Of course the lieutenant’s eyes lit up at this damning piece of evidence against Tora. Pressed by Akitada, she remained adamant, saying that she had been worried about her lodger and had put her ear to the door when she realized that Tomoe was arguing with a man. The lieutenant shot Akitada a triumphant glance and asked, “How can you be sure it was the same man who killed her?”
She was. Not only had she recognized the voice, but she had seen him leave right afterward.
Akitada did not for a moment believe that she had spied on Tomoe out of concern for her safety, but rather because she suspected that her husband was with the lodger. He regarded husband and wife thoughtfully and asked, “Had there been any other visitors? Or perhaps strangers who seemed interested in Tomoe?”
The mason glanced at his wife.
“Pah,” she said, “a woman like that always has men. Trash! I’m too busy to watch.”
Akitada took this to mean that they had not actually seen or heard other visitors, but suspected that there had been some. He said, “Tomoe complained of someone following her home from the market. Do you know anything about that?”
They shook their heads, and that ended the visit.
Outside, the constable attempted to give a belated impression of alertness. Akitada badly wanted to see Tora, but a new day was beginning and he was due in the ministry. He thanked Ihara.
The lieutenant bowed. “I’m in your debt for finding this, sir.” He held up the cosmetics box.
“Not at all. You would have found it yourself.” Since Akitada regretted leaving it with Ihara, he added, “Take good care of it. It may turn out to be important.”
He walked back alone to the Greater Palace, watching the sky clouding over even as the sun rose with a spectacular display of fiery hues. Perhaps some rain would cool down the unseasonably hot and dry weather. The smoky orange color of the clouds looked like a bank of smoldering fires, as if a major conflagration were under way in the city. He felt an involuntary chill, a sense of impending disaster.
When Akitada passed through the main gate of the Greater Palace, he worried about Tora in his miserable cell. Had they “interrogated” him already during the night? It was likely. Even if they had not, they would not wait much longer before taking the bamboo canes to Tora’s back or using other forms of torture to force an admission of guilt from him. And Tora was not about to confess to something he had not done.
Akitada decided he would report at the ministry and then go immediately to the prison. As he joined the stream of government officials, many like himself in robes and hats with rank insignia, he became nervous about his appearance, adjusting his hat and brushing at the wrinkles in his gown and full silk trousers. He had dressed too hurriedly after the night’s summons and had not had time to shave. No doubt Soga would hold this against him.
The morning was gloomy, becoming increasingly cloudy. The rising sun had no chance and the ministry compound lay in the shadow of large pines so that lights still glimmered inside. Akitada climbed the staircase and entered the main hall. He expected to see Nakatoshi at this early hour, but for once Sakae was also waiting. Even more puzzling was Sakae’s enthusiastic greeting. The junior clerk practically rubbed his hands as he announced that he would have his report ready by the time Minister Soga arrived.
“Very good,” said Akitada approvingly and turned to Nakatoshi. “So the minister is definitely coming?”
“Yes, sir. I expect him in an hour or so.”
Akitada thought. “An hour? Good. I have a brief call to make.” He turned on his heel to head down the steps again.
The Western Prison was outside the Greater Palace, but only a few blocks from the ministry. Because of his official robe and rank, the constables at the prison gate passed him through to the prison supervisor, where he identified himself and his errand. This official was also cooperative and Akitada was taken to Tora’s cell.
Tora was chained. He was also bruised about the face, and smears of dried blood covered his clothes and hands. When he saw Akitada, he rose awkwardly from a pile of dirty straw, rattling his chains, and tried a weak smile. “Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to make trouble for you.”
“Never mind that. Are you hurt? Have you been beaten?”
“A little. It was after hours when I was brought in, and they didn’t put their hearts into it.” He looked at his hands and clothes. “The blood’s not mine.”
Akitada scowled at the guard. “This man is one of my retainers,” he snapped. “Nobody is to lay a hand on him again, do you hear!”
The guard looked blank. “Yes, your honor. I shall tell them what you said.”
But the screams which came from the courtyard behind the cells were not reassuring. Tora’s eyes flickered uneasily.
“You may also tell them that Tora will be transferred today,” Akitada said. He glanced at the dirty floor. “This place is filthy. Take us to one of the offices.”
