“The ceremony is successfully completed,” announced the priest who had performed the invocation. “Now the bride and groom can begin to build a harmonious home.”
Pursued by the demons, Harume somehow found her way through the winding passages of the women’s quarters, to the door leading to the main palace. There stood the castle ladies, dressed in bright, colorful kimonos, attended by servants and a few male guards. Harume’s strength was fading. Wheezing and choking, she crashed to the floor.
In a loud rustle of silk garments, the crowd turned. A flurry of exclamations arose: “It’s Lady Harume!” “What’s wrong with her?” “There’s blood all over her mouth!”
Now a shifting collage of shocked, frightened faces hovered over Harume. Ugly purple blotches obscured the familiar features of these women she knew. Noses elongated; eyes burned; fanged mouths leered. Black wings sprouted from shoulders, fanning the air. Silk garments became the lurid plumage of monster birds. Claws reached out to grab.
“Demons,” Harume gasped. “Don’t come any closer. No!”
Strong hands seized her. Authoritative male voices gave orders. “She’s ill. Get a doctor.” “Don’t let her disrupt the Sōsakan-sama’s wedding.” “Take her to her room….”
Panic infused strength into Harume’s muscles. As she kicked and thrashed and gasped for breath, her voice burst from her in a scream of terror: “Help! Demons! Don’t let them kill me!”
“She’s mad. Stay back—out of the way! She’s violent.”
Down the corridor they carried her, trailed by the screeching, flapping horde. Harume struggled to free herself. Her captors finally set her down, pinning her arms and legs. She was trapped. The demons would rip her to shreds, then devour her.
Yet even as these fearsome thoughts flashed through Harume’s mind, a more terrifying power gathered within her body. A gigantic convulsion surged through bone, muscle, and nerve; stretched sinews; drew invisible chains tight around internal organs. Harume screamed in agony as her back arched and her stiff limbs shot out. In a cacophony of shrieks, the demons let go, thrown off by the force of her involuntary movements. A second, stronger convulsion, and darkness seeped across her vision. External sensations receded; she couldn’t see the demons or hear their voices. The wild, erratic pounding of her own heart filled her ears. Another convulsion. Mouth open wide, Harume couldn’t draw another breath. Her final thought was of her lover: With a grief as agonizing as the pain, she knew she would never see him again in this life. Then one last gasp. One more unspoken plea:
Help…
Then nothingness.
Sano barely heard the assembly’s murmured blessings, because the attendants were lifting the white drape away from his new wife’s head. She was turning toward him…
Looking even younger than her twenty years, Reiko had a perfect oval face with a delicate chin and nose. Her eyes, like bright, black flower petals, shone with somber innocence. On her high, shaved brow arched the fine lines of painted eyebrows. White rice powder covered smooth, perfect skin, contrasting with the satiny black hair that fell from a center part all the way to her knees. Her beauty took Sano’s breath away. Then Reiko smiled at him—the merest shy curving of dainty red lips before she demurely lowered her gaze. Sano’s heart clenched with a fierce, possessive tenderness as he smiled back. She was everything he wanted. Their life together would be sheer conjugal bliss, which would begin as soon as the public formalities ended.
The assembly stood as the attendants escorted Sano and Reiko from the altar to their families. Sano bowed to Magistrate Ueda and thanked him for the honor of joining the clan, while Reiko did the same to Sano’s mother. Together they thanked the shogun for his patronage, and the guests for coming. Then, after many more congratulations, thanks, and blessings, the party, led by the shogun, moved through the carved doors and down the wide corridor toward the hall where the wedding banquet would take place and more guests waited.
Suddenly, from deep within the castle’s interior, came loud, high-pitched screams, then the sound of running footsteps. The shogun paused, halting the procession.
“What is that noise?” he asked, his aristocratic features darkening in annoyance. To his officials, he said, “Go and, ahh, determine the cause, and put a stop to—”
Down the corridor toward the wedding party stampeded hundreds of shrieking women, some dressed in brilliant silk robes, others wearing the plain cotton kimonos of servants, all holding their sleeves over their noses and mouths, eyes wide with terror. Palace officials stormed after them, shouting commands and trying to restore order, but the women paid no heed.
