Sano Ichiro 7 The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria (2002)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  After the Black Lotus crisis, a disturbing fact had come to light: The metsuke possessed years of records that described the sect’s illegal practices, yet had not only failed to prevent the sect from gaining an immense, dangerous following but had withheld their records from the Minister of Temples and Shrines, who’d tried to thwart the Black Lotus and asked the metsuke’s help. Further investigation revealed sect members within the ranks of the metsuke. Toda had survived the purge that ensued, but even he wasn’t invincible. The murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi was such a politically sensitive issue that for Toda to refuse to cooperate with Sano’s investigation equaled suicide.

  “What can I do for you?” Toda said with weary capitulation.

  “Let’s start with Treasury Minister Nitta,” Sano said.

  The agent looked around the office, then rose and said, “Let’s go elsewhere, shall we?”

  Soon they were walking along the Edo Castle racetrack. In summer, this was the scene of samurai riding horses at a furious pace, while palace officials cheered. But now the track was a bare strip of earth, the benches vacant; only a faint smell of manure lingered. An empty meadow, surrounded by pine trees and stone walls, isolated Sano and Toda.

  “Is it true that Nitta embezzles from the treasury?” Sano said.

  Toda looked as though he’d guessed what Sano would say, but frowned, nonetheless perturbed. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Nitta seems to have mentioned it to Lady Wisteria, who told another client,” Sano said.

  “Well, he’s the subject of a highly confidential investigation,” Toda said. “I’m surprised that Nitta would incriminate himself, but men are sometimes careless about what they tell courtesans.”

  “Then Nitta was embezzling,” Sano inferred.

  Toda nodded, gazing over the walls at the rooftops of the palace stables. A flock of crows perched in the pine trees. “There have been discrepancies between tributes sent from the provinces and the money in the treasury accounts. After we investigated, our suspicion settled on Nitta. He’d always been honest before, but Yoshiwara is an expensive habit. We placed him under secret surveillance and observed him taking gold from the storehouse at night. He alters the entries in the account books to hide the missing money.”

  The agent gave Sano a sharp glance. “How does Nitta’s embezzlement fit into the murder case? Is he a likelier suspect because of it?”

  “That’s possible,” Sano said. “Maybe he killed Wisteria because he regretted telling her about his embezzlement and wanted to prevent her from reporting him. Even if she didn’t have proof, and she was just a prostitute, her accusation could have hurt him.”

  “Perhaps Wisteria told Lord Mitsuyoshi,” said Toda. “In his hands, the knowledge could have been most dangerous to Nitta because he and Mitsuyoshi were on bad terms. Nitta wrote a report about how much money Lord Mitsuyoshi squandered and sent it to his family. His father was shocked by his extravagance, and cut his allowance. Mitsuyoshi blamed Nitta for impoverishing him. He believed Nitta did it so he couldn’t afford appointments with Wisteria.”

  They reached the end of the racetrack and turned, retracing their steps. The crows swooped over the meadow like black kites, their caws loud in the still air. Sano pondered the fact that Toda had just contradicted the treasury minister’s claim that he didn’t love Wisteria and wasn’t jealous of her other clients, but confirmed Senior Elder Makino’s statement. “Then you think Nitta killed Mitsuyoshi and Wisteria both?”

  “He could be behind the murder and her disappearance,” Toda said, “but he’s not the type to dirty his hands by stabbing a man or abducting a woman.”

  “Could his retainers have done the dirty work?” Sano said.

  “Unlikely. They’re loyal to Nitta, but I doubt if their obedience extends to murdering the shogun’s heir. Nitta has a wide acquaintance among the ruffians he meets in Yoshiwara. If I were you, I’d look into them.”

  Sano would. Yet he had misgivings about the scenario he and Toda had devised. “If Wisteria was murdered in her room, there should have been some evidence of it, but I found no indication that anyone except Mitsuyoshi had died there. If she was abducted then killed someplace else, where is her body?”

  “I understand you’re still searching the area around Yoshiwara, and along the highways,” Toda said.

  “We’ve yet to find a corpse.”

