The Emperor's Woman (Akitada Mysteries)

by Parker, I. J.

  “Yes, that’s a problem. What did you do with Lady Masako?”

  “We—the prince and I—carried her to a nearby monastery. The monks are very holy, and it’s a small community. They prayed and read sutras over her. The prince attended the services, while I hurried back to the capital and sent an overnight messenger to her father. Minamoto Masaie arrived immediately in a state of grief and fury. He and the prince huddled behind closed doors. In the end, Lord Masaie took Lady Masako’s body home to Sagami with him. End of story.”

  “I see. But it isn’t really the end, is it? I wish I knew more about the relationship between Masaie and Prince Atsuhira. The prince seems to have calmed down the father’s anger. I wonder how.” Akitada got up. “Thank you, my friend. I’ll try to find out what the prince thinks of all this.”

  Kobe frowned. “He won’t talk to you. They say he’s in retreat, preparing to forsake the world. Whatever you do, will you keep me informed?”

  Akitada smiled at him. “Certainly. You may wish to reopen the case of Lady Masako’s death after all.”

  Kobe just shook his head and looked unnerved.

  Akitada left the compound of the kebiishi-cho with a lighter step. He had managed to shake Kobe’s conviction that he was dealing with a simple, if dangerously scandalous, suicide. The thought that it must have been a murder was strangely energizing. It seemed better than such a pathetic end to the love affair.

  He had also worked up a great anger at what had been done to the poor young woman and her unborn child. He burned to find out who and what was behind all of it.

  Murder in the Willow Quarter

  Genba did not sleep well that night. He kept seeing Ohiro’s bruised face. By morning he had decided he must take Tora into his confidence, even if it would bring him more mockery.

  He found Tora in his quarters with his wife Hanae and their little son. They greeted him and offered to share their breakfast gruel, but Genba had no appetite. He sat down, glanced at Tora’s full bowl, swallowed down a bout of nausea, and said, “Thanks, no. But please finish. I’ll wait to talk with Tora.” He saw Hanae’s surprise and had an idea. “And you, Hanae.”

  Now they both looked at him with concern, but they finished their meal without comment and sent Yuki out to play.

  “So, what is it, Brother?” Tora asked when they were alone.

  “You know I’ve met someone.” Genba felt himself blushing.

  To his relief, Tora did not grin or mock him. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look upset.”

  Genba shot Hanae a glance. “It’s as wrong as it can be. I, well, I met Ohiro. Ohiro’s a working girl.” He blushed more deeply. “She works for a bastard called Tokuzo. He owns a wine house in the Willow Quarter. His waitresses … well, they do whatever the customers pay for. Yesterday Tokuzo beat Ohiro brutally, and then he raped her. He’d found out she’d been seeing me.” He paused to swallow again. “Ohiro and I, we’ve been saving for six months to buy out her contract, but we still don’t have enough. I almost killed the swine last night. Please tell me what I should do.” Against his will, tears rose to his eyes. He blinked them away. “Tora, Hanae, I love this girl. She’s a good, gentle girl. I want her to be my wife. You two know how it is.”

  Clearly shocked, they looked at each other.

  Hanae said, “Tokuzo? That’s bad. I know of him.”

  “How much money do you need?” Tora asked. “We have some saved.”

  “Thanks, Brother. It’s too much. Twenty pieces of gold.”

  Tora made a face. “We can scrape together ten. Maybe.” He and Hanae looked at each other again.

  “Tokuzo will raise the price,” Hanae said.

  Genba stared at her. “How can he do that? It’s in the contract.”

  “He’ll find ways to charge her for things she’s used over the years. Maybe he’ll fine her for not having collected from you.”

  “Amida!” Genba clenched his fists and hung his head. Then he looked up. “I’d go to the master, but you know how he is about women like Ohiro.”

  They nodded gravely.

  “I don’t know what to do. And even if I could buy her out, how can we be together?” Now the tears started again, and Genba choked up. “I’ll have to leave here. Maybe Ohiro and I should just run away together and hide out some place.”

  “You can’t do that,” Tora said. “The master would be hurt. You’d better tell him about it.”

