“You!” She stared at Kojiro, her eyes suddenly wide with fear.

Kojiro made her a mocking bow. “Surprised to see me, sister-in-law?”

She drew herself up. “You are mistaken, Kojiro. I may look like Nobuko, but I’m her sister Yugao. And you killed her! How is it that you’re allowed to run around free? Where is the justice in this country, when a man can murder a woman and soon after consort with the superintendent of police?” She glared at Kobe, who looked dumbfounded.

Akitada said, “It won’t work, Mrs. Nagaoka. Your sister died years ago. Your father tried to confuse us the same way when we asked him questions about your husband’s murder. He did it to protect you. Even in prison he suffered flogging without revealing your murderous plot. But you sent your lover Danjuro, disguised in his Fukko costume, to kill your own father so he would not reveal your identity.”

She paled slightly but raised her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My husband and I know nothing about any murders. We are actors. My father gave out the story that I had died because he was ashamed of me for running away with Danjuro.”

Kobe frowned and looked at Akitada.

Akitada shook his head. “No. Your sister has been dead for years. You only joined Uemon’s Players a few weeks ago at the Eastern Mountain Temple. You took the place of the girl Ohisa after you and Danjuro killed her. As for running away, you ran away from your husband Nagaoka, not your father. And after the murder, you sent your father to collect blood money from him.”

A shocked muttering passed among the other women. Gold cried, “So that’s what happened to poor Ohisa!” She glared at Nobuko. “May you both rot in the worst hell for what you did. I remember how Danjuro came to us that morning, bringing you along, claiming Ohisa had left to go home, but that you were a dancer who happened to be on a pilgrimage—some pilgrimage, you she-devil—and that you’d fill in until he could find another professional. It was all lies, wasn’t it? What did you two do to Ohisa?”

There was a moment’s silence.

Then Akitada said softly, “Yes, Mrs. Nagaoka. What did you two do to Ohisa?”

She had no time to answer. The tent fabric parted and, in a flurry of orange and red silk, the demon king shot in. He slid to a halt, painted eyes goggling and red mane flaring wildly about the snarling features. Nobody said anything. With a grunt, he turned and ducked out again.

Mrs. Nagaoka cried out and made a move to go after him. Akitada cursed under his breath, caught her by the arm, and tossed her back to Kobe. Shrieking, she twisted, biting, scratching, and clawing like a wild animal, as Kobe and Kojiro struggled with her. Gold ended the tussle by planting her balled fist squarely in the other woman’s face and breaking her nose. Gushing blood, the tall dancer crumpled to the floor.

Kojiro looked aghast and bent to stem the bleeding.

“Leave her,” snapped Kobe harshly. “Go see what’s happened to her lover!” Snatching a sash from among the discarded costumes, he tied the unconscious woman’s hands behind her back. Toshikage knelt, following his example with her feet.

Akitada, aware only of having made a crucial mistake, waited just long enough to see the woman secured, then rushed out of the tent after Kojiro.

All hell seemed to have broken loose. Drums, flutes, screeches, and screams created a cacophony of noise. Lanterns and torches flickered and bobbed about as dark figures of demons and guests rushed pell-mell this way and that. Amid the shrieks, laughter mingled with curses and shouts. The demon chase had turned into a crowd-participation affair. Kojiro stood hesitant, turning his head this way and that. He was about to plunge into the melee when Akitada grabbed his arm.

“Listen,” he shouted over the din, “I was wrong. Danjuro is not the general; he’s the demon king. The demon king, do you hear? Stay away from him and tell the others!”

Kojiro stared at him blankly. In the flickering light his eyes gleamed strangely. “What?” He pointed at the milling crowd. “There’s no time for that! They’ve all gone mad. Yoshiko and the ladies are not safe.” He rushed off.

“Wait!” Akitada shouted after him, but it was too late. Kojiro had been swallowed up by the darkness and the crowd.

Akitada followed more slowly, dodging running figures of demons and guests, his eyes scanning the bobbing heads for the red-maned mask of the demon king. At one point, he rushed after a masked figure in orange, tackled it, and brought it down, only to discover he had caught one of the minor goblins who had become entangled in a red streamer. Immediately three or four spectators threw themselves upon them, wielding paper whips and rice straw brooms with abandon. Dizzy from the struggle and the wine-filled breath of the celebrants, Akitada staggered up. He plunged back into the swirling, shrieking crowd, but conditions deteriorated when someone began to extinguish lanterns, and the crowds helped themselves to torches in their mad pursuit of demons. The light diminished to isolated flames, and the screams now held real terror and pain.

Akitada gave up and cursed his carelessness. He had failed. Danjuro would hardly stay in his costume and more than likely had already fled the park.

Behind the actors’ tent, he found the discarded mask of the demon king. He also found Tora and Genba, who stood holding a torch and staring dismally at a weeping man in gilded armor who sat on the ground between them, clutching his groin. An elaborate gilded helmet and a broken wooden sword lay beside him.

Tora saw Akitada first. “Wrong man,” he said. “Poor bastard.”

“What happened?”

“We thought he was that snooty bastard Danjuro and had some fun with him.”

Genba bent down to the weeping man and patted his shoulder. “We’re sorry,” he said. “We thought you were someone else.”

The man sniffled. “You bastards!”

Akitada asked, “Is he hurt badly?”

“He’ll be all right,” said Tora. “We didn’t hit him near as hard as Miss Plumblossom kicked me.”

“Well, it was my fault,” said Akitada, fishing a gold coin from his sash and pressing it into the sobbing man’s hand. “I told you to look for the general, but Danjuro played the demon king. And by now he knows what’s up and got away in the confusion.”

Tora cursed,

Genba helped the unfortunate general to his feet. The actor held the coin to his eyes, then made Akitada a deep bow before scooping up his helmet and limping away.

Genba asked, “What about the woman?”

“Kobe has her safe.”

A new burst of screams drew their attention to the viewing stands. Someone had managed to set one of them on fire, and red flames shot up from the wooden, fabric-covered construction.

Appalled, Akitada cried, “Come on!” and rushed off.

But already panic had seized the crowd. People were running everywhere, and acrid smoke drifted on the night air. The noble families were departing in terror, their ox-drawn carriages adding to the confusion. Everywhere drivers where shouting and whipping their oxen or other drivers. The crown prince and his court had withdrawn to the gallery of the lake pavilion, whence they were fearfully gazing at the fire among the stands.

Their own frantic progress was impeded by the stream of people leaving the grounds. Flames cast a lurid light on the milling scene, smoke obscured other areas, actors in demon costumes dodged in and out of the crowd. The demon chase had become real.

They came to a halt when three carriages suddenly collided. The ensuing hysterics of the elegant ladies inside and of the plunging oxen outside stopped all traffic and blocked the way to the Sugawara stand. Directing Tora and Genba to lend a hand, Akitada climbed the tall wheel of one of the carriages to peer over its roof. He caught a glimpse of Seimei outside the screened enclosure. The old man was walking anxiously back and forth, scanning the crowd. Thank heaven all seemed well. Jumping back down, Akitada lent a hand to the drivers. After a few minutes of concentrated effort, the carriages finally pulled apart and moved off. Akitada turned toward their viewing stand.