Thirteen Cups

[marka]

  Interesting twist the story is taking. Really enjoyed the latest installment AND the one before it, which somehow I missed ... Well, at least I got to read two together.

I've got a few comments this time (for constructive crit purposes only, of course ):

As she moved, the hem of her robe parts, exposing one curved leg, then hiding it again.
The verb "parts" is sorta in the wrong tense, ya know? (This is probably just a typo, but I figured I'd mention it.)

A smile curled her lips. “Then you’ll come to me tonight?�
He did, but for the first time he lay awake, pricked with guilt.
"Pricked" is, um, maybe not the best word to use here.

The cook accosted him by the door.
Not sure about "accost." Check def: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/accosted
 
Kiyo’s gaze touched his, briefly; he yanked his away, guilty.
Not sure how you yank away your gaze ...

Midori lay down her needle.
"Lay" should be "laid" ... because you're using the transitive form of the verb. (Midori lies down/lay down on the bed ... intransitive, present/past tense; Midori lays down/laid down the needle ... transitive, present/past tense.)  At least I'm pretty sure that how the bastard word goes ...

She wore pale blue, printed with pink and white fans, and was tying a yellow sash around her waist when he entered. She smiled at him when he entered.
You don't need the second "when he entered."

Her voice was hoarse, stiff like a plow that had been locked in the garden shed all winter.
This seems like a mixed metaphor. I LOVE the simile's potential, but it seems more fitting for something like stiff bones.

"You must be lying about the cup then, and about your poor mother and sisters and how you have to work to support him!
Probably a typo, but figured I'd point it out. (Presumably should be "them," not "him.")

Hope something above is helpful.

I really do like this story.

[Amethyst]

Oh my, oh my oh my!!  What will he do now?  Is it even possible that Midori actually broke the cup herself?  Oh my... will she return as a vengeful spirit to wreak havoc on the house??  I am sorry to see she was killed though..

We shall have to wait and see...

[Lady Macbeth]

“I…I didn’t mean…� Ikazawa swallowed. “She stole your cup.� He pointed at the splinters of jade glinting weakly in the lantern light. “It was an accident. She fell.�

“What should we do, Husband?�

“Send for the provincial po…police, I suppose.�

“No!� Midori grasped his arm. Her nails dug into his flesh. “She isn’t worth it. She…she took my cup.�

Sudden panic seized Ikazawa. “What if the cook heard?�

“She’s asleep. I heard her snoring when I passed her door. What if…� Midori licked her lips nervously. “What if we put her in the garden?�

“The garden?�

“There are tools in the shed. There must be…a shovel.�

He stared at her, unsure of her meaning. Midori thrust the lamp into his hand. “Go. I’ll clean up here.�

Moments later Ikazawa was walking down the corridor with the lamp in his hand. The outside air was searing cold; by the time he crossed the garden to the shed, his lungs ached and his fingers were numb. He half-hoped he would find no shovel there. If there was no shovel, they would have to go to the police. If he found a shovel, he would have to decide if he would use
it.

The shed was choked with the webs of spiders that had died with the first frost. Ikazawa held up the lamp. At once the light found a sturdy shovel, leaning against the wall. Ikazawa’s lips twisted in revulsion, but the choice was surprisingly easy, almost as if someone else had already chosen for him. He took the shovel in stiff fingers and closed the shed door.

The snow, frosted with a layer of ice, crunched under his feet. Ikazawa went to the corner of the garden, where two fir trees shaded a patch of ground so nothing could grow there. Even the gardener rarely ventured to the barren corner.

Ikazawa’s first strike with the shovel barely made a dent in the frozen earth. A second strike bit deeper, and a third deeper still. Ikazawa’s shoulders ached by the time he managed to lever a single shovelful of dirt out of the ground. But fear forced his arms to move, even when blood froze to his fingertips and every muscle in his body felt close to snapping.

Finally a shallow hole gaped at his feet, a rectangle of blackness in the silver snow. Ikazawa panted white clouds into the air, The grave yawned like a mouth to Hell. He edged away, only turning his back once he was beyond the firs. He leaned the shovel against the side of the house and went inside. Out of fear or habit he went to the kitchen, where the fireplace still glowed faintly. He held his lifeless hands to the heat. Needles of pain shot through his thawing fingers.

He felt nothing; his memory of hitting Kiyo seemed like a scene from a masked play. More than anything Ikazawa wanted to go to his own bed and crawl under the blankets. He wanted to succumb to sleep and wake in a world where Kiyo had never existed. But Midori waited. He held her smile in his mind as he left the kitchen and headed toward the servants’ quarters.
The cook’s snoring slipped beneath her door as he passed.

Ikazawa nearly rapped at Kiyo’s door before he remembered. He slid it aside to find Midori just on the other side.

