by I. J. Parker
‘Bite your tongue.’ Tora glared at her. ‘My Hanae will fight the bastard to the death.’
Rikiju looked away. ‘Hanae’s a sensible girl. She’ll be all right. Now I’ve got to get ready for work.’
‘What do you mean, she’s sensible?’
She sighed and got up. ‘Nothing. Don’t worry. Go home, Tora.’
After that, Tora was no longer quite rational. Back on the street, he pushed people out of his way and snarled when he asked for information. Most of those he accosted fled or slammed their doors. He had only one name left before he had to crawl to Master Ohiya.
The dancer Kohata was Hanae’s rival. The two women often appeared at the same parties and they competed for work. Tora tracked Kohata to the best restaurant in the quarter. To get this information, he threatened an old woman who had been hobbling out of Kohata’s home with bodily harm. She told him that the entertainer had left the previous evening for a party with important clients and had not returned yet.
At the entrance of the Fragrant Plum Blossom, Tora cornered a maid and demanded to speak to Kohata. The maid ran from him, and the restaurant’s owner arrived and threatened to call the constables. Tora pushed the man aside and went in. A young boy with the knowing face of an incipient pimp was sweeping the floor of the corridor. Otherwise the place seemed to be empty. The owner made the mistake of grabbing Tora’s arm. Tora whipped around, grasped the man’s jacket with both hands and slammed him against the nearest wall, which, being paper-thin, collapsed. Then he turned on the boy.
‘Where’s Kohata?’
The boy backed away. ‘She … she’s in the “Willow Pavilion”.’
Tora grabbed his shirt and twisted. ‘Where, you brainless oaf?’
The boy gasped, ‘In the back. Through the garden.’
Tora pushed him aside and stormed out of the restaurant’s back door and into the garden. Behind him, the owner and the boy were shouting at each other.
Tora ran to the small building under the willow tree and burst through its door without knocking. The room was empty except for a pile of silk robes and two naked lovers in an interesting configuration of entangled limbs. Under normal circumstances, Tora would have taken notice of their inventiveness, but in his mind’s eye he saw Sadanori embracing Hanae, and he went to seize the woman by the arm and pull her away from the man.
Kohata was furious. She shouted at Tora. Her frightened client, a fat old man, grabbed frantically for his clothing and stumbled into it.
Tora attempted to calm her down enough to ask her about Hanae, but his time had run out. Footsteps and shouts sounded outside. When he turned, he saw red-coated constables armed with chains and wooden clubs. Behind them came the restaurant’s owner, the boy, the maid, and assorted strangers.
Tora abandoned Kohata and dashed out through the back, vaulting over a balustrade and then scrambling over a fence. Outside, he ran for blocks until the sole of one of his boots came loose, caught, and tripped him. He fell headlong and hard, scraping his left cheek and both elbows on the gravel.
The pain cleared his head a little. He sat up, took off the ruined boot, and tossed it away. Then he got to his feet and limped to Master Ohiya’s house.
Ohiya’s young male servant answered, then tried to slam the door when he saw a disheveled, bleeding man outside. Tora snarled, ‘Out of my way,’ and pushed him aside. He found Ohiya by following drumbeats to a large room at the back of his house. Ohiya himself was beating the drum, seated cross-legged on the wooden floor while a young girl went through a dance routine and three others awaited their turn.
The girls were very young, under fifteen, and they squealed when Tora burst through the doorway.
Ohiya looked up, cried, ‘Oh!’ and stopped drumming. In a shaking voice, he asked, ‘What do you want?’
Tora cast a glance at the frightened girls huddling in a corner and said, ‘Sorry. I need a word.’
Ohiya’s eyes blinked, then narrowed in recognition. ‘Tora? What is this? How dare you burst in here like this!’
‘Hanae’s gone. Stolen. I know who has her, but I don’t know where she is. You’ve got to help me, Ohiya.’
Ohiya got to his feet. He was a slender man in his forties who whitened his face and touched his lips with red safflower juice. Today he wore his working clothes: a black silk robe under an embroidered jacket. The jacket was sufficiently feminine that, in spite of his tall figure and the male hairstyle, it and the make-up made his gender vaguely dubious. This was one of the reasons Tora despised him.
