The great and wise Lord Sugawara was at his wit’s end. Tamako had consulted a fortune-teller, and when he got home, she was pacing the floor and ringing her hands.
“Our son will die,” she greeted him, “and you are to blame.”
Akitada, having barely had time to slip out of his shoes before being faced with this latest crisis, wished himself elsewhere. “Tamako,” he said wearily, “Genba is making preparations to take you to Akiko in the morning. All will be well.”
“All will be well?” she cried. “All will be well? The soothsayer says this house is under a dark cloud and he sees death. And right after he left, a letter from your sister came; she thinks one of their servants has the illness. But you won’t care. You never cared for anything but your work.”
Akitada sighed. “Poor Akiko. I hope she’s wrong. Of course you cannot go there under the circumstances, but you may still go to our farm if you don’t mind the discomfort. Or, since you had planned to stay here in any case, you may want to take your chances…”
“What chances? It’s too late.” She burst into tears. “Oh, it is too late. My poor Yori will die. My boy, my only child.” She collapsed on the floor and wailed.
Akitada had never seen Tamako, or any other woman, in hysterics. He was so shocked that he looked at his wife of six years with the eyes of a stranger. Was she possessed? Feverish? Near madness? Perhaps it was her anger at him which had brought on this violent and uncharacteristic outburst. The best policy was to withdraw from her presence to his study as quickly and quietly as possible.
But he could not do it. Instead he went to her, knelt, and gathered her to himself. “Ssh,” he soothed, stroking her disordered hair and rocking her shaking body against his. “Ssh, my dear. These are frightening times, and you worry about Yori, but surely he’s well, isn’t he?”
Her sobs subsided a little and she nodded.
“There, you see. He is a very healthy, strong child. I’m surprised you would allow a fortune-teller to upset you so much.”
She sat up a little and wiped her face with a sleeve. “It wasn’t just the fortune-teller. I had a dream,” she said brokenly. “Not once, but several times. The first time I dreamt you and I were in mourning clothes. It was nighttime at Toribeno. There was a pyre and the flames were licking upward. I woke up weeping.”
Akitada could imagine how vivid that nightmare had been. They had attended two funerals together: his mother’s and her father’s. He said soothingly, “I am sorry, my dear, but you are fearful for Yori and that has brought back memories of your father’s death.”
She shook her head. “No. There were two more dreams. I was back at Toribeno, but I was alone. I went to place the familiar things into the coffin and to offer a final meal. But when I looked I had Yori’s sword in my hand, the wooden one you bought for him, and his favorite jacket, and… and a tray of jam-filled cakes.” She buried her face against him again and began to weep anew. Akitada held her, miserable that he did not know how to help her. They sat there, she weeping her heart out and he glumly contemplating the troubles which seemed to have befallen his family.
Much later, she detached herself and said in an almost normal tone, “After dreaming for the third time, I sent for the fortune-teller. I hoped he would tell me my dream meant something else. But he merely looked sad, muttered the words about the black cloud, offered some condolence, and left. Oh, Akitada, I’m so afraid.”
Feeling a great sense of pity, Akitada got up and extended a hand to her. “Come. You’re overtired. We will go to your room and see what’s to be done.”
She clutched at his hand and got to her feet. “Then you do think it will come true?” she cried, eyes widening with new panic.
Akitada put an arm around her. “No, I do not,” he said firmly, walking her toward her room. “I think your fears have destroyed your peace of mind and I’m anxious to have my normal, sensible, cheerful wife back.” He looked to see if that had raised a smile or word of acknowledgment, but she detached herself abruptly and said bitterly, “I must seem a dreadful burden to you.”
He sighed inwardly. “No more than I am a burden to you, my dear. We are husband and wife, after all. It’s proper that we should care about each other.” It occurred to him that Tamako had not shown the slightest interest in his troubles for a long time now, but he put the thought aside.
She paused at the door to her room and brushed a limp hand over her forehead. “I have a headache,” she said dully. “Perhaps I’d better try to rest. Thank you for your concern. You must have many other things on your mind.” Without looking at him, she disappeared inside, closing the door gently but firmly in his face.
So that was that. For a moment he had felt close to his wife again, and the idea of first sharing their worries and then perhaps her bed had been on his mind, but it was not to be. Disappointed, he went to his study. He felt utterly alone and neglected. Seimei brought him some tea, and Akitada was ridiculously grateful for the small gesture.
