Their fat host became obsequious, bringing a large pitcher of wine, two bowls of soup, and a platter of rice and vegetables. “On the house,” he said with an ingratiating smile.

“Much obliged,” said Tora, raising his cup to Hidesato. “Welcome, older brother!” he said. “It warms my heart to see you. Wait till you hear what’s happened to me.”

Hidesato took a sip of his soup and nodded at Tora’s clothes. “You look very respectable.”

“More than respectable. I’m special assistant to ...” He leaned across and whispered in Hidesato’s ear.

Hidesato stared, then raised his cup and said dryly, “I congratulate you.” Turning to the host, he said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we got the feeling you don’t like those men over there any better than we do.”

“Those bastards?” The host spat in the direction of their prisoners. “Been paying the weasel and his idiot for years, and a small fortune since the ugly devil joined them. Most of my customers get knocked about every time they show up. I’d like to see them flayed alive, but we don’t care much for constables here.”

“They’ve been extorting money from the market vendors,” Tora said.

Hidesato raised his brows. “You don’t say. A gang.”

“Tax collectors,” shouted the comedian in the group. “Taking from the poor just like those cursed dogs the governor sends around.”

All eyes turned to Tora and an embarrassed silence fell.

Hidesato grinned.

Tora inwardly cursed his blue robe. “I’m just a visitor,” he said, “and I work for wages like you do. But if we let those three bastards go, they’ll be back and take it out on you.”

The host paled. “He’s right. Let’s kill them,” he decided.

“That’ll bring the constables for sure,” Tora pointed out.

The host waddled behind the counter and brought out a heavy earthen jar. Delving into its clinking depth, he took out ten silver pieces. “Here,” he said, counting out five each for Tora and Hidesato. “That’s for you if you get rid of them.”

“No,” said Tora, pushing the silver back.

“C’mon! A quick slash with a knife and it’s done. And we’ll help you carry the bodies to Squatters’ Field later. They always find bodies there. Nobody’ll know the difference, and you’ll be long gone before there’s any trouble.”

“No. We’re not hired assassins,” snapped Tora.

Hidesato gave him a long look, then got up to peer at the three ruffians. “You know their names?” he asked the host.

The host spat again. “Scum. The big monster’s Yushi. A guy I know watched him disembowel a puppy. Yushi used to work for the thin geezer, Jubei. Jubei was a pimp for the soldiers till they found out he trained his girls to roll their customers. They beat him up and told him to stay out of that business. That’s when he got into the extortion racket around the market. Then, a couple of weeks ago, the ugly guy showed up. We call him Scarface. Nobody knows his name.”

“They should be in jail,” said Tora stubbornly.

“Suppose,” said Hidesato, “my very official-looking friend here tells the constables they attacked him, which is no more than the truth. You all say that you’re not sure what happened exactly. The constables take them away and lock them up till the next court session. If no one appears against them, the magistrate will let them go, but they’ll leave you alone from then on, for fear that you’ll testify against them. They may even move to another province.”

This was considered and met with approval. The constables arrived, listened to Tora’s story, and departed with their prisoners.

Tora breathed a sigh of relief. He was going to invite Hidesato to his quarters for the night so that they could talk over old times, but when he looked around for him, his friend was gone. Without so much as a good-bye.

* * * *

EIGHT

THE WIDOW

A

kitada, neatly robed and wearing his official hat, knocked for the second time that day on the gate of the Tachibana mansion. By now the news had spread and he had an audience of a gaggle of curious idlers. This time the response was prompt and he was admitted by Junjiro, who was dressed in the hempen robe appropriate for servants in mourning for their master but also wore an expression of cheerful importance. When he saw Akitada, he straightened his back, folded his arms across his chest, and bowed deeply from the waist. In a high, penetrating voice, he sang out, “Welcome. This poor hovel is greatly honored by Your Highness’s condescension.”

This provoked a burst of laughter from the people in the street. Akitada stepped in quickly. “Ssh!” he said. “Close the gate.”

Junjiro obeyed. “It is not the right thing to say?”

“No. Only your master and mistress can refer to their home in those terms. And if you must use an honorific, er, a title for me, you may call me ‘Excellency.’“

“I am grateful for your instruction, Your Excellency,” said Junjiro, then spoiled the effect by adding with a broad grin, “You missed all the fun. All those baldpates chanting and hopping about on their bare feet, the servants squalling, pulling their hair, and looking like sacks of beans in these hemp gowns”—he held out his robe and grimaced—”and outside the gate everybody’s trying to see what’s going on. Just like a bon festival.”

“Aren’t you grieving for your master?” asked Akitada, astonished at such callousness.

“Time enough to grieve when the mistress throws us out,” said the boy. “I like to eat.”

Akitada opened his mouth but thought better of it. “Take me to her,” he demanded instead.

“She’s in there with the corpse and the monks,” Junjiro informed him crudely, pointing to the main building.

Muffled sounds of Buddhist chanting came from inside. On the veranda, Junjiro helped Akitada remove his wooden clogs and then opened the door.

The odor of incense overwhelmed Akitada. Chanting flowed back and forth across the dusky space, seemingly drawn, like a tide, by the periodic tinkling of small brass bells at opposite ends of the room: the waves of sound swelled and pulsated with the rhythmic throbbing of drumbeats. He could barely discern shapes in the thick fog of incense. It hung low over the seated figures of yellow-robed monks, the pale hempen gowns of kneeling servants, and the darker, more formal robes of visitors, all of them faceless with their backs toward Akitada, all of them motionless in respect to the dead. Wisps of incense floated about standing candles and outlined each flame in a glowing nimbus of smoke and light.