The Incense Game: A Novel of Feudal Japan

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Lady Ogyu saw Reiko. She stopped chanting and dancing; she gathered her children close. Her face had a naturally sad cast—eyes, brows, and mouth downturned.

  “Good day, Lady Ogyu.” Reiko walked toward the family.

  “Who are you?” Lady Ogyu looked as scared as if Reiko were a bandit. She pushed the boy and girl behind her. They clung to her skirts and peered out at Reiko, solemn and silent.

  “I’m sorry for frightening you,” Reiko said. “I’ve come to visit. My name is Reiko.”

  Lady Ogyu backed away, drawing the children with her. “Have we ever met?”

  “No, but we have a relative in common. My grandmother is your great-aunt by marriage.”

  Suspicion deepened the fear on Lady Ogyu’s face. She reminded Reiko of a deer, to whom all humans were hunters. The children’s eyes were huge; their lips trembled. Reiko wished she could leave them in peace, but she had to help Sano solve the crime, prevent a war, and protect her own family.

  “Grandmother asked me to come and see you because she’s concerned about you. I have a letter from her.” Reiko proffered the scroll container to Lady Ogyu, who made no move to accept it. Reiko took out the letter and held it out to Lady Ogyu.

  Lady Ogyu snatched the letter from Reiko’s hand, leery of even the briefest contact. As she read, her eyes darted back and forth between the letter and Reiko. Finished, she hesitated.

  Reiko smiled at the children, said, “I’ve brought you something,” and offered them the package.

  Tempted by the pretty red wrapping, they looked at their mother. She reluctantly nodded. The boy opened the package. When he and his sister saw the sweet-bean cakes inside, their eyes lit up. They began stuffing cakes in their mouths. They probably hadn’t eaten sweets since the earthquake. Reiko felt lucky that her cooks had saved some.

  “Come inside,” Lady Ogyu said grudgingly. She sidled toward one of three tents pitched in the courtyard and held up the flap for Reiko to enter. “Play outside,” she told the children. “Don’t go too far.”

  Daylight shining through the tent illuminated the small interior. Two layers of tatami padded the ground. Despite the burning charcoal brazier, it was so cold that Reiko hated to remove her shoes. Toys were jumbled in a corner—dolls, miniature swords, balls, and wooden soldiers. Folded clothes and bedding piled along the walls provided extra insulation. Lady Ogyu picked two cushions from a stack and tossed them on the floor. She handed Reiko a quilt and wrapped another around her shoulders. They knelt on the cushions. Lady Ogyu offered refreshments. Reiko demurred, was pressed, and finally accepted. Lady Ogyu lifted a water jug that sat on the brazier, sloshed water into a teapot, and threw in some loose tea from a jar. She kept her gaze averted from Reiko. They sat in silence as the tea steeped. Lady Ogyu poured two bowls, handed one to Reiko. Reiko sipped weak, lukewarm tea. Lady Ogyu made no attempt at conversation. Rarely had Reiko seen a less gracious hostess; but she was no friend to this woman.

  “I heard that your house was destroyed. I’m sorry,” Reiko said.

  “Yes, well,” Lady Ogyu murmured, her gaze fixed on the tea bowl she clutched.

  “How about if I look for someplace more comfortable for you and your children to stay?” Reiko felt sorry for Lady Ogyu, guilty for deceiving her, and eager to atone.

  Lady Ogyu stared at Reiko in horror. “I don’t want to go! Please don’t make me!”

  Reiko was surprised by her distress. “Of course you needn’t go if you don’t want to.”

  “My husband wants to stay here,” Lady Ogyu whispered. “I want to be near him.”

  Reiko seized the chance to talk about Minister Ogyu. “You must love your husband.”

  Lady Ogyu nodded, cringing.

  “I love mine, too,” Reiko said. “I wouldn’t want to leave him even if we had to live on the street to be together.”

  Lady Ogyu didn’t take the opportunity to exchange confidences. Gulping her tea, she retreated into her shell. Reiko tried to keep the conversation going. “How long have you been married?”

  “Nine years.” Lady Ogyu glanced at the flap of the tent, as if she wished someone would come and take Reiko away.

  “How old are your children?”

  Reiko hoped that her interest in them would thaw Lady Ogyu’s reserve, but Lady Ogyu squirmed as if Reiko had poked her. “They’re both eight. They’re twins.”

