She contented herself with saying, “Sano Ichirō’s visit disturbed me. I received him because I wanted to meet the yoriki who is officiating in the matter of Yukiko’s death, but now I’m sorry I did. He is an intelligent, unconventional, and persistent man. You shouldn’t have spoken to him the way you did—you only whetted his interest. Who knows what he might discover if he keeps prying into our affairs?”
“Sano? Who is Sano Ichirō, anyway? Just an insignificant creature, not worth a moment’s thought.”
Masahito freed his hand from her grasp and let out a hoot of maniacal laughter. He’d slipped into the grandiose, reckless mood she feared most. His already bright eyes began to blaze; his body seemed to exude power. Now he would never heed caution or recognize his own vulnerability. He would court death as he had once courted punishment. He would subject himself to agonizing pain and fear, recover, then seek more agony.
“I’ve already taken steps to keep him away from us,” Lady Niu said, fighting to remain calm against her rising terror. What if he should die? Her own life would be empty without him. “Magistrate Ogyu has agreed to restrict his interference. But there are limits to what I can do. I don’t want to arouse suspicion by asking for too many favors, not when it would be so easy for you to maintain a low profile.” She tried to keep the pleading note out of her voice, knowing it would only invite mockery. “Just for a while.”
Masahito sighed. “Mother, I don’t need you to protect me. I know what I’m doing, and I can take care of myself. If Yoriki Sano continues to be a problem—”
He picked up a burning moxa cone. Ignoring her cry of protest, he crushed it between his fingers. He laughed again as it crumbled into ash and fell to the floor in a thin trail of smoke.
Niu Yukiko’s funeral procession filed through the streets of Edo, slowly making its way east from the Zōjō Temple toward the river.
First came black-clad samurai bearing white lanterns on long poles, followed by more men carrying clusters of sacred lotus made of gold paper. Then the high priest in his gorgeous silk mantle, borne on a litter by orange-robed priests. More priests held smoking incense burners, tinkled bells, beat drums, or scattered rose petals upon the ground. After them strode Lord Niu. He carried the funeral tablet, his gait stiff, his face somber. Then came the coffin, a little white house with a tile roof. Its bearers wore the Niu dragonfly crest on their black garments. More bearers followed with a huge bamboo cage full of twittering birds; then more priests, chanting sutras. Behind them walked the family, with their retainers and attendants, the men in black, the women in pure white.
And the other mourners: rank after rank, hundreds of them, all come to pay their last respects to the daughter of a great lord.
Sano marched with these last. After leaving Raiden, he’d gone back to the barracks to don his ceremonial robes—white silk under-robe, black silk kimono with his family crest of four interlocked flying cranes embroidered in gold at the back, breast, and hem, flowing black trousers, and black haori with padded shoulders. His swords were muffled in black cloth as a gesture of courtesy to the deceased. Now he hoped his costume would let him blend with the mourners and avoid Lady Niu’s notice.
After her warning and Magistrate Ogyu’s reprimand, the thought of approaching the Nius again filled Sano with dread. But since learning of Noriyoshi’s connection with them, he felt he must see Yukiko’s sister Midori again. Perhaps the “proof” she’d claimed to have would lead him to the identity of the blackmail victim and murderer. As a tutor, he’d learned that children often invented tales; caution told him to take anything she said with a healthy dose of skepticism. Still, the possibility that she held the key to the murders was too strong to overlook.
There were more reasons Sano had to risk stealing a moment with her. Making this effort would discharge his obligation to Wisteria, proving to both her and himself that he wasn’t going to deny Noriyoshi justice because of class considerations. And he’d begun to wonder if the Nius had indeed been involved in the murders and were playing Ogyu for a fool, using the unsuspecting magistrate to cover up their crime. Much as Sano disliked Ogyu, he came from a long line of men who would give their lives to protect their masters. He couldn’t let the Nius involve Ogyu in shady business that might erupt into scandal. For once his personal desires and his professional obligations coincided. Sano peered through the ranks of mourners ahead of him, searching for Midori.
He’d spotted young Lord Niu, the chief mourner, when he caught up with the procession outside the temple, and Magistrate Ogyu among the men toward the front of the line. He’d seen Lady Niu leading the women, her large sturdy frame easily recognizable. But the other women all looked alike in their white kimonos and caps. How would he ever find Midori among them? Even if he did, when and how could he speak to her alone?
