The Crane Pavillion

by I. J. Parker

  “There’s no evidence the dead man worked for Kanemoto. And Kanemoto wasn’t home at the time.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The house was empty, and the neighbors saw him leave.”

  “And they were certain about the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then they lied. One of my men had been watching Kanemoto’s house.”

  The warden stared at him. “Why would he do that?”

  “Kanemoto is a notorious gangster, and he seems to be involved in the murder of a moneylender.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “I think, sir,” he said, “that you must speak to the police about this. It’s out of my hands.”

  It was clear that this man would not answer the question, and that was an answer of sorts. Kanemoto was not interfered with because the warden either feared or respected him. Perhaps it was a little of both. Akitada thanked the warden and turned to leave. He had not handled this very well. He should have approached the subject of Kanemoto more casually.

  Never mind. He was in the willow quarter and should be able to get some information elsewhere. He thought about this, and it occurred to him that such assignations were made through a go-between. A question directed to one of the messenger boys running past brought him to a house where such a business was arranged.

  In spite of his wet condition, he was received with smiles and bows by a fat man in a green-figured black silk robe. “What a night!” he said. “The gentleman wishes for one of our famous beauties to help him pass the storm in comfort and pleasure?” he asked in an oily voice, after leading Akitada to a small room that was quite luxuriously furnished with thick tatami and silk cushions.

  Akitada collapsed with a groan and looked around. It struck him belatedly that this would cost money. He said, “Well, I haven’t made up my mind. I hoped you could assist me with your expertise.”

  The fat man bowed more deeply, and murmured, “Certainly, certainly. You honor me, sir. But first perhaps a little wine and some tasty snacks? If you’ll forgive me, your lordship looks very cold and tired. It wouldn’t do to spoil a whole night of exquisite pleasure by falling asleep.” He chuckled deep in his chest, making a sound that resembled distant thunder. Clapping his hands, he instructed a maid to bring refreshments.

  The refreshments arrived while they were still exchanging casual comments on the weather and on politics. The wine was excellent, and Akitada, being parched and having resisted Ohiya’s wine, drank thirstily. He might as well get his money’s worth, he thought, and reached for the platter of pickled vegetables and nuts. The wine was excellent and so were the snacks. It would clearly be expensive, but he was beginning to relax and feel warm. Akitada remembered the piece of silver he had left Ohiya. He could not remember if he had another one. Never mind. This was the place to get information.

  “Perhaps you’ll make some suggestions,” he began.

  The fat man smiled broadly. Gesturing to the other pillow, he said, “If you permit?”

  “Of course.”

  The man sat, or rather plummeted to the ground, his stiff robe making a protesting sigh. “What sort of pleasures would your lordship require?” he asked.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, though I’d like a more refined person. And, of course, a beauty. If she has musical talents, I would be pleased, but I don’t insist on it. A conversable girl, though. Someone who pleases with her tongues as much as with her body.”

  The go-between rubbed his hands. “No problem, sir. No problem at all. There are many such. We have the most talented and exquisite beauties in the country.”

  Akitada doubted this. “Please describe them.”

  What followed was a lengthy account of the appearance and talents, both musical and amorous, of the leading courtesans of the day. Akitada listened, but looked dissatisfied. When the supply had been exhausted, he said, “”What of the one they call the Phoenix? Did you mention her?”

  The fat man chuckled. “Ah, the gentleman is well informed. Yes, Chiyo is superb. She is a choja, a courtesan of the first rank. But I’m afraid she’s not available.”

  Akitada looked disappointed. “In that case, I’d better return another time.”

  The fat man became agitated. “Oh, sir, that won’t do. That won’t do at all. Chiyo has been bought out, you see. She now lives in a fine house near the Rokujo Palace.”

  “Who bought her out?” Akitada demanded angrily.

