It was no more than a glance, really, from Lady Maiya to the woman whom I had always known as Lady Snow. Lady Maiya was afraid, but not of Lady Snow. She was afraid for Lady Snow.
I heard the muffled sound of a challenge from outside, then a response. I grunted.
“Lady Maiya, that will be your husband’s relief. You are free to go, and thank you. Lady Snow and I have some matters to discuss in private.”
That worried look again, but Lady Snow was reassuring. “Yes, thank you, Lady Maiya. You have been most kind.”
Maiya bowed and withdrew, leaving Lady Snow and me back in our silence. Lady Maiya had told me what I needed to know, without saying a word. I did not think this was the correct time to confront Lady Snow on this one particular point; the fact I knew who she really was, was an advantage. I didn’t have nearly so many as I needed.
“Do you normally take tea with your attempted assassins?” Lady Snow asked finally.
“You’re no assassin. You’ve taken it upon yourself to learn certain skills, but that’s not why Lord Sentaro sent you. Unless I am quite mistaken, your instructions were to get me out of the city and keep me there for some days, thus the matter of the letters and conspiracies of my father. You attacked me only when it was clear I meant to return to the capital prematurely. I rather believe your attempt on my life was an act of desperation, perhaps unfortunate but in your judgment, necessary.”
I still wanted to think of her as simply Lady Snow, even when I knew better. As for Lady Snow, she merely sipped her tea. Of course, the easy part was confirming her true identity; I had not really expected the rest of my answers to come so easily.
“One way or another, Lady Snow, you will tell me what I want to know.”
“You would do terrible things,” she said finally, “to me or anyone else if you thought it necessary. Are you so much better than I?”
“No, I am far worse,” I said. “You merely tried to take my life. I must take something from you that is far more precious.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”
“Your ignorance.”
She sighed. “My ignorance? Nonsense. Lord Yamada, I lied and misled you. I tried to kill you. I am guilty of these things and far more besides. It is not unusual for an asobi to work as both spy and assassin. We need not dwell on these unpleasant things. If your sword is ready, so am I.”
“My sword?”
“You’re not the only one who notices things,” she said calmly. “There was a loose cord on the hilt of your sword at our last meeting. Now it has been repaired. I rather suspect the blade has been sharpened as well. For that courtesy, I thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet, Lady Snow.”
She shuddered delicately. “Please. I have admitted my guilt, and I will accept the consequences. What more needs be said?”
“Many things, Lady Snow. I do not think you fully understand these ‘consequences’ you speak of. There is still the matter of your patron.”
She looked at the wooden floor, and at a vase of little white flowers carefully arranged; anywhere but at me. “You say it is Lord Sentaro. I have said nothing on the matter. This will not change no matter what you do. I am stronger than I look.”
No doubt, but it was time to see just how strong Lady Snow was.
“I am content to refer to this person as your patron for the time being. At the moment I am not seeking information. I am giving it.”
That got her attention. “Lord Yamada, what are you talking about?”
“Your patron’s true agenda and the actions he’s taken to achieve his ends. Aren’t you even the least bit curious?”
“That is none of my concern.”
“Taira no Kei was not your concern? She was your friend, was she not?”
Lady Snow gasped. “Her death had nothing to do with this!”
She quickly recovered from her outburst, but pretending indifference was no longer possible.
“No? Then why is her ghost following you, and why won’t you listen to her? What are you afraid she will say?”
“That I wasn’t there when she needed me,” Lady Snow said softly. “I was her friend, and I wasn’t there to protect her.”
“No, Lady Snow. She was trying to tell you that you serve the man who killed her.”
I’ve seen open-eyed stares on dead men that were less fixed and unmoving as the expression on Lady Snow’s face then. “You are trying to trick me. It will not work.”
“Why should I? As I said, my current intent is to give information, not receive it. I do not need your confirmation as to the identity of your patron, Lady Snow. I already know. The documents, remember?”
