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    Once more they left their horses at the monastery gate. This time, at least six other horses were tethered there as well. Seikei wanted to study the path inside to look for traces that intruders might have left, but the samurai hustled him forward.
    At the pagoda, several monks were at work. Two were washing the wooden steps, while others burned incense and chanted. Seikei understood clearly that a violent death had occurred here. No doubt the heavyset monk with the jitte had been overcome, at the cost of his life. Here too, Seikei tried to stop to examine the scene, but his guards would not permit it.
    As they rounded the side of the pagoda, Seikei beheld the same scene that had appeared so beautiful yesterday. Now, death had blighted it. Some of the chrysanthemums at the edge of the pond had been trampled and broken. Samurai who had not left their swords behind were searching the banks, and it was true: The presence of their weapons disrupted the serenity of the garden.
    Two of the samurai were standing over what first appeared to be a bundle of wet cloth. As Seikei came closer, he realized it was the body of a monk they had apparently pulled from the lake. Even more disturbing, at least to Seikei, was the appearance of someone he had not expected to meet here in Kyoto.
    Walking toward Seikei was Yabuta Sukehachi, the chief of the Guards of the Inner Garden—the very person Judge Ooka had warned Seikei not to come afoul of. The look on Yabuta’s face indicated he was not about to congratulate Seikei on his success at persuading the emperor to resume his duties.
    “You were here yesterday,” said Yabuta, just stating a fact. Seikei nodded.
    “I want you to look at something,” Yabuta said. He led Seikei to the body that had been pulled from the water. One of the samurai standing there turned it over on its back. “Do you recognize him?” asked Yabuta.
    Seikei almost turned away. The eyes were open and the teeth still clenched in anger, even though a gash across his neck had drained the blood from the face. “It’s Oyuka, the monk who was teaching Ri—I mean, the emperor, to meditate.”
    “Did you think he was dangerous?” The tone of Yabuta’s voice put Seikei on guard.
    “This man? No, he wasn’t dangerous at all.”
    “Would it surprise you to learn he was probably the most skilled person in the monastery at the art of jujutsu ?”
    Jujutsu? The art of combat without using weapons? Seikei had seen a demonstration of it by the ninja Tatsuno, who had brought down a horse and an armed warrior with only his hands. “I saw no indication of that,” said Seikei.
    “How many people do you think it would have taken to overpower him?”
    “He was old. Anyone might have overpowered him,” said Seikei, but he recalled the aura of authority that the monk had exuded.
    “Five men could not have overpowered him,” Yabuta said firmly. “Unless it was a person he was told to protect and not touch.” Yabuta looked at Seikei. “Or someone who could approach him while concealing a knife and arouse no suspicion.”
    Who could Yabuta be referring to? Seikei asked himself. The emperor? But why would—?
    Yabuta snapped out a question. “What did you say to the emperor yesterday?”
    Seikei tried to remember. It had been a confusing conversation.
    Yabuta took his hesitation as weakness. “You were supposed to persuade him to resume his duties,” he reminded Seikei. “Did you?”
    “Well . . . he said he wasn’t the emperor.”
    “But of course you saw through that.” Now Yabuta was being sarcastic. “Let’s see if we can improve your memory.” He signaled to one of the samurai, and Seikei turned to see the Ministers of the Right and Left being led down the hill from the pagoda. They looked indignant, like two peacocks who have had their feathers ruffled by a hawk.
    As they drew closer, one of them recognized Seikei and pointed. “That’s the one!” he called out. Yabuta smiled with satisfaction.