Sakae bit his lip and muttered an apology. Akitada was rather pleased with himself for having disarmed Sakae so easily.

The next few hours passed with the usual routine. Sakae was quiet and cooperative for once. Akitada closed the last file he had been working on and told Sakae, “I have some business in the Popular Affairs Ministry. If you will put away the documents, you may leave early for your midday rice.”

Glad to have escaped another unpleasant meeting with Soga, Akitada walked quickly across the government compound. The senior archivist in the stuffy and dusty tax office greeted him as an old acquaintance. Akitada had paid prior visits when he was investigating a case against an official who had been appropriating the rice tax for his private use.

“I know I’m a bother, Kunyoshi,” Akitada said loudly, for Kunyoshi was rather deaf, “but I mislaid a document and must finish a report tonight. It concerns allotment land, a rather large parcel as I recall. Until about five years ago it belonged to a family called Utsunomiya, but the name was officially removed due to some crime. I need to know the location of the land. Both province and district.”

Kunyoshi pursed his lips and studied the cobwebs on the ceiling. “Not much to go on. I see so many names every day. Still, Utsunomiya? It’s an unusual name. Why do I think Izumo Province?”

Akitada’s heart sank. Izumo was far from the capital. But at least Kunyoshi recognized the name. He said encouragingly, “It might be. What do you remember?”

“Oh, there was some reference just the other day. Now why does that name remind me of Izumo?” He scratched his head, dislodging a small shower of dust particles, and turned to study the long rows of shelving that held the nation’s tax records, records of land rent, lists of public lands, stipendiary lands, and possessory fields. “I think I may be getting it confused with another allotment case. The claimant was very unpleasant but definitely not called Utsunomiya.” He made a sudden dash along a wall of documents, pushed a short ladder up to one section, climbed it nimbly, and began to shuffle boxes around. Clouds of dust rose. “Not this one. Perhaps this?” He sneezed. “Ah! An interesting case. A temple, cultivating public land, wants to claim tax exemption. No doubt it will come your way soon. Would you like to take a peek?”

“Is it Utsunomiya land?” Akitada shouted.

“Oh, no. Another case altogether. You don’t want it? All right. It must be here somewhere. I recall when I was putting it back I was so angry I almost dropped the box . . . there! I put it in the wrong place.” Kunyoshi clambered down and brought over a large box. Brushing more dust off the top with his sleeve, he undid the silk clasp and lifted the lid. Inside was a small pile of papers, rolls of documents, and some maps. Akitada’s fingers itched to go through them, but he waited patiently as Kunyoshi slowly and lovingly inspected the contents. “Hmm, yes. It was in Izumo. I see it also involves abandoned fields in Hoki Province. But no reference to anyone by the name you mentioned. No. Sorry. My mind must have been playing tricks on me. Perhaps it was some other matter.” He replaced everything and closed the box again.

“Wait. What other matter?” Kunyoshi shook his head and dashed back to his ladder. Akitada called after him, “Can you not recall anything at all? It’s important. Think, man!”

The archivist peered down from the top of his ladder. “I wonder,” he asked, “would you care to consult the main register? An awful lot of entries, but maybe the right place will pop out. Just a moment.” He scrambled back down and disappeared into the depths of the archival hall.

Discouraged, Akitada stepped out onto the veranda for some fresh air. To his surprise, he almost fell over Sakae, who yelped and jumped out of his way.

“What are you doing here?” Akitada demanded. “I thought I sent you home quite a while ago.”

Sakae’s look of having been caught out at something forbidden changed to smug satisfaction. “Yes, sir, but the minister wants you. I am so glad I remembered that you would be here. When I saw how angry he was about Nakatoshi doing all that work for you, I rushed over here. Now you can explain the matter to His Excellency yourself.”

“What’s this I hear, Sugawara?” the minister demanded. “You have had the audacity to ask my clerk to do your personal work for you?”

Akitada glanced at Nakatoshi, who stood behind the seated Soga, pale to the roots of his hair and very angry. Nakatoshi grimaced and inclined his head slightly toward Sakae.

So the malicious little toad had made trouble for Akitada and Nakatoshi both, no doubt out of resentment for having been asked to do some work for a change. But Akitada was even angrier with Soga for using this tone with him in front of two juniors.

“It was a private matter, Excellency,” he said through stiff lips, “and Nakatoshi did the research after working hours.” Akitada was afraid that Soga was about to overstep the line again, and this time he would not let it pass.

“What private matter?” demanded Soga.

“Surely Your Excellency understands the meaning of ‘private’?”

Soga turned a deep red and sputtered, “What? How dare you? Nothing that takes place on these premises and involves one of my clerks is private. I demand an answer.”

Akitada glanced at the two clerks. Nakatoshi looked at him beseechingly; Sakae’s face, caught in a little smirk, became wooden. “Perhaps,” Akitada told Soga icily, “we can discuss this between ourselves.”

He was desperately trying to avoid what would happen if this ridiculous scene continued. Soga was much too angry to keep a rein on his tongue, and Akitada could not swallow another open insult.

Soga seemed to realize it, too. In a much calmer voice, he said, “My clerk told me that you are looking into a case involving someone called Utsunomiya. Is that correct?”

No point in denying it. “Yes. It concerns a promise I made to a friend who died five years ago. Neither I nor our clerks have used working hours on this matter. That is what I meant by it being ‘private.’”

“You know very well that I frown on any of my people dabbling in criminal investigations. I trust this is not a police matter?”

“No, it is not.” At least not yet.

Soga smoothed the ruffled feathers of his anger, obviously reluctant to lose such a tasty example of his hated assistant’s insubordination. He rose abruptly. “You have been warned, Sugawara. Do not let me catch you again.”

Akitada flushed and bowed.

“I must go home,” Soga said. “I have decided to move my household to the country and shall be absent for a few days. See to it that things run smoothly in my absence.”

Akitada bowed again. He was still too angry to trust himself to speak. When Soga had left the room, he took a deep breath and asked Nakatoshi if the minister had received any special duties or new cases.

“No, sir. Just the usual calendar. I’m really sorry . . .”

“Never mind,” interrupted Akitada. “It was not your fault.” During Soga’s tirade, he had come to a decision. Turning to his own clerk, he said, “Since there is no urgent business at the moment, I have some other work for you, Sakae. Report to me in my office.”

Back in his office, he tried to control his temper. He wanted to strangle the malicious little beast but decided instead to keep him busy with a long overdue reorganization of the filing system in the archives. As for Soga—well, the next few days would tell.

When Sakae arrived with his writing utensils, Akitada began by dictating a report to Soga that laid out the details and advantages of a new filing system, while watching with satisfaction the dismay on Sakae’s face when the clerk began to suspect that this project would involve him. As soon as the report was written, Akitada signed it and had Sakae take it to Nakatoshi. “Then come back so that I can show you where to start,” he said. “I hope to present the minister with the finished product when he returns. It is very important that you pay attention and follow instructions precisely, as I shall not be able to be here myself.”