Pathway to Japanese Literature

Six Speckled Men

First Crucifixion Victim

“Boss, isn’t this a fine mood? My stomach’s stuffed full, this tipsiness couldn’t be better—spring’s in the air and the girls are kicking up such a ruckus—”

Garappa Hachigorō, stroking his long face and licking his lips, clung to Zenigata Heiji’s back as they walked.

Having been invited to Police Captain Sasano Shinzaburō’s small celebratory banquet and drunk their fill, the two were returning from Hatchōbori—walking from Yatsukōji toward Shōheibashi with Sujikai Gate visible to their right. “Well, if you’ve got plenty of pocket money, I suppose there’s nothing to complain about. Though mind you—girls making a commotion can’t be relied on—” “You shouldn’t underestimate me so lightly, Boss. If you pass through Myojin-shita carelessly these days, it’s like love letters rain down—heh heh.”

“What a farce! Though I hear it’s not just the bitch at the corner liquor shop that barks when she spots Hachi.” “My aunt’s always giving me advice, the owner of the vegetable rice shop nags about last year’s tab, and Okanso from the stew shop—” “That’s enough already—it’s not like I dislike such things.” “Lately, the one who’s gotten close to me is Oei—the niece of Omoya Hanbei from Kanazawa-chō—” “Well now—aiming for quite the prize, aren’t you?” “That’s a sparkling new beauty you’ve got there!”

“And yet we’ve grown so close.” “Lately, it’s ‘Boss Hachigorō this, Boss Hachigorō that—’” “Don’t make that creepy voice.” “That girl—right in front of him—is a bit out of Hachi’s league.” “Her uncle’s a disgraced ronin turned moneylender—not someone to be dealt with through straightforward means. If you keep barging in waving that jitte around, it’ll come back to bite us later.” Heiji, reverting to his usual cautiousness, made that remark.

It had just turned March, and while the weather was pleasantly warm, it was still too early for cherry blossoms. The streets of Edo were in a quiet state just past the hour of the boar (10 PM), about to enter the dream of a spring night. At that moment, “H-Help me—!”

A woman’s voice—crushed and desperate—clattered across Shōheibashi Bridge as if to collide with Heiji, who narrowly dodged her. Lunging forward, she clung to Hachigorō trailing behind—a young woman who seemed to tinge the night air with peach-hued mist. “Gah! You scared the hell outta me!” He retreated two or three steps while holding her up. Through the light seeping through the oil-paper doors of the guardhouse at the bridge’s southern end, Hachigorō gaped in shock.

“Ah—you’re Oei!” She was none other than Oei—the niece of Omoya Hanbei from Kanazawa-chō who had just moments ago been gossiping about Boss Heiji and making Myojin-shita blaze with her presence as its most celebrated beauty.

Her pallid face, slightly disheveled hair, the hem of her daytime-lined kimono in disarray—she clutched her chest where terror and turmoil pounded like a rapid temple bell, holding herself in a fragile embrace. “Ah, Boss Hachigorō—you’re just in time!”

Just as she teetered on the brink of collapse, Hachigorō caught her once more. “What happened, Oei?” “Uncle... Uncle was—murdered—” “What? “Uncle was killed.” “Where?” “Inside the house—when I returned from next door and looked, he’d been murdered.” “Quickly! Quickly!”

Oei seemed to have finally regained composure, urging the two onward as if about to grab their sleeves. “It’s dark.” Heiji spoke for the first time. Entering an alley in Kanazawa-chō, the tenant house at the end—Omoya Hanbei’s residence—was built to welcome clients in a manner befitting a moneylender.

“When I rushed out, I extinguished the hand candle.” “Please wait—I’ll light a lamp right away.”

Oei appeared to have completely regained her composure. She entered first and was searching for flint tools when a sharp hiss accompanied by sulfurous fumes transferred flame to the hand candle. When they looked—from entrance to rear stretched mottled bloodstains—Heiji and Hachigorō stepped around them and advanced into the next room holding aloft the hand candle received from Oei. “Hm?” Heiji stopped at the threshold.

“What’s wrong, Boss?”

“There was a terrible amount of blood, but no corpse.”

“But that’s impossible—”

The warmth of Oei’s cheek peering from behind and her fragrant breath grazed Hachigorō’s neck.

“Oh, what could have happened? But it was right here until just a moment ago—” Oei also looked genuinely terrified. “Hachi—even if someone moved a heavy corpse, there wouldn’t have been time to get far. You search the perimeter of the house—no need to go far. I’ll check inside during that time.” “Understood.”

Hachigorō lit the andon lantern and, holding it in one hand, rushed out through the back door. Behind remained Heiji and Oei—the two of them.

“Are there any signs that something was stolen?”

“There don’t appear to be any signs of that.”

The cupboards, the closets, and the room itself were all neatly arranged, with no signs of anything being scattered about. “The money?” “That I don’t know.” “Because Uncle handles everything himself and doesn’t let someone like me lay a finger on it.”

“That’s what I figured.” “By the way—in this house, are you and Uncle the only ones living here?” “No, we have a clerk and an errand boy too. But Clerk Uhatchi went to Shiba on business, and Errand Boy Sadakichi left for his parents’ home in Honjo on a late day off.” “And you?” “I went to the neighbor’s house and got caught up talking.” “Around what time did you go to the neighbor’s?” “It was a little past half-past the Hour of the Rooster (7 PM).” “I became so absorbed discussing the play that when I heard the Boar Hour [10 PM] bell, I panicked and hurried back—”

Oei, perhaps recalling that moment, swallowed hard. Her voice still quivered slightly, but her complexion had regained complete composure. Her large, intelligent eyes; her glossy red lips; the soft lines from her cheeks down to her chin and neck—all combined into a beauty so peerless that Hachigorō was utterly captivated.

Her manner of speaking had a distinctive flair; the slightly childlike tone was unlike what one would expect from a twenty-year-old woman, but this very quality became a kind of coquetry—what some might call irresistible charm.

At that moment,

“Ah! This is terrible—it’s here!”

Hachigorō’s voice boomed without restraint from the vicinity behind the house. “What’s all the fuss about? You’ll scare the neighbors!” Heiji reprimanded Hachigorō while putting on his water clogs and emerged from the kitchen doorway. Following him, Oei—being left completely alone in this blood-soaked room—must have found it eerie. “Boss—if this ain’t a hell of a mess, then nothin’ is!” Hachigorō stood planted in the vacant lot behind the house, pointing at a suitable chinquapin tree while continuing to yell his head off. Heiji’s eyes followed the direction of that fingertip.

“Ah!” Even he was shocked.

“Right, Boss? Even if you’re shocked by this spectacle, you can’t be shocked enough!” Hachigorō’s words rang true—there before them, bound crucifixion-style to a chinquapin tree, lay the blood-drenched corpse of a hulking man. This could only be the wretched form of Omoya Hanbei—master of the Omoya household and Oei’s uncle—trussed from chest to neck against the tree with rough hemp ropes. Above where a dagger had pierced his neck hung a single thousand-ryō chest like some pilgrim’s satchel, whether curse or grudge manifest—an undeniably ghastly sight.

Hanbei was a man in his prime at forty-five or six, with a smooth, square face and the robust frame of a martial artist—one glance told you he was a disgraced rōnin. Plunging a dagger into the neck of a man with such a sturdy build could not have been an easy task. Perhaps because the corpse was heavy, its feet remained planted on the ground. To spread its arms wide in crucifixion style, they had shouldered a roughly six-foot pole and bound both arms horizontally—the whole setup was gruesomely meticulous.

“Urgh…” Behind Heiji came the sound of something falling—a thud. When he turned around, Oei, perhaps overwhelmed by the gruesomeness, had collapsed in a heap on the garden stone.

“Hachi, you take care of the girl.” “I’ll take down the corpse.” “Will you be all right on your own?” Heiji did not respond to that and first took down the thousand-ryō chest from the corpse’s neck. The way the rope had been tied was remarkably meticulous, while the chest itself proved unexpectedly light. When he brushed open the lid, inside were only fifty or sixty gold coins.

On the right side of the corpse’s neck—where the rope suspending the thousand-ryō chest had been fastened—a horrific gash gaped open, blood having soaked through from shoulder to chest and down to the waist area. Judging by how the rope wasn’t particularly soiled, they must have moved him here and bound him to the chinquapin tree after he died. “Shall I help you, Boss?” Hachigorō came out from the kitchen entrance once again. “What about the girl?” “She seems to have recovered her senses—this is no sight for women and children, that’s for sure.”

“Give me a hand. Let’s get him inside and make him look like a proper Buddha.” “Right.” Heiji and Hachigorō carried the corpse into the veranda—not minding how blood soaked their clothes—as they examined everything from rope knots to flesh. “Hmm—there’s something odd here.”

Hachigorō was looking at the corpse's arm—the outer side of the upper arm emerging from the rolled-up sleeve.

“What is it?”

“There’s a strange tattoo here!”

Dice pips. “Let me see.”

Heiji brought over the lantern that had been placed on the garden soil and moved it closer to the corpse. “Hey, this here’s Sanada Yukimura’s crest!” The shrillness of Hachigorō’s voice. “There’s no such thing as a six-mon coin that small—those are six dice pips.”

“Ain’t these dice pips too big for actual dice? They’re about the size of a bean.” “Dice with pips this big are the papier-mâché ones dangling from a toy shop’s sign!” “You can’t carve them exactly like real dice pips.” While muttering dismissively, Heiji was carefully examining that tattoo. “Come to think of it—there’s a faint square-shaped engraving here.”

While they were saying such things, a man slipped in through the entrance.

“Oh, Miss Oei, what’s happened here?” “Ah, Mr. Uhatchi—something terrible has—” “What have you done?” He was a lean yet sturdy-looking man of thirty-seven or thirty-eight. Oei, having finally regained her strength at this moment, began crawling toward the entrance.

“Uncle—he’s been murdered.” “Huh? That person—he couldn’t have been killed… right? He shouldn’t be the kind of soft man who gets killed by someone—” As he spoke these words and entered, Uhatchi—the clerk—caught sight of the mottled bloodstains illuminated by the hand lantern’s light and Heiji with Hachigorō examining the corpse beside the veranda lantern. Even he couldn’t hide his astonishment. “Boss Zenigata... Mr. Uhatchi.” “That—I was shocked. Since I knew nothing about this, I made rounds at a couple of places in Shiba, treated myself to good food and drink to lift my spirits, and was walking back—”

“What about you?”

Heiji raised his face from the corpse. Though those living in the neighboring town should have known, Omoya had only begun their moneylending business here about half a year prior, and aside from passing Uhatchi on the streets or encountering him at the bathhouse, they had never exchanged words. “I am Uhatchi, a clerk here. ...A terrible situation.” Though he spoke in a composed tone without changing his complexion or moving his eyebrows, Heiji did not overlook the slight trembling of the hands resting on his knees.

“Where did you go?” “Since noon, under my master’s orders, I’ve been making rounds in Shiba for collections.” “Which places did you visit?” “What are the names of those places?” “In Tomoe-chō: Lord Ōhashi Dentsū—a masterless samurai; in Udagawa-chō: Mr. Sagamiya Seibei—a kimono merchant; in Shibaguchi Nichōme: Master Carpenter Kinosuke—that’s all.” “Dinner?” “Where did you eat?” “I was treated to a meal at Master Kinosuke’s place.” “They even served sake.”

Uhatchi pressed a hand to his own cheek. "What about the money you collected?" "February was slow; I couldn’t collect much. All three households pleaded to be charged only interest, so I merely collected seven or eight ryō." Possibly pressured by Heiji’s severe countenance, Uhatchi took out a purse from his pocket and jingled its contents. Perhaps having caught wind of the commotion around that time, the late-night alley was gradually swelling with curious onlookers.

“Hachi, go to the neighbors and find out what time Oei left and when she returned.” “You needn’t stand on ceremony, but make sure to thoroughly inquire with the neighbors about Omoya’s internal affairs.” “Right.” “Then gather as many local police informants as possible.” “Send people to the three places in Shiba that Uhatchi made the rounds to and have them check the exact times one by one.” “And summon Sadakichi—the errand boy who’s returned to his parents’ home in Honjo.”

“Is that all?” “There’s plenty more work—but those tasks come first.” “Right.”

“Ah, dangerous! Watch your step. If you step on the bloodstains on the tatami mats, it’ll be troublesome to handle later.” “Oh, the bloodstains are starting to coagulate, Boss.” Hachigorō crouched down on the tatami mats and rubbed the bloodstains with his finger. “He was killed in the evening—we’ll investigate that later. Prioritize the earlier arrangements.” “Right.” Hachigorō rushed off.

“Oei—there’s something I want to ask you.” “—”

Oei silently came to Heiji’s side and raised slightly frightened eyes. “When you returned from the neighbor’s place, were the lights on in the house?” “No, it was pitch dark—I couldn’t make out anything.” “You entered that pitch darkness and then lit the lamp, I take it.”

“Yes, I’m used to it.”

“When you lit the lamp, your uncle’s corpse was definitely in this room, I take it.”

“It was indeed there,” “He was leaning against the long charcoal brazier, his head slumped forward.” Now that she mentioned it, the ashes in the long charcoal brazier had absorbed the blood and hardened into a jet-black mass. “After seeing the corpse, you ran straight toward Shōhei Bridge, I take it.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t stop anywhere else along the way, did you?”

“I didn’t stop anywhere.” “Under normal circumstances, wouldn’t you call out to the neighbor in such a situation?” Heiji’s question was subtle yet sharp.

“But I was flustered. I was so shocked.”

Oei’s tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of any artifice, and she seemed unable to even comprehend the implications of what was being said.

“Even so, coming all the way to Shōhei Bridge is strange, don’t you think? Even if you didn’t run to the neighbor’s house, you should’ve known about my place near Myōjin-shita. Heading to Shōhei Bridge is completely the opposite direction, don’t you think?” Beside the dim andon lantern, another hand candle sat on the tatami mats. Surrounded by mottled bloodstains, this makeshift court held a gruesomely effective atmosphere. “I thought it was around the time Mr. Uhatchi would be returning,” she said. “When I saw Uncle had been killed, I must have first thought of that and headed toward Shōhei Bridge. And also—”

“And also?”

“At the southern end of Shōhei Bridge, there’s a guardhouse.” “I might have intended to dash there.”

The psychology of a girl who acts in the heat of the moment held depths beyond even Zenigata Heiji’s formidable intellect. “Boss, I went to the neighbor’s place.” Hachigorō seemed to have something he wanted to say to Heiji, looking around and flaring his nostrils.

“Well? Go ahead and say it here.”

Heiji urged Hachigorō without showing much sign of caution. In the adjacent room, both his niece Oei and clerk Uhatchi should be listening, but he likely reasoned that even if the neighbors told the police informant something, letting it reach their ears would cause little real trouble. “The times Miss Oei went to the neighbor’s place and returned are exactly as she herself stated.” “She went after finishing cleaning up dinner, and when the Boar Hour (10 PM) bell suddenly rang—‘Oh, it’s already that late? I mustn’t let Uncle scold me’—she hurried back, they say.”

“What’s the neighborhood’s opinion of that girl?” “Not bad at all.” “Open as daylight, easy on the eyes, and free with her heart.” “And the master?” “Omoya Hanbei had big hands for a moneylender—got along with everyone round here, never pinched pennies when it came to donations or neighborhood dues—” “A coinshark with an open purse—doesn’t that strike you as odd, Hachi?”

“Now that you mention it, that’s true—but one more thing, Boss.” Hachigorō fidgeted hesitantly, as if struggling to speak. “Well? What is it, Hachi.” “You’re being strangely tight-lipped here.” “But I can’t say this too loudly—the neighborhood gossip says that even though she calls Master Hanbei ‘Uncle,’ that Oei woman probably isn’t his real niece—Heh.” “Don’t make weird noises.”

“Let’s hope they’re not some scandalous uncle-niece pair—gotta check the family registry to know for sure.”

Hachigorō was amusing himself all alone.

“What about the clerk and the errand boy?” “Uhatchi’s got dashing looks and they say he’s sharp in business too—practically runs that shop single-handed as head clerk, so they say.” “And then?” “Sadakichi the errand boy is just an errand boy—though for fifteen, he’s said to have a large build and some wit.” “That should suffice then.” “Didn’t you hear about Hanbei’s background?” “He was a rōnin from the Chūgoku region or thereabouts—they say he had something of a martial air about him.”

“Call Oei.” “Yessir!” As Hachigorō vanished into the adjacent room, Oei emerged in his place, appearing somewhat hesitant.

“How are you feeling? Have you calmed down a bit?” Heiji’s tone was ordinary yet carried a gentleness. “Oh, thank you kindly.” “I’m all right now.” “It’s just that I was too startled earlier.”

As Oei said this，her palpitations seemingly still hadn’t subsided—she pressed against her chest area.

“If I ask you, you should know—your uncle Hanbei was a masterless samurai, but which domain was he from?”

“That is something I don’t know.” “And you’re his niece?” Heiji’s tone grew slightly more pressing. Oei’s demeanor changed a bit too much.

“But there’s a reason for that.” How did Oei intend to explain away the fact that a niece didn’t know the uncle’s background?

“And what’s this reason?”

“I wasn’t Uncle’s real niece—I must admit something shameful, but when I first became aware of the world, I was an orphan with no parents or siblings, raised by a sideshow troupe master.” “Whether I was born the daughter of an impoverished peasant in some distant countryside and sold off when they couldn’t feed me, or whether I was a child born from some forbidden affair my parents wouldn’t acknowledge and cast out from my village into the hands of a sideshow troupe master—I don’t know. But one way or another, from when I first became aware of the world until I was fifteen or sixteen, I grew up in the tents of traveling performers who roamed all over Japan, trained in various arts and made to perform onstage.”

Oei’s account was rather bizarre, but once one realized that the peculiar coquetry she possessed was not something acquired in a respectable household but rather naturally honed over her long years as a sideshow troupe performer catering to the tastes of countless patrons, it ceased to be so strange after all.

—

Heiji silently urged her to continue. “Three years ago, while traveling along the Tōkaidō road for performances—when the troupe master incurred the wrath of a local boss and faced a calamity that threatened even his life—I was rescued by Uncle Hanbei. After that, we grew close and began associating with each other, until finally I was willingly taken in by Uncle and raised as his niece.” “My life of wandering from place to place ended there, and I settled down in Edo—before I knew it, three whole years had passed.”

Oei's story came to an end here. Her account was coherent and logically structured—the nature of her relationship with Omoya Hanbei, including their pretense of an uncle-niece bond, was now provisionally explained. “By the way, that six-pip dice tattoo carved on Hanbei’s arm—what kind of tattoo is that? I think you must know—”

“No, I don’t know anything.” “After leaving his lord’s house and losing his stipend, he once worked as a bouncer at gambling dens just to get by each day—he used to tell that story as a joke.” “Probably that’s a memento from his yakuza connections, don’t you think?” That might explain things, but if it were a gambler’s dice, they would likely have two pips tattooed side by side. The fact that only a single six was tattooed left something unexplained.

“Hanbei must have been quite skilled.” Heiji posed an unusual question. “He took pride in his martial skills,” she replied. “He’d studied jujutsu, swordsmanship, archery, horsemanship—all of them—but swordsmanship was his particular boast. He claimed to hold some sort of official certification.” “That he could be cut down so easily—” This stuck in Heiji’s craw. Could a man with first-class credentials truly be stabbed like an insect without raising a hand in defense?

“What kind of people does he usually associate with?” “He doesn’t associate much with others.” “Though he is well-regarded in the neighborhood...” “Does he have no spouse or children?” “It seems he does not have any.” “How much money do you think he has?” Heiji’s question took a leap. “I’m not entirely sure about that myself, but he did say something about how this made him a man with a thousand-ryō fortune—that was around last summer—though he also mentioned that nine hundred ryō of it was lent money.”

Oei’s explanation was quite thorough and well-delivered. “A thousand ryō is quite something,” Heiji remarked. “By the way—I know this is tedious—but did Hanbei ever let slip anything about his birthplace or former lord in the course of some conversation?” “He never mentioned that,” Oei replied. “He was quite knowledgeable about the Chūgoku region, and judging from his Kamigata accent, I think he may have been a retainer of a minor daimyo somewhere between Kamigata and Chūgoku—” Even Oei’s sharp intellect apparently hadn’t probed this far.

“Another thing—what was the name of that troupe you used to belong to?” “What was the troupe master’s name?” “It was called the Akashi Troupe.” “The master was Akashi Gorohatchi, a traveling countryside performer—not someone who would set up theaters in places like Edo.” “Alright, alright. If I come across that sideshow troupe next time, I’ll tell them about you.”

Heiji appeared to have gained enough composure to make such an affable remark.

“Boss.”

The one who came bursting in was Gara-Hachi. He was, as ever, a man who knew no fatigue. “What’s this—it’s already late. I was just thinking it’s about time to call it a day and head back.” “It’s not the time for that! There’s someone who washed blood at the wellside.” “It’s clinging there like on a tuna-cutting board.”

“I see.”

Heiji went outside. When he saw two or three assistant officers waving lanterns and making a commotion, he found the washing area by the well indeed covered in mottled bloodstains—it might as well have announced that someone had disposed of their filth there. “Boss, we haven’t found the blade.” “I’m looking for that too—the scoundrel must’ve taken it and fled.” “Any leads on the killer, Boss?” “Not a single clue.” “To cut down a master ronin like that in one stroke—now that’d take real skill.”

Gara-Hachi must have been thinking hard about such things as well. A man with that level of skill wasn’t likely to be around here—within Hachigorō’s territory. “Going head-on would’ve been tough work, but maybe they snuck up from behind and did him in with a dagger.” “Would that man have stayed silent until someone drove a dagger into his neck?” “He must’ve let his guard down—or rather, it was the kind of opponent who wouldn’t think anything of it even if someone got behind him.”

“Hmm.”

“By the way, there was one more thing I asked you to do—”

“It’s about whether there was anyone who saw Hanbei in good health after Oei went next door.” “No one saw him, but two or three people heard his voice.” “When Oei was leaving through the gate—‘I’ll just go out for a bit of fun,’ she said in a shrill voice—Hanbei inside the house replied in a grumpy tone, ‘Leaving me alone’s a bother—hurry back, you hear?’”

The Whereabouts of the Dagger “Boss, it’s finally turned up!” As usual, while spouting his usual disjointed remarks, it was Hachigorō who came bursting in. On the evening following Omoya Hanbei’s murder, after spending the entire day investigating the scene in Kanazawa Town, Heiji returned to his own home—a mere stone’s throw away—for a brief rest, and then this happened.

“What’s turned up now—from behind Myojin Shrine, another tanuki cub or something?” “It’s not something that foolish.” “During today’s low tide, a dagger came out from under Shohei Bridge.” “What? A dagger?” “This is more interesting than a tanuki cub, right?” “The greasy-coated one—when they threw it in, maybe their aim was off—ended up stuck perfectly at the base of the shore’s stone wall.” “And then what happened?”

“The neighborhood kids found it and managed to climb down the stone wall to retrieve it, but—”

“Where did you put that dagger?” “The story’s just getting to the good part. The one who saw that was a passing barrel-collecting boy—he suddenly barged in on the kids and squared off with their gang leader—” “You’re being too roundabout—just get to the point quickly. Depending on how this unfolds, we might have to track down that dagger.”

Heiji was growing impatient. From how the story was unfolding, he seemed poised to rush out at any moment.

“Even if you rush out now, it won’t be in time.” “That barrel-collecting boy bought the dagger for one shu.” “This is no good—why didn’t you hold onto that boy?” “I did catch him!” “Found him sticking his head into a candy shop in Koyanagi-cho and left him at the watchpost at Shohei Bridge, but when I gave him a good scare, he started wailing like a pup and there was no way to deal with him.” “He doesn’t have that dagger he bought for one shu anymore—no clue where he flung it!”

“If you want to make a child talk, you shouldn’t scare them.” “Alright, let’s go take a look.” Heiji mobilized. When he followed Hachigorō to Shohei Bridge, within the swarming crowd was a boy of about twelve or thirteen—not seeming particularly bright—wailing uncontrollably. “It’s this kid, Boss.” “The one who bought the dagger for one shu and was sticking his head into the candy shop in Koyanagi-cho—” Hachigorō boomed as ever, unceremoniously.

“There, there—you’re the kid I sometimes see around here, aren’t you? Buying a dagger doesn’t mean I’m going to scold you or anything. If you want sweets that badly, I’ll buy you enough to stuff yourself silly. No need to cry—you’re a man, aren’t you?” Heiji patted the barrel-collecting boy’s back while skillfully calming him down. “Just tell me who asked you to buy the dagger and where you took it—that’s all I need to know. Got it, kid? Look—here’s one shu. I’m not asking anything unreasonable. Use this to eat your fill of whatever you like—though if you ruin your stomach, it’ll all be for nothing. Alright then. Understood? Heh, heh... There, you’re smiling—no more tears now, right, kid?”

Heiji continued to skillfully draw in the boy’s attention. “Yeah, I was asked by someone,” he said. “They said if I bought that dagger the kids found for one shu, they’d give me another shu as a reward.”

The kid was gripping one new shu silver coin like a treasure and spoke while sobbing.

“And then what happened?” “I gave the dagger to the person who asked for it—I don’t know where they went.”

The boy looked around uncertainly. “What kind of person made you buy that dagger? Is it someone you know, or someone you don’t know, eh?”

Heiji finally got hold of a significant lead. "It's someone I know—that voice is one I've heard plenty of times before." "I can't remember their face—they were wearing a hood and hiding their mouth with their sleeve." "What about their appearance?"

“It had what they call twin stripes—a short coat over a lined kimono.” “They might be a clerk from some shop.” “Isn’t there any way you can remember that person?” “I’m counting on you, kid.” Heiji felt like grabbing the boy by the collar. He felt that if this not-so-clever boy had been a bit more perceptive, this troublesome case could have been solved in one go. “If I meet them again, I’m sure I’ll remember.” “They must be someone from around here—”

The boy’s words cast a glimmer of light. “Where’s your house?”

“It’s Sakumacho.” “Just ask for Motokichi at Ninsuke Store—no one’s come askin’.” Motokichi the barrel collector said something worthy of Hanzo Hasegawa, the legendary Edo wit. “So you’re Motokichi at Ninsuke Store, right?” “Good lad. Keep to this area for a spell and look for whoever made you buy that dagger.” “I’ll cover your daily pay.” “Find ’em clean-like, and I’ll toss in another shu.” “Much obliged, Boss. I’m countin’ on ya.”

While boasting arrogantly, this not-too-bright boy wove through the crowd of gawkers and headed toward Myojin Bridge.

For a short while, Heiji stood atop Shōhei Bridge questioning the children about where the dagger had been found. “Was there a sheath?” “There wasn’t any, Mister.” The children who had picked up the dagger and earned one shu still seemed convinced something else might be lying around, lingering reluctantly as they kept searching near the stone wall.

“Whether they threw the dagger and sheath apart or it slipped off in the water—either way, if you find that sheath, bring it here. I’ll make it worth your while.” “Thanks loads, Mister!” The children already acted like they’d found the sheath itself.

“By the way, Hachi—I just remembered something crucial—” Heiji summoned Hachigorō. He had a terribly strained expression on his face.

“What is it, Boss?” The serenity on Hachigorō’s face as he received this.

“Put a watch on that barrel-collecting boy.” “I just hope forgetting to keep watch doesn’t turn into a disastrous blunder.”

Heiji appeared terribly anxious. “Boss, we don’t know where that kid’s gone.”

Hachigorō came to Heiji’s house with his report that evening—it was still early evening.

“There’s no helping it—though I’ll admit this blunder was my own doing.” “I checked Sakuma’s Ninsuke Store, but even though it’s gotten dark, he still hasn’t returned.” “In the back alleys of Sakumacho—it’s a ramshackle house like a sparrow’s nest, a real handful with a mother and six kids. That boy’s the second child, but they say he’s a hard worker despite appearances.” “As long as there’s no mistake—”

Heiji seemed to be worried about that.

“By the way, I had them check each and every place Uhatchi, the clerk of Omoya, made the rounds to that night.”

Hachigorō introduced a new topic. “What’s the situation? You must’ve got all the details figured out.”

Heiji also seemed deeply interested in this and had completely forgotten about the barrel-collecting boy’s whereabouts. “He went to Ōhashi Denchū—the rōnin in Tomoe-chō—around the Hour of the Sheep [3 PM], collected just 1 ryō and 2 bu in loan interest, drank some tea, nibbled on rice crackers, and headed back.” “And then?” “He went to Master Carpenter Kinosuke’s place in Shibaguchi 2-chome next to the Sendai residence exactly at the Hour of the Monkey [4 PM]—right on cue, they say the bell at Zojoji Temple rang, so there’s no mistake—and there he went in, talked at length, drank a cup, was treated to dinner, and leisurely returned around the Hour of the Rooster and a half [7 PM].” “What he received was 3 ryō and 2 bu, including the interest and the monthly installment money.”

“—”

“The third stop was Sagamiya Seibei’s silk goods store in Udagawa-chō—he arrived at the Hour of the Dog and a half [9 PM].”

“Wait—that interval took too long.” “Shibaguchi 2-chōme and Udagawa-chō are practically nose-to-nose. Even crawling on all fours, it shouldn’t take two hours.” “I thought it was fishy too.” “When I checked with Uhatchi just to be sure, he claimed he’d overdone it drinking at Master Kinosuke’s place. Said the headache got so bad he went out to Shibaura for a spell—loitered behind Lord Sendai’s middle residence staring at Ohama Palace and ‘airing out his skull’ with sea breeze. That’s his tale.”

“And then?” “At Sagamiya, he took care of business at the shopfront—though this being a large sum, he collected three ryō in interest and went straight back to Kanazawa-chō.” “So that would mean he returned from Udagawa-chō to Kanazawa-chō in just two hours.”

“I suppose that’s how it works.” Hachigorō’s report ended there. If someone were to return from Kinosuke’s house in Shibaguchi 2-chōme to Kanazawa-chō, kill Omoya Hanbei, and then head back to Udagawa-chō once more, then Uhatchi the clerk would indeed have had the potential to be the culprit—and his claim of gazing at Shibaura’s sea to sober up alone in an empty spot could not stand as a valid alibi at this juncture. “By the way, what about Omoya’s errand boy’s house?”

“The errand boy Sadakichi—he’s quite clever, isn’t he? It’s just a single parent and child—the parent’s bedridden with paralysis, relying on his younger sister’s care—” Hachigorō continued his account. “—When I went to Sadakichi the errand boy’s house too—it’s in Ishihara, Honjo. His father Sadagorō apparently ran an inn at Totsuka post station long ago and lived well enough, but after losing his fortune he came to Edo, went through all sorts of hardships, ended up stricken with paralysis—can’t even stand now. The sister in question is Osato—Sadakichi’s aunt who left home and came back—she’s doing the nursing despite her cute name being the only nice thing about her. She’s like some dried-up middle-aged hag possessed by a demon—”

“You’ve got quite the sharp tongue.”

“But Sadakichi’s a filial son, you know. He’s mature for fifteen—sharp as a tack and full-grown in body too—but Master Hanbei was so stingy he never paid proper wages, didn’t even give him days off! Makes you ache for the kid, I tell ya. That day, he went back to his parents’ house from noon—didn’t go see a single show in Ryōgoku or nothing—just sent his aunt Osato off to rest and took care of his father himself. Ain’t that a commendable lad?”

“Good work, good work. With all that searching done and inquiries made, we still haven’t identified anyone who’d gain from killing Omoya Hanbei or hold a grudge deep enough to murder him.” Heiji sank deep into thought. “What should we do next, Boss?” “We’ll have to wait for them to strike next—they’re too cunning and tenacious to withdraw after just this.”

“So?”

“Wait—it seems someone’s dashed into the alleyway.” Heiji had no time to listen closely.

“Boss, something terrible has happened. “Please come at once.” It was Yoshi of Yushima—a middle-aged police informant not one to be easily startled. “What’s wrong, Yoshi?” “Behind the Honorable Tsumagoi Inari Shrine—that boy’s been killed.” “The barrel-collecting boy?” “Ah—you called him Motokichi, was it? “Poor thing—they put a rope round his neck like some stray cat.” Yoshi of Yushima’s voice caught in his throat.

“Let’s go, Hachi—I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but...”

Heiji’s premonition had come true with cruel precision. Forming a trio, they passed through the grounds of Tsumagoi Inari Shrine and emerged into the thicket behind it. There, amidst town officials and gawkers jostling with several lanterns, lay the corpse of that barrel-collecting boy. “Oh, Boss Zenigata—this one’s already gone.” “He’s been dead for about an hour.” The town doctor shook his shaven head and quietly stood up beside the corpse.

“Bastards did something this cruel.” “Any bastard who’d do something this cruel should be made to carry five or six crucifixion posts on his back—I won’t rest easy otherwise.” “Damn you!” Heiji and Hachigorō squatted with the corpse between them. They had untied the rope from his neck, but the look of agony remained vividly etched on his face. When they touched his forehead, it was already growing cold. “They used this boy as a tool, then did something this cruel when their cover was about to blow.” “I’ll track down this culprit for sure.”

Heiji’s words were calm, but within him seethed a boiling fury at the culprit’s cruelty.

“Hachi, you go check Omoya in Kanazawa-chō and find out who left the premises from evening onward.” In that instant, Heiji realized the close connection between three incidents: the death of the barrel-collecting boy, the missing dagger, and the death of Omoya Hanbei, master of Omoya. Hachigorō dashed off like a hunting dog unleashed, but before even a quarter-hour had passed, he came charging back with a storm-like snort.

“Just as you said, Boss—that bastard took off before finishing cleanup after the master’s funeral and still hasn’t come back!” “The clerk Uhatchi?” “That’s right.” “I figured as much. It’s probably futile, but round up five or six assistants and check any likely leads.” “I’ll take care of that—I know that bastard Uhatchi’s face.”

Yoshi of Yushima dashed out. Having detected what seemed to be traces of the culprit, he likely found himself unable to leave them uninvestigated—driven by the instinct of a police informant.

“Then I’ll have Brother Yoshi handle Uhatchi. You take this boy’s corpse and deliver it to his parents in Sakumachō.”

“Huh?”

“There’s something I urgently need to investigate.” Heiji, whatever he was thinking, parted the crowd and vanished into the darkness of the spring night.

“Hey there—has the claimant for this child arrived?” “Ah, yes. I am Nisuke, the landlord of Sakumachō.” “This is Motokichi’s sister Oyuki.” The one who responded to Hachigorō’s voice was a nearly sixty-year-old bald-headed old man, and the one who jerked up her face at that voice was a young girl who had been squatting beside the corpse, sobbing inconsolably. She must be seventeen or eighteen years old—her feminine beauty was just beginning to mature, yet poverty ingrained to the marrow of her bones hindered the full blossoming of that beauty, giving her the vague air of a worm-eaten fruit.

Under Hachigorō’s direction, the laborers brought a single plank, placed the boy’s corpse upon it, and proceeded through the late-night streets to Sakumachō, dimly lit by the yellow lantern light. The voice of Oyuki leaked from the tattered sleeve cuff that covered her face, pained Hachigorō’s heart. When the corpse was brought into Nisuke’s shop—the so-called sparrow’s nest-like tenement—Hachigorō must have been driven by the impulse to flee countless times. A mother in her forties, worn from managing the household and devoid of any semblance of her former self, along with four more young sisters and brothers besides Oyuki, clung mercilessly to Motokichi’s corpse. Forgetting all propriety and restraint, they burst into a loud chorus of anguished wails.

“Boss… my brother… it’s just too cruel.” “Who in the world would do something this cruel?” Oyuki clung to Hachigorō’s sleeve and pleaded in this way. “We mostly know who did it—no need to worry.” “I’ll nab ’em before three days are up and see they get what’s comin’.” “Boss Zenigata’s got it handled, y’know.”

It was Hachigorō who patted the girl’s shoulder while spilling tears in steady drops, making a reckless promise.

12,000 ryō

Zenigata Heiji and Hachigorō met face-to-face the next morning at Heiji’s house below Myojin.

“What’s wrong, Hachi? You’re spacing out.” While using Saruya’s ladle, Heiji called out from the wellside. “I can’t help but space out. Got so damn irritated I kept searchin’ past midnight, but ain’t got a clue ’bout who killed that boy.” When entering through the lattice door left wide open, Hachigorō, avoiding Oshizu’s broom tip, peered into the kitchen.

“This runs deep. Seeing that rushing wouldn’t settle things, I dashed straight to Sukiyabashi Bridge from there, roused Clerk Minami, and had him check the magistrate’s records.” “I got home at dawn.” Heiji had indeed participated in an almost all-night investigation to uncover the truth of the case.

“So—have you figured out who killed that barrel-collecting boy, Boss?” “You’re really putting your back into this boy’s murder case again.”

“When we carried the corpse all the way to Nisuke’s shop in Sakumachō, it was pitiful.” “The mother was a forty-year-old woman worn ragged by poverty, with four young dependents weighing her down. The eldest sister—seventeen—kept them alive through piecework, but though she was incredibly lovely, her lined kimono and obi hung in tatters.” “I emptied my wallet to leave condolence money, but last night… I felt wretched wishing even three ryō or five ryō were in this purse. Five or six holed coins… not even worth wrapping in paper.”

“Don’t cry, Hachi. The lack of pocket money comes from poor daily habits—though mind you, even someone like me has never had a wallet that shone.” As he said this, Heiji managed a lonely, wry smile. “That’s why I promised them I’d at least catch the culprit within three days and settle this grudge.”

“It’s curious how having a young lady around changes your attitude.” “It’s not like that, Boss.” “Ah, fine then. By the way—exactly because I bought Clerk Minami a shō measure and got cursed with drowsiness, I found out all sorts of things.”

“Huh? What kind of things?” “First off—that tattoo on Omoya Hanbei’s upper arm isn’t just some ordinary mark.” “Huh.” “You know about the Six-Man Speckled Group—the ones who terrorized the highways for a spell?” “I know.” “Two or three years back, right? That gang of six master thieves who ransacked inns from Odawara to Suruga.” “That’s them—never touched their home turf in Edo proper. Made their living between Hakone and Utsunoya Pass, targeting only big scores.” “Exactly two years ago at Utsunoya Pass—they slaughtered a horse groomer and two samurai overseers to steal Lord Owari’s government funds: 12,000 ryō in gold bound from Nagoya to Edo. Dumped two of their own comrades’ corpses and vanished clean—you’ve heard this much.”

“Of course I know. Under orders from the authorities, they issued warrants not just throughout Edo but even beyond the Four Post Stations to search for that six-man group, but in the end their whereabouts remained unknown—” “Unlike incidents that occurred in Edo, with the Utsunoya Pass robbery, their efforts came to nothing and people forgot as time passed—but Omoya Hanbei, who was killed recently, seems to have been part of that gang.” Heiji’s account was utterly astonishing. The fact that Omoya Hanbei—killed and crucified on a chinquapin tree in his garden—was once a member of the Six-Man Speckled Group who had rampaged along the highways was nothing short of a sensational bombshell that delivered a complete reversal to a police informant’s instincts.

“Is that true, Boss?” Even Hachigorō was opening then closing his mouth, slapping his knees, stroking his chin—for a time, he seemed utterly at a loss for how to channel his agitation.

“As you know, after Lord Owari had his government funds stolen and even two of his elite retainers were killed like insects, the Three Great Houses couldn’t maintain their dignity in society’s eyes. So they mobilized their entire household for a massive search—but with time having passed, the whereabouts of the gold and the criminals’ escape route remain utterly unknown.” “The sole surviving groom’s testimony revealed they were a six-man group of rogues—their leader a middle-aged rōnin-looking man with a young samurai sporting a forelock among them. They knew this forelock youth was remarkably skilled, but with only that to go on, there was no way to pursue them.”

“――” Hachigorō listened with a sense of belated realization. Heiji continued recounting the events at Utsunoya Pass from one year prior—recorded in the Minami Magistrate’s archives—as if ruminating on them, moistening his lips with morning tea. “The culprits were the Six-Man Speckled Group who had been terrorizing the highways even before that. The 12,000 ryō in gold was likely disguised and smuggled into Edo hidden among shipments of sake or rice.” “At that time, notices were sent out to Edo’s town officials as well.” “A reward was set by Lord Owari—ten ryō each for those who located the Six-Man Speckled Group’s hideout, and a hundred ryō per person for those who captured them—”

“You never forget anything when it comes to greed, do you?” “Even now, would that reward still be offered?” “The opponent’s the foremost of the Three Great Houses—a great daimyo with 619,000 koku. Not that I’d call that a joke—how about you try hogging all 400 ryō by bagging the four remaining Six-Man Speckled Group stragglers?” “Heh, not half bad.” “From that haul, take two shu as condolence money to that barrel-collecting boy’s sister—what’s-her-name, the young widow—”

“I wouldn’t do something that stingy.” “I’d set aside half for condolences, take out summer supplies, give my aunt some pocket money, and buy you a shō [of sake], Boss.” “I’ll pass on my share—the aftermath would be too scary.” Amidst the tense atmosphere, the two of them still couldn’t resist trading jests. “And then, Boss—what happened?”

“I found out another interesting thing.” “The Six-Man Speckled Group have dice pips tattooed on their upper arms—the numbers ranging from one to six. The leader’s likely either a one or six.” “Omoya Hanbei had a six tattooed on his arm—probably made him a top-ranking member of the Speckled Group.” “If they’ve got arm tattoos, couldn’t we track them down immediately by posting notices at every public bathhouse in Edo?”

“That’s an idea, but there’s no way only the Speckled Group villains would fail to notice something anyone would realize.” “Instead of that—is there anyone who enters the baths without removing their arm guards—or anyone who hasn’t visited a public bath in half a year or even a full year? Investigating those things would be the quicker path.” “There could be thousands of men in Edo who hate baths—are you really going to investigate every last lazy one of them, Boss?” Hachigorō made a sour face. Even this aforementioned Gara-Hachi didn’t seem particularly fond of bathing.

“You fool—Edo’s vast.” “There’s no way we can investigate every single person who loves or hates baths.” “Moreover, large establishments all have private baths set up, and samurai of o-mie-de status or higher don’t go to public bathhouses.” “Makes sense.” “And another thing—when they stole the 12,000 ryō in government funds at Utsunoya Pass, both of Lord Owari’s retainers overseeing the transport were killed, but members of the Six-Man Speckled Group were injured too.” “Of the six villains, one who seemed to be a rōnin and a man who appeared to be a yakuza were cut down by Owari’s retainers and died as if in mutual combat.”

“So then, out of the six-man group, only four are left, right?” “Exactly.” “Before long, Omoya Hanbei was killed, leaving only three survivors in the Six-Man Speckled Group—even if you capture them all, the reward’s just three hundred ryō. The sister of that barrel-collecting boy—what was her name…” “It’s Osato—you can’t keep forgetting every little thing. She’s such a cute girl.” “I make it a point to forget old debts and the names of young girls.” “By my old man’s dying words, you know.”

“Someone like me—I even forget new debts.” “But I don’t forget young girls’ names.” “That’s a commendable attitude—by the way, the most we can scrape together for condolence money to give Osato would be 150 ryō.” “Heh, 150 ryō’d be a godsend—” “Of course—now where were we—Oshizu’s laughing her head off in the kitchen, I tell you.” “The days are getting longer, huh?” “So, about those two from the six-man group who died at Utsunoya Pass—”

“Right—those two had tattoos of two and four dice pips on their arms.” “Meaning the remaining three must bear one, three, and five pips.” “Knowing that much’s a real help.—Now then—where’d that stolen twelve thousand ryō end up?” Hachigorō’s question finally circled back to the core matter. “That’s just it—being Three Great Houses’ funds meant six chests total—each holding two thousand ryō in koban coins.” “Not like those dainty thousand-ryō chests from storybooks—these were long two-thousand-ryō boxes. Never laid eyes on ’em myself—but each weighed near ten kanme—not exactly pocket-sized.” “They likely smashed open those chests up in them mountains—burned ’em clean—then repacked all that gold into smaller bundles—mixed ’em with regular cargo—shipped ’em straight into Edo.”

“――”

“We don’t know where they hid the 12,000 ryō, but seeing how Omoya Hanbei was killed—there must’ve been infighting or a falling-out among the four remaining villains.” “If those four stick together and stay hidden, they’d be near impossible to root out in Edo. But let a crack form between them—that’s our opening.” Heiji rubbed his hands together with uncharacteristic vigor, like a man who’d glimpsed his quarry’s weak spot.

The Third Sacrifice

That evening, Heiji and Hachigorō were at the Omoya residence in Kanazawa-chō. The next day would mark the seventh-day memorial for the murdered Hanbei, and they had accepted Oei’s invitation to hold a modest eve service in his honor. The guests consisted of merely two or three neighbors, along with Sadakichi’s aunt—a lonely middle-aged woman named Osato, who carried herself like a shadow. After the memorial’s monk drowsily concluded his sutra recitation, an unexpectedly lavish vegetarian spread was served, accompanied by what appeared to be meticulously selected sake.

Oei modestly arranged the seating for the guests and refrained from displaying her usual glamour, which struck Hachigorō as disappointingly restrained. “Gentlemen, what an unexpected fortune that you’ve graced us with your company.” “My uncle moved in limited circles, so we’ve few to call upon at such times.” “Please take your leisure.”

That was the tone of it. Her light makeup, modest blue lined kimono, black obi, and the restraint of red only at the hem slits and lips instead accentuated her profound allure. Hachigorō found himself repeatedly refilling his sake cup as he gazed at her.

Though aware that the deceased had been one of the Six-Man Speckled Group—a master thief branded with a rotating dice-pip tattoo—Heiji kept silent; the guests remained oblivious, and even Oei, introduced as his niece, likely knew nothing of such matters.

Sadakichi’s father Sadagorō’s sister Osato was one of those mysterious women. With dark circles under her eyes and thin nostrils, she was indeed a lonely middle-aged woman—yet upon closer inspection, there was a spiteful air in her demeanor. Her voice was hoarse, her eyes bulged, and her skin had a bluish swelling, for dissipation and illness had utterly ravaged her youth. She was the very image of a woman who had once been in trade. As for her age—if circumstances were different—she might still have been in her thirties. Her features were not uncomely, and her health and mind were sound—had she not lost her youth, she would have been quite a beautiful woman.

Heiji, with an unexpectedly complex emotion, quietly sipped his sake while observing the woman’s demeanor. “Hey, Boss. Isn’t tonight’s Oei absurdly modest and graceful?” Hachigorō whispered. He was truly on the verge of collapsing like a jade mountain. The cup he held aloft in his left hand swayed like a great wave; when he brought it to his lips, his jaw tilted skyward in a most precarious manner. “The older sister of the barrel-collecting boy—what was her name again—she’s better than that girl.” Heiji’s expression turned slightly teasing.

“It’s Osato—you mustn’t forget—Osato’s just plain adorable, but Oei’s spiteful yet demure, alluring yet modest, somehow like—” “You’re quite the handful.” “The sake’s going to spill, hey, Hachi!” The night had likely approached the Boar hour (around 10 PM). Zenigata Heiji and Hachigorō, who had been trying to leave, found themselves detained by Oei’s gracious hospitality—and before they knew it, the sake kept flowing deeper.

