“Sit down.”

Saburo sat. “This morning,” he started, “I went to visit a young woman in the city.”

Her it comes, thought Akitada, but managed to nod encouragingly.

“Her name is Shokichi. She earns a living by doing the make-up and hair of entertainers. Her good friend is blind and works as a shampoo girl at a bathhouse. Her name is Sachi. I didn’t know of this friendship until today, sir.”

Akitada frowned. Where was this going? What was he to do about hairdressers and shampoo girls?

Saburo saw his expression and gulped. “Er, to make a long story short, sir, this Sachi was arrested this morning for murdering a customer. Shokichi and I went to the bathhouse to see if we could help, but the police had already arrested her. Shokichi says her friend couldn’t have done it.”

Akitada said nothing. It was clear now that this was another attempt to get him out of the house and involved in every crime that happened in the capital.

Saburo waited a moment, then continued in a rush. “I’ve spoken with the bathhouse owner, a dubious character who washes his hands of the girl, and I also went to see the victim’s family. The victim was one Nakamura, a moneylender with a reputation of charging so much interest that he ruined people. He preyed on the most desperate cases only and had become a very wealthy man, sir. His heirs are his son and daughter. Then there’s also a stepbrother who is his business partner, a very suspicious character called Saito. No doubt there are many others who had reason to kill the man.”

He paused to draw breath.

Akitada asked in a dangerously quiet voice, “Why are you telling me this?”

Saburo caught the tone. “I … I hoped you might give me your advice, sir. I don’t know where to begin?” He swallowed.

“I see that I’ve been negligent in keeping you busy with your duties,” Akitada said. “You seem to have too much time on your hands and meddle in affairs that have nothing whatsoever to do with your work. Apparently you’ve used your ample leisure to set up as an investigator on your own account. I absolutely forbid my people to engage in activities that don’t have my approval. So my advice to you is to abandon the matter and make yourself useful around my residence.”

Even behind all the facial hair and the paste Saburo used to hide his scars, Akitada could see him change color. He sat still for a moment. Only his injured eye rolled uncontrollably, betraying his shock. Then he got to his feet and bowed.

“I beg your pardon, sir. Of course, I’ll obey your wishes. But you’ll find that the accounts are in order. So as not to disturb you unduly I’ve been working on them at night. And I’ve made sure I wasn’t needed before going into town today. Is there any particular thing you’d like me to do now?”

“No.” Akitada felt guilty for having been so harsh with Saburo. It was likely that he had come to tell him about bathhouse murder for much the same reason as the others when they had tried to interest him in Lady Ogata’s death. He cleared his throat. “Umm, I appreciate that you have made sure that your chores were done, Saburo. I’ll have a look at the accounts later. Harumph. It’s been a rather busy day and I’ve been distracted by other matters.” He paused uncertainly. “Umm, I’m sure the police can handle crimes in the city, but if you have any information, you may give it to Superintendent Kobe.”

“Thank you, sir.” Saburo bowed and left.

Akitada felt more than ever inadequate for what lay before him. Never mind the alleged suicide of some woman or the violent murder of a moneylender. Those were other people’s problems. He had neglected his own duties while reprimanding Saburo. With a sigh, he got up and went to look at the accounts. Saburo had indeed kept them faithfully.

But he was shocked to see how very little gold was left. Running his eyes over the entries, he saw the large payments that had been made for Tamako’s funeral and a number of bills the household had incurred in his absence. Missing were his usual salary payments to offset such big expenses. Since he had abandoned his position in Kyushu, he had not drawn his salary for it or for his large travel expenses. Meanwhile, income from his farm outside the capital and from some land he still owned in the north from his service as governor in Echigo was not expected until after the fall harvests.

Worse, apparently none of his people had received any pay since his return. Saburo had not told him, perhaps because he had assumed that his master would check the accounts.

No wonder they were all so eager for him to get over his grief.

No, that was unjust. None of them was doing this for the money. He was being unfair to the people who served him, just as he had been unfair to his children. He closed the account book.

For a moment he went out on his veranda and stared at the wet greenery without seeing it. He could not do as he wished. He could not even do as they had hoped he would, that is by letting himself be distracted by an investigation into a suicide or a murder. He must go back to work.

He went inside and took his resignation from the box. Tearing it up, he dropped the pieces on the glowing charcoal under his water pot and watched it flare up and burn.

Suddenly, he had the strange feeling that he was not alone. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as he listened. Had he heard a shuffling step? A dry cough? He looked around wildly, half afraid and half hopefully. The room was empty.

And yet he knew he was not alone. Perhaps the beneficent spirits of the dead who had loved people stayed around or paid their visits when needed.

“How are you, old friend?” he murmured into the dim air. “You always know, don’t you?”

If old Seimei had still been with him, he knew what he would have told him. “Fire does not burn in a jar,” he would have said. And then he would have quoted Master Kung-fu-tse on the duty of a gentleman to keep active and look after his people.

Locking himself away in his room to mourn Tamako had been wrong. It had been a form of escape. He was alive, and Tamako had trusted him to look after the children and their people. Now he must make an effort for them. However distasteful it was, he must return to work. It would mean begging forgiveness and pleading for even the most humble position.

He would start with a visit to the ministry and a talk with Fujiwara Kaneie.

12

The Blind Girl

Saburo felt resentful. He did not think he had deserved his master’s anger, and though he tried to make allowances, the scene rankled. The next morning, he went to look for Tora or Genba.

Genba was in the stable, feeding the horses. He looked glum. “I don’t know what we’ll do for food for these animals,” he said to Saburo. “You’ve got to talk to the master. I need money to buy more hay and straw.”

Saburo perched on an upturned water bucket. “I can’t talk to him. I just told him about a murder in the city and a poor blind girl the police arrested, and he got very angry, saying I had no business meddling in police affairs and neglecting my chores. I haven’t been neglecting my chores.”

Genba nodded. “He’s not well. We’ve got to be patient. But money is another matter. We’ll all starve soon along with the horses. Cook says she’s been cutting back on her marketing. You’ve got to talk to him.”

“I can’t. At least not just now.”

Genba sighed. “We haven’t told him our news yet.”

Saburo nodded. He knew that Genba and Ohiro were expecting a child in another three months and that they had been afraid to tell the master.”

“We can’t wait much longer. Ohiro shows already.”

Saburo nodded again. They looked at each miserably, then Saburo got up. “I’ll see what Tora thinks.”

“Oh, Tora’s in great spirits. He got the master to inspect some place where a lady hanged herself. The mansion belongs to one of the master’s friends.”