The Emperor's Woman (Akitada Mysteries)

by Parker, I. J.

  He got to his feet. The prince did not turn or give any indication he had heard. Akitada made his deep bow anyway and, picking up the documents, left quietly.

  Outside the door waited his clerk. Akitada passed the stack of papers back to him. Had the boy been listening? The doors of the palace were solid enough, but Akitada could not be sure they blocked all sound, and the prince had shouted in his anger. The young face was expressionless, and Akitada turned to go.

  In the courtyard, the captain met him. “Ah, back already?” he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. “I hope you got what you needed.”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” Akitada did not have to pretend disappointment. “His Highness refused to discuss the matter.”

  The captain scowled. “I thought so. It’s time he learned that he’s no better than the rest of us and has no special rights. Never mind. It won’t be long and he’ll be very glad to cooperate.”

  And that perhaps was another thing Akitada would regret. The last thing he wished on that broken man was for his life to be made even more unbearable than it was already.

  Tokuzo’s Brothel

  During the night following their visit to the Sasaya, Saburo got up very quietly and left the room he shared with Genba.

  It was not the first time he had done so. Since he had entered Lord Sugawara’s service, he had sacrificed a few hours’ sleep every night in order to explore the capital and hone his old skills. His duties were not particularly onerous, and he needed little sleep. But he was uncomfortably aware that he lacked Seimei’s gift of making himself indispensable to the family in areas other than bookkeeping and letter writing. His knowledge of medicine, for example, had been sadly neglected at the monastery in favor of spying skills. He was quite fond of children, but since his disfigurement frightened most of them, he had kept his distance. His master’s children were used to him by now, but he had long since become awkward at talking to the young.

  He also stayed away from the women in the household, but for different reasons. He distrusted women, even hated them at times. His Buddhist teachings had painted women as mindless, soulless, corrupt, and corrupting. His rare encounters had proved they were also cruel and greedy.

  He had laid ready his black shirt and long black pants. These two items had cleverly sewn seams that held small useful implements of metal and bamboo. As soon as Genba’s snoring assured him he was soundly asleep, Saburo seized the bundle of clothes and his old brown jacket, and left the stable.

  He changed outside, under the eaves, tucking his regular clothes behind a barrel. Then he left the compound by climbing over the back wall. The dog Trouble raised his head briefly, gave a few muffled slaps with his tail, and went back to sleep.

  As Saburo walked the dark streets, he looked no different from most of the poor who were out after a late night at a wine shop or brothel. He kept his face tucked into the collar of his brown jacket and moved along purposefully on the soft grass soles of his sandals.

  Tonight he was going to try to help Genba. He liked the big man; you could not help liking him. But Saburo was also jealous of his placid good nature that made people like him; there were even times when he almost disliked him. This always made him feel guilty, because Genba in his cheerful innocence went out of his way to be a friend to the friendless Saburo.

  Genba’s success in having found love surprised and dismayed him. The big man with his paunch, his round, plain face, and his awkward rolling gait was hardly the type to be attractive to women. In fact, Genba should have experienced female cruelty much like Saburo had, yet the man was still capable of falling madly in love with one of the creatures. Only Cook, both ugly and fat, had ever shown any interest in Genba.

  Of course, Genba’s woman was a harlot. In Saburo’s experience, harlots were rapacious and hid their cruelty only when they planned to fleece the customer. He had learned that bitter lesson after his disfigurement, and had it confirmed on the rare occasions when he tried to buy sexual services.

  So he had laughed at Genba, along with Tora.

  And felt guilty again.

  The night was a dark and sweet-scented. Clouds had moved in and covered the sky with black silk. Saburo loved the dark. In the dark, people could not see his face. In the dark, it was even possible to lie with a woman and pretend he was normal.

  For a little while.

  Yes, he was jealous of Genba’s happiness. And because he was ashamed, he hoped to discover Tokuzo’s killer and clear Genba. Perhaps he could also help the romance along a little.

