Sano Ichiro 8 The Dragon's King Palace (2003)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “No, oh, please, no!” she wailed.

  “The baby will be fine,” Reiko said, hoping she spoke the truth. “It’s just asleep. Lie down and rest. Don’t worry.”

  After she settled Midori on the floor, Reiko hastened to Lady Yanagisawa. The woman lay quiet and still, legs straight, her hands fallen at her sides. When Reiko pulled the hood off her and yanked the cloth gag from her mouth, Lady Yanagisawa blinked up at Reiko. Her tongue slowly moistened her lips.

  “Are you all right?” Reiko asked.

  Lady Yanagisawa murmured, “Yes, thank you.”

  Her face was strangely blank, her tone calm and polite as if this were an ordinary social occasion. She made a feeble motion to rise. When Reiko helped her sit up, she said, “I must be going home now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  An eerie apprehension stole through Reiko.

  “You can’t go home,” Keisho-in said to Lady Yanagisawa. “We’ve been kidnapped.” She peered quizzically into Lady Yanagisawa’s face. “Don’t you remember?”

  Lady Yanagisawa frowned in bewilderment, shaking her head. “My apologies ... I don’t understand what you’re saying.” She seemed oblivious to their surroundings; she ignored Midori, who moaned and wept across the room. As Reiko and Keisho-in regarded Lady Yanagisawa with speechless confusion, she repeated, “I must be going home now. Kikuko-chan needs me.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible,” Reiko said gently.

  She explained what had happened, but the words seemed not to penetrate Lady Yanagisawa’s mind. The woman laboriously clambered to her feet. Gripping the walls for support, she stumbled blindly around the room. “Kikuko-chan,” she called. “Where are you?”

  “The shock has driven her mad,” Keisho-in said.

  Reiko feared that Keisho-in was right. Perhaps Lady Yanagisawa was only suffering from the aftereffects of the opium; but perhaps her already unbalanced mind wanted to deny what had happened, and its refusal to face facts had tipped her over the edge of insanity.

  “Where are you, Kikuko-chan?” Anxiety inflected Lady Yanagisawa’s voice. “Come to Mama.”

  Reiko hurried to Lady Yanagisawa and put her arms around the woman. “Kikuko-chan is safe at home. Please sit and compose yourself. You’re not well.”

  Lady Yanagisawa pulled away and continued searching the room. “Kikuko-chan!” she called with increasing urgency.

  “We need help,” Lady Keisho-in said. She staggered to the door, banged on it, and yelled, “Hey! We’ve got sick people in here. I order you to bring a physician!”

  The banging echoed through what seemed like a deep well of empty space. No reply came. Midori’s sobs rose in hysteria.

  “I wish I’d never gone on the trip,” she cried. “I wish I were at home.”

  “This is intolerable,” Keisho-in declared, her fear giving way to anger. “My head is killing me. I need my tobacco pipe. It’s cold in here. The dust irritates my lungs.” She coughed and wheezed. “That I, the shogun’s mother, should be treated like this is an outrage!” She kicked the door. “Whoever you are, let us out at once!”

  “I want my baby to be all right,” Midori wailed between sobs. “I want Hirata-san.”

  Responsibility for her companions fell to Reiko with the burdensome weight of an avalanche. Though ill and terrified herself, she said, “We must stay calm. Getting upset will only make matters worse.”

  Lady Keisho-in turned a vexed scowl on Reiko. “You’re so good at solving mysteries. Find us a way out of this.”

  But Reiko knew how much her past success had depended on weapons; freedom of movement; access to information; and the power of Sano, his detective corps, and the Tokugawa regime behind her. Here, unarmed and trapped, what could she do to save her friends?

  Nevertheless, determination and duty compelled Reiko to try. “Please be patient. I’ll get us out,” she said, feigning confidence.

  Keisho-in squatted, folded her arms, and waited; Midori’s tears subsided. Lady Yanagisawa turned in slow, giddy circles, her gaze darting deliriously. The lap and rush of waves pervaded the uneasy quiet. Reiko went to the door and pushed. Its thick, heavy wood didn’t yield; pressure only rattled the bars on the other side. Her hands probed for cracks in the door’s surface and around the edge, to no avail. She moved to the windows and discovered that the shutters were nailed closed. She inserted her fingers into the narrow gaps between the rough wooden slats and tried to pry them apart. This gained her nothing except splinters in her skin.

