The Iris Fan

by Laura Joh Rowland

  So the shogun still had one beautiful concubine, Sano thought. “Why would you bathe at this hour?”

  Cringing, Tomoe shook her head.

  “Why did you lock yourself in?” Masahiro asked.

  “I heard screams.” She shivered. “I was afraid.”

  “Did anyone see you come in here?” Sano asked.

  “No.” Her eyes pleaded for mercy. She looked like a fawn sighted on by a hunter. “Everybody else was asleep.”

  Marume’s and Masahiro’s faces showed the same sympathy for the beautiful, vulnerable girl that Sano felt. Manabe waited in the doorway, his face impassive.

  “If she was in the bathtub when the shogun was stabbed, she couldn’t have done it,” Masahiro said.

  “She could have run in here after he was stabbed,” Sano pointed out.

  “To wash off his blood?” Caught between his inclination to believe Tomoe was innocent and the need for objectivity, Marume examined the floor. “I don’t see any.”

  Sano glanced at the sponge, a bag of rice bran soap, and a bucket on the wet floor by the drain hole in the wooden slats. He tried to picture Tomoe scrubbing and rinsing herself and bloody water trickling down the drain and failed. He couldn’t imagine her capable of stabbing anyone, but he was sworn to conduct an honest investigation; he’d dedicated his life to the pursuit of truth and justice. That was his personal code of honor, as important to him as Bushido.

  “She’s a suspect,” Sano said. “We have to treat her like one.” Masahiro and Marume reluctantly nodded. Sano called to Captain Hosono, who’d joined Manabe at the door. “Put her under guard, away from everybody else. Marume-san, continue searching for bloodstained socks and clothes.”

  Captain Hosono led the meek Tomoe away. As Sano and Masahiro headed down the corridor together, Masahiro said, “Aren’t we done questioning everybody?”

  “No.” Sano opened a door, and they looked through it across the snowy night to a little house attached to the Large Interior by a covered corridor and surrounded by an earthen wall and a narrow garden of bamboo thickets.

  Masahiro frowned. “Lady Nobuko. The shogun’s wife.”

  There was bad blood between Sano’s family and Lady Nobuko. She’d lured Sano into investigating the death of the shogun’s daughter, and their troubles had begun then. Furthermore, her actions had almost gotten Masahiro killed. Masahiro clearly hadn’t forgiven Lady Nobuko. Now here she was again, at the center of another crime they were investigating.

  “I’ll talk to Lady Nobuko by myself,” Sano said.

  Masahiro opened his mouth to object. Sano silenced him with a stern look and said, “Go talk to Dengoro, the boy who was sleeping with the shogun during the attack.”

  A hint of the usual tension between them returned. Sano knew that Masahiro’s chafing at his authority went deeper than just a young man’s natural desire for independence. After more than four years of watching Sano try and fail to prove that Lord Ienobu was guilty of murder and treason, Masahiro no longer trusted Sano’s judgment. That hurt.

  “The boy couldn’t have done it, could he?” Masahiro said. “Don’t the bloody footprints mean it was someone from the Large Interior?”

  Sano sensed that something else was bothering Masahiro, but they didn’t have time for a personal discussion. He also feared that Masahiro’s lack of faith in him would prove to be justified. They were several hours into the investigation, with no results in sight. Lord Ienobu’s threats loomed large.

  “It’s too soon to rule Dengoro out, and he’s an important witness,” Sano said. “Maybe he’s remembered something.”

  10

  MASAHIRO WENT TO the section of the palace where the shogun’s boys lived. It consisted of small chambers built around a courtyard, and a theater where the shogun and the boys performed in Nō plays with professional actors. Masahiro walked the deserted corridor, peering into the chambers that smelled of dirty socks and contained wooden swords, balls, horses, and other toys. The beds were unoccupied. Masahiro heard shouts, followed them out a door, and found a furious battle waging in the dark courtyard. Some twenty boys pelted one another with snowballs, ran, and laughed. Standing on the veranda, Masahiro smiled. For the first time since he’d been caught with Taeko, the tension inside him eased.

  “Dengoro?” he called.

  Boys turned toward the sound of his voice. One said, “What?” Another flung a snowball at him and hit his chest. He yelped.

