by I. J. Parker
Okamoto’s eyes went from Akitada to Lord Masahira. He recognized him instantly and prostrated himself. Masahira went to help him up, whispering something in his ear. Okamoto stiffened, then nodded.
Masahira turned back to Akitada, saying in a tight voice, “Perhaps it will be best if you leave things to me now.”
Akitada looked at Okamoto.
The old man was very pale, but he nodded. “Lord Masahira is right. You have done your part and quickly, too. If you will excuse me now and allow me some time to mourn and bury my child, I shall reward your efforts in a day or two.”
Akitada flushed with embarrassment. He stammered that nothing was owed, that he was sorry to have brought no better news, and left as quickly as he could.
He slept poorly that night. Something kept nagging at him. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of foxes. At one point, the vixen appeared on the fallen pine. She raised herself on her hind legs and paraded back and forth, dragging her tail behind like the skirts of a long robe, making a strange snickering noise. Then the fox’s black eyes and pointed muzzle changed into the sharp features of Lady Chujo, who laughed, baring her fangs. He sat bolt upright, staring at the stripes made by the sunlight falling through the closed shutters of his room.
Stripes … lines … the thin, red line on Tomoe’s neck … the monk selling amulets … charms against fox spirits. Of course. The frightened Tomoe had bought one and she had worn it before her death. Someone, the murderer, had torn it off her and had caused the red line on her neck.
Amulets! Lady Chujo had mentioned Tomoe’s belief in amulets. How had she known?
Akitada threw on his clothes and ran to police headquarters. A yawning sergeant was just sitting down when Akitada burst into the office.
“That monk,” cried Akitada. “Did you arrest him?”
The sergeant’s mouth fell open again. He nodded.
“What did he say? Did he visit the girl?”
The sergeant nodded again.
“Well?”
The sergeant closed his mouth and sighed. “It’s too early,” he said reprovingly, “for so many questions, sir. However, the man absolutely denies killing the girl. He sold her a charm, that’s all, he says. Of course, we can still beat him and get a confession that way, but Lord Masahira has asked us not to.”
Thank God for Masahira, thought Akitada. He, Akitada, had made a terrible mistake. He asked, “Did he say when he sold her the charm?”
“Yes. The day before we found her.” The sergeant shook his head. “It didn’t do her much good.”
“The monk is innocent. You must let him go.”
The sergeant raised his brows. “On whose say-so?”
Akitada’s spirits sank. He knew now who the killer was, but he would never prove it. No doubt the poor monk would be beaten into some form of confession and then condemned to forced labor at some distant frontier. And all of it was Akitada’s fault. He had been wrong about the identity of the murderer three times. He had lost his job, failed Okamoto and Tomoe, and added the burden of guilt to his other miseries.
He went to see Lord Masahira.
• • •
Recalling too late that it was the emperor’s birthday, Akitada fully expected to be turned away. Instead he was admitted instantly to face who knew what additional disaster.
He found the captain, dressed in the grey robe of mourning, standing on the veranda of his study. He held something in his hand and was staring at it fixedly.
The face he turned towards Akitada was drawn and white. Today Masahira looked old beyond his years, and Akitada was about to intrude into the man’s grief with a dangerous knowledge. Reminding himself of the vacant-eyed monk in police custody, Akitada stammered, “Forgive the interruption, sir, but I have reconsidered the facts and I now know the monk is innocent. He merely sold one of his charms to Tomoe. It was the day before her body was found. I … believe someone else …” He broke off fearfully.
“Yes.” Masahira’s voice was flat, his eyes weary. “So you know what really happened?”
Hanging his head, Akitada murmured, “I believe so. Your lady …” He broke off. “I am very sorry, sir.”
Masahira sighed heavily. “No sorrier than I. I am responsible, even though I did not kill Tomoe. It was my foolishness that caused the tragedy. A double tragedy. I thought my wife was too accommodating when I asked her if I could bring Tomoe here. I should have suspected.” Masahira’s voice was bitter. “I found this in my wife’s writing box!”
Akitada glanced up. Masahira dangled a small wooden tablet with an inscription. The hemp string was broken.
The amulet.
“Lady Chujo must have gone to the villa after you told her,” said Akitada. “She mentioned the amulet, but Tomoe had just bought it from the monk, and not even you could have known that.”
Masahira said, “I did not.” He added heavily, “My wife will not be arrested. But she has agreed to renounce the world and spend the rest of her life in a remote nunnery. The monk will be released, of course, but I must ask your discretion. I already have Okamoto’s.”
Akitada thought again of the dangerous ground he had trodden. Deeply grateful, he bowed. “Of course, my Lord. I only regret having brought such misfortune to you and your family.”
Masahira waved this aside. “Okamoto is a most admirable character.” He paused to look at Akitada. “I think,” he said, “that, whatever your motives were originally, you acted from concern for him and pity for …” his voice shook, but he went on, “his daughter. You were quite right in your feelings about both.” He broke off abruptly and turned away, weeping.
