No response. Somewhere a bird chirped sleepily. It occurred to Tora that whoever had escaped the slasher's torture would hardly emerge from his hiding place at the invitation.

Making a methodical circuit of the clearing, he saw where dried weeds and fallen leaves had been disturbed by something large rolling or dragging through the bamboo. For a moment, Tora feared that the slasher had managed to kill his victim after all and had dragged the corpse away. But then he found the partial print of a bare foot. The monster's victim had been too weak to walk and had crawled away, pushing and clawing forward with toes and hands. Cursing under his breath, Tora followed the track as quickly as he could, prepared at any moment to stumble over the dead or unconscious body of a mutilated person.

Preoccupied with the ground, he did not see the wall or the pale figure leaning against it. One moment his eyes were fixed on the earth, the next there was a flash of movement, and he felt a blinding pain on the back of his skull. Sagging to his knees, he plunged into darkness.

Tora was the last person Akitada had expected to see emerging from the bamboo thicket. Thinking only of Noami, he put the last shred of his remaining strength into raising and bringing down the rock at the precise moment when the leaves parted. It seemed an eternity passed, and when the moment finally came, Akitada's arms acted independently. He could do no more than slow the violent descent of the rock at the last moment. Too weak to control the downward stroke, he watched in horror as Tora crumpled before him. Letting the stone drop from his lifeless hands, he began to shake again. He had killed his friend who had come to his rescue.

He fell to his knees beside Tora. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he sobbed, hot tears stinging his cheeks as he rocked back and forth. He stroked Tora's head and his swollen hands were covered with warm blood. With an inarticulate cry, he collapsed across Tora's broad back.

"Sir? Sir? Is that you, sir?"

When the words penetrated the fog of weakness and misery, Akitada struggled up. "Are you alive, Tora?" he asked feebly. "I thought you were Noami, come back to finish me off."

Tora sat up, too, holding his head. He chuckled weakly. "And I thought you were the slasher's accomplice. That's the third knock my head caught tonight."

The sky above had turned a silvery gray, and birds chirped all around them.

"I'm sorry," Akitada said again. He was still shaking, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably, but he looked at Tora with joy. "I'm so glad you came. Yori got home, then?"

"Yori?" Tora lowered his hands and stared at his master. "Holy heaven!" he exclaimed. "What did that bastard do to you?"

Akitada smiled bitterly through chattering teeth. "An experiment in artistic realism. The effect of freezing on the human body. For the hell screen," he said with some difficulty, and struggled to his feet. "Never mind that. What about Yori?"

Tora stood up. "I don't know about Yori. I haven't been home since yesterday morning."

Akitada suddenly felt faint. "Dear heaven! Then the child is still lost. Come. We must find Yori." He grasped Tora's shoulder for support. "Before Noami catches us."

"If he's an ugly little runt with spiky hair, I've caught him." Tora slipped off his ragged coat and shirt. These he wrapped around his master and then put his arm about him to support him. "Your hands, sir," he muttered. "They look terrible." Akitada hid them inside Tora's quilted jacket.

Together they staggered back to the clearing. Noami was conscious and moaning. He glared balefully when he saw them. "Untie me this instant!" he shrieked. "You've broken my shoulder. I may never be able to paint again!"

"Good!" remarked Akitada, sinking weakly on the upturned basket. "Make sure, Tora, that he cannot escape before the police get here."

Tora glanced at the rope dangling from the tree, grinned, and jerked Noami to his feet. The painter screamed. Tora carried him to the tree, attached the rope to his bound wrists, and pulled it taut. The painter screamed again and fainted. His weight caused him to flop forward.

"I wrenched his shoulder out of the socket earlier," Tora explained with great satisfaction. "When he comes to, he won't try to move if he can help it."

Akitada grimaced. "Let him down enough so his feet support his weight," he said.

Tora obliged, but the unconscious man still drooped forward. Akitada got up from his basket. "Here, set him on this and then let's go." As Tora adjusted the unconscious Noami, Akitada flexed his arms and legs experimentally to get some circulation and warmth back into his muscles. But he was too weak and in too much pain and would have fallen if Tora had not caught him in his arms.