  Masahiro scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at the boy who’d hit Dengoro. His snowball splattered the boy’s face. Everyone started yelling and throwing snowballs at Masahiro. He dodged some, was hit by others. Laughing, he packed more snowballs and returned fire. For a moment he didn’t have to worry about Taeko and her talk of eloping. He didn’t have to think about what would happen if he and his father couldn’t prove Lord Ienobu was responsible for the attack on the shogun. But soon his bare hands were freezing; a snowball melted down his neck. He couldn’t forget that he had a job to do.

  The investigation was his chance to help himself, his father, and their whole family get out of trouble for good. He mustn’t flub it. When it was done, he would figure out how to fix things so that he and Taeko could be together.

  “That’s enough!” He help up his hands, surrendering. The boys groaned. “Dengoro, come inside with me.”

  Dengoro smiled, happy to be singled out by the man who was so good at snowball fights. He led Masahiro to a chamber, sat on his unmade bed, and waited, bright-eyed and expectant.

  Masahiro knelt on the floor and introduced himself. He felt under pressure because although he’d helped his father with past investigations, this was the first of his adult life, and more would be expected of him. He’d also realized that his father wasn’t infallible. In four years Sano hadn’t managed to defeat Lord Ienobu, and Masahiro had begun to doubt that he could. Masahiro couldn’t deny that his own life had been adversely affected by Sano’s actions. But that didn’t diminish his love or respect for his father. It only applied more pressure. Sano needed help, and Masahiro couldn’t let him down.

  “My father and I are investigating the attack on the shogun,” Masahiro said. Dengoro’s expression filled with the awe of a younger boy impressed with an older one. Pride boosted Masahiro’s confidence. “We have to find out who did it. I’m hoping you can help us.”

  “Help you, how?” Dengoro looked eager to do whatever Masahiro wanted.

  “I’m going to ask you some questions. Do you swear to answer them honestly?”

  Dengoro nodded solemnly. “I swear.”

  He didn’t look tough enough to stab the shogun or clever enough to plant bloody footprints leading to the women’s quarter, but Masahiro remembered his father saying that appearances could be deceptive. “Did you like the shogun?”

  The boy’s forehead wrinkled. “I guess so. He gives me food to eat, and a place to live, and clothes and toys and everything. I’m an orphan. My parents died in the earthquake. If not for him, I would be dead, too.”

  He sounded as if he were quoting the palace official who procured the shogun’s concubines. Masahiro hinted, “But you don’t like him as much as you should?”

  “I don’t like the things he makes me do.” Dengoro looked guilty.

  “Well, I wouldn’t, either.” Although manly love was common and accepted by society, Masahiro wasn’t interested in it, and he felt sorry for the boys who were forced to have sex with the shogun. He felt particularly sorry for Dengoro, a nice child, but couldn’t go easy on him. “Do you ever get angry at the shogun?”

  “… Sometimes. When it hurts.”

  “What about tonight?”

  Dengoro chewed his fingernails. “I didn’t want to sleep with him. He has the measles. I’m afraid of catching it.”

  “My next question is the most important one.” Masahiro paused to let the gravity of it sink in. Dengoro waited, smiling eagerly. “Did you stab the shogun?”

  “No!” Dengoro reacted
as if Masahiro had played a cruel joke on him.

  Masahiro didn’t like to hurt the boy, but he understood that being a detective sometimes required hurting people, and he would do it for the sake of his father. “Maybe it was an accident,” he suggested. “Maybe you just wanted the shogun to leave you alone, and you didn’t mean to hurt him. If it was an accident, you can tell me. I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble.” Being a detective sometimes also meant lying.

  “I didn’t.” Dengoro’s sweet face crumpled. “Do you think I did? Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”

  Masahiro thought Dengoro was telling the truth. “No, I believe you,” he said in an apologetic tone. “And I still need your help. All right?”

  “All right.” Dengoro’s willingness to forgive made Masahiro ashamed.

  “You told my father you didn’t see anything when the shogun was stabbed. But maybe you did and you forgot. Think back to when you woke up. Try to remember.”

  Dengoro stared into space and concentrated. “… I think I saw somebody running away. An old lady. It might have been the shogun’s wife.”

