by I. J. Parker
Akitada thanked him and said, ‘There are worse things than wasps. Warden Takechi should be back later. We will ask him when you can clean this room.’ When the old man still stood, looking around sadly, he asked, ‘What are your plans now?’
‘Plans?’
‘I mean if the doctor’s nephew decides to sell this place.’
‘Oh, he’ll sell it.’
‘How do you know?’
‘What the master said. Merchants want gold.’
‘Merchants?’ The old man abbreviated speech as his master had abbreviated his journal entries. Some people became garrulous when they were much alone. Apparently not these two.
‘The master’s family. He didn’t like them.’
‘But I’m told he left this property to his nephew.’
‘Who else?’
To the old man’s mind, family, no matter how unpleasant, came first. Akitada wondered if the property, even in its ruined state, might present a motive for a greedy man. ‘The nephew has visited here?’
‘Once.’
‘When was that?’
‘After the harvest. Spent the night.’ The old man made a face. ‘Quarreled and left.’
‘They quarreled? What about?’
‘Don’t know. The master said, “Good riddance.’”
Akitada sampled a plum. It was delicious. Perhaps he should plant another plum tree. The one in the south garden was too old to bear fruit. This reminded him again of Tamako’s wisteria and other garden matters. He glanced up at the dried herbs. ‘Where did your master get his herbs?’
‘The garden. The monks. And the pharmacist.’
‘There is a herb garden? Where?’
The old man took him. Down a narrow path through the shrubbery, there was a small clearing of cultivated land. A spade lay beside a newly-dug section. The old man said, ‘Time to split the rhubarb.’
‘Rhubarb?’ Akitada was beginning to understand the way his mind worked. He had fed the birds all the rice, and now he was digging the herb garden. He was showing his respect to the dead man.
‘Daiou root. For constipation,’ said his companion.
‘Are any of these plants poisonous? Like warabi, for example?’
The old man gave him a pitying look. ‘Warabi’s not medicine. Doctors heal.’
True enough. Akitada was hunting another murderer altogether. He thanked the old man and returned to his notebooks.
When he read the entry for Peony, he was disappointed and baffled. She was identified only as ‘drowned woman’. The doctor had noted a bruise on her left temple and written ‘not serious’ next to it. And then came the puzzling part, for he had written in the margin, ‘There is no end to my guilt.’ What guilt?
Akitada put the notebook aside and reached for the one that covered the previous year. But no amount of searching produced an entry for the Masuda heir. It was as if his death had never happened, and yet Inabe had treated the young man. He went through the whole notebook again. There was not only no reference to a patient with the flux at the time, but also the pertinent days did not exist in the notebook. He saw no obvious break in the note-taking, no unfinished sentences, but he checked to see if pages had been removed. If so, it had been done so carefully that there was no trace of it.
EIGHTEEN
Fox Magic
After Tora left Little Abbess he made straight for Sadanori’s mansion. As before, the gate stood open, but today no bearers delivered lumber and no carriage waited. At the gate stood one of the monks with a basket hat. When he saw Tora, he placed his wooden begging bowl on the ground between his bare feet and started to play softly on a long, straight bamboo flute. He was not playing very well.
Tora paused to dig out a couple of coppers and drop them in the bowl. The monk lowered his flute and bowed. ‘May Amida bless you.’
‘Your first visit to the capital?’ asked Tora. He gestured at the empty street. ‘Not much traffic here. You’d do a lot better at one of the bridges or in the markets.’
‘Thank you. Do you work in this fine mansion?’
‘No.’ Tora had no time to chat with idle monks. He had his own questions to ask.
A few house servants in their white uniforms and black hats were busy with chores, and in the distance he heard hammering. The builders, apparently, were still busy. The same servant who had discovered Tora on his last intrusion approached.
Tora greeted him like a long-lost friend. ‘Good morning, brother. I was hoping to catch you. We weren’t introduced last time. I’m Tora.’
The other man looked surprised. ‘I’m Genzo,’ he said, nodding a greeting. ‘How’s the job coming?’
