With that final shout, the prince turned his back on Akitada.
Akitada sat frozen. How could he have been so stupid? He should have considered the prince’s feelings. He had wasted his time and made things worse. The anger at Kosehira for delaying the prince on that fateful night had probably lain dormant until this moment.
After a long time, he said humbly, “Forgive me, your Highness. I was truly insensitive and should have spared you this. I hope you will believe that my first thoughts were for Lady Masako. I have seen many crimes in my life, and always my thoughts have been for the victims. But I also think about preventing more grief and death among the living by apprehending the murderer.”
He got to his feet. The prince did not turn or give any indication he had heard. Akitada made his deep bow anyway and, picking up the documents, left quietly.
Outside the door waited his clerk. Akitada passed the stack of papers back to him. Had the boy been listening? The doors of the palace were solid enough, but Akitada could not be sure they blocked all sound, and the prince had shouted in his anger. The young face was expressionless, and Akitada turned to go.
In the courtyard, the captain met him. “Ah, back already?” he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. “I hope you got what you needed.”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Akitada did not have to pretend disappointment. “His Highness refused to discuss the matter.”
The captain scowled. “I thought so. It’s time he learned that he’s no better than the rest of us and has no special rights. Never mind. It won’t be long and he’ll be very glad to cooperate.”
And that perhaps was another thing Akitada would regret. The last thing he wished on that broken man was for his life to be made even more unbearable than it was already.
Tokuzo’s Brothel
During the night following their visit to the Sasaya, Saburo got up very quietly and left the room he shared with Genba.
It was not the first time he had done so. Since he had entered Lord Sugawara’s service, he had sacrificed a few hours’ sleep every night in order to explore the capital and hone his old skills. His duties were not particularly onerous, and he needed little sleep. But he was uncomfortably aware that he lacked Seimei’s gift of making himself indispensable to the family in areas other than bookkeeping and letter writing. His knowledge of medicine, for example, had been sadly neglected at the monastery in favor of spying skills. He was quite fond of children, but since his disfigurement frightened most of them, he had kept his distance. His master’s children were used to him by now, but he had long since become awkward at talking to the young.
He also stayed away from the women in the household, but for different reasons. He distrusted women, even hated them at times. His Buddhist teachings had painted women as mindless, soulless, corrupt, and corrupting. His rare encounters had proved they were also cruel and greedy.
He had laid ready his black shirt and long black pants. These two items had cleverly sewn seams that held small useful implements of metal and bamboo. As soon as Genba’s snoring assured him he was soundly asleep, Saburo seized the bundle of clothes and his old brown jacket, and left the stable.
He changed outside, under the eaves, tucking his regular clothes behind a barrel. Then he left the compound by climbing over the back wall. The dog Trouble raised his head briefly, gave a few muffled slaps with his tail, and went back to sleep.
As Saburo walked the dark streets, he looked no different from most of the poor who were out after a late night at a wine shop or brothel. He kept his face tucked into the collar of his brown jacket and moved along purposefully on the soft grass soles of his sandals.
Tonight he was going to try to help Genba. He liked the big man; you could not help liking him. But Saburo was also jealous of his placid good nature that made people like him; there were even times when he almost disliked him. This always made him feel guilty, because Genba in his cheerful innocence went out of his way to be a friend to the friendless Saburo.
Genba’s success in having found love surprised and dismayed him. The big man with his paunch, his round, plain face, and his awkward rolling gait was hardly the type to be attractive to women. In fact, Genba should have experienced female cruelty much like Saburo had, yet the man was still capable of falling madly in love with one of the creatures. Only Cook, both ugly and fat, had ever shown any interest in Genba.
Of course, Genba’s woman was a harlot. In Saburo’s experience, harlots were rapacious and hid their cruelty only when they planned to fleece the customer. He had learned that bitter lesson after his disfigurement, and had it confirmed on the rare occasions when he tried to buy sexual services.
So he had laughed at Genba, along with Tora.
And felt guilty again.
The night was a dark and sweet-scented. Clouds had moved in and covered the sky with black silk. Saburo loved the dark. In the dark, people could not see his face. In the dark, it was even possible to lie with a woman and pretend he was normal.
For a little while.
Yes, he was jealous of Genba’s happiness. And because he was ashamed, he hoped to discover Tokuzo’s killer and clear Genba. Perhaps he could also help the romance along a little.
The hour was late, but in the pleasure quarter, a few women still walked the street or peered from the small windows of their brothels. They called out invitations to Saburo or tried to pull him inside by his sleeve until he raised his face out of the collar of his jacket and scowled at them, baring his teeth and rolling his eyes, taking small satisfaction from their gasps.
The Sasaya was closed and appeared to be dark-whether from respect for the death of its owner or because Tokuzo’s harlots were out celebrating their temporary freedom was not clear.
Saburo passed the brothel slowly a few times, then slipped along its side wall to the back. Like many businesses in the quarter, it had a walled yard formed partially by a kitchen building on one side and a storage shed on the other. Here, too, all was dark and still. Luckily there were no dogs about, for the animals would have detected him by now. He took off his brown jacket and laid it on the ground. Now dressed from head to foot in black, he melted into the darkness.
From the narrow footpath that ran behind the block of businesses, Saburo swung himself up onto the rear wall and, after a quick look around, dropped down silently on the other side. He verified that kitchen and shed were deserted, then studied the two-storied main house. Rickety stairs led up to a balcony that ran along the entire back of the building. Apparently it formed the access to rooms above where the harlots could take their customers.
Tonight, those rooms were unlikely to be occupied, but he drew in his breath when he detected a very faint chink of light behind one of the closed shutters below. Someone was here. Given the owner’s recent murder, this was interesting.
Saburo considered the problem. Two-story houses without exposed ceiling beams were difficult to enter when occupied. He could not get in through the roof to cross the building on the beams. Still, perhaps all was not lost. He eyed the stairs and balcony and decided both were so poorly built that they would give away his presence by creaking.