Pleased with his kite-flying success, Tora left the university for his second assignment. It occurred to him belatedly that he had spent far more time playing children's games than was justifiable for an investigator of crimes, particularly since he also hoped to look in on Michiko. Although his grumbling stomach reminded him that it was time for his evening rice, he ignored the hunger pangs and his aching legs and walked briskly to the sixth ward where he asked directions to the house of the umbrella maker Hishiya.
The light was fading, but he found the street easily. The poorer sort of artisans lived and worked here. Small, narrow houses were crammed together, eaves touching eaves. Tora knew such places well. Behind this block of houses would be a bit of open ground, sometimes made into a tiny garden, but most often just an alley collecting debris and starving dogs.
He saw the umbrella maker's sign, but walked past the house, getting a general impression of the neighborhood and hoping for a bit of gossip with one of the neighbors. He had reached the end of the block without seeing a soul- most people would be eating- when he heard a door opening and then the angry voice of a woman and a cry of pain. When he turned to look, he saw that a small servant girl had come from the umbrella maker's house and was scurrying off with a big basket on her arm. In the doorway stood a buxom female, shaking her fist.
Tora waited until the woman had gone back inside and then ran after the little maid. He caught up with her at the next corner.
"Good evening, little sister," he cried, falling into step beside her.
The little girl- she could be no more than ten or eleven years old- jumped and turned a tear-stained, homely face up to him. She was a pale and very thin child, and her eyes were filled with fear. "Excuse me, sir," she whispered, "I must hurry," and started to run.
"Wait!" Tora persisted, lengthening his stride and straining his sore muscles. "I'll walk with you. You work for the umbrella maker, don't you?"
She slowed down. "Yes," she said, looking up at him uncertainly. Seeing his friendly smile, she relaxed a little.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you, little sister," Tora told her. "I heard you cry out. Was that your mistress?"
Fresh tears rose to her eyes and welled over. She wiped them away with a grimy hand, leaving black smudges behind, and nodded. "She always beats me," she said. "I really try to do the work, but I am small and get tired easily, and I'm always hungry. I think if she'd give me more food, I'd be stronger."
The words had poured forth in one gulp and ended in a sob. Tora felt in his sleeve for his coppers. "Look, I haven't had my evening rice yet. How about you and me having a bowl of noodle soup together?"
The plain, bony face lit up, but she shook her head. "I daren't," she said. "I'm to fetch the vegetables for their dinner. She'll beat me even worse if I'm late."
"Come," said Tora, taking her small, sticky hand in one of his and relieving her of the large basket with the other. "I was on my way to see your master. I'll explain when we get back."
They walked to a neighborhood vegetable market near a small temple. Tora supervised the purchase, making sure she got the largest radish and the freshest mushrooms, before stopping a noodle vendor and ordering two large bowls of the hot soup.
The man carefully lowered his bamboo pole with the kettle and basket of bowls suspended at each end and ladled out two steaming servings of broth thick with fat noodles and bits of vegetables.
"Now let's eat. And take your time!" Tora told the frail child. "I'll speak to your master when we get back."
"Oh, the master's not home yet. Just the mistress and her guest. "The girl stared at the food hungrily and licked her lips. Watching her, Tora was reminded of the little lord. They were about the same age, at the extremes of a rigid class system- but both were sad, lonely and fearful. His own life had been hard, but at least he had never lacked love or the joys of childhood play.
"Never mind. Eat!" he said gruffly.
They sat on the steps of the temple. It almost took Tora's appetite away to see how she gobbled her food. He waited until she was done and then asked, "Does your master beat you too?"
She shook her head. "Oh, no! He's kind, but during the day he goes to the big market to sell his umbrellas and I stay with her. Sometimes in the evening, he asks me if I get enough to eat or where I got a bruise, but she's always there and she looks at me like a devil, so I say 'yes' and 'I fell down the stairs.' And she says I'm a clumsy, stupid girl and she has to do all the work herself because he cannot afford to hire decent servants."
