At first Akitada had no difficulty following the slender figure in white. She moved at a quick but steady pace, walking first toward the west and then turning south. In the heat of the afternoon there were few other people about, and she evidently knew her way.
This area, like Akitada’s own quarter on the opposite side of the city, had been intended for public offices and the homes of court officials. Building plots were generous and the streets broad. Numerous canals carried fresh water from the river and fed into the many gardens of the area. Behind high bamboo fences or mud walls, earlier generations had laid out fanciful landscapes with bubbling streams and small lakes and built their homes among them. But the early hopes of the city planners had never been fulfilled in the western city. The decline was less noticeable in this quarter, close to the Greater Palace enclosure, but even here Akitada saw empty spaces, open fields, and groves of tangled brush and trees where villas or large compounds once had stood. But many homes, substantial and in good repair, remained and were occupied by officials or wealthy country gentry who kept a residence in the capital.
Akitada cast a knowledgeable eye around. Wherever she was going, it was not to a temple or nunnery. There were none here. She must be visiting one of the families who had held on to their family plots and maintained their homes with sufficient funds to guard against the bands of thieves who roamed the streets at night.
When she turned a corner, he increased his speed. He did not want to frighten her, but looked for a chance to catch up or see where she lived.
She was halfway up the street, walking along a plain whitewashed wall without gates. On the other side of the street, three young louts lounged against a broken fence, but straightened up with interest when they saw the nun. Akitada did not like the way they looked at her, and neither did she apparently, for she walked more quickly. The three conferred briefly, then crossed the street to cut her off.
Upper-class residential quarters were generally quiet and peaceful in this part of town. Akitada’s father-in-law had lived here, and Tamako still owned the land and maintained a garden where her childhood home had stood. But lately, the good people lived within walled compounds with massive, barred gates, and women emerged only in the company of male servants. Perhaps an elderly nun could have passed without attracting the attention of three hoodlums, but this one was a young and attractive woman, and the street was empty. She was about a hundred yards ahead of Akitada, who cursed his voluminous white silk trousers and the stiff, heavy robe, clothes that were not only hot but cumbersome.
Up ahead, the hoodlums stopped the nun, one barring her way and the other two closing in from behind. She backed against the earthen wall and seemed to make entreaties, which they greeted with bursts of laughter. When they began to manhandle her, Akitada started to run, shouting, “Leave her alone!”
He fell almost instantly over the loose folds of his trousers. Scrambling up, he fully expected to see the bullies take to their heels. Not only was he an awkward witness-they probably intended to rape their victim-but his formal court robe and hat marked him as an imperial official of rank and should have put fear into their cowardly hearts.
But nothing of the sort happened. They turned their heads to look at him and burst into laughter. Furious, Akitada gathered up the legs of his trousers before continuing. They laughed even harder at this and, after a brief exchange, two of them started toward Akitada. The third stayed with the nun.
Akitada stopped. The two rascals sauntering toward him with grins on their faces were not about to make a humble apology. They looked as if they expected to have some fun with this official in his stiff robe, ballooning trousers, and elaborate headgear. Akitada was in excellent condition and trained in wrestling, but a confrontation with two robbers was unwise at this juncture. He was unarmed and hampered by his ridiculous clothing. And, besides being a nuisance in a fight, his robe had cost him many months of salary and he was hardly in a position to sacrifice it to a couple of hoodlums at this time in his career. He considered slipping off the outer robe, but when he began to undo his sash, the two changed their deliberate saunter to a fast walk. There was no time.
Beyond them, their companion was now struggling with the nun. Akitada scanned the ground for something he could use for a weapon. There was nothing. Hereabout, the streets were kept clean. He shouted again for help, this time for constables, but all remained silent. Then the nun screamed, and Akitada resigned himself to a fight and crouched.
The two thugs stopped a few feet away, looked him over, and laughed some more. The taller one, who was missing his front teeth and whose nose had been broken a few times, sneered, “Look at that. The puffed-up little toad wants to fight.”
