by I. J. Parker
A pale Kojiro passed a shaking hand over his face as he stared after the disappearing dancers. Touching his arm, Akitada asked softly, “What is it? You look as if you had seen a ghost.”
“A ghost?” Kojiro laughed shakily. “Yes. Or a devil!” He gave a shudder. “It’s the night for it. I thought that first dancer... I could have sworn... heaven help me, but I thought I was looking at Nobuko. That woman will haunt me the rest of my life.”
Akitada exhaled with relief. It had worked. “Relax,” he said, giving Kojiro’s arm a squeeze. “It was no ghost. Yes. That was your brother’s wife. I hoped you would recognize her earlier. Thank the heavens she did not see you and make a run for it.” He turned to Kobe. “You heard? That lead dancer is Nagaoka’s wife, alive and well. The murdered woman was someone else, possibly one of the actresses who left the company about that time. You may recall I questioned her identity.”
Kobe gaped at him. “Is this some sort of joke? Nagaoka himself identified the body.”
“Nagaoka was overwrought and identified the expensive gown he had just given to his wife.”
“But then ...” Kobe’s mind was working furiously. He muttered conjectures to himself. “One of the actresses? Then the actors are involved... but why would the Nagaoka woman ... did she kill the other woman? Why? No, it makes no sense.” He glared at Akitada. “Was this your surprise?”
“Yes. The actor Danjuro was her accessory. The motive, or motives, were greed and a passion for theater. They extorted blood money from Nagaoka and then killed him. Yasaburo was poisoned by Danjuro, who was wearing the costume of the priest, to protect himself and Nobuko. Do you want to make the arrests now or wait until after the crowd has left?”
Kobe’s startled expression changed to one of anger. “You planned this to show off your brilliant detective work and made me look an idiot,” he charged. “Even if you are right, and I don’t for a moment believe your far-fetched tale, how do you expect me to conduct an investigation and arrest here and without constables?”
“Come, there are only two of them. And we have Tora and Genba. Besides, Kojiro and Toshikage will lend a hand. It should not be too difficult to capture two individuals, and one of them a woman.” Kobe looked irresolute, and Akitada urged, “We could at least confront them with Kojiro and see what happens.”
Kobe bit his lip and glanced around. It was completely dark by now. The attendants were taking down the colored lanterns and replacing them with torches. “Very well,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go see what that dancer has to say.”
As they made their way behind the viewing stands to the actors’ tent behind the stage, the booming sounds of the big drum announced the demon chase. The other drums followed, the beat against the taut leather a rising crescendo like approaching thunder. Then the higher notes of the shoulder drums, tapped out with the drummers’ fingers, followed, and unearthly squeals produced by flutes and human voices tore through the throbbing noise until the night air vibrated with the din.
They caught a glimpse of the stage, filled with shrieking, jumping creatures in fearful masks and costumes. Kobe stopped when the drumming paused abruptly and the flutists broke into high wailing trills, A large figure burst into the middle of the hopping goblins. This creature wore a brilliant orange silk costume with embroidered apron and train and fiery red trousers. A huge, snarling black mask with rolling eyes and large white fangs rested on its broad shoulders, and long tufts of red hair shot out of its head like flames, which licked its back and shoulders. The king of demons had begun his dance. The monster jumped and twisted, facing this way and that as if scanning the crowd for victims, its talons slashing wildly about.
The audience screamed.
“The king of the demons,” said Akitada. “I expect Danjuro will soon appear as the demon-slaying general and engage him in fierce combat. Perfect timing to confront Mrs. Nagaoka and force a confession out of her.”
Nobody paid attention to the six men as they skirted the stands and ducked under the rope by the actors’ tent. There was no one about. Most of the actors were on the stage, jumping about and screeching. The red-maned demon king faced off against a figure in gilded helmet and armor. The battle had begun.
Akitada and Kobe slipped into the tent, while Kojiro waited outside with Toshikage. Tora and Genba left to intercept Danjuro when he returned from his performance.
Inside the tent the noise of the drums and shrieks receded, but they walked into the middle of a noisy confrontation.
“I’ll teach you manners,” the little acrobat called Gold shouted, advancing with balled fists toward the tall lead dancer.
Nagaoka’s widow was without her headdress but still wore the pasty makeup, while Gold had stripped down to a pair of full trousers. Both looked murderous.
“How dare you hit our master?” Gold demanded, waving her fist in the other woman’s face. “What kind of filth are you? Uemon’s like a father to us.”
The beautiful Nobuko retreated a step. “You’re fired,” she shrieked. “You and your sister can pack up and leave. And take the old man with you. You’re nothing without Danjuro and my money, do you hear?”
Gold slapped her hard, just as Kobe roared, “Quiet! In the name of the emperor!”
They all jumped and turned to look at them. Old Uemon still sat on a stool, pale, the imprint of a hand stark against his skin. Gold dropped her arm; her adversary stood frozen, a hand raised to her cheek.
“I am Kobe, superintendent of police,” snapped Kobe, glaring around at the cowering women in various stages of undress, “and this is a murder investigation.”
Old Uemon groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“You there,” snapped Kobe, pointing at the tall dancer. “Step over here!”