"And your parents?"
"My father's dead, and my mother couldn't keep me. Not with five younger ones to feed."
"Hmm." Tora poured the rest of his noodles into her bowl. "I'm not very hungry," he lied. When she had finished his portion also, he asked, "Don't the Hishiyas have a grown daughter? How about talking to her?"
"She got murdered a couple of days ago," said the little girl in a matter-of-fact tone. No doubt, her own troubles overshadowed any concern for others. "She was never home, anyway. Only to sleep, and sometimes not even that. She was the master's daughter. The mistress is his second wife."
"I expect they were very sad when they found out," said Tora.
"Well, Master cried." She took his bowl and stacked it into her own. "But not her!" She spat. "When he was gone she danced a little dance and sang all day long."
"Really? Was there bad blood between them?"
The girl nodded. "They quarreled all the time. Master would leave to get away from them."
"What did they quarrel about?"
"The young miss had pretty things, and the mistress was forever borrowing them. The young miss didn't like it. And then the young miss would talk about the guests, and the mistress would get very angry."
Tora pricked up his ears. "Your master had many visitors?"
"Not the master." She stood up and took the bowls back to the vendor. When she returned, she said, "We must go now. Thank you very much for the good noodles." Reaching for the basket with the vegetables, she added, "I feel much stronger now and can carry the basket very well."
"Not on your life," said Tora, snatching the basket away. "How would it look if a strong young fellow like me let a little lady like you carry such a very large radish by herself?"
She giggled. "I'm no lady. And you shouldn't be carrying vegetables, sir," she protested.
"I'm not proud. Come, we'll chat as we walk. What about those guests?"
She suddenly looked wise beyond her years. "Oh, they come to see the mistress. There's one at the house now. She says they're cousins from her village, but I've seen them around town."
Tora whistled a few notes of a popular salacious ditty, then asked, "And the daughter? Did she entertain guests, too?"
"Oh, no. The mistress would not have allowed it. She was that jealous of Miss Omaki. Specially when Miss Omaki started getting all the presents from her gentleman."
Tora looked down at the little maid fondly. What a very useful child she was! "Was she going to get married then? What sort of fellow was her betrothed?"
The term puzzled the girl. "Her betrothed? I don't know that word. I've never seen Miss Omaki's gentleman. The mistress only called Miss Omaki names, like 'slut' and 'whore.' I know what those mean, and I don't think she would've done that if Miss Omaki was about to get married, do you?"
"No, I expect not. Well, here we are!" Tora paused before the umbrella maker's house and looked it over. "Did they give you Miss Omaki's room?" he asked.
"Oh, no. I sleep in the kitchen. Miss Omaki's room is upstairs in the back. The mistress has locked it up, because Miss Omaki's things are still in it." The little girl looked nervously at the upper part of the house. "I don't go up there. A dead person's spirit stays in the house for forty-nine days and nights, and I bet Miss Omaki's spirit is angry the mistress is wearing her things."
Tora felt his own hair bristle. He wished the girl had not mentioned spirits. "Well, come on," he said gruffly.
The little maid gave him an anxious look. "You will talk to her so she won't beat me again? You promised."
"Yes."
She took the basket and opened the door. They stepped into the dark front room of the house. The little maid struck a flint and lit an oil lamp. The room was deeper than it was wide. To their left was a kitchen area. Its floor was bare earth and the customary two plaster ovens with their rice steamers were built into the side wall of the house. A fire under one of the steamers was nearly out. The girl exclaimed and, dropping her basket, she ran to put more wood on and to blow at the glowing embers.
On the right side, a raised wooden platform held neat stacks of materials for making umbrellas. Bamboo shafts, rolls of oiled and painted paper, pots of glue, hemp and dried grasses for tying were all kept in tidy bundles and rows. On one side lay a pile of half-finished umbrellas.
