The next day Osawa had a cold.
Akitada became aware of this when their hostess, surprisingly rosy and handsome in a brightly colored cotton robe and with her hair tied up neatly, shook him awake because she had to start the fire and rush hot gruel and wine to Osawa’s room.
She seemed preoccupied, and he got up quickly, dressed in his dry blue robe, put away his bedding, and laid the fire for her.
Then he went outside to get water from the well. The sky had cleared overnight, and a fresh breeze blew from the ocean, reminding him of the distance, in more than one sense, between himself and his family. But he put aside the troubling thoughts; the business at hand was the murder of the Second Prince.
Drawing the water and carrying the pail into the kitchen, he pondered the ramblings of the drunken professor, but could make nothing of them.
Having finished his chores, Akitada washed himself and retied his topknot. His beard itched and he wished for a barber, but the facial hair was his best disguise in the unlikely case that someone here knew him from the capital or from Echigo. It occurred to him to check his saddlebag in the kitchen. His own robe was still inside, tightly folded as he had left it. He slid a finger inside the collar and felt the stiffness made by the documents. Satisfied, he tucked the flute inside the robe and closed the saddlebag. Then he fortified himself with the rice dumpling offered by the hostess, who was assembling a tray for Osawa, and went to have a look at Minato by daylight.
This morning Minato sparkled freshly after the rain and seemed an ordinary, pleasant place after all. Akitada saw no sign of his shadow from the night before and wondered whether fatigue and the eerie, misty evening had made him imagine things. Shops were opening, and people swept in front of their doors or walked to work. The temple doors stood wide, and a young monk was setting out trays of incense for early worship-pers. Only the shrine lay as silent as the night before behind its grove of trees and thick bamboo.
Akitada turned down the street to the Bamboo Grove. Before him the lake stretched like a sheet of glistening silver. Fishermen’s boats were plying their trade in the far distance, and closer in some anglers trailed their lines in the placid waters. And everywhere gulls swooped, brilliant flashes of white against the azure sky, their piercing cries a part of the freshness of the morning.
To the northwest, Mount Kimpoku loomed, its top bright in the sun. It reminded him of the tall and striking Kumo, high constable of Sadoshima, and Mutobe’s choice as arch-traitor.
Kumo’s status and his influence over the local people made him an obvious leader, and his wealth could finance a military campaign. And, perhaps most importantly, his family believed itself wronged.
But the Kumo he had met, while something of a mystery, did not fit Akitada’s image of a ruthless avenger of family honor or of a man driven by hunger for power. According to his people, Kumo was modest and kind. The man who had allevi-ated the suffering of those condemned to work in the mines surely could not have ordered the murder of little Jisei.
Haru’s restaurant was still dark and silent after its late hours the night before, but in an adjoining shed a man was scrubbing a large table. All around him stood empty barrels and baskets, and a strong odor of fish hung in the air. Akitada called out a
“Good morning.”
The man looked up. Of an indeterminate age, he had the deeply tanned, stringy physique of a fisherman. Seeing Akitada’s plain blue robe and his neatly tied hair, he bowed. “Good morning to you. How can I help you?”
“You own the Bamboo Grove?”
“My wife Haru does.”
“Then you must be the man whose catches are famous hereabouts.”
Haru’s husband grinned. “I may be, but if it’s fish you came for, you’re too early. The first catch won’t be in until later.
What did you have in mind? Eel, turtle, octopus, shrimp, abalone, clams, bream, trout, mackerel, angelfish, flying fish, or blowfish?”
Akitada smiled. “Blowfish?”
“Yes. Fugu. It’s a great delicacy. But expensive.” His eyes swept over Akitada again, estimating his wealth.
“It’s for my master, who’s visiting Minato,” Akitada explained.
The man’s face brightened. “Ah! Of course. Many gentlemen enjoy fugu here. I can have some for you by evening. How many? You want them prepared, don’t you? My wife’s an expert at removing the poison. You’d be well advised to let her do it.
