Akitada unrolled the paintings one by one, while Higekuro looked on and Ayako came to stand beside him. Otomi’s talent was remarkable. As a classical scholar, Akitada preferred the subdued landscapes to the more colorful, but to his mind gaudy, saints and mandalas, although the latter were painted with great skill and a fine eye for detail and effect. He had seen enough religious paintings to know that Otomi’s rivaled anything in the capital.

Ayako made herself useful unrolling and holding up the scrolls. When Akitada remarked on a rocky landscape hidden in mist, she said eagerly, “We, too, prefer the landscapes. But the Buddhist paintings bring in money from the pilgrims and from local people, too. Otomi is very careful about accuracy. She visits famous temples to copy their paintings and to receive instruction in their significance.”

Akitada smiled at her. “I would like to buy a landscape painting. Do you think there is one of beautiful Sagami Bay? When I’m back in the capital, it would remind me of my journey.”

Ayako looked uneasy. “There is one, but you will hardly consider it a landscape. It’s a ship in a storm.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“Actually, it’s a storm dragon picture. You know the one, Father?”

Higekuro also looked unhappy, but he nodded. “Show the gentleman the scroll,” he said after a glance at the two go players.

Ayako went to one of the stacked chests and took out a scroll. She unrolled it for Akitada, saying, “Otomi painted it on her last journey, but it upsets her, so we keep it locked away.”

The picture showed a ship in the coils of the storm dragon. Mountainous waves, black clouds, and jagged lightning surrounded a scene of imminent death and destruction for the people aboard. The detail was as fine as in the other paintings, but the brushstrokes here were rapid, almost violent, and the painting managed to convey a sense of chaos.

Akitada bent closer. There were soldiers on the ship, perhaps a military transport of sorts. They were armed with the halberds called naginata and accompanied by a solitary seated monk. Strangely, they appeared completely detached in the face of impending disaster. Perhaps, Akitada thought, the scroll told a religious tale. He studied the monk’s figure, trying to guess at its significance, and got the uneasy feeling that he had seen him somewhere.

“Will you ask your sister where she saw this scene?” he asked Ayako.

The girl hesitated, then went to Otomi to communicate Akitada’s question. The younger girl looked up and became agitated, shaking her head and gesturing wildly.

“She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Ayako translated.

Akitada looked from the girls to their father. “I don’t wish to distress your daughter, but I have the strangest feeling that there is something significant about this picture.”

“Do you?” Higekuro’s eyes lit up. “I agree. About a month ago, just after the festival of the dead, Otomi joined a local group for a pilgrimage to the Temple of Infinite Light in Shimosa province. She went there for research. The storm dragon was one of the pictures she painted on that journey. When she returned, we noticed that she was changed. She brooded a lot and had terrible nightmares. I’ve always thought that something happened to her on the pilgrimage and that the scroll is part of the mystery. You think that it might be connected with the tax matter? The time is right. If there is a connection, you give me hope that we may help her.”

Akitada said, “You’re right. The time and place of your daughter’s pilgrimage roughly fit the date and route of the last tax convoy. Did your daughter take passage in a ship, or is this temple near the coastal highway?”

Higekuro stared at Akitada, then turned to Otomi and questioned her with sign language. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head violently. He persisted, using his hands to make her look at him. Eventually she nodded. Taking a piece of charred wood from the kitchen stove, she scribbled on the hard dirt floor while gesturing to her father. Higekuro translated, “She stayed in the guest quarters of the monastery. The highway passes just below the monastery walls, and the guest quarters overlook Sagami Bay.”

“Ask her if she saw a pack train passing by.”

But this time, when her father communicated the question, Otomi turned pale and trembled. Clutching the piece of charred wood, she scrawled an illegible series of characters, then threw away the wood and staggered to her feet.

“Enough!” cried Ayako, jumping up and catching the shaking, weeping girl in her arms. Her eyes flashed angrily at Akitada. “You are tormenting her.”

Akitada instantly revised his opinion about the sisters. Ayako was far more beautiful than the sweetly pretty Otomi. How could Tora be so blind? “I am very sorry,” he said, “but surely you must see that your sister will have no peace until she shares her memory.”

“My sister is an artist,” flashed Ayako, “not a rough person like myself. I believe she was attacked and violated. She cannot face the brutality of that without breaking. Believe me, if I were not afraid of hurting her, I would have found out who did this to her.” She took a deep breath and added fiercely, “I would have killed him!”

Otomi tore herself from her sister’s arms and fled to Tora, who was hovering near them and received her eagerly in his embrace.

Akitada could not take his eyes off Ayako. “I believe you are wrong. What makes you think she was raped?” he asked.

“What else?” she spat. “Look at her! She’s beautiful and men lust after her. Have you forgotten the monks who attacked her?” She glared at Tora. “No doubt your servant has similar designs.”

“I do not!” cried an outraged Tora.

“Ayako!” thundered Higekuro.

She flushed and bowed to Tora. “Forgive my words,” she said gruffly. “But not even in our unconventional family is it proper for you to embrace my sister.”

Tora immediately released Otomi, who sniffled a little, then scurried up to the loft.

Higekuro sighed. “You must think us very strange,” he said to Akitada, “but remember our background and our present life together. My daughters are everything to me. Perhaps I have been too indulgent with them, but the proprieties observed in the past have lost all meaning for the three of us.”

Akitada nodded. “It’s curious,” he said, pointing to the scroll, “that monks should appear in both of your daughter’s recent adventures. I am very interested in the Temple of Fourfold Wisdom and its abbot, Master Joto. Has Otomi visited there?”

“Yes, often.” Higekuro pondered the question a moment. “She goes there to sell her pictures to the pilgrims. But surely there is no connection? Master Joto’s monks have always been very helpful to her. The ones asking questions earlier today were probably just trying to send her customers.”