In the back, a steep stairway climbed by way of stacked storage cabinets to a loft, and beyond this a narrow passage led to the rear. There was no one about.
"Oh, mistress?" shouted the girl, rising from her efforts with a fresh coat of ashes and soot on her pinched face. Her voice echoed from the smoke-blackened ceiling rafters.
"What do you want?" a shrill voice responded from somewhere beyond the stairs. "You're late! Get busy with those vegetables!"
"There's someone to see you," cried the girl.
After a moment's silence, there was the sound of a door and some whispered conversation. The door slid shut, and soft steps padded towards them.
"You should have said so right away, girl!" said the lady of the house, emerging from the dark passage into the faint light. She pulled some shimmering yellow garment around her and peered towards Tora uncertainly. He stepped forward into the light and bowed. Taking in his neat blue cotton robe with its black belt, and then his broad shoulders and slim hips, his handsome face and his neatly tied hair, she reached up to touch her own hair. "Oh!"
Tora eyed her with equal interest. The yellow garment seemed to be a fancy embroidered jacket, and she wore it over a thin under robe. She appeared to be in her thirties, her face somewhat coarse but not unattractive, and her body well-padded.
She asked, "Would the honored gentleman like to order an umbrella?" and came towards him with mincing steps, swinging her hips from side to side. Pointing to the platform, she said, "Please to be seated, while I get the patterns." Slipping dirty feet out of straw sandals, she stepped onto the platform to lay out a cushion for Tora. As she bent, he could see that she was naked under her robe.
"Do not trouble," said Tora, tearing his eyes away from her heavy breasts and seating himself on the edge of the platform. He gave her an admiring smile, showing off his white teeth, and said, "I came to speak to your husband, ma'am, but on another matter. Your little maid was kind enough to show me the way. I'm afraid I made her late, because I had some business to take care of first."
The woman waved the apology aside, saying, "Please don't worry! There is plenty of time. But my husband will be late." She glanced nervously at the darkness outside the window, then smiled at Tora and asked, "Can I be of some assistance?"
"Ah." Tora stroked his small mustache and eyed the lady appreciatively. "It is my very good luck to find his beautiful lady instead."
"Oh!" She batted her eyes and touched her hair again. "I'm afraid you caught me at my worst. I was taking a nap."
"You look elegant. Your husband is a lucky man. At least he shows his appreciation!" Tora touched the hem of the yellow jacket admiringly.
"Oh, this? My husband didn't give that to me. He's an old man who has no interest in such things. Besides he barely scrapes together enough to put food on the table. I married beneath my station." She noticed the little maid, who was still standing there, clutching the basket of vegetables and watching the exchange open-mouthed. "How filthy you are, girl! Go wash your face!" she cried. "And get on with the laundry while you're at it!"
"But you said to fix the vegetables for the evening rice…" One look at her mistress's face, however, made her set down the basket and scurry along the passage and out the back door into the yard.
"Please excuse this humble and uncomfortable place," the woman said, kneeling down near Tora. "Will you take a cup of wine?"
"You are very kind," said Tora, stealing another look at her charms. "I wish I could, but I'm on duty. But perhaps you can help me."
Her eyes widened. "On duty? How can I be of service to the honored gentleman?"
"I came to ask some questions about your daughter Omaki."
"Omaki?" Her face stiffened and a wary look came into her eyes. "She's not my daughter. She's my husband's. Besides, she's dead."
"I know. That's why I'm here. A very unfortunate case. You certainly have my deepest sympathy."
She quickly lowered her eyes, nodded, and raised an embroidered sleeve to her face.
"I'm attached to the Ministry of Justice you see," Tora continued, pleased with himself at the choice of words. She looked up at that, clearly impressed, and he decided to stretch the truth a little further. "Since Captain Kobe of the metropolitan police is following up another lead, we have been asked to investigate this end of the case."
