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was filled with the smells of such establishments: stale wine,

food, perfume, sweat, and, faintly, sex. Apparently none of the

employees had returned yet to clean up and ready the place

for another night of debauch. But Tora did not think that even

in lax Sadoshima a house would be left wide open to casual

thieves, and he continued his reconnaissance with a stroll

around the main building and into its back gardens. These were

surprisingly well kept. When he turned to look back at the

house, he saw why. Most of the rooms of the Golden Phoenix

overlooked the gardens. Very nice.

But the gardens were only trimmed neatly near the main

house. Farther off, dense shrubs and trees had been allowed to

close off the view to the small building whose roof just showed

above them.

A narrow path, lined with stones, led to the far corner of

the property. Here a small cottage or summerhouse stood close to

the woven bamboo fencing separating the grounds of the Golden

Phoenix from a wooded shrine area beyond. The door to the cot-

tage was open, and he saw that it contained only a single room,

occupied at the moment by a small elderly woman on her hands

and knees, scrubbing the grass mats and muttering to herself.

Tora had approached silently on the smooth stones of the

path. She jumped a little when he cleared his throat.

“Good morning, auntie,” he greeted her. “Up so early after a

late night?”

She took in his uniform, then stood painfully and bowed.

“Good morning, sir. We’re not open yet, but please to return

later this evening. The Golden Phoenix offers the most elegant

entertainments, the finest wine, and the most delicious foods.

Can I be of some service to the officer?”

Apparently the polite phrases had been drummed into her

head. As a potential customer of the Golden Phoenix, Tora must

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be encouraged to spend his money. He sat down on the veranda

steps and smiled at her. “I was taking a stroll out near the har-

bor, but it’s a bit windy, so I came inside. Nice garden, this. Do

you mind if I rest here for a while?”

She bowed again. “Please make yourself at home, sir. Can I

fetch you some wine?”

“No, don’t trouble. Go on with your work. I’ll just sit here.”

The infernal bites started to itch again, and Tora scratched as he

watched her.

She got back on her knees and started scrubbing again. Blood-

stains? Yes, Tora thought the water had a pinkish tinge. “Some of

your guests spilled their wine?” he called out to her.

“Not wine.” She made a face.

Pretending idle curiosity, Tora got up to take a closer look.

“Oh,” he said in a startled tone, “it’s blood. Somebody got hurt.

A drunken brawl?”

She sat back on her heels and looked around at the many

small dark red splatters which dotted the mats in all directions.

Tora pictured the nude childlike body of Little Flower flung face

down on the floor while that bastard Wada stood over her with

a leather whip. The picture sickened him. Would she have been

tied down? He glanced around the small room. Two smooth

wooden pillars supported the wooden ceiling. The floor was

also wood under the grass mats. Against the back wall stood a

screen with badly painted willow trees and two lacquered

trunks for bedding. There was no sign of any whips. Wada

probably carried his own.

The elderly woman followed his eyes and shook her head.

“Just a customer and his companion.”

“What did they do?”

“Some men enjoy hurting the girls,” she said, her face stiff

with disapproval.

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“That sounds nasty.” Tora pretended shocked interest.

“Does it happen a lot?”

“No, thank heaven. The Willow Cottage costs extra.” She

bent to her scrubbing again.

“It should. These men, what do they do to the women?”

She paused in her scrubbing, but did not turn around. For a

moment, Tora thought she would tell him, but she just shook

her head and continued with her work.

“If the owner knows,” said Tora, “why does he allow such

customers here?”

“Money.”

“Oh.” Tora sat back down. “You’d think the police would

take an interest in such things.”

“Hah,” she snorted.

“What do you mean?”

She turned around and gave him a pitying look. “You being

a stranger here, Officer, all I can say is, stay away from the

police.”

Tora tried to get more from her, but she clamped her mouth

shut and shook her head stubbornly.

“You must expect the customer back tonight,” he said.

“I hope not.” She got up and gathered her rags and bucket of

water, muttering, “I doubt the poor thing’s in any shape for it.”

And that was that. Tora thanked her for the rest and took his

leave. He walked away glumly. Turtle’s suggestion had been to

catch Wada here during one of his private nights of pleasure

with Little Flower. It would have been perfect. The cottage was

secluded, and even if they made any noise grabbing him, nobody

would pay attention. Now, with Little Flower too injured to

service the depraved lust of the police lieutenant, there was no

chance to catch him alone, and Wada knew what had happened.

Tora turned at the next corner and passed the shrine.

Beyond its gateway the trees clustered thickly, hiding both the

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309

shrine building and the adjoining Golden Phoenix. He walked

into the grounds, looked around, and then resumed his stroll

about Mano. The main street took him all the way to the end of

town without revealing much of interest. People were going

about their daily business, glancing his way, but averting their

faces as soon as he looked at them. No doubt recent events in

Sadoshima had made them suspicious of soldiers.

Eventually, the houses thinned and straggled into open coun-

try. The road split, one arm leading north toward the mountains,

and the other east. A dilapidated set of stables marked the cross-

roads. Tora put his head in the open door. A one-eyed groom

who had several fingers missing—there seemed to be a lot of

cripples in Mano—was tossing a small amount of stinking hay

into a trough where three thin horses gobbled it eagerly.

“How much to rent a horse?” Tora shouted.

The man spat and mentioned an exorbitant amount.

“What? And where do you keep the magnificent beasts

worth that much silver?”

He got an ugly squint from the remaining eye and a thumb

pointing at the three nags.

“Them? You’re joking. I guess you don’t do much business

at those rates.”

“Take it or leave it. Most people walk. Horse fodder costs as

much as food.”

Tora told the fellow he would think about it and walked

back to the hostel. Oyoshi greeted him so eagerly that he was

afraid she would try to lock him into Little Flower’s room, but

she only wanted to know if he wished to buy another dinner for

that evening. Half her brood were gathered about her to hear

his answer, their eyes glued on him with such fixed intensity

that they might have been praying to the Buddha.

“Why not?” he said, smiling at the children and pulling

out the money. Back in his room, he kicked the vermin-ridden

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bedding out the door and checked his money. Feeding a family

the size of Oyoshi’s and taking care of the injuries of local

whores was rapidly depleting the funds his mistress had care-