“Let us out!” they cried, shoving the bridal procession up against the wall as they rushed past.
“How dare these females treat me in this disrespectful manner?” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi wailed. “Has everyone gone mad? Guards—stop them!”
Magistrate Ueda and the attendants shielded Reiko from the mob, which quickly expanded to include panicky guests pouring out of the banquet hall. They crashed into Sano’s mother, he caught her before she fell.
“We’re all doomed if we don’t run!” shrilled the women.
Now an army of guards appeared. They herded the hysterical women back to the castle interior. The wedding party and guests clustered in the banquet hall, where tables and cushions bad been arranged on the floor, a troupe of frightened musicians clutched their instruments, and maids waited to serve the feast.
“What is the meaning of this?” The shogun straightened his tall black cap, knocked atilt in the scuffle. “I, ahh, demand an explanation!”
The guard commander bowed to Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. “My apologies, Your Excellency, but there’s been a disturbance in the women’s quarters. Your concubine Lady Harume just died.”
The chief castle physician, dressed in the dark blue coat of his profession, added, “Her death was caused by a sudden violent illness. The other ladies fled in panic, fearing contagion.”
Murmurs of dismay rose from the assembly. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi gasped. “Contagion?” His face paled, and he covered his nose and mouth with both hands to keep the spirit of disease from entering. “Do you mean to say there is an, ahh, epidemic in the castle?” A dictator of delicate health and with little talent for leadership, he turned to Sano and Magistrate Ueda, the men present who ranked next below him in status. “What is to be done?”
“The nuptial festivities must be canceled,” Magistrate Ueda said with regret, “and the guests sent home. I will see to the arrangements.”
Sano, though shocked by this calamitous end to his wedding, hastened to his lord’s aid. Contagious disease was a serious concern in Edo Castle, which housed hundreds of Japan’s highest-ranking officials and their families. “In case there really is an epidemic, the ladies must be quarantined to prevent its spread.” Sano instructed the guard commander to manage this, and told the castle physician to examine the women for symptoms. “And you, Your Excellency, should stay in your chambers to avoid illness.”
“Ahh, yes, of course,” said Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, obviously relieved to have someone else take charge. Hurrying in the direction of his private suite, the shogun summoned the officials to follow, while shouting orders to Sano: “You must personally investigate Lady Harume’s death at once!” In his fear for himself, he seemed indifferent to the loss of his concubine and the fate of his other women. And he’d apparently forgotten all about Sano’s promised holiday. “You must prevent the evil spirit of disease from reaching me. Now go!”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Sano called after the retreating despot and his entourage.
Hirata hurried to join him. As they started down the corridor toward the women’s quarters, Sano looked over his shoulder and saw Reiko, white bridal gown trailing behind her, being escorted out by her father and attendants. He felt extreme annoyance at the shogun for reneging on his promise, and regret for the delayed wedding celebrations, both public and private. Had he not earned a little peace and happiness? Then Sa
no suppressed a sigh. Obedience to his lord was a samurai’s highest virtue. Duty prevailed; once again, death commanded Sano’s attentions. Marital bliss would have to wait.
2
The women’s quarters in Edo Castle occupied a private inner section of the main palace known as the Large Interior. The route to it led Sano and Hirata through the outer, public areas of the palace, past audience halls, government offices and conference rooms, through convoluted passages. An ominous pall had stilled the castle’s normal bustle of activity. Officials huddled in clusters from which rose uneasy mutters as news of the concubine’s shocking death spread. Armored guards patrolled the corridors in case of further unrest. The great Tokugawa bureaucracy had ground to a halt. Imagining the serious repercussions that an epidemic in Japan’s capital might have for the nation, Sano hoped that Lady Harume’s sickness would prove to be an isolated incident.