"You don't look old enough to be with the Ministry of Justice," she said dubiously.
Tora gave her another brilliant smile and bowed. "Thank you, ma'am, for the compliment. Actually I'm just a 'junior junior,' so to speak. I got lucky with a case in the provinces and was transferred here. Now I'm trying to make my way in the capital. I don't like to trouble folk when they're mourning a loved one, but you surely want the killer caught, and I'd be glad to get some help." He looked at her pleadingly.
"Well," she said, frowning. "I don't know… Haven't they caught the killer already? That student she was seeing? I expect it was his child she was expecting. Or maybe not, and that's what made him mad enough to kill her."
"There," cried Tora. "That's exactly what I need. A woman's impression of what was going on. I knew right away that you would have a sharp eye and a fine understanding. Look at the way you knew I was too young for my job. I don't believe you miss much when it comes to sizing up people and their feelings. So you knew Omaki was seeing the student?"
"Yes. He walked her home from work a few times. A silly, ugly thing with ears like handles on a jug. Even Omaki made fun of him. I thought she didn't like him, but I guess I was wrong about that."
"Well," said Tora, "we're not supposed to talk about a case with the people concerned, but since you already know… Omaki used to visit him at the university, and he wrote poems about her."
She moved a little closer to him, listening avidly. "Poems? You don't mean it! So maybe it was his kid after all. Does his family have any money?"
"I don't think so."
"Then Omaki must've been mad to mess around with him. And look what it got her!"
"Actually," said Tora, "it looks like he didn't kill her. Could there have been another man?"
She thought, chewing her lip. "I suppose it's possible," she said. "She met a lot of people at her work. Sometimes they'd even give her presents."
"Could you find out about that?" He smiled at her and stroked his mustache, letting his eyes travel slowly to her large, dark-skinned breasts, half exposed where her jacket gaped.
She looked down, and pulled her jacket together. Flushing, she raised her eyes to his. "I might need a little time," she murmured, shifting her round hips a little and smoothing the jacket over her knees. Her eyes moved to his lips, his shoulders and his broad chest. "Could you come back?"
Tora nodded. "Tomorrow? Maybe a bit earlier than this?" He let his eyes go to her breasts again. "No point in disturbing your husband's dinner." This time she smiled and leaned towards him, the dusky globes straining from the fabric. A warm, unwashed smell came from her body.
Tora had rarely felt less desire for a female, but an investigator's work sometimes required acting skills, and he forced himself to whisper, "How delightful!" Pretending to recall his purpose, he cleared his throat. "Did your daughter ever mention any admirers to you?"
Her smile faded. "I told you, she's not my daughter," she cried petulantly. Tora apologized profusely, and she said grudgingly, "Well, she kept to herself a lot, you know. It's hard to be a second mother to someone your own age." She patted her hair and gave Tora a sidelong glance to see how he took this. He nodded sympathetically, and she went on, "And then Omaki thought she was much too fine for us after she became an entertainer in the Willow Quarter. Though in my opinion, that's not much better than being a whore."
"Ah! So she may have taken customers?"
The woman looked away. "I wouldn't go that far. At least you'd better not mention it to my husband. The old fool thinks she was a saint. And here she brought home all those expensive things! I ask you, who'd give a simple girl a fine jacket like this," she held out an embroidered sleeve, "for playing a lousy lute?" She paused. "Say! Is it true that the murderer and his family have to pay blood money to her relatives? I mean, if the killer was found, would you people make his family pay up for what he's done to us?"
Tora nodded. The woman placed her hand on his arm familiarly. "I can make it worth your while to look after our interests," she said, squeezing gently. "Humble folk like us don't know our way around police and the courts, but you, being with the Ministry of Justice, could keep your eyes and ears open and help us make our claim."
"Oh, I don't know that I can agree to be an informant to someone connected with a case," said Tora, frowning. "It's against the rules and might cost me my career, maybe even my job, to do such a thing."
