“What about the garden?”
“When you’re done. We’ll meetby that bridge over there.”
Akitada strode down thegallery, flinging open doors, checking more empty rooms. One of them containeda large painting of three ships at sea, the same ships, unless he was mistaken,as those in the harbor. Some odd-sized document rolls lay stacked on a largechest and he quickly unrolled the top one. It was a map, carefully prepared, ofan unidentified shoreline. Strange symbols marked the land, and lines separatedprovinces and districts. On the water tiny fleets approached harbors. He wasabout to roll it up again, when he noticed one of the symbols. It was theemblem drawn by Takesuke’s soldier, from the mysterious banner carried by someof Uesugi’s troops. Proof that Sunada was at the heart of the conspiracy.
Akitada ran down the steps atthe corner of the building and joined Genba on the bridge.
“Well?” he asked, seeing Genba’sface.
“The whole wing’s one hugeroom, sir. But I couldn’t get in. It’s locked.”
“Come,” cried Akitada runningahead. “That must be where he is. Couldn’t you force the door?”-this last in atone of frustration. Genba was, after all, immensely strong. If he could liftand toss a trained giant from the ring, why could he not break open a meredoor?
The answer became obvious. Thiswas no ordinary door. Its hinged, double-sided panels were made of thick slabsof oiled wood and embossed with bronze plates incised with gildedornamentation. The locking mechanism was hidden in a bronze plate decoratedwith the same emblem as on the banners and the maps, only here there was nodoubt what it represented: an ear of rice. And now Akitada understood the largewarehouses outside. No doubt they held a good part of the province’s riceharvests. The crest was that of a rice merchant. Sunada.
Akitada listened at the door.Nothing. Inside all was as silent as a grave. He turned away when he heard acry of pain in the garden. They rushed down the stairs and along a path thatled into the shrubberies. At a fork, they separated. Akitada found a rusticgarden house, little more than a tiled roof supported by slender woodencolumns. A heavy layer of dead vines curtained it. He thought he saw the vinesmove and flung the brittle tangle aside. Nothing. He turned to leave whensomeone flung himself on him, knocking him down.
“Got you, bastard!” snarledTora, yanking Akitada’s arms back. Akitada shouted at the pain in his shoulder,and the rest was confusion, because Genba arrived next and swung at Tora,knocking him across the narrow space and against one of the pillars. With acrash, the pillar gave and the garden house collapsed.
They disentangled themselves.Tora rubbed his back. “Sorry, sir. When I saw someone slipping into the gardenhouse, I. . .”
“And I heard the master cryout,” Genba said, “and thought some scoundrel had got hold of him. This is avery strange place. Where are all of Sunada’s people? There is nobody here butus and two old cripples. Why surround yourself with cripples when you’re asrich as Sunada?”
Akitada massaged his throbbingshoulder. “Sunada is a strange character. I remember he behaved with the utmosthumility at Takata, but in the city he swaggered among the merchants andattempted to control my staff. Apparently he lives alone here, in a house whichis large and empty-for we have seen neither bedding nor clothes boxes for afamily-yet in the city he keeps women and indulges in lavish and luxuriousparties. He hires cutthroats to intimidate the little people outside, butemploys injured fishermen who can no longer make a living on the sea.”
“Fishermen?” Genba asked,surprised.
“The two servants. Both of themare local men by their dialect and both are maimed.”
“No wonder they wouldn’t helpus.”
“Yes. But I wonder why thehouseman looked so worried.” Akitada turned to Tora. “Did you see anythingunusual?”
Tora grumbled, “This wholeplace is haunted. There are ghosts in the trees playing lutes.”
Genba laughed. “You’ve got tostop seeing ghosts all the time, Tora. It’s addling your brains.”
“Playing lutes?” said Akitada,grasping Tora’s arm. “Where did you hear that? Show me!”
Tora retraced his steps. Suddenly,faintly, through the whistling of the wind in the boughs, they heard it.Someone was playing a lute.
Tora froze. “There. That’s whatI heard.”
Akitada pursued the sound,followed by Genba and, reluctantly, Tora. They broke through a thicket at theend of the property and stood before a small pavilion. Beyond, the dunes beganand sere grasses grew all around and up to its bleached wooden steps. The windwas loud here, but so was the sound of a lute, inexpertly plucked, buthauntingly sad in this desolate place.
Akitada’s face was grim. Heturned and said, “Both of you wait here till I call you.”
He walked quickly up the stepsof the small veranda, almost stumbling over the huddled shape of the one-armedservant who was cowering there, and flung open the door.
The room was tiny. All itcontained were a pristine grass mat and the owner of the estate. If he hadnoticed Akitada’s abrupt entrance, he gave no sign.
Sunada sat hunched over abeautiful lute, muttering to himself as he picked out a vaguely familiar tune. “Thesnows will come, and the snows will go,” he sang softly, “and then my heartwill melt into a flood of tears.”
“A famous old tune,” Akitadaremarked, closing the door behind him. “Where did you learn it?”
Sunada did not look up. “She usedto sing it.” His voice was brittle, like the dried leaves of the summerhouse. “Shesang beautifully. Astounding in someone of her class. I fell in love with herwhen I first heard her. Of course, there was also her physical beauty, butother girls had that.” He paused to pluck more notes, random ones, and smiled. “Ihave traveled far and had many women. She was like none of them.”
Akitada quietly lowered himselfto the floor.
“How did you find me?” Sunadaasked almost casually.
“The lute. The curio dealertold me that the woman Ofumi had one that was so rare and expensive that itcould only be purchased by you.”
“Ah. I did not plan this. Onedoes not plan an obsession. Imagine. The daughter of peasants and wife of adoss-house keeper on the post road! She could not speak properly when I firstmet her.’’
“How did you meet?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Purechance. The Omeya woman used to find entertainment for me. One day I came tomake arrangements for a small party and found her giving lute lessons to aperfect goddess. I canceled the party and spent the night with my goddessinstead.”
“She was willing?” Akitadathought of the widow’s claims that she had been forced to submit to Mrs. Omeya’scustomer.
Sunada finally looked at him,surprised. With a cynical grimace, he said, “Naturally-eager even, as soon asthe old one explained who I was. Oh, I always knew Ofumi for what she was, butI wanted her, needed her …” He grimaced again and broke off. Raising the lutewith both hands above his head, he brought it down violently, smashing thedelicate inlaid woods into splinters, and tearing at the strings with franticfingers until the wires parted with a sound that hung in the room like ascream, and blood ran from his hands.
“It was you who killed her,wasn’t it?” Akitada said softly.
“Dear heaven!” Sunada looked athis bleeding hands and began to weep. “This woman whom I raised from the gutterto become my consort, for whom I built and furnished this house, for whom I didunimaginable things-she betrayed me. Betrayed me with an oaf of asoldier. One of yours, Governor.” He clutched his head and rocked back andforth in his grief.
“You did not answer myquestion,” Akitada persisted.
Sunada lowered his hands andlooked at Akitada. “Come, Governor, don’t plague me with questions. Nothingmatters any longer.”
“What about Mrs. Omeya? Did youkill her?”‘
Sunada frowned. “That woman!You know what she whispered to me? That your lieutenant had been spending hisnights with my future wife. She thought I could use the information againstyou.” Sunada laughed. “The fool!”