The Emperor's woman

by I. J. Parker

  It should have been remote, safe, and very private, yet a murderer had known about the secret meetings and lain in wait.

  For the first time, Akitada considered whether the prince might have been the real target, and that Lady Masako, arriving early, had caught the assassin waiting. He might have been forced to kill her because she would have warned the prince. But why had he not waited for his real prey afterward?

  Atsuhira had been very late. Perhaps, the murderer, shaken by what he had just done, had been too terrified to face a night in the place where he had killed the young woman. Most people believed an angry ghost could not only haunt but kill the person who had been guilty of their death.

  Yes, it could have happened that way, but this did not make his job easier. It complicated it further.

  He inspected the villa first. The main door was secured with a lock. He walked around the building to the back. Here the land dropped off, and a broad veranda jutted out. He climbed the steps and turned to take in a vast view of hills and mountains, blue and misty, all the way to the distant capital, which beckoned like a golden jewel far below. No doubt, this prospect was why the villa was here, that and its inaccessibility. Had the prince brought his other women here also?

  Akitada turned to the shuttered doors that ran along the back of the house. These, he found, opened easily. He flung all the shutters back to get light into the interior and entered.

  The space had been subdivided with partial walls to make four rooms. The largest of these contained thick grass mats, two lacquered trunks, a few silk cushions, and a small lacquer desk evidently used to eat from, for it still held some clean bowls and ivory chopsticks. He saw also a lantern, two oil lamps, and two candle sticks with candles. A large brazier stood near the fire pit. Yes, this humble wooden house had a fire pit like any small farm house. It would have kept the room comfortable for romantic meetings in the middle of winter. The fire pit still contained charred timbers.

  A thin layer of dust covered everything.

  There were no painted screens here, but on two of the walls hung scroll paintings depicting deer and a family of foxes.

  Akitada went to the trunks and opened them. Both contained bedding of luxurious silks and thick padding. He did not see any clothes. Apparently, the lovers rarely spent more than a few hours here.

  Except for that last night when the prince had been detained.

  What must have gone through Lady Masako’s mind? Had she worried about being found out if she spent the night here? But perhaps it had no longer mattered. Her pregnancy could not have been hidden much longer.

  Whatever Kosehira’s role had been in the delay, the prince was the more to blame. He could surely have left at the usual time, had he really wanted to. This again spoke to Atsuhira’s irresponsible behavior toward women he claimed to love.

  Apart from the dust and a lot of faint footsteps, the room was quite tidy, except that the cushions were not stacked neatly. Instead they lay oddly scattered, as if someone had kicked them about. Perhaps Kosehira and Kobe had done this when they searched the villa. He would have to ask.

  Next, he looked at the other three rooms. One must have served as a rarely used kitchen. It held supplies of lamp oil and some wood to make a fire. A barrel contained water, but dust and scum had settled on the surface. The other two rooms were uninhabited, their wooden floors bare and very dusty. Here there were also scuffed tracks. Again, perhaps Kosehira and Kobe had left these, or the caretakers, though there was not much evidence of caretaking. In one of the rooms, various wooden staffs called bo were stored. They were of differing lengths and had perhaps been used by the prince and his male guests for practice bouts. He was about to turn away when he saw a tiny bit of something blue moving against the white-washed plaster wall. He went closer and found a few threads of blue silk attached to a nail protruding from a support beam. A draft of air from outside had made them move. It seemed strange that someone should have walked just there where there was no door.

  And then he saw a slightly darker spot on the dark wood floor a few feet away from the wall and the blue threads. He licked a finger and bent to rub at it. It came away faintly reddish brown and smelled of blood. There was very little, just a few drops and a faint smear. If he had not seen the movement of the blue silk threads, he would not have noticed them. Now he squatted beside them and glanced from them up to the threads. He wished he knew what Lady Masako had worn that night, because the image in his mind was of the young woman cowering against the wall, trying in vain to escape her attacker.

