“You’re referring to the rumors that her former mansion is haunted, aren’t you?” he asked.
I had wondered how much he knew about the situation, and now I saw no point in dissembling. “Yes, Eminence. I have been asked to determine if this is true and what could be done about it.”
“By someone very important, I would think,” Daiwu said, looking thoughtful. “It is no secret that your circumstances have changed since our last meeting, so only such a person would have the influence to engage your aid. Someone in the family, or perhaps His Majesty himself?”
There was that much of Lord Fujiwara no Sentaro left in the man—a sharp mind in the service of a very dark purpose once. The mind remained, if now turned to better purposes. My faith in this remained unshaken, but the reminder was a little disconcerting. He must have noticed the look on my face; he smiled.
“An old habit, but I do not need or want to know any more. I was very fond of Princess Shigeko. She was a good and gentle soul, and if you are trying to help her, that is enough. It is true that Shigeko-hime was troubled, and I counseled her on more than one occasion.”
“May I ask what was troubling her? I would not do so if it were not important.”
Abbot Daiwu hesitated, then finally sighed. “This is not something I would normally choose to reveal, but keeping it secret helps no one. Princess Shigeko never had children with the crown prince, now emperor. That, I dare to presume, is well known. What is not well known is that Princess Shigeko suffered miscarriages. There were at least two, and both of those occurred even before the pregnancy was announced.”
“I had not heard this,” I said.
He shrugged. “Nor would you. Princess Shigeko kept it a secret. Even the crown prince didn’t know. Perhaps she didn’t want to disappoint him or her family—it’s also no secret the Fujiwara would have liked another potential Fujiwara heir. I only learned of it after her second miscarriage. That’s when she came to me for counseling. She was very ill for a long while after the second time. She recovered, but I knew it was dangerous for her to try again. There are . . . ways, such things could be prevented, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She was determined.”
“It happened during her third attempt, didn’t it?” Kenji asked.
Abbot Daiwu nodded. “The pregnancy was too advanced to be hidden, this time, nor did Shigeko-hime feel any need to do so. She was so happy, Lord Yamada, you should have seen her. Such joy on another human being’s face I have rarely seen before . . . but then something went horribly wrong. The child, a boy, was stillborn. Princess Shigeko passed a few days later.”
I had known a stillbirth had caused Princess Shigeko’s death. I had not known of the previous two failed pregnancies. “Do you know why she was so determined? Was it simply to produce an heir?”
Abbot Daiwu’s expression was pure sadness. “She gave all the expected reasons at one time or another: a desire to please the prince or to please her family. Which is the true one? Honestly, Lord Yamada, I don’t know, and I don’t believe she did either. If you want my opinion, the first two reasons were simply a nod to duty, and the real one was that she wanted more than anything to be a mother. This fits with what I knew of her, but as I said, this is only my opinion. I claim no more insight into another’s soul than the next person.”
Such a frustrated desire is more than enough to create an angry ghost.
Perhaps the situation really was this simple. Simple and extremely difficult to resolve. Now that she was dead, how could such a desire be fulfilled? The obvious answer was that it could not. If everything that Abbot Daiwu told me was the absolute truth—and I firmly believed that it was—I was still left with a problem almost impossible to unravel.
“It was good of you to see me, and I humbly thank you for your help. We won’t take up any more of your time.”
“If you can help Shigeko-hime find peace and free her from this world, I will be in your debt. If anyone on this earth deserved to be happy, she did. As this was not to be, the least we can do is end her misery. If there is anything else I can do, please call upon me.”
We took our leave. By the time we returned to Ujiyasu and our horses, it was well into the afternoon, but there was time enough to reach the city before dark. We met a momonjii at one of the road crossings as evening fell, but Kenji easily drove it away before it could sicken any of us.
“If I actually had the proper ward for every different monster we might meet . . . well, this poor horse couldn’t bear the weight of them,” he said. “Fortunately, a reciting of the proper sutra works well enough for such riff-raff as that.”
“For which you have our thanks,” I said. “And the patronage of your temple, of course.”
“So you keep reminding me. Speaking of that, you never refer to me as ‘eminence.’ ”
“Only because I’ve usually had to refer to you as far worse. Don’t you worry about one day being transformed into a nodera-bo or some other disgusting monster?”
Kenji was unconcerned. “It is said there once was a temple with a stone figure of the Buddha which would come alive during the night and go visit brothels. I think I’m more likely to be transformed into something of that sort,” he said. “I would not mind.”
I knew Kenji would not mind it. He was the soul of piety, but in his own fashion.
“I’ve been thinking about what Abbot Daiwu said. I know you’re thinking of a yurei, of course, in relation to Shigeko-hime? An angry ghost?”
“As Abbot Daiwu made clear, she does have unfinished business,” I said. “Of a sort that may be impossible to finish. So, yes, I think it likely that her frustration at not being able to bear children was what drove her to this state.”
“In which case we would have little choice save for exorcism . . . which would only be sanctioned if we can prove the reason for her haunting is as we believe,” Kenji said. “Does this faithfully relate the nearly impossible situation we are faced with?”
