The Shogun's Daughter: A Novel of Feudal Japan (Sano Ichiro Mysteries)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “That will be all, Captain Aoki,” Yanagisawa said.

  Captain Aoki’s shoulders sagged as he left the room, a broken man who’d committed the worst violation of Bushido.

  “I call the next witness,” Yanagisawa said.

  This was a man wearing the armor tunic and metal helmet of a castle guard. He had a square jaw, a nervous pucker between thick eyebrows, and a thick neck. He knelt without looking at Sano. He identified himself as Lieutenant Hayashi.

  “Where were you on duty last night?” Yanagisawa asked.

  “In the watchtower outside the heir’s residence.”

  He was one of the guards who, according to Marume’s friend among them, had left their posts to respond to a fake message, Sano realized. Hayashi had told the others to keep quiet about it.

  “What happened?” Yanagisawa asked.

  “Sano-san went to the heir’s residence,” Lieutenant Hayashi said in a small voice.

  “Was he carrying anything?”

  “Yes. A bag.”

  Yanagisawa aimed a significant look at the judges. “The bag that held the items Sano had obtained from Captain Aoki.” His gaze dared Sano to say the lieutenant was lying, to forfeit his right to defend himself. Lieutenant Hayashi raised his shoulder, as if warding off heat from Sano’s outraged stare.

  “What happened next?” Yanagisawa said.

  “I didn’t see Sano-san go inside the building—it was too dark.” Hayashi’s speech sounded wooden, rehearsed. “A little while later, he came hurrying back down the passage.”

  “Did he still have the bag?”

  “No.” Without further prompting, Hayashi said, “Then the fire started.”

  The judges nodded at one another. Sano was furious because they were accepting the evidence without question, but he hadn’t expected otherwise of Yanagisawa’s cronies.

  Yanagisawa dismissed the lieutenant. “Now I will present the physical proof of Sano’s guilt.” He beckoned a guard stationed along the wall.

  The guard brought the metal smoking basket, the jar, and the rags. He set them on the dais by Yanagisawa, who held them up one by one. “This jar contained the kerosene Sano-san poured under the heir’s residence. This is the basket in which he carried the burning coals he used to start the fire. The rags are leftover kindling. When I arrived at the scene, after the fire, I caught Sano trying to remove them. But that’s not the most conclusive proof.”

  What now? Sano thought with disgust. A forged confession supposedly written by me?

  Yanagisawa held up a large scrap of cloth. It was dark red silk, the edges torn. A design embroidered on it in gold thread glinted like flames. The design was a flying crane.

  “The flying crane is Sano’s family crest,” Yanagisawa said. “This scrap was found stuck in a bush near the burned building. It was torn off Sano’s robe while he set the fire.”

  It hadn’t been torn off any of Sano’s clothes. Yanagisawa had probably had the crest copied long ago and saved it until he needed it. But the judges seemed ready to believe anything Yanagisawa said.

  “That concludes my evidence against Sano-san. Now you may speak.” Yanagisawa’s expression told Sano not to waste his breath; he was already defeated.

  Sano faced the judges. Denials wouldn’t do him any good. Neither would accusing Lord Ienobu or Lady Nobuko. He had no evidence against them and no witnesses to testify to his innocence. The only weapon he had was words. They had better be spectacular.

  “I did not set the fire,” Sano declared in a voice that resounded through the chamber. “I did not murder Yoshisato.”

  That was the only unadulterated truth he intended to tell.

  Truth, which he’d always valued dearly, along with justice and honor, wouldn’t save his life. His honor had already been trampled in the dirt, and so had justice. Pushed to the extremes of desperation, Sano kicked away truth, the third, obsolete pillar that had once constituted the foundation of his life.

  The judges looked bored, unimpressed. Sano was about to change that. “All the evidence you’ve heard is false, except one piece.” He told his first lie. “I did go to the heir’s residence last night.”

  The lie tasted bitter, but like the right medicine for a disease.

  Low, uneasy murmurs arose from the audience, as if the floor had tilted under it. Surprise wiped the boredom off the judges’ faces. Yanagisawa twitched involuntarily. He said, “Don’t be fooled. He’s about to feed you a fairy tale.”

  Sano said blandly, “I’m just confirming what Lieutenant Hayashi said. Are you contradicting your own witness?”