Subsequent events were a haze in Akitada's mind. When they emerged from Noami's gate, they encountered the giant warden and Genba. Reassured by them that Yori was home safe, Akitada felt his knees buckle under him. He was placed on a litter and whisked home.

His trials, however, were far from over. Fussed over by a white-faced Tamako, he was stripped and immersed in lukewarm water by Genba and Seimei, an experience which turned out to be excruciatingly painful to his nearly frozen flesh. Later Seimei treated his lacerated wrists by applying ointments and herbal packs, which he changed every few hours. Akitada's hands began to swell and burn. The skin cracked in places and oozed blood.

In spite of this, the satisfaction of knowing Yori was safe was enough in itself, and after drinking a sleeping draught, Akitada asked no questions and slept.

But the exposure during the freezing night had undermined his strong constitution, and his sleep turned into a virulent fever filled with hallucinatory images from the hell screen.

He tossed between nightmare and waking for six days and nights. Finally, on the seventh day, exactly a week after his escape, he woke up clearheaded and hungry. His eyes fell on his sister. Yoshiko sat by his bedside, quietly sewing some child's garment, no doubt Yori's. Memory returned abruptly, and he was filled with an immense gratitude that both he and his son were alive, that he might see him grow up after all, play games with him, and laugh at his childish antics together with Tamako.

He longed for Tamako, but perhaps she had gone to rest. He had given them all too much trouble. Yoshiko looked drawn and tired, quite as pale and worn as she had been when he had first seen her on his return from the north. He lay comfortably warm in his silken bedding-how different from that hellish night in Noami's garden-and wondered if he had done the right thing, forbidding his sister her last chance for happiness. It struck him now that he owed his own happy family to her, for it was Yoshiko who had brought him Tamako.

If only that fellow Kojiro could be cleared of the murder charge. He was innocent, and a much better-and wealthier- man than Akitada had expected. Well, he must see what he could do for him as soon as he was up and about again. He cleared his throat.

Yoshiko's head shot up. "Akitada?" She looked at him anxiously. "You are awake?"

Silly question. Akitada meant to say yes, but managed only a croak.

"Don't try to talk," she cried, and put her sewing by to reach for a teapot on the brazier at her side. She poured a cup and supported his head as he drank.

He was very thirsty and emptied the cup.

"More?"

He nodded and she gave him another cup.

"Thank you," he managed to say after that. "Where is Tamako?"

"Playing with Yori in his room. Shall I fetch them?"

He felt a little hurt that Tamako had left him, but shook his head. "Later."

"How are you feeling, Elder Brother?"

He managed a lopsided grin. "Hungry. How's Tora's head?"

She got up. "Fine. You know Tora. He recovers quickly. He and Genba have been spending most of their time with Miss Plumblossom and the young actress. If you think you will be all right by yourself for a few minutes, I will go heat some rice gruel in the kitchen."

Akitada nodded and she left. Just as well, for he did not relish the idea of having her company for a trip to the privy. Testing his limbs, he found them pain-free but strangely languid. He pushed the covers back and saw the white silk bandages about his wrists. His hands were no longer swollen, but stiff and covered with scabs. Getting to his feet was easier than he thought, but he had to catch hold of a screen when he took his first step. Fortunately, his head cleared and he negotiated the hallway and gallery to the privy without incident.

Feeling better when he emerged, he decided to find his wife and son.

They were, as Yoshiko had said, in the boy's room, kneeling over some papers and busy with brush and ink.

This brought back memories of Noami's lessons and momentarily nauseated him. He grabbed hold of the open doorway. Tamako looked up.

"Akitada!" She was on her feet and, flinging her silk skirts aside, rushed to him to put her arms around his waist.

"A fine greeting for your husband, madam," he teased. "Have you been taking lessons in the Willow Quarter?"

She immediately dropped her arms and flushed scarlet. Bowing primly, she said, "Forgive my immodesty, please. I thought you were going to fall and... and ..."

