The Crane Pavillion Read online

  But he thought it a little insulting since he was himself a member of this class. He was about to comment on the unsuitability of such a work for impressionable children when he realized they did not get the message and merely laughed at the antics of animals.

  He left them to it, pulled away by the eager hand of Akiko.

  In his study, she said, “Sit!” and made herself comfortable on one of the cushions.

  Akitada sat and frowned at her. “Better tell me what burns on your tongue,” he said. “I’m rather busy.”

  “Briefly then. Your Lady Ogata may have been married to Minamoto Masakane. What do you think of that?”

  “Minamoto Masakane? You mean the man who was condemned for treason?”

  “Exactly. But there’s more. If she is the same woman, she is Sadako, the daughter of Soga Ietada.” Akiko smiled triumphantly. “What a story this will make! And you will be famous.”

  Famous? What was she talking about? But Akitada had heard that name again: Soga! Still, it was a large family, and this Soga might not be a close relative of the hateful minister he had worked for. “Explain!” he said curtly.

  “You mean you don’t recall the scandal of Masakane being sent into exile for raising his hand to the emperor?”

  A dim memory stirred. Masakane had been a young courtier, a hanger-on among the imperial followers. Clearly, he had also been a man who could not control his temper. Akitada said, “Ah, I see. It would explain why she took another name and lived as she did. How did you discover this?”

  “Her name and the time of her taking up residence in Abbot Genshin’s house. Ogata is one among the Minamoto clan names. I thought I recognized it when you told me. Then I just thought back to five years ago because you said she had come to live there about then, and there it was.”

  Akitada regarded his sister with grudging admiration. “That was very clever. What is this about her father?”

  “Oh, I asked who Masakane’s wife had been. And there he was: Soga Ietada, one of the most ambitious men in the government.” She smiled. “How he must have hated his son-in-law!”

  “Who exactly is Soga Ietada?”

  “Oh, Akitada! Sometimes I lose all patience with you. You make no effort at all to familiarize yourself with the names of people who could be important to your career.” She paused. “Or who could hurt you. What’s this I hear that you’re in trouble again?”

  Akitada flushed. His sister had a habit of probing sore spots. “I’ve tried to explain to my superiors that I returned from Kyushu to tend to my children. They don’t seem to think this a good reason for resigning a position.” He did not mention that apparently his resignation had not been passed on by the Assistant Governor General at Dazaifu..

  Akiko was shocked. “Well, clearly you’ve been careless again. Surely you know by now that there are men who are just waiting for you to make a mistake. What do you plan to do about this?”

  She had veered away from the murder of Lady Ogata so quickly that his head was spinning. To Akiko a person’s status was most important, and Akitada had disappointed, just as he used to disappoint her mother. He said nothing.

  “Could they dismiss you?”

  “Yes.” He met her eyes defiantly. “I don’t really care about honors and positions, but I must feed my family somehow.”

  “Oh, Akitada,” she wailed. “It’s so unfair. How can they treat you like this? How shall you mange? Do you need money?”

  He flushed painfully. “Not yet, but thanks.”

  “Toshikage is very well off, you know. The harvests on his estates have been excellent.”

  Whatever her irritating qualities—and this embarrassing probing of his financial situation was surely one—Akiko could be very generous. He forgave her and steered the conversation back to safer ground. “So what about this Soga?”

  She blinked. “Yes, well, he is one of the major counselors. At present, he serves as Senior Secretary under the Prime Minister. He couldn’t be more influential. I thought that very interesting under the circumstances. Imagine! One of his daughters living in the Takashina mansion under a false name?”

  Akitada thought of the very unpleasant interview in the Central Affairs Ministry. So Lady Ogata’s father was indeed the man he had met. He was not certain what this meant, but surely meddling in the death of Lord Soga’s daughter was not the way to gain favors from this man. He said, “That’s rather inconvenient”

  His sister’s face fell. She gasped. “Oh. Was he one of the men you reported to?”

  “Yes. But they claimed they had no authority in my case.”

  “Not true!” Akiko got up and started pacing. “He has the grand minister’s ear. Oh, Akitada, this will not do. We must abandon the murder. It’s much too dangerous under the circumstances. And I had such hopes! How could you let this happen?”

  Disappointment emanated like a physical force from her, from the flashing eyes, the clenched hands, the agitated step. Akitada felt the blame. His own shortcomings had once again robbed his sister of a triumph.

  He said somewhat sarcastically, “As I said, it’s very inconvenient, especially when I just discovered that the poor woman was murdered.”

  She swung around to stare at him. “You’re sure?”

  “Oh, yes. The police based their verdict of suicide primarily on the fact that the body was found just above a clothing trunk. They assumed Lady Ogata had pushed the trunk under the beam, climbed up, used a length of silk to hang herself, and then stepped off the trunk.”

  “And she didn’t?”

  “No. There was no trunk there when the children found her. Someone, possibly the caretaker, rearranged the scene for the police.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And how did you find out?”

  “I talked to the children.”

  Akiko sank back on her pillow. She was a very graceful creature, Akitada noted. His other sister, Yasuko, had the prettier face, but Akiko always was the one people called beautiful and elegant.

