CHAPTER NINE
IMBALANCE
The wakashū’s mansion compound did not look any less run-down now that he had returned to the neighbourhood. Hiroki was sure he could get inside the place without having to deal with the cranky old gatekeeper, if only because there were so many gaps in the ill-maintained walls.
“Still a mess,” said Shiro, extending himself to look over Hiroki’s shoulder. “I’d be ashamed to live in that.”
"Maybe better-looking inside?" Tetsuo said, taking his turn to look. “Shouldn’t someone from the capital be able to find a decent place to live? We’re strangers here and we found one.”
“Finding a proper home and being able to afford one aren’t the same thing,” Hiroki told them. “Come on. Let’s do this interview quickly.” Before I change my mind and simply have the arms master arrest him. The last thing he wanted to do was to willingly spend time with this rude, insulting young man.
The gatekeeper was no happier to see them than he had been on their first visit; it occurred to Hiroki that the man was not much better maintained than the house. There was no one to greet them once they reached the building; in fact, the first face they saw on climbing to the porch was that of the wakashū Togashi himself, who was seated in the centre of a room only one of whose shutters was open to the daylight.
He became aware of them at the same moment, and his face became ugly. “The provincials,” he said, practically spitting the words. “You might as well go back the way you came. I have nothing to give you.” He snapped his fan in dismissal.
“Interesting,” Hiroki said in a deliberately calm voice, “given you can’t have any idea what we’re asking for. Or can you?”
“Of course I have no idea. Nor do I see that it would make any difference if I had. I still would have nothing to give you. And even if I had, I wouldn’t want to.”
Hiroki raised a hand to forestall the explosion he expected from Shiro. “We are making inquiries on behalf of your host, the arms master,” Hiroki said. “Please be so good as to tell us where you have been for the past several days.”
“Demons take you, I will not. I am surprised even you could be so rude, knowing who my friends are.”
“Your particular friend is the one who directed us here.” Hiroki paused to let the wakashū absorb that information. “We are, you see, investigating the murder of the Lady Miyoshi Tomiko.”
Togashi dropped his fan.
His face was very pale as he said, “Murder? When?”
“The morning of the day you disappeared,” Hiroki told him. “A piece of fabric was discovered caught in a mat beside the body. The fabric came from a pair of wisteria-coloured hakama. Numerous people in the Miyoshi compound identified those hakama as being yours.
“Now perhaps you understand the importance of our question. Once more, then: where have you been?”
“On Mount Hiei,” Togashi said, sullenness and colour returning. “At a temple. As for the hakama, if they are the ones I’m thinking of they were lost — or stolen — weeks ago. I had to fire my personal servant because of his thieving, in fact.”
“Very convenient,” said Tetsuo.
“But true for all that. You can ask my particular friend about it. Or am I the only one to be persecuted because of this horrible crime?”
“The arms master has imprisoned his secretary subject to our investigation,” Hiroki said. “I will be reporting this conversation to the lord, of course. So Kanegawa’s position could well change.”
“My position will not. If required to I can present Lord Miyoshi with the names of hundreds of holy men who saw me at the temple, and dozens who can testify to the hours of my arrival and departure.”
“And that temple is — ?”
“Not something I am going to tell you, my bumbling provincial. Why don’t you set yourself to finding my servant? That would be more suited to your talents and abilities, I’m sure. His name is Makoto, and while I’ve no idea where he is now I’m sure that you and your friends are more than familiar with the sorts of places his type can be found.”
In spite of himself, Hiroki was fascinated by the wakashū’s behaviour. The news of Lady Tomiko’s murder had clearly upset him — upset him sufficiently to make Hiroki question his theory that the wakashū was the killer — but he had recovered with remarkable speed. Moments after learning of Tomiko’s death he was insulting Hiroki as if the interview had been about flower arranging and not murder.
It was a matter of instinct for him to say, “Be calm, Shiro, and ignore him. The boy is deliberately being rude. It’s a tactic.”
“He’s no boy,” Shiro said. “He may dress like one but I’ll wager he’s got ten years on me.”
“I would still my tongue if I were you,” the wakashū said — sounding a little like a startled dog, Hiroki thought. “You have no idea of the people I know.”
“We’re going to find out, though,” Hiroki told him, keeping his own voice quiet, forcing the wakashū to listen closely. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll enjoy that very much.”
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Chapter 7 Chapter 8
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