The Incense Game si-16

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Shut up!” Yanagisawa couldn’t bear for her to rub his frustration in his face.

  “But I’m right, aren’t I?” Her mockery dissolved into more tears. “Yoshisato will be put to death, and there’s nothing you can do to save him.”

  “No!” Yanagisawa spoke with all the force of his refusal to admit defeat. “There is.”

  “Merciful gods, what?” Someko said, hopeful and pleading now. “How can you save Yoshisato?”

  Yanagisawa’s mind never worked faster or better than when he was threatened. Inspiration struck now. “I have a plan. But it depends on Yoshisato. He would have to work with me.”

  Someko’s face crumpled in despair. “He doesn’t even want to see you. I begged him to come with me, to ask for your protection, but he refused. He says he can take care of himself.”

  Incredulous, Yanagisawa said, “How does he think he’s going to do that?”

  “He says he’ll convince the tribunal that he’s innocent.”

  Yanagisawa combined a laugh with a groan. The tribunal’s verdict was already decided; nothing Yoshisato said would change it. “I’ll make him see reason.”

  30

  Wind blew ash and litter through the deserted streets outside the temporary Edo Jail. Dogs scrounged in garbage piles that had accumulated along the wall. Dozing sentries crouched at the gate. The jail was quiet, except for occasional moans from prisoners.

  The sound of hoofbeats startled the sentries awake. They sprang up to face two mounted samurai. One of these said, “We’re here to fetch a prisoner named Korin.”

  “What for?” asked a sentry.

  “Who are you?” asked the other.

  The two samurai wore helmets with visors shading their eyes and face guards covering their noses and mouths. The Tokugawa crest was painted on the breastplates of their armor tunics. The spokesman said, “We have orders from the shogun.”

  The sentries looked at each other; they shrugged. One opened the gate. The other said, “I’ll help you find your man.”

  Inside the prison, Korin lay curled up alone in his tent. He drowsed, glad to be alive. His tent mates had been taken away and executed; three other men had died of illness today. He could hear more prisoners tossing and groaning. Korin grinned, thinking that once again he’d dodged misfortune. His mother used to tell him he must have done something good in a past life, because he didn’t deserve to be so lucky. As a boy, he’d been in one scrape after another and always got away unharmed. He’d shoplifted from market stalls, been chased by the police, and managed to escape. When he’d worked as a tout for the brothels, he’d overcharged the customers and pocketed the difference without his employers ever knowing. He’d cheated at cards many times before he’d gotten caught. Chances were, he would get out of his present trouble, too.

  Heavy footsteps stopped outside the tent. A rough voice called his name. “Get up!”

  The voice belonged to one of the guards. Korin looked outside and saw two soldiers. The guard said to them, “He’s all yours.”

  The soldiers beckoned him. Korin knew there was only one place they could be taking him-the execution ground. Fear stabbed his heart. “No!” he cried, shrinking from them. “Please!”

  They hauled him out of the tent as he struggled. “I promise I’ll never cheat anybody again! I swear!” The soldiers forced him to walk through the prison yard. “Help!” he shrieked. “Don’t let them take me!” Wild with terror, he thrashed. The men twisted his arms. Faces peered out of tents; patrolling guards paused to watch; no one came to Korin’s aid. His undeserved good luck had run out. Now he would pay for all his sins.

  He would join Madam Usugumo in the special hell reserved for criminals, where they both belonged.

  As the soldiers propelled him along, one whispered in his ear: “We’re rescuing you. If you want to live, then come peacefully.”

  Surprise choked off Korin’s screams. He looked up at the soldier. “What?”

  “No questions,” hissed the soldier. “Just be patient.”

  Korin ceased resisting. His cocky grin returned. He didn’t care who these men were or why they would bother to break a lowly crook like him out of jail. He couldn’t afford to wonder where they were taking him or what would happen to him there. Now he wouldn’t have his head cut off for cheating at cards. Now Chamberlain Sano couldn’t put the blame for Madam Usugumo’s murder on him. His miraculous luck was still holding!

  Fairly dancing out the gate with his escorts, Korin called over his shoulder, “Good-bye, you poor fools!”