That was the moment.

“Excuse me—I’ve come from Honjo. Is Mr. Sadakichi here?” “What’s going on? Did something happen?” When Sadakichi himself scrambled to the entrance, as if thrust forward, “There’s been trouble with Mr. Sadagorō.” “Please come at once—I’m from the neighborhood.”

Heiji, Hachigorō, the errand boy Sadakichi, and his aunt Osato rushed with the messenger to Sadagorō’s house in Honjo Ishihara. It was past the Boar hour (10 PM), and Edo’s streets had fallen silent. Only the disordered echo of their own footsteps carried an ominous resonance from town to town. Whether out of concern for his parents or simply driven by youthful impetuosity, Sadakichi broke away from the group first and soon vanished into the spring darkness. But it was Heiji who noticed that the messenger—who should have been running alongside them in formation—had somehow disappeared without a trace.

“Hachi—did you notice where the man from Honjo went?”

“I don’t know— Wait, hold on,” “Now that I think of it, that guy pretended to fix his footwear earlier and slipped past you and me, then ducked into an alley on the right, I reckon.” “Ah, that’s it!” “Should I go after him?” “Waste of time.” “He must’ve planned this escape long ago—rather than that, let’s question Sadakichi’s aunt. You go ahead and rush forward.”

“Right, then, Boss.” Once he no longer needed to stay with his boss, Hachigorō dashed off like a runaway horse.

It was the Yanagihara Embankment. In that place infamous after dark for its street slayings and night hawks, Zenigata Heiji stood in the haze of a spring night, forced to wait a little longer for the frail Osato to arrive.

“Auntie, is that you?” “Oh, Boss Zenigata—I was startled, I thought you were a ruffian.” Osato came to a stop, panting heavily as she weakly clutched her chest.

“This might sound strange, but do you know that man who came earlier from Honjo as a messenger?” “No.” Osato’s face showed no trace of suspicion—only ignorant and indifferent. “There’s something that’s been on my mind—so who’s taking care of the patient at the Honjo house?” “Though he’s called a patient, he isn’t so incapacitated that he can’t move his legs and waist.” “I prepared the evening meal and asked the neighbors to take care of the rest.”

“The man from earlier isn’t that neighbor, then.” “The old man next door is much older.” “That person is someone I don’t know.”

“Isn’t it strange for a stranger to come all the way from Honjo to help?” “Moreover, disappearing midway like that isn’t easy.”

“Huh?” “I’ll head back to Kanazawa-cho again, so you should go on ahead—though a woman alone on the night roads is dangerous. The palanquin bearers around here who stay up all night are mostly familiar faces, so I’ll find one and have them take you to Ishihara.”

Heiji had been thorough. He searched for and brought a palanquin bearer he knew—one who made his living rushing to Yoshiwara late into the night—and instructed him to take Osato to Ishihara in Honjo. Then he himself turned back and dashed straight toward Omoya in Kanazawa-cho, driven as if pursued. “Good evening—open up, it’s Heiji.” Heiji knocked on the entrance door of Omoya, but inside remained deathly quiet, filled with dreadful unease—no one answered.

“Hey, isn’t Miss Oei here? —Heiji’s back, open up!” After knocking two or three times with some impatience, the back door abruptly seemed to open—probably an invitation to enter from there—Heiji thought as he circled around to the rear. A man suddenly burst out from the back door, collided head-on with Heiji before leaping straight out of the alleyway—. “Wait, wait!” He lunged after him, but it was beyond his grasp. The villain was terrifyingly cunning—kicking over a trash bin to block the path, he wove through the darkness of labyrinthine alleyways and vanished like a swift insect.

Heiji obstinately gave chase, but suddenly recalling that the young and beautiful Oei remained alone inside the Omoya house, he reluctantly abandoned pursuit and entered through the back door from which the villain had fled. In the dim six-tatami room adjacent to the kitchen—ordinarily serving as both living quarters and bedroom—before an oil lamp with its wick turned high, Oei lay sprawled across the tatami mats, bound haphazardly and gagged with a kōguchi mouthpiece, her eye-searing crimson crepe-silk underrobe trampled underfoot.

“――” Heiji jolted upright and recoiled. As though he had glimpsed the forbidden, a terrible sacrilege assailed him—he instinctively turned his face away. But the next moment, reconsidering, he approached, lifted Oei’s soft body, and first removed the gag.

“What’s wrong, Miss Oei?” “Stay with me.” Oei was half-unconscious. He untied the thin cords binding her, straightened the disheveled front of her robe, and gently stroked her back—

“Ah—it hurts, it hurts!”

She slightly opened her eyes and gazed around dazedly. “Have you come to your senses, Miss Oei?”

“Ah—Boss, I was scared!” When Oei became aware of Heiji’s face, she suddenly clung to his neck desperately, like a mere three-year-old child. “What’s wrong, Miss Oei?” “I truly thought I was going to be killed.”

Having finally regained her senses, Oei—appearing deeply embarrassed—pulled away from Heiji’s neck and hastily adjusted her garments. “Who’s that who dashed out from here?” “—” “You must know him—given how you were tied up without making a sound.” The fact that someone as young and healthy as Oei had been bound up without the neighbors noticing had already caught Heiji’s attention. “Do I have to say it, Boss?”

“That’s exactly right.”

“It might not be something I can hide completely—that was Mr. Uhatchi.” “Everyone said they were going to Honjo, and when the neighbors had mostly left, he suddenly came in through the back door. After saying all sorts of rude things—because I wouldn’t listen—” Oei’s words were troubling and deeply meaningful. “Didn’t you see the face of the man who came from Honjo earlier?” Heiji pressed urgently about the absence of any leads.

“No, I was the one who met him—but he was someone I’d never seen before.” “So returning to the matter—what exactly did Uhatchi say to you?” “Nothing but lewd things.” Oei said this and—even she—lowered her face.

“Is that all?” “Then he kept asking relentlessly—‘Didn’t Uncle pass something he wrote to you?’”

“Something he wrote?”

Heiji felt as though he had abruptly confronted the secret of the 12,000 ryō. “Didn’t Uhatchi tell you where he is? He’s been on the run these past five days—we just can’t pin him down—” “He wouldn’t say where he was.” Her voice dropped low as she mimicked Uhatchi’s sneer: “‘I’m being hunted alright—you think every police informant in Edo could find my hideout?’” “That bastard killed the barrel-collecting boy.” Heiji’s words fell like stones. “And your uncle Hanbei? That man might’ve done for him too.” His finger jabbed westward through imaginary wards. “From Sakuragiya in Udagawacho to Shibaguchi Second District—a full hour unaccounted for when nobody saw hide nor hair of him.”

Heiji said this as if talking to himself. "Oh, how terrifying!"

Oei drew her sleeves together with a shiver, her shoulders trembling. “Uhatchi killed his master, tried to obtain the dagger used in that murder by employing a barrel-collecting boy, but when the boy recognized his face, he ended up killing the child as well.” “Those who do evil may plot deeply, but when their schemes begin to unravel, they inevitably end up strangling themselves with their own crude cunning.” “Uhatchi has fallen into despair and become reckless right at that point, so it’s unclear what he’ll do next.”

“What should I do, Boss?”

“There’s no choice but to apprehend Uhatchi at the earliest possible moment. But regarding that matter—I need you to come clean about everything.” “I will tell you everything, Boss.” “You didn’t make any sort of promise with Uhatchi, did you?” “Don’t be absurd, Boss.” “You’re a bit too pretty—that’s why all these troubles keep happening.”

“Oh, my...” “If you and the murdered Hanbei weren’t actually uncle and niece, then didn’t he mean to take you as his spouse?”

Heiji finally pressed this far. “Boss, so I was trying to run away from this house, but Uncle kept watch and wouldn’t even let me go to the neighborhood bath alone.”

“I thought as much. By the way—were Uhatchi and Hanbei merely clerk and master?” “Well, officially they were master and servant, but given their long association, he’d speak quite disrespectfully when out of public view.” Oei, true to form, began hinting at the whiff of a secret.

Needless to say, after leaving Oei in the care of the neighboring house, Heiji once again rushed through the midnight streets to Honjo. “Oh, Boss! It’s you!”

On Ryōgoku Bridge, it was Hachigorō who abruptly came face-to-face. “Hachi! What’s wrong? What about that boy’s father?” “It’s terrible! It’s way beyond me—I rushed out to fetch you, Boss!” Hachigorō, known as Garappa Hachi, wiped the sweat from his brow as he exhaled rough, horse-like breaths into the river wind.

“Was he killed?” “That’s no ordinary way to kill someone.” “Gouged once with a dagger and crucified on a dubious alcove pillar—made to bear a securing rod.” “What a wicked bastard.” “So you checked their upper arms?” “I checked them.” “That doddering old man was unmistakably Speckled Group—the tattoo on his upper arm showed five dice pips.”

“I thought as much.” “That leaves three and one still out there.” “So we’re finally going to circulate notices to all the bathhouses in Edo, huh?”

While talking, the two arrived at Sadagorō Ishihara’s house in Ishihara. A truly dilapidated back-alley tenement—though to call it that, wedged as it was between a vacant lot and a storage shed crammed with junk, the place stood completely cut off from the town, making it no different from a lone house in the wilderness.

“Boss.”

It was the errand boy Sadakichi who came running out upon hearing the two’s footsteps. The light from inside the house didn’t reach this far, leaving a darkness so thick one wouldn’t know if they collided with someone—but for Sadakichi, with his nerves honed sharp, Heiji’s arrival must have felt endlessly awaited.

“Sadakichi… What a terrible thing to happen.”

“――”

Sadakichi turned his face away into the darkness. He was crying terribly.

Heiji listened painfully to the weeping voice and stepped inside the house, where he found the interior unexpectedly tidy, with four or five local officials and neighbors milling about restlessly alongside Osato. The corpse had been taken down from the pillar and laid out on a six-tatami mat that had been hastily wiped clean. Blood had splattered across the sliding paper door in gruesome patterns, its eeriness beyond compare. “Hachi, were you the one who took it down from the alcove pillar?”

Heiji glanced back at Hachigorō, who was craning his neck from behind. “Yeah, I helped out too.” “When you all arrived, who was in the house?” “Just the deceased—the neighbors came running when they heard the commotion.” “So, the door wasn’t closed?” “The entrance grille wasn’t locked—though if there’d been a latch, that’d mean the deceased locked it himself—”

Hachigorō was spouting nonsense. Yet aside from the corpse’s grotesque appearance and horrific blood spatter, the house’s interior showed little sign of disturbance—objects and tools remained largely in their proper places. “Now, were the corpse’s legs touching the alcove or floating?” Heiji’s questions grew more pointed. Whether the legs of the crucified corpse had dangled midair or rested on the floor was critical. Hoisting a blood-soaked body high enough to suspend its legs would demand either superhuman strength or multiple accomplices—and whoever did it would’ve been soaked in a torrent of blood.

“I think the legs were floating—but hey, folks—” Hachigorō glanced at the nearby townspeople milling about.

“When we cut the rope, it dropped with a heavy thud.”

One of them, a sensible-looking fellow, answered. He showed the blood-soaked thin cord discarded on the veranda—the knot was a sturdy man’s knot, identical to Omoya Hanbei’s case. The corpse lay on a mat, still covered with a single lined garment. Beside it sat his sister Osato dejectedly; Heiji faced her and removed the covering. The body belonged to a robust man in his mid-fifties—sturdier than expected—bearing no resemblance to a mere rundown innkeeper’s fate. His refined attire contradicted any image of a man so destitute he’d send his own son into service.

Another strange thing was the calmness of his facial features—there was none of the harshness typically seen in someone who had fought violently before being killed. It seemed as though he had been struck down in a lightning attack while engaged in peaceful conversation. The wound was identical to Omoya Hanbei’s—a single gouge to the right side of the neck. The perpetrator of this deed must have been closely acquainted with the victim, which significantly narrowed the pool of suspects.

“Was anything stolen?”

Heiji glanced at Osato. "There appears to be nothing missing."

“By the way, you’ve noticed this, haven’t you?”

Heiji rolled up the corpse’s—now completely cold—upper arm and showed Osato the tattoo carved with five dice pips. “I knew there was something like a tattoo, but realizing it was five dice pips—that’s only just now become clear.” “How long has this marking been here?” “Well…” “If you were siblings who grew up together since childhood, you should know that much.” “But I was separated for a long time.” “We’ve only been living together for about two years.”

Heiji, seeming not to have held much expectation for Osato’s answer, turned sharply around and,

“With all that commotion, didn’t the neighborhood notice anything?” He asked the people milling about in the area.

“After all, this house stands rather isolated.” The one who took over and answered was the middle-aged landlord.

“Then who came to inform Kanzawa-chō?” “If they’re not the killer, they’re the killer’s accomplice.” “The fact they vanished halfway makes it downright suspicious, don’t you think?” Hachigorō stated this as if it were the plainest truth.

The Forest of Yanaka

“Boss—heh, heh, heh.” “What’s this? Laughin’ right in someone’s face—can’t go complainin’ if you catch a fist upside your head.” Zenigata Heiji and Hachigorō began their exchange in this manner.

It was the day after Sadakichi the errand boy’s father, Sadagorō, was murdered in Ishihara in Honjo. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Boss.” “Actually, I was asked to do something strange, so...” “The world’s a big place—there must be some oddballs who’d ask *you* for favors, Hachigorō. Or are you here to borrow money?” “You’re kidding.” “You want to use my back as a stepping stool, I suppose—who’s the one asking?”

“That’s the problem.” “It’s a woman, heh.” “Who is she?” “Or are you saying the aunt asked you to come keep watch?” “It’s Oei of Omoya in Kanzawa-chō.” “What? Don’t tell me she actually hit on you.” Heiji also seemed slightly surprised at the name of this person. Whether she was his niece or mistress, one couldn’t tell, but in any case, Oei—fiercely vengeful, bewitching, and oozing charm like water from a cracked jug—making a request to the somewhat loose-screwed Hachigorō was not something one could simply dismiss.

“Heh, well… you could say she came onto me.” “Idiot—tighten up that slack-jawed face when you speak. Drool’s about to fall—listening ain’t exactly a pleasure.” “That Oei, she says she’s so scared and lonely she could die.” “And just like last night, Uhatchi might come again and force himself on me—the same hands that targeted Uncle Hanbei and Sadagorō in Honjo might do something to me this time.” “Sadakichi has gone back to the house in Honjo and likely won’t return until after the first week of mourning. I’m sorry to ask, but could you come stay at Omoya’s for a while? I’ll treat you to the best of my ability, and depending on how things go, it might even be alright if Boss Hachigorō courts me—’ or so she says.”

“Idiot!” “Can’t I just go stay over there, Boss? It’s a rare request.” “I’m too stunned to speak—but wait—someone going that far might have some scheme in mind. Having someone stay over for a while could prove interesting.” “Is that alright, Boss?” “You can’t go alone. You’ll just end up as perfect bait right under my nose—take the aunt along.” “Huh? I gotta go stay over with the aunt? That doesn’t sound one bit appealin’. Not in front of you, Boss—”

“Don’t get greedy.” “Tch, a love affair with Aunt tagging along? Too classy to even get mad about.” While grumbling such things, Hachigorō nevertheless left without voicing much complaint. Oei was beautiful and brimming with talent, but one couldn’t discern what lay at the core of her thoughts—it was only natural that Heiji had grown cautious.

Three days later, an utterly unforeseen event unfolded and dragged this turmoil into a horrific catastrophe. “B-Boss, it’s terrible!” Hachigorō “Garappahachi” came bursting in like a cannonball on the fourth morning after Sadagorō’s murder, still before seven o’clock.

“Still lettin’ out these shrill, panicked voices of mine—scares the wits outta the tenement folks on their nightly watch. Rumor says households with little kids can’t settle within eight blocks!” Heiji inhaled the morning air deeply and was gazing at the sky from the veranda.

“You can’t just sit there, Boss.” “Another murder.”

“What?!” “This time in Yanaka Forest—stabbed to death again and crucified on a tree branch.” “Horrible doesn’t even cover it!” “Who was killed?” “It’s Uhatchi, the clerk of Omoya.” “Ah, that’s—” Even Heiji was taken aback. This Uhatchi was none other than the prime suspect in the successive killings of Omoya Hanbei, Motokichi the barrel-collecting boy, and Sadagorō—Sadakichi’s father—and had been the very man for whom police informants across Edo had been mobilized these past several days to track down his whereabouts.

That Uhatchi had been stabbed to death and crucified in the same manner as Hanbei and Sadagorō—was this not an unimaginable turn of events? After quickly preparing, Heiji hurried off single-mindedly, guided by Garappahachi. “Hachi!” “Huh?”

“You’re terribly nimble-footed, but I can’t run like a horse.” “Am I a horse now?” “Don’t get angry, Hachi. Even a horse can’t keep up that pace forever. Let’s walk slowly for a bit to catch our breath. There are probably lookouts over there.” “I asked Officer Oyama to keep watch. It’s not within Kanei-ji’s precincts, but since his patrol found it anyway.” “In that case, there’s no need to hurry—who told you about going to Oyama?”

“After leaving Omoya and walking home, that Kiku guy from Yanaka came rushing over.” “He said something terrible’s happened and I should come see no matter what.” Kiku from Yanaka was a local assistant police informant, and Hachigorō knew him better than Heiji did. “We’re in the middle of talking here, Hachi.” “Huh?” “Have you been going to stay at Omoya every night since then?” “Well, a promise is a promise.” “You’re unbelievable.” “If you try anything funny with Oei, I won’t stand for it.”

“It’s fine—I’m with Auntie.” “Every night after dinner, I take my leftover work there and end up listening to these pious tales about Daishi-sama until the Boar Hour bell rings in Ueno.” “Tales of stone dumplings, stories about reeds with backward-growing leaves, and such.” “While pretending to listen to those pious tales, you’re really just staring intently at Oei’s face, you damned fool.” “Around when the stories end, they bring out the nightcap, and we all retire to our respective rooms in a mellow mood.” “Auntie can hold her liquor, Oei knocks back two or three cups—it’s not bad at all, those evening tales.”

Heiji and Hachigorō entered Yanaka Forest. Amidst the grove where gravestones lay scattered and small birds chirped overhead, the sight of a five-story pagoda majestically cleaving the blue sky stood in such profound desolation—mere blocks from Edo’s bustling streets yet worlds apart in stillness.

“That’s it, Boss.”

In a certain thicket, about twenty people were swarming around a sturdy pine tree, which Hachigorō pointed out from afar. As they approached, they found two of Officer Oyama’s men, three or four town officials’ assistants, nearby temple workers, and a crowd of rubberneckers who had rushed out from shops near Yanaka—all gathered around a gruesome corpse that had been taken down from a pine tree.

“Boss Zenigata.”

The crowd of onlookers split into two and opened a path. Heiji greeted Officer Oyama’s men, “Thank you for your service.” He quietly peeled off the mat that had concealed the corpse. That was unmistakably the corpse of Uhatchi, the clerk of Omoya. It was unclear where he had spent the past ten-odd days, but his garments were terribly worn—their creases frayed, covered in dust, and rendered utterly unrecognizable. Uhatchi himself had let his shaved pate grow out and even sported an unkempt beard, presenting a truly pitiable sight depending on one’s perspective.

The wound was identical to those on Hanbei and Sadagorō—a deep gash to the right side of the neck—and had this been inflicted from the front, the killer would have been drenched in a tremendous amount of blood. “The corpse was hung from this tree, wasn’t it?” Heiji said to no one in particular. “In crucifixion fashion, it was bound to this lower branch.” “What a horrible thing to do!”

One of Officer Oyama’s men explained. “Were his feet off the ground?” “Indeed, I believe they were elevated about five or six *sun*.” Heiji settled down before the corpse and began examining it with intense thoroughness. Compared to when he dealt with the corpses of Omoya Hanbei and Sadakichi’s father, there was a marked difference in his thoroughness. Even with his grown-out shaved pate and beard, Uhatchi’s face—that of a man who died harboring resentment—was not so ill-featured, bearing instead a faint trace of softness somewhere in its lines. For a man of thirty-eight, he looked somewhat older—likely because these past ten-odd days, to evade the eyes of police informants across Edo, he’d been holed up beneath temple verandas or such places without even loosening his sash.

His frame was slender, but given the three dice pips tattooed on his upper arm, there was no mistaking he had to be one of the Six-Man Speckled Group.

“With this, five of the Six-Man Speckled Group—the ones who stole 12,000 ryō in government funds from Owari Province at Utsu-no-Toge Pass—are dead.” Heiji said with deep emotion while looking at the tattoo on the corpse’s arm. “Only One remains.” Hachigorō was counting on his fingers.

“That one’s probably the leader.” “Since two of their comrades died at Utsu-no-Toge Pass, that leaves only four.” “Those four must’ve had some reason to turn on each other.” “What kind of tough bastard must that surviving leader be?” “I’d at least like to see his face—wouldn’t you?”

“He’s a frighteningly cunning bastard.” “He won’t easily show his hand.” Heiji continued examining the corpse even as he spoke.

A New Clue “What’s this?” From inside the amulet pouch, Heiji found a single small folded piece of paper. “Isn’t this some kind of blessed amulet or something?” Hachigorō peered with his long jaw, bringing only his face closer from the opposite side. “No—it looks like a letter. ‘The tobacco shop at Kojikibashi—Yatsumae’—it’s written here, isn’t it? The handwriting’s atrocious, but judging by how carefully it’s folded, this must be some kind of rendezvous arrangement with a girl.”

“The date isn’t clear.” “It’d be convenient if it had today or yesterday written here.” “This isn’t about today or tomorrow.” The paper was frayed at the edges, its creases split and slightly sweat-stained. He must’ve kept it pressed against his skin day and night, taking it out to read again and again. “He likely carried this for five or ten days.” “Then this must be that meeting from that night, isn’t it?” “When Omoya Hanbei was killed—”

“Ah! Why on earth didn’t I notice that? That night Uhatchi left Master Kinosuke’s house in Shibaguchi 2-chōme at half-past the Hour of the Rooster—seven o’clock—and until he went to Sagamiya in Udagawachō after half-past the Hour of the Dog—nine o’clock—his whereabouts were unaccounted for nearly two hours. He claimed he’d been out catching the breeze in Shibahama, but that’s utter nonsense. He must’ve been meeting someone at the tobacco shop by Kojikibashi. Good catch noticing that, Hachi. Your wits aren’t entirely useless after all.”

“Nah, not really.” “What an idiot—you take a compliment and that’s all you get. While you’re busy being conceited, run to Kojikibashi and ask at the tobacco shop. Got it? We need to move fast—this foe’s no pushover. No room for carelessness or letting your guard down.” “Got it.”

Hachigorō, known as Garappa Hachi, hiked up his hem and dashed off.

Those remaining besides Heiji were Yanaka no Kiku, two or three assistant informants, a seemingly curious officer, and about twenty persistent onlookers clinging like bluebottle flies.

After seeing Hachigorō off as he dashed away, Heiji continued his investigation. Inside the wallet found in Uhatchi’s inner pocket were five koban coins and a small amount of gold granules. Though not a fortune, it was sufficient for immediate travel expenses when fleeing. At that time’s market rates—where even one ryō would have been extravagant for an Ise pilgrimage round trip—the fact that Uhatchi had remained in Edo, evading the net-like pursuit of officials to lodge at temple quarters, could only mean there was some profound motive behind it.

But compared to the 12,000 ryō in government funds stolen by the Six-Man Speckled Group, five or six ryō was a difference in magnitude too vast.

Uhatchi had likely not laid hands on that 12,000 ryō of gold. If he had gained control of twelve thousand ryō in gold, even with all his thieving disposition’s concessions, Uhatchi would never have failed to carry at least two or three hundred ryō on his person as a precaution.

After about an hour, just as he had wrapped up the investigation and was taking a short rest, Hachigorō came back drenched in sweat. Kojikibashi—the name given to the area between Ryūkan Bridge and Imagawa Bridge where beggars congregate—was indeed a round trip that took half a koku, a testament to Hachigorō’s much-boasted swift legs.

“Whew, what a shock! I managed to overtake two couriers just fine, but when I ran into Officer Yama up the mountain path, I got nabbed and chewed out good.” “I showed my police badge and got him to let me off, but that blockheaded officer wouldn’t listen—”

Unaware of Heiji’s attempts to stop him with a look, Hachigorō kept ranting while wiping away his sweat. Listening with wry smiles were two fellow Officer Yamas.

“Ahem, ahem. What about the task?” “Let’s hear that first, Hachi.”

Heiji was beside himself with worry. “B-b-but that’s just it, Boss.” “The tobacco shop at Kojikibashi—a miserly hardware store that’s barely a step above a night watchman’s shack—but the old woman there runs a side business renting out the second floor for secret meetings.” “And?”

Hachigorō finally noticed Officer Yama eavesdropping and returned to the proper reporting track. “Just as you deduced, Boss—it’s a perfect bullseye. Eleven days ago—on the very night Omoya Hanbei was killed—Omoya’s clerk Uhatchi, who they knew by sight, came to the shop. From just after half-past the Hour of the Rooster [7 PM] until nearly half-past the Hour of the Dog [9 PM], he kept restlessly smoking tobacco like he was waiting for a woman or something. Then he mumbled, ‘Can’t keep this up forever. I’ve got another place to go—if she shows up, tell her we’ll set a new date,’ and wandered off in a daze, they say.”

That was truly an unforeseen new development. If what that tobacco shop old woman said was true, Uhatchi’s movements that night were solidly verified—giving him an impeccable alibi for when Omoya Hanbei was murdered. “Surely it can’t be a lie,” Heiji said. “Wasn’t the old woman at the tobacco shop being coached to give a fabricated story?” “That’s secure—it was after I showed my police badge,” Hachigorō replied. “There’d be no chance for fabrication. What’s more, Uhatchi had the shop boy buy one *shō* [~1.8 liters] and even made him prepare snacks.”

“So all this time, we’ve been blindly groping around a completely wrong hole.”

“What?” “Because we were convinced Uhatchi had killed Master Hanbei, we thought he’d enlisted the barrel-collecting boy to procure the dagger and pitifully killed him behind Tsumagoi Inari to silence him.” “That’s exactly right.” “We assumed Sadakichi’s father Sadakichirō was also killed by Uhatchi since it matched Hanbei’s murder method—but now that Uhatchi himself’s been crucified like Hanbei and Sadakichirō, and given he didn’t kill Hanbei… What does this mean, Hachi?”

“If even you can’t figure it out, Boss, there’s no way this humble guy would know!”

“So praising you earlier turned out to be wasted praise after all.” “Heh, what an honor.” Even while uttering such nonsense, Heiji was busy turning over ideas in his mind. No—perhaps when Heiji sat silently smoking tobacco, those were moments of mental rest; but when he cracked absurd jokes and teased Hachigorō, that was precisely when the gears of his mind were churning most violently.

The case of the Six-Man Speckled Group now reached a complete dead end.

Zenigata Heiji had four corpses laid out before his eyes and over ten days had passed since the initial incident, but he had absolutely no idea for what purpose and by whom they had been killed, or who would kill whom next. “Hachi, you’ve grown quite attached to Oei lately.” “Not really.”

Because Heiji's tone was serious, Hachigorō couldn't respond with his usual romantic boasting. "The reason I put you on bodyguard duty wasn't to play matchmaker—with this police baton at my hip, you ought to know that."

“Huh?” “If we’re talking bodyguards, the aunt alone would suffice.” “The reason I put you there, Hachi—” “Huh?” “I wanted you to see Oei’s upper arms.”

Zenigata Heiji finally spoke his true mind. Even sending Gara-Hachi on a romantic adventure had been part of this mystery he wanted to solve. “Huh?” “Oei’s...?” Hachigorō’s face flushed with embarrassment. He stroked his narrow forehead, tugged at his long chin, and for a while seemed utterly unsure what to do with his hands. “Before that, I checked the two bathhouses in the town as a precaution, but both establishments said Oei hadn’t come.” “Omoya has an indoor bath.”

“Right.” “The indoor bath seems extravagant for a small upstart pawnshop, but when you think about it, both the murdered master Hanbei and clerk Uhatchi had upper arms they didn’t want others to see.”

“Ah, got it.” “So when I was suddenly at a loss, I ended up assigning you as a bodyguard just as Oei wanted.” “Whoa, that’s a dastardly scheme you’ve got there, Boss.” “Just like Yui Shōsetsu, eh? Though we’re not aiming to overthrow the government—it’s just about a woman’s arm. What do you think, Hachi? Did you see?”

“Huh?”

“What’s with that strange face you’re making? I’m asking if you saw Oei’s upper arms.” “Not that far yet, Boss.” “What an utter fool you are. You’re still a decent young man around thirty, aren’t you? Yet despite sleeping under the same roof as that beautiful young woman for ten days, you couldn’t even get her to show you her upper arms.” “Heh, my apologies.” “I’m not telling you to inspect her navel—even without me spelling it out, you should’ve noticed something that obvious. Even though you see her face morning and night, all you’ve done is stand there grinning like an idiot, dribbling tar-like drool. So that’s why you’re a fool, a pushover, and a glutton—”

“I’ll go see! If looking’s all you want—goddamn it—what’s so special about some girl’s upper arm? Even if I gotta twist her down by force!” Subjected to Heiji’s barrage of insults, Hachigorō stumbled back in shock before bolting out.

“Oh, you…” “Don’t you think it’s cruel to say such things to Hachi-san?” Oshizu watched his retreating figure with concern. “It’s fine—that’s exactly how it should be.” “Hachi may seem timid like that, but he’s got a decent sense of propriety.” Heiji laughed with amusement. After Hachigorō rushed out, Heiji suddenly decided to go check the house of Motokichi—the murdered barrel-collecting boy—at Ninsuke’s shop in Sakumachō.

At the end of a maze of branching alleys, after searching out Motokichi’s house and standing before it, Heiji was struck by how appallingly wretched the living conditions were—so much so that he found himself wishing he had noticed sooner and come to offer aid. “Excuse me.” “Who is it?” Though called the back room, a withered voice sounded from behind a torn shoji screen. When it slid open, what abruptly thrust its face out to meet his nose was a forty-year-old woman—caked in dust and grime, wrapped in dreadfully tattered rags. When faced with her gaunt face and fierce eyes, even Heiji found himself taking a step back at the sight of her.

“I’m Heiji from Myōjin-shita. What happened the other day was truly unfortunate.” “You must have been devastated to lose such a hard worker.” “While I thought I should come to offer my condolences promptly, I was delayed by numerous duties and ended up being late. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, Boss Zenigata.”

Her harsh expression collapsed, a tender sadness welled up turbulently, and violent sobs wracked her throat. And despairingly, tears overflowed from her swollen eyelashes.

Heiji was led into appalling chaos where there was scarcely space to set foot. Four children, junk, and eerie tattered rags were scattered across the single six-tatami room, somehow creating space to bow before a makeshift Buddhist altar—a wooden box placed against the rough wall. "It's pitiful you can't let go, but with so many children left behind, this isn't the time for endless weeping." "If by any chance hardship comes or you're at your wit's end, come to my house." "I'll help however I can again—not that I'm someone who can do much anyway."

Even though there was no shortage of kindness in the world, Heiji—the honest police informant living an upright life—could barely manage to support himself and his wife on the meager stipend provided by the authorities. “Boss Hachigorō kindly checks in on us from time to time.” “That man—he’s kinder than he looks—” “So Hachi comes by, does he? Well, when I see him, I’ll make sure to praise him.” “That man acts like a buffoon and spouts nonsense, but he’s got a good heart at his core—and this isn’t much, but consider it a token incense offering.”

Heiji found himself in an oddly sentimental mood. Taking five or six small coins—all the wealth he currently possessed—from his wallet and tobacco pouch, he twisted them into a piece of nose-paper and pushed it before his wife. “Oh Boss—you shouldn’t have gone to such trouble…” “Ah, it’s not money worth hesitating over.” “When you say that, it just makes me feel awkward.” “But Boss—last night, while it was still early evening.” “Someone threw money through my house’s window—”

“What?” “Money?” At the unexpectedness of the wife’s story, Heiji stiffened. “In a purse was twenty ryō—a sum we could never have even dreamed of—but it was so unsettling that we had our daughter take it to the magistrate’s office accompanied by the landlord. Oh—my daughter has returned.” Outside the alleyway the wife pointed to, alongside a large bald-headed old man, a girl wrapped in shabby attire yet radiating remarkable youth could be seen hurrying back cheerfully.

“Miss Oyuki, that’s really something!”

Heralded by a booming voice, the one who entered through the warped lattice was Ninsuke—landlord of this entire area and serving as town official. “Thank you for your trouble.” “I’ve put you through such unnecessary trouble.” “Oh, it’s nothing at all. Even I, who went along, ended up getting praised—so today’s turned into quite an embarrassing affair for me!” “First, listen up.” “――” “When we brought twenty ryō in gold coins along with the purse and reported it to the duty officer, after being made to wait for a while, we were led to the magistrate’s court and subjected to an investigation conducted by the magistrate himself.” “I seized the moment there and told them everything—Oyuki’s filial devotion, the death of Motokichi, even your misfortune—laid it all out.” “Then the magistrate was deeply impressed, see? He declared that Oyuki’s filial devotion was most commendable, and that the twenty ryō in gold thrown through the window must have been bestowed to honor the resolve of a heaven-sent filial child—so he ordered it returned just as it was, no questions asked.” “This is truly something to be grateful for!”

“――” Listening to old man Ninsuke’s relentless explanation, fresh tears began streaming down the wife’s face once more. Heiji stayed silent without offering a word, lingering for some time in the room’s corner behind piles of clutter. But when old man Ninsuke—having walked over from the sunlit area—gradually adjusted his vision and started surveying the household’s condition, “Well now—if it isn’t Boss Zenigata.” “Sneaking around listening like that—that’s downright underhanded of you.” He said this with an awkward chuckle, mopping sweat from his bald pate as he spoke.

“You didn’t let me get a word in.” “Be that as it may, it turned out rather well, wouldn’t you say?” “This is truly something to be grateful for.” “This too is the virtue of Miss Oyuki’s filial devotion—you see, I’d been staying silent for half a year without collecting rent, but today I find myself in such a fine mood that it hardly matters anymore.” “I’ll tell Granny to cook some red rice and have her deliver it.” “Ah, for a landlord, there’s nothing more delightful than having tenants with good intentions. Well then, Boss Zenigata.”

Old Man Ninsuke returned home contentedly. “Mom.” Onto the lap of her mother, who was been watching her retreating figure, Oyuki placed the striped purse containing twenty ryō in gold coins with a solid thud. The eyes looking up and those looking down were both wet with tears. In their life tormented by such intense poverty, this resolve—to take heaven-sent twenty ryō to the magistrate’s office—had been no easy matter.

“Let me see that purse.” “You don’t mind if I borrow it, do you?” Heiji found himself strangely bothered by the purse’s striped pattern.

“Here.” Oyuki took the gold coins from the purse, wrapped them in scrap paper to hand to her mother, and folded the purse into quarters before placing it in Heiji’s hand. A lined kimono with threadbare shoulders, a frayed sash, lusterless hair—hers was a pitiable figure. Yet in the clarity of her eyes and the fullness of her cheeks, the eighteen-year-old youth burned beautifully within this girl, a flame that neither poverty nor hardship could extinguish.

Oei’s Upper Arms

That evening, Hachigorō—in a rare move—brought along a one-shō flask of sake and, paying no heed to his aunt’s anxious fretting, invited Oei to gather around the chabudai. “Aunt, tonight I’m going to get good and drunk—there’s something I want Miss Oei to hear.” “Sorry ’bout this, but old folks oughta finish their grub quick and call it a night, y’know?” After gulping down five or six large cups in quick succession, Hachigorō was already tipsy, resting both elbows on the chabudai as he blurted this out bluntly.

“Oh, so you’re saying *I’m* in the way now?” The aunt—who still treated Hachigorō, a man in his thirties, like a child—initially looked miffed. But when she turned to appraise his face with a scrutinizing look and saw he was less drunk than expected, her expression softened with relief. “Since us old folks would just cramp your style, I’ll pop back home to fetch my night-sewing things.” “Might stop for a natter at a couple houses along the way—take your sweet time saying whatever needs saying.”

While saying such things, the aunt finished her late-night meal and headed out with a knowing look. “Boss Hachigorō, you’re truly not yourself tonight. It’s only because your aunt is so good-natured that this is fine, but if she were to get the wrong idea, whatever would you do?” Having said that, Oei squeezed one of the sake bottles and checked the temperature of the copper kettle’s hot water by feeling its pulse. “Ah, hot!” Bringing three fingers to her earlobe—lovely as if carved from peach coral—,

“Here, like this.” She reached out to touch Hachigorō’s cheek where his scruffy beard had grown out. “Oh, give me a little more time, Miss Oei. Tonight’s the night I’ve got somethin’ to ask you with my life on the line—but it’s hard to spit out when you’re stone sober.” “Oh my, how scary! You’re starin’ so hard.” “Your eyes must be glued wide—I’m tryin’ to blurt out everythin’ I’ve been stewin’ on for ten days straight. Don’t go gettin’ shocked.” “I won’t be shocked—but Boss Hachi, you’re hopeless at sweet talk. Those lines of yours wouldn’t even rate a cymbal crash in a third-rate play.”

“Tch—what kinda love scene needs a gong’s fanfare?”

The two of them, even as they spoke, kept refilling each other’s cups without pause, as if to mask their embarrassment. By the time Hachigorō’s dignified bearing had utterly collapsed—his eyelids drooping and the collar of his lined kimono gaping open about one shaku eight sun—Oei too sat sideways, adjusting her crimson kimono hem as she pushed aside the low table and leaned one elbow on Hachigorō’s lap, gazing up at him meaningfully from below at an angle. “If you don’t like the gong, try a temple block.” “Oh-ho… such *smooth* lines.”

“Enough with the jokes—you really gonna listen to what I’ve got to say?” “Plenty, Hachi-san—‘Boss Hachigorō’ feels too stuffy—forgive me—I’ll call you Hachi-san from now on.” “Might seriously court you for real.” “You ain’t thinkin’ of runnin’ off now, eh?” “Whether I’ll run or not—why don’t you test that yourself?” “Now, Hachi-san...” Her eyes gazing up from below smoldered like molten desire—a vision both agonizing and exquisite.

Oei, with her twenty-year-old white teeth and voluptuousness beyond compare, marshaled every ounce of charm overflowing from her entire body and pressed herself upon Hachigorō without the slightest hesitation. The mysterious incense permeating her black hair blended with the woman’s sweet-sour bodily scent into an intoxicating mixture that relentlessly agitated Hachigorō’s carnal senses.

Her translucent, supple flesh; large, dewy eyes; lips ripe as fruit; and perfectly aligned teeth scattered an eerie allure with every word—ensnaring a man’s entire being like a ground spider’s web. “Look, Miss Oei—I’ll lay it straight. I’ve drunk myself silly and thrown myself into your arms, but even at this critical moment, there’s one thing I just can’t swallow.”

“Oh, what on earth could that be, Hachi-san? Please go ahead and say it—no matter what it is, I’m filled with the desire to hear even your unreasonable requests.” Oei stretched up and, as if whispering, blew a soft breath near Hachigorō’s ear. “Thankful—hearing that puts my mind at ease.” “Actually, Oei.” “I want to see your upper arms.” “Oh…” “By any chance, if those upper arms of yours have dice pip tattoos like Hanbei, Uhatchi, and Sadagorō’s—regrettable as it is—this hundred-year love affair would come to an end.”

“If there were no such thing, Hachi-san.” “What am I supposed to do, Oei?” Hachigorō had paid for one shō of sake himself and had to put on all sorts of drunken and wild antics just to say this. “Well, I’ll show you, Hachi-san. Not to boast, but you’re the first to gaze so intently at my upper arms.” “—” “If there were even flea bite marks on those upper arms, galling as it would be, I would retreat to Nasuno Field.”

As she said this, Oei pulled the lamp closer and carelessly rolled up her right sleeve toward the light.

“Hmm… Nothing.” Hachigorō fixed his bleary eyes and involuntarily groaned. On Oei’s jade-smooth arms—let alone dice pips—there were no flea bite marks either.

“This time, the left.” Oei changed her position and rolled up her left sleeve high to show it. Her alabaster skin glided smoothly from her shoulder and pooled languidly; the beauty flowing from her armpit down to the peach-toned elbow joint held an allure beyond imagination—yet there too lay an unblemished wall, devoid of any vulgar markings like dice pip tattoos.

“Well? Boss Hachigorō.” “Boss Hachigorō.”

“Nothing.” Hachigorō blankly raised his head. “That’s all, Hachi-san.” “No—I shouldn’t have doubted you. Hachigorō, like this—” Hachigorō bowed his head earnestly—clinging to that neck was Oei, who seemed slightly flushed now that she’d lost the outlet for her pent-up passion. “Just that much, Hachi-san. “You think that settles it—I—I’m furious.” As Oei’s slender hands entwined around Hachigorō’s neck, she threw her entire body against him and let out a voice that was neither resentment nor joy nor anger—or perhaps all three at once.

“Boss! It’s an emergency!”

Hachigorō was still bellowing from outside the alley.

The next morning. “Shut up! What’s all the noise? Did some alley cat have kittens?” Heiji sat enjoying the crisp morning air with cheap powdered tobacco smoldering between his lips—so thoroughly accustomed to his assistant’s “emergency” proclamations that he didn’t even turn around. “Not a cat—a woman! I saw her arms! Those perfectly shaped arms!” “What nonsense are you spouting now? You call that an emergency?” “Isn’t it?! I saw Oei’s bare upper arms—that’s worth something, ain’t it?”

Hachigorō was completely basking in good fortune，grinning repeatedly with a reminiscent smile. “If it’s such a grand sight，you shouldn’t say you *saw* it—say you *worshiped* it．Getting wide-eyed over some young woman’s arms—that’s just you being spoiled，Hachi．” While saying this，Heiji appeared to have his curiosity considerably stirred． “But those upper arms were like freshly pounded mochi—no tattoos or markings to speak of，not even flea bite marks．”

“So that’s why you came rushing in with your eyes blazing—by the way, was it her right arm or left arm she showed you?”

“I saw both the right and the left.” “Since I saw it with my own eyes, there’s no mistake.” “Your eyes are so lovestruck they’d mistake pockmarks for dimples—not exactly reliable, but I’ll take it as true for now.” “Now, if Oei’s arms don’t have dice-pip tattoos, then whose arm still bears the remaining single pip?” “That must be the leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group—isn’t he dead somewhere?”

“Then who killed Uhatchi?” “There’s no way I’d know—but anyway, Oei’s too young and pretty to be some bandit leader.” “You’re hopeless.” “To your eyes, every young pretty woman’s a saint.” “Heh, seems I’m outta luck with you.” “But don’t you recognize this wallet’s pattern? It’s one you’ve seen somewhere before—” Heiji took out the wallet borrowed from Motokichi the barrel collector’s house. Made of slightly gaudy yellow Hachijō silk, its pattern was so distinctive anyone could recognize it at a glance.

“It’s the same pattern as Oei’s lined kimono—she was wearing it that night, right? That woman has an impressive wardrobe—but she doesn’t wear that lined kimono anymore.” Hachigorō made a face as if he were about to leap forward.

“Ah, that’s what reminded me. If you didn’t recognize the pattern, I was going to have you buy it—” “Heh, sniff it out, you mean?” “You look like you want to sniff it—your nose is twitching, isn’t it? Now then, someone stuffed this wallet with twenty ryō in koban and tossed it through the window of the barrel collector boy’s house in Sakumachō.” “Huh?”

“Who do you think did that, Hachi?”

“When was that?”

“It was the night Uhatchi was killed in Yanaka.” “Then it’s Oei, isn’t it? That evening, Oei seemed to have stepped out briefly after nightfall, but when I asked where she’d gone, she just laughed and didn’t answer?” Hachigorō had never intended to protect Oei and thus had not mentioned it.

The Last Member

Three days later. "Oh, Oshizu—looks like another troublesome spirit's arrived." "At least take care of the washing at the entrance."

While he was saying this, “Boss! The aunt in Honjo’s been killed!” Hachigorō’s long face came leaping into view. “What? The aunt in Honjo? Isn’t your aunt in Mukōyanagiwara?”

Heiji remained composed, unperturbed.

“She’s not my aunt.” “Sadakichi, the errand boy from Omoya’s, finally returned to Kanazawa-chō last night, and during his absence, that aunt they call Osato—a bluish-swollen old woman—was done in.” “What? “Sadakichi’s aunt was killed.” “Did you see it?” “A young man came rushing over from Boss Tosuke of Ishihara’s place.” “He said to tell Boss Zenigata.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Heiji swiftly made his preparations and dashed off with Hachigorō.

The vacant lot in Honjo Ishihara, with its seemingly forgotten house, was under strict surveillance by local police informants. However, with this commotion occurring less than a month after Sadagorō’s murder, the lot was now packed with a jostling crowd of onlookers. Pushing through them, they entered, “Ah, Boss Zenigata—perfect timing—” The corpse examination had just concluded. The subordinates of Tosuke of Ishihara were at a loss to take action on this deeply layered case and had been eagerly awaiting Zenigata Heiji’s involvement.

“What about Boss Tosuke?” “He’s still unsteady.” “Today, we had Sister come in.” Tosuke of Ishihara—he was an old police informant who had once rivaled Zenigata Heiji—had lost both his spirit and will after falling ill. His daughter Oshina, a young divorcee, now led their many subordinates with Zenigata Heiji as her sole backer, managing their police authority as best she could. “Ah, Boss Zenigata.”

When Oshina saw Heiji’s face, she greeted him with a relieved expression. She was twenty-four or twenty-five—still young and undeniably beautiful—yet despite being a woman, she played the part of a police informant. Though derided as a “female investigator” or worse, she upheld the honor of her father’s police baton with unyielding mettle. “I hear Boss Tosuke isn’t doing well.” “He must be terribly worried, but tell him I’ll do everything in my power—so he can rest assured,” he said.

“Thank you, Boss Zenigata.” When Heiji told her that, even Oshina, the female investigator, involuntarily teared up.

When they entered the house—after the investigating constable and town officials had withdrawn—only Sadakichi, the errand boy, sat dejectedly watching over Osato’s corpse. “Lad, this must be terribly hard on you, one thing after another.”

“Ah—Boss Zenigata.” When Sadakichi saw Heiji’s face, he stood up in surprise. Yet whereas he had been so distraught and wept when his father was killed before, this time he remained unexpectedly composed—showing not just cold disgust toward the corpse but even what seemed like a childlike fear.

He was a small-framed errand boy who at first glance appeared no older than thirteen or fourteen, but his sturdy build, the complexity of his facial expressions, and—under bright light—the faint shadow of a mustache growing under his nose suggested he might actually be fifteen or sixteen. “Who was the first to find this corpse this morning?” Heiji’s question was reasonable and commonsensical. “It was me.” “Last night, I stayed in Kanazawa-chō, and since I’d forgotten something, I told Miss Oei that this morning and came back. When I did, the entrance door was open, and inside, my aunt had been killed.”

