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

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Had he made the wrong decision? What would happen when Sano found out he’d disobeyed orders? Had building the raft wasted precious time that he should have spent on traveling home and reporting that he’d found the kidnappers and hostages? Hirata had also worried about Midori. He’d wondered if he and Marume and Fukida could manage the rescue. But his unwillingness to leave his wife’s vicinity had solidified his resolve. And he must wrest Midori away from the kidnappers. He couldn’t leave her at the mercy of Lord Niu or whatever other insane villain had her.

  Now Hirata said, “We’ll wait until late tonight. Then we’ll invade the island.”

  Accompanied by thirty of their detectives and troops, Sano and Chamberlain Yanagisawa rode into the bancho, the district west of Edo Castle where the lower Tokugawa vassals resided. The afternoon sun, chased by gathering storm clouds, flickered patterns of light and shadow over small, run-down estates enclosed by live bamboo fences. The streets were narrow, muddy, soiled with horse dung, and teeming with mounted samurai. Flies buzzed in ditches overflowing with sewage. The vassals lived in squalor because the regime could afford only meager stipends for a huge military class during peacetime.

  Sano and Yanagisawa had already reported to the shogun that they’d identified the Dragon King as Dannoshin Minoru, inspector for the Ministry of Temples and Shrines. The shogun had ordered them to find out, by the end of the day, whether Dannoshin really was the Dragon King, and where he was hiding the women. If they failed, the shogun said, he would execute them, and Police Commissioner Hoshina. Now Sano’s party arrived at Dannoshin’s estate.

  With its thatched roof and plain, half-timbered construction, the estate was nearly identical to the others crammed into the labyrinthine bancho, differentiated only by Dannoshin’s name written on the gate. After dismounting there, Sano and his detectives followed Yanagisawa and his contingent into a gravel courtyard shaded by the bamboo leaves. An old man dressed in a faded indigo kimono came hurrying out of the house.

  “Who are you?” the man said, clearly startled to behold the army of samurai and the Tokugawa crests on their garments. He backed up the steps in alarm before bowing. “What can I do for you, masters?”

  “We’re looking for Dannoshin Minoru,” said Chamberlain Yanagisawa. “Tell us where he is.”

  “He’s not home,” the old man said.

  Advancing up the flagstone path with his troops, Yanagisawa demanded, “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. I’m just his servant.”

  “Then we’ll just have a look around,” Yanagisawa said.

  While he and his men rushed into the house, Sano went up to the servant, who hunched timidly on the veranda.

  “When did your master leave?” Sano asked.

  “Seven days ago.” Anxious to propitiate, the servant volunteered, “The night before that, a girl came here. She and my master talked. After she left, he told me to pack him some clothes and provisions for a journey.”

  The girl was Mariko, Sano deduced. She’d brought the news of Lady Keisho-in’s impending trip. Dannoshin had then made preparations to outpace and ambush Keisho-in and hired Black Lotus mercenaries to help him. One of them must have ridden back to Edo after the kidnapping, posted the ransom letter on the castle wall, then vanished unnoticed by anyone.

  Sano led his detectives into the house. Beyond the entry way, Yanagisawa’s men swarmed the corridor, pushing open doors in the paper-and-wood wall partitions, tramping through rooms, hunting occupants. The smell of incense tinged the air. The house’s interior was dingy and ill-furnished. Sano supposed Dannoshin had hoarded his money to fund his revenge against Hoshina and pay for help from the Black Lotus. But perhaps the sect had cooperated partly because he could have turned its members in to the police if they refused.

  From somewhere in the back of the house, Yanagisawa called, “Sōsakan Sano!”

  “Go and help search the premises,” Sano told his men.

  He jostled past the troops and found Yanagisawa in a chamber, standing before a teak table. The table held candles with blackened wicks, incense burners full of ash, and an ornately carved black lacquer cabinet.

  “It’s a funeral altar,” Yanagisawa said.

  According to custom, the cabinet should have contained a portrait of the deceased, but it was empty. Sano touched a finger to the carved flowers surrounding the blank interior.