“I hoped it was you.� She sighed when she saw him. “Come, we must hurry.�

He looked around. Kiyo was gone. Only the black-red pool of blood showed where she’d fallen. A long bundle wrapped in one of the blankets from the sleeping mat lay on the floor. Midori hefted Kiyo’s now-bulging travel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll carry one end. You can take the other.�

“No, it’s too heavy for you. I can carry it alone.� Ikazawa crouched and lifted the bundle in the middle, resting it against his shoulder. It was heavier than he’d anticipated, but he couldn’t allow Midori to help. He tried to ignore the burning in his arms as he followed Midori into the hall.

Their progress was painfully slow. Midori went ahead, peering around corners, while Ikazawa staggered after her. The bundle bumped the walls of the narrow corridors. Ikazawa cringed lest it should leave streaks of blood on the walls, biut he could not stop to look.

The garden was easier to cross because of the lack of walls. Midori slowed and walked beside him, holding the lamp so he could see the path. She pushed aside the fir branches for him to duck under, but a few needles still scraped his face. Midori stepped around him and stared at the pit.

“Is that deep enough?� Uncertainty creased the space between her eyes.

“The ground is frozen.� Ikazawa said with a trace of irritation, and quickly swallowed a chuckle; they had bickered like this too, years before. He intended to lay his burden gently in the grave, but his stiff arms buckled. The sheet-wrapped bundle fell the last few inches, shaking loose soil from the sides of the hole. Ikazawa straightened up. His back was a solid board of pain. “No one will notice anything; no one ever comes back here.�

Midori dropped the travel sack into the hole. As she bent, the lamp illuminated a lurid red stain at one end of the bundle. Ikazawa snatched the lamp from her and examined his robe. There was no stain, but his palms were smeared red and sticky to his wrists. His insides twisted, and he stumbled to the nearest tree, where he vomited. When his stomach was empty he scooped handfuls of snow off a branch and rubbed it over his hands. Midori crouched beside him and dried his fingers on her sleeve.

Ikazawa went back to the house to retrieve the shovel. Midori turned away as he returned the piled dirt to the hole. It slapped dully onto the bundle and the travel sack. Every splat was a blow to his guts, but Ikazawa managed to fill in the grave and trample the earth nearly flat. Midori reached up and shook snow from a tree branch down onto the bare dirt. They returned to the house in silence.

[Amethyst]

Oh my... I suppose they could use the cover story she ran off with her young suitor... but I seriously don't know if she will rest in peace... or if her body will be found... we shall see...

[marka]

This installment is loaded with wonderful, almost Hitchcock-like stuff, such as:

The shed was choked with the webs of spiders that had died with the first frost. Ikazawa held up the lamp. At once the light found a sturdy shovel, leaning against the wall. Ikazawa’s lips twisted in revulsion, but the choice was surprisingly easy, almost as if someone else had already chosen for him. He took the shovel in stiff fingers and closed the shed door.

and

Midori stepped around him and stared at the pit.
"Is that deep enough?" Uncertainty creased the space between her eyes.
"The ground is frozen." Ikazawa said with a trace of irritation, and quickly swallowed a chuckle; they had bickered like this too, years before.

Also, resonate details, like:

Midori reached up and shook snow from a tree branch down onto the bare dirt.

Only weak note to me was "Every splat was a blow to his guts ..." "Splat" stuck out as an iffy word choice (to me). It's out of tone with the rest, which IMO has a masterly quality that reflects fine choices (or inspiration?) on your part.

(Sorry to sound so freakin' nerdy ...  )

 

[Lady Macbeth]

They used one of Midori’s old sashes to clean up the pool of blood, then gathered up the stained reed matting and replaced it with fresh from the store room. The wooden floor beneath kept a dark spot no matter how hard Midori scrubbed.

“It could be ink.� Ikazawa suggested, desperate to get away from the metallic stench of blood.

Midori pushed sweat-lank strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re right. There will no reason to take up this matting anyway, since we don’t mean to hire another servant.�

They carried the bloody cloth to the kitchen and burnt it in the fireplace. They washed their hands in the basin, Midori squinting in the lamplight as she scrubbed at her fingernails. She poured out the water in the garden and refilled the basin from the rain barrel. Ikazawa scraped the ashes from the grate and took them outside to the ash-box. He lay new logs in the fireplace and lit them.

Midori sat on the bench beside him. “It’s nearly dawn.�

He took her hand. She rested her head on his shoulder. They stared into the growing flames, not speaking.

An hour later, the cook bustled in. She gaped at them. “My…my lady! My lord!�
Midori spoke first. “We stayed up all night talking. It’s warmer here than in the other rooms.�

“Yes, my lady.� The cook’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m…I’m so glad to have you back, my lady. I’ll go fetch that lazy Kiyo.�

“She’s not here.� Ikazawa said woodenly, automatically.

“She’s been let go.� Midori said quickly. “Because of my cup. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her shrieking last night, Cook. She raised a terrible fuss when my husband told her, so much that
he ordered her to leave right away.�

The cook shook her head. “We’re well rid of her. I’ll start breakfast…oh, my lord, you cleaned the grate. There was no reason for you to do that, it’s my job.�

“It was filthy. You really shouldn’t…shouldn’t let it get so bad.�

“But it’s all right.� Midori rose, pulling Ikazawa to his feet as well. “It was no trouble, Cook. I think we’ll try to rest, since we were awake all night.�

The cook watched them go, a fond expression on her wrinkled face.