Akitada was backing from the room, when Masahira spoke again. His voice had regained the tone of authority. “About your position at the ministry. I have had a word with Soga. You are to return to work immediately.”
Akitada’s relationship with his mother deteriorates rapidly until he comes to regard her with bitter resentment and suspicion even while he struggles to obey and serve her -- a state of affairs which will darken his life until her death a decade later. This story introduces Kobe, a captain in the Imperial Police, who will reappear in many of Akitada’s cases.
The Incense Murder
Heian-Kyo (Kyoto): 1010; during the Clothes-Lining Month (March).
ON a gray spring morning in a week of cold, drizzling rains, Akitada was summoned by his mother. Their relationship was strained at the best of times, but on this occasion she would get him involved in a case that was not only deeply disturbing but nearly ended his career and perhaps his life. He would forever after fear dealings with his parent.
But that morning, unsuspecting, he walked along the covered gallery and saw that the roof had sprung another leak. He expected to be told to fix it and sighed. They had no money to spend on workmen and no servants able to carry out the heavy work.
Lady Sugawara was at her morning devotions, kneeling and bowing before the small Buddha statue on a shelf in her room. Akitada sat down to wait and looked around. At least the roof was solid here. The house might be falling down around their ears, but his mother’s quarters would remain as comfortable as ever. She would not have it any other way.
She made her final bow and turned. “Ah! Akitada, I want you to go to your Cousin Koremori.”
Otomo Koremori was a cousin on Akitada’s mother’s side and no connection to the Sugawaras, a fact for which Akitada was grateful. Koremori was past fifty now, a wealthy man who had married well, and a recent widower. Since he had lost his only son Akemori in a duel a few years before and was now childless, Akitada’s mother had initiated more cordial relations. She expected Koremori to leave his property to her or to her children when he died. Koremori knew it and behaved accordingly. Akitada could not abide Koremori.
He said, “I cannot go immediately, Mother. I am due at the Ministry.”
His mother raised her brows. “Nonsense. Why should you not make time for a close family member? Please remember who you are.”
What he was was a junior clerk in the Ministry of Justice and in enough trouble already. “I could go after work, Mother,” he said reluctantly.
She frowned. “Very well, but don’t forget again like last time. I want you to take him this fan. He admired it the last time he was here. Tell him it’s a small present to cheer him up. Oh, and write a suitable card for it.”
The fan was his mother’s favorite and dated back to better times. That she was willing to part with it meant she was embarking on a new campaign to influence Koremori’s final arrangements.
Akitada took the fan, bowed to his mother, and retreated.
• • •
That evening Akitada arrived at the Otomo residence, feeling resentful. The weather had worsened. Wet, cold, and tired from an unprofitable day in the archives, he did not look forward to this visit and hoped to make it a short one.
Koremori sat behind a large desk in an elegantly furnished study. Handsome shades were lowered to keep the room cozy, and silk cushions awaited guests. Above him hung a scroll with the admonition: “Remember your duty to past and future generations.” When the servant admitted Akitada, he looked up and stared at Akitada with his usual unpleasant expression.
As a child, Akitada had thought of him as a fat toad because of his bulbous eyes and broad face. Today he looked more than usually toadlike.
“Oh, it’s you,” Koremori said ungraciously and gestured toward a cushion.
Akitada sat down and sniffed the air. The room reeked. The smell was not unpleasant, just powerful. Some of the redolence came from his cousin’s perfumed robe. Sandalwood and cloves. But other scents mingled, and Akitada saw that a table held preparations for an incense guessing game.
This game was an aristocratic pursuit in which the participants submitted their own concoctions anonymously, then guessed the ingredients, and chose a winner for the best fragrance. Akitada disapproved of such waste of money, time, and intelligence.
He bowed and said stiffly, “My mother sent me, Cousin. She recalled that you admired this trifling object on your last visit and asked me to present it to you.” He took the fan from his sleeve and passed it to Koremori.
Koremori’s wide mouth twitched. He glanced briefly at the words Akitada had written on his visiting card and attached to the gift, then laid fan and note aside.
“Tell your mother I am obliged for her thoughtful present.” He stared at Akitada. “So. Still a clerk in the Ministry, are you?”
“Yes, Cousin. I hope I see you well?”
“Never better.” Koremori’s lip twitched again. “Be sure to tell your mother. She takes a great interest in my health.”
Akitada felt himself flush. Koremori never missed an opportunity to make him feel small and his mother mercenary.
Koremori added, “Apart from her ill-advised marriage, she has always shown proper family feeling.”
Akitada did not consider himself related to Koremori. He was a Sugawara. Though innocent, his most famous forebear had been found guilty of treason and had died in political exile to the subsequent ruin of his descendants. Akitada reminded himself, as always, that he had nothing in common with Koremori, either in their values or appearance. Akitada, tall and as slender as a whip, regarded Koremori’s short, fat body as just punishment for over-eating and indolence. His cousin’s luxurious lifestyle was, to Akitada’s youthful idealism, immoral and indecent. But remembering his mother, he suppressed his anger and said nothing.
