THE INCENSE MURDER

by I. J. Parker

* * * *

Joel Spector

* * * *

Heian-Kyo (Kyoto): Clothes-Lining Month (March), 1010 A.D.

On a gray spring morning in a week of cold, drizzling rains, Akitada was summoned by his mother. Their relationship was strained at the best of times, but on this occasion she would get him involved in a case that was not only deeply disturbing but nearly ended his career and perhaps his life. He would forever after fear dealings with his parent.

But that morning, unsuspecting, he walked along the covered gallery and saw that the roof had sprung another leak. He sighed; he expected to be told to fix it. They had no money to spend on workmen and no servants able to carry out the heavy work.

Lady Sugawara was at her morning devotions, kneeling and bowing before the small Buddha statue on a shelf in her room. Akitada sat down to wait and looked around. At least the roof was solid here. The house might be falling down around their ears, but his mother’s quarters would remain as comfortable as ever. She would not have it any other way.

She made her final bow and turned. “Ah! Akitada, I want you to go to your Cousin Koremori.”

O-tomo Koremori was a cousin on Akitada’s mother’s side and no connection to the Sugawaras, a fact for which Akitada was grateful. Koremori was past fifty now, a wealthy man who had married well, and a recent widower. Since he had lost his only son Akemori in a duel a few years before and was now childless, Akitada’s mother had initiated more cordial relations. She expected Koremori to leave his property to her or to her children when he died. Koremori knew it and behaved accordingly. Akitada could not abide Koremori.

He said, “I cannot go immediately, Mother. I am due at the Ministry.”

His mother raised her brows. “Nonsense. Why should you not make time for a close family member? Please remember who you are.”

What he was was a junior clerk in the Ministry of Justice and in enough trouble already. “I could go after work, Mother,” he said reluctantly.

She frowned. “Very well, but don’t forget again like last time. I want you to take him this fan. He admired it the last time he was here. Tell him it’s a small present to cheer him up. Oh, and write a suitable card for it.”

The fan was his mother’s favorite and dated back to better times. That she was willing to part with it meant she was embarking on a new campaign to influence Koremori’s final arrangements.

Akitada took the fan, bowed to his mother, and retreated.

* * * *

That evening Akitada arrived at the O-tomo residence feeling resentful. The weather had worsened. Wet, cold, and tired from an unprofitable day in the archives, he did not look forward to this visit and hoped to make it a short one.

Koremori sat behind a large desk in an elegantly furnished study. Handsome shades were lowered to keep the room cozy, and silk cushions awaited guests. Above him hung a scroll with the admonition: “Remember your duty to past and future generations.” When the servant admitted Akitada, he looked up and stared at Akitada with his usual unpleasant expression.

As a child, Akitada had thought of him as a fat toad because of his bulbous eyes and broad face. Today he looked more than usually toadlike.

“Oh, it’s you,” Koremori said ungraciously and gestured toward a cushion.

Akitada sat down and sniffed the air. The room reeked. The smell was not unpleasant, just powerful. Some of the redolence came from his cousin’s perfumed robe. Sandalwood and cloves. But other scents mingled and Akitada saw that a table held preparations for an incense guessing game.

This game was an aristocratic pursuit in which the participants submitted their own concoctions anonymously, then guessed the ingredients and chose a winner for the best fragrance. Akitada disapproved of such waste of money, time, and intelligence.

He bowed and said stiffly, “My mother sent me, Cousin. She recalled that you admired this trifling object on your last visit and asked me to present it to you.” He took the fan from his sleeve and passed it to Koremori.

Koremori’s wide mouth twitched. He glanced briefly at the words Akitada had written on his visiting card and attached to the gift, then laid fan and note aside.

“Tell your mother I am obliged for her thoughtful present.” He stared at Akitada. “So. Still a clerk in the Ministry, are you?”

“Yes, Cousin. I hope I see you well?”

“Never better.” Koremori’s lip twitched again. “Be sure to tell your mother. She takes a great interest in my health.”

Akitada felt himself flush. Koremori never missed an opportunity to make him feel small and his mother mercenary.

Koremori added, “Apart from her ill-advised marriage, she has always shown proper family feeling.”

Akitada did not consider himself related to Koremori. He was a Sugawara. Though innocent, his most famous forebear had been found guilty of treason and had died in political exile to the subsequent ruin of his descendants. Akitada reminded himself, as always, that he had nothing in common with Koremori, either in their values or appearance. Akitada, tall and as slender as a whip, regarded Koremori’s short, fat body as just punishment for overeating and indolence. His cousin’s luxurious lifestyle was, to Akitada’s youthful idealism, immoral and indecent. But remembering his mother, he suppressed his anger and said nothing.

Instead he averted his eyes from the offensive Koremori to look around the room and he noticed the incense table again.

A man given to excess in everything from family pride to fine food, O-tomo Koremori was a connoisseur and passionate practitioner of the incense cult. He spared no expense in this pursuit and was counted among the most knowledgeable experts on exotic ingredients.

The paraphernalia on the table included packets of incense in neatly labeled envelopes or twists of expensive papers. The lacquerware utensils were dusted with gold and silver and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Small ladles of silver and gold lay beside burners of gilded bronze.

Koremori suddenly clapped his hands and shouted, “Out, vile creature!” Akitada jumped, but his cousin was not addressing him. Flushed with anger, he rose to throw his ink stone at a small black and white kitten. The stone brushed the little animal, which squealed and scurried under the desk. Koremori scanned the room.

Akitada said quickly, “It’s only a kitten.”

“I hate cats. Is it gone?”

“It’s gone,” Akitada lied. From the corner of his eye, he saw the kitten emerging and stretching a tentative paw for his red paper card that dangled from the edge of Koremori’s desk.

Koremori sat down again. He clearly wanted Akitada gone as much as Akitada wanted to leave. Both tried to find the appropriate words. Koremori said, “I am quite busy at the moment with preparations for another incense party, and the cat could spoil everything if it disturbed the samples.”

The kitten snagged the card and withdrew with it under the desk.

Akitada said politely, “Your expertise in that field is well known, Cousin. Under the circumstances, I won’t take up more of your time...”

But Koremori had heard the rustling of paper and peered under the desk. He roared, “Kenzo!”

A young boy ran in. His black hair was tied into two fat brushes over each ear, and his bright eyes took in Akitada in a single measuring glance before he told Koremori, “Kenzo’s busy, Master. Will I do?”

“Why is this cursed cat running loose in my room?” Koremori pointed under the desk. “Take it back to its mistress this instant! If I ever find it here again, I’ll have you whipped.”

The boy got to his knees and scooped out the kitten, detaching Akitada’s card from its teeth and putting it back on the desk. “Come, little tiger,” he crooned, “let’s go into the garden and watch the goldfish.”