The Cloud Pavilion

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Now they did look at each other, with appalled expressions. Jinshichi blurted, “You didn’t tell me she was the shogun’s wife.”

  “I didn’t know!” Gombei cried, too upset to deny the charge or keep his mouth shut. “I thought she was just some old lady.” He turned to Sano. “I swear!”

  “You’re in even bigger trouble now,” Hirata said. “The shogun will have your head cut off for that.”

  “Not just yet.” Sano addressed the captives: “Tell me what happened.”

  “We needed money,” Gombei said. “We went to see Joju the day before yesterday. He said that if we brought him another old lady, he’d pay us enough money to get out of town. So we went and found her.” He moaned. “Of all the women in Edo, it would have to be the shogun’s wife. What rotten luck!”

  “Your luck is about to improve,” Sano said. “Answer a few more questions, and maybe I’ll let you live. Here’s the first one: Did you take the shogun’s wife to the same boat as the other women?”

  “He knows about the boat,” Jinshichi said dolefully. “He knows everything.”

  “I take it that means yes,” Sano said. “Here’s the second question: Where is the boat?”

  Jinshichi began to speak, but Gombei prevented him by yelling, “Shut up!” Gombei’s eyes shone with desperate cunning. “Even if we tell you where the boat is, you won’t be able to find it by yourself. To you, it would look the same as a thousand other boats. How about if we take you there?”

  He grinned. Sano knew Gombei was buying time, hoping that on the way to the boat he and Jinshichi would find a way to escape. But Sano had no time to argue or negotiate; without the men as guides, he might not get to Lady Nobuko before the shogun’s deadline.

  “All right,” Sano said, “but I’m warning you: no tricks.”

  The smoke from the crematoriums hung in a cloud over Inaricho district.

  Reiko could see the smoke, lit by the full moon, rising like a ghostly fog in the distance as she and Chiyo rode in her palanquin. The light from lanterns hung on poles attached to her bodyguards’ horses didn’t extend beyond the roadsides. The vast darkness of the rice fields resonated with a cacophony of frogs singing and insects buzzing. At this late hour, Reiko, Chiyo, and their escorts were the only travelers going to Inaricho.

  Inaricho was a backwater, situated between two major temple districts. Reiko could see lights flickering far ahead in Ueno to her left and Asakusa to her right, but Inaricho would have been invisible if not for the smoke. It was a perfect location for cemeteries, and for the crematoriums in which dead bodies burned overnight. Inaricho was conveniently near the temples where funeral rites were held and distant from Edo proper, where crematoriums were outlawed because of the fire hazard.

  “Jirocho must have chosen the pauper’s cemetery because he knew it would be deserted,” Reiko said.

  “He’ll have privacy for his business,” Chiyo agreed.

  Few people ventured into these parts at night. As her procession entered the smoke cloud, Reiko smelled the awful odor of burning flesh. She and Chiyo held their sleeves over their noses and mouths, but the odor was so strong she could taste it. Her escorts coughed. Their lanterns lit up the smoke and colored it orange. The procession moved as if through fire, toward some hellish netherworld.

  The bearers set down the palanquin in the main street, where shops sold altar furnishings such as Buddha statues, candle holders, gold lotus flowers, and incense burners. The shops were closed, abandoned by the living, surrendered to the dead until day came. The bearers were breathing hard, tired from the journey, wheezing because of the smoke. Lieutenant Tanuma dismounted and said to them, “You stay here and guard the horses. We’ll walk from here.”

  Reiko and Chiyo climbed out of the palanquin. As they and the bodyguards raced along Inaricho’s back streets, Reiko’s heart beat with quickening excitement and apprehension. Beyond small temples and shrines lay the cemeteries, enclosed within stone walls or bamboo fences. The sickening smell of burned flesh grew stronger. Reiko could feel the heat from the crematoriums.

  “Which way?” Lieutenant Tanuma’s anxious face shone with sweat in the light from the lanterns that he and the other men had brought.

  “I don’t know,” Reiko said. She’d never been to the paupers’ cemetery, and there was no one to ask for directions. “We’ll just have to look around.”

