The Shogun's Daughter: A Novel of Feudal Japan (Sano Ichiro Mysteries)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  The excuse thawed Sano’s anger only a little. “Shouldn’t you have taken the trouble to find out before you got mixed up with them?”

  “I guess I trusted them,” Hirata said sheepishly.

  Even as Sano deplored Hirata’s judgment, he realized the error in his own. Studying the mystic martial arts hadn’t changed Hirata as much as Sano had thought. It had given Hirata expert combat skills and deep spiritual experiences and knowledge of the supernatural world, and Sano had misinterpreted that as wisdom and maturity. But underneath, Hirata was the same simple, naïve, impulsive youth he’d been when he’d entered Sano’s service fourteen years ago.

  “How could you be so stupid?” Sano shook his head, regretting his mistake as well as Hirata’s. He should have known that the mystic martial arts, and the opportunities and temptations that came with them, were too much for Hirata to handle.

  “I knew Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi were dangerous. I thought that if I joined their society I would have some control over it.” Hirata paused, then admitted, “I wanted the knowledge they were offering.”

  Sano had to admit that his own motives weren’t so noble. He hadn’t complained when Hirata had gone off with Ozuno to study the mystic martial arts. He’d been glad Hirata had found hope after he’d been crippled by a terrible injury when he’d taken a blade meant for Sano. Beset by guilt over Hirata’s suffering, Sano hadn’t wanted to think about whether the mystic martial arts would really be good for Hirata. He’d only been glad when they’d made Hirata stronger than ever and he didn’t have to feel guilty anymore. As a master, Sano didn’t owe his retainers anything, but as a friend, he should have tried to protect Hirata.

  “Why did this ghost want you to meddle with Ienobu?” Sano asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hirata said, “but he wants Ienobu to be the next shogun.”

  Sano wondered what Ienobu would think if he knew a ghost was working on his behalf. “How would making Ienobu the next shogun destroy the Tokugawa regime? And how would pitting Masahiro against him help?”

  Hirata shook his head, ashamed and bewildered. “The ghost didn’t explain.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?”

  “Because Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano threatened to kill me if I talked.”

  Sano threw Hirata a disbelieving glance. “Why did that scare you? You can beat any three men at once. I’ve seen you.”

  “Not these three.” Hirata spoke with certainty and despair. “They also threatened to kill you.”

  “Don’t make me your excuse for treason,” Sano said. “I can take care of myself.”

  “No, you can’t. Tahara has gotten close enough to you to have killed you if he’d wanted to, and you didn’t even notice.” Hirata added, “That’s why I left town—not just to save myself, but to make them chase me instead of attacking you.”

  “Why are you telling me all this now?”

  “Because I can’t keep secrets from you anymore.” The passion in Hirata’s voice reminded Sano of a young man pleading, fourteen years ago, for the privilege of serving as his retainer. “It’s wrong.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” Sano asked, “Why did you come back?”

  “It’s time to face up to my mistakes,” Hirata said. “It’s time to make things right.”

  “Good,” Sano said. “How?”

  They turned toward each other. Hirata said, “I’ll help you fight Yanagisawa.”

  “No. I’ll deal with him myself.” Sano could certainly use the help, but he didn’t trust Hirata enough to bring him in on the murder investigation. “What are you going to do about your friends?” The confusion and unhappiness in Hirata’s expression made Sano’s heart sink. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” Hirata said bravely.

  The breath gusted from Sano. “I’m afraid things have gone too far for that. You’ve entered into a plot against the regime.” He stood and spoke words he’d never thought he would have to say. “I must arrest you and your friends and charge you with treason.”

  “No!” Hirata jumped to his feet, thrust out his arms to forestall Sano. “I don’t care if you arrest me and put me to death, I deserve it, but don’t go after my friends! They’ll kill you!”

  He seemed truly more concerned about Sano than himself. Sano hated to send Hirata to a trial that would surely end in a guilty verdict and a death sentence, and he had doubts about the wisdom of confronting three men Hirata thought were so dangerous, but he said, “You’ve confessed that you and your friends are parties to treason. My duty is to protect the Tokugawa regime. I have to take action against all of you.”

