The Red Chrysanthemum

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “She might have been aware of your private inquiries and assumed that whatever you were doing would be detrimental to her,” Sano pointed out.

  Reiko nodded unhappily. “For all the good my investigation did, I wish I’d never undertaken it. I’m sorry I did.”

  “So am I,” Sano admitted, “but it’s too late for that.”

  “We have other problems besides Lady Mori.” Hirata sounded as if he were reluctant to bring them up but wanted to spare Sano from delivering more bad news. “She’s not the only witness who testified against you.”

  “And I’m sorry to say that you’re not the only one in trouble now.” Sano described the séance.

  Reiko reacted with a fit of laughter that verged on hysterics. “But that’s an even bigger lie than Lady Mori’s story! You know you never sent me to enlist Lord Mori in a secret campaign to take over the country, or to punish him for foiling you! That medium is a fraud. You’re not plotting against Lord Matsudaira.”

  Yet as she spoke this last sentence, Sano heard a tinge of uncertainty in her voice; he saw a question in her eyes. He realized that now she had suspicions about him. Her experience with detective work had made her just as leery as he. And if he didn’t know how she occupied herself while they were apart, neither did she know what he did.

  “Of course I’m not,” Sano said, appalled that today’s events had shaken their trust in each other.

  “We know you’re loyal to the shogun,” Hirata said.

  But even while he stood up for Sano, doubt showed on his face. Sano was further troubled to see that Hirata didn’t quite trust him now, either. They’d spent so much time going their separate ways that Hirata thought he’d changed for the worse.

  “We’d better believe one another,” Sano said grimly, “because if we don’t, why should anyone else think we’re telling the truth?”

  They avoided eye contact, sharing the dismay that the murder case had driven a wedge between them at a time when they most needed the strength of unity.

  “Police Commissioner Hoshina has done his best to convince Lord Matsudaira and the shogun we’re lying,” Hirata told Reiko. “So far they’re leaning in that direction.”

  “What are we going to do?” Reiko’s gaze beseeched Hirata and Sano.

  “I’ve managed to persuade Lord Matsudaira and the shogun to let me investigate the murder,” Sano said. “That’s progress in our favor. But the only thing that will save us is the truth about the murder. We have to concentrate on figuring out what really happened.”

  Hirata said, “What really happened is that Lady Reiko was set up to look as if she killed Lord Mori, I was set up to find her, and you were set up to look like a traitor.”

  Sano nodded: That was credible to him, if not to his superiors.

  “Who could be responsible for the whole thing?” Reiko said.

  “Hoshina is the obvious suspect. But he’s only one of many people who wouldn’t mind for me to take a fall.” Sano knew the danger of fixating on a single suspect, no matter how likely. “And even though I’m inclined to think that I’m the main target of this plot, it’s possible I’m not. Have you made any enemies who would want to hurt you?”

  Reiko pondered. “Maybe.”

  “Well, think of any names you can,” Sano said.

  “I’ll have lots of time to think, since I’m supposed to stay home and I can’t go outside,” Reiko said. “I wish I could do something more to help you save us.”

  “Maybe you can,” Sano said. “Is there anything else you’ve remembered about what happened at the Mori estate last night? Anything you didn’t tell me this morning?”

  “No. I’ve spent the day going over and over it all, but I can’t remember anything else.”

  “If you do later, be sure to tell me.” Sano tried to forget that suspects often withheld information that would compromise them. He tried to rely on his trust in his wife rather than his experiences that had taught him the worst about human nature. He said to Hirata, “We’d better start our inquiries.”

  “What do you want me to do first?” Hirata asked.

  “Look for witnesses and evidence to verify that things happened the way my wife said.” Maybe Hirata will discover something she had omitted, Sano thought.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Before you leave the castle, send a detective to check Enju’s alibi.” Sano had a vague hunch about the strange young man. “I’ll work on refuting the statements against us. I think I’ll start with our new friend the medium.”

  After Hirata left, Reiko leapt to her feet. “I can’t believe this is happening!” She paced the room as if locked in a cage. “And it keeps getting worse by the moment.”

