"Sick? Ask him if Sunada has been out today?"

Genba did so, but the man kept shaking his head and repeating the same phrase while wringing his hands.

Akitada grumbled, "Come on! We'll find the patient ourselves."

The anteroom opened into a large, gloomy reception hall where heavy pillars rose to the high rafters. The tatami mats looked thick and springy, and on the walls paintings on silka" courtiers and ladies moving among willow trees and graceful villasa"glimmered in the dim half-light. At the far end, a long dais stretched the entire width of the room. It held only a single red silk cushion in its center.

Genba muttered, "If this is how a merchant lives, sir, Takata manor cannot be much better."

"Not much more impressive anyway," said Akitada. With a glance at the paintings, he added, "And less richly furnished, I think."

"Come on," cried Tora from a corner behind the dais. "Here's a door to the private quarters."

They entered a smaller room, a sort of study. A lacquered desk with elegant ivory writing utensils stood in the center. Handsomely covered document boxes lined one wall, and doors opened onto a small garden. But this room, too, was quite empty and had the tidiness of disuse: a new ink cake, an empty water container, new brushes, and neat stacks of fine writing paper.

"Let's look in those boxes," said Genba. "I bet that's where he keeps all his business accounts."

"Later!"

In the dim hall, the servant still hovered near the other end of the dais. When he saw them coming back, he ducked behind one of the pillars and was gone.

Tora cursed. "Where did that sneaky bastard go? We'd better catch him before he warns Sunada."

"After him, Tora," Akitada said. "Genba and I will check the rooms."

They opened door after door on empty room after empty room. The roar of wind and tide was faint here; only the soft hiss of the sliding doors on their well-oiled tracks and the sound of their breathing accompanied them through luxurious, unlived-in spaces. There were more paintings, carved and gilded statues, pristine silk cushions precisely positioned and unmarked by human limbs, lacquered armrests, bronze incense burners without a trace of ash, copper braziers without coals, innumerable fine carvings, and containers of wood, ivory, jade, or gold.

"It's like he's emptied out a treasure house to furnish this place for a bride," said Genba in one room, looking into brocade-covered boxes of picture scrolls and illustrated books which filled the shelves of one wall.

They reached the end of the hallway without seeing anyone. Heavy double doors led outside to a broad veranda that extended across the back of the villa and continued along two wings on either side. Below was a large garden. Pines tossed in the wind and large shrubs hid paths leading off in all directions. Roofs of other buildings, large and small, were half-hidden by the trees.

"Which way now?" asked Genba, looking from side to side. "Should I shout for Tora?"

"No. Listen! I thought I heard music."

But the rhythmic boom of the sea and creaking and rustling of the trees covered all human noise.

Akitada shook his head. "It must have been the wind. You take the right wing! I'll go left."

"What about the garden?"

"When you're done. We'll meet by that bridge over there."

Akitada strode down the gallery, flinging open doors, checking more empty rooms. One of them contained a large painting of three ships at sea, the same ships, unless he was mistaken, as those in the harbor. Some odd-sized document rolls lay stacked on a large chest and he quickly unrolled the top one. It was a map, carefully prepared, of an unidentified shoreline. Strange symbols marked the land, and lines separated provinces and districts. On the water tiny fleets approached harbors. He was about to roll it up again, when he noticed one of the symbols. It was the emblem drawn by Takesuke's soldier, from the mysterious banner carried by some of Uesugi's troops. Proof that Sunada was at the heart of the conspiracy.

Akitada ran down the steps at the corner of the building and joined Genba on the bridge.

"Well?" he asked, seeing Genba's face.

"The whole wing's one huge room, sir. But I couldn't get in. It's locked."

"Come," cried Akitada running ahead. "That must be where he is. Couldn't you force the door?"a"this last in a tone of frustration. Genba was, after all, immensely strong. If he could lift and toss a trained giant from the ring, why could he not break open a mere door?

The answer became obvious. This was no ordinary door. Its hinged, double-sided panels were made of thick slabs of oiled wood and embossed with bronze plates incised with gilded ornamentation. The locking mechanism was hidden in a bronze plate decorated with the same emblem as on the banners and the maps, only here there was no doubt what it represented: an ear of rice. And now Akitada understood the large warehouses outside. No doubt they held a good part of the province's rice harvests. The crest was that of a rice merchant. Sunada.

Akitada listened at the door. Nothing. Inside all was as silent as a grave. He turned away when he heard a cry of pain in the garden. They rushed down the stairs and along a path that led into the shrubberies. At a fork, they separated. Akitada found a rustic garden house, little more than a tiled roof supported by slender wooden columns. A heavy layer of dead vines curtained it. He thought he saw the vines move and flung the brittle tangle aside. Nothing. He turned to leave when someone flung himself on him, knocking him down.

"Got you, bastard!" snarled Tora, yanking Akitada's arms back. Akitada shouted at the pain in his shoulder, and the rest was confusion, because Genba arrived next and swung at Tora, knocking him across the narrow space and against one of the pillars. With a crash, the pillar gave and the garden house collapsed.

They disentangled themselves. Tora rubbed his back. "Sorry, sir. When I saw someone slipping into the garden house, I. . ."