  “Yoshisato?” Someko called. “I’ve brought your father.”

  She and Yanagisawa stood in the corridor outside their son’s room. No answer came through the paper-and-lattice wall, but Someko said, “He’s there. Go in.”

  Braced for another rejection, Yanagisawa entered the chamber, shut the door behind him, and faced Yoshisato. The young man stood in the center of the floor. He had the awkward stance of someone who’d risen too hastily. He looked shocked.

  “I didn’t think you would come,” he said.

  Yanagisawa detected gratitude in his son’s voice. That gave him hope. “Of course I came. As soon as I heard about the order you received.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Because you’re my son, and you’re in trouble. And because I want to help.” Yanagisawa watched the fierce independence in Yoshisato resist his need to put his troubles in the hands of a father who would protect him. Yanagisawa admired Yoshisato’s strength. He realized that however much he’d loved Yoritomo, he’d never admired his favorite son; he’d always thought of Yoritomo as weak, not especially clever, and too submissive.

  “Oh, I see.” Scorn twisted Yoshisato’s mouth. “To advance your political schemes, you need a son, and you found my half brothers lacking. So you can’t have me condemned as a traitor. And if I go down for treason, so do you. You wouldn’t like that.”

  Again, Yanagisawa realized that Yoshisato’s affection wouldn’t be easily won. He resisted his tendency to use charm and glib words to get what he wanted. “I’ll be honest with you. I do need you to further my schemes, and I don’t want to die.” He saw Yoshisato’s eyes narrow. “But that’s not the only reason I want to save you. I think you’re a man who’s worth saving.” He was embarrassed to say something so personal and true, afraid it would meet with derision. “As a matter of fact, you’re one of the few men I’ve ever known who is.”

  Yoshisato stared, astonished by the genuine esteem in Yanagisawa’s words. He took a step toward Yanagisawa, then stopped. “Then you must have more talent for making enemies than friends. Which of your enemies is attacking me to get at you? Is it Chamberlain Sano?”

  “No,” Yanagisawa said, surprised that Yoshisato had gleaned more information about politics than he’d expected of such a sheltered youth. But then Yoshisato was his son. Politics ran in Yoshisato’s blood. “It’s Lord Ienobu.”

  “The shogun’s nephew.” Yoshisato sounded appalled. “You’ve gotten us into a real mess, haven’t you?”

  His disapproval stung, but at least he now appreciated the seriousness of his predicament. “Yes,” Yanagisawa said, “Ienobu is a powerful enemy. That’s why I don’t want to hear you say that you don’t need my help and you’re going to convince the tribunal that you’re innocent. That’s not only foolishness; it’s suicide.”

  Frowning at the harsh words, Yoshisato said, “Well, then, how do you think you’re going to save me? Can you get the order rescinded? Or make the tribunal acquit me?”

  Once the shogun had signed an accusation of treason-no matter whether he’d been manipulated into it-he couldn’t rescind it without losing face. Yanagisawa hadn’t yet regained enough influence to convince the shogun that losing face to save Yoshisato wasn’t so bad. He also had no authority over Ienobu’s judges. To think that he’d once been the most powerful man at court! Yanagisawa regretted those lost, glorious days.

  “No,” he said. “I can’t.”

&n
bsp; “Just as I thought.” Yoshisato looked disappointed, but smug because he’d correctly assessed the situation. “So I might as well defend myself in front of the tribunal. Because there’s nothing else to do but go down fighting.” He squared his shoulders, held his head high. Yanagisawa ached with pride in him. “When I’m convicted, I’ll be ready to commit seppuku.” He added, with a touch of sardonic humor, “You’d better be ready, too.”

  Nettled because he didn’t want Yoshisato to think him so impotent, Yanagisawa said, “Don’t sharpen your sword just yet. There’s another way to get you out of this.”

  “How?” Yoshisato regarded him with hope tainted by suspicion.

  “If you could win the shogun’s favor before the trial-”

  Yoshisato uttered a sound of repugnance. “I don’t like sex with men. I’d rather die.”

