by I. J. Parker
The Crane Pavilion
An Akitada Novel
I. J. Parker
2014
I · J · P
Copyright 2014 by I. J. Parker
This book is a work of fiction. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission of the author or publisher.
Published by Ingrid J. Parker Inc. 2014; First Edition.
Cover design by I. J. Parker; Cover image by Ito Yakuchu.
Formatting: Polgarus Studio
Praise for I. J. Parker and the Akitada series
“Elegant and entertaining … Parker has created a wonderful protagonist in Akitada… . She puts us at ease in a Japan of one thousand years ago.” The Boston Globe
“You couldn’t ask for a more gracious introduction to the exotic world of Imperial Japan than the stately historical novels of I. J. Parker.” The New York Times
“Akitada is as rich a character as Robert Van Gulik’s intriguing detective, Judge Dee” The Dallas Morning News
“Readers will be enchanted by Akitada.” Publishers Weekly Starred Review
“Terrifically imaginative” The Wall Street Journal
“A brisk and well-plotted mystery with a cast of regulars who become more fully developed with every episode” Kirkus
“More than just a mystery novel, (THE CONVICT’S SWORD) is a superb piece of literature set against the backdrop of 11th-cntury Kyoto.” The Japan Times
“Parker’s research is extensive and she makes great use of the complex manners and relationships of feudal Japan.” Globe and Mail
“The fast-moving, surprising plot and colorful writing will enthrall even those unfamiliar with the exotic setting.” Publishers Weekly, Starred Review
“…the author possesses both intimate knowledge of the time period and a fertile imagination as well. Combine that with an intriguing mystery and a fast-moving plot, and you’ve got a historical crime novel that anyone can love.” Chicago Sun-Times
“Parker’s series deserves a wide readership.” Historical Novel Society
“The historical research is impressive, the prose crisp, and Parker’s ability to universalize the human condition makes for a satisfying tale.” Booklist
“Parker masterfully blends action and detection while making the attitudes and customs of the period accessible.” Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Readers looking for historical mystery with a twist will find what they’re after in Parker’s latest Sugawara Akitada mystery … An intriguing glimpse into an ancient culture.” Booklist
Pronunciation of Japanese Words
Unlike English, Japanese is pronounced phonetically. Therefore vowel sounds are approximately as follows:
“a” as in “father”
“e” as in “let”
“i” as in “kin”
“o” as in “more”
“u” as in “would”
Double consonants (“ai” or “ei”) are pronounced separately, and ō or ū are doubled or lengthened.
As for the consonants:
“g” as in “game”
“j” as in “join”
“ch” as in “chat”
Contents
Characters
“Koshiro”
“The Sadness of Spring”
“A Conspiracy”
“The Old Professor”
“The Student”
“Murder in a Bathhouse”
“The Caretaker and the Artist”
“Talk of the Town”
“The Tides of Life”
“The Moneylenders”
“Fire in a Jar”
“The Blind Girl”
“A Hopeless Case”
“Gossip in the Bath”
“In Disgrace”
“The Gamblers”
“The Nun”
“A Tiger in the Dark”
“Dance of the Cranes”
“Lady Akiko’s News”
“Arrest”
“An Old Acquaintance”
“A Good Name is Forever”
“The Search”
“Phoenix”
“Walk into Danger”
“Rising Mist”
“Twilight before Dark”
“Kobe’s Risk”
“The Quiet Sadness of Autumn Rain”
“The Bridge of Dreams”
“A Lotus Flower in the Mud”
“The Lady of the Crane Pavilion”
“Senior Secretary Soga”
Historical Note
About the Author
Contact Information
Characters
Sugawara Akitada - government official between assignments
Yasuko, Yoshitada - his daughter & son
Akiko - his sister
Tora & Hanae - his senior retainer & wife
Genba & Ohiro - another retainer & wife
Saburo - a third retainer, a former spy
Kobe - Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police
Nakatoshi - one of Akitada’s friends
Fujiwara Kaneie - Akitada’s former superior, Minister of Justice
Persons involved in the case of Lady Ogata’s suicide:
Abbot Genshin - a former friend of Akitada
Professor Suketada - a retired university professor
Yoshizane - a poor painter
Takechi Akushiro - a poor student
Koshiro - a caretaker
Seikan - a nun
Soga Ietada - Senior Secretary to the Prime Minister
Minamoto Masakane - an exiled nobleman
Maeko & Shiro - two children, sister and brother
Persons connected with the murder in the bathhouse:
Jinzaemon - owner of the bathhouse Daikoku-yu
Sachi - a blind shampoo girl
Nakamura Minobe - a moneylender
Nakamura Manjiro - his son
Yasohachi Saito - his adopted brother and partner
Kanemoto - a gangster
Hankei - a gambler
Chiyo, aka Phoenix - a courtesan
Kajiwara - a poor schoolmaster.