  “Just give me some time,” Hirata begged. “I’ll shut the secret society down. I’ll eliminate Tahara, Deguchi, Kitano, and the ghost. Then I’ll turn myself in.” He clasped his hands. “I promise!”

  Sano inhaled a deep breath, facing a dilemma. Bushido required him to uphold the law. Fourteen years of friendship and his huge debt to Hirata demanded mercy. “How much time?”

  Hirata exhaled with relief. “A few days. Maybe five?” He sounded as if he would like to ask for more but didn’t dare.

  “All right.” Sano thought of the occasions when the shogun had given him a time limit for finishing an investigation. Now he was the one handing down the ultimatum. “Five days.”

  12

  TAEKO PRESSED HER back against the wall of a daimyo estate and peeked around the corner. She watched Masahiro run up and down the street, searching for her among the crowds. The temple bells had rung the hour twice since she’d run away from him. This was like playing hide-and-seek, but he didn’t look like he was having fun. He looked angry. Tagging after him had only made him like her less.

  Eventually he got tired of looking for her. He muttered to himself and stomped away. Taeko didn’t follow him. If she did, he would scold her some more. Then she was sorry she’d let him go. She wasn’t supposed to leave the estate by herself. As long as she’d been following Masahiro she wasn’t exactly disobeying, but she would have to go home alone. Her mother would be furious. Taeko glumly wandered the streets until she neared the gate where she’d met Masahiro.

  It was still open, but a soldier loitered outside. What was in there that Masahiro thought was so important? What had he meant when he said he’d lost his witness?

  Seven children gathered at the gate. The four girls were about the same age as Taeko, the boys a little older. Curious, Taeko stole up behind them. They were skinny, with tangled hair and dirty faces. Their clothes were ragged, their feet bare. They were orphans, Taeko guessed. There were a lot more orphans since the earthquake. They lived on the streets and begged and did whatever else they could to earn money.

  “We’re looking for work,” one of the boys said.

  “Come on in.” The sentry called to someone inside the estate, “Take these kids to the housekeeper.”

  As they walked in through the gate, Taeko had a bright idea. If she could find a witness for Masahiro, maybe he wouldn’t be mad at her anymore. She followed the children. The guard paid her no attention; he thought she was with them. Once inside the estate, Taeko felt uncertain and afraid. It had buildings under construction, and tents, and workers, and noise, just like at home, but it was so much bigger. And what was a witness? Taeko hoped that if she saw one she would recognize it.

  A manservant herded the children to a woman who wore her gray hair scraped into a tight knot and a white apron over an indigo kimono. The housekeeper lined up the children in a row, Taeko at the end. She walked down the row, studying each one. Her chin jutted up toward her nose, which curved down in a hook.

  “This lot is worse than the last,” she grumbled to the manservant. “But with the shortage of help since the earthquake, and so much work to be done, I have to take whatever I can get.” She came to Taeko. Taeko bowed; the other children hadn’t. “Have you ever worked in a rich samurai’s house before, little girl?”

  Taeko nodded. She helped t
ake care of her little brother and sister. That should count.

  “Well, this one has some manners, and she looks clean,” the housekeeper said. “She’ll do. Get rid of the rest.” The manservant led the other children away. The housekeeper said to Taeko, “Come with me.”

  Resisting the urge to run, Taeko meekly obeyed. Despite her fear, she wanted to impress Masahiro. This was her chance.

  The housekeeper led her into a big tent. Peasant women and girls were washing clothes and linens in huge tubs of boiling-hot water. Mountains of more dirty laundry waited. Steam filled the air, which smelled of lye soap that made Taeko’s eyes burn.

  “Wash those.” The housekeeper pointed to baskets ranged around a tub.

  The baskets contained men’s loincloths. The long strips of white cotton fabric were soiled and rank. Taeko’s stomach turned. She gingerly picked up some cloths, dropped them in the steamy water, and didn’t know what to do next. At home the maids did the laundry.

  “They’re not going to wash themselves, idiot!” The housekeeper picked up a ceramic jar, poured soap into the tub, and hit Taeko hard on the back of her head. She shoved a washboard into Taeko’s hands. “Start scrubbing!”

