She appraised him for a moment, then said, ‘You want the good stuff.’

He nodded. ‘And I’d like to talk to you when you have a moment.’

She was surprised. ‘That could be a while,’ she said, eyeing him more closely.

‘I’m in a hurry. It concerns Tora.’

Her face closed. She took a step away and scanned the crowded room. ‘I’m busy. It’s market day.’ Her voice was tight and she left.

Akitada saw only ordinary working men snatching a quick bite or drink before returning to work. None of them were boys, but Tora’s mention of the three deaf mutes probably meant that any of these older males could be members of a gang. Tora had pointed out that the deaf mutes and the girl had protected the boys from the police. Hoshina was probably afraid to talk to him.

He wondered what to do next when Hoshina was back with a flask and a cup. She held out her hand. ‘Twenty coppers.’

It was dear, but Akitada gave her the money, saying in a low voice, ‘Tora is very ill. That’s why I came. It’s urgent.’

Her eyes widened briefly, then flew around the room again. She leaned down to pour the wine and murmured, ‘Later. After the market closes.’

That would not be until well after dark. Akitada asked in a low voice, ‘How is Jirokichi? Can’t you at least tell me where he is?’

She straightened, saying, ‘How should I know? The bastard’s left me. All men are bastards.’ She flounced away, swinging her hips to a chorus of raucous shouts.

Had that been the truth? He looked after her and knew that he could trust no one in this matter. Something was afoot that was far more important than the disappearance of Shokan’s protégée, and Jirokichi was at the center of it.

He tasted the wine. It had the strong flavor and murky consistency much loved by the common people. Leaving the rest, he walked out.

The clouds still hung low over the city. His mood had changed, and it seemed now that they cast a dull, depressing light on the city. He wished for rain because that would close the market early. He had not eaten all day, having been too tense about the hearing this morning. He looked at the foods offered by the few market vendors and settled for a bowl of noodles that he bought from a middle-aged woman who looked clean and was doing a good business.

He had chosen well. The noodles were plump, and the broth was nicely seasoned. Suddenly ravenous, he finished quickly and bought a second bowl. This earned him the woman’s gratitude.

‘Good, eh?’ she asked with a gap-toothed grin.

‘Very good,’ said Akitada, slurping noisily.

‘Hah.’ She laughed. ‘My old man, he says he only keeps me for my noodles. Better than fresh sea bream, he says. You’re not from around here, are you, sir?’

So much for trying to pass as a poor man. ‘I don’t come here very often,’ Akitada said vaguely, then changed the subject by nodding at the lowering sky. ‘You must be worried that the rain will close the market early.’

She glanced up and shook her head. ‘Not likely. It’ll hold off till dark.’ Her bright eyes looked Akitada over more closely. ‘So what are you doing in this part of town, if you’ll forgive a nosy woman’s question?’

She was a chatterbox, but there was a twinkle in her eyes and her friendliness was generous. Akitada chuckled and decided to ask a question or two himself. ‘You have sharp eyes. I was hoping that I wouldn’t be taken for an official. I’m looking for a young monk. His name is Kansei. He seems to have run away and his abbot is nearly frantic with worry.’

She cocked her head. ‘Now why would he run away? Plenty to eat in a monastery. Besides, where’s his faith in the Buddha?’

‘Not all boys go willingly into a monastery. Sometimes the father or mother hope to gain blessings. Or perhaps they cannot afford to feed a child.’

She nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘Is he a child then? They do run sometimes.’ She turned away to stir her pot of noodles and serve a customer. ‘Poor boy,’ she said when she turned back.

‘Why do you call him poor? As you said, the acolytes lead better lives than the children of the streets.’

She frowned. ‘Maybe. How old is this boy then?’

‘Well, he’s not precisely a child. I believe he’s about seventeen. The abbot thinks he got bored and joined a street gang.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, that’s bad. They’re young devils, if you ask me. And you should see how much money they have to throw around. Gold, even. Now, where would boys that age get gold? And they have no respect for working people. We all keep an eye out for them. They come here and take whatever they want and don’t pay. And if you make a fuss, they dump your food and dishes in the dirt and kick them around. Devils! I’ve seen them knock down a poor old man and laugh. One day they beat up a constable right over there.’ She pointed towards some leaning stands, their covers of woven reed mats supported by thin bamboo poles. ‘They pulled up those poles and were jumping around pretending to be stick-fighters. The man whose stand it was called the market constable, but they beat up the constable and he ran away.’

Akitada shook his head. ‘I see what you mean. Were they arrested?’

She uttered a bitter laugh. ‘Arrested? The police won’t touch them. The constable who got beaten up, he quit and left town. The one we have now disappears whenever they show up.’

‘But vendors still do a good trade. The gang can’t be too bad.’

‘As I said, we keep an eye open. Take my word, they’re as bad as can be.’

Yes, perhaps they were. The stick-fighting incident might have been a prank that got out of hand, and the rest was mere hooliganism, but the fact that they had gold to spend suggested that they earned it by committing far more serious crimes. Akitada said, ‘I take it you haven’t heard about any young monks joining them?’

‘Oh, no. How could such a one forget the Buddha’s teachings and do such things?’ She eyed Akitada’s empty bowl. ‘You know, that reminds me: one of my best customers is a woman whose son is a monk. She comes regular and always eats three bowls of my noodles.’

He quickly handed his bowl over for a refill.

‘You looked like you needed some food,’ she said with a satisfied nod as he raised the bowl to his mouth. ‘Like I said, this woman, she loves my noodles. Only the rich can afford to put on fat like that. She says she’s come down in the world, but that her son will be a great man some day and she’ll live in a mansion with many servants again. She put her boy in a monastery to have him taught because she can’t afford a university.’

It was a stretchout Akitada asked anyway, ‘What’s her name?’

‘She’s just a customer, but I’ll ask her next time. You’d know her anywhere. She’s so fat she’s got to lean on a child to walk.’

That image made Akitada feel uncomfortably full. What had he been thinking of to let this clever noodle woman con him into buying three bowls? He quickly handed back the empty bowl, paid, and walked away.

Noting glumly that the clouds just seemed to hang there, he decided to spend the time until the market closed by checking out some of Tora’s other recent haunts.

He found the warehouses easily, and like Tora he smelled the characteristic sour odor of fermented rice. The gang’s warehouse looked deserted, its gate leaning drunkenly and only confused tracks marking the dry dirt in front. Looking up and down the narrow lane first to make sure he was alone, Akitada slipped into the yard.

His steps sounded overly loud as he walked up to the splintered door. He reminded himself that the worthless rascals were responsible for Tora’s festering wound and reached down to pull the knife from his boot before opening it. There was a sudden clatter in the darkness, and he jumped back. When nothing else happened, he walked in cautiously, letting his eyes adjust to the murk. Something darker than the gloom materialized near his feet with a yowl and streaked off to the outside. Before he could catch his breath, a second shadow flew past and also disappeared outside.