Masahira sighed and rose. “Come on. I will take you myself. If you are right about its being murder, it would be a terrible thing, but at least I would not feel that Tomoe killed herself because of me.”
Akitada had not expected the offer or the sentiment from such a powerful man and was surprised again.
They rode — Masahira had superb horses — and crossed the city quickly. In the western district they entered an almost rural setting. There were few villas and some, now abandoned, had become overgrown with vegetation. Empty lots were covered with tall meadow grass alive with rabbits and deer. They passed a few small temples, their steep pagodas rising above the trees, but the streets were mere dirt tracks and the bridges, which crossed small rivers and canals, were dilapidated.
Yet here and there, in the midst of the desolation, a few secluded mansions and villas survived, their rustic fencing in good repair and the thatched roofs mended. Masahira stopped at one of these, dismounted, and unlatched the gate.
At that moment a curious figure detached itself from the shadows of the large willow tree at the street corner and walked towards them.
At first glance the scrawny man appeared to be a monk dressed in a stained and worn saffron robe, his head shaven and the wooden begging bowl, dangling from the hemp rope about his skinny middle, bouncing with every shuffling step. When he reached them, he stopped and stared slack-jawed and with vacant eyes. Akitada saw that he wore several small wooden tablets with crude inscriptions around his neck.
“He’s just a mendicant,” said Masahira. “They live in small temples around here.” He tossed a few copper coins to the man while Akitada rode into the courtyard. Dismounting, he glanced over his shoulder at the beggar, who had not picked up the money but was still standing, staring foolishly after them until Masahira closed the gate.
They stood in a small courtyard of a charming house in the old style, all darkened wood and sweeping thatched roof.
Akitada looked curiously about him. A stone path led to the front door and continued around the side of the house to what must be the garden. The cicadas were singing their high-pitched song in the trees.
Inside there was only one large room, but this had been furnished luxuriously with screens, thick mats, silk bedding, and lacquered clothes chests. There was also an assortment of amusements suitable for an aristocratic young lady. A zither lay next to a beautiful set of writing implements, games rested beside several novels and picture books, and a set of cosmetics and combs accompanied an elegant silver mirror. Three tall wooden racks were draped with gowns of silk and brocade in the most elegant shades and detailing, and Akitada counted no fewer than five fans scattered about. In the short time since she had left her father’s house Tomoe had been spoiled by her noble lover. He looked around for evidence of the sister’s having been here but found nothing.
Masahira wandered dazedly about the room, touching things. He brushed a hand over one of the gowns, then picked up a fan, looked at it, and let it drop again. “Well?” he asked.
“I understand that you could not spend much time with Tomoe,” said Akitada, “but I have been wondering why she did not have at least a servant for companion?”
“There was a need for secrecy at first. I wished to keep the affair from my household. Tomoe herself insisted that she needed no one. But as I said, I thought surely her sister—” he passed a hand over his face “—at any event, she became fearful. The foxes make strange sounds at night. She was not used to it. She developed a fear that I might meet with an accident and never return. She had dreadful dreams. One day I found her nearly incoherent. That was when I decided to bring her into my home.” He sighed deeply. “Too late.”
Akitada looked around the room distractedly. This had been the second reference Masahira had made to the sister. Had Otomi known of this place? If so, why had she lied? In his mind’s eye he saw again the complacent look on the plain girl’s face as she stood beside her father and said, “My sister is very beautiful.”
He became aware of the fact that Masahira was looking at him and said quickly, “May I see the pond now? And perhaps you could tell me how you came to find her body.”
Masahira nodded. He led the way into the garden. They followed stepping stones through dense shrubbery, but trees and weeds had grown up around the path and brushed and tore at their clothes. All around them the cicadas’ sound pulsed, pausing as they passed and resuming again.
“I went home to speak to my wife,” continued Masahira, holding a branch aside for Akitada. “To my surprise, she was immediately receptive to the idea. You must understand that I have no other women, and my wife is childless. She confessed that she looked forward to raising my children by Tomoe and to having her companionship. Overjoyed, I rushed back to tell Tomoe.” He fell abruptly silent.
The stepping stones only went as far as a stone lantern. Here Masahira turned right. “The pond is this way,” he said. His voice shook a little. In a distance Akitada could hear frogs croaking. There was no sign of foxes, but the dense shrubbery rustled with animal life.
They emerged from the trees. The pond lay before them, basking in the hot sun.
“When I got to the house, it was empty,” Masahira said, staring at the still water with a shiver. “I was puzzled, for I knew Tomoe was afraid of the garden, but eventually I went to search for her there. I almost turned around when I got to the pond without seeing her.”
The pond was shaped like a gourd and they were standing near its widest end. Up ahead where it narrowed, a small bridge arched across a dense growth of water lilies and lotus. Clouds of small gnats hung low over the water, and dragonflies skimmed the surface. The sound of the cicadas was less strident here, but the atmosphere of the pond, stagnant in the summer heat and choked with vegetation, embraced them like a suffocating shroud.
Masahira pointed to a thorny shrub near the path. “I saw a small piece of silk there and knew she had come this way. That was when I went to look in the water.” He walked forward to the muddy edge and stared down. “She was here.”
Akitada joined him. The water was brown but not deep. He could see the muddy bottom, pitted here and there by the feet of the sergeant and his constable. A huge silver carp appeared, rose briefly to look at them, and sank again. Other fish, fat, their colors dull grey and copper in the muddy water, shifted lazily across the mud, and a large frog, suddenly conscious of their presence, jumped in with a splash and swam away. In this neglected garden human beings were the intruders.
Masahira said, “She could have slipped and fallen. But I cannot imagine what would have brought her out here.”
Akitada glanced across to where a fallen pine projected over the water. “There are the foxes,” he said.
Two young cubs had climbed up and looked at them curiously. Masahira cursed, clapping his hands sharply. The cubs yelped and ran. A moment later their mother appeared, a handsome vixen with a long bushy tail, her ears pointed and her sharp nose twitching to catch their scent.
Masahira clapped again, but the fox stood her ground. “They behave as if they owned this place,” he complained. “I shall have workmen clean up this wilderness and drain the pond.” He turned abruptly and walked back.
Akitada stayed another moment, looking at the fox. Then he also turned to go.
What had happened here? He no longer suspected Masahira. It was clear that he had loved the girl and had made arrangements to bring her into his family. Who then? The envious sister? A jealous lover? Or a stranger, some vagrant coming across the lonely girl? The image of the scarecrow monk flashed into his mind, and he hurried after Masahira.