room would have revealed the problem instantly. “You said you

checked all the rest?” Akitada asked, looking around at the

many small piles of silver.

“Yes, I checked them all.”

“Hmm. Only two out of all of these. When did your clerk

leave?”

Yamada frowned. “It was before the fire. A very unreliable

person. I had to speak to him repeatedly about sleeping

during working hours, but after the fire I wished I had kept

him on.”

Akitada looked at another deposit. It was a large one, con-

sisting of some fifteen silver bars and various boxes. Noting a

small silk pouch, he picked it up. It was astonishingly heavy.

“That is raw gold,” Yamada said.

“Gold?” The contents felt lumpy. Akitada opened the bag

and saw small irregular chunks of the yellow metal inside. None

was larger than the average pebble. “Where did this come

from?” he asked.

“Sometimes a farmer or some youngster finds a piece in a

stream. Often they don’t know what it is and take it to a temple.”

“And you don’t know its owner either?”

“But I do. It belongs to the Kokubunji Temple. I remember

the little bag of gold. Silver bars are more common.”

“Yes. Hmm.” Akitada fell into deep thought, and Yamada

began to fidget with the keys and shuffle his feet. “Yes,” said

Akitada again, coming out of his reverie, “it might work. Here is

what we’ll do to catch our thief.”

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Yamada’s eyes grew round as he listened, and he shook his

head violently at first. But the more Akitada explained, the

more he came around, and finally he nodded reluctantly.

“Mind you,” warned Akitada, “you must tell the governor

what happened. Throw yourself on his mercy. I believe he is an

understanding man and will forgive you if you get the loan back

and arrest the thief.”

“But what about Masako? Do we tell her or not?”

Akitada wanted to say no, but the girl deserved to be told.

She had proven her devotion to her family and could be trusted

with the secret. Akitada feared that she might feel some obliga-

tion to him. “Tell her, but don’t mention me,” he advised.

Yamada shook his head. “No. I’m going to the governor now

before I lose my courage. You should know that I am a very bad

liar. Perhaps I may manage to claim credit for your idea with him,

but Masako would have the truth out of me in a minute. You had

better speak to her. Oh, dear! She’s at home, waiting for the veg-

etables. Would you mind taking them? I suppose people must eat.”

“You had better wash before you see the governor.”

Yamada looked at his hands and touched the drying mud on

his face. “Oh, dear!” he muttered and made for the door. Out-

side he stopped and came back to pull Akitada out with him

and relock the Valuables Office. Then he rushed off again.

Akitada followed more slowly, amused to see Yamada washing

himself at the kitchen well in order to avoid his daughter. He

went through the garden to pick up the basket of vegetables. In the entrance he set down the basket and kicked off his sandals before

stepping up on the wooden floor. There was no sign of Masako.

“Anyone home?” he called out.

“Yes.” Her voice came from the back, and he followed the

sound.

“It’s me,” he said loudly, faced with a hallway of closed

doors. One of the doors flew open, and Masako looked out.

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

105

“Taketsuna?”

She was wearing the old scarf around her head, but her hair

had escaped and was slipping down her back and across one

cheek. Her face was hot and flushed, and she appeared to be

wearing a man’s cotton shirt over an old pair of trousers. There

was a smudge of dirt on her nose and one cheek. With her

eyes wide and her lips half opened, she had never looked more

desirable to Akitada, who stood transfixed.

“I did not expect you at this time of day. Is anything wrong?”

“No. I had a message for your father.”

“Oh.” She became aware of his eyes on her, brushed

helplessly at her hair and then wrapped her arms about her

middle, looking at the floor in mortification. “I’m ashamed

you caught me like this,” she murmured. “I was cleaning the

floor and—”

“You look beautiful,” he said hoarsely.

“Oh, no. Oh, I wish I were more like other women, with

their beautiful gowns and their elegant manners. I wish you . . .”

And she burst into tears.

Later he would find all sorts of excuses for what happened

next: having embarrassed her so deeply, he had to reassure

her—he merely wished to calm her so he could give her the

news—he was only offering her brotherly support.

None of these was true, of course. Akitada took the three

steps separating them and opened his arms because he had

wanted to hold her for a long time now, had wanted to feel

that lithe body against his, had wanted to comfort her with his

caresses and be caressed in turn.

Masako came to him with a small cry of joy, nestling against

him, murmuring endearments, and responding with a passion

which startled him into partial sanity. He loosened his embrace

and caught her hands on his bare chest where she had slipped

them under his robe.

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“No, Masako,” he pleaded. “Please don’t tempt me. Your cir-

cumstances are sufficiently improper without this.”

“I don’t care,” she cried. “I have wanted you to love me since

I first saw you. I don’t care about me. I don’t care about any-

thing but you.” She pulled him into the room, closed the door

behind them, and drew him down onto the matting, tugging

feverishly at his sash.

Kneeling above her, he caught her hands again. “No,

Masako,” he said, “I cannot take a wife, and you must save your-

self for a husband.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Save myself? Don’t be ridiculous.

I’m not a woman of your class.” She flushed. “Besides, it’s too

late to worry about that.” When he still hesitated, her eyes filled with tears. “Oh. You do find me disgusting.”

“No,” he cried. “You are beautiful. I want you. More than any-

thing, but . . .” Weakening, filled with desire, he released her hands.

She reached for his face, bringing it so close to her own that

he could taste her breath as she whispered, “Prove it, then.” Her

breath was so sweet that he tasted her lips with his own and

was lost.

Afterward, as they lay together, he cradling her nude body in

his arms, she with her eyes closed and a smile curving her lips,

he said in wonder, “I came to speak to you about your father’s

problem and now I do not know how to face him.”

“Father’s problem?” She sat up and looked at him through

narrowed eyes. “Tell me.”

It was difficult to concentrate. She had a lovely and utterly

desirable body. “I am sorry, Masako,” he said, touching a long

tress of hair and following it across one breast and down her

small, flat belly. “I should not have done that.”

She shivered at his touch, but caught his hand with hers.

“What problem?” she demanded.

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

107

He told her about the inspection. She paled and reached for

her trousers. Putting them on and then slipping on the shirt, she

asked, “Does this mean that the shortage is known?”

He marveled at her. One moment she was all passionate

seductive female, and the next as levelheaded and businesslike

as any man. He said, “No, your father has a plan and, with the

governor’s approval, we shall put it into operation tonight.”