This astonished Tora. ‘What do you mean?’

The neighbor shook his head and started back up the ladder. Tora looked after him and reflected that neighbors were like family. You had no choice in the matter. And this man was clearly unhappy about the damage to his house. Then he had a thought and shouted up, ‘You have much trouble with thieving kids around here?’

The man looked down and shook his head. ‘Not lately.’

The search for Kaneharu’s cousin proved frustrating. After trying several streets in vain, Tora passed a large house of a rice dealer. A sign read ‘Watanabe – Best Rice for Eating or Seeding’. Bales of new rice were stacked near the door, and from the back came the sound of pounding: someone was grinding rice into a fine meal. A fat man stood in the doorway, filling it with a broad belly covered in gray silk. He was counting the bales and shouting numbers to a clerk, who was making entries in an account ledger. The fat man’s round, shiny face rested on several chins, and the bulging eyes and thick lips suggested that his body could barely contain so much good living.

When the merchant had finished counting, Tora greeted him and asked about the umbrella maker who was married to Kaneharu’s cousin.

The merchant pursed his thick lips. His face reminded Tora of a large koi. The man compressed his lips and said, ‘Two streets back. Number sixteen. Is it about the fire? The gods’ anger is a terrible thing.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s criminal to let this go on. Now a man has died, and they say the son’s not going to make it.’

The umbrella maker’s shop was one of the poorest in this quarter. He was not as well off as the Kaneharus. The owner sat cross-legged in his small shop, splicing bamboo. When Tora asked for Kaneharu, he made a face and shouted for his wife, then went on with his work of splicing and cutting umbrella ribs. His pale, thin wife took Tora to the back room, where her cousin lay on a pallet. He was shivering continuously and his teeth chattered. His chest, arms, and legs were covered with stained bandages, and his swollen, crimson face shone with oozing burns and the ointment the cousin had applied.

‘He’s bad,’ the cousin whispered. ‘The fire’s eating him up from inside. He says he’s got nothing to live for now. His business is gone, and so is Uncle.’

Tora nodded and squatted beside the injured man. ‘Kaneharu,’ he said, ‘can you hear me?’ The eyes flickered open, rested on Tora for a moment, then closed. Tora tried again. ‘Do you remember me? I tried to get your father out last night. It grieves me that I failed.’

This time the eyes flickered and stayed open longer. The blistered lips moved and sounds emerged, but Tora could not make out what Kaneharu was saying and bent closer. ‘What?’

His cousin offered a translation. ‘There’s no shame in that. You were very kind.’

Tora doubted that the shaking and shivering patient had said all of that, but he accepted it, asking, ‘Did your cousin say what happened? How the fire started?’

Kaneharu moaned loudly and said something.

The cousin gave a little cry and put a hand over Kaneharu’s lips.

‘What? What did he say?’ Tora asked.

The cousin shook her head. ‘He blames the gods, but it was an accident.’

The dying man – Tora no longer doubted that Kaneharu was dying – rolled his head about from side to side and said quite clearly, ‘Father paid the money. He paid.’ Then the shaking got worse, and he started to wail.

His cousin reached into a basin for a moist cloth and laid it on his head, making soothing noises as if to a whimpering child. She gave Tora a pleading look. ‘He’s not in his right mind,’ she muttered.

Tora nodded. He bent to Kaneharu. ‘Please forgive me for troubling you. I’ll pray for you.’

Kaneharu said nothing.

Tora let himself out. Perhaps the cousin was right and he was out of his mind with pain. Tora wondered if he should go back and talk to the neighbors again, but he did not feel up to it. His breathing was still shallow and painful and both his head and his hands hurt. It would have to wait.

More importantly, he had given his word to Hanae.

THE INAUSPICIOUS VISIT

Akitada hated pleading, but he stiffened his resolve with an icy determination. The image of Tamako’s pale face was before his eyes, and the hardships they would all soon suffer were on his mind.

He had sent Genba with his horses and the dog Trouble to the farm to save on feed. The farm did not produce much in terms of saleable rice, but there was plenty of grazing. It had been hard, because he loved his own horse and enjoyed riding it. They would now be forced to rent horses. It meant they would not go anywhere they could not walk to, but it was more important to feed his family.

And he would miss the dog. In spite of the well-earned name, Trouble was a member of the family, and Akitada thought that the dog had shown particular affection to himself.

His best hope lay in avoiding dismissal. He must try, even if it involved groveling. The prospect sickened him so much that he had not been able to eat.

He decided to start with the minister. Here, at least, he had been in the wrong. To his dismay, however, Fujiwara Kaneie was not in – though on second thought it would have been more unusual if he had been.

Unfortunately, his request to speak with His Excellency was overheard by the detestable Munefusa, who came running, full of glee at Akitada’s disappointment.

‘Come to apologize, have you?’ he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. Heads popped out from doors as clerks and secretaries expected another confrontation. ‘Won’t do you much good, I’m afraid. The minister was very angry.’

Akitada bristled. ‘You’ve got it wrong again, Munefusa. My purpose was to find out the origin of a certain false rumor about me. No, I don’t suspect you. You haven’t got the intelligence or the reputation to carry a convincing tale.’

Someone snickered, and Munefusa flushed. ‘Whatever you may think of me, I know who’s responsible, while you don’t.’

Akitada was already sorry that he had let his temper get away from him. He said more calmly, ‘Do you? Well, then I needn’t trouble His Excellency. Out with it.’

Munefusa raised a brow. ‘That wouldn’t be very professional, would it?’

‘Why not? It should be your first interest that those who are connected with the Ministry of Justice are above reproach. I’m merely clearing my good name.’

‘There’s a matter of confidentiality involved here.’

Akitada took a step towards Munefusa. ‘So you’ve lied again. You know nothing. You just like to make people think you have the power to hurt them.’

The hallway had filled with clerks, scribes, and servants. Munefusa looked at them, then told Akitada, ‘I happen to know because His Excellency told me. The person who complained about you to the chancellor is Junior Controller Kiyowara Kane. And I wouldn’t recommend approaching him. You might find yourself thrown out of his house.’ With that, Munefusa turned and ducked back into his office.

Akitada looked after him with a smile. ‘Good!’ he said and winked at the audience before walking away. He was nearly outside when quick footsteps sounded and an elderly clerk caught up with him.

‘Sir,’ he said, a little out of breath, ‘we wanted you to know that we all think very highly of you and pray that justice will be done. Munefusa will be the death of us all. He doesn’t know anything.’

Akitada was very touched, but he said only, ‘Thank you, Shinkai, but you mustn’t let me, or anyone else, hear you speak this way about a superior again.’

They bowed to each other and parted.

Who was Kiyowara Kane? The name seemed vaguely familiar: not because he had met the man, but rather because someone had mentioned him as being one of the new chancellor’s supporters or friends. Akitada, who was excessively non-political for a civil servant, had paid little attention to the recent shifts of power in the administration. Now he stopped at the tax office, a place he visited occasionally when he needed to consult its archives for cases involving property disputes.