As Tora moved towards the door, Akitada cast one more glance around. When he turned to leave, he accidentally kicked the prayer mat out of place. It was an old one, but very beautifully woven and bound with embroidered silk around the edges. He bent to lift it and found the floor was solid underneath. "Well," he said with a sigh, "I did not expect to find anything. After all, they must have checked the building carefully. Come back here, Tora, and help me put the mat back."
Tora returned reluctantly and picked up one end. "Let's turn it," he said. "It looks better on the other side."
It was quite true. The mat was less faded, and the colors in the embroidery shone brighter. But it was slightly stained. Akitada knelt and looked at the stain closely. It was a small brown smudge, on the surface of the fibers only. He moistened a finger with his tongue and rubbed at it. A faint trace of brown appeared on his skin, and he smelled it.
"What's the matter?" asked Tora.
"Blood," said Akitada grimly.
"Hah!" Tora backed away. "So he died here."
"Perhaps. It is interesting, but there isn't very much of it. And it may not be Yoakira's."
"I bet it is." Tora glanced at the image and shivered. "What if something supernatural got him?" he asked.
"No."
"The blood! There are demons that tear people to pieces and eat them. Let's get out of here!" He started towards the door again.
But Akitada was staring at some white dust on the floor. "That was not here before," he said, pointing. "It must have fallen from the mat when we turned it."
Tora glanced back over his shoulder. "Some dirt. Monks are not good housekeepers, I guess."
Akitada crouched to investigate the dust. It was white and powdery. He rubbed it between his fingers and tasted it. "Rice flour," he said, straightening up.
"Maybe some of the monks brought it in," Tora called from the safety of the veranda.
"Hmm." Akitada wiped his hands on his robe and cast a last glance at the Buddha figure. He realized that it represented Amitabha. The carved face was painted in brilliant colors, the eyes a clear brown and the lips a deep red. Bright jewels encircled his neck and arms. Suddenly one of the jewels around his neck moved. Akitada stepped closer and saw that a very large fly, an iridescent bluebottle, sluggish in the stale warmth, was slowly rubbing its wings. No doubt the fresh air coming from the open door had roused it from its stupor. He waved at it with his hand, and watched it rise with an angry buzz. For a few moments, it droned around the image with bumbling, disoriented flight before settling again somewhere in the murky darkness. Shaking his head, Akitada blew out the candles and left.
Together they went down the steps into the small courtyard, but here Akitada paused to look back at the hall. "I wonder," he said, "what is behind the building. Let's go look."
Dense underbrush and trees grew up against the walls of the old hall. They fought their way through and found a narrow path that angled off from the hall towards the main temple complex. They followed this along the wall of the building until it reached the back and a deep gully which separated the hall from the hillside behind it. Here the path ended on a rocky ledge.
"What do you suppose that is for?" Akitada muttered.
"I don't know, but someone's been here recently." Tora pointed to broken branches on a shrub.
They looked out across the gully to the mountainside which rose like a green wall, covered with vines, ferns and many small trees that clung precariously to small cracks in the rock. A lizard had been sunning itself on the ledge and disappeared into a hole with a sinuous curling of its tail.
"It's weird. There's nothing here but that funny flat slab of rock," said Tora. "Why would anybody beat a path to it?"
The slab was about the size of half a tatami mat and covered with moss and lichen. Akitada bent and touched a dark spot, rubbing the residue between his fingers. "Oil," he said, smelling his fingers, and added, "Cheap oil. We use a better quality in our lanterns. Someone has been here in the dark with an oil lamp." Akitada straightened up and scanned the ravine. Suddenly a strange idea occurred to him. It was so startling that he felt his stomach lurch, and for a moment he refused to believe it. "Tora," he asked, "can you make out that odd-shaped gray rock over there on the other side?"
"Looks like some kind of statue carved out of the stone. A Buddha, I think."
"Yes. The monks come here to worship, and at least once someone was here in the dark. Go back to the courtyard for a moment and listen."
"What for?"
"Never mind! Just go!"
Tora left, shaking his head, and Akitada wracked his brains for some lines from a sutra. His religious education left much to be desired at times. Well, anything would serve. Raising his voice a little, he recited the first poem that came to his mind: "The fires lit by the guards at the Imperial Palace gates, / Blazing bright by night, are damped down at daybreak: / So smolder my heart's thoughts…" He broke off, realizing that he had inadvertently quoted from a poem of unrequited love. It was a particularly apt description of pain, he thought bitterly.
Tora burst from the shrubbery, looking around. "What fire? Is there a fire?"
"No fire. I just wanted to know if you could hear me."
"Oh, I heard you. If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn it was someone inside the hall."
"I hoped so," said Akitada. "Think about the miraculous disappearance for a moment. The only proof we have that the prince was here one moment and gone the next is that five witnesses, not counting Sakanoue, testified to his chanting the sutra inside the hall."
Tora's eyes grew round. "You think someone else was back here doing the sutra chanting because the prince was already dead? What did they do with his body?"
"I suspect the prince never came here. The murderer impersonated him."
"Sakanoue? How could he? The driver saw the prince get in the carriage and then get out again here."
"It was dark until the sun came up. Remember, we could not see the faces of those we passed on the way here. Sakanoue could have worn the prince's ceremonial robe and ridden in the carriage with no one being the wiser." Akitada paused, then muttered, "Except for the prince's white hair. That might have been seen even in the dark." Suddenly he slapped a fist into his hand. "Of course! That is what he used the rice flour for! Tora, I tell you, that is the way it was done. The prince was killed in his rooms in the capital." Akitada nodded vigorously and then took Tora's arm. "Come on! All we have to do now is solve a few minor difficulties."
They burst through the shrubbery into the courtyard, startling a young, red-cheeked monk, who had been looking around as if he had lost something.
"Oh, there you are," he cried when he saw them. "I saw the horses and wondered what had become of you."
Akitada said, "My friend and I were passing and decided to visit the famous site. It was most instructive. We have just been admiring the sacred figure behind the hall. Is it true that special benefits accrue from its worship?" He untied the reins of his horse.
"Oh, yes indeed, sir. You mean the image of Yakushi, the Healing Buddha, I think," cried the young monk eagerly. Taking note of Akitada's silk clothes and his servant, he suggested, "If you like, you can arrange to have sutra readings performed in your absence. May I show you the way to the recorder's office?"
Akitada accepted. The monk led the way, chattering about the wonders of the temple and the power of prayers said there. They followed, leading their horses, passing rows of monks' cells, where four or five young novices, stripped naked, splashed noisily in a large tub of water. Their guide proudly pointed out several halls of impressive size, the Great Buddha Hall and a beautifully detailed small sutra depository. Their destination was near the main gate and, to reach it, they had to pass by stables, noisy at this hour with the sounds of horses and grooms.