“He wanted to know if you’d entered Edo. He asked all the officials. We said no.”
But the men had guessed that he would return. They were waiting for him. He had to shut down the secret society and banish the ghost to the netherworld forever before they could make good on their threats, but he didn’t know how. Hirata walked through the gate as if through a portal to hell.
5
As soon as Lady Nobuko and her lady-in-waiting left the mansion, Reiko turned to Sano and Masahiro. “This could be our most important investigation ever. Where shall we begin?”
Sano saw excitement sparkle in her eyes. He felt a stab of consternation.
Reiko had helped him investigate crimes since they were first married fourteen years ago. No ordinary wife, she was the only child of one of Edo’s two magistrates, and her widowed father had given her the education usually reserved for sons. She’d learned martial arts along with reading, writing, history, literature, and arithmetic. She’d practically grown up in his Court of Justice, listening to the trials he conducted. Sano’s investigations had often benefited from her talent for detective work, but this time he must manage without her help.
“We aren’t beginning this investigation,” Sano said. “Not with you in your condition.”
“Oh,” Reiko said, taken aback, as if she’d forgotten her pregnancy.
“It’s not safe. You’re supposed to rest,” Sano said.
“That’s right, Mother,” Masahiro said. “You can’t go out.”
“You’re a child. You can’t tell me what to do,” Reiko protested.
Sano smiled a half amused, half worried smile. “Our child is grown up enough to be protective toward you. You should listen to him.” It was nice to have another man on his side, but the last thing he needed was discord within his family.
“But there may be women who need to be questioned.” Reiko’s strength as a detective was eliciting information from women who might withhold it from a male investigator, exploring their private world and discovering clues hidden from Sano.
Sano couldn’t help bristling at her implication that he couldn’t handle the investigation. “I’ll cope.”
“Aren’t you supposed to start your new job as Chief Rebuilding Magistrate?”
“Yes.” Sano concealed how daunted he was by the responsibility. “But I’ll make time to investigate Lady Nobuko’s allegations.”
“I can look for clues,” Masahiro said eagerly. “Pages can go everywhere and nobody notices them.”
“That’s good.” Sano was glad to see Masahiro find something positive about his demotion. But Masahiro, for all his intelligence, was still only twelve years old. Sano must not expect too much from him, even though he’d performed impressively during past crises.
The same misgivings clouded Reiko’s eyes: She didn’t want to put Masahiro in a situation a child couldn’t handle. “Who else do you have to help?”
There was no use trying to hide the truth. “My former allies might be willing to help, but bringing them in on the investigation would make it harder to keep it secret.” Seeing Reiko’s and Masahiro’s worried faces, Sano tried to look on the bright side. “I still have Detective Marume.” Marume served as his chief retainer in Hirata’s absence. “He and Masahiro and I can manage the investigation by ourselves.”
Masahiro nodded, pleased to be included as an equal with the men. Reiko twisted her hands together, fraught with her desire not to be left out. “Can I help if I don’t leave home?”
“What can you do at home?” Sano was skeptical.
“I can talk to witnesses. They can come to me.”
“Maybe, if they’re women. But it could still be dangerous. It’s not always easy to tell the difference between witnesses and murderers. And you’ve been attacked by women before.”
“You still have enough troops to protect me.” Reiko seized Sano’s arm. “I can’t sit idle while Yanagisawa and his son are set to rule Japan and our family’s future is at stake!”
She’d helped him solve difficult cases before. Sano couldn’t forego the slightest advantage this time. “Very well,” he said, although reluctant to put his wife and unborn child at the slightest risk. “But you have to promise: You don’t leave this house. Witnesses and clues have to come to you. And my troops are with you every moment you question anyone.”
Reiko rewarded him with a brilliant smile. “I promise.”
