The Emperor's Woman (20 page)

Tora shuddered. It was surely enough to make Miyagi become an angry ghost. “She have any family?”

“Her grandparents came to bury her. Tokuzo paid for the funeral, and they thanked him.”

Well, most likely then they would not have hired a killer. They must be poor. And that would be true of the rest of the women. Tora was becoming discouraged. “Did anyone else die?”

“Only Ozuru. One of the customers threw her over the railing. She broke her back.”

That could not be laid directly at Tokuzo’s door. “Listen, Shokichi, could the women have pooled their savings and hired an assassin?”

Shokichi laughed bitterly. “No. Ohiro and I, we were always talking to the others about ways of getting out of our contracts. They liked the idea but we didn’t know anyone who would do it.”

“I expect some of the women have lovers or husbands. Or brothers. Could one of the men have killed Tokuzo? The way he was mistreating them, surely someone got angry enough.”

Shokichi looked away. “The men are cowards, and the girls don’t tell their families. They’re too ashamed.”

Nothing.

With a sigh, Tora got up. “The girl Ozuru?” he said. “Where was she from?”

“Yasaka village. I went to her funeral. Tokuzo allowed some of us to go. I think he wanted us to think that it wasn’t his fault.”

“Why didn’t one of you tell the police? Or at least the warden of the quarter?”

“The police?” Shokichi snorted. “You forgot what happened to Ohiro?”

Tora said nothing.

“The warden knew. You’ve got to report deaths. But who’s to prove it was Tokuzo’s fault?”

Tora nodded. She got up, a tall, slender girl. Not pretty, but he saw character in her face. “Are things better now?”

“A little. The bastard’s mother is just interested in the money. She doesn’t beat us. I swear he got his kicks out of hurting women.”

Tora nodded. “Well, I’ll go talk to Miyagi’s people.”

“She grew up here. I’m not sure where. She was a timid thing. Real quiet. You’d have thought she was a nun the way she kept her eyes down and wore nothing but dingy clothes. Tokuzo beat Ozuru, too, but it was a customer who threw her over the railing. He said she was stealing his money. I never believed that. If he’d said she was a dead fish in bed, it would’ve been different.”

Something about Shokichi’s description made Tora pause. “Who would know about them? Tokuzo’s mother?”

She nodded. “Or the warden. We’re all registered there.”

“Right. I forgot. Thanks, Shokichi.”

She came to the door with him. “Good luck, Tora.”

The warden of the quarter was a new man. He eyed Tora coldly but eventually provided an address for Miyagi, along with the information that her death had been listed as the result of illness, and Ozuru’s as an accident. “The owner said she was drunk and fell down the stairs.”

Tora grimaced, muttered, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” and left.

Miyagi used to live in a very staid neighborhood of small neat houses, built close together to conserve space. A fire trap, thought Tora, but there were signs that the people who lived here were aware of the danger. He saw buckets at every door and water barrels at every corner. Clearly, they were looking out for each other. He eyed the house the dead woman had lived in. Somehow it did not look like the family was desperate enough to sell their daughters as sex workers. He walked through the small gate and knocked.

A young woman with a baby on her hip stuck her head out of the door.

Tora bowed. “Please forgive the trouble. I’m looking for the family of a young woman called Miyagi.”

She smiled at him. Tora almost always got smiles from women. “Miyagi? No. Never heard of her. You could try the next street.”

But Tora knew he had the right place. “Have you been here long?”

She shook her head. “My father-in-law bought the place from some people called Satake. About a year ago. But they were just two old people.”

Tora thanked her and asked for the warden’s house. It was two blocks away, and the warden was on his roof, repairing some wooden boards held down by large stones.

“Satake?” he asked, peering down at Tora. “Yes. The old people sold the house. They left and I heard they’ve both died. Him first, then the old lady a little while ago. Very sad. Why do you want to know?”

“Just checking the tax register,” Tora lied and gave the man a wave.

This trail had ended, and his next call required a horse. He would have to ride all the way to Yasaka village in the foothills to find out if Ozuru had any living relative who might have taken revenge for her death. He wasn’t very hopeful, and returned home.

