‘He was begging so, my husband took pity.’

Neither her tone nor her smile was convincing. Akitada frowned. ‘I thought he was deaf-mute. Surely he’s not much help on a boat.’

The oldest boy guffawed. ‘Moron,’ he said.

‘Shut up.’ His mother glared at him. ‘It’s true he isn’t much help, poor cripple,’ she said, turning back to Akitada. ‘My husband lets him ride along for a treat.’

‘Ah.’

She flushed. ‘We’re taking good care of him, sir. We give him only the best, thanks to your kindness, only the best. He eats like a prince. The other children are jealous. Aren’t you, my pets?’

The children ignored her. Akitada was undecided. He looked out over the lake, wishing Mimura’s boat would return. Overhead swooped white gulls with raucous cries; higher up, two black kites performed their slow circles silently. Several gulls had taken up position on the roof of the storehouse, where they were walking back and forth with watchful eyes.

And then Akitada heard the sound of sweeping from somewhere beyond the storehouse.

Mrs Mimura heard it too and said quickly, ‘We always tell them it’s to make up for his being deaf and dumb. We all look after him like a little treasure, don’t we?’

The children looked at their mother in surprise. The oldest said, ‘Huh?’

Akitada looked at the storehouse. It was solidly constructed on sturdy timber supports. The sweeping sounds continued. ‘Tora,’ he called.

Tora dismounted, tied up the horses, and strolled over.

Mrs Mimura raised her voice a little and started down the steps. ‘I’m sorry that my husband isn’t home. Or the boy either. You’ve wasted a trip. How about coming back another day? Or maybe we could bring him to you in Otsu. Say tomorrow?’

Akitada bent to peer under the storehouse. It was raised several feet above ground on its supports, perhaps in case of flooding from the lake. In the shelter under the building, Mimura stored tools of his trade: spare oars, parts of a boat, three-pronged spears, and bamboo fishing rods and lines. Fishing traps, like the one the old woman had been making, and baskets hung from nails, and a large net was strung between the supports. But Akitada saw movement behind all of these objects, on the far side of the storehouse.

‘Go see what’s behind the storehouse,’ he told Tora.

Tora walked off, and the woman went flying after him to grab his sleeve. ‘Wait,’ she cried. ‘We keep a vicious dog back there.’

Tora flung off her hand. ‘Don’t touch me, woman!’ he snapped. ‘I’ve dealt with dogs before. And with troublesome females.’ He disappeared around the storehouse in two or three great strides, the woman on his heels. The children followed.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she cried. ‘You’ve got no right …’

For a moment there was silence. Then Tora’s voice, strangely tight, shouted, ‘Sir? Would you come back here a moment?’

Akitada ran around the storehouse and came to an abrupt halt.

It was a weedy area where Mimura cleaned his fish and dumped unsold wares and other garbage. The rotting fish was piled in a stinking mound beside an old basket. Flies buzzed everywhere.

And there was the boy. He held a broken broom in his small hands and was once again dressed in a filthy rag. New bruises, including a black eye and a swollen lip, had joined the old ones. His eyes were wide with fear.

But what made Akitada’s blood boil was that he had a heavy leather collar around his thin neck. From the collar, a rusty chain about ten feet in length led to one of the supports of the storehouse, where it was fastened to an iron ring.

The child had stopped sweeping the malodorous mess of fish entrails; his eyes were on Mrs Mimura.

Tora cursed softly.

Barely controlling his rage, Akitada turned to the woman. ‘Is this your vicious dog?’

She cringed away from his face. ‘He will run away, sir,’ she wailed. ‘It’s for his own good. You know he runs away.’

‘So you tie him up like a dog? Worse, for I see neither food nor water bowls.’

‘He eats in the house. He’s only been here a little while. I’ve got work to do and can’t watch him all the time. It was just for a little while until I got supper started.’

Akitada gave her another look that made her quail and went to the boy. The child whimpered and backed away. Akitada spoke to him, soothing meaningless phrases: ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s only me again. You remember me, don’t you? We met in the forest. It was raining then, but you rode to Otsu with me. I bought you a rice cake and we stayed at the inn. Do you remember?’ The boy gave no sign that he understood. His eyes shifted to Tora, who had come up beside him, and he jerked away in fear.

‘Hold still, little one,’ Tora said gently. ‘Let me take that collar off. You’ve done enough sweeping.’ But the boy ran.

Mrs Mimura, perhaps trying to be helpful, snatched at his chain and jerked it sharply. The boy flipped backward with a strangled cry and hit the dirt hard. Almost at the same instant Tora backhanded Mrs Mimura so viciously that she screamed and tumbled to the ground, holding her face with both hands.

Neither Tora nor Akitada paid attention to the blood spurting from her nose. They knelt on either side of child – who lay curled into a ball, clutching at his throat – and got in each other’s way trying to undo the collar.

‘That she-devil,’ Tora grunted. When the collar finally parted, they saw bloody welts on the boy’s slender neck.

Ignoring the stench and filth that clung to him, Akitada took the boy in his arms and held him, murmuring endearments, while Tora stood by. Behind them, Mrs Mimura got to her feet and ran back to the house. Her children ignored her and remained to watch.

When the boy stopped whimpering and relaxed against him, Akitada rose. Carrying the child, he said in a shaking voice, ‘Come, Tora. We’re taking him with us now. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay those monsters a single copper for him.’

When they got on their horses, the woman ran from the house, holding a rag to her face. ‘Where are you taking him?’ she cried. ‘You can’t have him. Not without pay.’

Akitada glared. ‘Count yourself lucky if I don’t have you and your husband arrested.’

She screamed, ‘Help! Help! Thieves. They’re stealing our child.’

The Mimura children shouted, ‘Thieves,’ and, ‘Help,’ and laughed at the excitement.

A small group of people from the village stood near the old crone’s house. They watched with detached interest. No one made a move to come to Mrs Mimura’s aid or stop them. The old one gave them a toothless smile and a wave as they passed.

Akitada held the trembling child and spurred his horse. He wanted to get away from this place of horror as fast and far as possible. They reached the road and turned into the forest.

There was no one else about, but after the rains the road surface was too treacherous for their current speed, especially as Akitada was distracted by the child and did not guide his horse as carefully as he should have. His mount stepped in a deep rut and stumbled. Akitada reined in. He was fond of his horse, a fine grey stallion he had brought back from the North Country, and realized with dismay that he was limping badly. Tora dismounted to inspect the damage.

‘A sprain,’ he said, feeling the animal’s right front leg. ‘Don’t know how bad.’

‘It was my fault,’ muttered Akitada, stroking the animal’s neck.

‘Take my horse, and I’ll walk yours to Otsu,’ Tora offered, even though he knew this meant he would not get back to Hanae tonight.

Akitada looked at the boy and saw that he clung to him and was watching the woods as if he expected monsters to emerge at any moment. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We’ll go on to Otsu, spend the night at the inn there, and continue in the morning. If necessary, we can rent a horse.’

Tora reached up, intending to lift the boy down, but the child panicked and fell into the mud. He got up immediately and clutched at Akitada’s boot.