“I’m very worried about Tora,” he confessed to Seimei. “It’s not like him to stay away so long. I think I must go to Kobe and ask if the police have any news.” He did not add that if they did it would be bad.
Seimei understood and said, “Surely the superintendent would have informed you.” But instead of commenting as usual on Tora’s indestructible good luck, he murmured something about distressing times.
Akitada thought of his last meeting with Kobe. “The trouble is, I’m afraid I have offended the good superintendent.”
This disconcerted Seimei. “How is that possible? You have always had great respect for him.”
“I did. I do. It was all a misunderstanding.” How little his proud memorial mattered now.
“In that case, you should certainly clear up the matter immediately,” Seimei said firmly. “Remember, a man’s actions will return to him.”
Akitada sighed. He had only just got home and was tired, and the prospect of making an apology was very unpleasant. But he got to his feet obediently. “You’re quite right, as always. I’d better go now before he leaves for the day.”
The sun was setting over another hot, dry day. As Akitada crossed the Greater Palace grounds, a golden haze of dust hung over the curved roofs and mottled the green of the trees. At this hour the palace streets were usually crowded with officials and clerks on their way home, but not today. There was some activity around the emperor’s and the crown prince’s residential compounds, but this was mostly an increased presence of guards. Few officials walked between offices, and in the Shingon Temple a prayer service was being held. The Greater Palace was so quiet it made Akitada think that the government took no notice of the troubled city beyond its gates.
The atmosphere was very different at police headquarters. Here the courtyard bustled with red-coated constables and police officers, and small groups of unsavory-looking men stood about chatting. Akitada stopped a harried young policeman who took him to the superintendent. Kobe was in a large hall, bent over a table covered with papers and maps. Lower-ranking officers sat at desks, reading documents or writing reports as constables carried messages or stacks of documents between them. Kobe did not look up when Akitada reached his side. He asked impatiently, “Yes, what is it now?”
Not an auspicious start. Akitada cleared his throat apologetically. “I’m sorry to interrupt when you’re so busy, but I need some assistance.”
Kobe raised a drawn face, grimacing when he saw who it was. “You and the rest of the world. Is your need greater than theirs?” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, encompassing the room with its policemen, piles of documents, sheets of city maps, rosters of staff, and assorted unidentifiable matter.
“Er… has something happened?”
Kobe glared. “Yes, something has happened all right. There are people dying in this city at a rate which is beyond the wardens, the police, or the monks. If you cast a glance out the door toward Toribeno, you’ll see the thick clouds of smoke from the cremation fires. They are burning day and night now. And in the poorer quarters, people just toss their dead into the street. The houses of the sick and dying are an open invitation to thieves, and robbers are attacking people brazenly, knowing that the wardens don’t have enough people to stop them. We have five new murders. The markets are empty because farmers no longer come to sell their produce, and people are going without food. Tomorrow I’m supposed to supervise the distribution of rice to the hungry, but I don’t have enough men to prevent a riot. Now, what is your problem?”
Akitada was aghast. “But how can this be? It was only yesterday that the Grand Council gave its first public notice of an epidemic. How can the situation have turned desperate so quickly?”
Kobe sneered, “You’ve been an official long enough to know that procrastination is a fine art in our government. They’ve known of the danger for weeks and done nothing, hoping it would go away or thinking to prevent a panic. And then their first action was to release more criminals into the streets of the city. My own troubles started with the amnesty. But I really don’t have time to discuss it. You may wish to compose another memorial to the emperor on the subject of inadequate law enforcement during epidemics. And be sure to mention that general amnesties are counterproductive in times of crisis.”
Akitada flushed. “I owe you an apology. Believe me, the memorial was not intended to criticize but to give you additional support. In any case, I tore it up when I saw that it might be misinterpreted.”
Kobe shook his head, his eyes cold. “It doesn’t matter in the least. I really cannot take the time now for an exchange of civilities.”
Akitada knew then that he had lost a friend. He made himself meet those hostile eyes. “Yes. I can see that I came at the wrong time.” He hesitated, then gave up, defeated by the other man’s implacable face. “It was just that I was worried about Tora, but never mind.” He turned to go.
“What about Tora?” snapped Kobe.
Akitada paused. “He left three days ago to investigate the murder of the blind woman and never returned. It’s not like him to be gone so long without sending word. I’m afraid something’s happened to him and wondered if you had any news.”