Now Ohiya curled his lip and said, ‘You look disgusting. What dog has dragged you out of the gutter?’
Tora bared his teeth and advanced on him. The girls squealed again and put their arms around each other. ‘Don’t play with me, Ohiya. Either you help me find her or I’ll know you had a hand in this.’
Ohiya skipped a few steps away. ‘Don’t you dare touch me, you brute.’
Tora backed the dance master against the wall. Leaning forward until they were practically nose to nose, he snarled, ‘Tell me where Sadanori’s hidden her or I’ll make sure that you never dance again.’
‘I know nothing,’ Ohiya squealed. ‘Don’t touch me, you monster!’
Tora held a fist under his nose, and Ohiya screamed for help. Outside, other shouts answered. A moment later the room was full of burly men, some of them constables. Next, Tora was clubbed over the head and thrown on the floor, with two hefty men sitting on him and an excited babble of voices dinning into his ears. Waves of pain, fragments of Ohiya’s complaints, prattle from the four little maidens, questions by constables, and excited chatter from neighbors and bystanders washed over him like a deluge – along with the knowledge that he had bungled the most important job of his life. He closed his eyes.
TEN
The Willow Quarter
Akitada eyed the sleazy painted banners and garish paper lanterns with distaste. In his view, prostitution undermined the family structure and contributed nothing to the welfare of the country. Tora was an excellent example of how it corrupted promising young men.
Not to mention women.
A very young girl rushed from the door of an adjacent house and almost collided with him. She was hardly more than ten or twelve, and already painted and garbed like a courtesan. For a moment they stared at each other, then she raised her painted fan and smiled at him over it, while her dainty little figure performed a perfect replica of a seductive wiggle. He scowled so fiercely that she lowered her fan, gathered her skirts, and ran away down the street.
Akitada had not set foot in this part of the capital in years, and even then he had only come in search of a killer. In broad daylight the quarter was hardly romantic, in spite of the many willows that gave it its name. After sunset the many-colored lanterns hanging from trees and doorways would be lit to suggest that the visitor had wandered into the abode of heavenly maidens. There would be music then, too, and laughter, and beautiful women dancing – or what passed for beautiful women in that light and in expensive silk gowns. But their business was anything but heavenly.
At the moment only old women and plain-faced maids were out, sweeping or shopping for food. Now and then a poorly-dressed youth ran down the street, carrying a message to one of the courtesans or purchases from silk merchants, comb makers, or incense shops. Inside the shuttered houses, the ‘beauties’, no doubt, still slept after the night’s labors, or gathered in their wrappers to gossip about their customers.
The encounter with the young girl had not improved Akitada’s temper. The day was hot already and humid. Akitada’s formal robe clung uncomfortably to his back and waist, and his arm still ached. Sweat gathered beneath the silk ribbons of his hat and itched. He had no idea how to proceed in his search, but thought that Tora’s latest flirt would be fairly easy to find. In all likelihood, Tora was with her, and if he was not, then she would know where he had gone.
Satisfied with his reasoning, he asked a messenger boy for the office of the warde
n. The warden maintained a record of all the prostitutes registered in the Willow Quarter.
A neatly dressed constable stood under the lantern that identified the ward office. He bowed and ushered Akitada into a large room, where they interrupted the warden, a fat man in a blue silk robe, in his midday meal. A large number of savory-smelling dishes surrounded him and reminded Akitada that he was getting hungry himself. The warden took in Akitada’s appearance and suppressed his irritation. He put down his bowl and bowed.
Akitada cut through a long string of flowery phrases of welcome to demand information about Hanae.
The warden raised his brows. ‘A courtesan?’ he asked. ‘We have so many. The name doesn’t ring a bell. She’s not of the first or second rank.’ He gave Akitada an oily smile. ‘One gets to know the great beauties quickly, and we have the best. I could easily put your honor in touch with a very reliable person to advise and arrange a meeting?’
Akitada glared. ‘I am not here to buy an hour with a prostitute,’ he snapped. ‘A member of my household has disappeared. The woman Hanae may know his whereabouts.’