  Eventually, he stood and looked once more around the room. He could not rid himself of the feeling that a violent encounter had taken place here. Perhaps it had started in the main room, where the cushions had been kicked aside. Whoever had come in had found the young woman and frightened her. She had fled, hotly pursued, and she had been cornered just here.

  But, of course, it might have been altogether different. There was nothing to show when or how the blood had got there and the blue thread could have come from anything.

  He left the house and walked the steep path to the promontory. It was not far and a very pretty walk among trees and boulders. He could hear the waterfall before he reached it. The rocky site gave him an excellent view of the cascade which originated in a cleft to his left and plunged down in a series of steps, each misty with white spray, until it reached a small, shallow pool at the bottom. From there the water made its way down the mountain as a burbling stream.

  An ugly memory intruded, as he looked down. His pursuit of Morito, the killer of the lovely lady Kesa, had brought him to a waterfall like this one, a famous place for suicides. He had expected Morito to have killed himself in remorse and had climbed down to look for the body. Morito, too, had been involved an ill-advised romance. Only in his case, the man had killed the woman he loved.

  Could the prince have killed Lady Masako? Had she become adamant about marriage, and had he foreseen the fury of Lady Kishi and the subsequent loss of protection he had enjoyed from the family of the regent? The more Akitada thought about it, the more feasible this scenario became. The caretaker couple had seen the prince arrive after Lady Masako. Perhaps there had been a quarrel, and he had lashed out. She had fallen and, thinking her dead, he had taken her to the promontory to suggest a suicide. Yes, it might have happened like that. He wished he could ask Kosehira what they had talked about before the prince had left for his tryst.

  Thinking glumly about the situation, Akitada returned to the villa. He wandered around the house and stood looking out at the view. The solid ground continued for twenty feet or so and then descended abruptly.

  He was not quite sure why he went to look over the side. Perhaps he wondered that the young woman had not been tossed over here, rather than from the more distant promontory. He saw right away it would not have suited the killer. It was not a precipitous drop as on the promontory, but rather a steeply stepped descent of rocky outcroppings to a depth far greater than that of the waterfall pool. Here and there, stunted shrubs and trees clung to the rock and rubble. Any of these could have caught a body heaved over the side. On this rough mountainside, the chances of the young woman’s clothing becoming entangled were very high.

  Besides, the idea had been to suggest suicide.

  As he stood looking down at the rocky surface of the mountain, he saw a slender, polished bo caught in a struggling bush. It was an odd thing to find clinging to the mountainside. Even from the distance, it looked like one of the fighting sticks in the empty room.

  He took off his hunting coat and started to climb down.

  He reached the bo without too much trouble and saw it was a sword-length practice staff. Remembering the traces of blood in the villa, he leaned forward to examine it. The polish was badly chipped, showing paler wood beneath. And there on the underside, he saw what looked like a small stain as well as two or three long hairs. If it was proof that Lady Masako had been attacked with this weapon, the killer likely had rid himsel
f of it by tossing it down the mountain.

  He leaned forward and stretched out a hand to grasp it when he heard a noise above him. He looked up, saw a dark shape outlined against the sky. Then a large object hurtled down and struck his head before he could jerk away. Shocked and blinded by pain, he twisted. The rocks under his feet gave way, he slipped, arms flailing, and started to tumble down the mountain. Dirt and rocks shifted, sharp objects tore at him, and then he lost consciousness.

  Panic

  Saburo returned to his work for the rice merchant and his lodging with Mrs. Komiya. Tora went home, kissed his wife and son, and saddled a horse for the trip to Yasaka village. Genba stoically faced another interrogation. All three were in better spirits after their meeting in the jail.

