The Concubine's Tattoo

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Perhaps you’d like some refreshment to fortify your creative talents?” Lady Miyagi said.

  “Yes, please.” Reiko swallowed hard.

  The thought of eating in the Miyagi’s presence again brought a wave of nausea. Reluctantly she accepted tea and a round, sweet cake with a whole egg yolk baked inside to symbolize the moon. A sense of imprisonment worsened her discomfort. She could feel night closing in, obliterating the trail leading down the wooded slope to her protectors. Outside the pavilion ran a narrow gravel path. Beyond this, the ground dropped off steeply to the boulder-strewn bank of a stream. Reiko could hear the water rushing far below. There seemed no escape except over the precipice.

  Crumbling the moon cake on her plate, Reiko got a tenuous hold on her poise and addressed her host. “I beg you to write the first poem, my lord, so that I might follow your superior example.”

  Lord Miyagi preened under her flattery. He contemplated the view, then inked his brush and wrote. He read aloud:

  “Once the moon rose above the rim of the mountain.

  Casting its brilliant light upon the landscape.

  I raised my eyes over the windowsill,

  And, with my gaze, caressed the loveliness within.

  But now the old moon has waned,

  Beauty has turned to ashes—

  I stand alone in the cold, cold night,

  Waiting for love to come again.”

  He aimed a suggestive look at Reiko, who could barely conceal her revulsion. The daimyo was twisting the moon-viewing ritual to serve his own purpose, issuing a blatant invitation for her to replace the lover he’d killed.

  “A brilliant poem,” Lady Miyagi said, although her praise sounded forced. Her eyes burned feverishly bright.

  Ignoring Lord Miyagi’s innuendo, Reiko seized upon the tiny opening his verse offered. “Speaking of cold weather, yesterday I went to Zojo Temple and almost froze. Did you go outside, too?”

  “We both spent the entire day at home alone indoors together,” Lady Miyagi answered.

  That she should give her husband an alibi for the time of Choyei’s murder didn’t surprise Reiko. However, Lord Miyagi said, “I did go out for a while. When I came in, you weren’t there.” He added peevishly, “You’d gone and left me all alone. It was ages before you returned.”

  “Oh, but you’re mistaken, Cousin.” A warning note sharpened Lady Miyagi’s voice. “I was attending to some business in the servants’ quarters. If you’d looked harder, you would have found me. I never left the house.”

  Reiko concealed her delight. If the daimyo was stupid enough to break his own alibi, then coaxing a confession from him should be easy. From the food table, Reiko selected a radish pickle and took a bite. The acrid morsel filled her mouth with saliva; imagining poison, she almost retched as she swallowed. “This is delicious. And think of how far it must have traveled to reach this table! When I was young, my nurse took me to see the vegetable barges at Daikon Quay. It’s a very interesting place. Have you ever been there?”

  Lady Miyagi cut in brusquely. “I am sorry to say that neither of us has ever had that pleasure.”

  The daimyo had opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a glance. He looked confused, then shrugged. It was obvious he’d been to Daikon Quay. Certain that he’d stabbed Choyei, Reiko hid a smile.

  “Why don’t you try a poem now?” Lady Miyagi said to her.

  Such pitiful attempts to prevent her husband from making incriminating remarks that the shogun’s Sōsakan-sama might eventually hear! Reiko turned a classic theme to her advantage. She wrote a few characters and read:

  “The moon that shines on this pavilion

  Also shines on Asakusa Kannon Temple.”

  Before she could continue questioning Lord Miyagi, the daimyo, inspired by her verse, recited:

  “In the night, a worm secretly bores an apple,

  A caged bird sings out in ecstasy,

  The moonlight’s milky celestial fluid

  streams down through my hands.

  But in the graveyard, all is still and lifeless.”

  His crude sexual symbolism and morbid obsession with death appalled Reiko. Inwardly recoiling from Lord Miyagi, she said, “Asakusa is one of my favorite places, especially on Forty-six Thousand Day. Did you go this year?”

  “The crowds are too much for us,” Lady Miyagi said. Though the constant interference annoyed Reiko, she was grateful for Lady Miyagi’s company, because surely the daimyo wouldn’t hurt her in the presence of his wife. “We never go to Asakusa on major holy days.”

  “But we made an exception this year—don’t you remember?” Lord Miyagi said. “I was having pains in my bones, and you thought that the healing smoke from the incense vat in front of Kannon Temple would help.” He chuckled. “Really, you’re becoming very forgetful, Cousin.”

