Lady Someko moaned at his brutal description of Yoshisato’s death. “You are guilty!” Her voice was hoarse from screaming. “Guilty of killing my baby. Guilty of making me go along with your scheme to rule Japan. But that’s not all. You killed the shogun’s daughter!”
A spear of dread pierced Yanagisawa. He’d forgotten about Tsuruhime. The shogun probably had, too. But eventually the ado about Yoshisato would dwindle and somebody was bound to remind the shogun that his daughter, too, had been murdered. Yanagisawa would fall under suspicion again, and although Sano wouldn’t be around to persecute him, other enemies would. Yanagisawa needed to shore up his defenses, and one of the weaknesses in it was Lady Someko. He had to shut her up.
“Oh, come, now.” He mustered a gentle, joking manner. “You’re just out to blame me for every evil under the sun. I didn’t kill the shogun’s daughter.”
They reached the guesthouse. He towed her through the door into her chamber. When he let her go, she faced him, her eyes glittering with vindictive malice. “Don’t try to fool me. Before Tsuruhime got smallpox, you knew she was pregnant. You knew that if she lived to give birth, and she had a son, it could have ruined your plans for Yoshisato to be the next shogun.”
“How did you find out she was pregnant?” Yanagisawa said, startled.
“Lady Reiko told me.”
“You spoke with Sano’s wife? I told you to stay away from everyone associated with Sano.”
“I went to see her,” Lady Someko said, brazenly proud of her disobedience. “Because nobody else will tell me anything.”
Yanagisawa dragged his bleeding hand down his face. This woman would be the death of him. “What else did Lady Reiko say?”
“She asked if Yoshisato knew Tsuruhime was pregnant. She tried to make me say he killed Tsuruhime. But I know he didn’t. He would never kill anybody.” Lady Someko’s hoarse voice was replete with conviction. “Unlike you.” She jabbed her sharp fingernail at Yanagisawa. “I know you knew she was pregnant.”
“You don’t know any such thing,” Yanagisawa said, urgent with his need to convince her. “Because I didn’t know until Sano told me yesterday.”
“I don’t believe you. You must have known. Because you have a spy in Lord Tsunanori’s estate. It’s the housekeeper. You were paying her to tell you if Tsuruhime missed any monthly courses.”
Yanagisawa deduced how Lady Someko had learned of his spy. His chief retainer served as liaison between him and the housekeeper, whom he’d never met. Lady Someko must have coaxed the man into telling tales. Yanagisawa was dismayed that she knew. The information was useless to Sano, but it could still be lethal in the hands of Yanagisawa’s other enemies. Ienobu could use it as evidence that Yanagisawa must have known Tsuruhime was pregnant and therefore must have had her killed.
Lady Someko began laughing hysterically. “You went to all the trouble of murdering the shogun’s daughter. And now, with Yoshisato dead, a lot of good it did you!”
29
“The Shogun’s son has been murdered!”
The words, shouted outside his window, awakened Hirata. He sat up on the bed in his room at the inn. Alarm cleared the fog of sleep from his mind. He threw on his robe and ran barefoot into the rainy street. The news-seller was standing under the eaves of a teahouse across from the inn. Hirata gave him a coin, snatched a broadsheet, and anxiously read the story. It said Yoshisato had died in a fire at Edo Castle, and Sano was under arrest for arson.
Hirata was horrified yet elated. Yoshisato’s murder changed everything. Hirata ran to his room and unpacked a silk kimono, surcoat, and trousers. They were wrinkled, but he put them on; then he looked in the mirror. A face with long, shaggy hair and patchy whiskers gazed back at him. He couldn’t go to Edo Castle looking like a bum. He hung his swords at his waist, donned a wicker hat and straw rain cape, and went to a nearby barbershop.
The barber shaved his face and crown, oiled his hair, tied it into a neat topknot, trimmed the end, then held up a mirror for Hirata. Hirata’s skin was brown where the sun had tanned it, pale where hair had covered his scalp and face. His cheekbones were sharper. New wrinkles bracketed his mouth. His eyes had a hunted, haunted expression. Hirata winced. He paid the barber, ran outside, mounted his horse, and galloped through the rain to Edo Castle.
