He chuckled and explored with his hands. She choked on a little scream when his cold hands found her soft, warm belly. “You might’ve warned me,” Tora murmured into her ear, his hands busily investigating and approving large breasts, firmly muscled thighs, and a smooth bottom.

She gasped again, and tugged impatiently at his sash. “Oh, Hiroshi. I’ve been waiting so-o long,” she moaned.

Tora had planned to spend a little time getting acquainted and picking up some firsthand information about the murder before proceeding to more personal matters, but clearly the young woman had her mind on other things—and who was he to teach her modesty?

Sometime later, when they lay contentedly side by side, he asked, “Why would a nice girl like you work for a mean woman like that?”

She sat up. He could feel her staring down at him in the dark. “You don’t admire her?” she asked in a tone of surprise and disbelief. “Why not? All the men are mad about her.”

“I hope my taste is better than theirs,” Tora said primly.

She lay back and snuggled into the crook of his arm. “She’s a bitch all right. An ungrateful bitch. But he deserved her. After all I did for the old bastard for years, he had to go marry her. He was a fool about that woman. Would you believe, he’d make me ask the fishmonger for free fish bones to make soup, but whenever she wanted a new gown, he’d give her the money and more. How that man spoiled her! And she’d be gone all day, leaving me to do all the work. I was always taking care of him. Even the day he got killed. She went off to visit her family—or so she said—-leaving me alone with her sick old man and the inn to look after. And now she’s got it all and I’m still the kitchen drudge. It’s so unfair.” She pounded her fists into the bedding. Tora patted her shoulder and made soothing noises.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “she’s hired those girls and the new cook. You’ve got a lot less work, I bet. And more time for me.” He gave her a little squeeze.

She giggled and rolled on top of him. “You’re right. I’m not tired,” she whispered, biting his ear and pressing her breasts against him.

Tora gave an inward sigh and stroked her buttocks. Their lovemaking had been good, but now he wanted to get on with his job. Still, there was no reason an experienced man couldn’t do both. “I guess your mistress paid him back with a bit of this at night,” he said, pulling her down on himself, “and he thought it a good bargain.”

“Oh, no,” she gasped, moving energetically, “she wouldn’t have him ... and he, fool that he was ... doted on her anyway.”

“Maybe she has a lover.” The girl was so agile, Tora was having difficulty concentrating on his questions.

“Mmm! ... I like you.”

“You’re not bad yourself, my girl!” He grunted and forced his mind back on business. “I suppose she could’ve paid to have the old man killed.”

She stopped moving abruptly. For a moment she said nothing, then, “I thought she didn’t like those three. Made them sleep on the kitchen floor and said it was good enough for such rubbish. But it’s true, they did do her a big favor. Never mind. The dirty old bastard deserved what he got.” She sounded venomous when she said that, and started moving again, furiously, mumbling, “Bastard ... mmm...aah!” She collapsed on top of Tora with a sigh. “That woman doesn’t know how lucky she is! I tell you, she owes me!” she muttered, as they rolled apart.

Tora frowned in the dark. Kiyo had some unexpected attitudes toward her employers. He wondered about the widow. “Well, did she have a lover?” he asked again.

“She’s a cold fish, though she acts the slut with those weird eyes of hers, and men like that. No, making money and buying clothes for herself is all she’s interested in.”

“That night Sato was killed, did you hear anything?” Tora asked, pulling the quilt over their sweat-covered bodies.

“Not me. I had a bad cold. Took some of the old man’s medicine with a little hot wine and slept like a bear. I’m glad they didn’t slit my throat, too. Would’ve been easy enough. Say, what is this? Let’s talk about us!”

Tora pulled her close. “I was thinking about you, all alone with those killers in the house,” he whispered in her ear.

She cuddled. “You know, I could really go for a man like you! And not just in bed. Do you like me?”

“What do you think?”

“Want to do it again?” She propped herself on an elbow, and tickled his ear.

Tora almost yelped. “Look, Kiyo, a girl shouldn’t ask a man. It’s forward. A man likes to be in control of these situations.”

She flopped back down. “Well, if you really want to know, my cold was horrible. What with the medicine, and feeling that awful, I couldn’t cook dinner that night and forgot all about old Sato. I did feel bad about it the next morning and, seeing that the three guests had already left, I made him a special soup, with bits of mushrooms and a handful of rice and some bean paste. He used to like that before the bitch moved in. And there he was, blood all over, the room in a mess, and his money box lying there empty!”

“I bet that shook you up,” Tora muttered, his mind in turmoil. One moment she cursed the old geezer and the next. .. an unpleasant thought took hold of him. He moved away from her abruptly and sat up. “Wonder what time it is. I’d better go.”

She yawned. “You can stay the night, Hiroshi. Maybe after a rest you’ll want to do it again?”

“No!” He was up, straightening his clothes hurriedly. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Tora paused at the door. “I forgot something I have to do.” Then he took to his heels as if a demon were after him.

* * * *

SIX

THE OUTCASTS

A

fter parting from Tora, Hitomaro continued on the main road for a while, then turned off in the direction of the coast and harbor. He passed among dwellings and shops of ramie weavers, smiths, rope twisters, broom makers, and soothsayers. The houses gradually became smaller and shabbier, their inhabitants now laborers or porters. At the point where the narrow street turned into an open dirt road through barren fields, and the last straggling outskirts of Naoetsu merged with the first scattered dwellings of Flying Goose village, stood a small shack. Its dilapidated sign promised fresh seafood.

Hitomaro lifted the worn curtain that served as a door and ducked into the dimly lit interior. Steamy heat met him and the powerful smell of fish frying in hot oil. On a wooden platform a small group of men sat around a hissing and bubbling cauldron, presided over by a red-faced, sweating cook with a blue-checked rag tied about his head. He was stirring the kettle and watching in a fatherly fashion over his chattering customers.