by Kara Dalkey
“Er, not exactly, my lord. We have many excellent musicians at court. It could have been any one of them.”
“While I agree that many of our court musicians are excellent, this is the first time I have heard one described as better than those in the court of China. Don’t you find it a little odd that I do not know who this excellent flautist is?”
“Perhaps the scholars exaggerated the musician’s skill out of politeness.”
“That is a tendency of diplomats. Scholars, I have noted, tend to do the opposite. I want this flautist found, Daimigi-san. Do any of these scholars remain in Heian Kyo?”
“Only one, my lord.”
“Good. I want you to arrange a gathering of the best flautists in Heian Kyo at your mansion. Have the Chinese scholar, discreetly hidden, tell you which one is the one he heard by the Kamo River. Then have that flautist brought to me. Do not let on, however, that we do not know the musician’s identity. Let the scholar think we are testing him.”
“An excellent idea, Your Majesty. But is this matter so important that we must pursue it now? This is a very busy time, you know.”
“I thought you said all arrangements had already been made for the promotions. And, yes, I consider it important. You have often said yourself, Daimigi-san, that the cultural life of the court should be my primary concern. Is it not an embarrassment for there to be such a fine musician heard by foreign visitors but unknown to me? And would it not be appropriate for this flautist to play at the New Year festivities?”
The Minister sighed. “I understand. It shall be as you request, Your Majesty.” He bowed and turned to leave.
“Oh, one more thing, Daimigi-san. Should the scholar not choose any of the musicians you invite, then I shall require a thorough search of the palace, perhaps the city also, to find the flautist. I want him in the Plum Pavillion by sunset tomorrow, or I fear I will have nothing better to do with my time than tinker with the list of promotions.” The Emperor noted with satisfaction the annoyance that passed across the Minister’s face.
“Of course, Your Majesty. It shall be as you say.” The Minister bowed himself out of the room.
That should keep him busy for a while, thought the Emperor, closing the book in his hands with a firm snap. He called out to a lady-in-waiting behind the shoji. “You may send the guardsman in now.”
There came the sound of movement and the rustling of silk, and the shoji slid aside. A handsome man wearing the stiff white trousers and red jacket of the Inner Palace Guard entered. He immediately kneeled and bowed, his head touching the floor. “You sent for me, Most August Majesty?”
“You are Guards Lieutenant Kuma?”
“That is so, Your Majesty.”
“I understand you are a loyal and brave man, Kuma.”
“This one is most pleased that you think so, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent. I have a request of you, Kuma. I had heard you are currently serving in the Fujiwara palace, neh?”
“That is so, Your Majesty.”
“Good. In the office of the Minister of the Right, you will find a scroll listing the arrangements for the promotions ceremony. I want you to take that scroll and replace it with this one.” The Emperor pulled a scroll bound with a scarlet silk cord from beneath his cushions and handed it to the guardsman. “No one must see you do this. I cannot help you if you are caught. But you should have little interference if you go now and are swift about it.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The guardsman backed out of the room and silently hurried away.
The Emperor heard a “Prrow?” by his elbow, and saw Hinata sitting there. “Ah, Lady Hinata, have you been watching all this?” He scratched her ear, but she just stared at him.
“Do you disapprove of my subterfuge, Hinata-san? Surely you have lived in this palace long enough to see that the lives of all nobles are like a game of Go. So far I have been only a white stone on the board. Perhaps now I may become a player.”
In the Minister’s Office
Silent as snowfall, Kuma slipped down the corridor. The candle he held gave only a dim glow in the pre-dawn darkness. Suddenly a floorboard creaked and Kuma winced and froze in place. He cursed himself for forgetting that “singing boards” were often installed in palaces to warn of intruders.
Fortunately, he could hear in the distance the cries of outriders and chamberlains as the Minister set out into the city. That should cover any noise I make.
Kuma proceeded down the corridor until he reached an open doorway that led into the Office of the Right. Across the hall, faint lamplight glowed behind a closed shoji, but there was no silhouette on the translucent paper door. Kuma decided its occupant must be sleeping or absent.
