Hoshina gave a dismal chuckle. “I hope you’ve got plenty of time, because this could take awhile.”
“I’ve got time.” Sano asked the guards to bring paper and writing supplies. Then, as Hoshina talked, Sano wrote a list. The final count spanned sixteen years and numbered thirty-eight men slain by Hoshina’s sword while he was trying to make arrests or maintain order. Some of their names he couldn’t recall. Information on their families and associates was sparse.
“That’s the best I can do,” Hoshina said.
Reviewing the list, Sano said, “These men you killed were gangsters, petty thieves, brawlers, and rioters. They were peasants, artisans, small-time merchants, a few rMnin—none wealthy, all members of the lower classes.”
“That’s the type that keeps the police busy,” Hoshina said. “The dregs of society.”
Discouragement filled Sano. “It seems unlikely that they would have friends or relatives capable of the massacre and kidnapping.”
“Besides, if people of their kind wanted revenge on me, they would attack me on the street, and they wouldn’t wait years to do me in,” Hoshina said. “They certainly wouldn’t concoct such an elaborate, dangerous plot. They haven’t the intelligence, let alone the nerve. Or the troops.”
Another consideration caused Sano to doubt that the list would point him to the kidnapper. “All the men you killed were citizens of Miyako,” he said. The ancient imperial capital was a fifteen-day journey from Edo.
“You know I lived in Miyako until three years ago,” Hoshina said. “I did most of my police service there.”
Sano knew he must determine whether any of the men killed by Hoshina had connections to someone in Edo who could have heard about Lady Keisho-in’s trip and organized the kidnapping. But he anticipated a long, fruitless search.
He said, “You haven’t killed anyone in Edo?”
“There’s been no reason,” Hoshina said. “I oversee the police force now. I don’t chase down criminals in the streets anymore.”
Sunlight pierced the clouds and slanted through the tower windows. The room was stiflingly hot; its walls oozed moisture. Sano rose and wiped sweat off his brow. He thought of Reiko imprisoned somewhere, probably under conditions worse than these. He thought of the unknown kidnapper waiting for Hoshina’s execution, ready to slay Reiko, Lady Keisho-in, Midori, and Lady Yanagisawa. Anxiety mounted in Sano because he and Hoshina hadn’t yet identified a single good suspect.
“Maybe the ransom letter doesn’t refer to a killing you committed with your own hands,” Sano said. “Were there any criminals you arrested who were later convicted and executed?”
He and Hoshina compiled a list of names that was longer than the first but posed the same problems. The dead men had all been of low class, and all Miyako residents—because the chiefpolice commissioner didn’t personally arrest criminals, and Hoshina hadn’t sent anyone to the execution ground since he’d come to Edo. None of his executed criminals had apparent connections to anyone wealthy or powerful enough to manage the kidnapping.
Sano controlled an urge to take out his frustration on Hoshina. He stood leaning against the wall and contemplated the other man, who gazed up at him in abject misery.
“Can you think ofany deaths you didn’t cause, but someone might still hold you responsible?” Sano asked.
Hoshina shook his head, then suddenly started as recollection hit him. “There was one man—a Miyako merchant named Naraya. About seven years ago I arrested his daughter for theft. She died in jail, awaiting trial. Some time later, I ran into Naraya in town. He said her death was my fault and he would make me pay. I’d forgotten about that. I probably wouldn’t have remembered now, except that last year I heard Naraya had moved his business to Edo.”
The merchant was a manufacturer and purveyor of soy sauce, Sano knew. He’d been unaware of a connection between Naraya and Hoshina, but had heard enough about Naraya to recognize that here at last was a candidate who fit his idea of the kidnapper.
“Naraya is one good suspect,” Sano said. His mood lifted, and his success stimulated his own memory of an incident two years ago. “How about Kii Mataemon?”
“He attacked me with his sword during that argument in the palace,” Hoshina said in a tone that spurned culpability. “The guards grabbed him before I had to fight him. It was his own fault that he died.” Drawing a weapon in the palace was a crime punishable by death, and Mataemon—son of the daimyo Lord Kii—had been forced to commit ritual suicide. “But I suppose his clan might blame me.”