Otherwise . . . well, your master wouldn’t live long enough to thank you for your service.” He paused. “And his family might accuse you of murder.”
Akitada said, “I hope not. Has that ever happened here?”
“Not with any fish we’ve prepared,” the man said almost belligerently.
Akitada told him that he would consult with his master. As he returned to the inn, he wondered if Haru’s expertise with blowfish had come in question recently.
Osawa was up and freshly shaven but complained of feeling too ill to leave his room. He handed Akitada the governor’s letter and told him in a weak voice to deliver it to Sakamoto, making his apologies. “It’s not as if I were a common messenger,” he sniffed,
“or as if there were any need to discuss anything with Sakamoto.
Just hand the letter to a servant and wait for a reply. Sakamoto may, of course, rush right over here to apologize for that lout of a servant who turned us away so rudely last night, but I have no intention of moving to his house. I’m very comfortable right here.” And so he was, sitting in a nest of bedding with a brazier warming the air, a flask of wine beside him, and the remnants of his morning meal on a tray. Akitada took the letter with a bow and departed happily.
This morning there was activity at the Sakamoto house. The gates stood wide open, revealing a rather weedy courtyard and dilapidated stables. A groom was walking a handsome horse around the courtyard. Evidently another guest had arrived. The professor would be relieved to hear that Inspector Osawa preferred the inn to his villa. Akitada saw that the horse, a very fine dappled animal, had been ridden hard. Then something about it struck him as familiar. Yes, he was almost certain that this was one of the horses from Kumo’s stable. Had Kumo himself followed them to Minato? But Kumo’s groom had told the mine foreman that Kumo would want to inspect the fire.
“Hey, you!” One of the house servants, a fat youth who seemed to be eating something, waved to him from the house.
“What do you want?” he demanded when Akitada came to him.
Akitada held up his letter and explained.
The fat youth took another bite from his rice dumpling, chewed, and thought about it. “Wait here,” he finally told him, and waddled off. Akitada walked into the stone-paved entry.
Scuffed wooden steps led up to a long corridor. Somewhere a door creaked and slid closed. He heard the sounds of conversation, and then the door squeaked again. The fat youth reappeared, followed by the long-faced, middle-aged servant from the night before. He still looked ill-tempered. Holding out his hand, he said in a peremptory tone, “You can give it to me. I’m in charge. I’ll see the master gets it.” Akitada shook his head. “Sorry. I’m to give it to Professor Sakamoto in person. Tell him it’s from the governor.” The long face lengthened. “The professor has guests. You’ll have to come back later.”
Akitada was intrigued by a conference which was so important that Sakamoto could not be interrupted by a messenger from the governor. Drawing himself up, he said sternly, “Do you mean to tell me that you did not inform your master of Inspector Osawa’s visit yesterday?”
Recognition dawned belatedly, and the man flushed. “Oh.
Well, no. There hasn’t been time. The professor did not get back until quite late.” And then in no condition to take in such news, thought Akitada. “And this morning we had an unexpected guest. If you would tell your master, I’m sure he’ll understand.
Perhaps the professor could call on him later?” This did not suit Akitada at all. He said, “Don’t be a fool, man.
Inspector Osawa is still angry about being turned away yesterday.
He asked me to deliver this personal message from the governor because he is ill, a fact he blames entirely on being refused shelter by you. The message is bound to be important and urgent. If you make me go back to him with another refusal, he will return to Mano and report the snub. Your master will be in trouble.”
That shook the surly servant. He glared at the fat youth, who was leaning against the wall picking his nose, told Akitada to wait, and disappeared. Akitada ignored the hulking lout and sat down to remove his boots. Then he stepped up into the house.