  Lady Yanagisawa collapsed, forlorn and whimpering, in a corner. “I can’t find my little girl,” she said. “Where can she have gone?”

  Reiko examined the walls and floor. Both were marred with holes and fissures, but none large enough for escape. The building seemed ancient, in disrepair, but solid. Soon Reiko was exhausted, panting, and sweaty despite the cold. She stood in the center of the room and gazed upward. The ceiling was twice as high as she was tall. Moonlight shone through crevices amid the rafters. Failure drained her energy; she sank to her knees.

  A pitiful wail came from Midori: “What’s to become of us?”

  Lady Keisho-in jumped up, trotted around the room, and pounded on the shutters. “Help!” she shouted. “Somebody help!”

  “Don’t panic,” Reiko begged. “We must save our strength and ready our wits for when we get an opportunity to escape.”

  “We’ll never escape,” Midori said as more sobs convulsed her. “We’ll all die!”

  Her hysteria infected Keisho-in, who clawed the door with her fingernails. “I must leave this place now! I can’t stand this anymore!”

  Though Reiko attempted to reason with and comfort her friends, they paid no attention.

  “Hirata-san!” Midori called, as if her voice could carry across the distance to her husband.

  Keisho-in hurled herself repeatedly against the door, uttering foul curses that revealed her peasant origin; Lady Yanagisawa whimpered. Reiko had never felt so useless. When news of the massacre and abduction reached Edo, the shogun would surely order Sano to investigate this serious crime. Here Reiko was at the center of what might be the biggest case of Sano’s career; but all her talent and experience mattered not, for this time she was a victim instead of a detective.

  Frustration, physical malaise, and terror that she would never again see Sano or Masahiro nearly overwhelmed Reiko. Tears spilled from her eyes; yet her samurai spirit blazed with anger toward her kidnappers and spurned the notion of giving up without a fight. Somehow she must deliver herself and her friends to safety, and the criminals to justice.

  “Hirata-san!” Midori called again and again.

  Her friend’s desperation resonated through Reiko. As much as she craved action, there seemed nothing she could do at present except wait for whatever was to come.

  * * *

  5

  At dawn, a sun like an immense drop of blood floated up from the eastern hills outside Edo and shimmered in the white haze that veiled the sky. The discordant peals of bells in temples called priests to morning rites and roused the townspeople from slumber. As birds shrilled in the trees within Edo Castle’s stone walls, guards opened the massive ironclad gate. Out came Hirata with Detectives Fukida and Marume. Fukida was a brooding, serious samurai in his twenties; Marume, a decade older, had a jovial countenance and a powerful build. They and Hirata rode horses laden with saddlebags for their journey to the scene of the abduction. Disguised as rōnin, they wore old cotton robes, wide wicker hats, and no sign of their rank, in the hope that they could blend with other travelers and secretly track down the kidnappers.

  Instead of following the main boulevard west to the Tōkaidō, Hirata led his men along a road into the daimyo district south of the castle. “One quick stop may save us a long search,” he said.

  The heat of day vanquished night’s fleeting coolness as the city awakened to life. Mounted samurai thronged the wide avenue of daimyo estates, mansions surrounded by barracks constructed of white plaste
r walls decorated with black tiles. Porters delivered bales of rice and produce to feed thousands of daimyo clan members and retainers. Hirata, Marume, and Fukida dismounted outside an estate that numbered among the largest. The gate boasted red beams and a multitiered roof; a white banner above the portals bore a dragonfly crest. Hirata approached a sentry stationed in one of the twin guardhouses.

  “Is Lord Niu home?” Hirata said.

  The guard glanced at Hirata’s shabby garments, sneered, and said, “Who’s asking?” Then he did a double take as he recognized Hirata. He leapt to his feet and bowed. “My apologies. Yes, the Honorable Lord Niu is in.”

  “I want to see him,” Hirata said in a voice tight with controlled anger.

  “Certainly,” the guard said, and opened the gate. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “Never mind. I’ll tell him myself.”

  Hirata stalked through the gate; Fukida and Marume followed him into a courtyard. Here samurai patrolled and guardrooms contained an arsenal of swords, spears, and lances. As they entered another gate that led beyond the officers’ barracks, Hirata burned with ill will toward Lord Niu.

