Laura Joh Rowland - Sano Ichiro Samurai Detective 02 - Bundori

by Bund

  Chapter 20

  The Hinokiya Drapery Store-one of Edo's best-known shops, and centerpiece of the suspect Matsui Minoru's business empire- stood in the newer merchant district north of Nihonbashi. Sano followed the main approach to the store, urging his horse up the steep slope of Suruga Hill toward the famous view of Mount Fuji that adorned its crest. Around him, porters hauled goods to and from the shops that lined the broad thoroughfare. Food sellers staggered beneath loaded trays; water vendors swung buckets; browsers loitered before the storefronts. But these ordinary sights failed to reassure Sano. He rode with his hand on his sword, eyes alert, and with a growing sense of unease. Danger still lay in wait for him. And he could see that news of the priest's murder had spread faster than his calming message.

  Newssellers shouted, "Read the latest! After killing a hatamoto, a ronin, and an eta, the ghost has now slain a holy man. No one is safe!"

  And the unrest had worsened: "Eight samurai killed in drunken duels. Twenty peasants wounded in gang brawl!"

  Customers snatched the broadsheets; money changed hands. Eager listeners clustered around a storyteller who acted out the killings in melodramatic speech and gestures. Mystics moaned and wailed over lit candles and incense, trying to invoke the spirits of the victims, or the protection of the gods, while onlookers tossed coins in encouragement.

  "O Inari, great goddess, please keep us safe from evil!" one ragged old woman keened. Watching her, Sano thought of Aoi, and a spark of anger kindled within him. Not only had her last prophecy proved false, but her description of the killer fit none of the suspects. He was beginning to harbor suspicions about her, that he must eventually allay, or confirm. With all the spies in Edo, and more than one person who wanted his investigation to fail, had he been wrong to trust a stranger-even one recommended by the shogun? Now Sano remembered Noguchi telling him about an official forced to commit suicide because his mother's spirit had compelled him to attack Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Had Aoi, with her rituals, played a part in the man's demise? But for now, more pressing problems demanded Sano's flagging energy.

  He had his miai to attend this afternoon, and four suspects to investigate in less than as many days. And he saw all too well the difficulties inherent to the last task.

  Matsui Minoru's, Chugo Gichin's, O-tama's, and Chamberlain Yanagisawa's status accorded them considerable protection from the law, and greater credibility than his. He couldn't jail them and order the truth tortured out of them, as with common criminals. He must back any accusations he made against any of them with hard evidence-gathered without offending the innocent.

  With little time to plan and less expertise to guide him, Sano had left the archives and gone home, where he'd hoped to receive news from Dr. Ito, but the doctor's message said that he'd found no clues on the ronin's remains. Sano had dispatched his servants and messengers to post notices warning Endo's descendants at the castle's checkpoints, on the city's notice boards, and at the gates of the daimyo and hatamoto estates. Then he'd prayed briefly at his father's altar for inspiration. Receiving none, he'd formulated a strategy based more upon emotion and expedience than logic.

  He'd decided to leave O-tama, the least likely suspect, until last. His samurai spirit rebelled against challenging Chugo, his superior officer, whose exalted position also posed unique obstacles. And as for Yanagisawa.

  Any pleasure Sano might have taken from imagining his adversary exposed as a murderer fell before his fear of what he would have to do if he found evidence of Yanagisawa's guilt-which the chamberlain's attempts to thwart him already supported. A black abyss of terror yawned inside Sano whenever he thought of it, so he relegated Chamberlain Yanagisawa to the back of his mind. Instead he concentrated on Matsui, who was neither more nor less likely a killer than the other men, but whose situation presented an easy opportunity. He would go to the merchant's businesses, and, via discreet questioning of his staff, determine Matsui's whereabouts during the murders and probe for rumors of madness or violence on his part. He would investigate Chugo and Yanagisawa only if this effort failed. Now he reviewed what everyone knew about his first suspect.

