I. Parker - Death of a Doll Maker

Biting his lip, he rose to scan the books he had brought with him from home. The poem must be something he had read somewhere. Fragrant Orchid had copied it down, perhaps to send to Tachibana. Women did such things; it proved how well-read they were.

An hour later he found the lines in the Manyoshu , that compendium of sadness and loneliness expressed by men and women parted from each other while in government service. It was not a suicide note but simply an expression of regret that the lovers had missed a few more hours together.

Of course, they had already come to the conclusion that Fragrant Orchid had been murdered, but now he had proof the note was not what it seemed to be. The murderer had been a little too clever trying to make her death appear to be suicide.

Akitada sat back down and stared out the open door at the night sky. What sort of man was this killer of a governor and a reigning courtesan?

He wondered briefly if a woman could have killed Fragrant Orchid. Jealousies among courtesans were common enough, but in this case it seemed unlikely. The timing of Fragrant Orchid’s death shortly after she had sent for him linked her murder with that of Tachibana-assuming he was dead.

Where was his body?

Akitada got up again and started pacing the floor of his room, thinking furiously. Surely Tachibana had been killed just before he embarked for the capital. He had disappeared somewhere between the tribunal and the harbor of Hakata, most likely in the city. His body might well be in Hakata.

Against all logic, Akitada thought of the abandoned well. It was too much of a coincidence. But why not? The tangled web of crimes in Hakata had been marked by ruthlessness as well as carelessness. He doubted the killer who had dealt with Tachibana and Fragrant Orchid was ignorant. The ruse he had used to separate Tachibana from his servants and the message sent to the captain were the work of a clever and plotting mind. The same mind was likely to leave a poem to convince provincial police that the courtesan had killed herself. But he had been forced to use underlings because he did not want to dirty his hands or thought himself above menial chores. Arrogance had dulled his caution. Yes, such a man existed, and tomorrow Akitada would ride back to Hakata and ask Lieutenant Maeda to investigate the abandoned well more thoroughly.

Feeling slightly less defeated, Akitada went to take his bedding out of its trunk. Under it he saw his flute, and on an impulse, he took it out. He went into the small courtyard outside and sat down on the narrow ledge. The blossoms on his little tree shimmered pale in the darkness. The night air was scented, and the starry sky stretched northward. Far away, above the black band of forest, a faint hazy glow marked the city, and beyond that stretched the Inland Sea with its islands.

He played from memory the songs that had pleased his own family, now far away, and also two that had been Tora’s favorites. Perhaps this way he might reach out to them and let them know how much he cared. But tears rose to his eyes again, and eventually he lowered the flute.

It was too much like playing a dirge for the dead. Wiping his eyes, he rose, went inside, closing the shutters, and lay down to sleep.

“I heard you playing your flute,” Saburo said the next morning as he came into Akitada’s room just as his master was brewing himself a cup of tea. “Here, let me do that, sir.”

Akitada handed over the utensils. Saburo appeared drawn and tired. “I’m very glad to see you,” he said. “Did you get in late?”

“Just before you finished playing. I didn’t want to trouble you, seeing it was late.”

“Thank you. I don’t suppose either of us got much sleep. Any news?”

Saburo passed Akitada his cup of tea and made himself one. “Nothing, sir. I broke into Feng’s store. Nobody was there, and no sign that Tora had been there.” He reached into his gown and brought forth a slender book. “I took one of the account books. I hope I did the right thing?”

Akitada stretched out a hand. “At this point nothing matters but Tora. You had a reason to take it, I assume?”

“Yes. My knowledge of the finer points of keeping business records is sketchy, but this was buried under a mass of trivial paperwork in a locked chest in Feng’s office.”

“Ah!” Akitada opened the slender book. It was in Chinese, but not the type of Chinese characters he had learned in his youth and employed when writing official documents. He frowned as he tried to make out the columns of words and numbers which covered every page. The words must be names, he thought. Customers? Suppliers? Occasional comments were added in smaller, less careful brush strokes. He guessed this had to do with orders, customers, and amounts, but he had no idea what the goods were. He laid the book aside and said, “It may well explain what Feng has been up to, but it will take time to decipher. You had reason to think it contained illegal transactions?”

Saburo nodded. “The ordinary account books lay stacked by date on a bamboo stand. I thought these entries might not be for the eyes of others.”

“Yes, why else hide them? Excellent work.” Akitada finished his tea, picked up Feng’s account book, and rose. “Well, I’m going back to Hakata today. It occurred to me last night that the well may contain other surprises.”

Saburo got up also and collected the cups. “Surely the police would have found those, sir. The constables have climbed down there twice.”

“I don’t have much faith in the local constables, especially if assigned to an unpleasant task. The body of the woman was apparently well advanced in decay, and Tora’s clothes positively stank of death.” He suppressed a shudder and bit his lip. “They would not have stayed down there any longer than they absolutely had to. You know how most people feel about death.”

Saburo stared at his master. “You are thinking of your predecessor, sir?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me, given that all the murders and abductions seem to be connected to a handful of the same people.”

In the tribunal office, Akitada asked Mori if he had any knowledge of the Chinese spoken by the immigrants. To his satisfaction, the small clerk nodded.

“We have to work with registers and reports from Chinese merchants and local businessmen,” he explained with a smile. “Their Chinese writing bears little resemblance to our own official documents. I’ve often wondered if that is because they are poorly educated, or if official Chinese dates back to a long time ago while the people now speak differently.”

“A very acute comment, Mori. I suspect it’s a little of both. But in any case, will you have a look at this?” He passed Feng’s private account book to the old man. “I’d like to know why Feng kept this well hidden.”

Mori blushed with pleasure and bowed. “I’m honored, your Excellency. Who would have thought I might be asked to provide assistance in such a difficult case?”

Lieutenant Maeda looked as weary as Akitada and Saburo, but he listened with raised brows to Akitada’s request. “The men would have mentioned such a thing, sir,” he said dubiously.

“Don’t forget they had little light to see by and were sent down for a very specific thing, the body of a woman in the first instance, and a bundle of clothes in the second. Also, some time had passed. For all we know, other debris may have been dumped there.”

Maeda nodded. “Yes, it’s possible. But the murder of a high-ranking government official? Surely it will bring the army down upon us.”

“Frankly, Maeda, that’s the least of my worries. With a string of murders and the disappearances of a governor and my assistant, Hakata and its inhabitants deserve no less.”