This was the official story, Yanagisawa knew. He also knew the truth behind the story. Mataemon had pressured Lord Kii to desert Yanagisawa’s faction and join Lord Matsudaira’s instead. Yanagisawa and Hoshina had feared he might succeed, and had taken precautions. Hoshina had deliberately picked a quarrel with Mataemon, insulted the sensitive young man, and goaded him into drawing his sword in the palace. Mataemon had condemned himself to death, ridding Yanagisawa of a threat.
“I bear no enmity toward Hoshina-san,” Lord Kii said now, “be-cause I accept that my son was a casualty in the war of politics.”
His earnest manner said he actually believed this line that Yanagisawa had fed him after delivering the news of Mataemon’s fatal mistake. Lord Kii wasn’t a complete fool, but he preferred to take the easy road. His mind spurned realizing that his master had destroyed his son, because admitting the truth would require him to exact revenge. And Yanagisawa thought Lord Kii was neither under-handed nor reckless enough to exact revenge by kidnapping the shogun’s mother and demanding Hoshina’s execution.
“Your attitude reflects your wisdom,” Yanagisawa said. He watched Lord Kii smile with humble pleasure at the compliment. “But people who don’t know you as well as I do might think you bear a grudge and wonder if you secretly want to punish Hoshina-san. The ssakan-sama will wonder how and when you learned about Lady Keisho-in’s trip.”
Puzzlement creased Lord Kii’s forehead. “Why, I learned about it from you, at your banquet, the night before Lady Keisho-in left Edo. Don’t you remember telling me?”
“Of course I remember.” Yanagisawa rested secure in his belief that his passing remark hadn’t delivered Lady Keisho-in into the hands of the kidnapper. “And I’ll tell the ssakan-sama that even though you knew in advance about the trip, the information was safe with you because you would never hurt our lord’s mother. But there’s one small matter that might point his suspicion toward you.”
“What is it?” Lord Kii said, looking more confused than ever.
“The metsuke has reported that a squadron of your retainers left Edo a few hours ahead of Lady Keisho-in,” said Yanagisawa. “They traveled in the same direction along the Tkaid.” Had he not known Lord Kii’s lack of nerve as well as imagination, Yanagisawa would have deemed this evidence that the man had arranged the ambush. “Where did they go?”
“I sent them on business to Miyako.”
“What business?”
“Why does it matter?” Now a beleaguered expression came over Lord Kii’s face. Sweat trickled down his cheeks. On the battlefield, the Red Flag and Blue Flag armies charged and clashed again. Their ranks disarranged, while their commanders scolded them and the conch trumpets blared. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I need to know why your men were on the highway, near the place where the women were kidnapped,” Yanagisawa said. “If you give me a good reason, I can explain to the ssakan-sama, and he won’t assume the worst. What were they doing?”
He expected his verbal finesse to counteract the offense his questions had given; he expected Lord Kii to answer because his ally never refused him anything. But Lord Kii gave him a blank stare that gradually filled with wonder, then dismayed enlightenment.
“I understand now,” he said in the tone of a man just wakened from sleep and facing a harsh reality. “It’s not the ssakan-sama who thinks I’ve done something wrong, it’s you.” His finger pointed at Yanagisawa. Indignation raised his voice: “You’re accusing me of sending my men to kidnap the shogun’s mother!”
The conversation, which had been proceeding smoothly under his control, now hit dangerous ground with such abruptness that Yanagisawa didn’t know quite how it had happened. He blinked, knocked off balance.
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Yanagisawa said, aware of the need to placate Lord Kii and correct his misperception before the danger worsened. “You’ve misunderstood me.”
Lord Kii appeared not to hear. Slowly he shook his head. “I sold my clan to you, even though Mataemon warned me that I shouldn’t. Even after he died because I chose you over his wishes, I still honored our bargain because I had sworn loyalty to you. But now I see that Mataemon was right.” Lord Kii reeled away from Yanagisawa; hurt welled in his gaze. “Now you repay my loyalty by accusing me of treason against the shogun!”
“I would never do that,” Yanagisawa said with a vehemence born of his horror at seeing the fabric of their relationship torn apart. “Believe me, because I’m telling you the truth.”
