The Dragon King's Palace

by Laura Joh Rowland

  The Dragon King’s hand dropped from her neck. He stood and called to his men: “Take her back to the keep.”

  Such overwhelming relief swept through Reiko that her muscles went weak and a sigh gushed from her. Yet even as she silently thanked the gods, she knew the reprieve was only temporary.

  The men entered the room and surrounded Reiko. The Dragon King gazed upon her, his eyes burning and face dark with lust. “Good-bye until next time, my dearest Anemone,” he said.

  As the men led her away, Reiko prayed for a miracle to save her before the next time came.

  18

  The route to Izu branched southwest off the Tkaid and wound through mountainous, sparsely populated landscape. While Hirata and the detectives galloped along the road, the clouds dispersed, revealing brilliant blue sky, and the afternoon grew warm. Sunlight and shadow painted the cypress forests in vivid shades of green. Steam issued from cracks in the cliffs; hot springs bubbled across the rocky terrain; volcanoes breathed wisps of smoke. Tiny villages, clinging to hillsides, flashed past Hirata as his horse’s hooves thrummed under him. The wind roaring in his ears, the tumultuous speed, and the certainty that he was following the path to Midori, elated his spirit. Now he and Marume and Fukida brought their horses to a skittering halt at the junction between the main road and a narrower track that extended west and east into wilderness.

  In the sudden quiet stillness, Hirata heard birds singing. He saw, on the west side of the road, a niche carved into a cliff. The niche held a little stone statue of Jizo, the Shinto patron god of travelers.

  “There’s the shrine Goro mentioned,” said Fukida.

  “The kidnappers sent away the porters because they didn’t want anyone to see where they went from here,” Marume deduced. “They carried the chests themselves, down that crossroad. Which way do you think they went?”

  Eerie vibrations in the clear, bright air aroused Hirata’s instincts. He peered along the crossroad in one direction, then the other. An internal compass pointed him toward Midori. “This way,” he said, and rode ahead of his comrades down the westbound track.

  The track climbed a slope, then gradually descended and leveled. Cypress, pine, and oak forest narrowed the track and darkened the sunlight. Leading his comrades in single file, Hirata spied dung and trampled leaves on the ground ahead.

  “Someone recently brought horses this way,” he said. Moments later he glimpsed deep footprints in a stretch of bare, damp earth. “And someone carried a heavy object through here.” His heart beat fast with the increasing conviction that this road would take him to Midori and the other women, and that he would fulfill his duty to Sano and the shogun.

  After perhaps an hour’s ride, a blaze of sunshine through the trees heralded a clearing in the forest. Hirata, Fukida, and Marume dismounted and walked from cool shadow into warm daylight, blinking as their eyes adjusted. The track extended down a short incline, where tree roots protruded through grass and soil, and ended at a dock built of planks. Beyond this spread a marsh-rimmed lake. A breeze rippled the water, which gleamed like an alloy of gold, copper, and quicksilver. In the middle of the lake, some hundred paces distant from where Hirata and his men stood at the forest’s edge, was an island. From its shore jutted another dock surrounded by three small boats. Nearby rose what appeared to be a fortress comprised of white buildings with curved tile roofs, a stone wall, and guard towers, amid woods.

  Hirata, Marume, and Fukida gazed across the lake, their mouths agape and hands shading their eyes from the sun.

  “A castle on an island in the middle of nowhere?” Fukida said in a tone that expressed their disbelief.

  “It must be left over from the civil wars,” Marume said. “The forest and lake would protect the castle from attack.”

  “And it’s perfect for a prison,” Hirata said. A smile cracked the rigid mask of misery that had overlain his face since he’d heard the news of Midori’s abduction. New strength infused him, and his cold even seemed to abate, because his search had finally paid off. “This must be where the kidnappers took Midori, Reiko, Lady Keisho-in, and Lady Yanagisawa.”

  As he and his men beheld the castle, they saw no sign of the women, but a thin smoke plume drifted up from the rooftops. “The place is inhabited,” Marume said.