  They tramped through the cemeteries. In each stood a crematorium, a massive, outdoor oven built of stone. Each had a shelter where mourners gathered in the morning, when the oven was opened, to pick out bones and put them in an urn for burial. Reiko heard sizzling inside the crematoriums. The smoke that poured from their vents was so thick that she and her comrades groped between the rows of square stone grave pillars carved with the names of the deceased. They tripped on vases of flowers and offerings of food and drink left for the spirits. But they saw no sign of Jirocho or Fumiko. Exhausted, nearly overcome by the smoke, they stopped in an alley to rest.

  Bells in the temples tolled the hour of the boar, the time of the rendezvous. As their peals faded, Reiko heard another sound that sent shivers racing along her skin.

  “Listen,” she whispered.

  From somewhere in the distance came the noise of dogs barking. It grew louder, drew closer. Past the alley marched a horde of some thirty men. A few carried lanterns. They appeared to be samurai; they had shaved crowns and wore swords. Ten or twelve held the leashes of big dogs that sniffed the ground and barked. The man with the hugest, blackest dog walked with a swagger, legs spread wide and arms swinging.

  “That must be Nanbu,” Reiko whispered. “He seems to know where he’s going.”

  She and her companions followed Nanbu and his group to a gate that sagged on its hinges, into a cemetery enclosed by a rough stone wall. Reiko peeked through the gate and saw a large field thick with shrubs and high weeds. Nanbu and his men trudged within the light from their lanterns. Here, in the paupers’ cemetery, wooden stakes that bore names scrawled in fading ink marked the graves. Smoke billowed from a crematorium that had no shelter. Firelight glowed through cracks in its walls, like red veins.

  “Fumiko must be there already,” Chiyo said.

  Careless of her own safety, she hurried into the graveyard before Reiko could stop her. Reiko had no choice but to follow, crouching as she ran through the weeds around the perimeter of the field. Lieutenant Tanuma and her other guards thrashed after her, and she prayed Nanbu wouldn’t hear them. She caught up with Chiyo and pushed her behind the crematorium. There they hid with Tanuma and the guards. They watched Nanbu’s group gather in the middle of the cemetery.

  “Where is that cursed gangster?” Nanbu said.

  “This was a bad idea,” said a bald man with a prominent double chin. He wasn’t a samurai; he wore no swords. His cross voice had a deep, carrying resonance. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into coming.”

  Surprise stabbed Reiko. “That’s Ogita. I recognize him from my husband’s description. What are he and Nanbu doing together?”

  Chiyo whispered urgently, “It’s him! I recognize his voice. He’s the man from the pavilion of clouds!”

  Reiko saw one rapist matched up with his victim, like suits in a card game. Had Ogita, and Nanbu, also violated Fumiko? Was that why they were both here?

  “Hey, you came to me when you got that message,” Nanbu said to Ogita. “You asked me what to do. This was my solution. If you have a better one, speak up.”

  However they’d become acquainted, whether they’d both raped Fumiko or not, they’d evidently banded together to cope with Jirocho’s blackmail.

  “Maybe we should just buy Jirocho off,” Ogita said.

  Nanbu snorted. “You’re supposed to be an expert at business, you should know that won’t make him leave us alone. He’ll keep asking for more money until he’s bled us dry. This is the only way out.”

  If the presence of his troops and dogs hadn’t made it clear to Reiko that he had other plans i
nstead of paying blackmail, his words did. Some of the men must belong to Ogita; he’d brought his army, too. Chiyo had been right: There was trouble coming. Reiko looked at her six bodyguards. They were badly outnumbered.

  “I don’t like this,” Ogita said. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

  Nanbu laughed. “We’re already in trouble. Or have you forgotten what we had to do to get Chamberlain Sano’s spies off our tails?”

  “You mean, what you did,” Ogita said.

  “Hey, you didn’t stop me, you stood by and watched,” Nanbu said. “We’re in this together.”

  Reiko realized that Nanbu and his men and dogs must have killed her husband’s troops. She was horrified because not only were the men dead, but they wouldn’t be coming to help.

  “Besides, you’re the one who sent that incompetent fool to Major Kumazawa’s house,” Nanbu said. “If he hadn’t botched the job, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. You need me.”

  At least Reiko now knew who was responsible for the assassination attempt on Chiyo and Fumiko.

  “I never should have gotten mixed up with you,” Ogita said bitterly.