  “Don’t fret. We have to stay calm,” Sano said, although he felt as restless and harried as she did.

  “Stay calm?” Reiko stared at him, incredulous. “How can I, when we’re both headed to the execution ground for murder and treason?” Wringing her hands, she paced faster. “If they kill me, they’ll kill the baby, too!”

  The idea horrified Sano as much as it did her, and he remembered Hoshina’s threat, but he said, “Getting upset won’t help.” He rose, put his arms around her, and held her still. “We haven’t much time to solve the case, especially with Hoshina pushing Lord Matsudaira and the shogun to condemn us. We can’t afford to waste energy or let negative thoughts distract us.”

  “Yes. You’re right.” Reiko breathed deeply in an effort to quiet herself.

  Sano felt her shuddering. But she moved away and said, “You should go now.”

  “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes,” she said bravely.

  “Everything is going to be fine,” Sano said with more confidence than he felt.

  Her anxious gaze held his. “Will you come home soon and tell me what’s happening?”

  “Yes,” Sano said. “Don’t worry.”

  GENROKU YEAR 11, MONTH 2 (MARCH 1698)

  In the ocean far beyond Japan’s southeastern coast rose the penal colony of Hachijo Island. A full moon that resembled a bleached white skull rode the night sky above the tiny island’s two high, peaked volcanoes. Steep hillsides dense with semitropical vegetation sloped down to the coasts, where a ceaseless wind pounded waves against the rocky shoreline. Along a cove was a village of wooden huts with thatched roofs and gardens, surrounded by palm trees, windbreaks made of rocks, and tall grass overgrown with vines. Nearby, a small castle perched on a rise overlooking the sea. Its plaster walls shone white in the moonlight. A banner bearing the Tokugawa triple-hollyhock-leaf crest fluttered from a watch tower.

  Inside the castle, the former chamberlain Yanagisawa was enjoying a banquet hosted by the governor of the island. Musicians played the flute, drum, and samisen for the guests. Women served wine and fresh-caught seafood. Charcoal braziers and glowing lanterns warmed the cool night. Talk and laughter drowned out the keening wind.

  “Many thanks for your hospitality,” Yanagisawa said, raising his wine cup to the governor.

  “It’s my honor to entertain you.” The governor was a middle-aged samurai who’d spent most of his career supervising the exiles on Hachijo. He took pride in his friendship with Yanagisawa, the shogun’s onetime second-in-command. “I hope the refreshments aren’t too poor compared to what you had in Edo.”

  “They’re delicious.” Yanagisawa appreciated the fresh, simple island fare, but he didn’t plan to be eating it forever.

  The governor smiled, pleased by Yanagisawa’s compliment. “With Lord Matsudaira constantly sending new exiles to our island, food is in short supply. But I’ve saved the best for you and your men.” He signaled the women to pour more wine for Yanagisawa’s retainers, who were joking with island officials.

  Although Yanagisawa was a prisoner just like all of Lord Matsudaira’s other banished foes and the criminals exiled for treason, smuggling, assault, or murder, he enjoyed favorable treatment. The local officials were awed by him because he was the most important p
erson they’d ever been sent. He acted charming and gracious; his handsomeness had helped him win them over. They vied with one another to be his best friend. He’d brought glamour to the quiet, primitive life of Hachijo. Soon he had the run of the place. Most of the women among the natives and exiles—and more than a few men—were in love with him. Yanagisawa and his men had gradually taken over the administration of the island.

  This was just as Yanagisawa had planned before he left the mainland.

  Now the governor’s daughter, Emiko, knelt beside him, bearing a dish of raw oysters. Fifteen years old, lithe, and pretty, she gave Yanagisawa a seductive smile and said, “Please have some. They’re aphrodisiacs, you know.”

  “Yes. I don’t mind if I do.” Yanagisawa smiled into her eyes as she fed him oysters.

  The governor seemed pleased rather than disturbed by Yanagisawa’s taking liberties with his daughter and the fact that she was Yanagisawa’s mistress. Yanagisawa had recently dropped hints that he would soon be returning to Edo, to his former status as the most powerful politician in the regime. The island officials believed him even though he’d been sentenced to permanent exile. Anticipating that he would soon be able to grant favors such as postings in better locations, they’d tried harder than ever to please Yanagisawa. They’d practically thrown their women at him.

