or to find his lover’s killer.”
“I see.” She fell silent again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment. “This could affect our lives, but I must try to help Kosehira.”
“Yes, of course. But Akitada, there’s also that poor young woman. Her killer must be found.”
“You think her death is more important than Kosehira’s troubles?” he asked uncertainly.
“I do. Kosehira has powerful relatives. He’ll survive. Lady Masako is dead and has no one to speak for her. You have always responded to the helplessness of the dead. Surely, you still do?”
And suddenly he saw his way clear. It was all so simple. He must solve the murder. He smiled with relief and reached for his wife’s hand. “Yes, I still do, but I’m grateful that you remind me of it.” He touched his lips to the inside of her hand, breathing in the familiar orange blossom scent, and finding his thoughts drifting to closer embraces. Controlling his treacherous mind with an effort, he put her hand back in her lap. “Let’s talk about Lady Masako. What do you think happened?”
Tamako smiled a little as if she had guessed his lust. “I don’t know, Akitada, but surely the answer must lie in her life before she died. Can you find out about it?”
“Difficult. She was still part of His Majesty’s household when she had some of those secret meetings with Atsuhira. How am I to penetrate into the imperial women’s quarters?” He made a face and added, “Really, her behavior was thoroughly reprehensible.”
“Perhaps. But I think you may learn more about her by talking to her family and friends.” He opened his mouth to protest that Masaie would not welcome another visit, but she went on. “She had a mother and sisters perhaps. She also had maidservants and companions. You must speak to the women. This affair touches the hearts of women.” She leaned toward him, putting her hand on his knee, and looking at him earnestly. “Akitada, try to put yourself in her place. She grew up, a beloved child, encouraged in all her whims. And then, abruptly, the father who had never shown her anything but indulgence sent her away as a bride to a boy sovereign who took an immediate dislike to her. How must she have felt?”
“You think she took a lover out of rebellion? Perhaps the first man who seemed likely? Prince Atsuhira is a first cousin to His Majesty. No doubt he was a frequent visitor to the inner apartments. She may have seduced him.”
Tamako removed her hand. “Nonsense. Prince Atsuhira has a reputation.”
He did indeed. But Akitada had seen the man. Atsuhira had been deeply in love with Masako. He said so.
Tamako pursed her lips. “I’m only saying you need to talk to someone who knew her. A woman. At that age, women have friends they confide in. You have only talked to men so far. What can they know about a woman’s heart?”
“Oh, come,” he protested. “Men aren’t incapable of knowing women. I know you.”
She smiled.
He did not want to pursue the argument in case it led to a quarrel he wanted to avoid at all cost. “Besides, how am I to approach women who knew her?”
“You must try. I’ll speak to your sister Akiko. She knows some of the attendants in the palace. And perhaps you should let it be known you’re investigating Lady Masako’s death?”
His first thought was that this could bring the combined forces of the palace, the regent’s family, and of the irate Masaie and his son down upon him. But word of his interest in the case was probably already out. He could see Tamako was right. It was the logical next move, and the risk could not be avoided in any case..
He reached for her hand again. “Thank you,” he said. “I have married a wise woman… and a very
desirable one.”
That pleased her, and she did not object when he pulled her into an embrace and led her to the bedding her maid had spread out.
Tora and the Cook
Early the next morning, dressed neatly but in ordinary clothes, Tora walked to Minamoto Masaie’s house. He glanced in through the open gates, noting the armed guards without pausing in his walk. At the next corner, he paused and watched the street for a while, but he saw nobody entering the compound. No doubt, the forbidding presence of Masaie’s soldiers discouraged social calls.
He continued along the compound’s walls to the rear of the property. Here, in a small side street, the back gate stood open as well, but there were no guards. Instead a large handcart had stopped, and an elderly man unloaded crates and baskets of food from it. These he set down in the dust of the street as a short, round woman berated him.
She gestured at the unloaded goods and pointed inside the compound. The old man shook his head and went on unloading. As soon as the cart’s contents were piled on the ground, he took his empty cart and trotted away. The round woman ran after him, shaking her fist.