  Yanagisawa’s mouth fell open. Lord Nabeshima said, “I want to hear this.” His yellow eyes gleamed with interest. “Sano-san, why did you go to the heir’s residence?”

  “To visit Yoshisato.” Sano tossed his next lie on top of the first two. Lying was getting easier. “Because Yoshisato invited me.”

  “He didn’t,” Kato Kinhide said. His scorn, and Yanagisawa’s, didn’t hide their effort to figure out where Sano was going with this. “Why would he have?”

  “He wanted to finish a conversation we started at the tournament,” Sano said.

  “A conversation about what?” Inspector General Nakae asked.

  “Yoshisato made me a proposition.” Sano mixed a dash of truth into his story. “He wanted to build a coalition to clean up corruption in the government, end the political warfare, and bring peace and harmony to the regime. He asked me to join his coalition.”

  Outrage shattered Yanagisawa’s control. “Yoshisato did no such thing!”

  “How do you know?” Sano said. “You weren’t there.”

  “A coalition? With you? That’s ridiculous!”

  “That’s why Yoshisato wouldn’t let you purge me from the regime or kill me,” Sano said truthfully. “Because he wanted me to help him run the government when he became shogun.”

  Yanagisawa’s eyes widened: He realized Sano couldn’t have known Yoshisato had saved him unless Yoshisato had told him so. The judges seemed shocked into believing Sano, amazed to learn that the youth they’d counted on to cement their power over the regime had had his own plans.

  Sano wished he’d made Yoshisato’s proposition public earlier. It might have changed everything. At any rate, it was a card he could play now. “I told Yoshisato I needed to think about his proposition. He invited me to visit him last night. When I got there, he asked what my answer was.” Sano paused. The room was hushed with suspense, Yanagisawa too flabbergasted to speak. “I said yes.”

  Sano beheld the stricken faces of the judges and Yanagisawa as they absorbed the possibility that if Yoshisato had lived, the world would have seen a new day. Sano wondered whether, if he really had accepted the proposition, Yoshisato would be alive and himself not charged with arson and murder.

  “I had no reason to kill Yoshisato,” Sano concluded. “We parted as friends.”

  “That’s a blatant lie!” Yanagisawa’s passionate, angry voice rang with conviction. “Yoshisato never mentioned this coalition to me. Sano is just trying to save his despicable skin.”

  Sano thought that Yoshisato couldn’t have been eager to reveal his plan to Yanagisawa and probably hadn’t done so. But Yanagisawa never sounded more convincing than when he was lying. Sano saw the same thought occur to the judges. Disbelief tinged the gazes they bent on Yanagisawa.

  “Yoshisato did tell you about his coalition. He said so last night,” Sano lied. “He also said you were furious because he told you he didn’t want you in the coalition. He thought you would only make trouble. He was going to cut you out of the regime.” Sano pointed at Yanagisawa. “I’m not the one who had reason to murder Yoshisato. You are.”

  Yanagisawa’s eyes filled with enlightenment and indignation. The judges’ mouths dropped as they perceived the point of Sano’s testimony. Mutters from the audience sounded like grudging cheers. Sano had turned the tables on Yanagisawa.

  “You went to the heir’s residence after I left,�
� Sano said, embellishing his tale. “You set the fire. You showed up afterward and pretended to be upset that Yoshisato was dead.” His tale could very well be true. Yoshisato’s plans for the future gave Yanagisawa an excellent motive for murder. “And you put the blame on me.” Sano turned to the judges. “Yanagisawa burned Yoshisato to death.”

  They looked to Yanagisawa, as if hoping he could brush off Sano’s charges and fearing they’d cast their lot with the real murderer of the shogun’s heir.

  A change came over Yanagisawa. He relaxed, smiled, and began to applaud. The sound was like the clappers used at Kabuki plays, to herald a new development in the plot.

  “That’s a good story, Sano-san.” Yanagisawa was never a better actor than when he was under pressure, Sano remembered. “But have you evidence to back it up?”

  Here was the weakness in Sano’s ploy. “You didn’t give me enough time to find some.”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Yanagisawa said. “How about witnesses?”

  “I wasn’t allowed to bring any.”

  “Well, I have one more.” Yanagisawa signaled to a guard.