He had a new chance to help Sano and win his forgiveness.
* * *
Sano lay in bed. The cold, damp poultices weighed upon his closed eyelids. His face throbbed. The skin was numb where Reiko had applied balm, sore underneath. The bruises on his body ached. His mind roiled with guilt caused by his disgraceful thoughts about the shogun, fear that he was in trouble he couldn’t get out of, and the anguish of knowing that his family was in it with him.
Rain clattered on the roof. Reiko moved about the chamber. Garments rustled as she dressed. Sano said, “Where are you going?”
“To find out who killed Yoshisato. What are you going to do while I’m gone?”
“I don’t know.” Sano felt too inert to take any action.
“Well, I’ll tell you. Stop wallowing in misery and save yourself!”
Reiko had never spoken to him so harshly. Sano involuntarily turned toward her. The poultices fell off his eyes. The swelling had gone down; he could see Reiko kneeling by the bed.
“Please,” she said, distraught. “Masahiro and I can’t do it alone. We need you.”
Sano felt even guiltier for letting his emotions paralyze him, leaving his wife and son to struggle on their own. He sat up. It took a gigantic effort. “You’re right. I’m being unfair to you.” His cut lips felt thick and sore.
Reiko smiled tremulously. Sano had to look away from her. Something else besides his samurai discipline, his sense of honor, and his loyalty to the shogun had broken. It was his faith that his actions mattered. He couldn’t believe that investigating Yoshisato’s murder would do any good. He tried to remember that he’d solved difficult cases and gotten himself out of jeopardy many times, but he couldn’t help thinking his luck had finally run out.
He’d also lost his faith that the universe favored those who tried to do right over those who deliberately, blatantly did wrong.
“What are you going to do?” Reiko’s tone anticipated a better answer than before.
Sano couldn’t tell her how he felt. She was depending on him. His mind groped for some source of strength or guidance, like a lame, blind man gropes for a cane. He found it in a memory from his childhood.
He’d been seven or eight years old. He and his parents had been walking to a funeral. Sano had hated funerals. The people crying made him sad, the smell of cremation made him sick, and all the praying didn’t bring back the dead. He’d told this to his parents. His father had said, “The ancients said that a journey is hardest when it’s to somewhere you have to go and you don’t want to because you doubt that it’s worthwhile. But you must put your doubts aside, set your course, and follow it by putting one foot in front of the other until you get there.”
Sano didn’t know if the ancients had ever said that. His father had often put his own words in their mouths. But the advice suited this occasion. Sano would put his doubts aside and focus on solving Yoshisato’s murder. He would take one step after another, and maybe the results would be worthwhile.
“I’ll invite my new favorite suspect over to talk about Yoshisato’s murder.” To assure Reiko that he was all right, Sano added with forced humor, “Maybe my face will scare him into confessing.”
* * *
The rain had lessened by the time Hirata dismounted outside Sano’s estate. Cool mist hung in the air. The sky brightened to a murky silver, but thunder rumbled. A Tokugawa army soldier was guarding the gate. “What do you want?”
“To see Sano-san,” Hirata said.
The soldier obviously recognized Hirata and knew his reputation as a great fighter; he understood that trying to keep Hirata out would be as dangerous as letting him in. “All right. Just behave yourself.”
>
Walking toward the mansion, Hirata looked around furtively. He longed to see his wife and children, but he was nervous about how they would react. He didn’t want to run into Sano’s other retainers. His heart pounded as soldiers guarding Sano let him in the door. In the private chambers he came upon Sano and Detective Marume. Sano’s face was cut and bandaged, the skin around his swollen eyes turning purple. He handed Marume a scroll container and said, “See that it gets into his hands.”
“I’m on my way.” Marume scowled at Hirata. “What are you doing here?”
Sano’s aura was even more disturbingly changed than his appearance. Once it had pulsed with a strong, steady glow and rhythm. Now the glow was veined with darkness that bled out of him. Appalled, Hirata said, “What happened to you?”
“None of your business,” Marume said.
Sano put a hand on Marume’s arm. “Go deliver that scroll.”