“He, he, he,” snickered his companion.
The nun screamed again. Akitada kept his eyes on the face of the big ruffian. “All three of you will be in trouble, if you don’t stop your friend this instant,” he announced through gritted teeth.
“What kind of trouble?” asked the big fellow, raising his brows. “You’ll make us wear those big trousers of yours, maybe? Or tickle us with the ribbon on that silly hat?”
“He, he, he, he,” sniggered his companion, flexing beefy hands. Apparently he lacked the gift of witticisms. Possibly-with that vacant look in his small eyes-he lacked any wit at all. But Akitada did him an injustice, because he suddenly asked in a high voice, “He looks like a puffball. You wanna play ball with him, Jiro?” They laughed.
“What business do you have, bothering your betters?” Akitada demanded, casting a hopeful glance down the street behind him. It remained empty, but he now saw that it led to a bridge over one of the canals. He decided to make a quick retreat that way.
While his would-be tormentors were still laughing at his question, he managed to cover half the distance before the big man shouted, “Hey, stop!”
Naturally, Akitada ignored him and kept backing away as fast as he could while stumbling over his trousers. They broke into a run and caught up with him at the bridge. He sidestepped the smaller and quicker of the two, who pelted full speed onto the center of the bridge, where he came to a halt.
The other man slowed in time, narrowing his eyes specula tively. There were no handy sticks or rocks lying about, but a cedar seedling grew just at the edge of the canal. Akitada reached down and pulled it up. The big man snorted with derision and jumped forward, reaching for Akitada’s left arm. Akitada twisted away and shoved the bristly cedar plant straight into the other man’s eyes. The bully screamed and staggered onto the bridge, holding his face. Here he collided with his companion, who had collected his few wits and was rushing to his assistance. Akitada made quick work of tipping both into the canal below by kicking their feet out from under them.
He did not wait to see if they could swim but gathered his trousers and ran up the street. The third man had the nun on the ground. Akitada flung himself on his back. The thug tried to throw him off.
“Run,” Akitada cried to the nun, digging his fingers into the man’s throat. She lay sprawled on the ground in a tangle of robes and silken undergowns, slender legs bare except for her white socks, long black hair tumbling from under her veil, and eyes huge with terror. She scrambled to her feet, gathered up her skirts, and took off up the street.
He saw no more, for he was whipped around and his back and head made violent and painful contact with the wall behind. The nun’s assailant was choking, but he knew a few things about street fighting. With a grunt of pain, Akitada let go and slipped off the man’s back.
The situation had deteriorated, for if the other two had climbed out of the canal, he was faced with three angry hoodlums who would hardly settle for robbing him of his fine outfit and the amusement of watching him run off in naked humiliation. In fact, the brute who had attacked the nun was so outraged at the interruption of the rape that he came at Akitada with fists flying. Akitada ducked, but not fast enough. His eye took the full impact of the fist. He sat down abruptly on the ground.
Lights flashed wildly inside his head. He knew he must move, must take some action, but he could do no more than raise his arms to protect his head. He fully expected a vicious beating, but instead his ears registered shouts and receding footsteps. Cautiously he lowered his arms, pushed his lopsided hat out of his face, and saw with his good eye that his assailant was running toward the bridge, where his wet companions were making frantic gestures for him to hurry. Slowly and painfully, Akitada turned his head the other way.
A very odd-looking old man with a long staff was coming down the street.
Akitada was too surprised to get up. The man was covered from head to toe in a large, extraordinary garment of many colors and patterns vaguely reminiscent of the patchwork stoles worn by Buddhist clergy, and his staff seemed to have a Buddha figure at its top. He was not a monk, because he had luxurious white hair and a full beard.
The white-beard stopped in front of him, and uttered a hoarse, “Ah!” Bending forward a little, he studied Akitada with the detached interest of a small boy who has found a strange lizard or beetle. Akitada bowed from his sitting position. The old man bowed back.