“And?”

“I was so startled that I rushed straight to Boss Tosuke of Ishihara’s place.” Sadakichi’s explanation was clear and articulate. “Last night, you stayed at Omoya’s in Kanazawa-chō—that’s certain, isn’t it?” “Oh, Boss Hachigorō knows all about that?” With Hachigorō still staying at Omoya’s as a witness, there was no way to pursue the matter further. Heiji approached the corpse, paid brief respects, then began examining it meticulously. A bloated, livid, ugly woman—she must have been around forty-seven or forty-eight. The corpse was even more ghastly than before, but the slight swelling was characteristic of someone who had died by strangulation. Upon closer inspection, her skin—abused by excessive face powder in her youth—and the dark congested blood around her eyes could be seen as evidence of how her unsavory profession had utterly ruined her health.

Upon closer inspection, her facial features weren’t so ill-formed—one could even imagine this woman might have been called quite the beauty in her younger days. If harsh living conditions had warped both character and blood, leading to this eerie ugliness, then one might say she was at least a pitiable woman after all.

“Hm.”

There was a dagger wound on the neck. This matched Hanbei’s, Uhatchi’s, and Sadagorō’s cases, but Osato’s showed almost no blood flow. Moreover, distinct marks from a thin strangling cord remained clearly visible on her neck. “They strangled her first, then stabbed her with the dagger after she died.” Even Hachigorō could grasp that much. Why go through such elaborate measures—a double-layered scheme obvious to anyone at first glance? What compelled them to do this?

“The fact that it’s not a crucifixion is strange too, isn’t it? Probably to make people laboriously conclude that it might be the work of a Speckled Group member.” Heiji considered every possible angle.

“Doesn’t this corpse have dice-pip tattoos on its upper arms?”

Hachigorō, associating Oei's upper arms, seemed to suddenly think of Osato's upper arms. "There shouldn't be any." "I don't think this is the leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group—but let's check just to be sure." As he said this, Heiji rolled up the corpse's left sleeve. The arm was bloated and livid, eerie to behold, but there, about three inches down from the shoulder, something bluish-black could be seen. "Ah! Dice pips!" Hachigorō also took hold of the jaw.

On the upper arm of Osato’s corpse was a bluish-black line engraving, as if freshly carved—within a square about one sun in size shaped like a die’s face, there was a single red bean-sized pip tattooed. “Hachi, take a good look at this—if you’ve got any tattoos on your body, compare them. The color and needle marks—listen, once the corpse gets buried or burned, this tattoo’ll vanish. Our eyes are the only proof we’ll have.” Heiji said something peculiar.

“So all six men of the Speckled Group have died now, Boss.” Once they had finished their preliminary investigation, Heiji and Garappa Hachi left Sadakichi’s house and walked toward Ryōgoku.

“Do you think so?” “Two died at Utsunoya Pass—the remaining four would be Omoya Hanbei, Sadakichi’s father Sadagorō, Omoya’s clerk Uhatchi, and Sadagorō’s sister Osato.” “So from one to six, all the dice-pip tattoos have been accounted for now—doesn’t that mean?”

Hachigorō extended his large hand and bent his fingers as he counted. “Then who killed those four?” “Though they may seem similar, I believe the methods differ slightly—” “Could it be the Speckled Group has enemies or something, and they’re fighting over the 12,000 ryō in gold?” “That 12,000 ryō hasn’t even let us catch a whiff of it.” “If we figure that out, we’ll know who killed the four—though come to think of it, they’re called the Six-Man Speckled Group, but really it was five men and one woman, right?”

“If Osato is the leader—” “Don’t you think that dice-pip tattoo on Osato’s arm was strange? Since many people were listening back there, you didn’t say anything at the time—you must’ve told me to keep a close eye on it.” “Now that you mention it, you’re right—the ink color was strange, and the needle marks had left a pitted texture like scattered sesame seeds.” Hachigorō had taken note that far. “That seems different from a tattoo done on a living person.”

“?” “Hey, Hachi—think back carefully. When tattooing a living person, the ink spreads—it doesn’t leave that kind of pitted texture. That was you.”

“—” Hachigorō gulped audibly and held his breath. Heiji’s words were far too bizarre. “That’s a tattoo done on a corpse—mixed blue pigment into the ink.” “Boss, is such a thing even possible?” Hachigorō was truly astonished when faced with Heiji’s imaginative leap. “To make everyone believe all six men of the Speckled Group have died—there’s no other trick but that one. The leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group—the one with the dice-pip ‘one’ tattoo—killed the three surviving members and monopolized the 12,000 ryō in gold.”

“—” Hachigorō shuddered violently. He was both shocked by the sheer gravity of the wicked scheme and burning with righteous indignation against it.

“Who is that, Boss?” “I don’t know.” “We’ve been toyed with by the leader of the Speckled Group all this time.” “And we just stood by and watched as they killed four of their comrades right before our eyes, one after another.” “Including the barrel-collecting boy makes five.” “No—the one who killed that boy is different.” “That is not the Speckled Group’s leader—it’s Uhatchi, Omoya’s clerk.” “Uhatchi needed that dagger for something like protecting the leader or blackmailing him.” “And to conceal that he had bought the dagger from a child, he pitifully killed the barrel-collecting boy.”

The Bodyguard of Deception

“Things have gotten serious, huh, Boss? If the leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group killed three comrades and’s living like nothing happened—” Hachigorō made the sourest face in all of Japan. “We’re starting fresh from the top, Hachi.”

Zenigata Heiji’s face was grave. “What’s the play we should make, Boss?”

The indefatigable Hachigorō looked ready to dash off to Nagasaki on the spot.

“There’s no need to cut corners—Tosuke Oyabun’s place should be close by here. Miss Oshina’s sharp—she might’ve picked up something.”

Heiji turned back from Ryōgoku Bridge toward Ishihara—Tosuke's house wasn't far from the errand boy Sadakichi's house.

“Oh, Boss Zenigata!” Oshina, who had returned just a step ahead, appeared slightly flustered by Zenigata Heiji’s unexpected visit.

“Miss Oshina, I came back because there are a few things I want to ask you.”

“Huh?” “I feel bad for Tosuke Oyabun, but we can’t exactly go inside and chat leisurely—more importantly, Miss Oshina, with all the recent commotion, you’ve been keeping an eye on Sadakichi’s house, haven’t you?”

“Oh, I’ve been gathering all sorts of information, you know.” “For example?” Heiji stood before the lattice door and immediately got to the point. “The woman named Osato who was killed last night was supposed to be the sister of Sadagorō, who was killed earlier, but in reality, she seems to have been his mistress or something of the sort.” “Huh?” That was unexpected even for Heiji. “Because of that, it seems Sadakichi and Osato were on terrible terms.” “That’s news to me.” “If Sadakichi and Osato aren’t aunt and nephew, then I’ll have to rethink this.”

Heiji, too, looked thoroughly flustered. "Moreover, Sadagorō and Osato didn't get along either—while the ailing Sadagorō was nagging, Osato turned out to be a selfish woman contrary to her appearance." "Hmm, it's finally time to start over." "I've been chasing nothing but wrong leads all along." Heiji became completely lost in thought.

After crossing Ryōgoku Bridge twice more and entering Kanazawa-chō via Shōhei Bridge, the stubborn silence persisted. Hachigorō, well-versed in such moments, would study the melodies of his humming, think about that girl, and become an unobtrusive companion—bobbing along and clinging to Heiji without getting in his way.

“Hachi, I have a request for you—”

“What is it, Boss? When it comes to money and women, I can’t be of help—” “You idiot! This isn’t some lighthearted matter.” “Huh?” “Use that wit of yours to lure out Oei. There’s something I need to check at that house—it’ll be trouble if she’s around.”

“I’ll give it a shot—if that’s all it takes.” Hachigorō ran off in high spirits, but after a short while, he returned to where Heiji was waiting at the street corner. “Oei’s leaving soon. Right now she’s in the middle of getting dressed up.” When they saw Oei hurriedly leaving, Hachigorō stepped into her place and guided Heiji into the Omoya residence. Ever since Master Hanbei’s death, the business had remained closed, and Hachigorō even knew that whenever Oei went out, she would leave the key with the neighboring women’s household.

“When I told her the coroner’s officer wanted to see you at Sadakichi’s place in Ishihara, even Oei lost her nerve—she went flying over there!” Hachigorō delivered this blatant lie with utter nonchalance. “That’s a pretty ruthless lie for a pretext.” “Either way, we’ve got loads to check before Oei gets back.” “Is the twelve thousand ryō hidden here, Boss?” “Not that—first off, where do you sleep? That’s what I want to hear.”

“The three-tatami room at the entrance is Auntie’s, the next six-tatami one’s mine—though Oei can’t stand it, the six-tatami room in back’s hers.” “Strange thing to get under someone’s skin.”

Heiji entered the back six-tatami room with a wry smile. The room appeared to have once been Master Hanbei’s quarters, furnished luxuriously. When the cupboard was opened, splendid nightclothes lay neatly folded inside. A three-shaku alcove and a single round window—since there was no lattice there, even with the veranda shutters closed, the fact that one could come and go freely day or night as long as they had footwear strangely put Heiji on edge. “Hachi, open that cupboard.” “Just in case—if there’s footwear inside, I win.”

Hachigorō timidly opened the cupboard beneath the three-shaku alcove and, upon finding inside a box containing paper-wrapped sandals still fresh with mud, let out an involuntary cry of joy. “There it is, Boss!” “Good, good. As long as it’s here, that’s fine. There’s no need to shout loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear—though I’d say the ground outside the window is packed with footprints. Planning to plant flowers? It’s been dug up quite thoroughly.”

Heiji stuck his head out of the round window and looked at the freshly turned soil in the field below—ground showing no signs of human footprints. “Oei’s quite the cultured type, see? Claims she loves flowers—digs up that spot every morning with a hoe.” “Figured as much—now where’d that errand boy Sadakichi sleep last night?” “Two-tatami room next to the kitchen.” “Good. That settles it.” “When it comes to being soft on women, you might just be Japan’s finest. My mistake was stationing you here as a guard.”

“Boss.” “Hey, don’t make that face, Hachi. I’ve finally pinned down the Six-Man Speckled Group’s leader and their wicked scheme.” “Boss, who is it? Which bastard’s behind this?” “Don’t be shocked, Hachi.”

“?” “The leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group—the terrifying killer who murdered three comrades—is that Oei with the innocent face, the Oei you’re so infatuated with.”

Heiji surveyed his surroundings as if wary of the gravity of his own words. “That woman doesn’t have any dice-pip tattoos, Boss.” Hachigorō became frantic. “You haven’t seen Oei naked—what you saw were only her right and left arms.” “—” “Oei’s tattoo—the one-pip dice mark—isn’t on her arm but probably on her thigh.”

“Wha—?!” “Five of the Six-Man Speckled Group were men—their tattoos were on their left upper arms. But the sole woman, their leader… I suspect her dice-pip tattoo isn’t there like the others. It’s probably in some boldly irreverent spot.” “Even so, it’s strange that Oei would be the leader. That woman wasn’t in this house when Hanbei was killed—and when Sadagorō was murdered in Honjo, it was the seventh-night vigil for Hanbei, so she didn’t take a single step out of this house—and on the night clerk Uhatchi was killed, I stayed here with my aunt keeping watch. Last night was no different—Oei shut herself in her room from early evening and was working on something.”

Hachigorō threw himself into this decisive moment with desperate determination.

“I’ll hear that excuse later. First off—we can’t let the bird escape. Let’s head back to Honjo immediately.”

“To Honjo?” “When we go to Ishihara and realize we’ve been tricked, that woman will flee without hesitation—she’s someone who knows where the 12,000 ryō are hidden. She probably doesn’t care a whit about the Omoya family’s affairs.” “Then, Boss—to Ishihara.” Heiji and Hachigorō rushed straight from that spot to Ishihara like coiled hunting dogs. But, “Oei? “Hasn’t Omoya’s Oei come?”

When they asked Tosuke’s subordinate from Ishihara, who was standing guard at the entrance, “No such person has come here.” came the stiff reply. “A young and beautiful lass, but…” Hachigorō impatiently interjected, but— “Whether young or old, not a single woman has come.” The answer was somewhat curt and sarcastic.

“Hachi, it’s useless.” “Huh?” “Oei’s sharper than you or me. If she caught wind of something, she wouldn’t cling to this place and loiter around.”

“Huh?” Hachigorō still seemed unable to believe it. “She pretended to be lured out by you but actually doubled back to observe our investigation,” said Heiji. “And when they discovered the straw sandals in the cupboard—thinking ‘This is bad’—she must’ve fled on the spot.” “Then what became of the 12,000 ryō?” asked Tosuke’s subordinate. “If all her comrades die, Oei alone would know where it’s hidden—wait, Hachi.” Heiji’s tone sharpened. “I need to check something nearby. You head straight back to Kanazawa-cho and keep watch on Omoya’s place again.”

Without waiting for Hachigorō’s reply, Heiji tossed out these words and vanished somewhere.

Rope Escape After parting with Heiji, Hachigorō returned to the Omoya residence in Kanazawa-cho with a tense feeling. It was unclear who would arrive at this house first, but in any case, Hachigorō took out the jitte from his pocket and tucked it into his waistband, fumbled with the arrest rope that had fallen into his sleeve, and worked himself up into a thoroughly heroic state of mind. He thought the key had been left with the neighbor, but just to be sure, when he put a hand on the entrance lattice, the lattice door opened lightly under his touch.

“Who is there?” From within came a young woman’s voice that seemed to answer the reverberating sound—that coquettish yet tense tone could belong to none but Oei.

Hachigorō was startled. He had flown all the way to Honjo to apprehend that Oei, and hurried back to Kanazawa-cho to watch for her return. That Oei herself had returned to this house and was answering in the most refreshing voice in all of Japan was a miracle surpassing even the wildest bounds of Hachigorō’s imagination.

“Oei?” While suppressing a foolish thought, Hachigorō slid open the shoji door with a clatter. “Oh, Boss Hachigorō!” Oei, who greeted him with a charming smile, was in the midst of opening a dresser drawer and searching for something. “You’re under arrest! Stay still!” In that instant, as his professional instincts finally kicked in, Hachigorō assumed a stance with his jitte held behind him, poised to lunge. “Oh, is that a joke?” “But how gallant you are.”

Oei paused her search and, turning around, smiled sweetly. Her upper body—shoulders pulled back at a slight angle, the lush curve of her neck leading to cheeks where the bridge of her nose traced delicate contours, hazy brows arching over slightly parted lips that revealed a flash of white teeth—this pose captured her beauty perfectly. “Don’t play dumb, Oei. You killed Hanbei, Sadagorō, Uhatchi, and Osato, you fat cow.” “W-well, well—how dreadful. I killed that many people?”

“You know damn well!” “Though I did think about glaring Boss Hachigorō to death with my eyes, this was one thing even I couldn’t manage.” “You must have a pretty guardian spirit clinging to you—how vexing, but there’s no resistance here.” “Enough jokes! Submit properly and take this arrest rope.” Hachigorō lunged forward and struck Oei’s shoulder with a polished white jitte in a sharp motion. Or rather, what he intended as a strike became merely a brush against the woman’s plush, soft shoulder.

Even so, Oei sank to her knees like a great peony falling soundlessly to earth and shattering with a soft plop. "Oh? Are you really going to tie me up?" "Boss Hachigorō." "Of course! I don't carry this jitte for decoration!" "Oh... So that was your plan all along, Boss Hachigorō." "Then I'll let you bind me once—if it'll make a fine trophy for you, Hachi... like this." Oei moved her hands behind her back and waited demurely for Hachigorō's rope.

Hachigorō stared blankly for a moment. If you’d scratched or thrashed about or put up a real struggle, there’d be some fight in tying you down— “But I’d hate being tied up for murders or robberies—if I were bound for setting my house ablaze just to meet Mr. Yoshisaburō the page, then being burned at the stake would fulfill my deepest wish.” While being tied up by Hachigorō and wriggling her body, Oei said such things.

“Don’t get cocky.” Hachigorō put on the most merciless face he could muster, clenching his back teeth as he twisted the rope end tightly. “Oh, how vicious! “That hurts, you know?”

“Put up with it.” “But why on earth am I being tied up?” “The evidence for four murders has surfaced.” “You kept me here as your bodyguard and slipped out from the back room.” “You probably didn’t notice we’d found the mud-caked sandals in the floor compartment.” “Oh, is that all? Since I have trouble sleeping, I sometimes go out to catch the night breeze. I didn’t want to wake Boss Hachigorō or Auntie after they’d gone to the trouble of staying over, so I prepared sandals and left them in the floor compartment of the alcove. Isn’t that right?”

“What’s that?” “Or perhaps I should have placed the sandals on the god shelf instead?” “Don’t mock me!” “Or perhaps I should have passed by where you were sleeping and gone out through the front entrance—slipping past your bedside in the middle of the night?” “――” “It’s vexing, Hachi.” Oei, still bound, sobbed quietly. The teardrops flowing down her long eyelashes trickled over plump cheeks and fell onto slightly parted knees—even this sight strangely stirred Hachigorō’s chest.

“Then I’ll ask—you were supposed to go to Honjo, but you came back here without showing up there and were searching for something. What’s the reason for that?” Hachigorō, now that he had tied her up himself, found himself driven by the impulse to refute this woman. “I remembered something important partway and came back—oh my, there’s no need to make such a strange face.” “It isn’t some joint pledge—it’s my important memorandum, because I wouldn’t want to carelessly show such a thing to others, would I?” “In fact, there’s plenty written about you here, Hachi—how awkward, making me say such things—police informant work truly is a sinful occupation.”

As she said this, Oei stared up at Hachigorō’s face from below as if licking it with her eyes. “Smooth talker—evidence’s come to light that you’re part of the Six-Man Speckled Group.”

“Oh? What evidence?”

“We’ve discovered Osato’s arm tattoo was fake.” “The dice pip must be tattooed somewhere on your body.” “Oh, how distrustful you are, Hachi.” “Didn’t I show you my arms the other night?”

“The tattoo isn’t on your arm—it’s probably in some strange place like your thighs or back!” This was Heiji’s deduction, but Hachigorō borrowed it to rebuff her. “W-well, I’ll show you then—to clear your doubts.” “If it were anyone else, that would be one thing... but for you, Hachi, I’d gladly show you anywhere.” “My thighs, my back—anywhere—” “Don’t be absurd!” Hachigorō averted his face. Though not bold enough to demand seeing the bound young woman’s thighs, the crimson crepe spilling between her knees burned itself into the young man’s vision.

“Then what should I do, Hachi? If you untie me, I’ll do anything.” “Shut up. I’ve got business to handle.” “Are you telling me to stay silent and become a four-time murderess, Hachi? Isn’t that pitiful?” “Noisy woman. You stay in the next room for a while—I want to look inside this chest.” “Well…” Hachigorō moved Oei—who had been sulking and clinging to him relentlessly—to the neighboring six-tatami room as if lifting her up.

“You’ll have to endure it for a while.”

Using a perfectly suited pillar and binding Oei’s body securely, Hachigorō returned to the original room. Hachigorō became convinced that within this very chest—where Oei had just moments ago conducted an exaggerated search, overturning every drawer—lay the crucial secrets of the Six-Man Speckled Group and the stolen 12,000 ryō in government funds. “Please don’t pull out strange things, Boss Hachigorō.”

Oei called out from the adjacent room as if to restrain his actions.

“Shut up.” When inspecting a chest, one starts from the bottom drawer—Hachigorō knew this principle as well. What he pulled out and took in hand were a variety of gaudy, alluring, and unexpectedly luxurious kimonos belonging to a young woman.

“Women have all sorts of things they don’t want men to see, you know.” “Enough already. Won’t you come over here and face me, Hachi?” He told himself he just needed a little more patience. Hachigorō’s hands moved busily as he inspected each kimono one by one—checking sleeve interiors and collar linings—which took far longer than expected. But after thorough examination, he found nothing suspicious at all.

“Oei.” “—” “What did you take from the chest?” “—”

Oei, who until just moments ago had been incessantly talking and distracting Hachigorō, suddenly fell silent and refused to respond—this was no ordinary matter.

What was wrong? Driven by such anxiety, Hachigorō flung open the sliding paper door.

“Ah, she’s gone!” There was no sign of Oei there—before the pillar lay only the splendidly slipped-off restraining rope, coiled like a serpent on the tatami. “Dammit! Where’d she vanish to?!” Hachigorō searched the house like a madman, but not a trace of Oei remained. The back entrance’s shoji stood half-open, its gaping mouth declaring her escape route.

It goes without saying that Hachigorō rushed out into the alley.

“What’s wrong, Hachi? You’re in quite a panic, aren’t you?”

Blocking his path was Zenigata Heiji, who seemed to have just returned from somewhere. Heiji untied. “Boss, have you seen that scheming witch Oei around here?” Hachigorō was completely flustered. “I haven’t seen anything like that—what happened with Oei?” Even Heiji’s face tensed up. “When I came back here, she was rummaging noisily through the chest and acting all innocent—‘Oh, Hachi!’—but when I suddenly tried to tie her up, she said if there were dice-pip tattoos, she’d show me her thighs or whatever—”

“Did you actually look at such things?” “I didn’t look! Begging your pardon, I shook off her pestering, tied her to the pillar in the six-tatami room next door, and while I was checking that suspicious chest, it got strangely quiet—so I peeked in and—” “Looking at her thigh?!” “It wasn’t her thigh! When I checked the next room—just like this—she’d slipped clean out of the ropes and escaped through the back entrance. What a damn fox!”

While showing the restraining ropes left on the pillar, Hachigorō stamped his feet in frustration. “You’re such a fool—that woman was the female lead performer of Akashi Gorohatchi’s troupe and a master of rope escapes.” “Ohhh, right!” “That’s Oei for you—even when trussed up tight and stuffed into a wicker trunk, she’d pull off a flawless rope escape and greet the audience with a sweet smile, dressed in nothing but a red underrobe.” “Slipping out of ropes you tied is child’s play!”

“Tch.” “You think clicking your tongue’ll help you catch her? There was a proper way to tie up a rope escape artist—ah, never mind. Lecturing here won’t do squat.”

Heiji comforted Hachigorō while pulling a gaudy cushion closer with his foot. “I’m sorry. Boss.” Scratching his temple, Hachigorō crouched before him. “There’s no helping it. That woman’s a slippery eel—even if I’d tied her up myself, she might’ve gotten away.” “By the way, Boss.” “What’s this, Hachi? Acting all proper now?” “Is Oei truly the leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group and the perpetrator of the four murders?”

For Hachigorō, that was still something he couldn’t grasp. “Whether she’s the Speckled Group’s leader or not—you’d need to check her thigh to know for sure—but she definitely helped kill three of them: Hanbei, Sadagorō, Uhatchi, and Osato.” “Huh—so she had another accomplice out there too—” “Didn’t you notice? That errand boy Sadakichi—he was Oei’s accomplice.” “I split up with you in Honjo and searched for Sadakichi’s whereabouts.”

“Huh, that kid… Isn’t he still a child?” “So you thought that too? I made a terrible mistake because I was convinced of the same thing at first. That errand boy Sadakichi isn’t thirteen or fourteen. Though short in stature, his body’s well-developed—he’s even got faint whiskers under his nose. That one’s definitely seventeen or eighteen.” Heiji had discerned something significant. “That’s shocking! That kid’s seventeen or eighteen? Huh?”

To Hachigorō, who was overwhelmed with emotion, Heiji added this as he continued speaking. “It’s the most dangerous age for a boy.” “On top of that, that errand boy Sadakichi was born with a terrifying nature.” “He doesn’t think twice about toying with men like playthings—for women like her, there’s no better tool than that.” “Huh?” “Moreover, there’s still something surprising.” “The murdered Sadagorō was undoubtedly Sadakichi’s father—but Osato was neither his aunt nor anything of the sort. That story about her being Sadagorō’s sister was a blatant lie—in truth she was his mistress or something along those lines.”

“—” “When Sadagorō was killed, Sadakichi wept so bitterly—yet when Osato died, he was utterly composed. And according to Miss Oshina, Osato and Sadakichi were on terrible terms.” “Osato was likely a woman of ill repute who’d ruined her standing, wormed her way into Sadagorō’s life, then cast Sadakichi aside for being in her way.”

Heiji’s claims were each well-founded, but “Why on earth would that Oei have killed three or even four people?” “It’s a struggle over the 12,000 ryō stolen at Utsunoya Pass. The 12,000 ryō in government funds must be hidden somewhere, but it’s unclear who knows where. But if four comrades kill each other until only one remains, it’s certain that the remaining one will get their hands on it.” “Huh?”

“Shall I start from the beginning? On the night Hanbei was killed, when you and I met at Shōheibashi, Oei must’ve been shocked out of her wits.” “That was when she came to ditch the dagger used on Hanbei.” “The blade must’ve had some telltale mark—something that’d scream ‘Oei’s property’ at first glance.” “Ah! So they bumped off even that barrel-collecting kid to get their hands on that dagger!” “Wasn’t them—Clerk Uhatchi got hold of that dagger.” “Uhatchi used it to strongarm Oei—no, scratch that. The lovesick fool probably tried wooing her with it as his ticket in.”

“What a creep.” “If it were Hachigorō, he wouldn’t do such a thing. Wooing women takes looks and wit.” “You’re joking.” “The story’s gotten tangled, but that night at the Kojikibashi hardware store—though Oei had arranged to meet Uhatchi—after killing Hanbei, she dawdled at the neighbor’s place instead of going to Kojikibashi.” “She meant to keep Uhatchi dangling—change her whereabouts for an hour and a half—and steer suspicion his way.” “What a wicked woman.”

“At that time, even though she led you and me into that pitch-dark blood-soaked room, I thought it strange there wasn’t a speck of blood on Oei’s hem or feet—proof she knew the house layout through and through.” “But didn’t they say Oei spoke with Hanbei at the entrance when going next door? Then right after she returned from next door, the uproar over Hanbei’s murder started—and by the time you and I arrived, the blood was already beginning to clot.”

“No—Hanbei had already been killed when Oei went next door. Judging by how the blood had clotted, he must have been killed an hour or an hour and a half before we arrived.” “So the one who spoke with Oei was…?” “It’s Oei.” Heiji was saying something strange.

The one who had spoken with Oei was Oei—Heiji was saying something perplexing. "You know I told you Oei's a master of rope escapes? Well, you're aware how nowadays acrobats and conjurers mimic kabuki acts to please their patrons."

“—” “Oei was also skilled at voice imitation,” Heiji explained. “For someone as dexterous as her, mimicking Hanbei’s voice—which she heard daily—would’ve been trivial. She killed Hanbei, crucified him in the garden, washed off the blood by the well, changed clothes in a flash, then used his voice to hold a conversation at the entrance—all while coolly loitering there for over an hour.” “What a terrifying woman,” Hachigorō muttered. “But crucifying a hulking man like Hanbei—that’s beyond a woman’s strength, no?”

“It was Sadakichi, the errand boy who had slipped out from Honjo, who helped her.” “Why on earth would she go through such elaborate measures?” “To make people think it wasn’t the work of a physically weak woman.” “Hanging a man over five feet four or five inches tall—even just five or ten inches off the ground—isn’t something a woman could manage.” “Even with Sadakichi helping her, wouldn’t it still be difficult?” “They hung him from an upper branch.” “If two people do it, it’s manageable.” Heiji’s explanation went into minute detail.

“If you knew all that, why didn’t you arrest Oei?” “There isn’t a single solid piece of evidence.” “That woman’s frighteningly cunning—I’ve got my suspicions, but she never lets you catch her tail.” “Assuming Uhatchi killed the barrel-collecting boy, who killed Sadagorō?” “Uhatchi.”

“Huh?” “Uhatchi was infatuated with Oei—he’d do anything she said. He got stood up at the Kojikibashi hardware store, used the barrel-collecting boy to buy a dagger, killed that same boy to silence him, and on top of that, when Oei asked him to, even decided to kill Sadagorō.” “What a piece of work.”

“The one who killed Sadagorō was Uhatchi—and it was surely Oei who told Sadakichi that. On the night Oei killed Uhatchi in Yanaka, she had Sadakichi lure him out. She herself went to the barrel-collecting boy’s house in Sakumachō during the early evening and tossed a wallet through the window—then returned to the house in Kanazawachō, watching you make that strange face with an amused look while flashing a suggestive smile. This way, even if she slipped out at midnight, Hachigorō wouldn’t notice.”

“Heh.”

Hachigorō, as if to hide his embarrassment, stroked his long chin. “Going out once in the evening to put Hachigorō at ease, then slipping out quietly through the round window at midnight—it was an elaborate yet clever tactic. At that very moment, Hachigorō the guard was snoring like a buzzsaw, dreaming of daifuku rice cakes.” “You’re kidding.” “Oei doesn’t miss a trick. In Yanaka, when she met Uhatchi—just as when she’d stabbed Hanbei—she embraced him from behind, pretended to whisper something, and plunged the dagger into his neck. This is Oei’s technique—she can deliver the killing blow without fail and without getting blood on herself.”

Heiji proceeded to explain as though he had witnessed the scene himself. "There's one thing I don't understand, Boss." "What is it?"

“Who was the messenger that came from Ishihara saying there was an issue with Sadagorō?” “It’s Uhatchi—Uhatchi, the clerk who killed Sadagorō—since Sadagorō had palsy and couldn’t move freely, Uhatchi could kill him alone.” It was truly something utterly unexpected. “Then doesn’t that mean his face was seen?”

“The only ones who saw the messenger’s face were Osato and Oei.” “Osato clammed up, thinking there was some ulterior motive, and Oei, fully aware of everything, probably pretended ignorance.”

“Why on earth did he come to inform us then?” “It’s all an act by that scoundrel—he meant to make you and me panic so he could work his scheme afterward.”

“So Uhatchi disguised himself as the messenger, turned back, and tied up Oei?” “That’s right—they’d arranged it together beforehand.” “He watched you and me turn back from Yanagihara, got there first by a hair, and trussed Oei up with terrifying speed—those were the quick-release knots used in escape acts at Ryōgoku shows.” “They looked tight as could be, but one good shake and they’d come loose like nothing.” “Huh… Can’t believe it.” “You’re always gaping at every little thing.” “All part of Oei’s theatrical scheme.”

“Who killed Osato?”

“That was Oei.” “Since they were both women, she approached from behind and strangled her.” “She couldn’t very well embrace her and stab her in the neck. Though Sadakichi might have been involved too.” “It seems Sadakichi thought getting Uhatchi to kill his father Sadagorō was Osato’s scheme.”

“Huh… What a bunch of scoundrels, aren’t they?” “Osato knew too much and must have become a hindrance.” “Boss, when exactly did you start suspecting Oei?”

“From the very first night.” “But there wasn’t a single solid piece of evidence.” “I thought keeping you there might help me catch something—but that turned out to be a complete misread.”

“Heh.” Hachigorō stuck out his tongue and knocked his forehead. “When I saw Uhatchi guarding that letter Oei wrote—the one arranging their secret meeting—like it was some treasure, that’s when I knew for sure she was up to no good.” “No point checking her thighs for tattoos now.”

“Heh. Can’t win against you when you’re around, Boss.”

“By the way, Oei escaped, and Sadakichi disappeared.” “The identity of the Six-Man Speckled Group’s leader remained unknown, and the perpetrator of the four murders had yet to be apprehended.” “I’d never been so thoroughly outwitted as I was this time—but in return, if I could just find that one lead, I’d nab the Six-Man Speckled Group’s leader with 12,000 ryō as a bonus.” “Where could that twelve thousand ryō be?” “It’s behind you.” “Wh—?” “It’s inside that chest.” “What do you think Oei risked her life to return for?”

Heiji looked at the old, haunted-looking chest that Hachigorō had thoroughly ransacked.

Golden Ring

**Challenge**

A little over a month later, Edo had fully embraced early summer. The Inari shrines adorning the town’s heart were wrapped in youthful green leaves; each morning, cuckoos diverted from the tiled rooftops toward the Ōkawa River, while the cries of first bonito sellers resounded loudly through the streets.

Five of the Six-Man Speckled Group had clearly perished, but the whereabouts of the single remaining leader—a vicious bandit whose true name, appearance, age, and even gender remained unknown—had vanished without a trace. To make matters worse, this utter lack of information left a thread of unease lodged deep in the hearts of Edo’s townspeople. Even Zenigata Heiji, hailed as the legendary arrest master since Edo’s founding, had now received his first defeat since taking up his jitte and arrest ropes.

“Boss Zenigata will probably do something about it.”

The elders of Edo said so. This spoke of an unshakable trust in Heiji. "Well, Heiji really bungled it this time." "If they can't even tell if the Six-Man Speckled Group's leader is male or female, they'll never catch the killer who did those four in." The young townsfolk said this and found amusement in it. It was an iconoclastic sort of fascination. Amidst all this talk, Heiji wore an expressionless face while idling away each day. With both spending money and tobacco exhausted, he watched with tender concern as his wife Oshizu strained herself devising their evening drinks—yet still he made no move to take action. What could be the matter?

In the meantime, Garappa Hachi’s Hachigorō had found two new holes. One was at the home of Motokichi—the barrel-collecting boy who had fallen to Uhatchi’s murderous blade—living in squalor like a rat’s nest at Ninsuke’s shop in Sakumachō. Under the pretense of consoling the mother, he had begun diligently visiting, though his true aim was to catch a glimpse of her sister Oyuki’s face. Oyuki, like a poor man’s daughter, carried herself with a certain maturity beyond her years, but at just seventeen, she lacked both flattery and charm—instead exuding a pure freshness akin to fruit freshly plucked from the tree.

She was fair-skinned with sharply defined, cute facial features, though not exceptionally beautiful; if Hachigorō felt any attraction to her, it might have been drawn by her unadorned naturalness and a certain temperament tempered by poverty. The other was a woman at a small tea shop beside Tennō-ji Temple in Yanaka, who was twenty-three and possessed exceptional beauty. Officially, she was registered as the old woman’s niece at the tea shop—a divorcee who had returned home and idled about until her aunt implored her to help at the shop recently. Yet her beauty, radiant enough to illuminate Yanaka Woods, and her seductive nasal voice had gained such notoriety that she was now counted among the local attractions, her popularity eclipsing even that of the brothel district’s Iroha Teahouse.

After Uhatchi, Omoya's clerk, was killed in Yanaka Woods, it was only natural that Hachigorō—who had business there—would hit it off with Ogin, the tea shop proprietress, and seize every opportunity to visit beneath the Five-Story Pagoda. Ogin’s allure—with the bluish traces of shaved eyebrows and jet-black ohaguro-stained teeth—captivated Hachigorō’s heart in a manner wholly different from Oyuki.

“Emergency, Boss!”

It was one morning when Hachigorō burst in with his customary preamble—just as Heiji’s solitary meditation had finally begun dissolving into tobacco smoke, teetering on the verge of profound enlightenment. “You’re as noisy as ever, you rascal.” “What’s the emergency?” Heiji uncoiled himself and twisted his neck around, still holding the tobacco in his mouth. “Someone threw something strange into Oyuki’s house in Sakumachō.” “Did someone toss in another purse stuffed with gold coins?”

"That’s not all." "It’s maddening—I can’t make heads or tails of it. It’s a riddle, Boss." “Boss.” Hachigorō planted his knees and sat down, then retrieved from the depths of his pocket a single hand towel-wrapped item and shoved it toward Heiji. “Not a love letter, is it? Judging by that look in your eyes, seems our Oyuki’s found herself a new man—” “Nothing so idiotic!” “Just read the damn thing already!”

“This is a bit scary—I might end up apologizing for this challenge letter.” Heiji picked up the aforementioned item while saying this. When the hand towel was untied, something fell out from within with a clatter—what glittered brilliantly on the tatami mat was a single golden-yellow circular ring about two sun in diameter. “What’s this?”

“Please read the letter.” Heiji silently studied the ring, its golden circumference nearly matching a bull’s nose ring in size, yet he remained utterly baffled about what manner of talisman it might represent. Accompanying the ring lay a letter folded in quarters on Japanese paper. When flattened open, it revealed these words rendered in masterful calligraphy:

Boss Zenigata, I do feel sorry for you, but this time your reputation will be utterly ruined. You’ll never uncover the true identity of the Six-Man Speckled Group or the killer who slaughtered four people. Even if I were to monopolize these 12,000 ryō in government funds as they are, no one would raise any objections. But being an honest person, I can’t just quietly keep all the sweet rewards to myself. Before retrieving the 12,000 ryō in government funds, I’ll let you have one last glimpse into heaven’s design.

On the ○ day of ○ month at ○ hour, we shall meet at Sixty Above. In the old man's mouth—the Six-Man Speckled Group—for the sake of the three Shen, I'll lend you this golden ring. You'd do well to ponder what this was used for.

“Damn it!” Even Heiji bit his lip. To say the least, it was a letter that mocked people.

“This was thrown into Oyuki’s house, I tell you.” “There were also ten ryō in gold and a letter attached—the name looked like Etesan.” “Was it definitely written as ‘Etesan’?” “There’s no mistake—I saw it myself!” “I can read characters like that myself!” “So the Speckled Group’s leader must be someone called Saruzō or Shinzaburō.” “Sounds like a stage name.” “If it’s a woman, they’d use names like O-Saru or Oen.” “Do you remember the wording of that letter?”

“It had all sorts of troublesome things written in it.” “It’s not something you can read through in one go.” “You hopeless rascal.” “So learn some proper characters already—though saying that makes me sound like some great scholar, huh?” Heiji began preparing to go out with a wry smile.

Zenigata Heiji couldn’t bring himself to chastise Hachigorō for his spinelessness and instead went himself to Oyuki’s house in Sakumachō. At the same old Ukiyo Alley, a mother worn down by household cares and her strangely gleaming daughter Oyuki welcomed him. Even with the gold thrown through the window by the magistrate’s arrangement, this household—where poverty had seeped into their very bones—did not suddenly brighten or grow prosperous; in the same old rat’s nest of a home, the mother was laying out handcrafted toys and such.

“Oh, Boss Hachigorō!” Oyuki popped her face out into the alleyway, spotted the long-jawed man, and came out to greet them at the entrance. Her threadbare lined kimono—its crimson collar faded to dullness—left her appearance utterly destitute. Yet even in limbs swathed in rags and hair devoid of oil’s sheen, the bloom of youth overflowed: plump cheeks, keenly intelligent eyes, a softly elongated neck—every feature brimmed with allure. “Today I brought Boss Zenigata with me.”

"Oh!" When she saw Heiji's face, the girl clattered into the house. "Hachi, this doesn't bode well for you—she came darting out at your face—but when she saw mine, she scrambled back inside." "That's not it at all." "It's just embarrassing." Listening to Hachigorō's excuses from behind his back, Heiji settled before the mother like one positioning a mikoshi.

“Show me the item thrown in last night.” “I’ve received the portion delivered to me, but—” “Yes, this is it, Boss.” “Since we know full well it’s the work of bad people, we can’t let this go unresolved. So after consulting with the landlord, we plan to report it to the authorities.” What she brought out was a paper package containing ten ryō in gold coins and a single sheet of Japanese paper—this too folded eight times—forming a letter. The paper wrapping the gold coins had nothing written on it, while the letter was in the same handwriting as the one addressed to Heiji,

The forty-ninth day since Motokichi’s death draws near—have this used to offer at least one sutra. Having said that doesn’t mean I killed Motokichi. And since there’s precedent from before, this gold needn’t be reported to the authorities. I earned this gold through legitimate work—rest assured. I’ve included a golden ring and letter with it—see that they reach either Boss Zenigata or that fool Hachigorō. Six-Man Speckled Group — Etesan This was what had been written.

“Hey, Hachi.” “What is it, Boss?”

“You were better off not reading this letter.” “Is there something about me written in it?” “It lavishes praise on you—‘Boss Hachigorō is a clever, generous, and upstanding man,’ so it says.” “You’re lying.” “It’s not entirely a bad feeling—now, about who threw this letter in…” Heiji turned his attention to Oyuki and her mother. “It was from that window.” “It might have been around half-past the Hour of the Boar (11 PM) last night.” “It was around the time we were stopping work to rest.”

“By the way, what should we do now, Boss?” “Well, first we’ll need to reread that riddle of a letter and figure out what our opponent’s scheming.” When Heiji and Hachigorō left Oyuki’s house in Sakumachō, their feet naturally turned toward Myōjin Shrine. “What day is it today, Hachi?” “I’ve never bothered with such things.” “Dog days or cat days or whatever.” “If only there were days for junior courtesans or seasoned women—that’d be useful.”

“Heh, heh, well, if you say so.” “So go ask the fortune-teller—he’s at the foot of Shōhei Bridge.” “In his line of work, he should know that well. If you ask what to do, you could say he has an appointment to go to Nakachō on the Day of the Monkey.” “If he says he wants a consultation fee, what should we do, Boss?” “I didn’t ask him for fortune-telling or divination—I consulted him as a calendar substitute.” “Show them the police insignia and come back.” “So it’s the dine-and-dash tactic, eh?” “It’s a listen-and-dash.” “Though whether you leave a single copper coin or pocket a gold koban is entirely up to you.”

Garappa Hachi went to the foot of the bridge but returned immediately after a brief exchange with the fortune-teller. “It’s that Ete bastard’s day, Boss—last month was all Monkey, and tonight’s the grand Kōshin observance.” “This is serious, Hachi!” “Are you planning to raid some Kōshin gathering?” “It’s not such a damned idea—you know the contents of the letter you saw earlier.”

“Huh?” “It should have said ‘—Month—Day—Hour—, sixty above, three Boar—’.” “The leader of the Speckled Group was called Etesan—probably a name like Saruzō or Saruzaburō.” “There’s gotta be a reason they twisted it around to write ‘Three Boar’ like that.” “Huh?” “Take those three circles written as ‘○月○日○刻’ and plug in the character for Boar—it’s the Boar Month, Boar Day, and Boar Hour!” “Ah, I see—” “The opponent is trying to lure me somewhere at today’s Boar Hour (4 PM).”

Heiji had thought this far. “Where’s the location, Hachi?”

“If you don’t know something, Boss, there’s no way I would.” “Even knees can hold discussions—don’t dismiss it out of hand and think.” “Am I some knee-brat, eh?” “You’re quite a lanky knee-brat—digging for nose goblins, yawning—what an ill-mannered knee-brat you are.” “Well, what a delightful blessing this is—” While dismissing it as useless, Heiji’s mind was working at a fearsome rate. “Damn it! There’s no way I can’t figure out this simple-minded riddle. What in blazes does ‘sixty above’ mean?” “Hachi, you think too!”

“How about under the sixtieth step of Atagoyama’s Otokozaka?” “Clever! That’s worth paying a consultation fee.” “See?” “You go dig under Atagoyama’s sixtieth step.” “I guarantee two or three earthworms’ll come crawling out.” Heiji vigorously crushed Hachigorō’s theory. Five-Story Pagoda “Then where is it? Boss.” “I don’t have any idea myself. It’s not that nothing comes to mind—but if I say this one, you’ll laugh. Better keep quiet and come along.”

“I don’t think there’s anywhere outside Atagoyama that has sixty steps, though.” “Right, Boss?” Hachigorō pressed on tenaciously. “What’s this part about ‘(inside the old man’s mouth)’ after that phrase?” “Does Atagoyama even have something like that, eh?” “What’s in the old man’s mouth is dentures.”

“Are you saying that’s connected to the twelve thousand somehow?” “Well, you see…” Hachigorō couldn’t come up with anything beyond that.

After preparing lunch at the foot of the mountain, they ascended Ueno Hill around half-past the Hour of the Sheep (3 PM).

“Where are you going, Boss? There’s nothing ahead but Iroha tea houses.” The unlicensed brothel quarter surrounding Tanyū Tōnoji Temple—a stretch from Ueno to Yanaka teeming with clandestine playgrounds for priests—was colloquially known as the Iroha. “Among them, isn’t there one you’re obsessed with—or so the story goes?” “That’s not an Iroha tea house, you know. It’s a house near Tennōji Temple that sells shikimi branches and incense, you know.”

“That’s quite the show of piety,” “Anyway—take me to that Buddha-stinking house.” “I want to borrow their shopfront and wait for high tide.” “If it’s Ogin’s place—right there.” “See? Sprinkling water at the entrance.” “So that’s your Ete creature? White hand towel wrapped like a nun’s cowl—trim ankles on a fine middle-aged piece... Hachi! Go hail her. Two-three claps’ll do.” “Don’t mistake her for some fox-spirit now.”

Perhaps hearing the pointless remark, he turned around and took a hand towel. “Oh, Boss Hachigorō, welcome!” She gave a grin. Her voice was terribly nasal, which stood out all the more given the proximity to Kasamori Inari Shrine, yet it was also frighteningly alluring. Her voluminous marumage hairstyle, the thickly drawn lines where her eyebrows had been shaved—as if painted with pearl—and the way her crimson lips parted to reveal teeth like black onyx all combined into an indescribable allure. “I’ll borrow your shopfront for a bit. Ah—no need for cushions. We’ll just catch our breath in the shade while waiting for someone.”

Heiji pulled the veranda platform toward him and sat down on the slightly soiled straw mat. “Ah—sitting in such a place… We do have some cleaner ones inside.” “Ah—that must be Mr. Zenigata with you, Boss Hachigorō. Please introduce me.” The woman cradled two cushions against her chest and struck an intensely alluring pose. “It’s Boss Zenigata, the one you’re always going on about.” “Oh, how embarrassing!” “Sometime, please bring Boss Zenigata here. Because I’ve been longing for a love I haven’t seen in a long time—you’re the one who said that, aren’t you?”

Hachigorō pressed on bluntly. “Oh, I don’t want to talk about such things anymore, Boss Hachigorō.” While writhing her body, the woman nevertheless served tea without fleeing or hiding.

“Hachi, enough of this—let’s get going.”

After taking a sip of lukewarm tea and placing payment on the tray, Heiji went outside. He appeared not unaffected by the wife Ogin’s allure. “Where are you going, Boss?” “The Five-Story Pagoda.”

“Huh? You goin’ to make some wish at the Five-Story Pagoda or somethin’—” “You’re hopeless.”

“Still, that woman’s a real charmer, ain’t she?”

Hachigorō leaned against the pillar of the tea shop they had left behind, looking over his shoulder, and pointed at Ogin, who was seeing them off with a dramatic pose like the climactic moment of a play’s finale. “That allure of hers is too much for you—it’s poison.”

“Huh?” “That nasal voice isn’t just some quirk. You’d do well not to get too cozy.” “Huh?” “Quit making that face—let’s just hope some scary bastard doesn’t come charging out waving a cleaver any second now.” “That right?” “Now then—this here’s the Five-Story Pagoda.” Heiji stood before the Yanaka Five-Story Pagoda, leaning back at a steep angle as he gazed up at its summit.

“What about the Five-Story Pagoda?” “The sunlight’s just right at Boar Hour—I want to climb this tower. Go to Tennōji and borrow the key for me.” “Huh?” Hachigorō started to dash out. “Hold on, Hachi. Using a borrowed key to get in would show a complete lack of cunning. There must be some clever way—surely our opponent hasn’t established a connection with Tennōji.” Heiji stopped Hachigorō and first made a full circuit around the tower.