They walked in silence until they reached Midori’s door, their hands clasped as if the fingers had been broken and mended together. Midori did not hesitate to open the door and draw him in behind her.

It was late evening when Ikazawa emerged. The smell of cherry blossoms clung faintly to his skin. Every part of his body tingled. Midori was back, and all was calm and smooth as a lake on a sunny day. Something coiled beneath the placid surface, something dark and reptilian- but Ikazawa couldn’t quite make himself remember what that dark thing was.
He passed the cook as she was coming from the kitchen. “Oh, my lord, I went to Kiyo’s old room to see if she’d left a mess. It was surprisingly neat, but the little vixen stole both blankets from the sleeping mat!�

“Let it go, Cook. We know she was a thief. It’s a small price to have her out of the house.�

A month passed. Ikazawa and Midori walked in the garden. They sat together reading in the library. They ate dinner together, and when the snow began to thaw they went shopping in town, to the tea house, to the theater. People stared and whispered to each other, amazed at Midori’s recovery.

At night they slept next to each other, their fingers entwined beneath the blankets. Midori dozed quietly, her lips slightly parted. But Ikazawa slept in fits. In his dreams he heard Kiyo’s voice beyond an impenetrable fog. She was counting, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve…�A long pause. Kiyo’s breathing quickened. Ikazawa held his breath, waiting. Suddenly the fog exploded in a shrill scream. Ikazawa started himself awake every night. He knew somewhere in his mind what the horrible dream meant, but he refused to peer past his rediscovered happiness to see it.

In the Month of Streams he persuaded Midori to put away the jade cups. She wrapped each lovingly ion bamboo matting and put them in a carved box. Ikazawa watched but did not help. When the cups had been hidden from view, he felt relieved. The dreams ceased.

Spring was born and aged into summer. Ikazawa left his business in the hands of his assistants and took Midori to the elegant inn by the sea where they had traveled once before, just after they were married. They walked on the beach and watched the waves. He sang old ballads to her, and she hid love-notes in his robes. Only once did a shadow cross Midori’s face, when she first saw the innkeeper’s children, brother and sister, playing on the veranda. But in a moment it was gone, replaced by a gentle smile.

They went home after two weeks, on a day as bright and hot as molten gold. While the driver of the rented carriage unloaded their luggage, the cook and the reticent gardener came to the door to greet them.

“My lady looks so refreshed!� The cook bowed.

Midori laughed. “I feel almost young again, Cook.�

The gardener raised his head. “A man left a message for my lord.�

Ikazawa patted sweat from his temples with a handkerchief. “What man?�

“A detective. Sanjuro, with the provincial police, he said.�

“My lady, come in out of the heat. I have some melon in the kitchen.� The cook opened the door. Midori glanced at Ikazawa. A tiny horizontal line had appeared between her eyes. She allowed the cook to steer her inside.

Ikazawa looked at the carriage driver, but the man didn’t seem to be listening. “What did he want?�

“Didn’t say, my lord. Just asked that you contact him when you returned.�

“I see. Thank you.�

The gardener nodded and vanished around a corner of the house. Ikazawa paid the carriage driver with hands that were suddenly trembling.

He spent all the next day at his office in town, studying the various transactions that had occurred in his absence. He sent a page to the provincial police building, inviting someone named Sanjuro to call on him at his office. The young man returned with a frown. “My lord, he said he would visit you at home instead. I thought he hadn’t heard me, so I repeated your message, but he just waved me out.�

“Did he say what he wanted?�

“No. He was quite rude.�

[Amethyst]

Oh my, now we see if the story holds or falls apart, and if so, what the consequences will end up being!!   

[marka]

Really enjoyed that installment. This stuck out in a good way: "They walked in silence until they reached Midori’s door, their hands clasped as if the fingers had been broken and mended together. Midori did not hesitate to open the door and draw him in behind her." That's beautiful stuff.

The only critical comment that comes to mind: The time jumps are a tad choppy, especially the first one that begins "A month passed." It seems there should be some sort of transition after Ikazawa's response to the cook, or perhaps more to mark the jump than a short, abrupt sentence.

Not a big deal, but figured I'd mention it.

[Lady Macbeth]

There was so much work that for a while Ikazawa actually forgot Detective Sanjuro. He left the office past dinner time. It wasn’t until he was turning into the lane that led past his house, on the border of town and country, that he remembered the man.

He stepped in the door and was taking off his sandals when Midori’s voice came from the sitting room. “Husband, we have a guest.�

Ikazawa’s heart stuttered in his chest. He had to force his slippered feet forward.
Midori knelt across from a young man. The table between them was set for tea. The man was very young; he looked as if he hadn’t even shaved his first beard. His sleek hair was pulled back into a tight braid, so that his delicate features looked slightly stretched. He wore the plain, dark robe of a provincial policeman. He sat very straight.