"Oh!" she cried, "I wouldn't expect that. Only to get what is rightfully ours." She crept close to him on her knees and murmured, "I'd be very grateful. We are poor people and Omaki was our entire hope in our old age."
Tora raised his eyebrows. Apparently she could adjust her age from girlhood to senility at a moment's notice. He had noted that this was a skill peculiar only to the middle-aged female.
She misinterpreted his astonishment. "The girl had a brilliant career ahead of her," she cried. "Think of the money she would have earned; think of how she could have taken care of her old parents! Is it justice that all of that should be taken from us?"
"Hmm," Tora pretended to consider her claim, "there is something in what you say. I'll think about it. Of course, you are not likely to get anything unless we find the killer and he turns out to have some money."
Before she could answer, there was a loud and angry thumping noise from the back of the house. Mrs. Hishiya jumped a little and got to her feet. "It's getting late. I must see about dinner. My husband will be here any moment. Maybe you'd better not talk to him tonight. Come back tomorrow afternoon."
He knew she was eager to get rid of her impatient lover before her elderly husband returned home from the market. He nodded with a big smile and took his leave.
Outside, he walked around the block and up the dark alley, counting off roofs until he was behind the Hishiya house. A patch of light fell from the open door on a small yard where the little servant was hanging washing over a bamboo fence.
Tora remained in the shadows and studied the rear of the house. The small yard was full of the umbrella maker's materials and debris. A rain barrel leaned against one corner of the house and propped up a stack of firewood. This reached halfway up to a ledge under a single shuttered loft window. Omaki's room must be up there. Satisfied, Tora nodded to himself. There was plenty of time to go to the amusement quarter and pay another visit to the Willow.
When Tora entered the wine house, he found the auntie surrounded by her girls. She was giving them their appointments while she kept a careful eye on the entrance.
"Well, my young friend," she asked, greeting him with her gaptoothed smile, "are you ready for some serious battling on the silk mats? How many of my precious flowers can your little soldier defeat?" A chorus of giggles came from her girls.
"No, no, Auntie!" cried Tora, ogling her. "I came only to see you!" The girls hooted with laughter, and she snapped open her fan and hid behind it like a shy maiden. "Besides," he whispered in her ear, putting an arm around her broad waist, "I have only enough to buy a cup of wine for each of us. You know I'm a poor man."
She chuckled when he squeezed her a little and shook a finger at him. "Come, a handsome fellow like you? I'd soon make your fortune for you. There's many a lonely wife who wouldn't mind having a bit of what her husband gives my pretty flowers."
Tora released her abruptly. "I am shocked at you! Does that mean you aren't interested in me?"
She laughed and pinched his arm playfully. "All right! All right! I have a few minutes." She waved a waitress over and told her to bring some of her special wine to her office. "My treat," she told Tora.
When they had settled down in the cubicle where she kept her rosters of girls, her appointment books, her accounts and money boxes, she asked, "Did you find the young chicken I sent you last night to your taste?"
"Ah!"Tora looked dreamily at the low ceiling. "A very tasty morsel, no doubt, but I am still a starving man! I met her outside, complimented her, and offered to walk her home. But she's a very proper girl!" He sighed.
Auntie burst into a loud cackle and slapped at him. "Liar! I saw her face today. If she got any sleep, I'll be a monkey's mother."
Tora made a grab for her and pinched her buttocks. She squealed, "What did you do that for?"
"Just feeling for your tail, Auntie dear."
They burst into laughter as the waitress walked in with the wine. She looked at Tora with new respect. When they were alone again, Tora sipped, smacked his lips appreciatively, and said, "The chicken told me you fired the pretty lute player because she was breeding. I've been wondering who's been playing her 'lute'?"
Auntie's smile disappeared. She narrowed her eyes. "That girl's been found murdered," she said. "What is it to you?"