  “How nice. I have a boy who’s twelve and a girl who’s five.” She thought of the new baby inside her and smiled. “Where is your husband?”

  “He went into town.” Lady Ogyu pressed her lips together as if afraid of leaking too much information.

  “When will he be back?” Reiko wanted to know how much uninterrupted time she would have with Lady Ogyu before Minister Ogyu returned. He was a possible murderer, she’d promised Sano she would be careful, and she was more concerned than usual about her safety because she was pregnant.

  “Soon, I think.” Lady Ogyu glanced at the tent flap again, obviously hoping her husband would rescue her from Reiko.

  “He’s the director of the academy, isn’t he? A very important man?”

  Lady Ogyu nodded. She set down her empty cup. She didn’t offer to refill Reiko’s.

  “He must be busy. I know my husband is. I hardly ever see him. Tell me—is your husband the kind of man who works all the time? Or does he take time for pleasure?”

  “He works hard,” Lady Ogyu blurted out, “but he likes to be with me and the children as much as possible.”

  Reiko saw that here was a love-marriage as strong as hers with Sano. She didn’t want to discover that Minister Ogyu was the killer and end this couple’s happiness, but she forged ahead with her inquiries. “Is there anything special that you do together?” When Lady Ogyu didn’t answer, Reiko prompted, “How about incense lessons? They’re very popular, or at least they were before the earthquake.”

  Lady Ogyu regarded Reiko with renewed suspicion. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Why do you care whether we take incense lessons?” Her eyes widened in dismay. “Wait—I know who you are.” She pointed at Reiko. “You’re the wife of Chamberlain Sano. I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen you at the castle. The chamberlain was here yesterday, asking my husband about his incense teacher who was murdered. I think you want to trick me into saying something the chamberlain can use against my husband.”

  “No,” Reiko protested, but Lady Ogyu cut her off.

  “Don’t bother to lie.” Anger at Reiko’s deceit made Lady Ogyu bold. “I’m not telling you anything else.” She stood, lifted the tent flap, and said, “Go home. Leave us alone.”

  Reiko shamefacedly exited the tent. Descending the steps, she saw four samurai on horseback join her guards and bearers in the lower, outer precinct. The four dismounted. Reiko recognized one of them, from Sano’s description, as Minister Ogyu. He was stout, pudgy, and shorter than his attendants. He glanced curiously at Reiko’s escorts, who bowed to him. His attendants led the horses away. Minister Ogyu climbed the steps while Reiko continued down them. She was afraid to look directly at him, lest he ask who she was and what she was doing there. A covert glance showed her a round, youthful face with a faint mustache. When they passed, she bobbed a quick bow and cast her gaze modestly downward. She felt him turn to look at her. Reaching her palanquin, she looked over her shoulder and saw him disappear through the portals. She knew Lady Ogyu would tell him about their talk. How she wished she could hear his reaction and what it might reveal!

  She looked around the precinct. The attendants were nowhere in sight. “Wait,” she told her bearers, and hurried up the steps. At the top she peeked into the courtyard. It was empty. From within the tent she heard Lady Ogyu’s voice, loud and agitated, and a lower, calmer voice. She stole into the courtyard and crouched outside the tent.

  “—Chamberlain Sano’s wife,” Reiko heard Lady Ogyu say.

  “What did she want?” asked the other voice, Minister Ogyu’s. It was deep for such a small man, with an o
ddly resonant quality.

  “She asked me questions about you.” Lady Ogyu sounded on the verge of tears. “Oh, I wish you’d been here to chase her away before I had to talk to her. I was so afraid!”

  “It’s all right. I’m here now. Nobody’s going to hurt you. What questions about me?”

  Reiko heard a note of worry in his soothing tone. Lady Ogyu said, “She asked if you took incense lessons. That’s when I figured out who she was. Then I knew she was fishing for information that her husband can use to prove that you killed Madam Usugumo.” Lady Ogyu sobbed. “They’re out to get us!”

  Minister Ogyu let out a short sigh as eloquent as a curse.

  “What is it?” Fright hushed Lady Ogyu’s voice.

  “I just saw Chamberlain Sano at the castle. He asked whether Madam Usugumo had been blackmailing me, and if I had any secrets. I said no, but I don’t think he believed me.”