“Thank you for coming to my aid, Uncle,” said Akitada, using the polite term for an elderly person of the lower classes. He thought the old fellow must be one of the poor eccentrics who lived on a few coins or a bowl of food donated by the servants of the wealthy. He was probably senile, but such venerable age demanded courtesy, regardless of condition. And he was grateful that he had come tottering along when he did.
“You are welcome,” said the old man gravely.
Akitada got to his feet. He was puzzled why the thugs had run, and looked around for a constable or perhaps a soldier. But the street was empty. Various aches and pains made themselves felt. He arched his back, decided that it was only bruised, and found that a sleeve was torn from his robe. He brushed at the dirt on his skirts and inspected the tears and stains in his white trousers ruefully. He hoped his clothes could be mended but had his doubts. Still, it might have ended worse. Now that the excitement was over, he began to feel angry.
“You should do something about that eye,” said the old man, bending closer and peering at him critically.
The eye had swollen shut and throbbed unpleasantly, but Akitada’s good eye revealed that the old man’s eccentric garment, though dirty and a bit ragged, was a patchwork of fine silks and brocades and that his staff was beautifully carved and lacquered. Wondering, Akitada asked, “Did you see what happened?”
“I see most things.”
“Then you saw the nun and the three men who attacked us?”
The old face creased in thought. “Perhaps. There are many nuns about. Also robbers and thieves. Were they robbers?”
“Yes.” Akitada decided that the old-timer probably could not see very well. “Do you often pass this way, Uncle?” he asked.
“I go wherever I please. Why do you ask?”
“The nun screamed for help, and I shouted also. Nobody came to our aid, even though this is a respectable and quiet neighborhood. There must have been people behind these walls who heard us. I wondered why no one came.”
“You think it’s quiet here, do you?” asked the old man and looked fixedly at the wall behind Akitada. “Are you looking for the quiet life? You won’t find it here, young man. No, not at all. The contrary, in fact.”
Akitada turned and looked at the wall also. It was an ordinary whitewashed mud wall, over six feet in height and topped with slanting tiles to let the rain wash off. Many of the noble residences in the capital had such walls. His own did, though it was not in such good repair. That fact and the length of the wall and probable size of the property beyond meant that the owner was a rich man. Surely he had many servants, some of whom should have been within hearing distance and rushed to their aid. But not a sound came from the other side of the wall.
“Really? Who lives there?” he asked the old man.
“Nobody.”
“Then why do you say this is not a quiet place?”
“Quietness doesn’t always signify the absence of sound, or even of human presence. Sometimes places retain the spirit of past turbulence long after its source is gone.”
Akitada gave the old man a sharp look. He was a very well-spoken beggar and had, on consideration, not once shown proper respect by bowing or kneeling or asking for alms. Neither had he used a polite form of address. Akitada was not fussy about rank, but many of his acquaintances would have been outraged, and some might have had the beggar beaten. Because of the white mustache and beard, it was hard to make out the man’s expression, but it seemed to Akitada that he was being laughed at.
He frowned. “Look here. I’ve been attacked in broad daylight by three hoodlums who were trying to rape a nun, and I intend to get to the bottom of this. Now, did you see any part of the attack or not?”
The old man shook his head.
“You did not see the nun running toward you? You must have seen her.”
The old man shook his head again.
“And you don’t know who owns the houses around here?”
“Oh, I know that very well. You asked me who lived here. Nobody lives there, for the owner is absent, having gone to his place in the country, but the property belongs to Lord Yasugi. And the houses across the street belong to Secretary Ki, to old Lady Kose, and to Professor Takahashi.” He jabbed his staff toward the thatched roofs rising behind garden walls and shrubbery. “In the street beyond are the homes of Minister Soga, Junior Architect Wakasa, Lay Priest Enshin, and Assistant Lieutenant Akizane. Would you like me to go on?”
Akitada said weakly, “No, thank you.”
