“They don’t approve of your relations with me,” Reiko whispered. “They’re jealous. They want to separate us. Last night I heard them talking. They’re plotting to kill me.”
“This can’t be. My men have orders not to harm you or your friends without my permission.” But consternation tinged the distrust with which the Dragon King beheld Reiko.
“It’s true,” Reiko said, hastening to play upon the doubts about his authority over his men and the fear of betrayal that she sensed in him. “They’re going to kill me, throw my body in the lake, then tell you that I ran away.”
His brows slanted downward in distress. “Ota and the rest of my personal retainers would never go against my wishes. But the other men . . .” He fingered his chin, brooding. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have employed people of their kind. I’ve never quite trusted them.”
Reiko was gratified to have planted a seed of suspicion that would poison the Dragon King’s mind toward his henchmen. “I don’t want to die,” she said. Tears of genuine desperation spilled from her eyes. “Please, you must protect me!”
He conceded with a decisive air: “Yes, I must.”
Encouraged, Reiko said, “Then please keep your men away from my friends and me.” Getting rid of the guards would benefit an escape attempt. “Put them where they can’t hurt us.”
“But I can’t leave you unguarded,” the Dragon King said as rational thought penetrated his fear of treachery.
“I promise I won’t run away,” Reiko said. “Now that we’ve found each other again, I can’t bear to leave you.”
“Even if you stay, your friends will escape.”
“They’re too afraid to go without me,” Reiko said. “And you can move us all someplace where you can watch us yourself.”
The little influence she had over the Dragon King was more than she had over the guards. The odds that she could trick one madman outweighed the chance that she could fight past his army. Wherever else he put the women was bound to be less secure than the tower, and possibly closer to the boats.
The Dragon King vacillated, scowling as he pondered whether the threat to Reiko—and Anemone—necessitated changing the arrangements he’d made. Reiko turned their clasped hands so that his lay on top. With the fingertips of her other hand she stroked his hand with gentle, lingering, sensuous movements, as she often did to Sano. Her spirit grieved, because voluntarily touching the Dragon King seemed a betrayal of Sano, and the first willing step toward losing her virtue.
“The tower is too far from you.” Reiko trailed her fingers along the Dragon King’s wrist. “Move me into the palace, where we can be close.” Her whisper promised nights of wild passion. Her seductive manner hid anguish.
The Dragon King moaned. While Reiko continued her caresses up his arm, bumps rose on his skin; he closed his eyes, and a shudder coursed through him. Even as she dreaded to arouse him into ravishing her, she sensed him fighting the impulse. He suddenly tore himself away from Reiko, strode outside to the balcony, and slumped against the rail, his breath rasping.
Although heartily relieved that the seduction need go no further, Reiko experienced confusion at his response. What had held him back from the carnal union that she knew he wanted? She thought of Midori laboring in the wet, bleak prison, and her spirits sank deeper. If this first attempt at manipulating the Dragon King failed, what chance had her plan to free herself and her friends?
“I will think about what you’ve asked,” the Dragon King said, his back still turned toward Reiko. Then he called, “Ota-san! Take her away.”
26
The government archives inhabited a mansion in the official quarter of Edo Castle. Here Sano had worked when he’d first joined the bakufu, before the shogun had assigned him to investigate crimes. In its main study, clerks moved aside the desks where they copied, sorted, and filed documents. The chief archivist, a pudgy, middle-aged samurai named Noguchi, spread huge maps of Japan on the cleared floor space. Sano and Chamberlain Yanagisawa knelt to examine the maps, which were brilliantly painted in blue to represent rivers, lakes, and oceans, green for plains, and brown shades for mountains. Inked characters marked cities and the names of landowners.
“Dannoshin Minoru must have had a particular destination in mind when he abducted the women,” Sano said.
“He wouldn’t count on finding a suitable prison on the spur of the moment,” Yanagisawa agreed. “A man who’s been plotting revenge for twelve years is neither impulsive nor inclined to trust in luck.”
“And a man as clever as Dannoshin would know enough to avoid attracting notice while he’s holding the shogun’s mother captive,” Sano said. “He wouldn’t take rooms at an inn or rent a house in a
village, because people who’d heard about the kidnapping would get suspicious.”
