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

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Hirata said, “The police must have information on the Mori. There was a time when I could have counted on their help. But with Hoshina controlling them, I can’t get a single tip anymore.” He gave a bitter laugh. “My clan served on the force for generations, and I’m no longer welcome at headquarters.”

  “We’ll try there anyway,” Sano decided. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “Many of the doshin have blood ties with my clan,” Hirata said. “Maybe I can convince them that their obligation to help me find Lightning outweighs any loyalty that Hoshina has extorted from them.”

  Sano and Hirata rode to police headquarters, which was located in a walled compound in the southern corner of the Hibiya administrative district. There they dismounted in a lane outside a back gate, then entered the compound, walking rapidly along paths between the kitchens and servants’ quarters, hoping to attract as little notice as possible. They arrived at the doshin barracks, a cluster of two-story, half-timbered structures and nearby stables, set around a courtyard.

  A peremptory voice behind them called, "Sōsakan-sama.”

  Halting, Sano turned and saw Police Commissioner Hoshina striding toward him, flanked by Yoriki Hayashi and Yamaga. Dismay struck Sano as Hirata muttered a curse. Hoshina wore a sardonic smile; Yamaga and Hayashi glowered. The two sides faced off in the courtyard. Sano felt his heartbeat accelerate with the surge of energy that precedes a battle.

  “Have you come to turn yourself in?” Hoshina asked him.

  Sano gave Hoshina a venomous look as he realized that he could forget the idea of seeking tips from the police. The officers might have been willing to help him on the sly, but not in front of their superiors, and Hoshina would stick to him like a burr until he departed the compound.

  Hastily revising his strategy, Sano said, “I’ve come to obtain your assistance, Hoshina-san.”

  “My assistance?” Blank confusion erased Hoshina’s smirk. “Why should I help you?”

  “To serve our mutual interests,” Sano said. Yamaga and Hayashi looked puzzled, but Sano saw comprehension gleam in Hirata’s eyes.

  “We have no mutual interests,” Hoshina said in a tone replete with scorn. “Have you gone mad?”

  “No,” Sano said, “I have identified the probable murderer of Lord Mitsuyoshi.”

  The police commissioner’s expression turned disdainful. “Spare me your lies. You’re so desperate to save yourself that you’re trying to frame another innocent person.”

  Into the hostility that thickened the atmosphere, Sano enunciated a single clear, quiet word: “Lightning.”

  Hoshina started; his features involuntarily tensed.

  “Then you know who Lightning is,” Sano confirmed.

  “Of course. He’s one of the Mori gang,” Hoshina said, recovering his poise. “So you’ve chosen Lightning as your scapegoat? How convenient. But we both know he had nothing to do with the murder.”

  Yet Sano could discern the thoughts racing behind Hoshina’s calm facade. The police commissioner was frantically trying to determine whether his investigation had missed an important suspect, or Sano was bluffing.

  “We both overlooked Lightning because we were concentrating on the more obvious suspects,” Sano said. “But Lightning was Lady Wisteria’s lover, and he was in Yoshiwara that night.”

  “So were a lot of other men,” Hoshina said dismissively. “That means nothing.”

  Sano sensed Hoshina weighing what he knew of Lightning against the facts of the murder case. Hoshina couldn’t hide his discomfiture at recognizing how well a brutal, reckless gangster fit the crime.

  “We have witnesses who’ve implicated Lightning in the murder,” Sano continued. “Lady Wisteria’s kamuro has admitted that Lightning forced her to let him into the ageya where Wisteria was entertaining Mitsuyoshi. Afterward, he bribed the guards to let him out the gate. They observed that he’d come into Yoshiwara with eight men, but left with nine. The extra man was Wisteria, in disguise.”

  “You forced those people to say what you wanted,” Hoshina said. “Your story is pure, ridiculous fabrication, and I’m too busy to listen any longer.”

  “Busy creating more fraudulent evidence against me, I suppose,” Sano mocked him. “Do you really think you should gamble that you’ll win this game?”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” Hoshina said.

  But Sano could tell that the news about Lightning had shaken Hoshina’s nerve. Yamaga and Hayashi stirred uneasily; Hirata hid a smile.

