“Well, did anyone look for that priest?”
Kobe bristled. “Of course. What do you take us for? We scoured all the temples around and questioned anyone who was in the street at the time the priest came and went. Nothing. The man disappeared into thin air as soon as he left the prison grounds.”
“Have you asked Harada?”
“Harada was still pretty sick, but he said that he never knew Yasaburo to associate with priests. In fact, he says his employer despised Buddhists.”
“Yet he knew him. Strange.” Akitada caught a momentary glimpse of a pattern, but it was all still too vague to share. He asked, “What about Nagaoka’s brother? How long are you going to hold him? You must know now that someone else is responsible for the deaths in the Nagaoka family.”
Kobe nodded glumly. “I had him released this morning. He will remain in the capital until the case is cleared up.”
Akitada thought of Yoshiko. For the past month, he had struggled with the problem of Yoshiko and Kojiro, or rather with himself. While Kojiro was in jail, Akitada had concentrated on the murder cases and pushed the decision about his sister’s future aside. Now the inevitable moment had come when he would have to weigh centuries of his family’s tradition against Yoshiko’s happiness.
He glanced out into the wintry garden. Had Seimei remembered to feed the fish? How pointless his resentment toward the old man seemed now. Tradition-bound, Seimei had chosen loyalty to Akitada’s father over love for his son. Where lay one’s duty?
Kobe moved restlessly. “I must go,” he said. “When you are better…” He hesitated. Akitada looked at him questioningly. Such diffidence was out of character for Kobe. “When you feel more yourself,” Kobe blurted, “I would be very glad to have your help with the unsolved cases.”
The humble plea marked an extraordinary reversal of their previous roles, and Akitada was profoundly moved. He said quickly, “Of course. I look forward to it,”
Kobe nodded and left.
A quite ridiculous sense of happiness filled Akitada all of a sudden. He was alive. Yori was safe. They were all together again. He looked around the room. It had once been his father’s and a hated room, but now it was his, truly his, and he was pleased with it. Filled with his books and papers, it was the heart of his home and a refuge against the demons lurking outside. The uncertainties of life were offset by such islands of peace among one’s family.
His eye fell on an unfamiliar oblong brocade-wrapped package on his desk. Curious, he took it up, untied the silk cord, and unrolled the fabric. It contained his broken flute, now miraculously restored. He turned it slowly in his hands, looking for the seam between the broken halves. He could not find it. Bemused, he raised the flute to his lips and blew. The sound was pure and clear, hanging in the air for a moment like a silken ribbon before he let it dissolve into a shower of trills as joyous as the song of a nightingale outside his veranda door.
He played remembered tunes, “Mist and Rain over a Mountain Lake” and “Bells on a Snowy Night,” surprised that he recalled them, immersed in the music, totally happy for a time. When he finally lowered the instrument, a soft sound of applause came from the door to the corridor. It had been pushed ajar a little, and in the opening appeared the smiling face of Yoshiko.
“Oh, that was lovely, Elder Brother,” she cried. “The flute maker promised it would play as well as ever. Do you like it?”
“Please come in, Little Sister.” Akitada smiled. “It sounds better than before, I think. A miracle. Was it you who had it mended?”
She blushed and bowed. “It gave me great pleasure.”
Yoshiko was no longer the laughing young girl Akitada remembered. She was a grown woman, Tamako’s age almost, though she looked older, more worn, quietly composed instead of bubbling with energy as she used to be. He was partially to blame for that. What her mother had started by denying Yoshiko a life of her own, he had finished by extorting a cruel promise. He had taken her last hope of happiness with the man she loved.
“Yoshiko,” he said humbly, “I find I must beg your pardon. I have given you much pain when I had meant to make you happy. And in spite of this, you have gone to have my flute mended. It was too kind and I don’t deserve it.”
She gave a little gasp. “Oh, no, Akitada. The flute was nothing. And… you meant well,” she said softly.
“Do you truly love Kojiro?”
“Yes,” she said without qualification, her voice matter-of-fact.
“He has been released.”
A slight flush rose to her cheeks. “I am glad. Poor man, he has suffered so much. I hope his future will be blessed.”
“And you? Do you still wish to be a part of his future?”
For a moment the color receded from her face and he thought she would faint. But the blush returned as abruptly. She looked at him in wonder. “Akitada,” she breathed, “have you changed your mind? For me nothing has changed. I shall always love him. He may only be a farmer and a merchant’s brother, but I am a part of him. But what about you, and the family? If you allow this marriage, must we part forever?”
“No. I was wrong to forbid the marriage and I was wrong about Kojiro’s character. He is a much better man than most people of rank. However, that does not mean that things will be easy for you. You must be prepared for rejection by people of our rank, perhaps even by your own sister.”
She smiled. “As long as you and Tamako will not disown me, I shall manage quite well. And Akiko will come around in the end because Toshikage is a kind man.”
Akitada nodded, remembering that he had once also doubted this brother-in-law. “In three weeks’ time the forty-nine days of mourning for your mother will be up. I see no reason why you cannot have a quiet wedding in the spring. If you like the idea, I shall speak to Kojiro about a marriage contract. I mean to give you the same dower as Akiko.”
His sister covered her face with both hands and began to weep.
“Yoshiko!” Akitada struggled up in dismay. “What is it? What have I said?” He went to kneel beside her.
She buried her face against his chest. “Nothing, everything,” she sobbed, half crying and half laughing. “Oh, Akitada. Thank you so much. Oh, and Kojiro will thank you also. We are both forever in your debt.”
“Well,” said Akitada, dabbing his own eyes and patting her shoulder. “In that case, I had better get busy clearing up three murders, and you will have to use your needle on your own gowns instead of Yori’s. It is high time we got out of these dark clothes.”
TWENTY-TWO
The Dance of the Demon
On the next to the last day of the year, Akitada was well enough to leave the house. The weather was gray, but the bitter cold had finally broken. Akitada wore elaborate court dress—his new robe, made by Yoshiko from the silk he had bought so many weeks ago—because he was on his way to court to present his official report.
Years ago this would have been a highly stressful affair for him. Even men older and higher in rank than Akitada quaked at the prospect of making their bow to the chancellor and assorted ministers and imperial advisers. But Akitada had just been given back his life. That sort of experience put the present ordeal and even his six years in the frozen north into a new perspective.
He therefore arrived calmly smiling at the officious young nobleman who had pitied his frayed costume on his last visit. The young man flushed with embarrassment and bowed Akitada obsequiously into the presence of the great men. Oblivious to their sharp-eyed scrutiny, Akitada extended New Year’s wishes with goodwill and more smiles to the three ministers and the haughty and bored chancellor. Then he presented his official report. He spoke easily and concisely on matters of national security, handing over sheaves of neatly written documents, answered their questions, and stated his recommendations for the region with strong arguments and to such good effect that even the chancellor sat up and listened. What should have been a stiff and formal affair suddenly became a lively exchange of views, and the eminent men consulted Akitada’s opinion with flattering interest and respect.