The Iris Fan

by Laura Joh Rowland

“Who was it, Your Excellency?” Yanagisawa’s voice was tight, as if he were trying not to retch.

  “I didn’t see. I was asleep.” As the doctor cleaned another wound, the shogun shrieked, “Damn you!”

  Sano shifted his mind from its focus on Yoshisato’s murder to the attack on the shogun. It felt like pushing a cart and trying to turn its wheels out of deep ruts they’d been rolling in for more than four years.

  “Where were His Excellency’s bodyguards?” Lord Ienobu asked.

  “He sent them away,” Captain Hosono said. “He had a concubine with him.”

  Sano had heard that the shogun had become impotent and any distraction, such as people outside his chamber, prevented him from performing sexually. “Where is the concubine?”

  Captain Hosono looked surprised that Sano was present after he’d been banned from court. “In here.” He opened the wooden sliding door between the bedchamber and the adjacent room, the shogun’s study.

  A small boy who’d been kneeling on the tatami, his ear pressed against the door, fell into the chamber and scrambled to his feet. He looked about nine years old. The shogun preferred sex with males, especially children and adolescents; he rarely slept with women. That was one reason Sano didn’t believe Yoshisato was his son. Sano also had doubts about whether the shogun had actually fathered his daughter.

  “Eavesdropping, were you?” Captain Hosono said to the boy.

  The boy nodded sheepishly. A white blanket wrapped around his body slipped to reveal bare, thin shoulders. He pulled it up and brushed back his tousled hair. His innocent face was as delicate and lovely as a girl’s.

  Sano felt sorry for him. He was the shogun’s sexual toy, he’d been sharing a bed with the shogun at the risk of catching measles, and he’d been present during a violent attack. Sano went to him and said, “What’s your name?”

  “Dengoro,” the boy said in a clear, sweet voice.

  “Dengoro, can you tell me who stabbed His Excellency?”

  The boy shook his head. Encouraged by Sano’s friendly manner, he said, “I was asleep. I woke up when His Excellency started screaming. Somebody ran out of the room.”

  “Can you describe the person?”

  “No. It was too dark to see.”

  The physician prepared to stitch the shogun’s cuts with a long needle. Sano dismissed the boy. The shogun panted and shivered. Yanagisawa and Lord Ienobu regarded him with frowning speculation. Sano asked Captain Hosono, “Who was first on the scene?”

  “His Excellency’s valet. He called the bodyguards.” Hosono anticipated Sano’s next question. “He didn’t see anything, either. The attacker was already gone.”

  Sano persisted even though he was just a patrol guard and this wasn’t his case to solve. “Were any clues found?”

  “The weapon.” Captain Hosono walked to the bedside table, picked up a long, narrow object wrapped in a white cloth, and handed it to Sano. “It was lying by the bed. I thought I’d better wrap it up for safekeeping.”

  Sano uncovered a large, folded fan with ribs that came to long points at one end and a green silk tassel attached by a braided green cord at the other. The points were red, bloodstained. Sano unfolded the fan, displaying an arc of heavy gold rice paper painted with blue irises on leafy green stalks. Irises symbolized boldness, courage, and power. Perhaps they’d served as a talisman for the would-be assassin.

  “How could a fan do that?” Ienobu pointed his crooked finger at the shogun’s back. The doctor threaded the needle with a long horse tail hair.

  The fan felt abnormally heavy in Sano’s hand. “The ribs are made of iron. They’re sharpened at the ends.” This was no ordinary fan used to create cooling breezes in summer. It was a weapon of the kind used for self-defense, often by merchants, peasants, or women. The law permitted only samurai to carry swords.

  The physician applied a numbing potion to the edges of a cut between the shogun’s ribs. When he inserted the needle, the shogun moaned, but quietly: The opium was taking effect. “Nephew, come here.” The shogun extended his trembling hand toward Lord Ienobu.

  Ienobu hesitated, reluctant to go near the shogun, fearful of measles, but he didn’t dare refuse, lest the shogun get angry and disinherit him. As he knelt beside the bed, the shogun gripped his hand tightly; he winced. The doctor stitched. Ienobu averted his face as the needle went in and out of flesh. Sano contemplated the whimpering shogun. Although Bushido decreed that a samurai should feel nothing but respect and loyalty toward his lord, at times Sano had hated the shogun for his selfishness, unfairness, and cruelty. But now the lord he’d served for twenty years was a suffering old man. Sano felt the same outrage as he did on behalf of any helpless victim of a crime. His spirit clamored to avenge the attack on his lord.

