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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 Below in the courtyard the old mastiff stirred in her sleep, her nostrils opened and she took in a lot of air. A few folds appeared in the pelt on her forehead, and she relaxed again to pleasant dreams of a chase and blood in her mouth. Above Lady Murasaki in the dark, the attic floor creaked. Weight on the boards, not the squeak of a mouse. Lady Murasaki took a deep breath and swung her feet onto the cold stone floor of the bedroom. She put on her light kimono, touched her hair, gathered flowers from a vase in the hall and, carrying a candle lamp, mounted the stairs to the attic. The mask carved on the attic door smiled at her. She straightened, she put her hand on the carved face and pushed. She felt the draft press her robe against her back, a tiny push, and far, far down the dark attic she saw the flicker of a tiny light. Lady Murasaki went toward the light, her candle lamp glowing on the Noh masks watching her, and the hanging row of marionettes gestured in the breath of her passing. |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 Past wicker baskets and stickered trunks of her years with Robert, toward the family altar and the armor where candles burned. A dark object stood on the altar before the armor. She saw it in silhouette against the candles. She set her candle lamp on a crate near the altar and looked steadily at the head of Paul the Butcher standing in a shallow suiban flower vessel. Paul's face is clean and pale, his lips are intact, but his cheeks are missing and a little blood has leaked from his mouth into the flower vessel, where blood stands like the water beneath a flower arrangement. A tag is attached to Paul's hair. On the tag in a copperplate hand: Momund, Boucherie de Qualite. Paul's head faced the armor, the eyes upturned to the samurai mask. Lady Murasaki turned her face up too and spoke in Japanese. "Good evening, Honored Ancestor. Please excuse this inadequate bouquet. With all respect, this is not the type of help I had in mind." Automatically she picked up a wilted flower and ribbon from the floor and put it in her sleeve, her eyes moving all the while. |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 The long sword was in its place, and the war axe. The short sword was missing from its stand. She took a step backward, went to the dormer window and opened it. She took a deep breath. Her pulse sounded in her ears. The breeze fluttered her robe and the candles. A soft rattle from behind the Noh costumes. One of the masks had eyes in it, watching her. She said in Japanese, "Good evening, Hannibal." Out of the darkness came the reply in Japanese, "Good evening, my lady." |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 "May we continue in English, Hannibal? There are matters I prefer to keep private from my ancestor." "As you wish, my lady. In any case, we have exhausted my Japanese." He came into the lamplight then, carrying the short sword and a cleaning cloth. She went toward him. The long sword was in its rack before the armor. She could reach it if she had to. "I would have used the butcher's knife," Hannibal said. "I used Masamune-dono's sword because it seemed so appropriate. I hope you don't mind. Not a nick in the blade, I promise you. The butcher was like butter." "I am afraid for you." "Please don't be concerned. I'll dispose of … that." |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 "You did not need to do this for me." "I did it for myself, because of the worth of your person, Lady Murasaki. No onus on you at all. I think Masamune-dono permitted the use of his sword. It's an amazing instrument, really." Hannibal returned the short sword to its sheath and with a respectful gesture to the armor, replaced it on its stand. "You are trembling," he said. "You are in perfect possession of yourself, but you are trembling like a bird. I would not have approached you without flowers. I love you, Lady Murasaki." Below, outside the courtyard, the two-note cry of a French police siren, sounded only once. The mastiff roused herself and came out to bark. Lady Murasaki quick to Hannibal, taking his hands in hers, holding them to her face. She kissed his forehead, and then the intense whisper of her voice: "Quickly! Scrub your hands! Chiyoh has lemons in the maid's room." Far down in the house the knocker boomed. |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 LADY MURASAKI let Inspector Popil wait through one hundred beats of her heart before she appeared on the staircase. He stood in the center of the high-ceilinged foyer with his assistant and looked up at her on the landing. She saw him alert and still, like a handsome spider standing before the webbed mullions of the windows, and beyond the windows she saw endless night. Popil's breath came in a bit sharply at the sight of Lady Murasaki. The sound was amplified in the dome of the foyer, and she was listening. Her descent seemed one motion with no increment of steps. Her hands were in her sleeves. Serge, red-eyed, stood to the side. "Lady Murasaki, these gentlemen are from the police." |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 "Good evening." "Good evening, ma'am. I'm sorry to disturb you so late. I need to ask questions of your … nephew?" "Nephew. May I see your credentials?" Her hand came out of her sleeve slowly, her hand disrobing. She read all the text in his credentials, and examined the photograph. "Inspector POP-il?" "Po-PIL, Madame." "You wear the Legion of Honor in your photograph, Inspector." "Yes, Madame." "Thank you for coming in person." |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 A fragrance, fresh and faint, reached Popil as she gave him back his identification. She watched his face for its arrival, and saw it there, a minute change in his nostrils and the pupils of his eyes. "Madame ... ?" "Murasaki Shikibu." "Madame is the Countess Lecter, customarily addressed by her Japanese title as Lady Murasaki," Serge said, brave for him, speaking with a policeman. "Lady Murasaki, I would like to speak with you in private, and then with your nephew separately." "With all due respect to your office, I'm afraid that is not possible, Inspector," Lady Murasaki said. "Oh, Madame, it is entirely possible," Inspector Popil said. "You are welcome here in our home, and you are entirely welcome to speak with us together." Hannibal spoke from the stairs. |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 "Good evening, Inspector." He turned to Hannibal. "Young man, I want you to come with me." "Certainly, Inspector." Lady Murasaki said to Serge, "Would you get my wrap?" "That will not be necessary, Madame," Popil said. "You won't be coming. I will interview you here tomorrow, Madame. I will not harm your nephew." "It's fine, my lady," Hannibal said. Inside her sleeves Lady Murasaki's grip on her wrists relaxed a little in relief. |
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著作権の関係でファンのみの公開となります。 THE EMBALMING ROOM was dark, and silent except for a slow drip in the sink. The inspector stood in the doorway with Hannibal, raindrops on their shoulders and their shoes. Momund was in there. Hannibal could smell him. He waited for Popil to turn on the light, interested to see what the policeman would consider a dramatic interval. "Do you think you would recognize Paul Momund if you saw him again?" "I'll do my best, Inspector." Popil switched on the light. The mortician had removed Momund's clothing and put it in paper bags as instructed. He had closed the abdomen with coarse stitching over a piece of rubber raincoat, and placed a towel over the severed neck. |