  If Masahiro couldn’t pin the attack on Lord Ienobu, then Lady Nobuko was his second choice. She’d almost gotten him killed. “Why do you think it was Lady Nobuko?”

  “It looked like her.”

  “How many times have you seen her?”

  “Once. During a New Year ceremony.”

  Masahiro thought it unlikely that the boy could identify a running figure glimpsed in the dark as a person he’d seen once before. “Do you know that my father is looking for the attacker in the Large Interior?”

  “Yes. I heard the guards talking.”

  So he knew the women were under suspicion. Masahiro asked, “Which of the other women do you know?”

  Dengoro named a few servants. “And there’s the otoshiyori.” His brow wrinkled. “It could have been Madam Chizuru. After I woke up, I think I smelled her. She smells like peppermint and flowers.”

  Masahiro had smelled her tonight. Her scent was certainly strong enough to have lingered in the shogun’s bedchamber and distinctive enough for Dengoro to remember. Heartened by this clue, yet skeptical, Masahiro decided to try a test. “Do you know any of the shogun’s girl concubines?”

  “No. They’re kept away from us. But we sneak up on the roof and spy on them in their garden. They’re all ugly except one. Her name is Tomoe. She’s really pretty. And she sings really nice.”

  Masahiro gave him a sly man-to-man smile. “You like her?”

  Dengoro blushed and shrugged.

  “I know you wouldn’t want to get Tomoe in trouble, but could it have been her that stabbed the shogun?”

  Dengoro hesitated, eyeing Masahiro, gnawing his thumbnail. “Maybe.”

  Masahiro rotated his hand, prompting Dengoro.

  “I think I heard the person muttering before she ran away. I couldn’t hear what it was, but … it sounded like Tomoe’s voice.” Dengoro looked unhappy to incriminate Tomoe but hopeful that he’d said the right thing.

  Exasperation filled Masahiro. His hunch had been correct: Dengoro was inventing evidence to please him. Dengoro probably would have said he’d seen the Buddha stab the shogun, if Masahiro had suggested it. Although flattered because the boy wanted so much to be liked by him, Masahiro was also angry. “You didn’t really see Lady Nobuko, or smell Madam Chizuru’s hair oil, or hear Tomoe’s voice, did you?”

  Dengoro’s face showed alarm and confusion that gave way to chagrin.

  “Then don’t say you did!” Masahiro grabbed Dengoro by the chin and glared down at him. “This isn’t a game. By making things up, you could get innocent people put to death. You could be helping whoever stabbed the shogun get away with it.” He was furious at the boy for misleading him, furious at Lord Ienobu and Chamberlain Yanagisawa for mistreating him and his father, furious at everything that was keeping him and Taeko apart.

  “I was just trying to help.” Dengoro’s voice wobbled.

  “You’re wasting my time!” Masahiro let go of Dengoro.

  “I’m sorry.” Dengoro jumped to his feet. “Please don’t go. Please don’t be mad at me.”

  Ashamed of hurting the boy’s feelings, Masahiro relented. “I’m not mad. But I have work to do.”

  “Will you come back and see me again?” Dengoro pleaded.

  Maybe he actually did have information about the stabbing. Just because he’d made up stories tonight didn’t mean he hadn’t actually seen something he’d forgotten and would remember later. “All right,” Masahiro said.

  If he could help his father solve the crime, maybe it would change things enough that he and Taeko could marry. His own lack of progress increased the pressure and his determination.

  Dengoro smiled, cheerful again. As Masahiro left the room, he reminded himself that Dengoro had been at the scene during the attack. Maybe he wasn’t just a terrible witness. Maybe he had stabbed the shogun.

  * * *

  SANO WALKED THE wet, slushy gravel path to Lady Nobuko’s quarters. Manabe doggedly followed. The sky was more gray than black above the glow of lights from the castle; morning was near. The bamboo thickets hid any sign of life in the little house. When Sano knocked on the door a long time passed before it was opened by a gray-haired man dressed in a dark blue coat—Lady Nobuko’s personal physician.

  “Lady Nobuko isn’t receiving visitors,” the physician said. “She’s ill.”