* * *
Taeko sat against the lattice-and-paper wall in the corridor outside the reception room. The shogun’s wife and her lady-in-waiting had left a short while ago. Taeko listened to Sano, Reiko, and Masahiro talking as she leafed through a book she’d made of small rectangular sheets of rice paper tied with black ribbon through two holes. On the pages were paintings she’d done, of the kitten, a pine tree, a butterfly, a spray of cherry blossoms. They didn’t look enough like the subjects or as good as the pictures of them in her mind. Taeko wished she could paint like real artists. But her mother said she couldn’t have art lessons as her brother did.
Taeko couldn’t grasp the meaning of everything she’d heard, but she understood that the shogun’s daughter had been murdered by Yanagisawa, the bad man who was always causing problems for Masahiro’s family. She understood that Masahiro and his father were in trouble and proving that Yanagisawa had killed the shogun’s daughter would get them out of it. Interesting things seemed about to happen.
Masahiro rushed out of the room. Taeko felt her heart begin to sing and dance. She smiled. For as long as she could remember she’d liked Masahiro more than anyone else.
“Masahiro!” she called, tucking her book under her sash.
He paused and turned. “What?”
Taeko suddenly felt shy even though she’d known him all her life. He was so tall and strong and handsome! “Where are you going?”
“To do some investigating.”
Taeko scrambled to her feet. “Can I go, too?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re too young, and you’re a girl,” Masahiro said bluntly.
Taeko knew that Masahiro didn’t feel the same about her as she did about him. To him she was like his little sister-a playmate when he wanted one and a nuisance when he didn’t. Hurt by the knowledge, Taeko turned away from Masahiro.
“Hey,” Masahiro said, impatient but concerned. “What’s the matter?”
Taeko shook her head. If she tried to speak, she would cry, and if she cried, he would think she was even more of a baby than he already did.
“You’re unhappy because you can’t come with me,” Masahiro said, as if pleased to figure it out yet distressed because his rejection had hurt her. “But it could be dangerous where I’m going. Why do you want to go so badly?”
Taeko couldn’t admit that she wanted to be with him, to share in whatever he was doing, because she liked him. “I want to help,” she managed to say.
Masahiro laughed. It was a friendly laugh, but Taeko cringed with shame. “Well, there isn’t anything you can do. So you’d better stay home.”
As he walked away down the corridor, Taeko felt a spurt of the same stubbornness that made her keep painting even when her pictures weren’t any good and her mother told her to stop. Masahiro could tell her what to do, but she didn’t have to listen, did she? Maybe, if she followed him, she could find a way to help him with his investigation. If she did manage to help him, he might feel differently toward her, mightn’t he?
Nothing else she’d done had changed his mind about her. She had to try something new.
Taeko hurried after Masahiro.
6
Sano rode out the castle gate with Detective Marume and two troops, all he could take from home while leaving enough to guard his family. The avenue across the moat was crowded with beggars loudly soliciting alms. Nuns, priests, and monks vied with homeless refugees driven into the cities by the tsunami that had flooded their coastal villages. Sano noticed a family camped out on a blanke
t, surrounded by their few possessions. It was a woman, little boy and girl, and a man with bandaged stubs for legs. Sano felt a stab of pity and had to look away.
He and Marume crossed the avenue and rode through the daimyo district, past new buildings that had sprung up at estates flattened by the earthquake. The streets were choked with oxcarts hauling timbers and stone. Wheels dug deep ruts; flies swarmed over manure that reeked under the hot sun. Porters lugged rice bales, water casks, and bundles of food for the peasants who hammered, sawed, plastered, and tiled. In the estates that belonged to minor daimyo who governed small provinces, gaps in unrepaired walls exposed framework on bare foundations. In those owned by powerful lords of large, wealthy domains, nearly completed barracks surrounded stately new mansions. Lord Tsunanori, daimyo of Kii Province-also the husband of Tsuruhime and the son-in-law of the shogun-was in that fortunate category. But his stronghold was an enclave of gloomy quiet. Black mourning drapery hung over the double-roofed gate where Sano and his men dismounted from their horses.
“Where are the relatives, friends, and neighbors?” Marume asked. “Shouldn’t they be coming to pay their respects to the shogun’s dead daughter?”