‘I doubt that one of our ladies is responsible, but if it is indeed an urgent matter, I could search the records.’ The warden glanced at his half-eaten food. ‘It might take a while,’ he added pointedly.
Akitada did not like the man and cared nothing about spoiling his meal. He sat down and stared around the room, while the warden pulled down document boxes and ledgers from shelves. This warden’s office looked more like a gentleman’s study than a place where the law was enforced. Cushions awaited guests; a brazier and wine flask stood ready. Whatever tools of trade the warden used must be neatly tucked away in wooden trunks so as not to frighten away good clients. Akitada scowled. An immoral business corrupted even the authorities.
‘How do you keep order in a place like this?’ he asked irritably.
‘Oh, I have my system, sir,’ chuckled the warden, patting his fat ledger affectionately.
‘I was referring to keeping order in the quarter. There must be a good deal of drunkenness and violence.’
‘Heavens,’ the warden cried with a hearty laugh, ‘you make the Willow Quarter sound positively dangerous. It’s nothing of the sort. Our clients, after all, come for a pleasant evening. I keep my eye on things personally. Should someone have a bit too much wine, we see him home safely’
Akitada did not believe a word of this. ‘You? In person?’
Another laugh escaped the warden. ‘Oh, no. One of my constables. No, trouble is the last thing we want here. This is a place to enjoy music and good food and wine, to spend time with beautiful women, skilled in song, poetry, and dance. Here one relaxes and forgets his troubles.’ He rubbed his hands and smiled like a personification of the god of good fortune.
Akitada looked back coldly. ‘I see. So what about this girl Hanae?’
‘No courtesan by that name works in the quarter at the present time, sir. She may, of course, be an irregular. If so, she works here illegally. But that isn’t very likely. My men are very vigilant, and so are the regulars. The ladies don’t tolerate competition.’
It occurred to Akitada that Tora might have insisted his lover stop working. Most likely he had. ‘What about a woman who has recently left the, er, trade?’
The warden bent over his ledger again. After a few moments, he said, ‘No, not in the past year. But I do recall now that we have a professional dancer by that name. She’s not a courtesan at all. Not yet, anyway. The dancers perform for large parties and are not supposed to spend the night with clients. Might the young woman be an entertainer?’
Akitada frowned. ‘Possibly. Tell me how to find this dancer.’
The warden opened another ledger and ran his pudgy finger down the page. ‘She lives in the southern ward. Between Shinano and Karasumaro Street. I hear she’s been doing well for herself.’
Akitada was disappointed. A first-class entertainer would hardly waste her time with Tora. But he had the warden write down directions to the house and the name of her dancing master. Then, on the point of departing, he asked, ‘By any chance, do you recall a former courtesan by the name of Peony? She is said to have been quite famous and worked here about five or six years ago.’
‘Of course. The beautiful Peony left very suddenly. Ah, there were many broken hearts.’ The warden folded his hands and cast up his eyes. ‘We’ll never see her likes again. They say one of the great nobles wanted to make her his wife, but she turned him down.’ He sighed sentimentally.
‘How strange. I was told she left huge debts behind.’
The warden laughed. ‘Peony? Hardly. She was a very rich woman by then.’
So much for that. Whoever the Otsu Peony had been, she had been dependent on Masuda support. Akitada thanked the warden and left.
Outside, he stood undecided. Should he follow up on the dancer or scour the quarter for Tora? He decided to take his chances in the quarter, distasteful though it was.
The willows swayed in a slight breeze from the river, doves cooed on the roofs, and the colored lanterns looked bright in the sun, but Akitada saw peeling paint and dingy whitewashed walls. Garbage still lay piled in odd corners. A mangy dog sniffed at some vomit in an alleyway and passed on to lift a leg against a tall stack of earthen wine jars at the back door of a restaurant. Akitada knew there were much worse looking wards in the capital, places where people lived and slept under a few leaning boards covered with brushwood. There men killed for food, women lay down in the fields to let strangers have their way for a copper or two, and children died faster than the rats or flies that were better nourished than they.
