The left sides of his face and neck, and both his hands, were bandaged with white cloth. He’d been burned when his house had caught fire during the earthquake, Sano knew. He wore a brown-and-black-striped kerchief tied around his head. The visible, unscathed half of his face was so ordinary, its features so unmemorable, that Sano had always had difficulty recognizing him. His appearance had once served him well in his profession as a spy.
“I’m glad to see you alive, Toda- san,” Sano said.
Toda smiled wryly with the half of his mouth that showed. “Thanks to the earthquake, I won’t be doing any more secret surveillance.” He lifted his hands to Sano, then touched the bandages on his face. “These would attract the attention of anybody I tried to spy on. The scars will be just as noticeable.”
Sano smiled, too, pitying Toda and admiring his philosophical attitude. “I’m glad you’ve kept your sense of humor.”
“My sense of humor is about all I did get to keep. The fire destroyed all my worldly goods. But sometimes in this life you just have to be glad that things aren’t worse.”
“True,” Sano said. “I came by to inspect the state of the metsuke. ” His other purpose, he couldn’t allow Toda to guess.
“Half of our agents died during the earthquake, I regret to say. Twelve are still missing. As for our informants, we’re still trying to track them down.” The metsuke had employed hundreds of informants. “But we’ve located most of the people we like to watch, those that survived.” He gestured toward the walls, which were covered with charts that listed the names and whereabouts of high government officials, the daimyo, the wealthiest merchants, the most powerful gangsters, and the clergy at the important temples. “If we notice any unusual activity, I’ll let you know.”
Sano felt guilty because he knew about a threat to the regime and he couldn’t alert the metsuke. “By the way, I just spoke with Minister Ogyu from the Confucian academy. Do you know him?”
“We’ve met a few times.” Toda’s visible eye gleamed with curiosity. “Do I smell an investigation?”
“No, I just wondered what you think of him.” Sano recalled the conversation he’d witnessed, Ogyu giving the shogun advice. “Is he trustworthy enough to be around the shogun?”
“As trustworthy as anyone else.” Toda studied Sano as if wondering whether to trust him. “But he’s hard to get to know. His manner is too smooth. One slips off him before one can penetrate beneath the surface. Even when he drinks at banquets, he never loses his self-control and starts blabbing like other men do.”
“Have you investigated him?”
“Of course. His reputation is clean. There’s never been a hint of scandal associated with him or his family. We officially pronounced him harmless, although I can’t guarantee that he’s as pure as the Buddha.”
“Why not?” Sano asked.
“No one is.” Toda exuded cynicism. “The problem with investigating Ogyu was a lack of sources.”
“What about his parents?”
“Both dead. And he hasn’t any brothers or sisters or close relatives. Or any friends who know him very well.”
“How about the scholars and teachers at the Yushima Seid o?”
“They said he never talked to them about anything except Confucianism or business concerning the school.”
“Have you cultivated informers inside his household? His retainers and servants?”
“We’ve tried. They’re remarkably closemouthed. They won’t betray him for money, or sex, either.” Toda sounded amazed by such loyalty, which he must have found to be rare.
“Such extreme privacy suggests that Ogyu has something to hide,” Sano said.
“Good luck finding out what it is.”
“I also ran into Priest Ryuko,” Sano said. “He’s very bad-tempered these days. Could he be a security problem?”
“He’s running scared,” Toda said. “Lady Keisho-in is a target of rumors about the astronomer’s pronouncement. Ryuko knows that if she goes down, so will he.”
That fear, plus the trauma caused by the earthquake, could drive any man to distraction, but Sano thought something more was afoot with Priest Ryuko. “But he has a close relationship with the shogun. Wouldn’t that continue even after Lady Keisho-in dies?”
“Doubtful. He hasn’t made himself very popular with government officials. Many of them blame him for the dog protection laws.”
The dog protection laws had been instituted when the shogun had first become concerned about his inability to father an heir. Priest Ryuko had advised Lady Keisho-in that an heir would be born only after the shogun made a law proclaiming that dogs should be protected, and killing or hurting one was a crime punishable by death. Lady Keisho-in had helped Priest Ryuko convince the shogun. So far no heir had appeared, and dogs bred unchecked, running rampant through Edo, fouling the streets, attacking citizens. People who’d defended themselves and hurt a dog in the process had been executed. The government shelter for stray dogs cost a fortune to maintain. It had been destroyed by the earthquake, and rebuilding it and feeding the dogs was a drain on scarce resources.