“They were nothing. Lies. I told you that.”
“That’s what Lord Sentaro wanted you to think. He knew I would pounce on anything that did not fit the facts as known. I’ll give him this much—he knew his victim. So why should he not just tell the truth? There’s a proper piece of bait for a reluctant fish.”
“Nonsense. Even assuming what you say is true, why take the risk?”
“What risk would there be? None of the documents actually existed, and so nothing he told you could be proven.”
She frowned. “You just said . . . ”
“That the information in the letters was true. It was, all of it. Dictated to you by Lord Sentaro from memory. I daresay he has a very good memory. He knew about my father’s meeting with the barbarian prince before it happened. My father was aware that Lord Sentaro knew, but met at the appointed time. Why? Because Lord Sentaro ordered him to arrange the meeting in the first place. Lord Sentaro did betray and murder my father.”
“You could not possibly know that!”
“I can and do, because my father told me. In a letter I doubt even Lord Sentaro knew about. Granted, it took me seventeen years and Lord Sentaro’s transcribed letters to finally understand what my father was telling me, and then there’s the matter of Fujiwara no Kiyoshi. One thing to murder my father, who was nothing to him, but he murdered his own nephew. When you said that, it was also the truth.”
“Lord Yamada, please . . . ”
There would be no pretended indifference here. I almost relented. Perhaps if it had been only my neck under the sword I might have. Yet this was far beyond either me or Lady Snow now.
“I said all of it, and I meant all. The story he gave you about the death of Kiyoshi? That was true, too.”
“But . . . there was no reason,” she repeated, as if we were back on the road to Nara, listening to events from Genji Monogatari once more.
“There was a very good reason, Lady Snow. I should have told you about a letter I once read, now in the archives of the Minister of Justice. It was from Kiyoshi. It mentions my father and speaks of a mistake his uncle made that Kiyoshi hopes to correct. Whatever that mistake was, he was killed before he could do anything about it. If you had known of this . . . well, perhaps you would have realized what was happening even before I did.”
She glared at me. “That proves nothing. Lord Sentaro’s nephew could have been referring to almost anything.”
“Taken alone, yes. But remember that Prince Kanemore was also on that expedition. He confirmed to me Kiyoshi was killed with an arrow in the back. All of the enemy forces were in front. Plus, the barbarians have weaker bows for which they compensate by poisoning their arrows. This arrow was not poisoned. It was not made by a barbarian. Yes, I know such things happen in war. They tend to happen more often when someone has something to hide. Kiyoshi learned my father had been unjustly accused. I don’t know how; he was Sentaro’s nephew so it’s easy enough to imagine. I knew Kiyoshi. So did you, Lady Snow. That part wasn’t a lie, was it?”
She didn’t answer me. She didn’t have to.
“If he knew a man had been falsely accused of a crime, any crime, what would he do?” I asked.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “He would try to set it right.”
I grunted. “Just so. I believe he confronted Sentaro, beca
use he would do what it was his nature to do. I believe Lord Sentaro did the same.”
Lady Snow was battered, but not beaten. She had one more weapon up her sleeve and she used it. “A very interesting tale, Lord Yamada. You should write it down, and perhaps, one day it will stand beside the great romantic stories of the past. But it is nonsense.”
“I’d like to think so myself. Can you tell me why?”
“Because there is no reason,” she repeated. “For any of it. Why kill Kiyoshi and your father? Why extend hostilities with the barbarians?”
“That puzzled me for some time as well, but then I forced myself to think like Lord Sentaro and it occurred to me that if the great military families are occupied and weakened with unending strife in the north, they would be unable to turn their attention to Court matters. The Fujiwara would have and keep free reign at the Court. That was the purpose, Lady Snow—to ensure the position of the Fujiwara would remain unchallenged for generations.”
Lady Snow looked at me. “No one could be so callous.”
