“That’s not necessary,” Sano said, knowing how poor Toda was. He hid his pity, sparing Toda’s pride. “We won’t impose on you for long. You must be anxious to leave.”
“Leave? And miss the war?” Toda laughed. “It will be the greatest spectacle of my lifetime.”
He either had no place to go or no means for getting there, Sano thought. “Be careful.”
“If a stray bullet gets me, fine. There are worse ways to die.” Toda asked Sano, “Who let you out? I thought Yanagisawa had you sewed up tight. Congratulations on your son’s marriage.”
“I see that you’re still well informed.”
“Even though Lord Ienobu kicked me out of the metsuke after thirty years of loyal service, I still have friends who bring me news.”
“Not so loyal service,” Sano reminded Toda. “You were never completely in his camp or anyone else’s. You played for all sides.”
Toda smiled wryly. “Help all of the people some of the time, and I’ll be fine whoever ends up on top. That was my survival strategy, but it didn’t work with Lord Ienobu—he’s an all-or-nothing sort of man.”
“So why are you still alive?” Marume asked.
“He likes knowing there’s someone uglier than he is.”
Sano and Marume laughed. Toda said, “No, it’s because he thinks he may need me someday. I have a lot of information stored up here.” He tapped his scarred head.
“That’s why I’m here,” Sano said. “To mine your memory.”
Toda turned serious now that they were getting down to business. “Lord Ienobu took away my stipend. I can’t afford to give anything away for free.”
“I’ll give you back your stipend after we defeat Lord Ienobu,” Sano said.
“Hah! Fat chance. Is that the best you can offer?”
“Yes.”
Conceding with a shrug, Toda said, “Ask away.”
“Have there recently been any sudden, unexpected deaths in the regime?”
Toda’s eye gleamed with interest. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Nobody’s looked too closely at them, for fear of running afoul of Lord Ienobu.”
Sano felt the sinking sensation that presaged bad news. “Who died?”
“The assistant to the treasury minister.”
“He used to divert money from taxes and tributes into Yanagisawa’s pocket.” Sano saw that putting him out of action would have benefited Lord Ienobu. “How did he die, and when?”
“About two years ago. He had severe indigestion after a banquet. He was a glutton and a big drinker. He died after being violently ill all night.”
“Who else?”
“A captain of the palace guard. He was Yanagisawa’s man, too. He got bronchitis during the Mount Fuji eruption, and he’d had trouble breathing ever since. One night he couldn’t get enough air and suffocated.”
The guard captain would have been able to arrange a lapse in palace security so that Yanagisawa could assassinate Lord Ienobu. Sano and Marume exchanged grave looks as they saw the pattern. Dengoro was the most recent case in which someone who’d posed a threat to Lord Ienobu had had a health problem that could account for his sudden death.
“Do you think the deaths were murders?” Toda asked. “Is that why you’re interested in them? Because you think Lord Ienobu is responsible and you can use it against him? If so, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. There were no wounds or evidence of poison on the bodies.”
No one would have thought to look for a fingerprint-shaped bruise, Sano realized. No one would have suspected that Hirata was involved. If not for his hunch that had sent him to Edo Morgue, Sano wouldn’t have seen the telltale sign on Dengoro.
“I knew it was a long shot digging for dirt on Lord Ienobu. I just asked on the off chance that you had some.” Sano couldn’t tell Toda that it was Hirata whose crimes he was trying to uncover. His own former chief retainer and friend! “I figured you wouldn’t mind helping me take Lord Ienobu down.”
“Believe me, I would be glad to. But his hands are clean as far as I know.”
But Hirata’s weren’t, Sano was now certain. Sano wondered if Lord Ienobu had any idea that someone was secretly killing his enemies on his behalf.
“The third sudden death doesn’t seem to have benefited Lord Ienobu,” Toda said.
Two out of three was bad enough. “Who was it?”
“A samurai named Ishikawa Kakubei.”
“Never heard of him,” Marume said.
“He didn’t live in Edo, although he died here,” Toda said.
“What was he doing here?” Sano asked.
“He was from Nagasaki. He accompanied an envoy of Dutch traders when they came to Edo to visit the shogun.”
