by I. J. Parker
He put his good clothes back on and set out across the city to the Sugawara residence. The gate was closed, and all was quiet within. They must be strapped for servants by now. He prepared to wait for Tora. Someone-and he hoped very much it would be Tora-must soon appear to do the day’s shopping.
He was proved right. After a short time, the small gate set into the large one did indeed open, and Tora stepped out. He did not have the cook’s basket, however, and set off at a determined pace. Saburo hurried after him.
When Tora heard running steps, he swung about, an arm half raised against an attack. But seeing Saburo, he dropped it and instead flung both arms about him for a powerful hug. “Where have you been, you slippery bastard?” he scolded, grinning widely. “You’ve given me no end of trouble, brother.”
Saburo gasped for breath but smiled. Being called “brother” warmed his heart, but he asked coolly, “Oh? What did you want?”
“Don’t be so cursed proud. I wanted to make sure you were all right. The master’s already sorry he sent you away.” Tora stepped back and eyed Saburo through narrowed eyes. “You look very fine for being out-of-work and homeless. I looked for you among the beggars.”
“I heard.” Saburo sniffed. “So that’s what you think of me? No good for anything but begging in the streets? I’ll have you know I already have another job and a place to live. No, it’s not among the beggars.” In truth, Mrs., Komiya’s backroom was not a great deal better, and his job paid barely enough to keep himself alive.
Tora’s face fell. “You’ve found another place already? You don’t want to come home?” he asked.
Home?
Saburo relented. “We-ell,” he admitted, “I might be open to other offers.”
In the silence that followed, Tora eyed him suspiciously. “You’re putting me on,” he accused. “I would’ve thought you’d want to help us get Genba out.”
“I do. How is he? I’ve been trying to find the man he ran into outside the brothel. I think he’s the one who killed Tokuzo and knocked me out. The beggars told me you were asking about me.”
“They told me nothing. What did you find out?”
Saburo shook his head. “Same here. And that means they know who he is. He’s one of them, and they’re protecting him.”
Tora whistled. “So that’s it. We’ll make them talk.”
“I don’t think we can. I wish we could talk to Genba again. I don’t remember anything about my own run-in with the fellow.”
Tora brightened. “I want to see Genba, too. Come on, let’s see if we can get in. I know a guard who might swing it for us. This sort of thing used to be easier when the master and Kobe were still friends.”
Saburo muttered, “That’s my fault.”
“No, nobody’s fault. It’s just the way things are sometimes. It’s happened before. The master and Kobe, they’re both as stiff-necked as they come.” He chuckled. “If it wasn’t for low-lives like us, nothing would ever get done. In this world, you’ve got to bend with the storm, or you break.”
“That’s true enough, but you can’t build houses from bamboo. I deserved what I got.”
“Never mind arguing about it now. Let’s see what we can do at the jail.”
At the jail’s main gate, Tora asked for Gonjuro and was pointed in the direction of the jail’s kitchen. Gonjuro, a short man with a round belly, was slurping down a bowl of soup. When he saw Tora, he held up the bowl. “Hey, Tora. Get you fellows some soup? It’s had a bream dipped into it and is pretty tasty.”
Tora laughed. “No, thanks, Gonjuro. Too early for the midday meal, and you look like you should skip a few.”
Gonjuro finished his soup and patted his belly. Then he caught a better look at Saburo, and his jaw dropped. “Great heaven,” he gasped. “What did you do to your brother?”
Both Tora and Gonjuro thought this hilarious and bent over in paroxysms of laughter. Saburo glowered.
“He’s my friend Saburo,” Tora managed after a moment. “As smart a fellow as you’d want to meet even if he isn’t pretty. We both work for the Sugawara family. We came to see Genba. How’s he doing?”
“Fine. I guess it’s all right for you to see him. Lord Kobe won’t let your master in any longer.”
Saburo looked stricken and muttered again, “It’s all my fault.”