The procession passed beneath the arch of a torii gate, descended a flight of stone steps, and halted on the riverbank. There, in the middle of a huge tree-bordered square, under a thatched roof supported by pillars, waited a pit filled with wood. Beside it, tables held offerings of food and drink; braziers sent up fragrant smoke to mingle with the incense and the fresh river breeze. The mourners arranged themselves around the pit. Sano took advantage of the general shift to work his way forward, toward the Niu women grouped near the edge of the pit.
The men with the birds set down the cage and opened it. In a flurry of wings and song, the birds soared skyward, their flight symbolizing the soul’s release from earthly life and ascent to the spirit realm. Sano saw a girl who looked like Midori. As he tried to catch her eye, the crowd shifted again, and he found himself almost within touching distance of Magistrate Ogyu. Hastily he moved back again.
The high priest began to chant to the accompaniment of the bells and drums. The mourners listened in silence. Hemmed in by the men around him, Sano surreptitiously rose to his toes, pretending to watch the priest as he darted glances at the women. He found the girl he’d taken for Midori: she wasn’t. He waited, hoping the funeral would end soon and knowing it wouldn’t.
Finally, after more than an hour, the pallbearers placed Yukiko’s coffin on top of the wood in the pit. Lord Niu stepped forward, holding a torch. He lit it at the brazier, then cast it onto the pyre.
The wood caught fire with a sound like a loud gasp of horror. Instantly a sheet of crackling, thundering flame engulfed the coffin. Black smoke rose from it. In no time at all, coffin and shroud burned away to reveal Yukiko’s naked body—small, delicate, seated upright, head shaven. The flames blistered and darkened her flesh. Her face became a grotesque black mask as her features dissolved against her skull. Bodily fluids hissed and sputtered as the heat evaporated them. The smell of burning meat filled the air. Ashes wafted toward the river.
Sano watched with some of the same feelings he always experienced at funerals: sorrow over a life prematurely ended; instinctive revulsion at the horrible sight of a burning body; and a growing relief as the purifying fire did its work. Since he hadn’t known Niu Yukiko, he felt no grief. Instead, an acute sense of duty toward the dead girl’s spirit stirred in him. For as life ends with death, so do love and hate, happiness and sorrow, pain and pleasure. But Sano believed that truth and justice could transcend death as other worldly concerns do not.
I will find your killer, he promised Yukiko silently.
As he waited for the flames to consume Yukiko’s body, Sano covertly studied the faces of the mourners. Maybe he would see guilt or glee or some other inappropriate emotion on one of them. Something that would identify its owner as a murderer. But he was disappointed. In accordance with funeral custom, no one displayed the slightest emotion. Lady Niu wore her usual serenity like part of her costume. Sano thought he detected restlessness in Lord Niu, but it might have been the product of his imagination, or of the way the flames cast shifting patterns of light across the young man’s face.
With a sudden loud crash, the roof sheltering the pyre collapsed in a mass of flame and smoke. The mourners d
rew back. Sano moved with them and managed to extricate himself from the men surrounding him. He worked his way around the perimeter of the circle of mourners until he was directly behind the family group, with six or seven rows of people between him and the Niu women. He still couldn’t find Midori. But standing beside him was someone familiar.
She wore a plain cotton kimono that identified her as a servant. Her face was unremarkable, with a rather flat nose and small mouth. Except for her red and swollen eyes, he would not have recognized her as O-hisa, the weeping maid he’d seen at the Nius’ mansion.
“O-hisa,” he whispered, touching her sleeve to get her attention. “Where is Miss Midori?”
The maid looked at him, her face blank and uncomprehending.
Ahead of him, Sano could see Lady Niu’s back, uncomfortably close. “We met two days ago at the house,” he explained hastily. “I’m Yoriki Sano—do you remember me? I must speak to Miss Midori. It’s very important. Can you show me where she is?”
Now recognition spread across O-hisa’s face. Her eyes and mouth rounded into circles of fear. “No … I’m very sorry … I …”
Stammering more barely intelligible words, she made a move as if to run toward the gate.
Sano blocked her path. “Please,” he began.