  “It’s a little late for regrets,” Nanbu said. “When this is over, you’ll thank me.”

  “When this is over, I never want to see your face again.” Ogita exclaimed, “A curse on the shogun’s wife! If she hadn’t gotten kidnapped, we wouldn’t have to worry about Jirocho.”

  Reiko began to understand better why they’d formed this unholy alliance. If their problems had been only a matter of the crimes against Chiyo, Fumiko, and the nun, the two men could have gambled that Jirocho’s blackmail attempt was just a bluff and ignored his message. But now the shogun was looking for someone to blame for his wife’s disappearance. If Fumiko bore witness against Ogita and Nanbu, the shogun would probably take her at her word and decide they were responsible for whatever had happened to Lady Nobuko even if they weren’t. The two men had to destroy Jirocho before he destroyed them.

  “We have to warn Jirocho,” Reiko whispered.

  “But how?” Chiyo said.

  They were trapped behind the crematorium, in the radius of its fiery heat. Reiko wiped her perspiring face on her sleeve. If they tried to leave the cemetery, Nanbu and Ogita would see them.

  “We won’t have to worry about Jirocho much longer,” Nanbu said. “Just be patient.”

  Reiko heard hissing sounds and dull thuds. Men among Nanbu’s and Ogita’s troops jerked as if they’d been struck. They cried out and clutched at arrows that had suddenly appeared in their chests and backs. Some fell dead or wounded. A dog with an arrow stuck in his side ran off squealing.

  “What’s going on?” Ogita demanded as his group scattered. He groped after his guards; they drew their swords.

  Nanbu struggled to restrain his dog, which lunged and barked wildly. He shouted, “It’s a trap!”

  More hisses accompanied a storm of arrows that rushed out of the darkness beyond the cemetery. The men raised and swung their lanterns in a frantic effort to see who was shooting at them. More men fell. Stray arrows pelted the grass. As Nanbu’s and Ogita’s men tried to shield their masters, dark figures climbed onto the cemetery wall. Some took on the shape of archers with bows drawn; others were silhouettes equipped with spears. Some forty in all, they looked like demons risen from hell in the flame-lit smoke that swirled around them. One man wasn’t armed. Although short and pudgy, he had a confident, imperious stance.

  “Hold your fire!” he shouted.

  “It’s Jirocho,” Reiko whispered.

  Laughter and samisen music blared in the moonlit fog over the Kanda River.

  Sano, Hirata, Marume, and Fukida walked the two oxcart drivers along the footpath by the water, through the district known as Yanagibashi—“Willow Tree Bridge.” Here, the Kanda emptied into the Sumida River. Yanagibashi had once been a mere launching point for boats that carried passengers up the Sumida to the Yoshiwara licensed pleasure quarter, but an unlicensed entertainment quarter had sprung up in the area. Some of the boats moored at the docks and some of the teahouses on the riverbanks contained brothels with local prostitutes. But Yanagibashi had none of Yoshiwara’s glamour.

  Cheap, garish red lanterns on the boats and teahouses reflected in the water. Raucous parties overflowed from verandas. Under the bridge, beggars slept. Men stumbled off boats returning from Yoshiwara. Girls called out from windows to them, soliciting their depleted reserves of cash and virility.

  Sano had left his other troops behind, at the foot of the bridge, on advice he’d received earlier from Gombei.

  “If the owner of the boat sees a big crowd of samurai, he’ll get suspicious,” Gombei had said.

  If Sano were the owner of an illegal brothel boat and saw an army coming, he would cast off and take the boat down the Sumida River and out to Edo Bay. He might even dump the shogun’s wife in the ocean.

  Gombei led the way with Hirata guarding him; Marume and Fukida followed with Jinshichi, who plodded sullen and silent between them. Sano brought up the rear. They avoided drunks vomiting into the water. Tough young townsmen roved, hunting people to rob.

  “Which one is it?” Sano said as they passed boats.

  “Farther down,” Gombei said.

  “It had better be there,” Marume said, “or you and your friend are dead.”

  “It will be. It will be!” Gombei’s voice was shrill with his fear that the boat had moved.