  “The odds have changed,” Sano told Hoshina. “Now you’re as likely to be ruined by your scheme as I. That’s the basis for the mutual interests that I mentioned, and the reason you’d better listen to what I’m going to say next.”

  Hoshina’s stance and gaze shifted; his face acquired a look of intense concentration as he tried to decide whether to comply with Sano. He reminded Sano of a man jumping from stone to stone across a deep, turbulent river. Then he addressed his two yoriki: “Leave us.”

  They grudgingly departed. Hoshina fixed a narrow-eyed stare on Sano.

  “If you convince the shogun that I’m a murderer and traitor, I’ll be executed,” Sano said. “But if I capture Lightning first, and he proves to be the killer, then you’ll be exposed as a fraud who interfered with my attempt to avenge Lord Mitsuyoshi’s death. Everyone will turn against you as fast as you turned them against me. You’ll die instead.

  “Now think about what you would gain from destroying me. A moment of public acclaim? The shogun’s favor, which changes with the wind?” Sano infused his voice with contempt. “Are those prizes worth risking your life?”

  Hoshina took an involuntary step sideways, then froze, as if he’d reached midstream and run out of stones. Sano and Hirata waited in suspense because their future depended on crushing Hoshina. Dead silence absorbed the police compound’s usual noises; the world outside the courtyard ceased to exist.

  “Better you should postpone our rivalry and cooperate with me,” Sano said softly.

  The police commissioner stared, furious; then capitulation slackened his muscles. He looked beaten and bruised, yet antipathy radiated from him like heat from doused coals. “What do you want?” he said in a dull voice.

  Sano experienced a tremendous sense of relief. He’d known that Hoshina tended to yield when he felt threatened enough; but Sano hadn’t been sure that he could overpower Hoshina.

  “I want to make a deal,” Sano said. “I’ll give you credit for helping solve the murder case if you’ll help me capture Lightning. He’s abandoned all the usual Mori gang places in the fish market and Honjo Muko Ryogoku. Tell me where else he would go.”

  “You expect me to hand over the murderer to you, in exchange for empty words of praise?” Regarding Sano with bitter resentment, Hoshina shook his head. “I can capture Lightning myself, and reap all the glory.”

  “Do as I ask, and you’ll live to fight another day,” Sano said. “Refuse, and I’ll make sure the shogun understands how you tried to climb to power over the corpses of his heir and his sōsakan-sama.”

  “So you expect me to be content with mere survival? Well, that’s not enough.” Brazen greed emboldened Hoshina; his fists opened and closed. “I want more, or there’s no deal, and we can both take our chances.”

  “What are you asking?” Sano said, ready to make a concession. ;

  “A favor.”

  “What favor?”

  A crafty smile flashed on Hoshina’s face. “I’ll decide what I want, when I want it. And you’d better deliver.”

  Hirata widened his eyes and rolled them at Sano, who realized how high a price a tip from Hoshina would cost him. He hated to obligate himself in advance to something he probably wouldn’t want to do; yet he had little choice, with his own immediate survival at stake.

  “Agreed,” Sano said.

  Hoshina responded with a look that promised retribution while acknowledging Sano’s triumph over him. “The Mori gang rents a warehouse by the river.
I’ve had spies watching the place because I suspect that the gang uses it to store and deal stolen goods. Lightning might have gone there.”

  Inside her chamber, Lady Yanagisawa knelt before Kikuko and fastened a padded silk cloak around the little girl. “There,” she said. “You’re all ready to go.”

  Her spirit was a cauldron of tumultuous emotion. This was the day she would achieve all she’d ever desired. The critical hours ahead represented a bridge between her present life of suffering and a future blessed with happiness. Lady Yanagisawa experienced a dizzy, whirling sensation, as if the winds of change buffeted her body. Strange lights and shadows flickered across her vision, like the sun’s rays piercing storm clouds.

  “You come, too, Mama?” Kikuko said.

  “No, dearest,” Lady Yanagisawa said, because she must appear innocent of what happened at the scene where her plans would culminate.

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t,” Lady Yanagisawa said. “Someday I’ll explain.”