Yanagisawa perused a map of the Hakone region. “There are caves in the wilderness around the kidnapping site. Maybe he scouted one in advance and hid the hostages there.”
“Maybe,” Sano said, “but I would bet that Dannoshin owns a property where he can be sure no one will happen upon him and report him to the authorities.”
“If he does, and that’s where he went, it can’t be far from the kidnapping site,” Yanagisawa said. “He needed to hide the women quickly to avoid being seen, and minimize the risk of their escaping.”
Sano traced his finger along the white line on the map that represented the Tkaid. He stopped at the winding stretch where Lady Keisho-in’s party had been ambushed. Then he drew an invisible circle whose radius corresponded to a day’s journey from the spot. The circle contained the names of local landholders.
“Let’s begin looking here,” Sano said.
The shogun sat on the dais in the audience chamber, presiding over a meeting that concerned national defense and included Uemori Yoichi, a member of the Council of Elders and chief military advisor to the Tokugawa, and several top army officials. While Uemori droned on about troop supplies, fortifications that needed improvement, and arsenal inventories, the shogun worried about his mother. He imagined Lady Keisho-in trapped somewhere, wondering why he didn’t rescue her. He fidgeted, barely able to tolerate sitting idle and waiting for Chamberlain Yanagisawa and SMsakan Sano to bring him news. How he wished that he himself could do something to save his mother and catch her kidnapper!
“Your Excellency, will you please sign this?” Uemori reached up to the dais and set documents on the table there.
The shogun contemplated the documents with timid uncertainty. Having paid no attention to the discussion, he didn’t know whether he should approve them. But even if he had listened, he probably wouldn’t have known. Ruling a nation was so difficult!
“What is this?” he said, cautiously fingering the pages.
“Authorizations for treasury funds to cover the costs we just reviewed.” Uemori spoke in a tone of patient forbearance.
The shogun sighed. What else could he do except follow other people’s advice? Yet suddenly he was sick and tired of his own impotence, and furious at the world.
“How dare you, ahh, bother me with trivia at a time like this?” he shouted at his subordinates. They regarded him in surprise. He crumpled the documents and flung them at Uemori. “Take this and, ahh, insert it up your, ahh, rear end!”
Uemori ducked; the other men sat grave and wary of their lord’s anger. Just then, Dr. Kitano, the chief Edo Castle physician, entered the room. “Excuse me, Your Excellency,” he said.
“What do you want?” the shogun demanded.
Dr. Kitano knelt and bowed. “Please pardon the interruption,” he said, “but Suiren has regained consciousness. I had orders to notify SMsakan Sano, but I can’t find him, so I thought I’d better report directly to you, Your Excellency.”
The shogun frowned, puzzled by the news. “Who is Suiren?” he said.
Dr. Kitano looked surprised that the shogun didn’t know. “She’s your mother’s maid. The one who survived the attack.”
More annoye
d than enlightened, the shogun said, “Why should I care that she’s, ahh, conscious? Why do you, ahh, bother me about her?”
“There is a possibility that Suiren heard or saw something that could help us determine where the kidnappers took your honorable mother,” Uemori interjected.
“Ahh. And now that she’s conscious, she can, ahh, tell us what she knows.” Comprehension quickly gave way to anxiety. “SMsakan Sano must go to her at once!” Then recollection struck the shogun. “But Sano-san is out tracking down Dannoshin Minoru. So is Chamberlain Yanagisawa.” The shogun pointed at one of his secretaries. “Go fetch them.”
As the secretary started to obey, Uemori said, “With all due respect, Your Excellency, perhaps the chamberlain and ssakan-sama should be allowed to finish what they’re doing.”
The shogun chewed his lip, humbled by Uemori’s better judgment. “Never mind,” he told the secretary.
“Someone else could question the maid,” Uemori said.
“Ahh. Yes. You are right,” the shogun said, then asked in bewilderment, “But who shall I send? I can’t entrust such an important task to just anyone.”