“This house has been visited by smallpox.” Sano was glad that Marume was recovering from the loss of Fukida, his partner, who’d died during the earthquake. The two men had been like brothers. Lately Marume had begun to regain his robust physique and talk more. “People don’t want to risk infection.”
“What’s a little smallpox between friends?” Marume said with a touch of his old humor. “I’ll risk it with you anytime.”
“I’m glad I still have you for company.”
“I wonder why Yanagisawa let you keep me. Probably because he knew I would make too much trouble for him if he tried to take me away.”
Sano approached the two sentries at the gate, introduced himself, and said, “I’m here to see Lord Kii Tsunanori.”
A servant escorted Sano and Marume through the estate, to the martial arts practice ground. Straw archery targets stood at one end. Raucous laughter came from the other end, where a crowd was gathered around two people batting a shuttlecock back and forth with wooden paddles. The paddles were brightly painted with portraits of Kabuki actors, the shuttlecock fashioned from a hard, round soapberry and red feathers. Sano recognized the game as hanetsuki, traditionally played by girls at the New Year. But these players were a broad-shouldered samurai with a long upper body and short legs, dressed only in a loincloth, and a pretty young woman in a white under-kimono. The woman missed a shot.
“Take it off!” yelled the audience, comprised of other samurai and young women.
Giggling, the woman dropped her robe. She flaunted her naked breasts and shaved pubis. The audience roared. The usual penalty for missing a shot during hanetsuki was an ink mark on the face, but this couple had perverted the innocent game: Their penalty was removal of an item of clothing.
“It looks like they’re getting near the end of the game,” Marume said. “All that’s left to go is her socks and his loincloth.”
The male player hooted and pumped his fist in the air. The female didn’t seem to mind exposing herself. Her shaved pubis identified her as a prostitute; she was probably accustomed to such bawdy entertainment.
Sano cleared his throat and said, “Lord Kii Tsunanori?”
The audience quieted. The male player turned. Sano recognized Lord Tsunanori; they’d met a few times. Lord Tsunanori’s arrogant stance bespoke his pride in himself. Sano knew he was an excellent swordsman who often competed in, and won, tournaments. But his head didn’t match his strong physique. It had a squat shape with a roll of fat at the back of his neck. His regular features had an odd slackness. The skin drooped around his large, bold eyes.
“Chamberlain Sano?” Lord Tsunanori’s mouth was loose, as if the muscles didn’t have enough tone to hold the full lips closed. They gaped now, in dismay, because Sano had caught him in behavior inappropriate for a widower on the morning after his wife’s death. He pretended that the scene Sano had just witnessed had never happened. “Welcome. Let’s go inside.”
Sano didn’t tell Lord Tsunanori about his demotion. He let Lord Tsunanori think he was still the shogun’s second-in-command, backed by the full authority of the government. Lord Tsunanori led Sano and Marume toward the mansion. The naked woman tossed him his robe, and he put it on. It was heavy silk, printed in clashing red, orange, and purple, typical for rich, fashionable daimyo. Sano smelled sweat, alcohol, and wintergreen hair oil on him. They went into a reception room. A funeral altar held offerings of fruit, flowers, and wine, and a portrait of Tsuruhime. She’d been a plain woman; she had the shogun’s weak chin. She looked lonely.
Sano introduced Detective Marume, then said, “We’ve come to offer you our condolences.”
“Not many other people have come.” Lord Tsunanori sounded resentful. “They’re afraid to set foot here, and we’re not having the usual funeral rites.” Those included a wake, with the body present in a closed coffin. “The remains were cremated last night.” Corpses of smallpox victims were burned immediately, to prevent contagion.
Lord Tsunanori glanced at a tray stand that held decanters and cups. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Sorry. Would you like a drink?”
Sano and Marume politely refused. Lord Tsunanori said, “Of course. Nobody wants to drink or eat anything here. I guess I’ll just have one by myself.” Lord Tsunanori knelt, poured a cup of sake, and downed it. Sano noticed his flushed face and awkward movements; he was already drunk. “Customs have gone out the window because Tsuruhime died of smallpox.”