The corridor led to a room overlooking the lake. It appeared to be empty. Sliding doors to the veranda and garden beyond had been pushed back for a lovely view across the shimmering water to Mount Kimpoku. The garden sloped down to the shore, terminating in a pavilion which appeared to project out over the water-the pavilion where the Second Prince had died.
Two men were standing at its balustrade watching the boats on the lake. One was certainly tall enough to be Kumo. They were joined by a third. The crabby servant was reporting his visit to the professor, the shorter, white-haired man. The professor said something to his tall guest and then hurried with the servant toward the house.
Akitada hoped that Kumo, if it was indeed Kumo down there in the pavilion, would stay well away from the house while he gave his message to the professor.
The professor’s eyes looked slightly bloodshot, his right temple was bruised, and there was a deep scratch on one cheekbone, mementos of last night’s bender and the tumble into the ditch. But this morning his beard and hair were neatly combed, and he wore a clean silk robe, somewhat threadbare but presentable. He scowled at Akitada.
“What’s all this?” he said, matching a curt nod to Akitada’s bow. “My servant tells me you have a letter from the governor?
Can you make it quick? The high constable is here.” The irritable tone was probably due to a hangover. Akitada bowed again. “I serve as secretary to Mr. Osawa, the governor’s inspector. Mr. Osawa wished to put His Excellency’s letter into your hands in person. Unfortunately, we found you absent from home yesterday, and today Mr. Osawa is too ill to come himself.
Rather than causing a further delay, he has asked me to deliver it.” He handed over the governor’s message.
Akitada’s speech caused Sakamoto to narrow his eyes and look at him more sharply. Then he unfolded the letter and glanced at it. “Oh, bother!” he grumbled. “I have absolutely nothing to add to the case. Well, you’d better come along while I respond to this. I see he expects a reply.” They went to the room overlooking the lake, evidently Sakamoto’s study, and comfortably though plainly furnished with well-worn mats, old bookcases, and a large desk with writing implements and a stack of paper. Two screens warded off cold drafts and a large bronze brazier the chill of winter.
Today there was no need for either. The sun shone brightly outside and no breeze stirred the trees. As Sakamoto reread the letter, Akitada watched the pavilion. Kumo still leaned on the balustrade, looking across the lake. It struck Akitada that the pavilion was perfectly suited for plotting treason. It was surrounded by open ground or water, assuring absolute privacy to anyone in the pavilion. No doubt that was why Kumo and Sakamoto had been talking there now. Akitada wished he could have heard their conversation.
Sakamoto gave a grunt, and Akitada took his eyes from the pavilion. The professor was frowning, almost glowering at him.
“Who exactly are you?” he asked. “Have we met before?
Osawa never had a personal secretary on previous visits.” Apart from their belligerent tone, the questions were probably due to Kumo’s visit. Kumo had shown a suspicious interest in the fact that they were headed for Minato. But Akitada had to answer and thought it best to stick to the original story. Whatever Kumo suspected, he could have no proof that Akitada was not what he pretended to be, or that Osawa’s trip was somehow connected with what everyone seemed so anxious to hide.
“My name is Yoshimine Taketsuna,” he began, patiently, as befitted his present status. “I am a convict. His Excellency, the governor, being short-handed in the provincial archives, heard that I have skill with the brush and employed me as a clerk. The governor told me to assist Mr. Osawa because he cannot spare the inspector for more than a few days. I doubt we can have met before. We only arrived in Minato last night.” Sakamoto was still frowning, and Akitada wondered if he had recognized his voice. “What were you convicted of?” the professor asked.
Akitada hedged a little. “That is surely not material to my errand, since both the governor and Mr. Osawa trusted me. However, I’m not ashamed of what I have done. I killed a man who got in my way. The man was a retainer of Lord Miyoshi.”
“Miyoshi?” Sakamoto’s eyebrows rose. A series of expressions passed across his face, surprise, curiosity, and perhaps relief. “What do you mean, he got in your way?” Akitada looked past him. “My object was Lord Miyoshi. I consider him a traitor.”
