It occurred to Akitada that Tamako would find only bare rooms, stripped of their ancient and broken furnishings. Toshikage’s generosity made him painfully conscious of his own neglect. With her love for gardens, Tamako would enjoy such a screen above all the other luxuries he owed her.

“This is a lovely screen,” he told his sister, “Who is the artist? I would like Tamako to have one.”

“I have no idea,” Akiko said. “Toshikage ordered it for me. You must ask him. The colors are very bright, aren’t they? I expect it was expensive. Everything Toshikage buys is expensive. Just look at all the things in this room!”

Inwardly amused by his sister’s warning that the screen might be too costly for him, Akitada wandered about the room looking at hanging scrolls and carved vases, lacquered boxes, painted clothes trunks, silk-covered curtain stands with heavy silk tassels, and writing sets, games, makeup stands, and mirrors in gay profusion.

One item gave him sudden pause. It was a small ceramic figurine of a floating fairy, dainty, detailed, and painted in faded but exquisite colors, down to the gilding of her headdress and drooping jewelry. “Did he give you this also?” he asked, his heart beginning to pound in sudden panic.

Akiko glanced at it without much interest. “I don’t remember that!” she said, vaguely astonished. “He must have sneaked it in to surprise me.” She looked at the figurine more closely. “Pretty, but a bit old, isn’t it? It looks foreign. Like some of the Chinese statues of Kwannon in the temple.”

“Yes.” She had a surprisingly good, if untutored, eye. The figurine was certainly old and dressed in Chinese costume like the representations of the Goddess of Mercy. However, unless he was mistaken, the little lady was one of the missing imperial treasures. Surely there could not be two of these around. He looked at Akiko and wondered if her husband was a thief after all.

“What is the matter?” she asked.

Seeing her standing there, a worried look in her eyes, her hand pressed against the swelling abdomen, he decided he could not burden her with his suspicions. He walked back to his cushion and sat down. Warming his hands over one of the braziers, he said lightly, “I was thinking that I have not treated Tamako very well. It is high time that I showed some appreciation for my wife.”

Akiko trilled one of her laughs and came to sit with him. “And so you should!” she said, shaking her finger at him. “Men are always wrapped up in business, taking us for granted when night comes. Thank heaven Toshikage is still attentive. It is no wonder so many highborn ladies take lovers on the side.”

The maid came in with the tea. She filled their cups from the bronze pot, placing it on one of the braziers afterward to keep warm. Before she left, she bowed and told Akitada, “The master’s guest has gone. The master says he will see you when you have finished your visit with her ladyship.”

Akitada thanked her, but Akiko pouted.

“You just got here,” she complained. “I thought you wished advice on what to buy for Tamako. I know all the best shops for silks and gewgaws.”

Akitada sipped his tea and smiled. “I shall come back often now that I know the way. And the other day I went to a silk merchant near the market to shop for some fabric for a court robe for myself and some silks for Yoshiko. They seemed to have an immense selection.” He mentioned the name of the establishment.

Akiko nodded. “Yes. That one is good. But why in heaven’s name are you buying stuff for Yoshiko? She never wears anything but old cotton rags.”

Akitada rose. “That is precisely why I did it. Unfortunately, the lovely colors were a little too lively. She reminded me that Mother might put us all into mourning shortly.”

“Oh!” Akiko struggled up. “What a horrid thought! It is bad enough that we will be in seclusion for weeks, with taboo tablets hanging at the gate and around our necks! I do wish that they would shorten the mourning period for a parent. It seems so pointless.”

And so it was, thought Akitada on his way to Toshikage’s study, though Akiko’s pronouncement lacked proper sentiment. But he of all people could hardly fault her, for he felt neither love nor grief for his dying mother.

Toshikage was looking unexpectedly glum and was not alone. A young man in the dark robe of a government clerk rose when Akitada entered. Akitada recognized him in an instant as one of Toshikage’s sons. He had his father’s round face, though he had not yet run to fat.

“Welcome, dear brother,” cried Toshikage, coming to embrace him. “Please forgive the delay. I had a rather unpleasant visit from my superior. This is my son Takenori. He is my confidential secretary and knows all about the, er, problem.”

Akitada bowed to the young man, who returned the bow politely, his face expressionless.

“Come, let us sit down. Some wine for your illustrious new relation, Takenori!”

Akitada took his seat on one of the silk cushions in the center of the room. Like Akiko’s quarters, Toshikage’s study was the epitome of comfort and luxury. Here, too, large braziers spread their pleasant warmth. Here, too, mats covered the floor and papered doors filtered light from outside. Toshikage’s doors had carved grilles and, instead of painted screens, scrolls covered his walls, and the doors of the built-in cabinets were painted with landscapes. Shelves above the cabinets held his books and document boxes, and his writing utensils and paper were laid out on a low window seat under a round, screened window. A bell with a wooden hammer hung there also, suspended from a silk rope, in case he wished to summon a servant.

The son poured, and Akitada accepted the cup, saying pleasantly, “You must be a great help to your father, Takenori. I had no idea that you were already old enough to hold a position of such responsibility. Did you attend university?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Akitada wondered if the young man was shy. He certainly did not engage in conversation.

To ease the awkward moment, Toshikage filled in. “Takenori is twenty-eight years old. My other son, Tadamine, is twenty-seven. He serves at the northern front and was recently promoted to captain.” Fatherly pride and something else—a sadness?—sounded in Toshikage’s voice.

“You are to be congratulated on your children. Are there daughters also?”

Toshikage brightened a little and chuckled. “No such luck, or I could make some shrewd connections with the ruling Fujiwaras. Are you by any chance asking because you wish to take another wife?”

Akitada was taken aback by the suggestion. He would never take another woman into his household while Tamako occupied it. Renewed worries about his family’s welfare surfaced and were banished. “Not at all,” he said firmly. “I am well content with my present arrangements.”

“And so am I,” cried Toshikage. “Your sister is all an old man like myself could wish for. She has such elegance and beauty it takes my breath away.”

Akitada smiled warmly at his brother-in-law. When he glanced at Takenori, however, he noticed the young man’s clenched hands. So there might be some ill feeling here! Not a pleasant situation for Akiko, who had probably been a bit naive to congratulate herself on being the mother of the next heir. She had planned without considering Toshikage’s grown sons.

Toshikage, unaware of the effect of his speech on his son, continued happily, “And now she is to be a mother soon. She tells me it is to be a boy. Women know about such things, don’t you think? What about your wife? You have a son, I hear. Did she carry him high in her belly? For that is what Akiko does. A lively child! He kicks already to open the door to life!” Toshikage laughed and his own belly trembled with merriment. His son got up abruptly and busied himself with some papers at the desk.

“Well,” said Akitada blandly, “if it is not a son, you will have a daughter to play marriage politics with. And, in any case, you have sons already.”