“Actually, I shall have to present my resignation on the minister’s return.”

Tora’s jaw sagged. Then he exploded. “Why, that dirty scoundrel! That lazy piece of dung! How dare he do that to you when you’ve been doing all his work for months? He’s just another stinking official. Rotten to the core!”

Akitada bit his lip and glanced at Kobe.

But Kobe merely raised an eyebrow. “I’d like my men to be as loyal as yours. Of course, he had better not have the judge hear him say things like that.”

“Judge?” asked Tora, blanching a little.

Kobe nodded. “I have requested that your case be heard tomorrow.” He turned to Akitada. “Around midday. I hope that’s convenient? Can you attend?”

“I will make time. It was very good of you to push Tora’s case forward. Who is the judge?”

“Masakane.”

“Oh.” Akitada knew the man from past court cases he had observed, and Masakane had never liked him. But he nodded. “Masakane is fair.”

Tora looked nervously from one to the other. “What will happen? There’s no evidence to clear me yet. And they haven’t arrested anybody else. What’s to keep the judge from sentencing me?”

Akitada said, “It’s only a hearing. We will ask to have the trial postponed and you released into my charge. With a little luck I hope to make a good case for further investigation. But you must be completely frank with us about your relationship with the woman.”

“You know all there was. I liked her, but there was nothing between us. She didn’t want that.”

Akitada gave him a hard look. It sounded as though Tora had tried. What had possessed him? Tomoe hardly met his usual requirements.

Kobe remarked, “From what I’ve gathered, there was some mystery about this woman.”

Tora said eagerly, “That’s right. And I bet if we figure it out, we’ll have her killer. She was different from other street people. Like she didn’t belong. She was polite, but she never talked about herself. It took me two months to get her to open up a bit. And she’d never have let me walk her home if she hadn’t been scared.”

“Perhaps she had committed some crime,” Kobe wondered.

Tora adamantly denied the possibility, but Akitada thought of the expensive cosmetics box and the silver. It was quite possible that Tomoe had worked with a gang of thieves—in which case her killer could have been one of her accomplices. He said, “Tora, you must consider the possibility. If she worked with gang members, it explains why she protected them.”

“No.” Tora shook his head stubbornly. “You don’t know her the way I do.”

“But you said yourself that she did not tell you everything.”

Tora flushed. “You haven’t believed me from the start, sir, but I know that she was neither a harlot nor a thief. I know that as well as I know you.”

Akitada had a strong conviction that nobody had truly known Tomoe, but he did not say so. He turned to Kobe. “What do you think should be done first?”

“I can have my people check on gangs.” Kobe grinned. “Now that you’re running things at the ministry, my sending across police documents shouldn’t raise any eyebrows.”

Akitada thought of the nosy Sakae and hoped that young man was too preoccupied with filling Akitada’s shoes to have any time or interest in spying on his now very temporary superior. “Thank you. That would be very helpful. There is also the cosmetics box. If it was stolen, someone may have reported its loss. And if not, perhaps that young police lieutenant Ihara might try to trace it to its maker. It was of particularly fine workmanship and seemed an odd thing for her to have.”

Kobe nodded. “I know Ihara. I’ll pass along the word.”

“Of course, if Tora is released, he can do some work himself. He knows his way about the city and is clever about mixing with all sorts of people. Apart from having been fond of the woman, he will want to clear himself of these ridiculous charges.”

Kobe grunted. “Well, I suppose that’s all then. Tora’s biggest problem will be convincing the judge of his good character. He doesn’t have much respect for authority.” But he winked at Tora.

As they walked through the prison’s gate into the street, Kobe asked, “Did Soga tell you why he left the city?”

“No. I thought it was very strange, even for him.”

“Well, perhaps he was afraid you’d think him a coward. He’s taking flight to his country estate because there is smallpox in the capital.”

“Good heaven! My wife mentioned something of the sort a few days ago. I did not believe it. Is it a serious outbreak?”

“Some cases among the nobles, and a few in the city. It’s being kept quiet to avoid panic. One very highly placed person is already getting better. You know as well as I that we have the occasional case. Keep it to yourself. It seems a woman who used to help out at the Soga residence got the disease. When Soga heard she died, he decided to move to the country. He’ll look very foolish when it all comes to nothing.”

They parted after that, and Akitada turned homeward. He was touched by Kobe’s friendship but began to fret again about his situation. Soon the news would be out that he had lost his post and had no hopes for another. Meanwhile, how would he tell his wife? Akitada had never questioned Tamako’s loyalty, and she had reminded him of it just this morning. Or rather, last night—so much had happened in the meantime! But his wife was also a mother and the mistress of his household. After some reflection she would see how his loss of influence at court would hurt Yori’s future. And the economizing that must follow his loss of income would soon be a daily reminder of his failure. Tamako would come to blame him for their misery.

If he could avoid serious censure from Soga, he might find a clerkship in one of the other ministries or a post as supervisor of one of the bureaus. The thought of shuffling more paperwork depressed him. Another man in his situation would turn to his friends. Akitada had made many in his time, but some were gone and others had cooled toward him. And the ones who were left and in positions of sufficient influence to help him were overwhelmed by favor seekers every day of their busy lives. He could not bear to join the throng of abject men who prostrated themselves, holding humble petitions above their heads, every time the great personage emerged from the inner chambers of his residence.

When he got home, Yori was again practicing with the straw dummy. The figure had lost most of its stuffing and no longer produced those satisfying thwacks but Yori had adjusted his style to the pitiful limp figure that sagged against the fence. He now used his sword to stab viciously at various vital parts, shouting out each target before attacking. “Slit the throat . . . slice the arm . . . slit the peach.” This last accompanied by a vicious stab at the dummy’s nether regions.

Split the peach? That sounded like some of Tora’s gutter language.

“Yori.”

The boy swung around, cried, “Father,” and then dashed across the courtyard swinging his sword and shouting, “Father’s home! Father’s home!” He threw himself at his father with such force that Akitada had to take a step back. Picking up his son, he demanded, “Where did you learn such language?”

Yori clutched his neck and giggled. “What language? Did you visit the market? Did you buy me something? I could use a helmet. When’s Tora coming back?”

Akitada gave up on the offensive phrase. Yori spent almost all his free time with Tora and Genba. And he was a boy, after all. It would be different with a girl. So he hugged his son and said, “I hope Tora will be home soon. Maybe tomorrow even. And I have been too busy to go to the market. Perhaps later in the week. Have you studied hard today?”

Yori made a face. “That old Seimei! He’s such a fuss-body. He says, ‘No, no. You must do that character again. Hold your brush just so. Make the tail of the stroke curve up like the tail of a drake.’ Mother always likes what I do.”