Tora decided that lies were inadvisable with this shrewd woman. "It happens," he said, "that my master takes a great interest in crimes, and he's promised to help the young fellow the police have arrested. He doesn't think the boy did it. I'm in a bit of trouble at the moment and thought the master might forget the matter if I could find out something useful about the girl's friends."
"So you're trying to pin the murder on one of my customers, eh?"
"Auntie, I swear the student couldn't have done it. He's pathetic. As ugly as sin and twice as naïve as a baby. The fool met her here, and she made him think she liked him. Then she dumped him. He's been going crazy ever since."
"Him? Yes, I saw him. No money there! Dry as last week's rice cakes and less appealing, I told her, but she said she wouldn't mind being a scholar's lady some day."
"Well, she turned him down," said Tora. "I figure she found a better prospect."
The auntie looked thoughtful and pursed her lips. "That girl was always secretive. And she never carried on with the customers while she was working, I'll give her that. She could have done a good business, that one, but she wanted to be a famous entertainer."
Tora got impatient. "Come on! There had to be a man."
"Well, she took lute lessons from one of the music masters at the university. The man spends most of his nights in the Willow. Maybe the kid was his. I expect that's the way he got paid for his lessons."
There was a loud gasp from the door. "That's a horrible lie!" cried Madame Sakaki, white-faced with anger. She pushed the door wider and came in. "How can you say such things? Why must you ruin a man who has never hurt you? For all you know this person will tell the police what you said, and they'll arrest Sato. And once they have him in their jail, they'll torture him till he confesses, and then…" She slumped on the floor and burst into tears.
The auntie tsked, got up and went to kneel beside the weeping woman. "Now, now." She put an arm around Madame Sakaki's shoulders. "Do not fret. You've been working too hard, dear, playing every night, and then going home to take care of your parents and husband, and the little ones. This is only Tora, a good friend of mine. He won't get your precious teacher in trouble."
Oh, won't he? thought Tora, when his eye fell on the open door. Michiko was hovering outside. His face broke into a broad smile, but she put a finger to her lips. Tora rose, nodding to the auntie, and went out, closing the door behind him.
"I've missed you, sweet," said Tora to Michiko, nuzzling her neck. "See? I couldn't stay away even one night."
"Not here," she hissed. "I'm working. Come to my place later."
She ran past him into the well-lit front room, where she bowed deeply before an arriving guest in an expensive brown silk robe, and cried, "Kurata-san! Welcome! The Big Willow lost all its fine leaves when Kurata-san stopped coming, and the songbirds were about to fly away from the winter of your absence."
Tora stared, anger rising inside him. He recognized the haughty silk merchant even in these luxurious clothes and the formal hat. The man patted Michiko's cheek and then put his arm around her shoulders. Tora was about to intercede with a well-placed fist when the auntie pushed past him and made a great outcry over the new guest. A bevy of pretty women materialized, and they all walked down the hallway. Tora followed, scowling.
"But Kurata-san," purred Auntie, "what happened? We have been so worried about you. Priceless Pearl wept because she thought you were ill, and Precious Jade has refused all her customers. I hope you weren't angry with us?"
"No, no." The man's voice was high and sharp, and his small eyes undressed the women. "I was merely preoccupied with private affairs."
"Private affairs?" wailed Auntie. "What a faithless fellow! And to think that my beauties suffered sleepless nights over you!"
The merchant laughed and reached out to run a thin, yellow finger along Michiko's slender neck. "I see," he said, eyeing Michiko speculatively, "that I must try to make up for it. Fortunately I have taken a special tonic tonight and feel strong enough for all your nieces, Auntie." Without taking his eyes from Michiko, he asked, "Is my usual room available?"
At that moment, the auntie turned and caught sight of Tora's murderous expression. Leaving Kurata to Michiko and the other girls, she barred Tora's way. "Private party," she snapped.
