There was a soft scratching at the sliding door to the corridor.

"Father?" Tamako's soft voice was a welcome interruption. "Your dinner is ready. Will you come to the main hall?"

"Of course. Right away. We are quite finished reminiscing," Hirata called. They heard her footsteps receding.

"May I inform your daughter of this matter, sir, or will you?" Akitada inquired.

Hirata paused in the process of rising and straightening his robe. "Why? I would rather not involve her," he said doubtfully.

"She is so concerned about you that the truth will be a great relief to her," Akitada persisted.

They walked out into the corridor together. "You have always been very fond of my child, haven't you?" Hirata asked inconsequentially.

"Yes. Of course."

"Very well. We shall tell her together over dinner."

A week later Akitada entered, as one of its teachers, the grounds of the august university in which he had received his own education.

The imperial university, or daigaku, covered four city blocks just south of the greater imperial palace, or daidairi. Its main gate was on Mibu Road and directly across from the Shinsenen, the Divine Spring Garden, a large park where the emperor and his nobles often held summer parties.

On this sunny morning of the Blossoming Month, Akitada stood just inside this gate, looking at the familiar walls and gates, the tiled roofs of lecture halls, libraries and dormitories lying peacefully under a placid sky and swaying pine trees, and was seized by a familiar panic. Like an adult son who will never quite lose a feeling of inadequacy around a parent, Akitada was once again in the grip of that atmosphere of stem authority and intellectual superiority which had awed him as a youngster.

He forced down the lump of adolescent panic and took in subtle signs of neglect. Weeds were growing against walls which needed patching where pieces of whitewashed mud had fallen off, revealing the timbers, rubble, and woven branches which supported them; the dirt road was pitted and marred by puddles; and from the curved roofs of the halls and gates large sections of tile were missing.

A group of chattering students, nine or ten young men, all in their late teens and wearing the mandatory dark cotton robes, passed him, falling abruptly silent as they approached. Giving him nervous looks, they turned into the courtyard of the administration hall and took off running.

Not everything had changed, Akitada thought with a smile. The students were still up to their usual pranks.

He could not blame them. It promised to be a beautiful day, much better spent on a lark than in a musty classroom. The sky was pale blue silk and the dark green pines and pale-leafed willows rose against it like delicate embroidery. In the courtyard nearest him, a cuckoo suddenly burst into its characteristic ho-to-to.

Akitada had come early, because he wanted some time to look around and perhaps meet some of his new colleagues. Walking through the small gate into the courtyard of the Temple of Confucius, Akitada decided it was appropriate for him to pay his respects to the patron saint of education. Besides, it was here that Professor Hirata had discovered the blackmail note.

Coming into the temple hall from the sunlight, Akitada was surprised by its gloom, but his eyes soon adjusted and he could make out the life-sized wooden statues. The great master Confucius occupied the center of a dais, with his fellow sages lined up on either side. Akitada bowed deeply before "Master Kung," as Seimei called him, and asked for inspiration in his new duties.

His teaching assignment, though a mere cover for snooping, was taking on daunting proportions. Akitada did not think that he could fool bright youngsters with a less than professional effort. He had considered backing out, but in the balance the dusty archives at the ministry held more terror than the probing questions of students.

Somewhere a door closed. He looked around but saw no one. The statue of the sage looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, his hand stroking a long beard. One needed age to become wise. Who was he to pass himself off as a teacher? Such fraud was no part of the Confucian philosophy.

He reminded himself of the ministerial archives. To his surprise there had not been the slightest problem getting a temporary leave from his duties at the ministry. His Excellency, the Minister of Justice, had stared at him coldly and informed him that his presence was needed more urgently at the university than in his present sphere. Soga had somehow managed to convey that they could manage without Akitada on a permanent basis.

Sighing deeply, Akitada bowed to the master again, apologetically, and then walked through the hall to the small anteroom under the eaves. Here were the pegs where the professors had hung their formal robes for the rites. A door connected the room to the temple hall, and another door opposite led to the outside. Akitada opened the latter and looked out into the main courtyard. Shrubbery surrounding a stand of pines hid this entrance from general view. Anyone could have entered or left without being seen.

He turned and was staring at the row of pegs on the wall, when a slight cough startled him.

The door to the temple hall had opened a crack, and through it a long-faced man was watching him from under bushy eyebrows.

"Ah! A visitor!" he cried, stepping fully into the anteroom. "May I offer my humble services in showing the honorable gentleman around?" Middle-aged and gawky, he bowed rather more deeply than Akitada's sober gown and casual headdress required. He wore a wrinkled and disordered robe of poorly dyed cotton, and thick hair escaped in all directions from his topknot. Akitada took him for a servant.

"Nishioka is the name," the odd man said genially. "Master of Confucian classics. You see, you are in good hands. May I ask the gentleman's honored name?" He peered inquisitively at Akitada. His broad nose twitched with curiosity.

Perhaps the man's appearance was due to a scholarly disregard for aesthetics, but given his shaggy brows and lantern jaw, he was certainly one of the least impressive intellectuals Akitada had ever met. Still, he returned the bow, saying, "I am Sugawara and a colleague of yours for the next few weeks, though I am to teach law. Are you assistant to Professor Tanabe?"

The other smiled broadly. "Delighted! Absolutely delighted! Yes, indeed! I have that honor and pleasure. A great scholar and a constant inspiration to me! He is perhaps a friend of yours?"

"A former teacher rather. A tough one."

"Ah! I see! Well, yes. Some of the students seem to feel that he is demanding. So you are to teach law. Do you know Hirata?"

"Yes. He is a friend, in addition to being a former teacher."

"No doubt he appointed you for that reason?"

Akitada stiffened. "I beg your pardon?" The question sounded impertinent, suggested favoritism.

Nishioka's face lengthened comically. "I see that I have offended. Perhaps I did not phrase my question properly. I merely meant that you must have been an outstanding student."

"I see. Thank you. As you see, I am becoming reacquainted with the places where I spent my youth. Do you get many visitors here?"

"Oh, no. That is why I came to ask your business. I try to keep myself informed about the comings and goings. I wish I had more time to chat, but Professor Tanabe is preparing his lecture, and I must help him. If I may, I shall pay you a visit in the law school soon. You will want to know all about the teaching staff and the students." He bowed deeply and disappeared as suddenly as he had come.

Akitada left also, reflecting that Nishioka seemed to keep himself well informed and would be a useful source of gossip.