“Suffice it to say that he must die.”
“How is his death supposed to help you destroy the Tokugawa regime?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business, when you’re telling me to commit murder!” Hirata pushed himself to his feet. “How am I supposed to kill Deguchi anyway? He’s a better martial artist than I am.”
“Not by much.” Otani added, “Don’t tell Tahara or Kitano what I want you to do.”
“They’ll want to know what you said. What am I supposed to tell them?”
“Anything but the truth. Until you promise to kill Deguchi, you’ll stay here with me.”
Hirata smelled the bloody corpses, saw the carrion birds feeding. He thought of his family and Sano. The ghost apparently had the power to keep him from ever returning to them. He weighed that against the prospect of killing a man for whom he had no love.
“I promise,” he said.
“Good,” Otani said, as if he’d never expected Hirata to do otherwise. “I’m granting you a new talent in exchange for your cooperation. You can levitate objects using mental energy. When your task is finished, we will meet again.”
Hirata abruptly found himself back in the clearing.
The darkness of the mild spring night engulfed the forest. His mind echoed with the parting words from Otani: “If you renege on your promise, I will kill you during your next trance. Die in a trance, and you die for real.”
Hirata stood by the altar with Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano, paralyzed again.
“What happened?” Tahara asked. The men had never accompanied Hirata into a trance. They had their trances with the ghost at other times.
“I’ll tell you after you set me free,” Hirata said.
Tahara looked to Deguchi and Kitano. They nodded. The paralysis left Hirata so abruptly that he fell against the altar stone. Regaining his feet, he flexed his stiff muscles. “I went to the site of the battle of Sekigahara. The ghost introduced himself. His name is Otani Yoshitsugu.”
“We know that,” Kitano said impatiently. “What did General Otani say?”
“He gave me the power of levitation.” Hirata stalled, trying to think of a good lie.
Surprise lifted Tahara’s eyebrow. The other men had greater powers than Hirata, and they liked it that way. “What does he want us to do?”
Hirata avoided looking at Deguchi. “He said to clear the earthquake debris out of the tributary canal in Kanda tomorrow.”
“What for?” Kitano asked.
“He didn’t say.”
Tahara and Kitano shrugged. The ghost often told them to do menial work that had no apparent purpose. “What else happened?” Tahara asked.
Hirata forced himself to meet the men’s gazes. “Nothing.”
“Well,” Tahara said, “I guess we’ll clear the canal and wait to see the results.”
Hirata could tell that the three didn’t trust him any more than he trusted them. He inwardly cringed from the suspicion in Deguchi’s glowing eyes. He spoke with all the nonchalance he could muster. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the canal, then.”
“Tomorrow,” Kitano said. “You’d better be there.”
Walking down the trail to his horse, Hirata felt shaken to the bone. He hadn’t thought that things could get worse, but they had. If he tried to kill Deguchi but wasn’t strong enough, then Deguchi would kill him. If he succeeded in killing Deguchi, then Tahara and Kitano would kill him because he’d betrayed the secret society; they would never believe the ghost had told him to do it. If he didn’t kill Deguchi, the ghost would kill him the next time the men forced him to participate in a ritual.
What in heaven should he do?
15
SHORTLY AFTER DAYBREAK, Sano stepped out of his mansion. The sky was a pale, luminous blue, but the sun hadn’t risen high enough to chase away the shadows that filled the grounds. The guard Sano had assigned to lead the search party walked in through the gate and said, “We finished searching the castle. We didn’t find the little girl.”
On the veranda Midori began crying. Reiko tried to comfort her. They’d sat up all night, waiting for news of Taeko.
“Search outside the castle,” Sano said, disturbed because Taeko had been missing for almost an entire day and the city was dangerous. “She can’t have gone far,” he added, to console Midori. “I’m sure she’ll be brought home soon.”
“Yes, master.” The guard bowed and hurried away.
The women went back in the house. Masahiro ambled onto the veranda, dressed in his white martial arts practice uniform. Yawning, he said, “What’s going on?”
For the past few months Masahiro had been sleeping so soundly that almost nothing could rouse him and he had trouble getting up in the morning. Sano supposed he was growing so fast that he needed extra rest. He’d slept through the excitement last night. When Sano told him about Taeko, his eyes opened wide with dismay.