Sano saw an opening to begin his inquiries. “How did she get smallpox? It’s not that common.” It mostly afflicted the poorer classes, who lived in crowded, unsanitary conditions.
“There’s all kinds of diseases going around everywhere since the earthquake,” Lord Tsunanori said. “I hear there’s smallpox in the tent camps. She must have brushed up against somebody in town.”
“Had she been out of the house much during the days before she became ill?” Sano couldn’t believe she had; ladies had mostly stayed home since the earthquake. Conditions in Edo were unpleasant due to the debris and construction work, and crime had increased because impoverished, desperate citizens had resorted to attacking and robbing the rich.
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her servants.”
Sano planned to. “Has anyone else in the household come down with smallpox?”
“No, thank the gods.”
“Why only Tsuruhime?”
“She was just unlucky, I guess,” Lord Tsunanori said. “As soon as she broke out in sores, I had her isolated.”
“Who took care of her?” Sano asked.
“Her nurse.”
“Why didn’t she get smallpox?”
“She had it when she was young.”
People who’d survived smallpox were safe from a recurrence. “Who had access to Tsuruhime’s room?”
“Her ladies-in-waiting, the servants.”
“Could anyone else have handled her things?”
“Handled, how?” Lord Tsunanori looked puzzled, then alarmed. “Do you mean, put something in with them that was contaminated with smallpox?”
Sano and Marume shared a surprised glance. How quickly Lord Tsunanori had jumped to the notion that his wife had contracted smallpox from a contaminated item placed among her possessions. “I just wondered,” Sano said. “I’ve heard it’s possible to get smallpox from touching things used by someone who had the disease.”
“Are you suggesting that somebody deliberately tried to make my wife sick?” Lord Tsunanori demanded.
How quickly he’d jumped to the idea that her death had involved foul play. “Assassination is always a possibility when an important person dies suddenly from an unusual cause,” Sano said. “Do you think someone killed your wife?”
“Do I think someone killed my wife?” Lord Tsunanori spoke in a hushed tone. He frowned,
stammered, then said, “No. I never thought of it at all.” His loose mouth dropped. “You think I infected her with smallpox. That’s what you’re getting at.”
“Did you?” Sano asked.
Lord Tsunanori reacted with the same tone, frown, and stammers as before. “No! I would never! What gave you that ridiculous idea?”
Behind his back, Marume held up one finger, then two, then three, counting the denials. Sano noted how quickly Lord Tsunanori had interpreted his question as an accusation. Keeping his pact with Lady Nobuko confidential, Sano started to say he’d heard a rumor.
Lord Tsunanori cut him off with an angry exclamation. “It must have been Lady Nobuko.”
“Why do you think it was her?” Sano said, startled.
“She hates me. She thought I was a bad husband.” Lord Tsunanori’s voice took on a whiny, aggrieved note. “I gave my wife every luxury she could have wanted. But Lady Nobuko expected me to worship the ground Tsuruhime walked on. Lady Nobuko was always criticizing me. To please her, I would have had to rub my nose against Tsuruhime’s behind, just to show how grateful I was to be married to the shogun’s daughter.”
“It sounds as if you weren’t grateful at all,” Sano said.
“No man in his right mind would have been. I paid dearly for the privilege. I had to give huge tributes to the government.” Lord Tsunanori quaffed another drink, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His eyes had a glassy look. “After the earthquake, I was the first daimyo that the shogun came to for money to fix Edo.” He held out his palm, which was calloused from sword-fighting practice, and wiggled his fingers. “Because I was his son-in-law.”
Disturbed by what he was hearing, Sano said, “Didn’t Tsuruhime bring you a big dowry?”
“It was chicken dung compared to what I’ve spent on account of her. Things didn’t turn out the way I expected when I agreed to the marriage. Tsuruhime was supposed to bear me the shogun’s grandson. I was supposed to have a chance to be the father of the next shogun. But she never conceived. After a few years of trying, I quit sleeping with her. The bitch!”
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