Sanjuro inclined his head toward Ikazawa, low- but not low enough, Ika zawa thought. Ikazawa narrowed his eyes and schooled his lips into a welcoming smile. “Detective Sanjuro?�

“Lord Ikazawa.� The young man offered a smile that was little more than a smirk. “Forgive me for not coming to you at your offices. The questions I have are for all your household.�

“There are only four of us, and the gardener has already gone home for the evening.�
“I will return to speak with him. Sit, Lord Ikazawa.�

Ikazawa took his place beside Midori, gritting his teeth. She poured him a cup of tea and did not meet his eyes.

“I was speaking to Lady Ikazawa before you arrived, my lord. She confirmed that you once employed a servant named Otori Kiyo.�

“Yes, she worked here nearly a year.�
   
“Where is she now?�
   
Ikazawa sipped his tea. It was too hot. He coughed, sucking his scalded cheek. “How should I know? I sent her away.�
   
“She stole something that belonged to me.� Midori explained. “When my husband fired her, she ran off in the middle of the night. We don’t know where she went.�
   
“That’s unfortunate, Lady Ikazawa. There are several people looking for Mistress Otori.�
   
“Did she steal from them as well?� Ikazawa said.
   
Sanjuro arched one eyebrow. His expression clearly said he thought Ikazawa callous but was too polite to say so. “A young man in town came to the police when Mistress Otori failed to meet him three times. A carpenter by the name of Seiji. Do you know him?�
   
“No. I didn’t know she had a lover.�
   
“I didn’t say they were lovers.�
   
“A young man in town; what else would they be?�
   
“Yes, you’re right. What else? Seiji wrote to Mistress Otori’s mother, who lives with her four other daughters in Bear Province. The mother had no idea where her eldest child was- only that she’d stopped receiving money from her the month before. Mistress Otori worked to support her family, you see.�
   
“How unfortunate for them.� Midori said softly.
   
“Tell me about Mistress Otori. Why did you hire her? How did she leave?�
   
Ikazawa tightened his grip on the cup. He disliked being ordered around by this smug young man. “My wife’s maid died of a fever last year. I put it out around town that I was looking for a new maid. Mistress Otori applied. She had worked for an invalid lady before, so I hired her.�
   
“You were an invalid, my lady?�
   
“Yes, I had a long illness. I am recovered now.� Midori bowed her head.
   
“Was Mistress Otori a good maid?â€�   
   
“She was very pleasant and kind.�

“You were shocked when she stole the item…what was the item?�
   
“A jade tea cup. Our cook found pieces of it in Kiyo’s bedchamber.�
   
“Pieces? So it was destroyed?�
   
“Yes.�
   
“Why would she destroy your cup?�
   
Ikazawa interrupted. “I believe she knew I planned to terminate her.�
   
“Her employment, you mean?� Sanjuro turned his bland face to Ikazawa.
   
“Yes, her employment. My wife was improving, so she would soon have no need of a maid. I think she broke the cup out of anger, or for revenge.�
   
“I see. Thank you, Lord and Lady Ikazawa. I’ll speak to your cook now. I apologize if your dinner is late because of it.�
   
Ikazawa began to rise, but Sannjuro gestured for him to remain kneeling. “I saw your kitchen on my way in. Don’t trouble yourself, my lord.� He glided from the room with the grace of a predator bird, closing the door behind him.
   
Midori bent her head so her hair fell forward, hiding her face. “He doesn’t know.�

“Hush.� Ikazawa got to his feet. He went to the door and listened, in case Sanjuro was eavesdropping in the corridor. When he heard nothing, he cracked the door and peered out. The hall was empty. He returned to Midori. “Of course he doesn’t know. The cook will tell him the same story; she slept through it all. The gardener wasn’t even here. He never mentioned anything about that corner of the garden. We’re safe.�
   
“Safe.�
   
“She wasn’t lying about her mother and sisters. I thought she was lying about them too.�
   
“I didn’t know Kiyo told you about them.� Midori twined her fingers together. “She talked about them to me, often.�
   
He swallowed. He’d been about to take her hand, but now pressed his fingers into the table. “We spoke a few times. In passing.�
   
When the cook finally brought their dinner, she found them each lost in their own silent thoughts. She confirmed that she’d told Sanjuro only that Kiyo was fired for stealing. “She wasn’t a good girl, my lord, but I hope nothing bad has happened to her.�
   
The rest of the evening was sunk in silence. Midori finally broke it as they lay together on his sleeping mat, the cracks around the shutters glowing silver with fierce moonlight.
   
“I have to tell you something.� She clutched at the collar of his sleeping robe.
   