  For generations, Matsui's clan had lived humbly as low-ranking samurai in the Kanto. Then, some thirty years ago, the young, ambitious Minoru had become head of the family. He'd relinquished his samurai status to enter trade, establishing a small sake brewery near Ise Shrine. Modest success had whetted his appetite for more. He'd moved to Edo and opened a drapery shop in Nihonbashi, where he introduced the revolutionary practices that made him a fortune, as well as many enemies. He advertised widely, and welcomed small customers as well as the great warrior clans. His prices were fixed, instead of negotiable, and he demanded cash upon sale, instead of at the end of the year. In exchange, his customers paid 20 percent less than elsewhere. This had so enraged his competitors that, to escape their hostility, Matsui had moved his shop to Suruga.

  However, the change hadn't hurt the Hinokiya, or stopped Matsui's expansion into other business ventures. Now, at age fifty, he held controlling interest in the national shipping firm run by the great merchants. He operated rice plantations. He was one of the country's thirty principal money changers. He also served as financial agent and banker to the Tokugawa and several major daimyo, who considered the handling of money beneath their samurai dignity. These last ventures had made him another fortune in commissions, interest, and fees. He was the wealthiest and arguably the most famous commoner in Japan. And his achievements had regained him the samurai privilege of wearing swords.

  The weapons he'd used to murder four men?

  Reaching his destination, Sano dismounted and secured his horse outside the Hinokiya. Beneath the deep eaves of its stately tile roof, carved wooden doors stood open, exposing the store to the street. The indigo entrance curtains bore the store's crest in white: a cypress tree, for Hinokiya-Cypress House. From the eaves dangled paper lanterns painted with advertisements: "Cotton and Silk Cloth," "Readymade Clothing," "No Padded Prices!"

  Lifting a curtain, Sano peered inside. The store was divided lengthwise into two sections. On the left, clerks wrote up orders and calculated prices on their abacuses at desks ranged along an aisle that extended to the back of the building. Separated from this aisle by a wall of cabinets was the showroom, where shelves held rolls of colorful cloth, sample garments hung from the ceiling, and clerks conferred with customers. Sano decided he would pretend to browse until the senior clerk, an elderly white-haired hunchback, became available. Renowned for his gossip and garrulity, he would be the most likely employee to know and report on his master's doings.

  "Sosakan-sama. Wait!"

  Already inside the shop, Sano winced at the sound of his title, shouted from down the street. He hoped that his pursuer wouldn't follow, and that his plain garments and lack of response would preserve his anonymity. But to his dismay, the man rushed in after him, demanding loudly, "Is it true that there were witnesses to the Zojo Temple murder?" A young newsseller dressed in cotton kimono and headband, he wore at his waist a pouch that bulged with coins from the sale of the broadsheets he carried. "Has someone actually seen the ghost?"

  "Go away!" Sano hissed. "And stop spreading ghost stories- you're scaring people."

  The newsseller stood his ground. "It's my job to bring my customers the news."

  Sano touched his sword, and the newsseller hurried out the door. But the damage was done. Business ceased as clerks and customers stared at him; he saw recognition on their faces, heard his title murmured. And then the street crowd, alerted to his presence, burst into the store. Sano found himself surrounded by frightened faces and grabbing hands. Hysterical voices assailed him.

  "These murders are ruining my business. gangs own the streets. for two zeni, I'll perform an exorcism. stop the ghost before he kills us all!"

  Sano realized with chagrin that he'd become a public figure. No longer able to conduct a covert inquiry at the Hinokiya, he decided to try one of Matsui's other businesses in hopes that he
could maintain his cover long enough to get some answers.

  "Get away!" he ordered.

  The crowd pushed him farther into the store. "Please, save us!"

  Sano saw clerks frantically lugging merchandise to safety, trying in vain to close the doors against the horde. Then an angry male voice bellowed, "What's going on here? Everyone out. Now!"

  The mob's cries turned to screams. Bodies hurtled into the street, shoved, kicked, and thrown by two huge, grim samurai who had appeared from the back of the store. In no time at all, the doors slammed shut; the Hinokiya was empty except for its staff, Sano-and the man he'd come to spy on.

