Seimei was unconcerned. “You are sent by the emperor. That gives you the power to act on His Majesty’s behalf. The governor was very properly humble. Besides, you are very good at solving mysteries and will undoubtedly clear His Excellency.”

Akitada shook his head. “There was talk at home that they sent a junior clerk because they wanted this investigation to fail. The captain in Hakone thought so, too. I shall certainly be blamed if I fail, but it may be worse if I succeed.” He reached for the letters. One was from his mother; he put this aside. The other was from his former professor. “Heavens,” he muttered, reading, “Tasuku is taking the tonsure?”

“Tasuku? Is that the very popular young gentleman who was always reciting poems?”

“Yes. Love poems. Tasuku had a reputation among the ladies. That is why this news seems so shocking. The professor does not know what happened. Apparently, it was all very sudden and secretive.” He had seen Tasuku last at his own farewell party, where his handsome friend had drunk too much, then made a scene, breaking his elegant painted fan, and stormed away. That, too, had not been like him, but it was nothing like this.

Shaking his head, Akitada was reaching for his mother’s letter when he noticed a red leather box next to the tea things. “I suppose the tea was meant to keep us awake while we study the first batch of Motosuke’s accounts,” he grumbled.

“Not tonight,” protested Seimei. “Even the strongest ox needs his rest after a long journey.”

But Akitada had already flipped back the lid. For a moment he stood transfixed. Then his face darkened with fury.

“What is it?” asked Seimei.

“Ten bars of gold,” said Akitada in a choked voice.

* * * *

THREE

BLACKBEARD

T

ora sighed with relief and pleasure when the girl with the tantalizing hips paid for her radishes and turned around. Her face was beautiful...and terrified!

Two saffron-colored backs moved to block Tora’s view. The monks.

Mindful only of the panic on the pretty girl’s face, Tora did not pause to think that monks took vows of chastity and nonviolence. If she was afraid of the two monks, that was enough for him to rush to her aid.

He bounded into the street, dodged a passing bullock cart, made way for a pair of elderly women, jumped over a stray dog, and collided painfully with a bamboo cage full of songbirds strapped to the back of a passing vendor. Birds and man set up a loud protest that attracted a crowd, and Tora was detained until it had been confirmed that cage and birds had taken no harm.

By then the girl and the monks had disappeared. Only the vegetable vendor remained, staring thoughtfully toward the nearest street corner.

“Where did they go?” Tora cried, shaking the man’s arm to get his attention.

“Oh, are you a member of the family?” the man asked. “So sorry about the young woman. The reverend brothers explained and took her with them.”

“Explained what?”

That was a mistake. The vendor frowned and asked, “Who are you? What business is it of yours?”

Tora cursed and ran to the corner. It opened on a narrow alley, made nearly impassable by the many baskets, crates, and piles of refuse that had accumulated from the market stalls; lined by a warren of tiny shops, small houses, and fenced yards; and crowded with small children playing among the debris, shop boys running with parcels, and market women hauling baskets of produce. The monks and the girl had vanished.

Taking a chance, Tora plunged in, dodging human and inanimate obstacles at a run, pausing only to peer down each cross alley as he came to it.

At the third intersection he was in luck. He saw a patch of saffron yellow disappearing around the far corner and he put on speed. When he turned that corner, he saw them. The slip of a girl was struggling frantically between her two brawny captors. One of them slapped her viciously across the face.

Tora roared and leapt. Seizing both men by their collars, he heaved backward. Caught by surprise, they ended up on the ground in spite of their size. Tora delivered a sharp kick to one monk’s ribs, then grabbed the other by his robe and raised him just enough to punch him in the face. The man collapsed without a sound. But when Tora turned to deal similarly with his companion, he saw him take to his heels, yellow robe raised to his knees and sandals flapping at the ends of his long legs.

The girl was huddled against the wall of a shack, the corner of a sleeve pressed to her bleeding lip.

“Are you all right?” Tora asked, walking over to her.

She nodded slowly, looking at him with wide tear-filled eyes.

What a beauty she was! Tora put on his most fatherly manner. “It’s all right now, little love. I’ll look after you. Why didn’t you scream for help? What were those bastards trying to do?”

She shook her head. Suddenly her eyes looked past him, widening in panic. Tora whirled about. The vicious blow, intended for his head, landed on his arm, but the pain momentarily stunned him. The monk he had knocked out had regained his senses and decided to turn the tables. Tora jumped aside and retreated to draw the man away from the girl. Then he stopped and crouched. They faced each other, the monk with a broken board in his right hand. Tora bared his teeth and roared again. Then he charged. The monk dropped his board and took off after his companion.

Shaking his head at such cowardice, Tora turned back to the girl, but found her gone, too. His disappointment was palpable. He had looked forward to showering the pretty little thing with care and attention after demonstrating his manly prowess. Impatiently he walked a little this way and that, calling out, “Hey, girl! Come back here. It’s all right.”

The street was in a poor quarter of one-story laborers’ houses, their small storage shacks and vegetable patches enclosed by tattered bamboo fencing with dingy laundry drying on it. There were hiding places everywhere, and not a soul was in sight who might have seen the girl.

Relieving his disgust with a string of colorful curses, Tora turned back toward the market when he heard a wheezing sort of cackle, and a skeletal hand, holding an empty wooden bowl, shot out of the dark corner between a shack and a broken fence.

Tora recoiled, then peered cautiously into the dim recess. An old man, bent, decrepit, and filthy, looked back at him with beady black eyes and a toothless grin.

“Strong words, stranger!” The beggar’s voice was accompanied by the same whistling sound as his laughter. “It’ll cost you five coppers!”