Akitada considered Fragrant Orchid’s attractions. Her name was apt, but then it was likely a professional one. She was tall for a woman, but graceful, and beneath the diaphanous pale green silk, her breasts were firm and full, her waist surprisingly small, and her hips and thighs softly rounded and inviting. She was a very desirable woman.

It struck him that his physical pleasure in her was stimulated by many different senses. His eyes feasted on her beauty as much as they had on the moon-silvered landscape outside, his ears absorbed the sound of her voice like the very pleasant music, his nose was simultaneously teased by her musky scent and the aroma of the dainty dishes before him, and his tongue yet tasted the sweetness of the wine while yearning to taste her lips. He was strongly aroused.

As if reading his thoughts, she gave him a sidelong smile.

He pulled himself together and asked, “Did you by any chance meet my predecessor?”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought his question upset her. For a moment her eyes left his to glance away. Then she said calmly, “Yes. I enjoyed his acquaintance. His Excellency was a most learned, considerate, and polite gentleman.”

He was embarrassed. “And I am not. You haven’t forgiven me.”

“Perhaps I shall when I know you better.”

Boldly, he suggested, “A promise and an offer?”

She nodded, smiling.

He felt ridiculously flattered and excited. Since he did not trust himself to say anything else, he turned to his food. To his relief, nobody seemed to have noticed the flirtatious exchange. The conversation among the guests ranged from an upcoming festival to rumors of the discovery of gold in Osumi province. Akitada listened and asked a question about the gold, but no one seemed to know particulars.

Toward the end of the banquet, the mayor suddenly recalled Akitada’s earlier comment. “About this murder, Excellency,” he said. “No need to trouble yourself about it. The dead woman was just the wife of a doll maker. The husband did it. Okata has a confession.”

Akitada reflected that apparently the murders of women, especially if they were the wives of mere doll makers, were not considered important enough to disturb the peace of mind of the mayor or have an impact on the Hakata community. He became morose again, but nothing else of interest was said, and he was more relieved than disappointed when his beauteous companion and the other females took their leave. Some of the guests were already drunk and snatched at the hands and skirts of the departing women. The musicians packed up their instruments, and the mayor rose to thank him and the other guests for coming. Akitada expressed his own gratitude for the luxurious entertainment, and the others applauded.

And so the evening ended. Akitada walked down the wide stairs first, the mayor behind him.

Waiting at the bottom was a child, a little girl in a colorful silk gown and embroidered jacket, a miniature version of the beautiful Fragrant Orchid except that her hair was only shoulder-length. She looked almost exactly like the doll Akitada had bought for his daughter. For that matter, she was only slightly older than Yasuko but apparently already in the trade.

She made him a very deep bow and held up a folded note on scented paper dusted with flecks of gold. He took it, asking, “Is this for me? Who sent you, child?”

But she only smiled an enchanting smile and ran out of the restaurant. The mayor caught up and chortled. “Congratulations, Excellency. Our most famous beauty likes you. She rarely gives invitations.”

Akitada suppressed his embarrassment and left quickly.

Back at the tribunal, Tora awaited with eager questions about the food and the women at the banquet.

Akitada answered curtly, then said, “The doll maker has confessed to the murder, so your case is closed.”

“Maeda won’t have liked that,” Tora commented. “And I think he’s right. There was something else going on.”

“But you will not have time for it in the future. Your duties at the tribunal are waiting.”

Akitada did not open Fragrant Orchid’s letter until he was in his room and alone.

It was brief. The message, written in a somewhat awkward hand simply read, “Please come to me. I have something to tell you.”

He firmly resisted regret, tore up the scrap, and sat down to add a few lines to his letter to Tamako, describing the banquet and the foods, though not his companion.

13

DISAPPEARANCES

Temptation can be a powerful force for change.

Akitada brooded for days about the way he had reacted to Fragrant Orchid. Her presence had distracted him from asking more questions about conditions in Hakata and the province; he had felt so strong a physical response to her that he was now filled with shame.

His letter to Tamako and the dolls were dispatched for home, along with letters from Tora and Saburo and other small gifts. They all missed their families. The difference for Akitada was that Tamako was in the last weeks of her pregnancy.

He threw himself into administrative work. Apart from dealing with the two homeless children, Tora and Saburo stayed at the tribunal. Tora was training his guards while Saburo saw to the smooth running of the household.

In Hakata, Mitsui had confessed and now awaited trial.

Akitada began the process of removing Captain Okata from office. This was by no means simple. The odd arrangement by which such appointments had been handled by the governor general’s office meant he had to make a case against Okata. He had to gather evidence and prove Okata was unfit for his position. This he hoped to achieve by posting notices in Hakata asking people to report police brutality or malfeasance to the provincial tribunal.

Okata responded with a formal protest to the vice governor general. He, in turn, asked for a written explanation from Akitada. Akitada replied that he hoped to improve law enforcement in the port city, an important first step to dealing with smuggling and treasonable contacts between China and their own country. A populace intimidated by its police was not likely to cooperate with it. Unpleasant though all of this was, a number of serious complaints had already been filed.

Saburo’s report about Hayashi’s activities was a disappointment. It had not revealed any illegalities. While a long meeting with Feng and the shrine priest Kuroda might be suggestive, it could also be perfectly harmless. He did not send Saburo back for another look at the guild master.

The only bright spot was that the attack on the two children had led to their finding a home. Tora had mentioned their plight to Sergeant Maeda, who had the bright idea to take them to Mrs. Kimura, the old lady who grew the tiny trees. Now the children’s birds and her miniature forest coexisted happily in her garden, and the children were company for her.

There was, however, also good news of another kind. A ship finally brought long-awaited letters from the capital. Akitada broke open his packet immediately, scanned the contents, and found Tamako’s thick sheaf of pages. She had done what he did, written a little every day about the events of the day, giving him news of the children and the household. She apologized that her news was so trivial, but Akitada devoured every line joyously. Most important was the fact that they were all well. He began to relax. The child would be born in its time, and Tamako would recover as she had before. She was healthy woman.

The two weeks after the banquet passed with only one puzzling piece of news. Among the paperwork sent to Akitada from the Governor General’s Office in Dazaifu was a brief note from Fujiwara Korenori to the effect that a strange report had reached his office.

It appeared the former governor had not been seen or heard of for over a month now. He had been expected to touch land in two provinces on his journey home. The ship with his possessions and retainers had arrived and left as scheduled, but there had been no sign of their master.