  Out the castle gate strode four samurai, armed with swords, bows, and quivers. Hirata, Marume, and Fukida quickly hid in the forest. They watched from behind trees as the samurai divided in pairs that marched in opposite directions along the island’s shore.

  “They’re patrolling,” Fukida said.

  “Maybe they don’t know that the wars are over,” Marume said, “but I bet they’re guarding the castle because they’ve got the shogun’s mother in there and they don’t want anybody trespassing.”

  Hirata, Fukida, and Marume looked at one another. They whooped with jubilation, threw playful punches, and danced in a circle—quietly, so the kidnappers wouldn’t hear them. Hirata rejoiced that Midori was so near.

  “We have to tell the ssakan-sama that we’ve found the kidnappers’ hideout,” said Marume. “Shall we head for home?”

  The idea collided against a barrier of resistance within Hirata. He turned away from the detectives and gazed through the trees, toward the island. He sensed Midori’s spirit calling to him from that mysterious castle. The irresistible summons, and his overwhelming desire to stay near his wife, rooted him where he stood.

  “We’re not leaving,” he said, facing Marume and Fukida. They regarded him with surprise. Marume said, “But the sMsakansama ordered us to report our discoveries to him.”

  Concern sharpened Fukida’s expression as he looked toward the castle, then back at Hirata. “You’re not thinking of going over there . . . are you?”

  Hirata clenched and unclenched his jaw. Beset by opposing motives, he balanced his weight on one foot, then the other.

  “We aren’t supposed to approach the kidnappers,” Fukida reminded him.

  “I know.” Hirata also knew that their duty to their master superseded all other considerations.

  “You wouldn’t go against his orders?” Marume said, clearly shocked that Hirata could even think of such heresy.

  A terrible, sick shame coursed through Hirata. Disobedience was the worst sin against Bushido. And defying Sano would not only compromise Hirata’s honor but also betray the trust of the man who was his closest friend as well as his master.

  “We can’t just leave,” he said. “By the time we reach Edo, the kidnappers might have moved the women elsewhere. We might never find them again.”

  Marume and Fukida nodded, acknowledging his rationale, but they exchanged troubled glances.

  “If the ssakan-sama knew the situation, he would change his orders,” Hirata said, convincing himself that this was so. “He’d want us to move in on the castle and attempt a rescue.”

  “We can’t know what he would want. Besides, the kidnappers said in their letter to the shogun that if anyone pursues them, they’ll kill the women.” Marume’s hesitant manner conveyed reluctance to disagree with Hirata, who outranked him.

  “They won’t see us coming,” Hirata said. “We’re only the three of us, not an army that would attract their notice.”

  “Three of us might not be enough,” Fukida said. He picked at his fingernails—his habit when nervous—but he spoke with the conviction of a samurai who recognized his duty to voice unpleasant truths to a superior. “We don’t know how many kidnappers there are. They survived a battle against the Tokugawa troops in Lady Keisho-in’s entourage, which means they’re good fighters. Suppose we get caught on the island. If we’re killed, we can’t rescue the women, or even tell the ssakan-sama where they are.”

  “He’s right,” Marume said.

  The two detectives stood ranged together against Hirata. “We won’t get caught,” he said. Angry at himself for defying Bushido, he grew angry at them for defying him. “Do you think I’m not capable of leading a successful raid?” The
fact that he had his own doubts about their chances of success made him even more furious. “Are you questioning my judgment?”

  “No, it’s not that,” Fukida hastened to say, although his expression belied his words.

  “Don’t you want to save the women?” Hirata demanded.

  “Of course we do,” Marume said. “We don’t want to slink back to Edo any more than you do.” His face, and Fukida’s, reflected the same hunger for action that burned in Hirata. “But we can’t disobey the ssakan-sama.”

  “Our honor is at stake,” Fukida said. The worst thing Hirata could do to his comrades was force them to break their samurai loyalty to Sano. He hated to cause Marume and Fukida such disgrace. But he feared that unless they helped him raid the island, all was lost. Even if Lord Niu had ordered the kidnapping, and his only intention was to separate Midori from Hirata, that didn’t mean she was safe. That the violent, unpredictable daimyo had never killed a family member didn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t, and the kidnappers had already proved themselves murderers during the ambush. Hirata couldn’t allow a delay that could cost the lives of Midori and their child. And he didn’t believe Sano would want him to abandon Reiko or the other women to the kidnappers.

