Reiko thought giving birth to a shogun was a matter of sex and luck rather than accomplishment, and it shouldn’t entitle Lady Keisho-in to such high honors. But she also thought it was far-fetched to blame the earthquake on Keisho-in. Even if the gods didn’t like Keisho-in’s promotion, it seemed too trivial a matter for them to make millions of people suffer through an earthquake. But Reiko didn’t dare say any of this.
“I think you’re right,” she said.
“Of course I am,” Lady Keisho-in said stoutly. “That astronomer has a grudge against me because I don’t invite him to my moon-viewing parties. He’s jealous and vindictive, and he’s out to get me. I’ll have him run out of town!”
The astronomer had better prepare for a battle unless he changed his tune, Reiko thought. She steered the conversation to the topic she’d come to discuss. “What does Priest Ryuko think of this business?”
Disgruntlement soured Keisho-in’s face. “That man! How should I know what he thinks? He never comes near me! I’m furious! After all I’ve done for him! I introduced him to my son. I even got him his own temple. If not for me, Ryuko wouldn’t have a pot to make water in. But it’s always, ‘I’m busy helping the poor earthquake victims, my dear.’” She snidely imitated the priest’s booming voice.
“I suppose Priest Ryuko is too busy for incense lessons,” Reiko said.
“Incense lessons?” Keisho-in looked baffled by this new, unexpected topic.
“Somebody told me he was taking them,” Reiko said. “Before the earthquake. I was thinking of studying incense myself, when things get back to normal. Now what was his teacher’s name?” She frowned, as if trying to recall. “Oh, yes. Madam Usugumo.”
“That bitch!” Lady Keisho-in exclaimed.
Startled, Reiko said, “Did you know her?” Then she wanted to bite her tongue because she’d spoken in the past tense. She didn’t want to let on that Usugumo was dead and invite unwelcome questions.
Lady Keisho-in didn’t seem to notice. “I never met her, but Ryuko- san mentioned her. I don’t like anybody who offends my dearest.”
“What did he say about her?” Reiko spoke casually, but excitement quickened her heartbeat.
“That she had taken him in. That if he had known what she was really like, he never would have associated with her.”
“It sounds as if something happened between them.” Containing her excitement, Reiko asked, “What was it?”
“I don’t know.” Keisho-in’s face bunched up like a sulky child’s. “He wouldn’t tell me. All I know is that when he came home from his lesson, he was terribly angry and upset. After that, he quit the lessons. He never went back to Usugumo again.”
“Have you any idea why?” Reiko probed. “Do you remember anything else?”
Keisho-in turned her irritation on Reiko. “No, I don’t. All I remember is that my dearest Ryuko- san was grumpy for a long time.”
Reiko didn’t dare press the issue and risk irritating Keisho-in, who had a history of extreme wrath toward people who crossed her. She’d had maids, ladies-in-waiting, and even the shogun’s concubines beaten, sent to the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter to work as prostitutes, or exiled to islands in the middle of the ocean for infractions as minor as not flattering her enough. The women in the Large Interior walked on tiptoe around her. Reiko changed the subject.
“I heard that Lord Hosokawa’s daughters were taking incense lessons, too,” she said. She had to explore the possibility that if the priest had indeed committed murder, the teacher hadn’t been his intended target. “Is Priest Ryuko acquainted with them?”
“He’s not acquainted with any women except me.” Lady Keisho-in was renowned for her jealousy. She treated Ryuko as if he were her husband, even though he’d taken a religious vow of celibacy. It was no secret that he visited her in her bedchamber. The irritation in her eyes took on a suspicious glint. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, no,” Reiko said. “I just thought that maybe Priest Ryuko met Lord Hosokawa’s daughters when he took incense lessons at Usugumo’s house.” She was wondering whether he’d seen anything to indicate whether they were guilty, when a new and dismaying idea occurred to her. Had Priest Ryuko been involved with Usugumo? Had their quarrel been a lover’s spat? If so, then here was another suspect-Lady Keisho-in. Reiko had thought that nothing could be more dangerous than implicating Lord Hosokawa’s daughters in the murders.