  The physician knotted and cut the last thread, slathered healing balm on the stitched cuts, bandaged them, and covered the shogun with a clean quilt. Yanagisawa said to him, “May I have a word?” and drew him out to the corridor.

  Lord Ienobu started to follow, but the shogun clutched his hand. “Stay with me, Nephew.”

  Ienobu shot Yanagisawa a warning glance. Sano became aware that something was different between his two enemies since they’d heard about the attack on the shogun. The political game board was rearranging, the players in transit to new positions. The crisis had created new opportunities as well as troubles, and not the least for Sano himself.

  Now the shogun noticed Sano. The pupils of his eyes were dilated by the opium; he smiled groggily, as if he’d forgotten he’d banned Sano from court and he was welcoming a dear, long-lost friend. “You stay, too, Sano-san.”

  4

  IN THE CORRIDOR, Yanagisawa quietly asked the physician, “What’s the prognosis?”

  “His Excellency may have internal hemorrhaging. His wounds may fester. There’s a danger of permanent damage to his organs—”

  “Don’t tell me what might happen!” Anxiety raised Yanagisawa’s voice, and he struggled to control himself. He didn’t want Sano to hear him, guess how much he didn’t want the shogun to die, and wonder why. He couldn’t let Ienobu know how desperately afraid he was. “Tell me if he’s going to survive.”

  The physician hesitated, clearly reluctant to be negative lest he bring bad luck to the shogun, yet not wanting to hold out false promise. “That he’s still alive is a good sign, but his condition is very serious.”

  Dread sank Yanagisawa’s heart. If the shogun died, it would mean the end of Yanagisawa’s alliance with Lord Ienobu, the end of his ambition to rule Japan someday, the end of his life. But that wasn’t the worst. The shogun’s death would also mean the end of Yanagisawa’s hopes of saving the only person in the world he loved.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” the physician said, “I must tend to my patient.”

  Yanagisawa stood alone in the corridor, remembering his shock at the news he’d received the day after Yoshisato’s funeral. He’d been standing outside the palace, with the smell of smoke and burned flesh in the air, when Lord Ienobu spoke the words that turned the world upside down.

  “Yoshisato is alive. He didn’t die in that fire.”

  At first Yanagisawa hadn’t believed it. Then Ienobu had explained. “I told Korika that if she set a fire that night, she wouldn’t be caught. I arranged for the castle guards to be absent from their posts. Korika went to the heir’s residence. Five of my men got there first. They killed Yoshisato’s personal bodyguards, tied up Yoshisato, and drugged him. Korika set the fire, and ran away. Before the house burned down, my men dragged the dead bodyguards inside. They killed one of their comrades and left his corpse in Yoshisato’s chamber. Then they carried Yoshisato out of the castle in a trunk.”

  “Why would you save Yoshisato?” Yanagisawa demanded. “If he’s alive, he’s the shogun’s first choice for an heir.”

  “I have enemies who don’t want me to be the next shogun,” Ienobu said. “I need you to help me neutralize them. When I’m shogun, you can have Yoshisato back.”


  Then Lord Ienobu had produced a letter written by Yoshisato, that had demolished all Yanagisawa’s doubts about whether Ienobu was telling the truth.

  “Where is he?” Yanagisawa demanded.

  “In a guarded, secret place,” Ienobu said. “Breathe a word of this conversation to anyone, and you’ll never see him again.”

  “I’ll kill you!”

  “If anything bad happens to me, or if you refuse to support me as the next shogun, Yoshisato dies for real.”

  Yanagisawa had known that Ienobu meant to string him along until Ienobu was shogun; then Ienobu would kill Yoshisato. The only way for Yanagisawa to save Yoshisato was to find him before the current shogun died and Ienobu didn’t need a hostage anymore. The only way for Yanagisawa and Yoshisato to rule Japan was to destroy Ienobu before he took over the dictatorship. For more than four years he’d been searching for Yoshisato. He had spies secretly combing Japan while he acted the role of Ienobu’s vigilant ally. He’d exiled some of Ienobu’s enemies within the government to faraway islands, demoted others or dispatched them to posts in the provinces. That had brought other men hostile to Ienobu into line. Although Yanagisawa longed to join forces with Sano to prove Ienobu was a traitor, he pretended to believe Ienobu was innocent. His son’s life depended on his charade.

