Laura Joh Rowland - Sano Ichiro Samurai Detective 01 - Shinju

by Shin

  "Now that you are on the path to glory, I can leave this world willingly, with a peaceful mind," his father added softly, as if to himself.

  Sano's anger died; guilt remained. He realized that his father had fought illness and held on to life just long enough to see him settled. Now the old man was giving up. How could Sano jeopardize the position that was supposed to secure the future his father wanted for him? How could he pursue a course that was bound to put him at odds with those who now controlled that future? The answer was simple enough: he couldn't. His father's spirit would never forgive him. The murder investigation wasn't worth that; truth and justice wouldn't bring Noriyoshi and Yukiko back to life. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he failed in the obligation that his own name set out for him.

  Ichiro. First-born son.

  And, since he was an only child, the burden of filial duty rested on him alone.

  Chapter 7

  The eighteenth day of the twelfth month, Genroku year one," Sano dictated. "Record of the day's police activities." He proceeded to summarize the reports given him by the doshin. "Total arrests: forty-seven. Seventeen for disorderly conduct, twelve for theft, eight for mistreating or killing dogs, six for assault, three for adultery, one for prostitution outside the licensed quarter.

  "Two samurai-one disorderly conduct, one assault-were placed under house arrest. The commoners were remanded to Edo Jail. The heads of all three adultresses have been shaved, and their husbands granted divorces."

  When Tsunehiko handed him the finished report, he affixed his seal to it. "Take this to Magistrate Ogyu's office. Then you may go home. That's all for today."

  He suppressed a yawn, rubbing his eyes. They felt gritty and sore from lack of sleep. Last night he hadn't returned to the barracks. Instead he'd stayed at his parents' house, alternately sitting at his father's bedside, bathing the old man's face and administering herb tea to ease the pain, and lying awake listening to the coughs that shook the house.

  Tsunehiko hovered in the doorway. "Yoriki Sano-san, we didn't do any investigating today," he said. "What about tomorrow?"

  "I'm afraid we won't be doing any more, Tsunehiko." This time the yawn escaped, and Sano covered his mouth. "Not tomorrow, or ever."

  Tsunehiko's face mirrored Sano's own unhappiness. "Why not? It was so much fun!"

  Having spent the entire night convincing himself of the rightness of dropping the investigation, Sano didn't want to think or talk about it. So he only said, "Because duty and obligation dictate otherwise," knowing that Tsunehiko, with his own samurai upbringing, would accept this explanation without question.

  After Tsunehiko had left, Sano cleared his desk, then crossed the courtyard to the barracks. The weather had turned warmer, bringing the promise of spring. The late afternoon sun shone golden from a sky filled with puffy white clouds. In Yoshiwara, the nightlong festivities would have already begun. The yujo-those exquisite, expensive prostitutes-would beckon customers from the windows of the pleasure houses. One, he knew, Wisteria of the Palace of the Heavenly Garden, held the key to Noriyoshi's and Yukiko's murders.

  Sano resolutely forced the thought away. He would go right to bed, without even eating dinner. When he entered his room, however, he hesitated before the cabinet that held his bedding. Tired as he was, he knew sleep would elude him while he wondered about Wisteria. Slowly he opened the cabinet and took out the futon and quilts, but stopped short of spreading them on the floor. He reminded himself of all the reasons he should not go to Yoshiwara. His father. His future. Duty, honor. But his desire for knowledge only grew stronger, until he could no longer deny it satisfaction. With a sudden recklessness, he dropped the bedding and went to the cabinet where his clothes were stored. He donned a long gray cloak and a wide, face-concealing straw hat. He gathered up all his cash-not only because spending time in Yoshiwara could get expensive, but because he might have to bribe someone for the information he wanted. Then he walked to the stables to get his horse. He would take the faster land route this time, instead of the slow ferry.

