The girl gasped, and the young man turned perfectly white. ‘M-my f-father’s murder?’ he stammered. ‘Who s-sent you here?’

The girl now grasped Akitada’s arm and pulled sharply. ‘You’d better leave or I’ll call my father,’ she threatened.

Akitada shook her off. ‘Go and get me that wine.’

She hesitated. The youth said nothing. He looked frightened. Reluctantly, and with several backward glances, she left.

Something did not feel right about this. Akitada looked the terrified youngster over. His robe, while of good silk with an intricate blue and white pattern, was not only worn, but also torn and stained in places. Perhaps it was meant as a disguise of sorts. Under the circumstances, that was almost funny. In any case, the clothing did nothing to hide the handsome face with its slanting eyebrows and pointed chin.

So what was Katsumi doing here, hanging out with thieves and robbers?

Then a memory surfaced. Had not Tora insisted the young lord had a double in the western city? On the one occasion that Akitada had met the young lord, the youngster was in the background and had taken no part in the conversation. Still, if this was another youngster, the two were startlingly similar.

But why had he cast this youth into a panic when he had mentioned the Kiyowara murder? If he was indeed someone else, he could not know of the crime.

Akitada asked more gently, ‘Are you Katsumi?’

The boy looked around as if for help. Then he shook his head.

‘Who are you and what exactly is your relationship to the Kiyowaras?’

The youth panicked. He shot to his feet. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he cried and bounded off the platform.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ Akitada cried and went after him. But the youth was dodging customers in a full run for the door.

The wine shop became very quiet.

Akitada tried to follow, but someone put out a leg and he stumbled, caught himself, was tripped again, and fell full-length to the floor. He heard laughter.

Furious, he scrambled up and looked at sly faces. ‘How dare you? That youth may be a killer. The next person who interferes with me will have to deal with the constables.’

It was the wrong thing to say. Three burly men suddenly blocked his way. The rest watched, snickering. A dirty bearded man sitting near Akitada took a deep mouthful from his wine flask and spat it at him.

Akitada tried to shoulder past the bullies. They did not budge. Neither did they speak. They eyed him like hungry dogs.

In a moment, the situation had become dangerous. He would have to fight his way out. Bending down, he pulled the knife from his boot. ‘Get out of my way,’ he snarled. Their eyes widened at the sight of the knife, and suddenly the path to the door was clear.

As he flung himself outside into the sheeting rain, Akitada blamed himself for his foolish mistake. These were not people who respected authority. More to the point, he had no authority any longer, and he could not call on the police for assistance. He was very lucky to have escaped real trouble.

The street was empty – and why not? Too much time had passed, and the youth had long legs and lots of stamina. Akitada put the knife back in his boot and ran to the street corner to check the side street. He found it empty and ran back the other way, past the Fragrant Peach. At the alleyway next to the wine shop he stopped to peer into the gloom. On this rainy day, late afternoon resembled dusk. It was nearly dark between the overhanging roofs of adjoining buildings. Water poured from the eaves and splashed into puddles and ditches below. Was that a movement at the far end? He heard the faint sound of a gate or door closing over the rushing of waters.

The youngster must be hiding behind the buildings. Akitada plunged into the narrow passageway. Halfway down, he was about to slow down and reconsider when a heavy, wet cloth dropped over his head. Akitada struggled against the evil-smelling thing, but strong arms pulled it tight and then bound his flailing arms to his body. He kicked out, but was jerked up roughly and thrown over someone’s back. Gasping for breath, he tried to shout for help, managing only muffled grunts. The need for air grew urgent, and he tried to throw himself off the man’s back. A short struggle later, he struck the ground painfully. He managed to catch a breath, then something struck his head, and blinding pain was the last thing he felt.

Akitada regained consciousness in the dark and knew instantly what had happened. The smell of the suffocating cloth was still in his nostrils, his head hurt terribly, and his arms and legs were tied. At least he could breathe again. Total blackness surrounded him. His fuzzy head at first made him think he had been struck blind, but then he realized he was a prisoner in some dark, moist place with earthen walls.

With the realization came panic. He was transported back on Sado Island, chained in the underground chamber of the mine. He retched, then vomited. His head throbbed worse than before, and he felt dizzy. He vomited again and regained enough control to move away from his vomit.

This brought him up against another dirt wall. His wrists were tied behind his back. Even if his captors had left him the knife, he could not have used it. He pulled on his bonds, but only managed to tighten them. The rope was wet and intractable. Maneuvering about by pushing with his legs, he verified that he was in a pit less than a man’s length in either direction. He could sit and even kneel, but there was not enough headroom to stand up. His prison’s ceiling seemed to be made of rough wooden planks. Something heavy kept them in place, for he could not lift them by pushing upward with his shoulders.

The effort made his headache worse, and he collapsed in a corner. For a while now, he had been vaguely aware of some movement near him. Now it happened again, the merest slither and scrape. A primal fear made his heart race. Leaning against the dirt wall, he fought down a second panic attack and listened.

Nothing.

Yet still there was the acute sense that he was not alone in a pit that was barely large enough for a man. Tora, who believed in ghostly spirits that played tricks on humans, would have thought that he was buried with some sort of demon, but Akitada did not believe in demons.

He tried to put his fear from his mind and thought about the situation.

The darkness meant little. Night could have fallen while he was unconscious. He seemed to have enough air, and it was reasonably fresh. Perhaps with the morning light he would see chinks in the boards above, but this pit might not be in the open. The floor underneath him seemed to be of stone, covered with a thin layer of dirt. It smelled vaguely of rotting vegetables. Most likely, this was one of those storage pits used to keep fruit and vegetables during the winter months. That and the moistness of the dirt walls made him think it was in someone’s backyard. But his captors would hardly have put him where he might attract notice by shouting for help. He decided to wait before trying that. If they had posted a guard, he might get killed.

His captors had surely come from the Fragrant Peach. There had been more than one: big men, just like the three silent customers who had blocked his way in the wine shop. He had probably fallen into the hands of one of the gangs that ruled the western city. What did they plan to do with him? The possibilities that crossed his mind made his blood run cold.

There was neither food nor water in his prison. Perhaps they meant to leave him here to die. He fought off the horror of such a slow death by piecing together the events before the attack.

He thought about the youth who looked like the Kiyowara heir. Surely he was part of the gang, along with the young waitress and most – or all – of the customers of the Fragrant Peach. What plot had his visit threatened? How had he managed to get into such trouble by looking for the abbot’s missing protégé? Nobody would go to these lengths to keep a boy from being returned to a monastery.