In the end, he climbed on the low roof of the kitchen building, and from there he leaped to the corner post of the balcony. He almost did not make it and cursed himself for having become so clumsy. His grip had been somewhat desperate, and he had slid a foot or so before wrapping his legs and arms around the post and shimmying back up. For a moment, he listened. When all remained peaceful, he lifted a leg over the railing and stepped cautiously on the boards near the wall. They were solid and silent. Then he slowly slid open the nearest door and slipped inside.
Intense darkness and stench. The smell of the room disgusted him. Dirt, sweat, spilled wine, and sex. Motionless, he listened. Nothing. The faint light from the half-opened door showed sparse furnishings: a smallish grass mat and a bundle of bedding. He grimaced. Little enough was needed to bring a half-drunk man up here, take his money, and lie with him for some brief groping and sex.
There was a faint sound, and he listened. He thought he could hear voices from below. Slipping back out on the balcony, he walked along the wall until he reached the room next to the last. Here the voices were clearest.
A man and a woman.
He entered this room on his hands and knees, exploring the boards with his fingertips before putting his weight on them. The planking was cheaply made. In one corner, it had not been nailed down properly. Very slowly and silently, he raised the loose board and propped one of his sandals under it. Lying down next to the narrow opening, he could not only hear what the two below were saying, but he also saw a part of the room they sat in.
A lantern lit the scene inadequately. The two people sat near an open money chest. Saburo saw the top of the man’s head, his shoulders, and his hands as he took coins and bars from the chest. The man counted softly as he put the money into a bag. Saburo was amazed at the sums. For a brothel keeper, Tokuzo had been very successful. The man who handled Tokuzo’s wealth so efficiently wore the clothes of a low-ranking official. He was hatless, and his balding scalp and thick neck proved he was middle-aged and fat.
The woman, whom Saburo could not see at all, spoke with the cracked voice of the elderly and in a tone that suggested they were related. She was apparently watching the man. From their comments, Saburo decided these two were Tokuzo’s mother and brother.
“Hurry up,” the old one said in a querulous tone. “This could’ve waited till morning.”
“I’m not leaving my brother’s wealth unguarded in this house,” he said. “You forget the people he associated with. Besides, you could’ve stayed home.”
“I want to know how much you’re taking. There’s your sister’s future to be considered.”
He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s almost as old as I am. Who’ll marry someone like her?” He tied the heavy bag and stuffed it inside his robe. The chest he simply slammed shut. Then he got to his feet, a little awkwardly with the heavy bulge under his clothes. “Looks like I’ll have to take care of both of you for the rest of your lives,” he said. “Come on, Mother. It’s getting late.”
The mother grumbled a little, and the son bent forward and pulled her to her feet. Saburo caught a glimpse of a gray robe and a twist of white hair on a small and thin woman. Then they disappeared from view, though he could still hear them arguing.
“What about the contracts?” the old woman protested.
“They’re safe enough until tomorrow. Let’s go.”
The light receded, steps moved away, arguments faded, a door closed, and it got quiet.
Tokuzo’s brother had sounded unpleasant. Saburo scowled to himself. The whole family apparently lacked common decency. The brother had come for the gold Tokuzo had made as a brothel keeper. It was money earned by the women he had treated worse than animals. But his brother considered himself too good to become identified with the brothel business.
Saburo thought about the money chest, emptied of its treasures and left unlocked. It still held the contracts, probably worth a good deal if sold to other brothel owners. Worth a great deal more to the women who were forced to sell their bodies every night.
His experiences with harlots had been painful. Most had refused him; the rest had collected the fee, submitted with a shudder, and run from the room.
But there was Genba.
He had no way of getting into the lower part of the building. No doubt, the greedy pair who had just left had made sure all the doors were secured.
But on second thought, it was worth checking. He went downstairs, taking fewer precautions than before, but moving with his customary stealth.
He made a circuit of all the doors and found them all securely locked. Only the side door closest to the kitchen had a loose hinge that might be loosened further. He considered, then set to work. His other errand could wait.
With the help of one of his clever tools, he managed to loosen the hinge until he could lift the door up and prop it open. No one was likely to pass through the courtyard at this hour and notice the farthest door standing slightly ajar, and he would be quick, get back out, and reattach the panel.
It was pitch dark inside, but Saburo moved by instinct and touch in the direction of the room where he had watched Tokuzo’s mother and brother. The smells in this part of the house were of sake. Here the guests were rendered drunk enough that the whores could march them upstairs. His nose eventually identified the smell of fresh candle wax and led him to the right room. Feeling for the sliding door, he found it and pushed it open. Yes, this must be it. He might have risked looking for a lamp and lighting it, but memory took him to the money chest, and touch found the papers in its bottom. He scooped them out and shoved them inside his shirt, then made his way back to the door he had left open.
But something had changed. There was a smell he had not noticed before. He paused and sniffed. Sweat and scented oil, he decided. Odd!
He could make out the narrow rectangle of the door. In spite of the clouded sky, the outside was lighter than the thick blackness of this hallway. It struck him that he had left it nearly closed.
Listening, he took a cautious step forward and brushed up against fabric. When he reached out a hand to feel what it was, he touched a face.
The next moment, the paler rectangle of the world outside disappeared, and pain exploded in his head.
The Trouble with Women
In the morning Akitada found Genba waiting outside his study. He was in a cheerful mood because he had just left Tamako’s rooms, where he had played with the children again. Genba’s face promised that would not last.
“Come in, Genba,” he said, opening the door. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, sir.” Genba stopped in the middle of Akitada’s study, clenching and unclenching his huge hands and looking about helplessly.
“Well, sit down.” Akitada missed his customary morning tea and the bowl of gruel. Apparently, Saburo was late. He seated himself and watched as Genba lowered his heavy frame to sit, then rearranged his body to kneel instead and touch his forehead to the floor. “Don’t do that,” Akitada said. “We’ve never been formal with each other.”
Genba nodded and looked at his master. To Akitada’s surprise, tears, the big man’s eyes were moist. Becoming seriously concerned, Akitada pressed him now. “Come on, speak up, man! You’re beginning to worry me.”
Genba gulped. “Sorry, sir. Saburo’s gone!”
Akitada raised his brows. “Saburo? What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t there when I woke this morning. He’s gone. I looked everywhere. It’s all my fault.”
“How so?”
“A man called Tokuzo was murdered yesterday, and the police tried to arrest me. Tora talked them out of it. I think Saburo must’ve gone there last night. And he hasn’t come home. I think something bad happened to him.”