“No one is allowed to complain about the law, but they’re free to dislike Priest Ryuko.” Toda gave Sano a speculative look, trying to gauge the state of relations between Sano and the priest. Sano kept quiet. “If Lady Keisho-in dies, Ryuko will lose his temple and his stipend. He could end up an itinerant priest, begging alms along the highway.” Toda smiled with sly relish. “No wonder he’s scared.”
“Could there be another reason?” Sano asked.
Toda looked alert. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, I’m just conjecturing. What’s Ryuko’s financial situation?”
“We’ve heard he’s been spending more than usual.” Toda’s eye watched Sano, bright and curious. “He’s recently taken out big loans from several moneylenders. We haven’t been able to figure out why-he hasn’t built new houses, he doesn’t gamble or go to Yoshiwara or any of the usual things-but he’s deeply in debt.”
Here was evidence that Priest Ryuko, despite his denials, had been paying blackmail to Madam Usugumo. Sano was glad to think he was getting closer to solving the crime, yet he felt disturbed. Ryuko was still a formidable adversary. “How about Minister Ogyu? Has he recently increased his spending?”
“Not that we’re aware of. He hasn’t any debts. But his wife comes from a very wealthy clan, and her dowry was huge.” Toda added, “That’s another reason Ogyu is hard to know: Wealth buys privacy. His retainers handle his finances. He doesn’t employ merchant bankers, who give us the occasional tip.”
Sano felt as if Ogyu were a locked door that he was pounding on. “If you hear anything about him or Priest Ryuko, will you let me know?”
“My pleasure.” Toda sounded sincere, but Sano knew better than to trust him entirely. Toda served everyone and didn’t play favorites. That was how he survived political upheavals. In the past he’d withheld important information from Sano and helped Sano’s enemies. The only reason Sano consulted him was that Toda gave him more dirt than anyone else could.
“And don’t mention this conversation to them,” Sano said. “That’s an order.”
“I’m a paragon of discretion.” Toda smiled and put a finger to his lips.
Sano also knew that Toda wasn’t above defying an order from him or any other government official. Toda was duty-bound only to the shogun, whose regime he was employed to preserve. Betrayal was a risk Sano took every time he consulted Toda.
“I must say it seems odd that you mention Priest Ryuko and Minister Ogyu in the same breath. They move in different circles.” Toda’s one-eyed gaze probed Sano. “One would guess that they’re both suspects in a crime you’re investigating. But, of course, you don’t investigate crimes anymore.”
“Of course,” Sano said evenly. That Toda would see through his subterfuge was another risk he’d taken.
“If you were investigating them, I would offer you some friendly advice,” Tod
a said. “Beware of Priest Ryuko. When you corner a frightened dog, it bites.”
Having left Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano behind in the forest clearing, Hirata rode at breakneck speed to the edge of town. There he slowed down and looked backward. He didn’t see them following him, but he felt the faint pulse of their aura. They were too close no matter how much distance he put between them and himself. Riding, he felt light-headed from the trance and the potion. He had an obsessive desire to roll up his sleeve and see if the words on his arm had faded. He checked ten times before he reached the main gate of Edo Castle. Each time, the words were still there.
He decided to go home first, because he dreaded seeing Sano. Tahara’s threat accompanied him like a cold shadow licking his heart. When he dismounted from his horse inside his ruined estate, Midori peeked out of the storehouse.
“Thank the gods you’re back! I was so worried about you! Are you all right?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Sano- san is here.”
Now Hirata would have to face Sano before he’d had time to think of what to say. “Could you and the children go somewhere, so we can talk in private?”
Midori looked as if she had more questions, but she took the children away. Sano’s daughter Akiko was with them. Entering his cluttered room, Hirata found Sano kneeling on the floor. Sano’s expression was a mixture of anger, worry, and distrust. He said, “Where have you been?”
Hirata knelt opposite Sano. He owed Sano an honest explanation even if it had to be incomplete. “With my friends Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi.”
“That’s what I thought.” Sano spoke with displeasure. “I don’t suppose you did any investigation on Priest Ryuko or Minister Ogyu.”
“I can do it now,” Hirata said, eager to make up for his absence.
“Never mind,” Sano said coldly. “I’ve already taken care of it myself. What were you and your friends doing?”