  Taeko gasped with pain and shock. Nobody had ever hit her before, except her brother when they were playing. The other women laughed. Taeko wanted to tell her father that the housekeeper had hit her. He was the best fighter in Edo; he would teach the mean old woman a lesson. But her father was away. And Taeko must help Masahiro.

  Swallowing her pride and distaste, she thrust her hand into the hot, caustic water, picked up a dirty loincloth, and began scrubbing.

  * * *

  AS HIRATA RODE away from the Ryōgoku Bridge, his cheek and mouth hurt where Sano had hit him. He wished Sano had hit him harder; he was so angry at himself. He’d managed to make things worse! Belatedly he realized he shouldn’t have approached Sano until after he’d dealt with Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. He cursed his mistake.

  And here they came. Their aura pulsed faintly, like a whispered taunt, in the distance. Hirata wanted to gallop his horse in the opposite direction. But he’d promised Sano, and himself, that he would set things right.

  He had five days.

  The aura’s rhythmic cadence boomed more distinctly, thrumming along his nerves. Hirata followed the aura through the Nihonbashi merchant quarter. The men were leading him on, to a location they’d chosen for this first encounter in the four months since he’d told them he knew the truth about them and wanted to quit the secret society.

  In a poor neighborhood that hadn’t yet been rebuilt, the aura magnified to such an intensity that the landscape of Hirata’s mind shivered with every boom. Colored lightning veined his vision. He could barely see the piled ruins that still lined the streets or hear the construction noises from other parts of the city. At the end of the street, where the neighborhood gate was crushed under two collapsed houses, wind spun up from the ground. A funnel cloud of debris formed. Hirata halted his mount. The aura shut off suddenly. The whirlwind dissipated. The debris settled around three men standing side by side.

  Panic constricted Hirata’s lungs; he could hardly breathe. His horse reared and whinnied. As Hirata calmed the horse, Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano strolled toward him as casually as if they’d just stepped out of a teahouse. Hirata dismounted and walked to meet them. It took every bit of courage he could muster.

  “Hello, stranger,” said Tahara, the leader of the society, who walked between his two comrades. His voice was simultaneously smooth and rough, like rapids flowing over jagged boulders. A black surcoat with broad epaulets, a flowing bronze silk kimono, and wide trousers clothed his athletic physique. A twinkle in his deep black eyes, and a left eyebrow that was higher than the right, gave his strong, regular features a rakish charm.

  “Look what the wind blew in.” Hirata echoed the words he’d heard Marume say about him earlier.

  Deguchi, the priest with the shaved head, dressed in a saffron-dyed robe, smiled. He never spoke; he was mute. When he and Tahara and Kitano had tried to steal the magic spell book from Ozuno the first time, Ozuno had tried to strangle Deguchi and damaged his vocal cords. His ageless oval face had an eerie, radiant beauty despite the fact that it was plain, with a flat nose and pursed mouth. His heavily lidded eyes glowed with sweetness and menace.

  “You led us on a merry chase,” Kitano said. In his fifties, gray-haired but robust, he wore the iron helmet and armor tunic of a soldier. A smile crinkled his eyes, but the rest of his face was an immobile mesh of scars. During the battle, Ozuno had cut Kitano’s face, severing the nerves. “A lot of good it did you, though. Here you are, back in the fold with us.”

  “No, I’m not,” Hirata said as the three men surrounded him. They were clean, neatly groomed, and fresh. During the chase across Japan they’d probably slept in nice inns and eaten well while they let him tire himself out. Furious at them for playing with him, he said, “I’m only with you for as long as it takes to tell you this: I quit. I’m dissolving the secret society.”

  “Oh, please.” Tahara grimaced. “Not this foolishness again.”

  “Haven’t you gotten it through your head yet?” Kitano said. “Once you’re in the society, you can’t quit.”

  Deguchi drew his index finger across his smooth throat. Hirata felt his own neck muscles contract as he imagined the cold graze of a blade. The second time the men had tried to steal the spell book, they’d succeeded, and they’d killed Ozuno. They could kill Hirata. But he knew of one person who’d quit the society and lived to tell, an itinerant monk he’d met via a tip from a friend. Hirata clung to the hope that he, too, could walk away from them and survive.

