Chiyo gasped. “Fumiko!”
The dogs began to bark at the girl. She seemed not to notice anyone but Jirocho. She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with adoration.
Jirocho yanked his hand free of hers. He jerked his chin toward Nanbu and Ogita and said, “Which one is it?”
Fumiko reluctantly moved her gaze from her father to the two men. A frown creased her forehead. Ogita said in disgust, “It’s just as I thought: She doesn’t know. That’s why Jirocho blackmailed both of us, and the priest, too, it seems. Nanbu-san, I tried to tell you it was a trick. But you wouldn’t listen. Now look at the mess we’re in!”
“Shut up!” Nanbu said.
“Open your robes and take off your loincloths.” Jirocho was obviously determined to repeat the examination done at Edo Jail, with better results. Nanbu and Ogita looked at each other in consternation. “Do it, or my men will.”
Nanbu cursed as he and Ogita stripped. Loincloths shed, they held their robes open, displaying their genitals. Reiko saw the huge, dark mole on Nanbu’s penis.
“He’s the one,” Fumiko said, her shrill voice ringing clear. She pointed at Nanbu.
Reiko saw another pair matched up in the sordid game of criminals and victims. Nanbu had raped Fumiko, Ogita had raped Chiyo, and that probably left the absent Joju guilty of the nun’s violation and suicide.
Jirocho fixed Nanbu with a gaze as cold as steel in winter. He said to his gang, “We’ll have to kill everybody. We don’t want any witnesses.”
The gangsters armed with spears jumped down from the wall. As they faced off against Nanbu’s and Ogita’s troops, Ogita cried, “Wait! I’ll give him to you, if you let me go. I promise never to talk!”
His men grabbed Nanbu and shoved him toward Jirocho. Struggling to free himself, Nanbu let go of his dog’s leash. He pointed to Jirocho and yelled, “Attack!”
The dog charged. It sprang higher than Reiko had thought possible, up to the top of the wall. Jirocho stepped backward, too late. The dog caught his ankle in its teeth. As it fell, it dragged Jirocho with it. Jirocho yelled and flailed his arms. He and the dog crashed into the cemetery together in a tangle of thrashing, howling, and cursing.
“Father!” Fumiko exclaimed, and jumped off the wall.
A cry of distress burst from Chiyo. She rushed from behind the crematorium toward Fumiko.
“No! Don’t!” Reiko drew her dagger and ran after Chiyo.
Lieutenant Tanuma called, “Lady Reiko, stop!” as he and her other bodyguards followed.
The dog savaged at Jirocho’s throat. Jirocho shouted, “Help!” and beat at the animal. Fumiko grabbed the dog by its spiked collar. His men hurried to his aid, but Nanbu’s troops and dogs headed them off. Chiyo seized Fumiko by the arm. Reiko, close behind Chiyo, saw Fumiko tugging at the dog.
It turned on her and lunged. She screamed and reeled backward, throwing up her arms to protect her face. Chiyo hurled herself between the dog and Fumiko. The dog struck her with all four huge paws, a missile of solid flesh and bone. Chiyo went down. Reiko slashed at the beast, heedless of the laws against hurting dogs. Her blade opened a bloody gash in its side. Now it turned on her. Pure, mindless savagery blazed in its red eyes. It sprang for her throat, its mouth open in a vicious snarl, its throat a gaping red maw. Reiko lashed out her dagger and cut the dog across its belly in midair. It uttered a piercing yowl. Blood and intestines poured from the wound as the dog landed on the ground, panting and squirming.
Reiko hurried to Chiyo. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Chiyo said while Reiko helped her to stand. “Where’s Fumiko?”
Reiko looked around. Jirocho struggled to his feet; his face, neck, and hands were bloody from dog bites. Fumiko stumbled toward him, around gangsters battling Nanbu’s troops. Ogita stumbled through the melee, yelling, “Get me out of here!” His guards fought their way toward him.
“You’re not going anywhere, you traitor!” Having drawn his sword, Nanbu frantically parried jabs from the gangsters’ spears. He ordered his men, “Don’t let him get away.” A few quit the fight against the gangsters and blocked the gate. “Bring me the girl!” Nanbu shouted.
His men snatched at Fumiko. She dodged. Lieutenant Tanuma called to Reiko, “Take Chiyo outside where you’ll both be safe. I’ll rescue Fumiko.”
