A look of understanding flashed in Kaoru's eyes. He paled, thought a moment, and said, "I cannot be certain. At one point, Okano wanted the lights out to do a lantern dance."

Akitada turned to Oyoshi almost ferociously. "Well, Doctor? Was it suicide?"

Oyoshi winced. "Possibly," he said.

"Are you just being mysterious or is something wrong?" Akitada snapped.

Oyoshi seemed to shrink within himself. "What I meant is that one can hang oneself in just this manner with the help of a thin garment and a handy hook or bar."

Akitada went to look at the knot, then turned abruptly to kneel by the dead woman. He checked her face and throat. "There is a small bruise here," he said, pointing.

"When she dropped, her temple may have hit the door," Oyoshi suggested.

Akitada measured the distance between the grate and the floor with his eyes. "She is very short. Were her feet touching the floor when you found her, Kaoru?"

"Not quite, sir."

"Why didn't she use that stool over there?"

There was no answer.

Akitada picked up the cut scarf. He recalled how proudly she had worn it and sighed. "Hand me that chain over there, Kaoru, and help me measure." Between them, they straightened the body and measured it. Then they held the marked piece of chain against the door. Akitada nodded. "As I thought. She could not have reached high enough to tie that knot, which is in any case on the outside of the grate." He looked at Oyoshi. "Do you still think it likely that she committed suicide?"

Oyoshi regarded Akitada warily. "I thought it was possible."

Akitada bent to spread the scarf over the dead woman's distorted face. "I see," he said. "Thank you."

a After a cursory meal of rice and pickled vegetables shared with Tamako who, after one glance at her husband's face, refrained from making conversation, Akitada sat alone in his office, sipping lukewarm wine and glumly considering his situation. Someone had murdered the Omeya woman in his own jail. The murderer had come into the jail, called the prisoner to the door, reached through to strangle her, and then hanged her from the grate. It had taken remarkable nerve, but this person had taken such risks before. Hitomaro's testimony against the widow was now useless, and Akitada had lost his gamble. Neither an orderly retreat after resigning his office nor precipitate flight was possible, even had he been able to resort to such shameful solutions.

At that moment in his ruminations, Hitomaro himself appeared. He walked in abruptly, accompanied by a dazed-looking constable, and sat down across from Akitada without a greeting.

Akitada frowned at the constable. "You may wait outside," he said, wondering what the man was doing here. The constable hesitated just a fraction of a moment, then left and closed the door behind him.

Akitada's first impression was that Hitomaro was ill. He was perfectly white, and his eyes met Akitada's with the blank fixity of a corpse's stare. His voice, when he spoke, was flat and emotionless.

"She's dead."

Akitada jumped a little. "What? Who is dead? Are you feeling all right?"

One of Hitomaro's hands moved slightly in a dismissive gesture. "Ofumi. The woman you know as Mrs.. Sato," he said in the same remote manner.

Akitada's eyes went from Hitomaro's hand to his robe. There were dark splotches on the deep blue cotton. They spread across the chest and down the front. Hitomaro's right sleeve was stained all the way to the wrist. It dawned on Akitada that Hitomaro wore no sword. He controlled a wave of fear.

"Report."

At first there was no answer. Then Hitomaro's shoulders straightened. Looking past Akitada, he recited in the official manner, "I proceeded to Hisamatsu's villa as ordered and found it deserted. Making inquiries of the servant, I found out that Hisamatsu and Chobei had left during the night, taking a pack horse with them. The servant claims he does not know where they went. I returned to the tribunal to make my report. When I heard from Tora what happened at the court session, I was seized by anger and shame that my foolish indiscretions should have warned Hisamatsu and compromised the case against the widow Sato. I immediately went to the Omeya house. Shea" the Sato woman was there." He stopped and looked Akitada squarely in the eyes. "I'm under arrest for her murder, sir. The constable brought me here."

EIGHTEEN.