"And I heard the master cry out," Genba said, "and thought some scoundrel had got hold of him. This is a very strange place. Where are all of Sunada's people? There is nobody here but us and two old cripples. Why surround yourself with cripples when you're as rich as Sunada?"

Akitada massaged his throbbing shoulder. "Sunada is a strange character. I remember he behaved with the utmost humility at Takata, but in the city he swaggered among the merchants and attempted to control my staff. Apparently he lives alone here, in a house which is large and emptya"for we have seen neither bedding nor clothes boxes for a familya"yet in the city he keeps women and indulges in lavish and luxurious parties. He hires cutthroats to intimidate the little people outside, but employs injured fishermen who can no longer make a living on the sea."

"Fishermen?" Genba asked, surprised.

"The two servants. Both of them are local men by their dialect and both are maimed."

"No wonder they wouldn't help us."

"Yes. But I wonder why the houseman looked so worried." Akitada turned to Tora. "Did you see anything unusual?"

Tora grumbled, "This whole place is haunted. There are ghosts in the trees playing lutes."

Genba laughed. "You've got to stop seeing ghosts all the time, Tora. It's addling your brains."

"Playing lutes?" said Akitada, grasping Tora's arm. "Where did you hear that? Show me!"

Tora retraced his steps. Suddenly, faintly, through the whistling of the wind in the boughs, they heard it. Someone was playing a lute.

Tora froze. "There. That's what I heard."

Akitada pursued the sound, followed by Genba and, reluctantly, Tora. They broke through a thicket at the end of the property and stood before a small pavilion. Beyond, the dunes began and sere grasses grew all around and up to its bleached wooden steps. The wind was loud here, but so was the sound of a lute, inexpertly plucked, but hauntingly sad in this desolate place.

Akitada's face was grim. He turned and said, "Both of you wait here till I call you."

He walked quickly up the steps of the small veranda, almost stumbling over the huddled shape of the one-armed servant who was cowering there, and flung open the door.

The room was tiny. All it contained were a pristine grass mat and the owner of the estate. If he had noticed Akitada's abrupt entrance, he gave no sign.

Sunada sat hunched over a beautiful lute, muttering to himself as he picked out a vaguely familiar tune. "The snows will come, and the snows will go," he sang softly, "and then my heart will melt into a flood of tears."

"A famous old tune," Akitada remarked, closing the door behind him. "Where did you learn it?"

Sunada did not look up. "She used to sing it." His voice was brittle, like the dried leaves of the summerhouse. "She sang beautifully. Astounding in someone of her class. I fell in love with her when I first heard her. Of course, there was also her physical beauty, but other girls had that." He paused to pluck more notes, random ones, and smiled. "I have traveled far and had many women. She was like none of them."

Akitada quietly lowered himself to the floor.

"How did you find me?" Sunada asked almost casually.

"The lute. The curio dealer told me that the woman Ofumi had one that was so rare and expensive that it could only be purchased by you."

"Ah. I did not plan this. One does not plan an obsession. Imagine. The daughter of peasants and wife of a doss-house keeper on the post road! She could not speak properly when I first met her.''

"How did you meet?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Pure chance. The Omeya woman used to find entertainment for me. One day I came to make arrangements for a small party and found her giving lute lessons to a perfect goddess. I canceled the party and spent the night with my goddess instead."

"She was willing?" Akitada thought of the widow's claims that she had been forced to submit to Mrs. Omeya's customer.

Sunada finally looked at him, surprised. With a cynical grimace, he said, "Naturallya"eager even, as soon as the old one explained who I was. Oh, I always knew Ofumi for what she was, but I wanted her, needed her ..." He grimaced again and broke off. Raising the lute with both hands above his head, he brought it down violently, smashing the delicate inlaid woods into splinters, and tearing at the strings with frantic fingers until the wires parted with a sound that hung in the room like a scream, and blood ran from his hands.

"It was you who killed her, wasn't it?" Akitada said softly.

"Dear heaven!" Sunada looked at his bleeding hands and began to weep. "This woman whom I raised from the gutter to become my consort, for whom I built and furnished this house, for whom I did unimaginable thingsa"she betrayed me. Betrayed me with an oaf of a soldier. One of yours, Governor." He clutched his head and rocked back and forth in his grief.

"You did not answer my question," Akitada persisted.

Sunada lowered his hands and looked at Akitada. "Come, Governor, don't plague me with questions. Nothing matters any longer."

"What about Mrs. Omeya? Did you kill her?"*

Sunada frowned. "That woman! You know what she whispered to me? That your lieutenant had been spending his nights with my future wife. She thought I could use the information against you." Sunada laughed. "The fool!"

Silence fell.

Akitada said, "I am arresting you for the-murders of the woman Ofumi, her landlady, Mrs. Omeya, and the vagrant Koichi."

Sunada ignored him. He fingered the broken lute. "Music fades ..." He raised his eyes to Akitada's. "You know," he said with a crooked smile, "Uesugi underestimated you, but I never made that mistake. A worthy adversary is preferable in a contest for power, don't you think? And I was winning, too. Wasn't I?"