  He intended to take full advantage of their generosity.

  Emiko served more wine to the governor and officials. Soon their eyelids drooped; they began yawning. One by one they fell into deep, snoring slumber. The only guests still awake were Yanagisawa and his ten men. He dismissed the serving women. The only one that remained was Emiko.

  “Did I do well?” she asked eagerly.

  “Very well indeed,” Yanagisawa said.

  The sleeping potion that he’d smuggled from the mainland, and Emiko had put in the wine at his behest, had done its job. The officials would sleep for hours, but he had no time to lose.

  “Hurry,” he said, rushing his men from the room. “I’ve waited three years to get off this damned island. Let’s put as much distance between it and us as possible before anyone discovers we’ve escaped.”

  Emiko ran after them. “Wait! You promised that if I helped you, you’d take me with you!”

  Yanagisawa didn’t need her anymore. He hadn’t planned to take her, or his wife and family; they would only be in the way. But he didn’t have time to argue. “All right, come on.”

  Outside, they groped their way down stone steps carved into the cliff. The wind tore at them. The moon lit their way along paths between the rocks on the hillside. Below, the ocean roared; waves swirled up white foam. Yanagisawa’s heart beat fast with urgency and exhilaration. Tonight marked his first step toward reclaiming his power.

  They scrambled down the wooden landing ramp that sloped from the village to the sea, past small fishing boats drawn up for the night. At the end spread the dock. Tied to it were larger craft. One was the ship that had arrived eight days ago from the mainland, transporting new prisoners to Hachijo. It was a clumsy wooden tub with a single mast, a square sail, and a shallow draft. The crew had been waiting for fair weather, and they planned to embark on their return journey tomorrow. The ship was stocked with provisions, ready for the escape that Yanagisawa had been scheming.

  Two of his men hurried to the ship and lowered its gangplank. The others found axes they’d hidden under the dock. They ran to the bigger fishing boats, leaped inside, and chopped holes in the bottoms. Yanagisawa wanted the officials stranded on the island until the next ship came in the fall. He didn’t want anyone pursuing him or his escape reported to Lord Matsudaira before he’d had time to set his plans in motion.

  As the boats sank, he and Emiko and his men rushed aboard the ship. His men pulled up the gangplank. When he’d chosen which retainers to accompany him into exile, he’d been careful to pick four experienced sailors. Now they cast off the ropes. They worked the rudder and sail, steering the ship through the treacherous currents that surrounded the island.

  Yanagisawa stood on deck in the bow with Emiko. She chattered about the wonderful things they would do on the mainland. He gazed across the vast sea that rippled with silver moonlight. Cold, salty spray dashed him. Leaning into the wind, he laughed for sheer joy.

  “I told you I would return!” he shouted at Edo, invisible in the distance. “Here I come!”

  Twelve days passed. The ship made slow progress because of the sluggish wind. Yanagisawa grew impatient to reach his destination. “How much farther to land?” he asked the captain.

  “We should be within sight by tomorrow.”

  But that night a storm blew up. Rain deluged the sea. Lightning seared the heavens; thunder boomed. Fierce wind blasted the ship, which pitched violently on waves as tall as its mast. While the sailors fought to hold it steady, the passengers huddled in the cabin. Furniture and baggage slid. Emiko clung to Yanagisawa as the ship rocked.

  “We’re going to die!” she screamed.

  “No, we’re not! Shut up!” After all his scheming, Yanagisawa didn’t intend to be thwarted by bad weather.

  A sudden, huge crash jarred the ship. Emiko screamed louder as it flung everyone against the wall. Yanagisawa thought lightning must have struck. A sailor burst through the door, drenched to the skin, wading in water up to his knees.

  “We’ve hit a reef! We’re sinking!” he cried as the water filled the cabin. “Abandon ship! Get into the lifeboats!”

