Sano studied her as if she were a puzzling stranger. “There was a time when you would have jumped at this opportunity, no matter the risks.”
Reiko turned away from his unspoken question: Why have you changed? The answer hurt too much. Part of her spirit had died with the baby. It was the part that contained her courage, her taste for adventure, and her belief that she could prevail over stronger adversaries. She had become a small, frightened, helpless person who saw disaster around every corner. Sano didn’t like her new self, and neither did she. Reiko could hardly remember how she’d once been, how once she would have welcomed the prospect of a new investigation with her husband.
She could hardly remember how much in love they’d once been.
She was scared because they’d lost each other as well as the baby. She didn’t want that, but she didn’t know how to change it, and she didn’t deserve to be happy again. She was to blame for the baby’s death, not Sano, not Lord Ienobu. She was the one who’d overexerted, whose body had failed to carry the child to term, but she couldn’t bear to think about it, let alone tell Sano. Instead she salved her pain with anger.
“How is the investigation going?” Reiko flung the question at Sano like a challenge.
“We have the weapon and a potential witness.” Obviously anxious to put matters in a positive light, Sano described the iris fan and the boy who’d been sleeping with the shogun. “Also bloody footprints leading from the shogun’s chamber to the Large Interior.”
A spark of curiosity lit in Reiko despite herself. “The women are suspects?”
“So far.” Focused on convincing her that he’d made good progress, Sano didn’t notice her interest. “There are two who don’t have alibis.” He told her about Madam Chizuru and Tomoe.
This was where Reiko once would have jumped right in. Her strength as a detective lay in her ability to go places where a man couldn’t, talk to women, and extract information that they might withhold from a male detective or that might escape his notice. Her talents perfectly suited this crime. Reiko felt a stirring inside her spirit. Her fear quelled it like a foot stamping out a fire.
“There’s also the shogun’s wife,” Sano said. “I haven’t questioned her yet. She’s ill.”
Here was Lady Nobuko, her old adversary, right in the middle of another crime. Sano wasn’t the only one with samurai blood that craved revenge. When Reiko had lost the baby, Lady Nobuko had played no small role. The mention of Lady Nobuko brought back the pain of that awful day. Reiko recoiled from it. A new case that involved Lady Nobuko could only bring more trouble, and Reiko had the answer that Sano had been beating around the bush to avoid.
“So there’s no evidence against Lord Ienobu,” Reiko said flatly.
“I only started a few hours ago. You know it takes time. And there is evidence of a sort.” Sano described the connection between Ienobu and Madam Chizuru. “Lord Ienobu and Lady Nobuko are close, too. I’ll get him this time.”
Reiko felt a twinge of familiar restlessness. Once she’d never been able to sit idle while an investigation was underway and her family in danger. She was stuck in the past, but events were dislodging her, like an ocean current moving a sunken ship. Even as she resisted, she heard herself say, “I’ll help you, then. Let me question Lady Nobuko.”
Sano looked surprised that she would volunteer to help with an investigation she didn’t want him to conduct, then offended. “You think I can’t handle it by myself?”
“That’s not why I want to help,” Reiko said, dismayed because he’d misunderstood her.
“Isn’t it?” Sano’s voice was bitter. “You wanted me to stop trying to get Lord Ienobu for Yoshisato’s murder. You don’t approve of my doing this investigation, either, but you think I’m so incompetent that I’ll fail again, so you offer to help me even though you don’t want to.”
They’d fallen into a bad habit of not getting along, Reiko supposed. Not even a new case and the heightened threat to their family could break the habit. Angry at Sano for jumping to the wrong conclusion, she said, “It’s my neck in danger, too. And I want to take on Lady Nobuko.”
Sano nodded, admitting her point, frowning in concern. “Won’t your personal bias against her get in the way?”
“Won’t your personal bias against Lord Ienobu?”
Sano sighed, tired of arguing, still reluctant to give in. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“You’re calling me incompetent?” Reiko was the one on the defensive now. “After all the times I’ve helped you solve crimes?”
