The Iris Fan

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Marume yelled. Lights swung. In their path appeared a brief image of Marume covered with blood, arms thrown out, falling. Sano was horrified, and not just because Marume was his only ally tonight and among the few retainers he had left; he’d discharged the others when he was demoted and his government stipend reduced. Marume had been his friend for twenty years. Heedless of his own safety, Sano leapt off his mount. He faltered through the tumult of hooves pounding and blades slicing at him, desperate to save Marume.

  Marume staggered up from the ground. “I’m all right! My horse was cut.”

  The other men jumped off their horses. Kuzawa grabbed Sano from behind. Sano struggled, but he couldn’t break the young man’s grip. Setsubara and Ono wrestled Marume to the ground. His face red with horse blood, Marume shouted curses. Setsubara and Ono bound his wrists. Kuzawa tied Sano’s wrists so tight that the rope cut into his flesh. Sano glared helplessly at Manabe.

  “Four against two—are you really that stupid?” Manabe scoffed. He told his men, “We’ll take them to Lord Ienobu. He’ll want to deal with them personally.”

  The men boosted Sano and Marume onto Sano’s horse, knotted rope around them so they couldn’t escape, and confiscated the swords they’d dropped.

  “You think you know so much, but you don’t know anything,” Manabe said with a pitying look at Sano. “You’re going to wish you’d minded your own business.”

  2

  ESCORTED BY IENOBU’S men, Sano entered Edo some three hours before midnight. He was glad of the bad weather; there was no one around to see him and Marume tied onto his horse like captured criminals and to throw stones.

  Edo, home to a million citizens, still showed the effects from the eruption of Mount Fuji two years ago. The sky had rained sand and pebbles all night and by morning the city was ankle-deep in ash. Houses built since the great earthquake five years ago were grimy with ash that the wind still blew in from the mountains. The ash turned the wet snow on the streets and the tile roofs gray.

  The castle occupied a hill that rose above the city, its buildings constructed on ascending tiers up to the peak. Lights shone from the windows of covered corridors atop the retaining walls around each tier. Snowflakes scintillated in the lights and swirled around the guard towers. The castle looked like hazy rings of golden stars between layers of darkness. Sano had once lived there but hadn’t been inside since he’d been banned from court. When they reached the moat, Manabe’s men untied Sano and Marume. They left Marume to ride home and marched Sano up to the gate. Sano looked back on twenty years of some difficult but mostly good times inside this fortress. Here he’d brought Reiko as his bride and they’d fallen in love. Both their children had been born here. He’d risen from the shogun’s chief investigator to chamberlain and second-in-command.

  This wasn’t like coming home. It was like entering the enemy camp. The good times were over, his family life in shambles.

  Sentries opened the gate. Manabe walked Sano up through stone-walled passages to the shogun’s heir’s residence in the western fortress, on the tier of the hill just below the palace at the peak. The building had white-plastered, half-timbered walls, wings connected by corridors, and a curved tile roof. Icicles on pine trees outside dripped water on snow-glazed grass. Flames burned in stone lanterns along the gravel path. Here Yoshisato had died in the fire that had burned down the residence more than four years ago. Rebuilt, it was now home to Lord Ienobu.

  Manabe’s three henchmen guarded Sano in the courtyard while Manabe went to notify Lord Ienobu. Soon Manabe escorted Sano into the reception chamber, a long room with a lattice-and-paper wall on one side and wooden sliding exterior doors opposite. Two men sat on a dais furnished with gold-inlaid metal lanterns and satin brocade cushions, backed by a mural that depicted a garden of brilliant red and orange peonies on a gold background.

  “Here we go again, Sano-san,” Lord Ienobu said. “You keep disobeying my orders and getting caught.” With his stunted figure, jutting elbows, and the hump on his back, dressed in a green and gold kimono, he blended into the mural behind him—a cricket amid the flowers. He looked much older than his forty-eight years. His upper teeth protruded above a tiny lower jaw; his deformities stemmed from a hereditary, painful bone condition. “When are you going to learn your lesson?” His tight, raspy voice sounded squeezed out of him, like a cricket’s chirp. In the two years since Sano had last seen him, he’d gained weight, as if fattened by a rich diet of power. Maybe he looked more like a maggot, Sano thought. “Are you getting slow on the uptake in your old age?”