  The hour was late, but in the pleasure quarter, a few women still walked the street or peered from the small windows of their brothels. They called out invitations to Saburo or tried to pull him inside by his sleeve until he raised his face out of the collar of his jacket and scowled at them, baring his teeth and rolling his eyes, taking small satisfaction from their gasps.

  The Sasaya was closed and appeared to be dark—whether from respect for the death of its owner or because Tokuzo’s harlots were out celebrating their temporary freedom was not clear.

  Saburo passed the brothel slowly a few times, then slipped along its side wall to the back. Like many businesses in the quarter, it had a walled yard formed partially by a kitchen building on one side and a storage shed on the other. Here, too, all was dark and still. Luckily there were no dogs about, for the animals would have detected him by now. He took off his brown jacket and laid it on the ground. Now dressed from head to foot in black, he melted into the darkness.

  From the narrow footpath that ran behind the block of businesses, Saburo swung himself up onto the rear wall and, after a quick look around, dropped down silently on the other side. He verified that kitchen and shed were deserted, then studied the two-storied main house. Rickety stairs led up to a balcony that ran along the entire back of the building. Apparently it formed the access to rooms above where the harlots could take their customers.

  Tonight, those rooms were unlikely to be occupied, but he drew in his breath when he detected a very faint chink of light behind one of the closed shutters below. Someone was here. Given the owner’s recent murder, this was interesting.

  Saburo considered the problem. Two-story houses without exposed ceiling beams were difficult to enter when occupied. He could not get in through the roof to cross the building on the beams. Still, perhaps all was not lost. He eyed the stairs and balcony and decided both were so poorly built that they would give away his presence by creaking.

  In the end, he climbed on the low roof of the kitchen building, and from there he leaped to the corner post of the balcony. He almost did not make it and cursed himself for having become so clumsy. His grip had been somewhat desperate, and he had slid a foot or so before wrapping his legs and arms around the post and shimmying back up. For a moment, he listened. When all remained peaceful, he lifted a leg over the railing and stepped cautiously on the boards near the wall. They were solid and silent. Then he slowly slid open the nearest door and slipped inside.

  Intense darkness and stench. The smell of the room disgusted him. Dirt, sweat, spilled wine, and sex. Motionless, he listened. Nothing. The faint light from the half-opened door showed sparse furnishings: a smallish grass mat and a bundle of bedding. He grimaced. Little enough was needed to bring a half-drunk man up here, take his money, and lie with him for some brief groping and sex.

  There was a faint sound, and he listened. He thought he could hear voices from below. Slipping back out on the balcony, he walked along the wall until he reached the room next to the last. Here the voices were clearest.

  A man and a woman.

  He entered this room on his hands and knees, exploring the boards with his fingertips before putting his weight on them. The planking was cheaply made. In one corner, it had not been nailed down properly. Very slowly and silently, he raised the loose board and propped one of his sandals under it. Lying down next to the narrow opening, he could not only hear what the two below were saying, but he also saw a part of the room
they sat in.

  A lantern lit the scene inadequately. The two people sat near an open money chest. Saburo saw the top of the man’s head, his shoulders, and his hands as he took coins and bars from the chest. The man counted softly as he put the money into a bag. Saburo was amazed at the sums. For a brothel keeper, Tokuzo had been very successful. The man who handled Tokuzo’s wealth so efficiently wore the clothes of a low-ranking official. He was hatless, and his balding scalp and thick neck proved he was middle-aged and fat.

  The woman, whom Saburo could not see at all, spoke with the cracked voice of the elderly and in a tone that suggested they were related. She was apparently watching the man. From their comments, Saburo decided these two were Tokuzo’s mother and brother.

  “Hurry up,” the old one said in a querulous tone. “This could’ve waited till morning.”

  “I’m not leaving my brother’s wealth unguarded in this house,” he said. “You forget the people he associated with. Besides, you could’ve stayed home.”

  “I want to know how much you’re taking. There’s your sister’s future to be considered.”