  The other man blinked. “Don’t be upset, sir. These things happen. I’m sure we can find another woman who is as beautiful and talented. Chiyo, while beautiful, was no longer in her first youth. And then as a choja she was very proud. Many gentlemen complained about her haughty manner and the demands she made. Believe me, sir, Chiyo would not have suited at all.”

  Akitada rose and staggered. “Thank you for your information. Perhaps another time. This is not a good day.”

  The fat man stumbled up and bowed, wringing his hands with disappointment and making other enticing suggestions as he followed Akitada out.

  26

  Walk into Danger

  An icy gust of wind hit Akitada as he emerged from the ageya. There was less rain mixed in with the cold air, but he was already drenched, his robe heavy with moisture, and he shivered. But his tiredness was worse. He worried if he was getting sick. He was so sleepy and his head felt so fuzzy by now that his surroundings had become a confusing blur. He limped out of the quarter, bumping into people and staggering once. No doubt they thought him just another drunk.

  Outside the quarter, the street was dark and empty. An occasional man or woman hurried homeward with a lantern, its light making wet walls and shrubs glisten. Akitada turned north in search of the Rokujo Palace. The Palace was a minor imperial residence that took its name from Rokujo Avenue, or Sixth Avenue. It occupied large grounds and was frequently inhabited by imperial women. That a courtesan had moved into the neighborhood must raise some eyebrows when people became aware of it. Otherwise, the locale was so far removed from the willow quarter and its activities that a man like Kanemoto would find it a perfect place to hide his demanding mistress. It was also another long walk.

  When Akitada reached Rokujo Avenue after having had to rest several times, he saw that the palace took up two city blocks but was hidden behind high walls, a two-story gate, and tree-covered grounds inside. The trees tossed in the wind, and their wet leaves covered the street.

  The other houses on Rokujo Avenue were substantial and probably belonged to high-ranking officials or important families. These would not be within the reach of a gangster, no matter high rich or powerful. The side streets were another matter. Here there were tidy houses in small gardens, belonging perhaps to minor officials or military officers. And here he would be more likely to find Kanemoto and the woman called the Phoenix.

  His feet slow and his mind dulled by exhaustion, he hardly knew where to start. Fortunately, his search was brief. He encountered a servant who was hurrying homeward with a barrel of sake on his shoulder. On Akitada’s question about new neighbors, he pointed to a house at the end of the street.

  Like the others, this house hid behind a tall fence. Its gate was closed, and Akitada could see only the roof of a building beyond. But someone was home, for light shimmered in the wet branches of a tree. Akitada pulled a rope, and somewhere inside a small bell sounded.

  Through the latticed window of the gate, Akitada could see a garden path of stones laid into moss. It curved around a bush and disappeared. Suddenly, a small figure skipped around the bush, a young girl, exquisitely dressed in many-colored silks, her wooden sandals clacking on the stones. She was holding a large piece of oiled paper over her head with both hands and her long hair was flying behind her. She was smiling at him.

  For a moment, Akitada was transported to an elegant restaurant in Hakata and a small girl like this one waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs to give him a note from a beautiful woman. That woman had subsequently died because he had not accept
ed her invitation.

  This young girl, like the other one, was a courtesan-in-training and served a ruling choja. He knew he had found the right house, and was about to meet the woman who had witnessed a murder. It had been surprisingly easy in the end.

  As he thought this, the gate opened, and the smiling girl peered up at him.

  “Please take me to your mistress,” he said, smiling back at her.

  “You are expected, sir?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said firmly, then felt guilty for lying to a child. It was ridiculous, because this young girl was learning things that were much worse than telling a lie.

  She bowed and stepped aside as he walked in. Suddenly exhaustion seized him again and he could barely walk. The long day and night and the many miles he had traveled had taken their toll. His old injury caused a shooting pain in his left knee every time he put weight on it. Gritting his teeth, he limped after the small girl, aware that he made a very poor figure as a prospective lover.

