“What about the contracts?” the old woman protested.

“They’re safe enough until tomorrow. Let’s go.”

The light receded, steps moved away, arguments faded, a door closed, and it got quiet.

Tokuzo’s brother had sounded unpleasant. Saburo scowled to himself. The whole family apparently lacked common decency. The brother had come for the gold Tokuzo had made as a brothel keeper. It was money earned by the women he had treated worse than animals. But his brother considered himself too good to become identified with the brothel business.

Saburo thought about the money chest, emptied of its treasures and left unlocked. It still held the contracts, probably worth a good deal if sold to other brothel owners. Worth a great deal more to the women who were forced to sell their bodies every night.

His experiences with harlots had been painful. Most had refused him; the rest had collected the fee, submitted with a shudder, and run from the room.

But there was Genba.

He had no way of getting into the lower part of the building. No doubt, the greedy pair who had just left had made sure all the doors were secured.

But on second thought, it was worth checking. He went downstairs, taking fewer precautions than before, but moving with his customary stealth.

He made a circuit of all the doors and found them all securely locked. Only the side door closest to the kitchen had a loose hinge that might be loosened further. He considered, then set to work. His other errand could wait.

With the help of one of his clever tools, he managed to loosen the hinge until he could lift the door up and prop it open. No one was likely to pass through the courtyard at this hour and notice the farthest door standing slightly ajar, and he would be quick, get back out, and reattach the panel.

It was pitch dark inside, but Saburo moved by instinct and touch in the direction of the room where he had watched Tokuzo’s mother and brother. The smells in this part of the house were of sake. Here the guests were rendered drunk enough that the whores could march them upstairs. His nose eventually identified the smell of fresh candle wax and led him to the right room. Feeling for the sliding door, he found it and pushed it open. Yes, this must be it. He might have risked looking for a lamp and lighting it, but memory took him to the money chest, and touch found the papers in its bottom. He scooped them out and shoved them inside his shirt, then made his way back to the door he had left open.

But something had changed. There was a smell he had not noticed before. He paused and sniffed. Sweat and scented oil, he decided. Odd!

He could make out the narrow rectangle of the door. In spite of the clouded sky, the outside was lighter than the thick blackness of this hallway. It struck him that he had left it nearly closed.

Listening, he took a cautious step forward and brushed up against fabric. When he reached out a hand to feel what it was, he touched a face.

The next moment, the paler rectangle of the world outside disappeared, and pain exploded in his head.

The Trouble with Women

In the morning Akitada found Genba waiting outside his study. He was in a cheerful mood because he had just left Tamako’s rooms, where he had played with the children again. Genba’s face promised that would not last.

“Come in, Genba,” he said, opening the door. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, sir.” Genba stopped in the middle of Akitada’s study, clenching and unclenching his huge hands and looking about helplessly.

“Well, sit down.” Akitada missed his customary morning tea and the bowl of gruel. Apparently, Saburo was late. He seated himself and watched as Genba lowered his heavy frame to sit, then rearranged his body to kneel instead and touch his forehead to the floor. “Don’t do that,” Akitada said. “We’ve never been formal with each other.”

Genba nodded and looked at his master. To Akitada’s surprise, tears, the big man’s eyes were moist. Becoming seriously concerned, Akitada pressed him now. “Come on, speak up, man! You’re beginning to worry me.”

Genba gulped. “Sorry, sir. Saburo’s gone!”

Akitada raised his brows. “Saburo? What do you mean?”

“He wasn’t there when I woke this morning. He’s gone. I looked everywhere. It’s all my fault.”

“How so?”

“A man called Tokuzo was murdered yesterday, and the police tried to arrest me. Tora talked them out of it. I think Saburo must’ve gone there last night. And he hasn’t come home. I think something bad happened to him.”

Akitada’s jaw sagged. “What?” He took a breath. “Who is Tokuzo?”

“He runs a brothel in the quarter, sir. He’s an evil man. Even Hanae says so.”

“Hanae’s also involved, eh? What about Cook and my wife’s maid? Does my entire household carry on a secret life outside my home?”

Genba flushed and bowed his head. “No, sir. Just me,” he mumbled.

Akitada stared at him. “What do you mean?” He was astonished by the notion that placid, ordinary Genba had been leading a secret life. Only the big man’s obvious misery stopped him from smiling at the thought.

“There is … someone, sir.” Genba’ big fists were kneading his huge knees. “A woman, I mean. I … her name’s Ohiro. And … and … .”

A woman! Genba, in his comfortable middle years—he was in his mid-forties—, had fallen in love. He seemed ashamed to talk about it, though. Akitada cut the stammering short, and said in a hearty tone, “But this is excellent news, Genba. I’m very happy for you. Will you bring your bride here? We’ll have to find you better quarters.”

Genba’s eyes filled with tears. “Sir, she works in the Willow Quarter.” He looked down.

“Oh.”

A painful silence fell in which the big Genba seemed to shrink into himself.

When they spoke again, it was at the same time, and both stopped again. Genba gave Akitada a look like a beaten dog. Akitada bit his lip. He owed Genba a great deal. Genba had been loyal and would have died for his master many times over.

“Well,” he said, “we cannot always make our hearts obey our heads. I assume she will give up her profession?”

“Oh, yes.” Genba’s fists started their kneading again. “We’ve been saving, both of us, to buy her out, but we didn’t have enough and now her owner has been murdered.” He paused. “That’s really how the trouble started, sir. Tora, Saburo, and I went to talk to Tokuzo, but the police were there already, and they wanted to arrest me because one of Tokuzo’s bullies told them I threatened Tokuzo the night before. Tora talked them out of it.”

Akitada’s brows knitted during this tale. His first reaction was irritation that his retainers seemed to have the extremely bad taste of seeking out disreputable females and hanging about in brothels. And now Saburo seemed to have fallen into the same habit. But he suppressed his anger. Perhaps he would not have done so with Tora (in fact, he had been very blunt when Tora had married Hanae), but Tora was better able to take a tongue lashing. Genba suffered from the conviction that Akitada considered him a big useless, greedy lout and merely tolerated his presence in the household.

“Tell me about Ohiro,” Akitada suggested. “If she has captured your devotion, she must be remarkable.”

Genba was so astonished he gaped at his master for a moment. Then his face lit up, and he said fervently, “She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known, sir. She’s sweet and loving and very, very brave. You’d have to be brave to live through the hell that happened to her.” Leaning forward a little, he looked at Akitada earnestly. “Sir, she lost her parents when she was young. Her uncle and his wife took her in. But her uncle started raping her when she was ten, and when his wife found out, she sold Ohiro to Tokuzo. Tokuzo’s raped her regularly and he beats her, but she never complains. And sir, she’s very pretty and could have any man, but she loves me.” This brought the tears to his eyes again. He sniffed. “I love her. I’ve promised to take care of her forever.”