  As he mounted his horse, he realized that, despite his firm resolutions, he'd meant to do this all along. Today he'd carried out his administrative duties without deviation from procedure or custom. But the one thing he hadn't done was complete the report that would close the investigation into Noriyoshi's and Yukiko's deaths.

  "One last interview can't hurt," he rationalized aloud, surprising the grooms. "After this, I'll stop."

  Still, he couldn't quite shake his guilt or his premonition of impending disaster.

  Nighttime Yoshiwara more than lived up to Sano's memories. Beneath a fading crimson sunset, Naka-no-cho glittered with life and excitement. Lanterns blazed from the eaves. Restaurants, their doors thrown wide open, emitted the delicious smells of all possible foods-fried noodles, grilled fish and shrimp, and sweet cakes among them-to tempt the strolling crowds. Raucous laughter erupted from the teahouses; each window framed a tableau of joking, posturing men tossing back cups of sake. Beautiful yujo in gaudy kimonos filled the window cages of the pleasure houses like so many exotic butterflies, with groups of hungry-eyed men loitering before them. The women flirted with the men in shrill voices. From the lighted rooms behind the women, samisen music issued: a few lucky men had already chosen their companions, and the parties had begun.

  Sano found the Palace of the Heavenly Garden without difficulty: it was the largest house on the street. With its carved beams and pillars painted red and accented with yellow and green, it resembled a Chinese temple. Above the entrance, two resplendent dragons held between them a red banner that announced the house's name in gold characters. Sano pushed through the crowd that stood three deep in front of the window and saw that the women inside were even more beautiful than the others.

  "Honorable lady, where can I find Wisteria?" he called to the nearest, a very young girl dressed in a red kimono printed with white, lucky characters. According to custom, yujo were treated with the high respect usually accorded to noblewomen.

  Red Kimono pouted daintily. "The Lady Wisteria, master? What can she offer you that I cannot?" Her stilted, formal style of speech was the same one all Yoshiwara prostitutes used to their customers. "Surely a warrior as masculine and discerning as yourself would prefer a delicate maiden who has just reached the flowering of her womanhood?"

  She fluttered her fan, coyly shielding her face with it in a manner just as clich‚d as her speech. The other women giggled, waiting for Sano's response.

  Gathering his patience, Sano said, "I meant no insult to you, my lady." No matter how meaningless the courtesans' flattery or how-brazen their invitations, one always replied with courtesy. To do otherwise ran counter to Yoshiwara tradition and invited the anger of their owners, who banned rude patrons from the pleasure houses. "But I need to talk to Wisteria."

  "Talk? He comes here to talk?"

  More giggles.

  Sano decided that the best thing to do was identify himself and state his business. "I am Yoriki Sano Ichiro from the police department. I must speak to Wisteria about an official matter. Can you send word to her that I am here?"

  Red Kimono was unimpressed, and obviously piqued at having wasted her effort on a noncustomer. Dropping her flirtatious manner, she said, "In your own sphere, others must do your bidding, yoriki. But I am not your servant." The other women giggled again. "Unless. "

  Her disdainful gaze moved over him, taking in his simple cloak and hat. A haughty smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

  Unless you have the money to pay, it implied, and I can see that you don't.

  "Please," Sano said. "It's very important. I have to talk to her about Noriyoshi."

  At the mention of Noriyoshi's name, Red Kimono's smile vanished. She nodded curtly. Turning to the room behind her, she beckoned. She whispered to a maid that appeared beside her. A moment later, the maid opened the door, bowing to Sano.

  "Go with her," Red Kimono said.

  Sano stepped into the en
tryway of the Palace of the Heavenly Garden, where he removed his shoes. As he placed his swords on the rack, he remembered that safety, as well as etiquette, dictated that they must not enter the house. An unhappy yujo might try to escape her enforced servitude by committing suicide with an unattended weapon.

