“Sword cut.” Tora stumbled to the well and dropped down on the coping. “Meet Mr. Chikamura and Kinjiro, Seimei.”
The old man sagged to the ground. Seimei, aghast at their condition, ran from one to the other in a distracted manner, but managed to get all three to his own room, where he scurried back and forth some more, looking for salves, bandages, herbs, and someone to brew a strengthening tea for old Mr. Chikamura. In between his mutterings, he managed to establish that Tora had been wounded in several places in a number of fights and accidents, that Kinjiro had been beaten and was badly bruised, and that the old man had nearly died of thirst and starvation while locked up for days in a hot storehouse. For Seimei that was enough. His mind was on treatments, not on the three bags filled with clinking coins or the sword that Tora treated so tenderly.
When his patients had been cleaned up and bandaged, Seimei went to the kitchen and woke the cook to brew tea and heat some food.
Akitada and Genba found Kata’s training school locked up and the neighborhood deserted. They went in search of the warden of the quarter. The man was asleep and ill-tempered at being woken. He knew nothing about anyone called Tora and there had been no trouble in his quarter. Akitada did not necessarily believe that, because the man also insisted that Kata ran a respectable business, but there was nothing else he could do here.
They went next to the house of the stonemason Shigehira, on the theory that Tora might have gone there to ask more questions about Tomoe’s visitors. Here, too, everyone was asleep. The wife came to the door and shouted abuse through a crack. When Akitada asked to speak to her, she threatened, “Go away, or we’ll call the warden.”
Genba’s booming voice cut in. “Woman, open up this instant. Lord Sugawara wants to speak to you and your husband.”
The door slid back far enough for a suspicious eye to peer out at them. After a moment, she opened it fully. Her husband hovered timidly behind her. She did not invite them in but stood on the threshold and demanded, “What is it then? It’s the middle of the night, and I’m sick of being bothered about that slut. We’re hardworking decent people.”
Genba growled, “Mind your tongue, woman.”
She shot him a glance, taking in his size and bulk, and clamped her lips together.
“Mrs. Shigehira,” Akitada said, “we’re looking for Tora. Was he here recently?”
“Him?” She folded her arms across her broad chest and stuck out her chin. “No. We don’t deal with murderers. Stinking garbage!”
Genba, who was usually the gentlest of men, now stepped forward and bent to push his large face into hers. “Woman,” he growled, “I’ve warned you. One more insult like that and you’ll wish you’d not been born.”
She backed away, stepping on her husband’s toes. “Well,” she cried shrilly, “I saw him with the knife and I smelled him, didn’t I?”
Genba raised his fist, but Akitada pulled him back. “Just a moment,” he said. “What do you mean, you smelled him? When was that?”
She got some of her nastiness back. “When we broke in and saw him standing over her corpse, that’s when. There was a bad smell and he had the bloody knife. And now he’s loose to kill more people. What’s the world coming to? The nobles cover up for their own and harass the poor working man. But the gods know. Oh, yes, the gods know. They sent the sickness to punish them. Beware of the wrath of the gods!”
Genba muttered angrily, but Akitada raised his hand to silence him. “Never mind that,” he said to the woman. “What sort of smell was it?”
“Garbage. Rotten food. Filth.”
“Ah.” Akitada smiled at her. “Thank you. That was very helpful. Is there perhaps anything else you have remembered? Such as who was spying on Tomoe?”
She frowned. “Spying on her?”
“Someone had been watching her through the cracks in her back door. She knew about it, because she glued paper strips to the inside.”
The woman gaped. “Those? I thought that was to keep the cold out.”
“No. The man, or woman, simply made a new spy hole through the paper.”
She swung around to her husband. “You piece of shit. So, that’s what you’ve been up to every night, ogling her through the cracks in the door. And telling me you’re just going out for a pee.” He protested his innocence, then raised his arms in front of his face as she laid into him with feet and fists, shouting abuse. The stonemason was a big man, and his trade had made him strong, but under the onslaught of his fat and unattractive wife, he cowered against the wall and whimpered denials.
“Pitiful,” said Genba disgustedly.
Akitada considered. The mason could have killed his lodger-or perhaps the wife had killed her in a jealous rage, and the coward was too afraid to speak-but on the whole he was inclined to think that the Shigehiros were innocent of anything except cruel abandonment of the blind woman to her murderer. And now there was the wife’s puzzling mention of the stench. Tora had always been very clean in his habits.
In any case, they would not get any more information here. Akitada took Genba’s arm and pulled him away.
“Where to now?” Genba asked, as they walked away through the dark, silent streets.
Akitada shook his head in frustration. “I have no idea. It’s too late to knock on people’s doors and the market has closed down because of the disease. Where do criminals hole up at night?”
“They work at night and sleep by day. In abandoned houses, in temples, under gates, and sometimes in the house of a comrade.”
“We could check the charity hospitals, but I would rather not risk that unless we have some information that he’s there. Let’s go home and see what we can do in the morning with the help of the police.”
At that moment, several dark figures detached themselves from the shadows and jumped them. Akitada, who had only caught a sound and brief glimpse of their attackers, was thrown facedown in the dirt. Someone knelt on his back, cut the sword off his belt, and hissed into his ear, “Your money or you’re dead.” Akitada was conscious of a strong smell of garlic and furious at himself for letting a mere footpad disarm him so easily.
Curses, the sounds of kicks and moans, and Genba’s roar told Akitada that the much bigger Genba had to deal with more than one attacker. Akitada tried to unseat the man on his back by bucking upward and rolling. A foolish effort! His instant reward was a blindingly painful blow to the head with his own sword. At this point it seemed wisest to pretend unconsciousness, and he let himself go limp. His attacker rolled him on his back and searched his clothing. Akitada was dimly aware that Genba had fallen ominously silent. He could hear the robbers muttering to each other. Then a whistle sounded not far away, and in a moment they were gone. Akitada sat up. Genba was lying motionless a few feet away. He crawled over to him.
“Genba?” It was too dark to see much, but there was blood on Genba’s face. Helpless fury filled Akitada. The police were completely inadequate to the conditions prevailing in the capital-his capital. Nobody was safe in the streets any longer.
Genba stirred under his probing fingers. “Wha-where…?” He moaned.
“We’ve been attacked by robbers. Where are you wounded?”
Genba sat up slowly and felt himself. “By dose seebs to be broken. Thass all. I’b sorry, sir. It happe’d too fast.”
“Never mind. I know.” Akitada got to his feet and felt the lump on his head. At least it was not another black eye. Of course, the string of coppers and handful of silver coins he had carried were gone. More importantly, he had lost the Sugawara sword, a family heirloom. A fresh fury seized him. He would get it back, whatever it took.
A light appeared in the distance, and a large group of people approached. Akitada quickly pulled Genba into the dark recess that had hidden their attackers. The man in front carried a burning pine torch before a silent group of shuffling, shadowy creatures. In the light of the smoking, spluttering torch, the leader’s robe was a blaze of red against the column of black ghostlike shapes that followed.