“What, my love?�
   
Her grip tightened. Sudden dread plucked at Ikazawa’s heart. He sat up. Midori slumped on his shoulder, hiding her face. He grasped her arms. “Midori?�
   
She spoke so softly that he had to rest his cheek against hers to hear. “Kiyo didn’t steal my cup.�
   
“What do you mean?�
   
“I broke it myself and hid the shards in her bedchamber.�
   
“Midori, why?� His fingers dug into her skin. “Was she cruel to you?�
   
“No, she was a very pleasant girl. What I said to the detective was the truth.�
   
“You knew what we did.�
   
Her head drooped further. “For so long I saw nothing but the cups and the garden, and the ghosts of the children…but when you began to look at her, I noticed. I saw the way you watched each other, and when she tried to dust my cups you left the room with her instead of comforting me.�
   
Ikazawa moaned low in his throat. But Midori touched his face gently. “No, after so long it was only natural you would turn to another woman. Don’t be sorry. It was my fear of losing you that brought me out of my grief.�
   
Tears dripped down his face. He might have felt a touch of pity for Kiyo, but it was drowned in a wave of love for his wife. He held Midori tightly. She was weeping too, from regret or relief, he couldn’t tell. They held each other all that night and did not sleep.

[marka]

  That was compelling reading.

"Detective Sanjuro" ... I love that. I think Alfred Hitchcock would've liked this story.

[Amethyst]

Well the first hurdle is passed... now we wait and see if it holds up... I do so hate to think of them being torn apart... but I wonder if they had just told the truth, that it was an accident, if it wouldn't have been far better than trying to hide it... oh well.. we shall see how it ends...

[Lady Macbeth]

**High praise, marka. Thank you**


Ikazawa didn’t like leaving Midori alone, in case Sanjuro should come again. But she sent him to town with gently assurances and a lingering kiss.
   
Detective Sanjuro came to Ikazawa’s office in the late morning. Ikazawa had just opened the door to the street, to go to the nearest tea house for lunch. Sanjuro appeared out of the crowd in the street, as if he’d been waiting for Ikazawa to show himself.
   
“My lord.� His tone was friendly, but there was something vulpine in his smile. “May I speak with you?�
   
It was not a request. Ikazawa stepped away from the door, cursing silently. “Come into my office.�
   
Workers looked up from their desks and ledgers, noting Sanjuro’s police uniform. Sanjuro didn’t spare them a glance.
   
Ikazawa closed the door firmly behind them and reached for a clay bottle atop a cabinet. “Rice wine?�
   
“I am on duty.� Sanjuro’s tone reproached him for even asking. Ikazawa poured himself a cup and knelt across from the detective.
   
“I wished to speak with you away from Lady Ikazawa.� Sanjuro placed his hands flat on his knees. He was still as a coiled snake, awaiting its prey. “I have more questions concerning Mistress Otori.�
   
“Yes?� Ikazawa sipped the rice wine. It burned his throat.
   
“Were you involved with Mistress Otori, beyond employing her?�
   
“What do you mean?� Ikazawa put the cup down.
   
“Your wife was an invalid, and by all accounts Mistress Otori was beautiful.�
   
“No.� Somehow he kept his voice from trembling. “She was only a servant.�
   
“Your cook informed me of the nature of your wife’s illness. It must have been frustrating for you.�
   
“We didn’t betray her!� Ikazawa reached for his rice wine, but his hand trembled so badly that he pushed the cup off the table. It spilled clear liquid onto the floor. Ikazawa stared. The spreading puddle made him think of the blood beneath Kiyo’s head, and he nearly retched. Then the sharp smell of wine invaded his nostrils, clearing his head. “She was only a servant.�
   
“I apologize if I offended you.� Sanjuro bowed. “Then the sashand the jewelry you bought in the past year were for your wife?�
   
“Y…yes.�

“Even though you had not bought her any gifts in years?�
   
“What right have you to question how I treat my wife?
   
“I’ve been charged with finding Otori Kiyo, my lord. I’ll question your family, your servants, every shopkeeper on this street, every person in this town if I must.� Sanjuro rose. “One last thing, Lord Ikazawa. You said Lady Ikazawa improved some time before the cup disappeared; that Mistress Otori destroyed it out of spite when she suspected she would be fired. Yet your cook said Lady Ikazawa only got better after the cup vanished. Which is correct?�
   
“The cook is old and addled. It was before.�
   
“Strange, by chance I happened to meet your cook in the market. She seemed quite well and remembered who I am. You know her better than I, however.� Sanjuro slipped out the door without a farewell, as if implying Ikazawa would see him again. The made Ikazawa’s head hurt. He stared at the door for a long time. Finally the sour smell of wine became nauseating, and he went to call someone to clean it up.
   
He didn’t tell Midori about Sanjuro’s visit. They didn’t talk about him, or about Kiyo. They didn’t talk much at all, except when Ikazawa couldn’t find the book he’d been reading; the cook had done a great deal of cleaning that morning and Midori had to help him uncover it beneath a pile on his desk. When Midori was asleep, Ikazawa threw off his blanket and pulled on a jacket over his sleeping robe. At the outside door he stepped into his sandals and went into the garden.
   
The bounty of summer had been tamed by the gardener into neat squares separated by paths of crushed rock. The corner where the fir trees stood was wrapped in darkness, as if the slivered moon’s light couldn’t reach that far. Ikazawa steeled himself. He crossed the garden, planting his feet in the centers of carefully tended beds.
   