Sakamoto cried, “And so do I, though perhaps we had better not say so. I am sorry. You have my sympathy. Men like Miyoshi have few friends here.” He narrowed his eyes. “But it seems rather strange that Mutobe should trust you under the circumstances.”
Akitada laughed. “I doubt he knows. I arrived recently and the shortage of clerks in Mano is desperate.”
“Ah.” Sakamoto nodded. “It must be, and I expect you have an excellent education. Such men are very useful in Sadoshima.” He glanced toward the lake. The irritation returned to his face. He held up the governor’s letter. “Do you know what is in this?”
“No, but . . .”
“Well?”
“I heard that the governor’s son has been arrested for murdering the Second Prince. His trial is coming up shortly. Since the crime took place in your house, it might be that the governor is asking for information which might help to clear his son.” Sakamoto made a face. “You guessed it, and it’s an imposi-tion. He should know I have nothing to tell him that he does not know already. Unfortunately, I must answer, and answer in writing. You could not have come at a worse time. The high constable dropped by and I expect other guests shortly. Could you return tomorrow for your answer?” Akitada was instantly and overridingly curious about the other guests and decided to extend his stay as long as he could to see who else arrived. The fact that he could hardly insist on an immediate answer, nor give in too easily after creating a scene with the servants, gave him an idea. In a tone both regretful and sympathetic, he said, “I am very sorry to put you to this inconvenience, sir, but I don’t have the authority to make such a decision.” He paused to make a face. “The problem is aggravated by the fact that Inspector Osawa is still very unhappy about being turned away from your door last night.” Sakamoto looked vexed. “Yes, yes. I heard. Most unfortunate.
Tell him the servant in question has been disciplined severely. Of course, I shall make my apologies in person. Only not today.”
“If I might make a suggestion, sir? Perhaps I could compose the answer for you? All I need are a few particulars; then you can see to your guests while I write the letter for you.” Sakamoto stared at him. “Really? Could you?” he said, his face brightening. “Yes. Very generous of you to offer. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you have a cup of wine while I explain matters to my guest? Then we’ll discuss the letter, and you can write it out while I tend to business. How’s that?” It was precisely what Akitada had proposed. With any luck, he would be kept in Sakamoto’s house long enough to see the other guests arriving, while trying to find out what the professor knew of the murder.
After Sakamoto left, the long-faced servant brought a flask of wine and a cup on a tray. The offended expression on his face announced that he was not used to serving other people’s servants.
Akitada greeted him with a smile. “I’m sorry to be such trouble on a busy day. Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. I gather you expect guests?”
The servant set down the wine. “Don’t let it bother you,” he said with a scowl.
“Your master’s household is in capable hands. Please pour yourself a cup. I’m not very thirsty.” The surly fellow hesitated, torn between temptation and the need to show his resentment. The wine won. He poured and emptied the cup, licking his lips. Akitada nodded with an encouraging smile. “Thanks,” muttered the servant. “I needed that. It’s been a long night and a hectic day. Looks like I’m not getting any sleep tonight, either.”
“That’s terrible.” Akitada shook his head in sympathy. “I know the feeling. The inspector’s laid up with a cold, or we’d be in the saddle going to the next inspection, where he’d keep me bent over my desk all night while he sleeps. Then we start all over again the next day. Have another cup. Still having people come about the murder, are you?”
The servant thawed a little and poured himself another.
“Yes. You can’t imagine the trouble that has caused. First the governor and the police, now all the prince’s friends, and I’ve got to get rooms ready and arrange for food. They expect only the best and the professor hates spending money. He employs only the three of us. Yuki takes care of the stables. That leaves Tatsuo and me. And you’ve seen Tatsuo. He spends all his time eating and resting his great hulk. Serving meals and refreshments in the lake pavilion is a great nuisance. We’re kept running and fetching between the lake and the house the best part of the day and into the night.” Akitada followed his gaze through the open doors to the pavilion and the glistening lake beyond. Sakamoto was again in close conversation with his guest.