Nagasaki was the only place in Japan where foreigners were allowed. A previous shogun had decided that foreigners—and their strange religions and advanced weaponry—posed a danger to the regime and had closed Japan’s other ports. The Western barbarians were the most feared foreigners of all. Only the Dutch, who’d signed an agreement not to meddle in local affairs or spread Christianity, were permitted to trade with Japan. They lived in a prisonlike compound in Deshima, an island off the coast of Nagasaki.
“I remember that visit,” Sano said. “It was a few months after the earthquake.” He also remembered his own visit to Nagasaki nineteen years ago, in another lifetime.
“It was a bad time for them to come,” Marume said. “The roads were barely passable, and the city was still in ruins.”
“The shogun was afraid he would lose face if the Dutch saw his castle in such bad shape,” Toda said, “but they’d been granted official permission for their annual journey to pay their respects to him, and protocol is protocol.”
Sano had been busy organizing relief for the people left homeless and destitute by the earthquake and tsunami. He’d briefly met the Dutch, and he didn’t recall their Japanese escorts.
“Ishikawa was a translator,” Toda said. “He was one of three who interpreted for the Dutch during their visit.”
There were only a few translators in Japan. It was against the law for anyone except those trusted, officially appointed men to learn foreign languages. People who spoke foreign languages might conspire with foreigners against their own government.
“How did he die?” Sano asked.
“He caught a bad cold during the journey. By the time he reached Edo, it had settled in his lungs. He had a high fever, which is what killed him, according to the doctors. He died the day before the Dutch went back to Nagasaki.”
Sano unwillingly spotted another example in the pattern. But why would Hirata have killed a translator? That couldn’t have done Lord Ienobu any good.
“The poor sap,” Marume said. “He made the trip and died for nothing. He must not have interpreted while the Dutch met with the shogun. The shogun never lets anybody who’s sick get near him.”
“That’s right,” Toda said, “but Lord Ienobu had a private meeting with the Dutch envoys. Ishikawa translated during that.”
Here was the connection between Lord Ienobu and Ishikawa. An unpleasant, ominous feeling told Sano that the meeting was an important clue and Hirata was involved in the translator’s death. “What happened at that meeting?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t find out about it until after Ishikawa was dead and the Dutch had gone back to their country. I could hardly ask Lord Ienobu.”
“Was anybody else present?” Sano asked.
“Just Lord Ienobu’s chief retainer. Manabe.”
Sano experienced a sense of inevitability. He’d circled back to the unfinished business that had put him on the cold, dark road from Yoshiwara on a winter night. His quest for the truth about Yoshisato’s death had led him to Manabe. His quest for the truth about Hirata and the attack on the shogun had led him to the same person, again.
34
THE IRON GRILLE that covered the hole in the stone wall swung open. Reiko and Akiko cautiously poked their heads out of the tunnel and looked both ways alon
g the footpath and canal below them. “I don’t see Papa and Detective Marume,” Akiko said.
“We can go, then,” Reiko said.
They’d followed the men down the tunnel. “Papa would be so angry if he knew.” Akiko sounded delighted to be misbehaving with Reiko.
Reiko knew Sano would be furious at her for risking her own and their daughter’s safety, but she didn’t care. Masahiro was married to Kikuko, their family’s fate was tied to Yanagisawa’s, and there was going to be a war. Anything Reiko did couldn’t hurt, and if she discovered who’d stabbed the shogun, it might help. She was glad to take her fate into her own hands, and although she had qualms about taking Akiko’s, they belonged together. She was also glad she wouldn’t be at the Mori estate when Sano found the note she’d left.
She and Akiko scooted out of the hole and slid down the bank of the canal. Holding hands, they hurried through a city that Reiko had never seen so empty. Even the neighborhood gate sentries were missing. The castle’s guard towers and walls loomed on the hill. Reiko and Akiko stopped in an alley that gave onto the avenue that circled the castle. It was crowded with thousands of mounted troops and foot soldiers. Gun and cannon barrels poked through the barred windows of the towers, the covered corridors, and the guardhouse above the main gate. The gate was protected by a whole squadron of sentries.
“Is the war going to start today?” Akiko asked.
“Yes,” Reiko said. The castle was prepared. Her husband and son would be among the forces attacking.
