I. Parker - Death on an Autumn River

The other man sighed. “Yes. Quite so, but it makes it harder.” He called one of the clerks, who went to the shelves of document boxes and brought two to his master. The postmaster riffled through the contents and took a list from each. “Ah, I see,” he muttered, frowning as he compared them. “Yes, a person called Miyoshi called in on the sixteenth day of the month to post a letter. As for renting a horse or boat . . .” He switched to the second list. “Ah, yes. Here he is again. He took a boat to Kawajiri.” He looked very pleased with himself. “Does that solve your problem?”

It did not. Tora did not have to pretend chagrin. “Looks like the master has been cheated. I don’t suppose you remember any details?”

The postmaster chuckled. “Maybe. Seeing the list brought it back to me. A young fellow, handsome and well dressed, a little like you, in fact, except he wore no boots and had no sword? He didn’t look at all like a crook. More like a student. You know, good class, well educated, naive. And he was poor. He asked about the cheapest rates and then he counted his coppers very carefully. That’s what made me pay attention. I remember thinking how strange it was that someone of his background should have to be so frugal.”

It had almost certainly been the clerk. “Hmm. Was he alone?” Tora asked.

“Well, he came in alone, but I got the impression someone was waiting for him outside.”

“Did you see who was waiting?”

“No. But he kept looking over his shoulder and seemed in a big hurry.”

“Ah. That’s not much to go on.”

The postmaster’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I hope you find him.”

Tora was about to take his leave, when the man’s face brightened. “Wait! I seem to remember he posted two letters, the one to the capital and a local one.” He reached into the first box and brought out the list again. “Yes, here it is. Addressed to the Foreign Trade Office, in care of Senior Secretary Nakahara. That sounds very respectable.”

Tora’s jaw sagged. He went around the desk to look at the list. It was true. Why would Sadenari write to Nakahara? Straightening, he said darkly, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. There’s corruption in the highest places these day. Well, I’d better go there and ask some questions. I wish I could repay you with a cup of wine, but it’s early and you’re at work.”

The postmaster laughed. “A man in my position can leave at any time. But you needn’t, you know. As I said, we pride ourselves on our service.” He paused. “Still, perhaps just a short one.”

Tora regretted his generosity, but said, “A pleasure, postmaster.”

“Call me Toyoda.” The man was up in an instant and led Tora to his favorite wine shop. There the “short one” turned into several long ones. Since Tora had led him to believe that he served a high-ranking courtier, Toyoda questioned him minutely about the sexual habits of those who “lived above the clouds”, forcing Tora to resort to outright lies to satisfy his curiosity.

He had just told a lurid tale about a princeling who had seduced his half-sister, when Toyoda said, “I heard of a good story myself. There’s a great palace on the Yodo River, just outside Eguchi. It belongs to an imperial princess. I think she’s the aunt of the present emperor, an elderly lady.” He chuckled. “She has a taste for young men, and her servants scour the countryside for well-built youngsters. People say she’s very hard to satisfy. If the young men don’t perform to her taste, she gets rid of them. But if she likes them, they live like the blessed souls in paradise.”

Tora was familiar with such tales and did not believe a word, but the mention of a palace on the Yodo River made him curious. “Where exactly is that place?”

Toyoda guffawed. “Are you thinking of applying?”

Tora did not think that funny. “Don’t be silly. I wondered because my boat passed a very elegant pavilion just before we reached Eguchi.”

Not surprisingly, Toyoda did not know the precise place where the princess entertained her young lovers. But the topic had reminded Tora of the professor’s tale.

“I expect you know the local pleasure towns quite well,” he said. “Are there any very young Korean girls working there?”

The postmaster cocked his head. “Korean? Not that I know, and I do know my way around the better houses in all of those towns.” He chuckled and preened himself a little. Seeing Tora’s raised brows, he confided, “My own old lady is the very opposite of the princess. Cold as a fish! If it weren’t for some of the beauties in our river towns, I don’t know what I’d do.” He winked. “I could introduce you to some very charming flowers, if you’re interested. You like them young, did you say? I know where there are some as young as twelve, if that’s what you like. How about it? A man must do what he can to take care of his health, you know, and they do say the young ones have more of the long-life essence in them.”

Tora disliked the postmaster very much by now. He thought of the dead girl, and shook his head. “Thanks, not for me. My wife’s enough for me. And children don’t appeal to me that way. It’s unnatural. Like sleeping with your own children. I just overheard some talk on the boat coming down. Umm, it’s getting late.”

But Toyoda did not give up easily. He described a variety of bed partners and their amazing skills to Tora and told him about a barbarian woman from the far north who had some enticing peculiarities.

In desperation, Tora reminded Toyoda that he had to get back to work, even if postmasters lived more leisurely lives. He paid the large bill, and they walked back to the post station, the postmaster singing a bawdy song, and Tora nursing a headache.

At the post station, Tora questioned the porters and the two clerks about Sadenari.

They had no information. Apart from Sadenari’s sending a letter to Nakahara, he had extracted nothing useful in his morning’s work, while his funds had shrunk considerably.

He was walking glumly from the post station, when his master hailed him. Startled, Tora stopped. The look on his master’s face told him that he had bad news.

The journey was rapid and allowed little time for conversation. In Naniwa, as they waited for horses to be saddled, Akitada had read Tora his wife’s letter. They reached home after dark.

Tora pounded on the gates and called out. A fully armed Genba threw them wide. He knelt, knocking his head on the gravel of the courtyard. “Forgive me, sir,” he cried.

Akitada said, “Get up, Genba. This was not your fault.”

He and Tora dismounted, leaving the horses to Genba, and ran straight to the main house. Monks chanted in the reception room. Tamako came to meet them, bowed to her husband, and said in a low voice, “He’s very weak. Oh, Akitada, I’m so afraid.”

It was not a proper greeting, and Tamako was always proper. Akitada took her hand and drew her close as Tora looked away. “Are you and Yasuko well?” Akitada asked, his cheek against her hair. Her familiar scent moved him deeply. All that was precious to him was contained in his home.

She nodded against his chest. “Genba blames himself.”

“Why?” demanded Tora suspiciously.

Tamako gently moved from Akitada’s arms. “He was not here, Tora. Cook had sent him to the market. He thinks if he’d hurried more, he could have stopped them. It’s nonsense, of course.”

“Yes,” said Akitada heavily. “Come, I want to see Seimei now.”

He lay in his room, stretched out on his bedding, pretty screens set around, incense wafting from a small brazier, and costly wax candles lighting his pale and rigid face. He was very still; only his breath rattled softly.