He turned and entered the office. In the dim candlelight, Kuma saw several low tables on which there lay inkstones and brushes. At the far end of the room was an L-shaped desk upon which lay a large scroll. Kuma carefully picked his way across to the desk. Beside the scroll was a note saying “Ten copies.”
“This must be the one,” murmured Kuma, and he quickly pulled the Emperor’s scroll out of his sleeve and switched it with the other. He felt somewhat uncomfortable, having not been involved in intrigue like this before. But he could hardly disobey a request from the Emperor himself.
Kuma headed back to the doorway, relieved that his task was finished. At the doorway, he stopped in horror as he saw the shoji across the hall was open. In that room sat a boy of about fifteen in a blue robe with a folded book on his lap. He was staring at Kuma intently.
Kuma felt his throat go dry as he recognized the boy—he was Korimizu, Fumiwara no Daimigi’s youngest son. For a couple of heartbeats, Kuma simply stared back. Then he said, “I was patrolling outside, when I thought I heard a disturbance in here. I came to see if all was well.”
“And is all well, guardsman?” the boy asked in a calm tenor voice.
“Yes, my young lord. Nothing has been disturbed.” Kuma bowed and tried to stride confidently down the hall, praying to whatever kami watched over him to give the Fujiwara lad a poor memory.
The Search
“Make way! Make way!”
The Minister of the Imperial Grounds was jolted awake as his carriage passed over the ground beam of the Fujiwara Palace’s main gate. The shrill cries of his outriders brought him to awareness of where he was, and he chided himself for drifting off.
If only Daimigi-san didn’t choose to do his business so cursedly early in the morning! Poets might write glowingly of sleeves dampened by morning dew, Netsubo thought, but on this wintry morn all he could wish for was more hours of sleep.
Another jolt and the ox-carriage stopped. The Grounds Minister peered out of the carriage blinds, and saw an elegant garden of moss and evergreens glistening with new-fallen snow. As he unfolded himself and got out of the carriage, the outriders swept a path for him through the snow to the entrance of the mansion. Carrying himself with as much dignity as he could muster, the Minister allowed himself to be guided to Daimigi’s reception room.
It was with appreciation for the justice of fate that Netsubo noted that the Fujiwara, too, looked ill-prepared to greet the morning. His eyes were red-rimmed and he rubbed them often with his fingertips. Even Daimigi’s eboshi cap sat slightly askew on his head.
“A glorious good morning, Daimigi-san.” Netsubo bowed low.
“Is that what it is, Netsubo-san? I am glad someone has reason to think so.”
Bad news, then, eh? thought the Grounds Minister.
After several half-hearted inquiries into the well-being of Netsubo’s family, Daimigi abruptly said, “There is a matter of some urgency that I believe falls under the jurisdiction of your office.”
“I am, as always, prepared to serve.”
“Excellent. I shall be counting on you. It concerns a musician, a flautist to be exact, who is said to be more skilled than any in the Imperial Court of China.”
“Indeed?”
“Some scholars from that country noticed t
he playing of this musician during their visit and remarked upon it. The unfortunate thing is that our Emperor does not know who this musician is.”
“Would it not be a simple matter for you to bring this fellow to court?”
“Ah, but I do not know who he is.”
“Could not one of the scholars point out this musician to you?”
“So I had hoped, last night. On Imperial order, I gathered the best flautists in Heian Kyo here, to be heard by the scholar. Alas, the fellow had the nerve to claim, after listening to each, that the flautist he had heard was a hundred times better.”
“This is indeed a mystery, Daimigi-san. But what has this to do with my office?”
“His Majesty wishes to have this musician presented to him by sunset this evening. The scholars have said that the flautist was heard along the Kamo River, near the palace grounds. I want you, as minister of said grounds, to find this musician. You must ask everyone who might have heard him, from the highest to the lowest. Search thoroughly until this person is found. There must be someone who has heard him. I leave it in your hands.”