At that time, the Five-Story Pagoda was still brand new, its framework and doors so sturdy that not even the slightest gap seemed possible. "Hachi, check all four doors." "One might open by mistake." "Huh?" Hachigorō carefully inspected each of the Five-Story Pagoda’s four doors, but they were as secure as iron, showing no sign of opening no matter how they were pushed or pulled. "Ah! This is it, Hachi!"

“What is it, Boss?” “I’d forgotten about this—this is the key.”

Heiji took out the golden ring from his pocket. When he circled the Five-Story Pagoda once, there on the southern door—slightly below a person’s height—was a brand-new gap just wide enough to slide the golden ring sideways into. Heiji did not hesitate for even a moment. “Are you sure about this, Boss?” Ignoring Hachigorō’s worried face, he smoothly slid the golden ring into that gap.

The ring dropped carelessly into the hole, and somewhere, there was a clang. Following Zenigata Heiji’s pushing hand, the southern door of the Five-Story Pagoda swiftly and silently swung inward before their eyes. “We’re going in, Hachi.” “Are you sure?” The interior was dimly lit, its unexpectedly crude construction strangely disappointing compared to the imposing grandeur of its exterior, yet an undeniable eeriness pressed in from behind.

“Wait, wait!” Hachigorō, who had tried to rush into the Five-Story Pagoda, was pushed back by Heiji’s hand.

“What’s wrong, Boss?” “Come to think of it, if both of us go in and something happens to us both, there’d be nobody left to clean up the mess.” “Huh, is that how it works?” “I’ll go into the tower alone. You turn back here and gather as many men as you can.” “Kiku of Yanaka should be around there; if you can’t manage it yourself, ask Oyama Dōshin and round up whoever you can—middlemen, laborers, anyone.” “And you, Boss?”

“I’ll go up the tower and take a look.” “Isn’t it dangerous? How about waiting until we gather more people?” It was a rapid-fire exchange of words as they stood at the entrance of the Five-Story Pagoda. “No—I’ve been invited to meet here at Boar Hour (4 PM). That sun’s already nearing Boar Hour half into Rooster Hour (6 PM), I’d say. I can’t turn my back on the enemy.” Heiji gazed at the sunlight filtering through the gaps, showing not the slightest intention of retreating.

“The opponent is definitely at the top of this tower, Boss.”

Hachigorō was still persisting. Flying into the jaws of tigers and wolves, he was worried about the Boss’s safety.

“There’s no mistake. It was written in the letter earlier—‘the old man’s mouth’ is a Yanaka riddle. The character for ‘valley’ is written as ‘father’ above ‘mouth,’ right?”

“Huh?”

“Sixty above is fifty above—it’s the Five-Story Pagoda. Child’s trickery at best.” “Getting drawn in by riddles galls me, but I can’t leave twelve thousand ryō of government gold unattended.” “And don’t forget—the Speckled Group’s leader’s slaughtered four already.” “Letting that slide would shame the jutte at my hip.” “But Boss—” “Quit yapping, Hachi.” “When I say go, you sprint till your sandals smoke!”

“Alright, I’ll go.” “There’s no need to get angry—I’ll just go, right?” Hachigorō lingered with a wistful air, but when Heiji’s tone turned harsh—perhaps thinking it unwise to oppose him—he quickly trudged off and disappeared into the shadows of Ueno’s forest.

After seeing Hachigorō off, Heiji closed the tower door and picked up the golden ring he had dropped earlier. Looking closer, the ring that had slipped from the door's hole had caught on a protrusion midway, releasing the latch—the door was designed to open with effortless ease. Creating such a simple yet effective mechanism while using the Five-Story Pagoda as a dwelling was no easy feat. Between the first and second floors lay no ladder. Gazing upward through the entrance hole to the second floor, far above, one could see the pagoda's grand wooden framework. From there upward, a proper ladder appeared installed. The pagoda's administrator had likely removed the ladder between floors to prevent children's pranks or vagrants from lodging there.

Heiji gazed at it for a while, then took out a hand towel from his pocket, fashioned a knot at one end, and tossed it into the wooden framework protruding from the second-floor hole. When he pulled to test it, the end of the hand towel caught skillfully, forming a perfect handhold. grotesque visage

The second floor too had dust piled high, with footprints crisscrossing in all directions. Heiji, however, paid no attention to such things and climbed up to the third floor, then the fourth floor in an utterly casual manner. Before long, he abruptly showed his face at the very top of the Five-Story Pagoda, but there was no one there as expected. Filling the narrow fifth-floor space were six imposing metal-fitted chests—far larger than ordinary thousand-ryō boxes, these long, slender government gold chests had been arranged in an utterly casual manner.

It was common knowledge that each chest held two thousand ryō, so lining up six would clearly contain twelve thousand ryō in total—yet why the Six-Man Speckled Group’s leader would so readily hand them over to Heiji defied comprehension. As a precaution, he tried moving the nearest chest. It yielded effortlessly to his touch. “Hm?” The large lobster-shaped padlock dangled from the chest’s lid, already disengaged. When he lifted the lid, the interior stood empty—just as he’d anticipated.

When he opened the six gold chests one after another from the front, five opened without issue, but the last one appeared to have a different lock mechanism—there was no lobster-shaped padlock or metal fittings, and on the unpainted wooden box, near its edge, was a hole identical to the one on the pagoda’s entrance door, measuring roughly two *bu* in width and two *sun* in length. Probably, this hole too used the same mechanism as the pagoda’s entrance door and could be opened with the golden ring in Heiji’s hand. Just how far would they keep up these childish tricks? Heiji thought resentfully as he tossed the golden ring into the hole with a clang.

But even after pushing for some time, the chest showed no sign of opening. He lifted the entire chest and tried various methods, but all six sides were securely nailed with planks—there was no hidden mechanism or trick—and when he shook it, the golden ring inside only clattered.

“How about it? Did you like that little toy?” A brazen voice rang out from above Heiji’s head, taunting him, but even when he looked up, no figure came into view. “Right here, Boss Zenigata.” “Right here.” This time, he certainly found him. Peering through the gap where the decorative panel had detached above the fifth-floor door where Heiji stood, he could see a man clinging bat-like beneath the uppermost roof’s eaves—wearing a traditional hunchbacked mask—calling down in a voice thick with mockery.

“You bastard!”

Heiji tried to rush out, but it was futile. The pagoda’s door—rigged with some mechanism—had been barred from the outside and refused to budge even an inch. “Useless, Boss Zenigata. You won’t get out unless you smash that door.” “Break it, and Tennōji’s priests will have your head.” “Heh heh heh. Even the great Boss Zenigata can’t defy temple authorities.” “——” “Better you listen to my tale.” “It’ll be worth your while.” “All this trouble to lure you to the pagoda’s peak—I wanted a private word.” “I, leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group, have matters to settle with you.”

“——”

The voice had a strangely muffled quality—likely because this man was wearing a hyottoko mask. “Who are you?” Even Heiji could no longer endure this brazen audacity. He quietly drew his jutte from his pocket and steeled himself to the utmost—resolved that even if it meant breaking through this single door in an emergency, he would capture this villain—then positioned himself like a leopard stalking its prey, using the gold chest as a small shield. “Are you telling me to give my name?—That’s impossible.” “If my name gets known, I’ll be arrested within three days.”

“—” “So much so that my face is known,” came the muffled voice from above. “The reason I lured Boss Zenigata here isn’t for anything else.” “I wasn’t lured,” Heiji shot back, his voice cutting through the wooden beams. “I came here of my own accord, you fool!” “Did I anger you, Boss Zenigata? But consider—had I told you outright to climb Yanaka’s Five-Story Pagoda on such-and-such date at such-and-such hour, would you have come so readily?” The masked figure’s laughter echoed strangely. “Even if you had, you’d have brought that long-jawed oaf, your dim-witted underlings, and twenty-odd gang members.” A theatrical sigh drifted down. “Then we couldn’t have this private chat in peace now, could we?”

“—”

Perhaps overwhelmed by the suspicious man’s torrent of words, Heiji remained silent and listened. The summer sun had sunk below the pagoda’s base, soon to drape this height in sparrow-hued dusk—yet Hachigorō, who should have returned with reinforcements, remained conspicuously absent. “Only by penning that childish riddle and including that precious golden ring could I lure even someone as clever as Boss Zenigata crawling up to this pagoda’s peak.” “Of course, I didn’t part with that ring for free.” “It still serves a purpose.” “Had I hidden the sixth chest and simply bored a hole in some ordinary box, your own cleverness would’ve trapped you into dropping the ring inside—ha ha ha! Ha! No—such absurdity rarely occurs!” “There it sits before Boss Zenigata himself—a plain box devoid of tricks or mechanisms.” “You’d need saws and hatchets to breach it readily.” “That golden ring you dropped inside? Undoubtedly ours now—thinking of tossing it through the window? Your eyes betray you.” “By all means—hurl it from this height! Let it shatter against stone pagodas or paving stones below! My comrades lurking there will claim it without so much as a ‘thank you.’” “Ha! Ha! Ha! Did I startle you, Boss Zenigata?”

“—” Heiji bit his lip involuntarily. When he thought about it, it felt like his own wisdom had betrayed him—he hadn’t fallen into a villain’s trap this completely in recent memory. “Don’t get angry, Boss Zenigata. “It’s all luck—who knows how the dice will roll tomorrow? But listen—if you keep loitering here, interruptions will ruin our fun. “Let’s settle this quickly—not out here, Boss. How about you walk away from this trivial job?”

“—” “It’s not gratis. If Boss Zenigata would just withdraw from this case, I’ll hand over two thousand ryō in gold koban—not tomorrow, but tonight—no, right now would be fine—counted out in full for you.” The proposal—that Zenigata Heiji abandon this investigation in exchange for two thousand ryō in gold koban, tallied precisely and delivered instantly—was such a contemptuous offer that even he felt every drop of blood in his body reverse course. “You fool! Did you think Heiji would swallow such bait?”

“Hold on—getting angry just shows you’re still green. Me? I figured you’d pretend to agree all nice and proper, then yell ‘Under arrest!’ when I handed over the gold. Start off raging like this… no offense, but you’re still wet behind the ears.”

“—” However, Heiji gradually grew calmer. Though this man was launching into this grandiloquent tirade, the fact that they had attempted to buy him off with money proved that Heiji had struck terror into them—indeed, the numerous pieces of evidence Heiji had gathered thus far were likely driving this man and his comrades into a corner. “Hold on—just because I said that doesn’t mean you should get cocky. With all due respect as the leader of the Speckled Group—it’s not that I fear Edo’s police informant. Simply put, if I can carry out my work without any hassle, that’s just easier for me.”

“—” “If this deal doesn’t settle, we’ll just say ‘Well then, goodbye’ and part ways for good.” “But c’mon now, Boss Zenigata—you and I weren’t born enemies or anything.”

“—” “So that neither of us gets hurt—if we can reach an agreement, why don’t we?” This villain—a man with a gaunt face who claimed to be the leader of the Speckled Group—spoke boldly yet clung tenaciously to Zenigata Heiji, refusing to let go.

Clung to the square frame above the door and below the roof—to speak at such length would require either extraordinary agility or consummate mastery of martial arts. The figure was diminutive in build, wiry yet devoid of muscular bulk. A bean-dyed hand towel covered the gaunt face above a threadbare workman’s coat and pale indigo leggings. The bare feet protruding below were disturbingly small. “What exactly do you want from me,” Heiji demanded abruptly, “that you’d go to such lengths to provoke this confrontation?”

Heiji abruptly asked. "That hits a sore spot, Boss Zenigata." "What's so sore about that?" "We know about the twelve thousand ryō in gold koban seized at Utsunoya Pass being brought as far as Edo—after all, there are five chests each containing two thousand ryō."

“—” “Of those chests, one containing two thousand ryō has indeed fallen into my hands.” “Since I’m offering to hand over all two thousand ryō to you, Boss—you must acknowledge the Six-Man Speckled Group leader’s generosity.” “—” “Now then—the remaining ten thousand ryō... The boxes remain here, but their contents have vanished.” “It’s frustrating, but among our Speckled Group comrades, only Omoya Hanbei—who disposed of the gold at my command—and Ishihara Sadagorō knew their whereabouts. Those two were meant to report everything when I returned to Edo... yet they were slain a single step too soon.”

The words of this gaunt-faced man who claimed to be the leader of the Speckled Group were utterly outlandish. It was truly hard to believe that the leader of the Speckled Group did not know the whereabouts of the 10,000 ryō in government funds—but seeing that gaunt-faced man’s daring and earnest demeanor, it could not be dismissed as a lie. “Wasn’t it you who killed Hanbei and Sadagorō?” “Nonsense! Boss Zenigata’ll get laughed at if he says things like that.”

The gaunt-faced man sneered from atop the square frame.

“But the handwriting on the letters thrown into Oyuki’s place in Sakumachō—both the earlier and later ones were written by the same person, weren’t they? The one who threw in the earlier letter with twenty ryō killed Uhatchi at Tennōji that very night—and you’re the one who tossed in the later letter with ten ryō and the golden ring—” Zenigata Heiji muttered as if talking to himself. “Heh, heh, heh… You’re too naive, Zenigata. That woman can freely imitate anyone’s voice and effortlessly mimic anyone’s handwriting.”

“Are you talking about Oei?” “I’ll let you figure that out yourself. By the way, that long-chinned fool seems to have gathered enough men for well-digging duty. We can’t keep this up forever. How about it, Boss Zenigata? Still not thinking of changing your mind? Two thousand ryō in gold koban.” “You fool!” Unable to endure his opponent’s sneering tone any longer, Heiji’s anger finally erupted. “So you’re dead set against it then?”

“Of course.” “Well then, it’s a shame—I’ll have to put three or four to sleep.”

“What did you say?” “Mark my words.” “If you refuse to deal with me, I’ll start by striking down those closest to Zenigata Heiji.” “First off—how about your wife Oshizu?”

“—”

Even Heiji was startled. To Heiji, she was an irreplaceable, dearly loved wife. “Then there’s Sadakichi from that Oei witch’s lot.” “Oei’s witch’s lot are thick as thieves and the hardest to deal with—and then there’s that Oyuki, sister of the barrel-collecting boy from Sakumachō, who your Hachigorō’s been mooning over lately. How about her?” “Damn it, damn it!” Heiji could only grind his teeth as he shook the fifth-floor door of the Five-Story Pagoda.

The sun sank over Yanaka’s forest, and true dusk began to settle across the land. The sudden commotion that erupted below the pagoda around this time must have been Hachigorō the Bumbler finally rounding up a crowd and rushing in. “They’re here, Boss Zenigata. Looks like twenty or thirty have come. They’re small fry, sure, but taking on that lot ain’t no picnic even for a master tactician—pity we couldn’t strike a deal, so I’ll make a quick detour first and relieve your beloved wife of her life.”

“You bastard—wait!”

Heiji thrashed with desperate fury. As he shook the door beneath his feet where the villain lurked—whether from structural weakness or brute force—the crossbar snapped loose with a clatter, and the door swung open heedlessly outward. "Ah—there you are, you bastard!"

The villain, having lost their escape route, headed for the roof—and with terrifying dexterity, effortlessly scrambled up. "You bastard!"

Heiji pursued—but he could not climb there.

“Boss”

The one who came climbing up with such a commotion that the Five-Story Pagoda swayed from below was Hachigorō the Bumbler. “Hachi, the villain’s on the roof!” Heiji could only point at it and grind his teeth. “In that case, we’re all set. I’ve brought thirty men into the pagoda. Unless they jump down from the roof, we’ll capture them without fail.” The roof atop the Five-Story Pagoda was narrow—unfortunately making a Hōryūkaku-style rooftop duel impossible—but if they completely secured the fifth floor instead, the villain had no means of escaping from there short of growing wings.

“If they don’t come down from the roof, there’s no way to handle this, Hachi.” “There’s the starvation tactic.” “That’s too patient.” “Then we’ll use the fire pump to spread oil on the roof.” “Even a martial arts expert couldn’t keep their footing on such a steeply sloped roof once it’s oiled—they wouldn’t last a moment!” “Your idea has merit, but the oil from the fire pump won’t reach from below, and from the fifth floor, the eaves get in the way—you can’t spread it on the roof.”

“That’s where the clever part comes in!” Hachigorō the Bumbler tucked his long chin into his collar with an air of importance. While they were occupied with this, the sun completely set. On the roof of the Five-Story Pagoda, the hyottoko-masked mysterious figure listened with apparent amusement to the commotion below while humming a jōruri or some such tune. “Damn it! Isn’t he a detestable bastard?” “How about we buy up this Five-Story Pagoda and set it ablaze from below?”

It was Hachigorō who came out with an outrageous idea.

“Don’t spout nonsense—but they’re flesh-and-blood humans. As time passes, they’ll get hungry and sleepy.” “Staying put here—you’ve no idea how much easier our position is.” “Huh?” “Better to stay here than on the roof.” “Bring bedding and food for five or six days’ lodging.” “Understood, Hachi?” “Ah, now that’s clever!” “If it’s an endurance contest against someone on the roof, I won’t be beaten!”

Hachigorō was elated and was about to descend the tower to make preparations for the siege when— “What’s that, Boss?” One of the lower-ranking police informants said while peering into the twilight sky outside the opened door. “?”

Heiji and Hachigorō nimbly stuck their heads out the door.

“Ah!”

It was no wonder they were shocked. As if a giant spider were crawling along the five-element rings atop the pagoda, it slid down a single long rope hanging from the roof’s peak to the eaves below—descending smoothly, effortlessly, without the slightest struggle. “Damn it! He’s pulling a stunt like that!” Even if they stretched out their hands, they couldn’t reach the rope from the railing to the eaves. “Boss Zenigata, I’m heading out ahead of you. Don’t you have a message for your wife Oshizu?”

“Bastard!” With Hachigorō at the lead and Heiji bringing up the rear, the thirty companions rushed down the ladder. But they could not hope to match the spider-like man’s nimble agility as he slid down from the roof using a single rope.

Oshizu in Peril

When Zenigata Heiji and Hachigorō led the charge, followed by a large crowd surging out of the Five-Story Pagoda with the ferocity of Hyōgo Pass’s famed reverse charge, the surroundings had already faded into sparrow-hued dusk. “Boss, let’s make a straight dash to Kanda!” Hachigorō, having tucked up his hem and readied himself, was a man who worshipped Boss Heiji’s wife Oshizu like a sacred object—a man prepared to stake his very body at any time to rush into her peril.

“Hold on, Hachi.” “──”

Heiji ran twenty or thirty steps and suddenly came to a halt.

“I’ve forgotten something crucial.” “What is it? That…” “That…”

“You go on ahead.” “I have to go back to the top of the Five-Story Pagoda once again.” “Is that thing more important than Oshizu’s life, Boss?” Hachigorō made a face as though he might bite.

“That ring—the golden ring we put in the new box.” “If we forget that and leave, wouldn’t it be infuriating to let that buffoon get his hands on it again?”

Heiji could not afford to forget the importance of that golden ring. “Then I’ll go back instead.” “No, you’re faster on your feet than I am. On the other hand, when it comes to scrambling up the Five-Story Pagoda, I’d be faster with my lighter build.”

“Understood. Then, Boss.” “I’m counting on you, Hachi.”

Even as they spoke, Heiji dashed into the Five-Story Pagoda and leaped up to the second floor. After seeing him off, Hachigorō hurriedly bid farewell to the mountain officials and gathered laborers, then took only five lower-ranking police informants with him and scattered through the evening-darkened streets toward Kanda Myojin in a rushed dash.

In that time, Heiji climbed from the second floor to the third, then to the fifth, encountering no obstacles. His footing gradually grew unsteady, but fortunately, a faint twilight lingered at the pagoda’s fifth-story summit, allowing clear sight of the six boxes gaping open. The six boxes gaping open—Heiji read that number and was startled. Until moments ago, there had been five open boxes. The sixth new box—the one into which they had slid the golden ring—should indeed have remained closed.

“?” Now both the five metal chests with their sturdy fittings and the sixth new box lacking any hardware gaped unmistakably open. Inside, even in the deepening twilight, their dustless emptiness remained unchanged no matter how many times he looked. There was no longer any room for doubt. In the brief moment between when Heiji rushed down the Five-Story Pagoda with Hachigorō and when he climbed back up again, someone must have returned to this fifth floor—opened the lid of the sixth chest—and taken away the golden ring.

“──” Heiji involuntarily bit his lip at this irreparable oversight. It was likely that buffoonish villain who had slid down from the fifth-floor eaves using that rope—or one of their accomplices—who had seized a brief opportunity to return there, open the trap lid, and make off with the ring. And as Heiji scrambled up frantically from below, he had been skillfully evaded by someone hiding in the shadows around the second or third floor.

Hachigorō dashed like a galloping horse. Through the twilight-lit streets of Edo, six men with police batons at their hips ran like stampeding horses—an unsettling sight under ordinary circumstances, but there was no leisure to dwell on such thoughts now. Zenigata Heiji’s residence in Myojin-shita was a modest house tucked deep within the alleyways, like something forgotten there. Through black-painted fences, communal wells, lattice doors, and stray dogs—the standard trappings of such scenes—the six came rushing in like marathon runners.

“──”

Before Hachigorō could even catch his breath, he clung to the lattice door. “Ah! Help!”

The shriek that came from within the tightly closed shōji was unmistakably Oshizu’s voice. “Bastard!” Hachigorō pulled at the lattice door with all his might, but whatever lock was inside held fast like the gates of hell. Push as he might, pull as he might, it wouldn’t give even a fraction.

From inside the house, the sounds of a struggle could be heard for a time, but soon they too fell completely silent, and an eerie stillness pressed in with the gathering dusk.

“Open up! Open up!” Hachigorō slammed his fist against the lattice door, but it only reverberated loudly through the tenement without any response from within. “Hey, everyone! Lend me your hands!” “Even if we’re wrong about this, we’ll just smash through the lattice door!” “Alright, let’s go!” Six pairs of hands pressed against the lattice door without an inch to spare. With a collective heave-ho, they forced it open—the ring lock clattered onto the earthen floor as the lattice door finally yielded. “There!”

The six men rushed in as one. They flung open the shōji door and entered the six-mat living room. The andon lamp was lit, and the fire in the long hibachi blazed fiercely, yet not only was there no sign of the villain, but even Oshizu’s beautiful form was nowhere to be seen. “The kitchen.” Hachigorō was the first to go check the kitchen, but even though the exit was securely shut, it too stood empty; peering behind the hearth and such places yielded nothing.

“What about the back room?” The six-tatami room further back served as their bedroom, where Oshizu’s mirror stand and her mother’s old chest were kept—yet not even a kitten could be found there now. Beyond lay only the engawa veranda lined with Heiji’s cherished plant pots, a closet, and the toilet—that was all. Moreover, the rain shutters on that engawa were secured with the utmost care upon utmost care.

“Not here.” Tormented by terrible dread, Hachigorō stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly into empty space. “The attic? Or under the floor?”

“Get the lanterns lit!” “I’ll check the ceiling.” The assistant police informants were well accustomed to such tasks. Taking down their official-issue lanterns—tools of their trade—they hurriedly lit them. One crawled into the ceiling from the closet, another into the underfloor from the kitchen trapdoor, but all they found there was rat droppings. “Not here.”

“Can’t see anything, Brother Hachi.” The two men crawled back with looks of utter bewilderment. “That’s impossible!” Hachigorō checked the house once more, but the veranda and kitchen entrance were securely fastened, and the villain and Oshizu had truly vanished like smoke within this box-like sealed house in the blink of an eye. The young woman—Oshizu—securely locking up early in the evening due to her husband Heiji’s line of work was something Hachigorō knew well. The villain had probably made someone open the front lattice door and entered, then abducted the panicking Oshizu and vanished somewhere.

Oshizu's scream was indeed heard by Hachigorō and his companions outside the lattice door, and before even the time it took to smoke a pipe had passed, the six men came tumbling in one after another.

Of course, it was not impossible that they had escaped through the kitchen entrance or veranda in that brief moment. But after slipping out, who on earth could have locked it so thoroughly? The rain shutters had their upper and lower crossbars dropped into place and were even meticulously secured with a ring lock, making it absolutely impossible for anyone outside to have performed such an elaborate locking maneuver in the instant when Hachigorō and the five others came rushing in. “Ah! Boss Zenigata!”

Amidst that commotion, Zenigata Heiji finally returned. "What's wrong? You've got a strange look on your face." "Ah, Boss... I'm sorry." Hachigorō suddenly plopped down right where he stood in a clumsy heap. "What are you apologizing for?" "Huh? Hachi—" Even Heiji, unable to remain composed under the growing unease, began to look around in all directions. "Boss, it seems Miss Oshizu's been abducted."

“What?” “When we entered the alley and reached for the lattice door, we clearly heard a voice—‘Help!’—it had to be Miss Oshizu. But when we forced the lattice door open and rushed in, the house was completely empty.” “We looked from the ceiling to under the floorboards, but there ain’t a shadow or trace of ’em.” Hachigorō explained in a flurry of words.

“Were the kitchen entrance and veranda not open?” “Just like we left ’em—locked up tight. They couldn’t’ve gotten out ’less they slipped through some crack in the doors.” “Hmm.” Heiji crossed his arms. The six-tatami living room was somewhat disturbed, but aside from the trampling by Hachigorō and five assistant police informants, there was no other change. The lantern’s light flickered quietly, casting an eerily desolate and dreadful atmosphere. “Boss, my legs weren’t quick enough.” “Even though you went outta your way to ask me… lettin’ Miss Oshizu get snatched… ain’t nothin’ left but to string myself up to make it right.”

There was no sign of Hachigorō losing his vigor. The two had made their way into the kitchen before they knew it. Above the hearth hung the slackened cord of the kitchen window. “Perfect hangin’ rope, Hachi.” Heiji said with an uncharacteristically mean-spirited joke while following the rope upward to gaze at the closed kitchen window. “Are you gonna hang yourself with that, Boss?” While giving Hachigorō’s resentfully upturned face an amused glance, Heiji pulled the cord and swiftly opened the window. A fragment of the pitch-black night sky peered eerily into the room through that opening.

“Hachi, check inside the hearth.” Heiji said something strange.

“Won’t you get burned?” “If there were fire, Oshizu would be inside the house.” Hachigorō, without understanding what was going on, suddenly thrust his hand into the hearth.

“There’s no fire here, Boss.”

While brushing off the cold ash clinging to his hand, Hachigorō scratched his chin. "If there's no fire, then Oshizu didn't vanish like smoke." "Huh?" "There's no reason to leave the kitchen window open if you're not lighting a fire in the hearth. When night falls, they close the kitchen window and tie the cord to the pillar's ring—that's the usual way of doing things." "Huh?" "If you leave the kitchen window's cord untied, the door will close by itself." "—" "The culprit abducted Oshizu, used the hearth as a foothold, and exited onto the roof through that kitchen window. After the culprit left, the window door closed by itself, but the cord was left hanging limply over the hearth. Got it, Hachi?"

When Heiji put it this way, there was no longer any room for doubt. "Oh, so they went out that way?" "Let’s go check."

Hachigorō didn’t hesitate once he’d made up his mind. Without delay, he stepped onto the hearth and used it as a foothold to climb up to the window. “How’s it going? Managing alright, Hachi?” “Need a push from behind?” “Nothin’!” With great effort, Hachigorō managed to clamber onto the roof. “Even if you go up on the roof now, you won’t see a thing.”

Heiji called up from below. “Ugh, nothing but roofs everywhere—which damn direction did they run off to?” “You’re such a fool. This ain’t some out-of-season cat’s love affair—if you go scrambling over roofs like this, the landlord’ll have words with you.” “But it’s so aggravating, isn’t it?” “The enemy isn’t dawdling around here. Get down.” “Right...” With a resigned look, Hachigorō climbed back down from the kitchen window onto the hearth.

“They wouldn’t stay on the roof forever. While you all were making a commotion inside the house, the opponent must’ve jumped off the roof into the alley and flown off somewhere.” “So where’d they run off to, Boss?” “Since they have Oshizu as baggage, they won’t go far.” Heiji came before the long hibachi and settled himself on the zabuton. Oshizu, his wife who had just gone missing, must have been waiting for Heiji’s return and thought to prepare hot tea—the water in the iron kettle was merrily boiling, and the copper pot’s temperature seemed just right for steeping a sake flask.

— Heiji took out his tobacco pouch and lit up two or three contemplative puffs in quick succession. Though he’d exposed his wife to danger many times before, her sudden disappearance now left him feeling oddly hollow—as if his very surroundings had become an empty void.

“Boss.” Hachigorō edged closer with a slightly resolute look in his eyes. — Heiji did not respond to this, sinking deep into contemplation.

“Boss.” “Shut up.” “Where on earth was the missus taken?” — “At least give me some idea here! When you get lost in thought like this, Boss, I feel so uneasy I can’t stand it here!” Hachigorō moved close to Heiji’s knee and began flailing his hands in the air. He probably wanted to shake the Boss’s body like this. “If we knew that, we wouldn’t be struggling—but listen, Hachi.” “Right...” “Did you have much trouble getting out onto the roof from the kitchen window?”

“Try it yourself! Standing on the hearth, barely getting your head out through the kitchen window, then hauling yourself onto the roof with both hands—that’s no ordinary feat, I tell ya!” “Do you think someone could carry a person out through that window?” “No way!”

Hachigorō shook his large palms in an exceedingly exaggerated manner. "But the culprit definitely took Oshizu out through that window—even bound as she was, to carry a person up to the roof without letting them struggle... What kind of bastard do you think could pull that off?" “—”

“You know there was someone who slid all the way down from the top of the Five-Story Pagoda using just a single rope, don’t you?” “It’s that bastard, Boss. That masked bastard must’ve slipped in just a step ahead of us and pulled off that incredible stunt—abducting the missus and leaping out through the kitchen window!” Hachigorō struck his own knee with all his might. He had finally reached the conclusion that Heiji had led him to.

“What kind of guy do you think could pull off such a stunt?” “It’s gotta be a martial arts master—”

“Wouldn’t it be strange for a martial arts master to wear a comical mask and light blue leggings?”

“An acrobat.” “That’s right, Hachi.” Heiji once again sank deep into thought. “Which bastard is it, Boss?”

Hachigorō was already starting to get up. At a single word from Heiji, he was probably ready to dash off even as far as Kyoto or Osaka. “Oei—Omoya’s Oei—what was the name of that acrobat troupe leader she used to work under?” Heiji’s deduction made a leap. “It’s Akashi Gorohatchi of the Akashi troupe, I tell you.” “Is that Gorohatchi in Edo?”

“He’s set up his theater in Higashi-Ryōgoku, I tell you.”

One of the assistant police informants, a man named Torakichi who had jurisdiction over Ryōgoku, took over the case.

“Let’s go see him. When we meet Gorohatchi, another good plan might come to mind.”

Heiji finally rose to his feet.

Akashi Gorohatchi

Akashi Gorohatchi, a traveling performer, would return to his hometown of Edo every two or three years, setting up makeshift theaters in vacant lots on the outskirts or on temple and shrine grounds, where he would show his modest acts to Edo’s audiences.

Though they were traveling performers of low rank and status, the Akashi troupe would occasionally rent a theater in Edo's liveliest district—Higashi-Ryōgoku—for one or two months when fortune favored them. This year, however, they had strangely remained in Edo since peak season, opening their theater in Higashi-Ryōgoku and by all appearances keeping Edo’s favor. Gorohatchi was a middle-aged man past forty, and his troupe gathered masters of skill; though their performances were somewhat rustic for Edo audiences, they managed to keep them entertained for over two months.

Heiji, having listened to all this from Hachigorō and Torakichi of Ryōgoku along the way, headed for Higashi-Ryōgoku in the evening. But under the government decree of that time, performances typically ended at Boar Hour (6 PM), theaters closed their gates, and only the lights of night stalls illuminated the earthen-pigmented signboards with a desolate glow. Gorohatchi’s house was immediately found by asking the theater’s gatekeeper. By the second bridge, where they entered a back alley in Aioi-cho’s 5-chome, low-ranking samurai residences stood crammed together on the left side beyond an alleyway.

“Good evening.”

Torakichi of Ryōgoku called out with practiced calmness, careful not to startle the other person. “Who’s there?”

From the next room of a narrow yet neatly kept performer’s house came a slightly slurred voice in response. “Master, you’re in fine spirits. It’s me.” “It’s me.” As Torakichi slipped inside, the dividing shoji slid open with a woman’s touch. “Well now—Boss Torakichi.” Squinting against the lamplight, Gorohatchi received them with practiced smoothness. “We’re intruding a bit.” “Come now, come in.” “I’ve just lit a lamp—nothing much to offer, but do stay awhile.”

A good-natured smile rippled across Gorohatchi’s red face. The one who stood up with a knowing look and brought a zabuton cushion was a middle-aged woman of thirty-five or thirty-six—likely Gorohatchi’s wife. “Actually, I’ve brought Boss Zenigata here. He’s got a little something he wants to ask the Master.” Torakichi stepped back and yielded the place by the lamp to Heiji.

“Oh, Boss Zenigata. So you’ve come... It’s such a shabby place, but please do come in.” Gorohatchi stood to welcome them. With his sake-reddened chest exposed through a yukata donned too hastily after bathing, he appeared chilled yet had clearly been enjoying his evening drink—though his face betrayed unmistakable fluster at hearing Zenigata Heiji’s name. “What an extraordinary interruption,” he stammered. “If Boss Zenigata graces us,” came Oroku’s voice from behind, “even this wretched home will shine with holy light—you there! Clear this mess and bring fresh cups and dishes!”

Gorohatchi hurriedly pushed the meal tray aside, half-instructed his wife with a glance, and ushered Heiji to the side of the brazier. The interior of the house was far more meticulously polished than its exterior, and setting aside its lack of aesthetic refinement, it did indeed seem quite livable. “Boss, how about one?” Gorohatchi renewed the cups and dishes, then first offered a sake cup to Heiji. He appeared to be around forty-two or forty-three—a man polished in the manner of performers yet remarkably attentive, with crow’s feet at his eyes, a neat compact nose, and a slightly receding hairline that gave even complete strangers an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

The sight of him sitting solemnly with his knees pressed together and the chest of his gaudily patterned yukata hanging open was slightly comical, yet even evoked a touch of pathos. “Leave that for later,” he said. “I came here in a hurry because there’s something I need to ask.” “Of course, I’ll tell you anything—but while they prepare the food, let’s have one first, Boss.” Gorohatchi fidgeted with the sake cups, taking them out and putting them back as he awkwardly adjusted his seating. Zenigata Heiji, sitting across from him, showed no pretense whatsoever, yet there was an unapproachable solemnity about him that could not be overwhelmed with sake.

“To get straight to the point—it’s about Oei going to Omoya.” “Ah,” “What’s the relationship between that woman and your Akashi Troupe?” “Ah, we’ve had no dealings with her whatsoever now.” “We cleanly transferred her to Mr. Omoya Hanbei fully two years back.” “What sort of woman is she? "I need details about her character, habits, and entanglements with men." “As you might expect given her looks, she was our troupe’s star attraction—but that very popularity bred endless conflicts.” “While that woman belonged to us, we endured countless incidents—ambushes, extortion attempts, brawls, strong-arm tactics—more than I could possibly tally. My wife Oroku here can vouch for every word.”

“What about her character?” “She’s just seductive and flashy—it’s not like she has any particularly bad habits.”

“Since Omoya’s master was killed, we don’t know what became of Oei—but you must know, Master.” “Not at all.” “I’ve had my fill of that woman—even if they came offering payment, I’d refuse to take her back into the troupe.” “You’ve given up on her quite thoroughly, haven’t you.” “Heh-heh, if someone like that were around, my wife would never stand for it.” Gorohatchi said this and turned to look at his wife Oroku, who sat reverently in the room’s corner.

She appeared thirty-five or thirty-six—undoubtedly once a beautiful woman—but the left half of her face was grotesquely stiffened by terrible burn scars, and her voice, likely ruined from years of gatekeeping duties or similar work, had become a harsh rasp so fearsome that without seeing her face, one couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or a woman. “By the way, around what hour did you close the theater hut in Ryogoku today?” “As per regulations, around Rooster Hour (6 PM).” “Then, did you return straight home?”

“Ah, I returned straight home, took a bath, and was having a drink when you arrived, Boss.” Gorohatchi said this and adjusted the collar of his yukata as if feeling a chill. Both his drunkenness and the lingering warmth from the bath seemed about to fade completely. “Dear.” His wife Oroku, perhaps sensing this, threw a robe over him from behind.

“By the way, you know Omoya Hanbei of Kanazawa-cho, right?”

Heiji changed the subject. Akashi Gorohatchi, his opponent, was smooth-talking and deceptively pleasant, yet there was an elusive cunning about him that refused to let one grasp his true intentions—so Heiji had considered various lines of attack and tried probing him like this. “Ah, I am well aware.” “How unfortunate—I heard he met such a tragic end.” The phrase “tragic end”—a Jōruri-style expression—rang with peculiar emphasis. “What dealings did you have?”

“Three years ago when we were performing in Fuchu, I got into trouble with the local boss and found myself on the brink of death—that’s when Mr. Omoya Hanbei saved me. He was said to be from a samurai family, skilled with his hands, and handled negotiations with remarkable finesse.” “Is that all?” “No—after receiving his patronage, at year’s end Mr. Hanbei suddenly brought up wanting Oei—”

Seeming to recall that time, there was an oddly unresolved bitterness in Gorohatchi’s expression. “So you handed over Oei?” “Ah, there was no refusing him.” “Not only had he saved my life, but once Hanbei-san set his mind to something, he wouldn’t back down an inch.” “Moreover, given his skill and the influence he wielded, even though we knew full well we were losing our troupe’s star right before our eyes, there was nothing we could do about it.” “Hanbei had been passing Oei off as his niece.”

“Since there was too great an age difference, we presented her as his niece for appearances’ sake—heh-heh… well, you know how these things go.”

Gorohatchi grinned slyly. It’s possible this man hadn’t had merely an ordinary relationship with Oei either. Heiji couldn’t possibly have missed how Oroku—her face half ravaged by severe burns—grew increasingly hostile in expression as Gorohatchi’s account unfolded.

“Where’s Oei?” “You must know where she is.” “Don’t be absurd, Boss. That woman would never come near someone like me.”

“As you say, if Oei is such a strong-willed woman, there’s no way she would’ve stayed with Hanbei for three years.” “On top of having an age difference like parent and child, lately he’s just a pawnshop owner.” “Whether by force or bribery, he couldn’t have kept a fickle woman like Oei tied down.” Heiji finally arrived at the crucial question.

“Though it’s called three years, since it began at the end of the year before last, the actual period amounts to about a year and a half. Moreover, Oei must have had some grand scheme in mind—whenever we met, she’d say things like: ‘How long will you keep living this stingy performer’s life, Master? I’ll soon get my hands on something substantial, so I’m putting up with that gloomy Hanbei’s place for now.’ That’s what she told me.”

“What do you mean by ‘something substantial’?” “I don’t know about that, but she was certainly breathing fire.” While this alone did not yield substantial clarity, there remained no room for doubt that Oei’s presence at Omoya Hanbei’s establishment was likely related to the 12,000 ryō of government funds. “Boss—are we going back like this?”

When they left Akashi Gorohatchi’s house, Hachigorō confronted Heiji with apparent dissatisfaction. “That narrow house—there’s nowhere you could hide even one person.” “And both Gorohatchi and his wife are acting awfully composed, don’t you think?” “That may be true, but aside from that guy, there’s no one who could dangle a person down from the sliding window and slip out.”

Hachigorō still appeared unable to let it go. "The place next door's a bathhouse—go check if Gorohatchi really took a bath there." "Right." Hachigorō pushed aside the bathhouse's noren curtain with the tip of his topknot brush and went in, but soon came out looking dazed. "How'd it go, Hachi?" "They said he stopped by just now." "A quick stop—meaning?" "Just smoked two-three puffs of tobacco, tightened his hand towel, and left." "They say he's the fastest bather around—always in and out like a crow's quick dip, they said—"

“Next is Ryōgoku’s theater.”

The two quickened their pace. They must have arrived at Akashi Troupe’s acrobatic theater in Higashi-Ryōgoku sometime past the Dog Hour (8 PM). They had to rouse Hanji, the theater’s gatekeeper, from sleep, and it took them a fair amount of trouble just to get inside.

“The gate closes at Rooster Hour (6 PM) by the law of the land.” “If you want to see the show, come back tomorrow.” When Zenigata Heiji and Hachigorō knocked on the back gate hard enough to break it, Hanji—his tongue likely loosened by bedtime sake—responded with these words. “This is official business. Open up.” Unable to endure any longer, Hachigorō knocked on the door with the handle of his jitte. “Shut yer trap! Last time too—someone yells ‘Open up, official business!’ So I get all startled an’ open the gate, an’ then they’re like ‘If ya got a guilty conscience, turn yerself in at the magistrate’s office tomorrow, wha—!’ an’ five or six brats from the neighborhood go scramblin’ off in a pack!” “If you brats pull that shit again, I’ll catch two or three of ya, boil ya into brat stew, an’ slurp ya down—so brace yerselves!”

While spouting such words, the man who clattered open the back gate and thrust Genkō before them was a hulking thirty-seven- or thirty-eight-year-old—a figure as imposing as if they’d tied a topknot on Vairocana Buddha and dressed him in a short coat. “Bastard! What’s this?” “Right.” The way he hastily withdrew Genkō revealed an unexpectedly meek demeanor at odds with his appearance. “And you?” “I’m Hanji, the gatekeeper.” “Didn’t know nothin’ about it, uh—beggin’ your kind forgiveness.”

“Who’s in this theater?”

That was Heiji. Heiji sent Hachigorō to the back and stood before the hand lantern’s light. “Right, just me alone.”

“What about that woman?” “Huh?” Whether his wits were addled or he genuinely knew nothing, this man appeared wholly convinced no living soul inhabited the theater but himself.

“I’ll inspect the theater.” “Right.” Shoving aside the visibly displeased Hanji, Heiji slid through the entrance.

“Lend me the light.” “Right.” Lowering the hand lantern received from Hanji to eye level, he peered inside, but the theater stood deathly quiet—not even a proper rat seemed to dwell there. The theater in Ryōgoku had been built to endure, its structure fully formed—yet viewed by the solitary lantern’s glow in midnight’s depths, its dread became absolute. The vaulted ceiling hung like a cavern swallowed by darkness, and who could swear that every shadowed corner of the earthen floor beyond the light’s grasp wasn’t some spectral dwelling of the night?

However, there was nothing unusual in the earthen floor area, the box seats, the stage, or the backstage—and naturally, not a single nook where one could hide even a single person. "Around what hour did Gorohatchi return today?" When he had circled back to the original back gate, Heiji questioned this grotesque gatekeeper. “It was at Rooster Hour (6 PM), same as when we drove out the customers—then the troupe members cleaned inside the theater and left about a quarter-hour later.” "Has Gorohatchi been performing on stage lately?"

“He remains as skilled as ever in his craft, but for two or three days now he’s shown signs of gout—so he only makes appearances on stage and avoids dangerous stunts.” “Even so, our patrons still enjoy it thoroughly.” “Does he have any specific pains?” Heiji suddenly recalled Gorohatchi’s appearance from earlier. Though slightly drunk, the man had seemed perfectly healthy when putting on the padded robe his wife helped him into—Heiji had noted no sign of discomfort. “They call it forty-year shoulder or fifty-year shoulder or such. With this arm pain, he says his acrobatic work’s done for.”

"I've interrupted you quite rudely. Then get back to your bedtime drink."

With this, Heiji concluded his inspection of the theater. Exiting the back gate and walking a short distance, beyond a checkpoint-like alley stood two suspicious drinking establishments facing each other, calling out to customers. “Hachi, you’re the one who’s known at places like this. Check if anyone left the theater between the Hour of the Sheep (2 PM) and the Hour of the Monkey (4 PM) today—and don’t go intimidating them.” “Right.”

Hachigorō, having rushed off with understanding, stuck his head into the curtains of two drinking establishments and fooled around for a while with the local attraction—a woman with a pale neck—but soon emerged grinning. “Gorohatchi apparently didn’t leave the theater.” “Who asked about Gorohatchi?” “Well, I thought Gorohatchi had snuck out from here and gone to Yanaka Pagoda again.”

“If Gorohatchi didn’t leave, then who did?” “They say that woman Oroku left alone after the Hour of the Sheep (2 PM), and—these two drinking houses there are posted on either side of the alley mouth, keeping watch on each other, right? They wouldn’t let even a kitten slip by unnoticed.”

“?” “They say Gorohatchi’s wife Oroku passes by with her face hidden behind a hand towel, so anyone can recognize her immediately.” “Well, with that severe burn of hers, you couldn’t possibly mistake her for someone else.” “What kind of language is that, you fool?” “Huh?” Hachigorō didn’t seem to fully grasp what he had been scolded for by Heiji or the meaning behind it.

Oei's Letter

Leaving Ryōgoku behind, the two of them trudged heavily toward Heiji’s house below Kanda Myōjin, their spirits sinking as if being dragged into a pit. Though there was no particular uproar or panic, for Zenigata Heiji, this sudden disappearance of his beloved wife Oshizu marked the first such occurrence since the incident in the separate work *Seven Brides*. Even if his outward appearance hadn’t changed much, Hachigorō, his subordinate, knew well of Heiji’s restlessness and torment.

No—that Garappa Hachi of Hachigorō was an even more ardent fan of Oshizu than her better half Heiji, and indeed her worshipper.

“Hey, Boss.”

“What now? Quit your yapping.”

When they reached Shinrashibashi Bridge, Garappa Hachi could no longer contain himself and spoke up. “What’s happened to Miss Oshizu? Until I see her safe and sound with my own eyes, I can’t sleep even if I try to rest.”

That was likely Hachigorō’s true sentiment. That Oshizu—eternally youthful and fresh, innocent and even adorable—was not only Boss Heiji’s wife but also his subordinate Hachigorō’s idol. “What nonsense.” Heiji spoke nonchalantly, but within his chest, his feelings were likely seething.

“Oh, what’s that over there?” “Isn’t that Kinta, Sukejū, Wakamatsu, and Konokichi?” They were Heiji’s subordinates—assistant police informants each overseeing their own districts in Kanda.

“Ah, Boss.” “Perfect timing—we’ve run into you.”

Kinta, who was leading the way, noticed Heiji as they passed each other and stopped. "What's this? You were supposed to be keeping watch on Omoya in Kanazawa-cho, weren't you?" "Well, we were staking out Omoya's place in a glaring contest when a messenger came from you, Boss. Since all four of us were free at just the right time, we rushed over right away. How did the arrest go, Boss?"

“The arrest?” “Well, we’ve identified the killer who murdered Omoya Hanbei and three others, but they’re tough—come back us up immediately,’ he said.” “Who said such a thing?” “But Boss, you’re the one who sent that order, right?” “This is no joke—I don’t recall saying any such thing!” Heiji was also stunned. What on earth had bewildered these four subordinates, making them abandon their crucial post and come rushing here?