‘We ran into a little hitch.’ Tora was pleased with this fabrication. There was always some hitch on a building project. ‘Nothing serious, but the boss wants to know when to expect another inspection. He was hoping Ishikawa was still out of town.’
‘No such luck. He got back last night. But he hasn’t talked to the master yet, so maybe that’ll buy you some time.’
‘Genzo!’
They turned. Sadanori stood at the veranda railing of the nearest building.
Genzo knelt and bowed. ‘Yes, Master?’
Tora remained standing and stared up at his arch enemy. The lord’s fleshy face was nearly round, and its features, a pair of small eyes, a button nose, and small pink lips under a tiny black mustache, struck him as ridiculous. He reached up to stroke his own handsome mustache.
Sadanori’s eyes flicked over him. ‘Who is that person?’ he demanded.
‘He assists the building supervisor, Master.’
‘Oh.’ Sadanori dismissed it. ‘Is Ishikawa back?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘I want to see him. Now. At the new pavilion.’ Sadanori turned and went back inside.
Tora and the servant waved to each other and took off in opposite directions. Tora trotted towards the pavilion.
It looked almost complete and very pretty with its dark wood, white plaster, and shiny blue roof tiles. A bright red balustrade wrapped around the veranda. The building supervisor stood at the foot of the stairs talking to two men. This time, Tora walked up openly.
‘Morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Almost done, eh? Looks nice.’
The supervisor stared. ‘Who’re you?’
‘Oh, I’m from His Lordship’s mother’s household. On a visit to the capital. Thought I’d take a look and see how things are coming along here. Did you know that His Lordship is coming?’
‘What? Now?’
Tora enjoyed the other man’s consternation. ‘Oh, yes. With Ishikawa.’
The supervisor cursed and charged up the steps, while the two workers melted away. Tora grinned and strolled around the building to the back where it overlooked the lake. The piles of lumber had disappeared, as had the stacks of tiles. The tiles covered the roof now and glinted in the sun. Another staircase led to the veranda here, and Tora went up and into the building. He looked for a hiding place, but found only bare rooms. They were quite elegant, beyond anything in the Sugawara household, their columns lacquered red like the balustrade outside, their ceilings decorated with stylized blossoms and birds, and brand-new shutters stood wide open to the gardens and the lake. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air. Tora could hear the supervisor in one of the rooms, shouting, ‘I don’t care if the paint is wet. Cover it up and work somewhere else. Hurry up. Here he comes.’
Tora peered out and saw Sadanori approaching from the main house. The tall Ishikawa walked beside him, and several servants followed. Tora ran down the stairs and ducked under the rear veranda. He wished he could hear Ishikawa’s report, but that was hoping for too much.
He waited patiently and watched the ducks and swans on the lake. Above him, muffled footsteps and voices marked the progress of the inspection. Would they notice whatever the supervisor was covering up? Apparently not. He heard no angry shouts, just some calm muttering. Eventually, the footsteps reached the veranda above his head.
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br /> ‘The view is charming.’ That was Ishikawa. ‘It will be very pleasant for Your Lordship on moonlit summer evenings.’
Sadanori’s high voice replied, ‘Nothing pleases me any longer.’
The supervisor offered, ‘Perhaps some chrysanthemums can be planted along the lake’s shore, and iris for next spring. It’s perfect as a gentleman’s retreat and also suitable for moon-viewing parties. Your Lordship will spend many happy years here.’
Sadanori said coldly, ‘You may return to your work now.’
‘I hope Your Lordship is pleased with our progress,’ the supervisor pressed.
‘Yes, yes. Run along now.’ Sadanori sounded impatient. Somewhere, a crow cawed.
Ishikawa said, ‘A good place for shooting practice. Having too many birds around destroys the peace.’
Under the veranda, Tora held his breath. Would they have their private talk now?
No. Apparently, they had already exchanged the information Tora was interested in – that is, what Ishikawa had been doing in Otsu. Sadanori now wanted to know what Ishikawa thought of the supervisor.
‘I don’t like the fellow,’ Ishikawa said. ‘I think he takes a cut on every order and pads the workers’ hourly wage list.’
‘Then you should stop him. What do I pay you for?’