  The shogun’s wife suffered from headaches, a convenient excuse for avoiding unwanted conversations. Sano had no patience for his old adversary’s games. “I’m investigating the attack on the shogun. She has to speak with me whether she wants to or not.”

  “She was very upset to learn about her husband. I gave her a sedative. She won’t wake up for a few hours.”

  Sano wanted to barge in on Lady Nobuko and thrash her until she begged him to let her talk. Pent-up frustration, pressure to solve the crime, and his ravenous hunger for revenge on Lord Ienobu frayed his control over his temper. But there was no use trying to interrogate an unconscious woman. “Tell her I’ll be back later,” Sano said.

  As he departed, Manabe fell into step beside him. Sano said, “How about telling me what you really did the night of Yoshisato’s murder?”

  Manabe just smirked. Sano determined that he would eventually get the better of both Manabe and Lady Nobuko. In the meantime, he had two other suspects to question.

  * * *

  HIRATA LOITERED OUTSIDE Edo Castle, apart from the crowd of beggars, priests, and nuns soliciting alms that began to gather along the avenue as the gray sky brightened. He squinted up at the guards in the watchtowers, the covered corridors on the walls, and the guardhouse built over the main gate at which a long line of officials, troops, and visitors stood. The sentries questioned people one by one before letting them enter.

  “How am I supposed to get into the castle?” Hirata asked.

  How many times do I have to tell you not to talk to me out loud when other people are around? said General Otani’s irate voice inside his head. You’ll draw attention to yourself.

  Those sentries know me, Hirata said silently. They know I’m wanted for treason. If I try to go in, they’ll try to arrest me, and it would create a scene.

  Don’t worry.

  Compelled by the ghost’s will, Hirata drew a deep breath. His lungs expanded and expanded. Energy currents spread through him. His aura changed, a sensation like pins pricking the surface of his skin and a sound like metallic tinkling from the part of his mind where the ghost kept its secrets. He looked down at his body—and saw only the snow on the street where his feet had stood. He let out a yell that General Otani stifled by contracting his throat muscles. He held up his hands and saw Edo Castle where they should have been. They, and the rest of him—clothes and all—had disappeared. I’m invisible! What did you do to me?

  An ancient spell. General Otani sounded amused at his terror.

  Hirata patted his hands over h
imself. His body, and the rough cotton of his garments, were as solid as ever. He gasped with relief. A soldier coming toward him frowned, wondering where the sound had come from. General Otani made him step aside before the soldier walked right into him.

  The spell makes your aura reflect whatever is around you, General Otani said. You’re like a chameleon.

  Under other circumstances Hirata would have been delighted to have such a handy skill. But he knew the ghost was bound to put it to evil use. Please let it not be against Sano!

  General Otani’s will propelled him alongside the queue outside the castle. When the sentries let in a group of officials, Hirata slipped through the gate behind them. Otani’s voice said, You’ll be undetectable as long as you don’t bump into anybody and don’t make any noise.

  11

  THE SOUND OF voices quarreling filled the Large Interior. The attack on the shogun had upset the peace like a kick to a beehive, Sano thought as he and Manabe arrived at Madam Chizuru’s room. The guard outside it let Sano in while Manabe waited in the corridor. The room smelled of peppermint and jasmine. Madam Chizuru sat on the floor, embroidering flowers on a doll-sized pink kimono. She jabbed and yanked, her delicate mouth pressed into an angry line. When she saw Sano, she threw her embroidery in a sewing box and rose.

  “I can’t be kept locked up. I must tend to the women.”

  Sano was already in bad temper from his confrontations with Manabe, Lord Ienobu, and Chamberlain Yanagisawa. “As soon as you convince me that you didn’t stab the shogun, you’re free to go.”

  The room was crammed with wooden chests and wicker baskets stacked up to the ceiling. Sano and Madam Chizuru stood on a small, bare patch of floor where she would lay her bed at night. Shelves bulged with ledgers and scrolls—records she kept and official communications she received. Cabinets too full to close contained her garments, shoes, and linens. A portable desk equipped with writing brushes, inkstone, and water jar sat atop a table alongside a mirror, comb, brush, jars of makeup, a teapot and cup, and playing cards. Sano could see the red veins in the whites of her angry eyes.