text: The young man ran wildly through the streets of Miyako. Formerly the capital, and still residence of the All under Heaven, the town was unused to such tumult. The grey-tiled roofs seemed to lower their displeasure at this rowdy behavior. The youth's topknot, usually smooth and straight, was falling askew. He had hiked up his robes, and his bare legs flashed in the summer sun. One of his straw sandals fell off as he ran, but in his hurry he did not pause to collect it. He entered a maze of crooked streets faced with blank grey wooden walls. Housewives about their daily business, cleaning the outsides of their houses or dickering with tradesmen, paused and recoiled at his rush. Some gathered their children protectively to their skirts as he passed by. One at least caught a flash of golden thigh and licked her lips thoughtfully, lost perhaps in a daydream.
  
  At last he reached a narrow way bordered by the clay or brick walls of modest villas pierced by thatched-roof gates: the houses of middle-class samurai. The villas themselves, neither large nor ostentatious, were set off behind small gardens. He paused before one and leaned on the gate for a moment to catch his breath. Suddenly noticing his own disarray, he hurriedly straightened his grey robe and let the skirt fall from his hand.
  
  Each doorpost bore a simple wooden sign. Black ink characters on one bore the name MIURA. The other, incised into a small slab of wood, said simply, LESSONS. The young man pushed open the door and took a deep breath. He knew the master of the house only vaguely and had reason to be apprehensive in the man's presence. But he knew that this was the one place where he could get the help he needed. And the mistress of the house was kind... He pushed open the gate and stepped inside, walked down the flagstoned path, and stepped into the earth-floored anteroom.
  
  "Forgive me for disturbing you!" he called out formally in a loud voice.
  
  There was an answering cry from inside the house. A young, plump woman rushed up. She knelt on the wooden floor of polished boards that served as barrier between the anteroom and the house proper.
  
  "What can I do for you, please?" she asked, her head near the floor.
  
  He admired the sweep of her neck between her upswept hairdo and the stiffness of her collar, and the plump lushness of her buttocks as they tightened the fabric lower down.
  
  "Is Teacher Miura or his wife home? It is urgent I see them!"
  
  She looked up quizzically at the tension in his voice.
  
  "The master is here. He is in the back. I will call him."
  
  "No need—I know the way," he said forcefully. He turned and ran out the door and around the side of the house. The pale green plumes of giant bamboo wove a pleasant canopy over his head. He looked around. At the far end of the garden, against a wall, stood a small open hut. Before it on a tiny raised platform sat a man in deep concentration. The visitor ran through the small grove. Spots of sunlight moved about in the imperfect shade of the bamboo. Stray leaves, twirled by occasional breezes, moved restlessly.
  
  The visitor slowed as he approached Miura. From close up the man was a giant. His stolid face was topped by a wealth of hair that was brushed smoothly back, then rose into a topknot that was bent forward over his head. His hands were in his lap. Beside him on the platform was a large two-hand sword. In his belt rested another, shorter one. He seemed to be gazing sleepily at the ground before him.
  
  A slight breeze swirled some leaves. One of the oblong brown slivers passed through a shaft of sunlight. Another followed. The giant's hands moved suddenly. A tiny dirk—a kozuku—that had been hidden in the scabbard of the short blade in his sash suddenly appeared in his hand. It flipped through the air, passed through the spotlit leaf, and pinned it to the ground. His hands returned to his lap.
  
  He looked up at the young visitor. "You are Matsuo, are you not? Osatsuki's man?"
  
  Matsuo bowed, then fell to the ground on his knees and buried his face in the leaves.
  
  "Yes, master Miura. But please hurry. They have come and taken her! You must hurry and help her!"
  
  "Mistress Osatsuki? What has happened to her?" The giant rose leisurely. He thrust the two-hand katana back into his belt, then bent to pick up the kozuka and restore it to its hiding place.
  
  "What has happened to her?" he repeated to the grovelling figure at his feet.
  
  Matsuo raised a tear-streaked face. "Several men. They came and took her. They would have killed me, but she told me to run and hide. You must come. She has told me before that no one but Miura Jiro and his wife could help her if necessary."
  
  Jiro nodded his head slowly while he slipped on his sandals.
  
  "Was she expecting trouble?"
  
  "No, no. It was all so sudden."
  
  They walked to the house, and Jiro called to the maid. She came out and stood looking at them shyly. Under her bowed head she peeked at Matsuo, seemingly finding his appearance very pleasing.
  
  "My wife is away, visiting a friend at the moment. I will have to leave her a message; then I will come with you." With a bold hand he wrote a message and handed it to the maid. She bowed, and Jiro indicated that Matsuo should precede him. They turned towards the other side of the city, where Osatsuki had her abode and place of business.
  
  The Gion quarter was on the way to the famous temples that litter the mountains east of Miyako. It was gradually being given over to an entertainment quarter. Party entertainers, who now called themselves geisha, teahouses, discreet eating places were all to be found there. And of course, courtesans.
  