1
Koshiro
Koshiro finished his bowl of rice gruel and set it down beside him. With a sigh of satisfaction, he looked across his garden where the cabbage, radish, and melon plants grew daily larger. The morning sun was quite warm already. It was autumn already, a time of clear skies and chills bringing the promise of winter. Then maybe he would hate his lonely life again, but just now, in this glorious morning sun, surrounded by birdsong and the scent of the rose bush, living in this small wooden house felt like a gift from the gods.
Peace.
Refuge.
And a new life.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sun-warmed boards. In a moment he would get up, wash his bowl, and start his chores. They were light, though the grounds were large. The owner hired workers for repairs and heavy work. Yes, Koshiro was blessed to have found this place.
And so were the others. He smiled. The student, the most recent arrival, still shied like a rabbit whenever they met. And he still feared every new arrival. But he was the only one. The professor was deaf, and the nun never paid attention. And the lady? Sometimes when there was a knocking, she got that look of longing on her face—as if she expected a lover to come and carry her away.
Koshiro hated that look. She was very beautiful, and it was to be expected that she should have known love and still wished for it. But she was here, as they all were. None of them would ever leave.
They would find consolation.
In time. Because time was all they had.
&n
bsp; And each other.
He imagined himself and the lady becoming reconciled to their lives and to each other and smiled. There was hope. There always was hope.
And then he heard the children’s cries.
His eyes popped open. He looked in the direction of the sound but saw nothing beyond the lush green trees and shrubs where late shrubs still bloomed in shades of red. Getting to his feet, he shaded his eyes. It was quiet again. He decided the children had been at some silly game and relaxed again. They made a nuisance of themselves, but the lady loved children. He gave a low growl of irritation.
Picking up his bowl, he decided that today he must put his foot down and tell them to stop coming into the garden. When he straightened up, he saw them. Two small figures had burst from the trees, waving their arms and shouting.
Now what? They knew better than to bother him. He had let them know they weren’t welcome. He set the bowl back down, put on his most ferocious scowl, and started toward them.
The boy and girl were nine and ten respectively, the children of a woman who lived in the poor quarter across from the Takashina mansion. She was a widow who cleaned other people’s houses all day long. Ragged, thin, and left to their own resources, the children had climbed the wall and come into the garden to play. They reminded him of his own childhood, and he had been too permissive in the beginning. But his duties here meant that he was to guard the property against undesirable visitors, and it was only a matter of time before the professor or the nun would object to the noise of children and complain to the owner.
They were shouting “Come quick!” and “The poor lady!” Koshiro began to feel queasy and started to run
When they met, the children were babbling, their eyes wide with panic, and their arms flailing, pointing, gesturing. Something was wrong, though he could not make out what it was.
Lady Ogata occupied the Lake Pavilion, a graceful building overlooking a small artificial pond with koi and water lilies. Though she was noble and in her mid-twenties, Koshiro never thought of her without feeling desire. He himself was fifty years old and already had gray hairs among the black ones. But lust did not die with age, and a man had little control over his willful thoughts.
So Koshiro ran through the trees and bounded up the veranda steps of the Lake Pavilion. All was still. The shutters were closed except for one that stood partially open. He called out, “My lady? Are you all right? It’s Koshiro.”
There was no answer.
He pushed the shutter a little wider and looked inside.
The large, elegant room lay in deep shadow after the brightness outside. At first, he thought it was empty, its bare floor gleaming softly.
Puzzled, he blinked his eyes to adjust them. The little girl had caught up and was shaking his arm. “Look!” she cried. “Please take her down! Quick!”
He raised his eyes from the floor.
Something floated in the dim space, a dusky shape. A bundle of robes hung up to air? The silk gowns almost touched the floorboards and moved softly in the breeze from the open doorway. As he stared, the shape seemed to turn slightly toward him, and he saw a pair white-stockinged feet. They did not touch the floor.
In wonder, he stepped inside and went closer. That was when he realized that a woman was inside the robes. She was weightless, floating above the ground like one of the fairies in the western paradise.
He looked up, saw her face, and recoiled. It was Lady Ogata, but all of her beauty was gone. She looked shocking, her tongue protruding from her mouth like some huge slug, and her eyes rolled back so only the whites showed. Purple silk was looped around her neck and passed behind her head. It was tied around one of the rafters above. He muttered a prayer and reached for his amulet.
Lady Ogata hung, swaying and turning gently, while the little girl cried something and pulled at him. Swallowing down his nausea, Koshiro went to touch the limp hand. It was cold as ice.
“Too late,” he croaked, then turned away to run outside and vomit up his rice gruel.
So quickly can a man’s fortune turn from happiness to despair. All was lost. Nothing would ever be well again.
