The other houses on Rokujo Avenue were substantial and probably belonged to high-ranking officials or important families. These would not be within the reach of a gangster, no matter high rich or powerful. The side streets were another matter. Here there were tidy houses in small gardens, belonging perhaps to minor officials or military officers. And here he would be more likely to find Kanemoto and the woman called the Phoenix.

His feet slow and his mind dulled by exhaustion, he hardly knew where to start. Fortunately, his search was brief. He encountered a servant who was hurrying homeward with a barrel of sake on his shoulder. On Akitada’s question about new neighbors, he pointed to a house at the end of the street.

Like the others, this house hid behind a tall fence. Its gate was closed, and Akitada could see only the roof of a building beyond. But someone was home, for light shimmered in the wet branches of a tree. Akitada pulled a rope, and somewhere inside a small bell sounded.

Through the latticed window of the gate, Akitada could see a garden path of stones laid into moss. It curved around a bush and disappeared. Suddenly, a small figure skipped around the bush, a young girl, exquisitely dressed in many-colored silks, her wooden sandals clacking on the stones. She was holding a large piece of oiled paper over her head with both hands and her long hair was flying behind her. She was smiling at him.

For a moment, Akitada was transported to an elegant restaurant in Hakata and a small girl like this one waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs to give him a note from a beautiful woman. That woman had subsequently died because he had not accepted her invitation.

This young girl, like the other one, was a courtesan-in-training and served a ruling choja. He knew he had found the right house, and was about to meet the woman who had witnessed a murder. It had been surprisingly easy in the end.

As he thought this, the gate opened, and the smiling girl peered up at him.

“Please take me to your mistress,” he said, smiling back at her.

“You are expected, sir?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said firmly, then felt guilty for lying to a child. It was ridiculous, because this young girl was learning things that were much worse than telling a lie.

She bowed and stepped aside as he walked in. Suddenly exhaustion seized him again and he could barely walk. The long day and night and the many miles he had traveled had taken their toll. His old injury caused a shooting pain in his left knee every time he put weight on it. Gritting his teeth, he limped after the small girl, aware that he made a very poor figure as a prospective lover.

He hardly saw where he was going until they reached the main room, a spacious affair with tatami mats on the floor, green shades across shutters in the back, and an inordinate number of clothes racks covered with silks in all colors. Three women were busy unpacking the many trunks that stood open and revealed more luxurious clothing. Akitada took in the scene at a quick glance. Two of the women were maids by their ordinary clothing, but the third was the one he had come to find.

Chiyo, or the Phoenix as she was being called in the willow quarter, resembled the bird of paradise in her multi-colored silks, but there the comparison ended for Akitada. He saw a tall woman of above average weight—though he guessed at the latter because her face was round. Her elaborate clothing hid much of her body. He supposed that many men would find her attractive, even seductive. Her height and bearing were impressive, her features even, and she had long, glossy hair, now tied in back with a red silk ribbon. But he did not think her graceful enough, nor her figure particularly pleasing.

She looked at him with an expression that was part irritation and part curiosity. He wondered if she would turn away a nobleman simply because he was wet and his visit was inconvenient. Before he could speak, she said, “What gives me the pleasure, sir?” and made him a slight bow.

Well, she had some manners in any case. Still, if Saburo’s tale had been accurate, she was the mistress of a notorious gangster, had witnessed a murder, and had used her knowledge to extort this house and payment of her debts from the murderer. The little girl’s readiness to admit him also suggested that she was not faithful to Kanemoto.

He said, “You are the courtesan Chiyo, known as the Phoenix?”

She smiled. “I am a private person now.”

“I believe you know a man called Kanemoto. Is he here?”

The smile disappeared. “Nobody is here but a few women.” She gestured at her scattered belongings. “We have just arrived. I think you must have come to the wrong house.”

Akitada realized he was too tired to think straight. “Do you mind if I rest for a moment?”

At her gesture, one of the maids brought him a silk cushion. She said, “Please rest, sir. Perhaps a cup of wine?” Without waiting for his answer, she clapped her hands. “Quick, Kimi and Keiko. Wine and snacks.” The maids left, and Akitada sank down on the cushion with a slight groan. She came to kneel across from him.

“You are exhausted, sir. You are not ill, I hope?” she said, eyeing him searchingly from rather fine eyes.

“No, not ill. Just tired. Thank you. I shall be all right in a moment. Perhaps water would be better than wine.” He had had too much wine already.

She rose smoothly and went to fetch it. He sat, and rested, emptying his mind. Somewhere a gate closed, and Akitada fell into a brief doze.

A moment later, he awoke. The Phoenix was back, pouring him a cup of water from a pitcher as one of the maids set out a tray with small rice cakes, nuts, and a flask of wine.

He drank thirstily and held out the cup for more water. She refilled it. Slowly, he came to his senses again. It was most pleasant, sitting here in a warm, dry house surrounded by young women. A delightful scent emanated from Phoenix, who had moved a little closer. The maids returned to their unpacking.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to focus on his hostess. “You are very kind.”

This was not what he should be saying to this woman.

She bowed a little. “Not at all, sir. It gives me great pleasure to do this. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, I was just tired and thirsty,” Akitada said, pleased at such solicitude. It felt good to rest and now that he had found her there was no hurry. But it would not be easy to get this woman to come with him and tell her story to the police. He wished he had money to offer her.

No, he could not pay for her testimony. It would be tainted. For that matter, somebody might already suspect that she had been paid to accuse Kanemoto. He tried to ponder this difficulty while she made light conversation and he gave casual answers. To his surprise, he found he was sipping wine and enjoying the warmth suffusing his belly. With a great effort, he pulled himself together.

“I came to ask you for your help,” he said.

“But of course, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“It involves telling the police about Kanemoto.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Who is this Kanemoto?”

Akitada was frustrated. She had decided to play the innocent. “There are witnesses who say you are Kanemoto’s mistress. One witness knows you were with Kanemoto in his house when Kanemoto strangled a man.”

She pretended to be shocked. “What a dreadful story! Please don’t frighten me like this.”

Akitada’s head felt fuzzy. He gestured at their surroundings. “Don’t lie. Kanemoto gave you this house and paid your debts to keep you quiet. I’m afraid it won’t do. I will not have a man who works for me saddled with a gangster’s crime.”

Outside a gate slammed again, and suddenly he was alert, recalling the sound from earlier. Someone had left then and was now returning. Who? And why?