  He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s almost as old as I am. Who’ll marry someone like her?” He tied the heavy bag and stuffed it inside his robe. The chest he simply slammed shut. Then he got to his feet, a little awkwardly with the heavy bulge under his clothes. “Looks like I’ll have to take care of both of you for the rest of your lives,” he said. “Come on, Mother. It’s getting late.”

  The mother grumbled a little, and the son bent forward and pulled her to her feet. Saburo caught a glimpse of a gray robe and a twist of white hair on a small and thin woman. Then they disappeared from view, though he could still hear them arguing.

  “What about the contracts?” the old woman protested.

  “They’re safe enough until tomorrow. Let’s go.”

  The light receded, steps moved away, arguments faded, a door closed, and it got quiet.

  Tokuzo’s brother had sounded unpleasant. Saburo scowled to himself. The whole family apparently lacked common decency. The brother had come for the gold Tokuzo had made as a brothel keeper. It was money earned by the women he had treated worse than animals. But his brother considered himself too good to become identified with the brothel business.

  Saburo thought about the money chest, emptied of its treasures and left unlocked. It still held the contracts, probably worth a good deal if sold to other brothel owners. Worth a great deal more to the women who were forced to sell their bodies every night.

  His experiences with harlots had been painful. Most had refused him; the rest had collected the fee, submitted with a shudder, and run from the room.

  But there was Genba.

  He had no way of getting into the lower part of the building. No doubt, the greedy pair who had just left had made sure all the doors were secured.

  But on second thought, it was worth checking. He went downstairs, taking fewer precautions than before, but moving with his customary stealth.

  He made a circuit of all the doors and found them all securely locked. Only the side door closest to the kitchen had a loose hinge that might be loosened further. He considered, then set to work. His other errand could wait.

  With the help of one of his clever tools, he managed to loosen the hinge until he could lift the door up and prop it open. No one was likely to pass through the courtyard at this hour and notice the farthest door standing slightly ajar, and he would be quick, get back out, and reattach the panel.

  It was pitch dark inside, but Saburo moved by instinct and touch in the direction of the room where he had watched Tokuzo’s mother and brother. The smells in this part of the house were of sake. Here the guests were rendered drunk enough that the whores could march them upstairs. His nose eventually identified the smell of fresh candle wax and led him to the right room. Feeling for the sliding door, he found it and pushed it open. Yes, this must be it. He might have risked looking for a lamp and lighting it, but memory took him to the money chest, and touch found the papers in its bottom. He scooped them out and shoved them inside his shirt, then made his way back to the door he had left open.

  But something had changed. There was a smell he had not noticed before. He paused and sniffed. Sweat and scented oil, he decided. Odd!

  He could make out the narrow rectangle of the door. In spite of the clouded sky, the outside was lighter than the thick blackness of this hallway. It struck him that he had left it nearly closed.

  Listening, he took a cautious step forward and brushed up against fabric. When he reached out a hand to feel what it was, he touched a face.

  The next moment, the paler rectangle of the world outside disappeared, and pain exploded in his head.

  The Trouble with Women

  In the morning Akitada found Genba waiting outside his study. He was in a cheerful mood because he had just left Tamako’s rooms, where he had played with the children again. Genba’s face promised that would not last.

  “Come in, Genba,” he said, opening the door. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, sir.” Genba stopped in the middle of Akitada’s study, clenching and unclenching his huge hands and looking about helplessly.

  “Well, sit down.” Akitada missed his customary morning tea and the bowl of gruel. Apparently, Saburo was late. He seated himself and watched as Genba lowered his heavy frame to sit, then rearranged his body to kneel instead and touch his forehead to the floor. “Don’t do that,” Akitada said. “We’ve never been formal with each other.”

  Genba nodded and looked at his master. To Akitada’s surprise, tears, the big man’s eyes were moist. Becoming seriously concerned, Akitada pressed him now. “Come on, speak up, man! You’re beginning to worry me.”

