by I. J. Parker
In the western market, he passed a stand selling sweets and stopped to buy a honey-filled rice cake. Ohiro was very fond of them. He liked them too, but seeing her pleasure was much better than tasting the sweet himself. Besides, he must save his money.
The tenement where Ohiro and Shokichi roomed was poorly built and worse maintained even though the rents were very high. It belonged to Tokuzo’s mother, and all of Tokuzo’s women were expected to live there. Genba looked around, saw no one, then knocked three times softly on one of the doors.
She opened immediately and pulled him inside, closing the door very quickly. The girls were not supposed to have male visitors without passing the fees on to Tokuzo.
Genba knew right away that something was wrong. Ohiro kept her face averted.
“What happened, love?” he asked.
She walked away from him and mumbled, “It’s nothing. Please don’t make a fuss.”
He frowned. “Ohiro, turn around.”
When she did not respond, he went after her and took her gently by the shoulders to turn her around. “Amida!” He dropped his hands and stared in shock at her swollen face. One eye was closed and surrounded by red and black bruises, there were traces of blood in her nostrils, and she had a badly cut lip. “He did that to you?” he asked hoarsely. “I’ll kill him!”
“Please, Genba,” she said, her good eye filling with tears.
A faded curtain parted on the inner doorway, and Shokichi came in, a thin girl—almost scrawny, he thought—who moved quickly and laughed a lot. She was not laughing now. “He’s an animal,” she said sharply. “No, I lie. Animals don’t do that to each other. He’s an oni, a true devil. He raped her, too. Beating women gives him a hard-on.”
“Oh, Shokichi, you promised not to tell,” wailed Ohiro.
Genba swallowed down the sickness that rose in his throat. Opening his arms, he drew Ohiro against his wide chest and belly and laid his head on hers. “My love,” he said softly, “you must come with me. I cannot bear it any longer. He’ll kill you next time.”
She gave a small sob and put her arms around his waist. “Just a little longer,” she said. “Be patient, my love.”
He groaned. “How much do we still need?”
She slipped from his embrace and went to a trunk that held her clothes. Opening it, she dug down and brought out a small sandalwood box.
Genba glanced at Shokichi, who flushed and ducked back into the other room. He felt embarrassed, but these girls were so very poor and led such miserable lives that they would do anything to free themselves from Tokuzo’s hold.
Ohiro upended the box on the floor. A small pile of coins, some gold, quite a few silver, and a large number copper, lay on the dirt floor. She crouched down and sorted through them, counting under her breath. Then she looked up, disappointment on her swollen face. “We need another ten pieces of gold,” she said in a small voice.
A fortune.
Genba knelt beside her and helped her put the money back. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Meanwhile, lock your door and don’t go back to work. Maybe tomorrow I can get you.”
“No, no. I have to work tonight, but it will be all right. He always feels sorry for what he did and leaves us alone afterward.”
“Ohiro, please don’t. I cannot bear it … I love you.”
She reached for him, and they embraced. He wanted to kiss her but was afraid of hurting her, so he stroked her back instead. She twitched a little, and he muttered a curse. “Take off your clothes,” he commanded, pulling her up with him.
She giggled weakly and started to undo her sash. He reached for it with impatient fingers, took it off, pulled open her gown, and slipped it off her shoulders. Then he lifted her undergown over her head. She submitted, blushing furiously. Ohiro had a very nice body, with full hips and a small waist.
But instead of admiring and fondling her breasts and pulling her hips toward him, he moved around her and lifted her long hair. She gave a little cry. Turning, she started to reach for his trouser ties, but he stopped her.
“I’ll kill him!” he growled, looking at the red welts that criss-crossed her back. “I’ll kill the filthy bastard.”
Shokichi stuck her head through the door to take a look. She gasped. “Tokuzo did that? Why? What did you do?”