  Lady Ogyu moaned. “What if he finds out?”

  Excitement filled Reiko. This was as good as an admission that Madam Usugumo had blackmailed Minister Ogyu, who did have a dangerous secret.

  “He won’t.” Minister Ogyu sounded too adamant, as if he were trying to convince himself as well as his wife. “Madam Usugumo is dead. She can’t tell.”

  But it wasn’t proof that Minister Ogyu had killed her. Maybe Priest Ryuko had, and Minister Ogyu had innocently benefited from the crime.

  “Someone else might,” Lady Ogyu said.

  “There’s no one else who knows,” Minister Ogyu said. “Except us.”

  A long silence ensued. Reiko willed them to say what the secret was. She wished she could see through the opaque fabric of the tent and read it in their eyes.

  “What about Kasane?” Lady Ogyu said.

  “She must be a hundred years old. She’s probably forgotten.”

  “She might remember.” Lady Ogyu sounded as if she wanted to believe her husband, but couldn’t.

  “If she does, then she’ll also remember that she was sworn to secrecy,” Minister Ogyu said with a touch of impatience. “Besides, if she hasn’t told anyone yet, why would she ever?”

  “If Chamberlain Sano should get hold of her—”

  “Don’t worry. He doesn’t even know she exists.”

  He soon would, Reiko thought.

  “But what if he somehow finds out?” Lady Ogyu said, still fearful.

  Another, longer silence fell. Reiko wordlessly exhorted the couple to say something that further identified the old woman and explained what bearing, if any, she had on the murders.

  Light footsteps ran toward Reiko, then skidded to a halt. She turned and saw the Ogyus’ little boy, who stood a few paces from her. They beheld each other in alarm. Reiko put her finger to her lips.

  “Mama! Papa!” the boy cried.

  Reiko fled.

  27

  AFTER LEAVING HIRATA’S estate, Sano met General Isogai, chief of the Tokugawa Army, in the street in the official quarter. General Isogai was a stout, middle-aged samurai with a thick neck and pugnacious expression. His belly strained the lacings of his armor tunic. The rim of his metal helmet indented his fleshy head.

  “Folks have been looking high and low for you,” General Isogai said. His voice was hoarse from barking orders; his piggish eyes were bloodshot. He’d been working day and night, deploying his troops across the city and creating a semblance of order. “The shogun has called an emergency meeting.”

  Countless emergency meetings had been called since the earthquake. “What’s this one about?” Sano asked.

  “I guess we’re going to find out,” General Isogai said.

  At the guesthouse Sano and General Isogai found the shogun and Ienobu seated on the dais with the four aged men of the Council of Elders. The floor below them was crowded with the council’s aides, the shogun’s guards, and palace officials. The audience overflowed out the open door; on the veranda, men stood three deep. The crowd buzzed with low, speculative conversation. The shogun beckoned Sano and General Isogai. As Sano knelt in his place at the shogun’s right, he saw Toda Ikkyu’s bandaged face in the front row of the audience. He noticed Masahiro kneeling in a corner. He remembered that Masahiro was now in charge of the shogun’s chambers, but this was the first time he’d seen Masahiro in an official role at such an important gathering. His son had a man’s job, at twelve years old. The earthquake had created strange circumstances indeed.

  The shogun raised his hand; the crowd quieted. “I, ahh, called you together because I, ahh, have just, ahh, received, ahh, disturbing news. Toda-san, tell them what you told me.”

  Toda rose on his knees and turned around to face the crowd. “I’ve discovered some activity among the Mori, Maeda, and Date daimyo clans.” Sano felt an internal drumbeat of foreboding. “I’ve done a rough count of their troops, based on what my agents have reported. The number is much higher than normal. It appears that the troops have been sneaking into town since the earthquake. They’ve been parading through the streets, all decked out for battle.”

  Murmurs rumbled. Men exchanged alarmed glances. Everyone knew what this massing of troops could mean—a revolt brewing. The shogun cringed inside his quilts. Masahiro looked worriedly at Sano, who fought to keep his composure. It sounded as if the daimyo who wanted to overthrow the Tokugawa regime were so bent on revolt—and so certain they would come out on top—that they didn’t care who knew about their plans.

  “Why have you only just discovered this?” General Isogai demanded.