  In the large salon, women and their customers reclined on bright silk cushions scattered over the floor, chatting and laughing. A samisen player performed a popular love song. Maids circulated with plates of delicacies and poured sake. Coins clinked as lavish tips passed from the customers-rich merchants, by the look of their opulent clothing-to the maids. Sano followed his escort through this room and out a sliding door onto the roofed veranda.

  The veranda faced a garden that must have been the site of many parties in spring, when its cherry trees dropped blossoms over the lawn, upon the stone lanterns, and into the ornamental pond with a small temple on an island in the middle. Now, with winter not yet gone, it was deserted. But lanterns burned from the verandas of the buildings that surrounded it-one above every door. Lights glowed through the windows. Laughter issued faintly from a few of the rooms, where some yujo had already begun entertaining their customers in private.

  The maid pointed to a door at the back left corner. "There, sir."

  Sano walked along the veranda to the door and knocked. He waited. No laughter emanated from this room, only a listening silence. Then:

  "Come in." It was a woman's voice, forced cheerfulness evident even in the short phrase.

  Sano entered, bowing to the woman who knelt before a lacquer dressing table. "Good evening, Lady Wisteria."

  She had turned a welcoming smile toward him; now it faded. "I was expecting someone else," she said. "Who are you?" Unlike Red Kimono's, her speech was plain, uninflected Edo- perhaps because he'd surprised her.

  Sano bowed again and introduced himself, while covertly studying Wisteria. She didn't fit his preconceived picture of Noriyoshi's lady friend. He'd imagined a woman long past her prime, who played the role of mother to her clients. But Wisteria was no more than twenty, and clearly a yujo of the first rank. She wore a lavish black-and-white-checked silk brocade kimono with a bold pattern of lavender wisteria blossoms and pale green leaves spilling diagonally from her left shoulder to the hem. It was obviously expensive. Her eyes, unusually round, made her piquant face exotic, provocative. The large, airy room reflected her status and set off her beauty. It was filled with luxurious furnishings: silk quilt and futon, carved lacquer chests and cabinets, painted lanterns. The alcove held a branch of dried winter berries in a creamy celadon vase that was surely the work of a master potter, and a scroll bearing classic Chinese verse in the unmistakable hand of a famous Kyoto calligrapher.

  "I'm here about your friend, Noriyoshi," Sano said, turning from his examination of the room and back to her face.

  Her eyes, liquid and luminous, seemed to darken. Turning abruptly to the round mirror on her dressing table, she picked up a comb and began to arrange her hair, drawing the long, shining black mass up at the sides into a complicated loop at the back. Her movements had a languid, sensuous quality that Sano found extremely erotic and arousing, despite his preoccupation with the murder case.

  "I refuse to discuss Noriyoshi. And I'm expecting a guest." Her voice trembled. "So get out. Now."

  The sadness and absence of animosity in her voice told Sano that grief, not anger, had provoked her rude dismissal. He hesitated, unwilling to cause her pain. But he didn't want to leave without learning what she knew.

  Wisteria flung her comb to the floor and faced him. "Well? What are you waiting for?" Tears glistened in her eyes. "If you've come to tell me that Noriyoshi committed suicide for love of some silly little upper-class goose, and that his body will be put out on the riverbank for people to gawk at. well, I already know. The story is all over the quarter. So go. Leave me in peace."

  Sano decided to tell her as much of the truth as possible. "Noriyoshi didn't commit suicide. He was murdered."

  She stared at him. Sounds from the next room filled the silence: samisen music, with a male and a female voice singing softly. Her face registered first disbelief, then dawning hope.

  "Murdered?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Can this be true? How do you know?"

  "I can't tell you that," Sano said. He didn't know if he could trust her, and he didn't want the story of the dissection spread around Yoshiwara. "But it's true." He knelt beside her. "I want to find out why he was killed, and by whom. Will you help me?"

  "How?"

  "Tell me everything you know about Noriyoshi: his family background, what kind of man he was. Who his enemies were, and why one of them might have wanted to kill him."

