But everything depended on Tora’s prior release of Joto’s prisoners. Where was he? Akitada’s stomach lurched unpleasantly as the worm of fear twisted its coils. Unable to contain his worry, Akitada turned and nodded to Seimei. As prearranged, Seimei rose quietly to make his way to the kitchen courtyard and the latrines.

♦

Seimei walked purposefully, like a man on his way to the conveniences. There were few people in the kitchen enclosure, and he saw no monks at all. Trying to remember the temple layout, he turned to the gate in the northern wall.

The next courtyard was deserted. Seimei tentatively identified the large low building before him as the storehouse with the hidden halberds. This must be the enclosure where Tora and the soldiers were supposed to release the buried monks, but there was no one about. As Seimei approached the large storehouse, he heard a noise inside. Tora, he thought with a sigh of relief and pulled open the door. A shadow moved inside.

“Who’s there?” Seimei whispered nervously, no longer sure who lurked inside.

No answer.

It occurred to Seimei that his errand might be dangerous. Some vicious monk, perhaps a whole gang, could be behind those barrels and bales and jump out to kill him. For a moment he considered slamming the door shut and locking in whatever was lurking there, but he remembered his instructions. He was to find out what had gone wrong and warn his master.

Gingerly he stepped inside. He scanned the long line of barrels and baskets and saw that the bundles of naginata had been unwrapped and some of them had rolled out onto the floor.

Creeping forward on trembling legs, he reached the barrels and peered over them. Crouched behind the farthest barrel was a man wearing a blue robe like his own. Tora also wore such a robe, but this could not be Tora. Tora would not be hiding from him . . . unless he was up to one of his childish tricks.

Seimei crept a little closer. Then, gathering all his courage, he pounced forward, grasped the other man’s collar, and demanded, “What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me—” He broke off in astonishment. “I beg your pardon,” he gasped, releasing the man.

Prefect Ikeda stood up. He was pale, but he measured Seimei’s thin, bent figure and white hair calmly. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, inching along the barrels toward the door. “I was just leaving. It seems Joto’s been storing contraband here. Your man Tora and some soldiers were here a moment ago. I was just making sure they had not overlooked anything.”

Seimei regarded him through narrowed eyes and stepped in his way. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “You are hiding here because you are wanted for the murder of Lord Tachibana.”

Ikeda stopped and smiled. “Oh, that. That’s all been cleared up.”

“It has not,” cried Seimei. “You need not take me for a fool. In fact, I happen to know that you have been declared a fugitive from justice.” The moment he uttered the words, Seimei realized with a sinking heart that he was now obligated to raise the alarm so that Ikeda could be apprehended. But an alarm was the last thing his master would wish at this moment. Drawing himself up importantly, he glared at Ikeda and said, “You are under arrest.”

Strangely, Ikeda said nothing. He just stood there, smiling and seeming to wait for further developments.

Seimei was at a loss. “I’d better find something to tie you up with,” he muttered, looking around. He saw a coil of rope near one of the barrels, but when he bent to pick it up, Ikeda made a rush for the door.

Fortunately, he had miscalculated his distance. Seimei flung himself forward and met Ikeda’s charge in a bone-crunching collision. They both fell back, gasping.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” wheezed Seimei, feeling his left shoulder for damage. “You aren’t getting away so easily.”

“Get out of my way, old man,” Ikeda snarled, rubbing his arm.

Seimei was desperate. If Ikeda escaped, he would warn Joto. What had happened to Tora and the soldiers? Seimei decided to play for time. “I thought you wanted a chance to explain,” he reminded Ikeda.

“You’re a fool,” said Ikeda. “I had to kill Tachibana. He was about to ruin us.” Looking Seimei over, he smiled unpleasantly. “Old age is no guarantee of wisdom. It seems I’ll have to kill you, too.” Taking the cover off the barrel beside him, he stuck his arm in and felt around. A shower of beans spilled over the rim and scattered across the floor.

Clearly nothing good was hidden in those beans. Seimei swallowed and moved toward the door, eyeing Ikeda warily. Ikeda grunted with satisfaction and drew forth a sword, its new blade gleaming wickedly in the dim light. Then he started toward Seimei.

Seimei glanced about desperately and found one of the naginata at his feet. Snatching it up, he staggered under its weight. He had no idea how to use this long pole with the sharp blade at its end but thought that it was meant for stabbing or slashing an enemy from a safe distance. Since Ikeda’s sword was much shorter, the naginata would give him an advantage. Unfortunately, it was too heavy for him. As he watched Ikeda approach, the long pole tipped and wobbled in his grasp.

Ikeda sneered, “What are you trying to do with that, old man?”

Seimei gripped the naginata tightly. He tried to recall some of the moves he had watched during his master’s stick-fighting practice. If he could not slash or stab, perhaps he could at least hit or whirl around.

Grasping the pole with both hands, Seimei hopped aside a few steps, slid on some beans, and sat down hard on the floor. Ikeda laughed. Seimei, flushed with anger, scrambled up. Gathering all his strength, he swung the halberd back in a wide sweep. To his surprise, the force of this motion and the weight of the weapon spun him around like a top. He staggered, stopped dizzily, and looked for Ikeda.

Ikeda, who had watched, round-eyed, now burst into gales of laughter, doubling over with hilarity.

This was too much for Seimei. Heaving up the halberd, he charged.

Ikeda stopped laughing and jumped out of the way. He raised his sword, but at that moment someone stepped into the doorway, blocking the light. Ikeda turned his head.

Seimei awkwardly corrected his aim and brought the naginata down with all his force. It caught Ikeda’s head with the wooden pole instead of the sharp blade and knocked him to the floor, where he lay, limp as a sack of grain, a trickle of blood seeping from his nostrils.

“Holy Buddha!” gasped a voice. “Did my eyes trick me or is that you, Seimei?”

Seimei dropped the halberd from his slack fingers. “Tora,” he whispered. “Where have you been? I... had to knock him out. He was about to kill me.” Suddenly faint, he sat down on a barrel. “The master sent me to see if everything was all right. You weren’t around, but I found him.” He looked at Ikeda’s inert form and shuddered.