by I. J. Parker
In his second-best robe, the same one he had worn on his previous visit, Akitada presented himself to heavily armed retainers at the Kiyowara gate.
They had not been here before, and their martial demeanor struck an unpleasant note in this normally peaceful quarter of the city. Kiyowara’s rank and position permitted them, and they might have been brought from his provincial seat to attend his funeral and to protect the widow and her young son against unwelcome attentions, but Akitada felt as though he were walking unarmed into an enemy camp.
Still, they admitted him readily when he identified himself. A house servant, dressed in white hemp because of his master’s death, took him to the main reception hall and indicated a single silk cushion placed before an empty dais at the end of the large, dim room.
The dais was new since Soga’s days and suggested aspirations beyond Kiyowara’s recent rank – that or the expectation of an imperial visit. The coffered ceiling was lacquered dark brown, the heavy beams had gilded mounts, and the squares between were painted in a red and white design – probably the Kiyowara crest. The dais was covered with thick tatami mats edged in red brocade, and on the wall behind it was a large painting of flowering branches and birds. Someone had set up a lacquered curtain stand with costly brocade hangings and had placed three silk pillows, one in front of the others, on the tatami mats before it.
It was to be an official reception, something resembling an audience. In a way it was reassuring – the Kiyowaras did not intend to have him cut down by their soldiers. But Akitada’s placement below the splendor of the dais was also insulting. He considered his own descent far more ancient and noble than that of a Kiyowara.
At least they did not make him wait. A door slid open in the painted panel, and three people slipped in. Lady Kiyowara and her companion were gorgeously robed in scented silk, but wore short hemp jackets over their many-hued gowns. They were followed by a young male. Akitada guessed that this was the son and heir. He also wore expensive silks under his hemp jacket and looked pale and nervous.
Lady Kiyowara seated herself in the center of the dais, while her son and companion took their places behind. The arrangement meant that Lady Kiyowara intended to conduct the interview. It also implied that she would speak for the heir because of his youth.
Akitada was curious about the son, but could not get a good look at him, except to note a high forehead over slanted brows that met above his nose. He seemed to be fifteen or sixteen and was subdued for a young male who had just succeeded to his father’s title.
He had a slightly better view of the elderly companion, who held a small box. Neither woman had applied the thick white paste and heavy black and red paint common among upper-class women. Though this, too, was meant to signify mourning, Akitada preferred it. He disliked the custom, and Tamako rarely painted her face.
Both women held up fans, but these did not always hide the face and never the eyes. Lady Kiyowara appeared to be a few years older than Tamako, perhaps by five or ten, but she had fine features. Her elderly attendant was extremely plain. Neither looked particularly distraught.
Akitada hoped the son, at least, grieved for his father.
They exchanged bows. Lady Kiyowara studied him carefully over her fan. The fan was plain paper with a faint dusting of gold – very proper. Her eyes were thinly outlined in black, so subtly that they looked natural. It was very attractive. He must tell Tamako about this, he thought, then became impatient with the formalities.
‘You asked to see me, madam?’ he asked without preamble.
She blinked at his abruptness and shot a glance at her companion before saying softly, ‘Thank you for coming so promptly, sir, and at such an inauspicious time. Allow me to introduce my son and my lady-in-waiting. I sent for you because I have need of your advice. You are said to have a certain expertise in matters of this sort.’
Akitada made her another slight bow. ‘If Your Ladyship refers to Lord Kiyowara’s murder, I must tell you that I have been warned away from the case. It seems people have seen fit to suggest I might have had a hand in it myself.’ There, that was blunt speaking and should cut through other circumlocutions.
She raised her fan a fraction higher, but he could see her eyes flashing. She was surely an intelligent woman. He must be on his guard.
After a moment, she said, ‘Yes, it is best to speak plainly. The police have assured me that you are not considered a suspect. Perhaps you would explain your previous visit more fully yourself?’