“How are we going to get inside the castle?”
The thought of entering Lord Ienobu’s stronghold, and the prospect of war, excited as well as terrified Reiko. She saw the same emotions in her daughter. Samurai blood ran in their veins. They could have waited at the Mori estate for Lord Ienobu’s army to come; they could have prepared to commit suicide to avoid being captured and savaged by their enemies. That was what samurai wives and daughters did during wars. But they had stepped outside the bounds of womanhood. They would not retreat to the false security behind the front lines.
“Come with me.” Reiko took Akiko’s hand.
Keeping to the streets of Nihonbashi, they circled the castle to a small gate used by servants. This gate was open to admit porters lugging in rice bales; people inside the castle still needed to eat. Pages carrying message pouches hurried out; the court still needed to communicate with the outside world. Before she could lose her nerve, Reiko walked Akiko up to the gate. Fortunately they weren’t the only women in line. The others were maids. Reiko and Akiko, dressed in cotton kimonos and head kerchiefs, fit right in. The maids carried baskets or bundles. Reiko hoped their empty hands wouldn’t mark her and Akiko as imposters.
“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to,” Reiko whispered to Akiko as the line advanced.
Heads bowed, they shuffled up to the sentries. Reiko was glad Akiko stayed so calm. Her own heart pumped currents of fear through her. This wasn’t the first time she’d impersonated a servant in order to gain entry to a forbidden, dangerous place, but it was the first time she’d brought her daughter. They were officially kin to Yanagisawa. If caught sneaking into the castle, they could be deemed enemy agents and killed. At the front of the line, they removed folded papers from beneath their sashes. Reiko handed the papers to a sentry and waited in a fever of anxiety as he examined the passes she’d forged. She’d given herself and Akiko the names of two maids who worked in the Large Interior. She hoped he didn’t know the real maids and wouldn’t look too closely at the blurry red signature seals on the forged passes.
He handed the passes back to her and Akiko and waved them through the gate. Reiko almost fainted from relief. Akiko stifled a giggle as they hurried up the wet passage. She turned serious as they were scrutinized by troops stationed at the checkpoints. Reiko died a small death of fright each time. She recognized some of the men, whom she’d seen often when she’d lived in the castle. If they recognized her and Akiko, how many could she kill with the dagger she wore hidden under her sleeve? Could she buy Akiko enough time to escape?
They reached the top tier of the castle. Akiko flashed Reiko a triumphant smile. Reiko forced herself to smile back as she noticed how strangely quiet the palace grounds were—so quiet that the plop of icicles falling from the eaves of the building onto the damp snow seemed loud. The guards usually stationed at the entrance were nowhere in sight.
“Mama, do you hear that sound?” Akiko whispered.
A soft hum rose and fell within the palace, from hundreds of voices. Reiko hazarded a guess. “They must be chanting prayers for the shogun. He must be dying.”
His death would make Lord Ienobu dictator and undermine Yanagisawa’s chance of victory. It was one thing to attack the shogun’s heir apparent, another to revolt against a sitting shogun. Some of Yanagisawa’s allies would desert him on the grounds that they couldn’t violate the samurai code of loyalty to their lord. Bushido was also a good excuse for those who would rather accept Lord Ienobu’s rule than fight a war. A takeover by Lord Ienobu would mean death for his enemies and all their close associates—including Sano and his family. Never had their plight seemed so gravely real to Reiko. She hadn’t much time to prove Lord Ienobu was responsible for the attack on the shogun, guilty of treason, and unfit to inherit the regime.
She hurried Akiko around the palace to the separate wing of the Large Interior where Lady Nobuko lived, retracing a path she’d followed four years ago under circumstances equally dire. Memories impinged, as harmlessly as the raindrops, on Reiko. Her newfound confidence, and Akiko’s company, kept her fixed in the present moment. The palace grounds were deserted. Everybody must have gone to the vigil for the shogun. Reiko cautiously opened the door of the little house attached to the main building and listened to the silence. She and Akiko stole through the entryway and down the corridor to Lady Nobuko’s inner chamber. The house exuded a fusty, medicinal, old-woman smell. The chamber was empty, but two cups of cold tea and two bowls of half-eaten gruel on tray tables suggested that Lady Nobuko and her lady-in-waiting had left in a hurry to go to the shogun. There was no telling when they would return.