“I fear so,” I said. “It is the likely and sensible answer.”
Kenji looked at me. “So why do you hesitate to accept it?”
Kenji was right. Something didn’t fit what Abbot Daiwu had said. While I believed his recall of those sad events, something was still out of place.
“I merely suspect simple answers, even when they appear to be the correct ones. Something is still bothering me about Shigeko-hime’s situation, something I’m missing.”
Morofusa, who had been frowning even more than was normal for a bushi, finally spoke up. “My lords, there is something that is troubling me as well. May I ask a question?”
“Of course,” I said.
“While I am no expert on the subject of ghosts, it was my understanding that an angry ghost was, well, angry. Always. Is this not so?”
“Yes,” Kenji said. “What is your point?”
“Then why were some people simply denied entry while others were harmed? Should not everyone have been attacked, regardless of their past relationship with the princess? Would an angry ghost be capable of such distinctions?”
This was not the first time in my life I wanted to curse myself for being an idiot. Yet rarely had I felt like such a complete and absolute idiot.
“Morofusa-san, the answer to your question is—they would not.”
Kenji scowled. “Yamada-san, are you forgetting about the ghost of Hanako?”
I was not. Rather, Morofusa’s question had immediately brought her to mind. Hanako was a woman betrayed and murdered by her husband, the shock of which had transformed her into an ogre. She had blocked a road, but she had not harmed anyone, despite her vicious appearance. She had only wanted to be reunited with the husband she still loved. Which had happened, though in a rather gruesome yet oddly appropriate fashion.
“I am not. Hanako was not an angry ghost, though she had every reason to be. She was focused on a goal, and harming people at random was not part of that goal. Or are you forgetting?”
Kenji looked stunned. “Oh. Are you s
aying—” He stopped himself. I immediately understood why. This was not something that should be spoken in front of anyone, even Morofusa and Ujiyasu.
“I am not saying anything for the moment. We have other things to consider first,” I said. “But that is for later. For now, Morofusa-san, understand that your question helped clarify a few things. Thank you.”
He bowed. “I am glad to be of service, even if I do not know what I have done.”
For all our sakes, we had best keep it that way.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When we returned to what I had to think of now as the Yamada compound, there were two messages waiting for me. The first was from Prince Kanemore, apologizing for the delay and estimating his return in about two weeks, though the date was not set in stone. The second was from Princess Tagako, requesting that I pay her a visit. Her letter, in poem form as was her first one to me, required an appropriate reply. In truth I had been thinking of writing to her myself, but the necessity of creating an appropriate poem had slowed me considerably. Nor was I really certain such an overture would be welcome. Princess Tagako’s poem had settled the latter, which pleased me greatly, even though I knew I was being foolish.
Before my response could be composed, however, there was a more immediate concern. We had no sooner rested a bit and refreshed ourselves when Kenji looked at me.
“Lord Yamada, about Princess Shigeko . . . ”
“Not here. Walk with me in the garden.”
When we were out of earshot of the veranda, Kenji smiled. “I don’t think you trust Master Takamasa.”
“On the contrary—I trust him to act according to his interests and nature, which he has already revealed to us. Why should I doubt his sincerity?”
“In other words, you believe Takamasa is a gossip, not a spy.”
“I hope he is not a spy, but if he overhears us discussing Princess Shigeko, the difference would not be very important.”
“About that . . . earlier today, did you mean to imply His Majesty might be the target of Princess Shigeko’s obsession?” Kenji asked. “What if the reason she is remaining is that she is waiting for her husband to visit her?”
I took a deep breath. “We cannot overlook the possibility. There are some aspects to this haunting that, yes, do parallel that of the unfortunate Hanako. Yet there are also important differences. Hanako did not harm anyone except her former husband. Shigeko-hime has indeed hurt people and yet spared others. This does not fit my understanding of an angry ghost. I was assuming too much in that direction. Fortunately, if by chance, Morofusa-san put things in perspective.”
Kenji scowled. “Neither, however, does it fit my very close and personal understanding of an obsessed ghost. Nor yours, if you consider the situation for more than a heartbeat.”
I shrugged. “Yet what does this leave us? As things stand, the nature of Shigeko-hime’s haunting fits nothing. There are echoes of one thing, then another. One would expect, as our information about the circumstances of Shigeko-hime’s character and the way of her passing grows, such understanding would serve as lanterns to illuminate the path we are to follow. So far we remain in darkness.”
“Clearly, we need more and better lanterns.”
“Perhaps there is some commonality in the people who were attacked. I understand one person survived. I need to speak to this person.”
Obviously, I could not contact Lord Fujiwara no Yorinobu openly. However, he had given me an alternative, but it was only to be used at great need. The condition for such, so far as I was concerned, was already met.
“I have some writing to do,” I said. “It may take some time.”
My face must have given everything away, for Kenji grinned. “Another poem? You are going to see Princess Tagako, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, knowing dissembling would only pique his curiosity.
“Well, well . . . ”
I frowned. “Kenji, whatever you are thinking, I know it is inappropriate.”