“Ryuko- san never met anyone at Usugumo’s house. His lessons were private.” Lady Keisho-in leaned toward Reiko, suddenly hostile. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”
The risk of making Priest Ryuko a suspect in the crime was also hazardous. Even if Lady Keisho-in believed her lover was guilty, she would be just as angry at those who exposed him as at Ryuko himself. Reiko felt danger suffuse the air, like poisoned incense smoke. The shogun loved his mother. Accusing or displeasing her was tantamount to treason.
“I almost forgot,” Reiko said. “Please excuse my poor manners. I brought you a gift.” She offered the lacquer box to Lady Keisho-in. Polite custom dictated that she should have given the gift as soon as she’d arrived, but Reiko had waited, in case she needed it to smooth over a difficult moment.
“Oh, wonderful!” Lady Keisho-in pounced on the box, as eager as a child for a treat. She opened it, saw the pale green cakes colored with tea, filled with sweet lotus paste, and dusted with cinnamon. Reiko’s cooks had made them with the last of the spice. “My favorite!”
She crammed a cake into her mouth, chewed, and smacked her lips. The danger dissipated. Reiko relaxed.
“I just remembered something else Ryuko- san said when he came home from his last incense lesson,” Lady Keisho-in said as she munched another soft, gooey cake. “He said that if Usugumo tried to get him in trouble, he would make her sorry.” Lady Keisho-in licked her fingers.
16
Sano made a few inquiries and learned that Minister Ogyu had vacated his mansion in town, which had been totally destroyed by the earthquake, and moved to the Academy of Confucian Studies, known as the Yushima Seido-Sacred Hall in the Yushima district, located north of Edo Castle.
Snow lay ankle-deep in the streets as Sano and his troops rode to Yushima. It caked the horses’ hooves and manes, covered strewn debris. Smoke from fires in the camps disappeared into the veil of white flakes. When Sano looked back at the castle, he could barely see its shape on the hill. It felt as if he, his men, and the few wanderers they passed were the only people left in the world. When he reached Yushima, nostalgia worsened the sorrow that had lodged in his heart since the earthquake.
Yushima had once been a popular recreation spot. When he was a boy, his father and mother had brought him to the market, where crowds were so thick that parents often lost track of their children, and to the spring festival when the plum trees bloomed. They’d enjoyed walking along the Kanda River, watching the boats. Now the retaining walls, the teahouses, and the restaurants that had lined the banks had slid into the river. Snow frosted the plum trees. Yushima was deserted except for small groups of people roaming around, viewing the destruction. That was the most popular pastime nowadays. Sano’s father had been dead thirteen years; his mother was remarried and living in a distant village. He missed them and their happy times.
He came upon the ruins of the town. Here had once stood the kagemajaya — “teahouses in the shadows,” brothels inhabited by boy prostitutes. Sano ascended the road up the hill occupied by the Yushima Seido and the Kanda Myojin Shrine. The shrine was home to the great festival held on the anniversary of the Battle of Sekigahara, at which Tokugawa Ieyasu had defeated his rival warlords to become the supreme dictator of Japan. Sano remembered the portable shrines carried by near-naked bearers, the musicians banging drums and gongs, the models of human figures, pine trees, turtles, cranes, and roosters riding on floats drawn by oxen. He could almost taste the famous sweet sake, laced with ginger, once sold in the famous shops that now lay wrecked along the road. He’d b
rought his family to the last festival. They’d had a wonderful time, especially Akiko, who couldn’t take her eyes off the floats. He wondered if they would ever see the festival again.
The Seido evoked more decorous memories. Sano had been there for the grand opening ceremony twelve years ago. The shogun, government officials, and daimyo had gathered inside the academy, which resembled an opulent temple. They’d listened to speeches, readings from Confucius, and poetry composed for the occasion. The place had become an elite educational institution, the first of its kind, where the sons of Tokugawa retainers and feudal lords studied the Confucian classics. But there wouldn’t be any more ceremonies, lessons, or lectures for the foreseeable future. Sano and his men had to dismount and clamber through the gaps in the broken tile walls that enclosed the Seido; the roof over the main gate had collapsed, blocking the portal. Sections of the wall around the inner precinct had fallen off the slope on which it stood; rocks littered the outer precinct.
