The Fires of the Gods

by I. J. Parker

  The girl smiled at the beggar and told the one called Koichi, ‘Leave it be, Pa. He’s a stranger. We don’t want trouble.’

  Koichi looked over the beggar’s head at Tora and glowered. Then he gestured towards the beggar, and Haru filled a bowl for the old man. Koichi and his companions lumbered back to their seats, and Tora sat back down.

  The beggar received his bowl of food, bowed his gratitude to Koichi and the girl, and sat down beside Tora to eat.

  The girl Haru said, ‘Koichi’s my father. He gets protective.’

  ‘It does him honor,’ Tora said. He was not sure what he regretted more: her father’s affliction or her relationship to him.

  She looked a little wistful. ‘He doesn’t like me seeing men.’

  Tora nodded, grinned. ‘That does make it hard, but maybe we can talk outside?’

  She smiled a little. The beggar belched and returned his bowl for a refill.

  Tora fished out another three coppers and gave them to her with a polite bow. ‘The soup was delicious, miss,’ he said aloud. ‘Please forgive my bad manners.’ He raised a hand to the three deaf mutes, nodded to the beggar, and left.

  Outside, Tora stepped around the corner into the alley and waited. The stars had disappeared and he heard distant thunder. The girl did not come out. Maybe she was busy. Or maybe she had never intended to. A gust of hot wind stirred the dust of the street. Tora sighed and decided to go home.

  But first he went back to check the road between the warehouses. Lightning flickered and he saw that the stretch lay empty. It was really a mere lane that passed between two rows of warehouses and storage yards. He walked down quickly, checking the walls. When he found the place where he had cowered, he waited for more lightning. Then he saw it, a deep slash in the weathered wood exposing pale splinters. It was the sort of gash the knife in his boot would have left, had he thrown it hard from a short distance.

  So! Some bastard had tried to kill him.

  He was not a likely object for robbery. Whoever had followed him had had another reason.

  Shaking his head, Tora hurried homeward.

  The storm moved in very quickly. Thunder rumbled, and flashes of lightning threw the streets into an eerie light. When Tora reached Suzako Avenue the first large drops splattered into the hot dust at his feet, and the trees tossed and turned in the wind. The darkness and the storm reminded him of the night of the fire. He looked around and sniffed the air. There had been too many fires and not nearly enough rain. Then he saw it: a thin line of red above the roofs of the merchants’ quarter to his right. It was unreal and hellish in this darkness and with the thunder and lightning of the storm. He shuddered. Perhaps the gods were angry after all.

  Suzako Avenue had been empty of people, but now Tora heard a shout and saw four our five dark figures running. They were coming towards him, laughing as they came. Lightning flashed and lit up the excited faces of boys. They passed him and disappeared.

  Tora turned down a side street. The rain was coming down more heavily. As he ran, Tora thought one of the boys had looked vaguely familiar. He could smell the smoke now and saw the red glow flickering and fading. Near the gateway to the quarter, he collided with another youngster. Like the others, he had been running.

  He was strong and agile, but this time Tora was not drunk. He clasped the struggling figure against him, had a weird feeling of going back in time, but held on. He managed to twist the youngster’s arm, bringing him to his knees. No point in being gentle. The boy cried out.

  ‘Why are you running from that fire?’

  ‘I’m not,’ moaned the other and made a valiant effort to buck upward and throw Tora off. Tora twisted the arm a little harder, and the boy went limp and sobbed.

  ‘Be still,’ Tora snapped, ‘or I’ll break your arm. I think it was you who stole my gold the other night. And you were running from that fire, too.’

  ‘It wasn’t me. Let me go or I’ll shout for help.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ Tora put a little more pressure on the arm and got another groan and more sobs, but the boy did not cry for help.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘W-what do you want?’

  ‘My gold. Think. Near Nijo? That’s where you picked up my gold, didn’t you?’

  A pause and then, ‘Maybe. But I didn’t mean to take it.’