The man pondered. He was clearly torn between his duty to keep the prisoner chained in his cell and Akitada’s rank. After reflection, he apparently decided the present threat had precedence over potential future repercussions. He unchained Tora and took them to a small, empty room which contained nothing but a desk and a few shelves of documents. The floor was wooden and reasonably clean. Akitada sat down and Tora followed suit.
The guard remained standing, an iron rod used to subdue unruly prisoners in his meaty hand. He listened nervously toward the corridor. “You won’t be long, your honor?” he asked.
Akitada ignored him. He said to Tora, “I went to the blind woman’s place, but her body had already been removed. Tell me how you found her.”
Tora grimaced. “I was worried, so I went back to talk some sense into her. Not wanting to bother her landlord and that shrew of a wife, I went through the back.”
“In the dark? How is it that you know your way about people’s service yards in the dark?”
Tora flushed. “I’ve been there before. Her landlady has a vicious tongue, and I didn’t want her to see me.”
“Well, she saw you at some point and took you for one of her lodger’s clients.”
Tora just shook his head tiredly. “She’s wrong. That’s what I mean about her tongue. Anyway, I got to Tomoe’s door and scratched. I didn’t want to make much noise, and she keeps it latched on the inside. I got her to get a new latch. Well, it wasn’t latched last night. The door moved when I touched it. I thought she’d left it open in case I stopped by, but then I could smell the blood.” Tora shuddered. “I went in. Couldn’t see a thing, so I had to feel my way about. I slipped on something wet. Blood, I think. And then I stepped on the knife. Well, I knew it was a knife as soon as I picked it up. And right after that I touched her. I was bent over, feeling for her face to see if she was still alive, when all hell broke loose. People rushed in with lights. They knocked me down and held me. Constables from the warden’s office. And her landlord. And I think her landlady, too. Maybe their kids. The whole room was full of people talking and shouting. After that I couldn’t get a really good look at Tomoe.”
“Yes, I see. Well, just tell me what you could see.”
Tora gulped. “She was near the door. The door to the main house. There was a lot of blood. I could see blood on the walls. And on the door. And on the knife I was holding. It was covered with blood.” He extended his stained hands for Akitada to see. “They pried it from my hand right away. I guess it’s the knife that killed her. It took me a minute to realize they thought I had done it. After that I was trying to explain why I was there so they’d take the chains off me. It was no good. They figured I did it all right. I’m sorry. It’s not much help, is it?”
“Not much, but it’s still early. What made you think Tomoe would leave the door ajar for you last night?”
Tora hung his head and heaved a big sigh. “When I left her in the market, I told her I’d try to walk her home. But I didn’t get to. I guessed she thought I’d come later. I’ve been sitting here, blaming myself. For not walking her home, and for making her leave her door unlatched when there was a killer lying in wait outside.”
“Nobody could have known,” Akitada said, uneasily aware that he had some responsibility in the matter also.
Tora looked around the room. “I feel like a trapped beast in here. Any chance of getting me out?”
“I’ll speak to Superintendent Kobe today, but the best we can hope for is a transfer across town. The case against you is strong, and it’s the only one they have. The landlady says that you had threatened to kill Tomoe.”
Tora stared. “That’s a lie.”
“You didn’t quarrel the night before?”
“Maybe I raised my voice a little. Trying to get her to give me some information. She was stubborn.” He buried his head in his hands and muttered, “Amida, I should have stayed with her. I should never have let her out of my sight.”
Akitada bit his lip. “Tora,” he asked, “were you Tomoe’s lover?”
Tora lowered his hands. “No.” But he looked confused, puzzled, and Akitada waited. “There was something about her. I thought a man would be very lucky to have a woman like her. I really don’t know how I felt.” Then, to Akitada’s dismay, Tora’s eyes filled with tears. “I wish she were still alive,” he said brokenly.
“Tell me about her.”
But Tora glanced at the guard, saw the man’s avid interest, and reddened. “I really didn’t know her very well,” he said.
Akitada gave an inward sigh. Whatever else Tora might have said about his relationship with the dead woman would not be said here and now. “Did she have any family?”
“No. I asked her that. She said they were all dead.”
“What about her customers? Could there have been a man?”