  Hanae put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Wait. Tora, can’t you do something first? Maybe you and Saburo and Genba could go and frighten the man into being cooperative?”

  “Saburo?” Genba looked shocked.

  “He’s one of us.” Tora smiled at his wife. “If I have your permission to go to the Willow Quarter, we’ll do it.”

  “Anytime,” she said with an airy wave and got up to remove the bowls. “Though maybe you’d better go in the daytime. Before he gets busy with his customers and the girls.”

  Tora nodded. “Good thinking. Come, brother, let’s talk to Saburo.”

  Genba and Saburo shared quarters in a spacious room adjoining the stable. Saburo had been offered Seimei’s room in the main house, but had humbly declined.

  When they walked in, Saburo was getting ready for his duties in the main house. He had dressed as usual in a neat blue robe with a black sash. He had also taken pains with his hair, making sure the knot and loop were perfectly centered on top of his head and tied with the black silk ribbon. His disfigured face looked even more incongruous with his very neat and proper appearance.

  Saburo heard Genba’s story without much surprise, but he glanced at Genba as if reassessing his character in light of this new information. When Tora and Genba had finished, he was matter-of-fact. “You said you changed your mind about killing this man. Was that because you’re opposed to killing on principle, or for some other reason?”

  Genba frowned. “Does it matter?

  Saburo made one of his unreadable grimaces. “I like to know how other people solve their problems. It’s been useful in the past.”

  Genba thought about it. Saburo was an ex-spy and an ex-monk. That made him a far more unpredictable and mysterious person than Genba knew himself to be. On the other hand, his curiosity was probably part of his training. The spy wanted no surprises from allies or opponents, and the monk was opposed to killing. Suddenly curious himself, he asked. “Have you ever killed anyone, Saburo?”

  Saburo scowled. “Don’t ask me such things.”

  “Well, I have,” Genba said heavily. “I swore to myself that I would never do such a thing again. It’s not because I’m very religious. It’s because I felt sick and dirty and because it almost destroyed me. If the master hadn’t taken us on, me and my best friend Hitomaro, I’d be dead today. We were both wanted for murder. But yesterday was different. Yesterday it was because someone hurt the woman I love. I felt like killing the man.”

  Tora said loyally, “I’d kill anyone who lays a hand on Hanae. I almost did once, but she got away from the bastard, and then an earthquake flattened him permanently.”

  Genba said, “There was something odd, though. I bumped into a man outside Tokuzo’s. I thought he was a footpad. We struggled and he dropped an object. Or I think he dropped it. It’s a bit like some of those strange weapons you have, Saburo. Wait a moment.” He went to his trunk and returned with the long metal pin or needle.

  Saburo almost snatched it from his hand. “An assassin’s needle! I haven’t seen one in years. This is a fine one. Look at the workmanship.” He held it up. It gleamed a dull charcoal gray from thickened shaft to long and narrow point. He touched the point. “It’s as fine as a sewing needle. A master smith made this.”

  Tora peered at it. “Looks vicious. What do you mean ‘an assassin’s needle’?”

  Saburo still handled the needle lovingly. “There are men—a very few—who can kill without leaving a trace. They’re expensive, but when they’re good, they’re worth their weight in gold. They’re
paid very well to remove certain people who are a trouble to others. When they use this, not even the best physician can prove it was murder.”

  Shuddering, Genba said, “You can keep that thing. I can’t believe I had a run-in with an assassin.” He brightened a little. “Maybe someone else dropped it.”

  Saburo looked at him. “Not likely. Whoever dropped it would have gone back for it.”

  Genba turned pale. “He could’ve killed me easily by shoving that in my eye or belly.”

  “No,” said Saburo, inserting the needle carefully into the lining of his sleeve. “That way people would know you’ve been murdered. He would have inserted it into your ear when you’re asleep. Or into your skull in the back of your head where your hair would hide the small puncture wound. Mind you, it takes skill. Maybe the assassin didn’t get a chance to use it on you.”