  “She could have been dumped in the Sumida River, the Sanya Canal, or one of the smaller waterways.”

  But Sano’s instincts told him that Wisteria was alive, and he had additional reason to discount the likelihood of her murder. The pillow book provided a scenario that didn’t involve the treasury minister, and indicated that Wisteria’s disappearance had been a voluntary elopement. However, Sano understood that even if the book was genuine, and Lady Wisteria had written the truth in the pages he’d read, they were only part of the whole book. Perhaps the unnamed lover from Hokkaido was just as possessive toward Wisteria and jealous of her clients as Nitta seemed. Perhaps he’d murdered the last client she’d entertained before they left Yoshiwara.

  “You might be interested to know that Treasury Minister Nitta was arrested early this morning,” Toda said.

  “What?” Sano halted in surprise.

  “For his embezzlement,” Toda explained. “By now, his trial should be underway.” With a sly smile, Toda added, “If you need any further information from him, you’d best get over to Magistrate Aoki’s Court of Justice.”

  “But my investigation isn’t finished. Nitta can’t be tried now.” Sano knew what would happen to the treasury minister. That Nitta had earned his fate didn’t ease Sano’s horror. Sano urgently beseeched Toda, “Please call off the trial!”

  “I’m sorry, but the matter is out of my hands.” Shrugging, Toda contemplated the crows. They alighted in a black horde in the meadow, where they squawked and fluttered, squabbling over some bit of food. “And I venture to say that the murder investigation is out of yours.”

  Hirata’s family home was in the bancho, the district west of Edo Castle where the Tokugawa hatamoto occupied estates surrounded by live bamboo fences. Although these vassals had served the shogun’s clan long and faithfully, they lived in conditions modest at best and often near poverty because of rising prices and the falling value of their stipends. Today the crowded neighborhood of ramshackle buildings looked drab indeed, with the bamboo withered and leafless. Hirata rode amid other samurai, along narrow, muddy dirt roads. He dismounted outside his parents’ house, one of the poorest in the district.

  Entering the plain wooden gate, Hirata found the courtyard occupied by four horses, decked with fancy saddles and bridles, which didn’t belong to his family. Three of his small nephews raced around the side of the low, weathered house, shouting. Hirata secured his own horse and went into the house. When he hung his swords in the entryway, he noticed four ornate sets of swords, presumably belonging to the visitors, on the racks with the plain weapons of his father and grandfathers. He entered the corridor and found the house full of people and noise. His grandmothers sat in the main room, smoking while they scolded the toddlers playing near them. Hirata heard the maids banging dishes in the kitchen, and a baby crying. Every time he came home, the place looked smaller and dingier. Today it was also chilly because his family needed to conserve fuel. Greeting his grandmothers, Hirata experienced guilt that his kin must endure this, while he enjoyed the quiet luxury of Sano’s estate.

  His eldest widowed sister came carrying the baby. “How nice to see you, Brother,” she said. “Many thanks for the clothes you sent the children.”

  Spending most of his stipend on his family didn’t ease Hirata’s guilt. Before he could ask who was visiting them, his father’s voice called from the parlor: “Is that you, Son? Please come in.”

  Curious, Hirata obeyed. In the parlor sat his parents and a middle-aged samurai garbed in opulent robes. Near the samurai knelt three men in plainer dress, evidently his retainers. Hirata’s mothe
r was serving tea with her best utensils.

  “How fortunate that my son should arrive while you’re here,” Hirata’s father said to the guest, then turned to Hirata. “You remember the Honorable Yoriki Okubo.”

  “Of course.” Hirata knelt beside his father and bowed to the guest. Yoriki Okubo had been his commander when he was a police officer, and his father had served under Okubo’s. But the two clans had never been on intimate terms, and Hirata wondered why the yoriki had come. He said politely, “It’s an honor to see you again. I hope you are well?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Yoriki Okubo had fleshy, down-turned features. He observed Hirata with shrewd approval. “I can see that you are also well. Life in the sōsakan-sama’s employ suits you.” After questioning Hirata about his duties, Okubo said, “That you make time in your busy day to visit your parents is a mark of good character.”

