“None of your business, dog official.” The other man bared his teeth and raised his sword threateningly. A window opened in the house, and a man stuck out his head. When he saw armed men, he withdrew it quickly and slammed the window shut.

Akitada had got a good look at his opponent. Something about his stance and his sword hand was not right. Then he saw that, unlike Haseo, this man was left-handed. Or rather, he was using his left hand because his right was wounded. A thick bloodstained bandage covered most of his forearm.

“That is my sword,” Akitada snapped. “You attacked me and stole it.”

“You’re a liar. I’ve no need to steal swords,” said the other.

On second thought, the man who had taken the sword had certainly had the use of both hands. It was an impasse. Akitada wanted his sword but he also wanted to know if this man was related to Haseo. “You look like a man I once knew,” he said. “His name was Haseo.”

The other man’s face froze. His sword arm dropped to his side and the sword slid from his hand. He took a couple of steps backwards, then turned and ran.

Genba went to pick up the sword. “It’s not yours, sir. Funny. For a moment I thought he’d attack. I guess he just didn’t trust himself with his left hand,” he said.

Akitada went to inspect it. It was an ordinary weapon, the kind a military officer might be issued. Feeling both foolish and disappointed, he pushed it in his belt and said, “Somehow I don’t think that was the reason, but his reaction was certainly strange.”

They returned to the raided house, where the sergeant had given up the uneven battle and was gathering his few remaining sweepers. “No sign of your sword, sir,” he said in a disgusted voice, when Akitada returned his weapon. “We’ll let you know if it turns up.”

Akitada doubted it and told Genba, “Come, we’d better go home before something else happens.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

HASEO’S SWORD

It was nearly dawn when they reached home, but lights were blazing in the Sugawara residence. The gate was opened by the cook, a woman who liked her sleep and certainly never bothered with gates.

She was in a temper. After a perfunctory bow to her master, she told Genba, “I don’t know what Tora can be thinking of, arriving in the middle of the night with two sick strangers, and demanding that I cook for them. And you look terrible, too.”

Akitada, who was already crossing the courtyard to the house, swung around. “Tora’s back?”

When she nodded, they ran into the house, too relieved to consider the rest of the cook’s speech.

Tamako met her husband in the corridor. The meeting reminded Akitada unpleasantly of an earlier one when she had thought that Seimei might have smallpox. She held a lamp, and in the flickering light her eyes glittered.

“How could you permit this?” she cried, her voice shrill with panic. “Cook says Seimei admitted sick strangers to this house.”

Akitada was also uneasy about these unexpected guests, but he tried to calm her. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he said, “I doubt there’s any need for concern. Tora wouldn’t bring anyone who has smallpox. Where are they?”

She stepped back, letting his hand drop away. “In Seimei’s room. He’s treating them. You must make them go away. There are charity hospitals.”

All was quiet in Seimei’s room, but a thin line of light showed around the door. Akitada cleared his throat.

The door opened immediately and Seimei peered out.

“Oh, it’s you, sir,” he whispered. “Returned safely, may the gods be thanked.”

Akitada stepped in and saw three sleeping figures under quilted covers. He found Tora and gently shook his shoulder.

Seimei had followed him. “He was wounded in a sword fight,” he said anxiously.

Tora stirred, blinked against the light and slowly sat up, rubbing his face. “Ah, you’re back, sir,” he said with a yawn. “I meant to go looking for you, but Seimei wouldn’t let me.” He yawned again. “And the truth is, it’s been a long day and night.”

“I’m sorry to wake you.” Akitada squatted beside him. “How badly are you hurt?”

Tora grinned and whipped back the cover to reveal a thickly bandaged thigh. “Just a flesh wound. Seimei cleaned it and put some stinking salve on it. Feels better already.”

“And the others? Lady Sugawara is worried about smallpox.”

“They’ve just been knocked about a bit. The kid, Kinjiro, saved my life. The old man was locked up without food and water for days, but Seimei says he’ll come around.”

“Good.” Akitada hesitated. “Do you feel like talking now, or would you rather rest first?”

“Now. I’ve got to tell you. You’ll never believe it. That sword the swordsmith Sukenari lost? Matsue had it all along. And a lot of gold and silver besides.” Tora fumbled in his bedding and produced the sword.

Akitada glanced at it and laid it aside. “But what about the murder? Did you find out who killed the blind woman?”

Tora’s face fell. “No. I know who didn’t kill her. I figured it was Kata, but she was his good luck charm and he thinks his business is doomed now.” He gave a dry chuckle. “He may be right. It will be. He’s a gang boss.”

Genba came in and crouched on Tora’s other side. “How are you, brother?” he asked anxiously.

“I’ll do. What happened to your nose?”

“I put it where it didn’t belong.” Genba grinned. “Well, did you have any luck?”

Akitada said, “Apparently not. At least the court is not in session at the moment. The sickness has given us extra time. That reminds me. I’d better explain to my wife about our guests.”

Tamako still hovered in the darkness of the corridor. Akitada closed the door behind him and said, “They don’t have smallpox. Just assorted wounds and bruises.”

“Thank heaven.” She came a little closer. “You are quite sure?”

He was not, could not be certain that they did not have the seeds of the sickness inside them, but he said “yes” as firmly as he could.

“But to bring strangers here in the middle of the night. What can Tora be thinking of ?”

“Since Tora has some serious wounds and lost a good deal of blood, I thought I’d ask for explanations later. He says the boy saved his life.”

“Oh.” She brushed a hand across her face, as if sweeping away the fears that had clouded her usual consideration for others. “How badly is he hurt?”

“I imagine he’ll be fine in a day or so.”

“I’m glad. Who are the others?”

“I know nothing about them, but they’re our guests until they can care for themselves. We must honor Tora’s word.”

“Yes.” It was dim in the corridor, but he thought he saw her flush. “Yori is . . . I’ll get a room ready for them.” She slipped away before he could thank her or wonder what she had started to say.

When Akitada returned to the others, Genba was pressing a smelly poultice to his nose and blinking watery eyes. Akitada grinned and went to look at the two strangers. The old man was asleep, curled up under his covers, and Akitada had to lift the quilt to see his face. He looked sick and fragile and vaguely familiar. The boy, a scrawny creature of twelve or thirteen, was awake and staring up at him.

“I’m Sugawara Akitada,” said Akitada with a smile. “I understand you did Tora a great service.”

“It was nothing. Tora told me about you. He thinks you’re one of the heavenly generals come back to earth.”

Akitada chuckled. “I doubt even Tora would accuse me of that. Do you have a family, Kinjiro?”

“No.” The boy scowled and sat up. “And you might as well know I’ve been working for Kata. Collecting his dues from the merchants every week. Don’t worry. I won’t stay long.” He said it defiantly, as if he expected Akitada would throw him out of the house.