  Someday soon, Kikuko would be able to understand and appreciate what her mother had done for her. Now Lady Yanagisawa said, “Rumi-sanwill take you,” and gestured toward the elderly maid who waited in the doorway. She placed her hands on Kikuko’s shoulders and gazed into her daughter’s face. “Do you remember all that I told you?”

  “Remember,” Kikuko said, nodding solemnly.

  “Do you know what you’re supposed to do?”

  Kikuko nodded again. Lady Yanagisawa had labored hard to instruct the girl; they’d play-acted everything together until Kikuko performed perfectly. But she could only hope that Kikuko would follow her directions when the time came.

  “Go, then,” Lady Yanagisawa said. She gave Kikuko a fierce hug as the winds of destiny howled louder and stronger. Through the storm clouds whirling in Lady Yanagisawa’s mind shone a vision of her husband. He smiled upon her with the tenderness she craved; he reached out his hand, beckoning her to cross the bridge she’d built to join her to him.

  Lady Yanagisawa released Kikuko and rose. “Be a good girl.”

  Kikuko trotted off with the maid. Lady Yanagisawa stood alone. Having placed her fate in her daughter’s hands, all she could do was wait.

  Along the Sumida River rose a long line of warehouses, high buildings with whitewashed plaster walls. Signs bore the owners’ names; the Tokugawa crest marked the bakufu’s rice repositories. Alleys between the buildings led to the river, where docks extended into the choppy, turbid water. On the inland side, porters and oxcarts carried goods along a boulevard that paralleled the river, and up streets through neighborhoods that clung to the gradually ascending terrain.

  Sano, Hirata, and their fifty troops rode down a street bordered by shops, toward the river. They halted their mounts some distance above the boulevard.

  “There’s the warehouse that Hoshina mentioned,” Sano said.

  “The one with no activity,” Hirata observed.

  Its wide plank door was closed; wooden shutters covered the windows on both stories. Sano saw workers pass in and out of the other buildings, but the warehouse that Hoshina had identified as belonging to the Mori gang seemed abandoned.

  “Let’s hope that Lightning is hiding inside,” Sano said.

  Anticipation grew in him as he led his troops across the boulevard and they all dismounted outside the warehouse. He heard men shouting nearby, the thump of loads against the floors of adjacent buildings, and hammering at a distant construction site; but the Mori warehouse was silent. Sano divided the fifty detectives between himself and Hirata. The two groups filed down the alleys on each side of the building. At its rear they found another closed door, and more shuttered windows overlooking a yard that sloped toward a deserted dock. Sano assigned ten detectives to stand guard behind the building, then led his other men around to the front door.

  Sano knocked loudly on the weathered planks, and waited. Nothing stirred inside the building; yet he sensed a human presence, like a warm, animate smell, beyond the door.

  “Open up,” he called, knocking again.

  Still no response. Sano tried the door, but it was fastened securely inside. He gestured to three of his strongest detectives. “Break it down.

  While Sano, Hirata, and the others stood back, the three men heaved their shoulders against the door. The crash shuddered the planks. Repeated blows strained the hinges; wood splintered with small, then large cracks. Suddenly, the air hissed behind Sano. Recognizing the sound, he ducked in alarm. He heard a thunk, looked down, and saw an arrow stuck in the ground near his feet. “Watch out!” he said. “They’re shooting at us.”

  Glancing up in the direction from which the arrow had come, he saw that the warehouse’s three second-floor windows had opened. Out of every one leaned a samurai, each armed with a bow. They fired volleys at Sano and his troops.

  “Retreat! Fire back!” Sano shouted to his detectives.

  They scattered, regrouping across the boulevard. The archers among them shot at the samurai in the warehouse windows, who returned fire. Pedestrians screamed in fright. An arrow struck the leg of a porter; dropping his load, he crawled away. Workers from nearby warehouses hurried to see the commotion.

  “Go inside!” Sano yelled, waving at them.

  More arrows flew; people took cover. In an instant, the area was deserted, except for Sano, his troops, and their opponents. He felt an arrow ricochet off his armor tunic, saw a detective take an arrow in the neck and fall, spurting blood. Yet even as the battle horrified him, he experienced a thrill of elation because he’d found the Mori gang.

  “We’re going in after Lightning,” Sano told Hirata.