A massive oak door, banded in iron and decorated with carved flowers, sealed the entrance to the women’s quarters, home to the shogun’s mother, wife, and concubines, their attendants, and the palace’s cooks, maids, and other female servants. Two sentries guarded the door.
“We’re here on His Excellency’s orders to investigate the death of Lady Harume,” Sano said, identifying himself and Hirata.
The sentries bowed, opened the door, and admitted Sano and Hirata into a narrow, lantern-lit corridor. The door closed behind them with a soft, reverberant thud.
“I’ve never been in here before,” Hirata said, his voice hushed with awe. “Have you?”
“Never,” Sano said. Mingled interest and trepidation stirred inside him.
“Do you know anyone in the Large Interior?”
In his capacity as the shogun’s Sōsakan, Sano had free access to most of the castle. He was familiar with its walled passages and gardens, keep, ancestral shrine, martial arts training ground, and forest preserve, the Official Quarter where he lived, the outer section of the palace, and even the shogun’s private chambers. But the women’s quarters were closed to all men except a few carefully chosen guards, doctors, and officials. These did not include Sano.
“I know some of the servants and minor officials by sight,” he said, “and I once headed a military escort to convey the shogun’s mother and concubines on a pilgrimage to Zojo Temple. But my duties have never involved direct contact with anyone from the Large Interior.”
Now Sano had the disconcerting sense of entering alien territory. “Well, let’s get started,” he said, driving confidence into his voice as he regretted his postponed nuptial festivities. How much longer before he and Reiko could be together? Sano started down the corridor, resisting the urge to tiptoe.
The polished cypress floor gleamed, dimly reflecting Sano’s and Hirata’s distorted images. Painted flowers adorned the coffered ceiling. Unoccupied rooms were crammed full of lacquer chests, cabinets, and screens, charcoal braziers, mirrors, scattered clothing, dressing tables littered with combs, hairpins, and vials. Gilt murals covered the inner walls. In abandoned bathchambers, round wooden tubs steamed. The corridor was deserted, but behind the latticed wood and paper walls, countless shadowy figures moved. As Sano and Hirata passed, doors cracked open; frightened eyes peeked out. Somewhere a samisen played a melancholy tune. The high murmur of feminine voices filled the air, which felt warmer and smelled different than in the rest of the palace, sweet with the scent of perfume and aromatic unguents. Sano thought he could also detect the subtler smells of women’s bodies: sweat, sexual secretions, blood?
In this crowded hive, the very walls seemed to expand and contract with female breath. Sano had heard rumors of extravagant entertainments held here, of secret intrigues and escapades. But what practical expertise could he bring to a mysterious case of fatal disease in this private sanctum? Sano glanced at Hirata.
The young retainer’s wide, boyish face wore a look of nervous determination. He walked self-consciously, shoulders hunched, putting one foot in front of the other with exaggerated care, as if afraid to make noise or occupy space. Despite his own discomfort, Sano smiled in rueful sympathy. Both of them were beyond their depth here.
Sano, the son of a ronin—masterless samurai—had once earned his living as an instructor in his father’s martial arts academy and as a tutor to young boys, studying history in his spare time. Family connections had secured him a position as a senior police commander. He’d solved his first murder case and saved the shogun’s life, an act that had led to his current post.
Twenty-one-year-old Hirata’s father had been a doshin, one of Edo’s low-ranking police patrol officers. He’d inherited the position at age fifteen, maintaining order in the city streets until becoming Sano’s chief retainer a year and a half ago, when they’d investigated the notorious Bundori Murder case. Their humble origins, personal inclinations, and past experience ill suited them for this assignment. Yet, as Sano reminded himself, they’d emerged victorious from other difficult situations.
“What should we do first?” Hirata asked, his cautious tone echoing Sano’s misgivings.
“Find someone who can show us the scene of Lady Harume’s death.”
