Tonight, Yasuko delighted her father by reciting a poem she had learned especially for him, and Yoshitada, who had a distressing habit of upending his bowl to play with the contents, for once behaved perfectly and enchanted Akitada with his knack of producing a wide smile every time their eyes met.

When Tamako’s maid had taken them to bed and they were alone, Tamako demanded a full account of events. Over the years, she had taken increasing interest in his work, particularly cases involving crimes. He had resisted her curiosity at first, not wanting to bring the ugly details of his work into his home or to worry her with the frequent danger to himself, but he had realized she deserved to know. Gradually, he had come to enjoy her interest, and once or twice she had been an invaluable source of advice.

But the case of Prince Atsuhira was still too murky. He had no bright ideas to present to her, and Tamako was nothing if not intelligent. Sometimes he had the uncomfortable feeling she could see right through him.

He had that feeling now as he related Kosehira’s predicament and the death of the Lady Masako at the bottom of a mountain cliff.

She listened without interrupting and then sat silent for a long time. “Do you think the political plot is real?” she finally asked. “And is the prince aware of it?”

Akitada felt a surge of pride. She had hit on the crux of the matter. He said, “It may be real. There are always discontents, and there are also people who hope to benefit from an alliance with a future emperor. I don’t know if it is a serious threat to the regent and his family. As for Prince Atsuhira, I doubt he has had a hand in it, though he may be aware of it. This isn’t the first time he’s had to deal with such suspicions.”

She sighed. “An impossible situation then, unless he can prove to the regent and his brothers that he doesn’t support such actions.”

“He can do that only by taking the tonsure. He claims he’s considering doing so. I don’t know if it’s due to his grief for the woman he loved or a wish to distance himself from the political wrangling. In any case, he won’t make the effort to defend himself or to find his lover’s killer.”

“I see.” She fell silent again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment. “This could affect our lives, but I must try to help Kosehira.”

“Yes, of course. But Akitada, there’s also that poor young woman. Her killer must be found.”

“You think her death is more important than Kosehira’s troubles?” he asked uncertainly.

“I do. Kosehira has powerful relatives. He’ll survive. Lady Masako is dead and has no one to speak for her. You have always responded to the helplessness of the dead. Surely, you still do?”

And suddenly he saw his way clear. It was all so simple. He must solve the murder. He smiled with relief and reached for his wife’s hand. “Yes, I still do, but I’m grateful that you remind me of it.” He touched his lips to the inside of her hand, breathing in the familiar orange blossom scent, and finding his thoughts drifting to closer embraces. Controlling his treacherous mind with an effort, he put her hand back in her lap. “Let’s talk about Lady Masako. What do you think happened?”

Tamako smiled a little as if she had guessed his lust. “I don’t know, Akitada, but surely the answer must lie in her life before she died. Can you find out about it?”

“Difficult. She was still part of His Majesty’s household when she had some of those secret meetings with Atsuhira. How am I to penetrate into the imperial women’s quarters?” He made a face and added, “Really, her behavior was thoroughly reprehensible.”

“Perhaps. But I think you may learn more about her by talking to her family and friends.” He opened his mouth to protest that Masaie would not welcome another visit, but she went on. “She had a mother and sisters perhaps. She also had maidservants and companions. You must speak to the women. This affair touches the hearts of women.” She leaned toward him, putting her hand on his knee, and looking at him earnestly. “Akitada, try to put yourself in her place. She grew up, a beloved child, encouraged in all her whims. And then, abruptly, the father who had never shown her anything but indulgence sent her away as a bride to a boy sovereign who took an immediate dislike to her. How must she have felt?”

“You think she took a lover out of rebellion? Perhaps the first man who seemed likely? Prince Atsuhira is a first cousin to His Majesty. No doubt he was a frequent visitor to the inner apartments. She may have seduced him.”

Tamako removed her hand. “Nonsense. Prince Atsuhira has a reputation.”

He did indeed. But Akitada had seen the man. Atsuhira had been deeply in love with Masako. He said so.

Tamako pursed her lips. “I’m only saying you need to talk to someone who knew her. A woman. At that age, women have friends they confide in. You have only talked to men so far. What can they know about a woman’s heart?”

“Oh, come,” he protested. “Men aren’t incapable of knowing women. I know you.”

She smiled.

He did not want to pursue the argument in case it led to a quarrel he wanted to avoid at all cost. “Besides, how am I to approach women who knew her?”

“You must try. I’ll speak to your sister Akiko. She knows some of the attendants in the palace. And perhaps you should let it be known you’re investigating Lady Masako’s death?”

His first thought was that this could bring the combined forces of the palace, the regent’s family, and of the irate Masaie and his son down upon him. But word of his interest in the case was probably already out. He could see Tamako was right. It was the logical next move, and the risk could not be avoided in any case. .

He reached for her hand again. “Thank you,” he said. “I have married a wise woman … and a very desirable one.”

That pleased her, and she did not object when he pulled her into an embrace and led her to the bedding her maid had spread out.

Tora and the Cook

Early the next morning, dressed neatly but in ordinary clothes, Tora walked to Minamoto Masaie’s house. He glanced in through the open gates, noting the armed guards without pausing in his walk. At the next corner, he paused and watched the street for a while, but he saw nobody entering the compound. No doubt, the forbidding presence of Masaie’s soldiers discouraged social calls.

He continued along the compound’s walls to the rear of the property. Here, in a small side street, the back gate stood open as well, but there were no guards. Instead a large handcart had stopped, and an elderly man unloaded crates and baskets of food from it. These he set down in the dust of the street as a short, round woman berated him.

She gestured at the unloaded goods and pointed inside the compound. The old man shook his head and went on unloading. As soon as the cart’s contents were piled on the ground, he took his empty cart and trotted away. The round woman ran after him, shaking her fist.

Tora grinned. Perfect.

The delivery man from the market had refused to carry the goods all the way to the kitchen, and the woman, probably Maseie’s cook, had no help at hand. Now she stood there, staring at the pile and muttering to herself.

Putting on his best smile, Tora approached. “Good morning, dear lady. Why so glum on such a pretty spring day?”

She glowered at him, then at the new green leaves on the trees and the pale blue sky above. “It may be a good day for you,” she said bitterly, “but some of us have to work.” She bent for a bundle, but straightened up again to give him a sharp once-over. “Never mind. Move on. You’re in my way.”