  Thrilled that he’d placed himself in Asakusa on the day of the dagger attack on Lady Harume, Reiko sought to establish his presence in Harume’s vicinity. “The Chinese lantern plants in the marketplace were splendid. Did you see them?”

  “Alas, my health did not allow me the pleasure,” the daimyo said. “I rested in the temple garden, leaving my wife to enjoy the sights alone.”

  With obvious annoyance, Lady Miyagi said, “We are straying from the purpose of our trip.” She turned her brush around and around in trembling fingers; her musky odor grew stronger, as if increased by the heat of her body. “Let’s compose another poem. I’ll begin this time.

  “I shall let the brilliance of the full moon

  Cleanse my spirit of evil!”

  The sky had darkened, immersing the city in night; stars glittered like gems floating in the moon’s diffuse radiance. Inspired by a myth about two constellations that cross once a year in autumn, Reiko dashed off a verse:

  “Behind the veil of moonlight

  On the River of Heaven,

  The Herd Boy and Weaver Girl meet.”

  Lord Miyagi said:

  “As the lovers embrace,

  I rave at the sight of their forbidden rapture.

  Then they part, and he continues on his journey—

  Leaving her alone to face my censure.”

  The cold hand of fear closed over Reiko’s heart as she considered the significance of his words. Surely she was sitting beside a murderer who acted out the evil fantasies implied. “Forbidden love is very romantic,” she said. “Your poem reminds me of a rumor I heard about Lady Harume.”

  “Edo Castle is full of rumors,” Lady Miyagi said acerbically, “and too few of them true.”

  Lord Miyagi ignored her. “What did you hear?”

  “Harume was meeting a man at an Asakusa inn.” Seeing a flash of concern in his moist eyes, Reiko kept her expression innocent. “How daring of her to do such a thing.”

  “Yes…” As if talking to himself, the daimyo murmured, “Lovers in such a situation risk dire consequences. How fortunate for him that the danger has passed.”

  Reiko could hardly contain her excitement. “Do you think Harume’s lover killed her to keep the affair a secret? I also heard that Harume began a second romance,” she improvised, wondering whether Sano had traced the mystery lover and wishing he could see how well her interrogation was going. “She was really pushing her luck, don’t you think?” Did you watch them, Lord Miyagi? Reiko longed to ask outright. Were you jealous? Is that why you poisoned her?

  Lady Miyagi burst out, “What difference does it make what Harume did, now that she’s dead? Really, I find this subject very repugnant.”

  “It’s only natural to take an interest in one’s acquaintances,” Lord Miyagi said mildly.

  “I wasn’t aware you knew Harume,” lied Reiko. “Tell me, what did you think of her?”

  The daimyo’s eyes blurred with reminiscence. “She—”

  “Cousin.” Glaring, Lady Miyagi spoke through clenched teeth.

  The daimyo seemed to realize the folly of speaking about his murdered paramour. �
��It’s all in the past. Harume is dead.” His oily gaze slid over Reiko. “While you and I are alive.”

  “This morning you said Harume flirted with danger and invited killing,” Reiko persisted, intent on concluding her case against Lord Miyagi. She had his statement placing him at a crime scene; she needed his confession. “Were you the one who gave her what she deserved?”

  Even as Reiko spoke, she knew she’d gone too far. Seeing Lord Miyagi’s nonplussed expression, she hoped that he was too dense to realize she’d virtually accused him of murder. Then Lady Miyagi seized her wrist. Gasping in surprise, Reiko turned to her hostess.

  “You didn’t really come here to view the moon, did you?” Lady Miyagi said. “You befriended us so you could spy for the Sōsakan-sama. You’re trying to pin Harume’s murder on my husband. You want to destroy us!”

  Her face had undergone a startling transformation. Above blazing eyes, frown lines cut deep slants into her brow. Her nostrils flared; a snarl bared her black teeth. Reiko stared in astonishment. It was like the pivotal moment in a No drama when the actor playing a nice, ordinary woman reveals her true character by changing masks and becoming a ferocious demon.

  “No, that’s not true.” Reiko tried to pull away, but Lady Miyagi’s fingernails dug into her flesh. “Let me go!”

  “Cousin, what are you talking about?” mewled Lord Miyagi. “Why are you treating our guest this way?”