The guard looked interested but Tora said quickly, “We’re just buddies. You know how it is. I’d be much obliged.” He passed the guard a coin and added, “Drink to our health tonight and that things will turn out well for us.”
The guard grinned, tucked the money away, dropped his empty bowl in a basket of other dirty utensils, and led the way. Inside the jail building, he took a key from a hook, told the guard, “Visitors,” and proceeded down a long row of cell doors. He stopped halfway to a chorus of shouts from other cells and let them in. “I’ll be just outside,” he assured them and locked them in.
Genba staggered to his feet, his face breaking into a slow smile. “Tora, Saburo! How good to see you. I thought the whole world had forgotten me. How’s everything? How’s the master? And the little ones?”
“All well,” said Tora. “And you and your lady love?”
Genba’s face fell. “I haven’t heard about Ohiro. It worries me. What if they’re beating her? Can you find out something, Tora? Can you help her? She’s such a little thing. She can’t take it.” Tears began to roll down his face. He sniffed, wiped at them, and turned away, ashamed.
Tora muttered a curse under his breath. “They won’t let the master in. He tried. I’ll have a talk with one of the guards. Don’t worry. Ohiro’s stronger than you think.” They all knew the beatings well enough. Tora had tasted the bamboo himself.
Saburo shrank into himself. “It’s all my fault,” he said again. “Forgive me, Genba.”
Genba turned and embraced him. The chain rattled softly as he moved; they had allowed him enough length to take the few steps. “No, no,” he said patting Saburo’s back. You tried to help and lost your place. And that’s my fault, not yours. You have to forgive me.”
Tora snapped, “Stop it. It’s nobody’s fault, but maybe Kobe’s for not trusting any of us after all those years. What good is a man who has no faith in his friends?”
They all stood silent for a few moments, pondering events and shaking their heads.
“Let’s sit,” said Tora.
They sat on the dirt floor, Saburo carefully lifting his robe first.
“We’ve been looking for the killer,” Tora informed Genba. “Separately. Saburo thinks he belongs to the beggars’ guild. Trouble is, the bastard knocked Saburo out before he could see him. We think the man you ran into in the alley across from the brothel was the same man. What did he look like?”
Genba looked from one to the other. “You’re very kind,” he said, “but what will the master say if you waste time on me?”
Tora cut him off. “The master told me to find the killer. He wants you and your girl released. And Kobe won’t listen unless we give him another suspect.”
“And you, too,” Genba said to Saburo. “When you should hate me. I lost you your place.”
“Don’t start that again.” Tora was getting impatient. “Genba, what do you remember?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. It was night and very dark in that alley. I couldn’t see his face. I think he’d tucked his chin into his collar. I saw his eyes once or twice, just sort of gleaming. He had a cloth tied around his head, like a laborer. But then he attacked me and I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed.” He paused to explain, “It’s a wrestling move. Takes the opponent’s breath away, and without breath he loses his strength. Anyway, at that point I didn’t look at him. He was shorter than me. And skinny, though he put up a good fight. Not an old man. Young and strong, but not very tall or big. No idea what his clothes looked like, except they must’ve been dark. Sorry. It isn’t much use.”
It was not much use. Saburo and Tora looked at each other and sighed.
; Genba said anxiously, “The only other thing… he had a smell.”
“A smell? What sort of smell,” Tora asked quickly.
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to think. It reminded me of something.”
“A bad smell?” asked Saburo? “Or a food smell?”
“No. Not bad at all, and not like food.”
“How about sake?” asked Tora hopefully. He had once found a killer because he worked with an ingredient used in brewing rice wine.
“No, but I’d recognize it again.”
Tora and Saburo did not find this helpful and sighed again.
Silence fell.
Well,” said Tora getting to his feet. “We’d better be on our way. I’m supposed to go Yasaka village. That’s where the girl Ozuru that died is from.”