  She chewed her lower lip. “It makes no difference,” she finally said. “Let it go. We must think how to extricate you from this mess you got into again.”

  “Again?”

  She made a face and threw up her hands. “Again! Don’t glower like that. You are quite brilliant in most things, but you have never had the knack of making useful friends. Oh, I know you have a few friends, but they aren’t able to help you. Kosehira’s under a cloud himself, and Kobe has a hard enough time holding on to his position. They want to replace him with one of the Fujiwara youngsters. Only the fact that he controls the capital and makes them relatively safe keeps him in his place. And Nakatoshi? He’s not much more advanced than you are. There is no one to impress on the grand ministers that you have served them well.”

  She was well-informed and right. But Akitada also knew that the sort of person who had the power and influence to promote a Sugawara’s interest was not the man he wished to call his friend. He did not like the way things were done and that favors were given to undeserving men because of their birth. He asked, “Is Kobe really in trouble? How can they even consider handing over the post of police chief to a Fujiwara boy simply because he’s old enough to receive a position befitting his rank?”

  “They could and they have done it before. See, that’s what I mean. You don’t know what’s going on and you make no effort to learn.” She heaved a deep sigh. “If only Toshikage had more influence, but he isn’t much better than you.”

  This went too far. Akitada, in his present mood, accepted blame for his own failures, but he was genuinely fond of his brother-in-law who was a generous and doting husband and the sort of cheerful person who saw only the best in everyone and everything. Akitada snapped, “Enough! I will not have you worry Toshikage with this. Let’s face it. There’s nothing to be done until they send for me. I’ve decided that I will not sit here, waiting. I’m going to look into this murder. If she is indeed Soga’s daughter and this displeases her father, so be it. Keep in mind th
at he may also be grateful that someone cared enough.”

  Her eyes widened at his firmness. “It’s very dangerous,” she muttered.

  “Ah, but I have you to help me,” he said slyly. “Surely between us we may steer this search for the killer in such a way that we don’t ruffle the great man’s feathers.”

  She giggled. “I’ve seen him. He looks like a stork.”

  He smiled. “Or a crane. His daughter called her home the crane pavilion.”

  Akiko sat up. “Oh! I wonder.”

  “What?”

  “There may have been another scandal. The crane dance is part of the gosechi dancers’ performance.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. What if Soga Sadako was a gosechi dancer? I bet I can find out.”

  The gosechi dances were performed before the emperor by four specially chosen young girls on the second day of the dragon in the eleventh month. The entire court attended, and the young women wore feathered robes as they portrayed the dancing of celestial beings. To be chosen for this performance amounted to an immense honor and opportunity. The gosechi dancers were much sought after as brides of the most powerful and highly placed men. And this matched the story the girl Maeko had told.

  Akitada said, “I believe you’re right. If she is indeed the same, her life certainly did not turn out the way her father must have imagined it.”

  “Yes.” cried his sister, her eyes shining. She rose. “I’ll go right now to find out.”

  And she was gone with a rustle of silken skirts, leaving her brother smiling to himself.

  He recalled himself to his situation quickly, however, and sighed. Instead of lighting incense at the family altar, he went outside into the garden that Tamako had loved. The chrysanthemums were almost gone, but the maple blazed in its most brilliant red. He wandered about, imagining her beside him, picturing her face as he told her about the lady of the crane bower and how he had just gotten the better of Akiko by sending her off in search of court gossip. He could almost hear her laughter. Tamako had had a very pretty laugh. He paused and covered his face with his hands.

  Oh, how he missed his wife!

  21

  Arrest

  In the daytime, the house of the gangster boss Kanemoto looked harmless, just another small, well-kept place in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. The amusement quarter was also peaceful at this hour. After the night’s carousing, its inhabitants mostly slept or relaxed at nearby bath houses.

  Tora saw no sign of life either in front or at the back of the house. Returning to the front after his inspection, he pounded on the door. There was no answer. Finally, a woman next door put her head out to glare at Tora. She shouted, “He’s left.”

  Tora responded with an apology and a smile. “I had a message,” he lied, “about some emergency. Do you happen to know what’s going on?”

  Her face relaxed, perhaps because even in middle age she appreciated a handsome man smiling at her. “No, but there was a lot of noise late last night with people pounding on his door. And then he was up before dawn, building something in his backyard. And right after that, he left.” She shook her head. “Not like him at all.”

  Tora thanked her and walked around back again. He hoped to find some sign of what might have happened to Saburo. As he eyed the back wall of the house and studied marks in the dirt, he heard a sound. His eyes fixed on some wooden boards that had been hastily nailed up, most likely by Kanemoto himself last night. A scratching noise came from behind them.

  He bent his face close to the boards and shouted, “Saburo?”

  The scratching stopped, and then came Saburo’s croak, “Tora?”

  “What the hell are you doing under there?”

  “Scratching my way out.”

  Looking around the yard, Tora saw a discarded wooden bucket with a missing stave. Prying off another stave, he returned and shoved the stave under one of the boards, prying it loose. Another few moments, and he had made an opening large enough for Saburo to peer out at him.