  Manabe pushed Sano to his knees. Charcoal braziers under the tatami floor breathed heat through iron grilles, but Sano, chilled to the bone, took no comfort from it. Angry at the futility of his own stubbornness as well as at Ienobu for mocking and punishing him, Sano said, “When are you going to stop denying that you’re responsible for Yoshisato’s death? Do you really think you can get away with it forever?”

  Ienobu grimaced in impatience. “I am not responsible. That woman Korika set the fire.”

  “She said in her dying confession that you put her up to it,” Sano said.

  Chamberlain Yanagisawa, the other man on the dais, responded in a suave voice, “And who heard this dying confession?”

  “My wife,” Sano said. His temper boiled at the challenge from Yanagisawa.

  They’d been enemies for twenty years. From the outset Yanagisawa had viewed Sano as his rival for political power, and he’d developed an extreme hatred toward Sano. Sano’s own antagonism toward Yanagisawa stemmed from Yanagisawa’s attacks on him and his family. Their feud had escalated when Yanagisawa had tried to pass his son off as the shogun’s son. It was a fraud that Sano couldn’t let slide even though the shogun had accepted Yoshisato, the cuckoo’s egg. Not only would Yanagisawa’s gaining control over the regime mean doom for Sano, it was a crime against the lord that Sano was duty-bound to serve. Bushido demanded that Sano redress it no matter that Yoshisato was dead. And now Yanagisawa was committing yet another breach of honor by allying with Ienobu, the man responsible for the murders of both Yoshisato and the shogun’s daughter.

  Sano couldn’t figure out why.

  “Oh, well, then.” Yanagisawa’s look said that of course a wife would lie to support her husband.

  Sano studied Yanagisawa, whom he hadn’t seen in four years. At age fifty-one, Yanagisawa exemplified how handsome a man can remain as he gets older. Red and bronze satin robes infused color into his skin, still firm over strongly modeled bones. Silver threads in his glossy black hair enhanced his masculine beauty. But his eyes, which had once gleamed as if made of liquid darkness, were now dry and hot like stones baked in a fire. Viewing him and Lord Ienobu side by side, Sano had the odd sense that Ienobu thrived by sucking Yanagisawa’s marrow.

  “Why are you so quick to believe he’s innocent?” Sano pointed at Ienobu. “He had the best motive for Yoshisato’s murder. It cleared the way for him to become the next shogun.”

  “So you told me more than four years ago,” Yanagisawa said with a tired air. “So you’ve been saying ever since, to anyone who’ll listen.”

  “May I remind you again, there’s no evidence that anyone besides Korika was involved in the arson,” Lord Ienobu said.

  “How did she get to the heir’s residence, set it on fire, and leave without being caught?” Sano demanded. “The residence was heavily guarded. And there’s new evidence that she had help.” He explained about Manabe and the other men. “I think they killed Yoshisato’s guards. That’s why Korika wasn’t caught.”

  “My men have an alibi,” Ienobu said.

  “Your men are one another’s alibi. There’s nothing else to prove they weren’t at the heir’s residence murdering Yoshisato.”

  “There’s nothing to prove they were, either,” Ienobu said

  “I say Manabe and his henchmen killed Yoshisato as well as the guards, and the fire only disguised the real cause of their deaths.”

  Yana
gisawa shook his head sadly. “You’ve come up with some wild stories in the past, but this time you’ve gone completely insane.”

  “Me? That’s the coal calling the ink black! You’re the one who wanted to put Yoshisato at the head of the regime. You’re the one who lost your chance to rule Japan when Yoshisato died. Lord Ienobu was Yoshisato’s rival and your enemy, yet you joined forces with him when Yoshisato’s ashes were barely cold!” Perplexed, Sano said, “Why?”

  The arid heat in Yanagisawa’s eyes flared, as if with anger smoldering beneath his calm façade. “I’ve let bygones be bygones. You really should try it. It would make your life easier.”

