by I. J. Parker
Tora listened with rapt attention. “You don’t say?” he breathed. “What a love story! I thought men weren’t allowed near His Majesty’s ladies.”
“That’s what you think,” Cook said darkly. “Turns out it’s a very good place to meet men. All those parties every day.” She paused, suddenly nervous. “But don’t you go talking about it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” She sat down abruptly on an upturned basket and started weeping softly. “Her father and her brother, they both say terrible things, call her a slut, and worse.”
“Don’t cry,” said Tora, jumping up and putting an arm around her shoulder. “I won’t say a word, but I’m thinking it must be a terrible thing when a father won’t help his child. And she was just a girl.”
Cook wiped her face with a sleeve and nodded. “A terrible thing. He drove her to kill herself, that’s what her father did. And when they told him, did he care? Oh, no! Him and the young lord went hunting as if nothing had happened.”
To make sure he had his facts straight, Tora said, “I suppose it took a long time for the news of her death to get to Sagami.”
“We were here then. Had been for months. The master was waiting for the good news from the palace.” She said bitterly, “Some good news!”
At that moment, the kitchen door flew open and in stalked a burly soldier in half armor, his boots shining with polish, and his long sword swinging from his sash. He stopped when he saw Tora. “What the devil’s this? What’s he doing here? He didn’t come in through the front gate.”
The little round Hanishi jumped about two feet and started gabbling about deliveries and fire wood.
Tora interrupted her. “I’m Tora. I’ve come on a visit from her family back east,” he told the soldier, making him a bow. “Hanishi’s people asked me stop by and see how she’s doing.” He stared back at the man.
For a moment, nobody said anything. The soldier’s gaze faltered. He turned to the cook and asked, “Is that true?”
Tora frowned. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Hanishi cried, “No trouble, please, Tora and Tomogoro-san. The master wouldn’t like it. Yes, it’s true. He comes from my home.”
The armed man relented. He gave Tora a sour look. “I see she’s been feeding you,” he grumbled. “That’s more than she’s doing for us. Where’s our grub, woman?”
It was a good thing that Lord Masaie’s retainer had restrained his appetite until now. It would have been even better, had he waited until after Tora’s departure. “I see you don’t show women much respect here,” he remarked. “Or maybe it’s only the custom in Sagami. Hanishi needs help. You should show some appreciation for a fine cook like her. I found her trying to carry heavy baskets and barrels, and she had no wood for the fire to cook your rice. Does your master know she’s not getting any help from you?”
The man reddened. “We have out duties, and carrying wood isn’t one of them.”
“Well, just remember, without a fire or supplies, there isn’t going to be any food.”
They glowered at each other for a moment, then the warrior said to the cook, “I’ll mention it to my sergeant.”
“Thanks, Tomogoro-san. The rice’ll be ready in an hour. Do you want some stew now?”
He nodded. “Just a bowl. I’ll tell the others their food is coming later.”
As she filled his bowl, Tora said, “Well, Hanishi, I must be going. It’s a long journey back. I’ll give them your messages and tell them not to worry. And I hope they’ll be treating you as well as you deserve.”
He gave the soldier a meaningful glance. The man took his stew and said nothing.
Hanishi walked him to the back gate. “Thank you, Tora,” she said. “That was smart thinking. He can be a nasty one. And thank you for your help.”
“Think nothing of it. Thanks for that delicious stew. I’d like to check back to make sure all’s well with you. I didn’t like the way he treated you.”
Her eyes moistened. “Better not. They might want to know how come you didn’t go back home.” She grinned, then reached up and patted his cheek before closing the gate behind him.
Tora smiled, too. He had got what he came for.
Good News and Bad News
After his chores, Genba set out to give Ohiro the good news that his master had promised his help. His heart overflowed with gratitude as he walked through the warm dusk. Had Akitada been in mortal danger at that moment, Genba would have thrown himself in the way of the fatal spear, arrow, or sword. He thought himself blessed by such goodness when he was worthless himself. Or if not worthless, then not clever and brave like Tora, and not nearly as useful as Saburo with his secretarial skills. He, Genba, could not keep the master’s accounts or wield the brush with skill. As for Saburo’s stranger talents, he felt nervous just thinking about them. He had almost been relieved when Saburo had met someone better than himself.
But then, that attack also meant the loss of the contracts. Genba had sworn to himself he would pay his master back for buying out Ohiro.
In spite of such drawbacks, Genba reached Ohiro’s tenement with a spring in his step.
He had heard the music and laughter from some distance away and wondered at it. When he turned the corner, he saw a crowd in festive clothes, singing and dancing among paper lanterns as if this were a fair at one of the great temples celebrating a holiday. The colored lanterns competed with the fading rosy light in the sky, and men and women wore costumes almost as colorful as the lanterns. There was much laughter and perhaps happy drunkenness.
It could not be a holiday. No, he would not have missed that. So why have a fair here among the tenements of the poor?
Vaguely uneasy, he sped up a little. Most of the lanterns and people were in front of Ohiro’s place. Someone was playing a flute, and a woman’s voice was raised in song. Raucous laughter and shouts accompanied it.
