“Yes. The woman mentioned ten men, then later five,” said Akitada. “I think she saw them arrive and go into the school. Higekuro killed five, but the other five left to look for Ayako and Otomi.”

He moved among the dead assassins. They were all strangers to him, young, muscular, dressed neatly in dark cotton gowns, with scarves covering their heads like middle-class shopkeepers or artisans. Akitada stripped off the headgear and exposed the shaven heads. “Monks,” he said without surprise.

They had paid a heavy price. All of them had two or more arrows through their bodies and one, closest to Higekuro, had died in agony from a sword thrust into his bowels. It had been Higekuro’s final act against the man who killed him.

When they looked into Higekuro’s private quarters, they found trunks and boxes gaping, their contents strewn about the floor, curtains slashed and screens torn from the windows. Outside, in the small kitchen yard, a fire had been lit in an empty rain barrel. Tora stirred the smoldering ashes and pulled out a charred dowel with remnants of paper and silk attached to it.

“They burned her paintings,” Akitada said. “Come. There is nothing left to find. We are wasting time.”

On the way out, Tora snatched up one of the heavy staves from its rack on the wall. Outside the neighbors had dispersed, but someone was coming down the street, whistling. Tora cursed under his breath.

Akitada, worried about an unarmed Ayako facing five murderous monks, was swinging himself on his horse when he saw the whistler.

Hidesato.

In a moment he was out of the saddle again. In another, he had reached Hidesato and flung him against the wealthy neighbor’s plaster wall. Seizing the neck of his robe, Akitada bashed the sergeant’s head into the wall, punctuating each thrust with an accusation. “You worthless dog!” he snarled. “Where were you when you were needed? Is this how you repay kindness?” Akitada choked on the thought that the kindness had included the use of Ayako’s body. “What kind of low animal are you to do this to her?” he groaned, suddenly dizzy from his outburst.

Tora pulled him off. Akitada leaned against the wall, taking rasping breaths of air, trying to control his shaking limbs.

“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Hidesato, holding his head. “Has he gone mad?”

Tora said bitterly, “While you were enjoying your bath, those cursed monks came back. They killed Higekuro and went after the girls. Thanks to you, they’re probably dead by now.”

Hidesato dropped his hands. He stared from Tora to Akitada, saw the blood on Akitada’s clothes, and ran to the school. Flinging open the door, he disappeared inside.

Akitada came away from the wall and staggered to his horse. He dragged himself into the saddle, kicked the horse in the flank, and galloped off. Tora followed, ignoring Hidesato’s shouts behind him.

They looked for pagodas rising above the low-slung dwellings and pine groves. The first temple they found quickly. A battered sign on its gate spelled out the name “Sun Lotus Temple” in characters that had once been brilliantly red but had faded to a pale brown. An ancient monk was sweeping dead leaves from the steps.

“You there. Have you seen two young women?” Akitada shouted from his horse.

The old man peered up nearsightedly and bowed. “Welcome,” he said in a cracked voice and put his broom aside. “Would Your Honor like to buy some incense to burn before the Buddha?”

Seeing his age, Akitada brought his horse closer and repeated his question.

A pleased smile crossed the old man’s face. “Do you mean Otomi and her sister? They came by. After they had left, some young men asked for her.” He smiled again. “She’s a very pretty girl.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said we were all well and thanked the girls for their concern.”

Akitada gritted his teeth and found they were chattering again. He looked at Tora, who bellowed, “What did you tell the men?”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so? I told them where the girls went, of course.”

Akitada groaned. “Where?” he shouted, twisting the reins between his clenched fists.

“You don’t look at all well, sir,” said the ancient one, peering worriedly up at Akitada’s face. “Please honor our poor temple for a short rest. If you like, Kashin, our pharmacist, will brew you one of his herbal teas.”

Akitada took a deep breath, fought down his desperation, and managed to say more calmly, “Thank you. Some other time. We’re in a hurry. Those men you sent after Otomi and her sister mean them harm. Where did the girls go?”

The monk’s chin sagged. “Harm? Oh, dear. I hope you are wrong, sir. Otomi told me she wanted to paint the Kannon, so I sent the young men to the old temple in the southeast corner of the city. There’s a lovely painting of the Goddess of Mercy enthroned on a large lotus blossom in the main hall. The temple is locked, but there’s a back door—” Akitada and Tora were already galloping down the narrow street.

They clattered through quiet neighborhoods where curious householders peered out of lit doorways at the sound of their racing hoof beats. The light was failing quickly. Clouds moved in like black curtains drawn across the opalescent sky.

“It’ll be dark soon,” shouted Tora to Akitada, “and we’ve brought no lanterns.”

“Quiet!” Akitada reined in his horse. Before them rose a dark mass of curved temple roofs and trees. A three-storied pagoda loomed like a dark sentinel beside the black rectangle that was the main hall. Tile-topped walls enclosed the temple buildings and a whole city block of wildly tangled shrubs and trees.

Akitada dismounted and tied his horse to a bare willow tree at the street corner. Shivering in the cold wind, he stood listening until Tora joined him.

“Did you see someone?” Tora whispered.

Akitada shook his head. “Ssh!”

The wind rustled the dead leaves, and branches rubbed together. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.

Akitada moved. “I thought I heard voices,” he said. “Come. We’ll have to find a way in. The front gates will have been nailed shut. Be quiet.”

Tora gripped his stave more fiercely. “I look forward to getting my hands on those butchers.”

They crossed the street and moved along the shadow of the wall, looking for broken masonry. When a curious hissing noise came from the other side, they froze. Nothing else happened, and they were about to move on when there was a suppressed curse and the sound of breaking shrubbery. A muffled male voice in the distance shouted something that sounded like an order, and the rustling receded.

“They’re here,” said Tora.