  He hardly saw where he was going until they reached the main room, a spacious affair with tatami mats on the floor, green shades across shutters in the back, and an inordinate number of clothes racks covered with silks in all colors. Three women were busy unpacking the many trunks that stood open and revealed more luxurious clothing. Akitada took in the scene at a quick glance. Two of the women were maids by their ordinary clothing, but the third was the one he had come to find.

  Chiyo, or the Phoenix as she was being called in the willow quarter, resembled the bird of paradise in her multi-colored silks, but there the comparison ended for Akitada. He saw a tall woman of above average weight—though he guessed at the latter because her face was round. Her elaborate clothing hid much of her body. He supposed that many men would find her attractive, even seductive. Her height and bearing were impressive, her features even, and she had long, glossy hair, now tied in back with a red silk ribbon. But he did not think her graceful enough, nor her figure particularly pleasing.

  She looked at him with an expression that was part irritation and part curiosity. He wondered if she would turn away a nobleman simply because he was wet and his visit was inconvenient. Before he could speak, she said, “What gives me the pleasure, sir?” and made him a slight bow.

  Well, she had some manners in any case. Still, if Saburo’s tale had been accurate, she was the mistress of a notorious gangster, had witnessed a murder, and had used her knowledge to extort this house and payment of her debts from the murderer. The little girl’s readiness to admit him also suggested that she was not faithful to Kanemoto.

  He said, “You are the courtesan Chiyo, known as the Phoenix?”

  She smiled. “I am a private person now.”

  “I believe you know a man called Kanemoto. Is he here?”

  The smile disappeared. “Nobody is here but a few women.” She gestured at her scattered belongings. “We have just arrived. I think you must have come to the wrong house.”

  Akitada realized he was too tired to think straight. “Do you mind if I rest for a moment?”

  At her gesture, one of the maids brought him a silk cushion. She said, “Please rest, sir. Perhaps a cup of wine?” Without waiting for his answer, she clapped her hands. “Quick, Kimi and Keiko. Wine and snacks.” The maids left, and Akitada sank down on the cushion with a slight groan. She came to kneel across from him.

  “You are exhausted, sir. You are not ill, I hope?” she said, eyeing him searchingly from rather fine eyes.

  “No, not ill. Just tired. Thank you. I shall be all right in a moment. Perhaps water would be better than wine.” He had had too much wine already.

  She rose smoothly and went to fetch it. He sat, and rested, emptying his mind. Somewhere a gate closed, and Akitada fell into a brief doze.

  A moment later, he awoke. The Phoenix was back, pouring him a cup of water from a pitcher as one of the maids set out a tray with small rice cakes, nuts, and a flask of wine.

  He drank thirstily and held out the cup for more water. She refilled it. Slowly, he came to his senses again. It was most pleasant, sitting here in a warm, dry house surrounded by young women. A delightful scent emanated from Phoenix, who had moved a little closer. The maids returned to their unpacking.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to focus on his hostess. “You are very kind.”

  This was not what he should be saying to this woman.

  She bowed a little. “Not at all, sir. It gives me great pleasure to do this. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, I was just tired and thirsty,” Akitada said, pleased at such solicitude. It felt good to rest and now that he had found her there was no hurry. But it would not be easy to get this woman to come with him and tell her story to the police. He wished he had money to offer her.

  No, he could not pay for her testimony. It would be tainted. For that matter, somebody might already suspect that she had been paid to accuse Kanemoto. He tried to ponder this difficulty while she made light conversation and he gave casual answers. To his surprise, he found he was sipping wine and enjoying the warmth suffusing his belly. With a great effort, he pulled himself together.

  “I came to ask you for your help,” he said.

  “But of course, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  “It involves telling the police about Kanemoto.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Who is this Kanemoto?”

  Akitada was frustrated. She had decided to play the innocent. “There are witnesses who say you are Kanemoto’s mistress. One witness knows you were with Kanemoto in his house when Kanemoto strangled a man.”

