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He bent over the documents again and found that the presiding judge had been Masakane, the same man who held Tora’s future in his hands. The coincidence was not really surprising; Masakane had held his position for well over a decade now.

Masakane’s sentence had been banishment for life, loss of family name, and confiscation of property by the state. Such a sentence was entirely proper for the crime of murdering one’s parents. Evidently Haseo had been the only son and, with both parents dead, the government did not feel that the parricide’s descendants should benefit from his crime. No doubt administrative greed had also played a part in this. The emperor always welcomed land that would produce income or could be given to faithful subjects in recognition of outstanding service. And so Haseo’s wives and children had become homeless paupers overnight. Only the class they belonged to saved them from becoming slaves. The documents did not concern themselves with their future. For that he would have to seek out Kunyoshi again.

Akitada put back the document boxes and was gathering up the records of Haseo’s trial when Sakae came in with two court officials. Akitada did not recognize them, but got a sinking feeling in his stomach when he saw their rank colors and the satisfied smirk on Sakae’s face.

“Their Excellencies came to consult with you, sir,” Sakae announced. When Akitada still looked mystified, he added helpfully, “You remember? The death of Minister Soga was announced this morning?”

And that, of course, made him look not only foolishly forgetful in the eyes of the two visitors, but also incompetent. Before he could save some of his dignity, the older of the two stepped forward and asked in a tone of disbelief, “You are the senior secretary? You are Sugawara?” He eyed Akitada’s appearance with manifest astonishment.

Akitada felt the blood rise to his face. He knew he looked like a derelict, or at least like a man who had been carousing all night and not bothered to change. He made a bow and said, “Yes, I am Sugawara. May I ask who gives me this honor?”

They exchanged glances. The one who had been speaking said, “I am Yamada of the Censors’ Office, and this is Lord Miyoshi of the Controlling Board of the Left.”

This was truly awkward. They were senior officials whose faces he should have recognized if he had been attending all the court functions. Akitada bowed again, more deeply this time. “How may I serve Your Excellencies?”

“Do you have an office?”

Flustered, Akitada led the way. Sakae, smirking more widely than ever, trailed behind.

“A bright young man,” commented Miyoshi after they were seated in Soga’s office and Sakae had furnished them with cushions, wine, and an offer to take notes. The last was refused, and the helpful Sakae departed.

“I see you have moved into Soga’s office already,” Lord Miyoshi said, staring disapprovingly at Haseo’s sword, which still lay on top of the documents.

“It seemed more convenient, since most of the ministry’s current records are kept here,” Akitada said.

“Hmmph. Naturally you cannot stay permanently. Someone will be appointed to serve provisionally.”

Lord Yamada added, “As quickly as possible.”

So much for his being given the provisional appointment as he had hoped. Akitada bowed.

“Meanwhile,” said Miyoshi, “we have no choice but to let you carry on. But we shall return and expect you to present a more suitable appearance. You are to make no decisions on your own without our express approval.”

They left after that, but the visit boded ill for his future career. They had made it abundantly clear that they did not trust him to run the office. With a sigh, Akitada took up Haseo’s sword and decided to stop in at the archives before going home for a bath and change of clothes.

Kunyoshi was the only one working in the archives. Both the sickness and the fear of getting it seemed to have affected the younger officials in much greater numbers. The others, Akitada included, remembered previous epidemics and had perhaps even contracted the disease in a milder form. For some reason, people only suffered smallpox once in their lives, and if they survived it, they were safe. But a greater reason was that this old man lived for his work. Poor man, he had suffered much from Akitada’s mistake. Akitada raised his voice and called out a greeting.

Kunyoshi looked up and came quickly, eager to be of service. Then he recognized Akitada and hesitated, especially when he took in his appearance and the sword. “Have I forgotten something else?” he asked nervously. “I don’t recall…”

“No, no. It’s my turn to apologize, my dear Kunyoshi. I gave you the wrong name. I am very sorry to have caused you so much worry.”

Kunyoshi brightened. “Never mind,” he said with a laugh, “these things happen. And do you have another name for me now?”

The name Tomonari produced happy enlightenment. “Of course,” Kunyoshi cried, clapping his hands. “Tomonari! That’s what I was thinking of all along. Such an interesting case. You mentioned that the land was confiscated because of a crime. Dreadful story. And it did have something to do with a shrine, only it was the Iwashimizu Shrine, of course. Hah, hah!” He laughed with delight, his memory not only tested but confirmed to be excellent.

Iwashimizu was so close to the capital that the emperors themselves worshipped there. The shrine also had special significance for warriors because of its connection to the war god Hachiman. That must be why Haseo had chosen it for his symbol. Things were beginning to fall into place, and Akitada’s spirits lifted, as they always did when he found himself on the right track in a murder investigation. They smiled at each other. “Do you suppose I could have a look at the family record?” Akitada asked.

Kunyoshi trotted away and consulted the tax register for the Tomonari family. “Yes,” he muttered, “six years ago. The following year nothing. Tsuzuki District. Just a moment. I’ll get you the last record before the property fell into the hands of the state.”

They bent over the documents together. The Tomonari family belonged to old noble warrior stock, but most of the “mouths” listed for their twenty-three households were personal servants or peasants working Tomonari land. Some of the peasants owned their small parcels outright and were assessed separately, but most were counted into the Tomonari household and the senior Tomonari was assessed accordingly. At the time of this final assessment, his immediate family seemed to have consisted only of a wife and an adult son. The son also had a family. He was listed as having three wives and four children. It fit. The land consisted of rice paddies, millet fields, and a great deal of uncultivated forest. The assessment of rice taxes was significant enough to make it a desirable estate.

“Where would I find the names of the family?” Akitada asked the archivist.

Kunyoshi pursed his lips. “Household registers,” he said, and dashed off. This time it took longer. Apparently they were kept in a separate building. But Kunyoshi returned, his face slightly flushed and smiling. “Here you are,” he said and placed a fat scroll before Akitada. “It should be in there somewhere. These are all the households in Tsuzuki District.”

Akitada sighed and began to unroll the pages covered with some of the smallest characters he had ever seen. They were glued together to make one long continuous document. So many households, so many names. He found what he wanted an hour later, somewhere near the middle of the scrolclass="underline"

Household of Tomonari Nobutoshi, 60, local chieftain, rank 8:

Wife: Nihoko, 55.

Son: Haseo, 35.

Son’s wives: Sakyo, 30; Sachi, 25; Hiroko, 20.

Minor children: two boys; four girls.

The other names belonged to servants and slaves. Someone had drawn a thick line after the entry and scribbled in a different hand: “Household broken up by deaths and confiscation of land.” A date matched Haseo’s sentencing date.