  Tora’s journey, while pleasant enough in the springtime weather, produced little in terms of results. Yasaka village turned out to be no more than a hamlet of rustic farmhouses gathered among pine trees on a slight hill. All around them stretched rice fields, most already flooded so that the village looked like a small island in a broad sea. The road to it led along a narrow dam between fields and was almost like crossing a lake on an extremely long bridge. The notion amused him, and he felt once again the pull of the simple peasant life. How good it would be to live in such a place, peacefully, close to the land, sheltered by the gods.

  Reality was otherwise: Ozuru’s family was large and very poor. Theirs was the smallest of the houses and was in poor repair. The thatched roof had rotted in places and collapsed inward so that the rain had gotten in and driven the family into one corner where the wooden floor was still sound and where they lived together behind ragged straw mats suspended from ropes stretched between roof supports.

  The oldest male was the grandfather. He was too old to do any work. Three boys were still young, but there were seven or eight females of all ages. They apparently did most of the work. Tora guessed the children’s father had died, leaving his elderly parents and his wife to cope as best they could. It explained why Ozuru had been sold to Tokuzo. Poverty forced people to sell their daughters into prostitution and their sons into the army. He came from the same background and understood.

  His questions about Ozuru met with surprise. Yes, their poor Iku-Ozuru had been her professional name-had died. It had been her karma. She had died because she had done something bad in a previous life. A great pity, for the girl had done well for herself in this one. She’d come for a visit, dressed in fine clothes, and brought them money. Those had been good days, but it had pleased the gods and Ozuru’s karma to make her fall and break her neck. A great pity.

  Tora left them some money and turned homeward. The trip had been a waste of time. Ozuru’s people clearly held no grudge. Rather the reverse. Somehow, Tokuzo, Ozuru, and their own wishful thinking had left them with the impression their daughter had lived a life of pleasure and plenty. They had quickly sold two more girls, but that money was gone already, and the two girls had not come back with gifts.

  Feeling glum, Tora hoped his master had thought of other possibilities. There must be something he could do. Somewhere there was a man who had hated Tokuzo enough to kill him.

  To his disappointment, the master had not yet returned from a visit to the prince’s villa. As it was well past sunset and quite dark outside, this was a little unusual. Tora turned his tired horse over to the boy he had hired to fill in in Genba’s absence. The kid was slow and spoke with a stutter, but he knew enough to feed and water the horses and clean the stable.

  Then he went to see Lady Tamako. She seemed calm enough about the master’s absence. Tora assumed the trip to the villa must have been more interesting than his own. He settled down to a good meal with his family and an enjoyable bedtime with Hanae.

  Early the next morning, he stepped out into the yard to a glorious blue sky and birdsong and washed at the well. When he turned, he noticed something white lying among some weeds near the outer wall. He would have to speak to the boy about keeping the place clean. It was a large stone with some paper attached to it. He went to inspect it and found the paper was folded and had been tied to the rock with twisted hemp twine.

  Someone must have tossed the rock over the wall. Since he had returned after dark the day before, it was not at all clear when the missive had arrived. He hesitated a moment, then untied the paper to read it. The message was brief so he could make out its meaning quite well.

  Those who meddle in the affairs of His Majesty will die.

  He saw neither signature nor superscription, but assumed it was meant for the master and took it into the main house. His master, however, was not in his study. The room was dark and empty.

  Frowning, Tora went next to her ladyship’s quarters where her maid was just throwing open the shutters.

  “Hope you slept well, Sumiko,” Tora called out. “Is the master inside?”

  “No. Did you look in his room?”

  “He’s not there. Didn’t he come home last night?”

  They stared at each other in dismay, then the maid turned and ran inside. A moment later, her ladyship appeared, pulling her robe hastily about her.

  “What is it, Tora? Has my husband not returned?”

  “I don’t think so, my lady. Did you expect him last evening?”

  “Yes. Something is wrong, I think. He would have sent a message.” She frowned.

  Tora hid the message behind his back and gulped down his fear. “I think I’d better saddle the horse and go looking for him,” he said.