“Hello!” Sano called. “Is anybody here!”
His voice echoed up and down the hill. A cry from above answered. He and his troops climbed the steep steps to the innermost precinct. The going was treacherous, the steps slippery with snow and riddled with cracks. At the top, Sano and his men climbed over the crumbled wall. A spacious garden of shrubs, pine trees, and boulders still existed, but the buildings once arranged in a square were long piles of ruins topped with their roof ornaments-snarling stone beasts with roosters’ bodies and dragons’ heads. A narrow path had been cleared through the rubble. Sano walked through this into the stone-flagged courtyard.
Where once pupils had strolled and debated Confucian theory, now stood five square tents made of bamboo and oiled muslin. Sano heard children’s voices within. The main hall still had its roof, but its walls and foundations had given way. It brought to Sano’s mind a prone man wearing his hat on his slanted back. Fire had charred the walls, blistered the vermilion paint. Five or six women were sorting tiles that had slid off the roof, tossing the whole ones into wheeled barrows. Some twenty men lugged pillars and statues from the ruins of the side buildings. Clad in leather gloves, thick coats, and broad-brimmed wicker hats, the people seemed oblivious to the snow. A heavy woman trundled a full barrow of tiles across the courtyard and dumped them onto a heap of others. She noticed Sano.
“Honorable Chamberlain?”
It wasn’t a woman. It was Minister Ogyu. He removed his hat and used his sleeve to wipe sweat off his shaved crown as he moved toward Sano. His topknot protruded above a round-cheeked face. With his prominent paunch, he reminded Sano of sumo wrestlers. He walked with their heavy trudge. But he was shorter than average, and in his forties, he was too old to be a wrestler.
“Greetings, Minister Ogyu,” Sano said. They exchanged bows while Sano’s troops waited in the distance. “I’m here to inspect the academy.”
“A thousand thanks for coming. I wish I could show you something better.” Ogyu’s voice was deep, as if it emanated from his belly rather than his throat. Maybe he wanted to compensate for his small stature. His face was as smooth as a child’s, but a patch of fuzzy mustache, like black moss, shaded his upper lip, as if his valet didn’t shave him closely enough. Sano had noticed this before, when they’d met at ceremonies and lectures.
“I wish I could send you more help.” Sano regretted that the country’s only center for higher learning was gone.
“Well, there are more important things to fix. Even though His Excellency has said that the Seido is a top priority.” Ogyu smiled wryly. His lips were full, his teeth stubby but even. His pleasant manner didn’t show in his gaze, which had a cool opaqueness that Sano had also previously noticed.
“I see you’ve started the work on the academy yourself,” Sano said.
“Yes, well, my staff and servants and I haven’t much else to do,” Ogyu said, “with the lessons and lectures suspended.”
Sano thought Ogyu’s attitude was a big improvement over Priest Ryuko’s. He felt sorry for Ogyu, who had lost his life’s work, perhaps permanently.
“Eventually we’ll get help with clearing away the ruins,” Ogyu said. “In the meantime, we’re salvaging everything that’s usable. Wood and roof tiles will be hard to come by when the rebuilding boom starts.”
He spoke with confidence that the universe would conspire in his favor. Sano reflected that in the past the universe had done so. Ogyu’s family were hereditary Tokugawa vassals of low rank. His father had been a mere secretary at the castle, but was ambitious. Sano had heard that the man had gone deeply into debt to hire an acclaimed tutor to teach his only child. The tutor also gave lessons to the shogun. Ogyu had proved himself to be a genius at interpreting and writing about the Confucian classics. The shogun liked to surround himself with learned young men, and the tutor had recommended Ogyu, who became one of the shogun’s favorite scholars. Rumor said Ogyu had helped the shogun with his lessons and even written his lectures for him. When the Seido had been built, and the shogun needed someone to run it, he’d picked Ogyu.
Realizing that the tour of inspection, his pretext for coming, was finished, Sano sought to keep the conversation going and lead into the investigation. “I understand you’re living here because you lost your house. It must be hard.”