His thoughts flashed to the six thousand troops that Lord Kii commanded, and the vast fortune that would finance a coup. Yanagisawa must repair the damage to the alliance that was crucial to his bid for power and his defense against his enemies. He took a step toward Lord Kii, but the daimyo flung up his chain-mailed arms, repelling Yanagisawa’s advance.
“You’re a liar!” Lord Kii shouted as his hurt gave way to rage. “I knew your reputation when I accepted your favors. I should have known you would one day turn on me like a snake who bites the hand that feeds it. I was stupid to convince myself that allying with you would do me good. I was a disgraceful wretch to excuse your lover, who caused the death of my son, and to place my duty to you ahead of my own flesh and blood!”
Yanagisawa saw with fresh horror that he’d been wrong to think Lord Kii had forgiven his son’s death or spared Hoshina the blame. The offense Yanagisawa had unintentionally given Lord Kii had ignited a cauldron of bitterness within the daimyo. Yanagisawa was abashed to discover that he’d misjudged the man he’d thought his tamed, subservient creature. He realized that the accusation Lord Kii had perceived was a heavy onus placed atop the other ills Yanagisawa had caused him, and his tolerance for them had just snapped.
The old daimyo smote his gloved fists against his chest, punishing himself for his sins. “What a coward I was to bend to your will! How wrong I was to cast my lot with you, who’ve come to destroy me!”
“My only purpose is to clear you of suspicion and protect you from the ssakan-sama,” Yanagisawa said, anxious to win back Lord Kii’s good will. “Please calm down, so you can recognize the truth.”
Lord Kii folded his arms. “I do recognize the truth.” Anger colored his face such a deep, purplish crimson that he looked ready to burst a vein. “You’ve got one eye on my troops, and the other on my treasury. You’ve used me and humiliated me. That you dare insult my honor has shown me the mistake I made in trusting you.”
A thrill of fear coursed through Yanagisawa.
“I’ll not be a fool or coward or disgrace any longer,” Lord Kii declared. “Our alliance is severed.”
Yanagisawa stood dumbfounded by shock as his mind absorbed the fact that he’d suddenly lost a major source of military backing. A new battle commenced on the training ground. This time the Blue Flag soldiers rallied. Their blades struck down Red Flag troops, who fell in the dust. As Yanagisawa experienced a sensation of the earth crumbling under his feet, outrage enflamed him. That his faithful dog should step out of line and deal him this blow! If reassurances wouldn’t put Lord Kii back in his place, then perhaps intimidation would.
“Don’t be so quick to break with me,” Yanagisawa said in the quiet, venomous tone that had subdued many a man braver than Lord Kii. “You’re in a dangerous situation. You have reason to want Hoshina-san dead. You had time to plan the ambush. Your men rode out on the Tkaid the same day as Lady Keisho-in. That makes you a primary suspect in the kidnapping. One word from me to the shogun, and you’ll be arrested and stripped of your title, your lands, and your wealth.”
A sharp intake of breath from Lord Kii, and a sudden fearful look on his face, gratified Yanagisawa.
“But if you uphold our alliance, I’ll protect you. I won’t let the ssakan-sama persecute you, or the shogun think you kidnapped his mother.” Yanagisawa infused his voice with all the coercion he could manage. “Just tell me why you sent your men on that journey. Give me proof that you’re innocent, and everything
will be the same as before.”
Lord Kii vacillated, his gaze shifting, his eyes agleam with his terror of Yanagisawa’s wrath. Yanagisawa waited, confident that he could overpower the daimyo. But although Lord Kii trembled like a tree cut at the base and ready to fall, he stood firm.
“I shouldn’t need to prove to you that I’m not the kidnapper,” he said, huffing with rage, fright, and wounded dignity. “My word should be good enough because I’ve never deceived you, and you should know I’m an honest man. If you don’t trust me after all I’ve endured for you, then whatever I say won’t convince you that I’m innocent. Go ahead and denounce me to the shogun, but first you’d better listen to this.”
Vengefulness radiated from the daimyo’s armor-clad bulk. On the battlefield, his Blue Flag soldiers scattered and chased their opponents; they whooped in glee. “Yesterday, Lord Matsudaira came to see me. He proposed a marriage between his second son and my granddaughter.” Lord Kii grinned in triumph at Yanagisawa. “I want you to be the first to know that I’ve just decided to accept Lord Matsudaira’s proposal.”