“You think not? It is in the Fujiwaras’ interest there be no peace in the north or anywhere else, and the Emperor’s current troubles with the Abe Clan are a direct result. It was a long-term strategy, Lady Snow. I despise the waste and brutality of it. Still, one must admit it has been effective. As for my father and Kiyoshi, compared to Lord Sentaro’s vision they were nothing. Used and discarded without a second thought, and your future and mine along with them.”
She didn’t want to believe me. She was trying hard not to believe me. But the facts drew her along the same path they had drawn me, and to the same place. Yet that place was much worse for her.
“Of course, without Lord Sentaro’s original letters, I can prove none of this. But I know it is true. And so do you.”
She took a deep breath. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t know . . . Lord Yamada, you must believe that.”
“I do. You had nothing to do with the deaths. Except the one that was almost mine.”
I was somewhat gratified to note that Lady Snow looked at least a little ashamed. “I panicked,” she said. “There is no excuse I can offer you; I behaved foolishly. When you turned back . . . I don’t know why my patron wanted you out of the city. I did not care why, only that I be paid in the manner we had agreed.”
She still would not say his name, nor did I demand it.
“It’s all right, Lady Snow. I know you’re telling me the truth.”
There were more tears. She didn’t bother to hide them. “But how? Events have proven me to be a worthless, lying creature. There’s no reason to believe me.”
I smiled. “Oh, but there is. There is an esteemed person of high rank who personally attests to the truth of what you say.”
She frowned. “Who?”
“Prince Genji.”
She frowned. “The romance? What has that to do with this?”
“You told me how the people in the capital were being killed. It was almost cut in stone who was responsible. ‘How’ was eluding me. One cannot assemble a broken bowl without all the pieces. You gave me the missing piece.”
“I do not understand. Prince Genji is not real, nor is the Lady of Rokuji or any of the people in that story. What has the jealous spirit of a woman who never existed to do with this?”
I grunted. “More than you know, which I must count in your favor. If you did know and were truly privy to your patron’s intent, you would never have spoken of Genji on the road to Nara in the first place. That is how I know you’re telling the truth now.”
“I don’t understand,” she said again.
“You will. Yet I have told you quite enough. Now it is time you tell me something I wish to know.”
“I cannot . . . ”
“ . . . Betray your patron? After he betrayed you?”
“He has done all he has promised and kept his word. I must keep mine. Even . . . even if everything you have told me is true.”
On another day I might have found that admirable. “I’m not asking you to break faith. Do not name your patron, do not confirm anything I have told you. Nor should you reveal the full extent of your patron’s plans, even if you do know them. I do not ask you to betray him or anyone, Lady Snow. Simply answer a question of mine on a separate matter.”
“A separate matter? What is it?”
“As an asobi, you are well accustomed to journeys. If one were planning a trip to the old capital, how long should such a journey take, if one did not remain there?”
She hesitated, then looked away. “Four days. No less.”
One last piece of the bowl. “Thank you. I must go now, Lady Snow. If I do not return, chances are you will be released as it is likely no one living will remember why you are here. If that happens, may you be contented with the price of your freedom.”
I was a little ashamed of myself for that last, but under the circumstances I thought my restraint more than adequate. I also had reason to believe that when Lady Snow had a little more time to digest what I had told her, especially when she made the connection to Taira no Kei, likely her own thoughts would be even less kind.
Before I left, I had a few words with the guard at the gate: “At some point during the next day or so, your prisoner is probably going to try to kill herself. Please make certain that she lacks the means.”
Four days.
We had already used three. I made my way from Lady Snow’s house to the Demon Gate, but all was quiet. I knew I should have been grateful for that, but it was hard to do so when I knew what lay ahead, whatever our preparations might be. My attempted subterfuge concerning Prince Takahito was likely moot—the spiritual darkness was on its way to kill Teiko’s son. Yet Lord Sentaro was wrong about at least a few things: I did know when, and I had a reasonably good idea of where. Yet I wasn’t certain how much difference this would make when it came to his final pronouncement; that there was nothing I could do. All we had to bring against the coming darkness was my best guess, Kanemore’s sword, a mostly charlatan Yin-Yang magician, and a scruffy band of poorly trained, disreputable priests.
