Akitada motioned everyone closer. While they found cushions, he put away his flute, tying the silk cord into a neat bow on top of the oblong box.

“Where did you learn to play?” Oyoshi asked.

“In the capital.” Akitada paused with the box in his hands. “I taught myself. The first instrument was a gift from a kind and noble man. I took it as a reminder that a part of my education had been sadly neglected. You see, as a boy I never received any musical instruction. I am quite determined to make up for it now.” He was puzzled by the expressions of alarm on the faces of his lieutenants.

The doctor smiled. “How extraordinary!”

“Yes, wasn’t it?” Akitada agreed eagerly. “At first it seemed impossibly difficult. But with persistence I may prevail. I realize how important a musical skill is for a man’s ability to think clearly. It requires concentration to play certain sequences and it purifies the mind amazingly. Would you like me to demonstrate?” He started to undo the box again.

“No, please don’t trouble,” Oyoshi said, raising a hand. “You were just about to give us your instructions. Perhaps some other time?”

Akitada put the box away with a small sigh. “Of course.” Pulling forward a stack of official papers, he risked another glance at the flute and said, “This is not the same instrument, you know. The first one got broken. It saved my life when I was attacked by a murderer. Remind me to tell you the story sometime.”

“I remember. That killer was also a doctor,” Tora said with a nod.

Oyoshi stared at him and turned quite pale.

Akitada thought his reaction odd. He said, “Never mind that now, Tora. The most troubling problem facing us is still the missing boy. I am afraid we made no progress at all. I am thinking of returning to Takata to ask more questions. And then there is Hisamatsu. Hitomaro has been invited to work for the judge. He will try to find more information about Uesugi’s plans and accomplices. Hitomaro’s place at the tribunal will be filled by Genba. Genba’s disguise has served its purpose. Inform him before you leave the city, Hitomaro. As for Tora...” He broke off when he saw his lieutenants’ expressions. “What is the matter now?”

“The wrestling match is this afternoon,” said Hitomaro.

“What wrestling match?”

“Genba’s match. He’s a top contender, sir,” pleaded Tora.

Akitada snapped, “Do you mean to tell me that he, and both of you, consider some wrestling bout more important than your duties in the present crisis?”

Oyoshi cleared his throat. “Perhaps I can explain. The wrestling match is a most significant event in this province. In a remote place like ours the citizens follow wrestling with an almost religious devotion since they have little else to look forward to but a long and hard winter.”

“Really?” Akitada thought about it. If Genba was a favorite, then his participation would go a long way to create goodwill for the tribunal later on. “I suppose I should have kept myself better informed,” he said. “Is Genba really good enough?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hitomaro. “You would not recognize him, sir.”

“Then I have been remiss,” Akitada said with a nod. “We shall all attend. I should have planned to do so from the start. It cannot hurt to reinforce the good impression we made on the local people yesterday.”

“You cannot go, sir.” Seimei, who had been a quiet observer until now, was adamant. “Not only are you not well enough, but by going out to a public event of this type you invite another attack. Neither Tora nor Hitomaro can protect you against an assassin in a crowd.”

Dismayed, they all looked at Akitada.

He frowned. “You exaggerate the danger, Seimei, but to satisfy everyone I shall wear ordinary clothes and watch with the crowd. I feel much stronger. This is only a small excursion, the weather is pleasant, and I need fresh air.” He raised his hand to stop further remonstrance. “Enough! I have made up my mind.”

♦

In order to attract no undue attention, Akitada wore no cap and only a plain dark gray jacket over his old blue lined silk robe. Oyoshi had calmed everyone’s worries about his health by offering to accompany him.

They left the tribunal by the back gate. The street outside was empty except for a few stragglers hurrying ahead of them. The shops were closed and shuttered, and the town seemed deserted. From the distance came the muffled sound of drums.

“Extraordinary,” muttered Akitada, striding along and looking about him. “Not even the Kamo festival in the capital attracts such total support.”

Oyoshi, being shorter and older, had trouble keeping pace. “You have much to learn about the customs hereabouts,” he gasped.

“Yes, and going about like an ordinary person seems a good way to keep myself informed,” Akitada said. “I must do this more often.” He was enjoying himself.

They had almost reached the end of the street. The curving roofs of the temple loomed ahead through the branches of bare trees. A shrill whistle sounded in the distance, followed by a roar of applause and more drumbeats. The sweet sound of zither music came from the door of a small curio shop. It mingled pleasantly with the drumbeats from the temple. Akitada stopped.

“Ah. Shikata is playing,” said Oyoshi.

Akitada listened for a moment, then entered the shop. Oyoshi followed, mopping his face with a sleeve.

The shop was very small, consisting only of a four-mat platform normally open to the street entrance on one side, with shelves on two other walls and a shuttered window on the fourth. The shelves held a collection of musical instruments, lacquer ware, carved figures, games, and dolls. An ancient man sat on the platform with a beautifully decorated koto zither before him. He looked at them, then stopped playing and bowed deeply.

“Welcome.” His voice was very soft and sounded as if it came from far away.

“I heard your music,” Akitada said, slipping off his shoes and stepping up on the platform. “It is very fine, but why aren’t you at the wrestling match?”

The old man smiled. “My legs won’t carry me any longer. And what is your reason?”

Akitada was pleased with the old-timer’s lack of ceremony. Apparently his disguise was good. “I’m in no hurry,” he said, looking at the zither curiously. “When I heard you playing this fine instrument, I decided to have a look.”

“Do you play?”

“I play the flute. Do you have any good ones in stock?”

“See for yourself.” The curio dealer pointed a clawlike hand toward the shelves. “I’m alone here. The boy’s at the match.”

Akitada went to look.