“Good! Ask him to come!”

Genba came to him hesitantly, head still hanging low. He stood for a moment, awkwardly clenching and unclenching his big fists, then said hoarsely, “We are very sorry, sir.”

“Sit down, Genba.” Akitada made his tone friendly. “I have been too harsh and forgot that neither you nor Tora have had any leisure since our return. You have both served faithfully during the long years of hardship up north and on the strenuous journey back. Then you got back and had to deal with ruined stables and a funeral. I should have been more appreciative. Instead I lost my temper. Please forgive me, and take the rest of the day and the night off. Tomorrow we will discuss your new assignments.”

Genba’s face broke into a wide grin. “Whew!” he cried fervently. “Thank you, sir. But you were quite right. We shouldn’t have quarreled. Well, I came to tell you, we’ve made up. Tora’s been worried because you wouldn’t let him go see the little acrobat. He told her to meet him in the Willow Quarter, which is not a good place to send a nice young girl on her own.”

“I am sure she came to no harm.” Akitada wondered why Tora should be concerned about the reputation of a girl who had agreed so readily to sleep with him on first acquaintance. “You said very little yesterday. Do you have anything to add to Tora’s report?”

Genba scratched his head. His once-shaven pate was once again covered with a thick brush of hair not yet long enough to twist on top. Genba attempted to make it lie down flat by wetting it periodically and plastering it as close to his skull as he could. But as it dried, stubborn sections of hair popped up again. Having disturbed the careful arrangement, he quickly patted it back down. Watching him, Akitada noticed for the first time that Genba was turning gray. He had never asked his age but guessed that Genba must be well into his forties.

“About Tora’s worries, sir. Miss Plumblossom, the lady who runs the training hall, is very concerned about some villain who’s been going around slashing prostitutes. Her maid’s one of the bastard’s victims. She must’ve been good-looking until she lost her nose and part of her upper lip. Her whole face is a mess, what with all the knife scars. Being disfigured like that, she couldn’t work anymore and was starving. She was going through the refuse behind the training hall when Miss Plumblossom found her.”

Akitada frowned. There seemed to be many stories of disfigurement recently, but the matter hardly concerned him. “It is horrible, of course, but prostitution provokes abnormal behavior in some men,” he said carelessly. “Has she identified her attacker to the police?”

Genba shook his head. “Prostitutes don’t complain to the authorities. And she may not have got a good look at him. Probably met him on a dark street and went home with him. Miss Plumblossom says some people found her half dead in an abandoned temple. They thought she’d been attacked by demons.”

This sounded familiar, but Akitada could not immediately place it and put it from his mind. “A terrible tale,” he said, “but I don’t see that it helps us with the actors. We know they spent the night at the temple. Did they talk about the murder?”

“No. And that’s a bit queer. Tora says nobody would talk to him after Danjuro warned them off. By the way, the maid was spying on Tora and his girl and he grabbed her. She bit his hand and ran off screeching that she’d been attacked.”

“Not surprising under the circumstances,” Akitada said dryly.

“There’s some trouble between the actors and Danjuro. Seems Uemon recently turned over the running of the troupe to Danjuro, who’s come into some money.”

“Hmm.” Akitada slowly shook his head. “I don’t see that any of this gets us closer to the Nagaoka case. Well, perhaps Tora will have better luck with his girl tonight. If he turns up nothing, either, we will have to start interviewing the monks.”

Having made his peace with Tora and Genba, Akitada decided to speak to his wife.

Tamako was up, peering into a large round silver mirror. The shutters of the room were still closed, but daylight seeped in. Only a single candle was burning next to her, and in the golden light and the soft rosy glow from the glowing coals in the brazier, she looked ethereal. She was still in her undergown of white silk, which alternately clung and floated as she moved, revealing and concealing the soft curves of her body. Akitada felt a strong surge of desire, and an even stronger need to hold and touch her.

She barely looked up. “Forgive me, Akitada. I am hurrying to get dressed. It was a long day yesterday, and I overslept. Do you mind terribly if I go on with my makeup?”

Crushed, he turned to go. “No,” he mumbled, “of course not. I just came to … talk.”

She caught up with him before he reached the door. “Wait.” Peering up at him, she cried, “What is wrong? Are you ill?”

“No. Just tired. And worried about Yoshiko.”

“You look terrible. Yoshiko will get over it. Fortunately, both Toshikage and Akiko agreed with me and we convinced her to obey you in this matter. Come sit down.” She led him to the bedding, which still lay spread out, and made him loosen the upper part of his robe. He submitted meekly, marveling at how he had misjudged her. She had been on his side all along.

Kneeling behind him, Tamako massaged and stroked his neck and shoulders with her strong, gentle hands until he felt his muscles ease and allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes and sighing with pleasure.

He did not know how it came about, but at some point he caught one of her hands and kissed it gratefully. She paused for a moment, then moved around in front of him to slip his robe off his shoulders. Her fingers touched his skin like the wings of butterflies, or like the mouths of the fishes in the pool last night, moving over his chest, down to his waist, and back again. His breath caught in his throat. He looked at her, hoping she would read the naked hunger in his eyes.

Tamako extinguished the candle, and helped him out of his clothes.

Later, when he was back at his desk, warm and happy, Seimei brought fresh tea along with the morning rice. Akitada thought the old man looked pale and drawn. The tray seemed almost too heavy for him. Eating the thick rice gruel, he watched Seimei pour a cup of the tea with a hand that shook so badly that he spilled a few drops. Akitada lowered his bowl. “Are you feeling quite well, Seimei?”

“Yes. Fine, sir. Fine. Sorry about this.” Seimei dabbed at the drops of tea with the sleeve of his dark cotton robe. Then, instead of leaving quietly, he remained, his eyes downcast.

“Is anything else wrong?”

“Nothing wrong—precisely—sir. Only…”

“Only what?”

“I wondered if all is well with Miss Yoshiko, sir? Her ladyship mentioned to me that the policeman had brought some very disturbing news. I couldn’t help worrying.”

“Heavens. I thought you knew.” Akitada tried to remember: had Seimei somehow missed being told? He realized that this was the first time he had not discussed family matters or a case with the old man. He set down his bowl. “I am sorry, Seimei. I should have kept you informed, but so much has happened lately that I forgot. Please take a seat, for this will take a while.”

Seimei obeyed, his eyes suddenly moist. Akitada told him of Yoshiko’s relationship with Kojiro, her trips to the prison, and Kobe’s assumption that Akitada had used her to get to the prisoner. Then he explained the agreement he had reached with Kobe and the present status of the case. When he was done, Seimei nodded and dabbed his eyes.

“Why, what is the matter now?” Akitada asked.

Seimei smiled a little. “Nothing now, my lord. I’m overcome with gratitude. I was afraid that I had lost your confidence.” He made Akitada a deep bow. “I shall do my utmost to be always worthy of it.”