  Genba thought back to the dark alley and shuddered again. He had caught the man’s arm and then hugged him hard against himself with a wrestler’s hold. He had heard the clinking sound then. “Amida, he had it in his hand!” He shook his head in horror. “And I thought he’d just been relieving himself.”

  Tora laughed. “Maybe he was. What did he look like?”

  “I didn’t get a good look at him.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have helped. They look ordinary,” said Saburo. “It’s part of their disguise.” He paused. “I’ve heard it said they don’t kill unless the victim is guilty of some crime and can’t be brought to justice. There’s a code of honor about it. It makes them pretty decent in my estimation.”

  Tora looked at Saburo with a frown. “People who sneak up on others when they’re asleep and shove needles in their ears are not decent men. Give me an honest thug and a knife-fight any day.”

  Genba, got impatient. “Stop arguing, you two. The assassin has nothing to do with my problem. He’s gone, and Ohiro and I are still desperate. What am I going to do?”

  “We’ll all go have a talk with that bastard Tokuzo.” Tora started for the door.

  Saburo looked down at his neat blue robe with its black sash and then at Tora, who wore the same clothes. Their master insisted that they dress properly at all times because they might have to accompany him on ministry business. Genba, in charge of the stables, wore his work clothes of short pants, a tunic of brown hemp, and leather boots.

  “Better change our clothes first, Tora,” Saburo said. “I doubt the master wants us to represent him in the amusement quarter.”

  They set out a short while later in clean but ordinary outfits. Tora and Genba both wore their boots with long trousers tucked into them and loose jackets over their shirts. Saburo had on a dark brown robe, somewhat patched, and sandals on his feet. All three were armed but their weapons were concealed by their jackets or hidden in Saburo’s full sleeves.

  As Genba had completed his chores in the stables, they left word in the main house that they would be back in time for the midday rice. At the last moment, Cook pressed a basket on Genba, with instructions to purchase a bream, some cabbages, bean paste, and onions while he was in town. He tried to refuse, but she prevailed.

  They attracted stares in the streets. Genba was huge and strode along with enormous strides, while Tora had the sort of looks young women got weak knees over. And Saburo? Well, when their eyes reached Saburo, they gasped and looked away quickly. Children stared at him wide-eyed and sometimes burst into tears. Unhappily, Saburo had a great fondness for children, but when he tried to smile at them, they tended to shriek and hide their faces in their mothers’ skirts.

  Genba shifted his basket uncomfortably. He was not at all certain the coming interview with the bastard Tokuzo would end happily.

  Saburo looked at the basket. “Why do you always run that kitchen woman’s errands for her, Genba? In most houses, such women do the shopping themselves.”

  Genba flushed. “Well, she’s got a lot of work. I don’t mind normally.”

  Tora shot him a pitying glance. “The dragon has her claws into poor Genba and enjoys giving him orders. He doesn’t like to offend women. He thinks of them as weak creatures who must be cared for and protected.”

  Genba snapped, “They are weak, Tora. They do need our help and protection. What good is a man in this world if he doesn’t look after women and children?”

  “Some women don’t deserve such devotion,” Saburo said darkly. “The kitchen woman is such a one. She’s ugly and ill-tempered and her voice grates on my ears.”

  The others refrained from pointing out that Saburo was not exactly easy on the eyes either. Tora said, “Exactly! The evil witch used to be after me until she got hold of Genba.” He paused to chuckle. “What do you think will happen when Genba brings home his bride? Will our cook leave her comfortable home and seek a man elsewhere, or will she go after you, Saburo?”

  Saburo cursed. “I’ve no time for women. Especially not that fat slug.”

  Genba raised his brows. Tora was not so delicate. “I meant to ask you about that, Saburo. Are boys more to your taste? They say that sort of thing is very common in monasteries.”

  Saburo gave him an ugly look. “You’re a very stupid man,” he snapped.

  “No offense, Saburo. I have a blunt tongue, as you know.”

  “I know. And the answer is I don’t like boys that way. But that doesn’t mean I run after women.”

  “In some ways you’re a lot like Seimei,” Genba offered. “He was afraid of women. Cook made him shudder whenever she smiled at him.” He laughed.