Sano felt a spring of jubilation, for the Kii clan represented an even more promising lead than did the merchant. A stunned air came over Hoshina: He’d finally absorbed the fact that his enemies were responsible for the kidnapping and his troubles. During the whole conversation he’d stayed crouched in the same position, but now he sat flat on the floor, his legs extended. He gazed into the distance, like a man marooned on an island, watching a ship sail across the ocean to rescue him.
“I’ll interrogate the Kii clan and the merchant Naraya,” said Sano.
“Do it and rescue Lady Keisho-in before I go mad in here.” Hoshina jumped to his feet and prowled the room, as if the hope of deliverance had unloosed a restless energy. He stalked to a window, grasped the bars, and stared outside. “I wish there were something I could do to save myself.” A tortured cry burst from him: “I can’t bear this idleness!”
Then his posture slumped, and Sano understood that affairs of the heart weighed as heavily upon Hoshina as did the threat of death. Sano felt compelled to offer solace, despite every bad deed Hoshina had done him.
“Chamberlain Yanagisawa didn’t abandon you,” Sano said.
Hoshina spat a gust of disbelief. “You don’t see him breaking down the door to comfort or rescue me, do you? No—he’s lost all concern for me.”
“He told me to report to him after I talked to you,” Sano said.
“He just wants to know what I told you that might help him find the shogun’s mother.” Contempt withered Hoshina’s voice but didn’t hide his grief. “He can’t sully himself by associating with me, so he lets you do his dirty work. You’d better watch out that he doesn’t steal the credit for everything you accomplish.”
“He set us up for you to call in that favor and me to save your life,” Sano said.
Hoshina turned, still holding the window bars. He regarded Sano as if he’d lost his mind, then gave a glum chuckle. “No. That’s too devious even for the honorable chamberlain.” Hoshina resumed gazing outside, his head and clenched hands black against the sunlight that streamed around him. “He cut me loose the moment he read the ransom letter.”
Sano realized that in some ways he knew Yanagisawa better than Hoshina did. He also realized that trying to convince Hoshina that Yanagisawa hadn’t forsaken him was a waste of time.
“I’ll be going now,” Sano said, then called the guards to unbar the door. “If Naraya or the Kii clan is involved in the kidnapping, I’ll soon find out.”
Before leaving the castle, Sano stopped at Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s estate. The antechamber was crowded with officials who sat smoking and chatting while they waited to see the chamberlain. But a clerk hurried Sano past the other men and into the reception hall. There, Yanagisawa knelt on the dais. Secretaries held a scroll open on a writing desk before him. Three black-robed officials, seated below the dais, watched him ink his jade seal and stamp the document. When Yanagisawa saw Sano standing at the threshold, he dismissed the secretaries and officials. He gestured for Sano to kneel near him.
“Did you learn anything useful from the honorable police commissioner?” Yanagisawa said.
Sano noticed that Yanagisawa didn’t ask how Hoshina was. The chamberlain’s businesslike manner indicated that he cared only whether Hoshina had provided clues to the kidnapper’s identity. Perhaps Yanagisawa didn’t want to display personal concern for Hoshina when someone might overhear, but Sano wondered if Yanagisawa had indeed abandoned Hosh
ina. Certainly, the way he referred to Hoshina by title instead of name indicated that he considered their relationship a thing of the past. Sano thought he must have misjudged Yanagisawa.
“Here’s a list of all the deaths associated with Hoshina.” Sano handed the paper to the chamberlain. “We identified two primary suspects.” He named Naraya and the Kii clan, then described the deaths that had involved them and Hoshina. As he spoke, Yanagisawa listened intently but without comment. “I’m on my way to see them. Chances are that Naraya or someone in the Kii clan is . . .” Sano recalled the mysterious poem. “The Dragon King.”
A faint smile touched Yanagisawa’s lips. “What an apt name for the kidnapper.” He paused, chin in hand, mulling over the list. Then he appeared to reach a decision. “You interrogate the merchant,” he said. “Leave the Kii clan to me. We’ll meet tonight, at the hour of the boar, to compare results.”