Kobe frowned. “No, no news. He came here that day, I think. Wanting to speak to Ihara. Perhaps he told him what he planned to do.”
“Yes, he might have done that.”
“You haven’t seen him since?” When Akitada shook his head, Kobe clapped his hands. The harried young policeman responded. “Call Ihara,” Kobe ordered.
“Lieutenant Ihara has reported sick, sir.”
“Sick? Was he sick yesterday?”
“No, sir. He seemed all right. Just…” The young man hesitated, looking nervous.
“Well? Just what?”
“He was unhappy that he was expected to go among the sick people and even to touch them, when the emperor himself has ordered us to avoid them.”
Kobe scowled. “I see. Thank you. That’s all.”
When the young man had scurried off, Kobe said angrily, “You see how well the Grand Council has planned? Now my men are refusing to do their duty.”
“Perhaps he’s really ill,” Akitada said.
Kobe snorted derisively. “Ihara looks out for Ihara.”
“I think I shall go ask a few questions in the city. Tora thought the blind woman had connections with criminals.”
Kobe’s eyes narrowed. “She worked in the Eastern Market, didn’t she? Someone is extorting money from the merchants there. If Tora has tangled with that gang, he may well be in trouble. But in any case, you cannot do this alone. I have no men to spare tonight and it will soon be dark. Leave it till tomorrow and I’ll give you a couple of constables.”
Akitada had not expected even this much. He bowed and thanked Kobe.
Kobe nodded, then said, “Wait. If you haven’t spoken with Tora, you haven’t discussed the coroner’s report.”
“No.”
“It was at first thought that there had been no rape, but you may recall that the coroner did find evidence of sexual intercourse. It doesn’t help Tora’s case, but I thought you should be aware of the fact.”
Akitada said angrily, “It was not Tora. I have his word for it. How do you know it wasn’t the murderer raping her?”
Kobe sighed. “I don’t know, and neither does the coroner. She was no maiden. In fact, he says she had given birth.”
Akitada left with a heavy heart. Tora was in danger, and the murder of Tomoe haunted his memory. There had been so much blood. Blind and helpless, she had tried to escape a monster who had chased her, slashing at her all the while. Had he raped her first or when she lay dying?
Outside in the courtyard a band of the ragged men were leaving through the gate, trotting at the heels of a red-coated constable. Akitada turned to a policeman. “Who are those men?” he asked.
“Sweepers, sir.”
“Sweepers?”
“They spread throughout the city after dark. Looking for trouble, checking empty houses, gathering abandoned corpses, and reporting crimes in progress.”
“Those men?” Akitada raised his eyebrows. Picking up smallpox victims was not exactly desirable work, but even so. “They look like criminals to me.”
“Yes, sir.” The policeman grinned. “It’s the amnesty. Most of the convicts have no money or jobs, so they’ll do anything for a few coppers and a hot meal.”
“Good heavens!” Shaking his head, Akitada left police headquarters. With conditions in the city in such dire straits, he had no intention of waiting to look for Tora until the following day.
When he reached home, his wife was still in her room, Yori and Seimei were having a calligraphy lesson, and the evening meal would not be for another hour. Akitada told Seimei what he planned to do and instantly met with objections.
“It’s not safe, sir. People say criminals are running around everywhere, and some of the sick lose their minds and go roaming about in the streets.”
“I know, but I must find Tora. I shall take Genba.”
Yori jumped up and snatched his father’s hand. “Can I come, too? Please, Father? I want to find Tora, too.”
Seimei, who knew how strong the bond was between his master and Tora, said, “Your father will need his wits about him. You can help by staying here and out of trouble. Besides, think how upset your mother would be.”
Yori accepted this, but Akitada felt some of the old resentment again; Tamako no longer cared about his safety-so long as he did not bring smallpox home with him. Once it had been different between them.
He headed for the kitchen, where he had the cook fix him a snack. After eating, he changed into comfortable old clothes, slipped his identity papers in his sleeve, and fastened his sword to his belt. Then he went in search of Genba.
Four hours later, right after the bell from the palace had sounded the hour of the rat, a loud knocking sounded on the gate of the Sugawara residence. Seimei, who had been dozing in the front of the house, was instantly up, his heart pounding with anxiety.