A dirty ditty. Sung by one of the girls from the Sasaya.
Genba was a good deal more straight-laced than Tora and frowned at the blunt language. Still, this was where many of the prostitutes kept rooms, and such things must be expected. But it shamed him again to bring a woman from this life into his master’s house. He had seen the expression of distaste on Akitada’s face, heard the hesitation before he had assured Genba that Ohiro would be welcome.
Ohiro was not like these women who flaunted themselves in gaudy costumes before men they would not accept as customers because they were too poor but who often kept them as lovers when they were not working.
That was really all he was: Ohiro’s man.
Shame washed over him. He pushed through the merrymakers without looking at them and made for Ohiro’s door. He had almost reached it when he heard a woman shout his name. He did not turn, but she caught him just as he laid his hand on the latch.
Shokichi.
Red-faced with drink and smiling broadly.
“Genba, have you heard? The most wonderful thing has happened. Ohiro was dancing with happiness. And so was I. Look!” Shokichi wheeled about, tattered silk gown and sleeves all aflutter and her hands waving in the air.
Genba looked at her, dazed. What wonderful thing? She must mean Tokuzo’s death. It was not proper to celebrate a man’s death even if he had mistreated them. Maybe the new owner would be a better man. “What wonderful thing?” he asked.
“Oh, go in. Let Ohiro tell you herself.” She gave him a push, laughing.
Ohiro must have heard, because she opened the door. Her face broke into a wide smile when she saw Genba, and then she flung herself at him, babbling with joy.
He held her and lifted her over the threshold, closing the door firmly behind them.
“Oh, Genba,” she breathed, still clutching him.
Her embrace stirred his lust. “So eager?” he asked with a smile, setting her down.
“I got the contract! It’s mine. Someone returned all the contracts of Tokuzo’s girls. See!” She swept up a crumpled sheet with writing on it and waved it happily in the ai
r.
The news dumfounded Genba. He snatched the paper from her hand and smoothed it out. Frowning with concentration, he deciphered the writing, the signatures, Ohiro’s name, the money owed.
She giggled. “I danced on it when I saw what it was.”
The document looked authentic. It must be part of the haul taken from Saburo last night. But stealing the contracts to return them to the women who had worked for Tokuzo made no sense. The contracts were valuable. Did such a document become illegal if acquired by theft?
On the other hand, who could prove the contracts hadn’t been sold legitimately? Or that the women had not bought themselves out? Improbable though that was.
Genba sat down abruptly and looked at Ohiro. She’d never been prettier, he thought. Her happiness made her face glow. He swore to himself he would try to put that look on her face as often as he could. “How did you get this?” he asked, half afraid.
“Shokichi got it, along with her own, from one of the begging monks. He told her it was a gift from the Buddha and to thank him. Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it a miracle?” She came to kneel beside him and hugged him. “Oh, Genba, you look worried. Say you’re happy, too. Say you’ll marry me now. Say we can finally be happy together.”
“A begging monk?” Had Saburo’s attacker returned the papers to the women? And what did it mean for Ohiro and himself?
He put one arm around her, held her, and said, “I love you, Ohiro. I’ll marry you with or without this contract. We will be happy together somehow and sometime, but I don’t know if this is legal. The contract was stolen. All of them were stolen. What if Tokuzo’s heirs claim you back because they were stolen?”
“Stolen? How could that be? Maybe Tokuzo made a will. That’s why a monk brought them back. Maybe he was trying to make up for his bad life. Or his heirs are trying to make up for his sins. Can they really force me to work for them again?”
“Ohiro, there’s no will. At least not one leaving the contracts to you and the others. The heirs own your contract, and they’ll either keep you or sell you to someone else.”
Tears rose to her eyes. “How do you know they were stolen? The others outside are celebrating with the silver they’d saved up to buy themselves out. I gave them some of our money for my share.” She wailed, “Oh, Genba, you must be wrong.”
“Never mind, Love. You did right to pay your share.”
They sat close together, arms around each other’s waists, and grieved the unreliability of good fortune.
After a while, Genba said, “I forgot. I came to tell you that the master will help us. So you see, all will be well after all.” He smiled down at her.
“How very good he is! But Genba, if only we didn’t need to borrow the money from him. Do you know that most of the girls are going to sell themselves again? To a better master, they think. They want the money. And they like the life. They say while they’re young and pretty and men will pay to lie with them, they’ll make as much money as they can. They think there’s time enough to settle down with a husband when they’re no longer young. By then they’ll have a good dowry, and a husband will be found easily, even if they’re no longer pretty.”
Genba frowned. “That’s foolishness.” He paused, then asked, “That’s not what you would do, is it?”
Ohiro’s eyes grew round. “Of course not. I love you. I could never do such a thing.”
He held her close and kissed her, but he thought he might not be able to pay back what he owed. It was such a very large amount of money. And he also worried about bringing Ohiro into the Sugawara house. Even if the master and mistress made her welcome, the others would surely remind her where she had come from. He pictured her tears to himself and sighed deeply.