Sano wondered if Yanagisawa did, after all, want to save Hoshina and mend their broken affair; but of course, his primary aim was to catch the kidnapper. Yanagisawa wanted credit for rescuing Lady Keisho-in, as Hoshina had suggested; and Sano recalled instances where his longtime adversary had appropriated facts he’d discovered. Though Sano cared less about who got credit than about saving the women, he worried that Yanagisawa might somehow jeopardize the investigation. Yet Sano had no control over Yanagisawa.
“As you wish,” Sano said. He bowed, rose, and left the room, anxious to solve the mystery himself and rescue the hostages before Yanagisawa did something to endanger Reiko.
16
“You shouldn’t have tried to escape,” Lady Keisho-in said, fixing a malevolent gaze on Reiko. “You were stupid to put us all in danger for nothing.”
Thunder boomed, and the tower shuddered. Lightning illuminated the prison in intermittent flashes, while rain cascaded down through the damaged ceiling. The women sat crowded together in the driest corner of the room. Reiko humbly bowed her head, deploring her own failure even more than Keisho-in did.
“But she couldn’t have known we were trapped on an island,” Midori said. When the guards had brought Reiko back to the prison, and she’d told the other women what had happened, Midori had wept with disappointment; but now she rose to Reiko’s defense. “It’s not her fault that our plan didn’t work.” Midori smiled wanly at Reiko. “I’m grateful to you for trying to save us.”
“Thank you,” Reiko said, appreciating Midori’s loyalty.
“Don’t make excuses for her,” Keisho-in rebuked Midori. “If she hadn’t misbehaved, those men might treat us better. They might at least feed us, or clean this room.” The kidnappers had brought no food since the pail of soup that Reiko had thrown at the boy, and the women were all starving because they’d not eaten since yesterday’s meal. The stink from waste buckets grew worse by the hour. “And what good are you, Midori-san? You just sit around like a quail ready to lay an egg. I don’t know why I ever wanted you on my trip.”
Chastened, Midori said, “I’m sorry.”
Keisho-in turned her ire on Lady Yanagisawa: “And you’re even more useless.” Fury sparked in her bloodshot old eyes. “When those men came, why didn’t you fight them the way you were supposed to?”
Lady Yanagisawa sat hunched in shame, her plain face bleak with misery. Reiko had just learned that the guards had come to the prison soon after she’d run away. They’d found their comrades tied up and unconscious, and herself missing. They’d taken the sword from Lady Yanagisawa, who’d meekly surrendered, and assailed the women with curses, threats, and demands to know where Reiko had gone.
“. . . I was afraid,” Lady Yanagisawa whispered, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry.” She turned a beseeching gaze on Reiko. “Will you please forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Reiko patted her shoulder. “You did right to surrender. Fighting would have done more harm than good.” Though dismayed by Lady Yanagisawa’s cowardice, Reiko was glad the kidnappers hadn’t hurt her friends.
“Next time I go on holiday, I won’t take any of you,” Keisho-in declared. “I’ll take strong, brave men who can get me out of trouble instead of into it!”
Reiko, Midori, and Lady Yanagisawa sat silent, avoiding one another’s gazes and forbearing to mention that none of them had wanted to accompany Keisho-in and would have stayed home if they could. None of them dared remind her that the kidnappers had slain her strong, brave bodyguards, or that there might not be a next time. Nor did they point out that she had eagerly approved Reiko’s plan until it failed, and venting her frustration on them didn’t improve their plight.
“As far as I’m concerned, you only made everything worse.” Keisho-in crossed her plump arms and pouted at Reiko.
Disconsolation filled Reiko because she couldn’t deny that Keishoin spoke the truth. She heard muttered conversation from the guards now stationed outside the door. Sounds of footsteps and stirring below indicated that other men inhabited the tower’s lower levels. Even if she somehow managed to get out of the room again, she could never sneak past them all. Reiko stretched out her legs and unhappily contemplated her naked feet. The guards had taken the shoes and socks from all the women. Even if they somehow located a boat and crossed the lake, how far could they get barefoot, before the kidnappers caught up with them?
Reiko mourned that her efforts had decreased their chances of gaining freedom. If she couldn’t save them, could anyone?