“That’s not what I meant!” Sano said, frustrated. “I’m talking about your health.”
Reiko knew she was so thin the wind could blow her away, and she hadn’t practiced martial arts in years, but she said, “I can handle Lady Nobuko. Besides, it’s dangerous enough sitting here waiting for Lord Ienobu to strike again.” She wanted to be in on this investigation, more than she’d realized at first.
Sano reluctantly conceded. “All right. Talk to Lady Nobuko.”
They rose, and he hesitantly put his arm around Reiko’s waist. Reiko shied away, picked up his food tray, and said, “I should wash the dishes before I go to the castle.”
He held his arm out, circling the empty space she’d vacated, then let it drop. Reiko was immediately sorry. He thought she didn’t want him to touch her because she was disgusted by him, his actions, and his failures. But she still desired him, and she was still in love with him even though she tried to deny it to herself because he obviously didn’t love her anymore. The way she’d treated Sano, she was lucky he didn’t divorce her and throw her out. The real reason was that she was afraid to arouse him, afraid of sex. She longed for another baby, but she’d failed to conceive after two years of trying. She couldn’t bear to get her hopes up and fail again and again. Nor could she bear the thought of miscarrying another child. But she couldn’t tell this to Sano. Every time she tried, she choked on tears. It seemed that nothing could heal the pain she carried inside her like a bleeding wound.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Sano said, “What’s wrong with Masahiro?”
That was another sore topic. “Midori caught Masahiro and Taeko … together, in the storeroom last night.”
Sano looked surprised, then disheartened by this trouble on top of trouble. He sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”
Carrying the tray to the kitchen, Reiko thought of things she might have said. You have the most dangerous case of your life to solve, and I’m only making things worse, I’m sorry. But she still thought she was justified in criticizing Sano for starting a new campaign against Lord Ienobu, and he hadn’t apologized for putting honor ahead of their family. Neither was going to back down; they were both too sure they were right, both too proud.
Maybe the investigation would bring them back together. Reiko felt hope glimmer inside her, like a lighted window glimpsed through a snowstorm. Fear tempered hope. She was about to step into the same, treacherous political quagmire that she’d begged Sano to stay out of. But she found herself looking forward to another chance at Lady Nobuko.
14
SANO FOUND MASAHIRO swinging a wooden sword, hacking savagely at the falling snowflakes, in the fenced yard behind the house. His breaths puffed out angry white vapor. His face was strained with distress. Sano remembered practicing martial arts with Masahiro when he’d been younger. Masahiro had worked hard but often clowned and laughed. Sano missed that carefree little boy, but he bore much of the blame for Masahiro’s present unhappiness.
Masahiro saw Sano, froze, and lowered his sword. His expression darkened.
“Your mother told me about you and Taeko,” Sano said.
“I suppose you don’t want us to marry, either,” Masahiro said.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to.” Sano had an inkling of how Masahiro felt. Before he’d married Reiko, he’d fallen in love with another woman. He’d known from the start that their affair was doomed, but losing her had hurt so m
uch, he hadn’t been sure he could go on living. “I wish you and Taeko could marry. It’s just that you can’t.”
“But I love her.” Masahiro’s hardness melted into pleading.
“You’re young, and so is Taeko. Your feelings will change.”
“No, they won’t! We’ll never love anybody but each other!”
It was no use promising Masahiro he would find a new, better love within an arranged marriage. Sano couldn’t promise Masahiro any marriage at all; no suitable family wanted him. For the first time Sano thought Reiko might be right—he should have given up fighting Lord Ienobu years ago. He had ruined, perhaps permanently, Masahiro’s life. If not for his stubbornness, Masahiro would have been married, with a home and children, and perhaps concubines, before he could fall in love with Taeko. But these notions only made Sano cling harder to his convictions. To abandon them would mean he’d wasted the past four years for nothing, and his honor still required him to vanquish Lord Ienobu.
“If you really love Taeko, then you’ll leave her alone,” Sano was forced to say.
Masahiro waved his wooden sword in a defiant, slashing motion. “I want to be with her. She wants to be with me. You can’t keep us apart forever.”
