“You did indeed.” He sighed with mock chagrin. “This game turns out to be unlucky for me. Twice I was quite close to winning, but you beat me each time.”

“Oh,” she cried, dismayed, “you won’t take a dislike to the game? It is merely chance, you know. The next time it will be your turn to win.”

Before he could answer, the door opened and Captain Takesuke entered. He looked tired and glum. The sight of Akitada playing a game with his wife seemed to anger him.

“The enemy has withdrawn,” he announced.

“Oh! That is good news, Captain,” cried Akitada’s wife, rising to her feet, her eyes bright with relief. “You will take a cup of warm wine after your cold vigil?”

Takesuke seemed on the verge of declining, but changed his mind. “Thank you, Lady Sugawara.” On Akitada’s invitation, he sat down, holding himself stiffly erect and meeting Akitada’s eyes stonily.

Akitada gave an inward sigh but waited until Tamako had served them and withdrawn to her own room. Then he said, “You wished for an armed encounter, I think.”

Takesuke’s eyes flashed. “Any man of courage must regret a missed opportunity.”

Akitada managed not to flinch at the implied insult. He studied the other man’s face and noted the faint tinge of pink, the compressed lips, the defiant eyes. Yes, Takesuke despised him for a coward and had the courage to say so to his face. For such open insubordination, he might well be ordered to die. But Akitada had no intention of losing the service of a good officer and of one who had just saved their lives. Should he explain himself? Tell the man that he wished to avoid the loss of even a single innocent life in this struggle for power? He discarded the thought immediately. There was only one thing a man like Takesuke understood and respected, and that was higher authority.

“Captain,” he said coldly, “it would be best if you guarded your temper in the future. Only the fact that you have performed your duties so well restrains me from issuing an official reproof.”

Takesuke flushed more deeply and bowed, but the defiance did not leave his eyes.

“It is not,” Akitada continued in the same cold voice, “in any case, for you to judge matters which do not concern you. I arrived here with specific mandates and the authority to carry them out. Only his Imperial Majesty himself can change these mandates. You and I merely obey.”

He watched as the other man’s eyes widened with respect. Takesuke prostrated himself and cried, “This stupid soldier regrets extremely his careless words. They were spoken out of a fervent wish to offer up my life to his Majesty.”

“Very well,” Akitada said, grudgingly and with a deep scowl. “I suppose you were tired. You may go.”

Takesuke scrambled up.

“You may return to the garrison today but keep your men in readiness. I want a continuous watch put on Takata manor. All movements of Lord Uesugi, military or otherwise, are to be reported to me instantly.”

Takesuke saluted and left so rapidly that the door slipped out of his shaking hand. Akitada sighed with relief. The night was past and they were safe.

His eyes fell on the desk. The shells still lay scattered. He touched the pair Tamako had so proudly pushed forward and smiled again. It had been a mismatch. The two lutes were not the same, but he had not had the heart to tell her. He started to scoop them back into their containers, when a thought struck him. For several minutes he sat transfixed, staring into space. The lute. Surely it was only a coincidence. But the thought made him so uneasy that he decided he would pay the curio dealer Shikata a visit as soon as the sun was up.

♦

Akitada expected his trap to catch its prey. He took no pleasure in it, but watched wearily and with a sense of impending disaster as events unravelled. The curio dealer had confirmed his suspicion and raised new ones.

Right after his return from Shikata’s shop, Tora brought in the maid Kiyo and left her outside Akitada’s office to cool her heels and pour vituperations on him and the clerks. Akitada sat with Seimei, immersed in the ongoing chore of checking Hamaya’s roster of rice tax payments against the provincial register and old reports from granary masters. They could hear her angry voice wishing all officials to the devil for a wide range of depraved actions.

Seimei made a face and said, “That woman’s voice will pierce a rock.”

There was a time when Akitada had been amused by the girl’s lack of respect for authority, but the persistence of her tirades made him thoughtful. When she was eventually admitted to his office toward noon, he looked at her with fresh interest. Tora, red-faced and white-knuckled, pushed her into a kneeling position, but she immediately raised her head again and glared defiantly at Akitada.

“Lieutenant,” growled Akitada, “what is the meaning of the infernal racket this female has been making?”

“Sorry, your Excellency. She seems to think she and unspecified others have been treated unjustly by this administration.”

Akitada stared at her with wrinkled brows. “Unjustly? What is your complaint, woman?”

“This is unjust,” she cried, waving an accusing arm at Akitada’s office and herself. “I’ve got a living to earn. I can’t be spending all day sitting around the tribunal when I’ve already told everything over and over again. People say there’ll never be an end to injustice now.”

That phrase rang a bell. The widow Sato had used it, too. “It is of no concern to this court what you or others may think,” Akitada said coldly. “Your duty is to cooperate in the investigation of a crime. But I have no time to explain this to you. Answer quickly! Who sent the inn’s stable boy away the day before Sato’s murder?”

For a moment she clamped her lips together stubbornly. Then she muttered, “The mistress, I suppose. Or maybe the master. What difference does it make?”

“Just answer the questions,” warned Tora, raising his fist.

Akitada asked, “Did the Satos treat their servants well?”

She looked at him blankly. “They were all right.”

“That’s not what you told me,” Tora said. “You called the wife a bitch and said she had lovers and treated you like dirt.”

“I did not,” the girl snapped.

Before Tora could contradict her, Akitada said quickly, “Very well. You may go for now, but there may be more questions tomorrow.”

She got up and walked out with a sniff.

“She’s lying,” Tora said, outraged.

“Yes. Let’s hope Hitomaro has something to report. I am beginning to share your opinion of the girl.”