  Crouching, they and a squadron of detectives zigzagged across the boulevard, swords in hand, while arrows whistled over their heads. One of the Mori gang shrieked, toppled from a window, and landed with a thud, killed by an arrow through his stomach. Men popped up through skylights and hurled rocks down on Sano and his men.

  Sano flung up his free arm to shield himself, and a stone struck pain into his elbow. Looking up, he saw a Mori gangster take an arrow in the chest, skid down the roof, and plummet to the ground. A detective near Sano went down under a hail of rocks. As Sano, Hirata, and the others neared the door, a loud male voice called, “Stop right there!”

  Halting, Sano looked up and saw a man framed in the window above the door. He was broad and muscular, with a face whose angles and hard planes appeared carved from stone. Coarse hair had tumbled out of his topknot, over brows slanted in a scowl. His eyes darted in speedy, unnatural flashes.

  Recognition struck Sano. “Hold your fire,” he called to his men. The torrent of arrows ceased. Exhilaration overwhelmed him, for here was the man he believed had killed Lord Mitsuyoshi and Wisteria, and represented his salvation.

  “Lightning,” he said.

  “Sōsakan-sama,” the gangster said in a harsh, mocking voice. “You’ve found me.”

  “Surrender,” Sano ordered. His archers trained their bows on Lightning. “Come out.”

  Lightning sneered. He pulled a small human figure against him. The person had the shaved crown and topknot of a samurai, and wore a drab indigo robe; yet her delicate face belied the masculine trappings. Sano gazed dumbstruck into round, lovely eyes he’d once admired, that were now glazed with terror.

  It was Lady Wisteria.

  “Here’s somebody you’ve been looking for,” Lightning said to Sano. “Either you let me go, or I’ll kill her.”

  * * *

  33

  Sano stared up at Lightning and Wisteria in shock as thoughts raced through his mind.

  Wisteria was alive after all. She still wore the disguise in which she’d escaped from Yoshiwara with the Mori gang.

  He’d located his murder suspect, but the presence of Wisteria complicated Lightning’s arrest.

  While Sano and his men stood immobilized, Lightning grinned malevolently. Wisteria uttered a pleading cry: “Sano-san.”

  Her husky voice awakened memories a
nd sympathy in Sano. Her obvious fear of her companion stimulated his need to protect a woman in trouble. Quick action was needed to save Wisteria’s life and Sano’s witness to the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi.

  “Take aim,” Sano ordered his troops. On either side of him, archers raised bows; arrows pointed toward Lightning. “Let Wisteria come out,” he told the gangster.

  Lightning’s gaze shifted rapidly. He pulled Wisteria in front of him. Her eyes rolled in panic. “Tell your men to drop their bows,” Lightning said.

  “Do it,” Sano told his men, because they couldn’t shoot Lightning without the risk of hitting Wisteria.

  The archers obeyed. Lightning drew his dagger and held the blade at Wisteria’s throat. As she squealed and writhed, he shouted at Sano, “Move back, or she’s dead!”

  Every part of Sano rebelled against conceding any ground, but he stepped backward. His troops and Hirata followed suit.

  “Farther. Farther,” Lightning barked. When twenty paces separated them from the warehouse, he yelled, “Stop!”

  Sano and his men halted. “Killing Wisteria won’t do you any good,” Sano told Lightning. “You won’t get away.”

  “Oh, yes, I will.” Lightning gave a reckless laugh, then turned and spoke to someone. Activity stirred beyond the other second-floor windows. Into each one stepped a gangster holding a flaming metal lantern.

  “This warehouse is full of lamp oil, hay, and other things that burn,” Lightning said. “Either you help me get out of town safely, or I’ll set the place on fire—with me and Wisteria inside.”

  Disbelief stunned Sano. He heard his men murmur in surprise, and a stifled exclamation from Hirata.

  “What? You don’t want that to happen?” Lightning mocked them. “All right, then: I’ll tell you exactly what to do. First, send your troops away.”

  Hirata’s appalled gaze moved from the gangster to Sano. “We’re not setting him free, are we?”

  “We can’t,” Sano said, horrified by his dilemma. “If Lightning killed Lord Mitsuyoshi, then he and Wisteria are my only hope of proving beyond doubt that I’m innocent. But I can’t refuse his demands and let him make good on his threats.”