The Ronin's Mistress: A Novel (Sano Ichiro Novels)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “I’m not laughing,” Sano said. He fervently wished he could take back his trick, no matter that Yoritomo had deserved it, and not only because he was paying the price now. He deplored himself for killing what was good in a youth he’d liked and hadn’t wanted to hurt. He would also hate for anyone to treat Masahiro the way he’d treated Yoritomo. “And I don’t want there to be a next time. Can’t we call a truce?”

  “After what you did to me? Never!”

  “I’ve apologized,” Sano said. “I miss the friendship we once had. Don’t you remember how we used to talk and practice martial arts together?”

  “Yes, when my father was exiled.” Rancor pervaded Yoritomo’s voice. “After he came back, he told me that you’d been pretending to like me, because you wanted to use me to get back at him.” Yoritomo chuckled at his own innocence. “My father was right. You were never my friend.”

  “Your father was wrong. He sees everything through his own warped vision. Don’t always trust his judgment. Don’t be like him.”

  As Sano spoke, it occurred to him that Masahiro had inherited many of Sano’s own traits—his individuality, his willingness to take dangerous risks—and maybe Yoritomo wasn’t the only son who would be better off for not imitating his father.

  “Don’t you criticize my father!” Yoritomo was so angry that spittle frothed out of his mouth. “He’s the only person who cares about me. You’re the one who’s untrustworthy! You betrayed me! And now you’re trying to turn me against my father!”

  “That would be the best thing that could happen, for your sake, not mine. If you continue to follow your father’s example, you’re heading for serious trouble.”

  “I won’t listen to any more of this! I don’t care what you think!” Yoritomo thrust his face close to Sano’s, shook his fist, and spoke through gritted teeth. “You are my enemy. The fight between us won’t end until one of us is dead!”

  * * *

  HIRATA MET DETECTIVES Marume and Fukida outside Sano’s office. “Well, hello,” Marume said. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “Where have you been?” Fukida asked.

  Hirata didn’t answer. He felt their antagonism and fear as they brushed past him. Waiting in the cold, dim passage, he dreaded his talk with Sano. His nerves were still on edge from his encounter with Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. Could they really influence fate through magic rituals? Hirata had begun to doubt it, even though he wanted to believe it. Were they the most accomplished martial artists in history, or were they mad? And what did they expect to happen as a result of a thrown branch?

  Sano arrived. His face was somber; his aura glinted with strain and frustration beneath a haze of fatigue. Sometimes when two people had an exchange that produced strong emotions, each transferred energy to the other. Hirata sensed a tinge of Yoritomo’s malevolent energy on Sano. Whatever had occurred between Sano and Yoritomo hadn’t been good.

  “Come in,” Sano said, and walked past Hirata into his office.

  His brusqueness told Hirata that nothing good was going to happen during this exchange, either. They knelt, Sano behind his desk on the dais and Hirata opposite on the floor.

  “Have you identified Magistrate Ueda’s attacker?” Sano asked.

  “Not yet, but I found a clue at the scene.” Hirata explained about the arrow. “I followed the man’s trail, but I haven’t been able to pick up his aura.”

  “Did you look for witnesses?”

  Hirata could see that Sano knew he hadn’t. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “Never mind. I saved you the trouble. There aren’t any witnesses.” Sano leaned his elbows on his desk and studied Hirata. “What have you been doing all day?”

  Hirata owed Sano the truth. “I found out who’s been stalking me.” But he didn’t want to reveal the details until he’d had time to think them over. He merely named Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. “I went looking for them.”

  “Did you find them?”

  Hirata especially didn’t want to tell Sano about the secret society. Sano wouldn’t believe its claims. And despite the fact that Hirata was skeptical himself, he felt strangely protective toward the three men.

  “No,” Hirata said. It was technically the truth: They’d found him. “But before I knew it, the day was gone.” The disappointment in Sano’s eyes hurt Hirata more than anger would have. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry that you’re having this trouble. I know it’s serious, and I’ve tried to be patient, but—” Sano’s breath gusted out. He said with a mixture of concern and vexation, “This isn’t a good time for you to be going off on personal business. If I can’t count on you, then tell me. I can have Detectives Marume and Fukida take over your duties.”