  “Don’t you see she’s trying to prove you poisoned Harume and stabbed the old drug peddler from Daikon Quay? And you won’t let me protect us. You fell right into her trap!”

  The daimyo shook his head in befuddlement. “What drug peddler? How can you attribute such vile intentions to this sweet young lady? Release her at once.” Leaning over, he tried to pry his wife’s fingers loose. “Why should we need protection? I didn’t do those terrible things. I’ve never killed anyone in my life.”

  “No,” Lady Miyagi said in a voice full of quiet menace, “you haven’t.”

  Suddenly the truth hit Reiko like a blow to the stomach. The broken alibis didn’t incriminate Lord Miyagi alone. His wife’s lies had been intended to protect herself as well. “You’re the murderer!” Reiko exclaimed.

  Lady Miyagi chuckled, a low growl deep in her throat. “If it took you this long to figure it out, then you’re not as smart as you think.”

  “Cousin!” As realization dawned on Lord Miyagi, he fell back on his knees. His face seemed to cave in, the soft flesh sinking around the holes of his gaping mouth, his horror-stricken eyes. “You killed Harume? But why?”

  “Never mind,” rasped Lady Miyagi. “Harume isn’t important anymore. This one is the problem now. She knows too much.” Her lips curved in a malicious grin directed at Reiko. “Do you know, I’m actually quite glad you turned out to be a spy. Now I feel even more justified in doing what I’ve been planning all along.”

  “What—what’s that?” Still stunned by her discovery, Reiko shrank from the hostility that dripped from Lady Miyagi’s voice.

  “I didn’t let you come here so you could steal my husband’s affection. No, I brought you because I saw the perfect chance to get you out of our life for good. Just the way I did with his two concubines.”

  Lord Miyagi gasped. “Snowflake? Wren? What have you done to them?”

  “They’re both dead.” Lady Miyagi nodded in smug satisfaction. “I tied them up and cut their throats.”

  Horror flooded Reiko in a sickening gush. Seeing the maniacal fury in her hostess’s eyes, she regretted wasting her fear on the wrong person. The daimyo was innocent and harmless. The real danger lay in this woman whom Reiko had dismissed as his insignificant shadow. Now she yearned for the knife strapped to her left upper arm, but Lady Miyagi kept her right hand immobilized. She couldn’t reach the hidden weapon.

  “But why, Cousin, why?” Lord Miyagi said. White with shock, he stared at his wife. “How could you kill my girls? They never did anything to hurt you. Surely…surely you’re not jealous?” Amazement lifted his voice; “They were just harmless diversions, like all my other women.”

  “I know better,” Lady Miyagi snapped. “They could have taken you away from me and ruined everything. But I got rid of them. And now I’m going to make sure this one never comes between us, either.”

  The urgency of demented purpose must have been building rapidly inside Lady Miyagi since Harume’s death, driving her to murder again and again. Sudden panic infused Reiko’s body with strength. Now the woman meant to kill her, too! Wrenching out of Lady Miyagi’s grip, she sprang to her feet and lunged toward the open front of the pavilion. But Lady Miyagi caught the end of her sash and yanked, whipping her around. She grabbed Reiko’s ankle. Losing her balance, Reiko fell backward across the table. Food and crockery went flying. As the crash shot pain through Reiko’s spine, Lady Miyagi jumped on top of her.

  “Snowflake, Wren,” the daimyo moaned, huddling in the corner. “No, no…Cousin, you’ve lost your senses. Stop, please. Stop!”

  Reiko tried to throw off the daimyo’s wife, but her arms were ensnared by the voluminous folds of her kimono, her legs twisted between Lady Miyagi’s. She couldn’t reach the dagger. She thrashed helplessly as the older woman grappled for her throat. Butting her forehead hard against Lady Miyagi’s face, she felt the painful crack of bone against bone. Her vision went black for an instant. Lady Miyagi cried out and reared back. Reiko heaved herself upright, but Lady Miyagi recovered before she could grab the knife. Blood streaming from her mouth, front teeth broken at the gums, she flew at Reiko, eyes crazed. Together they crashed against the lattice wall, splintering it. Cold air rushed into the pavilion.

  “Cousin, stop,” keened Lord Miyagi.