A lifetime of following the samurai code of obedience compelled Hirata to answer. Fourteen years’ friendship with Sano required him to tell the truth. Tahara’s threat bound him to silence. “I can’t tell you.”
A frown deepened all the emotions on Sano’s face. “Can’t or won’t?”
Hirata was mute. He’d never felt so at odds with himself, so helpless, or so miserable.
After a long, tense pause, Sano said, “You’ve changed since you met those men.” He shifted position as if he were physically uncomfortable. “There’s something wrong, and it has to do with them. Have they gotten you in some kind of trouble?”
You can’t imagine, Hirata thought glumly.
Sano leaned forward, his coldness warming to apprehension. “If you are in trouble, I wish you would tell me what it is so that I can help you.”
That Sano could be so generous after Hirata had let him down! He thought yearningly of the times he and Sano had faced danger together and prevailed despite odds that had seemed insurmountable. But he must not pit Sano against Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi.
“I can handle it,” Hirata said.
A sigh of exasperation gusted from Sano. He raised his empty hands, then let them fall onto his thighs with a loud clap. “If that’s the way you want it, then we need to come to an understanding.” His manner turned so ominous that Hirata felt the air between them crackle, as if lightning were about to strike. Yet he could also see that Sano hated the words he spoke next.
“I’ve been patient with your absences and your secrecy. I’ve made allowances for you that I wouldn’t make for any of my other retainers.” Sano moved again; his upper body twitched inside his clothes. “But you’ve been taking unfair advantage, and I’ve let you get away with it for too long. It has to stop. I’m ordering you to tell me what’s going on. And if you refuse, then we won’t be able to work together anymore.”
This was the moment Hirata had feared since he joined the secret society. His commitment to them had collided with his loyalty to Sano; he’d compromised the sacred bond between samurai and master, and there was only one way to mend it. The knowledge brought terror but also relief. Hirata must confess and hope that he could avert the consequences.
Before he could speak, Sano frowned, glanced down at his waist, and felt under his sash. He pulled out a small object whose edges had apparently been irritating him and causing his restless movements. It was a wooden prayer tag on a string. Hirata inhaled a sharp breath. He recognized the red sword drawn on the tag. Cold, nauseating horror gripped his stomach.
Sano looked up. Puzzled by the alarm he saw on Hirata’s face, he said, “It’s just a prayer tag. My daughter must have found it and slipped it under my sash, as a joke.”
But Hirata knew that Tahara had planted the tag on Sano, to demonstrate that he could get close enough to kill Sano whenever he wanted. Tahara had somehow arranged for Sano to discover the tag when Hirata was present, as a warning.
Sano tossed the tag on the floor. It landed with the picture of the red sword facing up. “Which will it be? Are you going to tell me, or do we part company?”
Hirata felt an anguish as painful as if his innards were being torn, by Sano in one direction, by the secret society in the other. “I can’t tell you.” He forced the words past the tears swelling in his throat.
Resignation settled over Sano; his eyes darkened with disappointment through which a spark of anger glinted. “Very well, then.”
“Does this mean you’re-?” Hirata couldn’t bear to ask whether Sano was casting him out to become a r o nin, a masterless samurai. The thought of the disgrace, the loss of everything that mattered, was too terrible.
“Not yet,” Sano said. Hirata could see that he was reluctant to impose such a harsh punishment, even though he had every right as well as the responsibility to uphold the samurai code of honor. “I’m giving you one last chance to settle whatever business you have with these men. Take a leave of absence for as long as you need. If you can’t settle it and return your full attention to your duties…” Sano paused, then spoke with resolve as well as misgivings. “Your leave of absence will have to become permanent.”
26
Reiko climbed the steep, crumbling steps to the Yushima Seid o while her palanquin, bearers, and guards waited below. She carried a gift-wrapped package and a lacquer scroll container. Reaching the portals, she heard children’s tinkling laughter. In a courtyard surrounded by fallen buildings, a woman, a boy, and a girl held hands, dancing in a circle on the snow, as the children laughed and the woman chanted a song. The children looked to be seven or eight years old. The woman, Lady Ogyu, was in her twenties, thin and tall and sinewy in her padded, steel-blue silk coat. Long, lank black hair spilled from the scarf wrapped around her head. Her face was too rawboned for prettiness, but smiles carved dimples into her cheeks as she swung her children’s hands. Reiko smiled too.
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.
The Incense Game si-16 Page 19