Marume shot an ominous glance at Hirata as he departed. Sano didn’t seem surprised to see Hirata. He didn’t seem glad, either. He said, “I had a bad encounter with a smoking basket,” and stepped into his chamber. Uncertain about whether Sano wanted him to come in, Hirata followed.
“What are you doing here?” Sano asked.
“I heard you were arrested for killing Yoshisato,” Hirata said.
“I suppose everybody has heard by now.”
Sano’s voice frightened Hirata. It had a wooden quality, as if the black veins in his aura had drained away his spirit. Hirata said, “I know you didn’t do it.”
“Thank you for your faith in me.” Sano spoke without sarcasm or sincerity.
“I came to see if I could help.” Hirata realized that there was something seriously wrong with Sano, something that went deeper than the cuts on his face and beyond the fact that he was accused of murder.
“That’s good of you,” Sano said.
He was in shock, Hirata supposed. Although Hirata hated to see Sano like this, maybe now he could make up for the wrong he’d done Sano and reconcile himself with his master. “I’ll find out who really killed Yoshisato. I’ll exonerate you.”
“Well. I appreciate the offer.” The first sign of emotion inflected Sano’s voice. It was doubt.
Shame flushed Hirata’s cheeks. Sano hadn’t forgotten the times Hirata had promised to do things for him and let him down. Hirata thought of Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi. If he didn’t show up at the canal, Tahara and Kitano would get suspicious. And he mustn’t let them get suspicious before he and Deguchi could kill them. Hirata didn’t have time to hunt Yoshisato’s murderer. He had to do something faster and more spectacular for Sano.
“Is Yanagisawa responsible for your arrest?” Hirata asked.
“How did you guess?” The usual wry humor was absent from Sano’s tone.
“I’ll assassinate Yanagisawa. Then he can’t get you convicted.”
Hirata braced himself for an angry reaction. Sano had never been willing to kill Yanagisawa because Yanagisawa was the shogun’s delegate and Sano’s loyalty to the shogun extended to him. Hirata prepared to convince Sano that lowering his standards was necessary and that if Hirata did the deed, Sano’s hands would be technically clean.
“No,” Sano said. “The shogun thinks I killed his son, and he’s set on killing me. He doesn’t need Yanagisawa to egg him on.” Sano fingered the bandages on his face. “Killing Yanagisawa wouldn’t solve my problem. But thank you anyway.”
Hirata was shocked. Sano had rejected the idea because he didn’t think it would work, not because he thought it was wrong. “I’ll kill the shogun, too, then,” Hirata said. “If he and Yanagisawa both die, nobody else will care much about Yoshisato. You’ll be safe.”
It was a blasphemous idea. Even to speak it was treason. But Sano didn’t revile it as he once would have. His aura turned darker as the black veins swelled. It was like watching a healthy animal consumed by a fast-growing cancer. It made Hirata sick, but he hastened to nudge Sano toward the decision he seemed ready to make.
“I’ll make it look like a natural death.” Hirata looked beyond the simple act of eliminating Sano’s adversaries. “The government will be in chaos. You can take advantage of it. You’ll have a fresh start.” And so, Hirata thought, will I.
“A fresh start,” Sano echoed, and Hirata heard another tinge of emotion in his voice. This time it was yearning.
“Well?” Hirata said. “Should I go ahead?”
Sano pondered. His aura was almost completely black. Hirata held his breath against an onslaught of exhilaration and fear. Merciful gods, Sano was actually going to say yes!
A spasm shuddered through Sano. His bloodshot eyes filled with horror. The black veins in his aura constricted, as if he’d sucked the darkness back inside him.
“I can’t believe we’re talking like this,” Sano said in a tone of wonder. He shook his head violently. “No. I’m not that far gone. I forbid you to kill the shogun!”
Hirata started to argue, but Sano raised his hand and demanded, “Where are your secret society friends? Is this their plan-for you to assassinate the shogun and make me a party to it?”
A terrible realization struck Hirata: If he killed the shogun, Ienobu would surely inherit the dictatorship. Hirata would have played right into the ghost’s hands.
Sano backed away from Hirata. “I can’t listen to any more of this! Get out!”
