“I didn’t see you. I was looking for a pagoda.”

The eye not covered by the bloody bandage narrowed, looking Tora up and down. “You’re a stranger here?”

There was no sense in inventing new lies. Tora told the story of his dying mother and lost sister again, adding some heartrending detail which brought tears to his own eyes.

The ruffian rubbed his bristly chin, reddened from Tora’s fist. “Sorry, buddy,” he said hoarsely. “Looks like you’re worse off than me. Didn’t mean to lay into you, but I’ve had a bad day with some rough fellows. My head’s sore as hell itself and when you bumped into me I was seeing stars.”

“Oh, in that case,” said Tora, “allow me to make up for it with a cup of wine. My name’s Tora, by the way.”

“Junshi.” The other man grinned, revealing a large recent gap in his front teeth. “Thanks. I won’t say no. There’s a place around the corner sells some decent muck.”

The place was worse than the Crane Terrace, being smaller, dirtier, and smellier, but the wine was slightly better.

“Now, about your sister,” said Junshi awkwardly. “She may be dead, you know. I work for the warden and I can tell you, street girls have a hard life in this quarter.”

“I know, but I’ve got to keep looking till I know one way or another.”

Junshi sighed. “Most men here can’t pay more than a copper or two for a woman, and there’s a lot of rough stuff. My boss could tell you how many dead girls they fish out of the canals or find among the garbage in the alleys.”

“By heaven! The warden!” Tora slapped his forehead with his hand. “Why didn’t I think of that? Where’s his office?”

Junshi snorted. “A warden with an office? In this quarter? If there ever was one, it’s long gone. The position is what you might call ‘by popular acclaim.’ My boss runs things here and he’s usually somewhere around the temple in the daytime.”

Tora sat up. “What temple? Does it have a pagoda? And monks?”

Junshi laughed. “They call it the Temple of Boundless Mercy—which is a laugh, seeing that mercy’s the last thing you expect to find there—but yes, it’s got a pagoda. The monks left long ago. There’s only the one hall and the pagoda left. People think demons roam about at night there. That makes it a fine meeting place for thugs. Either way, it’s unhealthy after dark.” He touched his bandage and grimaced.

Tora shuddered. However, he merely needed to find the house where the slasher had taken Yukiyo, and it was still broad daylight. “Can you introduce me to your boss?”

Junshi guffawed. “Not today. He’ll send me back after the bastards tonight. I’ll show you the way to the temple, but you’ll have to find him yourself. And don’t mention you’ve seen me.”

Tora paid for their wine, and they walked northwestward through slums and open fields with squatters’ shacks. People glanced at them and crossed the street. Junshi filled Tora in on the dangers of the quarter. “Bodies in the street almost every day,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “If it wasn’t for the boss, it’d be worse. The police don’t come here. They don’t like to deal with outcasts. The boss doesn’t care what a man is or has, so long as he doesn’t hurt people.”

“He sounds good to me,” said Tora. “Any bamboo groves near the temple?”

“No groves. The fox shrine has some pines around it.” They emerged into the square in front of the ruined temple. Junshi stiffened and grabbed Tora’s arm, saying, “There’s the boss now. Good luck!” and was gone before Tora could thank him.

A bearded giant stood in front of the remnants of the temple gate, his arms folded across a barrel-like chest. A group of young boys surrounded him. Tora crossed the square slowly. The semilegal standing of this individual did nothing to reassure him. He looked more like a robber chief than a representative of the law in his sector.

The giant was laughing with the boys, but his eyes found Tora immediately and sharpened. He detached himself from the youngsters and strolled up. “Good day to you,” he said. His voice rumbled from the depth of his chest like a rock slide.

Tora returned the greeting with a grin. “I am told you’re the warden,” he said. “Could you tell me where I might find a bamboo grove around here?”

The warden’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s your purpose for asking?” he demanded.

Tora bristled. “Look, I’m a stranger here, asking for directions. What’s with the third degree?”

“I like to know what strangers are up to in my district,” snapped the big man. “You either tell me what you want here, or you leave.”

Tora considered his options and said in an ingratiating tone, “Well, it’s a bit embarrassing. But here goes. I’m looking for my sister, who’s disappeared. She’s been working as a whore. Now our mother’s on her deathbed and wants to see her. Someone told me she worked around here and might have gone off with a monk. To a bamboo grove.”

The eyes narrowed even further, moving speculatively from Tora’s trim mustache to his hands. “Who told you that?”

“Er, the landlord of a tavern.”

The boss sneered and opened his mouth, but was suddenly distracted by the sounds of a fight inside the temple grounds. He snapped, “No monks in my district and no bamboo groves, either. You’d better go look in another part of town.” He strode off to investigate.

Tora wondered for a moment about the man’s reaction. Everyone else had swallowed the tale of the dying mother. He looked down at himself. His clothes looked no worse than the warden’s rags. Maybe the guy had a hangover or a toothache.

Shaking his head, he also went into the temple grounds, where a pitiful sort of market seemed to be in progress. The fight had attracted scant attention. Human scarecrows sat about on the muddy ground with items spread out for sale which looked like the garbage tossed out by the servants of the better houses, and probably was. Tora strolled about and tried to strike up conversations, but after a glance at him people turned uncommunicative. He was an outsider and his rags made him unwelcome here, for clearly he had no money for purchases, but might be there to steal from them.

It was already long past midday, and so far Tora was no closer to his objective than before. Glancing up at the old pagoda, he got an idea. If he climbed up there, he could look over the rooftops for miles. A bamboo grove within a few blocks of the pagoda should be easy to find.

Luck was with him—the entrance to the tower had not been boarded up. Inside, however, his heart fell. The steep stairs were missing steps, and a pile of rotten timbers had fallen from the upper floors. Tora peered up. The floor above him was missing so many planks that he could see through it to the one beyond. But he decided to risk it. At least there was enough daylight so he could see where he was putting his feet.

The climb was tedious because each step and each board must be tested before he dared put weight on it, and when he reached the top floor, he was sweating in spite of the cold. Slowly he made his way around all four sides, looking out over the quarter. There were only a few spots of green among the wintry huddle of dull brown roofs. All but one of these were the dark green of pines, but one was paler, the jade green color of bamboo. It was smaller than a grove or woods, but larger than the yards of houses thereabouts, and it lay only two blocks to the southeast of the temple.

Elated, Tora started downward, but in his hurry he took a misstep, lost his footing, and, twisting wildly, plunged through space.

When he regained consciousness, he was in darkness but knew immediately where he was. His back rested across a beam, his hips and legs, slightly higher than the rest of his body, were supported by more solid flooring, but his head hung over empty space. He was conscious of pain everywhere, but the worst of it in his head. After cautiously checking to see if he could move his limbs without falling again, he shifted just enough on his beam to support his head. After resting for a few moments, he tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hit him and he grasped desperately around him to keep from tipping over the edge. After a moment the nausea passed and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could make out vague shapes of flooring and part of the stairs. Carefully, inch by inch, he moved toward them, testing each plank before heaving his bruised and aching body onto it.