  “Because the intelligence service has been as impaired by the earthquake as every other section of the government,” Toda said.

  Sano looked at Toda. Toda returned his gaze, inscrutable.

  “How have those troops managed to get from the provinces to Edo?” asked Kato Kinhide, on the Council of Elders, a crony of Yanagisawa. “Aren’t the highways impassable?”

  “The troops apparently got through somehow,” Toda said.

  “Why haven’t the officials at the checkpoints let us know they were coming?” Ienobu asked. Distress knotted his ugly features. Sano supposed he was worried about inheriting a civil war along with the Tokugawa regime.

  “The checkpoints have been closed since the earthquake,” Toda said. “The messenger service is virtually shut down. There’s nobody to bring us news from afar.”

  Edo was a sitting target, blindly unaware of danger. Sano felt guilty because he’d been aware but hadn’t told.

  “Are the daimyo going to attack me?” The shogun clutched Sano’s sleeve. “What should we do?”

  All eyes turned to Sano. Sano still couldn’t tell what he knew because that would force the government to respond to the threat and the daimyo to proceed with their insurrection regardless of whether Sano solved the crime and Lord Hosokawa joined them. “We shouldn’t leap to the conclusion that the daimyo are preparing for war,” Sano said. “There could be other reasons why they would bring in extra troops. To fix their damaged estates, for example.”

  “Ahh.” The shogun looked relieved.

  Skepticism appeared on faces in the assembly, including Masahiro’s. Toda studied Sano with curiosity, Kato with veiled suspicion.

  “All due respect, Honorable Chamberlain, this would be a perfect time for those daimyo to strike at us—while we’re down,” General Isogai said. “I should take our army and go order them to send their extra troops home or they’ll be sorry.”

  Sano saw the disaster he dreaded shaping up. “That could provoke them into attacking even if they never intended to. Everyone’s temper has been on edge since the earthquake. Do you want to risk starting a war?”

  “No, oh, no!” Eyes wide with fright, the shogun clapped his hands over his mouth.

  “Then we mustn’t take military action until we’re sure it’s necessary,” Sano said.

  General Isogai scowled at Sano. “Your Excellency, if the daimyo are intending to attack, we can’t just sit and wait for it.” Rumbles of agreement came from the audience, including Kato.<
br />
  “Yes, we have to show them who’s in charge,” Ienobu said.

  Encouraged by the support, General Isogai said, “We can’t afford to look like we’re blind to what they’re doing, or too weak to protect ourselves.”

  The rumbles faded into an uncomfortable silence.

  The shogun looked around in confusion. “What’s the matter? Someone say something. You.” He pointed at Toda.

  Toda reluctantly voiced the assembly’s shared thoughts. “We’ve been severely weakened by the earthquake. Our army has only about ten thousand soldiers left in town. They’re too exhausted to stand against fresh troops from the provinces. The castle’s defenses are in no shape to withstand an invasion. I think Chamberlain Sano is right: We shouldn’t show aggression toward the daimyo when there may not be good reason and since we won’t be able to handle the consequences.”

  Horror and shame filled the chamber, like the reek from an infected wound. Men bowed their heads. It was a terrible moment. That the Tokugawa regime was no longer invincible! That its disintegration could come during their lifetime! Sano felt the blow to the assembly’s collective samurai pride. His own spirit contracted painfully. Ienobu stretched his lips over his protruding teeth and brooded. The shogun was a picture of woe. Even he understood his predicament.

  “All right, then, what should we do?” General Isogai demanded, red-faced, his eyes bulging with impotent anger.

  “Yes, Chamberlain Sano, what?” the shogun echoed anxiously.

  “We’ll watch the daimyo,” Sano said; it was the only thing he could say. “Toda-san, keep us informed about their business.” He could only hope Toda’s agents wouldn’t see anything that would provoke the regime into taking action it would regret or expose his own duplicity. “We’ll fortify the castle as best we can and prepare our troops for battle.”

  * * *

  THE ASSEMBLY FILED from the room as quietly as mourners exiting a funeral. General Isogai aimed a derisive snort, disguised as a cough, in Sano’s direction. Sano followed Toda, caught up with him in the garden, drew him away from the other men, and said, “Did you know about the daimyos’ troops when we spoke earlier?”