  Satsuki's house was a discreet two-storey affair. Heavy wooden bars protected the upper-floor windows and afforded the residents a view of the street without being seen. There were numerous passersby. Residents of the area seemed to hurry past, averting their glances. Casual visitors just sauntered on, unknowing and uncaring.
  
  Jiro and Matsuo arrived before the house. Matsuo was sweating from the exertion. He had run far and returned in haste. Jiro strode along at unaltered pace. A lounger was leaning against the wall near the entrance to Osatsuki's house. He was dressed in a loud blue-checked robe tucked up into his loincloth. His shins were wrapped in black cloths as if ready for a journey, and there was a short sword stuck in his sash. He looked at passersby arrogantly under lowered brows. Most people, recognizing his type by the unkempt hairdo and general air of bravado, avoided his eyes. He was tunelessly whistling a popular air.
  
  Jiro made as if to enter. The lounger stuck out a hand automatically to bar his way. Seeing the massive build of the samurai, Jiro hesitated.
  
  "Can't go in there," the man said in rough tones.
  
  "Oh?" said Jiro civilly. "Why not, if you please?"
  
  "Boss, he owns the house, he says so." The man's face twitched.
  
  "I happen to be a friend of the owners. I'm sure there'd be no objection. Where is Mistress Osatsuki, by the way?"
  
  "The boss took her to... Hey, wait a moment, you a friend of that woman Satsuki?"
  
  "Yes," said Jiro, smiling faintly. "Of course. She's the owner."
  
  "Getoutahere!" said blue-checks with a snarl. He put a hand on the hilt of his sword to emphasize his words.
  
  Jiro's smile broadened. His hands flashed up twice. Blue-check's head rocked from side to side, and he fell with a cry.
  
  Jiro rolled him over, then placed a sandalled foot on the man's chest. "Tell me about it," he commanded softly.
  
  Blue-checks tried to rise.
  
  Jiro leaned forward, and the man collapsed with a shriek. "Tell me!" commanded Jiro again, leaning forward. "This 'boss,' where is he? Where did he take Osatsuki?"
  
  The man on the ground groaned but did not speak until Jiro reached for his great sword.
  
  "Yasaka shrine. Behind Yasaka shrine. His name is Uchibei. Everyone knows him."
  
  Jiro grinned. "I'll tell him you sent me." He turned and entered the house. The ruffian scuttled to the side, then rose to his feet. He considered for a moment, then, realizing his predicament, headed away from Satsuki's house at a lope, moving northwards. The Yasaka shrine was to the south, and he was anxious to put some distance between himself and his boss. He could have lied, he supposed, but the massive samurai looked like a man who would not take kindly to such a ploy.
  
  "We'll go up and have a look," said Jiro.
  
  The place had been thoroughly wrecked. It was not likely that Osatsuki had put up a fight, so the wrecking had been done as a matter of spite. Items of value had been pillaged, and Satsuki's robes were scattered about, torn and trodden on. Matsuo looked at the destruction, tears in his eyes. Jiro was more controlled. He did not know Satsuki well, but he had great respect for her beauty and charm.
  
  "Matsuo, I shall follow her kidnappers. You must restore the house to its former condition. If there is any trouble before we are back, run and call Okiku. She will know what to do. I will follow the kidnappers to Yasaka shrine."
  
  The search took Jiro almost half the day. There was a maze of small streets and tiny neighborhoods around and behind the famous shrine. They were the result of the growth of the city since peace had come to the land. No one seemed to know the mysterious Uchibei. A lounger, quite elderly, his straggly hair barely held in a knot, had been following Jiro with his eyes. Jiro sat down beside him and jingled some coins suggestively in his sleeve.
  
  "Is there anything I can get the honored samurai? A drink? A smoke? A woman, perhaps?"
  
  Jiro smiled and didn't answer, merely taking out a small string of copper coins. The man's face brightened. "That's a rather small store of cash for such a large samurai as your honored self," he said, half-fawning, half-sneering.
  
  "There is more," Jiro said laconically, jingling his sleeves again.
  
  "Is there something the honored sir is particularly interested in?"
  
  "I've heard of a man named Uchibei in these parts. I have some business with him."
  
  "Elder Brother Uchibei is not generally pleased when someone tells of his whereabouts..."
  
  "With cash, a man can be far from trouble." Jiro drew another string of copper coins. The old man reached for them with a dirty claw.
  
  "Uchibei? You do mean Uchibei? The big man? His mansion is right behind the temple. I will tell you..." With many side glances and mutterings the lounger described Uchibei's mansion. Jiro nodded his understanding, then paid over the string of cash.
  
  Uchibei, he knew, was one of that vast mass of "mean people" who infested all cities, preying on the weak and the helpless. He would have to be careful, as one should be careful with any pack of stray dogs.