The Incense Game: A Novel of Feudal Japan

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Unfazed by Sano’s accusing tone, Toda said, “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?” Sano demanded.

  “I don’t tell you everything.” Toda smiled wryly. “Need I keep reminding you?”

  “Something as important as that, you shouldn’t have withheld from me,” Sano said, infuriated by the spy’s attitude.

  Toda shook his head, his expression pitying. “It looks as if I need to remind you that I report information to you only when it doesn’t conflict with my duty to the Tokugawa regime, of which you are a part but not the ruler.”

  That Toda was correct made Sano all the more furious. “You’re evading the question. Why did you bypass me and take your news straight to the shogun?”

  “Because he deserved to know.” Toda matched Sano’s belligerence. “And I didn’t trust you to deliver it to him or to anyone else who should have been informed.”

  “Why not?” Sano said, feeling insulted even as his heart beat faster with apprehension.

  “Forty years as a spy. While we were talking earlier, I sensed that something wasn’t right. I wondered if you already knew about the daimyo.” Toda fixed his unblinking eye on Sano, who found it hard not to flinch. “Well?”

  Your spy instincts be damned, Sano thought. “That’s ridiculous.” He tried to speak with just enough conviction; too much or too little would alert Toda that he was lying. “You’re so immersed in deceit that you smell it even when it’s not on anybody but yourself.”

  Canny mirth creased the skin around Toda’s eye. “My nose hasn’t been wrong very many times, and I don’t think it is now. But listen.” His expression turned sober; he lowered his voice. “You and I have always gotten along. I consider you a friend. May I offer you some friendly advice? Whatever you’re doing, think hard about whether it’s good for you. And if it isn’t, then quit while you can.”

  He glanced across the garden to the gate, where the crowd of officials had gathered. “Well, well, look who’s risen from the dead.”

  Amid the officials, exchanging bows and greetings with them, stood Yanagisawa. Shocked to see him after all these months, Sano stared. He forgot Toda and moved toward Yanagisawa, compelled by the forces that had drawn them together, pushed them apart, and pitted them against each other for fourteen years.

  The crowd melted away. Alone, Sano and Yanagisawa stood at arm’s length. Sano saw how gaunt Yanagisawa was, how he’d still managed to retain his looks. The air thickened with bitter memories of the wounds they’d dealt each other. But Yanagisawa’s mood seemed indifferent as he examined Sano. He looked like he’d walked through fire and had all the emotion seared out of him. But Sano never trusted appearances when it came to Yanagisawa. His mind teemed with questions that he couldn’t ask outright. For almost a year he’d planned for this moment, but now that it had come, he was speechless.

  “It’s been a long time,” Yanagisawa said. His suave voice had the tired quality of a convalescent’s.

  “Yes,” Sano said, “it has.”

  The banal words were incongruous with the fact that they’d once rolled in the dirt trying to kill each other. Sano pitied Yanagisawa terribly: He’d undergone the worst experience a parent could—the death of a child. Sano felt guilty because his investigation had created the circumstances that had been fatal for Yoritomo. He couldn’t blame Yanagisawa for blaming him. But he couldn’t forget that Yanagisawa had tried to kill Masahiro and almost succeeded. Anger and hatred adulterated his compassion. He couldn’t be sorry that Yanagisawa had been disgraced and demoted by the shogun, whereas Sano had been promoted and acclaimed.

  “What brings you here?” Sano needed to know why Yanagisawa had finally reemerged and what it meant for himself.

  “I’m getting back into circulation,” Yanagisawa said. “It’s time.”

  Time for what? Sano wondered. To end his mourning for Yoritomo? To take up his quest for power again? Or to avenge Yoritomo’s death? Whatever the reason, the time couldn’t have been worse for Sano. He had a murder investigation to conduct in secret, a clandestine deal with Lord Hosokawa, and a possible revolt on his hands. The last thing he needed was Yanagisawa complicating matters.

  “Have you seen the shogun yet?” Sano asked.

  “Not yet. I was just about to go in and pay him my respects.”

