He left the palace smiling and whistling under his breath, the recipient of several invitations to seasonal parties. Strange, when one stopped caring so much about impressing the great, they became entirely human and quite likable.

After changing from the stiff silk gown with its long train into a more comfortable robe, Akitada set out again for the Nagaoka house.

This time the gate was answered by the old man who had entertained them at Fushimi, the one who loved old stories. Akitada racked his brain for a name. Kinzo! That was it.

“Well, Kinzo,” Akitada said, “I hope you remember me.”

“Sugawara,” snapped the old man. “I’m not senile yet. Lord Sugawara, I suppose I should say, though your ancestor held a much higher rank. Well, my master got out of jail without your help. Never mind! We can’t all be brilliant.”

Akitada chuckled. Lest he become arrogant after the flattering reception by the chancellor and ministers, here was Kinzo to remind him that greatness was a matter of opinion. He patted the old man’s shoulder. “True, but I am as happy as you that your master is finally free.”

Kinzo grunted as he slammed the gate shut behind them. “Maybe if he had chanted sutras in jail like Shuncho, the holy Fugen would’ve come to release him.”

“In that case, perhaps the god could have solved the murder of his sister-in-law. And prevented the killings of Nagaoka and Yasaburo.”

Kinzo pushed out his lower lip and considered. “It reminds me of the story of the Somedono Empress,” he said. “She was possessed by a demon who was her lover.” He shook his head. “The demon did terrible things and many people died for it.”

Akitada looked at him sharply. It was a strange parallel. But perhaps the old man was getting senile. He asked, “How is your master?”

“He’s the invisible man. Demon spit will make you invisible, you know.”

More demons. Akitada sighed inwardly. “I hope to bring him good news.”

Kinzo nodded. “Lord Kinsue comes to see the hermit,” he muttered, and climbed the steps to the house.

Akitada followed, frowning. Lord Kinsue? Another reference to demons? He only recalled one tale in which that lord had sought out a priest to be cured of a fever. Did this apply to himself? He was quite well again, and surely Kinzo could not know of his recent illness.

Kinzo’s allusion was partially explained when he saw Kojiro. The man was sitting listlessly in his brother’s study, staring at a blank wall where once his brother’s paintings had hung.

Kinzo said, by way of introduction, “Here’s company. And just in time before you forget you have speech.” He gave them both an admonitory look and said, “Remember Fujiwara Moroie!”

Akitada again searched his memory for the allusion and failed. Kojiro turned red and came to his feet. “How are you, my lord?” Then, scanning Akitada’s face, he asked, “What happened? Have you been ill?”

Kinzo snorted and left.

“Yes, but I am recovered,” said Akitada, “and take the first opportunity to see you and congratulate you on your release. What did Kinzo mean just now?”

Kojiro flushed again. “It was nothing. He believes old tales hold meaning for our lives.” He invited Akitada to sit and looked around helplessly. “Some wine? I don’t…” He raised his voice. “Kinzo!” There was no response and he sighed. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I get no visitors, so we are unprepared.”

“It is my fault for coming unannounced. Besides, I had better not have any wine. Seimei, my secretary, says it brings on a fever, and I have had enough of that.”

Kojiro visibly pulled himself together. He said formally, “I owe you my gratitude. You took the trouble to make my imprisonment easier. May I take this opportunity to wish you better health and fortune in the New Year?”

“Thank you. I return the wishes.” Akitada smiled. “Most sincerely, believe me. In fact, that is the reason I came. Tomorrow is the last day of the year. It is customary to discharge one’s debts.”

Kojiro looked puzzled. “What debts?” He gestured toward the account books. “There is nothing in my brother’s papers to suggest you did business with him.”

“My debt is to you. Weeks ago I made a promise to clear you of the murder charge. I have failed to do so. You were released from prison only because there have been two more murders, one of them your brother’s. I am afraid I cannot bring your brother to life again, but by tomorrow night, before year’s end, I shall try to pay that debt. I hope to solve not only the murder of your sister-in-law but also identify the killer of your brother and his father-in-law.”

Kojiro stared at Akitada, then burst into a bitter laugh. “Don’t blame yourself on my account, my lord. I no longer care much about what happened.”

“I understand how you feel.” Akitada hesitated. “Did you ever meet Nobuko’s sister?”

“What?” Kojiro shook his head. “No. Yugao died soon after Nobuko came here. I doubt my brother met her more than once. Look, I wish you would leave it alone, my lord. I doubt I shall be arrested again, and as for the rest, I don’t care. My brother’s wife was a demon who deserved to die, and her father was not much better. As for my brother, well, he was a very unhappy man at the end.”

“Nevertheless, you shall be cleared and your brother’s murderer shall be punished. Justice demands it.”

Kojiro grimaced. He looked thinner and older than Akitada remembered, more like his brother now than the ruddy, muscular young man he had seen in the mountains, or even the bloodied and defiant prisoner. As with Yoshiko, some life force seemed to have gone out of him. “There is another debt I owe you,” Akitada said more diffidently. “It concerns my sister Yoshiko. I was very wrong to force my sister to break her word to you. I ask your forgiveness for my insensitive behavior.”

Kojiro said nothing for a long time. He sat so still he seemed hardly to breathe, but his face was closed and his back stiff. He looked like a man who was fighting a fierce struggle with conflicting emotions. Finally he said harshly, “Have you apologized to your sister, my lord?”

Akitada flinched. “I have spoken to Yoshiko. She was … very happy. In fact, she thought you would be glad also.”

“That you have relented and are willing to accept a connection with a mere commoner?”

This was not going well. Akitada felt the blood rise to his face. He was angry with himself and with this stiff-necked farmer. Surely the man could see that Akitada had taken an enormous and unprecedented step, one which would lay him, and the rest of his family, open to calumny and censure from his associates and friends. For Yoshiko’s sake he controlled himself.

“I had hoped that we might become friends,” he said mildly. Thinking of Toshikage, he added, “Brothers, even. I never had a brother and have discovered great pleasure in the relationship with my other sister’s husband.”

Kojiro wilted. “Please forgive me,” he said softly. “I have misjudged you again. I had no right to reject your generous offer of friendship and…” He moved uncomfortably. “You say Yoshiko is still… that Yoshiko still wishes … ?”

“Oh, yes. But perhaps you are of a different mind now, after all that has happened?”

Kojiro said fervently, “No. Never! There will never be another woman for me as long as I live. I have always known that, almost from the first. It has not changed in all the years and it will not change in the future.”

A little embarrassed by such raw emotion, Akitada looked down at his hands and smiled. “I have gone over my accounts and find that I shall be able to give Yoshiko the same dower as her sister.” He mentioned figures—silver, rice fields, bolts of silk—and then asked; “Is this satisfactory to you?”

Kojiro had listened in amazement. “My lord,” he gasped, “there is no need. You are exceedingly generous, but I assure you, I am quite well-to-do. My property in the country is large. I can support Yoshiko in the style she was born to in spite of my station in life.”