“I don’t think so. Sometimes she didn’t seem to like men at all. There was a lot she was keeping quiet. I know she went to a private house sometimes to sing to the noble ladies there. She looked forward to that. They paid well and were very kind to her, she said. I told you she was respectable. They wouldn’t have had her there if she wasn’t. And she was saving her money so she could stop working in the market.” He paused and frowned.
Akitada considered the noble family. Tora had a point. No loose woman would be admitted to the private quarters of respectable ladies. “Did she mention the family’s name?”
“No. She was funny about names.”
“She was certainly a baffling woman. I found a lacquer cosmetics box and some silver in her trunk. Do you know anything about that?”
Tora looked astonished. “What would she want with cosmetics? She couldn’t see her face.”
“I know. That’s why I asked.”
Tora thought. “Do you suppose one of those noble ladies…? No. Why would they? But the silver she must’ve been saving. You could see she bought nothing for herself.”
“What was she saving it for? There was not enough to retire on.”
Tora shook his head.
“Did she ever mention someone called Nobunari?”
Tora stared at Akitada. “No. I would’ve remembered. That’s a gentleman’s name.”
“What about Nobuko?”
“That might’ve been one of the ladies. But I told you, she never talked about them. What’s going on?”
“It may mean nothing, but the silver was wrapped in a piece of paper. Someone had scrawled the names on it with a piece of charcoal. Could Tomoe write?”
“Write? She was blind.”
Silence fell. Tomoe’s secrecy intrigued Akitada. “Who do you think killed her?” he finally asked.
“I’m betting on the gangsters.” Tora clenched his fists in helpless anger. “The silly fool! I asked her to tell me. I told her they were dangerous and wouldn’t think twice about slitting her throat to make sure she didn’t talk.”
Akitada pondered this. With Soga breathing down his back, he was in no position to investigate gang activities. “What about the person who followed her? You said she could smell him.”
“They say blind people have a sharper sense of smell and hearing.”
“Did she say what sort of smell?”
“Bad. She called it-what was that word-yes, pungent. Whatever that means. She used strange words sometimes.”
“It means ‘strong’ or ‘sharp.’ Not very helpful. Sometimes people may carry the smell of a particular job. Like a rice wine brewer, for example. Or a dumpling baker.”
“Nothing like that, I think. She would have said so.”
Silence fell again. Akitada sighed. “Well, that’s all I can think of. I must hurry back to work. Soga is expected. If I can’t get you transferred today, I shall be back after work.”
Tora looked contrite. “I’m very sorry, sir,” he said with unaccustomed humility, “if I have caused trouble for you at your work.”
Akitada smiled and touched his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. And you’re more important to me.”
Tora’s eyes moistened. Keeping his head down, he nodded and rose to let the guard take him back to his cell.
“Oh,” said Akitada, “I almost forgot. Do you recall if she was wearing shoes when you found her?”
Tora thought. “Not sure, sir. I think so, but I wasn’t really looking at her feet.”
“No, I suppose not. Never mind. Don’t worry.”
Akitada watched him walk away. He knew about being in chains and about the willpower it took to walk upright and square-shouldered when you had recently received a flogging. He felt helpless and frustrated. Because of a superior he heartily dis respected, he had to postpone the more urgent need of Tora. He seemed forever caught in conflicts of duty, private and public.
Outside, a wind had sprung up. In the palace grounds it stirred dust clouds from the dry streets and whipped up the gowns of officials hurrying between buildings. Clutching his hat, Akitada bent his head into it and tried to subdue his flapping skirts and full trousers. Dust particles stung his face and got into his eyes. In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Of course Soga had already arrived. Impossible to slip quietly into his office, pretending that he had been there all along. Soga was still in the main hall, glowering at the clerks, who were blank-faced. He must have delivered himself of some tirade, because the heads of scribes could be seen, peering curiously around corners and over transoms.
Soga turned on Akitada with an avidity that meant he had been the cause of his anger. “In my office,” he snapped without a greeting.
Akitada bowed and said pointedly, “Good morning, sir. I trust you return safe and well from your trip?”
Soga did not respond. He marched into his private office and took his seat behind the desk. Akitada followed and turned to close the door.
“I want the two clerks in here,” snapped Soga.