  “How could you? I know you cared about Yoshisato. I saw how upset you were when you saw his burned corpse.” Yanagisawa grimaced, as if more vexed at Sano for bringing up trivia than grieved by the loss of his son. Lord Ienobu watched them complacently. “It wasn’t just because you’d lost your political pawn. You loved him.” A father himself, Sano recognized paternal love when he saw it. And Sano had contended with Yanagisawa for so long that they were almost mystically attuned to each other. “You were devastated that Yoshisato was gone. How could you sell him out by allying with his enemy?”

  “Lord Ienobu and I were enemies, yes,” Yanagisawa said smoothly, “but we decided it would be best for both of us if we teamed up.”

  “You mean you decided to hitch your cart to the shogun’s new heir.”

  “If you cooperated with Lord Ienobu instead of beating your head against a stone wall,” Yanagisawa said, “you would be better off. And so would your family.”

  His family was the only reason Sano regretted opposing Ienobu. They’d suffered badly on account of it.

  “You really should have accepted the deal I offered you,” Lord Ienobu said.

  Several times he’d offered Sano respectable posts in the regime in exchange for ceasing the campaign to prove him guilty of Yoshisato’s murder and knock him out of line for the succession. Sano had turned Ienobu down flat. It was a point of contention between Sano and Reiko.

  Angry at Yanagisawa and determined to shake some sense into him, Sano asked, “Don’t you want to avenge Yoshisato’s death? Why won’t you help me bring his murderer to justice? You owe it to the shogun, if not to Yoshisato or yourself. You’re a miserable excuse for a samurai!”

  “False accusations against Lord Ienobu didn’t get me on your side. Insults certainly won’t.” The hostility in Yanagisawa’s eyes said he hadn’t forgotten their two decades of bad blood. Maybe the bad blood was enough to make him think Ienobu was innocent rather than believe anything Sano said, but Sano sensed something terribly off about Yanagisawa.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Sano asked in honest, concerned bewilderment.

  Lord Ienobu raised a hand. “Sano-san, you’ve used up your last chance to stop your ridiculous investigation. I’m going to put an end to it once and for all.”

  “How? You’ll kick me out of the regime?” Sano laughed scornfully. “If you could, you already would have. The fact that I’m still here must mean the shogun either still has some affection for me or he isn’t sure I’m wrong about you. You can demote me to cleaning toilets, but I’ll prove you’re guilty of murder and treason.”

  Lord Ienobu grinned; his lips peeled back from his protruding teeth. “Things have changed. I’ve been appointed Acting Shogun. Until His Excellency recovers from the measles, I have the power to do as I like.”

  Sano was too shocked to hide his dismay. “Appointed by whom?”

  Yanagisawa smiled, sharing Ienobu’s triumph. “The Council of Elders.” The four old men on the Council comprised Japan’s principal governing body and the shogun’s top advisors. “They decided Lord Ienobu should take charge temporarily.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Today.”

  The lower Sano fell, the longer it took news to trickle down to him. He’d unwittingly made a bad mistake by going after Manabe and his henchmen tonight, when the stakes had just risen drastically. A cold, dreadful hollow formed in Sano’s gut. He’d been courting disaster for more than four years, and now it was here.

  Lord Ienobu opened his mouth to pronounce the words that would make Sano a rōnin—masterless samurai—and strip him of his livelihood and his place in society. Thrown out on the streets, his family would starve and Sano would forever lose his chance to bring Lord Ienobu to justice. Yanagisawa wore a strange smile—glee mixed with pain. Before Ienobu could speak or Sano could protest, Manabe rushed into the room.

  “Excuse me, my lord. There’s an emergency in the palace. The shogun has been stabbed!”

  3

  SHOCKED SILENCE GREETED the news that Sano couldn’t believe. Security in the palace was the tightest in Japan. How could someone have stabbed the shogun? Sano’s shock turned to horror, and not just because his lord, the reason for a samurai’s existence, had been attacked. If the shogun was dead, then Lord Ienobu was the new dictator. Sano wouldn’t just lose his place in the regime and his samurai status, Lord Ienobu would put Sano and his family to death before the funeral rites for the old shogun were over.

  Ienobu gaped. Elation visibly rose up in him like gas bubbles in stagnant pond water as he saw his dream of ruling Japan within reach.