  “Seimei’s a hard man to live up to.” Saburo sounded a little resentful. “The man must’ve been a saint.”

  “He was,” Tora and Genba said together. Genba added, “The master thought of him as his father. You see, Seimei raised him, his own father being mostly too busy.”

  “Ah, yes. Still, I get depressed every time one of you cites Seimei to me.”

  They turned in at the gateway into the Willow Quarter. At this time of day, the place looked a little shabby, the lacquer and gilding on the gate was patched, and the people in the quarter were mostly menials like street sweepers and restaurant porters delivering hot food to overnight guests. The willows, however, showed the first pale green of spring. A few people in loose kimonos were on their way to the bathhouse, carrying their clean clothes rolled up under their arms.

  They passed through several streets, Genba leading the way, and turned the final corner. The Sasaya wine house and brothel lay halfway down the street. A small crowd had gathered at its door. Notable among their drab attire were several red coats.

  Police.

  They halted. Genba, suddenly fearful for Ohiro, said, “Something’s happened,” and started forward.

  Saburo snatched at his sleeve to pull him back, but Genba was already halfway to the Sasaya, calling out, “What’s happened? Is someone hurt?”

  Heads turned to stare.

  Tokuzo’s bully recognized him. He called out, “It’s you again! You were here last night.” He turned to a policeman. “He made threats against my master. He said he wanted to see him in hell.”

  The policeman approached. “You were making threats? What’s your name?” He raised himself almost on tiptoe in an effort to look the huge Genba in the eye.

  Genba glanced down at him. “What happened?”

  The watchers now gathered around them. One said, “Tokuzo’s been murdered. It’s a blood bath in there.”

  “Murdered?” Genba’s jaw sagged. He looked across at the gaudy flags and curtains decorated with bamboo and the name Sasaya. His first thought was one of gratitude to the killer. He had done to Tokuzo what should have been done long ago. Men who abused women and forced them to work for them like slaves did not deserve to live. He breathed, “May the Buddha be praised! So that bastard is finally dead.”

  “And you’re pretty happy about that, are you?” demanded the policeman, his voice becoming shrill with excitement. He grabbed Genba’s arm, then realized he was hardly the man to hold on to it and ca
lled to his colleagues, “Over here! I’ve got a suspect. Quick!”

  They were quick, five of them. Two redcoats and three neighborhood constables. The bruiser volunteered his assistance, too. Genba was too surprised to make a move. He looked blankly at the men who had taken hold of him and then back at the Sasaya. “When did it happen?” he asked. His interest in the answer was not great, but it seemed the right thing to say. Part of his mind was busy working out who would now claim ownership of Ohiro’s contract, and whether they might be inclined to take less gold for it.

  Tora walked over. “You’re making a mistake, fellows,” he said, flashing his big smile. “Genba’s my friend, and we just got here. I’m Tora, in case you’ve forgotten my handsome face and charming manners.”

  “I remember you.” The policeman looked sour, perhaps having less than pleasant memories of his run-in with Tora. “Your friend’s been recognized by a witness as having been here last night near the time of the murder. He was making threats against the victim. And just now he admitted it. He’s under arrest.”

  Genba said, “But I didn’t see Tokuzo last night. I was just passing. Besides, if you ask around, most people in the quarter hated that bastard. He was not a good man, officer. He beat and raped the women who worked for him.”

  “So?” The policeman looked unimpressed. “That’s true of about half the brothel owners in the quarter, the male ones anyway. Though the aunties have been known to enjoy their girls also.” He gave a hoot of laughter. “Who knows what goes on after the customers leave, eh? A girl has a contract, she works it out any way she can. And most of them cheat their aunties and uncles at a horrible rate. What would you do if you’re a businessman and your employee sells your goods on the side and pockets the money?”

  Genba opened his mouth to argue, but Tora put his hand on his arm. “Look,” he said to the policeman, “we both belong to Lord Sugawara’s household. You’ve heard about him, I’m sure. Let Genba go in peace. He’s got the marketing to do, and you can always find him when you want him. As he says, this Tokuzo’s got enemies and you may be missing the real suspect if you don’t keep looking.”