Saburo nodded. “Oh, yes.”
Genba pondered for a moment. “I don’t think his running solves our problem.”
The other two looked at each other and sighed.
“Let’s go get that carpenter,” Tora said.
The Horse
Akitada slept deeply after his bath and woke refreshed and quite clear-headed. He lay, watching the shafts of sunlight that entered through his shutters. Tiny sparks danced in them, dust particles so small they floated. He pondered the nature of light and of knowledge. They made visible what darkness and confusion had obscured.
Darkness was the time when human trickery was most active. Saburo could testify to that.
The murder of Lady Masako had probably happened in darkness, or at least at dusk. If the prince had not been so late that night he might have prevented what happened.
Or died himself.
Since the attack on him, Akitada had suspected that the killer haunted the place. Was his conscience troubled, or were there other forces at work? There had been Lady Hiroko’s dream. Even in the telling, it had seemed strangely vivid with a sense of the cold and snow and night that were part of Lady Masako’s final moments.
Night fell early in winter, and it must have been overcast that day. New snow had fallen and obscured the murderer’s tracks. Riding or even walking those mountain paths at night must have been difficult. Still, the prince had chosen to make the journey, perhaps not realizing snow would soon make things even more difficult. Surely it was proof he cared for Masako and his unborn child.
Akitada sat up abruptly. The old woman had seen and recognized the prince. How was this possible if he had arrived long after dark? Surely by then, both old people had gone to bed. And how could she have seen him clearly enough to recognize him?
It must have been his horse she had recognized, a familiar horse with a white blaze on its forehead. Something was not right about this.
He got up quickly, threw on his old robe, and walked across the courtyard to Tora’s place. Trouble came limping from the stable, wagging his tail and pressing his cold nose into his hand. Akitada patted him absent-mindedly. A pile of boards and timbers lay outside the stables. Soon he would welcome another member into his family. Would Ohiro fit in? Whatever the situation, he would make the best of it. He owed it to Genba.
On Tora’s veranda, he whistled softly. All was quiet inside. They must have worked late to get Genba settled.
Tora appeared in his shirt, yawning and scratching his head. “Morning, sir. Is something wrong?”
“No. Can you get dressed and come to the house? I’d like your opinion on an idea I just had.”
Tora nodded and disappeared inside. Akitada strolled back, followed by Trouble. Someone was knocking at the gate, causing Trouble to bark and start into a lopsided run. The stable boy shot out of the stable, chewing a rice cake. He unlatched the small side gate and admitted a very old man who tottered in, weighed down by a large satchel he handed to the boy.
Akitada recognized the old carpenter. Tora had hired him outside Lord Sadanori’s residence, and he had later repaired the earthquake damage to the Sugawara house. He was surprised the old man was still alive, though perhaps only barely so.
Calling out a greeting, he startled both the boy and the ancient one.
“Is it the master himself?” the carpenter croaked, blinking against the morning sun and bending his creaking back into a bow. “Amida’s blessings on you and yours, Your Honor.”
“Thank you. And the same to you and your wife.”
“The old one’s gone. She wasn’t up to much anymore.”
“Very sorry to hear it. How do you manage by yourself?”
“My daughter cooks and cleans. That’s what a man has daughters for.”
Was it? The thought depressed Akitada who suddenly saw himself as a doddering old man waited on by Yasuko. He shook off the image.
“I see you’ve come to build a home for another couple. Have they told you that Genba is taking a wife?”
The old man chuckled. “He’s old enough to know better.”
“Perhaps, but as you say, women are useful creatures to have about the house.”
The carpenter pondered this. “They talk too much,” he finally said.
Tora joined them. “Ho, Juro,” he greeted the old man. “Bright and early, eh? Genba and Saburo are still sleeping.”
“I’ll get them up.” The carpenter tottered off toward the stable, followed by Trouble.
“Sorry I overslept, sir. We stopped off for wine after our errands. To drink to Genba and Ohiro’s happiness.”
Akitada smiled. “Yes, of course. But come inside. I thought of something.”
In his room, he threw open the shutters. They sat down on the veranda, and Akitada said, “You remember that old woman on the mountain? When I talked to her about the night of the murder, she told me she’d seen both Lady Masako and the prince arrive. They were on horseback and passed her house on their way to the villa.”
Tora’s brows rose. “Together?”
“No. Lady Masako came first.”
“Right. That’s what we’ve known all along.”
“The old woman recognized the prince’s horse by the blaze on its forehead.”
Tora frowned. “So?”
“The prince has said all along he was very late that night. It was getting dark when he left the capital, and it was nighttime when he reached the villa. How did she see him?”
“Oh. That is strange. But she’s old. She probably got the days mixed up.”
“I don’t think so. I think she saw the murderer arrive right after Lady Masako.”
Tora’s eyes widened. “But what about the horse?”
“A horse with a white mark on its head isn’t a rarity. And I bet she didn’t see very clearly. It had started snowing. She simply assumed the horseman was the prince because she expected him.”
“But who was it then?”
Akitada reached for Lady Masako’s journal and held it up. “The last thing Lady Masako wrote was, ‘A winter storm! Your voice is that of thunder and my sleeves are soaked with tears.’”
“Was there a storm?”
“No, Tora. Young ladies are given to express themselves poetically. She quarreled with someone.”
“Right. Who with?”
“She doesn’t say.”
“But it wasn’t the prince?”
“No, I don’t think it was the prince.”
Tora thought. His face brightened. “Remember how Lord Masaie’s cook said her master was in the capital then? I bet he went to talk to his daughter again.”
Akitada nodded. “Perhaps. It would make sense. I think it’s time we found out what Masaie was up to.”
Tora got up. “I’ll have another talk with the cook,” he offered.
“No. We’ll talk to his lordship himself.”
“Even better, sir.” Tora looked pleased, but then his face fell. He cleared his throat. “I have news. We know who killed Tokuzo, sir.”
Akitada was not at all sure if this was good news. “You do?”
“It was Bashan.”
“Bashan?” Akitada was at a loss. “You mean the blind masseur who put my shoulder back?”
“Yes, only he isn’t blind.”
“Really?”
Tora nodded.
Akitada thought about it. “It’s possible. Men will do strange things to earn a living. But what makes you think he killed the man?”
Tora sighed. “Genba said the stranger smelled like a bathhouse.”
Akitada did not laugh. Recognizing a smell had once before led them to a suspect. “Explain!”
Tora did so.
Akitada was impressed by their accomplishment. “That was extremely well done,” he said warmly. “How do you plan to proceed?”
“We … er … proceeded already, sir. We confronted him.”