  Genba gulped. “Sorry, sir. Saburo’s gone!”

  Akitada raised his brows. “Saburo? What do you mean?”

  “He wasn’t there when I woke this morning. He’s gone. I looked everywhere. It’s all my fault.”

  “How so?”

  “A man called Tokuzo was murdered yesterday, and the police tried to arrest me. Tora talked them out of it. I think Saburo must’ve gone there last night. And he hasn’t come home. I think something bad happened to him.”

  Akitada’s jaw sagged. “What?” He took a breath. “Who is Tokuzo?”

  “He runs a brothel in the quarter, sir. He’s an evil man. Even Hanae says so.”

  “Hanae’s also involved, eh? What about Cook and my wife’s maid? Does my entire household carry on a secret life outside my home?”

  Genba flushed and bowed his head. “No, sir. Just me,” he mumbled.

  Akitada stared at him. “What do you mean?” He was astonished by the notion that placid, ordinary Genba had been leading a secret life. Only the big man’s obvious misery stopped him from smiling at the thought.

  “There is … someone, sir.” Genba’ big fists were kneading his huge knees. “A woman, I mean. I … her name’s Ohiro. And … and … .”

  A woman! Genba, in his comfortable middle years—he was in his mid-forties—, had fallen in love. He seemed ashamed to talk about it, though. Akitada cut the stammering short, and said in a hearty tone, “But this is excellent news, Genba. I’m very happy for you. Will you bring your bride here? We’ll have to find you better quarters.”

  Genba’s eyes filled with tears. “Sir, she works in the Willow Quarter.” He looked down.

  “Oh.”

  A painful silence fell in which the big Genba seemed to shrink into himself.

  When they spoke again, it was at the same time, and both stopped again. Genba gave Akitada a look like a beaten dog. Akitada bit his lip. He owed Genba a great deal. Genba had been loyal and would have died for his master many times over.

  “Well,” he said, “we cannot always make our hearts obey our heads. I assume she will give up her profession?”

  “Oh, yes.” Genba’s fists started their kneading again. “We’ve been saving, both of us, to buy her out, but we d
idn’t have enough and now her owner has been murdered.” He paused. “That’s really how the trouble started, sir. Tora, Saburo, and I went to talk to Tokuzo, but the police were there already, and they wanted to arrest me because one of Tokuzo’s bullies told them I threatened Tokuzo the night before. Tora talked them out of it.”

  Akitada’s brows knitted during this tale. His first reaction was irritation that his retainers seemed to have the extremely bad taste of seeking out disreputable females and hanging about in brothels. And now Saburo seemed to have fallen into the same habit. But he suppressed his anger. Perhaps he would not have done so with Tora (in fact, he had been very blunt when Tora had married Hanae), but Tora was better able to take a tongue lashing. Genba suffered from the conviction that Akitada considered him a big useless, greedy lout and merely tolerated his presence in the household.

  “Tell me about Ohiro,” Akitada suggested. “If she has captured your devotion, she must be remarkable.”

  Genba was so astonished he gaped at his master for a moment. Then his face lit up, and he said fervently, “She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known, sir. She’s sweet and loving and very, very brave. You’d have to be brave to live through the hell that happened to her.” Leaning forward a little, he looked at Akitada earnestly. “Sir, she lost her parents when she was young. Her uncle and his wife took her in. But her uncle started raping her when she was ten, and when his wife found out, she sold Ohiro to Tokuzo. Tokuzo’s raped her regularly and he beats her, but she never complains. And sir, she’s very pretty and could have any man, but she loves me.” This brought the tears to his eyes again. He sniffed. “I love her. I’ve promised to take care of her forever.”

  Akitada gave an inward shudder at the tale. He wanted to point out that nothing is forever, and that such women would say anything to get a man to buy out their contract, and if this Ohiro was really so very pretty, she would leave Genba the moment she had her freedom. He said none of those things, however. He asked, “How much money do you need?”