They broke into excited chatter, asking about his bouts, feeling his muscles, and offering to pay for his wine.

“Ho, ho!” laughed Genba. “I knew I’d like this town. Never met nicer people in my life. But this round’s on me. And if one of you knows where that delicious smell is coming from, I’ll buy the snacks, too.”

Hitomaro sat down with a heavy sigh and waited while the owner carried out flasks of wine, and one of the guests disappeared around the corner, returning with a large basket filled with skewers of fried seafood.

While Hitomaro sat, arms folded across his chest and a pained expression on his face, Genba and the others ate, drank, exchanged simpleminded jokes and laughed uproariously at them.

Finally, when all the fish was gone and the flasks were empty, Genba patted his belly and said, “Well, it’s too bad, but we must be on our way. My friend here has this assignment, and at his rate, it’ll take all day and night to find this Kimura fellow.”

A brief silence ensued. Then one of the men muttered, “That Goto’s a big liar.”

Hitomaro said quickly, “If you want to help Kimura, tell us what you know.”

They looked at each other again. Then the man who had spoken asked, “How do we know we won’t get in trouble?”

“Because I vouch for him,” Genba announced grandly and belched.

“Well...”

“Go ahead. Tell him,” said a skinny man who had been very impressed with Genba’s muscles.

The first man said, “Kimura lives right around the corner. I was there when he and Goto’s worthless brother were shooting dice and got into an argument. Ogai’s a lazy soldier. He picked the fight on purpose. Kimura wouldn’t raise a hand against anybody if he wasn’t forced into it. Ogai kept pushing him against the wall till Kimura pushed back. Then they got into a slugging match. Mind you, Kimura’s no slouch when he gets started. He got a black eye, but Ogai lost two teeth. Him”—he pointed to the skinny man—”and me, we stopped the fight and took Kimura home. We know Kimura doesn’t hold a grudge. He told Ogai he was sorry about the teeth, but the bastard just made a fist and cursed him.”

“What do you mean, Ogai picked the fight on purpose?” Hitomaro asked.

“Well, the dice weren’t the real reason. It’s a family thing. Goto has a quarrel with Kimura over a piece of land. It was Kimura’s father’s land, but the old man couldn’t pay the taxes on it for a few years. When he died, nobody bothered Kimura for the taxes, so he forgot about them. Then, one day, Goto puts up a fence and the argument starts. Goto says Kimura’s father sold the land to him. Kimura says Goto’s a liar, that his father would never have sold that land, especially not to Goto. He didn’t like him, and besides he’d had a better offer.”

“That should be easy enough to prove,” Hitomaro said. “Just have Kimura come to the tribunal and file a complaint against Goto. His Excellency, the governor, will untangle the matter fast enough.”

There was a chorus of angry curses at that.

“Forget it,” the spokesman sneered. “Kimura tried that. Poor people can’t get justice at the tribunal. The judge gave the land to Goto. Seems the sneaky bastard’s been paying the taxes. But Kimura had the last word. He dammed up his stream and diverted it. That’s what made Goto so mad. Now he’s got a piece of barren land.” They all laughed.

Hitomaro opened his mouth to argue, but Genba touched his arm. “Well, thanks for clearing that up,” he said. “We’d better be on our way, but it’s been a real pleasure.” He tossed a handful of coins on the table. “Have another flask on us, fellows.”

“What do you think?” Genba asked when they were out of earshot. Hitomaro turned and walked rapidly toward the tribunal. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I want to pay that bastard Chobei a visit.”

“But what about having a talk with the plasterer first?”

Hitomaro stopped and glowered at him. “Any fool knows that Kimura will tell the same story. I don’t have time to waste, but you do as you please.”

Genba’s cheerful face fell. “What have I done, brother?” he called after Hitomaro, who was off again. Hitomaro did not answer, and Genba galloped after him and pulled his sleeve. “What’s wrong, Hito?” he asked. “Why are you so angry? Has something happened?”

“You’re wasting time on games when the master’s in trouble—and we along with him.”

“Is that what the master said?”

“No, it’s what I say.”

Genba looked unhappy. “All right. We’ll do it your way.”

They heard the sound of drums and gongs and the voices of street musicians long before they reached the market stalls. The market was crammed with crowds of shoppers clustering around acrobats and dancers or bargaining with shopkeepers.

“What’s going on?” Hitomaro asked.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Genba tossed a coin to a vendor and took a steaming paper envelope of roasted chestnuts. “It’s the last market day of the year. The farmers won’t be coming to town again till the snows melt next summer. So everyone’s having a party. Isn’t it nice? Here, have some hot chestnuts. Put them in your sleeves and warm your hands on them.”

Ignoring the offer, Hitomaro said, “If Chobei is in this crowd, he’ll be about as easy to find as an ant in an ant hill.” Cursing under his breath, he climbed on an empty basket to peer over the bobbing heads of the crowd. As far as he could see down the main street with its overhanging thatched roofs, people milled, eddying in streams past stalls and around groups of performers. The steam from a hundred cook pots hung in clouds about them, and the noise from laughter, chatter, and snatches of music was deafening.

He climbed down and found that Genba had attracted his own audience. A small group stood around him, admiring his enormous size and bulk and asking questions about the coming match. Men felt his muscles, and women held up their baby boys to touch him, hoping that his strength would pass from him to their sons.

A dumpling seller was offering his wares nearby, and an admirer pressed Genba to accept a small snack.

“What do you think you’re doing now?” Hitomaro asked testily.

Genba chewed and smacked his lips. “Good. The bean paste might be sweeter. But,” his round face split into a wide grin, “these dumplings are light as a feather and larger than any I’ve had. Hey,” he called out to the dumpling man, “a couple more, if you please.”

“We have to find Chobei, you mountain of lard!” Hitomaro gritted out.

Genba’s fans glared at him. The dumpling man bobbed a bow and passed over the dumplings. “Master Genba must keep up his strength,” he said reprovingly to Hitomaro.