  “These are anemones,” he said. “This is Dannoshin’s funeral altar to his murdered mother.”

  “He must have taken her portrait with him,” Yanagisawa said.

  Sano inhaled the incense smoke absorbed by the walls and tatami. Anxious for clues to the Dragon King’s character as well as location, he opened a cabinet. He found quilts and a futon. Dannoshin must sleep in this shrine to his mother. He must have worshiped her spirit for twelve years, nursing a murderous, obsessive need for revenge.

  Sano stepped into the study, a niche in a corner lined with shelves of books. On a desk lay two sheets of paper scribbled with black calligraphy. Sano picked these up. Yanagisawa read aloud over his shoulder:

  “ ‘The woman struggles desperately in the lake,

  Her long hair and robes spread,

  Like flower petals strewn on the dark water.’

  “This is a draft of the poem in the ransom letter,” Yanagisawa said.

  “And it’s proof that Dannoshin is indeed the Dragon King.” Sano examined the second page and said, “Listen to this.

  “ ‘Despoiler of feminine virtue,

  Selfishly taking his pleasure at will,

  The scoundrel Hoshina leaves destruction in his wake,

  Never caring nor looking back at the pain he causes,

  While fortune blesses him with wealth and prestige.

  But Hoshina will not escape his comeuppance forever,

  The Dragon King will rise up from the ocean to exact retribution,

  He will grasp Hoshina in his golden claws,

  And breathe flaming wrath upon the despoiler,

  Whether it be the death of them both.’

  “So much for any doubt that Dannoshin is out to get Hoshina,” Sano said.

  Yanagisawa’s troops burst into the room, bringing three women. One was gray-haired and matronly, the others teenaged girls. All were whimpering with terror. “These are the housekeeper and maids,” said a soldier. “They say they don’t know where their master went.”

  Sano’s detectives appeared at the door. “The barracks behind the house are empty,” Detective Inoue told Sano. “So are the stables. It looks like Dannoshin has taken all his retainers with him. There’s no one else here.”

  Yanagisawa cursed under his breath. Sano’s heart plummeted under the gravity of frustration and despair. To have tracked the Dragon King to his home territory, only for the trail to end there, was a crushing letdown. Sano and Yanagisawa hunted through the study niche, rummaging in drawers, riffling papers, thumbing ledgers, searching for clues to where the Dragon King was now. The detectives and soldiers searched the rest of the estate. At last they gathered, all empty-handed, in the courtyard.

  “Does the great sōsakan-sama have any ideas?” Yanagisawa’s mocking tone had a sharp, desperate edge.

  Memory suddenly transported Sano back to a time when he’d worked at a place where they could find the information they needed. “Actually, I do,” he said. “Come with me.” He led the rush out the gate to their horses.

  Midori uttered a long, keening wail of anguish as a spasm convulsed her. Her back arched; her body heaved up from the bed. The pain squeezed her eyes shut, bared her teeth. Her fingers clawed into the futon. Tears and sweat drenched her face. Lady Yanagisawa, kneeling on one side of Midori, dabbed her brow with a cloth. Keisho-in squatted on the other side.

  “The pains are coming more and more frequently. The birth will happen soon,” she said with the smug air of an expert.

  Reiko pounded on the door, as she’d done countless times since Midori’s labor h
ad begun in the night. “Help!” she called to the guards. Now it must be past noon, and her voice was hoarse, her anxiety turning to panic. “My friend needs a midwife. Please bring one immediately!”

  Earlier, the guards had responded by yelling at her to be quiet. This time someone thudded a fist against the outside of the door. Ota, the Dragon King’s chief henchman, said, “We’re not falling for any more of your tricks.”

  “It’s not a trick,” Reiko cried in desperation. Childbirth was an event fraught with hazard, and without a skilled midwife to handle any trouble that arose, Midori and the baby were in grave peril. “Come in and see for yourself.”

