Kohata was furious. She shouted at Tora. Her frightened client, a fat old man, grabbed frantically for his clothing and stumbled into it.
Tora attempted to calm her down enough to ask her about Hanae, but his time had run out. Footsteps and shouts sounded outside. When he turned, he saw red-coated constables armed with chains and wooden clubs. Behind them came the restaurant’s owner, the boy, the maid, and assorted strangers.
Tora abandoned Kohata and dashed out through the back, vaulting over a balustrade and then scrambling over a fence. Outside, he ran for blocks until the sole of one of his boots came loose, caught, and tripped him. He fell headlong and hard, scraping his left cheek and both elbows on the gravel.
The pain cleared his head a little. He sat up, took off the ruined boot, and tossed it away. Then he got to his feet and limped to Master Ohiya’s house.
Ohiya’s young male servant answered, then tried to slam the door when he saw a disheveled, bleeding man outside. Tora snarled, ‘Out of my way,’ and pushed him aside. He found Ohiya by following drumbeats to a large room at the back of his house. Ohiya himself was beating the drum, seated cross-legged on the wooden floor while a young girl went through a dance routine and three others awaited their turn.
The girls were very young, under fifteen, and they squealed when Tora burst through the doorway.
Ohiya looked up, cried, ‘Oh!’ and stopped drumming. In a shaking voice, he asked, ‘What do you want?’
Tora cast a glance at the frightened girls huddling in a corner and said, ‘Sorry. I need a word.’
Ohiya’s eyes blinked, then narrowed in recognition. ‘Tora? What is this? How dare you burst in here like this!’
‘Hanae’s gone. Stolen. I know who has her, but I don’t know where she is. You’ve got to help me, Ohiya.’
Ohiya got to his feet. He was a slender man in his forties who whitened his face and touched his lips with red safflower juice. Today he wore his working clothes: a black silk robe under an embroidered jacket. The jacket was sufficiently feminine that, in spite of his tall figure and the male hairstyle, it and the make-up made his gender vaguely dubious. This was one of the reasons Tora despised him.
Now Ohiya curled his lip and said, ‘You look disgusting. What dog has dragged you out of the gutter?’
Tora bared his teeth and advanced on him. The girls squealed again and put their arms around each other. ‘Don’t play with me, Ohiya. Either you help me find her or I’ll know you had a hand in this.’
Ohiya skipped a few steps away. ‘Don’t you dare touch me, you brute.’
Tora backed the dance master against the wall. Leaning forward until they were practically nose to nose, he snarled, ‘Tell me where Sadanori’s hidden her or I’ll make sure that you never dance again.’
‘I know nothing,’ Ohiya squealed. ‘Don’t touch me, you monster!’
Tora held a fist under his nose, and Ohiya screamed for help. Outside, other shouts answered. A moment later the room was full of burly men, some of them constables. Next, Tora was clubbed over the head and thrown on the floor, with two hefty men sitting on him and an excited babble of voices dinning into his ears. Waves of pain, fragments of Ohiya’s complaints, prattle from the four little maidens, questions by constables, and excited chatter from neighbors and bystanders washed over him like a deluge – along with the knowledge that he had bungled the most important job of his life. He closed his eyes.
TEN
Akitada eyed the sleazy painted banners and garish paper lanterns with distaste. In his view, prostitution undermined the family structure and contributed nothing to the welfare of the country. Tora was an excellent example of how it corrupted promising young men.
Not to mention women.
A very young girl rushed from the door of an adjacent house and almost collided with him. She was hardly more than ten or twelve, and already painted and garbed like a courtesan. For a moment they stared at each other, then she raised her painted fan and smiled at him over it, while her dainty little figure performed a perfect replica of a seductive wiggle. He scowled so fiercely that she lowered her fan, gathered her skirts, and ran away down the street.
Akitada had not set foot in this part of the capital in years, and even then he had only come in search of a killer. In broad daylight the quarter was hardly romantic, in spite of the many willows that gave it its name. After sunset the many-colored lanterns hanging from trees and doorways would be lit to suggest that the visitor had wandered into the abode of heavenly maidens. There would be music then, too, and laughter, and beautiful women dancing – or what passed for beautiful women in that light and in expensive silk gowns. But their business was anything but heavenly.
At the moment only old women and plain-faced maids were out, sweeping or shopping for food. Now and then a poorly-dressed youth ran down the street, carrying a message to one of the courtesans or purchases from silk merchants, comb makers, or incense shops. Inside the shuttered houses, the ‘beauties’, no doubt, still slept after the night’s labors, or gathered in their wrappers to gossip about their customers.
The encounter with the young girl had not improved Akitada’s temper. The day was hot already and humid. Akitada’s formal robe clung uncomfortably to his back and waist, and his arm still ached. Sweat gathered beneath the silk ribbons of his hat and itched. He had no idea how to proceed in his search, but thought that Tora’s latest flirt would be fairly easy to find. In all likelihood, Tora was with her, and if he was not, then she would know where he had gone.
Satisfied with his reasoning, he asked a messenger boy for the office of the warden. The warden maintained a record of all the prostitutes registered in the Willow Quarter.
A neatly dressed constable stood under the lantern that identified the ward office. He bowed and ushered Akitada into a large room, where they interrupted the warden, a fat man in a blue silk robe, in his midday meal. A large number of savory-smelling dishes surrounded him and reminded Akitada that he was getting hungry himself. The warden took in Akitada’s appearance and suppressed his irritation. He put down his bowl and bowed.
Akitada cut through a long string of flowery phrases of welcome to demand information about Hanae.
The warden raised his brows. ‘A courtesan?’ he asked. ‘We have so many. The name doesn’t ring a bell. She’s not of the first or second rank.’ He gave Akitada an oily smile. ‘One gets to know the great beauties quickly, and we have the best. I could easily put your honor in touch with a very reliable person to advise and arrange a meeting?’
Akitada glared. ‘I am not here to buy an hour with a prostitute,’ he snapped. ‘A member of my household has disappeared. The woman Hanae may know his whereabouts.’
‘I doubt that one of our ladies is responsible, but if it is indeed an urgent matter, I could search the records.’ The warden glanced at his half-eaten food. ‘It might take a while,’ he added pointedly.
Akitada did not like the man and cared nothing about spoiling his meal. He sat down and stared around the room, while the warden pulled down document boxes and ledgers from shelves. This warden’s office looked more like a gentleman’s study than a place where the law was enforced. Cushions awaited guests; a brazier and wine flask stood ready. Whatever tools of trade the warden used must be neatly tucked away in wooden trunks so as not to frighten away good clients. Akitada scowled. An immoral business corrupted even the authorities.
‘How do you keep order in a place like this?’ he asked irritably.