  They would like that, Hirata thought. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, although he appreciated Sano’s offer. Most masters expected unstinting service, no excuses or exceptions; but Sano wasn’t that sort of master. He never forgot that Hirata had saved his life, at great cost to himself, and he was always ready to repay the debt. That made Hirata reluctant to take advantage of Sano’s generosity. “I won’t take off again.”

  “Good.” Sano seemed glad to consider the air cleared and the issue settled. “Because I have a new task for you.” He took a folded paper from beneath his sash. “These are suspects in the attack on Magistrate Ueda.” He explained how Reiko had identified them from the tattoo her father had described and a search through the Court of Justice records. “Track them down.”

  Hirata took the list. “I’ll start first thing in the morning.” As he walked down the passage toward his quarters, he vowed to atone for neglecting his duty. He wouldn’t let the secret society override his loyalty to Sano.

  * * *

  BY MUTUAL AGREEMENT Sano and Reiko didn’t talk about Magistrate Ueda, the forty-seven rōnin, or anything else disturbing while they ate dinner with Chiyo and the children. Later, when they went to bed, Reiko fell asleep at once, but Sano lay awake beside her in the gray glow of moonlight on snow. Troubling thoughts made his body restless despite a long, difficult day and the previous night with little sleep. He couldn’t find a comfortable position.

  Reiko stirred. “Can’t you sleep?”

  “No.” Sano flopped onto his back.

  Reiko curled against him, warm and drowsy. “What are you thinking about?”

  “The attack on your father. Maybe I’ve been approaching the investigation in the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?” Reiko was fully awake now.

  “I assumed that the judges or Yanagisawa were behind the attack, because they were the only ones besides myself who knew what was going on in the supreme court. But maybe the person who’s responsible is someone who doesn’t know where the judges stand. Someone who has a personal stake in the outcome of the case nonetheless.”

  He felt a jolt of surprise run through Reiko. “Are you talking about Oishi?”

  “All the forty-seven rōnin,” Sano said.

  Reiko propped herself on her elbow to look at him. “Do you think they’re behind the attack on my father? But they’re locked up.”

  “There are ways to get around that. And who else would care as much about the court’s verdict?”

  Reiko turned over on her back. Gazing at the ceiling, she said, “The verdict will mean life or death for them. That’s more serious than politics or principles, which are the reasons that other people are interested in the case.”

  “Killing judges would certainly delay the verdict.”

  “Every day it’s delayed is another day that the forty-seven rōnin get to stay alive.”

  “They wouldn’t have known that your father is leading the faction that wants to save them.” Sano added, “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  They pondered in silence. Then Sano said, “There are other people besides the forty-seven rōnin who have a personal interest in the verdict. Oishi’s wife. And Lord Asano’s.”

&nb
sp; Reiko protested, “I can’t believe it’s one of them! They’re just…”

  “Just women?” Sano chuckled. “There are other women besides you who are capable of killing or sending someone else to do it.” During past investigations he’d met several.

  “I don’t believe Ukihashi and Lady Asano are capable,” Reiko said.

  “If we want to get to the truth about this, we should keep our minds open.”

  “You’re right. I’ll go and see them tomorrow.”

  “I’ll question Oishi and his men.” A thought struck Sano. “There’s somebody we’re forgetting.”

  “Who?”

  The sound of weeping drifted down the corridor. Their guest was having a sleepless night, too. Reiko said, “Okaru?” in a tone of disbelief.

  “Okaru also has a stake in the case. And remember, we’re keeping our minds open.”

  Reiko sighed. “Very well. I’ll talk to her, too.”

  Exhaustion overcame her and Sano. They slept.

  * * *

  IN THE ROOM next to theirs, Masahiro lay awake. He’d heard his parents’ conversation, and he was troubled by the part about Okaru. Could she really be responsible for the attack on his grandfather? What should he do?