THE BROKEN LUTE.

A.

kitada found it nearly impossible to raise his eyes from the blood-soaked sleeve. "Hitomaro ... ?" he began and faltered.

Hitomaro's voice was abject and his tone oddly detached. "Forgive the trouble I have caused. You saved my life once, but I should have known it was forfeit. I'll make it easy for you. Once a killer, always a killer, they'll say."

A furious anger seized Akitada, and his voice shook. "Make it easy for me? Like Tora, you mean? You think that will make it easy? Why did you do it? You had your life before you. The other time you killed to avenge your wife's honor. And I... I thought I had found a man I could trust with my life, a friend, and I counted myself lucky. I would have done anything, faced anything in this godforsaken place to avoid this." He struck the desk with both fists. "Why, Hitomaro?"

Hitomaro lowered his eyes and shook his head mutely.

"Did you think to save me by killing the woman?"

"I thought of it. Also because I was angry that she had lied to me and used me to get to you."

Akitada put his face in his hands and groaned.

After a moment, Hitomaro continued in the same dreamy tone, "I was so angry I could've killed her, perhaps I would've killed her . . . but when I saw her, she looked asleep. Her head was turned away and I couldn't see at first. She wore that white robea"she must have changed into it after she got back from the tribunala"and I thought she was covered with a piece of crimson silk. Strange, I wanted to kill her, but I also felt desire. She was so beautiful. . . lying there."

Slowly Akitada raised his face from his hands and stared at Hitomaro. "You did not do it? She was dead? When you found her, she was already dead?"

Hitomaro nodded very slowly. His eyes were unfocused, staring past Akitada as if at a memory indelibly etched on his brain. "I could see what was wrong when I came closer," he said in the same terrifyingly detached voice. His right hand touched his neck. "Her head was almost cut off. She was lying there in her own blood. It was still flowing... and warm. It was her blood that had turned the white silk red."

"Dear heaven."

The toneless voice went on. "I drew my sword and went to look for her killer. In every room. There was no one there, not even the maid servant. Then I went back to her. I... I tried to hold her, but her head ... I thought, perhaps she's not quite dead. So I tried to tie up the wound. I cut some of the fabric of her gown with my sword. That's when they found me. The maidservant and the constables."

"But you did not kill her," Akitada confirmed again, relief washing over him like a warm spring shower.

Hitomaro shook his head mutely.

"Have you any idea who did?"

Hitomaro plucked at his blood-soaked sleeve. The glazed look was still with him.

"Hitomaro." Akitada leaned forward. "Think! We must find the killer to clear you. Anything may help. Did she complain about anyone? Who were her friends? Was she worried about anything?"

Hitomaro shook his head to every question. He frowned, seemed to make an effort to think. "She asked a lot of questions about the murder investigation. But she also asked other questions, once about the judge." His voice turned bitter. "I was the last man she would have confided in. She used me to get information." His eyes met Akitada's for a moment. "Let it go, sir. This way she cannot make any more trouble. If you start looking for her killer, the enemy will take other action. Now it will just be seen as a lover's quarrel."

"And you will die for it. Even the most lenient court in the capital will balk at passing over a second murder."

Hitomaro's mouth quirked into a ghost of a smile. "Do not worry so. I am done with life."

"What?" With that angry shout, Akitada rose. "Well, then, go to jail, for I cannot save you from that, but do not think that your friends will rest while you submit to trial, sentence, and execution because you are tired of living." He strode to a clothes chest and threw it open, rummaging until he found his quilted hunting robe, heavy leggings, and an old fur-lined cap. Hitomaro watched without comment as Akitada put those on, snatched his sword from its stand, slung it over his shoulder, and then clapped his hands.

The constable peered in.

For so big and strong a man, Hitomaro looked oddly shrunken and helpless, sitting there slumped, his head bowed, and his broad hands resting limply on his knees.