“She’s missing?” Still not fully awake, Masahiro said, “I’ll help look for her.”
“No, there are enough people searching already,” Sano said. “You have your martial arts lesson, then school with your tutor, then your work.” That was Masahiro’s routine, which the earthquake had disrupted for several months. Sano had to be strict about maintaining the routine, or Masahiro wouldn’t get a proper education, and Masahiro couldn’t shirk his page duties. “If you go delivering messages around the city later, you can keep an eye out for Taeko.”
Masahiro started to object, but Sano said, “No excuses. You have your duties. Other things will have to wait.”
And Masahiro wasn’t the only one with duties. Sano had his work as Chief Rebuilding Magistrate and the murder investigation to finish.
* * *
“HEY, YOU!”
The loud call startled Taeko awake. At first she didn’t know where she was. Lying on a hard surface, underneath a scratchy blanket, she heard strange noises and many people moving around. This wasn’t her room at home. Bolting upright, Taeko saw women rising from the thin mattresses they’d slept on amid washtubs. Sunlight filtered through a ceiling made of oiled canvas. She smelled lye soap. She was in the laundry tent at Lord Tsunanori’s estate.
Yesterday, after she’d worked until sundown, the housekeeper had given her a mattress and blanket and told her to sleep wherever she could find space. Miserable and homesick, she’d thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep in such a cold, uncomfortable place with so many strangers. But she’d been so tired, she’d fallen asleep immediately. Her heart sank. By now her mother must have discovered she wasn’t at home. Her mother must be terribly worried.
“You’d better get up if you want something to eat,” said the girl beside her, who’d wakened her. The girl had a round, sullen face; her name was Kiku.
Taeko scrambled out of bed, shivering in the cold, wearing the wrinkled clothes she’d slept in. She and the other maids hung their mattresses and blankets on a line outside to air. Then they lined up to use the few privies. By the time her turn came, Taeko was pressing her legs together, trying desperately not to wet herself. Then she waited in line to strip and wash in a basin in another tent. The housekeeper inspected the girls to make sure they were clean enough. Taeko was self-conscious because she’d never undressed in front of strangers. Since she had no fresh clothes, the housekeeper gave her a rough blue cotton kimono and white head kerchief. Joining the line for breakfast, Taeko felt like a different person.
Breakfast was a cup of tea and a bowl of noodles with dried fish and pickled vegetables. The girls crouched in the yard to eat. The tea was lukewarm and bitter, the gruel watery, the fish and pickles too sour. Taeko could barely eat although she was starved. She missed her mother so much that tears fell into her tea.
But she couldn’t go home yet. She had to find Masahiro a witness—whatever that was.
* * *
A ROOM IN the rebuilding magistrates’ headquarters served as a makeshift court of justice for the new sort of crimin
als that the earthquake had spawned.
Sano knelt on the dais, flanked by a secretary who sat at a portable desk, and an assistant with a ledger of the cases on the docket. On the floor below him a tray of gravel substituted for the shirasu—the white sand symbolizing truth, normally spread on the floor under a mat on which defendants sat. White sand, like many other items, was scarce in post-earthquake Edo. Criminals were not. The room was jammed with people.
“Honorable Chief Rebuilding Magistrate Sano will hear the first case,” said his assistant, a tired-looking older samurai. “Nagasaka Daiemon, Deputy Custodian of Military Stores at Edo Castle, come forward.”
A man in the front row stood. The last time Sano had met Custodian Nagasaka had been the day after the earthquake, when he’d inspected the damage to the castle. Nagasaka had shown him collapsed arsenal buildings, crushed arquebuses, and gunpowder spoiled by water used to prevent fire and explosions. Sano barely recognized Nagasaka; the man looked so sick and ashen. Nagasaka avoided Sano’s gaze as he knelt by the tray of gravel.
“You are charged with misappropriating government funds.” The assistant called the witnesses, two young spies from the metsuke, the Tokugawa intelligence service.