When he stepped into the courtyard, he saw that the night was very dark. The knocking was more impatient than before, and a man’s voice called out. Seimei answered, “Coming!” With shaking hands he lit a lantern and hobbled barefoot across the gravel to lift the heavy latch and peer out.
When the gate swung open, he saw three ragged people, swaying slightly with their arms around each other’s shoulders. He almost slammed the gate shut again, thinking them drunk or, heaven forbid, raving with smallpox. But he raised the lantern for a better look and recognized the tall fellow in the middle. At least the bloody, filthy creature grinned at him with familiar white and perfect teeth. “Tora?” Seimei gasped.
“I brought a couple of friends,” Tora said. “Hope the master won’t mind.”
The friends looked, if anything, worse and thoroughly disreputable to boot. One was a ragged boy, small and half-starved looking, the other a foul-smelling old man who seemed to be gasping his last breath. Pity for their condition overruled other considerations. “Come in, come in,” cried Seimei, throwing the gate wide. “Oh, the master will be so glad you’re back, Tora. He and Genba have gone out to look for you.”
They staggered in. Tora let go of the other two and turned. “I’d better go back then,” he said unenthusiastically.
“Certainly not,” Seimei snapped, slamming the gate shut and latching it. “What is the matter with your leg?”
“Sword cut.” Tora stumbled to the well and dropped down on the coping. “Meet Mr. Chikamura and Kinjiro, Seimei.”
The old man sagged to the ground. Seimei, aghast at their condition, ran from one to the other in a distracted manner, but managed to get all three to his own room, where he scurried back and forth some more, looking for salves, bandages, herbs, and someone to brew a strengthening tea for old Mr. Chikamura. In between his mutterings, he managed to establish that Tora had been wounded in several places in a number of fights and accidents, that Kinjiro had been beaten and was badly bruised, and that the old man had nearly died of thirst and starvation while locked up for days in a hot storehouse. For Seimei that was enough. His mind was on treatments, not on the three bags filled with clinking coins or the sword that Tora treated so tenderly.
When his patients had been cleaned up and bandaged, Seimei went to the kitchen and woke the cook to brew tea and heat some food.
Akitada and Genba found Kata’s training school locked up and the neighborhood deserted. They went in search of the warden of the quarter. The man was asleep and ill-tempered at being woken. He knew nothing about anyone called Tora and there had been no trouble in his quarter. Akitada did not necessarily believe that, because the man also insisted that Kata ran a respectable business, but there was nothing else he could do here.
They went next to the house of the stonemason Shigehira, on the theory that Tora might have gone there to ask more questions about Tomoe’s visitors. Here, too, everyone was asleep. The wife came to the door and shouted abuse through a crack. When Akitada asked to speak to her, she threatened, “Go away, or we’ll call the warden.”
Genba’s booming voice cut in. “Woman, open up this instant. Lord Sugawara wants to speak to you and your husband.”
The door slid back far enough for a suspicious eye to peer out at them. After a moment, she opened it fully. Her husband hovered timidly behind her. She did not invite them in but stood on the threshold and demanded, “What is it then? It’s the middle of the night, and I’m sick of being bothered about that slut. We’re hardworking decent people.”
Genba growled, “Mind your tongue, woman.”
She shot him a glance, taking in his size and bulk, and clamped her lips together.
“Mrs. Shigehira,” Akitada said, “we’re looking for Tora. Was he here recently?”
“Him?” She folded her arms across her broad chest and stuck out her chin. “No. We don’t deal with murderers. Stinking garbage!”
Genba, who was usually the gentlest of men, now stepped forward and bent to push his large face into hers. “Woman,” he growled, “I’ve warned you. One more insult like that and you’ll wish you’d not been born.”
She backed away, stepping on her husband’s toes. “Well,” she cried shrilly, “I saw him with the knife and I smelled him, didn’t I?”
Genba raised his fist, but Akitada pulled him back. “Just a moment,” he said. “What do you mean, you smelled him? When was that?”
She got some of her nastiness back. “When we broke in and saw him standing over her corpse, that’s when. There was a bad smell and he had the bloody knife. And now he’s loose to kill more people. What’s the world coming to? The nobles cover up for their own and harass the poor working man. But the gods know. Oh, yes, the gods know. They sent the sickness to punish them. Beware of the wrath of the gods!”
Genba muttered angrily, but Akitada raised his hand to silence him. “Never mind that,” he said to the woman. “What sort of smell was it?”
“Garbage. Rotten food. Filth.”