Tasting the familiar sour bile of helpless anger rising in his throat, Akitada opened the door again for Nakatoshi and Sakae. The three of them gathered around Soga’s desk.
Soga did not invite them to sit. His round face was still suffused with color and his pudgy hands clutched the edge of the desk. He seemed to be trying to control his wrath. Akitada swallowed nervously, wondering what Soga had shouted in the hearing of the ministry’s staff. That it concerned him he did not doubt. Well, he had tried to return to his duty, but fate had once again interceded. Perhaps this was the end of his career. The thought that he would no longer have to bow his neck under the yoke imposed upon it by his bitter enemy should have cheered him, but the faces of his wife and his son, of old Seimei and the others rose before his eyes. What was to become of them all? Tora in jail on a murder charge, his house filled with dependents, a son to raise and see secure in some official position, perhaps other children in the future, and he had no funds to fall back on, no outside income except for a rather poor farm in the country.
Soga finally raised his head and looked slowly at each of them. When his round black eyes reached Akitada, he compressed his lips and a prominent vein in his temple began to throb. But his voice was calm.
“I have returned today to give you instructions about running the ministry in my absence. I must say what I found on my arrival has not encouraged me to think this possible. Nevertheless, it cannot be helped. You, Sugawara, are in charge. Sakae, who seems to have shown some initiative in your absence, can handle the routine business of your department. Nakatoshi will assist you. I expect daily reports. Sakae will draw these up and all three of you will sign them. They are to be sent every night to my house in the country. You will not make any decisions other than routine ones without my express permission in writing. That is all.”
Akitada was completely taken aback. What was taking Soga away so suddenly? And how could he, Akitada, run the ministry with any efficiency while his hands were tied by this ridiculous reporting system which would cause delays and expenditures? How was he to deal with the patent insult that Soga did not trust him to carry out the duty without constant oversight-and that by the clerks, Sakae in particular? And how would this affect Tora’s desperate situation?
“Sir,” he began.
But Soga cut him off instantly. “The clerks may leave and tend to their duties,” he snapped.
When Sakae and Nakatoshi were gone, Soga wasted no more time. “You were late and your appearance suggests that you have spent the night in some house of assignation. Furthermore, you were absent again yesterday,” he said. “I am sure you were aware of my opinion of your work, of your suitability for your position, and of your character before this latest dereliction. If you had not somehow impressed certain people with your exploits in places too distant from the capital to verify your outrageous claims, you would not be where you are now. As it is, I must tolerate you and, in the present emergency, leave you in charge. Let me assure you that the slightest infraction during my absence will result in my demanding not only your removal from your rank and position but also severe punishment for malfeasance in office.”
For a moment, the room lost its stability. The floor under Akitada’s feet behaved as in an earthquake, and the walls faded in and out before his eyes. There was a ringing in his ears, and when he tried to speak, he had lost his voice. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and tried to fix his eyes on Soga. “Under the circumstance,” he said in a shaking voice, “I shall, of course, resign.”
Soga rose. Something like triumph flashed in his eyes. “You may prepare a letter of resignation and leave it on my desk. I shall sign it upon my return. For the time being you will remain in your position and carry out your duties as ordered. If all goes well I shall not count the latest demerits against you. As you know, the annual fitness reports are due in another month, and yours is already sadly deficient. A charge of flagrant dereliction of duty would cost you the chance at another position.”
“When will you return?”
“You will be kept informed.” Soga glanced at his desk. “Take care of the correspondence, but pass on all private letters. And remember what I said.” With that final threat, he walked past Akitada and out the door.
Akitada stood lost in a tumult of emotions until Nakatoshi’s touch on his arm brought him back to reality.
“Can I bring you some wine, sir?” Nakatoshi asked anxiously.
“No.” Akitada ran a hand over his face as if brushing away cobwebs and took a deep breath. “Yes, perhaps. Thank you.” A cup of wine would put some warmth into his body, would thaw out the icy fury that seemed to paralyze his muscles and his brain. He walked stiffly around Soga’s desk and sat down. Outside, thunder growled again, and the pines in the courtyard tossed in the wind. A gust of air stirred the papers on the desk. He got up to close the shutters and lit the tall candlesticks.