“That’s where it happened, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Were you there?”
“No. We had already served. They send us away while they’re talking. And they wouldn’t let us touch the body afterwards.
They put him on a litter and covered him up before they let Yuki and Tatsuo carry him to the doctor’s house. I guess our hands weren’t fine enough to touch him, or our eyes to look on his dead face.”
Akitada shook his head. “And then you had to do the cleaning up. I heard a dog got to the dish of poison?” The servant sighed. “My dog. Poor Kuro. I was really fond of him. We always let him eat the leftovers. That dirty scoundrel of a killer!”
At the bottom of the garden the two men started toward the house.
“Uh-oh,” muttered the servant. “They’re coming back. I’ve got to run. Thanks for the wine.”
For a moment Akitada was tempted to make himself scarce, too. Dealing with Sakamoto had been one thing, but Kumo was suspicious. Well, he would just have to bluff it out.
When the two men entered from the veranda, Akitada rose and bowed deeply.
“So we meet again,” drawled Kumo, his eyes passing over Akitada as if he wanted to memorize his appearance. Today he wore a hunting robe of green brocade with white silk trousers, a costume suitable for riding and handsome on his tall, broad-shouldered figure. He smiled, but his eyes were cold.
Akitada smiled back. “I had not expected to meet you again so soon, sir. We left you only yesterday.” Kumo’s smile disappeared. “Yesterday you were a mere scribe. Today, I understand, you claim to be the governor’s emissary, empowered to gather new evidence which might clear his son in the murder of the Second Prince? You are a change-able fellow, Taketsuna.”
The bluntness of that left Akitada momentarily speechless.
“I . . . I beg your pardon?” he stammered. “Inspector Osawa entrusted me with a letter because he is too ill to bring it himself. I never claimed anything else.” Again that fleeting, mocking smile, and Akitada fought the uneasy feeling that he might be out of his depth with this man.
“So you kindly offered your talents to assist the professor in his response,” Kumo said. “I must say I am sorry I did not take the time to chat with you at my house. Your background is interesting. How exactly did you become involved with Lord Miyoshi?”
They were still standing. Sakamoto fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with the tone of the interrogation. Akitada controlled his nervousness and offered up the tale that had been concocted at the time of his assignment, hoping that the gentlemen from the sovereign’s office had not made any glaring mistakes, for he did not doubt for a minute that the high constable had kept himself thoroughly and minutely informed about the factions in the capital.
If Kumo found fault, he did not say so. When Akitada had finished, he regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments and then said, “My sympathies are entirely with any man who would oppose Miyoshi in this dispute. But I had better leave you both to your chore.”
Akitada, more puzzled than ever about Kumo, bowed and murmured his thanks.
“Well,” said Sakamoto, when they were alone, “we’d better get started. Please sit down. Here at my desk. And make use of my writing things. Now, what shall I say?” Akitada picked up the letter and scanned it. “The governor asks if you recall any odd happenings before or after the tragic event. Perhaps we can start with that.”
“Tell him no.”
“You want me to say that nothing out of the ordinary happened during the days preceding the prince’s visit?” Sakamoto frowned. “Nothing really strange. He sent a letter asking that the food not be too spicy. He had a delicate stomach, but I knew that. I must say I was surprised he ate the stew young Mutobe brought. I could tell it was highly spiced. That’s why I didn’t worry when he complained of a bellyache. Of course, now we know it was the poison.” Sakamoto shook his head.
“The prince always trusted too easily when it came to young men who captured his fancy.”
