“But, stupid girl, that is not the same as taking a knife to your face. Look at what you made me do to him! Was grabbing your arm in the alley worth that? The man may never enjoy a woman again!” Tora went rigid and clutched at Akitada’s hand. Miss Plumblossom, in full spate, continued, “He may never have a wife or beget children! A eunuch the rest of his life! And all because you made us think he was the slasher!”
The maid burst into hacking sobs.
Akitada said grimly, “Enough! It has happened. Let us try to make sure your predictions don’t come true. Now get out of here.”
Miss Plumblossom left meekly, taking the sobbing maid with her. Kobe slammed the door after them, then crouched down next to Akitada.
“You poor fellow,” he said to Tora. “Women can be devils, but don’t believe what she said. The doctor will fix you up like new.”
Tora compressed his lips, stared at the ceiling, and said nothing.
An old monk, bent almost double and wearing a threadbare black cotton robe liberally stained across the chest and sleeves, eventually made his appearance and examined the patient with many head-shakings and mumblings. To Akitada’s irritation, his leisurely examination began with Tora’s face, eyes, and tongue, and moved on to the feeling of his pulse and his abdomen, before it focused on his injuries. After considerable manipulation with his gnarled fingers—during which Tora went absolutely rigid until Akitada snapped, “enough!”—he pursed wrinkled lips and announced, “The cold and wet appearance of the skin, along with the extreme paleness, suggests that the life force has withdrawn and that the patient is therefore in a state of negativity. This indicates that the male force of yang has been weakened and overpowered by the female yin force, thereby creating a severely abnormal imbalance.”
Tora’s eyes grew round with horror. “She unmanned me!” he groaned. “I knew it. Just make an end of me right now. I can’t bear life as a eunuch.”
Kobe was shaking his head in pity, but Akitada glared at the monk. “Stop talking nonsense,” he snapped. “Surely you can do something to bring down the swelling and reduce the pain. What about that ice?”
The monk rummaged in his bundle and brought out a stoneware jar and an ointment box, muttering, “The human body is transient, weak, and impotent.” He applied the thick black ointment. “It is untrustworthy, impure, and full of filthiness.” He took up the jar dubiously. Jerking his shaven head toward the door, he said, “She always orders ice for injuries that swell. I won’t say she’s wrong, since swellings attract heat, but in a case of severe negativity it’s a very dangerous thing to do. I don’t advise it. Leeches would be my choice. They’ll bring the swelling down without chilling the flesh further.”
With Tora’s fingers gripping his painfully, Akitada said, “Put on the ice! In her business the woman should know what works best.”
The monk grunted. “The love of women leads to delusion. Don’t have any leeches anyway,” and transferred the ice to a square of cotton, which he tied and placed on the injured groin. Tora sighed and relaxed a little.
Next the old monk fingered the purple bruises on Tora’s chest. “No broken ribs,” he pronounced, “but some of the vital organs may have been displaced or injured. The patient’s coldness and the sweating suggest a rupture may have occurred, but it is too soon to tell.”
“What if there is a rupture?” asked Akitada, visions of Tora’s slow and agonizing death from internal injuries passing through his mind.
But the monk knotted up his bundle and rose, saying piously, “We must all prepare to leave this world of nothingness.”
A miserable silence settled over the room after the monk had left. Then Tora said tentatively, “The ice helps.”
“Good,” cried Kobe. “You see! All will be well.”
“What about your breathing?” asked Akitada.
“The same.” Tora looked up at him. “I’m not afraid to die.”
“You are not going to die,” cried Akitada, and jumped up. “Where is that oxcart? You are going home, where Seimei will make you well.”
The door opened. Miss Plumblossom said, “There’s a messenger outside for you, Superintendent.”
Kobe left the room, and Miss Plumblossom inched in. She had been weeping, for black smudges ringed her eyes like a badger’s. “I’m very sorry, Tora,” she told the patient. “I’ll try to make it up to you. Whatever I have, it’s yours.”
Tora waved a languid hand. “Forget it!”
“No, no,” she insisted, wringing her hands, when Kobe put in his head again.
“The oxcart is ready. But I have to leave. Looks like they found Nagaoka. Dead. His skull bashed in.”
SEVENTEEN
Switched Boots
Since Kobe had rushed off without giving particulars about Nagaoka’s death, Akitada merely saw Tora settled under Seimei’s care before he went looking for the superintendent. Unfortunately, at his headquarters nobody knew or wanted to tell him where he had gone. He met with the same results at the prison, but here Akitada fretted and complained, and finally demanded to see Kojiro. The officer in charge relented and took him to the cell.
Kojiro rose as soon as Akitada entered. He looked much better than the last time they had met. Apparently there had been no further beatings, and he had been allowed to wash and shave. When he recognized his visitor, he bowed, his eyes intent. “Is there news, my lord? Have they found Nobuko’s murderer?”
Evidently Kobe had not bothered to inform the man of his brother’s death. Akitada steeled himself for the ordeal. “There is news, but it does not concern your sister-in-law.” He searched for the right words. “I was hoping,” he finally confessed, “that the superintendent had told you. He received an unsubstantiated report that your brother has met with a mishap.”
Instant anxiety appeared in the other man’s eyes. “Mishap? What kind of mishap? Is he wounded? Ill?”
“I have no details, nor do I know where he was found.”
“ ‘He was found’? Then it must be serious.” Kojiro clenched his manacled fists and glared at the locked cell door. Frustrated, he started pacing back and forth. The chain on his legs clinked and limited his path to no more than three steps either way. Like a caged beast, he had learned when to turn. “He may even be dead,” he muttered, then stopped. “Is he dead?”
Akitada spread his hands helplessly. “There is a chance that the man they found is not your brother after all,” he evaded awkwardly.
“But they found a dead man and think he’s my brother?”
Akitada nodded.
Kojiro sat down abruptly and put his head in his hands. After a moment he said dully, “Thank you for telling me. This way I shall be prepared when Kobe finally bothers to inform me.”
“This is bad news, and I am very sorry to be the one to bring it.” Akitada crouched down near him. “A number of strange things have been happening. Perhaps they have something to do with the death of your sister-in-law, and if the man they found is indeed your brother and he was murdered also, the same killer may be responsible. The best thing you can do now is to help me find justice for both. Can you explain why your brother might sell all his goods, everything except the house? And why he would then disappear without telling anyone where he was going or why?”
Kojiro raised his head from his hands and looked at him bleakly. “Perhaps, but I doubt it has anything to do with Nobuko’s death. My brother’s business affairs have not been going well for a few years now. I offered money on a number of occasions, but he always refused it. Too much pride. His reputation was excellent, and his creditors did not press him for payment as a rule, but perhaps this time their patience ran out. Paying his debts is a matter of conscience with him. He would do so even if it meant selling everything. My brother had much honor.” Tears welled up in his eyes, but he controlled himself immediately. “Could he have been killed because he carried the money on him?”