O-hisa turned and plunged into the crowd of mourners. They stirred, uttering murmurs of surprise and annoyance.
Sano stared in dismay at the turmoil she’d left in her wake: women beating her dusty footprints from their hems, the old man she’d knocked to the ground. Appalled by the spectacle he’d created, he wondered if he should try to resume his place among the men, or leave before Lady Niu or Magistrate Ogyu saw him. He hesitated too long. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He turned and found himself face to face with Lady Niu’s manservant. Eii-chan’s homely visage remained rigidly impassive, except for the warning glint in his small eyes. Offend my masters and die by my hand, they seemed to say.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Niu herself was advancing on him, regal and furious. Three of her husband’s retainers accompanied her, stern and hostile in their black garments. The crowd parted to let them pass. The priest’s chanting trailed off; the bells and drums stopped. Only the fire’s crackle continued unabated.
Panic clutched Sano. What would she do to him? He flung a wild glance toward the male mourners and saw heads turning his way, Ogyu’s among them. And what would his superior do upon learning that Sano had not only disobeyed orders but disrupted Yukiko’s funeral as well? Eii-chan and the other samurai surrounded him. He stood his ground, hoping Lady Niu wouldn’t reveal his presence to Ogyu by saying his name.
She didn’t, maybe because she didn’t remember it, or because she didn’t want her friends to know that a police commander had crashed her stepdaughter’s funeral. When she reached him, all she said was, “I warned you once, and I won’t warn you again,” in a low tone meant only for him. Her lovely eyes flashed in anger—and, strangely, fear. She turned to her manservant. “Eii-chan, see this man to the gate.”
Before she’d finished speaking, Eii-chan had already taken the initiative, moving with that odd swiftness he had. He stepped around Sano. Fierce pain streaked up Sano’s arm to his shoulder as Eii-chan seized it, bent it behind him, and wrenched it upward. Only his instinctive self-control enabled him to turn a scream into a gasp. Only his desire to keep Ogyu from seeing him—if the magistrate hadn’t already—made him bow his head instead of struggling to free himself. Nearly fainting from the pain, he stumbled out of the murmuring crowd with Eii-chan propelling him forward. He was dimly aware of Lady Niu offering apologies to the mourners, and the priests resuming the service. Shame increased his distress as he sensed the hundreds of curious onlookers witnessing his humiliation.
As soon as they reached the steps—too far for anyone to recognize him—Sano began to fight. He trod hard on Eii-chan’s insteps and jabbed his free elbow into the manservant’s stomach. Eii-chan didn’t react or make a sound. Although Sano suspected that a man of feeling and spirit lived within Eii-chan, he seemed made of stone: hard, numb, silent. Was he mute, or did he simply choose not to speak? He half-pushed, half-lifted Sano up the steps, twisting his arm. This time Sano cried out in spite of himself.
“Wait, Eii-chan.” It was a man’s voice, behind them.
Eii-chan paused at the gate and turned, swinging Sano around with him, but not releasing Sano’s arm. Through a haze of pain, Sano saw young Lord Niu standing at the top of the steps, small but proud in his black robes.
“You can’t stay away from us, can you, Yoriki Sano?” Lord Niu said. He came forward and leaned against the gatepost. “Now I think you can see that interfering in our affairs can result in very unpleasant consequences. Yes? No?”
Sano, biting back another cry of pain, couldn’t reply.
Then, almost as an afterthought, Lord Niu said, “Oh, Eii-chan. You can let him go now.”
Eii-chan released Sano. Sano gingerly flexed his shoulder and arm. Nothing seemed broken, but his muscles ached. Anger flared inside him—not at Eii-chan, whom he regarded more as an animated tool than as a man, but at Lord Niu, who could have ended his misery sooner, but had deliberately chosen to let him suffer. The malicious glint in his eyes confirmed this. Sano wanted to rail against the insult, to hurl accusations and threats at Lord Niu: “Someone in your household killed Noriyoshi and your sister, and I’ll prove it!” But he held his peace, reminding himself of Tokugawa Ieyasu’s words: “Look upon wrath as thine enemy.” He couldn’t let anger make him careless.
“What is it you want with us now?” Lord Niu asked.
Swallowing his rage, Sano forced himself to lie courteously. “I only wanted to pay my respects to your family,” he said.