  Yanagisawa led the rush out the door. On the flooded deck, barrels and nautical equipment floated. The sailors were struggling to untie the two small wooden boats. Rain lashed Yanagisawa. He could hardly see through it. Water swamped him. He cursed in fury. This couldn’t be happening! How dare nature interfere with his plans!

  A gigantic wave lifted the ship high up into the sky. Yanagisawa felt as though a monster had risen from the depths beneath him and raised him in its fist. Then the ship was falling, keeling over down the wave. Yanagisawa’s screams joined the others he heard above the thunder.

  He was plunged into the sea. Its cold, heaving blackness engulfed him, assailed him with waves that battered his body. He flailed, desperately trying to get his head above the salty water that stung his eyes, filled his nose and mouth. At last he broke through the surface. He gasped air that was barely distinguishable from sea because the rain drove at him so hard. Lightning illuminated the sky and ocean with its dazzling white veins. Yanagisawa saw the ship nearby, half sunken. Heads bobbed in the water amid debris. He heard Emiko crying. A broken plank floated toward him. He grabbed it and hung on.

  The storm lasted the whole night. When dawn came and the sea calmed, Yanagisawa was still clinging to his plank. Weary, sore, and half-drowned, he hauled himself onto it. He looked around at the new day he’d lived to see. The sky was overcast, the ocean like rippling steel. The ship was gone; so was everyone else. Yanagisawa couldn’t hear a sound except for the wind and waves. He was alone on the vast, awful sea.

  He would have tried to swim for shore, but he couldn’t see it. Yanagisawa didn’t know how long he floated. As thirst parched him, he weakened, his consciousness faded, and he lost track of time. By day, the sun burned and blistered his skin. Night chilled him. Hunger gnawed at his insides. He lay helpless, eyes closed, as the waves rocked him toward the realm of the dead. Only his will kept him alive.

  Rhythmic splashing noises penetrated his stupor. Voices called. Yanagisawa opened his eyes. Sun and blue sky dazzled them. He saw a boat coming toward him across the water. It was a fishing boat manned by two peasants. Behind them Yanagisawa saw land in the distance. The tide must have carried him in.

  The boat drew near. The fishermen hauled Yanagisawa into their boat. As they rowed him shoreward, he had barely enough wits to be grateful that he’d been rescued.

  They took him to their village and laid him in a hut. Their womenfolk poured water into him and slathered healing balm on his sunburn. Fever enflamed Yanagisawa. He suffered delirious n
ightmares of sea monsters, fires burning, and warring armies. The women forced bitter herb tea down his throat. Gradually the fever receded. One morning he awoke with a clear head. He was lying on a mattress in a room cluttered with fishing nets, pails, and kitchen utensils. Gulls screeched outside. Yanagisawa saw an old woman kneeling by the hearth.

  “Where am I?” he said, his voice an almost inaudible croak.

  The woman turned; a smile deepened the wrinkles in her face. “Good, you’re awake. This is Matsuzaki Village.”

  That was on the Izu Peninsula, a knob of land that extended from Japan’s southern coast, Yanagisawa recalled. “How long have I been here?”

  “Seven days.”

  Yanagisawa was disturbed that so much precious time had passed. “Thank you for saving my life. I have to go now.”

  He pushed back the quilt and tried to sit up, but his muscles were too weak. The old woman said, “You must wait until you’re stronger.”

  She fed him hearty fish stews, and day by day he recovered his health. The villagers asked him where he’d come from, who he was. He pretended he didn’t know, he’d lost his memory. He didn’t want the authorities to find out that their most notorious exile had returned. When he walked on the beach for exercise, he went after dark in case Lord Matsudaira’s spies should happen by. He let the hair grow on his crown and face. After a month, Yanagisawa was as fit as he’d ever been, but nobody he knew would recognize him. Dressed in worn clothes given him by the fishermen, he looked like one of them.

  All he had left of his former wealth was a few gold coins smuggled to him after Lord Matsudaira had had him arrested. He’d smuggled them to Hachijo and carried them sewn into the hem of his robe. He gave the villagers one coin as payment for their kindness and some food for his journey. The rest he hoarded. He left the village in the third month of the year and made his slow, exhausting way on foot up the Izu Peninsula then along the main highway that led east toward Edo.