Free The Fires of the Gods by I. J. Parker Page A

containers, seals, and even the brushes were lacquered the color of autumn maples and heavily decorated with golden leaves and mother-of-pearl flowers.
    Ono himself wore a casual green silk robe open over a heavy white under-robe and brilliant red trousers. This effeminate attire suited him, as did the lassitude with which he gestured towards a cushion, saying, ‘You find me hard at work, Sugawara. Please forgive the lack of amenities. When there are fires every day, one does not want to burden oneself with possessions. Alas, I cannot even offer you wine. I do not take my meals here, and my servant has gone out for ink.’
    Akitada sat down. ‘Don’t concern yourself, sir. It’s very good of you to see me.’ On closer inspection, Ono was not only ahandsome man, but also older than Akitada had thought. His hair, now that he was bare-headed, was turning quite gray, though the eyes were still large and bright and his face smooth. ‘I wonder,’ Akitada asked, ‘if you recall our meeting at Kiyowara’s house two days ago?’
    Ono looked blank. Clearly, he had not recognized Akitada. But he smiled quickly and nodded. ‘Ah, yes. Of course. Poor Kiyowara. He has died, you know.’
    ‘Yes. The very day we met. I’m afraid he was too busy to see me.’
    ‘Ah.’ Ono nodded, but volunteered nothing else.
    Akitada thought perhaps the poet was still confused and explained, ‘You were walking in the garden, reciting poetry. I was on the veranda of the reception room. Do you remember?’
    Ono’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh,
that
poem. I’ve rewritten it completely. Wait a moment. Now, where did I put it?’ He stared at the shelves with their boxes and scrolls, shaking his head. ‘It’s a very great undertaking, putting together an anthology of the best poems of our time. There are so many submissions that my own work gets lost among them. Sometimes I despair.’
    ‘Please do not trouble on my account,’ Akitada said quickly. ‘It’s the murder of Kiyowara I came about. Being a close friend, you must have some thoughts on who could have killed him.’
    ‘Oh, I’m not a friend. No, not at all. I didn’t like the man. And I haven’t really thought much about his death.’
    That was an astonishing and – under the circumstances – foolhardy admission. Akitada cheered up a little. The poet’s lack of common sense could turn out to be very helpful. He said, ‘Oh? I thought as a frequent visitor…’ and let his voice trail off.
    Ono glowered. ‘Only of Hiroko and her children. I avoided Kiyowara. The man had neither taste nor talent. His was the soul of a bureaucrat.’
    Being a bureaucrat himself, Akitada was not sure he liked this. ‘But if you consider his murder now, do you have any suspicions?’
    Ono looked up at the ceiling and frowned in concentration. ‘I don’t know… there was some rumor. Some official was dismissed because Kiyowara insisted on it.’ He stared at his overflowing shelves for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, I don’t recall exactly. Why do you ask?’
    With an inward sigh of relief, Akitada accepted that Ono wassimply too self-absorbed to care about those around him. Getting information from him was hopeless. He said blandly, ‘Just a matter of interest. With Kiyowara gone, there will be changes in appointments. Someone else will be put in his place. That can make for a powerful motive.’
    ‘You think so? In my world, men feel most strongly about love and art.’
    ‘In mine, ambition and greed are more common,’ Akitada said dryly. ‘I assume his son will succeed to the estates?’
    This time, Ono got his drift and glared. ‘Katsumi is a very fine young man. He is devoted to his mother, who is my friend. I’ve known her and her son since both were children. I will not have anyone spread slanderous lies about them.’
    Akitada raised his hands. ‘Forgive me. I put it badly. As I said, I know nothing of the family.’ He wondered if Ono was truly naive or so full of his own