A dismal silence fell. “Well,” Miss Plumblossom finally said firmly, “I think your father treated you abominably for a little mistake, and then that bastard Danjuro did you wrong. Men! And your own sister, instead of opening her arms to you with love, tells you to leave her alone. Your whole family has a lot to answer for.”
Akitada looked on helplessly. Hell had little to compare with the sufferings of the living. In the face of such misery—the loss of her family, her lover, her beauty, and the hope for future happiness—he felt humbled.
Tora, characteristically unsentimental, looked at the practical side of the situation. “You know,” he pointed out, “your sister can’t inherit your father’s place, and that leaves only you. You’ll have the farm, and if you’re the girl I think you are, you’ll make a go of it.”
The thought surprised Yugao. She stared at him. “Kohata mine? Do you really think so? But who will believe me? How can they tell I’m Yugao when my own mother would not recognize me?”
Tora looked at his master in consternation.
“I think,” said Akitada, “considering your great service to the capital in identifying Noami as the slasher, and your testimony in the present case, the authorities will help you prove your identity by the details you remember of your home and past. I see no great difficulties in your claiming your inheritance.”
Yugao rose. Looking down at Miss Plumblossom, she reached for her hand. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” said the other woman gruffly, getting up. “You’re a brave girl. Let’s go and get it over with.”
Yugao suddenly smiled. It was startling, a horrible grimace, but it touched their hearts and they all smiled back at her. Miss Plumblossom nodded and dabbed her eyes,
When they arrived, Kobe stared in surprise at the ill-assorted group of men and women who crowded into the prison director’s office.
“What’s this?” he demanded of Akitada. “I’m dead tired and have a hard day ahead of me. As you well know.”
“You don’t have to go to Kohata. I brought Kohata to you.” Akitada pulled Yugao forward.
Kobe flinched when he saw her face. “Miss Plumblossom’s maid? The one who identified the painter?”
“Yes,” the maid said, her voice trembling a little. “But I am also Yugao, Yasaburo’s younger daughter. I have come to identify my sister Nobuko so she can atone for what she has done.”
Kobe stared at her. Slowly a broad grin replaced his scowl. He shouted for a guard and ordered both prisoners brought back.
Danjuro tottered in first. A doctor had tended to his broken rib, but he looked ill and hopeless. Nobuko entered with her head held high. She saw her sister immediately and looked away. Except for small beads of perspiration on her face and a slight trembling of her hands, she gave no sign of recognition. Glancing at the others, she sneered, “I see you’ve brought this has-been of an acrobat and a parcel of untalented actors to speak against me. It won’t do you any good.”
Yugao stepped forward. “It’s no use, Nobuko,” she said. “I told them. Our father was not always kind, but you should not have let Danjuro kill him. It was a terrible crime against the mandate of heaven.”
The beauty raised her chin. “Who is this deformed freak? Are you scouring the gutters to trump up your charges, Superintendent?”
Akitada said, “Your sister has proven her identity. Do not waste time on pointless denials.”
Danjuro had been staring at the scarred sister. “Yugao? You’re Yugao?” He took a step toward her. Kobe signaled the guard to release him. Danjuro’s eyes roamed over Yugao’s face and figure. She stood still, flushing painfully, but bearing it. Moving behind her, he lifted her heavy hair.
Nobuko cried out, “Danjuro, don’t touch her! She’s dirty scum!
Too late. Everyone in the room had seen the small birthmark at the nape of Yugao’s neck. Danjuro dropped Yugao’s hair and looked at Nobuko. “It’s no use. It’s Yugao, all right. It’s all over.”
For a moment, Nobuko stood staring at him stonily. Then she spat at him. “I take pleasure in the knowledge that you will die, coward.” She turned to Kobe. “Well, you have what you wanted. I wish to go to my cell now.”
Kobe was complacent. “Very well.” He nodded to the officer of the guard. “We shall begin the interrogation tomorrow. I expect she’ll confess but, just in case, have the green bamboo whips ready.” The guards marched both prisoners out.
Akitada was sickened by Kobe’s order. Green bamboo was thin and pliant and could shred a prisoner’s skin. “I suppose we had all better go home,” he muttered. “I cannot say I shall remember this day with any pleasure.”
Yugao was weeping softly. Miss Plumblossom put an arm around her, and they turned to go.
Kobe was about to say something when there was a muffled noise outside. He looked toward the door. They all heard it now: a high, thin screaming and male shouts. Running steps approached, the door was flung open, and a breathless constable appeared. The screams were horribly clear now.
The man cried, “Sir, the prisoner tried to escape—”
A second figure appeared behind him. One of Nobuko’s guards, his pale face rigid. He raised his right hand, which held the two-pronged jitte. Both his arm and the jitte were covered in gore. Outside, the screaming stopped.
Kobe asked, “What happened?”
The guard choked on his words. “When we got to the courtyard, she ran. We gave chase. Someone cornered her, but she slipped past them. She didn’t see me. I stepped in her way and… and just raised the jitte… so … to stop her.” The man turned faintly green and gulped. “She ran into it… with her face, sir.” He gulped again. “It went into her eye and mouth, sir. All the way. She’s dying.” He turned his head to listen to the silence outside. “Dead,” he amended.
Epilogue
Superintendent Kobe did not, after all, spend the holiday riding all over the countryside in the chilly winter air. Instead he was invited to the Sugawara-house, where an enormous dinner was laid on, with mountains of moon cakes, fish stews and game soups, pickled eggs, rice cakes filled with vegetables, rice gruel with red beans, salted chestnuts, sliced sea bream, boiled taro, marinated radish, and any number of other delicacies.
There was much more to celebrate than even Akitada had anticipated. When he woke on New Year’s morning to the excited shouts of Yori and a large pitcher of spiced New Year’s wine, Seimei made an unexpected appearance. He never intruded when Akitada spent the night in his wife’s room. On this occasion, he entered only after being invited, his eyes strangely bright and with an air of suppressed excitement. He blushed and averted his eyes from the pile of bedding where Yori was tumbling about with his parents.
“Sir,” he murmured, “my apologies to both of you, but I just found that a document was delivered from the palace. A messenger must have brought it while we were out last night, and that fool of a boy forgot to mention it.” He bowed and scuttled out of the room quickly.
Akitada had a reasonably clear conscience for once and proceeded to his study after calmly completing his toilet. Seimei and Harada were there, kneeling on either side of his desk as if in prayer to the imperial missive. The document, a tightly rolled tube of thick paper, tied with purple silk ribbons, rested on a black-lacquer tray in the center of his desk. He recognized what it was at once and stopped. Many years ago he had seen something like it. It had been addressed to another man and occupied the place of honor on his ancestral altar. It was official notice of rank promotion, traditionally handed with due ceremony to the recipient by his superior shortly before the official posting on the public board outside the palace gate on New Year’s Day. The fact that he had just returned and was between assignments apparently had made this normal procedure impossible.