The merchant Naraya operated his soy sauce factory in the Kanda district, north of Edo Castle. The factory inhabited a building that had a shop at the front and occupied a block across the road from a canal, where barges floated along water edged with houseboats. Bridges led between populous neighborhoods on both sides of the canal.
Sano, riding up the street with four detectives, smelled the factory before he saw it. The rich, salty odor of soy sauce pervaded the warm air. He and his men dismounted outside the factory and ducked under the blue entrance curtain that bore Naraya’s name in white characters. Inside the store, ceramic jars filled shelves that lined the walls. Clerks waited on customers. Their chatter ceased as they saw the newcomers.
“I want to see Naraya,” Sano told a clerk. “Where is he?”
“He’s in the factory,” the clerk said, glancing at a curtained doorway at the rear of the room. “Shall I fetch him for you, master?”
“No, thank you. I’ll find him.” Sano wanted to catch his suspect off guard. As he led his men through the doorway, he counseled himself against jumping to conclusions about Naraya. He’d already erred in blaming the Black Lotus for the kidnapping. He couldn’t afford another mistake that would sidetrack the investigation. He must not ruin his chance for a fresh start.
They entered the cavernous factory. Smoke and steam diffused the sunshine from the windows and skylights. Aromas wafted from vats of soybeans boiling on charcoal hearths and wheat roasting in ovens. Sweating workers, clad in loincloths and headbands, poured steaming beans onto wooden pallets, ground the wheat in mortars, lugged tubs of malt and brine, and mixed the ingredients. Amid the activity bustled a middle-aged man dressed in a blue kimono.
“Gently, gently!” he admonished workers who were straining viscous, fermented brew through cloth bags. “Treat the product with respect, or it’ll go bad.”
His authoritative manner identified him as Naraya. He paused at a row of barrels, tasted their contents, then shook his head. “Not ready yet,” he told the workers. “Let the spirit of the soy sauce develop longer.”
Then Naraya caught sight of Sano and the detectives. Hastening over to them, he bowed and said, “Good day, masters. How may I serve you?”
Closer inspection showed Sano that Naraya was some fifty years old, with droopy cheeks and jowls. His skin, teeth, sparse gray hair, and the whites ofhis eyes had a brown tinge, as though he’d absorbed the soy sauce he manufactured. Brown stains discolored his fingernails and cheap cotton robes. Despite his status as one of Edo’s wealthy, prominent merchants, Naraya looked li
ke a small-time shopkeeper.
Sano introduced himself, then said, “I’m investigating the kidnapping of Lady Keisho-in, and I need your assistance.”
“Oh. I see.” Naraya spoke in a hushed tone that recognized the gravity of Sano’s purpose, but he frowned as though mystified. “Of course I’ll gladly do whatever I can. May I first offer you and your men some tea at my house?”
“Let’s just step outside.” Sano didn’t want to waste time on formalities. As he and his detectives followed Naraya out the back door, Sano observed that Naraya’s confusion seemed genuine, as did his willingness to cooperate. Was Naraya therefore not the kidnapper? But if he was, he would have anticipated that the ransom letter would direct suspicion toward Police Commissioner Hoshina’s enemies. He would have expected to be questioned, and prepared to act innocent.
They gathered in the alley between the factory and a warehouse. Trash containers, privy sheds, and night-soil bins fouled the air, but the alley was quiet and afforded Sano the privacy he wanted.
“This kidnapping is a terrible, terrible disaster,” Naraya lamented. “Such evil forces plague this world of ours. Your wife was among the ladies taken, wasn’t she?” he asked Sano. When Sano nodded, sympathy oozed from Naraya. “My sincere condolences.”
“Thank you.” Sano scrutinized the merchant. He wanted Naraya to be the Dragon King; he wanted to believe Naraya could deliver Reiko to him. He reminded himself that there were other suspects and he must not rush to judgment again.
“Tell me how I can help,” Naraya said, flinging open his arms. “Whatever you want of me, name it, and it’s yours.”
Was he sincere, or putting on a good show? Naraya seemed too ordinary to be the Dragon King, who’d assumed monstrous proportions in Sano’s mind. But a successful merchant, expert at bargaining with customers, was as good at theatrics as many a Kabuki performer.
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