That remark startled Akitada. But he decided the professor was merely venting his ill humor again. “And after the prince’s death? Anything out of the ordinary then?” Sakamoto snorted. “Don’t be daft, young man. Everything was out of the ordinary then. We watched the prince die, Taira, Shunsei, and I. It was horrible. I was completely distraught. We were near the house when we heard him cry out and turned to see Toshito strangling him. At least that’s what it looked like. We rushed back, but the prince had already expired. Taira attacked Toshito, calling him a murderer. Toshito claimed he was helping the prince breathe, but I think he didn’t trust the poison and was making certain the prince would die.” Sakamoto shuddered. “It was a vicious crime against a son of the gods. Anyway, we called for a litter and had His Highness taken to Nakatomi.
He lives nearby and is the prince’s physician. He looked at the body, and later at the dead dog who’d licked the bowl, and said the prince had been poisoned. Taira had young Toshito arrested and charged with murder.”
“It must have been very upsetting to have this happen in your house and after one of your dinners. No doubt you were glad that the dog licked the bowl.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Akitada met Sakamoto’s frown with a bland face. “Nothing at all, sir. Since the source of the poison was quickly found, the local authorities could not suspect your kitchen staff. Or ask questions about the dishes you served. For example, was there anything with mushrooms? Or perhaps that local delicacy, blowfish?”
“There was certainly no blowfish. I cannot afford such ex-travagance. And all the dishes were perfectly wholesome. We all ate of them, except for Mutobe’s stew.” Well, that took care of the blowfish theory. Akitada asked,
“Who did the postmortem?”
“Nakatomi. There was no time to wait for Mutobe’s disreputable coroner. In the summer, a body decomposes quickly. And Nakatomi is a very able man, in my opinion. He wrote out the report himself and hand-delivered it to the governor.”
“And then?”
“We had a fine Buddhist funeral. No expense was spared.
The prince’s funeral pyre was twenty feet high.” Akitada wrote.
“The other information the governor asks for concerns those who attended the dinner. That would be Taira Takamoto and a young monk called Shunsei? Is there any chance, even a remote one, that either or both had a hand in this?”
“Certainly not. Lord Taira is a man of superior learning and of absolute loyalty to the prince. He’s an old man now, older than I am. When he was appointed tutor to Crown Prince Okisada, he was the most brilliant man in the capital. He loves the prince, and the prince’s death devastated him. In fact, he withdrew from all matters of this world until today.” So Taira was expected. “And Shunsei? How is he connected with the prince?”
Sakamoto frowned. “Shunsei belongs to the Konponji Monastery near Tsukahara. The prince enjoyed religious ceremonial. Being impressed with this young man’s devotion, he took him under his wing.” He bit his lip. “Perhaps he needed spiritual stimulation and was inspired by Shunsei’s fervor.” Apparently Shunsei had been tolerated only because Okisada had insisted on his presence. In fact, Sakamoto’s manner implied that Okisada had preferred men, or boys, to women. There had been gossip in the capital, and perhaps that had had something to do with Okisada’s being replaced as crown prince. More to the point, such a relationship might have considerable bearing on the prince’s death. Akitada asked, “Were you surprised at the attachment?”
Sakamoto met his eyes, looked uncomfortable, and shifted on his cushion. “Not surprised, really. Need you write all that to the governor? Shunsei was with us when the prince died, and none of us sat close enough to put anything in his food. All that is well-known evidence.”
“Thank you. The final question concerns any friends, females, or business associates, anyone else who might have had a motive to kill the prince.”
Sakamoto was becoming impatient. He said testily, “We have been over all that with that police officer, Wada. As you may imagine, Prince Okisada associated with very few people, basically those of us who attended the dinner and the Kumo family. Kumo was not here, and besides, he had no motive.
There were no women in Okisada’s life. And he had no interest in business. He lived on the allowance made to him by the court. And now you really must excuse me.” He stood up. “I shall return after a while and sign the letter.” With a nod he left the room.