“That can’t be the case, Boss.” “In any case, I don’t recall calling any of you. First of all, this whole story about having identified the killer of four people is a complete lie.” “Huh?”

“Who exactly said such a thing?” “It was a strange boy.” “A boy?” “A boy of fifteen or sixteen—” “So you all left Omoya’s place empty and came rushing here?”

“Huh?” “You fools—that’s exactly what they wanted! Come on!” Heiji sensed something significant. Driven by anxiety and impatience over what might be unfolding at the emptied Omoya house, Heiji rushed headlong toward it. Following him came Hachigorō, Kinta, Sukejū, Wakamatsu, Konokichi—. “Hachi, take the back entrance.” “Got it.”

Heiji and Kinta from the front; Hachigorō and the remaining three from the rear—they all stormed in. Yet inside, it was silent as a grave; not even a kitten could be found—

“Boss.” Hachigorō, having met face-to-face in the tearoom, flared his nostrils suspiciously. “Hachi, don’t you think it’s strange we can see each other’s faces?”

“There’s no way we’d have left a light on.” Kinta hurriedly refilled the lamp.

When they noticed, a lamp was lit in the parlor, casting a faint light throughout the house. "Hachi, the wardrobe!"

Heiji rushed into the next room. The room where Oei had once desperately searched through an old wardrobe now lay in disarray—all four drawers had been pulled out, their contents scattered across every corner. "Did something happen with this, Boss?" "This is that wardrobe Oei risked her life searching through. I told you—the mystery of those twelve thousand ryō or those four murders must be hidden inside this thing."

“Huh?” “It’s just a single wardrobe—even if I’d smashed it apart and searched every board, it wouldn’t have been any trouble. But I thought it wouldn’t come to that… ended up letting my guard down.”

Even as he spoke, Heiji began examining each of the four drawers with terrifying thoroughness.

“Nothing. There’s nothing at all.”

After a moment, an unmistakable disappointment surged across Heiji’s raised face. “There’s still the main body, isn’t there? Let’s search it, Boss.” “I can’t just go removing every single board.” “Try hitting it with a hammer.” “Here goes!” It was a tremendous commotion, but due to a moment’s carelessness, the crucial item seemed to have been taken by the villain; despite overturning the wardrobe and searching thoroughly, they gained nothing at all.

“Frustrating, isn’t it, Boss?” In contrast to Garahachi’s bristling, “My apologies, Boss.”

Kinta and Sukejū couldn’t even lift their heads. “You’re giving up? A mistake with sound logic behind it isn’t really a mistake— Oh, Hachi. The front lattice is open—the visitor seems suspicious, but go check it out.” “Huh?”

Hachigorō, who had casually gone to the entrance, soon brought in a single white object resting on a large palm.

“It’s a letter.” “A boy we’d never seen before brought it.” “Has that boy left? — Catch him. The boy matters more than the letter!” Heiji shot to his feet without even looking at the letter.

Hachigorō, Kinta, Sukejū, and their men burst out in pursuit, but in that instant, the night streets deepened into soundless stillness—not a shadow resembling them remained. “Boss, there’s not a scrap of the boy left to find.”

Hachigorō returned in a daze, his face drawn with disappointment. “He won’t have gone far anyway. We didn’t hear any running footsteps—you rushed out right after getting the letter. He must be hiding nearby.” “Post four men outside the alley to watch both sides of the street.” “Right.” Hachigorō dashed out again. After positioning four assistants inside and outside the alleyway, he returned to his original post.

“Hachi, who do you think sent this letter?” “Dunno.” “It’s a letter they sent counting on us inevitably returning here. Every step perfectly timed—you and I are both dancing to their flawless script.” “Huh?” Heiji’s words only grew more baffling to Hachigorō.

“Take a look. It’s Oei’s letter.” “Huh? That witch?!”

Hachigorō took the letter from Heiji’s hand and stared at it intently, but— “I can’t read this thing. Even if it’s kana, women’s kana characters are all fancy with their curls and twists—can’t read ’em straight.” He finally threw it down.

“Spineless fool.” “If you can’t read a woman’s letter, what’ll you do when someone sends you a love note?” “I’ll have you read it, Boss.”

“What an idiot—listen up, here’s how it is.”

The letter from Oei that Heiji read aloud was more than enough to astonish Hachigorō. Unlike what Hachigorō had called the curling, pretentious characters, right from the start— Please help me. I have been confined in a pitch-dark room and am being molested by a suspicious man. That man is likely the leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group or whatever they’re called that Boss Zenigata has been searching for; the location is near Ryōgoku, where the sound of boat oars can often be heard. I beg of you.

From Oei And so it was written.

“Should we go check it out, Boss?” “If we make a sweep of both the west and east sides of Ryōgoku, we might at least get a rough idea.”

Hachigorō was already acting like an eager knight determined to rush to Oei's aid.

“Wait, Hachi.” “That woman’s not the sort to be shaken by confinement or shackles—after startling us into bolting out over this letter, don’t you reckon she’s scheming some trick?”

Zenigata Heiji was attempting to decipher the hidden meaning concealed within the letter. “For that, isn’t it too elaborate, Boss?” “Oei is that kind of woman—this isn’t the handwriting of someone fighting for her life.” “I may be imitating your way of putting things, but each character here’s staging a kabuki performance.” “First of all, it’s already Boar Hour (10 PM). Even if we rushed to Ryōgoku now, what could we possibly see?” “Then what does this letter amount to?”

Hachigorō was gradually beginning to grasp the deceitful nature of this letter.

“There’s no way she could write such a letter while confined in a pitch-dark room.” “And the letter and ink aren’t bad either, are they?”

“So...” “They wanted to make us vacate this house.” “They cleverly lured out Kinta and Jūjū, but had to turn back midway and couldn’t carry out their work as intended. So this time, they tried to drive us out to pull off some scheme.”

“Huh?”

“There must be something important here.” “Let’s keep at it until morning and find the damn thing.” Heiji settled himself firmly. Since they had already combed through every inch of the house two or three times over, there wasn’t much left to search. “But Boss—I’m worried about Sis.” Hachigorō remained fixated on Oshizu’s predicament. He likely feared that if they wasted even a single night here, some harm might come to her.

“Hiding Oshizu was nothing but harassment.” “Leaving her alone for one night shouldn’t pose real danger.” “What matters is they’re dead set on driving us from this house.”

“Now that you mention it, I s’pose that’s how it is.” Once the matter was settled, Heiji did not waste an instant. The first thing he turned his attention to was the old chest Oei had fixated on from the start—inside it, he reasoned, might lie either an item fatal to the Six-Man Speckled Group or some clue hinting at the whereabouts of the missing 12,000 ryō in government funds. “Hachi—we’ve pulled all the drawers out. Help me flip this thing over.”

“Huh?”

It was when the two began this task.

“Official business!”

“Stop!” A voice tore through the alley’s darkness, followed by the sound of someone bursting into motion—thuds, clatters, the din of struggle.

“Boss!” “Wait—if we both rush out now, we’ll be playing into their hands again. You stay here and hold your ground. Don’t move an inch.” “Huh?”

Leaving Hachigorō behind, Heiji dashed out into the alley. The struggle ceased in an instant, but the four assistants were gathered in a group outside the alley, making some kind of commotion.

“What happened?” “Jūjū was attacked!” “What?”

Jūjū, the oldest among the assistants, had been stabbed in the side by a villain and, despite the minor injury, was being tended to by three people. "The villain?" "He stabbed me after grabbing me from behind and disappeared into the darkness. The dagger had a small hilt, but he was a terrifyingly quick fellow." Jūjū explained. "Take him inside quickly and tend to his wound. Even shallow wounds shouldn’t be neglected."

With those words, Heiji went out to check beyond the alley.

Inside the chest.

“The wound needs tending to first and foremost.”

Heiji worried most about the injured man. He must have feared tetanus might set in somehow. "I'm fine, really—it's nothing serious," Jūjū insisted. "Just a big scratch—more startling than anything—" Despite his brave front, they sent him home with one assistant after briefly confirming the situation. "Hachi," Heiji pressed, "didn't you get a look at that messenger boy who brought the letter?"

“I saw him.” “A fifteen- or sixteen-year-old sharp lad.” “Unfamiliar face?” “No，I don’t recognize him.” “He doesn’t seem to have been a boy from this neighborhood.”

Upon hearing that,

“If you’re talking about the messenger boy who brought the letter to Boss Hachigorō, I know him.” Kinta interjected from the side. “Where’s that boy from?” “I don’t know where that guy’s from, but that boy’s the one who lured us four out earlier by claiming to be Boss Zenigata’s messenger.” “Hmm.” Heiji groaned. Their scheme had an unfathomable depth, but the number of people involved didn’t seem that large.

“Now then, what should we do next?” “We’ve no choice but to search the chest thoroughly.” “There must be something hidden in here.” Heiji returned to the old chest like a weary man, but no matter how many times he looked, he could detect nothing suspicious hidden within it. The drawer contained nothing but what appeared to be the everyday clothes of the deceased Hanbei. Even when they examined each piece by loosening the seams, not a single scrap of anything worthwhile emerged.

They tapped the front, back, both sides, and even the bottom of the drawer panels but detected no significant mechanisms. After nearly half an hour more of fruitless searching, the night grew deeper. "Hachi, we'll have to go through with it after all."

“Huh?”

Hachigorō seemed unable to grasp what Heiji was trying to convey. “It’s Oei—after everything that’s happened, we can’t just leave her be, Hachi.” “That’s it, Boss.”

Hachigorō leaned forward. His face bore the look of someone who would endure any sacrifice for a young beauty hurrying off somewhere. "No matter what happens, we must check on her out of pity. Shall we go, Hachi?" "What do we do about this place, Boss?" "We can leave Kinta here alone. There’s nothing left in this chest anyway." "Is that how it is?" Hachigorō hesitated briefly, but long accustomed to being guided by Boss Heiji’s will, he abandoned the Omoya house without protest. Their destination lay in East and West Ryōgoku—a waterside district where houses capable of hiding a single person stood far too numerous to count.

Kinta, the assistant police informant left behind at the Omoya house, hugged a lukewarm hibachi that lacked any fire, smoking nothing but tobacco to stave off boredom and unease.

A man slightly over forty, gone to seed—with a moth-eaten balding scalp and bulging golden eyes, sitting all day in his side-business secondhand shop—one could well imagine the sort of character he was. “Damn it! They’re sulking in sullen silence!” While muttering complaints, Kinta scraped the dwindling powdered tobacco from his pipe’s bowl. “Hey there.”

At the back door came a coquettish woman’s voice. “Who’s there?” “Me.” The woman’s saccharine voice smothered Kinta’s curiosity. “Don’t know no ‘me’.” “My, what a cold fish!”

Even amidst this exchange, Kinta—as if manipulated by the mysterious voice—stealthily stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

“Who’s there, at this hour?” As someone placed their hand on the kitchen door and slid it open with a clatter, something was swiftly thrown over Kinta’s head. “Bastard! What the hell are you doing?!” As Kinta tried to throw it off, he was grabbed by a terrifyingly strong hand at his collar and quietly laid down on the wooden floor. Next, they pressed what seemed to be a cushion over his mouth and began haphazardly binding him with a thin cord—from his head to his neck, then his hands and feet.

A police informant—Kinta, the secondhand dealer serving as their strategist on a modest stipend—possessed neither significant martial skill nor courage, and once reduced to this state, he could only be tossed about like a bug, subjected entirely to his assailants' whims.

The culprits were two—the young woman who had first called Kinta and the terrifyingly strong man who had later subdued him. “Rest here for a while now.” “Heh heh.” The woman left behind an amused laugh and went off toward the living room with the man. The target of the two was, needless to say, the old chest. The chest—which Oei had once risked terrifying adventures to search through, and which Zenigata Heiji had until just now strained every ounce of his wisdom to uncover its secrets—now sat solemnly before the flickering lantern light, its form exposed in a manner so uncanny it bordered on grotesque.

“Come on, we need to hurry.” “—” When the woman gave the command, the man suddenly surged into action. Both wore masks, but her voice—thickly nasal yet dripping with honeyed allure—clashed jarringly with the grim atmosphere, creating an unnerving tension. “You know something?” “Not exactly, but I’ve heard rumors.” Her masked face tilted toward the chest. “After Omoya Hanbei died, nobody could find the 12,000 ryō—they say there must be a memorandum in this chest noting its hiding place.”

“Exactly. We’ve checked every last drawer—what now?” “It’s not in any drawer, you!”

The woman stepped in front of the chest as if to push the man aside. “Is it inside this chest, Boss?”

The large man carelessly pulled out the chest’s drawers. “It’s not about the drawers. Pull out all the drawers and examine the main body. There might be a mechanism in the upper panel or middle section.” The nasal-voiced woman said. The masked man and woman had been searching the chest’s main body for some time, but

“Nothing here. No tricks or mechanisms—just a solid paulownia board. A chest like this isn’t something made cheap.” The man said resignedly. “The search isn’t thorough enough—I only found out recently myself that Hanbei put something important in that chest.” “Then where’s the mechanism, Boss?”

“If I knew that, do you think I’d bother relying on someone like you? I’d come alone and keep it all to myself.” “Well, that’s a fine greeting.” “But the police informants might have found it before I came—fortunately, since they don’t know the hiding spot, the important item remains safe.” “That so?” “Flip that chest over just in case—for me. There might be some mechanism on the bottom.” “Nothing but conjurer’s tricks—first we’ll give this contraption a proper inspection—here goes.”

"What do you think will happen if someone hears you making that stupid noise?" "Heh, nothing on the bottom either." "You want me to smack its rear end for good measure?" "You're hopeless." The hulking man and young woman carried themselves with playful insolence. Yet the chest showed no hidden mechanisms whatsoever, its bare bottom board not even aged with time. "Told you so, Boss." "Even if ya rigged some half-baked trick to scare off those informants, comin' back empty-handed ain't exactly flattering."

“Don’t complain—oh, oh.” “What is it, Boss?” “This drawer’s lock is just a decoration.” “There’s a lock here that doesn’t take a key!” The woman was fiddling with the drawer’s lock—an old-fashioned, oversized metal fitting—when she seemed to notice that not only did one of these locks fail to catch, but it also rattled loosely. “There’s nothing unusual about that." “Though I hate to boast, our chest is something almost miraculous if the key works.”

“But this nail comes out.” “Moreover, these metal fittings come right off without any trouble—oh, oh, oh!” “What’s all this ‘oh oh’ about?” “There’s a paper fragment inside this metal fitting—oh, oh.” The woman picked up the small, folded paper fragment that had been placed inside the metal fittings. “Come on—you ain’t young enough to be gettin’ so worked up over nothin’.” “But you—this is the thing we’ve been after.” “The treasure of ten thousand ryō that Hanbei hid—”

The woman suddenly closed her mouth. She noticed a faint clatter coming from the direction of the neighboring room.

Gatekeeper Heiji “Ah!”

When she turned around, the sliding door opened smoothly, and there stood Zenigata Heiji staring intently in their direction. “Bastard!” The large man, having quickly assessed the situation, shielded the woman behind him and—the moment he lowered his stance—charged at Heiji’s chest with terrifying force. It was exactly like the ferocity of a wounded bull. This was something only someone with absolute confidence in their physical strength could attempt. “Bastard!”

Heiji dodged and swiftly drew the jitte from his waist. But in the large man’s hand as well, catching the light from the lantern in the next room, the dagger glinted. “Drop dead!” As he recovered and thrust again, Heiji dodged once more. Despite his large build, he was a frighteningly swift opponent. “Hachi! Watch out… The woman escaped through the back entrance!”

While fending off the large man, Heiji called out to Hachigorō, who was supposed to be watching the kitchen’s back entrance. Leaving the fight between her hulking accomplice and Heiji behind, the masked woman twisted her body and darted into the kitchen’s back entrance—a movement Heiji caught in that split second.

“Got it!”—Hachigorō slid open the kitchen’s shoji screen and thrust his face out. When his long jaw quivered, an unexpected fighting power surged through this man. In the meantime, Heiji and the large man exchanged two or three bouts. Unlike long weapons, the jitte was ill-suited against daggers; though a single twist might seem sufficient when entangled with a blade, an opponent with skill would hardly comply with such demands.

“Damn it!” Dodging the dagger thrust straight at him, Heiji stepped back—only to have his foot catch on the long brazier that happened to be there. “Ah!”

Heiji tumbled and fell, and from above him came the dagger thrusting down—. “Take this!” It was an utterly unavoidable assault. But at that moment, from behind the large man, “H-Help me!” The one who let out a seductively vibrant scream was the masked woman, restrained by Hachigorō with a wing choke. The large man faltered, startled. In that brief opening, Heiji managed to recover from his desperate predicament. Dodging the large man’s sluggish dagger thrust and twisting his body around, he transferred his jitte to his left hand and reached into his breast pocket with his right—

“Ah!” From Heiji’s hand flew four-mon coins—one, three, five—striking the exposed bridge of the large man’s nose beneath his mask, his bared teeth, and finally the fist that had raised the dagger. “You’re under arrest! Submit quietly!” When the opponent faltered, Heiji completely regained his footing. Knocking down the dagger with his jitte, prying up the man’s chin, and entangling his legs to throw him over—the large man, who had been striking first at every turn, reeled back like a rotten tree felled, devoid of his initial vigor. But having struck his head hard against the threshold, he was unable to rise for some time.

Needless to say, Heiji’s arrest rope pulled taut as he bound him up tightly. In the meantime, Hachigorō firmly subdued the woman. Delicate-boned and pliant—seeming ready to vanish like a snow spirit in his arms—he fumbled one-handed for the arrest rope in his breast pocket with indulgent relish. “Don’t move!” At that moment when he spoke, Hachigorō’s hands had completely left her body. Now he pressed down on her slender waist—face-down—using only his knees.

The next instant，the circumstances completely changed． The woman，who until now had been crouching motionlessly like a tame cat without resistance，the moment Hachigorō’s hands left her body，sprang up ferociously like a leopardess．

“Damn it!” By the time Hachigorō’s hand gave chase, the woman’s body had already made a splendid leap—kicking off his shoulder—and darted out through the back entrance he had left open, truly like a fleeing hare.

“Ah!” Hachigorō, who had landed flat on his rear, stood up and gave chase. But outside was pitch darkness—he couldn’t see even an inch ahead.

He circled around the outside of the house once just to be sure, but the pitch-black darkness pressed in close, leaving him unable to discern what might be squirming right before his nose. “What’s wrong, Hachi?” Hachigorō—who had blankly returned to the kitchen entrance—found Heiji standing before him with a concerned look, having finally dealt with the large man. “She got away.” “A terrifyingly quick woman.” Hachigorō vigorously scratched the back of his neck. “It’s because you’re the lumbering one.” “If you let a single woman slip through your fingers, it won’t bring any honor to the jitte.”

“Oh…” “You must have some idea what kind of woman she was.” “Well, Boss...” “Can’t be helped.” “Delicate-boned she was, floatin’ about like this.” “Like wrestlin’ a wisp o’ silk floss.” “Didn’t catch her face?” “Nah—though I got a noseful of her scent.” “You ain’t no hound—scent-trackin’s beyond you.” “Hey now, least take a look ’round the house, Boss.” “Might be hidin’ close—no time she had to flee far.”

“It’s probably futile, but...” “Please wait – I’ll bring a lantern.”

Hachigorō returned inside the house and brought out the sole lantern. Fortunately, there was no wind, so even this lantern sufficed for inspecting the alley and around the house. "Not much of a scene, is it?" While saying this, Heiji had Hachigorō—dangling the lantern—lead the way as they circled once around the house, then extended their search all the way to the edge of the alley. But not only was there no sign of the suspicious woman—not even a single female dog from the neighborhood could be found there.

“Hmm, there’s a strange voice coming from inside the house.” Heiji pricked up his ears. “Ah, it’s that bastard Kinta.” “We left him tied up just like that.” “Still seems odd.”

The two returned once again to the back kitchen. “Ah, Boss!” Hachigorō, who had entered first, involuntarily let out a shrill cry.

“What’s wrong, Hachi?”

Heiji, who followed behind, involuntarily groaned at the sight of the completely ransacked chest of drawers. There before them was the masked giant who had just been bound by Heiji’s own hands and forced against the pillar—now with his own dagger plunged into his neck, dyed crimson as he let out a death rattle.

“Hachi, untie him. I want to ask at least one thing before he dies.” “Right.” While Hachigorō untied the ropes, Heiji removed the mask. The face revealed beneath the mask was, as expected, a dark visage like an ancient Buddha with rugged features—it was unmistakably Hanji, the man who served as gatekeeper at Akashi Gorohatchi’s acrobatic troupe lodge in Ryogoku. “Pull yourself together, Hanji.” “Who was it that stabbed you?” Heiji lifted him up from behind.

“Water... water...” With glazed eyes staring vacantly, Hanji managed to utter faintly; hearing this, Hachigorō started to rush toward the kitchen, but— “Idiot! If you give water to a wounded man like this, he’ll die on the spot—Hanji, it must be agony, but just one word: tell me who killed you!” “The boss.” “Just saying ‘the boss’ ain’t enough—who was it?” “Oei’s bitch.” With those words, Hanji’s head drooped limply. Once again, blood gushed forth from the wound on his neck.

“Say one more thing.” “Where’s Oei now?” “Dunno.” “What did Oei find from the lock on the chest earlier?”

“——” “Who’s the leader of the Speckled Group?” “—” “Oei?” “—” “Gorohatchi?” “Rather than that, please ask about Miss Oshizu’s whereabouts, Boss.”

Hachigorō interjected from the side, but even that proved a futile effort. Hanji, the gatekeeper, having exhausted his last reserves of strength, collapsed in Heiji’s arms like a tattered rag. “Hachi, he’s at death’s door—once dead, he’ll be buddha like any other.” “Lay him down gently there.” “Right.” “Oei’s time to be bound will come eventually.” “—”

“Poor thing—he must’ve looked like he was being untied, only for someone to circle behind and strike his neck.” “Making them let their guard down is that woman’s trick.” “It still gets under my skin.” “She kicked my shoulder to escape outside, then doubled back to do this wretched thing, didn’t she?”

“They wanted to silence him—Hanji knew too much.” “And once they got their hands on the important item, Hanji had outlived his usefulness.” “Ain’t she one bold woman?”

“Oh—come to think of it, I thought I heard a strange moaning sound. We still hadn’t untied Kinta’s ropes.” Heiji turned to look at Kinta, who lay rolled up like a straw bale in the corner of the room.

A Missive

The following day, Hachigorō waited for dawn and rushed into Heiji’s hideout at Myōjin-shita.

“Boss.” “Hachi?” Contrary to his usual morning lethargy, Heiji had already risen and was clumsily preparing breakfast with his unskilled masculine hands. “——” Hachigorō swallowed the quip that had reached his throat and—spinelessly—felt his eyes grow hot. Heiji and Oshizu, who had been so close, must never have slept beneath separate roofs except when Heiji was away on a journey.

“Hachi, don’t just stand there in silence—lend a hand.”

“Right.” “Making me do this kind of thing… A man’s got no backbone.” “Usually I put on a tough front, but when I try to cook rice myself, not even a single log of firewood will obey me properly.” Heiji said this and laughed forlornly. “Don’t you have any idea what’s happened to Sis?”

Hachigorō remained squatting in front of the hearth, masking his tears with the smoke from the firewood. "I haven’t the faintest idea." "This time I’m under an unlucky star too—the more I rush, the more blunders I make." Heiji forced out a wry smile. "Who in the world took Sis away?" "You already know that, don’t you?"

“Huh?” "They dragged a woman out through the lattice window and fled." "Someone strong and agile—a person of terrifying boldness." “Someone like Oei?” “Don’t jump to conclusions. That woman may be bold and agile, but carrying Oshizu under her arm and climbing out through the lattice window onto the roof would be no easy feat.” “After all, even just crawling out with your own body caused quite a commotion, didn’t it?”

“So Boss—that acrobat…” “Akashi Gorohatchi reeks of suspicion, but it’s not him. He was holed up at the Ryōgoku hut till Rooster Hour [6 PM], then soaked in a bathhouse and knocked back drinks—I witnessed it myself with these eyes. No room for doubt.”

“Then—what about Gorohatchi’s wife?” “She left the hut after Unhour [2 PM], but…” “It’s not a woman.” “Then it must be the work of a demon.” “No—there’s still one more person.” “The gatekeeper Hanji who was killed at Omoya last night.” “Ah, that bastard!” “That man could do it. If he rushed here after the Ryōgoku hut closed, he should have made it in time. And for that man, pulling Oshizu alone up through the lattice window would be nothing. Of course, the one who made Hanji the gatekeeper kidnap her was an outsider.”

“Do you think Sis went out through the window without resisting?” “She must’ve been knocked out with a single blow or lost consciousness.” “Then think about where they took her, Boss.” “It’s all Oei’s devilish handiwork—but just as doctors don’t take their own family’s pulse, when it comes to my wife, I can’t seem to think straight either.”

Heiji said this and laughed forlornly. "Damn it! What the hell are you doing?!"

Garappa sprang to his feet furiously.

While Heiji and his companion were deep in secret discussions face-to-face, someone threw a stone into the house. The stone broke through the veranda’s paper screen, struck the wall, and fell onto the tatami mat with a thud. Without a moment’s delay, Hachigorō thrust his face out onto the veranda, but all his eyes caught was the retreating back of a neighborhood errand boy clattering down the alley in flight. “Leave it be, Hachi. “It must be a job someone asked him to do. “Even if you catch the errand boy, he’ll just say some stranger asked him to do it and gave him a small coin or something—that’ll be the end of it.”

“Then I’ll just have to get a description of the bastard who ordered this!” “It’s pointless. They’ll just say it was a woman with two eyes, one mouth, and wearing a kimono—something like that, no doubt.” While calming the furious Hachigorō, Heiji picked up the stone and carefully examined it.

“What is that?” “What is that, Boss?” “It’s a letter.” “Huh, I thought we were gonna have to peel another stone.” “Even if you peeled it, you couldn’t eat a stone projectile—oh my, this is an extraordinarily meticulous letter.” “It’s an identical handwriting to the letter that came from Oei last night, wouldn’t you say?” “What does it say?” “Wait—I need to read this Benkei-style— ‘I’ll return Miss Oshizu, so hand over what you’ve obtained.’ ‘If you have Boss Hachigorō hold it and stand in the middle of Shōhei Bridge, within three hand claps, we will take Miss Oshizu and exchange her for that document—’”

“So how about it, Hachi? Shall we try it?” When he read the letter scrawled like earthworm squiggles, Heiji suddenly brightened up. “What’s this ‘thing you’ve obtained,’ Boss?” “Something I found last night in Omoya’s chest of drawers.” “Even I haven’t figured it out yet, but there seems to be some major riddle written here.” “Huh? There was such a thing?” “Wasn’t it that woman and Hanji who took the paper scrap hidden in the drawer’s lock?”

Hachigorō’s nostrils flared pungently.

“Do you think I’d fail to notice something that woman and the gatekeeper Hanji found?” “Huh.”

Heiji’s demeanor overflowed with confidence. “Last night when I turned over the chest of drawers, I found a paper fragment wedged inside the lock—quietly pulled it out and replaced it with a folded white handkerchief.” “Huh! I didn’t notice either.” “You’re right—I didn’t want to tell anyone.” “That house’s walls have ears—no telling where someone might be watching from.” “What was written on that paper fragment?”

“It’s strange because there’s nothing coherent written on it—I’ll show you that later, but they must have panicked when they realized the paper fragment they took from behind that lock was just a handkerchief.” Even if it had seemed like a crushing defeat, Zenigata Heiji had in fact been matching wits with the schemer on equal terms.

“Then hand it over.” “I’ll go stand at Shōhei Bridge for a while.” Hachigorō held out his hands in a flustered manner. “What are you giving them?” “The paper fragment from the lock, I tell you.” “If they want it that badly, let’s take it straight over and trade it for Miss Oshizu!” “No.” “Huh?”

“I don’t want to fall for that kind of trick.” Heiji's expression hardened slightly. To resolutely refuse exchanging even a single scrap of paper for his beloved wife Oshizu must not have been an easy effort. “But we can’t just stand by and let her…” “It’s not that I don’t care about Oshizu, but our opponent has no sense of duty, compassion, shame, or public decency.” “Huh?” “What do you think would happen if, while Hachigorō stands there dazed on Shōhei Bridge, a kite flies down and snatches the paper fragment right out of his hand?”

“No way, Boss.” “Even if things go smoothly and we exchange the paper fragment for the hostage, if that hostage turns out to be a fake decoy head, we’d have nowhere left to go.” “……” “Even if we successfully exchange for Oshizu, letting go of crucial evidence would render my jitte worthless—wouldn’t you say, Hachi?” “But… Boss,” “I understand what you’re trying to say—you must think that’s too heartless—is what you mean, right?”

“That’s exactly right. Even if the Boss’s jitte keeps its honor, what if—what if something happens to Miss Oshizu? Then the Boss’s path as a human being won’t hold, will it?” “There, there—you don’t need to glare so fiercely. I’ve got no interest in playing the noble man who stakes even his wife’s life—if it comes down to it, I’d hand over my jitte and arrest ropes to save her.” “Is that true, Boss?” “It’s true—but listen, Hachi. Even so—if we meekly hand over the evidence we went to great lengths to obtain to the enemy and end up catching some substitute instead, it’d be a shame lasting generations.”

“……” “Before returning what’s written here—if someone rereads it and solves the mystery before sending it back—it shouldn’t be too late. I spent all last night thinking through that and ended up not sleeping a wink.”

The terrible anguish and fatigue carved into Heiji's face—it was only upon hearing this that Hachigorō noticed them for the first time.

“There’s still something I need to consider.” “According to this letter, if you were to stand on Shōhei Bridge holding that paper scrap, they’d bring Oshizu before three handclaps could be counted.”

“……” “Even if it’s a lie—for them to go so far as to write this—I’m certain Oshizu’s hidden somewhere within a block of Shōhei Bridge where you can see it.”

Heiji's intellect finally began working in full force.

“Boss.”

“What’s this, Hachi? You’re being awfully formal, aren’t you?” Heiji gently deflected Hachigorō, who had stiffened oddly and was pressing in, and pulled his tobacco pouch closer. “Boss—are you really okay with this?” “What?” Hachigorō was completely worked up. The slightly drooping corners of his eyes lifted, and when he jerked his long jaw back, even this made for a rather serious face. “I refuse. No matter what becomes of the way of the jitte, if we let Miss Oshizu die, the path of humanity won’t stand.”

“……”

“Hey, Boss—please do something about this. Even if they’re Speckled Group villains, five out of six are already dead! And that stolen 12,000 ryo isn’t some official fund for the poor or honest folks—Lord Owari can go eat shit!” “Now, now, Hachi.” “Do you think upholding duty to that thing justifies killing such a good wife as yours, Boss?”

Hachigorō was completely engrossed, pounding the tatami mats as he pressed closer. The fierce words that had involuntarily burst from his own mouth were fanning his own fury—until it blazed beyond any hope of control.

“I get it, Hachi—Oshizu’d be overjoyed to hear that. You’re awfully quick to take up someone else’s wife’s cause—don’t go acting jealous now.”

“Boss.”

“That’s why I’m thanking you on Oshizu’s behalf, aren’t I? I want to save Oshizu with every fiber of my being—but everything has its moment in the tide.”

“So, Boss,”

“Alright then—if that’s settled, just leave it to me.” “They wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill the hostage that easily.” “And…”

“……”

Heiji raised his head with a profoundly grave expression. He appeared to be thinking deeply about something. “And then—if they say that Zenigata Heiji, for all his imposing presence, meekly lets villains have their way and even surrenders crucial evidence just because his wife was taken hostage—it wouldn’t just shame all of Edo’s informants, it’d disgrace the shogunate itself! No—forget such high-minded talk—wouldn’t it let evildoers run rampant and make everything a mess?”

“......” “Just think—if police informants grovel and surrender to villains just because someone’s wife was kidnapped, who’s going to restrain thieves and murderers from now on? Those who serve the authorities mustn’t be bought with money—and just the same, they mustn’t give in to threats either.” “Boss.”

“Shut up and listen, Hachi. The reason I didn’t sleep a wink last night was ’cause I was racking my brain over the mystery of that paper scrap from Omoya’s lock—this here’s gotta be Omoya Hanbei’s reminder about where he hid the 12,000 gold ryo after sneaking ’em out from the top of the Five-Story Pagoda behind his crew’s backs and stashing ’em somewhere else.”

“……” “Omoya was killed, and there’s no gold atop the Five-Story Pagoda.” “The villains—whether one or two remained—it’s only natural their surviving comrades had started panicking.” Heiji methodically laid out his reasoning. “What was written on that paper scrap, Boss?” As Hachigorō’s righteous fury cooled, fresh tension gripped him. “Don’t panic—this isn’t some lone house in open fields.” “The stone-thrower’s allies could be eavesdropping right now.”

Heiji remained calmly composed, blowing tobacco smoke into rings.

“Right, hold on a second, Boss!”

Hachigorō suddenly leapt out from the veranda. True to his seasoned skills, his movements allowed not a moment’s pause—the boy who had sprung from beneath the veranda was like a fleeing hare, mustering every ounce of strength to clear the low hedge. “You bastard—wait up, damn you!” Hachigorō gave chase, raising a clamor as he pursued them to the alley’s end—though there was no greater speed difference between them than a pup and an ox—yet when he burst onto the main street, neither shadow nor shape of them remained.

“You damn brat! Next time you dare show your face, I’ll grate you on a wasabi grater and make brat stew out of you—mark my words!”

Hachigorō returned, flaring his nostrils and huffing.

“Enough, enough, Hachigorō—they had an escape route prepared from the start. What’s more—they threw a stone earlier and fled once, but when they saw you enter the house, they turned right back around.” “Huh?” Heiji laughed. “But hey, Hachi—thanks to that, I’ve figured out their hideout’s nearby.” “Huh?” “You’re always boasting that with those long legs of yours, you don’t lose to anyone when it comes to sprinting.” “Huh?”

“When that Hachigorō gives chase and emerges from the alley onto the main street, they’ll vanish from sight.”

“That’s right, Boss. When you come out onto the street, you can see clear in both directions—even if I were five or ten ken behind, I don’t think they should’ve vanished from sight—” “The enemy’s base is nearby. In fact—” “What is it, Boss?” “Well, fine.”

Heiji fell silent after that.

“By the way, Boss—about continuing what we were discussing earlier—” “—” “Did you solve the mystery of that paper scrap, Boss?” Hachigorō dove back into his original line of inquiry. “I think I’ve mostly solved it, but there are a few things I still don’t understand—that’s why I couldn’t take in what you were saying properly.” “What’s this about the things you don’t understand?” “When Omoya Hanbei was killed, you must’ve looked into all sorts of things.” “Huh?” “Was there anything unusual about that man?”

“When you say ‘unusual things’…”

“Things like his habits of going out, or things he particularly liked?” “There was something—gambling and alcohol.” “Anything else?” “It seems he liked theater, fishing, and shogi.” “Theater, fishing, and shogi… Interesting.”

Heiji seemed to have thought of something. "What's written in the mystery of that paper scrap?" Hachigorō finally blurted out.

Hostage

“This is it, Hachi.” Heiji picked up the small paper scrap that had been tossed into the corner of the room.

"Huh? In a place like that?" "Here's the safest spot." "Wallets and tobacco pouches aren't secure—not the ash drawer of the brazier, nor a tea caddy's interior, nor a household altar, nor rat poison." "Since I spent last night alone here, I had to stash it where no bastard could find it even if they snuck in." "Huh?" "Take a look—this is what's written." Heiji smoothed out the paper scrap's wrinkles and spread it across the brazier's ash drawer.

“Even I can read this now.” With the earnestness of a first-grade elementary school student, Hachigorō read through it in Benkei fashion. Sakura 26-3 Ayame 3-2 Botan 2-4-3

With just these three lines, of course he couldn’t begin to guess their meaning. “Well? Do you get it, Hachi?” Heiji peered over Hachigorō’s topknot as he sat lost in thought. “Not being able to figure it out is just plain stubbornness, huh? Since Hanbei was fond of gambling, isn’t this something like a flower-matching game?” “Hmm, I see.” “Though ‘sakura,’ ‘ayame,’ and ‘botan’ ain’t of any use or profit.”

“What do you think these numbers—twenty-six, three, four—mean?” “As for that, even if I thought about it for one night straight, I wouldn’t get it.” “You give up too quick.” “So—there’s something I need to talk about.”

Hachigorō sat up straight. “Your eyes went all weird again. So what’re you gonna have me do this time?” “You must’ve already memorized these phrases, given that it’s you, Boss.” “With phrases this simple, anyone would memorize them by heart after reading them two or three times.” “But I still haven’t memorized it. Is ‘Botan’ twenty-six or ‘Ayame’ two?” “You’re such a timid fellow. Just to be safe, make sure you remember it well. If someone gets their hands on what’s written down, it’ll be trouble.”

“But if you’ve memorized it by heart, this paper scrap isn’t needed anymore, right?” “That’s right—until this morning, I’d thought about burning it up.” “Then give it to me.” “What’re you up to?”

“I’ll stand on Shōhei Bridge and clap my hands three times.” Hachigorō was still fixated on the idea. “It probably won’t amount to much, but go ahead and try it.” “Is that all right, Boss?” “At first I thought about burning it, but reconsidering—once we’ve memorized those phrases, this paper scrap becomes useless to us.” “Letting the enemy get their hands on it and seeing who solves the mystery first might prove interesting.” “Are you certain about this, Boss?”

If he was going to send him out like that, Hachigorō found himself growing a bit concerned. Once the plan was decided, carrying it out proved extremely simple. Zenigata Heiji deliberately stayed behind at home, while Hachigorō—all by himself—walked with the measured gait of an actor exiting a bridgeway entrance in a Noh play, holding the aforementioned paper scrap aloft in both hands like a precious amulet, out of the alley and onto Kanazawa-chō’s main street, heading toward Shōhei Bridge. The summer morning sun was already high, but due to the tension since morning, Hachigorō had not yet even eaten breakfast; yet he had no time to dwell on such matters as he stood atop Shōhei Bridge and surveyed his surroundings for a while.

To the east—from Sujikai Gate to Hanabusa-chō and Naka-chō—and south—from Yatsukōji to the vicinity of Lord Abe Iyo-no-kami and Lord Aoyama Shimotsuke-no-kami’s mansions—there were quite a few people coming and going. However, not only was there no sign of Oshizu’s figure, but Hachigorō couldn’t spot anyone who looked likely to be bringing her either. However, Hachigorō was not one to retreat over such a thing. Tucking the paper scrap he’d been holding into his pocket with a flick, he clapped his hands three times—Pon! Pon! Pon!—as if standing before a deity, without the slightest hesitation.

The passersby froze momentarily, their hearts in their throats. A young giant of a man stood at the bridge's center, clapping his broad hands like fatsia leaves as he peered restlessly in all directions. Yet those outlandish gestures weren't as eerie as modern folk might suppose. This was an age when so-called heretical cults spread unchecked through Edo—Inari-sama at their forefront, with mysterious shrines and Jizō statues enshrined in every alleyway and street corner.

Hachigorō also muttered a prayer from atop the bridge; he seemed to be mistaken for a passing street performer, and the flow of foot traffic continued unimpeded, resuming its steady course. “Boss Hachi.” “What is it?” When he turned around, a boy of fifteen or sixteen—likely a clam seller or something—wearing a round, shallow straw hat that seemed to shield him from the summer morning sun, though in truth he was hiding his face, called out from three or four meters behind. “Did you bring it?”

“Yeah.” “Don’t even think about making any sudden moves.” “If you break the agreement like that, Boss Zenigata’ll hold a grudge against you.” “What?” “Miss Oshizu’s there with our comrades who brought her.” “Go ahead and look—it’s behind that rainwater barrel over there.” Hachigorō involuntarily turned his eyes in the direction the boy was pointing. At the corner of Yushima Yokochō’s rainwater barrel, half-hidden behind it and facing away was a figure whose unlined kimono, obi, build, hairstyle—every detail—matched perfectly with the familiar back profile of Oshizu, Zenigata Heiji’s wife.

“Hold it! Even if you rush over to snatch Oshizu-san back, that won’t work.” “We’ve got precautions in place too.” “You think our comrades will just sit still while Boss crosses the bridge toward that rainwater barrel?” “If we make one move and realize we’re not getting what we bargained for, Oshizu-san won’t live through this.” “Our men have daggers hidden where nobody can see ’em.” —— “Drop what we asked for on the bridge and walk away quietly.” “Once I pick it up and confirm it’s genuine, Oshizu-san gets returned safe.”

The boy was remarkably thorough. Hachigorō ground his teeth in frustration. If I'd known it would come to this, I should've dragged Boss Zenigata here without letting him put on airs—split up the work and made him help take Oshizu back—but now there was no way to do that anymore. "Damn it! Do whatever the hell you want!" With a loud click of his tongue, Hachigorō discarded the paper scrap onto the bridge, kicked it with his foot, then hurried off toward Yushima Yokochō—needless to say, the boy in the round straw hat later picked up the scrap and dashed away to parts unknown.

The paper scrap was something Boss Heiji had permitted to be handed over to the enemy. From this point onward, Hachigorō's duty was merely to rescue Oshizu safely and bring her back before Boss Heiji.

When Hachigorō crossed the bridge—forgetting his promise with the boy—he had already broken into a run. “Miss Oshizu!”

When Hachigorō lunged toward the rainwater barrel's shadow, a lone woman who had been facing away turned around with a start at his loud voice, but— "Oh, Boss Hachi!" The one who widened her large eyes and smiled—though not as beautiful as Oshizu, yet considerably younger and more adorable than her—was none other than that barrel collector Motokichi’s sister, Oyuki of Sakumachō. "You… you?" Hachigorō stood there with his mouth agape for a while.

“What’s the matter? Boss Hachigorō?” “What about you? What’s wrong? That’s—you’re wearing the kimono of Miss Oshizu from Boss Zenigata’s place, who went missing last night, isn’t it?” “This is… that… Miss Oshizu’s kimono? Oh my, oh my.” “Don’t just stand there dumbfounded—tell me what’s going on.” Hachigorō looked around restlessly, but there was no one nearby who seemed to be the author of this farce anymore; Oyuki, simply too astonished, could not find any words for a while.

“This morning, a woman I didn’t know came and said that since Boss Zenigata’s place would have guests arriving around noon today, I should come help wearing this kimono—well, I don’t have any proper clothes anyway, so I did as she said—and we came here together.”

“What kind of woman was she—young or old?” “She was a beautiful married woman around twenty-five or twenty-six—when we got here, she said it wouldn’t do to go right away and told me to wait for a while. She stood next to me behind the rainwater barrel, chatting about the weather and neighborhood gossip—just random things—but right before Boss arrived, she hurried off somewhere.” “Didn’t they threaten you—brandishing a dagger or something?”

“Oh my—it was nothing but lighthearted chatter all along.” Though this dutiful girl was plenty sharp-witted, she could never have known what part she’d been made to play from the start. Hachigorō came back to Heiji’s house hauling Oyuki along like a suspect under arrest.

“Boss, they’ve finally gotten us good.” Heiji listened calmly to Hachigorō’s dejected report and spoke.

“I figured as much. They’ve got no sense of honor or pride—no need for you to worry. Now that it’s come to this, I won’t hold back. I’ll find those 10,000 gold ryo before sunset and wipe that smirk right off their faces.”

Mystery For Zenigata Heiji to say something this combative was truly unusual. The opponent’s cowardice and wickedness must have finally pushed him past his limit. But once he had said his fill, as if ruminating on it, he would sink into deep thought for a while—this was Zenigata Heiji, after all, not one to indulge in empty boasts.

“Boss, please do somethin’ about this mess! Ain’t we been made fools of enough already?” “If they’re mockin’ us this bad, it’s gotta be more’n enough!” Hachigorō remained all worked up. He must’ve been bustin’ to let out his temper somehow. He manhandled the tatami mats, pounded on pillars, swung his fists around—couldn’t keep still for a heartbeat. “Quiet down—I’m plannin’ the endgame here.” Heiji plopped down cross-legged before the cold brazier, took a long drag of his favorite tobacco, then blew smoke toward the ceiling like some immortal sage savoring the bone-deep loneliness seepin’ into his marrow.

“Is it shogi or go, Boss?” When it came to games and amusements, Hachigorō—being more skilled than his boss Heiji—likely felt a thread of calmness emerge even within his intense focus upon hearing “decisive move.” “It’s no lighthearted matter—the surviving villains of the Speckled Group are finally being driven into a corner.” “Huh?”

“Hiding Oshizu, killing Hanji, trying to snatch that document from my hands—they’re all just desperate flailing from cornered rats.” “Then, Boss—what’s our next move?” “I’ll solve that riddle and locate the hiding place of the 10,000 ryo. Though the true leader of the Speckled Group remains unknown, Omoya Hanbei—who bore the dice pip six tattoo—betrayed his comrades for his own reasons. After hiding 12,000 gold coins atop Yanaka’s five-story pagoda, he quietly took out 10,000 of them and stashed them somewhere else.”

“Huh.” “When they were down to just two thousand ryo left, their comrades caught wind of it—then four villains turned on each other, killing one another until only the worst of them survived—probably the one with the dice pip one tattoo—but even that leader still didn’t know where the ten thousand ryo was hidden. Then when I barged in and became a problem for them, the guy wearing a Hyottoko mask tried to distract me with money—and when that didn’t work, he resorted to kidnapping Oshizu and started scheming all sorts of tricks.”

“—” “It’s proof they’re all panicking.” “So what should we do now, Boss?” “First we find the 10,000 gold ryo and have the authorities confiscate them. That’ll destroy the villains’ objective.” “Where is it?” “Hidden in those riddle-like phrases on the paper scrap I gave you earlier.” “You’ve cracked it?”

“I’ve solved the mystery.” “Gather as many assistant informants as you can and come with me.” “I’ll find those 10,000 gold ryo without fail.”

Heiji stood up. He was a picture of brimming confidence. That Heiji had already solved the riddle—how this threw Hachigorō into ecstatic delight!

“Where’s the hiding place, Boss? Will we be alright without that written clue?” “Don’t worry. I spent all night locked in a staring contest with that scrap of paper. Memorized every bit by heart.”

“Huh?” “They’ll surely make desperate moves too.” “Gather every available hand to settle this before nightfall.” Heiji immediately put the plan into action. He sent Hachigorō to summon Yushima no Kichi—a local assistant informant—then dispatched urgent calls one after another until ten men gathered at Heiji’s house within half an hour.

“That should be enough, Boss.”

“How many did you gather?” “Exactly ten people.” “Including you makes it a thousand and ten men?” “Huh?”

“You alone have the strength of a thousand men—come on, it’s a bit far.” Heiji had returned to his usual bright self. After rushing from Myōjin-shita to Ryōgoku, they prepared a fast boat there and made straight for Ayase— “Where are we going, Boss? Wouldn’t it be faster if we ran?” Hachigorō fretted over the boat’s sluggish pace, tapping his self-proclaimed iron legs. “We’re being followed. If we go by boat, they’ll get flustered—wouldn’t that be interesting?”