Terror thunderstruck Yanagisawa. That Lord Kii would agree to the marriage meant he was switching sides to the Matsudaira faction. The balance of power would tip away from Yanagisawa. When his other allies learned that Lord Kii had defected, other defections would follow. The odds that he could install his son as the next shogun had drastically diminished in a mere instant. So had his chances of surviving a change of regime. Yanagisawa recognized that his situation was desperate and called for extreme measures.
“Wait, Lord Kii,” he said. “Before you act on your decision, please accept my apologies for offending you.”
How the words rankled in his mouth! He rarely apologized to anyone; his rank exempted him from appeasing most other people. Lord Kii beheld Yanagisawa with obvious surprise that he would humble himself, but didn’t answer.
“Know that I respect your fine intelligence, courage, and honor,” Yanagisawa hastened to continue. “Your friendship is more precious to me than your army or treasury.”
The flattering lies that usually rolled off his tongue now stuck in his throat because he resented groveling to someone of inferior status. Lord Kii stood silent and unmoved, waiting to see how much lower he would stoop. Tasting a mortification that sickened his spirit, Yanagisawa dropped to his knees before Lord Kii. He never knelt to anyone except the shogun, and every muscle stiffened with resistance; humiliation galled his pride.
“Please let us remain allies.” Yanagisawa forced out the plea in a voice that he barely recognized as his own. Hot with shame and fury at his abasement, trembling in his terror, he gazed up at Lord Kii. “Please don’t desert me.”
Lord Kii only stared down at him with scorn. He uttered a laugh that expressed contempt toward Yanagisawa’s begging, and enjoyment of their reversed positions. He said, “Leave my estate at once. Never come here again.”
A sense of doom resounded through Yanagisawa. Before he could protest, Lord Kii called to his troops on the battlefield. They galloped over to him, primed for more combat.
“Training is over. Escort the honorable chamberlain off the premises,” Lord Kii told the troops.
Yanagisawa had no choice but to descend from the stands and slink across the battlefield like a whipped dog, while Lord Kii gloated. The troops followed him and his entourage until they exited the gate. As the gate swung shut behind them, a funeral procession of chanting priests, bearers carrying a coffin, and somber mourners filed down the street. Bells tingled; drums throbbed. Yanagisawa stood isolated and stunned, regretting how badly his scheme had backfired.
He’d lost the ally whose support he’d wanted to confirm. Even worse, he’d accomplished nothing to advance the search for the kidnapper. He’d not obtained proof of Lord Kii’s innocence and eliminated him as a suspect. Furthermore, the whole disastrous episode had shown Yanagisawa how seriously he’d misjudged the daimyo’s character, with disturbing consequences. It was now obvious that Lord Kii had nursed a grudge against Hoshina. Perhaps he’d also plotted revenge. If he had the nerve to repudiate Yanagisawa and the wits to understand that he could protect himself by joining the Matsudaira faction, then he wasn’t as dull or meek as Yanagisawa had thought. Perhaps he had arranged the kidnapping.
But Yanagisawa had failed to find evidence that Lord Kii was the Dragon King, or leads to Lady Keisho-in’s whereabouts. He’d gotten himself thrown out of the estate before he could even look for clues, and if he dared return, he might start a war that he couldn’t win, because his power was on the downslide. The pounding of his heart, and the thunder of his blood, produced a roar in his ears like a distant avalanche tumbling toward him. Yanagisawa knew not what to do, except hope for Sano to solve the case, prevent Hoshina’s execution, and spare Yanagisawa the downfall that would begin if no one rescued Lady Keisho-in.
21
Umbrellas, patterned in hues of red, pink, yellow, orange, blue, and green, bloomed like giant round flowers outside shops along the narrow street in the Nihonbashi merchant district. Inside the shops, the umbrella makers cut bamboo handles, glued paper to spokes, and painted designs. Customers haggled with clerks and departed carrying portable shade to protect themselves from the afternoon sun that rained heat upon the city. Sano and a squadron of detectives left their horses outside the neighborhood gate. They walked up Umbrella-maker’s Street, jostling past an itinerant tea seller. Sano stopped a boy who toted a load of bamboo poles and asked, “Where can I find Yuka?”