I considered our chances no better than terrible.
It was obvious there were serious flaws in my plan, not least of which was how we were going to smuggle nineteen mendicant priests into the Imperial Compound. Even with the Captain of the Palace Guard, Kanemore, on our side, the real trick was to get them inside the walls and in position without sending the Court into a flurry of speculation and gossip that would surely leak like a fisherman’s net.
Once we had them inside, Princess Teiko’s former mansion—now Takahito’s quarters—was isolated enough from the rest of the Compound that we could probably maneuver as necessary. But first we had to get them inside.
When I reached the hostel the following noon, I found Prince Kanemore, Kenji, and two of the mendicants whom I remembered from the night the weaver’s wife was taken, in hushed but spirited conversation on that very topic. Nidai kneeled some distance away, off Kanemore’s left side.
Prince Kanemore nodded at me as I entered the dim room but didn’t drop his sentence. “I can secure enough monk’s robes to clothe everyone here as members of the Tendai sect,” he said. “But I do not think this would work.”
“Why not?” Kenji asked. “Enryaku-ji is Tendai. You’ve already let it be known that Prince Takahito is ill. Say that the priests were sent to pray for his recovery.”
“Enryaku-ji wouldn’t send this many if the Emperor himself was ill,” Kanemore said. “It will arouse suspicion, and suspicion is something we cannot afford unless we waited until the last moment. I do not think waiting until the last moment is wise.”
“I’m afraid I must agree with Prince Kanemore,” I said. “It is best if get into position well in advance. Now, simple enough to get Master Chang inside . . . ”
“Already done,” Prince Kanemore said.
I smiled. “As I said. Still, nineteen?”
“You asked for as many as possib
le,” Kenji said dryly.
“And I meant it, and I am grateful to you all,” I said, loud enough at least for my voice to carry through the room. “And the wise course would be to get into position far ahead of time. But I’m afraid the situation requires we wait until the last possible moment, so matters may unfold quickly enough that a suspicion—on anyone’s part—will be too late to change what happens.”
“That is very risky,” Kenji said. “I’ll do what I can, but without preparation . . . ”
“I don’t like this,” Kanemore said. “Yet what other option is there?”
“Ano . . . ?”
The voice was small and hesitant. It took me a moment to realize it was Nidai who had spoken. He bowed low and Kanemore scowled.
“Yes?” I asked, “What is it, Nidai-kun?”
“Well . . . ” he said, “I realize it is not my place to speak here, but would it solve the immediate problem if the priests could enter the Imperial Compound unseen?”
Kanemore and I exchanged glances; then everyone, ourselves included, had their attention fixed on the boy.
“Of course,” I said. “Yet how could this be accomplished? The Compound is walled and all the gates are guarded. Even Prince Kanemore cannot remove a detachment from any of the gates without attracting unwanted attention.”
“There is another way. The north gate of the Compound is seldom used and borders a wooded area. There’s a large sugi whose branches slightly overhang the wall there. It would be a simple matter to lower oneself from the branch.”
“How do you know this, if I might ask?”
“I’ve seen it before,” he said, bowing even lower.
I smiled. “Nidai-kun? The truth, remember?”
I heard him sigh. “Very well. I used that avenue, once or twice.”
“Thief,” Kanemore muttered, but Nidai denied this vigorously.
“No, Your Highness. I took nothing, I swear. It was just . . . well, she was so pretty. I had never seen anyone like her before.”
Kanemore frowned. “She? Who?”
Nidai was blushing furiously. “I do not know her name. Her home was not far from the wall. I could see her from the tree sometimes, taking the air on her veranda with her servants. At other times I came closer just to see her. I swear, nothing more.”
Yamada Monogatari: To Break the Demon Gate Page 23