When Akitada saw a wine house open for business, he went in. Although it was still early in the day, two women sat in a corner, drinking wine and chattering loudly with the owner of the place. Akitada called for some chilled wine and looked at the women disapprovingly. One was middle-aged and dressed in black silk, the other a girl in pink. The older woman dominated the conversation with an irritatingly shrill voice. Akitada decided that she was the young prostitute’s bawd. He rose and walked over to them.
‘I’m looking for one of my retainers,’ he said curtly. ‘His name is Tora. Perhaps one of you may know him?’
Both women shook their heads, but his host said, ‘I think I remember him, sir. Haven’t seen him for weeks. A handsome and cheerful fellow with a small mustache? The girls liked him a lot.’
Akitada nodded sourly. The description fit.
‘We’ll keep our eyes and ears open, if you like,’ offered the man.
Akitada left his name and directions and returned to his wine. He had barely sat down and raised his cup when the young woman in pink approached with the sinuous gliding motion of the trained courtesan. Stopping before him, she bowed deeply and asked, ‘Would the gentleman care for some company?’
Akitada eyed her painted face and judged her to be quite young and pretty. He wanted to send her away, but then wondered if she knew Tora and had not wanted to say so in front of the other woman. Tora never paid for the services of his paramours. ‘You’re very kind,’ he said. ‘May I offer you a cup of wine?’
She clapped her hand for the proprietor to bring another cup and sat down gracefully beside him. ‘Thank you, My Lord. I’m called Little Wave.’
Akitada reached for the flask to pour some wine for her, but she was quicker. ‘Allow me,’ she murmured and managed to touch his hand so lightly that it seemed like a caress. Then she moved closer on her knees, ostensibly to serve the wine. She refilled his cup first and offered it with both hands and a smile. When he took the cup, their hands touched again, and this time hers lingered. ‘Oh,’ she breathed, her eyes on his lips.
She was very good, and her intentions were obvious. Akitada knew this, but his heart started to beat a little faster anyway. ‘I wondered, Little Wave,’ he said, as she poured her own wine, ‘if you had remembered Tora. He would not pass up a charming girl like you.’
She sipped daintily, flutt
ering her lashes at him over the rim of the cup. ‘If he’s half as handsome as you, sir, I wouldn’t forget him. Some men turn a girl’s head in an instant and she’s quite lost.’ She gave him a melting glance.
The expected rejoinder, ‘Surely a gentleman would make every effort to find her again,’ was on Akitada’s tongue, but he blushed and said instead, ‘You are a flatterer. Actually, he doesn’t look much like me. He’s much better-looking and has a very big smile.’
If she was disappointed at his refusal to flirt, she did not show it. Touching his arm lightly with her fan, she said, ‘However handsome he is, he cannot be like you. And I prefer clean-shaven gentlemen.’ She bent a little closer to let her fingertips brush his upper lip and then trace his mouth. ‘But you are very sad.’
Akitada became aware of her scent. It was strangely seductive. Sandalwood and something else, perhaps orange blossom. Tamako used orange blossom. He remembered their embrace earlier: the pleasant familiarity of her scent, the way her body fit against his. He took a deep breath and reached for his wine cup.
The wine had heated his body, and it was a long time since he had made love. He looked at the girl. In spite of the wine, his mouth suddenly felt dry. It would be so easy. She was young and charming and willing to give herself for a bit of silver. Such a thing was good for both of them and hurt no one. He looked into her smiling eyes and then down to where her breasts swelled above a small waist.
She smiled knowingly and leaned forward. Her scent was very pleasant and her gown gaped just a little, revealing a glimpse of rosy flesh. His fingers itched to reach inside her gown, to feel that soft roundness in his palm. He felt sweat beading his upper lip and gulped more wine.
‘I have a room nearby,’ she murmured. ‘Beside the river, where it’s cooler and the sound of the water will accompany our pleasure. Come with me. I will make you happy again. I’m not called Little Wave for nothing.’
He imagined making love to this young girl to the sound of the rushing waters, cradled in her arms, buoyant as on a wave, and he felt desire stir and sweat break out all over his body.