  She clutched the robe to her. “Yes, you’d better, though it’s probably nothing. Perhaps the horse went lame.” She paused, then added, “Take a sword, Tora.”

  Tora’s eyes widened as he digested that.

  She saw his surprise. “He may have made enemies trying to clear the prince. Perhaps he ran into someone like that.”

  That sealed it.

  Tora brought forth the paper and extended it to her. “I’m sorry, my lady. I just found this inside the wall. Tied to a stone.”

  She read the message, bit her lip, and said, “If someone left this overnight, it may not have anything to do with his being late. Most likely it’s just an empty threat.”

  Neither believed this.

  Tora said, “They may have left it before last night. I wasn’t here yesterday and got home after dark. And it was hidden behind some weeds.”

  “I see.” She thought a moment. “I think I must go call on Superintendant Kobe. But you’d better be on your way. And be careful. Do you know where the villa is?”

  “I think, so.” Tora bowed and left for the stable at a run.

  Tamako returned to her room and dressed swiftly, while Sumiko sent the boy for a palanquin. Taking some money from Akitada’s chest, she got into the palanquin, telling the bearers to take her to police headquarters.

  Her arrival there attracted a curious crowd. Highborn ladies were not expected to have business there. She stayed inside the palanquin and sent a message to Kobe.

  Kobe emerged moments later, looking shocked. He bent to peer into the palanquin. “Lady Sugawara? I didn’t believe it when they told me. Has something happened?”

  “Yes, Superintendant. Forgive this unceremonious visit, but I didn’t know what else to do. Akitada has disappeared, and I’m afraid something may have happened to him. I’ve sent Tora after him and that meant I had to come here myself. We are a household of women and children now.” She added the last rather pointedly.

  He was not pleased. “What exactly do you mean, he has disappeared?” he demanded.

  His tone shocked her, though she should have expected it. Suddenly she felt both helpless and angry. Tears rose to her eyes and spilled over. She brushed them away and explained. “Akitada left yesterday early in the day to visit the prince’s villa in the mountains. He expected to return the same day. But he hasn’t come home, and Tora found this in our courtyard.” She passed the crumpled note out of the palanquin with trembling fingers.

  Kobe, whose face had t
urned red with embarrassment at her tears, read it. He said, “I see. I’ll send some of my men up there. The old couple may know something. Don’t worry. It’s probably nothing. He may have extended his excursion. Or perhaps his horse has gone lame. It’s a rough track.”

  “He would never delay his return without telling me,” she said thickly, wiping more tears away with her hands, and hating the fact she could not control them.

  Kobe beckoned over an older policeman. “See to it that Lady Sugawara has an escort home and then station five men at her house for protection.” He turned back to Tamako. “Please calm yourself. I’ll do everything I can to bring your husband back.” He cleared his throat and tried to look stern. “Really, he ought not to put you to such worries. What is he thinking of?”

  She managed to say in a firmer voice, “You were his friend once and should know Akitada will always take risks to right an injustice. He told me about this case because he knew it might be politically dangerous. I support him in whatever he decides to do.”

  Kobe looked away. “Yes, ahem. Well, you’d better go home now. We’ll see to it.” He gave a signal to her bearers who picked up the palanquin and trotted off.

  Tora pushed his poor horse unmercifully. No more leisurely trotting like on the way to Yasaka village. No more pleasurable viewing of the countryside. He had nearly worn out the beast when the road began to climb into the mountain and he had to slow down because of loose rocks on the path. He worried he might have taken a wrong turn. This poor track seemed unlike anything an imperial prince would travel, let alone one of the emperor’s women. Eventually he dismounted and led the horse. He had not seen a soul for miles and should have asked direction from the last peasant he had passed a long time ago.

  When he reached a hut where an old man was sunning himself on the front steps, he was relieved. He walked over, calling out, “Greetings, grandfather. Is this the way to Prince Atsuhira’s villa?”