The guard led the shuffling Umakai out.

Kobe turned, smiling broadly. Akitada met his eyes in stony silence.

"I must congratulate you," said the captain, rubbing his hands. "Your method worked. Yesterday the tale sounded like a rigmarole. Now we know that someone in a red hat or cap gave him the sash. He is too simple to make up such a tale."

Akitada could not remember ever having felt so angry. "Since it is now apparent to you," he said icily, "that the man is innocent of the murder and told the truth all along, what other torments can you possibly be planning for him? Any normal man would have been distraught at having put another human being to the torture, but you are evidently saving him for another day. You will either release him immediately with profuse apologies, or I will personally bring charges against you."

Kobe's eyes had narrowed. He remained silent for a minute. Then he said stiffly, "I have been aware of the fact that you disapprove of my methods. Perhaps I should remind you that these methods are mandated by law and depend on the circumstances. Umakai was found on the scene of a crime. In fact, he was the only person there, with the exception of yourself and your servant. Furthermore, he had the weapon, such as it is, on his person. Last night it was not obvious that he was simpleminded. I was afraid that he was shielding an accomplice. Criminals often work with beggars. In any case, I followed the prescribed procedure as I am sworn to. As to your demand that I release him now: It should have occurred to you that he is our only witness to the identity of the killer. Beggars do not, as a rule, have a permanent home. They sleep wherever they happen to find shelter, this time of year often in the street. If I released him, we would not find him again. And the killer might."

Akitada saw the force of the argument. He was about to apologize, when a sudden thought struck him. What if Kobe had arranged this interview not to get Akitada's help, but because he wanted to see if the beggar would identify him? He said brusquely, "Very well. You must do as you think best. Excuse me, but I have delayed my own business too long," and left.

The interview with Kobe and Umakai was a fitting culmination to a day which had been dismal in most respects. In a dark mood, Akitada walked to the university. Beating helpless people who happened to have the bad luck to be in the wrong place struck him as an example of how far a flawed legal system would go to protect the privileged classes. Yet even his own relatively privileged life was no protection against misery— witness his own childhood and his present disappointment. How could he have hoped to find personal contentment with Tamako? He was a great deal better off alone.

He reached the gates of the university in a mood of self-pity and hopelessness. There were no gatekeepers today, but on the steps sat one of the senior students who occasionally ran errands for Hirata and himself. The young man was staring rather fixedly at the park across the street. He was a very plain and gangly fellow, with protruding teeth and round, frightened eyes, and a tendency to startle and drop things. Akitada searched his mind for a name and finally came up with "Nagai." Calling out a greeting, he climbed the steps and stopped before the student.

The youngster stumbled to his feet, looked at him wildly, and bowed. There was a sickly greenish cast to his face and dark circles under his eyes as though he had not slept for weeks.

"Are you feeling quite well, Nagai?" Akitada asked, concerned.

"Yes. Yes, I'm well," stuttered the student, his eyes downcast, his hands clenching and unclenching convulsively at his sides. "Quite well. Thank you, sir."

The young man looked absolutely wretched and was trembling even as he talked. "Had a bit too much to drink in celebration?" Akitada asked sympathetically, recalling some of his own youthful excesses.

The other jumped a little and looked horrified. "Celebration?" he squawked. "No, no celebration. Oh, God, no!"

"Well, don't be foolish! I hope I am not such an ogre that you have to be afraid to tell me. If you'll come with me, I'll brew you some of my tea. You will find it a little bitter, but it will settle your stomach and head. Are you going to the poetry contest in the park tonight?"

Nagai practically shrank into the gate column. "In the park? No! I couldn't go in there! Please excuse me, I'm not feeling well!" He turned and ran off in the direction of the dormitories, leaving Akitada to stare after him.

Seven

The Willow Quarter

After Tora had seen his master's lady friend home, he returned ox and carriage to the rental stable and walked into town. It was only mid-afternoon and, like most of the other inhabitants of the capital, he had the rest of the day and night off.

Crowds of people were strolling, shopping or sampling food in restaurants or at open stalls. On Suzaku Avenue, smiling celebrants passed back and forth in their best clothes, hollyhock blooms everywhere: in their hats, their sashes, on the saddles and in the bridles of their horses, draped about the horns of their oxen and threaded through the curtains of their carriages. The "good people" rode to parties or picnics, and the commoners walked towards the markets or the willow quarter. And everywhere there was merriment: old men sat on temple steps, smiling and nodding to passersby; normally sober officials walked with jaunty steps; and young lovers giggled, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes.

Tora approved but felt lonely. He looked wistfully after the pretty girls with their young admirers. There had been a coy little maid at the Hirata house who had given him a long appraising look when he had helped her mistress down. He had winked back, but she had only tossed her head pertly and flounced away. He wished she were with him now.

On an impulse, he decided to buy her a little gift. Such things could pave the way to future friendly relations.

Strictly speaking there were two markets in the capital, one west and the other east of Suzaku Avenue, but they were open on alternate weeks as a rule. Today, because of the festival, both markets were open and bustling with crowds. Each covered a whole city block, enclosed by permanent one-story shops facing inward. Access was through four gates, and the large central space was filled with temporary stalls, tents, and anyone who wished to spread a sheet and display his wares.

Tora browsed through the western market first, stopping before a fan seller. She had many cheap and colorful paper and bamboo paddles spread out on the ground before her, and there were others dangling from ropes stretched between two poles. He studied the fans, but decided the designs were too crude for a romantic offering. A shop, which sold combs, was also rejected because they were all made of boxwood and far too plain to impress a pretty girl.

With a sigh Tora crossed Suzaku Avenue and entered the other market through its tiled and painted gateway. Tantalizing food smells greeted him. Stands and ambulatory vendors dispensed bean dumplings, fried rice cakes, steamed seafood and noodles in fragrant broth. Tora's mouth watered, but he decided to conserve his limited funds for the evening. He stopped only to buy some pickles, a local specialty of radish slices with red pepper and seaweed. These he carried with him wrapped in a piece of oiled paper, chewing while he wandered about and peered at wares or eyed the girls. When the pickles were gone, he decided this market also had nothing suitable to offer. Enough time had been wasted. Already the setting sun slanted across the rooftops and it would soon be dark. He tossed the paper on a refuse heap near a vegetable stall and left for the Willow Quarter.