Kneeling near Custodian Nagasaka, they testified. “We posed as clerks at the arsenal.” “I saw him buy eight hundred guns from the gun maker.” “He wrote in the inventory that a thousand new guns were purchased.” “He kept the rest of the money.”
Nagasaka listened in wordless shame. There seemed little need for a trial; the spies had caught him in the act, and he was so obviously guilty. But Sano must follow court procedure. He said, “You may speak in your own defense.”
“I needed to fix my house. The money was there. I couldn’t resist.” Nagasaka began to weep. “I confess.”
“Then I pronounce you guilty.” Sano hated condemning a man who’d faithfully served the regime for years, who’d rashly stolen from it during his time of need. “I sentence you to death by decapitation.”
Guards escorted Nagasaka from the courtroom in shackles. Sano didn’t think the amount of money involved was worth a man’s life, but it exceeded the threshold between petty theft and serious embezzlement. Since the earthquake, the law was even harsher than usual. Samurai who misused relief funds couldn’t redeem their honor by committing seppuku. They had to be executed like common criminals.
All except Yanagisawa.
Remembering the family camped outside Edo Castle, Sano was more determined than ever to rid the world of Yanagisawa. But he also had his new job to do. Since the earthquake, desertion of one’s post was also a capital crime.
“Next case,” he said.
“Your next case will have to wait,” said a voice from the back of the courtroom.
Sano looked across the audience. As if summoned by Sano’s thoughts about him, Yanagisawa stood in the doorway, backed by a squadron of troops.
Anger seethed in Sano. “You can’t just walk in and interrupt the trials.”
“I beg to differ.” Yanagisawa’s face was smooth, but Sano read animosity behind it. “Everybody leave, so I can have a private talk with Sano-san.” His troops cleared the room.
Sano rose as Yanagisawa strode across the room to meet him. “What do you want?”
Yanagisawa’s smooth façade transformed into a scowl. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m doing the job you assigned to me.” Sano knew that the thing he’d wanted to avoid had happened: Yanagisawa had learned about his investigation.
“Don’t play innocent.” A harsh rasp edged Yanagisawa’s suave voice. “Why have you been sniffing around Lord Tsunanori’s estate?”
Sano had hoped Yanagisawa’s spies wouldn’t get around to reporting his movements until after he’d finished the investigation. “Why have you been stealing earthquake relief money? To buy political support?”
Yanagisawa ignored the questions. He didn’t seem to care whether anyone knew about his embezzlement. He probably thought nobody could hold him accountable. “Answer me.”
“Lord Tsunanori’s wife died. I went to pay my condolences to him.”
“Don’t play games.” Yanagisawa moved threateningly closer. “Nobody else has set foot in that house. Everybody is afraid of catching smallpox. You wouldn’t have gone, either, except for one reason.”
Sano saw new, tight lines of strain etched into Yanagisawa’s handsome face. “Why are you so on edge?” He took a step toward Yanagisawa, counterattacking to give himself time to think of how to find out whether Yanagisawa was guilty of the murder without letting him know that he and Yoshisato were suspects. “Can’t you relax now that you’re the adopted father of the shogun’s heir?” He took a stab in the dark. “Or isn’t it working out as well as you expected?”
Either the stab missed, or Yanagisawa hid his flinch. “You think Tsuruhime’s death wasn’t natural. You think someone deliberately infected her with smallpox.”
“Murder by disease?” Sano feigned surprise. “That’s an interesting theory.”
“Don’t act as if this is the first you’ve heard of it. Who put it in your mind? Was it Lady Nobuko? She paid you a visit yesterday.”
There was no use denying it; Yanagisawa’s spies were as effective as Sano had warned Lady Nobuko. “Unless you’ve taught flies to eavesdrop on my conversations for you, you don’t know what Lady Nobuko and I discussed. Why would you jump to the conclusion that she thinks Tsuruhime’s death was murder and she put me up to investigating it?” Yanagisawa had jumped as fast as Lord Tsunanori had, Sano thought.
Yanagisawa’s liquid eyes glinted. “Because I know the old bitch. She has it in for me. And I know you, too.” He pointed a finger at Sano’s heart. “Stop this investigation. Keep your nose out of Tsuruhime’s death.”
