They followed her example and watched as two dark figures detached themselves from the shadow of a wall and walked to the kitchen building. They disappeared inside, then reappeared a minute or so later, to move on to the courtyard that enclosed the storehouses.

“Now what?” Tora asked disgustedly.

Ayako gave him a look. “We wait, then follow. From what I’ve seen, we’ll have an hour before they return on their next round.”

When she gave the signal, they climbed down and crossed as quietly as possible to the gate. All was still in the next courtyard.

“Come.” Ayako started toward the first and largest of the storehouses. When they reached its big wooden door, they found it was not merely latched but locked.

“You see?” Ayako asked.

Akitada nodded. Locking a storehouse in a guarded temple compound implied that the contents were either contraband or extremely valuable.

“I wish we had a key,” she said. “This is the only storehouse that’s locked, and I bet the missing tax shipments are in it.”

Akitada looked at the building. It was large enough to hold twenty shipments of goods, let alone three.

“Here,” said Tora. “Let me try.” To their astonishment, he produced a thin piece of metal from his sleeve, studied the lock for a moment, and then began to bend the metal with his strong hands. Inserted into the proper opening, the hook tripped the bolt, and the door opened onto darkness. They stepped in.

“Close the door,” said Akitada, moving aside and holding his breath. Tora’s new clothes released an aroma of stable that was overpowering in close proximity.

For a moment they stood in the dark; then Akitada and Tora both struck flints. The momentary flashes of light revealed a large dim space containing vague piles of goods stretching far into the dark corners. Then both lights went out. Tora fumbled about on the floor. “A moment,” he muttered. There was another flash of brightness, and this time Tora managed to light an oil lantern he had found near the door.

They looked around. The storehouse was large and the lantern small. Its light flickered with their every move and threw objects into grotesque relief against vast spaces of darkness that loomed above them and lurked in dim corners and far recesses behind the stacked stores. The air was musty and dry, vaguely smelling of grass mats, old wood, and spices.

As they walked slowly among the piled goods, they heard skittering sounds made by small animals, mice or rats. Akitada lifted the lid off one large barrel and found beans inside. Tora stopped before a long line of large earthenware jars. A long-handled dipper lay on one of them. He picked it up and removed the stopper from the jar. A rich, fruity odor filled the air.

“What do you know?” Tora chuckled in delighted astonishment. “The baldpates have a taste for wine just like the rest of us sinful slobs.” He dipped, tasted, and smacked his lips. “Good stuff.”

Akitada, still wracked with pain and exhaustion, perched on a stack of boxes and stared at the long row of wine jars. “Strange,” he muttered. “Beans are a normal staple in Buddhist monasteries, but wine is forbidden.”

“So is raping girls,” Ayako snapped and kicked angrily at a long roll of straw matting. “Ouch!” She bent to feel the roll. It made a soft clinking sound.

“Stop drinking, Tora,” said Akitada, “and see what’s in all those bundles!”

Once the matting of the roll was untied and opened, a number of halberds appeared, each one new and sharply pointed.

“Holy Buddha! Naginata!” gasped Tora. “They must be expecting an attack. No wonder they watch this place like it was some fortress under siege.”

“Let me see that.” Akitada rose and held up the lantern. Roll after roll of straw matting lay stacked against the wall. He inspected the halberds and counted twenty of them in the one bundle. A quick check showed that there were nearly a hundred rolls. “Enough weapons for an army,” he said with awe. The soldiers in Otomi’s scroll had been armed with naginata. A terrible sense of unease crept over him. The idea of a whole order of monks indulging in wine and women was barely to be stomached, but these same monks arming themselves against the local government? Against the emperor? No wonder those inept monks at the Tachibana house had reminded him of recruits. They were. He also remembered vividly the rascally features of the three monks they had seen in the market that first day after their arrival. “Put them back the way we found them, Tora,” he said grimly.

Ayako watched with quiet satisfaction. “I told you. I bet your missing taxes are in the rest of those containers.”

She began opening boxes and barrels while Akitada trailed along behind her holding the lantern. In its light, he caught golden glints on Ayako’s skin, on her eager face, on her small teeth worrying her lower lip, on the line of her slender neck, where a few tendrils of hair had escaped the black scarf. He watched her hands, long and capable, moving quickly among the tubs, boxes, baskets, and bags. But they found nothing more.

It was not until they reached the back wall that Akitada missed Tora.

“We seem to be alone,” he said softly to Ayako.

She turned and looked at him.

Akitada suddenly found it hard to breathe normally. “I wonder,” he said after a long moment of foolishly smiling at her, “what’s become of Tora.”

“Here I am.” Tora belched, releasing a strong odor of rice wine. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve been thinking. Those boxes back there? The ones you were sitting on. Did they remind you of anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you had the light, so I couldn’t see to check, but I get the feeling they might be the kind you pack silver or gold in.”

Akitada walked back quickly and looked at the boxes. His heart started beating faster. The lacquered containers were sturdily built of leather-covered wood, their sides and corners reinforced with metal plates, their handles and locks large and substantial. “Yes, I think you’re right,” he said. “These are the boxes merchants and government agents use to transport coin and bars of gold and silver.”

With cries of pleasure Tora and Ayako fell upon them. But the boxes were not locked and were perfectly empty, stored apparently for some future use. If they had ever been marked with government stamps and seals, these were long gone. By the light of their oil lantern, they looked at each box carefully, but all they could discover were assorted scratches and one rather peculiar scorch mark that looked something like a fish jumping for a ball.

Akitada sighed. “They could have held precious objects used in religious ceremonies,” he said. “And the rest of the storehouse contains nothing more suspicious than bales of hemp, boxes packed with brass censers and bells, and ceremonial vestments.” He looked around unhappily. Wine and halberds! It just did not add up. Perhaps these items were being stored for some wealthy lay person, though what the allegedly peaceful local barons would want with nearly two thousand halberds he could not imagine.