Genba frowned. “Yes, terrible story, but what has she got to do with anything?”
“Maybe revenge. Maybe nothing. The master and I thought if we could find someone who really hated Tokuzo, we could tell Kobe about it.”
“The master is very kind, seeing he has his own troubles.”
“You’re family, Genba.”
Genba hung his head and muttered something.
“What? You did what?”
Genba sighed.
“You told the master you’re leaving him? You can’t be serious. You can never leave him. You’ve sworn to protect him and his family.”
“I’m no good anymore,” said Genba, his voice breaking.
Tora shook his head. He looked from Saburo to Genba. “So. Both of you have turned your backs on him. For shame!” He strode to the cell door and pounded on it. “We’re going,” he shouted.
Saburo got up. “He told me to leave.”
Tora just gave him a look.
The door creaked open. Behind them, Genba had gotten to his feet. “I think, “ he said, “he smelled like he’d just come from the bath house.”
The Mountain Villa
Having to wait for whatever Lady Kishi or his sister Akiko might report frustrated Akitada, who normally handled such errands himself. Since the ministries observed their two days of rest per week, he decided he would take a look at the place where Lady Masako had died. Thus, the day following Akiko’s visit, he got on his horse early in the morning and set out.
It was springtime in the countryside. He had almost forgotten about that in the capital. Or rather, he had been too preoccupied with his various troubles. Now he and his horse enjoyed the gallop through rice fields still under water and ready for their first seedlings. The sun was very bright and reflected blindingly from the watery surfaces.
Akitada’s spirits lifted. The sight of farmers planting their fields, ensuring rice harvests that would feed the nation, filled him with pride. It was hard and humble work, performed by poor, uneducated men and women, but it gave his country its strength. The gods watched over the rice culture, and the emperor himself worshipped them, bowing deeply to these kami, and praying for a good harvest every year. Surely, before such blessings, his own troubles counted for little.
When he reached the foothills, woods closed in on the narrow road, and the scent of pine and cryptomeria hung in the moist air. Bright green ferns uncurled from cushions of darker green moss, and small star-shaped flowers bloomed among them. Then the road turned rough and stony as it climbed ever more steeply into the mountains. Soon the trip became arduous for rider and horse.
Akitada’s thoughts turned to Lady Masako’s death and brought a feeling of danger that became more palpable the close he came to the top of the mountain. He looked over his shoulder from time to time, but saw no one on this path. Even so, he shivered with a strange foreboding.
At a turn in the path was a small clearing, and here stood a simple hut that must be the caretaker’s. On its wooden stoop an old man sat in the sun, dozing. Apparently he had not heard Akitada’s approach even though his horse made a good deal of noise on the loose rocks.
“Good Morning, Uncle!” Akitada called out. It was a common form of address for elderly men. But this old man seemed ancient, and he might have used “grandfather.” This time, he turned his head slightly and grunted a reply. Something about his unfocused glance told Akitada that he must be partially blind. It did not promise well for finding out who had visited the prince’s villa last winter.
His horse was tired, and Akitada dismounted to let it graze beside the path. Walking up to the old man, he asked, “Are you Prince Atsuhira’s servant?”
The old man blinked, cleared his throat, and asked in a cracked voice, “Who are you?”
“Lord Sugawara. A friend of your master’s.”
The old man reached beside him and brought forth an old kettle and a stick of wood that might have been part of a broom or rake once. With the stick, he beat on the kettle, producing high, reverberating sounds that sliced the air and sent a number of birds into flight and Akitada’s horse into the woods.
Akitada covered his ears. Was the man demented? “Stop that!” he shouted.
The man put the kettle and stick down and gave him a toothless smile. Then he leaned back against the door jamb, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.
It was hopeless. Akitada turned away. He could see the roof of the villa among the trees on the crest. How could such an old, blind, and demented man take care of anything, let alone a building easily half a mile and a steep climb away?
He shook his head and caught his horse.