He had been right about her intelligence. And Kobe had protected him. He kept the explanation short. ‘I was recently passed over for a position I held for more than a year. An incompetent man was put in my place. When I discovered that this was done on your husband’s order, and since Lord Kiyowara and I were strangers, I came here to see if some mistake had been made. Now I am thought to have come for revenge. I did not, of course, though I would have been angry to find out that Lord Kiyowara had ruined me simply because it suited him to do so.’
She looked at him silently, as if weighing his words. Then she said, ‘I am sorry. My husband’s affairs were not mine.’
That was surely a bald-faced lie. Her brother-in-law was Chancellor and Regent Yorimichi. Akitada said coldly, ‘Many would say that your husband owed his career to you.’
She stiffened. ‘He owed his career to his ability and his past service to the emperor.’
‘My case exactly, but that did not prevent Lord Kiyowara from replacing me with an inferior.’ Akitada bit his lip. He would gain nothing by further antagonizing the lady. ‘Perhaps you had better tell me why you called on me under these circumstances.’
Her eyes narrowed, and he realized that she was smiling. ‘You are still angry, and yet you are here,’ she said.
He said nothing.
‘I asked you to come because the policeman speaks highly of you, and because I want a separate investigation into my husband’s murder.’ She gestured to her companion, who got to her knees and shuffled over, setting the small box down in front of her. Lady Kiyowara flipped open the lid and turned the box towards Akitada. It was filled to the brim with gold. ‘This should replace your lost income for the year. Allow me to offer this gold for your services. When you have completed the investigation, you will receive another box just like this. Together, I believe, they equal two years of your salary as senior secretary in your ministry.’
Akitada’s face burned with shame. It was one thing to be paid a salary for his service to the emperor, and quite another to be bribed by this woman to protect her family. Worse, most likely he was here because he was Kobe’s friend. He wanted to reject the offer disdainfully, but his circumstances did not permit empty gestures. Still, he was very angry.
‘I am flattered, but Superintendent Kobe is well able to handle this.’
She frowned. ‘Nevertheless, I would like you to act for me.’
‘It is impossible to say where a murder investigation leads. If you think I can avert an arrest of yourself or a member of your family, you give me too much credit.’ He saw that she was offended and pressed on. ‘Besides, it is too early to say what I may find, or if what I find out is going to please you. For example, it may be that your son quarreled with his father -’ that had been Tora’s opinion, but one that had surely been correct – ‘or that you yourself preferred another man to your husband.’
The elderly lady gasped, and Lady Kiyowara dropped her fan and stared at him in shock. ‘W-what?’
‘Your son’s anger was observed by others. He rode down an old woman in the street outside. And as I waited in the anteroom on the day of the murder, I overheard shouting in your husband’s room. As for Your Ladyship: Lord Ono and I met the afternoon of your husband’s murder. Ono was coming from your quarters. I assume he has informed you of my visit. He did not hide his close relationship with you.’
‘Then he lied about me,’ she snapped. ‘And so did the people who accused my son. He was not here at the time of his father’s deat
h. Who told you those things? If they are servants of mine, they will be dismissed.’
He liked her less for that outburst and said, ‘That will hardly stop the rumors. I expect Superintendent Kobe is already aware of them.’
Her shoulders sagged abruptly, and she bowed her head. ‘What shall I do?’ she said softly. ‘Oh, what can I do? I hoped you would help me, but what good are you if you believe those tales?’
That disconcerted him. ‘Neither your relationship with Ono nor your son’s anger necessarily prove guilt,’ he said, ‘but I will not be bought.’
She looked up, startled. ‘Bought? Oh… Oh, I did not… That was not… I beg your pardon.’ She quickly closed the lid on the box as if to remove the offensive sight from his eyes. That almost made him smile. ‘But if you thought that,’ she said more calmly, taking up her fan again, ‘then you must think us guilty, my son and me. Individually or together.’
‘Again, no. But if I am to undertake the work you propose, then it must be on the condition that I shall find out the truth no matter who is hurt by it.’