Lord Niu let out a burst of scornful laughter. “Do you mean to tell me that you have ceased your ridiculous investigation into our private tragedy?”
“Unless I find evidence indicating that it isn’t so ridiculous after all.” Sano couldn’t resist making a verbal counterattack. “Maybe you could give it to me?”
A momentary frown creased Lord Niu’s forehead—dismay, or simple irritation? “You can’t be serious. There is no such evidence, and even if there were, why would I have it?”
Was the emphatic denial a stall to buy Lord Niu time to recover his wits? Sano thought perhaps he could goad the daimyo’s son into an unguarded revelation.
“Noriyoshi had ties to another member of your family besides Yukiko,” he said.
But Lord Niu had regained his poise. Instead of acknowledging the question, he said to Eii-chan, “Return to the funeral. I think Yoriki Sano can find his own way home.”
Eii-chan turned and walked down the steps without a word. To Sano, Lord Niu said, “If you come near our estate or near any member of our clan again, I cannot guarantee your safety. Eii-chan and our other retainers take an unfavorable view of those who trespass on our property or persons.”
He delivered the words casually, but with a malevolent glow in his feverish eyes. Sano recognized the tacit threat: if he approached the Nius again, he would be killed.
“I see that you understand my meaning,” Lord Niu said. “Perhaps you’re not as stupid as I thought. Just foolhardy, but decidedly capable of learning your lesson.” A contemptuous smile twisted his mouth as his gaze held Sano’s. “Farewell, yoriki. I trust we won’t be seeing each other again.” He pushed himself away from the post and started slowly down the steps, his head high and his body rigid.
That’s what you think, Sano silently told Lord Niu’s retreating back. Resentment and humiliation burned dully in his blood like bad wine. His hand moved to his sword, gripping its hilt with all the force of his anger against Lord Niu, who had given him even more reason to investigate the Nius’ role in the murders.
Then Lord Niu turned. “Oh, by the way,” he called. “I wouldn’t bother trying to see Midori, if I were you. My mother has sent her to the nunnery at the Temple of Kannon in Hakone.”
His laugh rang out as he continued on his way.
Sano watched Lord Niu rejoin the mourners at the funeral pyre. The flames had died down, although smoke continued to rise from the smoldering embers. As he started back toward the city center, a heady excitement stirred beneath his initial disappointment. Attending the funeral had endangered him, but not, perhaps, to no avail. Midori was in Hakone, a long, arduous journey west along the Tōkaido—the Eastern Sea Road that linked Edo with the imperial capital in Kyoto. This was bad news, but at least he knew where to find her. It wouldn’t be easy to justify a five-day leave of absence to Magistrate Ogyu; still, he could operate more freely once outside Ogyu’s domain.
Besides, the Nius’ continuing resistance to his investigation confirmed his suspicion that they wanted the mystery of Noriyoshi’s and Yukiko’s murders to remain unsolved. And their abrupt removal of Midori from Edo meant they were afraid that she might tell him why.
Sano had departed from the Tōkaido’s starting point at the Nihonbashi Bridge at daybreak. Dressed in his winter traveling clothes—a wide, circular wicker hat, heavy robes, trousers, shoes and socks, and his warmest hooded cloak—he’d ridden southwest out of the awakening city. Now, as the sun burned the last of the dawn’s shimmering pink radiance from the sky, he approached Shinagawa, second of the fifty-three stations that marked the highway between Edo and Kyoto.
The wide, sandy road, banked in the middle and bordered on each side by regularly spaced tall firs, narrowed and began to climb. Sano could see ahead of him the many bent figures of pedestrians toiling toward Shinagawa. To his right, the land rose steeply toward the forested hills. On his left it dropped sharply away below a line of fishermen’s shacks to the sea. Small boats crowded the harbor. The faint shapes of larger ships floated on distant deeper water, against a hazy horizon. Seabirds wheeled and soared, filling the sky’s high blue bowl with darting wings and the air with their sharp, plaintive cries. The sibilant lap of the waves made a constant, gentler music. The clean, fresh salt breeze invigorated Sano, renewing his optimism and confidence. His journey was going to be a success. When he got to Hakone, Midori would give him proof that Noriyoshi and Yukiko had been murdered, and maybe even tell him the identity of the killer.
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