Genba shot Hanae a glance. “It’s as wrong as it can be. I, well, I met Ohiro. Ohiro’s a working girl.” He blushed more deeply. “She works for a bastard called Tokuzo. He owns a wine house in the Willow Quarter. His waitresses… well, they do whatever the customers pay for. Yesterday Tokuzo beat Ohiro brutally, and then he raped her. He’d found out she’d been seeing me.” He paused to swallow again. “Ohiro and I, we’ve been saving for six months to buy out her contract, but we still don’t have enough. I almost killed the swine last night. Please tell me what I should do.” Against his will, tears rose to his eyes. He blinked them away. “Tora, Hanae, I love this girl. She’s a good, gentle girl. I want her to be my wife. You two know how it is.”
Clearly shocked, they looked at each other.
Hanae said, “Tokuzo? That’s bad. I know of him.”
“How much money do you need?” Tora asked. “We have some saved.”
“Thanks, Brother. It’s too much. Twenty pieces of gold.”
Tora made a face. “We can scrape together ten. Maybe.” He and Hanae looked at each other again.
“Tokuzo will raise the price,” Hanae said.
Genba stared at her. “How can he do that? It’s in the contract.”
“He’ll find ways to charge her for things she’s used over the years. Maybe he’ll fine her for not having collected from you.”
“Amida!” Genba clenched his fists and hung his head. Then he looked up. “I’d go to the master, but you know how he is about women like Ohiro.”
They nodded gravely.
“I don’t know what to do. And even if I could buy her out, how can we be together?” Now the tears started again, and Genba choked up. “I’ll have to leave here. Maybe Ohiro and I should just run away together and hide out some place.”
“You can’t do that,” Tora said. “The master would be hurt. You’d better tell him about it.”
Hanae put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Wait. Tora, can’t you do something first? Maybe you and Saburo and Genba could go and frighten the man into being cooperative?”
“Saburo?” Genba looked shocked.
“He’s one of us.” Tora smiled at his wife. “If I have your permission to go to the Willow Quarter, we’ll do it.”
“Anytime,” she said with an airy wave and got up to remove the bowls. “Though maybe you’d better go in the daytime. Before he gets busy with his customers and the girls.”
Tora nodded. “Good thinking. Come, brother, let’s talk to Saburo.”
Genba and Saburo shared quarters in a spacious room adjoining the stable. Saburo had been offered Seimei’s room in the main house, but had humbly declined.
When they walked in, Saburo was getting ready for his duties in the main house. He had dressed as usual in a neat blue robe with a black sash. He had also taken pains with his hair, making sure the knot and loop were perfectly centered on top of his head and tied with the black silk ribbon. His disfigured face looked even more incongruous with his very neat and proper appearance.
Saburo heard Genba’s story without much surprise, but he glanced at Genba as if reassessing his character in light of this new information. When Tora and Genba had finished, he was matter-of-fact. “You said you changed your mind about killing this man. Was that because you’re opposed to killing on principle, or for some other reason?”
Genba frowned. “Does it matter?
Saburo made one of his unreadable grimaces. “I like to know how other people solve their problems. It’s been useful in the past.”
Genba thought about it. Saburo was an ex-spy and an ex-monk. That made him a far more unpredictable and mysterious person than Genba knew himself to be. On the other hand, his curiosity was probably part of his training. The spy wanted no surprises from allies or opponents, and the monk was opposed to killing. Suddenly curious himself, he asked. “Have you ever killed anyone, Saburo?”
Saburo scowled. “Don’t ask me such things.”
“Well, I have,” Genba said heavily. “I swore to myself that I would never do such a thing again. It’s not because I’m very religious. It’s because I felt sick and dirty and because it almost destroyed me. If the master hadn’t taken us on, me and my best friend Hitomaro, I’d be dead today. We were both wanted for murder. But yesterday was different. Yesterday it was because someone hurt the woman I love. I felt like killing the man.”
Tora said loyally, “I’d kill anyone who lays a hand on Hanae. I almost did once, but she got away from the bastard, and then an earthquake flattened him permanently.”
Genba said, “There was something odd, though. I bumped into a man outside Tokuzo’s. I thought he was a footpad. We struggled and he dropped an object. Or I think he dropped it. It’s a bit like some of those strange weapons you have, Saburo. Wait a moment.” He went to his trunk and returned with the long metal pin or needle.
Saburo almost snatched it from his hand. “An assassin’s needle! I haven’t seen one in years. This is a fine one. Look at the workmanship.” He held it up. It gleamed a dull charcoal gray from thickened shaft to long and narrow point. He touched the point. “It’s as fine as a sewing needle. A master smith made this.”
Tora peered at it. “Looks vicious. What do you mean ‘an assassin’s needle’?”
Saburo still handled the needle lovingly. “There are men-a very few-who can kill without leaving a trace. They’re expensive, but when they’re good, they’re worth their weight in gold. They’re paid very well to remove certain people who are a trouble to others. When they use this, not even the best physician can prove it was murder.”
Shuddering, Genba said, “You can keep that thing. I can’t believe I had a run-in with an assassin.” He brightened a little. “Maybe someone else dropped it.”
Saburo looked at him. “Not likely. Whoever dropped it would have gone back for it.”
Genba turned pale. “He could’ve killed me easily by shoving that in my eye or belly.”
“No,” said Saburo, inserting the needle carefully into the lining of his sleeve. “That way people would know you’ve been murdered. He would have inserted it into your ear when you’re asleep. Or into your skull in the back of your head where your hair would hide the small puncture wound. Mind you, it takes skill. Maybe the assassin didn’t get a chance to use it on you.”
Genba thought back to the dark alley and shuddered again. He had caught the man’s arm and then hugged him hard against himself with a wrestler’s hold. He had heard the clinking sound then. “Amida, he had it in his hand!” He shook his head in horror. “And I thought he’d just been relieving himself.”
Tora laughed. “Maybe he was. What did he look like?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Probably wouldn’t have helped. They look ordinary,” said Saburo. “It’s part of their disguise.” He paused. “I’ve heard it said they don’t kill unless the victim is guilty of some crime and can’t be brought to justice. There’s a code of honor about it. It makes them pretty decent in my estimation.”
Tora looked at Saburo with a frown. “People who sneak up on others when they’re asleep and shove needles in their ears are not decent men. Give me an honest thug and a knife-fight any day.”
Genba, got impatient. “Stop arguing, you two. The assassin has nothing to do with my problem. He’s gone, and Ohiro and I are still desperate. What am I going to do?”
“We’ll all go have a talk with that bastard Tokuzo.” Tora started for the door.
Saburo looked down at his neat blue robe with its black sash and then at Tora, who wore the same clothes. Their master insisted that they dress properly at all times because they might have to accompany him on ministry business. Genba, in charge of the stables, wore his work clothes of short pants, a tunic of brown hemp, and leather boots.
“Better change our clothes first, Tora,” Saburo said. “I doubt the master wants us to represent him in the amusement quarter.”
They set out a short while later in clean but ordinary outfits. Tora and Genba both wore their boots with long trousers tucked into them and loose jackets over their shirts. Saburo had on a dark brown robe, somewhat patched, and sandals on his feet. All three were armed but their weapons were concealed by their jackets or hidden in Saburo’s full sleeves.