"Take the lieutenant to the jail and lock him up," snapped Akitada.

a There was the usual crowd of ghouls when Akitada got off his horse in front of the Omeya house. Only Tora and Genba, both grim-faced, accompanied him. In his hurry, Akitada had dispensed with the usual runners, banner bearers, and scribes, but he was recognized nevertheless, and the people parted before him silently.

Akitada glanced at them, then looked up and down the street, at the neighboring houses, and at the rear garden of the Fox Shrine across the road. When he had an idea of the surroundings, he entered the Omeya house.

A thin girl with a grotesquely large head and thin, greasy hair twisted into a bun tried to fade into the wall of the hallway leading to the rear of the house. Behind her, steep steps led up to the second floor.

"You there!" Akitada called to the girl. "Come here!"

She shook her head violently and turned to scramble up the steps with the agility of a monkey.

"Get her!" Akitada snapped to Tora and walked into the first room. It was furnished as a reception room and empty. He continued down the corridor, opening doors and closing them again on unoccupied rooms. Upstairs he heard Tora's pounding footsteps and the squeals of the girl.

At the end of the corridor a constable suddenly appeared from one of the doors. "Out!" he shouted, waving both hands. "No one is allowed! How many times do I have to tell you bastards ... ?" As Akitada stepped from the shadows, the constable fell abruptly silent and dropped to his knees. Akitada walked around him and into the room the man had come from.

The murder scene was as Hitomaro had described. Genba, who came in behind him, gasped audibly, then went to feel for a pulse behind the dead woman's ear. A heavy, sweet smell of blood mingled with an exotic blend of incense. The bloodied gown, which had seemed like crimson satin to Hitomaro, was now a dark rust color, and the puddle the woman lay in had partly congealed and partly soaked into the grass mat.

Akitada bent to undo the blood-soaked bandages Hitomaro had wrapped around the severed neck. Both neck and chest looked like a single massive wound, but the pale face and glossy black hair were untouched and still achingly beautiful. Akitada stood looking down at the woman he had known as Mrs. Sato, but who had also been Hitomaro's Ofumi.

Tora walked in, dragging along the maidservant. "She won't talk, sir. Doesn't make a sound. Maybe the shock has addled her brain." He glanced at the body and whistled. "Merciful Amida! I can see how it would." He released the girl.

She scuttled into a corner, where she cowered on her knees and bobbed up and down in silent obeisance.

Akitada approached her cautiously. "Don't be frightened, girl," he said. "Nobody is going to harm you."

She bobbed more violently.

"Stop that!" Akitada ordered, stamping his foot. "Look at me!"

She became still and raised small, anxious eyes to his face. Her bony, work-reddened hands hovered before her face and then touched her ears.

"Were you here during the day?" Akitada asked.

She only looked at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Did you see anyone in this house after the midday rice?"

Still no answer.

"Were you here when this woman returned? Speak, girl! You won't be punished."

"Sir?" Genba joined him. "I think she's a deaf-mute. I've seen them make that sign with their hands. You know, pointing to their mouth and ears."

"Good heavens, what next?" said Akitada in disgust. "A witness who may have seen the killer and can't speak."

"She may read lips. Let me try, sir," Genba offered and crouched down next to the girl.

Akitada turned away. The room's luxury and good taste astonished him. Even the mat on which the body lay was at least two inches thick and woven of the finest grass, its edges bound in purple brocade. He bent to touch its surface. The mat was smooth, soft, and springy and must have cost a great deal. Around it stood curtain rails of painted lacquer draped with robes embroidered in silk and gold threads with a design of cherry blossoms, birds, and pine branches. The brazier, its coals barely glimmering under a thick layer of ashes, was a finely chased bronze replica of a pair of mandarin ducks, symbol of faithful lovers. The four clothing boxes of gold-dusted lacquer, each decorated with symbols of the seasona"plum blossoms for spring, wisteria for summer, chrysanthemums for autumn, and snow-covered grasses for wintera"stood stacked against a wall. He flung them open one by one. Each contained a rich wardrobe of women's robes for that time of year.