  History had lain the foundations for their strife. Lord Niu was an “outside daimyo,” whose clan had been defeated by the Tokugawa faction during the Battle of Sekigahara and forced to swear allegiance to the victors almost a hundred years ago. Hirata came from a Tokugawa vassal family. Although most other daimyo accepted Tokugawa rule without rancor, Lord Niu hated the exorbitant taxes he had to pay, and the laws that required him to spend four months each year in Edo and his family to stay there as hostages to his good behavior while he was home in his province. He also hated anyone associated with the regime—including Hirata. The daimyo had opposed the match between Hirata and Midori, who hadn’t bowed to his wishes as tradition required. Their love for each other—and the child that was already on the way before the marriage negotiations began—had necessitated desperate action.

  Hirata had tricked Lord Niu into consenting to the marriage, and the daimyo had never forgiven him. Lord Niu had vowed to separate the couple and sworn vengeance against Hirata. All Hirata’s attempts to placate Lord Niu had met with failure. And because of what Hirata had learned about Lord Niu since marriage joined their clans, he believed the daimyo to be the best suspect in the massacre and kidnapping.

  He and his men entered the mansion, a labyrinthine complex of buildings connected by covered corridors and intersecting tile roofs and raised on granite foundations. They burst into Lord Niu’s private chamber.

  Lord Niu, clad in a dressing gown, knelt on the tatami while a valet shaved his crown with a long razor. Near them sat the daimyo’s chief retainer, a dour, homely man named Okita. Guards stood by the walls. Everyone looked up at Hirata and the detectives in surprise.

  “Where is she?” demanded Hirata.

  Lord Niu demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  He was a short man in his fifties, with swarthy skin and broad shoulders. His most remarkable feature was the asymmetry of his face. The right half was a distorted reflection of the other. The left eye focused on Hirata and blazed with hatred; the right contemplated distant space.

  “I want to know where my wife is,” Hirata said, planting himself in front of his father-in-law, despite the creeping uneasiness that Lord Niu always inspired in him. Detectives Marume and Fukida stood behind Hirata.

  “How should I know?” Lord Niu regarded Hirata with puzzlement and hostility. “You stole her from me. It’s up to you to keep track of her. Why do you come in here at this early hour, without my permission, to ask ridiculous questions?”

  Had anyone else reacted this way, Hirata might have believed he was telling the truth, but Lord Niu was crafty and dishonest. “Midori, Lady Keisho-in, Lady Yanagisawa, and Lady Reiko were abducted yesterday,” Hirata said.

  “What?” Lord Niu’s eyebrows shot up; he leaned forward. “How did this happen?”

  As Hirata explained, he observed that Lord Niu’s shock appeared genuine. But if he’d arranged the ambush, he would have expected Hirata to come, and prepared to feign innocence. Hirata glanced at the daimyo’s men. The guards and Okita looked wary, and Hirata decided they hadn’t been aware of the crime. Their master often acted without their knowledge.

  “Tell me what you did with the women,” Hirata said.

  “You think I took them?” Lord Niu rose so fast that he almost knocked over his valet, who’d ceased trying to shave him. He faced Hirata with an incredulous stare.

  “Yes,” Hirata said.

  “Well, I didn’t,” Lord Niu declared. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

  “You want to separate Midori from me and break the union between our clans,” Hirata said. “The Council of Elders expects the ransom instructions to demand money, but I know better. You want to force the shogun to dissolve my marriage.”

  Lord Niu looked dumbfounded. “However much I hate you, I did not massacre a Tokugawa procession or kidnap the shogun’s mother. You’re not worth risking execution for murder and treason.” His voice turned contemptuous; his hand shot out and shoved Hirata. “Only a madman would go to such great lengths for a feud with the likes of you.”

  That Lord Niu was the madman, Hirata had come to realize when the daimyo had begun pursuing vengeance against him. “You’ve already gone to great lengths,” Hirata said. “When Midori came here for her ritual visit after our wedding, you locked her in and threatened to kill her unless I divorced her.” The memory fueled Hirata’s anger toward Lord Niu. “You didn’t let her out until I showed up with troops and forced you to give my wife back to me.”

  “She wanted to stay,” Lord Niu lied brazenly. “You took her against her will.”

