Akitada knew he had been too harsh with Tora and Genba. How could he expect them to be all business on their first night out in the capital? So what if after years of near abstinence, Genba had been attracted to a woman who, from all accounts, combined feminine wiles with an interest in competitive sports? Such a thing was natural and human. And Tora had pursued every available light-skirt in town because that was his nature. The quarrel had been provoked by the actor Danjuro, not Tora. A man like Tora could not tolerate insults; his respectability had been too hard-won. No, the fault for all this trouble lay with himself, with his cursed temper. Instead of dealing calmly with the strain produced by recent events, he had flared up and become judgmental and punitive.
With a sigh, Akitada got up, folded his bedding, put it away, and started dressing. He felt old and tired. Apparently neither age nor experience had corrected his character flaws.
He thought about the Nagaoka case, where he had made no progress whatsoever because of all the family distractions. The wretched prisoner remained in custody and at the mercy of the brutal guards and their bamboo whips. The man had not fit the image Akitada had formed of him, that of an upstart commoner who seduces unprotected daughters of the aristocracy in hopes of bettering himself, and so he had made a poor job of questioning him. The truth of it was that Akitada could not even dislike this Kojiro who had caused all the trouble in his home. The man had behaved with unexpected dignity and courage. And Nagaoka had proved to be a man of culture, well-read and knowledgeable. This did not, of course, clear him of suspicion in his wife’s murder.
Akitada paced, considering the case against Nagaoka. Nagaoka took an interest in the theater, and actors stayed at the temple on the night of the murder. Nagaoka could have hired one of them to kill his wife when he discovered her infidelity. Tora, for all his prejudices, had been quite right about actors. An acting job, particularly with a traveling troupe, was often a cover for all sorts of criminals on the run from the authorities. What better place to find a killer for hire?
It had been foolish to dismiss Genba and Tora before they had had time for a full report, and even more foolish to prevent Tora from getting information from the girl acrobat.
Still feeling languid and vaguely ill, though the headache was much better, Akitada thought some tea might help. It was early and Seimei was probably still asleep. Making his way to the kitchen, where the sleepy-eyed maid Kumoi was just starting the water for the morning rice gruel, he made himself a pot of tea and took it back to his room.
Sipping on the veranda outside his study, he looked at his garden. It was barely dawn, but the clouds seemed to be clearing. In the pine, some sparrows rustled, chirping softly. The fish were sluggish. He must get them some food.
Seimei appeared suddenly. He glanced at the teacup in Akitada’s hand and apologized for having overslept, adding, “Genba is outside, sir. He begs for a moment of your time.”
“Good! Ask him to come!”
Genba came to him hesitantly, head still hanging low. He stood for a moment, awkwardly clenching and unclenching his big fists, then said hoarsely, “We are very sorry, sir.”
“Sit down, Genba.” Akitada made his tone friendly. “I have been too harsh and forgot that neither you nor Tora have had any leisure since our return. You have both served faithfully during the long years of hardship up north and on the strenuous journey back. Then you got back and had to deal with ruined stables and a funeral. I should have been more appreciative. Instead I lost my temper. Please forgive me, and take the rest of the day and the night off. Tomorrow we will discuss your new assignments.”
Genba’s face broke into a wide grin. “Whew!” he cried fervently. “Thank you, sir. But you were quite right. We shouldn’t have quarreled. Well, I came to tell you, we’ve made up. Tora’s been worried because you wouldn’t let him go see the little acrobat. He told her to meet him in the Willow Quarter, which is not a good place to send a nice young girl on her own.”
“I am sure she came to no harm.” Akitada wondered why Tora should be concerned about the reputation of a girl who had agreed so readily to sleep with him on first acquaintance. “You said very little yesterday. Do you have anything to add to Tora’s report?”
Genba scratched his head. His once-shaven pate was once again covered with a thick brush of hair not yet long enough to twist on top. Genba attempted to make it lie down flat by wetting it periodically and plastering it as close to his skull as he could. But as it dried, stubborn sections of hair popped up again. Having disturbed the careful arrangement, he quickly patted it back down. Watching him, Akitada noticed for the first time that Genba was turning gray. He had never asked his age but guessed that Genba must be well into his forties.
“About Tora’s worries, sir. Miss Plumblossom, the lady who runs the training hall, is very concerned about some villain who’s been going around slashing prostitutes. Her maid’s one of the bastard’s victims. She must’ve been good-looking until she lost her nose and part of her upper lip. Her whole face is a mess, what with all the knife scars. Being disfigured like that, she couldn’t work anymore and was starving. She was going through the refuse behind the training hall when Miss Plumblossom found her.”
Akitada frowned. There seemed to be many stories of disfigurement recently, but the matter hardly concerned him. “It is horrible, of course, but prostitution provokes abnormal behavior in some men,” he said carelessly. “Has she identified her attacker to the police?”
Genba shook his head. “Prostitutes don’t complain to the authorities. And she may not have got a good look at him. Probably met him on a dark street and went home with him. Miss Plumblossom says some people found her half dead in an abandoned temple. They thought she’d been attacked by demons.”
This sounded familiar, but Akitada could not immediately place it and put it from his mind. “A terrible tale,” he said, “but I don’t see that it helps us with the actors. We know they spent the night at the temple. Did they talk about the murder?”
“No. And that’s a bit queer. Tora says nobody would talk to him after Danjuro warned them off. By the way, the maid was spying on Tora and his girl and he grabbed her. She bit his hand and ran off screeching that she’d been attacked.”
“Not surprising under the circumstances,” Akitada said dryly.
“There’s some trouble between the actors and Danjuro. Seems Uemon recently turned over the running of the troupe to Danjuro, who’s come into some money.”
“Hmm.” Akitada slowly shook his head. “I don’t see that any of this gets us closer to the Nagaoka case. Well, perhaps Tora will have better luck with his girl tonight. If he turns up nothing, either, we will have to start interviewing the monks.”
Having made his peace with Tora and Genba, Akitada decided to speak to his wife.
Tamako was up, peering into a large round silver mirror. The shutters of the room were still closed, but daylight seeped in. Only a single candle was burning next to her, and in the golden light and the soft rosy glow from the glowing coals in the brazier, she looked ethereal. She was still in her undergown of white silk, which alternately clung and floated as she moved, revealing and concealing the soft curves of her body. Akitada felt a strong surge of desire, and an even stronger need to hold and touch her.
She barely looked up. “Forgive me, Akitada. I am hurrying to get dressed. It was a long day yesterday, and I overslept. Do you mind terribly if I go on with my makeup?”
Crushed, he turned to go. “No,” he mumbled, “of course not. I just came to … talk.”