"She lived pretty well for a whore," Tora commented.

"What?" Akitada was still looking about for an object that should have been there but was not.

"It's clear where Hito's money went," Tora said, pointing at the clothes chests.

"Not Hitomaro's money. Someone else's," said Akitada. "All of these things are of extraordinary quality and consummate taste. The innkeeper's widow, though apparently a woman of many talents, did not have the education to select such treasures. Neither would she have found them in this city."

Genba scrambled to his feet and joined them. "Sorry," he said. "The girl's not just deaf and dumb, but a bit slow. She kept shaking her head when I asked if Ofumi had had any visitors. It seems she found the body when she came to turn down the bedding and she ran to get the constables. When they returned, they found a man, covered with blood, and with a bloodstained sword in his hand, crouching over the dead woman. I think it must've been Hito. She believes he was the killer. She kept pointing to the curtain stands. Apparently she thinks that he was hiding behind them when she came the first time."

"That is no help at all!" Akitada snapped. He caught a glimpse of the girl's pale, frightened face as she slunk from the room.

"If it wasn't Hito, then who?" asked Tora. "I mean who else would want her dead? The bastard who hanged the Omeya woman in jail so she wouldn't testify against this one wouldn't turn around and kill her, too. It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe not," Genba said hotly, "but it wasn't Hito. I'd bet my life on it. He loved that fox of a woman. And besides, he would never kill a defenseless female."

"Hmm," muttered Akitada. "Genba? When you asked that servant if anyone had come to see Ofumi, did you use the word *visitor'?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Look around you. Someone may have called who was not, in the servant's eyes, a visitor but had a right to be here. Come on, both of you. We are going to Flying Goose village."

a The road to the coast was wide and lined with stands and roadside eateries, among them the shrimp shack where Hitomaro had first tangled with Sunada's henchman Boshu. The wind carried the tangy smell of the ocean. Now, in this icy weather and at this time of day, the road was deserted. The gusts buffeted them and tossed the horses' manes and tails. They were thankful when the gray eastern sea came into sight beyond a forlorn cluster of fishermen's wooden shacks and more substantial warehouses. There were only traces of dirty snow about here, but the sky was an ominous gray and the waves roared and crashed onto the rocky shore. Far out, a fleet of three merchant vessels tossed and bucked on their anchor ropes. All the smaller fishing boats, hundreds of them, lay pulled up on the beach, weighted down with heavy nets and rocks.

Barely glancing at the whitecapped sea, Akitada rode straight through Flying Goose village toward the only buildings important enough to be Sunada's residence. The large compound was enclosed by dirt walls and shaded by windswept pines.

Its main gate was made of heavy beams and boards, studded with big iron nails which had left bloody trails of rust on wood grayed by the wet and salty sea air.

Tora pulled his sword from the scabbard and delivered a series of resounding knocks with its hilt. "Open up in the name of the governor!" he bellowed.

The right side of the gate opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. An elderly one-legged man on a crutch stared up at them. "What is it?" he croaked in the local dialect. "The master's resting."

"Out of the way!" Tora urged his horse forward and the man twisted aside, grabbing in vain for Tora's bridle before he fell.

They galloped past large storehouses, stables, and servants' quarters to the main residence. There they dismounted, pushed past another gaping servant, this one missing an arm, and into the interior of the house.

Akitada saw with one glance that the mansion was spacious and built from the finest woods but in the style of well-to-do merchants' houses. He turned to the servant who had fallen to his knees before him and seemed to be objecting in his heavy dialect.

"What is he saying?" Akitada growled to Genba, who was more likely than Tora to have picked up the local patois.

"I think he says that his master's sick." Genba sounded dubious and added, "The fishermen hereabout talk differently from the townspeople."