Danger and opportunity, thought the Grounds Minister. If I succeed, there is much to be gained. And the New Year’s promotions are not far off. If I fail—
“I shall send my son Hidoi with you to assist you, since you have been kind enough to show interest in him lately. He has been finding the winter months tedious and is in need of diversion. Ah, here he comes.”
The tromping of careless footsteps could be heard well before a short, angular young man entered the room. “Morning, Father. Minister.” The boy gave a perfunctory bow to each and sat none-too-gracefully on a cushion, sleepily rubbing one bony cheek.
More danger and opportunity, thought Netsubo. I may get the chance to speak to him again about my daughter. Perhaps he is a bit ungainly now, but with maturity and position he will become impressive. I can’t see why Uguisu does not show more interest in him. I must be certain not to look foolish in his sight.
Not looking foolish was a task that became more difficult as the day wore on. Netsubo and Hidoi spent hours wandering the Imperial Palace grounds, asking clerks and chamberlains, ladies and waiting-maids about the unknown musician. None seemed to know who the person was. None had heard the playing of a flute by the Kamo River. By the middle of the Hour of the Sheep, the two sat wearily on a veranda, fanning themselves despite the cold.
Netsubo saw one of the Inner Palace Guards strolling by. “You! You there! Come here!”
The guardsman looked up, startled and wary, then approached the veranda.
“What is your name, Guardsman?”
“Kuma, if it please Your Lordship.”
“Your name does not impress me one way or another, Kuma-san. How can you think to be standing idle, when there is work to be done?”
“Work, Your Lordship? If you have a task for me—”
“I most certainly do. You are to tell all the men in the Guard to search the palace for anyone who knows of the Flautist of the Kamo River. I place you personally in charge. There will be severe penalties if you fail in this. Now be off!”
The guardsman’s eyes widened, and he bowed quickly. “Yes, Your Lordship.” He ran towards the nearest guard station, shouting orders.
“There, now, Hidoi-san. That is the proper way to handle such business. Let others wear their clogs off, eh?”
The boy grinned back at the Minister, eyes bulging in his wide face.
Yes, a pleasant lad. Perhaps now is the time to broach another subject. “I am sorry that you have not had the opportunity to visit us, Hidoi-san. Uguisu has been asking about you and seems quite anxious to meet you. You know you are always welcome whenever you should choose to come by.”
Hidoi blinked in surprise. “I have tried, sir! Believe me, I am aware of your kind invitation and I have not meant to slight you or your daughter. But I must say in all honesty, sir, that I believe a meeting between Uguisu and myself is ill-omened. The first time I tried to visit, my carriage became hopelessly mired in mud. The second time, no sooner had I left the palace than my sleeves caught on a passing branch, tearing my robes wide open. The third time, there was a procession of pilgrims returning from the Inari Shrine and my carriage was caught in such traffic that it took me hours to extricate myself. The fourth and last time I wished to visit, my father’s Master Divinator claimed that your house lay in an unlucky direction and I had to go to someone else’s house entirely!”
“It seems to me, Hidoi-san, that you have merely had a run of bad luck, not that my daughter is ill-omened.”
“I’m sorry. I meant no offense, sir. Believe me, I’d like nothing better than to visit your daughter. Whenever I try to visit any of the ladies here at court, they always run away shrieking and making horrible faces. And the few I catch never respond to my next-morning poems. It’s been quite lonely, I tell you.” Hidoi sniffed, either from cold or self-pity, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
Netsubo turned his face away. He is a Fujiwara, he reminded himself. He will grow to be worthy one day. “Ants do not recognise the beauty of the blossom they crawl over. Fear not, my young lord, you will someday receive the respect you deserve. My Uguisu is already aware of your fine qualities. Perhaps this has simply been a busy time for you. We might arrange, perhaps, a meeting closer to the New Year?”
“That sounds like a good idea. You are most kind, sir, to take such interest in me.”
“Not at all.”
Just then, the blind behind them was raised and Fujiwara no Korimizu joined them on the veranda. Netsubo knew little about Daimigi’s youngest son, except that he was a serious, scholarly boy.
“Father wishes to know if you’ve made any progress,” said Korimizu.
