I. Parker - The Emperor's woman

“No,” said Saburo, inserting the needle carefully into the lining of his sleeve. “That way people would know you’ve been murdered. He would have inserted it into your ear when you’re asleep. Or into your skull in the back of your head where your hair would hide the small puncture wound. Mind you, it takes skill. Maybe the assassin didn’t get a chance to use it on you.”

Genba thought back to the dark alley and shuddered again. He had caught the man’s arm and then hugged him hard against himself with a wrestler’s hold. He had heard the clinking sound then. “Amida, he had it in his hand!” He shook his head in horror. “And I thought he’d just been relieving himself.”

Tora laughed. “Maybe he was. What did he look like?”

“I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Probably wouldn’t have helped. They look ordinary,” said Saburo. “It’s part of their disguise.” He paused. “I’ve heard it said they don’t kill unless the victim is guilty of some crime and can’t be brought to justice. There’s a code of honor about it. It makes them pretty decent in my estimation.”

Tora looked at Saburo with a frown. “People who sneak up on others when they’re asleep and shove needles in their ears are not decent men. Give me an honest thug and a knife-fight any day.”

Genba, got impatient. “Stop arguing, you two. The assassin has nothing to do with my problem. He’s gone, and Ohiro and I are still desperate. What am I going to do?”

“We’ll all go have a talk with that bastard Tokuzo.” Tora started for the door.

Saburo looked down at his neat blue robe with its black sash and then at Tora, who wore the same clothes. Their master insisted that they dress properly at all times because they might have to accompany him on ministry business. Genba, in charge of the stables, wore his work clothes of short pants, a tunic of brown hemp, and leather boots.

“Better change our clothes first, Tora,” Saburo said. “I doubt the master wants us to represent him in the amusement quarter.”

They set out a short while later in clean but ordinary outfits. Tora and Genba both wore their boots with long trousers tucked into them and loose jackets over their shirts. Saburo had on a dark brown robe, somewhat patched, and sandals on his feet. All three were armed but their weapons were concealed by their jackets or hidden in Saburo’s full sleeves.

As Genba had completed his chores in the stables, they left word in the main house that they would be back in time for the midday rice. At the last moment, Cook pressed a basket on Genba, with instructions to purchase a bream, some cabbages, bean paste, and onions while he was in town. He tried to refuse, but she prevailed.

They attracted stares in the streets. Genba was huge and strode along with enormous strides, while Tora had the sort of looks young women got weak knees over. And Saburo? Well, when their eyes reached Saburo, they gasped and looked away quickly. Children stared at him wide-eyed and sometimes burst into tears. Unhappily, Saburo had a great fondness for children, but when he tried to smile at them, they tended to shriek and hide their faces in their mothers’ skirts.

Genba shifted his basket uncomfortably. He was not at all certain the coming interview with the bastard Tokuzo would end happily.

Saburo looked at the basket. “Why do you always run that kitchen woman’s errands for her, Genba? In most houses, such women do the shopping themselves.”

Genba flushed. “Well, she’s got a lot of work. I don’t mind normally.”

Tora shot him a pitying glance. “The dragon has her claws into poor Genba and enjoys giving him orders. He doesn’t like to offend women. He thinks of them as weak creatures who must be cared for and protected.”

Genba snapped, “They are weak, Tora. They do need our help and protection. What good is a man in this world if he doesn’t look after women and children?”

“Some women don’t deserve such devotion,” Saburo said darkly. “The kitchen woman is such a one. She’s ugly and ill-tempered and her voice grates on my ears.”

The others refrained from pointing out that Saburo was not exactly easy on the eyes either. Tora said, “Exactly! The evil witch used to be after me until she got hold of Genba.” He paused to chuckle. “What do you think will happen when Genba brings home his bride? Will our cook leave her comfortable home and seek a man elsewhere, or will she go after you, Saburo?”

Saburo cursed. “I’ve no time for women. Especially not that fat slug.”

Genba raised his brows. Tora was not so delicate. “I meant to ask you about that, Saburo. Are boys more to your taste? They say that sort of thing is very common in monasteries.”

Saburo gave him an ugly look. “You’re a very stupid man,” he snapped.

“No offense, Saburo. I have a blunt tongue, as you know.”

“I know. And the answer is I don’t like boys that way. But that doesn’t mean I run after women.”

“In some ways you’re a lot like Seimei,” Genba offered. “He was afraid of women. Cook made him shudder whenever she smiled at him.” He laughed.

“Seimei’s a hard man to live up to.” Saburo sounded a little resentful. “The man must’ve been a saint.”

“He was,” Tora and Genba said together. Genba added, “The master thought of him as his father. You see, Seimei raised him, his own father being mostly too busy.”

“Ah, yes. Still, I get depressed every time one of you cites Seimei to me.”

They turned in at the gateway into the Willow Quarter. At this time of day, the place looked a little shabby, the lacquer and gilding on the gate was patched, and the people in the quarter were mostly menials like street sweepers and restaurant porters delivering hot food to overnight guests. The willows, however, showed the first pale green of spring. A few people in loose kimonos were on their way to the bathhouse, carrying their clean clothes rolled up under their arms.

They passed through several streets, Genba leading the way, and turned the final corner. The Sasaya wine house and brothel lay halfway down the street. A small crowd had gathered at its door. Notable among their drab attire were several red coats.

Police.

They halted. Genba, suddenly fearful for Ohiro, said, “Something’s happened,” and started forward.

Saburo snatched at his sleeve to pull him back, but Genba was already halfway to the Sasaya, calling out, “What’s happened? Is someone hurt?”

Heads turned to stare.

Tokuzo’s bully recognized him. He called out, “It’s you again! You were here last night.” He turned to a policeman. “He made threats against my master. He said he wanted to see him in hell.”

The policeman approached. “You were making threats? What’s your name?” He raised himself almost on tiptoe in an effort to look the huge Genba in the eye.

Genba glanced down at him. “What happened?”

The watchers now gathered around them. One said, “Tokuzo’s been murdered. It’s a blood bath in there.”

“Murdered?” Genba’s jaw sagged. He looked across at the gaudy flags and curtains decorated with bamboo and the name Sasaya. His first thought was one of gratitude to the killer. He had done to Tokuzo what should have been done long ago. Men who abused women and forced them to work for them like slaves did not deserve to live. He breathed, “May the Buddha be praised! So that bastard is finally dead.”

“And you’re pretty happy about that, are you?” demanded the policeman, his voice becoming shrill with excitement. He grabbed Genba’s arm, then realized he was hardly the man to hold on to it and called to his colleagues, “Over here! I’ve got a suspect. Quick!”

They were quick, five of them. Two redcoats and three neighborhood constables. The bruiser volunteered his assistance, too. Genba was too surprised to make a move. He looked blankly at the men who had taken hold of him and then back at the Sasaya. “When did it happen?” he asked. His interest in the answer was not great, but it seemed the right thing to say. Part of his mind was busy working out who would now claim ownership of Ohiro’s contract, and whether they might be inclined to take less gold for it.