  Hirata cast a puzzled glance at his father, who avoided his eyes and addressed Okubo: “My son is always conscientious about his duties to both his master and his family.” Still without looking at Hirata, his father said to him, “Okubo-san has come on behalf of his colleague, the Honorable Yoriki Sagara.”

  “My colleague has an unmarried daughter,” Okubo said.

  Alarm struck Hirata as he comprehended that Okubo was here as a go-between, bearing him a marriage proposal from the other police commander. Since his parents clearly welcomed the proposal, it was obvious that they’d rejected the idea of his marriage to Midori.

  “A match between my son and the Sagara girl would be most suitable,” said Hirata’s father. “Their common heritage in the police force would be a foundation for a harmonious life.”

  “There would be other benefits for both sides,” Okubo said. “Speaking frankly, your son’s status in the bakufu is valued by the Sagara clan. And their fortune is considerable.”

  Hirata opened his mouth to protest; but his father spoke: “What about the girl herself? Is her character pleasing?”

  “Quite,” Okubo said. “She is modest, obedient, and dutiful.” He turned to Hirata. “She is also sixteen years old and very pretty.”

  Hirata didn’t care how wonderful the Sagara girl was. “Father,” he said.

  An ominous look from his father and a frantic shushing gesture from his mother forestalled his protests. He squirmed in wordless agitation as the talk proceeded.

  “The next step is a miai, I presume?” said his father.

  “That can be arranged,” Okubo said. “The Sagara are most eager for a meeting.”

  Polite farewells ensued. Afterward, Hirata’s father said to his wife, “My leg hurts from kneeling so long. I must have my medicinal bath.”

  Hirata helped his mother fill a tub with hot water and herbs. His father sat on cushions with his thin, crooked leg immersed in the water.

  “Father, I don’t want to go to that miai,” Hirata said.

  “You must, because we’ve already committed ourselves.” The older man spoke offhandedly, as though manners were their sole concern and he’d decided to pretend that Hirata had no serious reason for objecting to the miai. “For us to back out now would offend Yoriki Okubo and the Sagara clan.”

  “Well, I won’t go,” Hirata said. His voice shook even as he folded his arms and planted his legs wide. He, who supervised Sano’s hundred detectives and troops, still quailed before paternal authority; he hated to defy his father. “I’m upset that you began this marriage negotiation behind my back.”

  A glint of anger sparked in the older man’s eyes. “It’s my right to make arrangements on your behalf, and your duty to obey me,” he said. “You will go to the miai and fulfill our obligations. Then, if you don’t like the Sagara girl, we can politely refuse the proposal. There are plenty of other good clans eager to wed a daughter to you.”

  “Father, I don’t want anyone but Midori. I beg you not to force me into a marriage with another girl.” Desperate, Hirata dropped to his knees. “Please reconsider allowing me to marry the woman I love. Please forgive Lord Niu and resume our marriage negotiations.”

  “If you came here hoping to change my mind, then you’ve wasted your time.” His father flexed his leg in the tub and glowered. “I forbid you to marry Lord Niu’s daughter. I order you to choose one of the girls whom I consider suitable.”

  “But, Father—”

  The older man angrily waved away Hirata’s protest. “Your desire to marry the Niu girl is selfish. It shows a disrespect toward me, and a deplorable lack of consideration for our family.” He addressed his wife, who was stirring more herbs into the tub: “Let it alone! Stop fussing!” To Hirata he said, “We have too many mouths to feed and too little space. For you to expect your parents and grandparents, your sisters and their children, to live off crumbs from your stipend is disgraceful, when the Sagara girl’s dowry would fill our rice bowls in the comfort of a bigger house.”

  Hirata felt his cheeks flush and his spirit contract with shame at the idea that he placed his personal needs above his family’s welfare. “The Niu have far more money than the Sagara. If I marry Midori, you’ll want for nothing.”

  His father’s expression turned grave. “For you to marry her and us to share her clan’s wealth is impossible, and not just because I oppose the match.” Turning to his wife, he said, “Mother, bring the letter that came from Lord Niu today.”