  Yanagisawa admired Yoshisato for standing up for himself, as Yoritomo never had. “I’m not asking you to become the shogun’s concubine. I have a plan that’s far better.” He beckoned Yoshisato.

  Yoshisato took another step toward him, as if irresistibly drawn, then stopped.

  “I don’t want anyone else to hear this yet,” Yanagisawa said. “Not even your mother, who I’m sure has her ear to the wall.”

  Reluctant, Yoshisato moved closer. Yanagisawa whispered into his ear.

  As soon as Yanagisawa finished speaking, Yoshisato recoiled. Stunned wordless, he gaped at Yanagisawa.

  “Well?” Yanagisawa said, gratified by his son’s reaction yet uncertain about what it boded. “Are you going to cooperate?”

  Yoshisato sputtered, then asked, “Do you really mean to go through with this?”

  “Can you think of a better idea?”

  Shaking his head, in awe as well as in reply, Yoshisato chuckled. “I underestimated you, Father.”

  “Many have.” Yanagisawa noticed that this was the first time Yoshisato had verbally accepted their kinship. It warmed his heart even though Yoshisato had spoken with grudging respect rather than fondness. “My plan depends on you. Are you with me or not?”

  Yoshisato bit his lip and frowned. Yanagisawa could feel the pressure on him: This was the first adult decision he’d had to make. “I’m with you,” Yoshisato said with a smile that was half wry, half malicious. “What have I got to lose?”

  When Sano returned home, he was so tired he thought that if he closed his eyes for too long when he blinked, he would fall asleep on his feet. If only he could keep moving, one foot after another, long enough to reach his bed before he collapsed.

  The damaged mansion looked lonely and inhospitable amid the ruins of the barracks. With the crisscrossed beams that supported the veranda roof, the entrance resembled a giant cage. Shadowy forms of wild, restless animals moved behind the bars. More creatures roamed the surrounding darkness. Sano realized he was dreaming; he roused himself. While he plodded toward the building, the door opened. There stood a small figure. It was Akiko.

  Sano’s heart lifted as he climbed the steps. Taking her hand, he said, “What are you doing up so late?”

  “I wanted to see you.” Akiko hopped up and down on the veranda. Her feet were bare.

  “Let’s go inside before your poor toes freeze.” Sano heard a clatter as something hit the floorboards near him, then running footsteps in the distance. He looked down and saw a lumpy object the size of a small melon. A yellow flame sizzled at one end.

  “What’s that?” Akiko stooped to pick up the object.

  A danger signal blared through Sano. He yanked Akiko away from the object and gave it a swift, hard kick off the veranda. It flew through the railings and exploded in midair.

  Akiko screamed. The blast hit Sano like thunderclaps against his ears. He caught Akiko up and whirled her around to shield her from the hot, orange fireball that seared his eyes. The blast hurled him and Akiko against the house. He felt sharp, piercing sensations, like arrows striking his back, and Akiko’s screams vibrating through her body. The house shuddered. Blinded and dazed, Sano smelled fire, smoke, and sulfurous, acrid gunpowder; he heard creaking and rumbling noises. The supports holding up the roof were coming down. Timbers clubbed his back. Sano shielded Akiko with his body as he fell. A post struck his head with a tremendous bang, and everything went dark.

  Shrill screaming awakened Sano. Brutal pain throbbed on the right side of his head. His whole body ached. Moaning, he opened his eyes. Grit stung them. Warm liquid flowed onto his face, which was pressed against the hard surface where he lay. He tried to move, but heavy weights across his back and limbs pinned him down. He knew something bad had happened, but he couldn’t remember what.

  Underneath him, someone wriggled and screamed. Akiko. Memory resurged. The bomb. The explosion. Thank the gods she was alive!

  Sano became conscious of urgent voices clamoring, Reiko frantically calling his name and their daughter’s. Lanterns bathed him in light. Weights lifted off him. Sano groaned, in relief because he could move his arms and legs. Unseen hands cleared away the beams, planks, and roof tiles that covered him and Akiko. She crawled out from under him, jumped up, and cried, “Mama!”