Ohiro snatched up her clothes and covered herself. “You shouldn’t have looked, Genba,” she said. “I wanted you to make love to me. Now you’ve spoiled it.” She burst into tears. “I cooked your favorite food, too. Sea bream with new herbs and fiddleheads. Ohhh!” With a long wail, she cowered down, drew up her knees, and buried her face in her arms.
Genba stood helpless at such a flood of tears. Shokichi went to Ohiro and put her arms around her.
“Look,” she said, glancing up at Genba, “if you really love her, you’ve got to understand what her life’s been like. Her parents died when she was nine, and she went to live with an aunt and uncle. When she was ten, the uncle started raping her. Her aunt found out and sold her to Tokuzo to be rid of her. Ohiro was okay until you came. That’s when she started balking at what customers wanted, and that’s when she got beatings. I bet this thing today happened because Tokuzo found out about you. He thinks she’s been holding back money.”
Ohiro made sounds of protest at this bald telling of her life. She moved away from Shokichi and looked at Genba with swimming eyes. “Don’t hate me, Genba,” she pleaded. “I have to work for him. I’m sorry.”
Genba finally woke from his stupor. He went to kneel beside her. “Ohiro, I love you,” he said. “I think you should run away and hide. I’ll find the money somehow and pay the bastard. Then, when all is settled, you’ll come home with me as my wife.”
Both women gasped at that.
“Your wife?” Ohiro asked, stunned. “You want me to be your wife?”
He nodded, then glanced at Shokichi, who got up.
She said, “I’ll tell the bastard you’ve had the doctor and can’t work. He’ll believe it.” She left, a smile on her face.
They made love. He was gentle so as not to hurt Ohiro, but both felt passionate. Then they ate what Ohiro had cooked, and Genba remembered the sweet he had bought.
Ohiro received it like a jewel. “I’ve never been so happy before, Genba. I love you. Thank you.” She gave him a melting glance.
And after a little while, they made love again.
It was near the middle of the night, the hour of the rat, when Genba left Ohiro. He was worried. Would the master permit him to bring another hungry mouth into the family? He was not Tora, had not served with such distinction, had, in fact, not yet lived down the fact that he had left the house unguarded three years ago when armed men had forced their way in and caused Seimei’s death. And then there was Ohiro. Tora had tried to keep his wife Hanae a secret because she was a singer in the amusement quarter. And now here he was, bringing a prostitute into the family.
And how was he to raise the money? Even if he could borrow the rest of the money to buy Ohiro out, how would he be able to face the man who had done such things to the woman he loved?
At the memory of her bruised face and lacerated back, his anger rose again. Without thinking, he turned his steps toward the amusement quarter and the Sasaya, Tokuzo’s brothel.
It was still well lit, and one of Tokuzo’s bruisers, a man who had once been a wrestler like Genba and who now kept quarrelsome customers in line, stood outside the door with a few of the girls. They looked well-worn already, but greeted Genba with eager cries of welcome. The bruiser gave him a friendly wave. Genba glared at him and quickly faded into the next dark alley where he collided with another man.
They both grunted. The other man fumbled around in the dark, and Genba realized he might have a knife, that he had surprised a footpad. He carried no money, but he did not relish a knife in the belly, and his pent-up anger over Tokuzo’s assault on Ohiro erupted in a furious attack on the dimly perceived person near him. He roared and lashed out, heard a metallic
clinking, then seized an arm and brought the other man into his crushing embrace. He was not an ex-wrestler for nothing. He started to drag the stranger out into the street, to get a good look at him. At this point, the other man twisted suddenly, punched him in the groin, and slipped away when Genba doubled over.
Genba took a minute for the pain to ease, then he left the alley and looked up and down the street. The scene before the Sasaya was the same, and he saw no one who could have been the footpad.
He went back into the alley and searched the ground for the object that had made the clinking sound. He found it quickly near the house wall. It was not a knife but something smaller and far more wicked. Taking it out into the street, he saw it was a thin metal pin, a little less than a foot long and sharpened at one end.
