Tora thanked them, promising to keep them informed. He began walking through increasingly busy streets, stopping from time to time to ask peddlers and street musicians about the old man. Some knew Umakai, but none had seen him around lately. It was not until he neared the market that Tora picked up a clue, and when he did, the news was not good.

He saw a middle-aged prostitute who was plying her trade on the street. No longer attractive enough to work in the Willow Quarter, she was reduced to accosting passing laborers and apprentices. Her eyes had assessed Tora, but his neat blue robe and black cap had convinced her that he was beyond her reach. Tora approached her. A woman like this would be familiar with the other street people who competed with her for a few coppers.

She was disappointed when he asked his question, but told him she did not know Umakai. When Tora turned away, she cried after him, "They fished an old man out of a canal this morning."

Tora's heart sank. "How do you know?"

"I was there, wasn't I? Bunch of people were looking, so I went to see what was up. He was dead all right. Small, skinny old guy. Looked down on his luck. Some old drunk, maybe. Stumbled into the water and drowned. Guess the warden thought so too. He just looked at him and then let his friends take him away. Could be it's your guy."

Tora nodded. "It could be. These friends? Do you know where I might find them?"

She laughed. "They're poor folk, like me. We don't have a regular place to go home to like you." She gave Tora's neat outfit an envious glance. "People like us live and sleep in the streets, or maybe in the western city in some shed or old ruin. But mostly we keep moving." She eyed Tora speculatively. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in a bit of pleasure?"

"Another time. I'm on duty."

She nodded in resignation and turned away.

"Wait! If you can describe the men who took the body away, there's ten coppers in it for you."

"Ten coppers?" She flushed with pleasure. "I can do better than that! It was Spike and Nail got the dead guy. Spike's a big brute. He lost a hand and put a metal spike in its place. His buddy's a thin little feller. Get it? Spike and Nail! Heh, heh. Anyway, I guess they knew what they'd find, 'cause they'd brought along a monk to say a few prayers."

Tora stared at her. The story sounded weird, but there might be something in it. "Thanks," he said and counted the promised coppers into her dirty hand.

She looked at the money, then closed her fingers tightly around it. Nodding towards a dirty alley behind her, she offered, "If you like, I could twirl your stem for you." She grinned and passed an agile tongue across her lips. "It won't cost you nothing."

Tora blushed. "No, thank you. I'm in a hurry to find out what happened to the old man." He turned to walk away.

"Bet they took him to Rashomon," she called after him.

Rashomon!

Tora shuddered. Of course. Everyone knew that the poor who could not afford a funeral left their corpses there for the authorities to gather and cremate on a common pyre. That was why nobody but cutthroats went to Rashomon after dark— and the light was fading rapidly.

Actually Rashomon was the great southern gateway of the capital. An impressive two-storied structure with immense red columns, blue tile roofs, and whitewashed plaster walls, it had been built as a fitting welcome for visitors to the imperial capital. As soon as they passed through its massive structure, they saw before them Suzaku Avenue, immensely wide and long, bisected by water and lined with willows, leading straight as an arrow to Suzakumon in the far distance, the entrance to the imperial city itself. And if you were leaving the capital, you walked through Rashomon and found yourself on the great southern highway which led to Kyushu and exotic foreign ports.

But Rashomon had fallen on hard times as, indeed, had the capital itself. The gate was rarely guarded nowadays and had become a hangout for vagrants, crooks and undesirables from the surrounding provinces. After dark, ordinary people avoided the place, making it a safe haven for criminals. The police turned a blind eye, except that twice a week, in the pre-dawn hours, the city authorities sent crews to gather the corpses.

Tora dreaded a visit to the upper floor of Rashomon, where bodies were generally left, about as much as an interview with the king of hell himself, but the prostitute's story had to be checked out and his master expected results. It was not the first time since he had entered Akitada's service that Tora had faced what he feared most, the supernatural.

In this case his immediate decision was to postpone the inevitable. He went to the umbrella maker's house first. Omaki's father was in. Hishiya was in his late fifties, thin, balding and prematurely bent, with the gnarled and scarred hands of his profession. He smiled and bowed deeply, expressing his gratitude for Tora's interest in his poor daughter. To his further credit, in Tora's eyes, he made no mention of blood money. Unfortunately he seemed to know nothing of his daughter's friends.

When patient probing had produced no more than protestations of shock and puzzlement, Tora exclaimed in frustration, "But you're her father! How could you not care that she slept with men or who the father of her unborn child was?"

The elderly man bowed his head. "Omaki was a good girl, but we are very poor. She tried hard to make a living playing the lute. She was very talented; all who heard her said so. But the men where she entertained, well, they want more than a bit a music, and she had no one to look out for her. Who am I to ask questions or to blame her, when I am too poor to give her a dowry?"

"Sorry," mumbled Tora. "The trouble is, from all we hear, she was pleased about the kid. Like she expected to marry its father."

The man sighed. "Maybe. I wouldn't know. I'm gone so much, selling my umbrellas in the market and gathering bamboo for more. You'll have to ask my wife. Women have their secrets. Only she's not in right now."

Tora rose. "Never mind! It doesn't matter. I'll ask around."

He spent the next few hours in the amusement quarter. His day had been long and Lady Sugawara had worked him hard. He felt in need of a rest and liquid refreshment. Besides, the bright lights and sounds of laughter and music blotted out thoughts of the horrors awaiting him in Rashomon.

He drank liberally and asked his questions without getting any helpful answers. Omaki had not been well liked by the other women in the quarter. They thought her proud and secretive, and none of them knew anything of her private life. At some point the combined effects of his exertions and the wine caused him to nod off. When the waiter shook him awake, wanting his place for other customers, it was past the middle of the night, and Tora had no reason to put off the unpleasant business of Rashomon any longer. He reflected bitterly that murder investigations exposed a man to danger not only from killers, but also from the angry spirits of their victims. Rashomon, being a receptacle of the unwanted dead, must be teeming with disgruntled specters.

Casting an uneasy glance at the sky, he saw that it was clouding up, and the moon made only fitful appearances. The cool, clear days of spring were over. Soon it would be hot and the rainy season would start, but not quite yet. It was merely dark, an excellent night to search for abandoned bodies and encounter gruesome ghosts. It suddenly occurred to Tora that he was totally unprepared for this undertaking and he headed for the market.

Most vendors had closed down, but he found a cheap lantern and then searched with increasing desperation for a soothsayer. He found this most essential individual in the form of a shrivelled old man who had fallen asleep over his stock of divining sticks, patent medicines and amulets.