“Oh, stop it.” Ohiro jumped up and stamped her foot. She waved the contract in front of his face. “I don’t care what you say, Genba. We don’t need your master’s money. I’m free. See?” And before his eyes, she tore the document into a lot of small pieces.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said weakly.
She fetched the oil lamp and fed the pieces, one by one into the flame until nothing but ashes remained. “Now who is going to prove Tokuzo owned me?” she demanded triumphantly.
Genba just shook his head. But he could see she had a point. The contract was gone. His spirits lifted. Surely it was fair she should be free. She had paid for her freedom many times over and been beaten black and blue for her efforts. A smile broke out on his face.
Outside, the festive noise subsided. He listened a moment, then got to his feet and went to the door. Opening it, he peered out and saw that Ohiro’s neighbors had gathered at the street corner.
Ohiro came to join him. “What happened?”
“I have no idea. Should we go take a look?”
They stepped outside just in time to see Shokichi detaching herself from the group to run toward them.
“Police,” she gasped when she was close enough. “They’re coming for you. You’d better run.”
“Police?” Genba stared at her. “Is this still about Tokuzo?”
“Yes. They want both you and Ohiro. Oh, those cursed contracts!”
Ohiro giggled. “All gone,” she cried. “No proof! You’d better go right now and burn yours, Shokichi.”
Genba saw the crowd was breaking apart and red coats appeared. The red coats marched toward them.
Shokichi shook a fist at them. “Too late. Somebody told them where to find you.”
Ohiro looked up at Genba. “Can they arrest us?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, Genba.” Her face crumpled. The bruises showed clearly even in the fading light.
Genba waited with his arm around Ohiro. Shokichi disappeared.
The redcoat in front was the senior policeman, a sergeant to judge by his head dress. He grinned and waved his constables, five of them, armed with cudgels and chains, forward. “You’re the one they call Genba?”
“I am.” The constables surrounded Genba and Ohiro. For a fleeting moment, Genba considered fighting them. Six altogether, but he was much bigger and those little cudgels wouldn’t help them. But he rejected the idea. There was Ohiro to be considered.
“And she’s the prostitute Ohiro?”
“She is my wife Ohiro.”
The sergeant barked a laugh. “Wife? You must be joking.”
The constables sniggered.
“Ohiro is my wife. How can we help you?”
The sergeant grinned at his men. “He’s a cool one, isn’t he?” He mimicked, ‘How can we help you?’”
They laughed.
“And he’s taken the harlot for his wife.”
Genba clenched his fists and started forward, but Ohiro snatched his arm. “No, Genba. Please, no! You’ll make things worse.”
She was right.
“Mind your tongue,” he growled at the sergeant. “What do you want?”
They still sniggered. The sergeant fished a piece of official-looking paper from his sleeve. “You, Genba, and you, Ohiro, are both under arrest for the murder of the businessman Tokuzo and the theft of his gold and his contracts with the women belonging to his house.” He folded it and returned it to his sleeve. “Chain them!” he ordered his men.
Genba pulled Ohiro closer and stepped back. “There’s some mistake. That matter’s been cleared up.”
It did no good. The constables wrapped them in chains in a moment.
Genba did not fight them. He pleaded with the sergeant, “I didn’t kill him. And Ohiro wasn’t anywhere near Tokuzo’s place.”
“Ah! But we just got new evidence!” The sergeant grinned and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the celebrants, who were watching anxiously from the distance. “Seems like you two stole the contracts and handed them around to the other girls.”
“That’s not true.”
The sergeant ignored this. “Search her place,” he commanded. Two of his men went into Ohiro’s room. Genba thanked the Buddha Ohiro had burn
ed the contract. Of course, the other women probably had not. Who had pointed the finger at them?
Ohiro voiced her own suspicion. “Who told you such lies about us?” she demanded.
“We’ll soon find out if they were lies,” the sergeant told her. “We’ve got ways of dealing with scum like you.”
The constable emerged empty-handed. “Not there.”
“Search them!”
What followed was humiliating and painful. The five constables conducted a body search of Genba and Ohiro that was both thorough and rough. In the case of Ohiro, it was also sadistic. They stripped off most of her clothes and groped her, squeezing and joking about a woman’s secret places. Genba writhed helplessly in his chains, turning his wrists and ankles bloody. Ohiro bore it silently, but she wept.
Then they marched them away, past the crowd of silent watchers. Ohiro still half-naked, and Genba bloody and glowering. As they passed the others, the sergeant said, “We’ll come back for you thieving hussies later.”
Saburo Dismissed
“So Minamoto Masaie was in the capital when his daughter died. Good work, Tora.”
Tora sat across from his master and grinned. “Thanks, sir. It was nothing. His cook makes the best fish soup I’ve ever tasted.” He added with a chuckle, “I’m afraid she had plans for me. I had to tell her I was married and a father. That seemed to discourage her a bit, but I’m not sure she’ll keep her hands off me next time.”
Akitada cast up his eyes. “No doubt you’ll manage,” he said dryly. “I think we may need to consult her again. Her fondness for the young woman makes her likely to be helpful. I wish we could tell her of our suspicions. What did you think of her attitude toward the father?”