  But every clue to Yoshisato’s whereabouts had led to a dead end, and if the shogun died, Ienobu would become dictator. He would put Yoshisato—and Yanagisawa—to death. Panic beset Yanagisawa like a horde of shouting madmen pummeling him. How could he save Yoshisato? He might have only days, hours, or moments left in which to do it.

  The instincts that had served him well during three decades in politics gave Yanagisawa the first piece of his emergency strategy: He must keep the shogun alive, keep Sano under control, and keep Ienobu from gaining any further advantage.

  * * *

  SANO KNELT ON the left side of the bed. The shogun lay facing toward Ienobu on his right. The doctor knelt at the foot of the bed, Captain Hosono by the wall. The air still stank of blood and feces. The servants stirred the charcoal braziers set in the floor, fanning up heat to keep the shogun warm. Sano wished he could fling open the exterior doors and let in the cold, fresh wind. It might sweep the shock and confusion from his mind and help him think clearly.

  The shogun trembled, then went still, then trembled, at irregular intervals. His hand clung to Lord Ienobu’s. Ienobu wore the proper, concerned expression, but Sano could almost see his ill will flowing like black poison from his heart, through a vein in his arm, and into the shogun. Sano wanted to tear their hands apart.

  Yanagisawa returned, bringing two guards. He knelt beside the doctor and studied the shogun. “Why is he shaking?”

  “He’s in shock,” the physician said.

  “Then do something.” Yanagisawa’s concern, unlike Ienobu’s, seemed genuine.

  “I gave him medicine. There’s nothing more I can do for him at present.”

  “Well, I’ve arranged extra security for him.” Yanagisawa announced, “He’ll have two bodyguards, specially chosen by me, with him at all times.” He indicated the men he’d brought—loyal, trustworthy, longtime Tokugawa retainers. “No one is allowed to be alone with His Excellency.”

  Although Sano knew that Yanagisawa was an expert actor, he had a strong sense that Yanagisawa truly didn’t want somebody to finish off the shogun. When Lord Ienobu bent a quizzical gaze on him, Yanagisawa responded with a bland look. Sano recognized that look; it masked all manner of evil intentions. Why were Yanagisawa and Ienobu suddenly at odds?

  As if he thought his own concern for the shogun might seem lacking, Lord Ienobu said, “Is there anything you want, Uncle?”

  “Yes.” The shogun’s voice was faint, sleepy, but tinged with anger. “I want to know who did this to me.”

  Opportunity beckoned Sano, as clear, bright, and many-faceted as a crystal. “I’ll find out, Your Excellency.”

  The shogun started to turn toward Sano. Alarm bulged Ienobu’s eyes; he gripped the shogun’s hand tighter. “No, Uncle, let me handle it.”

  Sano understood why Ienobu didn’t want him to investigate the stabbing: Here was his new chance to bring Ienobu down.

  “Leave us for a moment,” Yanagisawa told the physician, Captain Hosono, the guards, and the servants. He obviously didn’t want them blatting all over town about the argument that was about to begin.

  Another fit of trembling seized the shogun, then subsided. Dazed from the opium, he squinted at Ienobu, then Sano.

  “Lord Ienobu shouldn’t be in charge of the investigation,” Sano said.

  Ienobu started to protest. Yanagisawa leaned forward; the fire in his eyes intensified. Sano recognized that look, too: Yanagisawa was scouting the situation for an advantage for himself. The shogun interrupted Ienobu. “Why not?”

  Sano couldn’t say, Because I think he sent the assassin to kill you. He’d learned the hard way that it was dangerous to accuse the shogun’s heir of murder and treason. If he accused Lord Ienobu again, and the shogun again didn’t believe him, the result would be death for him instead of another demotion. “Because he has no experience with investigating crimes.”

  Yanagisawa said, “Whereas you’ve investigated crimes for twenty years.” Although his scornful tone denigrated Sano’s expertise, he’d also pointed it up.