An Answer of Sorts

S
aburo returned to the beggars the following night. He found the priest Kenko in a corner of the temple ruins that served as the beggars’ place of worship. The reason he found it was that Kenko had lit a number of candles and was dusting the altar. He had evidently salvaged odd pieces of statuary and religious objects from the rubble and set them up on a broken table covered with pieces of silk and brocade. The effect was at once flamboyant and sad, but the flickering lights lent the arrangement a certain eerie sparkle.

Saburo bowed deeply several times, first to the chipped Buddha presiding in the center of the arrangement, and then to the priest.

“Forgive me, Reverence,” he murmured.

“Ah, Saburo,” said the old man, turning. He wore a multi-colored surplice over the red silk gown and a green trouser skirt. Like his altar, he was a colorful sight, though all the garments were sadly wrinkled, stained, and even torn in places. “You’ve come back to us. Will you stay?”

“Sorry, no, Reverence. I have found work and a place to live. But I need some help.”

“All of us need help,” said Kenko, frowning. “It sounds as though you manage better than most of us. How then can I help you?”

“The man who attacked me committed a murder. My friend and his wife are now in jail because the police think they did it. I must find the real killer. Jinsai saw him, but he won’t tell me about it.”

Kenko said nothing. He stood quite still and looked away into the night, cocking his head as if he were listening. Saburo heard nothing and thought the old man might be hard of hearing or had somehow drifted off into some meditation. He said a little louder, “Reverence? Did you hear me?”

“Buddha hears all, but not all requests are answered.”

Saburo was getting angry. “That isn’t just. You must tell Jinsai to help me. Buddha cannot let the innocent suffer for the guilty. What sort of faith is that?”

Kenko looked at him. “You were a monk once; you tell me.”

Saburo hissed in frustration and flung out of the makeshift Buddha hall.

As he headed toward the street, he almost collided with Bashan. The blind masseur was entering the ruined temple compound with his medicine case strapped across his broad chest. His shaved head gleaming faintly in the light of the distant fires.

They stopped simultaneously. Then both bowed, smiled, and passed each other, Bashan tapping his way with his staff.

As Saburo headed for his lodging, he wondered if he should have thanked the man. But Bashan had seemed in a great deal of hurry. Perhaps he had been called to someone who was sick.

Back at Mrs. Komiya’s, he lay down on his bedding and fell deeply asleep.

The next morning, he woke to a realization. His failure to elicit information from the beggars and their priest could only mean one thing: they were protecting one of their own. He felt angry about this. The assassin had taken advantage of him, left him with a sore head, and was responsible for the trouble his friend Genba was in.

But he could not think of any way to get the beggars to talk.

He got up and did Mrs. Komiya’s chores. He carried in wood, fetched more water, swept outside her front door. Then he peeled some vegetables. As a reward, she gave him a bowl of gruel.

He put his good clothes back on and set out across the city to the Sugawara residence. The gate was closed, and all was quiet within. They must be strapped for servants by now. He prepared to wait for Tora. Someone—and he hoped very much it would be Tora—must soon appear to do the day’s shopping.

He was proved right. After a short time, the small gate set into the large one did indeed open, and Tora stepped out. He did not have the cook’s basket, however, and set off at a determined pace. Saburo hurried after him.

When Tora heard running steps, he swung about, an arm half raised against an attack. But seeing Saburo, he dropped it and instead flung both arms about him for a powerful hug. “Where have you been, you slippery bastard?” he scolded, grinning widely. “You’ve given me no end of trouble, brother.”

Saburo gasped for breath but smiled. Being called “brother” warmed his heart, but he asked coolly, “Oh? What did you want?”

“Don’t be so cursed proud. I wanted to make sure you were all right. The master’s already sorry he sent you away.” Tora stepped back and eyed Saburo through narrowed eyes. “You look very fine for being out-of-work and homeless. I looked for you among the beggars.”

“I heard.” Saburo sniffed. “So that’s what you think of me? No good for anything but begging in the streets? I’ll have you know I already have another job and a place to live. No, it’s not among the beggars.” In truth, Mrs., Komiya’s backroom was not a great deal better, and his job paid barely enough to keep himself alive.

Tora’s face fell. “You’ve found another place already? You don’t want to come home?” he asked.

Home?

Saburo relented. “We-ell,” he admitted, “I might be open to other offers.”

