They reached the pass before Akitada awoke to his surroundings. He recalled stopping here the day before and turned back to make some comment to Tora. The words remained unsaid when he saw Tora’s face.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ he demanded. The scene at home came back to him, along with Seimei’s report on Tora’s absences.

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘You’re angry with me when I should be angry with you.’

‘And why is that, sir?’ Tora asked bitterly. ‘Yesterday I came to find you as ordered by Her Ladyship. Today I follow you back, as ordered by you. In what way have I offended?’

This was not the sort of answer Akitada had expected. Happy-go-lucky to a fault, Tora always shrugged off minor reproofs with a smile and an apology. It was this cheerfulness that Akitada had always liked about him. Their very different personalities complemented each other, and this morose Tora was unrecognizable. Akitada reined in his horse and said, ‘Cook complains that you are rarely at home any more. Why is that?’

Tora did not like his master’s tone, and his worries about Hanae got the best of him. He snapped, ‘I hope that goblinfaced female goes to the hell where they cut out your tongue before they throw you into the flames.’

‘Answer my question.’ Akitada was getting angry again.

Tora glowered. ‘I had private business. Since you never have any instructions for me or Genba, I thought I was free to take an evening off now and then.’

Being reminded of his own shortcomings did not improve Akitada’s temper. ‘Evenings, nights, and whole days. Apparently, you hardly ever sleep at home any more. And you’re never there when you’re needed.’

Tora’s face froze. ‘Oh, am I to be Cook’s errand boy now? I don’t believe you made that very clear, sir, when you took me on.’

They were stopped in the middle of the roadway, glaring at each other. Two pilgrims in white robes and straw hats gave them a wide berth.

Eight years ago they had met on another highway, where Tora had saved Akitada and Seimei from bandits. Akitada had taken him on as his servant, in spite of Tora’s expressed hatred for titled officials. He had put aside his own sense of correctness to tolerate Tora’s improper familiarity and ramshackle ways for the sake of his good nature and friendship. Perhaps he had gone too far in letting him have his way.

Akitada said coldly, ‘I hired a servant, and I pay a servant to serve. When I saw my house yesterday it was clear that you had not done any work for months. I found my wife in the garden, hacking away at overgrown trees and shrubs like a common laborer, while you spend your days and nights in the amusement quarter. I should beat you.

Tora’s eyes widened. For a moment he said nothing. Then he nodded. ‘Fair enough. You can beat me, but to be clear, it wasn’t Genba’s fault. He wanted to mend the roof and fix the wall, but it takes two to do it, and I wasn’t there. You needn’t pay me for the rest of the year, and I’ll do my best to get the work done.’

‘Another empty promise,’ grumbled Akitada, his happy anticipation of bringing the boy home spoiled by Tora’s unaccountable behavior. Tora knew very well that Akitada would never beat him and took advantage of this. They continued their journey in disgruntled silence.

This time they bypassed Otsu and made straight for the fishing village. On this bright and sunny day, the forest where Akitada had met the boy was neither ghostly nor threatening. Sunlight filtered through the pine trees and spilled green patches of light on bracken and moss. Instead of an impenetrable dark crouching like a monster under the trees, the distant lake shimmered through the pines. Akitada had not noticed the dirt track to Awazu in the rain.

They took the twisting path to the lake and found a scattering of poor wooden houses covered with boards. Nine or ten of these weather-blackened dwellings clung to a narrow strip of land between lake and forest. The lake was a silver mirror reflecting the midday sun, and along the shore weathered boat docks extended into the fierce brightness. Broken dinghies, masts, torn sails, oars and rudders lay about, and fishing nets, floats, and baskets dried against brush fences. Gulls swooped and shrieked hoarsely while children played among the reeds, and two women were drying small silvery fish on grass mats.

The boy had not strayed very far at all. Akitada could see the warden’s point. Children will roam from their homes without their parents’ knowledge. And the poor are often malnourished. But he had not been mistaken about the bruises on the child’s body.

Most of the men were probably out on the lake. The surface of the water was dotted with white sails and rowboats as far as the eye could see, almost to the blue mountains in the distance.

They passed an old woman sitting in the doorway of the first house. Like a piece of driftwood, her black clothing was bleached a dirty grey that blended into the weathered wood behind her. She was weaving bamboo strips into fish traps, but had stopped to stare at them.

Akitada said, ‘Go ask her where the Mimuras live.’

Tora dismounted without a word and walked over to the old woman. A conversation ensued. The old one shook her head and talked, her toothless mouth like a knothole in an ancient tree. She scowled, gestured, and spat. Tora returned. The old woman got up and limped to the fence to look after him.

‘She didn’t seem very friendly,’ Akitada commented.

‘Hates Mimura,’ Tora said. ‘A devil, she calls him. I wouldn’t trust a man that his own neighbors curse. Anyway, it’s the third house from the end, and he’s not home.’

Tora was evidently still angry. ‘We’ll have to manage without him then,’ said Akitada, trying to reestablish working relations. ‘It does seem strange that he should have made such bitter enemies in his own village.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

Akitada realized that he had not yet told Tora about the boy, but they had reached their destination and there was no time, so he merely said, ‘I’m trying to buy a boy from them. They starved and abused him.’

That got Tora’s attention. ‘A boy? You’re buying a boy?’ His expression suggested that Akitada must have lost his mind. ‘But … there are plenty of starving boys in the capital. Why come here?’

Akitada dismounted. ‘Later. First let’s make sure the child is here and safe.’

There was a strong smell of fish in the air. The walls of the decrepit wooden house, built on stilts like the others, were so weather-stained that they were nearly black. The small porch and steps leaned precariously, and the roof was covered with ancient, ragged boards, which had grass growing from them. Nearby stood a smaller, but much newer, storehouse.

Smoke came from an opening in the roof of the house, and the door stood open, so somebody was at home. Down on the shore, the children paused in their play to stare at the visitors, but the boy was not among them.

‘Mrs Mimura?’ Akitada called.

The frowzy female from their last meeting appeared in the doorway. She wore a new, boldly patterned robe tied around her thick middle with a bright-orange sash. Squinting into the sun, she recognized Akitada when he walked towards her. She was not at all pleased to see him.

‘Mrs Mimura,’ said Akitada, looking up at her, ‘I came to speak to you and your husband about the boy.’ Her eyes flicked towards the storehouse. Akitada was certain now that she was afraid of him.

‘My husband’s out fishing,’ she said. ‘He’s taken the boy with him. What did you want to talk about?’

Akitada did not answer right away. The children, two boys and a smaller girl, joined them. They were sturdy, tough-looking children with flat round faces and looked nothing at all like the deaf-mute boy. ‘Are these your other children?’ Akitada asked.

‘Yes.’

It seemed a very short answer for a mother to give. She was anxious to get rid of him, and he was beginning to be uneasy. ‘You say your husband has taken the little boy. Surely he’s younger than these children.’