He and her other guards ran around the cemetery, lashing their swords at the troops chasing Fumiko, trying to herd her out of danger. Chiyo joined the chase. Reiko ran after Chiyo. They caught up to Fumiko. Nanbu’s men surrounded them, swords raised, dogs straining on leashes. Reiko swung her dagger while Chiyo and Fumiko hid behind her. The men laughed and feinted at her; they made her spin, circle, and duck. They were so sure she was a typical, harmless female that they grew careless. She sliced a man on his arm. He yelped in surprise. Another man seized Reiko from behind, picked her up, and threw her.
One moment she was flying through air and smoke; the next, she thudded facedown in the weeds, her breath punched out of her, gasping. Chiyo screamed, “Watch out!”
Reiko raised herself on her elbows and saw the man she’d wounded rushing upon her, sword raised in both hands, face contorted with rage. She rolled out of the way just before his blade came down. It struck the ground where she’d lain. Miraculously, she still had her dagger in her hand. As she regained her feet and fought her attacker, she saw another of Nanbu’s men grab Fumiko. He passed the kicking, struggling girl to Nanbu.
“Jirocho!” Nanbu shouted. “I’ve got your daughter.” He held his blade to her throat. “Call off your gang, or she’s dead!”
He obviously didn’t know that Jirocho had cast off his daughter and had only taken her back as part of his scheme to avenge the insult to himself. Reiko was horrified because she knew Jirocho meant to kill Nanbu and didn’t care if Fumiko died, too.
The gangsters faltered and retreated from the battle. Reiko was surprised to see that they evidently weren’t so sure of their master’s intentions. Nanbu’s men maintained their fighting stance. Lieutenant Tanuma and her other guards stood between Reiko and her attacker and shielded her with raised swords. Everyone looked toward Jirocho.
He stood speechless, arms dangling. He beheld his daughter, captured by the man who’d raped her, and his ravaged, bloody face took on an expression of pure anguish.
Shock stunned Reiko. He did care about Fumiko after all. Reiko realized that despite his outlaw status, he was a conventional man who observed the mores of society. He’d rejected his daughter because he felt obligated to, not because he’d stopped loving her. Now he regretted that his plan had put her in danger. Reiko read the other thoughts that he couldn’t hide. The child he’d disowned had saved him from Nanbu’s dog. Even as he realized he’d made a mistake by casting her off, he feared he would lose her for good.
The crackle of the body burning inside the crematorium was loud in the silence. The people in the cemetery were as still as the corpses that littered the ground. Even the dogs quieted. Fumiko stood in Nanbu’s grasp, regarding her father with hopeful anticipation. Everyone waited to see what Jirocho would do.
Gombei ran toward the boat, yelling to the owner, “You have to leave now!”
Jinshichi hurried after him. “We’re coming with you!”
“Hey!” Marume yelled. “Stop!”
Sano and Hirata were already racing after the two oxcart drivers. The boat owner shouted commands. Two peasant crewmen bolted up from below deck. One untied the ropes that moored the boat. As Gombei and Jinshichi hit the gangplank, the other crewman tried to raise it. The three rnin on board blocked the gate in the boat’s railing. They drew their swords.
“Get off,” one of them ordered the oxcart drivers.
“Take us with you, or they’ll kill us,” Gombei cried.
“You brought them here. You traitors!”
As Hirata caught up with Gombei and Jinshichi, one of the rnin cut the two men across their throats. Blood spurted as they collapsed. The quick, brutal violence hor
rified Sano even though their deaths were punishment well deserved. Hirata kicked their bodies into the river. Swords drawn, he and Sano clambered up the gangplank, which was slick with blood. Marume and Fukida and their other troops were close behind them. Hirata lunged at the guards on the boat. His blade moved in arcs and slashes too fast for the men to parry. They fell back even as their master shouted at them to stop the intruders. Hirata and Sano leaped aboard.
The crewmen disconnected the gangplank. It fell, carrying Marume, Fukida, and the rest of Sano’s men into the river with it. The oars began to move as the crew below deck rowed. The boat pulled away from the bank.
“I’ll handle this,” Hirata called to Sano as the guards rallied and he began to fight them. “Save the shogun’s wife!”