“No,” said Hidoi. “Say, what’s that? Your pillow book?” Hidoi grabbed the book from Korimizu’s hands, allowing the folded pages to flop out.
“Hey! Be careful, will you?” said Korimizu.
Hidoi ignored him and opened the wooden cover. “ ‘The Sutra of Filial Piety’? Feh. How dull.” He gathered the paper together and tossed the mess back in Korimizu’s lap. As Korimizu sadly refolded the pages, Hidoi turned to Netsubo and said, “People say it is a blessing to have brothers. Not for me. Kazenatsu knows plenty of interesting women, but he won’t share them with me. He doesn’t even want me around when he goes visiting. And ‘Ice Water’ here only likes to stick his nose in books.”
Korimizu gave Hidoi an offended look and said,
“The maiden flowers do not interest
One who knows the glory of the lotus.”
And Hidoi responded,
“The flower that grows in musty books is doomed
To watch the dew dry on his withered stem.”
As Netsubo winced at the possible crude interpretations on Hidoi’s poem, a cluster of young women appeared across the garden from where they sat. The ladies wore cloaks of bright red and white, and covered their faces with crimson fans or many-layered sleeves. “Here, flautist, flautist!” they called. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” They laughed and giggled as they spilled into the garden. Running about in the powdery snow, like early plum blossoms tossed about by a gale, they pretended to search under rocks and behind trees.
“You, there!” Netsubo called sternly, waving his ivory baton of office at the ladies. “This is serious business! It is not one of your foolish games!”
The ladies suddenly noticed him and giggled louder with embarrassment and surprise. One of them pointed at the young Fujiwaras and said, “A summer frog beside a frozen pond. How unseasonal!”
This was greeted with more laughter by the other girls.
“If you cannot be proper and civil, then be off with you!” shouted the Grounds Minister. “Begone!”
“If he doesn’t want our help, let’s not bother,” said one of the girls. “Come, let’s go build a snow mountain in the Seriyō-Gardens! I’m sure we could make one higher than has ever been made!” Together the ladies fl
uttered away, incongruous butterflies against a snowy background.
Hidoi watched them go with an expression of sadness. Korimizu gathered up his book and disappeared behind the blinds. The garden seemed suddenly colder and Netsubo and Hidoi sat for a while in silence.
Presently, Hidoi pointed out something moving behind a tree. “Look, there’s old Niwa. We should ask him what he knows.”
“The gardener? Phaugh, what could he possibly tell us?”
“Oh, he knows a lot about what goes on at Court. They say the very leaves of the trees are his ears, he knows so much gossip. Hoi! Niwa-san! Come here!”
A small figure, as brown as the tree-trunk he stood behind, peered out at them. “Eh? What’s that? Did someone call for old Niwa?”
“The leaves are his ears indeed,” muttered the Grounds Minister.
“Don’t be fooled,” said Hidoi. “He’s sharper than he lets on. Yes, Niwa-san! Come talk to us.”
Slowly, a knobby gnome of a man hobbled out from behind the tree and came toward them. At a respectful distance, he stopped and bowed, then looked up, his eyes merely two more wrinkles in a deeply seamed face. “How can Niwa help you, my Lords? It is a poor time of year for poem-blossoms, but there are pine twigs a-plenty and the daikon is coming up fine.”
Netsubo thought, To think that my daughter loved the son of this … creature. Yes, she will definitely be better off with Hidoi. “Nothing like that, Niwa. We are asking everyone if they have heard an excellent flautist playing near the Kamo River, and if they know who this person is. I don’t suppose you have heard anything useful to us.”
Niwa fingered his sparse grey beard and looked up in thought. “Kamo … Kamo,” he murmured.
Netsubo sighed and looked away. Why did we bother—
“Why, yes,” said Niwa, his dark eyes flicking towards the Minister, “I have heard someone speak of a flute player by the Kamo River.”
“You did? Quick, man, tell us his name! Who spoke of the flautist?”
“Old Niwa will do better than that, my lords. Niwa will take you to her.”
“Her?” Netsubo and Hidoi looked at each other. “What lady could we possibly have missed?” said the boy.