  The guard went out and returned with a woman. It was Lady Someko, Yoshisato’s mother. Her makeup was perfect, her deep red kimono opulent, but her features seemed oddly flaccid. She tripped on her skirts as she walked toward Sano. The guard held her up. When he lowered her to her knees, she seemed unaware of her surroundings, of the other people in the room. Her eyes had a dark, unnatural shininess.

  “You said you were finished presenting evidence,” Sano objected.

  “I changed my mind.” Yanagisawa had apparently saved a surprise witness in case Sano made too good an impression on the judges. He wasn’t letting himself be cornered into confessing he’d murdered Yoshisato. He said to Lady Someko, “What happened yesterday?”

  “… Yesterday,” Lady Someko echoed. Her voice was sleepy, her expression vague.

  “She acts like she’s been drugged,” Sano said. “She’s in no shape to testify.”

  The judges regarded her doubtfully. Yanagisawa ignored Sano. He asked Lady Someko, “You went to Sano’s house, didn’t you?”

  “I went to Sano’s house,” she murmured.

  “You’re coaching her.” Sano was dismayed but not surprised that Yanagisawa knew about Lady Someko’s visit.

  “Do you want me to bring in your guards to confirm that she was in your house?” Yanagisawa retorted, then turned back to Lady Someko. “What did you hear there?”

  “I heard…” Confusion wrinkled her forehead.

  “You heard my wife tell you that Yoshisato went to visit the shogun’s daughter,” Sano said. “You were upset because you realized he could have put a smallpox-infected sheet in her room. You think he killed her.” It was true, and if Sano couldn’t get rid of Lady Someko, at least he could cast aspersion on Yoshisato and distract the judges.

  Lady Someko seemed oblivious to Sano. The judges’ attention was on her. “I heard Sano talking to his wife and son.” Her eyes were half closed.

  “I wasn’t there,” Sano said hotly to Yanagisawa. “Go ahead, bring in my guards—they’ll tell you that.”

  “What did Sano and his wife and son say?” Yanagisawa said, impatient for Lady Someko to finish the story before Sano debunked it or she fell asleep.

  “Sano said Yoshisato had to die,” Lady Someko murmured. “His wife suggested setting his house on fire. His son said to make it look like an accident. Sano agreed.”

  The judges blinked in surprise. Horror launched Sano to his feet as the point of Lady Someko’s testimony became clear. Yanagisawa wasn’t content to persecute Sano. He was after Reiko and Masahiro, too. “We never said that! She couldn’t have heard it!”

  Guards ran to Sano, pushed him down on the mat. Yanagisawa said, “So Sano didn’t conceive the murder alone. His wife and son conspired with him.” He added triumphantly, “They’re as guilty as he is.”

  “No!” Sano struggled against the guards. White sand scattered.

  “They deserve to be convicted along with Sano,” Yanagisawa told the judges.

  “You invented the whole story for Lady Someko to tell!” Sano shouted. “It’s a lie!”

  Yanagisawa ordered, “Silence him!” The guards pinned Sano on the floor, tied a kerchief around his mouth, and twisted his arm behind his back.

  Lady Someko slumped, dozing. Yanagisawa said, “The trial is concluded. Judges, render your verdict.”

  Immobilized, Sano looked pleadingly up at the judges. They exchanged perturbed glances. Sano felt them weighing their choices. They could convict Sano, whom they weren’t sure was guilty, and please Yanagisawa; or they could give Sano the benefit of their doubt and enrage Yanagisawa, whose retaliations were brutal.

  “Guilty,” they chorused. Lord Nabeshima brushed particles of white sand off his robe.

  Yanagisawa’s chest inflated with satisfaction. “What about his wife and son?”

  Inspector General Nakae spoke with confidence now that he’d made his decision about Sano. “Both guilty of treasonous conspiracy to commit arson and murder the shogun’s heir.”

  The other two judges nodded adamantly. Sano shouted protests through the gag.

  “Your sentence is as the law requires.” Yanagisawa’s smile was cruel, exultant. “You and your wife and son are sentenced to death. So is your daughter. Also your father-in-law Magistrate Ueda, and your other close relatives, and top retainers and their families. You will all be burned at the stake tomorrow, after Yoshisato’s funeral.”