A strange implement, but quite as deadly as a knife. Still, it was an unusual weapon for a footpad. Perhaps it was some sort of tool he used in his trade. Or someone else had dropped it, and they had kicked it in their struggle.
He tucked the pin in his sleeve and looked again at the brothel. His fury had abated. He decided to go home and sleep.
The bruiser at the door approached him with a couple of girls in tow. “Why not pay us a visit?” he said with a smirk. “We’re still open for business. Tokuzo provides the best service in the quarter—right, girls?” They nodded and pressed themselves against Genba.
Genba pushed them away. “I’d like to put that bastard Tokuzo in hell,” he snarled and stalked off.
A Strange Case of Suicide
From Kosehira’s house, Akitada headed straight for the kebiishi-cho, the police headquarters, where Superintendent Kobe’s office was.
The story Kosehira had divulged appalled him on so many levels. And Kosehira had been right: it was dangerous to meddle in this. Becoming involved in either the court lady’s suicide or Prince Atsuhira’s conspiracy could damage his career permanently.
Lady Masako was not only the favorite daughter of a powerful lord, but she had been very close to the young emperor. Even if His Majesty had not been attracted to her, her person was taboo, and so were her activities prior to her death and the circumstances of that death.
The political intrigue was potentially even more explosive. And in this case, the ruling Fujiwara lords had no reason to suppress public knowledge or to protect Atsuhira and his friends. In fact, if they wanted to make their point, they would act openly and quickly.
But Akitada owed Kosehira a great deal, and the truth was that Kosehira’s story had intrigued him. He did not like coincidence, and to his mind the suicide of one of the emperor’s ladies and the arrest of her imperial lover for conspiracy were not separate events. He meant to get to the bottom of the puzzle.
But to do so, he must find out why Kobe had decided to cover up the “alleged” suicide. Akitada suspected that all was not as Kosehira had told it. He did not suspect Kosehira of lying, but Lady Masako’s action seemed too sudden. The prince had apparently not expected her action. Besides, Akitada felt she would not have acted in this fashion if she had loved the prince.
He found the superintendent inspecting the adjoining jail. Few ranking officials in his post would have troubled themselves with such a depressing and disgusting chore. Prisoners came from the dregs of humanity and were not treated very well. They were dirty and crawled with vermin, and their cells stank in spite of frequent cleanings. Kobe felt strongly that the situation would become intolerable if he did not walk through both jails at least once a week and unannounced.
He broke off his inspection when he saw Akitada. They returned to his office, where they took the bad taste out of their mouths with a cup of wine.
“What brings you?” Kobe asked, after smacking his lips and setting his cup down. He was usually abrupt and got to the point quickly.
“Prince Atsuhira,” Akitada said, equally blunt.
Kobe’s face fell. “No. You can’t. Believe me, that’s not for you.”
“I have to disagree. My best friend is involved.”
“Your best friend?” Kobe looked hurt.
“My other best friend.” Akitada smiled. “Kosehira.”
“Oh, him.” Kobe pursed his lips. “If this is about the conspiracy charge against Atsuhira, I have nothing to do with it. And that business is definitely not a good thing to meddle in.”
“I’m really here about Lady Masako’s so-called suicide. But I think the two cases are connected.”
Kobe’s eyes widened, and he sat up. “You can’t be serious. That’s ridiculous! You’re really reaching this time. And how do you come to know about her? Never mind. I see Kosehira told you. He’s another meddler. He should know better than to talk about it.”
“How much of an investigation did you do before shuffling the body off to her family?”
The superintendent flushed. “Are you accusing me of a cover-up?”
Akitada wished he had been more circumspect. Kobe was thin-skinned when it came to his work, and he had a notorious temper. “Sorry. I know there were good and sufficient reasons to protect her reputation and that of Prince Atsuhira.”
“Not to mention His Majesty’s feelings.”
“That too. But the point is, was there anything peculiar about her death?”
“Peculiar? If one of His Majesties women jumps off a cliff, I’d call that peculiar.”