  Sano felt the same fear as he wondered what was happening to the shogun’s wife. But he reminded himself that he had the three suspects under surveillance; they couldn’t rape Lady Nobuko. Continuing along the footpath, he observed that most of the boats were small, open craft with a single oar. But quite a few others were larger, some forty paces long, each with a single mast, a square sail, a cabin with a red tile roof on the deck, and three sets of oars below. Figures blurred by the mist boarded and disembarked, customers of the illegal floating brothels which all fit the description Nanbu had provided. The only detail Nanbu hadn’t mentioned was the red lanterns that hung from the eaves of the cabins. Gombei had spoken the truth: Without him as a guide, Sano would not have been able to pick out the right one.

  Gombei stopped so suddenly that Marume, Jinshichi, and Fukida bumped into him and Hirata. He pointed at a boat moored two slips down the river. “That’s it,” Gombei said.

  “How do you know?” Sano asked.

  “Do you see that man on the deck?”

  The man stood at the railing, facing inland, his tall, gaunt profile a dark silhouette. He had bad posture, his shoulders slumped, his hips and head thrust forward.

  “He’s the owner,” Gombei said. “He takes a cut of the money our customers pay us for the women.”

  “You’d better be telling the truth,” Sano said.

  They strolled casually toward the boat, a party of friends out for the evening. “You stay on the dock and guard our informants,” Sano told Marume and Fukida. “Hirata-san and I will go aboard.”

  As they neared the boat, the owner came into clearer view. His long hair was greased back into a knot. His robes hung on him, reminding Sano of a clothes stand. There didn’t appear to be anyone else on board, but the windows of the cabin were closed; Sano couldn’t see inside it or below the deck. He and his companions had just reached the dock, when four samurai came hurrying down a street that led between the teahouses to the river. The four headed for the dock. When they saw Sano, they stopped in surprise. He recognized them as his own troops.

  “What are you doing here?” Sano kept his voice calm. “You were supposed to watch Joju.”

  “We followed him here from the temple,” the leader said. “We just saw him get on that boat.”

  Shock and dismay filled Sano. The exorcist was already with Lady Nobuko. But that gave Sano the chance to catch him in the act of rape.

  Looking toward the boat, Sano saw the owner looking straight back at him. The man had heavy purplish bags under wary eyes; black moles p
eppered his cheeks. Three more men appeared, climbing up from under the deck, to see what the commotion was all about. They were samurai, heavyset and tough and armed with swords, rnin hired to guard the brothel.

  Suddenly Gombei shouted, “Look out! They’ve come to raid your boat!”

  In the cemetery, Nanbu called to Jirocho, “What is this?” His face was ugly with anger. The dog on his leash growled. “You told me to come here and pay blackmail, and now you shoot at me and kill my men. Are you crazy?”

  “Not crazy, just practical,” Jirocho said. Nanbu’s men held lanterns up to him, the better to see his face. He posed like the lead actor onstage in a Kabuki drama. The flames and shadows exaggerated his predatory smile, the ferocity in his eyes. “It’s obvious you came to fight instead of paying. Forgive me if I changed the odds in my favor.”

  Reiko counted only twenty men still standing in the cemetery. Jirocho’s forces outnumbered Nanbu’s and Ogita’s by a good margin, and the gangster had his adversaries surrounded.

  “I told you we shouldn’t have come,” Ogita said bitterly.

  “Ah, Ogita-san. How nice to see you.” Jirocho’s voice dripped vindictive scorn. “Where’s Joju the exorcist?”

  “How should I know?” Ogita retorted.

  “Two out of three will have to do, then.” Jirocho beckoned. “Stop hiding behind your guards. You and Nanbu-san, step closer.”

  When neither man budged, his gang drew their bows, aimed arrows and spears. Ogita and Nanbu reluctantly moved toward the wall upon which Jirocho stood. Peering around the crematorium, Reiko and her comrades had a clear view of them. “Good,” Jirocho said, then addressed their men: “Hold your lanterns up to their faces.”

  “What is this?” Nanbu said again, but he’d lost his bluster. Illuminated by the lanterns, he showed as much anxiety as rage.

  Jirocho reached behind him. Reiko saw a small hand reach up from the darkness on the other side of the wall and grasp his. A girl dressed in a white kimono printed with blue irises scrambled onto the wall beside Jirocho.