Sano grabbed the boat owner by the front of his kimono and held the sword to his neck. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Sano flung the man into the battle raging between his guards and Hirata. As the boat accelerated down the river, people peered curiously out from the teahouses. Sano saw Marume and Fukida in the water, swimming after the boat. He tried to slide open the cabin door. The wooden panel felt oddly heavy. It was loose in its frame, but locked from the inside. He applied more strength, felt the lock break, and stepped inside.
Dim, silvery light enveloped him. He heard grunts, cries, and rustling that quickly ceased. An odd softness on the floor cushioned his feet. The boat tilted; the door slid shut. Sano found himself in a world of eerie silence. Unnerved, he clutched his sword. As he gazed at his surroundings, he discovered why he couldn’t hear any noise from outside.
The walls, floor, ceiling, and windows of the cabin were padded with gray cloth. It glowed silver in the light from a metal lantern suspended from the ceiling. The cloth was ripped in many places, hanging in tatters. There Sano could see white cotton bulging behind the fabric.
He was in the pavilion of clouds.
This was the place where Chiyo had been raped, which she’d described to Reiko. The strange décor plus the drugs explained her memories. The cabin had been furnished to keep sounds from escaping. Sano let out his breath.
He heard someone else breathing fast and hard.
He wasn’t alone.
The veils of ripped cloth that dangled from the ceiling partially hid a bizarre tableau in the corner. A naked man with a shaved head lay on his stomach, his muscular legs splayed, arms and hands propping up his body, on a mattress on the floor. His face was turned toward Sano. He didn’t move, as if by remaining motionless he could remain unnoticed. His eyes gleamed with lust, silvery reflections, and fright.
It was Joju.
Under him was the nude, emaciated body of an old woman. She lay on her back, her head hidden by the cloth. Alongside her withered limbs and bony torso, a spread of ruddy color glowed, staining her pale, sagging skin crimson. At first Sano thought it was blood and Joju had murdered the shogun’s wife. His heart seized. Then she stirred and moaned. Sano saw that the color was Joju’s red brocade stole.
“Get up, Joju,” Sano said. “Put on your clothes. You’re under arrest.”
The exorcist slowly pushed himself upright. Sano could see him wondering how much trouble he was in and how to get out of it. His penis withdrew from between the old woman’s spread legs. It was limp and shriveled, dripping with semen and blood.
He’d finished the rape.
Sano was dismayed to realize that he’d arrived too late.
But not too late to catch Joju in the act.
Joju yanked his saffron robe out from beneath the woman, who moaned softly. She must have been sedated with the same drug used on Chiyo, Fumiko, and the nun. He pulled the robe over his head and said, “Why are you arresting me?” He’d recovered a semblance of his suave poise. “For having relations with an illegal prostitute?” He uttered a hollow imitation of his boisterous laugh. “That’s a minor offense. I’ll be let off with a fine. My reputation won’t even suffer with the people who matter. You might as well not waste your time.”
“I’m arresting you because you violated the shogun’s wife and you’re a party to her kidnapping. For that, you’ll be executed.” Sano glanced at the unconscious Lady Nobuko. Her breasts were flat pouches; her rib cage jutted beneath translucent skin laced with blue veins. White pubic hair barely covered her crotch. She looked pitiful and vulnerable. “Now get up.” Sano beckoned. “Step away from Lady Nobuko.”
Joju didn’t move. “You think this is the shogun’s wife?” He laughed again, louder. “Well, it isn’t.”
He pulled aside the dangling cloth that hid the woman’s head. Her hair was white, her face as soft and wrinkled as wadded rice paper. She must be in her seventies, much older than Lady Nobuko. The woman Gombei and Jinshichi had kidnapped was someone else. Surprise, disappointment, and confusion stunned Sano.
“Who is she?” he said.
“I don’t know. Who cares?”
“Where is Lady Nobuko?” Sano demanded.
“I’ve no idea,” Joju said.
If the two oxcart drivers hadn’t kidnapped her, then who had? What was happening to her at this moment? Sano had been so sure he would find Lady Nobuko here!
“Why don’t we just agree to call this a misunderstanding, and you let me go?” Joju said. “If you don’t tell anybody what you saw here, then I won’t tell the shogun that you persecuted me and flubbed the search for his wife.”
“How dare you try to bargain with me?” Sano’s consternation quickly turned to rage.