  With great chagrin, Reiko realized that she, a believer in the power of women, had underestimated the daimyo’s wife. Lady Miyagi’s urge to protect her husband equalled Reiko’s determination to share Sano’s work. Sano had considered Lady Miyagi a mere slave of her husband and not a serious suspect; like a thoughtless fool, Reiko had followed his example. She’d dismissed Lady Miyagi as old and weak, hardly capable of violence or killing. Now Reiko deplored her own stupidity. She’d correctly placed the blame for the murders within the Miyagi household, but failed to identify the actual culprit. She’d mistaken Lady Miyagi’s murderous mania for sexual arousal, overlooking every clue provided by her behavior. Even the poem, an oblique, chilling confession, had slipped past Reiko. Social mores had blinded her as much as Sano.

  “Help!” Reiko shouted. At this moment, she would welcome the protection of a man. “Detective Fujisawa. Detective Ota. Help!”

  Lady Miyagi laughed breathlessly as she clawed and kicked and pummeled. She tore at Reiko’s hair, scattering pins and combs. “Scream all you want. They won’t come.”

  She clamped a hand over Reiko’s chin, forcing it back. Reiko fought to free herself, but Lady Miyagi possessed the unnatural strength of madness. Her knees pinned Reiko down. She whipped a dagger from beneath her robe and held the blade to Reiko’s face, touching her lips.

  At once Reiko ceased struggling and went rigid. Eyes riveted on the length of sharp steel, she couldn’t breathe. She pictured the two concubines, slaughtered like animals, and felt her whole spirit recoil from the blade that could spill her own blood. The only other time she’d faced such danger was during that long-ago sword battle in Nihonbashi. She’d felt invincible then—she’d been so young, so foolish. Now the terrible fact of her own mortality struck Reiko. Yearning for Sano, she bitterly rued the error of confronting a murderer alone. But Sano was back in Edo; regrets wouldn’t save her.

  Reiko forced herself to look past the dagger at Lady Miyagi, who knelt atop her, face hovering so close that Reiko could see the jagged edges of her broken teeth, the red veins in the whites of her hate-filled eyes. “Please don’t hurt me.” Despite her effort to sound brave, Reiko’s voice came out a tearful whisper. “I won’t tell anyone what you did, I promise.”

  Lord Miyagi cried, “See,
she wants to cooperate. Set her free. We can all go home and forget about this.”

  “You mustn’t believe her lies, dearest Cousin.” Tenderness momentarily softened Lady Miyagi’s voice as she addressed her husband. “You must trust me to take care of everything, the way I always do.” She angled the knife downward, until it lay across Reiko’s throat.

  “Please, let her go,” the daimyo moaned. “I’m scared.” His fascination with death had either been just a pose, or hadn’t withstood the spectacle of real violence. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “I told my husband where I was going,” Reiko said, longing for her own, inaccessible weapon. “You may get away with killing Harume and Choyei, but not me.”

  Lady Miyagi laughed. “Oh, but I’m not going to kill you, Lady Sano.” Keeping the knife positioned, she eased sideways off Reiko. “You’re going to do it for me.”

  She wound a thick skein of Reiko’s hair around her free hand, then stood. Yanked upright, Reiko cried out as pain shot through her scalp. She stumbled to her feet. Lady Miyagi held her tight; the knife grazed her neck.

  “You were so enchanted by the moon,” the daimyo’s wife said, “that you decided to take a walk along the precipice.” Breathing hard, she forced Reiko to walk over scattered food and poems, past the cowering Lord Miyagi. “You tripped and fell to your death.”

  “No!” Fresh horror weakened Reiko. “My husband will never believe it.”

  “Oh, yes, he will.” Ruthless determination filled Lady Miyagi’s voice. She propelled Reiko down the steps of the pavilion and into the vast, windswept night. “So tragic, but accidents do happen. Move!”

  39

  “I should never have let Reiko go anywhere near the Miyagi!” Sano shouted over the pounding of his horse’s hooves.

  “But there was no way you could have foreseen this happening,” Hirata shouted back.

  They were galloping up a winding road into the hills. Burning lanterns swayed on poles attached to their horses’ saddles. Their shadows flew over the packed earth. Stone embankments and dark forest blurred past on their left; to the right, lower hills cascaded down to the city, now invisible except for specks of brightness at Edo Castle, neighborhood gates, and along the river. His voice jarred by the gait of his horse, Sano called to Hirata, “I should have gone home to see Reiko after leaving Asakusa, instead of heading straight for the eta settlement. Then I could have prevented her from going on the moon-viewing trip.”