Unseen needles scratched at his hands and face as he pushed past the branches to the bare patch of land. Once there, Ikazawa hesitated. He felt reluctant to tread over Kiyo’s grave. He peered at the space from the shelter of the trees. A sparse covering of grass had grown there since the winter. In the darkness the scraggly blades looked like a profusion of spiders’ legs. The ground looked uneven, but, Ikazawa thought, that was natural in a spot where the gardener never came. He stared a while longer. When he finally turned to go, the grasping branches of the trees felt too much like restraining hands.
   
Midori was asleep in the same position as he’d left her. Ikazawa eased back beside her and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly, but it brought he’d thought he left behind. The gray fog, Kiyo’s voice counting, then the long, frightened pause and the rending shriek. Ikazawa woke with a gasp, his chest seared with pain. He’d been holding his breath in his sleep.
   
He sent word to his office that he was ill and would not be going to town that day. Midori wrapped him in a blanket and brewed him tea with her own hands. She sat next to him while she sewed. Ikazawa watched her slender hands, her still, white face. Only a tiny crease between her eyebrows betrayed any anxiety over Sanjuro’s meddling.
   
Ikazawa spent the morning between sleep and waking, exhausted yet afraid to succumb to it. It was midday when Sanjuro arrived; the cook appeared with his message just as Midori was commenting that it was time for lunch.
   
She bowed to them. “My lord, the police detective who asked about Kiyo is back.�
   
“What does he want?� Ikazawa’s tone was sharper than he’d intended.
   
“To speak with you, he says.�
   
“Then I suppose you should bring him in.� Midori said calmly. She glanced at Ikazawa, who looked away. The cook left them.
   
Midori squeezed his fingers in hers. “Don’t worry, he knows nothing.�
   
A dull, pressing ache began to throb at the base of Ikazawa’s skull. It got worse when the cook brought Sanjuro in. The detective bowed to Ikazawa and Midori. His smooth, young face betrayed nothing. “My lord, my lady, I am sorry to disturb you. I took the liberty of speaking to your gardener outside.�
   
“What do you need from us, then?� Ikazawa snapped.
   
“I request permission to examine your garden.�
   
An icy hand closed around Ikazawa’s heart. His fingers slackened. The blanket slipped off his shoulders. “Why do you want to see our garden?�
   
“In speaking with your gardener, I learned there are places in your garden where he rarely goes. I wish to examine those areas.�
   
“Why?� Ikazawa’s voice grated in his own ears.
   
Sanjuro’s lip curled in a smirk. “It is a routine part a missing person investigation, Lord Ikazawa. When my examination is complete, everyone in your household will be proven innocent and I will turn my attention elsewhere.�
   
Midori tilted her head slightly. Her gaze touched briefly on Ikazawa’s face. Fear lay at the center of her eyes.
   
The pressure behind Ikazawa’s eyes increased. He waved a hand in what he hoped was an irritated gesture. “Go on.�

[Amethyst]

Oh my, oh my, oh my oh my!!  What will he find?  What will he think he finds...

Oh, they should of just called the police and claimed it an accident which it was instead of trying to hide it!...

Oh how is this going to end?!?

[marka]

  Ooooooo-la-la. Am imagining Detective Sanjuro's head split open by a big shovel. But as Amethyst often says, we shall see.

Some comments:

“... the sashand the jewelry ...� Something missing here.

"Sleep came quickly, but it brought he’d thought he left behind." Ditto.
_____________________________

I particularly liked this:
   
"Unseen needles scratched at his hands and face as he pushed past the branches to the bare patch of land. Once there, Ikazawa hesitated. He felt reluctant to tread over Kiyo’s grave. He peered at the space from the shelter of the trees. A sparse covering of grass had grown there since the winter. In the darkness the scraggly blades looked like a profusion of spiders’ legs. The ground looked uneven, but, Ikazawa thought, that was natural in a spot where the gardener never came. He stared a while longer. When he finally turned to go, the grasping branches of the trees felt too much like restraining hands."


   

[Lady Macbeth]

When Sanjuro’s footsteps had receded down the corridor, Midori turned to Ikazawa. “Why did you give him permission?�
   
“It would look strange if I did not.� Ikazawa rubbed his temples. “He can’t dig up the entire garden, and even if he goes near the firs, he won’t be able to tell. I…I went back there one night. It looks like any other patch of ground.�
   
Midori coiled a lock of hair around her finger. “Yes, you’re right. I’ve been out there too.�
   
Ikazawa looked at her in surprise. For the first time he noticed dark smears beneath her eyes, lines of weariness around her mouth.
   
The cook brought lunch. Ikazawa forced himself to sip the soup and eat the rice, though it all left the bitter taste of blood in his mouth. Midori poked listlessly at her food. She glanced often at the wall facing the garden, though there was no window there.�
   
After half an hour, the cook returned. She shook her head over Midori’s untouched lunch. “My lord seems better but now my lady is ill. That seems to be the way of married people, always catching each other’s ailments.�
   
“Are the police men finished in the garden yet?� Ikazawa asked.
   
“No. It will be good, my lord, when they find nothing. Then we can be in peace.� She bowed and withdrew.
   