  Tora gave a snort, twisted again, and got another wail. ‘You didn’t mean to pick up my gold?’ he sneered.

  The boy ground his teeth. ‘I was going to give it to you. You can have it back, if you let go.’

  Tora laughed. ‘I think I’ll let you explain to the constables.’ He shouted, ‘Hey, police! Over here!’

  The boy jerked and wailed, ‘Don’t! Please.’

  A flash of lightning lit up the boy’s face. Tora had caught the handsome boy from the Western Market.

  The one that looked like the Kiyowara heir.

  ‘Who are you?’

  The boy groaned. ‘Tojiro.’

  Tojiro’s blue and white robe also looked familiar. Tora had last seen it in an alley, in the passionate embrace of Haru. Tojiro certainly got around.

  In his astonishment, Tora relaxed his hold. The boy twisted free, and a moment later he was running down the street.

  A NOBLE HOUSEHOLD

  The late Lord Kiyowara’s major-domo was called Fuhito. Akitada had not paid much attention to him on his last visit and made up for it now. He was a slender, reserved man in his early sixties and exhibited a sense of extreme propriety. As was appropriate in a house of mourning, he wore a pale hemp robe over the dark-brown silk that was probably his usual attire. In a great noble house, even the major-domo could be a gentleman, perhaps a member of a junior branch of his master’s family.

  True to custom, Fuhito was stiffly formal. He spoke in a refined voice, and his speech was that of an educated man. His bow and his welcome to Akitada were precisely gauged to the occasion and to the visitor’s rank. He led Akitada to his own office, which resembled a gentleman’s study, and had him served with refreshments before their conversation began.

  Akitada was impatient with such punctiliousness. Violent death seemed to him to call for a relaxation of customs. ‘I expect Lady Kiyowara has informed you of the purpose of my visit?’

  Fuhito bowed. ‘She has. We are to answer all your questions truthfully. I have so instructed the other servants. You are to be given access to everyone and shown around the property.’ He seemed to want to say something else, but decided against it.

  ‘Do you know who came to see Lord Kiyowara the afternoon of his death?’

  ‘I do. I keep myself informed of such things—’

  Akitada interrupted, ‘I mean, do you know from your own observation?’

  Fuhito looked taken aback. ‘Not personally, sir, but the servants keep me informed. I assure you, they are very well trained.’

  ‘Servants may lie for their own reasons or they may come to mistaken conclusions.’ Akitada thought of his own aborted visit.

  Fuhito shifted a little. ‘I assure you, sir, our people are very honest. I know them all.’

  It was all very proper, but Akitada sensed that the man was holding himself in an iron control. He cast about for some way to penetrate the shell of loyalty and found none. Eventually, he said, ‘I am sure you wish to see your master’s killer found.’ Fuhito bowed his assent. ‘Being a trusted member of the household surely means that you were in your master’s confidence?’ A slight hesitation, then another bow of agreement. Akitada wondered why Fuhito never changed the fixed expression on his face. The man had superb control – or else he had something to hide.

  ‘Since life is never without its disagreements, you might inform me of anyone who has quarreled with Lord Kiyowara, or who had a reason to wish him dead.’

  If such a thing were possible, Fuhito stiffened even more. He compressed his lips tightly. Akitada knew from experience that this meant the major-domo refused to reveal some important and relevant piece of information. Most like
ly it was something that implicated him or reflected badly on a family member. To Akitada’s surprise, however, the major-domo spoke.

  ‘You will have heard that Lord Kiyowara’s son was upset with his father,’ he said. ‘Lord Kiyowara refused to let the young master become a soldier. You must not read too much into that. Those of us who have watched the young lord grow up, know that there is no viciousness in him. That particular disagreement you may therefore ignore. It happens – happened regularly; at least once a month.’

  Akitada acknowledged this with a slight smile. ‘You are right that I have been told about the quarrel, but Lady Kiyowara seems to take it more seriously than you. In fact, I believe she expects me to find a more likely candidate quickly, before her son is arrested.’