  “Amida!” Tora jumped back.

  Saburo slowly crept out. He said nothing.

  Tora eyed Saburo’s bloody clothes and stared at his face again. “Dear gods,” he muttered, “not again! The bastards didn’t torture you again?”

  Saburo got to his feet somewhat painfully. He looked down at his hands, caked with dirt and blood and now also with oozing blood from his fingernails. “No!” he said wearily. “There was a wildcat down there.” He paused. “And a dead man. And Kanemoto nailed us in together.”

  There was a well in the far corner of the yard. Tora put an arm around Saburo and led him over. Hauling up some water, he helped him wash off the blood and dirt.

  “Thank you for coming,” Saburo said. “I’m getting too old for this work. In my younger years, this wouldn’t have happened. He sat down on the well rim.

  Tora was about to start asking the questions burning on his tongue when they heard the trotting of many feet on the street in front of the house. A moment later, ten constables appeared around the corner of the house and surrounded them, their jitte prongs extended in a threatening manner.

  They were under arrest.

  “What for?” demanded Tora, aware that Saburo’s blood-stained clothing and the wounds on his face and hands were unlikely to convince the constables of their harmlessness.

  He was right. A jitte poked him a little, and the senior constable said, “Report of robbers making a public disturbance.”

  Tora suppressed a curse. No doubt the neighbor woman had kept watch and seen him prying loose the boards. He said, “The robbers are gone. You can see my friend here is a victim.”

  They looked Saburo over. The senior constable said, “Those look like scratches. Are you telling us that robbers use their fingernails these days?”

  That brought some guffaws from the rest.

  The senior constable snapped, “Stop cackling like monkeys. Chain them.”

  Tora protested.

  “You can tell your story to the police,” the senior constable told him.

  Tora did not want to bring the Sugawara name into this yet. He exchanged a glance with Saburo.

  Saburo said, “There’s a dead man under the house. And the wildcat that scratched me. The dead man’s a gambler called Hankei. The man who killed him is Kanemoto. It’s his house. I was under the house and heard them arguing. Then it was suddenly silent. The next thing I knew, Kanemoto was shoving a body under the house and nailing boards over the opening. My friend here came looking for me and just released me.”

  Tora knew right away that it had been a mistake.

  They goggled at this. The senior constable walked over and studied the loose boards with their bent nails, then peered into the darkness under the house. “You, Joshu! You’re the smallest. Crawl in there and check it out!”

  Joshu made a face but obeyed. He disappeared under the house. Some unintelligible sounds emerged, and then he shot back out. “Amida,” he gasped. “The place is full of corpses. I’m not going down there again.” He rushed over to the well to wash his hands and rinse out his mouth.

  Tora grinned.

  His amusement was short-lived. When the constables had dragged out the body of Hankei, looking more than ever like a dead monkey, along with the strangled cat, they decided to charge Tora and Saburo with murder and lock them up in the local warden’s jail.

  This created an unanticipated difficulty. At the city jail, they might have had a chance to identify themselves and explain, but here nobody knew them or cared.

  The warden and constables did, however, know Kanemoto, who was, by the willow quarter’s standards, a respected businessman and, in any case, not home.

  Tora and Saburo were locked into a small cell that stank of vomit and worse. It was also hot and airless, and the stench got worse during the long day. The one meal they were offered was inedible and the water so dirty and stale they only took a few sips.

  They talked, though.

  T
ora said, “You could have been killed, too.”

  Saburo picked at his lacerated hands. “That cat was something else.”

  “I mean by Kanemoto. Are you sure he didn’t know you were down there? Why nail you in, if he didn’t know?”

  “He was just covering the hole to keep people from finding the monkey.”

  “Dead bodies stink after a while.”

  “I don’t know, Tora. Maybe he planned to come tonight and take the body elsewhere.”

  “Maybe. I wish we could arrange for a reception committee.”

  They fell silent.

  Saburo said suddenly, “There was a woman there. Kanemoto’s mistress. She saw what happened.”

  “Then I expect she’s run away, too. Did Kanemoto call her by name?”

  “No. Just ‘sweetheart’ and ‘my love.’ It was disgusting. I’d expected better from a gangster boss.”

  Tora chuckled.

  “It’s not funny. What can we do? What about the master?”

  “Oh, well, he sent me to look for you. I expect he’ll tell Kobe about it.”

  “He sent you to look for me?”

  “Of course. What did you expect?”

  “But he was angry?”

  “A little. Not too much.”

  Saburo gave a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

  “Stop that. It’s not manly.”

  Saburo sniffled. “It’s just … I didn’t expect him to care what happens to me.”

  “I told you you were wrong about that.”

  Another silence fell.

  After nightfall, there finally was some activity in the front room of the jail. They could hear the warden’s voice and some sharp commands. Then the sound of feet came their way, and the cell door was opened. The faces of several red-coated policemen peered in at them.

  Tora stood. “About time, fellows,” he said. “We’ve been stewing here since daybreak.”

  The man in front wore the insignia of a sergeant. He wrinkled his nose. “What a sty!” he said, then asked, “Are you the men arrested for a murder last night?”