“You know what I meant. She could have been thrown over.”
“What? You think this was murder?” Kobe flushed with anger. “Why do you always assume the worst? And why do you still have no confidence in my methods after all these years?”
Awkward.
Akitada thought of Kosehira. Whatever had happened to the dead lady, it was the living who must be protected. “You’re my friend and I trust you,” he said in a soothing tone. “Please bear with me. I’m just trying to understand the connections. Kosehira is innocent of conspiracy. I know him. He’s simply not political. He’s always stood up for me, and I was never a popular man. I cannot let this happen because he was good-natured enough to be a friend to the prince.”
Kobe grunted. Then he said, “There’s not much to tell. Your friend asked to speak to me privately. Naturally, I accommodated him—because of his rank, but also because he came as your friend. His story was shocking. It involved an affair between an imperial prince and one of His Majesty’s women. Furthermore, this lady was lying dead in Atsuhira’s summer villa, where he’d been meeting her. I used discretion and went to see Atsuhira. He was in a terrible state. Together we rode to his villa where I inspected the corpse, was told of the letter she’d written the prince, retraced her path to the cliff, and climbed down to the streambed where he’d found her. Then I spoke with the old couple who were the caretakers. They knew only that the lady had arrived and gone into the house to await the prince. In other words, there was nothing whatsoever to indicate that she hadn’t committed suicide.” Kobe stopped and looked at Akitada as if he dared him to challenge his findings.
Akitada thought about it. “The letter,” he mused. “It hinges on that letter. Anything odd about it?”
Kobe frowned. “No. Why should there be? The prince told me what it said. It seemed a bit flowery, but you know how emotional women get. All about taking the dark path alone and meeting again in paradise.”
“Hmm. Did she say why she was taking such a step?”
“I asked the prince, who wasn’t altogether rational. He burst into tears, then confessed she was expecting their child, and perhaps her condition had made her unstable. He seemed to think women do strange things at such a time, but he insisted she’d been happy about the child and that he’d planned to take her to wife. Then he started moaning, and I couldn’t get another sensible word out of him.”
“And the body? What injuries did you find?”
“What you’d expect with a fall from that height. She fell at least fifty feet onto a rocky streambed. Broken limbs. Bleeding from the mouth, nose, ears. Badly broken skull.” Kobe frowned. “She must ha
ve hit head first,” he added.
“Head first? Surely that’s strange. You would expect her to step off and fall straight down. You’d expect her lower limbs to take the brunt of the impact. Or, if she let herself fall forward, she’d hit flat and face down. Was her face damaged?”
Kobe’s frown deepened. “No. I doubt anyone would dive down a precipice. But Akitada, what does it matter? She died from the fall. All the bleeding proves that. If she’d been dead already and then tossed over, she wouldn’t have bled so much. Besides, there was no sign that anyone helped her to her death. Remember, she’d been alone. The two old people couldn’t have managed such a thing.”
But his voice sounded less certain. Akitada asked, “You checked for tracks?”
“Yes. But it snowed that night, and later the prince and the old man searched for her. They both say they saw no tracks.”
“Ah. Not even hers. The snow was expected?”
“Perhaps it was, but I still don’t see how that matters.”
“Come, Kobe, what do you really think?”
Kobe shook his head. “That it’s far too dangerous to investigate this case. Think of all the people we would offend. The emperor first of all. Then Lady Masako’s father and her family. And Prince Atsuhira. And finally whoever was behind it.” He added quickly, “If someone did, in fact, stage it.”
“Yes,” said Akitada. He felt an inner satisfaction. So Kobe had some doubts after all.
Kobe gave him a look, and silence fell.
“But that doesn’t make it right,” Akitada said.
“No.”
“Then you’re with me on this?”
Kobe glared. “Let’s say I’m dissatisfied with the whole situation.” He paused. “And I’m resentful that I’ve been dragged into it by your friend.” Throwing up his hands, he protested, “What good is it to expect me to investigate and tell me that no one must know about it?”
