“Kata was running a protection racket,” Tora said helpfully.

“Oh, I see.” Akitada sighed. The boy was a member of a criminal gang. He hoped Tamako would not find out. “I trust you’ve left Kata’s employ.”

Tora said, “He did. He’s a good kid. Couldn’t help himself. His father’s dead and his mother threw him out.”

“I can speak for myself,” muttered Kinjiro.

Akitada looked at his thin body and sharp features. Kinjiro was at the age when a child just begins to want to be a man, and this child had been plunged into the worst kind of adulthood before he was ready. He said a little more warmly, “I’m very sorry for your troubles, Kinjiro. Since Tora vouches for you, you’re welcome here and I will do my best to help you make a better start.”

“He wants to be a scribe like his father,” suggested Tora.

The boy swung around angrily. “I said . . .” But he did not finish. Instead he turned back to Akitada. “My father taught me to write, sir. I’m not very good yet. I think it would please him if I became what he was. If you could help me find a teacher, I’d work for you for nothing—for the rest of my life.”

Akitada was moved and amused by the offer. “Well, we must try to accommodate you then,” he said with a smile. “Now get some rest.”

Tora looked tired and in pain, but was blessedly alive. Akitada sat beside him and said impulsively, “Thank heaven you’re back with us. I was so worried.”

Tora grinned. “I know. I saw your face when you came in.”

They smiled at each other, while Seimei busied himself with Genba’s nose, and Kinjiro looked away.

“The sword I brought back,” Tora said after a moment. “Will you look at it? I think it’s the Sukenari sword. I wonder why Matsue had it.”

Akitada frowned. “Who’s Matsue?”

“Oh, didn’t I say? He’s the guy we’re looking for. The one that looks like Haseo. Only not up close. He’s Kata’s partner and a master sword fighter. He wounded me, but I cut off his fingers so he won’t ever fight again. He’s a nasty bastard. Enjoys hurting people.” Tora grimaced and rubbed his head.

Akitada stared at him. “You surprise me. I met him tonight. He acted very fierce in spite of his wounded hand, until I mentioned Haseo. Then he panicked. There must be some relationship between them.”

“There is. His real name’s Sangoro. There were papers in his trunk. Sword-fighting certificates mostly, and a couple of other things. He’s got a farm in Tsuzuki district. But I found another paper that had the word ‘Utsunomiya’ on it. I was going to give it to you, but they caught me before I could get home, and Matsue snatched it back. He was livid. Like I’d caught him in some crime or something.”

“They caught you? You mean Kata’s gang?”

Tora nodded. “That snake of a beggar from the market told them I was a spy for the police. When Matsue found his paper on me, I figured it was all over. They meant to kill me. Kinjiro saved my life by helping me get away.”

“You took a terrible and foolish risk.”

Tora nodded. “I know. But I did get the goods on Matsue.” Knowing Tora’s limited reading skills, Akitada wished he had the piece of paper Tora had found. He sighed and looked at the sword. “It seems to be the right sword,” he said doubtfully.

“Look at the tong.”

Akitada unfastened the blade and read Sukenari’s name and the date. He also saw faint traces of blood. “Yes,” he said, “you’re quite right. Sukenari will be very glad to have it back. It needs cleaning.”

“I’ll get some oil in a moment. It’s a very fine blade. Sliced right through Matsue’s sword hand.”

Kinjiro piped up, “You should’ve killed him. Real fighters always fight to the death. Matsue would’ve killed you.”

“If you prevailed against a great swordsman, Tora, then the gods were truly in it,” said Akitada. “I must give them my special thanks.”

The boy said, “You’re very lucky to have a man like Tora, sir.”

“I know.”

“Pah.” Tora looked embarrassed. “It was the spirit in the sword. Besides, he wasn’t such a great swordsman after all to lose to a mere soldier.”

The door opened and Tamako came in, followed by her maid. They carried trays of food and flasks of wine. Akitada jumped up. “Thank you, but we can serve ourselves,” he said, hoping the women would leave quickly.

Tamako peered over his shoulder. “Oh, Tora,” she cried, “how very sorry I am that you have been wounded.”

Tora covered his bloody bandage and tried to make her a bow. “It’s just a little scratch, my lady.”

“If you feel at all feverish, you must let me know. I have some herbs that are supposed to be particularly good when a wound becomes infected.” She passed the tray to Akitada. “Please make our guests welcome.”

The maid put down the wine, and the two women left.

“The old man seems very familiar,” Akitada said, setting the tray on the floor and nodding toward the sleeper.

“Mr. Chikamura says he knows you.” Tora reached and helped himself to a bowl of stewed fish and vegetables.

“Mr. Chikamura?” cried Akitada in surprise.

“Who’s calling?” muttered the old man and sat up slowly. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and broke into a toothless smile. “My lord,” he said. “What great kindness and honor you show a poor old man! You won’t believe it, but that depraved nephew of mine came back with his villains and they locked me up in my own storehouse because I threatened them with the police. I thought I was a dead man. I’d just about given up and assigned my soul to Amida, when Tora rescued me. May Amida bless both of you.” Wheezing with the effort, he got on his knees and knocked his head on the floor a few times.

Akitada said quickly, “Please don’t exert yourself. I’m very sorry for your ordeal and will see to it that your nephew is locked up instead. Now make yourself comfortable. Here is food. Come Seimei, and you too, Kinjiro.”

Mr. Chikamura crawled closer and accepted a bowl of rice from Kinjiro, “No need to bother about Buntaro,” he told Akitada. “Tora killed him.”

Akitada’s jaw sagged. He looked at Tora. “You killed a man?”

“He killed two,” Kinjiro corrected proudly. “He tricked the Scarecrow—that’s Buntaro—to slash Genzo’s throat from ear to ear, and then he took Genzo’s knife and rammed it all the way into the Scarecrow’s chest. They bled buckets of blood on the floor.”

“Heavens,” murmured Akitada. “You have been busy, Tora.”

“He’s a great warrior,” cried Mr. Chikamura, who had eaten with good appetite and was becoming talkative. “After he fought Matsue, he went out to get rid of my nosy neighbor, and then they put me on a ladder, along with the bags of money, and carried me most of the way. When some constables tried to stop us, they told them I was dead from smallpox and they were gonna take me to Toribeno.” Mr. Chikamura emptied a cup of wine and giggled. “The constables just backed away and covered their noses.” He held out his cup, drank down the refill, and continued, “This smallpox—they say it flies through the air and if your Karma is bad, it’ll enter your body. Maybe they should beat a drum to scare the flying devils away.”

“We must hope that we’re safe,” said Akitada with a smile, but he was concerned. Seimei passed around more food and poured wine for Akitada and Tora, but he only gave tea to Kinjiro, who drank very little and ate nothing.

Akitada saw that Tora looked tired and drawn. He felt guilty but asked, “Did you learn anything about the murdered woman?”

Tora made a face. “Not much. She may have been Kata’s good luck charm, but Matsue hated her. Kinjiro says he used to watch her in the market.” The boy nodded listlessly. “I’d made up my mind to kill the bastard for Tomoe’s murder, but he said he didn’t do it.”

Akitada raised his brows. “And you believed that?”

“I’d just cut off his sword hand. He figured he was a dead man, so why lie?”

“And nothing else turned up?”