“If you keep making love to her, she’ll get pregnant.”
“She won’t. We’re careful.”
Sano doubted that they were careful enough. “Break it off with her,” he said, all too aware that he might be permanently ruining his relationship with Masahiro. “For her sake.”
Masahiro flung the sword. It struck the house’s roof. Tiles shattered and fell. “We’re going to marry. I promised Taeko. I’m going to keep my promise.” He stalked away.
* * *
INSIDE THE HOUSE, Taeko watched Masahiro and Sano through the window. After hearing their conversation, she felt more desperate than ever. Sano didn’t want her and Masahiro to marry. Would Masahiro really go against his father? If she and Masahiro couldn’t marry, what was she going to do?
Everybody thought that keeping her and Masahiro apart would prevent her from getting with child, but it was too late. She was already pregnant.
“Shut that window, I’m freezing!” said Ume, the maid, in the kitchen behind her. “You’re supposed to help me. Get over here!”
Taeko closed the window and knelt at the table where Ume was cleaning fish. She picked up a mackerel and slit its belly with a knife. The slime and the bloody, rank-smelling fish guts nauseated her. Taeko breathed shakily. She’d begun vomiting in the mornings and at odd times. She’d thought it was just a stomach upset, until she’d missed two monthly courses. When she and Masahiro made love, he tried to protect her by withdrawing from her before he finished, but sometimes he hadn’t been able to control himself, and sometimes she hadn’t let him withdraw because she wanted him so much. And now she was in trouble.
She felt so alone. She couldn’t tell Masahiro. He would be upset and blame her. Maybe he wouldn’t love her anymore. She couldn’t tell her mother, either. Her mother would force her to take medicine that would make the baby come out dead. That was what women did with unwanted babies; she’d heard people talking. The very thought made Taeko feel sicker. She closed her eyes.
“Keep working! Don’t be so lazy!” Ume scolded.
Taeko forced her eyes open and threw the fish guts in the slop bucket. What would happen if she had the baby? Although Reiko and Sano had always been kind to her, they would surely throw her out of their house. That was what happened to unwed girls who had babies. Masahiro would marry somebody else, Taeko would never see him again, and she and the baby would die in the streets. It would be better for the baby not to be born. But Taeko wanted the baby. It was hers and Masahiro’s. She already loved it with all her heart. What was she to do?
Scraping off fish scales, Taeko silently prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before: Please let Masahiro marry me soon! She clung to her hope even though it seemed impossible.
* * *
ALONE IN THE courtyard, Sano gazed at the tile fragments that lay on the icy snow with the wooden sword, which had broken apart between the hilt and the blade. He breathed air that had grown colder in the last few moments.
A servant came out of the house. “Master, there’s a message for you.” He gave Sano a bamboo scroll container and left.
Glad of the distraction, Sano took out a scroll made of cheap rice paper. The characters were written in a clear but plain hand, perhaps that of a scribe hired by someone who didn’t know how to write. Sano read, If you want the truth about Yoshisato’s murder, come to the Shark Teahouse in Nihonbashi today. Come alone. Directions followed. The message wasn’t signed.
Sano didn’t put much faith in anonymous tips; he’d had so many that had turned out to be false. But he was desperate to break through the barrier of secrecy that surrounded Lord Ienobu. He would follow up on the tip before he resumed investigating the attack on the shogun. As he headed for the stable to fetch his horse, he decided not to tell Reiko where he was going. If the tip solved Yoshisato’s murder and put the blame on Lord Ienobu, she would forgive him. If it didn’t, she would never have to know about it.
15
IN THE BUSTLING Nihonbashi merchant quarter, the narrow street that sloped down to the Sumida River was oddly quiet. The snow had stopped falling, and the wind carved drifts in the streets. Shop doors were closed behind indigo curtains that hung halfway down the entrances. Smoke rose from chimneys. A few men bundled in cloaks and hoods loitered outside. As Sano rode down the street, they appeared not to look in his direction, but he knew they were watching him. A window opened as he passed a shop, and he heard dice rattle. These shops were gambling dens. One of the men outside raised a tobacco pipe to his mouth. Blue tattoos decorated his bared wrist. This street was a haunt of gangsters.