Ishikawa laughed softly. ‘Unlike your other servants, I’m a man you can trust. That’s worth a great deal, I should think.’
‘You have gone too far this time.’
‘Your safety was my only concern.’
Silence.
‘That reminds me, how is your lovely daughter?’
‘No!’
Tora jumped a little. Sadanori had practically shouted the word. What was going on?
Above him, Ishikawa laughed again. ‘And to think of the risks I took for you. Sugawara was back in Otsu with that servant of his.’
‘So what?’
‘Don’t forget, there is still another witness.’
‘Your mother?’ There was panic in Sadanori’s voice.
‘Of course not. No, this one is here.’
‘Then you have been careless.’
‘Not at all. I just found out that Sugawara is asking questions about the case.’
‘He won’t find anything.’
‘I disagree.’ Ishikawa moved above Tora’s head. ‘You forget that I know how Sugawara works. He doesn’t give up easily once he catches a scent.’
Silence again. Tora strained his ears. Sadanori grunted, ‘I can stop him.’
‘So can I. There is a woman at Fushimi. She knows how to find her.’
‘I don’t like it. It goes on and on. You take too much on yourself, and things get worse. See if you can manage it another way. We’ll discuss your … fee when all is safe.’
One man’s footsteps receded; Sadanori’s, probably. What was Ishikawa doing? What witness had he been talking about? Tora felt a hollow in the pit of his stomach. What if it was Hanae? But Hanae was safe at the Sugawara house.
Ishikawa finally moved. He went to the stairs and came down. Tora shrank behind one of the supports and watched him walk to the water’s edge. There Ishikawa stopped and looked up into a tree. Suddenly, he scooped up a stone and flung it into the branches. With a loud squawk, a black crow flew up and disappeared. Ishikawa cursed after it and walked away, his face a mask of fury.
More confused than ever, Tora crept from his hiding place and followed. Ishikawa left by the open back gate and turned north.
The Fushimi market adjoined a fox shrine outside the city. Tora was convinced that Ishikawa had killed the doctor in Otsu and planned to kill someone else. Perhaps he should return to Otsu to report, but there was a certain urgency about Ishikawa’s errand that made Tora nervous.
He stayed as far back as he could, mingling with other travelers on the road. Ishikawa was easy to see and not, in any case, suspicious of being followed. He never once bothered to look back.
The shrine attracted many people from the capital, and a village had sprung up around the conical wooded hill sacred to the grain deity. The market stretched along the main street, and at this time, near sunset, it was crowded. Vendors sold food and wine. Ballad singers, monks, and dancers competed for the pilgrims’ coppers and added to the cacophony of the sellers crying out their wares. From the market, a line of red-lacquered torii snaked up the hill towards the shrine to the abode of the three grain deities.
But Ishikawa was not making a spiritual journey. After surveying the crowd, he made his way purposefully along the stands. Tora followed much more closely now. Though Ishikawa was tall, it would be easy to lose him here.
Near the entrance to the shrine grounds, Ishikawa stopped at a stall where a woman was selling combs and fans. The conversation between them was brief. Even at this distance, Tora saw that the woman was nervous. She kept bowing and speaking quickly. After a few sentences, Ishikawa nodded and walked away without buying anything.
Tora was about to approach the stall when a mendicant monk drifted up and talked to the woman. Tora waited, muttering unkind words and scanning the crowd for Ishikawa. He had disappeared.
To console himself, Tora bought a cup of the hot spicy wine. The wine eased his parched throat and was delicious, so he had a second cup. Then he returned to the comb and fan seller. She was middle-aged, but wore the colorful clothes of someone much younger. The paint on her face and her clothes probably meant that she had started life as a ‘fallen flower’ and now eked out a living in this market. She looked glum.
‘If I buy one of your pretty combs for my wife, charming lady,’ Tora said, ‘would you answer a question?’
Few women could resist Tora’s charm when he put his mind to it. This one could. ‘What question?’ she asked listlessly.
He selected a comb. ‘How much for this one?’
‘Fifteen coppers. It’s a very fine comb.’ The answer was automatic. When Tora did not argue, she took the money.
‘A tall man stopped by here a little while ago. Do you know him?’