  “That is true,” the shogun murmured.

  Ienobu hurried to object. “But, Uncle, you banned Sano-san from court.”

  “Your Excellency can bring me back,” Sano said. “It’s your prerogative to have the attempt on your life investigated by the man you’ve always trusted to solve crimes for you.”

  The shogun twisted himself toward Sano. Ienobu clutched the shogun’s hand so hard that his own knuckles turned white. “Uncle, you appointed me Acting Shogun so you wouldn’t have to deal with difficult business while you’re ill.”

  “Your Excellency can revoke the appointment,” Sano said.

  Worry crinkled the red, measled skin on the shogun’s forehead. His eyelids drooped, then fluttered open. Where once he would have gladly let the matter be taken out of his hands so that he could sleep, now he struggled to stay awake because he wanted to make up his own mind.

  “Sano-san and Lord Ienobu have both raised valid points, Your Excellency,” Yanagisawa said. “I suggest a compromise.”

  If Sano hadn’t already suspected that something was off about Yanagisawa, these words would have alerted him as loudly as if a gong had been struck beside his ear. Compromise was an alien concept to Yanagisawa.

  “What sort of compromise?” The shogun reverted to his thirty-year habit of relying on Yanagisawa’s counsel.

  “Sano-san conducts the investigation. Lord Ienobu and I supervise.” Yanagisawa sounded as if this were the happiest, most reasonable answer. “We’ll have the benefit of his expertise while making sure he doesn’t step out of line.”

  “Very well,” the shogun said with a tremulous sigh. “Nephew, let go of me, you’re crushing my fingers.”

  Ienobu released the shogun. Holding his own hand in midair, afraid it was contaminated with measles, he glared at Yanagisawa. Sano saw the division between them as clearly as if it were a line drawn with the shogun’s blood.

  With immense, groaning effort, the shogun turned himself on his other side and faced Sano. Sano hurried to say, “Your Excellency, in order for me to do my job properly, I must beg you to restore me to my original rank of chief investigator. And appoint my son as my assistant. And order my swords returned.”

  “Done,” the shogun murmured.

  Sano exhaled. In these few moments, his fortunes had reversed. His detective instincts and warrior spirit rose up in him like a rejuvenating tide. This was the most important case of his career, and the battle he’d been fighting for more than four years was shifting into a new, decisive phase. This was his chance to make things right for the regime, for his family.

  Yanagisawa regarded him with opaq
ue serenity. Ienobu gawped at him in outrage. Sano didn’t know how far he could rely on Yanagisawa; his old enemy’s motives remained a mystery. But he could count on Ienobu to retaliate.

  5

  SNOW FELL ON the banchō, the district where low-ranking Tokugawa vassals resided in small estates crammed together and surrounded by live bamboo fences. The bare stalks and dried leaves rattled in the wind. At an hour past midnight, the maze of dirt roads was deserted. Nailed to a rough wooden gate at one estate was a brass medallion of a flying crane—Sano’s clan insignia. Inside the house, a girl tiptoed down the passage. She carried a candle that illuminated her round, pretty face. Her eyes had an eager glow; her soft lips smiled. A green-and-white-flowered nightdress clothed a short figure that was womanly for her fourteen years.

  Taeko trembled with anticipation. She stepped carefully, avoiding the spots where the floor creaked. She mustn’t awaken the family.

  A tall samurai youth dressed in a dark kimono crept around the corner. The candlelight touched his handsome, alert face. Taeko’s heart leapt. No matter that their families were old friends and they lived in the same house, the sight of Masahiro always thrilled her. She’d loved him since she’d been little and looked up to him and followed him around. Three years her senior, he’d played with her and teased her like a big brother would. Now his face lit with the same joy she felt. He grabbed her hand, blew out the candle, and pulled her into a storage room full of unused household furnishings. Taeko dropped the candle as Masahiro drew her down onto a pile of quilts spread on the floor. He shut the door while they passionately embraced.

  Even though they’d been lovers since last autumn, Taeko could hardly believe this was happening. For a long time she and Masahiro had been best friends, and it had seemed he would be content with that forever—until that golden day when he’d looked at her, a new expression had come into his eyes, and it was as easy as that. Now his hands fumbled opened her robe; he caressed her breasts. Taeko cooed with delight.