  “The ssakan-sama put me in charge of this mission,” Hirata said. “As long as we’re away from him, you must obey me. I order you to help me invade the island and rescue the women. I’ll take responsibility for whatever happens.”

  Again Fukida and Marume looked at each other. Wordless communication passed between them. When they finally nodded to Hirata, he saw that they were relieved to have matters settled for them, and eager to begin the rescue expedition, if still not entirely convinced about the wisdom of it. He exhaled, feeling his own relief and gratitude.

  “How are we going to get across the lake?” Marume said.

  “We could swim,” Fukida said, his gaze measuring the distance over the water. “But we’ll need a way to transport the women to safety.”

  “What about those boats?” Marume pointed at the far dock.

  “I don’t think we should depend on them,” Hirata said. “If the worst happens and the kidnappers discover that we’re on the island before we can get the women off, they’ll guard the boats. We would all have to swim, and Midori can’t, especially in her condition.”

  “I wouldn’t gamble that the other women can swim, either,” Fukida said. “We could tow them, but that would slow down our escape and give the kidnappers a chance to spot us.”

  A vision of the three of them struggling to pull four women through the water, while the kidnappers fired arrows at them and chased them in the boats, momentarily quieted Hirata, Marume, and Fukida. No one speculated aloud about what hazards they might have to brave while locating the women, removing them from wherever they were imprisoned, and getting them as far as the shore.

  “We need our own boat that we can hide on the island and use to carry away the women,” Hirata said, concentrating on the problem at hand. He would worry about other obstacles later. He would also postpone worrying about what Sano would think when he found out Hirata had disobeyed his orders.

  “Should we ride back to the nearest village and see if the people have a boat to lend or sell us?” Marume said.

  “I’m not letting the island out of my sight for that long,” Hirata said.

  He looked around for an alternative, and his gaze lit on a fallen tree and slender saplings in the forest. “We’ll cut some logs and join them together to make rafts. Then we’ll wait until nightfall, row across the lake, and invade the island.”

  19

  In the Edo Castle sickroom, the maid Suiren lay in bed, inert and fragile beneath the blanket. Her closed eyes were sunken in dark hollows, her facial bones sharp under her pale skin. Sano knelt at one side of the bed, and Dr. Kitano at the other. They watched feeble breaths sigh through her parched, colorless lips. Incense smoke wafted over her, while the sorceress beat a tambourine and the priest recited healing spells. Vapor from simmering herbal infusions hazed the room.

  “Has her condition improved at all?” Sano asked doubtfully. He’d come to visit Suiren because this important witness to the crime had been forgotten in the turn of events caused by the ransom letter. He’d intended to follow up on Police Commissioner Hoshina’s attempt at questioning the lone survivor of the massacre, yet one look at Suiren had deflated his hope that she would provide any information whatsoever.

  “She’s no better but no worse,” Dr. Kitano said. “She has a remarkable constitution and a strong will to live, but she is still in grave danger.”

  “Has she regained consciousness?” Sano asked.

  “Not since Hoshina-san forced me to revive her.” Dr. Kitano’s stern face expressed disapproval. “He insisted on trying to make her tell him about the ambush, even though she was too weak and dazed. His rough handling could have killed her, had I not stopped him.”

  Sano was furious to hear how Hoshina had endangered Suiren’s life and jeopardized the investigation. Although a capable detective, Hoshina relied far too much on brute force. Sano wished Hoshina had never come to Edo. The man had hurt so many people, and not just Naraya’s daughter and everyone else on the list of deaths associated with him. The massacre and abduction stemmed from a wrong Hoshina had done. If Reiko, Midori, Keisho-in, and Lady Yanagisawa were murdered, their deaths would be partially his fault. Sano thought the only good thing about the situation was that Hoshina was locked away where he couldn’t do any more harm.

  “Has Suiren said anything in her sleep?” Sano asked.