  35

  THE CLANK OF a shovel digging rocky soil echoed through the hills outside Edo. Their steep, forested terrain was dark except for the clearing, where lanterns surrounded a deep, round pit. Using a pulley hung from a branch that extended over the pit, Hirata hauled up a bucket full of dirt on a rope. He dumped the dirt in the woods, then said, “That’s deep enough.”

  Far below him, at the bottom of the pit, Deguchi leaned on his shovel. His face was grimy; his shaved head glistened with sweat. He tossed his shovel to Hirata. Hirata caught it in hands that were sore and blistered. He and Deguchi had taken turns digging for more than two hours. Even with their supernatural strength it was hard work.

  Deguchi climbed up. He and Hirata overlaid the pit with branches they’d cut, then covered the branches with leaves and twigs.

  “That trap is set,” Hirata said. “Let’s do a final inspection on everything else.”

  They walked around the clearing. Hirata held a lantern up to the trees. Ropes, tied to strong boughs, were camouflaged with vines coiled around them. Hirata shone the light into a clump of bushes that hid extra swords. He examined a patch of open ground and rearranged the leaves that he and Deguchi had scattered over the forty sharp blades they’d planted upright in the earth. “And in case all else fails—”

  He lowered the lantern; the light touched the thick base of an oak tree. Tucked inside a hollow was a small paper bag.

  Hirata collected equipment and blew out the flames in all the lanterns except the one he held. Deguchi unrigged the pulley and coiled the rope. They sat on the flat altar stone in the center of the clearing and gazed around the battlefield they’d prepared for their confrontation with Tahara and Kitano. Deguchi mouthed, Won’t they notice that something’s different?

  Mystic martial artists were hypersensitive to changes in the environment. Hirata said, “We won’t give them time to react.”

  Worry dimmed the glow in Deguchi’s eyes. Is this enough?

  “We’ve done the best we can.” Hirata was worried, too. He and Deguchi couldn’t defeat Tahara and Kitano in a fair fight. He hoped their preparations would give them enough of an extra advantage. “We should go back to town and get a good rest, so we’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

  They had to win, or they were dead.

  * * *

  WHEN REIKO ARRIVED home, she saw the army standing outside the walls, encircling the estate. Her heart began to pound with fear. She faltered
up to the gate. Soldiers wordlessly opened it for her. She found the courtyard occupied by more troops guarding the barracks. Sano’s retainers peered out the barred windows like caged animals.

  Panic weakened Reiko’s legs. The baby inside her seemed suddenly heavier. She gripped the railing as she mounted the stairs. Inside the mansion, she called to Sano. Her own voice echoed. She hurried through empty corridors. The chamber where she’d left Sano was also vacant. She clutched the walls, faint with terror.

  “Mama!” Akiko cried. She and Tatsuo came running.

  Reiko gasped, bent, and embraced Akiko. “Where is your father?”

  “The soldiers took him,” Akiko said.

  Horror clenched icy tentacles around Reiko’s heart. Sano had gone to his trial. “When?”

  “A long time ago.”

  Had he already been convicted and put to death? Reiko shut her mind against the thought. “Where is Masahiro?”

  “He hasn’t come home yet,” Akiko said.

  “Where are your sister and mother?” Reiko asked Tatsuo.

  “Taeko sneaked out. Mama went to find her.” Tatsuo’s face was woeful.

  “Where are the servants?”

  “They left.”

  Because they thought Sano was done for, Reiko realized. They wanted to avoid being punished along with him. Reiko’s self-control eroded like cliffs lashed by a stormy ocean. But the children needed her; she mustn’t fall apart.

  “Come with me.” She put her arms around them and hurried them along the corridor.

  “Where are we going?” Tatsuo asked anxiously.

  Reiko didn’t know, but she couldn’t bear staying in the deserted house. It was too full of Sano’s absence. Outside they found Detective Marume arguing with one of the soldiers in the courtyard.

  “Go back in the barracks,” the soldier ordered.

  “I have to talk to my master’s wife,” Marume said angrily.

  The soldier saw Reiko and the children on the veranda. “Oh, all right. Just stay outside where I can see you.”

  Marume bounded onto the veranda, muttering, “When this is over, I’m going to slice off your fat rear end and you’ll never be able to sit down again.”