“Actually,” he said, “whatever your meeting with Her Highness may or may not imply, perhaps this will get your mind off the current problem for a little while. Such a respite might help you approach the problem from a different perspective.”
“Let us hope this is the case, as such is clearly needed.”
Kenji excused himself, though whether to study the sutras or flirt with the servants, I didn’t concern myself. There was still light enough to see and the day was not uncomfortably cool, I sent for a writing desk and had it brought to the veranda overlooking the garden. First I wrote a quick letter to my contact. I kept the request somewhat obscure but trusted Lord Yorinobu would understand my meaning. Then I unrolled Princess Tagako’s letter and re-read what she had sent to me:
The willow tree stands
Long branches in the bay breeze
Reaching to no one.
Clear as a sunny day. My reply needed to be the same.
Willow leaf blown on the wind,
Brushes the fisherman’s cheek.
I had interpreted Princess Tagako’s poem as saying she was lonely and wished for a visit. Perhaps I was wrong, since a returning saiō should rightly expect to be receiving a multitude of visitors, but under the circumstances I was willing to concede this might not be the case. Still, and not for the first time, I wished nobles of the court would follow Prince Kanemore’s example and simply say what they meant without the necessity of poetic translation. I wasn’t that good at it, either creating or interpreting, but I did the best I could. I gave the letter to a messenger to deliver. If I had interpreted her poem correctly, she would respond with a direct invitation. If not, she might not respond at all. Until the steps of this delicate and complex dance were settled, in the instances both of Tagako-hime and Lord Yorinobu, all I could do was wait.
Princess Teiko showed herself again that evening, or perhaps I dreamed her again. I was not sure. I remained on the veranda much later than I intended, and I eventually became aware of the ghost light returning to the garden, although I could no longer recall what I had been doing in those moments before. Instead of merely showing herself, however, she appeared before the veranda just as I had seen her last, in her traveling clothes and wide-brimmed hat ringed with a veil. As before, the veil was pulled aside. She smiled at me, and it was as if a hand of ice had closed around my heart.
“You are not done,” she said, as if this was not something she had said before. I was reminded, and not for the first time, how single-minded a ghost could be.
“I know,” I said because it was what I wanted to say. “When will I be done? When will your spirit find rest?”
“You will know this as well.”
That was a new thing. It had never occurred to me the moment would reveal itself to me. I had nightmares of Princess Teiko’s ghost simply disappearing, perhaps to rest, perhaps not, and never being certain which. Was this the real reason Princess Teiko appeared to me then?
I will know.
I hoped it would be true. But that moment, if it were to come, was not now.
“Highness . . . ”
I am still not certain what I intended to say, but Teiko was gone, and the word drifted away on the night breeze. I remembered I had a comfortable sleeping mat somewhere in that great pile of a house. I went to look for it.
“Are you sure this is where we were to go?” Kenji asked.
I was. The letter I received from Lord Yorinobu’s contact had been explicit—early afternoon, Gion-sha, at the east end of the Fourth Avenue. It was where I had first met Lady Snow, as she had been called in her disguise as an asobi, back before I knew her true identity, and before she tried to kill me.
Gion was one of the busiest shrines in the Capital, so it seemed an odd choice for a clandestine meeting, yet I knew sometimes the perfect place to hide was in a crowd. Kenji and I, along with Morofusa and Ujiyasu, made our way along the avenue. My plan to travel without attracting much interest so far appeared to be working. Morofusa would have prefe
rred me in a palanquin surrounded by twenty or more bushi and attendants as was supposedly befitting my station, but a pair of bushi with one well-dressed but not ostentatious man and one nondescript priest was a better choice, in my view. If people thought about us at all, the most they might assume was I was some minor palace official out on an errand, no different than dozens of others.
Hiding in a crowd.
We paid our respects to the kami—Kenji pointedly not abstaining since, in his view, the gods were simply manifestations of worthies in his own tradition and thus due respect. Even so, I knew Kenji was never going to be comfortable in any shrine, and this wasn’t our main reason for being there in the first place. There was a broad avenue leading from the gate to the main shrine, with various structures along the way. We stopped at the one indicated, which was off the main course only slightly, near the edge of a cluster of maple trees. Their leaves had already turned red and gold as autumn took hold. Some had already begun to fall.
“Kenji is with me,” I said. “Gentlemen, please keep watch.”
I had to discourage Morofusa from first exploring the structure. I understood his concerns, but my instructions from the contact had been explicit. Kenji and I went inside.
The building was completely empty, save for a man in a robe and hood, kneeling there as if in meditation. We could not see his face.
“Shinjurou-san?”
He bowed. “Lord Yamada. I was instructed to answer your questions.” From the man’s voice I judged him to be of middle years at most, though without seeing him clearly, it was hard to be sure.
“I am grateful. Now—you were attacked by Princess Shigeko’s ghost?”
“I was attacked inside the mansion, yes,” he said.
I frowned. That wasn’t exactly the answer to the question I had asked. “Please answer the question as stated—did Princess Shigeko’s ghost attack you?”
He hesitated. “In all honesty, Lord Yamada, I am uncertain.”
“But you were familiar with her appearance, yes?” Kenji asked.
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