  Matsui Minoru. The man whose business empire spanned the nation. Flanked by the two ronin who served as his bodyguards, accompanied him everywhere, and had cleared the store at his orders, he presented an intriguing and contradictory array of merchant and samurai qualities.

  His round, bald head, full cheeks, and eyes that closed into slits when he smiled at Sano could have belonged to any middle-aged, well-fed commoner. He wore a cotton kimono patterned with brown, black, and cream stripes, probably from the Hinokiya's least expensive inventory. Of medium height, he had a stout but firm body whose thick, muscular neck, shoulders, and arms bespoke a life spent lifting heavy sake vats and bolts of cloth.

  Matsui bowed. "So, sosakan-sama. Have you taken a break from your work to shop in my humble establishment?"

  His direct gaze belied his words, betraying a wholly samurai arrogance. A luxuriant silk lining showed at his kimono's cuffs and hem: the wealthy merchant's circumvention of the sumptuary laws that forbade commoners to wear silk. And he'd not erased the samurai swagger from his posture. This lent his two swords an air of authenticity usually missing in merchants who wore weapons as status symbols. It was common knowledge that he employed a private kenjutsu master to tutor him. Matsui gave the impression of a man straddling two classes. Had spiritual conflict caused this former samurai to yearn for the simpler, nobler days of his ancestors? To continue General Fujiwara's deadly mission? Sano studied the merchant carefully as he framed a reply. Despite Matsui's genial welcome, this man of shrewd intelligence surely knew why Sano had come. With subterfuge impossible, he decided on a direct approach.

  "I'm here to ask your assistance in apprehending the Bundori Killer," he said.

  There was a collective gasp, then silence from the clerks. Matsui's smile widened; his eyes almost disappeared in creases of flesh. "I would be honored to assist you," he said blandly, "but I don't see how I can."

  Sano smiled back, feeling like a novice trader entering negotiations with an acknowledged master. Matsui's profession of ignorance forced him to play a card he'd hoped to keep in reserve.

  "You can help by explaining the relationship between Araki Yojiemon and Endo Munetsugu, the men whose names appeared on the trophy heads, and. "

  He paused; Matsui waited him out. The guards tensed; the clerks stirred uneasily. Sano conceded temporary defeat.

  "And a certain General Fujiwara," he finished.

  To his delight, Matsui's face stiffened: The tentative probe had found its target. Then Matsui laughed, as if proclaiming his own victory in this first round.

  "Well, that's definitely worth discussing. I invite you to my house. Come, it isn't far."

  He clapped Sano's shoulder and nodded to the guards. Was he showing his innocence-or escaping his audience?

  Outside the shop, the crowd engulfed them. Waving their swords, Matsui's guards forced it back. Their threats and glares discouraged followers. Sano and Matsui continued down Suruga Hill unhindered, Sano on horseback, Matsui and his escorts on foot. Yet the guards' presence didn't relieve Sano's fear of attack. If it was Matsui who wanted him dead, then they were not his protectors.

  "Your guards seem very competent," he remarked, wondering if they'd assisted their master with the murders. One had fresh cuts on his face and hands-from Brother Endo's spear? "What services do they perform for you?"

  Matsui's knowing smile showed that he understood Sano's intent. "They keep my enemies away. And since I carry lots of money, I'm a target for thieves." He pointed at his guard's cut face. "The man who did that looks much worse."

  "A thief?" Sano asked, remembering the priest's wounds.

  "If you wish."

  Sano realized that Matsui wanted to provoke an open accusation that he could deny, forcing Sano to either give up-or arrest the Tokugawa banker and disrupt the bakufu's finances. Sano switched subjects.

  "Do you know a fox-faced mercenary swordsman who eats melon seeds?"

  Matsui shrugged. "Edo is full of mercenaries."

  Suppressing his impatience, Sano tried still another tack. "I often see you traveling on foot. Don't you own a palanquin?" One with a dragon on it, like the one Kenji had seen outside Zojo Temple?