  Fuhito’s eyes moved around the room. ‘Quite so, My Lord. I’m sure you know that a man of His late Lordship’s temperament and position in the government may make many enemies that his household knows nothing about. Did not Her Ladyship tell you this?’

  ‘But the murder happened here, in Lord Kiyowara’s house. If the murderer came from the outside, either someone admitted him or he came by stealth. Since it happened in the daytime, the former is more likely. That is why I hope one of the servants will know who the killer is.’

  Fuhito blinked. ‘I must warn you that there are nearly thirty house servants here. And another eighty-five have various duties at the gate, in the stables, the kitchens, the bath house, and the gardens.’

  It was an impossible proposition, and the major-domo knew it. Akitada said coldly, ‘I expect a man in your position has questioned them already. Perhaps you would share what you have learned?’

  Fuhito looked at his clenched hands. ‘Not everyone, sir. But I did speak with those on duty in the house, at the gate, and in the gardens. I made a list of all the visitors who entered the compound that day. Neither the servants in the house nor in the gardens observed anyone who was not supposed to be there. The list is in the hands of the police.’

  ‘Did you make a copy?’

  Fuhito flushed. ‘No, sir. I did not know it would be needed. I have some rough notes, which I used to compile the final list.’

  That was better. Akitada asked to see the notes, and Fuhito went to a bamboo stand with shelves, where he took several sheets of paper from a writing box. These he passed to Akitada with a bow.

  Akitada studied them closely. Fuhito wrote in an excellent hand. In fact, his brush strokes marked him as university-educated, though sometimes graduates of the Imperial University were forced to teach in the provinces, and Fuhito might have benefited from one such instructor.

  He saw his own name, and that of the poet Ono. In each case, the purpose of the visit was noted. He himself was identified by his former rank and position and his intention ‘to speak to His Lordship on a matter connected with the Ministry of Justice’. Ono was unidentified, perhaps because he was a familiar and regular visitor. He had paid a call on Her Ladyship. The others were tradesmen, messengers from various offices of the Greater Palace, and people from the Kiyowara estate. They had been seen by Fuhito or the head cook, because they had brought supplies or received orders.

  When Akitada had read the notes carefully, he looked up. Fuhito met his gaze. ‘I see the name of His Highness, Prince Atsunori. He and I met briefly in the waiting room. Why is the purpose of his visit missing?’

  The major-domo seemed astonished by the question. ‘His Highness was shown into the waiting room by mistake. I was horrified when I discovered what an ignorant servant had done and rushed to remedy the situation. His Highness should not have been asked to wait. He was angry.’

  Akitada recalled the air of outraged importance that had enveloped the Minister of Central Affairs. ‘But why not list the reason for his call? Did you also leave that off the list you gave the police?’

  ‘I saw no need to demand a reason from someone of such exalted rank. He probably stopped on his way to the emperor to remind Lord Kiyowara of some small matter. I took him in myself and waited outside the door. He left after only a moment. His lordship was alive then.’

  Ah, that helped narrow things, though Akitada, in a perverse humor, was a little disappointed that the prince was cleared of suspicion. He said, ‘Thank you. May I ask you to make a list for me also? And then perhaps you might show me the house and the room where your master died. As you know, I never got farther than the waiting room the day I came here.’

  Fuhito accepted his notes back. ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘Did you by chance attend the university here in the capital? Your calligraphy is excellent.’

  This time, the major-domo blushed with pleasure. The man’s eyes became moist. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he stammered. ‘Yes, I was so fortunate. Those were happy days. Long gone, I’m afraid.’

  Seeing so much nostalgic emotion, Akitada felt like apologizing, but he desisted. Fuhito jumped up, tucked the notes away, and rushed to open the door for him.

  The tour of the house was enlightening about the dead man’s wealth and his hopes for the future. Clearly, he had aimed for palatial appointments, rejecting true elegance like the austere simplicity of the emperor’s own residence. Costly fabrics, objects, and paintings abounded. The room where he had died was no exception.