The boy pointed down the block. Sano looked, and saw what he at first thought was a little girl wielding a straw broom, sweeping debris out of a shop. He led his men toward her, and closer appraisal showed her to be a diminutive woman, dressed in a faded indigo robe and white head kerchief. When Sano called her name, she stopped sweeping and lifted a round, pleasant face to him. Brown spots and faint wrinkles on its tanned skin marked her age at some thirty-five years. Sano observed that she seemed in good health, and certainly not on her deathbed, as her daughter, Mariko, had told Madam Chizuru.
“Yes?” She bobbed a quick bow. Her bright eyes regarded Sano and his men with shy curiosity.
Sano introduced himself, then said, “I’ve come to talk to you about your daughter.”
“My daughter?” Yuka’s gaze dimmed.
“You are the mother of Mariko, aren’t you?” Sano said.
“Mariko?” The woman clutched her broom to her stubby, childlike body. Sano couldn’t tell whether fright or simplemindedness caused her to echo his words without apparent comprehension. Then she nodded, her expression wary.
“I must ask you some questions about Mariko,” said Sano. “Did she come to visit you seven days ago?”
“Visit me? No, master.” Confusion wrinkled Yuka’s brow.
Sano decided that Yuka wasn’t simpleminded; she just feared authority, as did many peasants, and her repetition was a nervous habit. Yet although Sano recognized that this would be a difficult interview, and he must exercise restraint while asking a bereaved mother for information about her dead child, he felt none of the impatience that had hounded him while questioning the merchant Naraya.
He now knew that Mariko had lied about visiting her mother. The lie, coupled with the gold coins she’d hidden, fueled his suspicion that she was the Dragon King’s accomplice. A growing certainty that he’d found a path to the truth infused Sano with an energy that calmed as well as elated him. Even while each passing moment heightened his desperation to find Reiko, for the first time he had faith that he would succeed.
“Then you didn’t see Mariko before she went away on the trip,” Sano clarified.
“Trip? What trip?” Yuka shook her head. “I didn’t know Mariko was going away. I thought she was working at Edo Castle. I haven’t seen her in six months.” A shadow crossed her good-natured countenance: She’d begun to understand that a visit from the shogun’s investigator boded ill for her. “Has Mariko done something wrong?”
Sano re
alized with dismay that Yuka didn’t know her daughter was dead. Perhaps the Edo Castle officials who were responsible for notifying the families of Lady Keisho-in’s murdered attendants hadn’t gotten around to Yuka. She probably couldn’t read and would have ignored the news broadsheets that had reported the massacre. The task of delivering the bad news fell to Sano.
“Come, let’s sit down,” he said, gesturing for his detectives to move away and give him and Yuka privacy.
He took the broom from Yuka and leaned it against the wall of the umbrella shop. They sat together on the edge of the shop’s raised floor, in the shade beneath the eaves, and Sano gently explained to Yuka that her daughter had been killed. As he spoke, he watched shock and disbelief glaze her eyes, and horror part her lips. A whimper of anguish arose from her. Quickly she turned her face away to hide her grief.
“Please excuse me, master,” she whispered.
Sano saw tears glisten down the curve of her cheek. His heart ached because he could imagine himself in her place, losing his own child. Feeling helpless to comfort her, he called to the tea seller and bought her a bowl of tea. Yuka drank, swallowing sobs, then hunched over the bowl in her hands, as though she craved its warmth even on this hot day. After she’d calmed, she began to speak in a wan, desolate voice.
“I knew Mariko would come to a bad end someday. But I don’t know what went wrong.”
Time pressed against Sano, and questions percolated in his mind, but he waited and listened. Yuka deserved the solace of speaking about her child, and he had a hunch that letting her tell her story in her own way could produce more valuable facts than would a formal interrogation.
“Her father died when Mariko was seven,” Yuka said. “He used to work in the umbrella shop. The proprietor took pity on me and hired me as a servant. He let Mariko and me live in the back room. I have to work day and night. I couldn’t watch Mariko. But at first I didn’t worry, because she was so quiet, so obedient, so good. Even when she got older, I trusted her to look after herself. She wasn’t a pretty girl—not the kind that boys chase.”
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