  Sano stepped aside, clearing Yanagisawa’s way to the door. Yanagisawa circled around Sano, who turned to keep him in sight. The specter of Yoritomo lying with his throat cut in a pool of blood loomed between them, as palpable as if made flesh. Sano didn’t want to mention Yoritomo; nothing could ease the pain of such a loss. But certain words must be said. Courtesy demanded them. So did Sano’s own need to express the thoughts that had weighed on his mind for almost a year.

  “I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I am about Yoritomo,” Sano said. “May I offer my condolences?”

  A breath inflated Yanagisawa’s chest. Although his mild expression didn’t change, Sano sensed a swell of emotions within him. Sano braced himself, aware that if a man he blamed for his child’s death should dare to express sympathy, he would explode into violent rage.

  “You may.” Not a sign of rancor did Yanagisawa display. “I gratefully accept.”

  Sano was so unbalanced by Yanagisawa’s reaction that he had to grope for something else to say. “Yoritomo was a good man. His death was a tragedy.”

  “Yes,” Yanagisawa said. “Thank you.”

  Perhaps grief had reformed Yanagisawa from an evil schemer into a decent human being. Sano had seen stranger things happen. He came out with a speech that his conscience needled him to make.

  “I’m sorry for my part in the trouble that cost Yoritomo his life.” But Sano couldn’t help thinking that it had been Yoritomo’s own actions that had ultimately gotten him killed. He’d gone over and over the events leading up to the scene, and he always concluded that if he had it to do again, given the same facts that had been available to him then, he would have done everything the same. “I never meant for Yoritomo to be harmed. If I could change the past and bring him back, I would.” But Sano wasn’t sorry not to have Yoritomo plotting against him. Even though he meant every word of his speech, it felt false.

  Yanagisawa nodded as if he accepted Sano’s words at face value. “Why don’t we just let bygones be bygones. You have more important things to think about. And so have I.”

  He smiled. His eyes flashed with the old cunning and menace.

  Sano’s hackles rose.

  28

  “WHAT DID SANO-SAN say?” Midori asked, entering the storehouse where Hirata sat.

  Hirata looked up at his wife. Sick with shame about what had happened between him and Sano, he didn’t want to worry her. She had enough problems, caring for the family under post-earthquake conditions. “Nothing serious. He’s giving me a leave of absence.”

  Midori’s eyes flared with alarm; she understood that the leave was a punishment, not a holiday. “Why? What did you do?”

  “Why are you always in such a hurry to assume I did something bad?” Hirata vented his anger at himself on her.

  “Why do you always criticize me when I’m right and we both know it?” Midori put her hands on her hips. She was no traditional wife who would bow to her husband’s authority or let him divert her from a topic he didn’t want to discuss. “Tell me what you did!”

  Hirata didn’t like giving in to her, but it wasn’t fair to keep her in the dark. If things kept going the way they were, she would share the consequences. “Sano-san gave me a job to do. I let him down.” It made Hirata feel as low and dirty as a worm. Samurai had committed ritual suicide for similar offenses. Perhaps he should, too. That would get him out of the secret society, but it would create other, disastrous problems.

  Midori opened her mouth. She looked from side to side, caught between anger and confusion and unable to decide which to express. “Why didn’t you do what he told you to?” She studied Hirata’s face. “Don’t tell me—I can gu
ess. It was those friends of yours, wasn’t it? Yes! I knew it!”

  “You carry on our conversations so well by yourself, why do you need me to say anything?” Hirata snapped.

  “I knew they were trouble the first time I laid eyes on them. Where did you go last night? What happened?”

  “I can’t tell you,” Hirata said between clenched teeth. “You know that.”

  “I know that you’ve changed since you met those three. You’re secretive and cross all the time. I don’t like it. And neither does Sano-san, obviously.” Fear quenched her anger. Her hand went to her throat, and she said in a hushed voice, “What happens next? Sano-san throws you out and you become a rōnin?”

  “No. He wouldn’t,” Hirata lied.

  Midori bent and clutched his arm. “Whatever you’re up to with those men, you have to stop it! Before you ruin us!”

  Their hold over him shackled Hirata like iron chains. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? Are you so infatuated with them that you’ll let them make you lose everything?” Midori’s anger resurged. “Maybe you don’t care about yourself, but what about me and our children? How are we supposed to live when we’re thrown out in the streets? Don’t you care about us anymore?”