Tora grinned. Perfect.
The delivery man from the market had refused to carry the goods all the way to the kitchen, and the woman, probably Maseie’s cook, had no help at hand. Now she stood there, staring at the pile and muttering to herself.
Putting on his best smile, Tora approached. “Good morning, dear lady. Why so glum on such a pretty spring day?”
She glowered at him, then at the new green leaves on the trees and the pale blue sky above. “It may be a good day for you,” she said bitterly, “but some of us have to work.” She bent for a bundle, but straightened up again to give him a sharp once-over. “Never mind. Move on. You’re in my way.”
Her accent sounded familiar to Tora. If he was right, luck was indeed with him. “I think you need to carry all those things inside,” he said, “and you don’t want to leave them in the street for thieves. Allow me to help. My name’s Tora.”
She still hesitated, but relaxed a little after giving him another careful look. Tora’s handsome face and neat clothing clearly impressed her. Here was a courteous, friendly young man who was certainly strong enough to carry all the abandoned cabbages and turnips, bags of rice and beans, and kegs of sake and oil. Well,” she said dubiously.
Tora put on one of his dazzling smiles.
She blushed, smoothed her hair back, and straightened the cloth apron covering her blue gown. She was middle-aged, near the same age as the Sugawara’s cook, but unlike that shrew she had a pleasant face with apple cheeks and laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.
Tora said, “Look, dear lady, I have some time on my hands, and you cannot be expected to do such rough work. That’s for men. I’ll gladly give you a hand.” He reached for a large basket of vegetables with one arm and scooped up a heavy bundle with the other. “Lead the way, my dear.”
“Well, if you’d just take the big stuff inside the gate, that would be a big help. The master doesn’t allow strangers inside and makes us keep the gates closed. I’d hate to leave all this outside. There are a lot of thieves in this city.”
“It wouldn’t last long enough for you to take one basket to the kitchen and come for the next.” Tora deposited his vegetables inside the gate in what appeared to be a service yard and turned back for another load.
With both of them moving parcels and bags inside, it was done quickly. Tora had identified the kitchen by the fact that smoke came from the one-story building. “Well,” he said, glancing at it, “I think that’s still a long way for you to carry all these heavy things.”
“It’s all right,” she said, holding the gate open for him to leave. “I can manage now.”
He hung his head. “I see you still don’t trust me. I don’t blame you. My guess is you’re not from here yourself.”
She blushed and hesitated. “It’s true. I’m from Sagami.”
“What if I told you a bit about myself?”
“Well…”
“You see, I work for a man called Juntaro. He’s a dealer in grass mats and cushions in the fourth ward. This morning, he sent me to drum up some business from your master. He heard his lordship had come to town and he told me to ask the steward if they needed any mats. I tried at the main gate, but they wouldn’t let me in.”
She nodded. “It’s not a good time to sell anything.”
“You sound a bit like my people back home. I was born and raised in Shimosa province. My people were farmers.”
Her round face lit up. “You’re from Shimosa? So am I, from near the coast. Near Chiba. My people were fishermen.”
“You don’t say! Have you been to Asakusa?”
“Oh, yes. When I was young girl. We went to the beautiful temple there.”
They regarded each other happily for a moment, then Tora asked, “So, what do you say? Since our people were practically neighbors, maybe cousins? Back home a dainty female didn’t have to lug around heavy things.”
She giggled at that “dainty female,” then cast a look around. There was no one in sight. “All right, then. But we must hurry so nobody sees us, or I’ll be in trouble for letting you in. You’re very nice to offer, Tora.” She slammed the gate shut.
Tora chuckled. “Least I can do. You remind me of home. I miss it a lot. It was beautiful there. All green woods and fields and the blue sea.”
“Yes, not like this big dirty city.” She glared at the gate as if it kept out all the filth of the great city. “Let’s get everything inside the kitchen over there. I’m Hanishi, the cook. We’re short-staffed, because the master rushed up here and left all the servants behind. He only brought soldiers.”
“A bit strange, that.” Tora loaded up again and started toward the kitchen.