“Will you come?� Ikazawa rose. Midori hesitated, then nodded.
   
The sky was the color of iron. Clouds hung low, chilling the early autumn warmth from the air. Ikazawa drew his hands into the sleeves of his jacket. The gardener crouched on the veranda, his nose red with cold; he began to rise but Ikazawa waved him back down. The gardener returned to staring at the men who were combing his domain. Midori stood by the door, hugging her shoulders against the cold.
   
Sanjuro moved slowly, bent at the waist; his long braid fell over his shoulder as he examined the ground. The other two police men were less intent. They shuffled their feet and peered sullenly downward.
   
Ikazawa breathed deeply of the cool air and stepped off the veranda, onto a path of crushed rock.
   
One.
   
He froze. The voice echoed in his ears, painfully familiar, the voice of his dreams. Kiyo. He glanced around. The gardener stared vacantly. Midori gazed at the police men, who poked at the flowers with their toes. Sanjuro straightened up, looking at Ikazawa with hooded eyes. “My lord, are you well?�
   
The policemen looked up, and the gardener swung his gaze to Ikazawa. Midori did not look at him. Ikazawa coughed to clear the lump in his throat. “I’m making sure you don’t trample my garden.�
   
“Of course not, my lord. I’ve ordered my men to be careful.� Sanjuro glided toward him.
   
Two.
   
Ikazawa caught his breath. The voice was a little louder than before. Sanjuro frowned. “Lord Ikazawa?�
   
The pain had gotten worse. Ikazawa resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. “Are you satisfied of my innocence yet?�
   
Three.
   
Sanjuro was speaking, his hands spread apologetically. Ikazawa struggled to pay attention as Kiyo’s voice ebbed. “…but it’s my duty to do everything in my power to find Mistress Otori. You are welcome to walk with me, my lord. To be certain I don’t harm your flowers.�
   
Ikazawa thought he heard an edge of mockery in the detective’s tone, but he didn’t feel up to being outraged. Kiyo’s voice reverberated inside his head. “All right.�
   
Four.
   
He cringed, but Sanjuro had turned his attention back to the ground. He walked slowly, placing his feet as delicately as a deer. “Detective work is a complex process, Lord Ikazawa. Often it takes many weeks or even months to come to a conclusion. Sometimes crimes are never solved, which is unfortunate for the victims’ families. People may think I am too tenacious in pursuing my duty- like my colleagues over there, who would rather be at the station drinking tea- but I feel the gods gave me a strong sense of justice for a purpose. To do any less would dishonor them.�
   
Five.
   
Kiyo’s voice was growing louder. Ikazawa pressed a hand to his ear in an attempt to smother her cries.
   
They came to the well. Sanjuro leaned over, pressing his hands to the lip of the well.
   
“Taro.� He called to one of the policemen. “Fetch a candle. I want to lower it into the well.�
   
“We’ve been drinking that water all summer.� Ikazawa growled. “She’s not down there.�
   
“I must be thorough, my lord.� Sanjuro broke off, his gaze suddenly caught by something else. “Look at those fir trees in the corner of the garden. There must be a good deal of space between them and the wall.�
   
Six.
   
Ikazawa bit his tongue to keep from moaning. Kiyo’s voice was loud as thunder. The policeman Sanjuro had addressed loped to the veranda. He spoke with the gardener, who rose and went inside.
   
“I…I am feeling unwell.� Ikazawa muttered. “I’m going inside. Send one of your men to tell me when you leave.�
   
“Oh?� Sanjuro turned a wide-eyed gaze on Ikazawa. “Are you sure, my lord? We’re nearly finished. There’s only the well, and the trees.�

The Cook appeared on the veranda. She handed a candle to the policeman and stood watching, her shawl drawn tight around her shoulders, as he carried it to the well. Midori was motionless by the steps.
   
Seven.
   
Ikazawa closed his eyes, gritting his teeth until they ached. Sanjuro’s voice rose as the stabbing pain in Ikazawa’s head ebbed. “…but we can make things go quicker if it pleases my lord. While my men peer down the well, I will look behind the trees. If we find nothing, we’ll leave you in peace.�
   
You will find nothing, Ikazawa wanted to say, but his thought was drowned by Kiyo’s voice, shouting, brittle with hysteria.
   
Eight.
   
Sanjuro started toward the fir trees. Ikazawa remained on the path. He shuddered with revulsion at the thought of entering that grove in the daylight, but he had to see what the detective saw. He willed his leaden feet to follow Sanjuro. Beneath the iron-colored sky, the firs looked thick and ominous.
   
Nine.
   
There was nothing to fear, Ikazawa insisted to himself. He had come out here only the night before, and there had been no sign of the grave. Kiyo had been buried for months. He plodded after Sanjuro. The detective ducked behind the trees. Ikazawa’s stomach knotted and nearly forced him back. But he swallowed the bile in his throat and followed Sanjuro. The needles of the firs nipped at his face and hands. Then he was past them. Ikazawa straightened up. Nervously he surveyed the little plot of land.
   
Ten.
   
