The cook and the others looked at each other blankly. "Well," said the cook, "now that you mention it, it is funny. One day a starved kid comes begging to me for the scrapings of the stew pot, or offers to sell his gown for some rice. Out of the goodness of my heart, I give him a job. Then, a little while later, the same fellow is dressed like a prince in brand new clothes and looks down his nose at me like I was some slug under a rock when I ask him why he hasn't come to work."

"Yeah!" cried one of the boys. "I know the one you mean! Ishikawa! He used to fetch water from the well along with me last year. Now he wants me to call him Mr. Ishikawa."

"How'd he get rich all of a sudden?" asked Tora. "Some relative died and left him a fortune?"

"Naw," grunted the cook. The fat man's broad face was turning alarmingly red and glistening with sweat and he slurred his words. "Tha's what I thought at first. But tha' wasn't it. Eh, guys?"

They all shook their heads. The source of Ishikawa's wealth was a mystery to them. Anyway, the consensus of the group was that one couldn't understand the ways of students. They were crazy. All that reading was bad for the brain. Tora grinned.

"Take that Rabbit!" offered the cook.

"What rabbit?" asked Tora, looking around.

The cook saw a joke and began to giggle until tears ran down his fat cheeks. "Please!" he gasped, clasping his belly and wheezing with laughter. "He, he. Take the Rabbit! Har, har! You can have him." His companions joined in the laughter.

Tora looked blank until someone explained that Rabbit was the nickname of one of the cook's student helpers.

"Helper!" cried the cook, who had calmed himself somewhat with another draught of wine. "Useless as a blind man's lantern! Half the time I tell him sh . . . somethin' and he doesh shomethin' else. Jush las' night I tell him to put the rice on an' he forgets the rice and boils the empty steamers. Had to feed everybody leftover millet from breakfast. 'N when you talk to him, he shtands there with that shilly grin on his face an' his big ears flappin' or else a hangdog look like his mind is really shome other place an' you're no more'n a moshkito buzzing at him." He paused to peer up at the sun with his good eye. "Come to think, he's about due now. Musht be time to shtart up the fires again."

He heaved his bulk up with the help of his companions and stood swaying. "Damn good wine!" he muttered with a nod to Tora. "You're a pleashant fellow! Whash your name again?"

At that moment a terrible racket broke out inside the kitchen. Angry shouts rang out, followed by the crash of broken crockery. They ran to see what was going on.

Inside the long low kitchen they found two young men on the hard dirt floor, rolling about among broken dishes, assorted vegetables and a slimy gray substance which the outraged cook identified as millet gruel. One of the youngsters, a tall gangly figure who looked strangely familiar to Tora, was belaboring the other, shorter but more muscular, with his fists. "You dirty dog!" he gasped between blows, totally oblivious to his audience, "How dare you read my letter? How dare you make filthy insinuations! I'll kill you if you say one word about this to anyone!" He grabbed the other's shoulders and pounded his head on the floor to make his point.

"And I'll kill you, you worthless piece of dung!" roared the cook. He seized a broom and struck the gangly fellow furiously about the head and shoulders.

The combatants parted and staggered to their feet. The skinny one cowered under the cook's blows, protecting his head with raised arms. Tora recognized him as the student who had been working for the clerks. His appearance had not improved; plain of face at the best of times, with his long nose, protruding teeth, receding chin, and overly large ears, he was now covered with gruel and dirt, his hair knot had come undone, and his mouth hung open. With a horrified glance at Tora and the cook, he made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a sob, and took to his heels.

"An' don't bother to come back!" roared the cook after him, shaking his fist. "I'll have the damages outta your hide, you shnot-nosed, rabbitty bashtard!"

The other student meanwhile had been brushing himself off. He was Rabbit's age and, in spite of the pummeling, in reasonably good shape. Turning his round face and button eyes on the cook, he whined, "I have done nothing, Cook. I swear it! Rabbit jumped me all of a sudden. You saw I wasn't even defending myself. There I was, cleaning the radishes as you told me, when he threw the whole pot of gruel at me! Thank the gods it was cold. I could've been scalded. I tell you, he's mad! They shouldn't allow mad people to live amongst the rest of us. It's dangerous. And look at the terrible mess he's made of your kitchen. I don't know how a nice man like you can put up with such people."

Mollified the fat man collapsed on a stool, breathed hard for a while, then grunted, "Never mind, Haseo! One of the fellows'll give you a hand and we'll have it cleaned up in no time. Then you can start the soup. You're a good boy, and so I shall tell them in the paymashter's offish."

• • •

Tora reported his discoveries with the greatest satisfaction. Akitada had just finished his noon rice (procured from the staff kitchen) and listened with flattering attention. He said, "Apparently, aside from the bed check by the cook's wife, there is no control of the comings and goings of the students or staff during the night hours. The gates are closed, but evidently anybody can climb over the walls or move about freely inside the grounds." He pondered this for a moment and frowned. "Of course that means that an outsider can get in also. It certainly widens the possibilities of potential blackmailers."

"For my money," said Tora, helping himself to some leftover pickled plums, "it's one of the students. Those poor bastards are half-starved and working part-time jobs to feed themselves. What about that fellow Ishikawa?"

"Ishikawa now has a job reading essays for one of the professors. That could explain why he no longer works for the cook, who is not, from your account, a nice man to work for. Also, Ishikawa is supposed to place first in the next examinations."

Tora snorted. "He'd better not count on it. According to the clerks, strange things happen in those examinations. You wouldn't believe what goes on!" He chuckled and explained the clerks' bookmaking operation.

Akitada's amused smile faded abruptly when Tora mentioned Nakatoshi's troubles after the last examination. He stiffened and cried, "What? Good Heavens! This goes far beyond a minor bookmaking operation by a few clerks! It sounds as if the examination results have been altered!" Jumping up, he started pacing. "It's shocking but nothing else fits. Nothing else explains the blackmail note so perfectly. And if it gets out . . . as it surely must with this abject poverty of students, staff and faculty . . . the emperor will have to take action. There will be a purge of the faculty at the very least."

Tora looked puzzled. "I don't see the point. Who cares about an examination? Now about Prince Yoakira's grandson . . ."

Akitada stopped his pacing. "What about him?"

"The kid was brought here by his uncle the night after his grandfather popped off. The clerk said he looked like he was sick. He thought it was strange they'd make him stay here."

"Yes, it is strange. I have the boy in one of my classes," said Akitada. "And I am worried about him. He really does not look healthy."