In the silence that followed, Tora eyed him suspiciously. “You’re putting me on,” he accused. “I would’ve thought you’d want to help us get Genba out.”

“I do. How is he? I’ve been trying to find the man he ran into outside the brothel. I think he’s the one who killed Tokuzo and knocked me out. The beggars told me you were asking about me.”

“They told me nothing. What did
you
find out?”

Saburo shook his head. “Same here. And that means they know who he is. He’s one of them, and they’re protecting him.”

Tora whistled. “So that’s it. We’ll make them talk.”

“I don’t think we can. I wish we could talk to Genba again. I don’t remember anything about my own run-in with the fellow.”

Tora brightened. “I want to see Genba, too. Come on, let’s see if we can get in. I know a guard who might swing it for us. This sort of thing used to be easier when the master and Kobe were still friends.”

Saburo muttered, “That’s my fault.”

“No, nobody’s fault. It’s just the way things are sometimes. It’s happened before. The master and Kobe, they’re both as stiff-necked as they come.” He chuckled. “If it wasn’t for low-lives like us, nothing would ever get done. In this world, you’ve got to bend with the storm, or you break.”

“That’s true enough, but you can’t build houses from bamboo. I deserved what I got.”

“Never mind arguing about it now. Let’s see what we can do at the jail.”

At the jail’s main gate, Tora asked for Gonjuro and was pointed in the direction of the jail’s kitchen. Gonjuro, a short man with a round belly, was slurping down a bowl of soup. When he saw Tora, he held up the bowl. “Hey, Tora. Get you fellows some soup? It’s had a bream dipped into it and is pretty tasty.”

Tora laughed. “No, thanks, Gonjuro. Too early for the midday meal, and you look like you should skip a few.”

Gonjuro finished his soup and patted his belly. Then he caught a better look at Saburo, and his jaw dropped. “Great heaven,” he gasped. “What did you do to your brother?”

Both Tora and Gonjuro thought this hilarious and bent over in paroxysms of laughter. Saburo glowered.

“He’s my friend Saburo,” Tora managed after a moment. “As smart a fellow as you’d want to meet even if he isn’t pretty. We both work for the Sugawara family. We came to see Genba. How’s he doing?”

“Fine. I guess it’s all right for you to see him. Lord Kobe won’t let your master in any longer.”

Saburo looked stricken and muttered again, “It’s all my fault.”

The guard looked interested but Tora said quickly, “We’re just buddies. You know how it is. I’d be much obliged.” He passed the guard a coin and added, “Drink to our health tonight and that things will turn out well for us.”

The guard grinned, tucked the money away, dropped his empty bowl in a basket of other dirty utensils, and led the way. Inside the jail building, he took a key from a hook, told the guard, “Visitors,” and proceeded down a long row of cell doors. He stopped halfway to a chorus of shouts from other cells and let them in. “I’ll be just outside,” he assured them and locked them in.

Genba staggered to his feet, his face breaking into a slow smile. “Tora, Saburo! How good to see you. I thought the whole world had forgotten me. How’s everything? How’s the master? And the little ones?”

“All well,” said Tora. “And you and your lady love?”

Genba’s face fell. “I haven’t heard about Ohiro. It worries me. What if they’re beating her? Can you find out something, Tora? Can you help her? She’s such a little thing. She can’t take it.” Tears began to roll down his face. He sniffed, wiped at them, and turned away, ashamed.

Tora muttered a curse under his breath. “They won’t let the master in. He tried. I’ll have a talk with one of the guards. Don’t worry. Ohiro’s stronger than you think.” They all knew the beatings well enough. Tora had tasted the bamboo himself.

Saburo shrank into himself. “It’s all my fault,” he said again. “Forgive me, Genba.”

Genba turned and embraced him. The chain rattled softly as he moved; they had allowed him enough length to take the few steps. “No, no,” he said patting Saburo’s back. You tried to help and lost your place. And that’s my fault, not yours. You have to forgive me.”

Tora snapped, “Stop it. It’s nobody’s fault, but maybe Kobe’s for not trusting any of us after all those years. What good is a man who has no faith in his friends?”

They all stood silent for a few moments, pondering events and shaking their heads.

“Let’s sit,” said Tora.