  “I’m changing the rule,” Hirata said.

  “How?” Tahara said, scornful and amused.

  “Your lord would be interested to know what you’re up to.” Hirata moved his gaze to Kitano. “So would yours.” He told Deguchi, “And so would the authorities at Zōjō Temple. Unless you all agree to dissolve the society and never summon the ghost again, I’m going to tell your masters. They won’t like you putting them in trouble with the regime.” If Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano’s conspiracy were exposed, their masters would be reprimanded and heavily fined, if not put to death for harboring traitors. “They’ll kill you to protect themselves.”

  “Oh, come now,” Kitano said impatiently. “There’s not an army that can stand up to us. If you report us, it will only force us to kill a lot of innocent people.”

  “Sano-san among them,” Tahara said. Deguchi nodded.

  The threat to Sano was the trio’s strongest hold on Hirata.

  “Enough of your silly threats,” Kitano said. “It’s time for another ritual.”

  Frantic, Hirata said, “No.” He could think of nothing else to do except fight them. If he were dead, killing Sano would serve them no purpose. Despite the anguishing thought of his family, Hirata reached for his sword.

  An invisible energy wave issued from the three men. It hit Hirata with a solid, numbing force. His hand stopped short of his weapon. He struggled to move it but couldn’t. The numbness spread up his arm and through his nerves, paralyzing him. The force exerted by Tahara’s, Kitano’s, and Deguchi’s will reduced Hirata’s whole body to a heavy, inert mass of flesh. The only movable parts were his eyes. They rolled wildly with terror. He tried to speak but couldn’t.

  The other men watched him with amusement. Tahara said, “I think he wants to say something. Shall we let him?”

  “Why not?” Kitano said.

  Their energy waned slightly. The numbness left Hirata’s throat, lips, and tongue. He said, “If you have the power to do things like this, why do you need me? Why can’t you do whatever the ghost wants by yourselves?”

  “The ghost has special plans for you.” Tahara sounded as if he begrudged Hirata the privilege. “In the meantime, you’re doing the ritual.”

  Hirata tried to protest, but the numbness silenced him again.

 
“Get on your horse,” Tahara said.

  Animation suddenly returned to Hirata’s muscles. His legs walked him to his horse. His foot placed itself in the stirrup; his hands pulled him onto the horse; his rear end sat in the saddle. Tahara grasped the reins. He and Deguchi and Kitano led the horse, with Hirata their captive rider, through the ruined streets toward the hills outside town.

  13

  A GENTLE SPRING twilight descended on the city as Sano and Marume rode up to Edo Castle. The sky was radiant in shades of pink, gold, and lavender. The noise from hammers and saws ceased. Dust settled out of the cooling air.

  “Peace at last,” Marume said with relief.

  Sano thought Edo was holding its breath, waiting for tomorrow’s onslaught of rebuilding. Nearing the gate, he looked for the family he’d seen that morning. He saw human shapes huddled along the avenue, but he couldn’t tell which were theirs. Inside the castle he heard the ordinary sounds of evening—footsteps and horses’ hooves on stone pavement, talk and laughter from sentries in the covered corridors and watchtowers along the walls. Patrol guards carrying lanterns passed. Everything had a semblance of normalcy. At Sano’s estate, shadows softened the irregular lines of walls and buildings still under reconstruction. Sentries by the recently finished guardhouse let Sano and Marume in the new gate. Sano and Marume left their horses with a stable boy. As Sano walked through the inner precinct, birds trilled. After the earthquake, birds had been scarce, as if most of them had sensed the earthquake coming and flown away. Any that had stayed had been devoured by starving citizens, in spite of the Buddhist prohibition against eating meat and the Tokugawa law against hunting. But the canals and highways were now clear of earthquake debris, and transport of food into the city had resumed. The birds had returned to nest in Edo Castle. It was a good omen, Sano hoped.

  Flames in stone lanterns lit his path to his mansion. Repairs to its front section, where he conducted business, had been completed. Reiko, Masahiro, and Akiko appeared on the veranda. They called excitedly to Sano. He smiled, thankful for them. That his family had survived the earthquake was a miracle. He could savor their togetherness despite the tribulations of politics.