Instead he averted his eyes from the offensive Koremori to look around the room and he noticed the incense table again.
A man given to excess in everything from family pride to fine food, Otomo Koremori was a connoisseur and passionate practitioner of the incense cult. He spared no expense in this pursuit and was counted among the most knowledgeable experts on exotic ingredients.
The paraphernalia on the table included packets of incense in neatly labeled envelopes or twists of expensive papers. The lacquer ware utensils were dusted with gold and silver and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Small ladles of silver and gold lay beside burners of gilded bronze.
Koremori suddenly clapped his hands and shouted, “Out, vile creature!” Akitada
jumped, but his cousin was not addressing him. Flushed with anger, he rose to throw his ink stone at a small black and white kitten. The stone brushed the little animal, which squealed and scurried under the desk. Koremori scanned the room.
Akitada said quickly, “It’s only a kitten.”
“I hate cats. Is it gone?”
“It’s gone,” Akitada lied. From the corner of his eye, he saw the kitten emerging and stretching a tentative paw for his red paper card that dangled from the edge of Koremori’s desk.
Koremori sat down again. He clearly wanted Akitada gone as much as Akitada wanted to leave. Both tried to find the appropriate words. Koremori said, “I am quite busy at the moment with preparations for another incense party, and the cat could spoil everything if it disturbed the samples.”
The kitten snagged the card and withdrew with it under the desk.
Akitada said politely, “Your expertise in that field is well known, Cousin. Under the circumstances, I won’t take up more of your time …”
But Koremori had heard the rustling of paper and peered under the desk. He roared, “Kenzo!”
A young boy ran in. His black hair was tied into two fat brushes over each ear, and his bright eyes took in Akitada in a single measuring glance before he told Koremori, “Kenzo’s busy, Master. Will I do?”
“Why is this cursed cat running loose in my room?” Koremori pointed under the desk. Take it back to its mistress this instant! If I ever find it here again, I’ll have you whipped.”
The boy got to his knees and scooped out the kitten, detaching Akitada’s card from its teeth and putting it back on the desk. “Come, little tiger,” he crooned, “let’s go into the garden and watch the goldfish.”
Koremori glowered after them. “Did you see that? Not so much as a bow!”
Akitada got to his feet. “I shall give Mother your message, Cousin,” he said.
Koremori nodded. “I wish I had more time to chat,” he said grudgingly. “My household has been standing on its head all day.”
As if on cue, the door flew open again, and a very beautiful young woman swept
into the room, silk gowns fluttering and long hair trailing on the floor behind her. Her clothes were exquisite, the short sleeves of her embroidered chinese coat revealing many layers of exquisitely hued robes of the thinnest silk.
“Oh, darling,” she cried, “have you seen my kitten?” She stopped abruptly and looked in consternation at Akitada.
Koremori had turned a deep red. He cleared his throat. “Forgive the interruption, Akitada. This is Yoshiko. Yoshiko, my dear, do not worry. No harm is done. Akitada is only a cousin and he is leaving.”
Akitada bowed to the young woman. He wondered what his mother would make of the news that Koremori had a mistress.
The pretty Yoshiko blushed, fluttered her lashes at him, then sank gracefully on a cushion. “Cousin Akitada,” she murmured. “How very pleasant to meet you.”
“He is leaving,” snapped Koremori.
Akitada bowed again, to both this time, and departed.
• • •
When he made his report to his mother, she sat bolt upright. “Who is she?” she demanded.
“I don’t know, Mother. Just a pretty young woman. I thought she might be his mistress.”
Lady Sugawara hissed. “Mistress. Or concubine? And you say this so calmly? What if she gives him a child? What then?”
Akitada did not care but he said, “He is no longer young and not at all handsome.”
“Fool! What difference does that make? He is wealthy and she is beautiful. You did say she was beautiful?”
Lady Yoshiko was indubitably beautiful. Akitada nodded.
“Hmm. This is not good.” Lady Sugawara stared through her son, deep in thought. “Of course it
may not last,” she finally said, “but meanwhile you must double your efforts to ingratiate yourself. Make yourself indispensable. Remind him that blood ties outweigh all other bonds in importance. Show a loving concern for his health by mentioning the risk of exertion at his age.”
Akitada sighed inwardly. “I’ll try, Mother.”
• • •
The following morning the weather had cleared a little and Seimei, who had been his late father’s secretary and now served as general factotum in the Sugawara household, brought in Akitada’s rice gruel and another urgent summons from his mother. Akitada gulped down his food and hurried to his mother’s room.
She looked excited. “Quick!” she said when she saw him, “Run over to Cousin Koremori’s right away. He needs your help.”