Heiji, looking amused, pointed at two or three figures loitering on Ryōgoku Bridge. Going up the Ayase River a bit from Sekiya Village brings you to Horikiri Village, famous for its Japanese irises. “Here it is, Hachi. The first ‘ayame’ in the riddle’s phrases—” “So it wasn’t a flower arrangement contest after all—what’s this ‘three-two’ about, Boss?” “It’s not three-two—it’s two-one. When I handed that scrap of paper to them, I made a little tweak to the riddle’s wording. If you add one line each to two-one, it becomes three-two.”

“I see. By the way, what’s this ‘two-one’ about?” “It’s either the fishing spot number or the count of stone walls.” “Huh?” “When I heard Omoya Hanbei’s pastime was fishing, I solved the mystery. Hanbei made it look like he was going fishing, but he must’ve been moving the gold coins he took from Yanaka’s Five-Story Pagoda little by little and hiding them in three different locations.”

“It’s quite elaborate, isn’t it?” “He meant to hide from his comrades and keep all 10,000 ryō for himself—but those partners were cunning devils every bit Hanbei’s equal. Couldn’t trick ’em that easy.” “—” As they spoke, Heiji, Hachigorō, and ten assistant informants stood behind Horikiri’s iris garden along the Ayase Riverbank, scouring every nook and cranny.

“Hachi, here it is.” Heiji pointed at a stone wall that Hanbei had apparently used as a fishing spot. In that wall, the first stone of the second row stood out with its moss conspicuously peeled off, giving it an oddly unstable appearance. With many hands working together, they removed the stone wall effortlessly, scraped away the soil, and peered inside. Within lay an unexpectedly spacious hole containing a sturdy box made from a single oak plank that had been shoved into the cavity.

“Shall we borrow some tools and dig this out?” Hachigorō was already poised to dash out to a nearby farmer’s house. “Nah, that can wait.” “We’ve still got two more spots—it’ll be a hassle once it gets dark.” Heiji was peering into the box in the hole when he noticed a hole three *bu* in width and a little over two *sun* in length on the front panel. With a look of realization, he took out from his pocket a ring of exactly the same dimensions as the one he had used to open the door of the Five-Story Pagoda in Yanaka.

“What a strange thing—when did you prepare this?” Hachigorō stared wide-eyed. “When I received that golden ring, I took its measurements right away and had a metalworker in town make this.” “Came in handy.” “Course that one was pure gold, but being poor, I made do with iron.” “Truth is, this here’s just a cattle nose ring. Bet even the Speckled Group boss never figured a golden ring could be swapped with one.”

Heiji slid the iron ring into the box's hole with an amused laugh. There was a clunk inside—though what mechanism caused it remained unclear—and as Heiji pulled, the lid of the box buried in the earth opened easily. Then Hachigorō, thrusting his arm inside, piled up gold coins wrapped in an astonishingly sturdy furoshiki cloth, one after another, into a small mountain atop the grassy embankment. "That's all of them, Boss." "Good work, good work. There must be two or three thousand ryo here. Wrapping them in a furoshiki for easy transport and tossing them into the large box buried deep in the stone wall—that was shrewd."

Heiji marveled at the ingenuity of Omoya Hanbei’s handiwork. “By the way, are we taking this with us?” “Carry them to the boat.” “This time we’re going down the Sumida River.” “Let me solve the next riddle, Boss.” Hachigorō was thoroughly fired up.

“Go ahead and try.” “Sakura twenty-six two—you count the cherry trees in Mukōjima and dig under the 26th one, right?” “What do you mean by ‘two’?” “Dig two feet or something.” “This feels shaky.”

While they were having this exchange, the boat traveled from Mitsumine to Takeya’s Ferry and arrived before Lord Mito’s Lower Residence. “Right here should do,” said Heiji. “Exclude Lord Mito’s Lower Residence and count the cherry trees along the embankment.” “One, two, three—five—ten—” Just as Hachigorō had predicted, when the boat quietly drew up to precisely the twenty-sixth cherry tree on the bank, two or three men could clearly be seen from the river—hoes in hand—diligently digging around its base.

“Ah, Boss, we’re a step too late.” “Those bastards also figured out Mukōjima and are digging under the 26th cherry tree, aren’t they?”

Hachigorō, unable to contain himself any longer, stretched up in the boat and brandished his *jitte*. “Hachi, what do you think?” said Heiji.

“We’ll storm in and tie up every last one of them, right?” “The ones digging at the base of that cherry tree are just local farmers.” “Do you think the Speckled Group leader you’re after would be among them?” “Huh?” “Just leave them be. “No matter how much they dig, only gravel comes out.” “But that’s the 26th cherry tree, right, Boss?” Hachigorō was still watching the gold-digging work with a look of frustration. “Didn’t I tell you earlier—I altered the riddle on that scrap of paper.”

“Huh?” “I just added one ‘two’ character above where it said ‘sixteen’.” “The real gold coin box is ten cherry trees back toward Lord Mito’s side when counted from here.” “Huh?”

“There, this is the sixteenth cherry tree.” “When it says ‘sixteen-two,’ it doesn’t mean to dig two feet ahead.” “Move the second stone in the stone wall arranged as a fishing spot.” “Omoya Hanbei only had fishing gear.” “You should realize they stored the gold coins in a hiding place without attracting attention.” As Heiji spoke and shifted a conveniently sized stone, it rolled away effortlessly, revealing a hole identical to the one they’d seen earlier in Ayase. Deep within lay a large box, solemnly displaying an aperture for inserting the golden ring.

The iron bull’s nose ring proved useful there as well. The furoshiki-wrapped gold coins they took from the box amounted to roughly two or three thousand ryo there as well. Once the box was emptied, they closed its lid as before, restored the soil, and the boat laden with the gold and people headed down to Ryogoku. “Next is the fourth peony, right, Boss?” Hachigorō proceeded ahead.

“If even you can figure it out, then those villains will too.” “Tweaking the riddle phrases one by one might seem dirty work, but it’s paid off better than expected.” “This time—the peony’s 2-4-3—it’s getting trickier, huh?” “Fourth riverbank, fourth stone wall in Second Block, third from the bridge—that’s what I let the Speckled Group boss see. The real stash’s under First Block’s bridge.” Heiji laughed. “All those extra bits were your doing, Boss?”

“That’s right.” “There, look under that stone.” The stone placed beneath the fourth bridge appeared like an angler’s seat, but when moved revealed a large hole beneath it. At the back lay a wooden box as expected—opening it exposed gold coins totaling nearly five thousand ryo, each bundle of fifty or a hundred coins crammed inside various cloth wrappings. The ten thousand ryo and forty kan of gold sank heavily, weighing down the boat’s bilge water.

“Awright, let’s head back.”

“Where are we going, Boss?” “The enemy’s desperate too—it’ll be troublesome if we go ashore. Let’s have them row straight to the Hatchōbori compound.”

While counting the figures of people rushing about here and there on the evening shore, Zenigata Heiji said this.

Oshizu’s life The 10,000 gold ryo entered Hatchōbori compound that very day. If stored there, it would truly be an impregnable fortress.

“Hachi, shall we head back?” Zenigata Heiji had no choice but to return alone to his home where no one awaited him. “I don’t mind staying at your place from tonight on for a while, Boss.”

Hachigorō was in such a mood. "I appreciate the thought, but there won't be any decent meals here."

“I know how it is…” “As long as you have them deliver a jug from the corner liquor store, I won’t be demanding any luxuries.” “The fact you don’t consider this extravagant is what’s unbearable—you’re welcome to come, but stop yammering without even having a bite for dinner.” “Are you still brooding over that mystery or somethin’?” “There’s a mountain of things I need to think through.” “Who’s the Speckled Group’s leader?”

“Where did Oei go?” said Hachigorō.

“What’s the true identity of the man with the Hyottoko mask?”

“Hmm, makes sense.” As they talked about these things, the two returned to Heiji’s house. It was now well past the Rooster Hour. Even Hachigorō—a man of formidable stamina—had been worn down to utter exhaustion by the hunger and fatigue that followed a full day’s work. They lit the brazier, lit a tobacco pipe, and prepared some cold rice. After Heiji and Hachigorō had somehow managed to complete their clumsy kitchen tasks, they finally sat facing each other across the long brazier, exchanging looks of mutual consolation.

“Preparing food isn’t easy, Boss.” “We can’t manage it like women can, Hachi.” Exchanging wry smiles and pouring a cup of something to wet their empty stomachs, they somehow managed to regain their human composure.

They quickly finished the cold rice soaked in hot water, “Once this case is settled, I’ll treat you to a feast so grand it’ll make your head spin—but for tonight, make do with this.” “——” When told that, Hachigorō choked on the lukewarm water and began coughing violently. He had carelessly teared up and failed to disguise it with a cough or anything.

“Hm—did you hear that strange noise?” Heiji cocked his head to listen. “Just a stray dog nudging the lattice door.”

Hachigorō calmly yet lingeringly sipped from the sake bottle. “No—that was the sound of something being thrown in.” “I’ll go check.” Even drunk, Hachigorō remained quick to act. He slid open the shoji and peered around the entrance area.

“Ah! There’s something that was thrown in here.” “It’s a letter—with a pebble wrapped in it.”

In some haste, he picked up something white and came back. "What's this? It's that woman's usual handwriting." Heiji spread out the letter—folded in eighths on hanshi paper—over the hearthside writing board and read through it, but even he caught his breath at the case's severity. You may have taken the 10,000 ryō, but I'll repay this in full. Oshizu-san won't live to see tomorrow—my condolences. One pip Mr. Heiji "Damn it all!" Hachigorō burst out, slamming through the lattice door with a clatter, but naturally the culprit wasn't foolish enough to linger nearby. All he could do was wander through alleyways drowned in lacquer-thick darkness for what felt like ages.

“It’s useless, Hachi.” Heiji stuck his face out through the lattice. What a struggle it must have been for him to call Hachigorō back inside—the man was like a wound-up hunting dog, grinding his teeth, spitting, burning with fighting spirit. “But we can’t just leave it be! They’re demon-like bastards!” The letter declaring *“Oshizu-san’s life ends tonight”* couldn’t be dismissed as mere intimidation; given their past methods, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t be quietly disposed of like a troublesome pebble.

“Enough—get inside.” “The villains aren’t lurking around here.” “By my reckoning, their nest lies in Ryōgoku or Yanaka—either way, it’s distant.” “Huh?” Hachigorō reluctantly circled to the kitchen entrance and wiped his feet with a rag. From cupboards to earthen stove to floorboards, seeing how these meager furnishings stood orderly and gleaming despite their poverty, Hachigorō found himself inexplicably choked up. Though once a tea-drawing girl at a waterside stall, Oshizu—joined to Heiji through strange fate—had become such an exemplary wife. Shy and quiet yet immaculately clean, bright and steadfast, she radiated an indescribable warmth that enveloped those nearby. This was “Edo’s foremost woman” in Hachigorō’s mind—a Beatrice-like figure he secretly revered as his personal guardian deity.

Even though Oshizu had been kidnapped by villains and her life declared to end tonight without conditions or reprieve, Heiji’s composed demeanor of sitting still and pondering things was utterly infuriating to Hachigorō.

“Boss, please do something! I’ll charge into fire or water if I have to!” Adjusting his knees that protruded from his narrow summer kimono, Hachigorō pressed Heiji. “Don’t push me, Hachi. I don’t want to abandon my wife either. But if you lose your head now, no good plan will come to mind.” “......” “Our only path is to locate their hideout here and now—race there before they cook up new tricks—and rescue Oshizu. Where would you start looking first?”

Heiji was indeed pressing hard. Above the solitary lamp, even forgetting to stir the accumulated cloves or fidget with his usual powdered tobacco, he sat knee-to-knee with Hachigorō. "Just now, you said Ryōgoku or Yanaka—didn't you, Boss?" "That was a ruse." "While you're making a racket in the alley, the criminals might be hiding somewhere and biding their time." "Do you think I'd carelessly let slip the real plan?"

“So, Boss…” “Wait a second, Hachi.”

Heiji stood up and peered through the darkness of the narrow garden from the veranda. Outside showed signs of an evening shower. Before anyone noticed, rain began falling sporadically from an ink-black sky, and as if summoned by flickering distant lightning, a metallic-smelling wind swept in abruptly.

“Hachi, come here.” Having returned to his seat, Heiji again looked down at the letter on the writing board. “This letter wasn’t written by Oei.” “Oei’s handwriting is shaky—like earthworms crawling across the page—but this one’s stiffly slanted upward and mechanical-looking.” Hachigorō countered with his own observation. “Nah—they changed their writing style to get that weird slant.” “Still a woman’s hand though.”

“—” “If it were a man, he wouldn’t write ‘Miss Oshizu’.”

“Hmm, that makes sense.” “Also—you might not have noticed—when I brought it here, I deliberately dropped the letter onto the brazier.” “Huh?” “I hurriedly picked it up and smoothed it out on the writing board—then ash got on the ink of the letter’s text, just like this.” “?” “If it had been brought from afar, the ink would’ve dried already—ash wouldn’t stick.” “Even accounting for horse-dung ink drying slow, this ain’t no letter brought from Ryōgoku or Yanaka.”

“Boss.” Hachigorō tensed up again like an athlete at the starting line. “This shows the opponent’s a woman and they’re watching from somewhere close by.”

“Huh?” “By the way, there’s something else I’ve noticed—you’ve chased that boy three times now, but whenever you follow him out of the alley, he vanishes into the open like he’s sinking into the earth.” “Huh?” “Outside the alley is a wide-open main road with clear visibility in all directions. Yet that boy—throwing letters, stabbing Jūbei, up to all sorts of mischief—gets chased as if by someone grabbing hair, but somehow never gets caught!”

“Huh?” “When they stabbed Jūbei, they escaped with terrifying skill even where there was no way out—and not just that! When you took the letter to Shōhei Bridge, even though we hadn’t coordinated the timing at all, they still brought Oyuki out behind the rainwater barrel and waited for us to show up, didn’t they?” “I see—” “This would require divine sight or something—but since our cunning opponent is human after all, I must’ve said at the time that their nest was nearby.”

That was something Heiji had already said three days prior.

“So where’s their hideout, Boss?” “It’s in the alley.”

“Huh?” “They’re watching us from within the alley.” “A house reachable via rooftops from here—one where they could hoist Oshizu up from the second-floor drying area and slip in without difficulty.” “Even though we kept watch outside that night, the scoundrel who kidnapped Oshizu never showed themselves, did they?” Zenigata Heiji finally began desperately marshaling his wits. Just then, thunder growled nearer as fat raindrops started pattering unevenly against the eaves—accompanied by a vicious lightning strike that blazed beyond the latticed door, scorching their vision.

“That house.” “Boss, let’s storm in.” “Don’t rush, Hachi.” “Once we know Ōeyama is near, we need to devise a plan without a single flaw in ten thousand—and do it without tipping them off.” Amidst burning tension, Heiji finally regained his ice-cold composure. “So what’m I s’posed to pull off?” Hachigorō’s impatience hung thick. “We’re heading to Ryōgoku after all.” “Listen—you’ll call Yushima no Kichi and round up Kinta and Minokichi so loud the whole damn neighborhood hears. March out like you’re launching a night raid and wait by Ryōgoku Bridge.”

“What about you, Boss?” “I’ll come later too.” “I’m counting on you, Hachi.” “What about Ōeyama in the alley?” “Forget about that completely.” “Until you exit the alley, don’t even think about glancing around.” “Are you sure about this?”

Hachigorō, even while being repeatedly warned, followed Heiji’s plan exactly and exited the alley amidst the newly falling rain, shouting carelessly all the while. Afterward, someone was certain to follow without fail, and that tracker would absurdly keep watch as Hachigorō summoned Yushima no Kichi, rounded up Kinta and Minokichi’s ilk, and headed toward Ryōgoku with a commotion as grand as the Fuji no Makigari hunt.

The work that remained for Heiji now began. After ensuring fire precautions were taken and checking the door locks, he leisurely opened an umbrella and exited the alley—heading straight to the home of Wakamatsu, an assistant informant in Kanazawa-chō who moonlighted as a clog maker. He knocked on the front door, exchanged some words with the wife, then slipped right into the house. After a short while, he emerged looking exactly as he had before and, without any particular hurry, made his way through Yanagihara’s darkness toward Ryōgoku amid the thunderstorm.

Not long after that, it was Wakamatsu, the assistant informant, who casually stepped out from the kitchen entrance of the clog shop. “You should hurry back home.” “No one goes to the bathhouse at this hour—how utterly ridiculous!” Hearing his young wife’s voice behind him, Wakamatsu—wearing a drab yukata with a hand towel casually draped over his shoulder and holding an oil-paper umbrella—headed through the evening shower toward the neighborhood bathhouse, humming a tune. But Wakamatsu’s figure, having exited the alley, casually passed by the bathhouse and quickened his pace toward Myōjin-shita—it was truly a masterful infiltration. Seeing that no one was following him, he nimbly slipped into the alley where Heiji lived and took shelter under the eaves of the second house from the left—a modestly kept tenant house.

“Good evening.” Wakamatsu spoke in a slightly veiled yet high-pitched tone. “Who is it?” It was a seductive woman’s voice. “From the corner liquor store—I’ve brought the item you requested.”

“I didn’t ask for anything—ain’t this some mistake?” As she said this, the woman undid the latch and carelessly swung the door open.

“In the name of the law!” It was a battle cry delivered without a split-second’s delay. But the woman who had opened the entrance proved even swifter. She smashed the hand candle into her opponent’s face, pivoted to kick over the lantern, then disappeared into the ink-black darkness like some spectral raptor. The man who’d charged in—wearing a yukata with a hand towel slung over his shoulder—was none other than Zenigata Heiji. And needless to say, the figure who’d exited Wakamatsu’s front door clad in Heiji’s signature attire had been Wakamatsu himself all along.

Heiji, who had sent Wakamatsu the clog maker—a man resembling him in both height and age—to Ryōgoku in his stead to lull the villains into complacency, then launched an attack on the enemy's stronghold by exiting through Wakamatsu's back door under the pretense of visiting the bathhouse—a truly impeccable stratagem. However, while the woman had indeed taken the bait of this tactic, it was also an undeniable fact that she possessed a villain's instinct—to always have an escape plan prepared for any situation, no matter the time or circumstance. She slammed the hand candle into Heiji's face and kicked over the lantern—movements executed in an instant. The next moment, the house fell deathly silent, not a single sound remaining.

In the lacquer-black darkness, Heiji strained his ears intently. Uncertain what might come flying from where, he pressed himself against the wall and flattened his body bat-like,

“――” For a while, all light vanished save for the lightning that leaked through the gaps, and all sound ceased except for the roaring thunder. However, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, backlit by the lightning seeping through the open entrance, he gradually began sensing objects’ locations coming into view. She must have noticed it too. After a short while, it became clear the opponent—apparently sensing danger—had started moving bit by bit.

When a phantom moved before his eyes—though faint—something grazed against the tatami mats, producing a silken rustling sound. “――” Heiji gulped and held his breath. Never had he appreciated silk’s virtues more keenly than in this moment. Soon came a creak. She must have stepped onto a ladder rung. Then to the next rung, and the third—but upon reaching that height, she seemed to realize how impossible it was to muffle her footsteps. Abruptly shifting tactics, she stamped on the rungs with full force and began thundering upward.

“Wait!” Heiji pursued. Had he lacked restraint in that moment, his skull would have undoubtedly been shattered. From atop the ladder steps, the woman slammed something heavy down toward Heiji as he followed behind. With a clattering clang—a truly dreadful noise— she must have snatched the iron kettle from the brazier while fleeing, rushed up to the second floor, and hurled it at Heiji in pursuit.

A terrifying display of quick thinking. That was indeed an attack that would have hit its mark nine times out of ten. Heiji had anticipated this early on and was crawling up the ladder like a snake—using his hands and feet—so the iron kettle only grazed his back before crashing down onto the steps below with a terrifying noise. In that moment, the woman appeared to leap up to the second floor—needless to say, Heiji followed right after her. The second floor was even darker than below, and for a while, nothing could be discerned.

But desperate danger pressed closer with each passing moment. The woman who had leapt to the second floor now sought either to extract Oshizu—confined within that solitary room—and deftly spirit her away, or else sever her life in one stroke and leave Heiji reeling. Who was the leader? One instant, then another—a deathly silence persisted.

For a while, the thunder had receded into the distance, and the rain’s intensity had somewhat abated. But under the intense tension, Heiji could do nothing about the pounding of his own heart. Was this what one might call an instinctual warning? At times he heard Oshizu’s whispers by his ear; at others, he caught the alluring scent of powder and rouge right beneath his nose.

It was an oddly “grave” tension. Though Heiji had plunged into life-and-death situations countless times, he had never felt anything this eerie before—perhaps because his wife Oshizu’s life was about to be severed just a few feet before his eyes, agitating his instincts and mobilizing every one of his senses. Be that as it may, the highly tense situation, with the heart’s pulsations as its gears, carved out each passing moment as though it were a century.

Heiji transferred the jitte from his right hand to his left and, with that same right hand, searched his breast pocket. Two well-worn four-mon coins were fumbled out by his fingertips and placed into his palm, ready for any contingency. A flash—unexpected lightning—leaked through the gaps in the door, and its light illuminated the entire room in an instant. “Ah!” It was no wonder Heiji was shocked. About two ken ahead from where he stood, in the far corner of the room, what glinted was unmistakably a dagger raised in a pale woman’s hand—and beneath it, pinned down, was a woman bound haphazardly with a sash and thin cord. Beyond any doubt, it was the profile of his wife, Oshizu.

Before the dagger could strike Oshizu's neck—seizing the initiative by a hair's breadth—the four-mon coins from Heiji's palm flew. "Ah!" One struck the woman's fist, the other landing with force near her cheek. But this was no woman to falter at such blows. Having barely adjusted her dagger's grip, she readied her next assault in an instant. "What?!"

The scream was Oshizu’s. The second dagger, its aim slightly faltering, must have grazed Oshizu’s shoulder. “In the name of the law!” Heiji threw his entire body forward, barely managing to shield Oshizu from the woman’s dagger. “Damn you!”

The woman hurled a terrifyingly base curse and, evading Heiji's outstretched hand, flew away like a bird.

Once more, the thunder drew near, rumbling over the roof as it passed by, followed by two strikes, then three—blinding platinum-colored lightning seared their vision.

The room was now empty. The suspicious woman had vanished without a trace, and beneath Heiji’s feet lay Oshizu, still bound and collapsed like a lifeless corpse. Startled by the sudden downpour, the dagger, and Heiji’s voice, she must have lost consciousness. Heiji, half by feel, managed to untie Oshizu’s restraints regardless. Carrying a bound person alone would inevitably restrict his freedom of movement. “Oshizu, steady yourself.”

He lifted her up at the same moment the lightning flashed. Oshizu, having partially regained consciousness, "Oh... you."

Forgetting all shame and decorum, she clung tightly to her husband Heiji’s neck and began sobbing quietly. For the shy Oshizu, this was a tormenting intensity of emotion she had never experienced before. “Enough already—you’re not a child.”

Heiji gently pulled his wife Oshizu away from his neck. "But I really thought I was going to be killed—this is the first time since I was born that I’ve ever been so terrified." Oshizu masked her emotional outburst with an awkward laugh as she straightened her disheveled hair and adjusted her disordered kimono collar. Though Oshizu had faced danger many times before and had even assisted her husband Heiji in his work, being suddenly rescued by his hand in a place where no one was watching must have made her feel like a young girl again despite herself.

“To them, you’re an important hostage—they won’t kill you so easily. But now that things have come to this, I can’t just leave you here alone.” “Shall I ask the landlord to look after you for a while?” Outside the alley lived the landlord Yoshibei. After leaving Oshizu there for a while, Heiji headed straight to Ryōgoku.

“Oh, you. “Looking like that?” It was no wonder Oshizu worried. Heiji wore a seven-stripe yukata borrowed from his assistant informant Wakamatsu - with cheeks wrapped and hem recklessly tucked up in a seven-to-three ratio, it formed a tailor-made yet desperate disguise. “Nah, Wakamatsu’s waiting in Ryōgoku wearing my real clothes. Quit fussing.” With a *whoosh*, he leapt out. Though thunder now rumbled in the distance, the rain redoubled its fury, ruthlessly soaking the seven-stripe yukata without remorse.

From there, Heiji raced headlong to Ryōgoku. He intended to strike every necessary move before the opponent could regain their stance and press forward in one go. “Hachi?” “Boss.”

On Ryōgoku Bridge in the downpour, a lone figure moved faintly through the rain-dimmed light—its lanky frame prompting Heiji’s instincts to identify it as Hachigorō. “Where is everyone?” “They’re taking shelter at the bridge guardhouse—I asked them to.” “But I figured someone had to keep watch on the bridge—otherwise, even if you came, Boss, we’d have no way of knowing where you were.” And so Hachigorō stood on the bridge, soaked up to his navel.

"What a fool—if there’s nobody on the bridge, I’d check the guardhouse or even peek into roadside privies." Though he said this, even Heiji couldn’t help feeling somewhat pleased by Hachigorō’s naive honesty.

“Where should we go now, Boss?”

“Anywhere’s fine—follow me.” “Hah! The railing has ears—hey, everyone, get out here!” When Hachigorō raised his voice, the companions who had been sheltering from the rain in the bridge guardhouse emerged into the downpour without hesitation. There were Kichi of Yushima, Kinta, Minosuke, and Wakamatsu wearing Heiji’s kimono. “Oh, feels good!” Drenched by the rain, they grumbled halfheartedly.

"They’re a tough bunch—got it?" "What’s there to worry about? The Boss is with us." Hachigorō stomped on the bridge planks. From there to Aioi-cho 5-chome, Heiji and the five men rushed like thunder beasts. Needless to say, their destination was the home of Akashi Gorohatchi, troupe leader of the Akashi troupe. "Hachi, you and Kichi—circle around back. If anyone tries to escape, tie ’em up—don’t care who they are." "Right." Watching Hachigorō and Kichi of Yushima disappear around back beneath the waterfall-like rain pounding the eaves, Heiji knocked on the front door.

“Good evening—is the Master in?” “——” “I’m Heiji—open up.”

Even to Heiji's voice announcing himself head-on, there came no response from within. "Shall I try opening it, Boss?"

“Do it.” When Kinta the strongman hooked both hands on the door and yanked, the rain-soaked shutters slid open effortlessly as if oiled, offering no resistance. “Ah!”

Heiji stood frozen for a moment, gripped by a terrible suspicion. But the next moment, he regained his composure and,

“Go wake the neighbors and borrow a light.” “Even if we charge in, there’s nothing we can do in this state.” In the urgency of the moment, they had no official lanterns prepared; even if someone had brought such things, there was nothing they could do in this downpour. Soon, Minosuke pounded on the neighboring household goods store to rouse them and borrowed an Odawara lantern.

“Will one be enough?”

“Certainly. There’s likely no one breathing left in this house.” Heiji received the lantern and was the first to rush into the house. Just then, Hachigorō and Kichi of Yushima—having somehow managed to force open the back door—also entered through the kitchen entrance. “Boss.” “Is there no one here, Hachi?” “There’s not a single soul here!” “The next room.”

Heiji and Hachigorō rushed in as though shoving through the sliding paper door. This was the six-tatami room where Gorohatchi had been drinking with his wife Oroku two nights prior. "Agh!"

It was no wonder Hachigorō froze in place. The place was a sea of blood—there before the long brazier lay Akashi Gorohatchi, dead and soaked in crimson like a crumpled rag. “A step too late.”

Heiji seemed frustrated. When he lifted it, the body still retained warmth, and fresh blood gushed from the wound on the right side of the neck. “It’s their usual method, Boss.” “——”

Heiji moved away from the corpse and, holding the lantern aloft, surveyed the entire room. In this way, he first accurately grasped the initial impression and thoroughly examined the arrangement of objects in the room and any discrepancies in their positions. "He was attacked while drinking sake, Boss." "The sake bottle is overturned, and the cups are scattered about—there’s no mistaking that." "But he’s wearing a woman’s coat with only his right arm through the sleeve."

“——” “Back when we came here before, Oroku probably made Gorohatchi wear a coat too—when that evening shower came and turned chilly, he must’ve had her put that woman’s coat on him.” Heiji’s mind began operating with icy clarity. “So you’re saying that burned-up wife killed Gorohatchi?”

Hachigorō’s imagination leapt ahead. “Wait, Hachi. It’s not necessarily always his wife who puts the coat on Gorohatchi—the culprit is undoubtedly a woman—and one who came here drenched. The cushion in front of the long brazier must be thoroughly drenched.” “—”

“Pretending to put the coat on him from behind, she stabbed him in the neck with a single thrust using a dagger concealed beneath the coat.” “They all use the same method.”

“Then Oei—” Heiji didn’t respond. He lifted Gorohatchi’s corpse and hurriedly rolled up its sleeve to examine it. The right arm showed nothing, but on the left upper arm someone had drawn a large die in jet-black ink with a single pip no bigger than a bean. “Boss! Ain’t this guy the Speckled Group’s leader?” Hachigorō thrust his lantern forward until it nearly touched his elongated jawline. “Don’t jump to conclusions. This isn’t a real tattoo.” “Just ink smeared on as a joke.”

“Huh?” “When they killed Osato, they tattooed the corpse, but this time they didn’t have the chance—so they drew it with ink to mock us.” As he said this, he took the lantern from Hachigorō’s hand and held it close. The die pips on the corpse’s left upper arm were unmistakably drawn with a brush—a recent job at that. The half-dried ink had smudged against the kimono, leaving the die’s upper corners blurred in a laughably crude display.

“Damn it! They’re mocking us!” Hachigorō stomped the floor with a thud, but there were no mice left there to be startled by it. “Don’t make a fuss, Hachi. They’re cornered too.” “Since they had those 10,000 gold ryo snatched away from them, they probably can’t quit without pulling some stunt like this to soothe their pride.”

“—”

“But what’s the reason for killing Gorohatchi?” Zenigata Heiji crossed his arms imposingly before the corpse. If the 10,000 gold ryo coins had been secured by Heiji, the cause of conflict between the Speckled Group’s leader and Gorohatchi would disappear—yet no matter how he considered it, the meaning behind killing Gorohatchi seemed impossible to unravel. “The government funds stolen at Utsunoya Pass were 12,000 ryo—so didn’t that mean there were still 2,000 ryo left?”

Hachigorō bent his large fingers to demonstrate.

“Does subtracting ten thousand ryo from twelve thousand leave two thousand? That’s arithmetic not even found in the *Jinkōki*, but villains killing each other isn’t about something like that.”

“Huh…?” “The mountain’s much bigger—a gang like the Speckled Group, with years of misdeeds along the highways, wouldn’t have just that much stolen gold stashed away. Even before setting their sights on the Owari domain’s government funds, they must’ve piled up plenty of wicked deeds.”

“—”

“Moreover, Oei was too beautiful. Even Hachigorō got so captivated by her—she might’ve committed unimaginable crimes elsewhere too.” “So Boss, who’s the leader of this gang?”

Hachigorō finally posed the final question.

“Who’s the leader—you ask? Well, damn it, I don’t know either.” “Huh… Even you, Boss?”

Heiji’s unreserved statement left Hachigorō seething with frustration. “Isn’t Oei the demon here? That woman keeps flickering into view everywhere we go.” Hachigorō stroked his chin.

"What a stunningly beautiful female outlaw—but even so, there are a ton of things that don’t add up."

Heiji must still have been thinking. He wouldn’t easily indulge Hachigorō’s hunches. “Ain’t this that weirdo we met at the five-story pagoda?” “The bastard who looked down on everyone—” “That’s Gorohatchi.” Heiji remained nonchalant. “Then why th’hell didn’t ya tie ’im up sooner?” “For someone callin’ himself Boss...” “Don’t get riled up, Hachi—even I didn’t clock that hunchback as Gorohatchi till now.”

“Huh?” “While that hunchbacked man was mocking us at the Five-Story Pagoda, we’d assumed Gorohatchi was still at the shack in Ryōgoku.”

“—” “But when we examined the corpse here, we saw Gorohatchi had only one arm through this woman’s workman’s coat—since he was small and slight, wearing women’s clothing didn’t look particularly strange—in fact, it suited him rather well. Add a flowing headscarf over it, and he could pass for a dashing middle-aged woman.” “Huh?” “That day just past noon—around the Hour of the Sheep [2 PM]—you must’ve heard at that alleyway tavern that Gorohatchi’s wife Oroku came out from behind the Ryōgoku shack and went home alone.”

“Huh?” “Since Oroku hides half her face’s severe burn scar with that flowing headscarf whenever she goes out—the figure we saw at the tavern back then must’ve been Gorohatchi in disguise.” “Huh?” “Gorohatchi slipped out the back gate wearing his wife’s workman’s coat and that streamer-like headscarf, then rushed to meet us at Yanaka’s Five-Story Pagoda as arranged. Meanwhile, his wife Oroku must’ve disguised herself as her husband and hidden in the dressing room, whining about headaches to dodge prying eyes.”

"That's astonishing... Why on earth did Gorohatchi summon you to the Five-Story Pagoda? I can't figure out what that scheme was about—" "He wanted to show me that chest with the government funds—telling me to back off was just a bluff." "Huh?"

Hachigorō could only be astonished at every turn, while the likes of Yoshi from Yushima, Kinta, and Minokichi were listening with their mouths agape. "But we can't keep staying here forever. Minokichi, go call the town officials. Kinta and Wakamatsu, help handle the corpses for now. It wouldn't be right by Buddha to leave them unattended forever." Heiji temporarily cut off the conversation and had them handle the disposal of the corpses and subsequent procedures. "Isn't it strange, right, Boss? Why on earth did that bastard Gorohatchi summon you to the Five-Story Pagoda?"

That evening, after entrusting Gorohatchi's house in Aioi-chō to the local town officials and assistant informants, Zenigata Heiji returned to his own home in Myōjin-shita—but Hachigorō persistently followed him there and proceeded to ask these questions. Oshizu, who had been brought back from the landlord's house, took out dry summer garments for her husband Heiji and subordinate Hachigorō—both drenched like water rats—and made them change clothes. She then applied a paper charm against the dampness that had soaked them to their navels before busying herself in the kitchen preparing snacks to accompany sake.

It was already late at night, but the rain had let up, and the surroundings had fallen eerily silent. "Well, I'll have a drink with you." "If we make a meal of it like this, it'll be poison." "While you're at it, let me stay over tonight, Boss—I'll be your bodyguard!" "I appreciate the offer, but once you down a drink, you start snoring like a python and pass out—you'd be less of a bodyguard and more of a doorstop." "Heh, ain't wrong there." Hachigorō smartly slapped his own cheek. He had downed five or six cups in quick succession and now resembled nothing so much as a Japanese rat snake in his pliability.

“By the way, you said you wanted to hear why Gorohatchi summoned me to the Five-Story Pagoda.” “Heh, that’s it.” “I just can’t wrap my head around what villains are thinkin’.” “If he’d just kept quiet, he could’ve gotten away with it—but what the hell was he thinkin’, callin’ out Boss Zenigata and practically tyin’ a noose around his own neck?” “They’re all full of themselves.” “When villains grow arrogant, they become so enamored with their own cleverness and skills that they can’t resist trying to mock this Heiji.” “However, Gorohatchi summoning me to the Five-Story Pagoda had another objective.”

“Huh?” “He lured me up to the Five-Story Pagoda because he wanted to show me that empty chest of government funds.”

“The boxes are all empty.” “There’s no way I’d stay silent and back down after being shown that.”

“Huh?” “To put it straight—here’s how it went down.” “The Speckled Group’s boss and Gorohatchi were butting heads trying to find Omoya Hanbei’s hidden stash of 10,000 ryo in government gold.” “When they hit a dead end no matter what they tried—that’s when they cooked up this scheme to drag me out and make me crack their damn puzzle.”

“I see.” Hachigorō was left utterly speechless by the villains’ scheming—their attempt to exploit Zenigata Heiji’s intellect through their own wicked cunning. “As you know, the 10,000 ryo in gold coins was found immediately.” “But as for piling it up haphazardly and trying to bring it straight to Hatchōbori’s Magistrate Office—the villains probably never even considered that.” “What awful bastards!” “In the end, they killed another person.” “What remains are the Speckled Group’s leader and the gold they’ve stolen and stashed away.”

“Where could that be, Boss?” “How should I know? We’ve got no choice but to wait for them to make a move—but the Speckled Group’s leader will show their true colors before us eventually.”

When Heiji finished speaking, Oshizu quietly placed the second sake bottle on the serving tray.

The Fruit of Illicit Passion

The Audacious Proclamation

“B-Boss, it’s terrible!”

“Well, look who’s here.”

When Heiji noticed a strangely lukewarm breeze, it turned out to be that rascal Hachi rushing in. “Put that tobacco tray away properly—I can’t have you stepping on the fire starter again.” Zenigata Heiji grinned repeatedly and began tidying up the area with great ceremony. “My, you’re as lively as ever, Mr. Hachi.” His wife Oshizu watched amusedly. “Headbutting the lattice door, then spinning around and bursting in—that’s a trick only someone with real flair could pull off.”

“Boss, you can’t stay calm—Hatchōbori’s in a complete uproar!”

Hachigorō continued shouting without regard for details. “Heh, if Hatchōbori’s boiling over, Tsukiji’s bound to spill.” Heiji was still making tea.

“The surviving Speckled Group leader sent a challenge letter to Hatchōbori Magistrate Office—you must be shocked, Boss.” “I’m shocked, Hachi. Shocked enough that I’ll ask you to stop punching that shoji screen. The breeze is so strong now you can see our supper from the street.” “Heh, you’re impossible, Boss! When you solved all those riddles and finally tracked down the 10,000 ryo in gold—when the magistrate’s men reported it to Owari Domain’s chamberlain—he just says ‘How presumptuous of you. We shall condescend to collect it ourselves tomorrow at noon.’ That’s one cheap-ass response!”

“That may be so, but they’re just reclaiming what’s theirs.” “That gold was originally Owari Domain’s government funds—stolen two years ago at Utsunoya Pass on the Tōkaidō—and now they’ve finally recovered it.” “It’s a shame about the missing 2,000 ryo from the original 12,000—” Heiji would say such things. “But it’s 10,000 ryo, Boss.” “Not to mention—every soul in Edo knows how Boss Zenigata here risked life and limb to retrieve it, even after Miss Oshizu got snatched!”

“So I hear it's quite the talk.” “At the bathhouse, that rumor started up—got me in a real fix.” “Can’t just waltz out and dive into that gossip headfirst.” “Soaked in there near a quarter-hour, tryin’ to keep quiet—but—” “You’re too soft by half, Boss.” “You’re pushin’ too hard yourself.” “Don’t matter none—since Boss Zenigata’s big win ain’t reachin’ nobody’s ears through all this chatter—’fore snatchin’ up that 10,000 ryo, them Owari big shots should’ve at least dragged over some rotten yokan stick sayin’, ‘Thanks ever so! What a bother we caused!’” “‘What a bother we caused!’”

“Cut it out! This is ridiculous.” “I hate rotten yōkan and dealing with daimyōs.” “So, Boss,” “I’ve already got it.”

“But we’re only halfway through discussing this!” “I’ve had enough about the rotten yōkan.”

“No—right after that pompous greeting came from Owari Domain’s chamberlain, a letter from the Speckled Group got thrown right into Chief Magistrate Sasano Shinzaburō’s entrance at the Hatchōbori Magistrate Office! Doesn’t that beat all?” “Who delivered it?” “A boy,” “They thought he was just a sake shop’s errand runner, but he tossed in a letter wrapped around a stone and vanished like smoke.” Hachigorō’s account carried an unexpected chill. Even Heiji dropped his usual banter and listened with grave attention.

“What was written in that letter?” “I borrowed it!” “Here it is.” Hachigorō searched his inner pocket and pulled out a sheet of hanshi paper folded into sixteen parts from a dreadfully crude wallet. When he smoothed out the creases on the tatami mat, there was the usual feminine handwriting scrawled like squirming earthworms: From the Speckled Group: The 10,000 gold ryo deposited at Hatchōbori Magistrate Office are urgently required by our side; we shall come to collect them tomorrow at the noon hour. As delivering them to Owari Domain constitutes a complete error, you must strictly refrain from doing so—hereby declared. Respectfully submitted.

Month　　 Day The Speckled Group Leader had someone scrawl it in this manner.

“――” Heiji, using tobacco smoke in place of divination, held it against the wind blowing in from the edge of the veranda and involuntarily crossed his arms. “See? You must be shocked, Boss.” Hachigorō was boasting about the villain who claimed to be the Speckled Group leader as if it were his own achievement. “I’m shocked—shocked I even have to deal with you—then what happened?” “Hatchōbori’s in an uproar, and Tsukiji’s boiling over!”

“Don’t imitate me.”

“Anyway, since we want to make up our minds today—‘Bring Heiji here!’—that’s Mr. Sasano’s tone for you.” “All right, if it’s come to this, I’ll take care of them myself.” “Heh, that’s more like it!” Hachigorō became thoroughly delighted. After making preparations, Heiji and Hachigorō arrived at Sasano Shinzaburō’s official residence in the Hatchōbori Magistrate Office by evening.

“Heiji. You’ve had your share of troubles.” Though young, Sasano Shinzaburō—renowned as the foremost operative among the forty-six yoriki retainers of the North and South Edo Magistrates—welcomed Heiji amiably even amid extreme tension. “It seems a most troublesome matter has occurred.”

Heiji aligned his knees at the threshold. "Come in over here—is Hachigorō with you? Very well—I suppose you've already heard most of it from Hachigorō." "I don't know how many Speckled Group survivors remain, but they're certainly making us work for it." "That is precisely the matter in question." Heiji advanced his knees. While Hatchōbori magistrates of that era indulged in extravagance rivaling a daimyo's secondary residence, Sasano Shinzaburō—true to his reputation for integrity—kept furnishings and a lifestyle scarcely different from impoverished retainers or minor hatamoto.

“Do you have any ideas that come to mind?” “I cannot say I have conclusive proof, but judging from their methods of operation and the escalating wickedness—five out of the six original Speckled Group villains having perished—I suspect the surviving leader has gathered new underlings to form a second-generation Speckled Group.”

Heiji’s words had been a leap of imagination, but “Exactly, Heiji! I’d been thinking the same thing myself.” “Otherwise, they couldn’t possibly make such an outrageous claim against the magistrates—the North and South Edo Magistrates!”

Sasano Shinzaburō struck his knee and leaned forward. "As for that matter, we too have made thorough preparations." said Heiji.

“That’s precisely it, Heiji. This time, they’re practically walking into our trap themselves. I meant to put you in command—have you duel the Speckled Group head-on, use those 10,000 gold coins as bait, and round up every last one of their villains in one sweep.” “But it’s no good.” “Huh?” Sasano Shinzaburō slumped his shoulders. “We’d laid out a flawless plan here and sent for you—only for a messenger from Lord Owari’s chamberlain to arrive afterward.”

“――” “The message reads: ‘While we acknowledge it is regrettable that 12,000 ryo of government funds have been reduced by 2,000 ryo, any further blunders would constitute negligence on our domain’s chamberlain. Therefore, all arrangements for retrieving the remaining 10,000 ryo shall be handled entirely within our domain—we request town officials refrain from issuing instructions.’ That is their declaration.” “Damn it!”

It was Hachigorō, unable to contain himself any longer, who had blurted out such an unruly heckle from the back. "Hachi, watch yourself." "Yessir." When scolded by Heiji, Hachigorō pressed his shaved pate and slyly stuck out his tongue.

Sasano Shinzaburō continued speaking with an unaffected air. Even in those days of rigid hierarchies, there were surprisingly many reasonable men among the Hatchōbori magistrates. "They control a domain yielding six hundred twenty thousand koku." "As it's not our place to dispute their authority here, we must humbly withdraw as commanded." "So?" "The ten thousand ryō in gold coins will be handed over to Owari Domain's envoy within our compound gates." "Though I summoned you for this purpose, circumstances now require your withdrawal." "You've served admirably."

Sasano Shinzaburō bowed his head slightly. “Not at all—your kind words only make me more obliged.” “By the way, am I supposed to be present at this magistrate office’s gate tomorrow to witness the handover of 10,000 ryo in gold coins to Owari’s retainers?” Heiji inquired calmly. “Correct.” “Or should I instead discreetly monitor the whereabouts of the 10,000 ryo from hiding?” “That won’t be necessary, Heiji.” “I see.” “Lord Owari’s chamberlain has made this gracious proposal—upholding their dignity must take precedence.” “You ought to remain secluded at your house in Myōjin-shita as before.” “Having someone as conspicuous as you prowling about here would be ill-advised.”

“Is that how it must be?” “There are limits to what town officials can do.” “It can’t be helped, Heiji.” “Then I’ll take my leave here.”

Heiji quietly left the magistrate’s office compound. From there all the way to Heiji’s house in Myōjin-shita, Hachigorō couldn’t help but fume.

“Tch, I’m speechless.” “Not just rotten bean jelly—they’ve got the nerve to tell us to back off ’cause we’re in the way!” “Now, don’t worry, Hachi. The opponent is formidable.” “Since Lord Sasano states it so emphatically, I’ll endure and stay put—but there’s no reason for you to hold back.” “In my place, you’ll go along from Hatchōbori to the Owari mansion and keep a good watch.”

Heiji's plan was at least the best he could manage.

Storehouse Mansion

On the following June 1st, the Hatchōbori Magistrate’s Office Compound secured its gates from the early dawn, mobilizing all available yoriki and dōshin to form a truly ironclad human wall. Needless to say, among them was Hachigorō’s long face, but due to Chief Yoriki Sasano Shinzaburō’s caution, Zenigata Heiji’s absence carried a tinge of loneliness.

As if signaled by the tolling of the noon hour, three envoys from the Owari Domain stood at the entrance of Sasano Shinzaburō's official residence: Ōhashi Kaneto, Tsuda Magotarō, and Suzuki Kuranoshin. "Well now, what an honor!" Sasano Shinzaburō himself rose to receive them. Among the three emissaries, Ōhashi Kaneto—the forty-year-old who had previously visited Sasano's residence to deliver the Owari chamberlain's message—was joined by Tsuda Magotarō, a famed spear master, and Suzuki Kuranoshin, the domain's jujutsu instructor—warriors whose reputations resounded through Edo's mansions. After ushering them inside and exchanging formal greetings,

“Regarding the 10,000 ryo in official funds from the Owari Chunagon family that we previously submitted,” declared Ōhashi Kaneto with a bow, “I have come forth as envoy to formally receive them.” He then produced a large box with ceremonial care. “This contains Lord Yamasumi Awa no Kami’s written message. I humbly request your thorough examination.” Ōhashi held the box aloft before Sasano Shinzaburō, who accepted it with a nod. “Certainly.” Sasano withdrew the document from its lacquered case, scanned its contents briefly, then retied the cords with practiced efficiency as he spoke: “The 10,000 ryo in gold has been deposited here.” He gestured toward five chests stacked like cedar logs in the alcove. “You may commence your inspection.”