At that moment, Koshiro hated Lady Ogata as he had never hated anyone before.
2
The Sadness of Autumn
Less than a mile from the site of Lady Ogata’s death, Tora also sat in the sunshine on his small veranda. He, too, had eaten his morning gruel and contemplated the day ahead. Behind him, he could hear the voices of his wife Hanae and son Yuki. He, too, felt a sense of contentment.
But unlike Koshiro, Tora was fully aware that not all was well. It was autumn again, and they were home, and there were the shouts and laughter of children again, but the gloom of death hung heavy over this house.
The master had returned, a shadow of his former self, to his motherless children.
Lady Tamako had died in childbirth in the spring while her husband served as governor in distant Kyushu. Tora and Saburo had been with him, and they had feared for his sanity when he learned what had happened, knowing that his lady had been dead and buried weeks before he got the news and that it would be more weeks before he would set foot in his house again.
Tora got up and went inside where Hanae was putting away the bedding and tidying their main room. She was small and agile, his pretty Hanae, a former dancer and still as graceful and desirable as when they had first met. These days there was a new fear in his heart that he might give her a child again and she might die like Lady Tamako. After his return, he had hesitated to take her in his arms and make love to her, and she had wept until he explained. Now, they lay together again, but still he was afraid. All their lives had changed.
Yuki put his head in. “I put the firewood next to the fireplace, Mother,” he announced. When he saw his father, his eyes lit up. “Will you give me another stick fighting lesson today, Father?”
Tora was proud of his sturdy son, but the mention of stick fighting reminded him of his master. He had taught Lord Sugawara the moves and strategies of combat with a fighting stick many years ago when they had both been young and full of energy and laughter. Oh, how sadly things had changed!
“Another day perhaps,” he said vaguely and saw Yuki’s face fall. “Perhaps you and I can exercise the horses later,” he added.
Yuki clapped his hands. “I’ll go brush them now, Father,” he cried and disappeared.
Tora and Hanae looked at each other.
“I feel ashamed,” he said. “I have so much, and the master …” His voice trailed off.
She nodded. “He hardly eats and spends all his time sitting in his dark room. And the children have become so quiet. It’s bad for all of them. What should we do?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. We have all tried. His family and his friends. We’re still trying. I’d better look in on him, but the gods know I hate seeing him like this.”
She nodded. “Stay with him. Talk to him. Mention the children. It may help.”
“I’ll try, but he always sends me away when I remind him of them.”
*
Saburo had spent the night with Shokichi, a prostitute he had met a year ago while investigating the murder of a brothel owner. He was very fond of Shokichi, the first and only woman to treat him as a normal man. The disfigurement of his face that made him look like a goblin had frightened both children and adults.
These days he no longer looked quite so terrifying. He had grown a mustache and beard that hid most of the worst scars and deformities, and he used a paste concocted by Lady Tamako to conceal the rest. Except for one eye that he had trouble controlling he looked almost normal. But Shokichi had liked him even when he was a monster. She almost had not recognized him when he returned from Kyushu and went to visit her.
In the beginning, he had been shy and very careful not to expect anything beyond friendship. In fact, he had kept his distance, merely taking her to a restaurant now and then, or to a temple fair, or for a walk by the river under the late-flowering cherry tr
ees. And there she had finally burst into tears.
Dismayed, he had begged her forgiveness for whatever he had done.
“It’s what you haven’t done,” sobbed Shokichi.
“I’ll do it,” he cried. “Right away. Just tell me what it is.”
That had made her chuckle through her tears. “Oh, Saburo, How could you be so dense? I want you to make love to me.”
He had gaped at her.
“I want you to lie with me,” she had said more insistently. “A man should want to lie with a woman if he likes her. Don’t you want to? Ever?”
He had been speechless with delighted surprise. “Yes, of course, but … but—.” How to explain that he did not want her “services” but rather her love?
Her face fell. “Oh, Saburo. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Is it that you cannot? Is it some wound? Something else those monsters did to you?”
Grinning foolishly, he had shaken his head. His arms had reached for her. And then he had kissed her so passionately that she had gasped, “Come, let’s go to my room now.”
And so Saburo had allowed himself to be seduced under the cherry trees and had made love to Shokichi ever since, as often as he could manage, to make up for years of near-celibacy.
His mind being thus occupied with love and being frequently away from home, he had been less affected than the others by the sadness which hung over the Sugawara compound. But he too had seen what his master had become. Most mornings, Saburo worked at estate matters by himself. On the few occasions when Akitada wandered into his study, he had merely stood for a moment, murmuring “Good Morning,” and then wandered out again. Saburo began to realize that his presence was what drove his master away. So he hurried with his work and left the place to the man who spent most of his time sitting there or on the veranda, brooding.