Out of nowhere came a sudden, novel idea: Why don’t I go myself? So disconcerted was the shogun that his jaw dropped. Yet the idea seemed the perfect solution, because interrogating the maid would satisfy his desire for action. While his audience watched him as if wondering what had gotten into him, he stepped toward the edge of the dais . . . only to hesitate. Talking to a servant was beneath him. He must uphold the dignity of his rank and let his underlings do his dirty work. Wishing Sano and Yanagisawa were here to spare him this dilemma, he started to step back, but the thought of them arrested him.
They had taken charge of the kidnapping investigation, but why should they? It was his mother who was in danger, not theirs. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi experienced a rare pang of resentment toward Yanagisawa and Sano. From time to time he had a sneaking suspicion that they thought they were smarter than he, and more fit to make important decisions. He recalled that when the ransom demand came, he’d at first wanted to execute Police Commissioner Hoshina, then changed his mind . . . or had he? Could Sano have changed it for him, with Yanagisawa’s collusion? The shogun wondered how many of his other decisions they’d influenced. Resentment and suspicion turned to anger at his trusted chamberlain and ssakan-sama. Well, he wouldn’t leave matters to them anymore. It was time to stand on his own two feet.
“This meeting is, ahh, adjourned,” he said. Hopping off the dais, he pointed at his chief attendants and Dr. Kitano. “Come with me.”
“Where are you going, Your Excellency?” Uemori said, obviously startled.
“To the, ahh, sickroom to question Suiren.” As everyone stared in amazement, the shogun strode regally from the chamber.
Righteous indignation carried him out of the palace, through the castle grounds and passageways, to the threshold of the sickroom. There, sudden apprehension halted him and his retinue at the shrine outside the low, thatched building. The sickroom was haunted by spirits of disease and polluted by the deaths that had occurred there. The shogun, whose health was delicate, felt dizzy and sick to his stomach at the thought of entering. But enter he must, for his mother’s sake.
He took a clean white cloth from under his sash and tied it over the lower half of his face to prevent the bad spirits and contamination from getting in his nose or mouth. “Let us, ahh, proceed,” he said.
His chief attendant opened the door of the sickroom, walked in, and announced, “His Excellency the Shogun has arrived.”
Faltering into the room, the shogun saw physicians and apprentices staring in shock to see him in this place where he’d never come. They fell to their knees and bowed. The shogun approached the woman who lay in the bed.
“You must be, ahh, Suiren,” the shogun said. He crouched some distance from her, because he could read death in her wasted body and unwholesome pallor.
She gazed up at him in awe. “Your presence does me an honor, Your Excellency,” she whispered in a low, cracked voice.
With his retinue and the doctors all watching him, the shogun felt self-conscious and uncertain because he’d never before questioned a witness about a crime. “Do you remember how you, ahh, got hurt?” he ventured.
Suiren nodded weakly. “Some men attacked us on the highway. They killed the troops and attendants. They took Lady Keisho-in.” Tears welled in her eyes.
At least she hadn’t lost her memory, the shogun thought. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult. “I want you to tell me everything that happened during the, ahh, attack,” he said.
The maid poured out a tale of carnage and terror, her words frequently halted by weeping and pauses to muster her strength. “I was pulled out of my palanquin. A man stabbed me. I fell and must have hit my head and fainted. When I woke up, I was lying in a pool of blood. There were dead bodies all around. I saw the men emptying the trunks. Lady Keisho-in, Lady Yanagisawa, Lady Reiko, and Lady Midori were lying by the road. They seemed to be asleep. The men put them inside the trunks.”
Envisioning his mother treated like cargo, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi gasped with outrage.
“I tried to crawl toward the men and stop them, but I was too weak.” Sobs wracked Suiren. “How I wish I could have saved Lady Keisho-in!”
“Here is your, ahh, chance to help me save her,” the shogun said. “Did the men say anything to, ahh, indicate where they were taking my mother?”
Weariness overlaid Suiren’s features like a veil. Her voice dropped to an almost incomprehensible murmur: “There was an argument. Some of them complained . . . the trunks were too heavy to carry all the way to . . .” She breathed the last word.
“Izu!” the shogun interpreted. “They were going to Izu!” Behind his facecloth he grinned with glee because he’d found out something that Yanagisawa and Sano hadn’t.