She quickly pushed the box towards him. ‘Of course. It shall be as you wish. I must trust that you are infallible, sir,’ she said. ‘Now, what do you wish to know?’
He did not touch the box and glanced at her companion. The woman looked frightened.
Lady Kiyowara said quickly, ‘My lady-in-waiting is in my confidence. She knows we have nothing to fear. Ask whatever you wish.’
He wondered if that also meant that the attendant approved of Lady Kiyowara’s relationship with Lord Ono and asked, ‘Lord Ono has expressed his complete devotion to you. Do you know of anything that might have caused him to kill your husband?’
‘As you have spoken to Ono Takamura, you must know that nothing would cause him to commit an act of violence. He is a poet.’
‘Poets express powerful emotions quite frequently,’ Akitada pointed out.
‘In poems, yes. But poetry is an exercise of the mind, not of passion. Do you write poetry?’
‘No, My Lady.’
‘Ah.’
Akitada blushed at that and asked quickly, ‘Did you know that your son quarreled with his father?’
‘No, but it is likely. Katsumi wished to join the guards. His father forbade it because he is only fifteen and our only son. He did not kill his father. You must believe that. I know my son.’
The young lord said nothing and remained hidden behind his mother. Perhaps, thought Akitada, but mother love could be as blind as romantic love. That thought caused him to ask, ‘Were you and your husband happy together?’
She did not blink, but the hand holding the fan tightened. She said tonelessly, ‘Of course.’
That was her second lie, but it was too soon to press her. Akitada asked, ‘Do you know of anyone who might have wished your husband dead?’
She frowned. ‘My husband rose quickly in the government and was a rich man. Surely that makes enemies.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
This time she hesitated. ‘Wives are rarely in a position to know their husbands’ associates.’
In general, this was very true, but perhaps her answer had hinted at something she did not want to mention. He let it go. Earning his fee would not be easy. He suppressed a sigh. ‘Very well, My Lady. I accept your offer with the conditions I made. Can I be given ready access to everyone in this house?’
‘Certainly.’ Nodding to her companion, she made him a slight bow, rose, and left by the door she had entered. The companion hurried after her. They left behind the memory of a swishing of silks and the scent of orange blossoms and sandalwood. The young lord, caught unawares, stared at Akitada with frightened eyes. Then he seemed to remember himself and got to his feet and out of the room quickly.
Akitada took up the heavy little box and tucked it under his arm, where the fullness of his sleeve hid it. He walked homeward, filled with new hope and a pleasant interest in solving the mystery of Kiyowara’s murder.
THE FRAGRANT PEACH
Tora looked forward to reporting the young lord’s furious departure on the afternoon of the murder. It surely meant that the quarrel his master had overheard had been between Lord Kiyowara and his son. In that case, most likely young Kiyowara could have been the killer. A rash-tempered youth was prone to knocking people out, and this one’s temper was proved when he had ridden down the old woman.
And if this information did not solve the case, then at least another suspect could be offered to the police.
All in all, a good day’s work, though it would have to wait. The next morning, the master was busy. Tora changed back into his rags.
Hanae’s face fell. ‘Are you going out again?’
‘The master thinks someone’s setting those fires. You know he needs all the help he can get.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Amida! Someone setting fires?’ She bit her lip and nodded. ‘Go then, but be careful and don’t stay out too late.’
‘Never fear.’ He ogled her. ‘Just be ready for me when I slip into bed.’
That made her giggle.
This time Tora passed through the Western Market, skirting Hoshina’s wine shop, and wandered through the dingy streets beyond. From time to time, he stopped a man or woman to ask for Jirokichi. People either denied knowing of him, their faces closing like slammed doors, or they smiled and nodded but had no idea where Tora might find him. It was frustrating.
Near midday he was in an especially depressing part of the city. Hunger gnawed and his legs were growing tired. He decided to look for a place where he might eat and drink and rest for a while. He found a low dive in the very next street.