Joju had raped this woman, no matter that she wasn’t Lady Nobuko. And Sano had noticed the similarity between her and one of the previous victims. She was near the same age as the nun, and the unblemished whiteness of her skin indicated that she came from the same high class. Sano remembered his brief glimpse of Joju’s penis, now hidden beneath the saffron robe, and further enlightenment struck.
“The blood on you isn’t this woman’s,” Sano said. “It’s your own. You’re covered with running sores. It was you who raped the nun. You gave her your disease and drove her to suicide.”
The look on Joju’s face showed his downslide from confident expectancy into apprehension as Sano spoke. His guilt was as obvious as if words describing his crime had been inked on his face, and it was clear that he could tell that Sano had no intention of letting him go. He suddenly snatched at something under the red stole beside the old woman. It was a knife with a shiny steel blade and a black lacquer handle. Even as Sano rushed to grab it and lash his sword at Joju, the exorcist held the blade to the woman’s throat.
“Leave me alone, or I’ll kill her,” he said.
Sano froze, his sword still raised.
“Drop your weapon.” Joju’s voice and gaze were steady with determination. So was his hand holding the knife.
Sano let his sword fall. It landed noiselessly on the padded floor. Disarmed and immobilized, he cursed himself for underestimating Joju. He knew the exorcist was a fraud and a rapist, but hadn’t thought him capable of murder.
“Walk out the door and don’t come back,” Joju said.
The boat rocked; the door slid open. In came the sounds of feet pounding the deck and blades clashing. Sano heard Marume shout, “Take that!” The detectives must have climbed aboard the boat. Thuds shook the cabin’s wall as bodies bumped it. Sano realized that when Chiyo had been imprisoned in the cabin, the door must have opened long enough for her to hear the rain and thunder outside. Then the boat rocked again and the door slid shut, sealing Sano and Joju in eerie quiet once more.
“Be sure to take your men with you,” Joju said.
This was a situation that Sano had faced too many times before: A criminal held an innocent person hostage in a ploy to gain his freedom. Counterstrategies that Sano had used in the past raced through his mind, but he couldn’t gamble that old ideas would work again.
“Very well,” Sano said, thinking fast. He couldn’t let the woman die even if she
wasn’t the shogun’s wife. Inspiration arose from his experience with Joju. He backed toward the door, then paused, his chin lifted and his eyes alert, as if at a sudden sound. “Did you hear that?”
Jirocho didn’t speak the words that would spare Nanbu and save Fumiko. Reiko saw her face briefly sag with disappointment, then transform into a murderous scowl. Fumiko wrenched her body forward. Her sudden movement swayed Nanbu off balance. She thrust her fist backward, between his widespread legs. At the same moment Jirocho raised his hand; he started to speak. Nanbu uttered a bellow of agony. He dropped his sword, let go of Fumiko, and staggered. He sank to his knees, clutching his groin.
“What—?” Jirocho said, his hand still raised, the words he’d meant to speak forgotten. Everyone else stared at Fumiko.
She stood over Nanbu, her face a picture of grim triumph. She held a knife that she’d kept hidden under her sleeve. Reiko gazed at her in awe. Her pose brought to mind a samurai who’d slain his worst enemy in battle. Perhaps Jirocho would have given in to Nanbu, but he hadn’t acted soon enough, so Fumiko had taken matters into her own hands.
Blood pumped from the wound she’d inflicted on Nanbu. He roared, a sound as fierce and inhuman as the din of barking and howling that the dogs now commenced. He pressed his hands to the wound, but the blood spilled over them. As his men rushed to help him, he toppled and fell.
Reiko had seen death too many times before. She saw it coming now, in the blankness that obliterated the terror and pain on Nanbu’s face, in the inertia that gradually stilled his body. His men saw it, too. Before his last tremors ceased, the cry burst from them: “Avenge our master’s death!”
They rushed at Fumiko. This time Jirocho didn’t hesitate. “Save my daughter!” he shouted.
His gang fought Nanbu’s men and dogs. Fumiko watched her father pick up a club and deliver merciless blows to the enemy troops around her. Her eyes brimmed with adoration. Reiko saw only seven or eight of Nanbu’s men left, and only four dogs; the gangsters had killed the rest. Someone bumped into her. It was Ogita, desperately trying to thread his way through the battle, out of the cemetery. He was alone; his guards had died. He collided with grave posts as he neared the gate.
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