Yes, thought Akitada, Sunada had been winning all along. Had it not been for the merchant's fatal obsession with that arch seductress, Akitada would have been powerless to prevent a disastrous uprising. Aloud he said, "No. The gods do not permit the destruction of divine harmony. You raised your hand against the Son of Heaven."

Sunada sighed. "Always the official view."

"It is over, Sunada."

The other man nodded. "I no longer care. You will find what you seek in my library, the large room in the west wing. Behind the dragon curtain are documents, plans for the insurrection ... it will be enough to end my life . .. and the lives of others."

NINTEEN.

THE TURNING WHEEL.

W.

ell done!" grunted Hitomaro, parrying Akitada's long sword and stepping back.

Both men were stripped to the waist, their bare skin covered with the sheen of perspiration on this gray and cold morning outside the tribunal hall. Akitada smiled briefly and checked the bandage on his left shoulder. "I think it's coming back to me," he said. "I was afraid my arm had stiffened."

"One rarely forgets the right moves."

Hitomaro's face did not lose its gravity. Akitada had hoped that the workout would lift his lieutenant's spirits, but he had not once lost his detachment. Akitada did not like that faraway look in Hitomaro's eyes; he seemed to be gazing into an unseen world, listening for an unheard sound.

"I would not wish to disgrace myself before Takesuke," Akitada joked lamely. "He already has a very poor opinion of me." They all thought that a battle was unavoidable. Men would die and, unlike Sun Tzu, Akitada did not believe that men ever died gladly. The responsibility frightened him more than his own death, but he could not falter now.

Hitomaro resumed his position. They reengaged and continued their practice until the nearby monastery bell sounded the call for the monks' morning rice. When Captain Takesuke arrived, they were bent over the well bucket, sluicing off their sweat.

Takesuke smiled when he took in the significance of the sword practice. "I'm happy to see you quite recovered, Excellency," he said with a smart salute. "I also have made preparations. You will be proud of the troops. In fact, I came for your Excellency's banner so we can make copies to carry into battle."

The feeling of well-being after the exercise evaporated with the water on Akitada's skin. Here was a man after Sun Tzu's heart. He shivered and reached for a towel. "Hitomaro will supply you with what you need. The problem is getting Uesugi out of Takata. That manor is too strongly fortified."

Takesuke said confidently, "He will fight. How can he refuse and retain his honor now that he has openly declared himself ruler of the northern provinces and demanded our formal submission?"

Akitada shot him a sharp glance as he tossed away the towel and reached for his gown. "Just how do you know that, Captain?"

Takesuke pulled a folded, bloodstained sheet of paper from under his shoulder guard. "One of my men brought this from Takata. When it got light enough, they noticed two posts that hadn't been there before. They sent a man to investigate. He found two fresh corpses tied to the posts. They had been disemboweled and one had this attached to his chest with a dagger."

Sickened, Akitada unfolded the paper. The writing was large and crude, the characters in the middle obliterated by the blood-soaked hole left by the dagger, but the content was clear: "The traitor Hisamatsu sends this greeting to Sugawara and Takesuke: Bow to the new Lord of the North or suffer as I did."

"Hisamatsu is dead," Akitada said tonelessly, handing Hitomaro the message.

Hitomaro read and nodded. "He had no chance. What good is a raving lunatic to Uesugi? I suppose the other one is Chobei?"

Takesuke nodded.

Akitada said, "They were probably killed last night, a whole day and night after Hisamatsu went to Takata. That means Uesugi did not act until he got news of Sunada's arrest."

Hitomaro looked surprised. "You mean he blamed them for that?"

"Perhaps." Akitada refolded the paper and put it in his sleeve. "Or perhaps he had been waiting for Sunada's instructions. In any case, he keeps himself informed about developments in the city."

"The faster we move on him the better," Takesuke said eagerly. "When will your Excellency give the order to march?"

The man's eagerness to sacrifice himself and untold numbers of other humans on the battlefield was too much for Akitada. He swung around angrily. "Have you not been listening, man? We cannot take the manor. It is inaccessiblea"as you should have realized long ago. And I doubt that Uesugi will accommodate us by coming out. Get it into your thick skull and stop badgering me!"

Takesuke blanched. He bowed. "My apology."

Akitada bit his lip. He was ashamed of his outburst and tempted to leave the awkward scene for the safety of his office. Eventually he said grudgingly, "There is still a great deal of paperwork to be done before we can bring formal charges against Uesugi, but I suppose we must make ready to attack."

Takesuke got up and stood to attention. "Yes, Excellency. Thank you, Excellency."

Akitada sighed. He could not afford to antagonize this man. "Perhaps tomorrow, Captain," he said and walked away.

a The tribunal archives had lost their dusty, musty air of disuse. On a closer inspection of Sunada's house, the warehouses had held much of the province's rice stores, and the locked room had guarded the secrets of a planned uprising.

Now everywhere in the tribunal piles of document boxes covered the floor. The two clerks were bent over papers, reading, making notes, and sorting Sunada's records into neat stacks. Seimei bustled about, checking and labeling the stacks and making notes. A harassed but happy Hamaya greeted Akitada.