  More to the point, Akitada suspected that it had been cleaned after the police left and the body was removed.

  In addition to Kiyowara’s own desk, there was a smaller second desk meant for a secretary rather than a scribe. Akitada asked about this and was told that the secretary had not been employed yet, but that Lord Kiyowara had been casting about for a suitable man.

  ‘Why was the job not offered to you?’ Akitada asked. ‘Surely your background would have made you an excellent choice.’

  Fuhito bit his lip. ‘Not at all, sir. I am too old. His Lordship hoped for someone younger and with connections among the court nobility.’

  Was he bitter that he had been passed over? Or relieved? The position would surely have meant constant exposure to Lord Kiyowara’s whims. Akitada found Fuhito increasingly interesting. What were his true feelings about his late master? So far, he had not seen signs of grief.

  Since the room had been cleaned and rearranged, he could learn nothing from it. No doubt the police had noted whatever clues there might have been. Akitada went to look at the scrolls and books on Kiyowara’s shelves. Much of it was what you would expect to find: the great poetry collections, the law books, the Records of Ancient Matters and some other chronicles, translations of the Chinese masters, and the court calendars.

  Akitada turned away from the books. The desk was handsome, but bare of anything but the writing set. ‘Where are Lord Kiyowara’s papers kept?’ he asked.

  ‘His official documents are not in this house, and the estate documents are kept at the provincial mansion. I myself keep those documents that pertain to household expenses.’

  ‘Then Lord Kiyowara did not work here?’

  ‘His Lordship used the room for meetings.’

  ‘Who served as his secretary on those occasions?’

  ‘It was rarely necessary to keep notes. His Lordship’s son occasionally sat in on a meeting. His Lordship wrote his own letters.’

  That was very curious. A man as wealthy as Kiyowara should have had both secretaries and scribes at his disposal. It sounded very much as if Kiyowara had not trusted anyone with the transactions taking place here. Akitada eyed the desk thoughtfully. ‘Who found your master’s body?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Ah. Could you describe the scene?’

  Fuhito thought a moment. ‘He was on his side near the desk. His face was in a puddle of blood. And his head – his head had wounds, one dreadful wound just there.’ Fuhito gestured to his right temple. ‘His arms were by his sides, and one leg was straight, the other bent at the knee.’

  ‘And where was he?’

  Fuhito indicated a place halfway between the desk and the doors to the garden. ‘His feet were towar
ds the doors.’

  Akitada frowned, then went to the closed doors that must lead to a veranda. Opening these, he stepped out. The garden stretched before him. He saw that this spot was around a corner from the place where he had first seen Ono step from the shrubbery. The sound of women’s voices came from the other side of a bank of shrubs.

  ‘Were these doors open when you found your master? I recall it was a sunny day, and the doors of the waiting room were open to the garden.’

  ‘I believe one of the doors was slightly open. His Lordship usually kept them closed when he expected visitors, but it was a warm day.’

  Akitada nodded and turned back to scan the room one more time. ‘Did you see anything that could have been used as weapon?’

  Fuhito shook his head. ‘The police captain asked that. I was very shocked at the time and tried to bring him back to life, so I did not pay attention. Alas, I was too late. The police said he died from the wounds to his head.’

  ‘That means he must have been struck with something. Do you know if the police found the weapon that had been used?’

  ‘No, but I don’t think so.’

  The wounds and their location suggested someone lashing out in a sudden fit of fury while facing Kiyowara. An unplanned act? Akitada thought of the son again. But what had he used? There was nothing that was both heavy enough and easily grasped and swung. But perhaps the murderer had come with a blunt tool, say a heavy cane, and taken it away after the murder. In that case he would have had murder on his mind. Alternatively, the weapon had been something he’d found here, used, and then carried away.

  Fuhito had withdrawn into silent propriety again. All along, he had seemed too detached. Perhaps he was simply being careful not to give something away that might involve him or another.

  Akitada asked, ‘Is anything missing from the room?’