Tora said bitterly, “That woman knows nothing about taking care of herself, but she’s as proud as a lord.”

Akitada flinched.

The waiter arrived with the wine and two steaming bowls of buckwheat noodles and vegetables in a savory broth. The food was excellent, and for a while they ate and drank in silence.

Finishing his noodles first, Tora picked up his tale again, “Take this business with the gangster, for example. It’s funny, but some people seem to think a blind person is also deaf and dumb. They go right ahead talking about private business just as if she wasn’t there at all. This character thinks she brings him luck. He asks her to sing a special song before he does a job. I asked her for his name, but she won’t tell me. Doesn’t think it’s right to carry tales. Hah! I told her it’s dangerous, but does she care? Why are women so stupid?” Tora scowled in frustration.

“Well,” said Akitada, weakening, “perhaps I’ll have a talk with her after we’ve made some progress tracing Haseo.”

“Thank you, sir! You won’t be disappointed. And you’ll see that Tomoe’s a very refined person.”

Akitada suppressed a snort.

Tora’s eyes went to the drum tower again. “It’s getting late. We could go around to that last school tomorrow,” he suggested.

“Why not today? I like to finish what I start.”

“But you could take off from work again tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Why not? I thought you were ready to quit anyway.”

The notion apparently did not trouble Tora at all. Akitada reflected bitterly that the people who depended on him for their livelihood seemed to place total trust in his ability to provide. “Don’t be a fool,” he snapped. “I just took off a few hours. The minister is only going to be away for a short time.”

Tora looked at him. “Slacking off ’s not like you, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I am not slacking off. Sometimes more important matters take precedence.”

“I guess you don’t want his high and mighty lordship to find out, because that bastard’s just waiting for you to make a mistake.”

Akitada glared at Tora. “You must think me a coward.”

“No, sir. I know better. But you’ll do crazy things when you think it’s your duty to do them. And I’m confused. You used to think being an official and working for the emperor was the most important thing in the world.”

Akitada had no answer to this. He had walked away from his work because he could no longer bear Soga’s insults and the dull routine of paperwork. Would he have put aside a more challenging and interesting assignment for Haseo’s sake? Haseo had died five years ago on a distant island, and they had hardly known each other. It struck Akitada forcibly that he was trying to solve a criminal case without knowing what crime had been committed, who the victim was, or where it had happened. All he had was the name of the alleged culprit. It would have been so much easier if the government did not expunge the records every time someone made a case for doing so. To Akitada, records were inviolable.

But he said stubbornly, “A promise to a dying man cannot be broken.”

Tora nodded and finished his wine. “Maybe we’ll pick up something at the next school,” he said with a sigh.

As they rose, Akitada glanced out at the market. Though the sun had not quite set, a lantern lighter was already lighting the big paper lanterns in front of the restaurant. The housewives and maids with their baskets had disappeared, and the crowd was mostly male now. Government clerks, artisans, laborers, farmers on a city visit, soldiers, servants on their night off, teachers, and a few young rakes of noble blood strolled about, eyeing the wares of fan sellers and comb shops for a present to give to some woman, peering at waitresses, and shouting rude compliments at the pretty harlots. Tora’s singer had left. The tower platform was empty except for a tall man who was leaning against one of the pillars.

Akitada looked, then looked again. It could not be. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“What is it?” Tora asked, following his glance.

The man turned his head a little, and Akitada took a deep breath.

“A ghost.”

The stranger walked down the steps of the tower and disappeared in the crowd.

“A ghost?”

“That man at the tower. I swear it was Haseo.”

“Ah.” Tora nodded wisely. “It happens when you’re thinking too much about the dead. They take shape in someone’s body. Even animals sometimes. I had an aunt who . . .”

“Never mind your aunt. You’re right. I must be seeing things. Let’s go.” Akitada paid for their meal and they left the market just as the temple bells began to ring.

Akitada still felt shaken. The image had been so vivid. It was nothing but foolishness, of course, or an overwrought conscience, not ghosts. The man had not really looked much like Haseo. He had worn good clothes, and his hair and beard had been trimmed neatly, while Akitada and poor Haseo had been in rags and half-naked, their hair and beards grown long and tangled.

Kata’s training hall was on the wrong side of the city and surrounded by the huts and tenements of the poor. The building, a former warehouse, was open to the street. A small crowd of ragged idlers had gathered there to watch the lesson. They expressed their interest with raucous cries of, “Kill the filthy bastard!,” “Cut off his nose and ears!,” “Split him down the middle!,” and “Show us some blood!”

This was a far cry from the quiet, intense silence of concentration that had prevailed at the other two schools. Several students watched two of their fellows circling each other, wooden swords in hand. Two other men practiced stick fighting with long bamboo poles, and several more tumbled, kicked, and wrestled on mats. They looked like unemployed soldiers or underweight wrestlers, and the fighting style had an aggressive edge to it which had more to do with achieving a quick kill than matching skills in single combat. Akitada doubted that Haseo would be known here, and was about to turn and tell Tora so, when he caught sight of a familiar figure in the shadows. There, on the far side of the hall, just behind the master, stood the man from the drum tower.

Akitada blinked, but the shadowy figure remained, a silent onlooker of the swordfighting bout. Again, Akitada was shaken by the resemblance. It was in the way the man stood, wide-shouldered and with an unconscious grace, and also in the way he held his head.

“Tora,” Akitada said in a low voice, “look at the man in the shadows behind the master.”

Tora leaned forward and peered. “So?”

“The man from the market. And he still looks like Haseo.”

He must have felt their eyes on him, for he turned his head their way, then leaned forward to say something to the master. The master, a short middle-aged man with the wide-legged stance of the professional soldier, shot a sharp glance toward Akitada and Tora.

Tora muttered, “They’ve seen us. In this crowd we stand out like a pair of hawks among crows.”

It was true. Even Tora’s plain blue cotton robe looked almost distinguished among the multihued assortment of rags, loose shirts, and short pants that covered those around them, and Akitada wore his official’s silk robe and small black hat. He met hostile stares from the crowd but was not about to retreat. “Come,” he said, touching Tora’s arm, “we’ll have a word with Master Kata and his friend. I want a closer look at the fellow.” He moved past two burly loafers toward the training hall.

Inside, the man from the market spoke again, rapidly, to the master, then melted into the shadows as if he had never been.

“Quick,” said Akitada. “Around the back. He’s getting away.”

They separated, each running for a corner of the long building. But suddenly Akitada’s progress was impeded. People moved into his path, legs were extended, elbows protruded, and a basket of bamboo scraps fell over, scattering in the dirt before his feet. He heard shouts and curses, and finally the cry, “Stop, thief!” When he finally reached his corner, he had a shouting mob on his heels. A rock hit the back of his head, knocking off his small black hat and causing him to stumble. Someone laughed, and the next moment he was face down in the dirt with people on top of him. He struggled, then roared, “Stop! In the name of the emperor.” Instantly more weight piled on, taking his breath away. He tried to cry out again, but there was dirt in his mouth and he had trouble breathing. Strangely, what he felt most at that moment was a sense of outrage that the rabble had dared attack an official.