  30

  WHEN MORNING CAME, Reiko was reluctant to speak to Okaru. She didn’t want to disturb the poor girl, especially since Okaru was a guest. Reiko lingered over breakfast with the children. Finally, unable to avoid the difficult task, she went to Okaru’s room.

  The room was empty, the exterior door open. Reiko stepped out onto the veranda, blinking in the pale sunlight, folding her arms against the cold. Okaru was crouched near the foot of the steps, digging with her hands in ground she’d cleared of snow.

  “What are you doing?” Reiko asked.

  Okaru looked up and brushed a strand of hair off her tear-swollen face. Her fingers smeared mud on her cheek. She gave Reiko a wan smile. “Digging a hole. To bury this.” She pointed to a small red lacquer box on the step.

  “What’s in it?” Reiko said.

  Okaru opened the box’s hinged lid to reveal a pink paper flower, a writing brush with frayed bristles, and a lock of black and gray hair tied with a green thread. “Oishi bought me this flower. He threw this old brush away, and I picked it out of the trash. He let me clip some of his hair to keep.” She gently touched each item. “They’re all I have left of him.”

  Pity for Okaru made Reiko’s task even harder. “Why do you need to bury them?”

  “Because after what happened with Oishi the other day, I can’t bear to look at them.” Okaru’s eyes welled. “The memories hurt too much. I hope it’s all right to bury the box here. I don’t have any place else.”

  “It’s all right.”

  Okaru sniffled, said, “Thank you,” and finished digging. She set the box in the hole.

  “I need to talk to you,” Reiko said.

  “About what?” Okaru’s hands trickled dirt onto the box.

  “My father. He was attacked the night before last. He was badly beaten.” Reiko swallowed. “He may die.”

  “I’m sorry.” Okaru looked up. “I didn’t know.”

  Studying her closely, Reiko saw sympathy in her eyes but no sign of falsehood. “Did you know that my father is Magistrate Ueda? And that he’s a judge on the supreme court that will decide what should happen to the forty-seven rōnin?”

  “Yes. I heard the servants talking about it.”

  The suspicions that Sano had raised about Okaru last night seemed ridiculous now. Reiko could hardly envision a person less capable of an assassination attempt. Furthermore, Okaru hadn’t been out of the estate—except for the trip to see Oishi—since Reiko had brought her here. Yet Reiko knew that unlikely people did commit crimes.

  “Are you angry at Oishi?” Reiko said.

  Okaru patted down the dirt that covered the box. Her hands were black with soil. “I guess I am, a little.”

  “Did you want to hurt him because he hurt you?”

  “No.” Okaru sounded as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “I would never.”

  “Have you changed your mind about wanting to save him?” Reiko asked. “Do you want him to be put to death?”

  Okaru gaped. “Of course not. I still love him. Even though he doesn’t love me.”

  “Did you ask someone to make the supreme court condemn him and his friends?”

  “I don’t understand. How would someone make the supreme court do anything?”

  “By killing my father, the judge who was leading the faction that wants to pardon the forty-seven rōnin,” Reiko said.

  “I didn’t even know that your father wants to pardon them.” Okaru stood up and regarded Reiko with bewilderment. “And even if I had wanted to kill him, who would I have asked to do it? I don’t know anyone in Edo except the people in your house.”

  “You do know someone else in Edo,” Reiko said. “Your servant. Goza.”

  Okaru’s mouth and eyes opened into perfect circles. “She wouldn’t—”

  “She’s devoted to you. She tried to strangle Oishi. Why stop at that? Why not have him put to death?”

  “Goza was only protecting me!” Okaru cried. “Now that I’m safe, why should she want to hurt Oishi anymore?”

  “To pay him back for breaking your heart,” Reiko suggested.

  “If you knew Goza, you wouldn’t think that.” Okaru hastened to explain, “Goza is an orphan, like me. She grew up cleaning teahouses in Miyako. People used to make fun of her. They threw stones at her and called her ugly names. But Goza never lifted a hand to them. She’s really a gentle person. She doesn’t care about revenge.”