“Ah.” Akitada smiled at her. “Thank you. That was very helpful. Is there perhaps anything else you have remembered? Such as who was spying on Tomoe?”
She frowned. “Spying on her?”
“Someone had been watching her through the cracks in her back door. She knew about it, because she glued paper strips to the inside.”
The woman gaped. “Those? I thought that was to keep the cold out.”
“No. The man, or woman, simply made a new spy hole through the paper.”
She swung around to her husband. “You piece of shit. So, that’s what you’ve been up to every night, ogling her through the cracks in the door. And telling me you’re just going out for a pee.” He protested his innocence, then raised his arms in front of his face as she laid into him with feet and fists, shouting abuse. The stonemason was a big man, and his trade had made him strong, but under the onslaught of his fat and unattractive wife, he cowered against the wall and whimpered denials.
“Pitiful,” said Genba disgustedly.
Akitada considered. The mason could have killed his lodger-or perhaps the wife had killed her in a jealous rage, and the coward was too afraid to speak-but on the whole he was inclined to think that the Shigehiros were innocent of anything except cruel abandonment of the blind woman to her murderer. And now there was the wife’s puzzling mention of the stench. Tora had always been very clean in his habits.
In any case, they would not get any more information here. Akitada took Genba’s arm and pulled him away.
“Where to now?” Genba asked, as they walked away through the dark, silent streets.
Akitada shook his head in frustration. “I have no idea. It’s too late to knock on people’s doors and the market has closed down because of the disease. Where do criminals hole up at night?”
“They work at night and sleep by day. In abandoned houses, in temples, under gates, and sometimes in the house of a comrade.”
“We could check the charity hospitals, but I would rather not risk that unless we have some information that he’s there. Let’s go home and see what we can do in the morning with the help of the police.”
At that moment, several dark figures detached themselves from the shadows and jumped them. Akitada, who had only caught a sound and brief glimpse of their attackers, was thrown facedown in the dirt. Someone knelt on his back, cut the sword off his belt, and hissed into his ear, “Your money or you’re dead.” Akitada was conscious of a strong smell of garlic and furious at himself for letting a mere footpad disarm him so easily.
Curses, the sounds of kicks and moans, and Genba’s roar told Akitada that the much bigger Genba had to deal with more than one attacker. Akitada tried to unseat the man on his back by bucking upward and rolling. A foolish effort! His instant reward was a blindingly painful blow to the head with his own sword. At this point it seemed wisest to pretend unconsciousness, and he let himself go limp. His attacker rolled him on his back and searched his clothing. Akitada was dimly aware that Genba had fallen ominously silent. He could hear the robbers muttering to each other. Then a whistle sounded not far away, and in a moment they were gone. Akitada sat up. Genba was lying motionless a few feet away. He crawled over to him.
“Genba?” It was too dark to see much, but there was blood on Genba’s face. Helpless fury filled Akitada. The police were completely inadequate to the conditions prevailing in the capital-his capital. Nobody was safe in the streets any longer.
Genba stirred under his probing fingers. “Wha-where…?” He moaned.
“We’ve been attacked by robbers. Where are you wounded?”
Genba sat up slowly and felt himself. “By dose seebs to be broken. Thass all. I’b sorry, sir. It happe’d too fast.”
“Never mind. I know.” Akitada got to his feet and felt the lump on his head. At least it was not another black eye. Of course, the string of coppers and handful of silver coins he had carried were gone. More importantly, he had lost the Sugawara sword, a family heirloom. A fresh fury seized him. He would get it back, whatever it took.
A light appeared in the distance, and a large group of people approached. Akitada quickly pulled Genba into the dark recess that had hidden their attackers. The man in front carried a burning pine torch before a silent group of shuffling, shadowy creatures. In the light of the smoking, spluttering torch, the leader’s robe was a blaze of red against the column of black ghostlike shapes that followed.
Akitada stepped into their path. For a moment the torch swung violently, then a sword pointed at his throat. Akitada blinked against the brightness but stood firm.
“Who are you and what is your business here?” barked the man in red.
“I’m the official Sugawara Akitada. My retainer and I have just been attacked and robbed.”
The torch came a little closer until Akitada could feel its heat on his face, but the sword was withdrawn.
“Sorry, sir. It’s not safe in this area after dark. How many of them were there?”
“Four, I think. They beat us and took our money and my sword. When they heard a whistle-yours?-they ran. Please take the torch out of my face.”