  Nothing happened. Midori gasped and lay still, temporarily released from pain. Thunder grumbled outside; rain tapped on the roof and dripped through the holes onto Midori. Then the door opened. Ota, his face belligerent with suspicion and annoyance, pointed his sword at Reiko, backing her into the room while he entered with two other men. As they approached Midori, she wailed, shuddering violently, seized by another contraction. Ota and his companions leapt back from her genuine agony. Their faces expressed the primitive awe and fright of men confronted with the spectacle of childbirth.

  “She needs a midwife,” Reiko said. “She needs clean water and bedding and a dry, comfortable place to have the baby.” Determined to protect Midori’s well-being, Reiko forgot caution and ordered the men, “Go tell your master! Now!”

  They fled, although obviously less intimidated by Reiko than eager to get away. Reiko knelt beside Midori and pressed against the potent points on her spine, trying to relieve the labor pains. Midori panted; Lady Yanagisawa wiped her face; Keisho-in peered under her robes, watching for the child to emerge. Soon Ota returned. His cruel grin mocked the women’s hopeful expressions. “My master wants to see you,” he told Reiko.

  As he and two other guards escorted Reiko into the palace, her heart pounded with fear. Inside, they climbed a staircase to a chamber that stank of the Dragon King’s incense. The fear settled like a cold, hard weight in her stomach. She glimpsed doors open to a balcony overlooking the lake, before a partition slid aside with a loud, grinding creak. From the adjacent room stepped the Dragon King.

  Today he wore a plain gray silk kimono over black trousers. His unblinking stare fixed on Reiko. He paused at the threshold, then moved toward her with his odd, hesitant swagger. Madness and desire smoldered in his eyes.

  The icy weight in Reiko’s stomach grew heavier, and her legs trembled. Now would begin her ordeal of compromising herself to win the Dragon King’s trust. Although she felt woefully unprepared, despite hours spent scheming, she must maneuver him toward liberating her and her friends.

  “Good day, Anemone,” he said in a hushed voice that reeked of intimacy.

  Reiko imagined a black abyss yawning at her feet. With a sense of futility, she stepped over the edge. She felt her spirit plunge into depths from which it might never rise.

  “Good day, my lord,” she said, imitating his tone. She donned a semblance of an enchanting smile; she forced her eyes to shine at the Dragon King. Stifling hatred, she dropped to her knees and bowed low in the hope that submissiveness would disarm him.

  He moved near to her, cloaking her in his suffocating aura of incense. When she raised her head, Reiko saw his loins positioned very near her face. She almost flung herself backward, against the guards who stood behind her. Instead, she held her breath and gazed at his swords, and the rampant dragon embroidered in lighter gray thread on his robe.

  “Leave us,” the Dragon King told the guards.

  Reiko glanced around and saw Ota pause on his way out the door. He gave her a warning look. Whether or not her humble pose had convinced his master, Ota clearly suspected her motives. Reiko knew that he and the other guards wouldn’t be far away. She also knew that she couldn’t hope to defeat the Dragon King unless she figured his men into her plans.

  The Dragon King upturned his hand, the long fingers extended toward Reiko. Unwillingly she laid her hand on his and let him raise her upright. They stood close like lovers, their bodies touching through the thin layers of garments that separated them.

  “Did I send you enough food and bedding yesterday?” he said. “Did my men clean your quarters to your satisfaction?”

  His breath on her scalp felt as hot to Reiko as fire from a dragon’s nostrils. Taking her cue from him, she said, “Yes. A million thanks. You have been most kind. My friends and I are beholden to you.” She almost whimpered with distress brought on by her worst fears.

  When the Dragon King had his way with her, her life would be ruined even if she survived. She would have broken her wedding pledge to be faithful to Sano, even though against her wishes. How could she return to him, defiled by another man?

  No matter if she explained that she’d cooperated with the Dragon King and sacrificed herself to save her friends, she couldn’t expect Sano to forgive her. No matter how understanding he was or how unconventional their marriage, Sano was a man, and men were possessive, jealous. A part of him would suspect that she’d welcomed and enjoyed the Dragon King’s attentions. He would wonder whether she could have avoided them—had she chosen. His doubts about her fidelity to him would erode his trust, and their marriage. He might even divorce her. She would lose not only Sano but her son, and be cast off to live in disgrace, on her family’s charity.