How close Soga’s residence was to the Greater Palace, and yet Soga had never managed to arrive at work on time. And Akitada had never been invited to his superior’s house. He thought of the three thugs and wondered why Soga had not at least taken some action to secure his own neighborhood. He said, more to himself than to the old man, “Things have truly come to a terrible pass, when not even a nun is safe on these streets in broad daylight.”
The beggar cackled. “There’ll be worse before the year is out. Death and chaos. It was predicted and has come to pass.”
Akitada stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you read the calendar? This is a most unlucky year.”
Akitada had little patience with superstitious taboos and prognostications. They got in the way of getting things done, and those who terrified the gullible with such predictions caused, in his opinion, nothing but trouble. He snapped, “Nonsense. The calendar often predicts dire events that don’t come to pass.”
The old man drew himself up and shook his staff at Akitada. “You fool!” he shouted. “You don’t have the brains to interpret the irregularities in the motion of the planets. During the first month alone ten stars fell out of the sky. And what of the strange cloud of black smoke over the Josei Gate on the second day of the second month? Hmm? How do you explain that?”
“Such things happen independently of human affairs.”
“Is it human affairs you want? Then what of all the reports that fiery souls have been seen leaving the bodies of the living? Even you should know that portends death. All the signs spell death, and deaths there shall be. The cremation fires at Toribeno shall not cease burning till half this city is empty. A few thugs more or less pale by comparison.”
The old man scowled ferociously, then turned and strode away toward the bridge, his colorful robe dragging in the dust. Akitada looked after him and shivered. It was nonsense, of course. He should not have troubled the poor old man, nearly blind and no longer quite rational. Old age damaged men in different ways, Seimei as well as Kunyoshi, and Judge Masakane as much as this poor creature. Death announced its coming in their infirmities.
He turned to follow the long wall around the corner, where he found a big roofed gate and gatehouse. But the gatehouse was empty and shuttered, and no amount of pounding brought an answer. The beggar had been right about this anyway. No one was in residence.
He looked at the three tree-shaded houses across the way. The properties were smaller and the gates more modest, but the nun could have sought refuge here.
A young servant girl peered through a small opening in the gate of the first villa. When she saw Akitada’s face, she started back fearfully and refused to admit him, asserting that no one had come to this house, and that no nun lived there, or anywhere else on this street.
With a sigh, Akitada passed on to the next gate. Here his knock was answered by a boy. He told Akitada that his master, Secretary Ki, had removed himself and his household to the country. Nobody had come to the house all day, and the boy had never known of any nuns in any of the houses in the neighborhood. Akitada came away, thinking that Soga’s fear of smallpox seemed to have affected his neighbors.
He had no high hopes of finding anyone home at the third house either, but to his surprise, the gate was opened by the owner himself. A thin middle-aged man in a wrinkled and faded blue silk robe glowered at Akitada, and snapped, “Well?”
Akitada bowed. “Am I addressing Professor Takahashi?”
“Yes. So?”
“My name is Sugawara. A little while ago three hoodlums attacked a young nun on the next street. She got away, and I wondered if she came here for help or if you might know where she lives.”
“No.” The professor was pushing the gate shut, but Akitada placed a hand against it, and said, “Just a moment, professor. Both my rank and my request entitle me to some courtesy. If you will not invite me in, at least answer my questions.”
Takahashi reluctantly opened the gate again. “You can come in, if you must,” he said ungraciously.
Akitada walked in, and watched his host closing and re-latching the gate behind him. Takahashi muttered, “Can’t be too careful about whom you admit these days. The whole capital is overrun by criminals.” He eyed Akitada’s appearance sourly and added, “As you seem to have discovered.”
They stood in a small overgrown front garden on stepping stones that led to a building half hidden behind trees and fronds of bamboo. Takahashi made no move toward the house.
“Did you hear anything, someone passing in the street or knocking on a gate?” Akitada asked.
“I neither saw nor heard anyone,” Takahashi insisted testily. He cast an impatient glance at his house. “You had better report the matter to the police and be done with it. Not that anything will come of it. The authorities have their own concerns to look after.”