* * *
Hirata was so shaken that he stumbled through the corridors. By offering to assassinate the shogun, he’d tempted Sano to join him in a treasonous conspiracy. Sano, in a moment of weakness, had almost stepped into the pit of disgrace that Hirata had dug. Hirata was so angry at himself that he wanted to strike his own face until it was as damaged as Sano’s. He’d almost corrupted Sano, the most honorable samurai he knew. Sano would never forgive him. Even if he shut down the secret society, he’d permanently ruined his relationship with Sano.
Hirata belatedly noticed he wasn’t alone. A boy stood in the corridor, watching him. His heart gave a painful thump. “Tatsuo?”
His son had grown taller since Hirata had been away. Tatsuo took a step backward. His solemn eyes widened in fear.
Dismayed, Hirata said, “It’s Papa.” Five months must seem a long time to a child. “Don’t you remember me?”
A door down the hall opened. A girl came out. Hirata was surprised to recognize his daughter. How grown up and beautiful Taeko was! She eyed him warily. Tatsuo ran to her. They stood together, speechless. Tears burned Hirata’s eyes. He’d missed his children so much, and they were looking at him like two fawns cornered by a hunter.
He heard a gasp. He turned. There was Midori, holding their baby, her eyes filled with amazement. Seeing his wife and youngest child, Hirata felt a joy like an updraft of warm wind that lifted him out of his misery.
“You.” Midori’s cold voice brought Hirata down to earth. “Why did you come back?”
Hirata didn’t want to lie to her; he’d done it too many times, and she hated it. He’d already blown his relationship with Sano; now his marriage was at stake. But if he told her what had happened between him and Sano, she would be even madder. And if he told her anything about the secret society, she would be in danger.
“I missed you and the children,” Hirata said.
Skepticism and her need to believe him warred in Midori’s eyes. “Go play outside,” she told the children.
She didn’t want to quarrel in front of them, and neither did Hirata, but he said, “Please don’t send them away.” He smiled at Tatsuo and Taeko. “Would you like to play a game?”
They shrank from him. Midori laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Do you think you can just walk back into their lives? They’re afraid of you.”
“Why are they afraid? Have you been telling them bad things about me?”
Midori put herself between him and the children. “I’ve only told them the truth-that you left us because you don’t care about us.”
“That’s not true,” Hirata
protested. “I love them. I love you. I didn’t want to leave. But I had to.”
“I can’t listen to any more excuses!” Midori said. The baby in her arms started to cry. “I can’t take any more of your coming and going and lying! Go away!” She burst into tears. “Never come back again!”
30
Sano knelt at Reiko’s dressing table and looked in the mirror. His reflection belonged to an alien that wore white cotton bandages on its cheek and brow. The rest of its face was a bloated mask of garish purple bruises and red cuts, shiny with medicinal balm. Sano swallowed hard. He watched his hand rise to touch the alien’s split, puffy lips. He’d never been vain about his looks, but the extent of his injuries was appalling. His face seemed an ugly manifestation of his wicked thoughts about the shogun, his lapse of honor.
He abruptly turned away from the mirror as Detective Marume entered the room and said, “Lord Ienobu is here.”
Less than an hour had passed since Sano had sent Marume to ask Ienobu to visit him. “That was fast.” Sano was surprised that his voice sounded so normal when nothing else about him was.
“I didn’t have to go to his house. I met him inside the castle as I was leaving.”
Walking toward the reception room, Sano tried to chart his conversation with Ienobu, but his thoughts kept raging around the shogun, like a storm around its eye. He felt like a broken jar that had been put back together without glue. A slight tap could shatter him and let out the storm.
In the reception room, Ienobu’s hunchbacked figure knelt by the alcove. When he saw Sano, his eyes bulged with shock.
“Thank you for coming, Honorable Lord Ienobu.” Sano knelt and bowed.
“My heavens,” Ienobu said. “Does it feel as bad as it looks?”
“More or less.” Sano forced himself to think of his family, to discipline his emotions for their sake. Ienobu seemed plump with contentment, like a maggot that had just fed. “Are you as happy as you look?”
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