  Yanagisawa looked like he’d been shot. His handsome face was pale, drained of blood. Sano frowned in surprise. After supporting Ienobu for more than four years, Yanagisawa should be thrilled by the news of the stabbing, but he obviously wasn’t. He didn’t even seem glad that Ienobu’s rise to power would mean the end of Sano. His stricken eyes focused inward.

  “Is my uncle…?” Lord Ienobu’s voice trailed off as if he dared not speak the word. He held it in his mouth like a child savoring a piece of candy.

  “Dead?” Manabe said. “No. But he’s seriously injured.”

  An avalanche of relief overwhelmed Sano.

  “What happened?” Yanagisawa spoke in a strange, toneless voice.

  Manabe shook his head. Lord Ienobu said, “We’d better go to the palace and find out.” He scuttled out the door faster than Sano had ever seen him move.

  Yanagisawa hurried after him; Sano followed. Manabe stuck close behind Sano, in case Sano should decide to bolt. The night echoed with yells as troops stationed throughout the castle spread the news. Ienobu’s hunched figure led the rush along the dim passage up the hill through falling snow. The palace compound was lit up as if for an unholy festival. Soldiers stood around the tile-roofed, half-timbered building. Their lanterns and torches splayed yellow light on the snowy grass, shrubs, and paths. Their silence was eerie, their anxiety palpable.

  “Let us through!” Yanagisawa said.

  He and Lord Ienobu, Sano, and Manabe sped into the palace, through a maze of corridors where frightened servants huddled and more troops stood guard. Sentries admitted them to the shogun’s private quarters. Moans filled the passage along which Sano and his companions raced. The paper wall of the shogun’s bedchamber was bright with lights behind it. The lattice crisscrossed the moving shadows of people inside. The sliding door was open; the moans issued from it. Lord Ienobu and Yanagisawa bumped against each other in their hurry to enter. When Sano crossed the threshold, the smells hit him—diarrhea and the salty sweet, iron odor of blood. The shogun lay facedown and naked on the futon with two deep, ragged, bleeding cuts between his ribs and two lower ones on either side of his spine. The white sheet under him and the quilt at the foot of the bed were red with blood and foul with excrement released from his bowels. The chief palace physician—an elderly man dressed in the long, dark blue coat of his profession—hovered by a medicine chest. Two male servants were trying to remove the soiled sheet. As they pulled on it and lifted the shogun, he screamed.

  “Stop! It hurts!”

  Alarmed by the shogun’s injuries, Sano was also amazed at how much the shogun had aged since he’d last seen him four years ago. His hair was all gray, his body spindly. Lord Ienobu struggled to hide his disappointment
—he must have hoped the shogun would be dead by now. Yanagisawa swallowed hard as he beheld the lord whose lover he’d been when he was young, whose patronage had raised him from a lowly vassal to the heights of political power.

  The other person in the room was Captain Hosono of the palace’s night guard, a samurai about forty years old. He stood in a corner, his usually pleasant face terror-stricken because the attack had occurred on his watch.

  “If you won’t let the servants make your bed clean, we’ll have to move you to another room,” the physician told the shogun.

  “No! I can’t bear to be moved. Give me some more opium!” the shogun begged.

  “I’ve already given you the maximum dose,” the physician said.

  The shogun screamed while the servants eased the sheet from under him and covered the stained mattress with fresh sheets. One carried out the soiled bedding; the others washed the shogun. The physician dabbed his wounds with a pungent herbal solution. The shogun moaned, his frail body tense with pain. The measles rash was bright red against the white pallor of his skin. Afraid of contagion, Lord Ienobu and Yanagisawa stood near the door by Sano.

  “Uncle, how are you?” Ienobu asked with exaggerated concern.

  “Can’t you see? Or are you blind as well as ugly?” The shogun had once been a meek, timid man, afraid to speak his mind and offend. It wasn’t just pain that made him rude now. He’d turned over a new leaf several years ago. “Ouch, you’re hurting me!”

  “I’m being as gentle as I can,” the physician said. “I have to clean your wounds.”

  “Fie upon the whole medical profession! You’re nothing but a bunch of quacks!”

  “What happened?” Lord Ienobu asked Captain Hosono.

  “His Excellency was in bed. Somebody sneaked in and stabbed him.”