  “That’s not it,” Hirata protested.

  “Then what is it? Why must you continue going along with those men?”

  The secrets he’d been keeping filled Hirata like pus in a boil. Their volume had swelled to the bursting point. Hirata had to let something out. “Unless I do, they’ll kill Sano-san.”

  Midori crumpled as if he’d struck her behind the knees. “Oh.” She understood that his master’s murder was a calamity that a samurai must do everything in his power to avert. “Well, can’t you protect Sano-san?”

  “No.” Hirata heard the flatness of defeat in his voice. “They’re stronger than I am.”

  Midori frowned in disbelief. “You’re the best fighter in Edo.”

  “I’m only the one who’s won the tournaments and duels. Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi have kept their powers to themselves—so far.”

  “Tell Sano-san. Surround him with guards,” Midori suggested. “Those men won’t be able to get close enough to touch him.”

  “Yes, they will.” As Hirata told her about the prayer tag that Tahara had planted on Sano, he watched horror erase her disbelief. “I can’t keep him safe. Except by doing what they want me to do.”

  “What do they want you to do?”

  “I can’t tell you. I’ve already said too much.” Hirata knew the men would kill whoever learned more about their business than they liked, including women and children. “It’s too dangerous for you to know.”

  Midori wrung her hands. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  “Nothing, I promise,” Hirata said with too hearty confidence. “Everything will be fine.” But first he must do the ghost’s bidding.

  After Midori left him to look after the children, who were playing outside, Hirata glumly contemplated the message branded on his arm. He couldn’t just walk up to Lord Ienobu and say, “Come to the shogun’s garden with me.” Ienobu would want to know why, or refuse outright. Hirata supposed he could use his mystical powers to make Ienobu follow him as mindlessly as a sleepwalker. But they might run into someone who would notice that something was odd about Ienobu and accuse Hirata of casting an evil spell over him. Hirata especially didn’t want Sano to see him and wonder what he was doing. He decided against sneaking up behind Ienobu, hitting him on the head, knocking him unconscious, putting his body in a sack, and dumping him in the garden at the designated hour. In addition to the risk of being caught, he might hurt Ienobu. Think! he exhorted himself. You haven’t much time left!

  Hirata mulled over his store of information about Lord Ienobu, whom he didn’t personally know. He’d heard the man was ambitious, sneaky, selfish, and had his eye on the dictatorship. That was all. It was enough.

  Rummaging in the household clutter, Hirata found writing supplies and a blank sheet of paper. He prepared ink, dipped a brush, and wrote in square, blocky characters that disguised his calligraphy: Go to the shogun’s garden at the hour of the cock tomorrow, and you will learn something to your advantage. Hirata rolled the letter without signing it and put it in a bamboo scroll container. Surely Ienobu wouldn’t be able to ignore an anonymous tip. All Hirata had to do was get the letter into Ienobu’s hands.

  Then he would continue his investigation into Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi.

  * * *

  “YOU’RE BACK ALREADY?” Reiko’s grandmother said, standing outside her tent. “Did you have a nice visit with Lady Ogyu?”

  Reiko climbed out of her palanquin. “Not especially.”

  “I want to hear all about it.” Grandmother’s eyes sparkled with eagerness. “Come inside.”

  They sat in the tent, where the old woman served murky soup that reeked of onions, fermented fish, and vinegar. Reiko said, “None for me, thank you,” and described her attempt to pump Lady Ogyu about her husband and the murders.

  “Well, you really flubbed your chance,” her grandmother said. “You should have been more subtle.”

  “Like you?” Reiko couldn’t resist saying.

  Her grandmother waggled a finger at Reiko. “Now, now, don’t be sarcastic, my girl. Was my letter of reference completely wasted?”

  “Not completely.” Reiko described how she’d eavesdropped on Minister Ogyu and his wife.

  “That’s exactly what I’d have done. Maybe you did inherit a few of my wits. So what did you hear?”

  Reiko related the Ogyus’ conversation. “I think the old woman named Kasane may be able to supply the proof that Minister Ogyu is the murderer.”