  “Ota-san says you have something to ask of me,” said the Dragon King. “But first, let us make ourselves comfortable.” They knelt facing the balcony, his hand still holding hers, his presence immovable at her side. “Let us cherish this time that fate has bestowed on us.”

  A voice inside Reiko’s mind whispered that whatever happened between her and the Dragon King, she didn’t have to tell Sano. Maybe no one else would, either. Sano need never know. But Reiko would know. The secret would fester like a disease inside her spirit. And what if the Dragon King impregnated her? Reiko imagined carrying the child, hoping desperately that it was Sano’s, then watching it grow up and seeing the dreaded resemblance to her kidnapper. The child would be son or daughter to Sano, brother or sister to Masahiro, yet always a reminder of Reiko’s defilement.

  “Last night I dreamed we were at home,” the Dragon King said. “It was spring, and the cherry trees were blooming outside. You were teaching me calligraphy, as you used to do. You put your arm around me and clasped your hand around mine, helping me guide the brush.”

  His lips curved in a private, nostalgic smile. He contemplated the lake, as if he saw the scene from his dream mirrored in its choppy, steel-colored waters. “You caressed my loins, while your hair tumbled over my shoulders and your bosom pressed against me. We laughed together.”

  Reiko cringed at the image of him and a woman who resembled her engaged in erotic play. She gazed at the fog billowing over the distant mountains and wished herself far beyond them.

  “When I awake from such dreams, I usually suffer terrible disappointment that you are gone and I am alone,” the Dragon King said. “But now you have been restored to me in a way I never expected.” He mused, “When I kidnapped the shogun’s mother, I only took you along because you were with her, and obviously a high-ranking person who might be useful to my plans. Not until I got a closer look at you did I discover that you are the image of my beloved Anemone. And not until yesterday, when we first spoke, did I realize that you are possessed by her spirit.”

  Reiko didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that he could distinguish her from the real Anemone. It might spare her the violent rage he’d expressed toward Anemone, but also lessen her influence over him. She was glad that stealing her wasn’t his reason for kidnapping the women and slaying their entourage, but horrified that her present peril was but an accident of fate. If only she’d refused to go on the trip! Better she should have faced punishment from Lady Keisho-in than disgrace and torture at the hands of the Dragon King. Yet there was no use wishing to go back in time and alter the future.

  The Dragon King was wa
tching her, awaiting a response. Hastily she improvised, “Last night I hardly slept at all. My mind was filled with thoughts of you. I kept remembering your touch, and your look, and the rapture of your nearness.”

  Her words derived from vague memories of love poems she’d read; her fluttering eyelids and husky, breathless voice imitated the actors in romantic Kabuki plays she’d seen. The Dragon King stared at her; his breathing quickened, his tongue moistened his lips, and palpable waves of hot arousal emanated from him. Reiko’s insides churned with revulsion and fear as she wended closer to danger, but she clasped her free hand to her bosom, as if truly enraptured.

  “I longed to see you. I prayed we would soon meet again,” she whispered. “How thankful I am that my prayers were answered, and we are reunited.”

  The Dragon King caressed her cheek. “Your death parted us twelve long years ago. But even before then, we were divided. That man—whose very name I despise—came between us.” Anger welled in the fiery gaze that devoured Reiko. The Dragon King’s hand tightened painfully around hers. “He wasn’t worthy of you, Anemone. He was a cruel, selfish cad who was only toying with you. How could you take him as your lover? How could you forsake me?”

  Reiko wondered who this man could be, and what he might have to do with the kidnapping. “I never loved him,” she said, because this seemed the best way to avoid the Dragon King’s savagery. “You’re the only one who matters to me.”

  Now tears quenched the rage in the Dragon King’s eyes. “Ah, my dearest. That man deprived us of so much.” Clouds moved over the balcony as rain trickled through the foliage; a shadow crossed his expression. “If only I could make up to you for those lost years, and the life stolen from you.”

  Here Reiko spied opportunity. “Perhaps there is something you can do,” she murmured.

  “What is it you wish, my dearest?” His grip on her hand relaxed into moist fondling.