Her face closed. ‘I don’t remember. A lot of people stop.’
‘Come on,’ Tora pressed her. ‘It just happened. A guy with a sharp face and lousy manners. I saw him. He didn’t buy anything.’ He paused, frustrated by her stubborn silence. ‘Just before that monk talked to you.’
‘He asked about the shrine. The monk asked, too.’
‘He did? Which way did they go?’
She shook her head and turned to another customer.
Tora considered the shrine entrance. Two stone statues of foxes flanked it, their bushy tails reaching skyward. They smirked down at him. The climb was a long one. Tora decided that Ishikawa would not have bothered. He was in the crowd somewhere, probably being followed by the monk wearing a basket hat. That reminded him of the monk in front of Sadanori’s gate. Whichever monk this one was, he was following Ishikawa. Find the monk and find Ishikawa.
He walked up and down between the stalls without seeing either of them. Eventually, he sighed and gave up. The monk was a puzzle. Anyone could hide under one of those basket hats.
Tora’s depression lifted abruptly when he got to the bridge over the Kamo River and saw the monk walking ahead of him. The basket hat bobbed along briskly, and the monk was over the bridge and turning into the warren of streets and alleys before Tora was halfway across.
Cursing the ‘holy’ man’s longer stride, and dodging other travelers, Tora broke into a run. He must not lose his prey again. Luck was with him, and in the light of a shop lantern he caught sight of the basket hat turning south, towards the Willow Quarter. Even better, he was taking a street that was deserted at this time of evening.
Tora increased his speed and had almost caught up when the other man heard his running footsteps and gasping breath and swung around.
With a growl, Tora flung himself on him, carrying him backward a few steps and to the ground. He had surprised the monk by his sudden attack, but the man was fighting back. He was young,
strong, and more knowledgeable about street brawling than a servant of Buddha had any right to be.
In the struggle, the basket hat came off and rolled away, and Tora saw that he had caught a stranger. A young, strong, and desperate stranger. In that moment of surprise, the monk managed to bloody Tora’s nose, nearly rip off an ear, sink his teeth into Tora’s forearm, and knee him in the groin.
Tora grunted and released his prey to curl up in agony. The other man was on his feet in an instant, snatched up his basket hat, and took off, running.
Doubts returned. Perhaps this was just an ordinary monk. Itinerant monks often came from humble backgrounds and, being suddenly attacked, might revert to old habits. Still, this man had been far more violent than a religious calling permitted. Shaking his head in confused disgust, Tora walked home.
Genba answered his knock. ‘You’re late,’ he grumbled.
‘Couldn’t help it. All is well? No trouble of any sort?’
‘Trouble? No. Unless you count your dog. Why?’
Tora suddenly felt very tired. ‘I lost Ishikawa.’ He went to the well and pulled up a bucket of water. He drank, then splashed his face. ‘What’s that howling?’
‘The dog. I had to tie him up so he wouldn’t wake everybody when you got home.’
Tora became defensive. ‘He’s a fine watchdog. Let him do his job.’ He went to the stable.
After an affectionate greeting, Tora released the dog and tiptoed into the room he shared with Hanae. He made a moderate amount of noise removing his clothes and yawned loudly once or twice. When that produced no reaction from the sleeping form of his wife, he crawled under the blankets, sighed, and went to sleep.
His rest was disrupted when Trouble introduced himself to the night creatures roaming the Sugawara property, barking as he chased them through the shrubbery. With a sigh, Tora got up again to put him back in the stable.
In the morning, Tora informed the women that he was returning to Otsu, warning them about Ishikawa. Tamako and Hanae seemed unworried. Then, after eating a bowl of rice gruel, he saddled his horse and left.
His failure with Ishikawa gnawed at him. Besides, he had not exactly covered himself with glory in his questioning of Little Abbess. His master would want to know about young Masuda’s death. And about the old lord and his relationship with Peony before and after his son’s death. And why Ishikawa’s mother had visited. Little Abbess knew the answers to those questions, but Tora had only asked about Sadanori. The more he thought about it, the more questions popped into his head. He simply could not return to Otsu before seeing Little Abbess again.