Mrs. Nagaoka approached slowly. “What’s all this about?” she asked. “I know nothing about any murders. I just joined these people. Whatever it is they’ve done, it has nothing to do with me.”
Kobe snorted. “That’s what you think!” He reached back to lift the tent flap. Kojiro, followed by Toshikage, ducked in and faced the woman. Kojiro nodded.
“You!” She stared at Kojiro, her eyes suddenly wide with fear.
Kojiro made her a mocking bow. “Surprised to see me, sister-in-law?”
She drew herself up. “You are mistaken, Kojiro. I may look like Nobuko, but I’m her sister Yugao. And you killed her! How is it that you’re allowed to run around free? Where is the justice in this country, when a man can murder a woman and soon after consort with the superintendent of police?” She glared at Kobe, who looked dumbfounded.
Akitada said, “It won’t work, Mrs. Nagaoka. Your sister died years ago. Your father tried to confuse us the same way when we asked him questions about your husband’s murder. He did it to protect you. Even in prison he suffered flogging without revealing your murderous plot. But you sent your lover Danjuro, disguised in his Fukko costume, to kill your own father so he would not reveal your identity.”
She paled slightly but raised her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My husband and I know nothing about any murders. We are actors. My father gave out the story that I had died because he was ashamed of me for running away with Danjuro.”
Kobe frowned and looked at Akitada.
Akitada shook his head. “No. Your sister has been dead for years. You only joined Uemon’s Players a few weeks ago at the Eastern Mountain Temple. You took the place of the girl Ohisa after you and Danjuro killed her. As for running away, you ran away from your husband Nagaoka, not your father. And after the murder, you sent your father to collect blood money from him.”
A shocked muttering passed among the other women. Gold cried, “So that’s what happened to poor Ohisa!” She glared at Nobuko. “May you both rot in the worst hell for what you did. I remember how Danjuro came to us that morning, bringing you along, claiming Ohisa had left to go home, but that you were a dancer who happened to be on a pilgrimage—some pilgrimage, you she-d
evil—and that you’d fill in until he could find another professional. It was all lies, wasn’t it? What did you two do to Ohisa?”
There was a moment’s silence.
Then Akitada said softly, “Yes, Mrs. Nagaoka. What did you two do to Ohisa?”
She had no time to answer. The tent fabric parted and, in a flurry of orange and red silk, the demon king shot in. He slid to a halt, painted eyes goggling and red mane flaring wildly about the snarling features. Nobody said anything. With a grunt, he turned and ducked out again.
Mrs. Nagaoka cried out and made a move to go after him. Akitada cursed under his breath, caught her by the arm, and tossed her back to Kobe. Shrieking, she twisted, biting, scratching, and clawing like a wild animal, as Kobe and Kojiro struggled with her. Gold ended the tussle by planting her balled fist squarely in the other woman’s face and breaking her nose. Gushing blood, the tall dancer crumpled to the floor.
Kojiro looked aghast and bent to stem the bleeding.
“Leave her,” snapped Kobe harshly. “Go see what’s happened to her lover!” Snatching a sash from among the discarded costumes, he tied the unconscious woman’s hands behind her back. Toshikage knelt, following his example with her feet.
Akitada, aware only of having made a crucial mistake, waited just long enough to see the woman secured, then rushed out of the tent after Kojiro.
All hell seemed to have broken loose. Drums, flutes, screeches, and screams created a cacophony of noise. Lanterns and torches flickered and bobbed about as dark figures of demons and guests rushed pell-mell this way and that. Amid the shrieks, laughter mingled with curses and shouts. The demon chase had turned into a crowd-participation affair. Kojiro stood hesitant, turning his head this way and that. He was about to plunge into the melee when Akitada grabbed his arm.
“Listen,” he shouted over the din, “I was wrong. Danjuro is not the general; he’s the demon king. The demon king, do you hear? Stay away from him and tell the others!”
Kojiro stared at him blankly. In the flickering light his eyes gleamed strangely. “What?” He pointed at the milling crowd. “There’s no time for that! They’ve all gone mad. Yoshiko and the ladies are not safe.” He rushed off.
“Wait!” Akitada shouted after him, but it was too late. Kojiro had been swallowed up by the darkness and the crowd.
Akitada followed more slowly, dodging running figures of demons and guests, his eyes scanning the bobbing heads for the red-maned mask of the demon king. At one point, he rushed after a masked figure in orange, tackled it, and brought it down, only to discover he had caught one of the minor goblins who had become entangled in a red streamer. Immediately three or four spectators threw themselves upon them, wielding paper whips and rice straw brooms with abandon. Dizzy from the struggle and the wine-filled breath of the celebrants, Akitada staggered up. He plunged back into the swirling, shrieking crowd, but conditions deteriorated when someone began to extinguish lanterns, and the crowds helped themselves to torches in their mad pursuit of demons. The light diminished to isolated flames, and the screams now held real terror and pain.
Akitada gave up and cursed his carelessness. He had failed. Danjuro would hardly stay in his costume and more than likely had already fled the park.