  “Maybe not for herself, but what about for you?” Reiko said, warming to her own theory. Her fondness for Okaru gave way before a new onslaught of suspicion. “I think she would do whatever you asked. That includes hiring an assassin to kill my father and turn the supreme court against Oishi.”

  “I didn’t ask!” Indignation filled Okaru’s eyes. “We would never do anything to hurt your family.”

  “Where is Goza?” Reiko asked. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

  Suddenly frightened, Okaru said, “I—I don’t know.”

  Reiko recalled Chiyo saying she’d seen Goza sneak in and out of the house. Horror trickled through Reiko. Was she harboring the people responsible for her father’s injuries? Had she ruined her friendship with Chiyo for someone who’d repaid her kindness with evil?

  “Tell me the truth. You owe me that much,” Reiko said, her sympathy toward Okaru cooling fast. “Did you plot with Goza to kill my father?”

  Although her face was a picture of terror and misery, Okaru spoke bravely: “No, I didn’t. But I can see that you don’t trust me. I think Goza and I should leave.”

  “You’re not going anywhere. Until I find out the truth, I want you where I can watch you.” Reiko marched Okaru into the mansion, called Lieutenant Tanuma, and told him, “Find a place to lock her up, and her servant when she comes back. Guard them and don’t let them out of your sight.”

  * * *

  WHEN SANO ARRIVED at the Hosokawa clan estate, the guards directed him to the martial arts practice room in the barracks. There, a crowd of samurai cheered the two men engaged in combat.

  Naked to the waist, dressed in white trousers, Oishi and his son Chikara brandished swords, circled, lunged toward, and struck at each other. Their reflections in the mirrors on the wall followed their moves. The room echoed with their grunts, the clang of their blades, the stomp of their bare feet, and the audiences’ cheers. Sano watched Oishi and Chikara. The son was quicker, but the father moved with the skill that comes only from long experience. Sano noticed that their swords weren’t wooden practice weapons; the blades were steel.

  Cupping his hands around his mouth, Sano yelled, “That’s enough!”

  The audiences’ shouts dwindled into silence. Oishi and Chikara retreated.

  “What is this?” Sano asked the Hosokawa men
in the audience. “You’re supposed to be guarding them.” He pointed at Oishi and Chikara. “And you put real weapons in their hands?” He ordered, “Drop those swords.”

  Oishi obeyed, his face impassive. Chikara waited a moment, in defiance, then followed suit. They took their white coats from a rack and draped them over their shoulders. One of the Hosokawa men said sheepishly, “They weren’t going to hurt anybody.”

  “That’s what Kira thought until they cut off his head.” Sano turned to Oishi and Chikara. “I want to talk to you.”

  “We can go to my quarters,” Oishi said.

  He and Chikara led Sano into the mansion, to a guest chamber with gold-inlaid teak cabinets, a matching desk in a raised study niche, embroidered screens, and a wall mural that depicted water birds by a river. Heat shimmered up from sunken braziers. The lavish accommodations were further evidence of the Hosokawa clan’s goodwill toward the rōnin.

  Oishi put a silk cushion in front of the alcove, which contained a calligraphy scroll hanging above a branch of winter berries in a black ceramic vase. Sano knelt on the cushion, in the place of honor. Oishi crouched opposite; Chikara hovered near the door. The atmosphere was as charged with the heat of combat as the martial arts practice room. Father and son waited expectantly, identical scowls on their faces.

  “There’s been a problem with the supreme court,” Sano said. “One of the judges was ambushed and beaten the night before last. He’s unconscious. Another judge was hurt in a riot.” Sano had checked on Minister Motoori and learned he’d broken his leg. “The court has postponed deciding on a verdict. You’re safe for a while.”

  Chikara betrayed his relief with a sigh. Oishi said blandly, “So we’ve heard.”

  “How?” Sano asked.

  “Our hosts have been kind enough to fetch us news from town,” Oishi said.