Akitada started rubbing more ink, his mind weighing what Sakamoto had said. If the professor was involved in the plot, he had handled himself very well just now. But last night he had been drunk and babbled wildly. Such a man was a risky confi-dant. Perhaps he really knew nothing. He seemed to have a good reputation. Even Mutobe had not made any adverse comments about him. If the prince had been murdered by someone other than Mutobe’s son, that only left the young monk and Taira as possible suspects. And, of course, the murder could be unrelated to the political issues. He was not really getting anywhere.
Taira, the man closest to the victim, was a complete enigma to Akitada. He must be nearly seventy by now and had once been favored by fortune. He had had a reputation at court as a superb diplomatist. Taira was in the prime of his life when he was appointed as tutor to the crown prince, a certain signal for a rapid rise in the government hierarchy. Then Okisada had been replaced by his half-brother, ending not only the prince’s future, but Taira’s career also. To everyone’s astonishment, Taira had followed Okisada into exile, although he was never clearly implicated in the prince’s rash action against his brother. Such loyalty became legendary. Would Taira murder the prince he had served so devotedly?
Akitada hoped that Taira would make his appearance soon, but the house remained silent, and he put his brush to paper to write Sakamoto’s reply to Mutobe.
When he reached the reference to Shunsei, he paused. Sexual relations between men were not uncommon either at court or in the monasteries, but as a staunch follower of Confucius, Akitada held strong convictions about family and a man’s duty to continue his line, and therefore he disapproved as much as Sakamoto. However, such an affair was not so different from a
man’s relations with a woman. It also involved lust, passion, possessiveness, and jealousy-all motives for murder. He looked forward to meeting this Shunsei.
The long-faced servant came in again. “The master asks if you’re finished. He’s in a hurry.”
Akitada looked out into the garden. The groom was running down the path toward the pavilion with a broom and rake.
“Just finished,” he said, laying down his brush and getting up. He gestured toward the garden. “After what happened, isn’t your master afraid to entertain his learned friends in the pavilion again?”
“Well, you’d think so,” said the servant. “It certainly gives me the chills. It’s not as if it were in good repair, either. It’s going to rack and ruin.”
“The setting is beautiful. I suppose the view inspires poetry.” The servant grimaced. “I don’t know about poetry. They always talk a lot and keep us running, but we’re not allowed to stay and listen. I doubt it’s poetry though, because mostly it looks more like they’re arguing. Especially Lord Taira. He’s got a terrible temper. I’ll tell the professor you’re done.” Akitada walked out on the veranda. The sweeping of the path and the pavilion completed, the fat servant was staggering down the path with a stack of cushions in his arms. Four. Kumo, Taira, Sakamoto, and one other. Shunsei? Like the disgruntled servant, Akitada doubted it would be a social gathering and wished again he could eavesdrop.
It was interesting that the servants were warned away between servings. It meant confidential matters were being discussed. It was impossible to approach the pavilion unseen.
Or was it?
Akitada was wondering if he could stroll down there for a closer look without causing undue suspicion when Sakamoto rushed in.
“Finished?” he cried. “Good.” He ran to the desk, snatched up the letter, skimmed it, nodded, and signed. As he impressed his personal seal next to the signature, he said, “My compliments. An excellent hand and the style is acceptable.” Letter in hand, he told Akitada, “I wish I had more time to talk to you. A man like you could be very useful. I shall speak to the high constable about you tonight.”
Akitada bowed. “Thank you, sir, but the high constable is aware of my abilities.”
“As you wish.” Sakamoto handed the letter over. “Well, good luck to you, then, and give my compliments to the inspector.
Tell him I’ll ask Dr. Nakatomi to take a look at him if he is still indisposed tomorrow.”
As Akitada walked back to the inn, he considered Nakatomi as the fourth guest. Nakatomi had not only been Okisada’s personal physician, but it was he who had determined that the prince had been poisoned by young Mutobe’s stew. Kumo, Taira, and Nakatomi. It was crucial to find out what these three men had to say to each other, and Akitada thought he knew a way to get to the pavilion unseen.