Behind the actors’ tent, he found the discarded mask of the demon king. He also found Tora and Genba, who stood holding a torch and staring dismally at a weeping man in gilded armor who sat on the ground between them, clutching his groin. An elaborate gilded helmet and a broken wooden sword lay beside him.
Tora saw Akitada first. “Wrong man,” he said. “Poor bastard.”
“What happened?”
“We thought he was that snooty bastard Danjuro and had some fun with him.”
Genba bent down to the weeping man and patted his shoulder. “We’re sorry,” he said. “We thought you were someone else.”
The man sniffled. “You bastards!”
Akitada asked, “Is he hurt badly?”
“He’ll be all right,” said Tora. “We didn’t hit him near as hard as Miss Plumblossom kicked me.”
“Well, it was my fault,” said Akitada, fishing a gold coin from his sash and pressing it into the sobbing man’s hand. “I told you to look for the general, but Danjuro played the demon king. And by now he knows what’s up and got away in the confusion.”
Tora cursed,
Genba helped the unfortunate general to his feet. The actor held the coin to his eyes, then made Akitada a deep bow before scooping up his helmet and limping away.
Genba asked, “What about the woman?”
“Kobe has her safe.”
A new burst of screams drew their attention to the viewing stands. Someone had managed to set one of them on fire, and red flames shot up from the wooden, fabric-covered construction.
Appalled, Akitada cried, “Come on!” and rushed off.
But already panic had seized the crowd. People were running everywhere, and acrid smoke drifted on the night air. The noble families were departing in terror, their ox-drawn carriages adding to the confusion. Everywhere drivers where shouting and whipping their oxen or other drivers. The crown prince and his court had withdrawn to the gallery of the lake pavilion, whence they were fearfully gazing at the fire among the stands.
Their own frantic progress was impeded by the stream of people leaving the grounds. Flames cast a lurid light on the milling scene, smoke obscured other areas, actors in demon costumes dodged in and out of the crowd. The demon chase had become real.
They came to a halt when three carriages suddenly collided. The ensuing hysterics of the elegant ladies inside and of the plunging oxen outside stopped all traffic and blocked the way to the Sugawara stand. Directing Tora and Genba to lend a hand, Akitada climbed the tall wheel of one of the carriages to peer over its roof. He caught a glimpse of Seimei outside the screened enclosure. The old man was walking anxiously back and forth, scanning the crowd. Thank heaven all seemed well. Jumping back down, Akitada lent a hand to the drivers. After a few minutes of concentrated effort, the carriages finally pulled apart and moved off. Akitada turned toward their viewing stand.
But Seimei was gone and instead Kojiro was there, backing away from a figure in red and orange silk. As Akitada looked, the demon king lunged forward and pushed the much smaller Kojiro so violently into the screened enclosure of the stand that it toppled inward.
Shouting for Tora and Genba, Akitada tried to push through the milling crowd, but another carriage blocked his way. The huge wheel almost ran over Akitada’s foot, and when he jumped out of the way, he fell over someone behind him. Scrambling up and forward again, he saw that his stand had collapsed and its occupants were in full view of the crowd. Danjuro jumped about among fallen benches, flinging the elderly Seimei aside and making for the cluster of women in the corner. Akitada vaulted over some debris in the road and shouted. He saw Danjuro dodging a bench which came flying through the air. The bench was followed by Miss Plumblossom’s large bulk in a flutter of black silk skirts and red ribbons. She collided violently with the fiery demon king, bringing both of them down with a crash that Akitada could hear over the noise of the fleeing crowd.
Pushing people out of his way, dodging the hooves of oxen, and squeezing between two carriages barely in time before one of the large wheels almost caught him again, Akitada managed finally to reach his family. To his relief, Tamako and Yoshiko huddled together on a bench, their arms around each other and Yori. Kojiro stood over them, his face flushed and an ugly bruise marring one cheek.
They all looked at a pile of overturned seats where Miss Plumblossom sat among the broken boards and splintered bench legs. She had lost her wig, and her bald scalp shone in the torchlight. Her gown was ripped down the front, and a broad streak of mud decorated her ruddy face. But she looked triumphant.
“Miss Plumblossom,” gasped Akitada, sliding to a halt, “are you hurt?”
Groping for her wig with its red ribbons, she grinned. “Not a bit, sir. Look, I caught m
e the head goblin himself. If that isn’t good luck, I don’t know what is.”
Seimei staggered over, rubbing his shoulder and holding his head. “Thank heaven you’ve returned, sir. This madman attacked Mr. Kojiro and then ran into the ladies’ enclosure. But fleeing from the tiger’s den, he ran into the dragon. If it hadn’t been for Miss Plumblossom, I don’t know what we should have done.”
Akitada stepped closer. On the ground, pinned between Miss Plumblossom’s massive haunches, lay a figure dressed in orange and red silk. Danjuro was on his back, his eyes closed and his face contorted with pain. Miss Plumblossom chuckled and stuck her wig on his head. The actor jerked away and started bucking and moaning. His struggle had perversely sexual overtones. Dressed in his orange finery, with the wig on his head, and straddled by a bald Miss Plumblossom, he resembled the female partner of a lecherous priest.