He had just swung himself back into the saddle when he heard someone coming up the path and turned. An old woman was climbing toward him, bent double under a huge pile of brushwood tied to her back.
He watched her reach the hut, then stop and release the rope tying the load to her back. She straightened and looked at the dozing old man.
“What d’you want, old man?” she shouted.
He opened his eyes and pointed to Akitada.
So the banging on the kettle had brought the old woman, most likely the man’s wife. Akitada smiled. They had their own ways of communicating.
The old woman had turned and now regarded him with slack-jawed surprise.
Akitada dismounted again. “I’m Lord Sugawara,” he told her. “I’ve come to talk to you and your husband about what happened last winter and to have a look at the villa.”
She said, “I didn’t hear you coming up the road. Sorry, sir. My hearing’s not good anymore.” She glanced at her husband and chuckled. “But my eyes are still good. Between us, we manage. Nobody’s been here since then. His highness and the police were here then, and a gentleman who’s a friend of the master’s. His highness was in such a state. How is he now?”
“Still not very well. That’s why I’m here. Sometimes three pairs of eyes and ears are better than two. I suppose the police officer asked you if anyone went up to the villa the night Lady Masako died.”
She nodded. “Nobody came but the pretty lady and his highness, sir. That’s what I told them. It was a terrible thing, such a pretty young lady killing herself like that! And his highness never knowing what she was about.”
“You expected both of them that day?”
She looked down and twisted her hands in her mended robe. “They’d come when they could. They were in love,” she murmured. “You could tell. They were so much in love, so happy.” She sighed and wiped her eyes.
“These visits had happened before, and you had seen them together?”
She looked up briefly, then glanced in the direction of the villa. “Four times. The first two times they came together. His highness stopped and asked us to make a fire and heat some wine he’d had brought along. Then they sent us home. The other times, they didn’t come together. His highness told us to keep things ready for them, and they didn’t stop but went straight up. Him on his black horse with the white patch, and her on her gay one. Both looking so handsome. Like something in a fairy tale.” She dabbed at her eyes again.
She was clearly a romantic soul, but Akitada stuck to the important facts. �
��And the last time, the fifth time?”
“The last time was the fourth time, sir.”
Well, that was very precise; she seemed to have an excellent memory. Akitada glanced at her husband, who was awake now and was watching them with a smile. “Does your husband remember it the same way?”
The old man said, “It’s a busy day. Coming and going.” He chuckled.
“He’s not himself most of the time, so you can’t tell what he remembers. We’re getting old. Don’t know what’s to become of us now.”
There were more victims in this case than Lady Masako and her imperial lover. Akitada said, “I’ll try to remind the prince. Perhaps he’ll let you move back to the city and get someone younger to stay here.”
This did not make her happy. She looked at the little hut, her garden, the trees enclosing it all, and shook her head sadly. “Needs must, I guess. Thank you, sir.”
“I won’t trouble you now, if the villa is open.”
“If you don’t mind going on ahead. The shutters in back aren’t latched,” she said with a glance at the pile of brush she had gathered.
Akitada got back on his horse and completed the climb to the top of the mountain. The villa was astonishingly rough and rustic.
Why would a member of the imperial family use such a modest wooden house in this desolate and inaccessible wilderness? The Prince Atsuhira he had known, while pleasant and amusing in company, had certainly not appeared the sort of man who relished solitude and an ascetic lifestyle.
He swung himself out of the saddle and tied his horse to post. There were several of these here; clearly the prince and his visitors had all come on horseback. No carriages, wagons, or even palanquins had ascended the steep track. Over to one side of the clearing stood an open shed. There a horse or two might have sheltered on the days when he and Lady Masako used to meet here. Otherwise, the mountaintop was untouched. Birds flew through the branches of tall cryptomerias and pines, a fox appeared from nowhere, stared and melted into the brush again, and overhead some squirrels chattered at Akitada’s intrusion of their territory.