  Wisteria's eyes took on a faraway look. She began to run her fingers through her hair. Maybe the action was a nervous habit, but everything about her suggested sex-her luxurious room with the bed ready, her faint, flowery scent, her rosy mouth. Sano, watching her slender, soft hands, couldn't help imagining them caressing his body. He shifted nervously. The room seemed very warm.

  "Everyone thinks Noriyoshi was a hustler who cared only for himself and his deals," she said. "Mention his name, and they do this."

  Looking over her shoulder as if to make sure no one was watching, she smiled slyly and pretended to count money from an imaginary hand into her own. The vulgar pose looked incongruous on someone so elegant, but it gave Sano a vivid picture of what Noriyoshi must have looked like alive.

  "But he was different with me." She paused, then went on in a lower voice. "I came to Edo from Dewa Province when I was ten. My father sold me to a brothel's procurer because his crops had failed that year and he couldn't afford to feed me as well as my mother and my four brothers. I started out as a maid here at the Heavenly Garden. Do you know what that was like?"

  Sano nodded. Young girls, unless they showed extraordinary promise, were virtual slaves in the pleasure houses. They worked long, hard hours cleaning the rooms, helping in the kitchens, and running errands. All for inadequate food and shelter. Many died before they reached maturity; most of the others could hope to rise no higher than maid or second-class prostitute. Few became celebrated first-rank yujo, and even fewer ever gained independence from the men who owned them.

  "I met Noriyoshi a year later, when he came to the house to deliver some shunga for the ladies to show their customers. He stopped in the kitchen for some tea, and I was there peeling vegetables." A smile of reminiscence touched Wisteria's lips. "He asked me my name, where I was from. He must have known I was hungry; I was so thin my bones showed." She touched the smooth rich flesh at her collarbone. "And my hair had started to fall out.

  "After that, he brought me food every day when no one was watching. I was afraid that he would stop, but he didn't. I got healthy again. My hair grew back. And Noriyoshi started to walk with me when I left the house on errands. He made me laugh at his jokes. And he started teaching me how to move, how to smile, how to talk to men. I must have learned my lessons well, because one day my owner said I didn't have to work in the kitchen anymore. He had the maids dress me up in fine clothes. And from then on. "

  Her hand gestured toward her room and herself. "You know the rest of the story."

  "Yes." Sano could guess how Noriyoshi, with his artist's eye, had spotted Wisteria's potential. He'd saved her from a harsh fate. But not unselfishly: he'd no doubt put her in his debt in order to avail himself of her favors. Sano's eyes went to the neckline of her kimono, where the swell of her breasts began. The blood surged to his loins. For a moment, he almost envied the dead man.

  Wisteria's sharp glance rebuked him. "I know what you're thinking," she snapped. "But it wasn't like that. Noriyoshi was never my lover. He preferred men, you see."

  That could explain the drawing on the artist's desk, Sano thought.

  "When I heard how he died, I was angry," Wisteria said sadly. "Not because he'd fallen in love with that girl, or because she had managed to make him want her the way he never wanted
me. But because he never told me. Never confided in me, the way he did about everything else. And now that you tell me he was murdered"-she swallowed- "I feel so ashamed of my anger."

  Sano looked away tactfully as she struggled to control her tears. He was about to ask her again who Noriyoshi's enemies were, when someone rapped on the door.

  Wisteria jumped to her feet. "Quick, quick!" She opened the cabinet door and gestured for Sano to get inside. "It's my client. He mustn't find you here."

  From inside the dark cabinet, Sano heard her slide open the door. He heard a low male voice, and Wisteria making excuses. ". indisposed. sorry. Perhaps tomorrow night. many thanks." The rustle of silk as they embraced. What would it feel like to hold her himself? He was glad when the door slid shut again, interrupting his fantasy. He stepped out of the cabinet to see Wisteria unceremoniously toss her client's gift-a silk fan-on the dressing table.