He snapped, ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Tora is once again besotted with some whore from the quarter. He has no control over his sexual urges the moment a loose woman makes eyes at him.’
She flinched at his language. ‘Tora has a kind heart,’ she said. ‘He does not make distinctions.’
He snorted.
‘Please don’t be this way, Akitada. I think you must have misunderstood something. This isn’t like Tora.’ When he shook his head stubbornly, her eyes flashed and she cried, ‘Oh, Akitada, think! Whatever Tora has done, don’t forget what you owe him. He saved your life. He came for you in Sado. He fought beside you. You must find him and bring him back. Neither of you will ever be happy again unless you do.’
He was surprised at her urgency and digested this in silence. She was right, of course, and that rankled. He had thought himself the injured party and was still not altogether convinced that he wasn’t. ‘What do you suggest I do?’ he grumbled. ‘Do you want me to question every madam, porter, and whore in the quarter until I find him? And then apologize because I have found his work unsatisfactory lately?’ He turned and pointed an accusing finger at the ragged hole in the veranda floor. ‘This would never have happened, nor this -’ he gestured towards the stained ceiling – ‘nor all the other leaks in our roofs, nor the crumbling outer wall, nor the gods know what else, if Tora had done even a part of the chores he owed me.’
She closed her eyes briefly before his anger, then said, ‘You’re right, but you must find him all the same. There are more important things owed between you. Do you really want to lose Tora, too?’
He brushed a weary hand across his face. ‘What does it matter? What does anything matter?’
‘Oh, Akitada.’ Tamako jumped up and stamped her foot. ‘It matters to me. It matters to Tora. It matters to all of us who care about you.’
His resistance crumbled. He looked up at her uncertainly. ‘You really think I should look for Tora?’
‘Of course.’
‘But what about the boy?’
‘You said he was safe. Find Tora first. The rest will fall into place.’
‘Well…’
‘Please.’
Akitada saw the entreaty in her eyes and sighed. ‘Very well. But if he doesn’t have a very good explanation for this latest stunt, I’ll be done with him.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled.
His heart lifted a little. Whatever Tora was up to, the search would take his mind off his other troubles. He rose and glanced towards the veranda. ‘Stay off those boards until they are mended. If you and Seimei will make a list of repairs and leave it on my desk, I will see what can be done. I’ll try to be back for the evening rice.’
NINE
The sun was up when Tora got back to the capital. He was limping badly and put one foot in front of the other by sheer willpower. There was a hole in one of his boots, and the sharp gravel of the highway had cut his foot. He was no longer hungry, though he had eaten nothing since the previous morning, but the lack of food and sleep made him light-headed.
Perhaps he had made this dreadful trip for nothing. Perhaps Hanae would receive him with a hug and a smile. She would make him sit down on the front steps beside the morning glory vine and take off his boots. Then she would bathe his sore feet and bandage them, feed him some warm rice gruel, and hold him in her arms.
But Hanae was not home. Only the white cat greeted him, mewing plaintively and rubbing against his legs. The cat was Hanae’s, just as Trouble was his. Ordinarily, the cat did not care much for Tora, whom it seemed to consider an interloper. Trouble did not discriminate. He loved both his owners equally. But now the cat, an opportunistic creature, was distraught and, thinking it had been abandoned by its mistress, it greeted Tora effusively.
Followed by the mewing cat, Tora limped to the backyard. He drank at the well and washed his face and hands. Then he filled the dog’s dry water bowl. The cat drank daintily, twitching its tail. It preferred fish broth.
‘Make yourself useful,’ growled Tora, taking off his boots to wash his wounded foot. ‘Catch some rats. Your mistress always said you were a good mouser.’ The cat pressed its head into his hand and purred. Tora thought of Hanae and felt pity for the animal. ‘I’m hungry myself,’ he said apologetically.
The boots were in bad shape, but he had no others. Barefoot, he limped back to the veranda, found the key where they hid it under a rock behind the vine, and unlocked the door. The stale air and silence of emptiness greeted him and made his heart heavy again. He took off his sword and hung it on its nail. Since he was no longer in the service of a noble family, he could be arrested for wearing a sword in the capital. Plus, if Hanae returned, she would know he had been here. The mewing cat had followed him inside and was investigating both rooms for its mistress. Tora found a worn pair of straw sandals and cut inserts from these for his boots. Then he wrapped his lacerated foot in old rags and slipped the boots back on. In the kitchen, he rummaged about for food, but Hanae had cleaned up and the larder was bare.
‘Come on,’ he told the cat. They went back out and Tora re-locked the house and hid the key again. With a sigh he left, closing the gate carefully behind himself. The cat jumped up and over and mewed loudly. Tora kept walking. When he reached the corner, he glanced back. The cat had followed him halfway along the block and sat in the middle of the road looking after him.
Near the market, he used his last copper to buy a rice cake from a street vendor and ate it on the way. Following the directions from the fat servant in Uji, he reached Sadanori’s residence quickly. He did not expect to find Hanae there, but hoped to learn something about its owner.
The nobleman’s large compound occupied an entire city block and was walled all around. Its main gate on Muromachi Street stood open on a scene of great activity.
A small crowd had gathered on either side of the gate, and Tora joined them. They watched as a train of porters and carts tried to deliver building supplies, while inside grooms and servants clustered around an ornate, painted ox-drawn carriage. An irate little man in the white clothes of an upper servant jumped around in front of the train of porters, waving his arms and shouting for them to stop, to go away, to back up, to go around to the other gate. The men at the head of the train stopped, but the others were pressing forward from behind. In due course, trouble ensued. Two porters were crowded aside by a cart backing up and dropped a load of planks on someone’s foot. Cries and curses followed. A mule shied and galloped into the cluster of servants, shedding roof tiles from the basket strapped on its back. The servants scattered, frightening the ox. The ox made for the stable building with its handler hanging on to the reins and digging in his heels to stop him. Outside the gate, the lumber bearers faced off against the tile carriers because one man had been trampled by a member of another group. Boards and beams lay everywhere, and large baskets spilled clay tiles into the street. The watching crowd cheered.
Tora used the fracas to slip into the courtyard undetected. When the ox had pulled away the carriage, it had revealed a nobleman in a rich red silk robe and black court hat. He wore a sword and held a gilded fan, with which he fanned a round, pale face with a small mustache and chin beard. Beside him stood Ishikawa, a head taller and much slimmer and still in the clothes he had worn in Uji. Both stared at the commotion with identical expressions of shock and disbelief.
Tora ducked behind a pile of stacked firewood, squatted down, and peered around the corner. The man in red must be Sadanori. Ishikawa had ridden back from Uji posthaste to report Tora’s visit. The temptation to confront the great lord and wipe that smug, superior expression off his face was great, but Tora resisted. He wished he knew what they had talked about, but was even more curious about His Lordship’s intentions. Had he just stepped from the elegant carriage, or was he about to leave in it?