  “A month later, you pretended to forgive me and invited me to a banquet,” Hirata continued. “I sat beside you while we ate and drank. That night I fell ill with terrible stomach cramps, diarrhea, and vomiting. No one else at the party got sick. The Edo Castle physician said I’d been poisoned. You did it. You tried to murder me.”

  “That’s vicious slander.” Lord Niu puffed himself up in indignation. “You just can’t hold your liquor.”

  “And this spring, a band of assassins attacked me in town,” Hirata said. “My men and I fought them, and they ran away—but not before I got a good look at them.” Hirata pointed to a hatchet-faced guard standing by the window. “That’s their leader. Too bad for you that your men are inept cowards.”

  The guard bristled at the insult and took a step toward Hirata. A warning look from Lord Niu halted him. Lord Niu folded his arms in defiance; his left eye glared at Hirata, while his right dreamed. He said, “You’re mistaken. Those weren’t my men you saw. They must have been some of your other enemies. And I’ve had enough of your false accusations.”

  Yet Hirata had even more evidence that Lord Niu would shed blood to satisfy a grudge. When Hirata had asked Midori about her father’s behavior, she’d confessed that he’d always had a wild, violent, unreasonable nature. Lord Niu had vented his ire at the Tokugawa by beating his concubines, fighting his retainers, rampaging through his province, and slaughtering innocent peasants. Furthermore, Sano had told Hirata about the daimyo’s youngest son, now dead, who’d committed such extreme treason that he couldn’t have been sane. The clan had hushed up Lord Niu’s excesses to protect him, and the bakufu had hushed up the treason rather than allow the public to know the regime was vulnerable to attack. Hirata now belonged to a select group of people who knew madness ran in the Niu family. And he believed that Lord Niu’s rage against him had worsened the madness and driven Lord Niu to abduct Lady Keisho-in and slaughter her entourage.

  “I’ve had enough of your denials,” Hirata said, advancing on Lord Niu. “I want to know what you’ve done with Midori-san and her friends.”

  Though Lord Niu stood only as high as Hirata’s shoulder, his crooked sneer was intimidating. “I couldn’t have abducted them. I’ve been here in Edo the whole time. They’ll tell
you.” He jerked his chin toward his men.

  “It’s true,” Okita said in a firm, matter-of-fact voice. The valet and guards nodded. “He didn’t do it. He never even left the estate.”

  This alibi didn’t convince Hirata. Those men owed their loyalty to Lord Niu, had dutifully stood by him through all the evils he’d done, and would lie to protect him. “Then you must have sent troops or hired mercenaries so you could keep your hands clean,” Hirata said.

  Anger surged in him, and not just because he thought Lord Niu had kidnapped Midori. The daimyo had been draining enjoyment from his marriage and his anticipation of fatherhood. His heart was thudding, his hands itching to pound the truth out of Lord Niu. He paced around the daimyo, who revolved, glaring at him.

  “That is a lie,” Lord Niu sputtered. “I didn’t order the kidnapping. How could I have, when I had no idea the women were going on that trip?”

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” Hirata said, circling Lord Niu, growing angrier by the moment. “You have spies at Edo Castle because you’re deluded enough to think the Tokugawa are plotting war against you—even though they wouldn’t disrupt the peace they’ve maintained for almost a century. You must have heard about Lady Keisho-in’s plans.”

  “How dare you mock me?” Lord Niu clenched and unclenched his hands, as though eager to strangle Hirata. “Why do you waste time accusing me, instead of hunting the real culprit?”

  Their mutual antagonism vibrated in the atmosphere. The guards rested their hands on their sword hilts; Marume and Fukida hovered alert, anticipating battle.

  “May I suggest that there has been a misunderstanding?” Okita said cautiously. His main duty was to control Lord Niu and defuse situations that could ignite the daimyo’s temper, Hirata knew. “Perhaps if we all sit down and have some tea, we can resolve our differences.”

  Lord Niu ignored his retainer. He froze, and a look of horrified comprehension nearly aligned the halves of his face. “Oh, I see what’s going on,” he said to Hirata. “This is another of your schemes against me.” Lord Niu clung to the conviction that Hirata was out to get him, despite Hirata’s assurances that all he wanted was a truce. “You want me gone forever, and my honor disgraced—and what better way than to brand me a traitor?” The daimyo jabbed a finger into Hirata’s chest. “You kidnapped the women yourself, to frame me!”