Consumed with fury, Tora retreated to the front room. He hung around the restaurant for another hour without seeing either Michiko or the auntie again. Finally he left in disgust and walked to the market, where he ate his supper and bought a cheap lantern. Then he returned to the alley behind the umbrella maker's house.
All was dark and quiet. Tora eyed the house. No doubt Mrs. Hishiya had long since dismissed her "cousin," fed her unsuspecting husband his supper, and retired with him. Poor craftsmen and their families were fast asleep at this hour. And so were starving little maids, Tora hoped. He was not, in any case, worried about real, flesh-and-bone people. It was Omaki's restless spirit which he was afraid to meet. Then he thought of the revelers at the Willow on the other side of town and got angry enough to suppress his fears.
There was a quarter moon out, which shed just enough light for Tora to find a thin sliver of bamboo among the debris, creep across the small yard, and climb up the barrel and stacked wood to the ledge. He accomplished this with a minimum of noise and walked carefully along the ledge to the shuttered window. This he found latched so carelessly that the bamboo strip inserted between the panels opened them at the first try. He listened, muttered a brief prayer, and stepped over the sill into darkness.
When he straightened up, his head crashed into an overhead beam. The noise reverberated and fiery flashes exploded inside his skull. He froze and whispered, "Omaki, do not be angry! I am trying to help! I will find your killer, if you don't hurt me."
Somewhere down below a window opened. Tora opened his eyes and sucked in his breath. He had woken someone. There were the sounds of a muttered conversation, then Mrs. Hishiya's sleepy voice cried, "Shoo! Damned cat!" and Tora heard the sound of something heavy being thrown. Then the window slammed shut and silence fell.
Tora breathed a sigh of relief and softly closed the shutters. He struck a flint with trembling fingers, and lit his lantern.
He was in a small space, right under the eaves, no more than three mats in size. Four stacked clothes boxes, a roll of bedding, and a lute hanging from a nail proved that he had found the dead girl's room. It was blessedly empty of both the living and the dead. He checked the door and found it locked.
It did not take long to search the room. There was little in it beyond the contents of the four boxes and a few small knickknacks on a cross beam. The boxes contained the girl's clothing, separated by season of the year. Tora was surprised when he discovered that two of the chests, those for spring and summer, contained not only some plain, serviceable cotton robes but also silks. In the summer chest especially, he found silk under-robes, two bolts of glossy pale blue and peach-colored silk, and a gown in a bright shade of plum blossom red. He put everything back the way he had found it, and turned to the knickknacks. Omaki's everyday comb of plain wood, with a few teeth missing, lay next to a small lacquered one with a design of golden chrysanthemums. There were several fans, most serviceable paper and bamboo, but one was silk, painted with a pair of ducks under a spray of cherry blossoms. A small brocade envelope next to the fans contained visiting cards, black brush strokes on red paper covered with gold dust. Tora looked at these, raised his eyebrows whistling softly, and pushed the envelope inside his robe. He glanced around the room, bowed deeply to the unseen presence of the dead girl, then blew out his light and quietly climbed out and down again.
Once back in the street, he breathed easier. He could not resist the urge to check on Michiko at her place. Somewhat to his surprise, he found her there waiting for him.
"So," he snarled, scowling ferociously, "are you finally done pleasuring that bastard from the silk shop?"
"What? Kurata? Are you mad? I was engaged to play for a party of rice dealers."
"I saw him touching you. He wanted you all right. And you went with him to his room."
"I did not. I went along only as far as the back door. There's a shortcut to the restaurant behind the Willow. The rice dealers were waiting there. But I admit Kurata was acting a bit strange tonight. He's never paid any attention to me before. Anyway, I don't like him. He's not a nice man."
"Then you should've told him off!" Tora grumbled, eyeing her doubtfully.
Michiko opened her mouth to defend herself, then began to giggle. "Oh, Tora! You're jealous!" Her voice became husky with emotion. "My big tiger! Don't you know I shall never want another man as long as you want me?" she said and slipped into his arms.