The curtain hanging across the doorway bore the name of the establishment: Fragrant Peach. It was so old and tattered that the painted blossoms looked like dirty snow falling from a cloudy sky, and its smell resembled that of dung. Still, from the sounds within, there would at least be wine, and after a drink the place would look much better.
Tora pushed aside the curtain and stepped down into a dirt-floored room with a low, dark ceiling. It was a hot, airless hole. Fumes of smoke, burning oil, sour wine, and sweat hit him like a fist. A few oil lamps, fixed to the walls, accounted for the stink of oil. The smoke came from a central fire pit. At first glance, the place contained several customers, both men and women, all of them poorly dressed and dirty.
A few faces turned his way but showed no interest. In a dark and lonely alley, these men, and a few of the tattered females, would probably just as soon shove a knife in a man’s back to rob him of a few coins.
Tora gritted his teeth and looked for a place away from the fire. He would have his cup of wine, try for some information and, if things turned ugly, he would get out. Then he saw a familiar figure on a sort of dais in the far corner.
The fat rice merchant from Kaneharu’s cousin’s ward was standing there, talking to a couple of juveniles. Tora wondered what would bring him to a place like the Fragrant Peach. The merchant was waving his chubby hands, and the youngsters, who had their backs to Tora, nodded and laughed. Tora searched his mind for a name, found it, and started forward.
‘Hey, Watanabe!’ he shouted.
The fat man’s head jerked around. For a moment, there was puzzlement on the broad face, then he said something to the youths, who slipped away, and raised a hand in greeting.
Tora put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Well met, my friend. I’m parched and hate drinking alone. Join me in a cup.’ The merchant hesitated, but Tora called for wine and made him sit down. ‘You look surprised,’ he told Watanabe. ‘The name’s Tora. We talked outside your house about that fire the other day. Any news of Young Kaneharu?’
Watanabe’s double chin creased. ‘Ah, yes. He died yesterday. A release. He was in terrible pain – terrible! Ah, the anger of the gods!’ Jowls quivering, he shook his head.
Tora’s heart sank. So he had not been able to save the son either. ‘That’s a pity,’ he said heavily. ‘You don’t think it could have bee
n an accident?’
Watanabe pursed his lips and suddenly resembled a frog. ‘I see what you mean. A senile father and a house full of dry grass and bamboo. Perhaps. But even then it might have been a sign. Did you notice the altar at the end of their street? I paid for that, and for the priest to perform rites.’
Tora had not, but he nodded. ‘Very pious,’ he said. ‘You’re probably right about the gods being angry. So many fires, that’s just not normal.’
A very young waitress in a stained pink robe slouched up and plunked down two cups. Her robe gaped open as she bent, revealing firm young breasts. She filled the cups from a flask, set down the flask, and held out a dirty palm.
Tora eyed her. She looked not much more than fourteen or fifteen and was surprisingly pretty. He felt pity for her. Already, she had lost her childhood. Her smooth face was painted like a trollop’s, and she looked sullen. Children grew up fast in this part of the city. Tora fished out three coppers and placed them in her palm.
‘Hey,’ she said with a pout. ‘That pays for the wine. What about the service?’
Tora flashed her a smile and let his eyes sweep over her again. ‘I don’t know. What do you offer?’
Watanabe shook with silent laughter. She glared at both of them and flounced off.
Tora looked after her. ‘Not bad looking, but she needs a bath.’
With another rumbling belly laugh, Watanabe said, ‘Around here, men don’t care. She’s both young and willing.’ He winked.
So the girl was a whore already, and Watanabe had probably slept with her. Tora was disgusted and said nastily, ‘I thought your interest was young boys. Or isn’t that why I saw you talking to them?’
The rice merchant reached for his cup. ‘I take a charitable interest in poor youths,’ he said coldly.
Right!
Tora smirked. ‘Well, to each his own. I prefer females myself.’
Watanabe choked. ‘You misunderstood. I’m a married man,’ he squawked, coughing.
‘So am I, but that doesn’t keep me from ogling a beauty.’ The girl was at the open back door now, talking to someone outside. A moment later, she slipped out.