He was referring to the five 2,000-ryo chests stacked like cedar wood within the alcove. Each one likely weighed around 10 kan. Given that each koban coin contained a full four monme of pure gold in those days, 10,000 ryo constituted an extraordinary fortune. “Proceed.”

When Ōhashi Kaneto gave the signal, the officials waiting in the garden brought out the five 2,000-ryo chests to the veranda and began meticulously inspecting each one. This was completed around two o'clock in the afternoon. With the handover concluded without incident, the five 2,000-ryo chests were placed onto five Owari family palanquins. Each palanquin was assigned one of five elite samurai who, despite the sweltering heat, wore sashes over their formal jackets. Eyes blazing with resolve, they scanned all directions as they exited the magistrate's compound gate.

If, by some remote chance, someone were to set a trap here and attempt to seize the 10,000 ryo, even a hundred nameless bandits would be brushed aside with a single touch of an armored sleeve. Indeed, the overwhelming might of the foremost of the Three Houses—with their 619,000 koku—was astonishing to behold. At the front was Ōhashi Kaneto; bringing up the rear was Suzuki Kuranoshin. Between them, five palanquins—deeply draped with oilcloth and guarded by five warriors—quietly made their way onto Nakano Bridge.

When the procession reached the middle of the bridge, With a rumble... BOOM—a thunderous roar erupted, and swirling smoke from beneath the bridge enveloped the 10,000-ryo cargo loaded onto the five palanquins. “There!” “Stay alert!” The twenty-five warriors flipped their blades and assumed defensive stances. But the explosion ended abruptly with no follow-up, and the smoke drifted away into the air.

“Don’t panic.” “I know their scheme.” “Their numbers are just a bluff! Keep the procession moving!” True to form, Ōhashi Kaneto—having discerned the depths of their plot—bellowed a thunderous rebuke. “Fools!” A piercing boy soprano voice suddenly rang out from across the bridge near Lord Ii’s mansion. “You vermin! Halt!”

Ōhashi Kaneto dashed out with his sword half-drawn, but of course, there was no catching up now.

“Mr. Ōhashi, this is unbecoming of you—rather than that, we must deposit the 10,000 ryo into the storehouse at once.” Tsuda Magotarō, who was somewhat prudent, stopped it.

Beneath the blazing June sun over Edo’s tiled roofs, the procession carrying 10,000 ryo crossed Nakano Bridge, passed Kurumago Bridge on their right, traversed Kazuma Bridge, and proceeded from Minami Odawara-cho toward the backstreets of the Owari Clan Storehouse Mansion. “What’s that?!” It was only natural that the procession carrying 10,000 gold ryo hesitated for a moment. An eerie mist swirled around the procession’s front and rear, and countless silver arrows rained down endlessly—from right and left, front and back—in every conceivable direction.

“Do not panic! The enemy has fired fireworks at our procession.” “Proceed through the rear gate without hesitation!” Tsuda Magotarō’s composed voice had already pierced through their disruption strategy. The assailants’ cunning was remarkable—launching firework shells just as the relieved gold-bearing procession neared safety—but Tsuda’s unshakable discernment narrowly prevented chaos. When the silver arrowstorm ceased and mist cleared harmlessly away, the ten thousand ryo procession slipped unimpeded into Owari Clan’s Tsukiji storehouse rear gate. Left behind were Tsuda Magotarō, Suzuki Kuranoshin, and six battle-hardened warriors who, scanning seaward for firework origins, spied two barges—

“Hah! Look at you now!” With a booming laugh, they rowed far out over the sea and vanished. Having neither anticipated an attack from the sea nor possessed boats to pursue them in the heat of the moment, the Owari warriors could only stamp their feet in frustration and withdraw. While the proper procedure would have been to bring the immense sum of 10,000 gold ryo to the Owari Upper Mansion in Ichigaya and deposit it in the clan’s treasury—a vault secured with utmost rigor—the overly long journey from the Hatchōbori magistrate’s compound risked drawing mockery from sharp-tongued Edo townsfolk for its ostentatious security. Fearing such lampoons and satirical verses might reach their domain lord’s ears, the senior retainers in charge had collectively resolved instead to transport it through the less-traveled area behind Honganji Temple and store it in the nearby Tsukiji Storehouse Mansion’s warehouse—a decision that proved expedient under the circumstances.

When the 10,000 ryo in gold coins was safely stored in the storehouse mansion, Ōhashi Kaneto, Tsuda Magotarō, Suzuki Kuranoshin, and the other twenty-five warriors completely let the heavy burden slip from their shoulders. “Esteemed officials—and especially with Lord Yamasumi Awa no Kami’s permission—all of you, kindly make yourselves comfortable.” “The 10,000 ryo in government funds has been stored without a doubt in the esteemed Owari Clan’s storehouse!” “Even if that so-called Speckled Group racked their monkey brains, all they could muster was launching a few fireworks.” “A rabble of common thieves could never stand against the foremost of the Three Houses—the esteemed Owari Clan with its 619,000 koku.”

Ōhashi Kaneto seemed to be in a somewhat good mood.

The banquet lasted from evening until midnight. In the dreary storehouse mansion, geisha—summoned by someone—mingled, and the long night’s banquet continued endlessly.

From Ichigaya Upper Mansion came praise for today’s success, with extravagantly lavish dishes and alcohol deliveries arriving not once but twice. “Lord Yamasumi Awa no Kami, our chief retainer, is also exceptionally pleased.” “The return of the 10,000 ryo in government funds owes itself to none other than the prestige of the esteemed Three Houses with their 619,000 koku.” “Come now, there’s plenty of sake!” “Everyone, there’s no need for restraint—kindly make yourselves comfortable.” Ōhashi Kaneto took the lead in declaring. The more they drank—and were plied with drink—the more their jade mountain crumbled: the twenty-five warriors collapsed one after another like tuna heaped on a riverbank, an outcome truly beyond prevention.

“This won’t do.” “Mr. Tsuda, be on your guard!” “What of this humble one?” While uttering these words, Ōhashi Kaneto, Tsuda Magotarō, and Suzuki Kuranoshin—the three warriors—likewise collapsed in a heap.

The storehouse guards, too, could not possibly have remained unaffected by that time. “Well, this is some spread!” “This sake’s really kicking in tonight, everyone.”

While saying such things, the three guards who had stubbornly stationed themselves before the storehouse found their speech becoming severely slurred.

“This lavish feast comes from Ichigaya Upper Mansion.” “Please do enjoy yourselves.” “No more... I beg your pardon...” “Oh my, that simply won’t do.” One of the geisha who had arrived was a woman of twenty-two or twenty-three—alluring, adept at her role, and utterly captivating. The guards, swept up in the atmosphere despite themselves, overindulged and ended up collapsed side by side with their pillows arranged before the storehouse door.

“Boss! How’d it go?”

From the darkness emerged the face of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy. “Shh! Keep your voice down,” she warned. “They’re all out cold like timber, but we still need the key to open this door.” “You think I’d forget that?” he retorted. “Miss Oei swiped this right from Ōhashi Kaneto’s belt.”

“Well, that’s some fine work.” The woman—the middle-aged woman posing as a geisha—pulled the boy close, slipped her hand under his arm, and hugged him tightly.

“Ah—too tight!” “My, this child is truly hopeless.” “If you keep acting like this forever—” The woman pushed the boy away and inserted the obtained key into the storehouse’s formidable lock. “What about the others?” “They’re waiting.” “Each box weighs thirty-seven kilos—you two should carry one between you.” “Thankfully, the sea’s right before us. Once loaded on a ship, we can reach Kazusa and Bōshū Provinces in a single breath.” “I’m relying on you.” “Aye.”

Five or six men emerged from the darkness—meticulously masked despite the sweltering heat—extracted five 2,000-ryo boxes from the storehouse and silently carried them away, much like ants transporting food. “No—it’s an absolute riot, Boss!”

It was just before the hour of the hare (7 AM) on the morning of the following day when Hachigorō rushed into Heiji’s house at Myōjin-shita.

“It’s a good omen—you’re lucky.” “Bringing in something to laugh about first thing in the morning!” Zenigata Heiji stood on the veranda with Saruya’s bristle toothpick clenched between his teeth, his sleep-deprived face gazing absently at the narrow garden’s morning light. “No—Boss, it’s a downright farce!” “What trick d’you think they used to get here, Boss?” “I thought about that all night—didn’t sleep a wink.” “If we’re to work inside the group residence gates, it’d have to be after the cargo reaches Lord Owari’s upper mansion in Ichigaya.”

“It’s not the Ichigaya Upper Mansion.” “The 10,000 gold ryo were successfully delivered to the Tsukiji Storehouse Mansion.”

“In that case, all the more reason. On such a short journey, even Koumei or Kusunoki couldn’t have pulled off their schemes.” “That’s right, Boss.” Hachigorō launched into his tale. His storytelling proved masterful as he recounted how the 10,000 gold ryo departed the group residence, chilled their resolve with opponents’ traps upon reaching Nakano Bridge, and startled them twice more when firework shells were fired from the sea as they entered the storehouse mansion’s back gate. “Then the drinking party began—with maids brought in from Ichigaya Upper Mansion and some town geisha of unknown origin—and everyone in the storehouse mansion got completely wasted.” “On top of that, the sheer amount of sake delivered from the Upper Mansion—”

“If that sake had sleeping draughts or numbing agents in it, it’s straight out of a yellow-cover storybook.” “That’s exactly it, Boss.” “I don’t know what was mixed in, but everyone at the storehouse mansion got drunk as mud and lay unconscious till morning.” “Some used thresholds for pillows, others slumped against storehouse doors—like tuna unloaded dockside.” “In that state, they could’ve had their heads lopped off in sleep and none would’ve noticed—not that I saw it myself.” “This old gardener—so frail a breeze might blow him away—hid behind the shed ’cause his hernia kept him from drinking, and saw the whole affair.”

“And then what happened?” Heiji, appearing fully engaged, inadvertently leaned forward. “There’s no two ways about it. That tough-looking big shot Ōhashi Kaneto was snoring away with his head on a geisha’s lap when someone swiped the storehouse key hanging at his waist. Then, not even half an hour after they’d put that 10,000 gold ryo in the vault, poof—it vanished like smoke.”

“That’s a disaster!”

“It’s an absolute farce! Those bigshots who made such a show about never needing help from townsfolk are now wilted cabbages—holding a grand council since dawn about whether to slit their bellies, scrape together 10,000 gold ryo through eight-way loans, shave their heads, or make a midnight escape!” Hachigorō was overjoyed, but when Heiji heard this, he fell into an uneasy silence.

“While ten thousand gold ryo may not be a significant sum for Lord Owari,” Heiji said, “losing twenty-eight handpicked young samurai would be irreparable.” “Let’s go take a look, Hachi.” “Where are we going?” “Hatchōbori’s Group Residence.” “They must be groveling before Lord Sasano by now.” Even as they spoke, Heiji finished his preparations.

Heiji Deploys

For the sake of those twenty-eight young lives and to prevent any disaster, Heiji cast aside both his stubborn pride and professional reputation to go to the Hatchōbori Group Residence. "Heiji has arrived, you say? This timing couldn't be better."

Sasano Shinzaburō looked relieved. He had been cornered by Ōhashi Kaneto, Tsuda Magotarō, and Suzuki Kuranoshin and was in dire straits. “Allow me to make introductions.” “This here is the renowned Heiji.” Shinzaburō pointed from afar at Heiji kneeling on the veranda. “Well now! If it isn’t the illustrious Mr. Zenigata.” “It is my first honor to receive your esteemed notice—I am Ōhashi Kaneto of Owari Domain.”

“This humble one is Tsuda Magotarō.” “This humble one is—” In such fashion, the three samurai slid from their zabuton cushions to greet a mere police informant. When addressed as “Mr. Zenigata,” Hachigorō—seated behind Heiji—involuntarily snorted with laughter and received an elbow jab from his boss. Yet the eyes of Heiji, who had glared backward, were undeniably smiling. “What a dreadful misfortune you’ve suffered—it must weigh heavily on your mind.” Heiji responded with practiced nonchalance.

“Regarding that matter, I have a request, Mr. Heiji.” “Hmm?” “Just now I made an unreasonable appeal to Lord Sasano as well, but Lord Sasano declared—‘Once gold has passed through the gates of the Owari Domain storehouse mansion, it ceases to involve the townsfolk.’” “Yet facing thieves who leave no trace, we cannot oppose them with bows, steeds, spears or swords—we find ourselves utterly confounded. What would you advise, Mr. Heiji?” “—” “Should this become public knowledge, we twenty-eight men shall not escape severe censure—even if spared from belly-slitting.” “Furthermore, it would bring shame upon the entire Owari Domain.”

"—" “This is an earnest request, Mr. Heiji.” “Would you retrieve the stolen 10,000 gold ryo of government funds and preserve the honor of us twenty-eight men—as you see us here?” Ōhashi Kaneto and the three samurai pressed their hands to the tatami mats in earnest entreaty. “Well now—such formal greetings overwhelm me.” “Please raise your hands.” “Mr. Heiji—might we have your attention?” “Whether I heed you or not isn’t the matter.” “The reason I came all this way was concern for your collective hardheadedness—”

“Hardheaded?” “Well, I’ll do what I can. The very fact that esteemed lords like yourselves tried matching strength and testing wits against shady thieves was the root of this blunder.”

“?” “No matter how much humans boast about themselves—if you make ’em race, they can’t beat horses or dogs. Once you’re tangled up in thieves’ wicked schemes, even the Six Secret Teachings and Three Strategies of military tactics become useless.” “I see.” “Even if Your Excellencies were to defeat petty thieves, it’d bring neither pride nor honor. Rice cakes should stay with rice cake makers—had you entrusted this 10,000 gold ryo to us townsfolk from the start, we’d have delivered it to Ichigaya Upper Residence without a single hitch.”

Heiji seized the perfect opportunity to vent his usual frustrations.

Having said that much, Heiji's mind was settled.

After hearing this, the three samurai bustled off, and then Sasano Shinzaburō spoke in a grave tone. “Heiji, there may be unfavorable developments ahead, but you must resolve this matter.” “Hmm.” “Should things go awry, twenty-eight young samurai lives hang in the balance.” “While the Owari Domain’s honor matters greatly, what truly terrifies me is the brazenness of those villains who infiltrated the Owari 619,000-koku storehouse mansion and shamelessly stole 10,000 gold ryō.” “If we allow this to stand unchecked, the very laws of the realm will crumble.”

Sasano Shinzaburō’s tone overflowed with the fervor of a sincere, exemplary official.

“I understand perfectly well. As for whether we can reclaim it, I cannot make any promises that far, but in any case, I shall do everything in my power.”

That was Heiji's humble state of mind. When they promptly went to the Owari Domain storehouse mansion, Ōhashi Kaneto himself came out to greet them, "Mr. Heiji, Mr. Heiji."

[They] treated him with the utmost deference. Hachigorō, who had come along with him, was in such high spirits that he hummed tunes, whistled, put on airs, and stroked his long chin. “The congratulatory feast prepared at this mansion was merely a token of our sincerity. The drinks and dishes kept coming one after another. Upon inquiry, it was said that Lord Yamazumi Awa-no-kami had specially provided [the feast] from the Ichigaya Upper Residence to celebrate the recovery of the 10,000 gold ryo—so much so that they drank and drank—”

Ōhashi Kaneto made a shamefaced expression. However, this man was unexpectedly frank, made no attempt to conceal his own faults, and his open attitude in entrusting matters to Heiji was commendable. He was the type of person whose only fault was arrogance—once such people are humbled, their unexpectedly good true nature tends to emerge. “What kind of people transported that food and drink?” Heiji responded calmly. “When we later investigated, each of the toolboxes bore the seal of Minami-Odawara-chō’s *Seigetsu* restaurant. When we promptly went to *Seigetsu* this morning and inquired, they said it was an order from this storehouse mansion and hadn’t settled the bill.”

Ōhashi Kaneto looked thoroughly bitter, while Hachigorō, perhaps amused by the idea of making the thieves foot the bill, could hardly contain his laughter. “As for the geisha who came, they were summoned by our side.” “Not at all—we were convinced they had come from the upper residence as well. A surprisingly good-looking bunch—I’d say about five of them—and besides that, one fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy with a forelock, and two young men who brought in stacked boxes and barrels and warmed the sake.”

“That was quite an elaborate operation.” It was an excessively cunning scheme—he could do nothing but lament. “I never thought we’d be outmaneuvered so thoroughly. Under normal circumstances, we three would have committed seppuku to atone, but the twenty-five young samurai refuse to listen, insisting that the oversight was mutual and that they will share life and death with us.” “You are quite right.” “I will exhaust every means to recover the 10,000 gold ryo.”

For the sake of this intensely responsible and honest man, Heiji found himself impulsively agreeing to take on the task. “I heard there was one person who did not drink alcohol last night. I would like to meet that person.”

“He’s a servant called Yokichi. Old age has clouded his wisdom and judgment—he’s not what you’d call reliable.” In response to Heiji’s question, Ōhashi Kaneto made an unenthusiastic face.

“But Lord Ōhashi—alongside the twenty-eight who transported the 10,000 gold ryō from the Group Residence—individuals from your own mansion should be present as well.” “Indeed, I believe there are twelve or thirteen permanent residents here.” “Altogether, I’d estimate about forty people.”

“Isn’t it rather odd that all forty became insensibly drunk without any clear reason?” “Among those forty, there must have been both strong and weak drinkers—ladies included too.” “Whether one drank five gō or a full shō, or merely sipped from a choko cup—for everyone to lose consciousness alike seems no ordinary occurrence. What say you?” Heiji’s question pierced straight to the heart of the matter.

“Indeed.” “Whether it was a sleeping drug or numbing agent—I don’t know if such things exist in this world—but that liquor must have been tampered with somehow.” “Hmm.” “Shall I show you proof, Lord Ōhashi?” “?” “Last night’s serving women and geisha who attended you all worked quite diligently, but I’d wager they didn’t drink a single drop.”

Heiji’s words overflowed with peculiar confidence. “Wait—Mr. Tsuda, Mr. Suzuki—what say you? If I were to decide alone, there must be no errors.” “Did those women drink last night or not?” Lord Ōhashi hesitantly sought corroboration. “Now that you mention it,” Tsuda Magotarō recalled, “they pretended to drink—pouring it all into the cup-washing vessel.”

Tsuda Magotarō responded. “That woman called Oei was leaning against Lord Ōhashi’s knee in a terribly drunken state, but come to think of it, she showed no signs of having drunk any alcohol.” Suzuki Kuranoshin now belatedly realized something strange.

The women who performed drunken antics without drinking alcohol—when one recalls it, it is nothing but strange occurrences. “I see. It seems such a thing occurred.” “But—” Ōhashi Kaneto was still puzzling over it. He found it difficult to believe in the existence of a drug that could make people fall asleep so freely.

“Be that as it may, let us meet the old gardener who did not drink the alcohol.”

said Heiji. “Then allow me to show you the way.” Ōhashi Kaneto guided Heiji and Hachigorō to the servants’ quarters, which stood in a corner of the mansion as though forgotten. The storehouse mansion—a grand structure befitting Lord Owari of the Three Tokugawa Houses, overseeing 619,000 *koku*—stood as a testament to power. Yet unlike upper residences, this place housed not just pretentious officials but men like Yokichi, the elderly gardener who spent his life confined to a hut in the garden’s corner, forgotten like a worn-out tool.

“Here it is—hey, Yokichi! Are you there?” Lord Ōhashi rattled the door open. It was only natural to find it strange that the door had been tightly shut in the midsummer heat. “Gah!”

What on earth was inside the hut they peered into? Heiji peered into the servants' quarters as if pushing Ōhashi Kaneto aside.

“Gah!” At a glance, even Heiji couldn’t help but be startled—and with good reason. The sole living witness—the old gardener Yokichi—lay dead, his hands clawing at empty air.

The disheveled, half-gray hair of the old man over sixty, and a thread of blood trailing from the corner of his lips, were unmistakable signs of poisoning—yet there was no trace of anything he might have eaten. Likely, some inhumanly cunning villain had come here after the old man died and erased every last shred of evidence. “Quickly, Hachi—get them to seal both front and rear gates.” “Then check every name of those who entered this mansion today.”

“Right!” Hachigorō flew away like a gale wind. When cases grew tense, working without sparing effort was—above all else—Hachigorō’s defining strength. “This is dreadful, Mr. Heiji.”

Ōhashi Kaneto became utterly incompetent when it came to this. "We'll uncover the villain's identity soon enough—but tending to the old man comes first." Heiji lifted Yokichi's body as a precaution and tried every revival method he knew, but the gardener was already growing cold beyond hope. "Boss! I've got it!" "—"

The one who came flying was Hachigorō. “The only ones who entered here this morning besides us were the maids from Seigetsu in Minami-Odawara-chō.” “That’s it.” “Two young and beautiful maids came together and took back the lunch boxes and small dishes they had brought last night, I hear.”

“That’s it!” Heiji stamped his foot in frustration, though there was nothing he could do about it now. The criminals' relentless preemptive strikes kept Zenigata Heiji perpetually one step behind, each new complication making him grit his teeth in vexation as he fell further behind. “But Boss, there’s something I can’t wrap my head around—” What revelation had struck Hachigorō this time? “For *you* to find something puzzling means it must be truly exceptional.” “Out with it—what doesn’t add up?”

“When you say ‘10,000 gold ryo,’ that works out to roughly forty kan in gold coins, right?” “One gold coin being four monme, ten thousand ryo would make forty kan in weight alone—no doubt about it.”

“How did they carry out forty kan worth of gold coins? The front gate’s been shut since Rooster Hour yesterday evening—six o’clock—and hasn’t opened since.” “Huh?” “They say those maids and geisha from Seigetsu who left through the back gate last night weren’t carrying a thing. Even if two or three men had hauled large bundles, they’d never have cleared the back gate checkpoint.” “Didn’t the back gate guards drink any liquor?” “They didn’t touch a drop—but they never moved an inch from their post either, so they know squat about what went down last night.”

“Then they must have at least seen people coming and going—I’ll leave this place to all of you. Let’s head to the back gate.” Deeming there was nothing left to investigate here, Heiji took Hachigorō and headed to the back gate.

Two Passes The old gatekeeper was an utterly stubborn and inflexible man, but precisely because of that, "From here yesterday, those who entered were five women, two men, and one errand boy. What was in the meal containers was only food—there's no mistake about that." In these words, there did not seem to be even a shred of error. "Not just anyone can pass through this gate, right?" Heiji pressed him. "Needless to say. Except for those affiliated with this storehouse mansion or those from the Owari Domain, townspeople entering or exiting must have passes—that's the rule."

The old man brought out a single pass from the gatekeeper’s waiting room and showed it. It was an oval-shaped hinoki cypress pass with a burned-in seal; on the back was written "Pine Number Eight" in ink.

“The five women and two men from last night must have had those as well, I suppose.” “There’s no way anyone without a pass would be let through here.” “Security is especially strict at night.” “So?”

Heiji fell silent. As for how the villains had obtained eight merchants' passes, even Heiji couldn't figure it out at first. One or two passes might have been acquired through flexibility or chance over time—but eight such passes weren't something villains could easily use, no matter what schemes they devised. "Is there someone inside the mansion helping them?"

Hachigorō whispered into Heiji’s ear.

“There must be one.” “No—there’s definitely one.” “But unlike commoners’ houses, a daimyo’s mansion can’t be searched.” “But it’ll all come out in time.”

While saying such things—centering on the back gate and weaving through the bushes and buildings to either side—Heiji extended his investigation. “Mr. Heiji, there’s something strange—”

Ōhashi Kaneto emerged from the bushes and showed his face.

“What do you mean by ‘something strange’?” “When we cleared away the gardener Yokichi’s corpse, fifty ryō in koban coins were found under the floorboards. Even if he’d saved every last coin of his four-ryō annual wage, it would’ve taken over a decade to amass fifty ryō.” “Doesn’t that strike you as rather inconsistent?” Ōhashi Kaneto flared his nostrils suspiciously. “I’ve worked it out, Lord Ōhashi.” “What?” “Truth is—I’ve held my tongue till now, fearing you’d take offense if I spoke of this.”

“—”

“There was someone within this storehouse mansion who colluded with the villains.”

“Collusion?” “Everything about the mansion’s interior was being leaked directly to them.” “Furthermore, there must be someone who stole the gate passes from the gatekeeper’s waiting station and sold them to the perpetrators.” “I will go and inquire how many are missing.” Heiji, Hachigorō, and Ōhashi Kaneto promptly attempted to question the front and back gatekeepers. The storehouse mansion’s gate passes—that is to say, the tallies entrusted to entering and exiting townspeople—numbered thirty in total. The total number remained fixed; however, due to fluctuations in the townspeople coming and going, twenty-five or twenty-six passes were actually issued outside at any given time, while the remaining five or three were always kept in reserve at the gatekeepers' waiting station.

By comparing the ledger with the number of passes, it became immediately clear. “Two are missing. Plum Number Five and Bamboo Number Seven.” Even the stubborn gatekeeper had lost all color at this moment. Losing gate passes had always been—both now and in the past—a grave blunder, and if things went awry, those responsible could face dismissal from their posts. “But with just two passes, there’s no way eight villains could have entered.” Ōhashi Kaneto threw them at least a lifeline. This samurai was unexpectedly a man of compassion—likely trying to somehow save the honest gatekeepers from their oversight.

“So—did those eight villains from last night come through the gate all at once?” “No—I believe they entered one or two at a time, delivering meals over four or five separate trips—”

In response to Heiji’s question, the gatekeeper was bending his fingers (counting).

“So I’ve figured it out, Lord Ōhashi.” “Please examine this.”

Heiji continued while leading Ōhashi Kaneto into the shade of the plantings on the back gate side. "From inside the mansion—on this branch of the chinquapin tree overhanging the wall—there's a kite string caught. What do you make of this?" "Couldn't this be children's mischief? They must've snagged a kite on the chinquapin tree and torn it apart, leaving just the string behind." "Isn't a kite after rainy season rather odd?" "Indeed." Ōhashi Kaneto grunted. In truth, Edo's seasonal customs weren't haphazard like today's—the notion of town children flying kites past March, in May or June, was utterly inconceivable.

“This was done by the villains’ accomplices, who slipped past the honorable gatekeepers’ watchful eyes to throw a string weighted with a stone onto the chinquapin tree branch from outside, then lowered the other end of the string inside the wall.”

“—” “The first two villains who used two passes to enter through the back gate last night likely hung those passes from a kite string’s end, tossed them over the wall, and handed them to two accomplices waiting outside.” “If they repeated this four times, eight people could enter through the gate using just two passes.” “—”

Whether yielding to Heiji’s insight or not, Ōhashi Kaneto fell silent. “Even if thrown from inside the gate to pass to those outside, these well-dried hinoki wood passes would fall onto the gravel beyond the wall and make a loud, clear sound.” “Moreover, it’s pitch-dark all around—if they miscalculate even slightly, there’s no guarantee the passes wouldn’t end up in the water.” “I see. I hadn’t considered that far.” “If a child had tangled the kite string, they wouldn’t have tied a pebble to its end.”

Ōhashi Kaneto had finally come to understand up to this point. “With a scheme plotted out to this extent, no matter who had been guarding the gate, they would’ve been overpowered.” “This can by no means be called an oversight by the honorable gatekeepers.” Heiji took this moment to offer a word in defense of that stubborn gatekeeper.

Heiji, having exited through the back gate, carefully surveyed the surroundings as he made his way toward Minami-Koishikawa.

“Where are you going, Boss?” To Hachigorō following behind, Heiji’s investigative behavior—staring at seawater and peering into Inari shrines—made no sense. “I thought they wouldn’t discard it near the mansion. Take a look, Hachi.” What Heiji pointed to lay beneath Honganji Bridge—from when these waters still ran clear—where submerged deep in the high tide were ochoko cups, tokkuri sake bottles, plates and small bowls, a food container holding leftover scraps, and chopsticks with sashimi garnishes floating motionless in the current.

“This is the Boss’s doing.” “It’s the work of those two women who came to the storehouse mansion this morning and killed Yokichi the gardener. If they’d brought something like this to Seigetsu, their disguises would’ve been blown immediately—so they must’ve tossed it here and gone into hiding.” Heiji had foreseen everything. “But why kill Yokichi? They’d invested fifty ryō in him—keeping him alive could’ve been useful.” “That’s how it might seem at first glance, but that old man knew too much. Since he must’ve witnessed everything last night, he’d have spilled all about the 10,000 gold ryō’s hiding place if pressed.”

“Where do you think the 10,000 Gold Ryo are, Boss?”

“That’s what I went out to investigate.” “Let’s head back outside the storehouse mansion once more, Hachi.” “Huh?”

Heiji and Hachigorō returned to the storehouse mansion once more. Heiji made a full circuit around the area outside the wall spanning three or four blocks, “Take a look, Hachi.” He came to an abrupt halt before a small water gate stacked with stones that channeled water into the tidal pool.

“This spot’s right in the demon’s gate direction, Boss.” “I’m not here to check the house’s feng shui.” “But there’s no denying—those ten thousand gold ryō coins made their escape through that water gate.” “Huh?”

“The walls are high, the security’s tight, and if those eight who left through the back gate weren’t carrying anything, then there’s no way to get those 10,000 gold ryō coins out of this mansion ’cept sending ’em swimming through this water gate into the sea.”

“Huh?” “The water gate’s narrow—humans couldn’t slip through, but gold coins would pass easy enough.” “One person inside the mansion could scoop ’em into a ladle or such and send ’em out, while pals outside catch ’em.” “Draining out ten thousand coins might take a full hour, but for one night’s work? Manageable.” “I see. Even with all that trouble, they didn’t cut corners.”

“If they transport it by boat from here, they could get it to Ayase, Katakawa, or even the Kanda River in front of my house before dawn.” “Huh, I must say that’s surprising, Boss.” “If you get too surprised, it’ll be awkward for me. Even if we’ve figured out the path the gold was taken through, we don’t know where it was taken or who stole it.” “...” “Anyway, let’s take what we’ve got and head back for now, Hachi. I’ll figure out the rest while taking a nap.”

Heiji wore a resigned expression. Even if he strained himself further, nothing more seemed likely to come clear any easier.

Oshizu’s Guest

“Boss, isn’t it strange? Your wife isn’t the type to leave the house unlocked while you’re away.”

When they entered the alleyway—though the sun still hung high—all of Heiji's storm shutters were closed tight. Even when they knocked and called out, there came no answer. "She must've gone to visit her mother or something." "There's a hidden key at the kitchen door. Quit your worrying." Heiji circled around back, slipped his hand through the latticework, undid the kitchen door's latch without fuss, then had Hachigorō help him throw open the storm shutters. "Should I run over to check on Oshizu's mother in Sakumacho?"

“It’s fine—she’ll come back once her business is done. There should be leftover cold rice, and I can at least heat up some sake.” “I’m sorry, Boss, for making you handle such things.” “If you’ve got time for flattery, just start a fire or something. Though it’s not right to boss around a guest like you.” “Heh, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!” Heiji and Hachigorō somehow managed to prepare the meal despite everything.

The work that couldn't be settled by male hands alone - facing each other to take up sake cups - came only after dusk had fallen.

“Sis is running late, isn’t she? I was supposed to go pick her up earlier after all.”

“Leave it alone,” Heiji said. “When it gets dark, her mother will send her back.” Heiji sounded nonchalant, but when he thought of Oshizu—who never went out while he was away—the sake turned bitterly hollow on his tongue. Even the carefree Garahachi grew strangely subdued. To Hachigorō, Boss Heiji’s beloved wife Oshizu was an eternal Beatrice—such was his resolve that he’d gladly lay down his life for her should any harm come her way.

Oshizu—shy, kind, and eternally girlish—with her pristine beauty and meticulous care as a wife, stood firmly established as the Boss's beloved spouse and the unwavering object of Hachigorō's worshipful admiration; what possible fault could there be in that? The hollowly bitter sake stacked up, one bottle after another. In terms of quantity, it was an excess uncharacteristic of Heiji's usual habits, but even as they exchanged banter, there was no sign of drunkenness at all. Indeed, even their banter gradually dwindled, and as the night deepened, the two men—each lost in their own thoughts—found their moments of silence growing more frequent.

“What time d’you reckon it is?”

Hachigorō raised his dull eyebrows. "The one struck earlier was Ueno's Hour of the Boar - ten o'clock, perhaps."

“Isn’t this getting a bit too late? Should I make a quick run there after all?”

Hachigorō, unable to bear it any longer, stood up. At that time, if Garahachi ran to the house of Oshizu’s mother in Sakumacho, he could likely make the round trip within a quarter-hour. “Well, I appreciate your trouble—” In this situation, even Heiji no longer felt inclined to stop him. No—rather than that, he should have sent someone to fetch her sooner—such faint regret throbbed dully in his sober chest.

After Hachigorō had gone out, the loneliness inside the house felt particularly acute. In the corner of the room dimly lit by two lamp wicks with cloves embedded in them lay Oshizu’s everyday kimono—its sleeves hastily folded—with a thin cord carelessly tossed atop it, a testament to how rushed she must have been when leaving. This sight inexplicably roused Heiji’s lingering sentimentality.

— Heiji clicked his tongue once and stretched broadly—as if this were some signal—when suddenly came the clattering footsteps of a woman running down the alley. "Oh! You're safe!" Who else but Oshizu would throw open the lattice door, rush inside, and collapse in a heap at the entryway step? "Oshizu—what happened?"

It was midsummer. As if lured, Heiji leaned out through the entrance where the shoji screens had been left open. "You really didn't do anything?" "What are you talking about? I'm fine as you can see, but you—" "Oh? You're injured! Show me your face." As if dragging her up into Asama's house, when he brought the lantern closer, blood flowed from Oshizu's left temple, drawing two or three crimson lines across her painfully swollen yet full cheek.

"My wound isn't serious. But what about you?" "What nonsense are you talking? I'll live to be a hundred. Instead of worrying about that, let me tend to your wound." "But they said you were cut by villains, and it's unclear whether you'll live or die—" "Who said such a thing?"

Heiji was surprised. Oshizu’s story was utterly outrageous. “It was a boy of about fifteen or sixteen—he said that you and Hachigorō chased after the 10,000 gold ryo coins to the Five-Story Pagoda in Yanaka, but were ambushed by villains—that Hachigorō was cut down, and you were gravely injured—” As if to say *“That’s ill-omened—”* Oshizu waved her hand near her own face. “Hachi being killed—that’s good. If he heard that, he’d be terrified—oh! Speaking of which, it seems the ghost with legs has come back.”

Heiji pointed to the lattice—the entrance Oshizu had left wide open after entering—where Hachigorō now appeared with a worried face. “Boss, your wife hasn’t gone to her mother’s in Sakumachō either.” “Appreciate the effort—truly do,” Heiji replied. “She came back right after you left—got a scratch or two, but nothing worth fussing over.” Heiji cleaned Oshizu’s wound with shochu and slapped on whatever ointments he could find.

The sight of even a hair-thin wound marring her flawless, beautiful face was so unsettling that even Hachigorō felt a creeping discomfort, but fortunately, the injury was not severe, and she herself now wore an expression of complete relief as she alternately studied the faces of her husband Heiji and Hachigorō.

“Where did you get such an injury?” “You and I were surrounded by villains in Yanaka—they said you died honorably, I was injured, and my life hung in the balance. Hearing that, she rushed out.” Heiji explained instead. “Huh… Me being killed in action—well, I don’t really feel like that happened.” Garahachi stroked his own neck. “By the way, when you went to Yanaka, what happened?”

Heiji asked his wife Oshizu again after finishing treating her wounds. "I rushed to Yanaka with the young lad," she said. "Since the sun was still high, I didn't think it would be particularly dangerous." Oshizu had finally calmed down and was now ruminating on the terror of her own adventure. "And then?" Heiji impatiently urged her to continue. "The lad guided me into the Five-Story Pagoda," she continued. "Having heard something had happened there recently, I didn't find it strange at all when I followed him inside—then suddenly someone struck my head from the side, and I lost consciousness."

“The wound on my temple must’ve come from then—and then.” “When I came to after some time, I found myself in this bleak, dim place—bound hand and foot with a gag stuffed in my mouth, just lying there.” “My head pulsed where the blood had dried, the air reeked of dust. As I lay there moaning like I might die any moment, didn’t someone come sneaking through the door?” “Who was it?” “That...person. “Ah—I wonder if she’s gone now. “The woman who brought me all this way.”

Oshizu suddenly looked like she was about to rush outside. "Where are you going, Oshizu?" "The person who rescued me from the Five-Story Pagoda escorted me here." "Mr. Hachigorō, wasn't there a young madam around here somewhere?" Oshizu's memory had returned. "Now that you mention it, there was a cheeky middle-aged woman standing alone in the alley, looking quite troubled." "If she were on a bridge or under a pine tree, I couldn't just leave her be—but in an alley with no place to hang oneself, I figured it was probably just a lovers' spat or something and didn't pay it much mind—"

“That’s the person, Mr. Hachigorō. For my sake, please guide my lifesaver here politely. I want to offer my deepest gratitude.” “Right, I’m on it!” Hachigorō rushed out. After some time of scuffling in the alleyway, he returned dragging a middle-aged woman—one who bloomed fragrantly even in darkness like a twenty-one- or twenty-two-year-old—by her bare hands and wrists as though apprehending a criminal.

“Oh, come on, Boss Hachigorō. If you keep pulling like that, my wrist will come out of its socket, you know?” It was a slightly coquettish nasal voice. “If that lovely arm comes out of its socket, sawdust’ll spill—ah, just relax and come along with me. I’ll have Boss Zenigata give you his heartfelt thanks.” “But I’m so embarrassed…” “What’s there to be shy about?” The one who had been dragged into the latticework amidst all the commotion was a striking middle-aged woman with vividly blue tattooed eyebrows—Ogin, the forlornly flower-selling teahouse proprietress beneath Yanaka’s Five-Story Pagoda.

“Oh—it’s you.”

After a single glance at the middle-aged woman’s face, Heiji appeared slightly flustered. Some time ago, Heiji had been told by Hachigorō about how this beautiful woman had developed an unrequited crush on him, and how she had been pestering Hachigorō to bring him over whenever she caught hold of him. “Boss… I’ve done something terrible.” “Something terrible?” Hachigorō parroted back and asked. “I saw Miss Oshizu being deceived by villains and taken into the Five-Story Pagoda—as you know, my shop is right under the pagoda’s nose, so to speak.”

“—”

Heiji’s eyes silently urged her to continue. A hydrangea-colored unlined kimono, vividly blue eyebrows, and a face so pale it seemed translucent—one incisor missing, cheeks so full they formed a single dimple even when she wasn’t smiling—the woman’s allure was something utterly unearthly, almost mystical. If not for her slightly nasal alto voice and that mysteriously sensual coquetry, this woman might have been seen as nothing less than a living embodiment of a legendary spirit from folklore. “Then a large samurai with a blue beard came to my house—‘What did you see just now?’—No—no need to hide it. Now that you’ve seen it, there’s no point in making excuses. In exchange, I’ve put you in charge of watching that woman. If you let her escape even once, I’ll crush this shop and wring your scrawny neck—got it?” he said.

“—”

Ogin's story gradually grew more serious. "That frightening samurai kept watch over the Five-Story Pagoda for a while, but then he disappeared somewhere." "For a while, I was frozen in fear, but when I thought of Miss Oshizu—Boss Zenigata’s wife—being violated right before my eyes, I couldn’t just think of my own safety." "Waiting for the surroundings to darken, I sneaked into the Five-Story Pagoda, untied the half-dead Miss Oshizu, and escorted her here."

Ogin finished speaking and heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Belated though it is, I’ll give you my thanks.” “Had we left things be, there’s no telling what horrors my wife might’ve faced by now.” “Oh, Boss… When you put it like that—”

“Now then—what do you intend to do from here?” Heiji pressed further with his questioning.

“It was because I was thinking about that that I couldn’t bring myself to leave the alley. If I return to Yanaka, he’ll know I rescued Miss Oshizu from the Five-Story Pagoda—there’s no way that blue-bearded samurai would let me live.” “—” “But with nowhere to turn and my thoughts in turmoil, Boss Hachigorō caught me.” Ogin finally finished speaking and bowed her head with an air of bashfulness. With every slight movement, the scent of incense wafted up, and beneath her large chignon, her faint cheeks grew hazy.

“What about your shop in Yanaka?”

“Since there’s my elderly uncle, he’ll manage somehow.” “Since I was originally married off to another family and returned home after the marriage failed, my uncle doesn’t put much stock in someone like me.” The woman from Yanaka—Ogin, niece of the flower shop, or more accurately, the returnee—had once helped Oshizu, but lacking the courage to return to Yanaka, she wandered through the back alleys and was caught by Hachigorō.

“But I should go home.” “Even if that samurai says such intimidating things, it’s surely just a threat.” “What would he gain by harming a weak woman like me any further?” Ogin, judging the opportune moment, quietly stood up. “Oh, you—if you go back now, the night roads are perilous, and that samurai might exact revenge.”

Oshizu instinctively blocked the entrance to stop Ogin from leaving. “Thank you very much… Miss Okami. Your kindness touches me deeply, but I must still return to Yanaka—well then, Boss.” After greeting Heiji, Ogin began searching for her geta in the dimly lit dirt-floored entryway without any hesitation.

“Boss.”

Hachigorō was in a strangely unsettled state of mind. There, if Boss Heiji had just uttered a single word like "Very well," Ogin might have found the resolve to brave that terrifying night road back to Yanaka. But seeing Heiji's face—gritting his teeth as if chewing bitter insects—Hachigorō felt it wasn't his place to interject in such matters.

“Alright then—I’ll see you home.” The careless words escaped Hachigorō’s lips unbidden. This champion of women proved too soft-hearted to watch Ogin’s distress in silence. “Well now—much obliged,” she replied. “Boss Zenigata... Madam.” Having made her polite farewells, Ogin stood bathed in starlight at the alley’s mouth beside her insistent escort.

“Wait a moment, Boss Hachigorō.” From behind Hachigorō, who was briskly walking ahead, drifted the lingering scent of incense. “This is no joke—you’re scheming to lodge yourself right next to Boss Zenigata, aren’t you? Don’t think I’m fooled—I see clear through your ploys.” “Didn’t you confess having a crush on Boss Zenigata? Helping Miss Oshizu just to sneak your way in isn’t half bad as a scheme—but aiming for Boss Zenigata himself? That won’t fly.”

“Now, now.” Ogin hurriedly approached and stood shoulder to shoulder with Hachigorō. “Boss Zenigata has completely learned his lesson from the incident where Oraku’s mischief got involved—another work ‘Heiji’s Woman Troubles’.” “Trying to get into that house is an impossible hope.” Hachigorō laid things out bluntly and without reserve. “That’s not my intention at all, Boss Hachigorō.” “That’s why I took on this unrefined role and lured you out.” “I won’t say it’s a bad idea—turn your snout north and head straight for Yanaka Forest.”

Hachigorō seemed to be in a good mood. “Well now, Boss Hachigorō.” “Oh no, Hachi—I don’t have any such intentions.” “Please take me to your house.” “That’s fine, right? Right?”

An astonishingly alluring nasal voice—when Hachigorō heard it, he felt dizzy and unsteady.

Ogin’s Lodging

Though Hachigorō spoke to her bluntly, Ogin silently followed along. Though the darkness of the night road made it hard to see clearly, her figure—blue eyebrows lowered, trudging along—appeared damp with night dew, strangely stirring one’s sentiment. It wasn’t that Hachigorō the feminist didn’t understand that, but his efforts to struggle free from this woman’s mysterious charm might have stirred up harsh words that didn’t reflect his true feelings.

In the depths of a certain alley in Mukōyanagiwara, Hachigorō arrived at the house of his aunt Oasa, who made a meager living as a seamstress. Having long lodged at Heiji’s house, Hachigorō had been taken in by his aunt two or three years prior when he became master of a single jitte, with the intention of marrying and starting a household; however, being carefree by nature, he had saved no money, found no woman, and with no one to arrange a marriage for him, he remained a carefree bachelor, flitting around all of Edo.

“Aunt, I’m back now.” When he struck his fist against the storm shutter—its surface riddled with mesh-like gaps— “You’re so impertinent, banging on the front door like that.” “Where have you been wandering until this hour?”

In this manner, the light inside moved. Hachigorō’s aunt Oasa was fifty-two—a woman of fierce spirit yet prone to tears, kind-hearted but sharp-tongued. She briskly scolded this thirty-year-old man, yet doted on him as if he were her own child. “We have a guest. No complaints—just open the main entrance.” “Now, now.”

Upon hearing "guest," she swallowed the scolding that had risen to her throat and, with a hand candle in one hand, slid open the firmly closed storm shutter with a clatter. “Sorry about this—it’s gotten late, Aunt.” “When I thought this kid was oddly good at flattery—he goes and brings home some strange guest!”

When the aunt saw Ogin following behind Hachigorō, she grew thoroughly wary and planted herself squarely in the doorway. “There’s no such thing as a ‘strange guest’ here—this is a guest of the boss,” he said. “She helped Miss Oshizu when she was in danger.” “Now, now,” she retorted. Hachigorō did his utmost to explain. “Step aside from there and let us in, Aunt.” His hand moved as he tried to push aside his lanky aunt, who stood blocking the entire entrance.

“No good. Do you think I’m blind?” “—” The aunt scrutinized Ogin with Hon’ami-like fervor, from the crown of her head down to the blurred tips of her bare feet in the darkness. “If someone helped Miss Oshizu, Boss Zenigata wouldn’t neglect them, would he? You’re cooking up some clever scheme to bring that person into the house—but that won’t fly.” “This is such a pain, Aunt.”

Hachigorō was completely at a loss—this was something that couldn’t be handled even with a jitte or arrest rope. It was no wonder Aunt Oasa had set up a checkpoint and refused to let Ogin through.

Holding up a hand candle that illuminated her in the darkness, the eeriness of this woman was truly unparalleled. From thick hair where dew seemed ready to fall, in the dimly lit face, the contrast of blue-tinted eyebrows against crimson lips—what a mesmerizing allure it was. The hydrangea-blue single-layered robe flowing from slender shoulders also possessed an ethereal beauty like that of a spirit. “Come on now—hurry up and go home.” “If you’re going to bring someone home regardless, at least pick one who hasn’t shaved her eyebrows and has white teeth.” “You’re really making a fool of people.”

Bringing home a woman who was clearly someone’s wife must have been Hachigorō’s blunder of a lifetime. Having spent half her life struggling with stubbornness and poverty and enduring all manner of hardships, Aunt Oasa—confronted with her dear nephew bringing home a beautiful woman with shaved eyebrows in the dead of night—no matter what excuses he had prepared—couldn’t bring herself to accept it outright. “Aunt, that’s not how it is. Boss Zenigata really—” “Boss Zenigata really—”

“Enough already! If you’re going to drag someone home, at least find some stylish night-hawk, damn you!”

His aunt slammed the front door shut with a bang and, clattering noisily, was fastening the latch.

“Boss Hachigorō, I should return to Yanaka after all.”

