Kosehira listened to Haseo’s story with shock and pity. His suffering and that of his family brought tears to his eyes.
“We cannot charge Yasugi,” Akitada ended, “but I think the nation owes it to Haseo to return his family name and property to his children.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Kosehira. “I shall put it to His Majesty myself. No, better. You shall come and tell him what you just told me. He’s a very softhearted young man, even if he’s the emperor. And that reminds me. Do you remember his uncle? That priestly fellow who watched us pray for His Majesty?”
Akitada did and made a face. “I hope he doesn’t remember me!”
Kosehira laughed. “On the contrary! He hasn’t forgotten. He thinks you saved His Majesty’s life when you made the Buddha nod and has proposed a very nice reward for you.”
“That is kind of him,” said Akitada weakly. The irony that he should be rewarded for an act of impudence and blasphemy struck him as a perfect example of the futility of all human hopes.
The children had been quiet on the journey to the capital, and Tora was both thankful and worried. He kept glancing at them. Each had wept briefly and then accepted the inevitable without questions. Nobunari sat his horse well and held his sister’s slight figure with protective care.
When they passed the market, it occurred to Tora that they might be hungry. “Shall we stop for some noodle soup?” he asked. “The restaurant just inside the market gate makes a very tasty broth with buckwheat noodles.”
Nobunari glanced toward the market tower. “I would like to see where my mother worked, but we have no money.”
“My treat.” Tora paid an urchin to watch their horses and took the children to the drum tower. The market was still thin of shoppers and vendors, but people looked hopeful again. The fortune-teller sat in his old spot on the platform and greeted them. Tora introduced the children.
The fortune-teller looked at them and smiled. He said, “You must be very proud of her. She was a good person and strong for a woman, but candles are consumed as they give light.”
Nobunari looked around the market and announced in a fierce, loud voice, “I’m going to find her killer and cut off his head.”
People stopped to stare. Tora asked quickly, “Any news of Kata?”
The fortune-teller nodded. “The police raided his school and found a body. People say it was the beggar who used to hang around here. Nobody liked him, but to dismember a person while he’s still alive is the work of demons.” He shuddered.
Tora thought of his escape from the hut. Apparently Kata’s gang had taken their fury out on the beggar. He suddenly felt sick.
Nobunari had listened. “That must be the beggar my mother mentioned. I’m glad he’s dead.”
Seized by a sudden suspicion, Tora asked, “What did your mother say about him?”
“That he was always hanging around, making rude suggestions, and scooping up her coppers because she couldn’t see. Mother could see a little, though. She could tell it was him bending down and she could hear the coppers clinking and his nails scraping the floor.”
Tora thought about this and something else. Tomoe had mentioned her stalker’s stench. Tora’s nose was not as fine as hers, but he remembered that the beggar had been filthy and foul-smelling. Then he remembered the day he had stumbled over the beggar and the half-healed scratches on the man’s face and neck. And a piece of silver Kata had given Tomoe the day she died. When the gang had searched Tora and the beggar and found Matsue’s document on Tora, they had also had found a silver coin on the beggar. Coins were not always uniform. It seemed to Tora now that Kata had looked strangely at that coin and the beggar. What if the slimy creature had seen Kata pass the coin to Tomoe and had followed her home to rob her? And to rape her in the bargain. Tora growled under his breath.
A small voice demanded, “What’s the matter, Tora?”
Tora gulped and managed a smile for Tomoe’s daughter. “I’m hungry. What about you? Shall we go sample the noodles?”
“Oh yes. Please.”
They parted from the fortune-teller and walked across to the restaurant where Tora had last entertained their mother’s killer. The thought sickened him, but he ordered three bowls of the special noodles and felt better when he saw the children eat hungrily. No point in troubling them with the story of their mother’s murder, but he could not wait to lay his discovery before his master.
Akitada was anxious about the children and went home early. To his relief, Tora had just returned with them. Akitada’s lack of confidence made him doubt such luck, and he looked them over, touched them, and asked them questions before speaking to anyone else. He found them subdued, but they were such nice children, so handsome and well-spoken, that their composure in the face of their own loss was a lesson to him.
Tamako hovered nearby, and Seimei also. Their eyes were moist with emotion. There were children in the house again.
Tora, a fierce and exultant look on his face, pulled Akitada out into the corridor and closed the door. “I know who did it,” he said, “but I don’t think we should tell them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know who killed Tomoe. I figured it out. Remember the beggar in the market? Remember how filthy he was? Well, Nobunari says his mother complained about some stinking beggar pestering her and stealing her money. I think the bastard saw Kata give her a piece of silver and followed her home that evening.”
Akitada thought about it. He did remember the beggar who had felt his robe and called Tomoe a whore. It made sense: not revenge by Matsue, nor a plot by Yasugi against the Tomonari family, but a common everyday crime among the poor. “I think you’re right,” he said. “I should have seen it myself. You were certainly more observant. Only how are we to prove his guilt after all this time?”
Tora blushed at the compliment. “No need to prove it. The filthy bastard’s dead. Kata took care of him when he found out that the beggar had killed his good luck.” Tora sighed. “I should’ve walked her home that night.”
“It was more my fault than yours, because I would not let you. But I think you must let the police know. I want your name cleared once and for all, and they have the means to round up Kata and his men to get proof that the beggar killed Tomoe. We don’t even know his name.”
Tora’s face fell comically, but then he grinned. “Good. That’ll give me the chance to tell that patronizing bastard Ihara that I’ve solved his miserable case for him.”
Akitada spent the rest of the day with his family and young guests. He watched his wife fuss over the children as if she were their mother. She saw to it that they were bathed, measured them for new clothes, brushed Nobuko’s hair and tied it with one of her ribbons, and asked them what their favorite foods were.
He wondered if she, too, needed to fill the emptiness in their home and in her heart. Perhaps her coldness had been a matter of preserving a hard-won outer calm. When Haseo’s little daughter made an amusing comment, he found himself smiling at Tamako and was foolishly glad to see her smile back.
They had not begun to grieve, and there were still many unresolved matters between them, but time and effort might change that. Perhaps some day there might be another child, and they could build a new life together. Akitada accepted that the fault had been his more than Tamako’s. He did not know if he could change his nature, but at that moment he made a silent promise that he would try to be a better husband.
There was one more task to be done. After the evening rice, Akitada went to get Haseo’s sword and, with a formal bow, he placed it into Nobunari’s hands. “This was your father’s,” he said, deeply moved by the moment. “It’s yours now, along with his title. And his lands will shortly be yours also. Make sure that you honor your father’s memory. He was a good and brave man. And watch over your father’s family so that none will ever go hungry or homeless again.”