  She hurried from the room, then returned bearing a scroll, which she gave to Hirata. He read:

  This is my official notice that I am ending the marriage negotiations between our clans. That I should wed my daughter to the son of a rascal like you, who are my sworn enemy, is preposterous!

  I warn your son to sever all contact with my daughter. His inferior person shall not be allowed to defile Midori. He shall suffer severe misfortune for daring to court her. And if he so much as goes near her, I shall slay him with my own sword and mount his head over my gate as a warning to other unwelcome suitors.

  Niu Masamune

  Daimyo of Satsuma Province

  As Hirata stared at the letter in shock, his father exclaimed, “Not only did Lord Niu threaten me in public, he now threatens you! You must do as Lord Niu says and keep away from his daughter.”

  Never to see Midori again! The thought horrified Hirata. “Perhaps there’s been some misunderstanding that could be cleared up if we all sat down together and talked—”

  “I’ll not see Lord Niu again and invite more of his vicious insults,” Hirata’s father declared. “And I refuse to reconsider this match.”

  Though his father’s face wore a stony aspect that repelled further argument, Hirata had promised Midori that he would find a way for them to marry. He spoke in desperation: “If Lord Niu were to make amends for insulting you, take back his threats, and welcome me as a son-in-law, would you change your mind about the marriage?”

  His father regarded Hirata with a torn, wistful expression. Though he didn’t speak, Hirata understood that his father loved him and wanted him to be happy. Hope leapt in Hirata, then died as his father shook his head.

  “If Lord Niu did as you suggest, I might be persuaded,” the older man said. “But you might as well pray for a miracle as expect him to change his feelings about the match, because he seems bent on hating us. You must learn to live without that girl and accept the idea of marrying another.”

  He raised his leg from the tub. As his wife dried it with a cloth, he said to Hirata, “This whole business has distracted you from duty. The last thing you need is for the sōsakan-sama’s investigation to suffer because of your personal concerns. You had better get back to work.”

  “Yes, Father,” Hirata said dejectedly. He left the house with his hope of marrying Midori seeming as futile as locating Lady Wisteria’s lover.

  * * *

  17

  Be very quiet, Kikuko-chan,” Lady Yanagisawa whispered.

  Crouching beneath low, sloped rafters, mother and daughter crept across the floor joists in the attic between the second story and the
roof of the chamberlain’s mansion. This attic, which ran above all the interconnected wings of the house, was a dim, unfurnished labyrinth. Cobwebs festooned the rafters; dust, mouse droppings, and dead insects littered the floors. The only light came from grills set in the peaked gables.

  Kikuko tiptoed, a finger pressed to her lips, her eyes dancing in enjoyment of what she thought was a game. They lay down on a futon set upon a tatami mat, and Lady Yanagisawa covered them with a quilt to protect them from the damp cold in this place where they alone ever came. She positioned herself on her stomach, chin propped on her folded arms, and peered through a palm-sized hole in the floor.

  This hole, bored through the ceiling below and concealed by intricately carved and painted woodwork, gave Lady Yanagisawa a view of the chamberlain’s office. Years ago she’d discovered the hidden route from her wing of the house to his. She’d cut the hole at night while everyone else slept, so that she would have this window into the life of her husband.

  He never told her about his business; he rarely spoke to her at all, and if she wanted to hear his voice or learn what he did, she had to eavesdrop. And because he spent virtually no time with her, when she wanted to lay eyes on him, she watched him in secret. Perhaps he was unaware of what she did; probably he knew and didn’t care.

  Now she saw him at the desk, smoking his pipe while he wrote. His oiled hair and silk robes gleamed. He sat alone, though bodyguards lurked in the adjacent rooms, behind the moveable wall panels. As Lady Yanagisawa beheld him, a profound, familiar adoration clenched her heart.

  He was as beautiful as on the day they’d met. She had wondered then how she could deserve a husband like him. She should have known that their marriage would turn out to be exactly what a woman like her should have expected.