Reiko stood in the room she’d searched three days ago. She eyed the table where Lady Nobuko had sat writing, the cabinets, and the dressing table. All seemed the same.
“Mama, what are we looking for?”
“I’ll know when we find it.” Reiko knelt and opened scroll cases on the writing table. Akiko rummaged through Lady Nobuko’s toiletries. The first scroll was a letter from a daimyo’s wife, inviting Lady Nobuko to a tea ceremony. Suddenly Reiko smelled a sharp, strong fragrance of peppermint and jasmine. She felt a startling sense of vindication that she didn’t immediately comprehend. She exclaimed, “What is that?”
Akiko held a little, celadon-glazed porcelain jar in one hand and the stopper in the other. Her face showed the guilty defiance that it always did when Reiko caught her disobeying. “I just wanted to see what was in it.” She set the jar and lid on the dressing table. “I’m sorry. I won’t touch anything else.”
“No, it’s all right, you haven’t done anything wrong, I’m not angry.” Reiko snatched up the jar, sniffed the thick, cloudy oil in it, and exclaimed, “You found what I was missing!”
Akiko sighed with relief, frowned in confusion. “I did?”
“Yes.” Reiko cupped the jar of hair oil in her hands as if it were a sacred treasure. “Now I know what happened the night the shogun was stabbed. Lady Nobuko did it.”
The transparent specter of Lady Nobuko materialized. She tucked the iron fan under her sash, then dipped her fingers in the jar Reiko held. She smeared the oil on her hair. “She used the same hair oil as Madam Chizuru,” Reiko said. Lady Nobuko’s specter lifted a lantern from the stand and tiptoed from the room. Her sock-clad feet padded down the corridor toward the shogun’s private chambers. “It was dark. If she met anyone, they would think she was Madam Chizuru, because they would smell the peppermint and jasmine.” Reiko envis
ioned the shogun’s bedchamber. The light from Lady Nobuko’s lantern illuminated the sleeping figures of the shogun and his boy. Lady Nobuko bent over the shogun, the iron fan clutched in her fist. The shogun slept; the boy stirred, his nostrils twitching. “Dengoro really did smell Madam Chizuru’s hair oil. He lied about everything else, but not that.”
And Lady Nobuko had lied about why she’d refused to let Sano question her immediately after the stabbing. She hadn’t been too upset or just wanting to avoid him. “She needed time to wash her hair, so he wouldn’t smell peppermint and jasmine on her and realize there were two women who’d been wearing the oil when the shogun was stabbed and guess that she was the one Dengoro smelled.” Reiko thought of Tomoe’s bloodstained socks. Her intuition said the hair oil was the genuine evidence, hidden in plain sight by Lady Nobuko, not planted. But Reiko needed more evidence, solid proof.
“Let’s keep searching.” She yanked open more scroll cases and scanned the letters inside. “Look for anything that doesn’t belong.”
They ransacked the chamber. Akiko inspected the other toiletries then flung them aside like garbage. Reiko did the same with the items in Lady Nobuko’s desk. They moved on to the cabinets, pulled out garments, shook them, and dropped them on the floor. They didn’t find the bloodstained socks Lady Nobuko had worn; she must have burned them before Reiko’s first search. While Akiko examined shoes, Reiko tore into a stack of kimonos packaged in white silk bags. These were Lady Nobuko’s best clothes—opulent satin robes reserved for special occasions and brightly patterned ones saved from her youth. Expensive kimonos were a significant portion of a rich woman’s wealth. Reiko shook out a gorgeous kimono with red peonies splashed on a black, white, and yellow geometric background. As she ran her hands over the smooth, heavy fabric, she felt a crackly thickness in the hem of one sleeve.
Her heart jumped.
Turning the hem inside out, she saw a loose yellow thread where the stitching had been cut. The hem had been sewn up with lighter-colored thread. Reiko tore open the hem. Tucked inside was a folded sheet of paper. She pulled it out and unfolded a letter scribbled hastily, dated two months ago.
The Iris Fan Page 27