Wondering if this was a sarcastic comment on Soga’s flight, Akitada asked, “You live alone?”
Takahashi said, “I cannot fathom what possible concern that could be under the circumstances. If you are just making conversation, I am busy.”
As if to confirm this, a young male voice called petulantly, “Where are you, sensei? The soup is getting cold.” Footsteps approached and a young man in white silk shirt and trousers appeared from behind the screen of vegetation. He stopped when he saw Akitada in his bedraggled finery. “Oh dear,” he breathed and adjusted his hair and his clothing in an almost girlish manner, “I didn’t know we had company. An injured gentleman of rank. Won’t you ask our guest in?”
Takahashi glared. “Mind your own business. The gentleman is a stranger who was merely asking about the neighbors. Go back and eat. I shall come in a moment.”
The youth pouted, but gave Akitada a regretful smile and a graceful wave of the hand before retreating.
Looking after him, Akitada said, “Perhaps your companion…?”
Takahashi interrupted him. “My student. He heard nothing. We have been at our studies. I resigned from the university and now devote myself to private teaching.”
“I see. Since you have lived here all your life, perhaps you can tell me if any of your neighbors may be likely to shelter a nun.”
“I pay no attention to my neighbors. The place across from me has an absentee owner. He spends most of his time on his estates. I doubt that a man so lacking in any spiritual qualities, or indeed intellectual ones, would have acquaintance with nuns or priests, but he does at least maintain his property. The others are either too young or have outlived their relatives. If that is all…?”
“Thank you. You have been most obliging,” Akitada said with some sarcasm.
Takahashi ignored his tone and unlatched the gate.
Back on the street, Akitada turned. “Who is that rather strange old man in a robe of colored silk patches?”
“That’s Enshin. Calls himself a lay priest now, but he used to be head of the Bureau of Divination. Gone quite mad, of course.” With that, Takahashi slammed the gate in Akitada’s face.
So the beggar had been no beggar at all, but a man who had once held higher rank than Akitada. And he had called him uncle! Akitada hoped that Takahashi was right, and that the old gentleman had lost his mind.
He walked a little farther, found that the next block was taken up by a small overgrown park, hardly a place where a frightened nun would hide, and gave up the search.
It had been a bad day. Not only had he lost the nun, and a promising lead in Tora’s case, but he had been attacked. As he made his way back to the Greater Palace, his good robe in tatters and one side of his face throbbing with pain, he became very angry.
Conditions had never been safe in the capital, but street crimes used to take place at night. These three hoodlums had attempted to rape a nun in broad daylight, and in a quiet upper-class residential area, only blocks from where Tamako tended her garden. She was supposed to take Genba or Tora along on her visits, but Akitada was by no means sure that she did.
It seemed to him a great wrong that nothing had been done to curb crime in the capital. The nobles called meetings and wrung their hands, and the robbers laughed at them. The thugs had felt secure enough to mock him, a ranking government official. The criminal element had seized the power to themselves. Little wonder conditions were bad when men like Soga simply enriched themselves and took to their heels at the first sign of trouble. A man who cannot observe order and restraint in his own conduct cannot instill order and restraint in his subjects.
But Soga was gone and he, Akitada, was now in his place-however temporarily. He had been taught that you must support rectitude if you wish to end corruption, and the Chinese masters placed the responsibility for a peaceful nation squarely on the shoulders of each individual citizen. Well, he would do something about it.
Filled with righteous anger, Akitada stormed into the ministry and his office. He hardly noticed that the sun had set. There was a light in his office. Nakatoshi knelt at his desk, sorting through the day’s letters and appeals. He looked up in surprise. “I didn’t expect you so late, sir,” he stammered. “Everyone has gone home already.” His eyes widened and he rose. “What happened to you?”
“Get your writing things,” snapped Akitada, waving him away and sitting down on his cushion. He pushed the pile of papers aside. “I was attacked by robbers, and this time they have gone too far.”
