A fire in the stove warmed the room, and something savory bubbled in a pot.

“Ho,” wheezed an old man who huddled beside the stove, “told you, Higekuro. No time at all and both girls will bring you the sons you never had.”

Ayako turned abruptly and ran upstairs.

Ignoring the Rat, Higekuro invited Akitada to sit next to him. Otomi gathered up her paints.

“You’re in time to join us for our evening meal,” Higekuro said cheerfully, pouring wine. “We got some particularly fine clams from a neighbor, so Otomi chopped fresh vegetables from the garden and made soup. Plain fare, but for once we have good rice with our meal instead of millet. A feast, in fact.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands, adding, “Though I have a fondness for millet also.”

Akitada admired this man’s joy in the poorest gifts life had to offer. He felt awkward, worried that Higekuro might suspect what had happened between himself and Ayako.

“And here’s the Rat, too.” Higekuro laughed. “He’s a great one for telling ghost stories when he’s drunk. We’ve been filling his cup for the past hour.”

“Hey, Rat,” said Tora, “how come you never let on about your talent? And where are the new clothes I paid for?” The beggar choked on his wine and fell into a fit of coughing and wheezing. “I love a good tale,” Tora said, slapping him on the back solicitously.

The Rat hunched up his bony shoulders. “Don’t mock the ghosts!” he croaked.

Akitada laughed. He felt inexplicably happy. “Never fear,” he said, “Tora has too much respect for ghosts.”

Higekuro said, “It’s a strange fact that the more superstitious men are, the more they want to hear about such things.”

“Did Ayako tell you what we found in the temple?” Akitada asked him in a lowered voice.

“Yes.” Higekuro became grave. “Not ghosts, I think. You’ve told the governor?”

“Not yet. He has left town.”

Ayako was coming down from the loft. She had changed into a chestnut-brown silk gown and tied a brown-and-white-patterned sash about her slender middle. Her hair was loose and, though it was not as long as that of ladies of the nobility, reaching only to her waist, it was thick and lustrous and curled slightly at the ends. Akitada’s eyes followed her as she busied herself gathering rice bowls and chopsticks. He was thinking how graceful and efficient all her movements were, when his ears picked up a phrase.

He looked at the Rat. “You saw ghosts in the Tachibana mansion? When? Come, speak up!” His voice was suddenly sharp and his tone peremptory.

The Rat recognized the tone of authority and cringed. “Not inside, Your Honor. Never inside. The Rat never goes where he’s not supposed to be. Just in the alley. I was looking through the garbage in the alley.”

“By heaven,” said Akitada. “Are there people who must eat rotten food that their betters would not give to their dogs?”

The Rat was offended. “I never eat rotten food,” he said. “The rich throw out good stuff. Last month I found a whole sea bream among the radish tops and abalone shells behind the rice merchant’s place.”

“About the Tachibana mansion,” Akitada said more gently.

“Didn’t have time to look properly.” The Rat gave a wheeze and whispered, “Jikoku-ten struck me with his sword.”

“Jikoku-ten? The Guardian King of the East?”

The Rat nodded. “That’s the one. It’s a miracle I’m alive to tell about it,” he said darkly, wheezing a little for effect. “He was fetching the soul of the old governor.”

Tora stared at him. “You don’t mean it! Did he see you?”

The Rat rubbed his head. “How could he miss? There I was, by the back gate, looking up at him. He had burning pieces of charcoal for eyes and struck me with his sword—just there, feel it? I passed out. Next thing I knew, I was lying half-frozen in the snow under the kitchen window, and the maids inside were weeping and shouting about the old lord having passed away. I tell you, I haven’t been myself since.” He held out his empty cup.

Akitada was on his feet. Striding over to the Rat, he took his scrawny wrist in a viselike grip and removed the wine cup. “Pay attention!” he snapped. “When was this?”

The beggar cried out in pain or fear, and Ayako’s hand was on Akitada’s arm. “You’re frightening him,” she murmured. Akitada released the beggar.

The Rat shot him an aggrieved look and rubbed his wrist. “I sleep in the old fox shrine behind the Tachibana place, see. It’s real quiet there. Only night before last something woke me and I crept out in the alley for a pee. It was snowing, but there was that garbage barrel by the gate. I felt a little empty, so I went to take a look. That’s when the light started bobbing about.” The Rat shuddered, and Tora sucked in his breath. “All of a sudden there’s all this scraping and scratching and hissing like fire. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Only no smoke.”

“Go on. Go on,” urged Tora, his eyes wide.

“I was bending down to look through the boards of the gate when it flew open. I saw his boots first and a bit of his blue robe. Then I looked up and there were those fiery eyes piercing me. The last thing I remember is falling on my knees crying to the Buddha, then he struck me. I still got this monstrous pain in my head and I haven’t been able to eat a bite since.” The Rat glanced over at the stove and sniffed. “I’m a little better, I think.”

Akitada returned to his seat. “A strange ghost story,” he said with a frown.

Higekuro laughed. “The wine has done its work. Let’s see if he can tell us another one. Ayako, Otomi! Is the soup ready yet?”

The soup was excellent and Ayako sat demurely by Akitada’s side, serving him wine and placing choice bits of clam in his bowl. The Rat recovered his appetite and when the bowls were empty and the women were cleaning up, he embarked on another tale.

“I got a friend who watched an oni procession and lived to tell about it,” he said, scratching his belly and belching. “It happened in the city where the emperor lives. My friend says the palaces have golden roofs there and the high-born ladies are so beautiful, you’d think they were fairies in paradise. He would have stayed forever except for the demons.”

Tora shivered. “I bet he was as frightened as a mouse in the cat’s paw.”

Higekuro winked at Akitada and whispered, “And I bet the Rat’s friend also sampled some of that strong wine I remember from my younger years.”

The Rat heard him and nodded. “You’re right. It was the chrysanthemum festival and my friend was celebrating, but he was sober when he saw what he saw. He’d spent his last coppers that night and had no money for lodgings, so he slept in an old temple that was all boarded up. He put down his bundle, made himself comfortable, and dozed off. Now old temples like that are regular meeting places for evil spirits, only he didn’t know that. When he heard people singing and laughing, he thought it was a party and got up to look.” The Rat paused to empty his cup. Then he looked around and whispered, “It was no human party he saw,” and fell silent.