  Reiko knelt beside him, hugging Akiko. Her face was terror-stricken as she bent, touched his face, and cried, “Speak to me!”

  “I’m all right.” Dust caked Sano’s mouth. He knew Reiko must have been in the house during the explosion. “Are you?”

  “Yes.” Reiko called to the guards who’d lifted the wreckage off Sano. “He’s bleeding! Fetch a doctor!”

  “Akiko?” His first concern was for her.

  “She’s fine,” Reiko said. “Not even a scratch on her, that I can see.”

  Sano rolled onto his back. Pain stabbed him as if he lay on a bed of flints. The movement worsened the ache in his head, which pounded violently. He was so dizzy that he felt as if he were sliding sideways. Nausea assailed him. He could see the night sky: The roof over the veranda was gone. When he moved his eyes, the stars smeared white streaks across his vision. His stomach heaved. Turning his head away from Reiko and Akiko, he vomited.

  Reiko made soothing noises, wiped his face. Detective Marume said, “Let’s bring him inside.” He carefully lifted Sano’s shoulders. A guard lifted his legs. They carried Sano into the building, which had survived the explosion. They lowered him onto the bed in the family’s chamber. Sano lay on his left side because his head didn’t hurt there and his back was too sore. Eyes closed, he listened to people tramping around outside and speculating about the explosion. The doctor arrived, spoke to Reiko, and made clattering noises with his equipment. Sano heard Akiko protest as Reiko handed her over to the nursemaid. As the doctor cleaned the wound on Sano’s shaved crown, Reiko murmured in consternation.

  “This is a bad gash,” the doctor said. “It will require stitches.”

  He held an ice pack over Sano’s scalp to numb it, then began sewing. Sano clenched his teeth against the pricks of the needle and the tugging of the thread. Then the doctor set to work on Sano’s back. He picked out particles that the blast had driven into the flesh and washed the cuts. Sano winced at the sting of alcohol. After the doctor applied an herb poultice to the cuts and bandaged them, the dizziness and nausea abated enough for Sano to open his eyes. The doctor held his hand in front of them and said, “How many fingers do you see?”

  Sano’s vision was blurry. “Two,” he guessed.

  “Just as I suspected,” the doctor said. “You have a concussion.”

  “What does that mean?” Reiko asked anxiously.

  “His brain was jarred inside his skull.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “Yes, if he rests in bed for a few days.” The doctor held a cup near Sano’s mouth and placed a bamboo straw between his lips. “Drink this. It will ease the pain and help you sleep.”

  The sweet wine, astringent herbs, and bitter opium made Sano gag, but the pain soon dulled and drowsy warmth spread through his body.

  “I’ll leave medicine for you to take later,
” the doctor said before he left.

  Masahiro came running into the room. “Father, are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Sano felt weak and helpless. He hated to worry his family.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Reiko asked.

  Sano described the events that had preceded the explosion. “It was a bomb. Someone threw it onto the veranda. I heard him running away.”

  “I heard a loud bang,” Reiko said. “I thought it was a gun.”

  “So did I,” Masahiro said. “I heard it in the shogun’s house.”

  Detective Marume entered the room. “I found these in the wreckage.” He held out his hand. On his palm were small, curved, sharp ceramic fragments-the remains of the bomb, the container that had been filled with gunpowder.

  Another memory surfaced in Sano’s mind. “I felt something lurking outside. It must have been the person who threw the bomb. But I thought I was dreaming. I was so tired.”

  “I have men searching the area,” Marume said.

  “He’s probably long gone.” Sano pounded the bed with his fist, angry at his negligence. “I should have investigated!”

  “Never mind,” Reiko said, although visibly shaken by their close call. “Let’s just be glad you’re going to be all right.”

  Sano was newly aware of how vulnerable they were without the walls that had once enclosed them. He said to Marume, “Put guards around the house day and night. And up the hill to watch from above.”

  “I’ve already done it,” Marume said.

  “Who threw the bomb?” Masahiro asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sano said, “but I have an idea.”

  “Maybe Yanagisawa is up to his old tricks,” Reiko said.