Strange, he thought, in the dusk last night the stacked cushions had all appeared the same. A trick of light, or of darkness rather. The thought teased him, as if this trivial matter had some hidden significance, but he did not pursue it. The ceremony was beginning.

Prince Atsuakira rose and stepped forward on the dais, and silence fell. His brief opening address was followed by others, last but not least by Oe, who made the most of his opportunity to shine before such an eminent audience.

Oe was wearing another splendid blue brocade robe, and his white hair gleamed under the formal black court hat. After bidding the guests welcome in the name of the combined faculties of the university, he explained the rules and sequence of the competition.

Akitada knew already that there would be four segments, compositions celebrating special occasions, travel poems, drinking songs and love lyrics. Each segment would be separated from the next by musical interludes and dance performances, after which each winner would be declared.

As Oe's voice droned on, Akitada looked out over the lake. A group of ducks came paddling around a bend, paused, seemingly astonished at the brilliant congregation of humans at the pavilion, then burst into disgusted quacking and rose from the lake in a clatter of wings and sparkling drops of water.

"The beauty of this day," said Oe, "will give birth to genius and affirm the greatness of His Majesty's reign." The nobles across the way applauded, and Akitada, idly glancing, recognized a face.

There, if he was not mistaken, sat the fellow Okura, the weak-chinned dandy who had quarreled with Tora and who had, against all probability, placed first during the recent examinations. He was one of the contestants. Akitada began to take some slight interest in the proceedings.

When Oe finished to general relieved applause, Hirata leaned over and whispered, "Did you notice anything strange about Oe's manner?"

"No. Why?"

"I hope I am mistaken, but I could swear the man was drunk already. He was slurring his words." Hirata shook his head. "I would have thought winning would be too important for him to risk embarrassment."

Akitada said dryly, "If you are right, he will not last long. I see they are beginning to pass the wine around." It was customary to toast each composition with a cup of wine, and from the size of the program it was clear that it would be a long evening and night.

The first presentations passed without great surprises. Occasional verses were the specialty of court officials who were forever dashing off lines in honor of imperial birthdays and esoteric ceremonials. Okura competed in this segment, and Akitada watched him with interest. He appeared composed, even complacent, reciting a short composition which seemed, to Akitada's untrained ear, surprisingly competent, certainly no worse than the rest. Could Hirata have misjudged his ability?

Hirata grunted. "His style has improved amazingly."

Okura retired to mild applause. Suddenly a voice hissed into Akitada's ear, "Well, well! Our esteemed colleague sells his talents to the highest bidder!"

Akitada turned his head and looked into the hooded eyes of the turtle-headed Takahashi. "I am sorry, but I don't understand you," he said coldly.

"Of course not. You are not as familiar with Oe's turn of phrase as the rest of us, to our misery. His style, if you can call it that, is quite unmistakable. He is the one who wrote Okura's poem. Okura could never do it himself."

Akitada stared. "How can you be certain? A student often imitates his teacher's style."

"Well, Hirata," Takahashi asked, "am I right?"

Hirata nodded reluctantly. "It may be so," he said.

"And what's more," continued Takahashi, "our 'great man' has been drinking all day, and wine does not make him amiable. He has already lost his temper twice with that poor fish Ono. I don't see how that man can show his face in public after today. The names Oe called him! And in front of any number of influential people. It was shocking!"

New applause broke out, and Takahashi left to talk to Fujiwara who was arriving late, still wearing the same disreputable silk robe and unmatched sash Akitada remembered from the faculty meeting.

Hirata put his hand on Akitada's arm and nodded towards the stage. Oe, his face flushed, had stepped forward again. He had developed a rather strange manner of rocking on the balls of his feet. Instead of facing the judges, he was looking across at the gathering of government and court officials. "Again you find us gathered so," he began in his mellifluous voice, "again the sun sets bright." He waved an expansive arm towards the bright lake, and received a smattering of applause. "The same that shone a year ago," he lowered his head sadly, "but, oh, how changed we are tonight."

Akitada rather liked the sense of nostalgia and the appropriateness of the images, and waited expectantly for Oe's star performance.

To his surprise, Oe's head jerked up to look again into the gathering of officials, and he concluded sharply: "Some break the rules by which the game is played, / And gain reward where none is due, / While others find their hopes betrayed. / For time and change please only few." He bowed jerkily and returned to his seat, leaving his audience dumb-founded. There was some dubious applause, but most people whispered, shaking their heads in confusion.

"What can he have meant by that?" asked Hirata. "It's almost as if he had accused the judges of awarding the prize to the wrong poet."

Akitada frowned. Surely Oe would not accuse the noble judges. Was he referring to another matter? The charges were uncomfortably apt for the compromised examination. The matter was completely puzzling, and Akitada promised himself a frank talk with the great Oe as soon as possible.

A winner was declared- it was neither Oe nor Okura, but one of the officials- and the servants walked around with trays of wine cups. A gorgeously costumed child, the young son of one of the court nobles, now took the stage and performed an elaborate dance. It told the story of an ancient emperor who had won a battle against insurmountable odds by disguising himself as a fierce dragon warrior.

There was a generous burst of applause when the child finished. Oe shot up from his seat and, before he could be stopped, recited another poem. To everyone's relief, it turned out to be in praise of the grace of this scion of a noble family and predicted greatness for his future. This time, Oe reaped generous applause. Most of the guests were under the impression that they had just witnessed a brilliant extemporaneous composition, but Akitada was convinced that Oe had come prepared. It made the previous poem even more puzzling.

The second segment passed without incident. It featured, among others, Ishikawa, who won a prize. An interlude of flute music followed; Akitada gave it his full attention. He stretched to see if Sato was playing but found that the performer was a stranger. Sato's absence caused him to wonder about the police investigation. He hoped Kobe had not decided to arrest the music professor. Recalling the beating given to the old beggar, he felt uneasy about having mentioned Sato's name to the captain. When the flute player stopped, Akitada got up to stretch his legs. He strolled along the veranda to the rear of the pavilion.

On the ground below was a great bustling of waiters who were heating flasks of wine in large braziers and running back and forth with trays of cups. Akitada leaned on the balustrade to watch. Directly below him, a group of servants unpacked large colored paper lanterns. It would not be long till night, for the brilliant sunlight had turned a muted gold and the deep blue of the sky was changing to the pale shade of wisteria blossoms. Soon in the darkness, hundreds of colored lanterns would gleam.