This, however, proved unnecessary. A great commotion drew Sano and Hirata deeper into the shadowy maze of rooms inhabited by countless unseen women who whispered and sobbed behind closed doors. Blue-robed physicians rushed about, carrying medical chests; servants followed with trays of tea and herbal remedies. Voices chanted and called; bells tinkled; drums throbbed; paper rustled. The sweet, tarry odor of strong incense wafted through the corridors. Sano and Hirata easily located the focus of activity, a small chamber at the end of a hallway. They entered.
Inside, five saffron-robed Buddhist priests rang bells, chanted prayers, beat drums, and shook paper-tasseled wands to drive away the spirits of disease. Maids sprinkled salt on the windowsill and around the perimeter of the room, laying down a purifying boundary, across which death’s contamination could not pass. Two middle-aged female palace officials, dressed in the somber gray robes of their station, waved incense burners. Through the asphyxiating haze Sano could barely see the shrouded body on the floor.
“Please wait outside for a moment,” Sano told the priests, maids, and officials. They complied, and Sano said to Hirata, “Get the chief physician.”
Then he opened the window to admit sunlight and clear away the smoke. He took a folded cloth from beneath his sash and covered his nose and mouth. After wrapping his hand with the end of his sash to protect himself from physical disease and spiritual pollution, he squatted by the corpse and pulled back the white shroud.
There lay a young woman, full and robust of body, skirts parted to expose naked hips and legs. She had an oval face whose smooth skin and softly curved features must have once been beautiful, but were now smeared with the blood and vomit that also stained her red silk kimono and the tatami around her. Sano swallowed hard. Earlier this morning he’d been too nervous about the wedding to eat; now, the sensation of nausea on an empty stomach was almost overpowering. He shook his head in pity. Lady Harume had died in the bloom of her youth. Then Sano frowned, noticing the corpse’s odd condition.
Her whole body looked as rigid as if she’d been dead for many hours, instead of just moments: spine arched, fists tight, arms and legs stiffly straight, jaws clenched. With his covered hand, Sano palpated her arm. It felt hard and unyielding, the muscles frozen in a permanent spasm. And Harume’s wide-open eyes seemed too dark. Leaning over for a closer look, Sano saw that the pupils were dilated to maximum size. And her shaved pubis bore what appeared to be a freshly tattooed symbol, still red and puffy around the inked black cuts—the character ai:
At the sound of footsteps in the corridor, Sano looked up to see Hirata and the castle physician enter the room. They crouched beside him, cloths held over their noses and mouths, studying Lady Harume’s corpse.
“What disease was this, Dr. Kitano?” Sano spoke through his own cloth, which was now wet with saliva.
The do
ctor shook his head. He had a lined face, and thin gray hair knotted at his nape. “I don’t know. I’ve been a physician for thirty years, but I’ve never seen or heard of anything like this before. The sudden onset, the violent delirium and convulsions, the dilated pupils, the rapid demise …It’s a mystery to me; I know of no cure. The gods help us if this disease should spread.”
Hirata said, “During my first year in the police service, a fever killed three hundred people in Nihonbashi. Not with those symptoms, or so quickly, but it caused serious trouble. Shops were deserted by owners who had died or run for the hills. Fires started because people burned candles and incense to purify their homes and keep away the fever demon. Bodies lay in the streets because they couldn’t be taken away fast enough. The smoke from all the funerals made a big, black cloud over the whole city.”
Sano covered Harume’s corpse with the shroud, stood, and put away his facecloth, as did his companions. He remembered the epidemic and dreaded an even more disastrous repeat here, in the heart of Japan’s government. But because of his observations, another, equally disturbing alternative occurred to him.
“Had Lady Harume displayed any signs of illness before now?” he asked Dr. Kitano.
“Yesterday I personally conducted her monthly examination, as I do for all the concubines. Harume was in perfect health.”
Even as Sano’s fear of an epidemic waned, he felt a growing sense of unease. “Are any of the other women sick?”
“I haven’t examined them all yet, but the chief lady official tells me that although they’re upset, they’re physically well.”
The Concubine's Tattoo Page 2