"A child of such august rank in a place like this!" muttered one of the old men through a mouthful of rice. "It's no wonder he looked ill when he saw the dormitories. I expect they send his food in from the outside, or he would be dead by now."

Tora chewed a bit of bean curd and smacked his lips. "This is very tasty. I'm glad I ran into you fellows. Are things really so bad for the students?"

The three clerks exchanged glances and grunted. "They treat animals better than they do students here," muttered Nakatoshi. "Of course that means we get some cheap help." He jerked his head towards the hall, where they could hear the sounds of energetic sweeping.

The other old man suddenly joined the conversation. "How can they house and feed them better on what the government allows us? I can remember when the university got twice as much every year, plus extra gifts from grateful parents. Nowadays we all starve, students, staff and faculty alike."

Tora regarded the empty bowls and reached for the wine flask. There were only a few drops left. "Allow me to pay for another round of wine!" he offered.

This was gratefully accepted, and Nakatoshi shouted the order to the student in the hall.

When they were well into the second pitcher, Tora considered the time ripe to probe some more. "Isn't it a bit strange," he asked, "that the son of a great family like the prince's should live here where conditions are so bad?"

"Hah!" cried one of the old men. "The very thing I said when I heard."

The other one nodded. "All the other children of the high nobles are day students and come only for their classes. The dormitories are for the sons of provincial families."

"Well," said Tora, "I have a friend who keeps preaching to me what a fine thing getting an education is, but from what you fellows tell me, it seems even ordinary clerks and humble assistants like me are better off than the students. At least we can buy decent food and wine."

"Speak for yourself!" Nakatoshi, his face positively glowing, gave his two colleagues a wink. "Perhaps your professor pays you well for your services, but let me tell you, we could not manage a simple meal like this without other sources of income." He chuckled.

One of the old men looked up and cleared his throat warningly, but the wine had loosened Nakatoshi's tongue and he boasted, "Our work is not without its fringe benefits." Leaning a little closer to Tora, he said, "For example, we are in the unique position of being able to advise those who would like to put some money on the outcome of academic competitions."

"Nakatoshi!" said the old man sharply.

"You don't mean you make book on the examinations!" Tora exclaimed, putting an arm around Nakatoshi's shoulders.

Nakatoshi giggled. "Not the term I would use, my friend, my very good friend," he babbled, "but similar. Say, would you like to see some odds for the upcoming poetry contest? Maybe wager a little? It's between Oe and Fujiwara on our team, and Okura and Asano for the government. What do you say?"

Tora grinned broadly. "This is my lucky day, and you're a man after my own heart!" he cried. "I can tell I shall like it here. Tell me more!"

But the old man who had grumbled all along now snapped, "Better watch your tongue, Nakatoshi! You remember what happened last spring."

"Nothing happened, you old fool!" Nakatoshi muttered.

"Who's an old fool?" The old man glared. "You nearly got killed when you sold the name of the favorite in the examinations for two strings of coppers a piece, and then another fellow won."

"That wasn't my fault," cried Nakatoshi. "We went over the grades of all the candidates carefully, and there was only one possibility. But then they picked a fellow who never got above a 'satisfactory' on anything except calligraphy! It was a fluke, I tell you. Anyway, that can't happen again now that we handle the bets ourselves."

Tora laughed and patted Nakatoshi's shoulder. "Mistakes happen in the best business. As for me, I look forward to placing a small wager with you as soon as I check out who's who."

They parted on friendly terms. On his way out, Tora walked past the poor student, who was just putting away his broom. For a moment he considered leaving him a few coppers as a tip, but then he remembered that, for all his politeness, the youngster had not addressed him as "sir," and went in search of a new quarry. Eventually he strayed into the large enclosure which contained the student dormitories. At this hour these were empty except for a couple of slovenly women with brooms and pails. Tora ignored them and crossed an open area dotted with pine trees and small shrubs, heading towards the service buildings. The largest of these was the kitchen: empty, filthy and filled with the rancid stench of moldy grain and rotting fish.

The cook and his helpers were taking their ease under a large paulownia tree behind the building. They were seated in a circle around a cracked bowl, pitching coppers towards it. A set of dice made the rounds and small heaps of copper coins lay before each man. There were four rough-looking adults and a handful of scruffy youngsters. When they saw Tora, they snatched up the money and jumped up.

"Don't disturb yourselves on my account," grinned Tora. "I'd be the last man to begrudge a working man his well-earned rest. For that matter, I like a good game myself."

The cook, recognizable by his girth and the many food stains on his clothes, was a cross-eyed brute who pursed his thick lips and looked Tora up and down suspiciously. The others settled back down and waited. Tora hitched up his gown, saying, "Better not get this new outfit dirty. My master'll have it out of my wages," and sat down cross-legged amongst them. "What're the rules?"

"You in service then?" asked the fat cook.

Tora nodded and began to count his coppers into neat little piles. The others watched avidly.

"Do a bit of gambling, do you?" the cook wanted to know.

"Not for a while. I was a soldier once and a buddy showed me how to roll the dice, but it was against the rules then."

The cook grunted and flopped down with the dull thud of a sack of rice. "Glad to have you," he growled. "Here, you can check the dice! To make sure we're on the up and up. You roll for the number of tries at the bowl. Hit the bowl with a copper and all the misses are yours."

"What do you mean?" Tora received the wooden objects and stared at them with a frown. They were crude but had not been tampered with. He handed them back. "They look like dice to me." He eyed the bowl, which was quite small and about ten paces away. The dirty ground around it was covered with copper coins. "I've never seen the game played like that, though."

Someone snickered, but the cook snapped, "Enough talking! Let's play!"

They were avid gamblers, but not particularly skilled at tossing for the bowl. Tora played judiciously, gauging the distance and the weight of the coins, slowly losing his pile of coppers before beginning to win steadily.

"Hey, you're getting good at this!" cried one of the men.

Tora boasted that he would not miss for the next ten tosses. They proposed a bet. Tora lost, but proposed other bets, which he won more often than not, until he sat before a small mountain of coppers, while his companions were dropping out of the game.

They sat with long faces. The cook glowered at Tora and muttered. Finally he snarled, "The bastard lied to us!"

Tora looked up from counting his coppers. "What did you say?"

The cook blustered, "You said you had no skill at the game."

"Did I not tell you that a buddy taught me how to play? Of course I know how to roll the dice," Tora said scornfully. "And I learned to toss pebbles when I was a kid."

"Well, you made it sound like you were green," whined another fellow. "We were just having a friendly game, and now you cleaned us out. What'll we tell our wives?"