Akitada reached out and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her soft, sweet-smelling hair. "You may take me into your arms anytime, my wife," he murmured.

"I have missed you," she whispered.

Feeling her pliant body press against his, he took a ragged breath and reached for her sash.

Yoshiko appeared in the corridor, carrying a small footed tray with a steaming bowl on it. "Oh," she cried, "so here you are. You should not have tried to get up so soon after having been in a fever for a whole week."

Akitada released his wife reluctantly. "A week?" he asked, flabbergasted.

The women nodded and half pushed, half drew him into the room to sit on a pillow. Wrapping him into Yori's quilts, they made him eat his gruel. He smiled at Yori between sips, wondering why the boy was so quiet. He tried to talk to him, to ask questions about what had happened, but the women would not permit it until he had emptied the bowl.

The boy sat wide-eyed, watching his father finish. Then he held up a sheet of paper. It bore the wobbly and smudged character for "A Thousand Years."

A New Year's wish. Of course, it was almost that time. Akitada nodded and smiled. "A remarkably fine sign, and very appropriate."

"Do you really like it, Father?" Yori whispered, perhaps out of respect for his father's condition. "It's Chinese for having a long life and good fortune in the coming year. Mother showed me how to write it."

Tamako read and wrote Chinese because her father, a professor at the Imperial University, had taught her as if she had been a son.

Putting the empty bowl aside, Akitada asked, "Do you remember the night at the painter's house?"

Yori nodded. "You sent me home, but I got lost. I asked a man to show me the way. I said, 'Take me to the Sugawara mansion!' He was quite rude and laughed at me, so I stomped on his foot and told him I would have him beaten if he did not obey instantly. He grabbed me by the arm and shook me, saying he would wring my neck like a chicken, but a huge giant appeared and snatched me away. The giant was bigger than Genba, but very dirty. He took me to his hut and gave me soup. He did not laugh when I told him to take me home, but he was not terribly polite and he did not obey me. I went to sleep then."

"You were very brave!" Akitada complimented him.

Yori nodded. "I was."

So the warden had saved the boy. Good man! He would have to do something for him. If only Yori had told the warden where Akitada was. He could have been rescued before Noami strung him up in the garden. But that was ungrateful. He looked at the women. "How did you find out what happened?"

Tamako said, "The warden brought Yori home. When we asked about you, he remembered that Yori had said something about his father. We woke up the child and he told us about the painter's house. After that it was easy. The warden and Genba went to find you. They got there just as Tora carried you out in his arms."

Akitada corrected her. "I was walking. But I must thank the warden in person for returning Yori. He appears to be a very decent fellow and an excellent influence in a bad section of the capital. Besides, I have some questions about Noami's activities. By the way, what happened to the man?"

The two women looked at each other. Tamako said diffidently, "Superintendent Kobe called daily to inquire about your condition. He mentioned that the painter hanged himself."

"What? In prison? They must have been unusually careless."

Tamako avoided his eyes. "Not in prison. They found him hanged in his garden."

Akitada stared at her. "In his garden? But we left him alive."

"Oh. The superintendent thought it strange. He wants to ask you about it."

How was this possible? Akitada thought back to his last sight of Noami. Tora had fastened Noami's wrists to the rope from the tree branch and then shoved the basket under him to prop him up. How could Noami have hanged himself? Even if he had gained consciousness and, like Akitada, climbed on the basket, he could not have tied the rope around his neck with that dislocated shoulder. He shook his head in bafflement.

When Kobe came to see him, Akitada had had a bath and been shaved by Seimei. He had spoken with Genba, Tora, and the recovered Harada, had eaten a light meal of fish soup, and was resting comfortably in his study.

The superintendent approached warily, his face anxious. Akitada greeted him affably. "Good afternoon, my friend. I am grateful for your concern during my illness."

"Oh," said Kobe, sitting down with a sigh of relief, "you do look much better now. Yesterday I was afraid you would not make it."

Akitada chuckled and poured two cups of wine. "My wife says that Noami hanged himself?"

