Nakatoshi’s smile faded. “Yes. Don’t tell me you’re meddling in the affairs of Prince Atsuhira again?”
The word “affair” could denote all sorts of complications in a man’s life. Akitada said, “In a manner of speaking. This is in confidence, Nakatoshi. It concerns a young woman the prince had been meeting secretly.”
“Ah. That’s better.” Nakatoshi grinned. “I prefer romance to politics. Much safer.”
“I don’t know about that. She was the Lady Masako.”
His friend gaped at that. “Atsuhira’s been carrying on an affair with one of His Majesty’s women?”
“Yes, but His Majesty had shown no interest in her.”
“It makes no difference.” Nakatoshi frowned. “Didn’t she die a few months back?”
“Yes. It happened near the prince’s summer villa, though that story was covered up.”
“Naturally. What a fascinating scandal! But what’s your part in this? Or Kosehira’s?”
Akitada explained, and Nakatoshi was appalled. Being bright, he immediately said, “So this death and the plot about the succession are tied together after all?”
“They shouldn’t be, but I’m afraid they are.”
“You cannot touch it, Akitada. I know you’re Kosehira’s friend, but this is too dangerous for you and your family.”
“Well, it’s not the first time. I’ve had to decide a long time ago whether to look out for myself and my family or hold on to my convictions. My name and the fact I’ve made enemies will always put me at risk. Since it can’t be helped, it must be managed somehow. But I came, as usual, to get some information. I’d like to know more about Lady Masako’s family.”
“Ah, yes. Minamoto Masaie. I take it he’s under suspicion also?”
“I don’t know.”
“Masako is his oldest daughter. Masaie is lord of Sagami, a very powerful provincial overlord. They say he used his influence to have Masako enter the royal apartments, no doubt in hopes of becoming grandfather to an emperor.” Nakatoshi paused. “Yes, it all hangs together. Now that you mention it, I do have some news you may not be aware of. Maseie has been called to court. In view of what you say about Lady Masako and the prince, it may mean that he’s connected with the alleged plot.”
Akitada said, “I doubt it, but that doesn’t mean much to those who wish to rid themselves of perceived threats.”
“Well, it would make sense. Perhaps Masaie found that His Majesty wasn’t interested in his daughter and decided to back Atsuhira for crown prince.”
It opened up new possibilities and confused the issue of Lady Masako’s death. Akitada chewed his lower lip. “It could be revenge, of course.”
Nakatoshi looked blank. “You mean the court blames Minamoto Masaie for his daughter’s affair?”
“Not the court. I was thinking of the Lady Kishi.”
“Kishi? Oh, Prince Atsuhira’s wife. And you think her brothers agreed to ruin the prince and anyone connected with him or Lady Masako? Well, that would be shocking.”
“From what I hear, Kishi’s perfectly capable of acting on her own. And she’s likely to have taken serious offense.”
“Ah. Women.” Nakatoshi shook his head. “What a muddle!”
They both sighed, then chuckled. Thanking his friend, Akitada took his leave.
The Beggars
Saburo woke in a ruin, looking up through the broken roof high above him. Blue sky and golden clouds shimmered beyond the age-darkened beams and broken spars. He watched the clouds passing across the blue, and wondered if he was glimpsing a distant paradise.
Gradually, he became aware of his other senses. Unpleasant odors assailed his nose. He tried to analyze them while watching the pretty clouds. Dirt, he thought. I’m smelling dirt and rotten things. Nothing in particular stands out.
His arms were laid across his chest. He was quite comfortable except for an ache in the back of his head. He moved and hissed at the acute stab of pain that brought tears to his eyes.
Somewhere close by, someone cleared his throat of phlegm and spat. Saburo swiveled his good eye as far as he could without moving his head. No good. He saw a dark, stained wall with a doorway into deeper darkness. Nothing else.
The contrast between the golden clouds and this rotten, stinking place where he found himself struck him as ominous. Had he died? And was this his own hell, deserved for a multitude of sins?
A rattling cough and more sounds of spitting.
“Who’s there?” he croaked.
“Me.”
An old man’s voice.
“Where am I?”
A rasping laugh. “Honkoku-ji.”
Not hell, then. And not death.
Honkoku-ji was the ruin of an old temple compound. Saburo carefully lifted his head to turn it. This also hurt, but not as much. A strange figure sat near him in a Buddha pose. White-haired and white-bearded, the old man wore a red silk gown, a woman’s gown, with a priest’s stole over it. Many strands of prayer beads hung about his neck. He looked quite feeble. His eyes were dim with age and his hands resembled the claws of a chicken with their long yellow nails.
Saburo asked, “Who are you?”
“You can call me Kenko, Saburo.”
“You know me?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. What’s to know?”
Did this mad old man expect an answer? “My head hurts,” Saburo said.
“Put it from your mind.”
“How did I get here?”
“Too many questions.” With the help of a staff lying beside him, the old man got up with much groaning and coughing. He spat again, then, leaning on his staff, he limped away.
Saburo sat up and cautiously felt the back of his head. He encountered a good deal of half-dried blood and a very tender lump. Checking the rest of his body was more reassuring. Memory returned. Some bastard had attacked him inside the brothel.
Who? Tokuzo’s mother and brother could not have returned. He would have heard them. No, the attacker in the dark hallway had been someone silent and furtive. A thief.
Or rather, someone like himself, for most thieves would have given themselves away sooner.
But that made no sense whatsoever.
Saburo tested his limbs and turned his mind to another puzzle. He was certain his attacker had not been there earlier. Unless it was an accidental encounter, he must have followed him into Tokuzo’s place and waited for him in the hallway. Saburo doubted that their visits had coincided by chance.
Then why had the other man been there? The obvious answer was the gold that Tokuzo’s brother and mother had carried away earlier. But a good thief, and this man was very good, would have watched the house and known he was too late for the money.
Perhaps he had wanted something else.
Or someone else. If the stranger had watched carefully, he would have known Saburo had entered the brothel. But what had he wanted?
Frustrated, Saburo dropped the matter and wondered instead how he had got to this place. Had his attacker brought him here? Surely not. It didn’t make any sense to knock someone out and then carry him all that far. The distance from the Willow Quarter to the temple was too great.
Saburo was brushing the dust off his clothes when he realized he was missing something. The thick sheaf of papers, the brothel’s contracts he had tucked inside his shirt, was gone. And that caused him to check his sleeves.
His tools and the assassin’s needle were also gone!
So that had been what the stranger wanted.
The contracts could perhaps be explained. They were valuable. But why take the tools and the needle? And how had the unknown man known where to look for them? They had been inserted into the seams of his shirt. Now those seams were undone and threads hung loose. Unless his attacker had felt them by accident, he must have known where to search.
It began to look more and more as though he had encountered a colleague. Most likely the professional assassin Genba had tangled with the night before. The assassin had a personal interest in the Sasaya.
Saburo got to his feet, fought a bout of dizziness, and looked around him.