“I’m fortunate nonetheless,” Ogyu said. “So many people have lost much more than I have. Including their lives.”
These words gave Sano the opening he needed. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve heard of another death. An incense teacher named Usugumo was found yesterday.”
“Gods be merciful. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Ogyu seemed genuinely surprised and grieved.
Sano wondered if he already knew Usugumo was dead because he’d killed her. Maybe he was surprised because after a month had passed since the earthquake and she hadn’t been found, he’d believed she never would be. Maybe he was grieved because he’d thought he was safe and now feared he wasn’t.
“Did you know her?” Sano asked.
“Yes. I used to take lessons from her.” Ogyu admitted it readily, but maybe he thought Sano could find out that he’d been Usugumo’s student and realized that if he tried to hide it, he would look suspicious. But he appeared more chagrined than guilty. “I feel bad because I didn’t check on Madam Usugumo after the earthquake. But there were so many other things to do. She slipped my mind.” Again, he seemed sincere, but Sano noticed that the emotions his words professed showed only in the flexing of his facial muscles. His eyes held their cool reserve.
“This may ease your mind,” Sano said. “The earthquake didn’t kill Usugumo. She died before it happened.”
“Oh?” Ogyu sounded surprised, curious. “How?”
“She and two of her pupils were poisoned during an incense game.” Sano didn’t mention the identities of the other women. As he explained that Hirata had found the bodies in the sunken house, he watched Ogyu closely. Ogyu didn’t panic the way Priest Ryuko had. Maybe he’d prepared himself for the possibility that the crime would come to light and he would be accused.
“Have you any idea who did it?” Ogyu asked. “Is Hirata- san investigating the murders?”
“No.” Sano had thought of putting Hirata in charge of an official investigation instead of trying to keep it secret. After all, solving crimes was Hirata’s job. But Sano had decided not to risk having Lord Hosokawa think he wasn’t handling it personally or to make the investigation public and risk the secret behind it coming out. “The police will investigate the murder eventually. Since we’re on the subject, though, I may as well take a statement from you and save you the trouble of talking to the police later.”
“Of course.” Ogyu spoke as if glad to cooperate.
Sano felt a prickling sensation on his nape. He turned and looked across the courtyard. A flap had been raised on one of the tents. A woman stood in the opening, watching him. With one hand she held the flap up. Her other arm hugged a little girl and boy. Her face was narrow, sharp-chinned, and somber.
She realized that Sano had seen her, and her eyes widened like those of a cornered animal. She dropped the flap, hiding herself and the children.
“That’s my family,” Ogyu said.
Sano turned to see that for once there was emotion in Ogyu’s eyes-affection. Ogyu said, “I tried to send them to stay with relatives. But my wife wanted to be with me.”
“Tell her she can join us if she likes.” Sano wondered if Lady Ogyu knew anything about the murders.
“Thank you, but she would prefer not to,” Ogyu said. “She’s very shy.” His gaze turned opaque again. “I can give you my statement now, if you like.”
“Thank you.” Sano asked, “How long had you known Usugumo?”
“Not long. I only had six or seven lessons.”
“What were your relations with her?”
“Strictly business.” Ogyu glanced toward the tents.
Sano wondered if he didn’t want his wife to hear the conversation. But he didn’t have the sly, guilty, or lascivious look of a man discussing a paramour. “What did you talk about with Madam Usugumo?”
“Besides incense? Nothing that I can recall. The art of incense is a form of meditation. It deserves one’s full attention. We observed the rule against small talk during lessons.”
Sano remembered as much from the lessons he and Reiko had taken from another teacher. Incense games were social, but not parties for chatting. “When was the last time you saw Madam Usugumo?”
“At my last lesson. During the eleventh month of this year, I believe.”
That jibed with the notes in her book. “Was there anything unusual about it?”
“Unusual, how?”
“Did she seem worried? Or upset?”
“No. But if she was worried or upset about something, she wouldn’t have told me. I was a pupil. She was the teacher.”
The Incense Game si-16 Page 12
