Thinking glumly about the situation, Akitada returned to the villa. He wandered around the house and stood looking out at the view. The solid ground continued for twenty feet or so and then descended abruptly.
He was not quite sure why he went to look over the side. Perhaps he wondered that the young woman had not been tossed over here, rather than from the more distant promontory. He saw right away it would not have suited the killer. It was not a precipitous drop as on the promontory, but rather a steeply stepped descent of rocky outcroppings to a depth far greater than that of the waterfall pool. Here and there, stunted shrubs and trees clung to the rock and rubble. Any of these could have caught a body heaved over the side. On this rough mountainside, the chances of the young woman’s clothing becoming entangled were very high.
Besides, the idea had been to suggest suicide.
As he stood looking down at the rocky surface of the mountain, he saw a slender, polished bo caught in a struggling bush. It was an odd thing to find clinging to the mountainside. Even from the distance, it looked like one of the fighting sticks in the empty room.
He took off his hunting coat and started to climb down.
He reached the bo without too much trouble and saw it was a sword-length practice staff. Remembering the traces of blood in the villa, he leaned forward to examine it. The polish was badly chipped, showing paler wood beneath. And there on the underside, he saw what looked like a small stain as well as two or three long hairs. If it was proof that Lady Masako had been attacked with this weapon, the killer likely had rid himself of it by tossing it down the mountain.
He leaned forward and stretched out a hand to grasp it when he heard a noise above him. He looked up, saw a dark shape outlined against the sky. Then a large object hurtled down and struck his head before he could jerk away. Shocked and blinded by pain, he twisted. The rocks under his feet gave way, he slipped, arms flailing, and started to tumble down the mountain. Dirt and rocks shifted, sharp objects tore at him, and then he lost consciousness.
Panic
Saburo returned to his work for the rice merchant and his lodging with Mrs. Komiya. Tora went home, kissed his wife and son, and saddled a horse for the trip to Yasaka village. Genba stoically faced another interrogation. All three were in better spirits after their meeting in the jail.
Tora’s journey, while pleasant enough in the springtime weather, produced little in terms of results. Yasaka village turned out to be no more than a hamlet of rustic farmhouses gathered among pine trees on a slight hill. All around them stretched rice fields, most already flooded so that the village looked like a small island in a broad sea. The road to it led along a narrow dam between fields and was almost like crossing a lake on an extremely long bridge. The notion amused him, and he felt once again the pull of the simple peasant life. How good it would be to live in such a place, peacefully, close to the land, sheltered by the gods.
Reality was otherwise: Ozuru’s family was large and very poor. Theirs was the smallest of the houses and was in poor repair. The thatched roof had rotted in places and collapsed inward so that the rain had gotten in and driven the family into one corner where the wooden floor was still sound and where they lived together behind ragged straw mats suspended from ropes stretched between roof supports.
The oldest male was the grandfather. He was too old to do any work. Three boys were still young, but there were seven or eight females of all ages. They apparently did most of the work. Tora guessed the children’s father had died, leaving his elderly parents and his wife to cope as best they could. It explained why Ozuru had been sold to Tokuzo. Poverty forced people to sell their daughters into prostitution and their sons into the army. He came from the same background and understood.
His questions about Ozuru met with surprise. Yes, their poor Iku-Ozuru had been her professional name-had died. It had been her karma. She had died because she had done something bad in a previous life. A great pity, for the girl had done well for herself in this one. She’d come for a visit, dressed in fine clothes, and brought them money. Those had been good days, but it had pleased the gods and Ozuru’s karma to make her fall and break her neck. A great pity.
Tora left them some money and turned homeward. The trip had been a waste of time. Ozuru’s people clearly held no grudge. Rather the reverse. Somehow, Tokuzo, Ozuru, and their own wishful thinking had left them with the impression their daughter had lived a life of pleasure and plenty. They had quickly sold two more girls, but that money was gone already, and the two girls had not come back with gifts.
Feeling glum, Tora hoped his master had thought of other possibilities. There must be something he could do. Somewhere there was a man who had hated Tokuzo enough to kill him.
To his disappointment, the master had not yet returned from a visit to the prince’s villa. As it was well past sunset and quite dark outside, this was a little unusual. Tora turned his tired horse over to the boy he had hired to fill in in Genba’s absence. The kid was slow and spoke with a stutter, but he knew enough to feed and water the horses and clean the stable.
Then he went to see Lady Tamako. She seemed calm enough about the master’s absence. Tora assumed the trip to the villa must have been more interesting than his own. He settled down to a good meal with his family and an enjoyable bedtime with Hanae.
Early the next morning, he stepped out into the yard to a glorious blue sky and birdsong and washed at the well. When he turned, he noticed something white lying among some weeds near the outer wall. He would have to speak to the boy about keeping the place clean. It was a large stone with some paper attached to it. He went to inspect it and found the paper was folded and had been tied to the rock with twisted hemp twine.
Someone must have tossed the rock over the wall. Since he had returned after dark the day before, it was not at all clear when the missive had arrived. He hesitated a moment, then untied the paper to read it. The message was brief so he could make out its meaning quite well.
Those who meddle in the affairs of His Majesty will die.
He saw neither signature nor superscription, but assumed it was meant for the master and took it into the main house. His master, however, was not in his study. The room was dark and empty.
Frowning, Tora went next to her ladyship’s quarters where her maid was just throwing open the shutters.
“Hope you slept well, Sumiko,” Tora called out. “Is the master inside?”
“No. Did you look in his room?”
“He’s not there. Didn’t he come home last night?”
They stared at each other in dismay, then the maid turned and ran inside. A moment later, her ladyship appeared, pulling her robe hastily about her.
“What is it, Tora? Has my husband not returned?”
“I don’t think so, my lady. Did you expect him last evening?”
“Yes. Something is wrong, I think. He would have sent a message.” She frowned.
Tora hid the message behind his back and gulped down his fear. “I think I’d better saddle the horse and go looking for him,” he said.
She clutched the robe to her. “Yes, you’d better, though it’s probably nothing. Perhaps the horse went lame.” She paused, then added, “Take a sword, Tora.”
Tora’s eyes widened as he digested that.
She saw his surprise. “He may have made enemies trying to clear the prince. Perhaps he ran into someone like that.”
That sealed it.
Tora brought forth the paper and extended it to her. “I’m sorry, my lady. I just found this inside the wall. Tied to a stone.”