“You’d think he was about to start a war,” she grumbled, following him. “And me having to feed the big louts all by myself.” They reached the kitchen, and she pointed. “Put those vegetables over there.”
Tora sniffed the air. A large iron pot simmered over the open fire, filling the room with the aroma of seafood. He gave her another smile. “I bet you’re a great cook, Hanishi. That smell reminds me of my mother. I miss her cooking something terrible.” He tried to look hungry as he said this.
She laughed. “When we’re done, I’ll let you sample my fish stew.”
“Fish stew?” Tora, smacked his lips and dashed back outside.
When all the supplies had been brought in and put away, Hanishi found a bowl and ladled stew into it. She gestured at the earthenware ovens that heated two rice cookers. “Sorry, the rice isn’t done. Ran out of wood after making this fire.”
Tora tasted the stew. It was good. He did not have to pretend pleasure, and started gobbling it. “Who needs rice with something like this,” he said with a full mouth. “Oh, that brings back memories. You’re a wonderful cook, Hanishi.”
She preened herself a little. “Well, I like to feed hungry men like you. Do you have a wife, Tora?”
She gave him a very considering look, and Tora thought of lying, but in the end he said, “Oh, yes. A wife and a son. I’m a family man.” He gave her another grin, hoping he had not discouraged her altogether. “But my wife’s been raised here. She doesn’t know how to make fish stew like this.”
“Oh,” she said, a little deflated. “I suppose I could tell her easily enough. Another bowl?”
He made her a bow. “You’re a generous woman in addition to being the best cook in town. But let me go out first and bring you some wood to fire up the rice cookers. Where do you keep it?”
She positively glowed with good will again, showing him the huge wood pile behind the kitchen. Tora worked hard, and when he had carried in enough kindling and logs, he helped her lay the fire. Then he sat down with a sigh of relief; he had done more work for Masaie’s household this morning than he normally did at home.
“So,” he asked her when she brought him his second bowl of stew, “d
o you like it here? Do you have a good master and mistress? They say this Lord Maseie is a very wealthy man.”
“He is that. He’s got three wives, but they’re meek as mice, no trouble at all. Now his daughter, she was something! The spirit of that girl.” She heaved a sigh. “Poor thing. I loved her, no matter what they say now.”
This was going better than Tora had expected. He raised his brows. “Oh? There’s a story there. Why do you call her a poor thing?” He got up to help her carry a pail of water to the rice pot.
“Thanks. Lady Masako’s dead. She was her father’s favorite and entered the palace last year. Her father really doted on her. It’s funny the way the meanest men turn soft as goose down when it comes to little girls. She was always beautiful. A little princess even then.” Cook stopped what she was doing to look dreamily into the distance. “She’d come running to me for sweet dumplings and oranges all the time. Oh, she was something. And beautiful! She grew tall, but slender and quick. The master taught her how to ride and use bow and arrow, and he took her hunting. She was much better at those things than the young lord. He’d come home in a mighty temper, that boy.” She laughed at the memory.
Tora smiled. “Can’t blame him. But I wish I’d had a sister.”
“What’s your family like?”
Tora preferred no distractions from the flood of reminiscences and said, “There’s no one now. They all died.” It was true enough.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Tora. Well, the lady Masako died this past winter. She killed herself, except we’re not to talk about it. They say she brought shame on the family.” She turned away, overcome with emotion. “It’s hard to stop loving her.” Her voice broke, and she sniffled. “I have no children. I was very fond of her.”
“You’re a soft-hearted woman. What happened?”
“A man, what else?” she said bitterly. “And it wasn’t His Majesty. The young emperor didn’t want her, poor child. She came home in despair to tell them. Her father raged because His Majesty hadn’t bedded her yet. Every time she came for a visit-you know His Majesty’s ladies have to leave the palace when it’s their time of the month-his lordship would talk to her. She cried and cried. It wasn’t her fault.” Hanishi heaved a deep sigh. “I wish my lord hadn’t been so hard on her. Or that her mother had taken her side. My young lady was so unhappy. Well, she went back to the palace and met another man. If you ask me, His Majesty should’ve taken better care of her.”