The policeman obeyed, and after a moment Akitada could see that he had been speaking to a middle-aged sergeant who looked tired and unenthusiastic. The dark figures behind him were some of the sweepers he had seen earlier at police headquarters. And that gave Akitada an idea.
“How many sweepers did you bring with you?”
“Fifteen. Why?”
Akitada scanned the dark figures behind him. “I make it eleven now. What happened to the other four?”
The sergeant turned and counted. He cursed. “The lazy bastards have run off again.”
“You’re missing four men, and we were attacked by four,” Akitada pointed out.
The sergeant looked blank, then cursed again, more violently this time. He marched down the line of his followers. “All right. I want answers. Who saw the bastards leave and when?”
Nobody spoke.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have every last one of you curs whipped and see to it that you get no pay.”
A ragged individual stepped forward. “They were some of those from the jail. They took off just a few streets back. I think this is their neighborhood.”
“Show me!”
They all trooped behind the sweeper, who eventually stopped and pointed down an alley. “They ran down there.”
Akitada murmured to the sergeant, “Tell your patrol that there will be a reward for the man who finds the four who robbed us. Promise him two pieces of silver.”
The policeman drew himself up. “There’s no need for that. They will obey my orders.”
“Good, but it may make them more eager.”
The man passed along the offer and divided his sweepers into groups of three or four. They would spread out over a four-block area and call out if they found anything suspicious.
Akitada and Genba waited impatiently with the sergeant and one constable. Shortly there was a shout, and they ran to a house where two sweepers stood watch. One of them pointed to a neighboring house. “The old woman over there says four men went in a little while ago.”
“Secure the back,” commanded the sergeant, then blew his whistle. The other sweepers assembled. “All right. We’re raiding the place. Be ready to defend yourselves. They’re armed.”
They kicked in the front door and poured into the house. Shouts, thumps, and the sounds of breaking furniture came from inside. Akitada waited a moment, then borrowed the sergeant’s sword and followed with Genba. They walked into chaos. Sweepers were fighting sweepers swinging cudgels and metal prongs, the two policemen were shouting orders nobody paid attention to, and several characters were slipping away toward the rear of the house. Akitada and Genba skirted the combatants and went after them. Whoever was supposed to secure the back had ignored the order.
Three men were walking rapidly down a dark alley away from the house. Akitada and Genba caught up with them. Two of the men were unarmed, but the third had a sword.
“Halt!” shouted Akitada. “You’re under arrest.”
Lights came on in a house nearby. The two unarmed men immediately bolted, but the tall one with the sword turned to face them.
To Akitada’s surprise, he was Haseo’s double. In the dim light and with the sword in his hand, the resemblance was eerie. Akitada gasped, “Who are you?”
“None of your business, dog official.” The other man bared his teeth and raised his sword threateningly. A window opened in the house, and a man stuck out his head. When he saw armed men, he withdrew it quickly and slammed the window shut.
Akitada had got a good look at his opponent. Something about his stance and his sword hand was not right. Then he saw that, unlike Haseo, this man was left-handed. Or rather, he was using his left hand because his right was wounded. A thick bloodstained bandage covered most of his forearm.
“That is my sword,” Akitada snapped. “You attacked me and stole it.”
“You’re a liar. I’ve no need to steal swords,” said the other.
On second thought, the man who had taken the sword had certainly had the use of both hands. It was an impasse. Akitada wanted his sword but he also wanted to know if this man was related to Haseo. “You look like a man I once knew,” he said. “His name was Haseo.”
The other man’s face froze. His sword arm dropped to his side and the sword slid from his hand. He took a couple of steps backwards, then turned and ran.
Genba went to pick up the sword. “It’s not yours, sir. Funny. For a moment I thought he’d attack. I guess he just didn’t trust himself with his left hand,” he said.
Akitada went to inspect it. It was an ordinary weapon, the kind a military officer might be issued. Feeling both foolish and disappointed, he pushed it in his belt and said, “Somehow I don’t think that was the reason, but his reaction was certainly strange.”
They returned to the raided house, where the sergeant had given up the uneven battle and was gathering his few remaining sweepers. “No sign of your sword, sir,” he said in a disgusted voice, when Akitada returned his weapon. “We’ll let you know if it turns up.”
Akitada doubted it and told Genba, “Come, we’d better go home before something else happens.”