“How terrible! Let me make you a cold compress for your eye, sir.”
“Never mind my eye. I want you to take this down before I lose my train of thought. And get another candle. It’s too dark in here.” The truth was that he could not see out of his eye and the throbbing pain now extended to the rest of his head.
Nakatoshi gulped and rushed out. When he returned, Akitada waited impatiently for the lighting of the candle and the rubbing of the ink, drumming his fingers on the desk and reviewing points in his mind. When Nakatoshi was ready, he began to dictate a memorial addressed to the emperor. His anger having overcome his natural diffidence, the words flowed from his lips so rapidly that Nakatoshi had a hard time keeping up.
The memorial was a long one. It recited the history of outrages which had occurred in recent memory as well as events from more distant history. Akitada outlined the mistakes which had been made in the past and linked them to their dire results. He spoke of unenforced and unenforceable laws, of poorly trained constables, of the inadequacy of the police force to deal with the rampant conditions of lawlessness in all parts of the city, and of the sweeping imperial pardons which all too frequently released even the most violent criminals to prey again on the inhabitants. He cited past administrations that had dealt with unrest and crime effectively, touched on the present conditions, and proposed new methods of law enforcement and punishment to address them.
Finally he suggested to His Majesty that here was an opportunity to be remembered forever as the sovereign who had brought lasting peace and prosperity to his capital and nation by ending a legacy that had made his officials the mockery of every low criminal roaming the streets. How long, he asked, would it be before foreigners saw the nation’s weakness and invaded the country?
When he was done, Nakatoshi laid down his brush and rubbed his hand. He stared at Akitada with shining eyes. “That was magnificent,” he said. “Will you really send it?”
Akitada found he had a fierce headache and massaged his neck. “Of course. Tomorrow. As soon as I fill in a few missing dates and polish it a little. I’m too tired now.” He rubbed his eyes and winced.
“Will that be entirely wise, sir?”
Akitada looked at the young clerk in surprise. “Wise? I don’t know if it is wise. I only know it must be done and you and I must pray that His Majesty will listen.”
“But, sir, you cannot have thought how this will sound to His Majesty and his present administration. You as much as tell him that he and his ministers are responsible for the present unrest.”
Akitada frowned. “Hmm. Mistakes have been made by previous administrations but, yes, I suppose I do suggest that. The worst abuses have been going on for fifty years or more. They could have done something, anything. Of course, the emperor is still very young, but I’m counting on the fact that this memorial will pass through the chancellor’s hands first.”
“I’m afraid it will.”
Akitada suddenly grinned. “Why are you so worried, Nakatoshi? I’m nobody. If it were not for the fact that I shall be sending this under Soga’s authority, nobody would bother to read it.”
Nakatoshi’s eyes widened. “Surely you won’t sign the minister’s name to it?”
“Of course not. It will bear my name and my seal, but be transmitted through channels under Soga’s cover.”
Now Nakatoshi grinned also. “The minister won’t like that at all.”
“You mean he will demand my resignation?”
They both laughed. Akitada was tired and in pain, but he was also filled with great excitement, suddenly seeing a thousand things he could do, must do, looked forward to doing. He glanced at the stack of papers on his desk-Soga’s desk-almost longingly. But he was too tired tonight and could not concentrate as he should. And revising the memorial would require a clear head. Then there was Tora’s case to look forward to. Or Tomoe’s murder, rather. He thought of the nun. He would find her, but not tonight.
Akitada left the ministry happier than he had felt for a long time and walked into a cheerful gathering at home, where his family was celebrating Tora’s release with a special feast. His swollen eye caused a brief outcry. He had to submit to the application of herbal packs prepared by Seimei and to a scolding from the old man because he had ruined his best robe.
He told them about the mysterious nun and the three thugs and his memorial to the emperor. Then he ate and drank some wine, listening drowsily to Tora’s plans, Yori’s chatter, Seimei’s discussion of herbs to reduce swelling, and wondered only once why Tamako was so quiet.
That night he slept very well.