  She pretended to be shocked. “What a dreadful story! Please don’t frighten me like this.”

  Akitada’s head felt fuzzy. He gestured at their surroundings. “Don’t lie. Kanemoto gave you this house and paid your debts to keep you quiet. I’m afraid it won’t do. I will not have a man who works for me saddled with a gangster’s crime.”

  Outside a gate slammed again, and suddenly he was alert, recalling the sound from earlier. Someone had left then and was now returning. Who? And why?

  The answer came immediately: she had sent one of her maids for Kanemoto. He must get out. Rising to his feet, he looked around. “Where’s the privy?”

  She looked up at him. “Wait a moment and I’ll show you the way.”

  He heard footsteps approaching, heavy ones. Not one of the maids, but a man, no, several men. Akitada turned, and Phoenix snatched at his robe to stop him. He tore himself free and ran to the green shades. Pushing them aside, he flung back a shutter. Outside lay a dark garden, no more than black silhouettes of trees and shrubs beyond a veranda railing. Behind him he heard male shouts and the woman’s voice. He vaulted over the railing, surprising himself and landing in a small shrub of some kind. Without regard for his robe, he pulled free to the sound of tearing silk and ran to the far end of the garden. He hoped to find a gate to a back alley there.

  By now he could hear his pursuers thrashing about the shrubbery, as he moved desperately along a tall fence looking for a way out.

  When he found the gate, they found him, too. There were three of them, big black shadows against the stormy night sky and the light from the distant house. They grabbed him, and he felt a searing pain in his upper back and another a little lower, His knees buckled. They let him drop.

  “Got him!” shouted a man’s voice.

  From the distance another man asked, “Dead?”

  Rough hands turned Akitada over. He was limp.

  “Yup!” shouted the first voice.

  “Fine.” The second voice was closer now. “Get rid of the body. Leave him behind one of the other houses. Be careful and come back quick.”

  They grabbed Akitada’s feet and pulled him away, out through the gate and along a dirt road. He might have been glad that he was not face down, but by then he had trouble breathing and tasted blood on his tongue. They had stabbed him in the back. Twice. And now he would die in an alley somewhere b
ehind a whore’s house.

  27

  Rising Mist

  Tora woke when the guard unlocked the cell door and admitted Superintendent Kobe.

  Kobe ducked in, nodded to Tora, and told the guard, “Get the chains off him.”

  Tora stood, and when the chains fell off, he rubbed his wrists, and smiled. “So, what happened, sir?” he asked. “You’re letting us go? Did you arrest Kanemoto?”

  Kobe, looking gray and tired, shook his head. “No such luck. Saburo stays, but you can go since you weren’t there when the murder happened and only came in the morning to look for Saburo. The neighbor saw you.”

  Tora’s face fell. “Oh! You mean this wasn’t my master’s doing? What about the blind girl?”

  “Nothing has changed. She’s still going to trial.”

  Tora rubbed the sleep from his face and brushed his hair out of eyes. Kobe was headed away down the jail’s corridor. Hurrying to catch up, Tora asked, “How can you let this happen, sir? She’s an innocent woman who will die for this while the real killer gets away with it.”

  Kobe turned an angry face to him. “That’s why I’m setting you free in the middle of the night. It gives you a few hours to find the killer or a witness who can clear the blind girl.”

  Tora stopped in disbelief. It must be near morning. Was he to perform miracles? Kobe walked away. After a moment, Tora shook his head. He could not do this alone. He must speak to Akitada, see if he had found a clue. Then perhaps they could work together.

  He walked home through the faint drizzle as fast as he could. It was not only pitch dark, but a slight fog hung in the night air. The Sugawara house was silent and remote when he reached it.

  Genba, half asleep, admitted him, after he had pounded on the gate for a while.

  “Tora? What happened?”

  “Kobe let me go. Where’s the master?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t come home. I’m worried, but there’s no one here but me.”