“The leader . . . told some others to hire porters to help carry the trunks,” Suiren said. “They asked how . . . how to find the place where they would all meet again.” Suiren paused, as if listening to echoes from the past. “. . . main highway south through Izu . . . west on the crossroad at the Jizo shrine . . . a lake with a castle on an island. . . .”
Such joy overwhelmed the shogun that he chortled and clapped his hands. Now he knew precisely where to find his mother! He couldn’t wait to see Sano’s and Yanagisawa’s faces when he told them.
“You’ve done me a, ahh, great service,” he said, impulsively leaning over to pat Suiren’s head. “I will, ahh, reward you with anything you ask.”
Suiren closed her eyes and sighed, weakened by the effort she’d expended on speech. “All I ask is for Lady Keisho-in to come home,” she murmured. “Then I can die happy.”
The shogun belatedly remembered the danger of disease and pollution. He bolted from the sickroom, his retinue in tow. Outside, he removed his facecloth, wiped his hands on it, and prayed that his health wouldn’t suffer. Yet he was proud that he’d talked to Suiren, and taking this initiative had whetted his appetite for more. He was tired of waiting for others to act on his behalf, and fed up with complicated strategies for hunting the Dragon King. The reasons for delay fled his mind, as did his usual indecisiveness. For once Tokugawa Tsunayoshi knew exactly what to do next.
Two guards eased Midori down the tower stairs and carried her on a litter through the forest. More guards herded Reiko, Lady Yanagisawa, and Keisho-in behind her in the rain and locked them inside a wing of the main palace. The room was dingy and smelled of the dampness and mold that discolored its bare walls, but it was furnished with tattered cushions, frayed tatami, enough bedding for all the women, a basin of hot water, and a pile of rags. An undamaged roof kept out the rain.
As Reiko helped the other women settle Midori on a futon, she breathed a prayer of thanks that the Dragon King had decided to relocate them. She glanced out the barred windows at the gray, stormy lake, visible through the trees. Here, on ground level and nearer to the boats, freedom beckoned. B
ut devising an escape would have to wait.
Midori shrieked, convulsed, and wept harder with each strengthening pain. She sat up, huffed, bore down, and grunted again and again, then fell back on the bed.
“It hurts so much,” she cried. Terror and panic filled her eyes. “I can’t bear any more!”
“Calm yourself,” Reiko said, pressing on Midori’s spinal potent points. But only delivering the baby would bring relief. She stifled her fear that Midori would succumb to the agony. “It will be over soon.”
Lady Yanagisawa sat helplessly wringing her hands. Keisho-in peered between Midori’s humped legs and exclaimed, “Look! The baby is coming!”
Reiko saw a small, round portion of the infant’s head, covered by fuzzy black hair and bloody, oozing fluid, at the mouth of Midori’s womanhood. “Push,” she urged Midori.
But Midori’s labors weakened even while the pains wracked her. She strained, but feebly. “It won’t come out!” Her voice rose in hysteria. “It’s stuck!”
“Try a little harder,” Reiko begged.
“I can’t!” A frenzy of sobbing and thrashing betook Midori. “I’m going to die! Oh no, oh no, oh no!”
“Oh, for the grace of Buddha,” Lady Keisho-in said, grimacing in annoyance.
She drew back her hand and slapped Midori hard on the cheek. The blow abruptly silenced Midori. She stared in gasping, wounded surprise at Keisho-in.
“You’re going to have this baby whether you like it or not,” Keisho-in said. “Quit your silly whining. Show some courage.” She knelt at Midori’s feet and grasped her hands. “Now push!”
For once she’d used her authority to good purpose. Midori wheezed in a deep breath. Clinging to Keisho-in’s hands like a rider trying to rein in a galloping horse, she raised herself forward. She pushed so hard that her face turned bright red and a savage growl arose from her throat.
“Good!” Keisho-in said. “Again!”
Midori clung, pushed, and growled. Reiko could hardly believe that Keisho-in had risen above her bad temper and given Midori the will to succeed. Now Midori strained with all her might. She screamed in triumph and release. Out of her slid the baby, its translucent pink skin streaked with blood and lined with blue veins, its eyes closed.
The Dragon King's Palace Page 27