The correspondence. He looked through it. Apparently Soga had already removed anything he considered too important for Akitada’s eyes. The rest was routine. When Nakatoshi returned with the warm wine, Akitada gulped it thirstily, then told him to take dictation. For the next hour, Akitada dealt with the business of the ministry.
“Is anyone waiting outside?” he asked, when the paperwork was done.
“Nobody important. It’s time for the midday rice.”
Akitada glanced at the closed shutters. He was not hungry. The sound of rain had been with them for a while now without his having noticed. And he had forgotten Tora. “One more letter,” he said. “It must be delivered immediately. Then I shall see the petitioners.”
The letter was addressed to Kobe, superintendent of the capital police. He hated to ask the man for this favor, but his concern for Tora was too great. Besides, a request to transfer Tora from the Western to the Eastern Prison was not unreasonable since Tora resided in the eastern half of the capital. The problem was that Kobe would assume other concessions would be expected later.
Then he had Nakatoshi show in the people who had waited patiently outside (some of them, as it turned out, for many months) to lay a problem before the minister of justice. He discovered that several had come bearing gifts, which he refused. The ones who had waited for months appeared too poor to curry the minister’s favor in this way. This was not surprising. Akitada had always known that Soga enriched himself in his office. Indeed, most officials considered it a perquisite of their posts. Also, not surprisingly, the ones with gifts rarely deserved consideration, while the poor fellows who had lingered for months in the waiting area seemed to have legitimate cause for review. With a sigh, Akitada took down their information and sent them away until their cases could be studied. The others he dismissed brusquely. Still, hours passed in this manner until it became difficult to read the documents, because darkness was creeping from the corners of the room.
Impatiently, Akitada called for more lights. Nakatoshi came and threw open the shutters. The rain had stopped and it was clear again, but the sun had set and left behind a steamy dusk. Only now did Akitada become aware of the stiffness in his back and neck. He also realized that it was late and that he had done nothing about Tora.
“How many more?” he asked Nakatoshi.
“None, sir. And Sakae asks if he can leave.”
“Dear heaven, I forgot all about him.” Akitada rose, stretching his painful legs and back. “Don’t tell me there is always this much business,” he said with a grimace.
Nakatoshi grinned. “No, sir. A lot of stuff accumulated in His Excellency’s absence. Besides, he doesn’t see very many of the petitioners.”
“I gathered that. There was one old man who had been here every day for the past three months.”
“That would be Mr. Chikamura? The one who claims that his property has been taken by his nephew?”
“His home actually. I cannot imagine where he lays his head. He seems afraid for his life if he sets foot in his own house. I told him we would look into the matter. Have one of the scribes check the property deeds and then send someone from the police to his home to see what is going on.”
Akitada walked across to his own office, where he found Sakae pacing the floor impatiently. He said, “Sorry, Sakae, but there was a great deal of work. How did you manage?”
Sakae pointed to a stack of documents. “All finished, sir. And here’s the report for the minister. We’ve already signed.”
This was so unlike the Sakae he knew that Akitada looked quickly through the papers. Not only did they seem in order, but Sakae’s handwriting had improved materially. Light dawned belatedly. “I see you called on one of the scribes to assist you.”
Sakae drew himself up. “Under the circumstances I thought it proper, sir.”
“Yes. Quite. Very good.” Akitada signed the report. “I shall see you tomorrow then?”
Sakae bowed and departed. Akitada was still looking after him, wondering what had come over his clerk, when Nakatoshi joined him.
“Sakae is a changed man,” Nakatoshi said, making a face.
“I wonder why.”
“Isn’t it obvious, sir? Sakae wants your place when you’re gone.”
Akitada turned, aghast. “My place?” Then he remembered that he had offered Soga his resignation and that it had been accepted. He felt the crushing weight of worry about the future. Then shame returned. How had the clerks found out?
Nakatoshi looked embarrassed. “Before you came, the minister was speaking rather rashly about changes he intended to make. He also complimented Sakae on his fine work reorganizing the filing system. I’m afraid Sakae took this to mean…”
“I see.”
So that was why everyone had been all ears when he had arrived this morning. The humiliation of having been dismissed in such a public, and no doubt insulting, fashion made his face burn. He turned away abruptly, saying, “Until tomorrow then,” and walked out.