Tora was about to approach the stall when a mendicant monk drifted up and talked to the woman. Tora waited, muttering unkind words and scanning the crowd for Ishikawa. He had disappeared.
To console himself, Tora bought a cup of the hot spicy wine. The wine eased his parched throat and was delicious, so he had a second cup. Then he returned to the comb and fan seller. She was middle-aged, but wore the colorful clothes of someone much younger. The paint on her face and her clothes probably meant that she had started life as a ‘fallen flower’ and now eked out a living in this market. She looked glum.
‘If I buy one of your pretty combs for my wife, charming lady,’ Tora said, ‘would you answer a question?’
Few women could resist Tora’s charm when he put his mind to it. This one could. ‘What question?’ she asked listlessly.
He selected a comb. ‘How much for this one?’
‘Fifteen coppers. It’s a very fine comb.’ The answer was automatic. When Tora did not argue, she took the money.
‘A tall man stopped by here a little while ago. Do you know him?’
Her face closed. ‘I don’t remember. A lot of people stop.’
‘Come on,’ Tora pressed her. ‘It just happened. A guy with a sharp face and lousy manners. I saw him. He didn’t buy anything.’ He paused, frustrated by her stubborn silence. ‘Just before that monk talked to you.’
‘He asked about the shrine. The monk asked, too.’
‘He did? Which way did they go?’
She shook her head and turned to another customer.
Tora considered the shrine entrance. Two stone statues of foxes flanked it, their bushy tails reaching skyward. They smirked down at him. The climb was a long one. Tora decided that Ishikawa would not have bothered. He was in the crowd somewhere, probably being followed by the monk wearing a basket hat. That reminded him of the monk in front of Sadanori’s gate. Whichever monk this one was, he was following Ishikawa. Find the monk and find Ishikawa.
He walked up and down between the stalls without seeing either of them. Eventually, he sighed and gave up. The monk was a puzzle. Anyone could hide under one of those basket hats.
Tora’s depression lifted abruptly when he got to the bridge over the Kamo River and saw the monk walking ahead of him. The basket hat bobbed along briskly, and the monk was over the bridge and turning into the warren of streets and alleys before Tora was halfway across.
Cursing the ‘holy’ man’s longer stride, and dodging other travelers, Tora broke into a run. He must not lose his prey again. Luck was with him, and in the light of a shop lantern he caught sight of the basket hat turning south, towards the Willow Quarter. Even better, he was taking a street that was deserted at this time of evening.
Tora increased his speed and had almost caught up when the other man heard his running footsteps and gasping breath and swung around.
With a growl, Tora flung himself on him, carrying him backward a few steps and to the ground. He had surprised the monk by his sudden attack, but the man was fighting back. He was young, strong, and more knowledgeable about street brawling than a servant of Buddha had any right to be.
In the struggle, the basket hat came off and rolled away, and Tora saw that he had caught a stranger. A young, strong, and desperate stranger. In that moment of surprise, the monk managed to bloody Tora’s nose, nearly rip off an ear, sink his teeth into Tora’s forearm, and knee him in the groin.
Tora grunted and released his prey to curl up in agony. The other man was on his feet in an instant, snatched up his basket hat, and took off, running.
Doubts returned. Perhaps this was just an ordinary monk. Itinerant monks often came from humble backgrounds and, being suddenly attacked, might revert to old habits. Still, this man had been far more violent than a religious calling permitted. Shaking his head in confused disgust, Tora walked home.
Genba answered his knock. ‘You’re late,’ he grumbled.
‘Couldn’t help it. All is well? No trouble of any sort?’
‘Trouble? No. Unless you count your dog. Why?’
Tora suddenly felt very tired. ‘I lost Ishikawa.’ He went to the well and pulled up a bucket of water. He drank, then splashed his face. ‘What’s that howling?’
‘The dog. I had to tie him up so he wouldn’t wake everybody when you got home.’
Tora became defensive. ‘He’s a fine watchdog. Let him do his job.’ He went to the stable.
After an affectionate greeting, Tora released the dog and tiptoed into the room he shared with Hanae. He made a moderate amount of noise removing his clothes and yawned loudly once or twice. When that produced no reaction from the sleeping form of his wife, he crawled under the blankets, sighed, and went to sleep.
His rest was disrupted when Trouble introduced himself to the night creatures roaming the Sugawara property, barking as he chased them through the shrubbery. With a sigh, Tora got up again to put him back in the stable.
In the morning, Tora informed the women that he was returning to Otsu, warning them about Ishikawa. Tamako and Hanae seemed unworried. Then, after eating a bowl of rice gruel, he saddled his horse and left.
His failure with Ishikawa gnawed at him. Besides, he had not exactly covered himself with glory in his questioning of Little Abbess. His master would want to know about young Masuda’s death. And about the old lord and his relationship with Peony before and after his son’s death. And why Ishikawa’s mother had visited. Little Abbess knew the answers to those questions, but Tora had only asked about Sadanori. The more he thought about it, the more questions popped into his head. He simply could not return to Otsu before seeing Little Abbess again.
In the courtyard outside her tenement, women were busy chattering and scolding their half-naked children while they hung out clothing or beat the dirt out of the straw mats they had slept on. For a copper, one of the older boys held Tora’s horse while he went to call on Little Abbess.
The elderly couple from the previous day already stood outside her door. The man had the brown-and-white jacket over his arm, and both looked put out. When they saw Tora, the wife cried, ‘Maybe you can get the lazy slut to open up. And you can have the jacket. We won’t buy such trash.’ She jerked it from her husband’s arm and pointed a sharp finger at some loose threads.
Tora knocked on the wooden door. It was broad daylight, and contrary to the mean-faced biddy’s opinion, Little Abbess had not struck him as lazy about her small business. When there was no answer, he gave the door a sharp push. It swung in on creaky hinges, and the sharp-nosed female let loose a shrill scream.
Inside, among her colorful bits of cloth, lay the plain brown body of Little Abbess. She was quite dead, her head resting in a pool of darkening blood.
NINETEEN
It was getting dark when Akitada finished with Doctor Inabe’s papers. He had not found what he was looking for. He rose, stretched his stiff back, and cast a final glance around the room. Someone would soon clean out the doctor’s possessions. He took the notebook that should have contained the entry for young Masuda’s death and the scroll with the bird drawings with him. Then he left the studio, closing the door behind him.
He called out for the old servant, but got no answer. Shaking his head, he walked away, first to the restaurant, where he had another excellent meal, and then to his lodging house.
Tomorrow he would report his failure to the warden. Takechi would solve the doctor’s murder – or perhaps not. It was time Akitada returned to the capital and his own work.
There was still the question of the boy’s parentage, of course. If Mrs Ishikawa identified the child as Peony’s, the Masudas or Peony’s people must be informed. If not, Akitada could buy him from the Mimuras and raise him himself.