He had laid ready his black shirt and long black pants. These two items had cleverly sewn seams that held small useful implements of metal and bamboo. As soon as Genba’s snoring assured him he was soundly asleep, Saburo seized the bundle of clothes and his old brown jacket, and left the stable.

He changed outside, under the eaves, tucking his regular clothes behind a barrel. Then he left the compound by climbing over the back wall. The dog Trouble raised his head briefly, gave a few muffled slaps with his tail, and went back to sleep.

As Saburo walked the dark streets, he looked no different from most of the poor who were out after a late night at a wine shop or brothel. He kept his face tucked into the collar of his brown jacket and moved along purposefully on the soft grass soles of his sandals.

Tonight he was going to try to help Genba. He liked the big man; you could not help liking him. But Saburo was also jealous of his placid good nature that made people like him; there were even times when he almost disliked him. This always made him feel guilty, because Genba in his cheerful innocence went out of his way to be a friend to the friendless Saburo.

Genba’s success in having found love surprised and dismayed him. The big man with his paunch, his round, plain face, and his awkward rolling gait was hardly the type to be attractive to women. In fact, Genba should have experienced female cruelty much like Saburo had, yet the man was still capable of falling madly in love with one of the creatures. Only Cook, both ugly and fat, had ever shown any interest in Genba.

Of course, Genba’s woman was a harlot. In Saburo’s experience, harlots were rapacious and hid their cruelty only when they planned to fleece the customer. He had learned that bitter lesson after his disfigurement, and had it confirmed on the rare occasions when he tried to buy sexual services.

So he had laughed at Genba, along with Tora.

And felt guilty again.

The night was a dark and sweet-scented. Clouds had moved in and covered the sky with black silk. Saburo loved the dark. In the dark, people could not see his face. In the dark, it was even possible to lie with a woman and pretend he was normal.

For a little while.

Yes, he was jealous of Genba’s happiness. And because he was ashamed, he hoped to discover Tokuzo’s killer and clear Genba. Perhaps he could also help the romance along a little.

The hour was late, but in the pleasure quarter, a few women still walked the street or peered from the small windows of their brothels. They called out invitations to Saburo or tried to pull him inside by his sleeve until he raised his face out of the collar of his jacket and scowled at them, baring his teeth and rolling his eyes, taking small satisfaction from their gasps.

The Sasaya was closed and appeared to be dark—whether from respect for the death of its owner or because Tokuzo’s harlots were out celebrating their temporary freedom was not clear.

Saburo passed the brothel slowly a few times, then slipped along its side wall to the back. Like many businesses in the quarter, it had a walled yard formed partially by a kitchen building on one side and a storage shed on the other. Here, too, all was dark and still. Luckily there were no dogs about, for the animals would have detected him by now. He took off his brown jacket and laid it on the ground. Now dressed from head to foot in black, he melted into the darkness.

From the narrow footpath that ran behind the block of businesses, Saburo swung himself up onto the rear wall and, after a quick look around, dropped down silently on the other side. He verified that kitchen and shed were deserted, then studied the two-storied main house. Rickety stairs led up to a balcony that ran along the entire back of the building. Apparently it formed the access to rooms above where the harlots could take their customers.

Tonight, those rooms were unlikely to be occupied, but he drew in his breath when he detected a very faint chink of light behind one of the closed shutters below. Someone was here. Given the owner’s recent murder, this was interesting.

Saburo considered the problem. Two-story houses without exposed ceiling beams were difficult to enter when occupied. He could not get in through the roof to cross the building on the beams. Still, perhaps all was not lost. He eyed the stairs and balcony and decided both were so poorly built that they would give away his presence by creaking.

In the end, he climbed on the low roof of the kitchen building, and from there he leaped to the corner post of the balcony. He almost did not make it and cursed himself for having become so clumsy. His grip had been somewhat desperate, and he had slid a foot or so before wrapping his legs and arms around the post and shimmying back up. For a moment, he listened. When all remained peaceful, he lifted a leg over the railing and stepped cautiously on the boards near the wall. They were solid and silent. Then he slowly slid open the nearest door and slipped inside.

Intense darkness and stench. The smell of the room disgusted him. Dirt, sweat, spilled wine, and sex. Motionless, he listened. Nothing. The faint light from the half-opened door showed sparse furnishings: a smallish grass mat and a bundle of bedding. He grimaced. Little enough was needed to bring a half-drunk man up here, take his money, and lie with him for some brief groping and sex.

There was a faint sound, and he listened. He thought he could hear voices from below. Slipping back out on the balcony, he walked along the wall until he reached the room next to the last. Here the voices were clearest.

A man and a woman.

He entered this room on his hands and knees, exploring the boards with his fingertips before putting his weight on them. The planking was cheaply made. In one corner, it had not been nailed down properly. Very slowly and silently, he raised the loose board and propped one of his sandals under it. Lying down next to the narrow opening, he could not only hear what the two below were saying, but he also saw a part of the room they sat in.

A lantern lit the scene inadequately. The two people sat near an open money chest. Saburo saw the top of the man’s head, his shoulders, and his hands as he took coins and bars from the chest. The man counted softly as he put the money into a bag. Saburo was amazed at the sums. For a brothel keeper, Tokuzo had been very successful. The man who handled Tokuzo’s wealth so efficiently wore the clothes of a low-ranking official. He was hatless, and his balding scalp and thick neck proved he was middle-aged and fat.

The woman, whom Saburo could not see at all, spoke with the cracked voice of the elderly and in a tone that suggested they were related. She was apparently watching the man. From their comments, Saburo decided these two were Tokuzo’s mother and brother.

“Hurry up,” the old one said in a querulous tone. “This could’ve waited till morning.”

“I’m not leaving my brother’s wealth unguarded in this house,” he said. “You forget the people he associated with. Besides, you could’ve stayed home.”

“I want to know how much you’re taking. There’s your sister’s future to be considered.”

He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s almost as old as I am. Who’ll marry someone like her?” He tied the heavy bag and stuffed it inside his robe. The chest he simply slammed shut. Then he got to his feet, a little awkwardly with the heavy bulge under his clothes. “Looks like I’ll have to take care of both of you for the rest of your lives,” he said. “Come on, Mother. It’s getting late.”

The mother grumbled a little, and the son bent forward and pulled her to her feet. Saburo caught a glimpse of a gray robe and a twist of white hair on a small and thin woman. Then they disappeared from view, though he could still hear them arguing.