It looked normal to Ikazawa. Even, covered in patchy dead grass and a few handfuls of brittle fir needles. He relaxed a little, though his mouth still tasted sour and his hands twitched.
   
Sanjuro paced the edge of the clearing, bent at the waist, his eyes half-closed. “I see why there are no flowers here, Lord Ikazawa. You can’t see this bit of land at all from the garden.�
   
“And there’s too much shade. Nothing will grow here.�
   
Eleven.
   
Ikazawa winced. Kiyo’s voice was veined with hysteria. Why wouldn’t this damned detective leave him in peace? There was nothing visible, nothing to indicate that Kiyo lay beneath the soil.
   
“Do you have a headache, my lord?�
   
“Yes, I told you that before.�
   
“Did you?� Sanjuro moved across the grove. Ikazawa gaped at the ground, suddenly afraid Sanjuro’s foot would sink into the earth, stopping only when it struck Kiyo’s shrouded body. But nothing happened. Sanjuro frowned. “You do look ill, my lord. Please, allow me.� He pushed aside a branch and gestured for Ikazawa to pass. From the corner of his eye, Ikazawa saw Sanjuro glace back over his shoulder. He froze, still holding the fir branch.
   
“What is it?� Ikazawa growled, disguising sudden uneasiness with irritation. Sanjuro did not answer; without a word he let go of the branch. It snapped into place, narrowly missing Ikazawa’s forehead. Ikazawa followed Sanjuro back into the grove.
   
The detective knelt over something on the ground. Scattered chips of something glittered among the tired grass- but there was no sun to illuminate them, and they hadn’t been there a moment before. Sanjuro fixed Ikazawa with his precise gaze. He lifted a piece of jade between his thumb and forefinger. “Pieces of your wife’s cup, my lord?�
   
Twelve.
   
Ikazawa raised his hands and clapped them over his ears. Kiyo’s wail faded, but the pain in his head was unbearable. The clouds weighed heavy over him, squeezing the air between the sky and the earth. Sanjuro watched him, waiting for a reply. Ikazawa lowered his hands. “It…it looks the same. But why would they…� When Midori packed up Kiyo’s things, she must have swept the jade fragments into the travel bag. But they had been buried with Kiyo. How had they come to the surface?
   
Sanjuro rose. He broke a thin branch from one of the firs. He pushed it into the soil, which parted loosely. Ikazawa wantes to lurch forward, to snatch away the stick and hit Sanjuro’s smooth face with it, to close his hands around the man’s throat. But the pain in his head anchored him to the spot.
   
Someone drew in a sharp breath. Ikazawa thought it was himself, but his throat felt too swollen to breathe. With horror he realized it was Kiyo gasping. The shriek from his dream, bewildered and anguished, echoed in his mind. He mustn’t let her scream. He couldn’t bear it, he couldn’t let Sanjuro hear…
   
The stick halted. Sanjuro pushed gently at it. “There’s something in the way.� He left it standing up in the ground and came toward Ikazawa. “Excuse me, my lord. I must call my men.�
   
Kiyo’s breath hitched. She was on the verge of screaming. She was going to scream. She was…
   
“Thirteen!� Ikazawa moaned. His voice was strangled, dying. But Kiyo sighed. The pain in his head eased. The scream dissipated, trailing away into the air.
   
Sanjuro gave Ikazawa a long look. He brushed past him without a word. Dimly Ikazawa heard him calling the other policemen. A moment later they appeared with the gardener. He carried the shovel Ikazawa had used to bury Kiyo.
   
Sanjuro talked quietly to the men, but Ikazawa didn’t try to listen. He stared at the ground beneath his feet. Suddenly the detective appeared at his side, sudden as a ghost. “My lord, why don’t we wait on the veranda?�
   
Ikazawa did not resist as Sanjuro led him past the trees and down the path. It was an accident, he thought of saying. We didn’t know what to do. But he supposed it didn’t matter anymore.
   
The cook waited alone on the veranda. Midori must have gone inside. As they approached, the old woman faded back into the doorway. But when Sanjuro and Ikazawa came up the steps she seemed to gather her courage and stepped toward him.
   
“I’m sorry, my lord.� Her wrinkled face was drawn in misery. “I was cleaning the rooms, and I found…the stain.�
   
Ikazawa stared at her dully. So Sanjuro hadn’t met her by chance. It didn’t matter. Behind them a shout rose up from the fir trees. The cook’s face paled.
   
“My wife.� He said. “She had nothing to do with it.� He wanted them to believe that.
   
“Of course not. Women aren’t capable of such things.� Sanjuro put his hand on Ikazawa’s arm and turned, pulling Ikazawa with him. The cook was weeping silently. Together they watched the policemen and the gardener, carrying what they had found behind the fir trees.
   
                                               The End

***Finally finished. I have some specific questions about the end. It just seems bland to me. I think it might be better if I started some sort of supernatural/hallucination thing earlier in the story and gave it more of a presence? I was also thinking that at the end Sanjuro could march Ikazawa out of the house and on the way they see Midori has hanged herself, but I didn't know if that was too lurid. What do you think?***