  “And you want my help finding out who she is and where she is.” Grandmother shook her head. “Can’t you do anything without me?”

  “I would be very grateful for your assistance,” Reiko said humbly.

  Grandmother pondered. “Kasane, Kasane. Give me a moment.” Reiko imagined the old woman sorting through pages of history stored in her capacious memory, the paper yellowed but the writing still black and clear. “The Ogyu family had a nursemaid named Kasane.”

  Reiko wasn’t surprised that her grandmother knew the servants employed by high-society families. She poached them whenever she fired her own unsatisfactory servants.

  “There was something odd,” Grandmother went on. “Kasane was given a yearly income and went to live near relatives in Mitake. It must have been more than fifteen years ago.”

  “That is odd,” Reiko said. Usually, longtime servants either were allowed to stay on with the family, which supported them in their old age, or were cast off to fend for themselves. It was a rare, benevolent employer who let a servant go her own way on his payroll.

  “So.” Grandmother gave Reiko a smug look that proclaimed her own superiority and Reiko’s indebtedness to her. “Hadn’t you better go home and prepare for the trip?”

  * * *

  AFTER HE FINISHED exchanging respects with the officials who’d welcomed him back to court, whether they were glad to see him or not, Yanagisawa entered the guesthouse and headed toward the shogun’s chambers. He’d been away too long. How superfluous he’d made himself, how vulnerable! But he’d needed to let his grief have its way with him so that he could rise again, stronger than ever, when the time came. That time was now. He must fight to reclaim the place that was rightfully his, and here was the first obstacle to surmount.

  Ienobu stood in the corridor. His small, hunched figure blocked Yanagisawa’s path. His ugly face was twisted with displeasure.

  “Greetings, Lord Ienobu.” Yanagisawa stopped and bowed.

  Ienobu demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going to call on His Excellency.” Yanagisawa thought it was too bad he hadn’t arranged a fatal “accident” for Ienobu a long time ago. He’d wrongly assumed Ienobu would never crawl out from under his rock.

  “But you haven’t
left your house in almost a year.” Ienobu had apparently thought that grief had done Yanagisawa in and he needn’t worry about competition from the shogun’s old friend. “You’ve taken no interest in my uncle.” He emphasized his relationship to the shogun. “Or in government business.”

  “That’s all changed.” Yanagisawa smiled at Ienobu’s vexation. He advanced down the corridor, forcing Ienobu to shuffle backward. “You have only yourself to blame.” If not for Ienobu’s order to leave the capital, Yanagisawa might still be lying in bed, a threat to no one.

  “You mustn’t bother my uncle,” Ienobu protested. “He doesn’t want to see anybody.”

  “He’ll see me.” Yanagisawa kept going, with feigned confidence. How would the shogun take his sudden reappearance?

  “You had better get your affairs in order for your trip to your new post in Tosa Province,” Ienobu said, shuffling faster. “You’re supposed to leave in a few days.”

  Yanagisawa snorted. That this grotesque insect thought to dispense with him so easily! “I’m not going.”

  “My uncle ordered you to go. You have to obey.”

  “We both know who those orders really came from.” Yanagisawa jabbed his finger at Ienobu as he bore down on him. “I don’t obey you.”

  Ienobu stopped with his back against the closed door to the shogun’s chambers. “You can’t go in there.” His eyes bulged with his fear that Yanagisawa would undo his efforts to secure his place as heir to the dictatorship.

  “Who’s to stop me?” Yanagisawa said.

  “Guards!” Ienobu called. Two soldiers came. “Take this trespasser outside.”

  Yanagisawa gave the guards a look that concentrated the power of his personality, that bespoke his reputation as a man to be feared. “You’re dismissed. Leave.”

  The guards went. Yanagisawa said to Ienobu, “Step aside.”

  Furious yet impotent, Ienobu obeyed.

  A victory always energized Yanagisawa, and this first one over Ienobu reassured him that he hadn’t lost his touch. But his heart raced as he entered the room, shut the door behind him, and approached the shogun, who lay on cushions on the dais with his eyes closed. Two pages hovered. Yanagisawa shot them a glance; they tiptoed from the room. This might be the most important conversation he’d ever had. He waited, tense with nerves.