pleasure of offering you some tea.”

“No, thank you very much, Sensei. Please do not go to any

trouble.”

“I insist. Besides, it is no trouble whatsoever. Observe.”

He made a small, spare, and graceful movement of his hand,

merely a turning upward of the palm, and a tea service appeared on

the low, black-lacquered table. Akiro held his breath. There had

been no dramatic gestures, no spoken incantation, not even a

whisper, no sign of concentration whatsoever. It was all done with

an utter economy of motion and with no apparent effort. It was all

the more impressive for that than any flamboyant demonstration

he had ever witnessed by thaumatur-gic entertainers.

“I am honored, Sensei.”

They both sat down on the floor, across from each other at the

table. Akiro lowered himself with some awkwardness, but Yohaku,

easily forty years his senior, seemed to glide down to the floor with

all the grace of a falling leaf. Akiro said nothing until Yohaku had

served them and they drank their first sips of tea from the

exquisite, fragile little cups.

“Delicious, ” said Akiro.

Yohaku smiled and inclined his head slightly.

Akiro cleared his throat uneasily.

“Please, Katayama-san, feel at ease to tell me how I may be of

assistance to the Bureau. I presume this is an official call.”

“Yes, Sensei. ” For a brief moment Akiro debated how to begin,

then decided to simply let the evidence speak for itself. “If I may be

permitted… ” He withdrew a manila envelope from inside his

jacket, opened it, and took out the photographs, laying them upon

the table. “I apologize for disturbing the harmony of your home

with such material, but I could think of no better way to state the

nature of my problem.”

Yohaku glanced down at the photographs, spreading them out on

the table before him. His brow furrowed and he let out a soft sigh.

Then he looked up at Akiro, a stricken expression in his eyes, but

also a question.