  "I have three." If this question disturbed Matsui, he didn't let on; he'd probably had plenty of practice hiding his emotions during business negotiations. "But I leave them for my family's use. I myself prefer walking. It's good for the body. Ah, here we are. Welcome to my miserable home, sosakan-sama."

  Matsui's house was a large, two-story structure with weathered wooden walls, plain brown tile roof, and unadorned entryway, separated from the street and the neighboring merchant dwellings by a small, bare yard and bamboo fence. An open shed held the three palanquins-all black, with no decoration. However, the dragon palanquin hadn't necessarily carried the killer, who could have traveled by other means. Matsui was still a suspect. And even if this interview cleared him, Sano had three others.

  The house's drab exterior didn't prepare Sano for the treasure trove he found inside. Elaborate coffered and gilt ceilings decorated the long corridor they followed past rooms crammed with lacquer chests and cabinets, painted scrolls, embroidered silk cushions, life-size statues, tables and shelves crowded with ceramic vases and ivory and gold carvings. Each room had two maids and an armed guard. In a parlor, women dressed in gaudy, expensive kimonos played cards, smoked silver pipes, drank tea, and ate cakes made to resemble flowers. Windows overlooked a verdant garden and a miniature temple complete with halls, bell house, and pagoda. The whole place reeked of incense and perfume, and personified the vulgarity of the merchant class that earned them the samurai's disdain and jealousy.

  "I hope my poor little house pleases you, sosakan-sama." Matsui's voice held a hint of mockery. The guards snickered.

  Sano wondered what Matsui's willingness to display his house meant. Nothing to hide? Aside from this obvious possibility, Sano glimpsed a more sinister one. The sumptuary laws prohibited merchants from flaunting their wealth; hence, the house's simple exterior. Breaking the laws could result in confiscation of all an offender's money and property. Last year, the bakufu had seized the Yodoya family fortune, including houses, rice fields, gold and silver artifacts, and 300, 000 koku in cash. Yet Matsui had allowed him to see his outrageous hoard. His expert management of the Tokugawa finances must give him understandable faith in their continued protection.

  Did he also have the audacity to believe he could get away with murder?

  "Now I'll show you something that should interest you very much," Matsui said.

  He slid aside a panel in what had appeared to be solid wall, revealing a short, narrow corridor that led to an iron-clad door. "Extra security precautions," he explained as he opened the door, "for my most prized possessions."

  Wondering what could be more valuable than the things he'd already seen, Sano followed Matsui into a small, windowless room. The bodyguards stationed themselves outside the door. Matsui summoned a servant, who lit a ceiling lantern, then left. The lantern's light illuminated the clay walls of what looked to be a fireproof storehouse connected to the main building. The full-length portrait of a seated man covered the back wall. He wore armor, with his head bare and the helmet resting on his knee.

  "My ancestor, General Fujiwara," Matsui announced proudly.

  Shocked, Sano stared at his host, then around the room,
which he now realized was a shrine to the general. Beneath the portrait, an altar held incense burners, oil lamps, a cup of sake, oranges, and a bowl of rice. Low pedestals placed against the side walls held artifacts that Sano couldn't identify in the dim light. But he could see the soot that blackened the walls. The lamp wicks were burnt, the food fresh. Matsui, with all the luxurious rooms at his disposal, spent much time in this small, dark chamber, communing with his ancestor's spirit.

  Matsui's hearty voice overlaid Sano's thoughts. "Just because I'm no longer samurai doesn't mean I've renounced my heritage, sosakan-sama. What's in the blood can never be lost." He gestured to the portrait. "See the resemblance between us?"

  Sano did. General Fujiwara's stylized face bore Matsui's features. Only the expression was different: stern, rigid, befitting a great warrior.

  Matsui circled the room, lifting items from the pedestals for Sano's inspection. "These are the general's relics that I've inherited. And I'll spend whatever's necessary to acquire those which have become lost over the years. This is his helmet." Tenderly he stroked its battered metal surface. "And this is his war fan." It was a gold disk, mounted on an iron shaft, bearing a crescent-moon crest in flaking red paint. "These scrolls tell of his heroic deeds. And this. "