The woman turned her back abruptly, as though fleeing the awkwardness. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you go back to Yanaka like this, your life will be in danger!” “But…” Ogin, as though aware of Hachigorō’s pursuit, dashed out from the alley’s darkness into the main street without hesitation. “Wait. My aunt’s stubborn like that—no amount of logic will make her budge right away. If you’ve got relatives or acquaintances somewhere, why not settle there for now? Later, we’ll have Miss Oshizu come plead with her—how’s that sound?”

Hachigorō stepped closer and closer to Ogin and tried to pat her shoulder, but suddenly noticing something, he withdrew his hand. Ogin’s shoulders shrank pitifully in a manner that invited Hachigorō’s caress, but he—recalling what his aunt had just told him—managed to stop himself from acting improperly familiar with this woman with dyed teeth at the last moment. “I was raised as an orphan and was done in by a bride who was after money. “The so-called uncle from Yanaka was really just part of my foster family—I have no blood relation to him at all.”

“—” “On top of that, I’m the one who made selfish demands and left the household I married into, you see.” “—” “I’m truly sorry for angering Aunt like that.” While speaking solemnly, Ogin’s feet began moving back toward Myōjin-shita.

“So where exactly are you planning to go?”

“I just remembered there’s one house in Myōjin-shita where I know someone—right in Boss Zenigata’s neighborhood.”

Ogin came to a stop and let out a relieved sigh.

The place Ogin guided Hachigorō to was a modest row house in the back alley behind Heiji’s home—like something forgotten at the edge of Midaidokoro-chō.

“—” Ogin leaned close to the front door and knocked two or three times in an odd rhythm. After some clattering sounds from within, the door soon opened from the inside. “Well now—what brings you here at this hour?”

A woman who appeared slightly older than Ogin—and equally beautiful—emerged in nightclothes holding an andon lantern. “I was sent here by Boss Hachigorō.” “Well!” “Could you let me stay for a while? I can’t go back to Yanaka anymore.” “You had another fight with your uncle, didn’t you? You’re both so stubborn, after all.” “This isn’t some trivial quarrel.” “Well, well, come on in. We’ll hear the details later at length—but please come in too, Boss Hachigorō. It might feel awkward being in a household of women, but there’s no lingering smell of face powder here.”

He brushed aside her words as if swatting them away with a large palm,

“Alright then, I’m headin’ back.” Hachigorō turned his back. “Now hold on, Boss—even a women’s household’s got sake to pour.” “You went through the trouble of bringin’ my sworn sis Miss Ogin here—can’t just send you off from the doorstep now, can we?”

The mistress slipped into her geta and clattered outside, then grabbed Hachigorō’s sleeve from behind. A sweet fragrance wafted on the night breeze, giving it the feel of an Akasaka post station along the Tōkaidō highway. “Sister, please keep Boss Hachigorō here. We’ve already caused him so much trouble.”

From inside the house, Ogin’s nasal voice could now be heard, suggesting she had already entered. “I won’t let go—not even if thunder roars. Right, Boss? Why not take a peek at our little household of women? If that’s what you’re thinking, Boss, we’ll let you sleep right between Miss Ogin and me and pamper you all night long.” The woman went so far as to say such things and pressed Hachigorō’s shoulder. The sensation of soft, warm hands wasn’t exactly failing to stir Hachigorō’s youthful impulses.

“Alright then, just for a little while.”

Hachigorō spinelessly turned on his heel. “I won’t keep you for a month or even a year.” “Just a short while—five or six days.” “Quit your joking.” Having been lured inside the house, Hachigorō suddenly flinched back. The place was surprisingly lavish for a single woman’s household. The mistress appeared twenty-four or twenty-five—a sharp-featured woman in her prime with a dusky complexion. Though lacking Ogin’s bewitching allure, her exceptional social deftness and sparkling wit made her seem more beautiful than mere looks alone could achieve.

While young Ogin appeared in formal adult attire with shaved eyebrows and blackened teeth, the mistress maintained the rare maidenly appearance of a mature woman uncommon in these times; after briskly adjusting her kimono, she scattered embers and promptly dropped a stick of charcoal into the iron kettle. During that time, as Ogin explained the night’s events, the mistress listened with obedient hums, but— “Boss Zenigata is quite the coward, isn’t he? Is it because you’re too beautiful that he held back out of consideration for his wife?”

Oroku said bluntly.

The next morning—though by then the summer sun was blazing directly overhead, the eaves’ shadows having shrunk to their smallest—it was nearly noon. "Heh heh heh, Boss! Something interesting has happened."

Hachigorō entered while letting out an uncontrollable, foolish laugh—like a barrel that had lost its hoops.

“What a way to show up.” “Why don’t you keep a tighter rein on yourself when you go out?”

“This is the best I can do... After all, those two lively women kept harassing me—I barely got any sleep last night, heh heh.” “What nunnery tenement did you hole up in, you utter fool?” “It’s not some nunnery tenement! Two real beauties with proper hair—total amateurs. We drank, ate, cried and laughed, posed riddles and played rock-paper-scissors—before we knew it, dawn broke—heh.”

Hachigorō the Bumbler had escorted Ogin to a peculiar household of women in a tenement located precisely behind Heiji’s residence in Daimyō-cho—where he ended up being detained and drinking through the night until dawn—only now arriving dazedly at Heiji’s home. “As for what made it so fun—well, there were two beauties, after all.”

“You idiot!”

Heiji delivered a sharp rebuke. "But Boss, Auntie’s in such a foul mood she probably won’t let anyone near her. Since there was no choice, I asked that woman if she knew anyone nearby, and she said there’s someone named Miss Oraku right behind Boss Zenigata’s house—so I ended up deciding to escort her there, see?" "Indeed, it was Oraku you mentioned." Heiji retorted. "It must be Oraku. She was a woman in her prime—twenty-four or twenty-five with white teeth—who seemed never to have tasted hardship. She can hold her liquor, appreciates a good joke, is generous, and has this alluring charm—"

“So you went barging in there, took their invitation to stay, and spent the whole night chattering nonsense between two women?” “Heh, that was mighty carefree of me.” “For women, they sure didn’t breathe a word about household chores or rice prices.” “Drank, ate, talked our heads off—joked around from riddles to rock-paper-scissors—”

“I’ve already heard that—anyway, Hachi.” “Heh.” “Come to think of it, that Ogin is the one who saved my wife’s life.” “Heh.”

“Last night, with the timing being all wrong, I let her go without holding her back—but now that I’ve thought it through properly, that’s no way for a man to act. Right, Hachi?” “Heh, that how it works?” Heiji’s brilliantly sudden change in attitude left Hachigorō thoroughly flustered.

“I feel bad for you, but could you guide me again to that woman Oraku’s house in Daimyō-cho?” “Heh—Boss, you’re goin’ yourself?” “I won’t rest easy till I’ve given my thanks.” “Well color me surprised.” “Heh.”

Hachigorō was completely bewildered, but Heiji was preparing to go out regardless.

“I’m beggin’ ya, I’m askin’ ya—the sun’s still high!” “What’re ya doin’ closin’ up this early? —The officials’re comin’ in! Hey—” Upon arriving at Oraku’s house in Daimyō-cho, Bumbler Hachigorō made Heiji wait and shouted at the top of his lungs.

Basking in the midsummer sun that had shifted westward, the tightly shut front door was an uncommon sight among the townhouses in this area—though Hachigorō was hardly the type to take notice of such things.

“Who is it?” “If it’s business, please come back at night.” “I’m right in the middle of falling asleep—this is no joke.” The voice that answered from inside was that of Oraku, the mistress. “What’re you makin’ a fuss about? The sun’s still high!” “Even courtesans are waking up around now—it’s time they start putting on their makeup!” “Well, Boss Hachigorō. Hadn’t you had enough to drink yet?” The front door opened a few inches, and Oraku’s dusky—yet shrewd—face peered out. “What’re you makin’ a fuss about? If ya wanna drink that bad, just go straight back to your place!” “At the main entrance, there’s a straw mat cover firmly placed.”

“What kinda straw mat cover?” “Damn it! The straw mat’s for Nada’s pure, unblended sake—anyway, can’t ya see who’s standin’ behind me? Boss Zenigata came all this way to thank that Oraku broad proper-like!” “Well now, Boss Zenigata’s puttin’ on his little performance—Miss Ogin! Looks like your heart’s desire might finally come true. Get up already—they say the boss went outta his way just for you!”

When Oraku’s face withdrew, inside the house erupted into a clamor of thuds and clattering. Folding bedding, cleaning, changing clothes, and fixing their makeup—it was as much commotion as a country play’s seven quick costume changes. “Well, please come in.” When Oraku reopened the front door, her face—struck full-on by the resplendent evening sun—flared crimson. “What a nuisance.” Heiji followed Hachigorō and slipped inside. “Well now, Boss—saying such things.”

The two women briskly guided Heiji to the six-tatami mat living room. Even to Hachigorō’s sensibilities, the furnishings were so extravagantly opulent that they resonated sharply; if one could overlook the poor taste, one could clearly see that no small amount of money had been spent on everything from the architectural fittings down to each individual prop. “Boss, here—have one.” It was Ogin who seated Heiji before the long brazier and poured him the first lukewarm cup. Where she had redone her appearance—in a flashy yukata, relaxing her posture as she extended the hand holding the sake bottle—wafting a faint hint of perfume was quite the skillful touch.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ogin. Last night, with my wife present, I had no choice but to speak that way. Please forgive me.” “Oh, Boss.” Ogin appeared driven by an impulse to catch Heiji mid-bow as he slumped his head before the long brazier. So guileless was Heiji’s demeanor, while Ogin maintained her thoroughly alluring manner.

Oraku and Hachigorō “I never dreamed there’d be such a fancy house around here.”

“Well, Boss—it’s not some fancy house or anything, but if it suits your fancy, won’t you drop by now and then? As a household of just one woman, wherever I go, I’m met with scornful looks—it’s so disheartening, you know. Just knowing I’m under Boss Zenigata’s wing—there’s no telling how much courage that gives me.” Oraku grew somber. Though not as beautiful as Ogin, her talents sparkled with spiritedness, yet she possessed a certain refinement—a woman of peculiar charm.

“The sake is finally warmed. Now, Boss.”

Ogin pulled a sake bottle from the copper pot, deftly wiped it clean, and brought it over to Heiji. Her slightly slumped posture—one sleeve held between her teeth—formed an irresistibly alluring pose when paired with that nasal tone of hers. Yet what drew attention was how her hands appeared terribly rough and noticeably sturdy compared to her radiantly smooth face—a stark contrast suggesting she must have endured harsh labor in her youth. "I'm sorry about last night, Miss Ogin," he said. "I shouldn't have let you leave without stopping you."

“Oh, that.” “Oh, Boss—I’d long since forgotten about that.” “And besides—” “—” After pouring sake for Heiji, Ogin adjusted her posture slightly and continued speaking.

“And besides—I’m used to hardship,” Ogin continued. “There were countless times when I had nowhere to stay and couldn’t even get three meals a day.” “Well, that’s—” Heiji began. Heiji, too, found himself at a loss for words. The mood turned awkward at these confessions, the sake suddenly tasting bitter on his tongue, yet Ogin seemed too immersed in her reminiscences to notice. “I was raised in Atsugi, Sagami Province,” she pressed on. “No doubt I was just some child born from an illicit affair or mischief. My parents secretly left me with foster parents—I was raised like any poor man’s child. But when their payments stopped coming at age seven, those foster parents showed their true colors. From that very day, they pushed me from minding babies to running errands.” Her voice tightened slightly. “By the next year, they had me doing farm work.”

“Hm, hm. And then?” Though the story held little interest, Heiji grew thoroughly engaged, repeatedly tilting his cup as he pressed Ogin to continue her recollections. “I did every sort of farm labor.” “Don’t let my looks fool you—I could hoist a four-to rice bale.” Perhaps embarrassed by her own boast, Ogin hid a laugh behind her sleeve-like partition. “That’s bold work. Not even me or Hachigorō could manage a four-to bale, I’ll tell you that.”

“That’s not strength—it’s technique, I tell you. When I came of age, fortunately, I wasn’t crippled or missing a nose, so marriage offers came from all around.”

“Now, Miss Ogin—that’s quite something to boast about.” “You even knocked down the young master of the village’s top landowner, you know.” “If you’d really wanted to, you could’ve become a daimyo’s concubine—you’re carrying quite the load there.” Oraku rattled on without regard for anyone around. Ogin, fully embodying the role of a farmer’s daughter, was married off to Edo. However, the 100 ryo preparation money she received at the time was entirely pocketed by her foster parents to line their own pockets, and what was assigned to Ogin was a fifty-three-year-old bald man—so shameful he could hardly be called a husband—who already had three grandchildren.

"Enduring that for a whole year—no small ordeal, was it?" Snatching Ogin’s words midair— “Miss Ogin’s so young and pretty—leaving her as human sacrifice’d be cruel, yeah?” “Was it wrong ta badger my friend till she bolted out, Boss Zenigata?” Oraku chimed in from the side. “But spare me sayin’ that household’s name. However ya slice it—it’s too blush-makin’ for me.”

Ogin said this and, as if to hide her embarrassment, replaced the sake flask.

Eventually, a light was lit. Hachigorō, perhaps finally worn out by the relentless feast since last night, kept fidgeting and squirming in his seat, but the crucial Heiji remained seated with perfect composure, looking as though he wouldn’t budge even if pried with a lever.

“Hey, Boss Hachigorō.” “What the— If ya got business, don’tcha say it right there? Quit beckonin’ through the shoji screen gap like that—it’s creepy as hell!” “So, since *he* might try to make a move, could you lend me your ear for a sec?”

That was Oraku. In a brisk tone, she had a way that left no room for refusal from men. “What’s this about?” “Oh, what a face!—When a girl calls you, you should give a smoother reply.” “It’s no use trying to sweet-talk me— —I’ve already got my hands full.” “It’s just like Boss Hachigorō’s tobacco pipe, isn’t it?” “What’re you being so fussy about?” Hachigorō hurriedly put away his grease-smeared tobacco pipe. He simply couldn’t hold his own against this woman.

“So come here for a sec—don’t you get it, Boss Hachigorō? Can’t the Boss see how Miss Ogin feels?” “Huh?” “Miss Ogin’s been saying like a broken record since the other day that she wants to see Boss Zenigata, hasn’t she?” “Heard that already.” “From a woman’s mouth—though she blackens her teeth—she’s only just turned twenty-two. For such words—that she’s carrying a torch for Boss Heiji—to come from that young woman’s mouth, isn’t that something?”

“Huh?” Hachigorō felt like he’d been caught in a trap. He kept opening and closing his mouth. He blinked and blew his nose. “This isn’t some half-baked crush—it’s full-blown scorching passion!” “Damn it all—what am I supposed to do?” “Ouch! Pinching me won’t get things moving.” “So this is agonizing—they say matchmaking should be done by nightfall.” “If we bring Boss Zenigata here, someone like Boss Hachigorō won’t be needed anymore.” “If you don’t disappear around here now, you’ll get eaten by dogs and die—but don’t go getting angry.” “Miss Ogin must be thinking exactly that deep down.”

Oraku’s maneuvering was truly masterful. “Hey, hey! What’re you fussing about? “Boss Zenigata ain’t the type to go messin’ around with some passin’ widow or whatever, y’know!” “Did you misjudge me, you bastard?!” Hachigorō suddenly stood up in a rage. In this flimsy house, the sound would carry straight through to Heiji’s room—but Hachigorō wasn’t the type to hold back over such concerns. “Well, how scary—but you know, Boss Hachigorō, your choice of words is a bit odd." “I’ll have you know I’m still an apprentice courtesan!” “The quality isn’t all that great, but please call me ‘Witch’ or something.”

“What the— Witch!” “I’m delighted—what a *knack* you have.” Oraku clung to Hachigorō on the veranda. “Let go, you bastard!”

“Oh my—now it’s ‘bastard’? How delightfully crude.” “Boss Zenigata has Miss Oshizu—a truly chaste and virtuous wife—by his side, y’know!” “So what’s your point, Boss Hachigorō?” “A boss who’d make the best wife in Edo cry and go messing around with some witch-cat Ogin—that ain’t him!” Hachigorō struck a pose with all his might. For Hachigorō, Boss Heiji’s beloved wife Oshizu was a sacred and inviolable Beatrice—this had been mentioned several times.

“Oh my, oh my, what strange things you’re saying. I thought you were some proper informant entrusted with a jitte and arrest rope, but turns out you’re just Miss Oshizu’s guard, eh?” “What the—” “Or has some official decree been issued that other women aren’t allowed to seduce Boss Zenigata?” “Wh-what’re you fussing about?” “First off, whether Boss Heiji actually appreciates you sticking by his side like some defective komainu statue—why don’t you just ask him and see?”

“—” “Boss Zenigata’s sitting there all calm-like, drinkin’ away contentedly with Miss Ogin pourin’ his drinks—ain’t he?”

“So what?” Hachigorō was still persisting stubbornly while flustered, but Oraku shifted her approach and clung obstinately. “Hachi.” “Huh?” The voice that had suddenly called out from the neighboring room belonged to Heiji.

“Get out of here, get out! You’ve got no more business here anyway.” “Huh?” Hachigorō’s lack of competence. “There, see? You’ve finally been scolded by Boss Zenigata, haven’t you?” “Well, deliberation and consideration all depend on timing.” “The more you persist, the more foolish Boss Hachigorō looks, don’t you think?”

“What?” “Don’t get so defensive—let’s slip away together.” “In return I’ll be your escort—even if it’s beneath my standing, I’ll go wherever you please.” “Woo me or gnaw on me all you like—do as you will. Or perhaps you should just finish me off here.” Oraku clamped her teeth into Hachigorō’s neck once more.

The leader's wife

After Hachigorō and Oraku went out, tussling all the way, a silence like after a storm settled in. The sound of the andon’s wick steadily drawing up oil could be heard, while in the garden, summer insects sang with all their might for their fleeting night of love. "My, what a commotion." Ogin finally raised her face. She looked as if she wanted to vanish from embarrassment, but as the sound of their departing footsteps faded down the alleyway, she began to feel relieved.

— Heiji silently took the sake cup. The only way to salvage this strange awkwardness was through such an act. “Has it cooled a bit, I wonder?” Ogin’s hands that had taken up the sake decanter were trembling indeed.

Her translucent face—with sharply defined blue-tinted eyebrows, expressive large eyes, and ripe berry-like lips—formed a mysterious interplay of allure and enigma. Yet the stark absence of a single inky-blackened tooth stirred an oddly carnal sensuality rooted in this world. “So then, having prepared this elaborate arrangement, what exactly are you trying to discuss?” Heiji, sensing this woman harbored some deep scheme, proceeded as per the plan and found himself facing her one-on-one.

“Boss, I have something grave to discuss that I need you to hear—I’d like to borrow your wise counsel—” Ogin’s face—where passion and mystery intertwined—drew intimately close to Heiji’s side, her indigo-dyed eyebrows hovering near his shoulder. “Wisdom—unfortunately, such things—” Heiji responded in his usual bantering tone reserved for Hachigorō, but seeing the terrifying intensity in Ogin’s expression, even he couldn’t maintain the teasing and nodded solemnly.

“To put it plainly—the one I formed a bond with in Edo was…”

“—”

Ogin started to say something but looked around in all directions. “Earlier, I could not bring myself to say it, but why hide it now? The man was Ōhashi Denchū—a rōnin who led the Six-Man Speckled Group, a master thief notorious along the Tōkaidō.” “Was he living in Shibahachō?” Zenigata Heiji was also surprised. That was the name of a rōnin who had once been the clerk at Omoya in Kanazawa-chō—a man named Uhatchi who later met his end at someone’s hand and who was said to have visited on the night Omoya Hanbei was murdered.

“As for this Ōhashi Denchū—whether that was his real name or not—he took under his command Omoya Hanbei; his clerk Uhatchi; Sadagorō from Honjo Ishihara; and Gorohatchi and his wife from the Akashi troupe. They committed robberies along the Tōkaidō highway and amassed thousands of ryō. But after stealing 12,000 ryō of government funds from Owari Domain at Utsunoya Pass on the Tōkaidō some years ago as their final job, they cleanly washed their hands of crime and entered Edo. Each went their separate ways to find honest work while waiting for the heat to die down, with an agreement to divide 20,000 ryō three years later.”

At both the sheer outlandishness of Ogin’s tale and its undeniable truthfulness that left no room for doubt, even Zenigata Heiji found himself holding his breath.

“And then what happened?”

Ogin continued speaking quietly. “Just when they were going to distribute 20,000 ryō to the four surviving members of the Speckled Group and the two or three outside helpers who’d assisted them—after waiting one more year—an unexpected rift formed among them. Each of those four started scheming to claim the entire fortune for themselves alone.”

“—”

“From there onward, as you know, Boss, a gruesome killing spree began.” “Who killed whom? None of it adds up for me.” “Uhatchi killed Omoya Hanbei, and then he killed Sadagorō.” “And Uhatchi, Akashi Gorohatchi, and Osato were killed by Ōhashi Denchū.” “What kind of man is this Ōhashi Denchū?” “He has three grandchildren, and while he’s jokingly called ‘Old Man Fifty-Three’ by Miss Oraku, he’s actually still in his forties—a truly terrifying man.”

“—” When Ogin spoke of Ōhashi Denchū—the great thief who had once been her spouse—she assumed a peculiar expression. It was by no means accompanied by emotions like fear or disgust, but it indeed lacked the sweetness one might use when speaking of a lover or husband. “I ran away from that terrifying person.” “For a time I stayed at my uncle’s place in Yanaka and helped there, but it seems my former spouse has tracked down even that hideout in Yanaka. Now I can’t live in peace for even a single day longer.”

“―”

“I, being hunted by Ōhashi Denchū—leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group—see no better way to save my life than to seek refuge with Boss Zenigata, whose very name once made birds fall from Edo’s skies.” “—” The confession had reached its inevitable conclusion. Zenigata Heiji remained motionless, arms folded, glaring at the chilled sake cup as if it held unspoken answers.

“I beg of you, Boss Zenigata.” “Now that I have no one left to turn to, would you not take pity on this wretched me and shelter me beneath your wing, Boss?”

“—” “In exchange, I’ll tell you everything I know. If you want it—Ōhashi Denchū’s hideout and the twenty thousand gold ryō’s hiding place—” “—” “Boss.” Ogin leaned in close to Zenigata Heiji’s side as if nestling against him, gently placed her hand on his knee, and began shaking it like a child begging their mother for something.

“Where is this Ōhashi Denchū, the rōnin?” “He isn’t in Edo at present,” “But he’s due to return soon and move the stolen twenty thousand gold ryō he’s hoarded away to some distant place.” “Where would that be?” “I don’t know that far,” “But I know exactly where those twenty thousand ryō are hidden.” “If that’s your intention, Boss, I’ll guide you there this very moment.”

Ogin's account had grown terrifyingly concrete. The twenty thousand gold ryō stolen and hoarded by the Six-Man Speckled Group—of which even just the twelve thousand ryō from Owari Domain's government funds was cursed gold that had claimed seven or eight lives—and Ogin's casual words offering to show Heiji that very twenty thousand gold ryō here and now left him astonished.

“Is that true?—Where is that 20,000 gold ryō hidden?”

“It’s nearby, Boss.” Ogin calmly reached for the sake flask. “Let me see that.”

“Now, let’s take our time talking, Boss,” Ogin said to Zenigata Heiji. “While having a drink, Miss Oraku took Boss Hachigorō out, and until daybreak, there’s no worry of interruptions.” Ogin’s demeanor brimmed with confidence. With this much bait laid out, she must have thought even Zenigata Heiji—the renowned police informant said to be unmatched since Edo’s founding—could be manipulated like a wooden puppet.

“But―”

Heiji was on the defensive. If he could capture the leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group and recover the 20,000 gold ryō, for a man entrusted with jitte and arrest ropes, there could be no greater pride than this.

“Hey, Boss.” “You do understand I’ve been throwing my life away for this, don’t you?”

“―” “If my former spouse Ōhashi Denchū were to learn of this, I wouldn’t survive unscathed for even a moment longer. ―You know full well how fearsome that man is, Boss.” “―” “What reason could I possibly have to risk my life just to please you, Boss?” Ogin’s hand settled softly on Heiji’s knee as she gazed up at him from below through teary eyes that clung to his face. Before those swaying bangs, that faintly pale mist-like forehead, those burning eyes, and those crimson-ripe lips, Heiji closed his eyes and sat motionless with arms folded in silent composure.

“―”

That was a tremendous temptation. “Hey Boss, what am I supposed to do?” “Should I stay silent like this and return to my spouse’s arms?” “Or guide you to hand over the twenty thousand gold ryō to the authorities and be killed like a bug without ever seeing tomorrow’s light?” “—” No sooner had the fragrance, warmed by the woman’s body heat, softly enveloped Heiji than Ogin rose to a half-crouch and leaned gently against his shoulder.

It was a magnificent display of seductive charm. But Heiji still sat with his arms folded, eyes tightly closed as if in deep Zen meditation. “Boss—I’ve already…” The woman’s arms, coiling like creeping vines toward Heiji’s neck, were quietly loosened by Heiji’s hands.

“Ogin—from your perspective, men must look like utter fools.” “But I’m Zenigata Heiji too—it’s not like I’m completely clueless about where the 20,000 gold ryō are hidden.”

“?” “It’s hardly skillful to just let you do all the talking.” “Well then, why don’t I try searching based solely on my own deductions?” Heiji declared boldly.

Underground Gold “Well, as expected of Boss Zenigata Heiji.” “Then would you guide me to where the gold’s hidden?” Ogin reverted to her cold demeanor and stepped back slightly, watching Heiji’s movements. “The Owari Domain’s twelve thousand gold ryō were first hidden at Omoya in Kanazawa-machi,” he said, “but after infighting began, they were moved to Yanaka’s Five-Story Pagoda.” “—” “It later entered the Owari storehouse mansion only to be stolen again—this time, the criminals must’ve kept it close at hand.” “Thieves can’t bear to keep stolen gold far from themselves—that’s their nature.” “At Omoya they hid it in their own house. When it was at Yanaka’s pagoda, you kept watch from the flower shop right next door.” “When they once tried moving it to the Sumida River, their trick was too elaborate—so I found it right away—”

“―” Heiji’s deductions proceeded to solve this equation, disregarding Ogin at his side. “This time it’s not Omoya—from the way your eyes have been moving since earlier, I’ve already figured out where that gold is hidden. Shall I show you, Ogin?” Heiji abruptly stood up and picked up the lantern in one hand. “―” Ogin silently watched this. “Lend a hand here—you’re not some princess.” While saying this, Heiji carelessly hauled up the three-foot bedside table in the corner of the room. Beneath it lay another single plank, and on this plank was even affixed a meticulously crafted handle ring.

“Enough, Boss—I never underestimated you, but I overestimated myself.” “I’ll show you the way. Please hand me the lantern.”

When he lifted the floorboards, a pitch-black hole yawned open beneath. As she brought the lantern closer, a ladder angled downward came into view. "Go on in," came Heiji's voice from behind. "There might be spiderwebs... After you." Ogin crisply tucked up her kimono hem and descended into the hole's depths, lantern in one hand as she nimbly navigated the ladder. Needless to say, Zenigata Heiji followed right after her.

The underground vault was unexpectedly spacious, with dried planks laid across the floor spanning roughly four and a half tatami mats. Along three sides of the vault were stacked several crates—each a hastily made thousand-ryō chest—and that the enormous sum of 10,000 gold ryō lay concealed within them required no verification; the oppressive weight of their surroundings, the chilling air, and Ogin’s uncharacteristic expression made it plain. The two had placed the lantern aside and now found themselves positioned opposite each other across the vault.

“By the way, Oei.”

Zenigata Heiji had abruptly called out the old name. "Huh?" "Don't hide it, Oei. You shaved your eyebrows, blackened your teeth, even knocked out a tooth—that should've changed your appearance enough. And changing your voice is your greatest trick. But didn't you notice there's one thing that won't change no matter how hard you try?"

This had likely been a koji fermentation room in the past—a basement built without any ill intent. It was through the villains' cunning that they discovered and repurposed it into a hiding place for their hoarded stolen treasure. Even Heiji had never imagined such a place could exist right behind his own home. There in the cramped underground vault—amidst twenty thousand gold ryo coins and the feeble glow of a single lantern—Oei's Ogin and Zenigata Heiji stood facing each other. The woman's eyes blazed with depraved obsession and violent enmity as they snapped like fangs at Heiji, who met their challenge coldly while gauging her next move.

“That you’re Oei—I hadn’t noticed when I saw you beneath the Five-Story Pagoda… A dreadful oversight on my part. But however I reason it out—Oei must be alive. If she lives, she’ll inevitably draw near to the 10,000 gold ryo.” “—”

“I was waiting for that.” "The flies drawn to the 10,000 gold ryō—they turned out to be a woman named Oraku, a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old brat, and that middle-aged woman with shaved eyebrows and blackened teeth clinging to the brat at the Owari Domain’s storehouse mansion."

“—” Heiji pressed on with his peculiar argument in a tone that brooked no retreat. “That woman with shaved eyebrows came to rescue my wife from the Five-Story Pagoda.” “The story flowed too neatly—I knew it was fabricated from the start. But when I studied her closely, though her face and voice differed, there was one thing that undeniably matched Oei—the hands.” “You can change your face and figure however you like—but people can’t alter their own hands. Yours are toughened from acrobatics training—as rugged as a man’s, unlike your delicate appearance.”

“—”

Oei’s Ogin had a startled look and hid her hands behind her back. "When I noticed those hands, you must have panicked and started spinning that plausible story about being sent to a foster family as a child and made to do farm work." "But hands roughened by farming and hands roughened by acrobatics must be different." Heiji’s argumentation was methodical and utterly flawless. "So what are you going to do about it? Boss Zenigata." "Boss Zenigata."

Oei became somewhat resigned. When pursued this thoroughly and meticulously, even her patience lost confidence in maintaining the disguise. “That’s all there is to it. As long as you’re Oei—the one who claimed to be Omoya’s niece—that’s all that matters.” “Boss, that’s not all there is to it.” “If I were Oei, wouldn’t there be more to say?” “That’s exactly right,” Heiji said before turning back to Oei. “If you’re Oei—given the jitte and arrest rope entrusted to me by the authorities—I have no choice but to bind you here.”

“You’re going to bind me?” “With the help of the errand boy Sadakichi—that Sadakichi may look fourteen or fifteen, but he’s actually older.” “Sixteen? Seventeen? You used that brat as your tool and committed one evil deed after another.” Heiji continued this relentless argumentation. “You deceived your comrades into moving the gold from Omoya to the Five-Story Pagoda in Yanaka, where you must have told them to split it.” “When you thought about it, you couldn’t bear to part with that gold. Using the help of Sadakichi—that hormone-addled brat—you first killed Omoya Hanbei.”

Heiji’s reasoning—having explained it to Hachigorō some time ago—meant that Heiji had already seen through these circumstances at the time of the Omoya incident. “What else?” Oei, while overwhelmed by Heiji’s relentless accusations, leaned against the stacked gold chests as a flicker of defiance reignited within her.

“Uhatchi the clerk found out about it and threatened you. But Uhatchi is a man who does whatever you say—a man who’d bend to any shape. After silencing Motokichi the barrel-collecting boy, you had him kill Sadakurō of Honjo Ishihara—that Sadakichi’s father—but then Uhatchi himself was lured to Yanaka and murdered by you and Sadakichi.” “—” Heiji had already seen through all of this at that time, but the developments that followed would require new deductions.

“A woman like you is a terrifying creature—beyond description, like a demon or a snake. After killing off your old troublesome comrades one by one, you gathered five or six new, cheap replacements like Oraku who wouldn’t complain even over meager shares—had them retrieve gold coins from Yanaka’s Five-Story Pagoda and hide them at three spots along the riverbank, and still unsatisfied, you even murdered Akashi Gorohatchi.”

“There’s still more, isn’t there? Boss.”

Oei responded unflinchingly. "Osato—Sadagorō's mistress—and Oroku—Gorohatchi's wife—were among those you killed. Then there's Yokichi—the gardener at the Owari Domain's storehouse mansion—and Hanji—the gatekeeper at the Ryōgoku acrobatic troupe's hut—"

“—”

“Before your very eyes, aren’t the corpses of those you killed with your own hands piled up like a mountain? Your hands are drenched in blood—look! Behind you, the ghosts of Hanbei, Uhatchi, Sadagorō, Osato, and Hanji have appeared like smoke, pointing at you and cackling, aren’t they?” Zenigata Heiji raised his hand and pointed toward the space behind Oei. When one looked back, from between the damp black soil and starkly piled gold chests, a swaying nocturnal miasma rose up, seeming almost to envelop Oei’s resplendent figure.

“Stop—that’s enough. Will you stop me now, Boss?” Oei paused briefly, mustered courage as fierce as dragon and tiger, and resolutely confronted Heiji. “No—I won’t stop. For a woman like you, merely binding you with ropes and hauling you to the gallows won’t atone for those unbearable sins you’ve committed. You’ll be seized by countless ghosts of those you slaughtered like insects for your own greed—falling alive to Avīci Hell’s depths.”

Heiji’s tongue, driven by a sense of justice, confronted head-on the murderous fiend Oei—who possessed a face and form of such beauty it defied this world.

The Final Dice Pip

“No, no. It’s all lies!” Oei regained a sliver of composure through superhuman will.

“What’s different? At this point, trying to wriggle free from your crimes through desperate struggles—that’s cowardly!”

Heiji pushed back. “You don’t know anything, Boss—it was me who killed Omoya Hanbei.” “I made Sadakichi help crucify him—that was to make him feel my parent’s grudge.”

“Your parent’s grudge?” “Boss, listen to me.” “I am the daughter of Ōhashi Denchū, leader of the Six-Man Speckled Group.” “What?”

Those were words he had never anticipated. The woman who had just claimed to be Ōhashi Denchū’s wife had now become his daughter without even a moment passing. “My father, Ōhashi Denchū, stole 12,000 gold ryō of Owari Domain’s government funds at Utsu-no-Ya Pass. Soon after bringing it to Edo, he was ambushed and killed by Omoya Hanbei. After that, Hanbei—posing as the six-man group’s leader—forcibly took me in from the Akashi troupe, passed me off publicly as his niece, and bared his fangs to make me his concubine.”

“—” “He was hounding me from dawn till dusk—it became unbearable—so I discussed it with Sadakichi and killed him. But what of it, Boss?”

“—” “If we’d ended things there—divided the gold we’d stolen as a group and made a clean break—all would’ve been fine. But Uhatchi the clerk had to come pursuing me, meddling where he wasn’t asked. He killed Sadagorō and Osato trying to make me hoard all 12,000 ryō for myself—what a misguided show of loyalty!” “Sadagorō’s son is that errand boy Sadakichi.” “He may be small for his age, but he’s already eighteen and unnervingly sharp-witted.” “Moreover, that child was so infatuated with me that he would do anything for my sake.” “After repaying the grudge against Uhatchi—who killed his own father—Gorohatchi, Oroku, and Hanji sniffed out the 10,000 gold ryō coins and started pestering us persistently, so we took care of them too.” “That child is truly a terrifying creature—like a poisonous insect.”

“—”

Heiji was uncertain how much of this he could believe. Oei was exceedingly cunning and terribly vain, so it was possible that half of this story was lies, but it was a fact that there was no significant contradiction in stating that the majority of the murders following Omoya Hanbei’s had been carried out by Uhatchi and Sadakichi. “Boss might not believe what I’m saying.” “That’s understandable, but you should go to Shibahachō tomorrow and visit the house of a ronin named Ōhashi Denchū.” “There’s only an old servant named Tomozo who’s been employed there for many years; if you tell him you heard it from me, he’ll tell you everything.”

“―”

“Isn’t proof enough that I’m not lying—that I brought you here to this underground storehouse, you who serve the authorities—without listing reasons? Boss, even as I was dragged into the whirlpool of the Six-Man Speckled Group’s evil deeds, struggling and thrashing all the while, I couldn’t forget you—” Oei’s words veered in an unexpected direction.

“Boss.” “—”

“What a twist of fate—that I, a female thief, would stake my life to fall for none other than Edo’s most celebrated man, Boss Zenigata Heiji, entrusted with the jitte and arrest ropes.” “—” That was truly an astonishing confession. In an underground storehouse as gloomy as the depths of hell, piled with 20,000 gold ryō coins, the peerless female thief—Oei of unearthly beauty—cast aside all shame and reputation to make this declaration.

“For that purpose, I devised all sorts of schemes.” “I had Miss Oshizu lured out twice—yet I lacked the strength to force my way to your side, Boss, and couldn’t bring myself to kill her either.” “I was burning with longing like a mere sixteen-year-old girl, my body wasting away.” “Boss.”

Oei slumped heavily to her knees on the floor and clung to Heiji’s hem as she burst into convulsive sobs. “Idiot!” Zenigata Heiji—the man said to be unrivaled since Edo’s founding—had never faced such a predicament since taking up his jitte. “Boss, what am I to do? The 20,000 gold ryō that the Speckled Group stole and hoarded—please present this to the authorities with your own hands and make it at least some small achievement. I stole the 10,000 gold ryō from the Owari Domain’s storehouse mansion—gold I didn’t even need to take—just to summon you here, Boss, and let you claim the credit. At this point, I have no desire for 10,000 or even 20,000 gold ryō—why, I wouldn’t want a hundred coins!”

“—” “I’ve arranged for my underlings to leave their lives of crime, but the only one I’m concerned about is Sadakichi.” “That child is like a hornet let loose in a mosquito net—you never know what he’ll do next.” “—” “I’ve committed sins too heavy to bear—even if you bind me and turn me in yourself, Boss, I won’t hold any grudge.” “In return, if you would just keep me by your side for three days—even three days—and dote on me to your heart’s content, I would die without—”

It was truly a terrifying obsession. Oei pressed her wet cheek against Heiji’s instep and threw a tantrum like a baby. “Haven’t you had enough? This is absurd.” However, Heiji was not the sort of man who could lift this woman up and utter even a single kind word; for a time, he could only remain utterly bewildered as he listened to her frenzied confession. “I could have escaped from the very beginning if I’d wanted to flee.” “If I had loaded the 20,000 gold ryō onto a ship, I could have taken it to Kyoto or Osaka.” “I stayed in this harsh Edo, piling sin upon sin—all because I wanted to catch glimpses of you, Boss, even from afar.”

“—” “For that purpose, I shaved off my eyebrows, applied the hated black tooth dye, and even that wasn’t enough—I even chipped one of my front teeth.” “—” “Boss, I fully understand your feelings of affection for Miss Oshizu. Even though I hate her so much that I nearly killed her—such a lovely Miss Oshizu—your feelings are only natural. But if just once in your life you took a detour... if you would gently hold me and at least say... ‘How pitiful...’”

Oei crawled around on the floor, weeping uncontrollably. Her body writhed across the narrow floor like a hydrangea-colored snake for some time. Zenigata Heiji remained standing rigidly silent with his arms crossed. As eyes adjusted, the two-wick lantern's light illuminated the underground storehouse brighter than expected, mercilessly exposing every detail—the disheveled black hair of this woman tormented by illicit passion, her pallid face, crimson lips, and quivering limbs. "Boss... You must have thought all this was utterly absurd, huh?"

Oei, who had suddenly stood up, leaned against the golden box while facing Heiji, seeming to rapidly regain her former self-respect. “—” Heiji remained silent as ever, watching the shifting emotions play across the woman’s face. The wildness and shame, pride and passion, folly and wisdom—the woman’s heart, swinging from extreme to extreme—was quite a spectacle even for Heiji. “I won’t trouble you any longer. Forgive me, Boss. But there’s just one thing I want you to see.”

“—” Without waiting for Heiji’s reply, Oei—devoid of any sentiment—pushed off the hydrangea-colored underrobe with the casual attitude of someone heading to the bathhouse. Like alabaster skin dusted with silver powder, like pink coral wrapped in sheer silk—it was truly a magnificent body. “Look at this.”

What Oei pointed to was her own chest. Two powerful breasts swelled into beautifully rounded hemispheres, their pink nipples—within this dazzling cosmos of flesh—a vermillion-carved dice-pip tattoo measuring half a sun across. At its center burned a crimson dot—what else could this be but the mark of the Speckled Group’s leader? “What’s that?” “The pip of the dice—isn’t this the leader’s mark you’ve hunted so long, Boss? True, my father Ōhashi Denchū bore a common black tattoo on his arm. But I—his successor—chose style befitting a woman: vermillion ink between my breasts.”

“—” “Whether it was carving into Osato’s corpse or drawing on Gorohatchi’s arm—those were all Sadakichi’s malicious pranks. I had nothing to do with them.”

“—” “Boss Hachigorō seemed convinced this tattoo was on my thigh—you didn’t think that too, did you, Boss?”

Oei, released from her all-consuming passion, finally appeared to regain the pride of a female bandit. "Now that I've shown you this dice-pip tattoo, you must know what comes next."

“There’s no more running or hiding.” “Very well—do as you will.” “But surely Boss Zenigata doesn’t intend to bind a woman while she’s completely naked?” “Put your clothes on properly.” Heiji’s words sounded cold, even professional. “I’ve lost—I have no regrets or attachments left.” “At least tell the world that the Speckled Group’s leader—Oei, daughter of Ōhashi Denchū—put up a hellish fight before being captured.”

Oei was dressing herself in her hydrangea-colored underrobe when she suddenly pricked up her ears.

“Hm? What’s that?”

In the flames.

It was the sound of things bursting. No—or perhaps it would be better to call it the fierce sound of things burning. Intertwined with it, the barking of dogs grew gradually louder.

Suddenly, the lid of the underground storehouse flew open, and a scorching, acrid wind came roaring down from above the ladder.

“Fire! Hurry!” Heiji pulled Oei’s hesitating hand toward him and, cradling her horizontally, tried to reach for the ladder—but in that split second, the ladder was swiftly pulled up from above.

“You’ll die right there!” “Ah!” The one who showed his face from above and showered them with a cursed sneer was none other than Sadakichi—former errand boy of Omoya, son of Sadagorō—his round, cherubic yet fierce face glinting in the firelight. “Isn’t that Sadakichi? You shouldn’t be joking around.” Oei reproached him from below in a sisterly tone. “Tch—a joke? You call this a joke?—I’ve been listening close to everything you two said—how I’ve been your plaything all this time, Miss Oei, even helping you kill folks… how you’ve been sneering at me behind my back while drooling over that informant bastard… and how it was none other than your direct orders that had Uhatchi kill my old man! I know it all now!”

“Well, you…”

Sadakichi’s small face, blocking the underground storehouse’s exit, glowed with the joy of vengeance and the intoxication of wicked deeds. “When I heard that, I set fire to three spots here—already some fire bell’s ringing somewhere. The firefighters might come rushing over, but by then this house’ll have burned down splendidly, and the two moles in the storehouse will be nicely steamed to death.” “Wait—Sadakichi!” Oei craned her neck toward the storehouse entrance and called out with all her might, but even this could not placate the warped vengeance—twisted upon twisted—and serpent-like jealousy of this demonic child Sadakichi: an eighteen-year-old malformed obsessive madman.

“The fire’s already engulfed the whole house. Too dangerous to stick around—later, Boss Lady!” Sadakichi left behind one final sneer, withdrew from the storehouse entrance, and slammed the heavy lid— “Boss! Once that lid’s shut, there’s no opening it from below! Quick—use me as your foothold!”

Oei hurriedly signaled Heiji, then turned her back to the wall and positioned her body to serve as a ladder. “Alright, endure this for a moment.” Heiji placed his hands on her shoulders, stepped onto the woman’s waistband, and leapt magnificently. “You bastard—drop dead!” As Sadakichi was halfway closing the lid, Heiji tackled him—knocking him backward—but he quickly regained his footing, and the dagger was already in hand. “Idiot—” With his summer kimono’s shoulder torn, Heiji narrowly dodged the blade’s edge, then reached into his breast pocket—two or three well-worn coins sliced through flames and smoke to strike Sadakichi’s forehead, lips, and fist.

Meanwhile, the flames that had encircled them from three directions now transformed into a wheel of fire, blazing in from the right, left, and behind. When Heiji knocked the dagger from his hand, Sadakichi vanished somewhere. Flames closing in from all directions, swirling smoke—whether there remained any prospect of escaping unscathed now or not—regardless of such things, Heiji pressed his face to the mouth of the underground storehouse.

“Oei, look out!” “Hurry! Grab my hand!” From beyond Heiji’s outstretched hand at the storehouse entrance, Oei gazed up at him from the far corner—her eyes brimming with resentment.

“Boss, please leave me be.” “Even if I were saved, there’s no place for me but the execution platform.” “What nonsense. Now—hurry!” “Now—hurry!” “No—you must escape alone, Boss—don’t mind me—if you ever think of me… at least burn a stick of incense—” “Idiot! You think I can leave you in these flames and survive alone? Wait—wait!” It was truly an astonishing feat.

Amidst flames blazing against both cheeks and his sideburns sizzling down to their roots, Heiji took the ladder Sadakichi had pulled up, hung it at the storehouse entrance, and plunged headlong into its depths. "Well, Boss." “Now come!” Once again cradling the woman in his arms, climbing the precarious ladder, and navigating through smoke and flames to burst outside—this stood as Heiji’s magnificent feat, seizing a one-in-a-thousand opportunity. He lowered Oei’s body onto the cold ground and truly felt relief from the bottom of his heart.

“You’ve sure been a handful, you.” “But Boss… I can’t go on living.” “What nonsense!” “Boss… let me thank you now.” “Please live happily with Oshizu-san.” “Farewell.”

Oei’s leap as the former acrobat girl was magnificent. Kicking off the ground, she latched onto Heiji’s neck in one motion, pressed her burning cheek against his—then in the next instant hurled herself back into the raging flames they had escaped. It was an impossibly swift maneuver that defied intervention. For a brief moment, what looked like a large hydrangea-hued flower bloomed within the inferno before vanishing.

“Oei!”

The only response to Heiji's scream was the roar of flames rotating like a wheel's axle beneath the collapsed roof.

When he came to his senses, voices were rising from all directions. The tolling of fire bells—the town of Edo, stirred by the midnight conflagration—continued its eerie trembling for some time.

“Boss! So this was here?” “No—well, shocked? Not shocked—but I’m just glad you’re safe!” “What happened to Oei?”

The one who came rushing over was Hachigorō. Heiji did not answer. Instead, he pointed to the blazing flames before his eyes and quietly pressed his palms together.

×　　　　×　　　　×

The next day, two corpses were excavated from the burned ruins. One was, needless to say, Oei, but when it became clear that the other belonged to the small-statured boy Sadakichi, even Heiji turned his face away in horror at the sheer tenacity. The twenty thousand gold ryo recovered from the underground storehouse in the burned ruins were duly returned to Owari Province and other parties plundered by the Speckled Group. Yet strangely enough, Oei and those believed to be her subordinates in the new Speckled Group vanished without a trace thereafter.

And the question of how much of what Oei had said was true and from which point onward it had been fabrication was one that plagued Heiji for a long time.