Kobe gave Akitada a sharp look. "It is true that we found him hanging by the neck from a rope tied to a tree branch." He paused, then added, "His hands and feet were tied, and one of his shoulders was dislocated."

"Then someone killed him. Tora fought with the man and dislocated his shoulder, but we left him alive, tied to the rope by his wrists. It is impossible that he could have hanged himself!"

Kobe said nothing.

Akitada stared at him. In disbelief he asked, "Do you think we hanged him?"

"It does not matter. He deserved it." Kobe emptied his cup of wine. "I had my men dig up the garden. They uncovered four skeletons. Two were children, one an old man, and one a woman."

Akitada shook his head. What was it that Noami had said about the children's visits? "It's getting rid of them that's hard." The disposal of the dead and the barely alive must have taxed even his strength. Akitada looked the superintendent in the eyes. "Kobe, I swear to you, we did not hang Noami. I was in no shape to stand, let alone string up a man, and Tora was with me the whole time. We left the man unconscious but alive. Noami got a more humane treatment than he accorded me."

Kobe's eyes went to Akitada's bandaged wrists. He nodded. "We found the sketches. Tora says you freed yourself."

"It was either that or die. He doused me with cold water and left me to freeze because he wanted me in sufficient agony for his cursed hell screen. After that... well, by then he knew that I knew."

Kobe clenched his big fists. "He was a demon! I am glad he is dead. But I wish he had suffered like those poor creatures. Someone cheated us of the pleasure of lawful torture."

Akitada frowned. "I don't understand what happened. Perhaps someone took private vengeance before you got there. How long before-" He broke off. It occurred to him suddenly that it must have been the warden who had taken justice into his own hands. It certainly fit his character of running his quarter by his own set of laws.

"Well, we won't pursue it." Kobe regarded him worriedly. "You still look tired. I won't stay long. Noami is dead, and good riddance, but there is another matter which troubles me more. Yasaburo was found poisoned in his cell."

Akitada sat up. "What?"

"He had had a visitor, an old priest, just before he fell into convulsions. Nobody knew the monk, but he seemed harmless enough and Yasaburo greeted him as an old friend. Since it was a religious visit, the guard left them alone together. Yasaburo was all right when his visitor left, but shortly afterward he started vomiting and screaming with pain. He died before the guard could question him."

"Well, did anyone look for that priest?"

Kobe bristled. "Of course. What do you take us for? We scoured all the temples around and questioned anyone who was in the street at the time the priest came and went. Nothing. The man disappeared into thin air as soon as he left the prison grounds."

"Have you asked Harada?"

"Harada was still pretty sick, but he said that he never knew Yasaburo to associate with priests. In fact, he says his employer despised Buddhists."

"Yet he knew him. Strange." Akitada caught a momentary glimpse of a pattern, but it was all still too vague to share. He asked, "What about Nagaoka's brother? How long are you going to hold him? You must know now that someone else is responsible for the deaths in the Nagaoka family."

Kobe nodded glumly. "I had him released this morning. He will remain in the capital until the case is cleared up."

Akitada thought of Yoshiko. For the past month, he had struggled with the problem of Yoshiko and Kojiro, or rather with himself. While Kojiro was in jail, Akitada had concentrated on the murder cases and pushed the decision about his sister's future aside. Now the inevitable moment had come when he would have to weigh centuries of his family's tradition against Yoshiko's happiness.

He glanced out into the wintry garden. Had Seimei remembered to feed the fish? How pointless his resentment toward the old man seemed now. Tradition-bound, Seimei had chosen loyalty to Akitada's father over love for his son. Where lay one's duty?

Kobe moved restlessly. "I must go," he said. "When you are better..." He hesitated. Akitada looked at him questioningly. Such diffidence was out of character for Kobe. "When you feel more yourself," Kobe blurted, "I would be very glad to have your help with the unsolved cases."

The humble plea marked an extraordinary reversal of their previous roles, and Akitada was profoundly moved. He said quickly, "Of course. I look forward to it,"

Kobe nodded and left.