Sano’s instincts went on high alert. Gangs controlled the gambling dens, operated illegal brothels, ran protection rackets, and killed people who crossed them. The tsunamis and the Mount Fuji eruption had driven them from devastated areas into Edo, and the incidence of gang-related violence had soared. Sano knew his patrol guard’s uniform wouldn’t protect him. Gang initiation rules required the novices to kill before they became full-fledged members, and killing a Tokugawa soldier would score them extra points. Sano thought of the battle he’d lost last night. Years ago he could have beaten single-handedly a whole mob of gangsters. Now he hoped they didn’t sense his fear.
Midway down the block, two young gangsters leaned against the wall of the Shark Teahouse. Daggers and clubs hung from their sashes. The law permitted only samurai to carry swords, but that was of little comfort to Sano. Above the entrance hung a shark’s jawbones with rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Sano dismounted and tied his horse to a post. The gangsters eyed him as he ducked under the curtain. The door grated open. An old man peered out.
Sano introduced himself. “Did you send me a message?”
The man stood back for Sano to enter an empty room in which two cushions sat on opposite sides of a low table that held two cups. A sake decanter warmed on a charcoal brazier. Sano wondered if Lord Ienobu had set him up to be murdered in a way that would look like a random crime, and he had an urge to run, but his inner voice whispered, Stay.
Sano stepped into the teahouse. The gangsters outside rammed the door shut. He faced the proprietor. “You have something to tell me?”
The proprietor looked toward the back doorway. The curtains hanging over it parted. A gangster stepped through. Compact and wiry of figure, he wore a padded brown cloak. Gray leggings hugged his muscular calves. A dagger in a black lacquered sheath hung at his waist. His hair was cut short; blue and black tattoos climbed up his neck. His face had scars on his rounded chin, his cheeks, and his wide brow. His expression was so fierce that Sano instinctively drew his sword.
The gangster laughed. Its gleeful, sardonic timbre sounded so familiar that Sano’s heart skipped a beat. His face was startlingly familiar, too. “If you want the truth about
my murder, you’d better let me talk before you kill me.”
It was Yoshisato.
Shock dropped the bottom out of Sano’s stomach. He felt unbalanced, as if the world had turned upside down. Everything he thought he knew was suddenly negated. His mouth opened as he stared. This tough, tattooed gangster couldn’t be the youth he’d known as the shogun’s heir. He let his sword dangle while his mind argued with his eyes.
“Yes, it’s me.” A mischievous smile played around Yoshisato’s mouth. If this weren’t an illusion, he would be twenty-two now. He was astoundingly more like Yanagisawa, his true father, in manner although not physical features. “I’m really alive.” He held out his hand. “Touch me, if you’d like to check.”
Slowly, in a daze, Sano sheathed his sword. His hand reached out. Yoshisato grasped it. His hand was warm. The back was tattooed with a dragon whose tail curled around his fingers. Sano pulled away as if burned.
“This is a poor welcome back,” Yoshisato said with mock disappointment. He also sounded just like Yanagisawa. “Aren’t you glad I’m not dead?”
Sano was glad because Yoshisato hadn’t burned to death in the fire, because miracles were possible. But he was also aghast. The murder he’d been investigating for more than four years had never happened. He couldn’t lay the blame for it on Lord Ienobu.
“While you make up your mind, let’s have a drink.” Yoshisato knelt on a cushion.
Sano dropped to his knees on the other. They were alone; the proprietor had disappeared. Yoshisato filled their cups. Sano swallowed the strong, smooth liquor. He felt as if he were drinking with a ghost. So many questions tangled in his mind that he couldn’t sort out which to ask first.
“Are those your men outside?” he asked. Yoshisato nodded. The shogun’s heir had reincarnated himself as a gang boss. “Do they know who you are?”
The Iris Fan Page 10