  “No,” Dr. Kitano said.

  “Keep a constant watch on her,” Sano said. “If she does say anything, write it down. As soon as she regains consciousness, send word to my estate.”

  “Yes, ssakan-sama,” said Dr. Kitano.

  After one last glance at Suiren and a silent prayer for her recovery, Sano left the sickroom to finish Hoshina’s investigation of her. He wondered what other mistakes Hoshina had left for him to discover.

  The Edo Castle women’s quarters occupied a private, inner section of the palace known as the Large Interior. Here lived the shogun’s mother, his wife, his two hundred concubines, their attendants, and the palace’s female servants and officials—some thousand women in all. Sano presented himself at the door, which was made of iron-banded oak, decorated with carved flowers, and guarded by two soldiers. The Large Interior was barred to all men except a few trusted guards, doctors, officials, and messengers. Even Sano’s high rank didn’t permit him automatic access.

  “I want to see Madam Chizuru,” he told the sentries.

  They dispatched a messenger inside to fetch Madam Chizuru, the otoshiyori—chief lady official—of the Large Interior. Her duties included keeping vigil outside the shogun’s bedchamber while he slept with concubines, to ensure that they didn’t misbehave. She also kept order in the women’s quarters. Sano knew her reputation as an intelligent, able overseer who knew everyone in the Large Interior and missed little of what went on there. Soon she came to the door.

  “How may I serve you?” she said, bowing to Sano.

  Some fifty years of age and once a concubine to the previous shogun, Chizuru had graying hair worn in a knot atop her head. A modest gray kimono draped her sturdy, muscular physique. Her square face, thick, unshaven brows, and the dark hairs on her upper lip gave her a masculine appearance; but her deep voice was melodious, and her mouth daintily feminine.

  “I need you to tell me about Suiren, and show me her quarters,” Sano said.

  “As you wish.”

  Chizuru stepped aside, allowing him to enter the Large Interior. They walked down passages with polished cypress floors, through a labyrinth of chambers enclosed by latticed wood and paper walls. In the chambers, pretty young women lounged while maids fanned them. Doors stood open to the garden, where more women and attendants reposed under shade trees. Sano inhaled the odors of perfume, hair oil, and too many people crammed into too little space
. Wind chimes tinkled; female voices shrilled loudly. The kidnapping of their lord’s mother hadn’t quelled the restlessness of these women who were caged like prisoners with nothing to do but pass the time.

  “Did Police Commissioner Hoshina already question you?” Sano asked Chizuru.

  “He did.” Disapprobation compressed Chizuru’s mouth. “He accused Suiren of conspiring in the kidnapping.”

  “You don’t believe she did?” Sano said.

  “It’s not my place to have ideas that contradict those of my superiors,” Chizuru said primly.

  But Sano knew that an independent mind lurked under her discretion. “I daresay you know the women here better than Hoshina or anyone else does. Tell me what you think.”

  Emboldened, Chizuru said, “Suiren has attended Lady Keisho-in for more than thirty years. She’s devoted to her mistress. And she’s a kind, decent woman. The idea that she would help criminals kill her comrades and kidnap somebody is ridiculous.” Chizuru spoke with outright indignation.

  Sano trusted her opinion more than he did Hoshina’s. The theory that Suiren had told the Dragon King about the trip, and he’d spared her life as a reward, lost credibility for Sano. It was just like Hoshina to incriminate a woman who couldn’t speak for herself, despite the lack of evidence against her, just so his investigation would appear to be making progress!

  “This is where Suiren lives,” Chizuru said, leading Sano into a small chamber next to Lady Keisho-in’s quarters.

  The chamber was sparsely furnished with a lantern, a cabinet, and a low table that held a butsudan—a Buddhist altar comprised of a wooden cupboard that housed a sacred scripture. Around the butsudan sat incense burners and prayer books.

  “She’s very religious,” Chizuru said. “She plans to enter a convent when she’s too old to work.”

  Sano opened the cabinet and searched through the contents. These included bedding, a comb and brush, an inexpensive writing case, and garments as plain as nuns’ habits. He found nothing to counter Suiren’s good reputation.