“Maybe I should investigate it, now that you’ve raised the possibility that she was murdered. Why would you want me not to?” Sano said.
“Because you’re doing it to attack me,” Yanagisawa said. “You can’t stand the fact that I have you beaten.” The odor of sweat and turbulent emotions wafted from him. “You’ve cooked up a crime where there was none. You’re plotting with Lady Nobuko to frame me and Yoshisato and turn the shogun against us.”
“Tsuruhime was the shogun’s daughter. If she was murdered, it’s my duty to find out who killed her and yours to back me.” Sano added, “Tsuruhime was also Yoshisato’s half sister. If indeed Yoshisato is really the shogun’s son.”
The glint in Yanagisawa’s eyes ignited. He grabbed for Sano’s neck. Sano seized Yanagisawa’s wrists.
“You’ve been causing me trouble for fourteen years! You killed my son!” Yanagisawa shouted, trying to pull free of Sano. “I’m not going to let you ruin everything for me this time!”
Sano was startled that Yanagisawa had lost his self-control so fast. If he’d been so quick to lash out physically every time someone crossed him, he would never have climbed so high in the regime. Success in politics required discipline. His elder son’s death had wreaked havoc with his mental state, and the earthquake had quickened tempers all around. Sano was no exception.
Fed up with Yanagisawa’s insults, sabotage, and attacks on his family, he flung his weight at Yanagisawa, propelling him across the room, and slammed him against the wall. “I’m sorry for what happened to Yoritomo, but it’s not my fault he’s dead! It’s yours!” Sano’s talk with Hirata had put Yoritomo’s death in a new light. “If you hadn’t made a political pawn of him, he wouldn’t have been at the palace with the shogun that day. He would still be alive!”
“Don’t you put the blame on me!” Yanagisawa shouted. His guards grabbed Sano and tried to yank him off Yanagisawa.
Holding on, Sano yelled into Yanagisawa’s face, “I’m going to talk some sense into you whether you like it or not!”
Yanagisawa thrust his head forward. It banged Sano’s. The jarring impact and the pain momentarily blinded Sano. He lost his grip on Yanagisawa and reeled backward, t
aking the guards with him. The guards stumbled, then held him steady. Sano regained his senses. Yanagisawa breathed hard as he struggled to compose himself. He rubbed his wrists. The flesh where Sano had held them was reddish-purple with bruises.
“If you don’t quit your investigation—” His words issued from between clamped teeth.
“You’ll what? Put me to death?” A burst of sarcastic laughter escaped Sano. “Why didn’t you do it yesterday? It would have made a nice climax for the big purge.”
Yanagisawa didn’t answer. Sano felt the quality of his foe’s anger change for a moment, as if its heat were aimed toward someone other than Sano.
“What’s the real reason you don’t want me investigating Tsuruhime’s death?” Sano asked. “Is it because you or Yoshisato killed her and you’re afraid I might find enough evidence that I wouldn’t need to frame you to take you both down?”
“Only in your fantasies!”
Before Sano could mention that he knew Yoshisato had visited Tsuruhime shortly before she got smallpox, Yanagisawa said, “By the way, isn’t it terrible what happened to Lady Nobuko three years ago? Kidnapped and raped, poor thing.” Yanagisawa gave Sano a tantalizing smile. “Wouldn’t it be even more terrible for it to happen to your wife?”
Sano stared, speechless with horrified rage. Yanagisawa was as good as saying he was responsible for the assault on Lady Nobuko and would have the same done to Reiko if Sano didn’t cease his investigation. Yanagisawa knew that his family was Sano’s most vulnerable spot. And with his army reduced, Sano couldn’t prevent Yanagisawa from invading his estate and taking Reiko any time.
Yanagisawa added, “I hear Lady Reiko is pregnant,” then stalked out of the room with his guards.
Alone in the courtroom, Sano sat on the dais, letting his temper cool before his next trial, thinking about what had just happened. If Yanagisawa hadn’t killed Tsuruhime, would he be so desperate to stop the investigation? His own behavior was good evidence of his guilt.
Something else good had come of the altercation with Yanagisawa. Yanagisawa knew about the investigation. There was no need to keep it secret anymore.
The Shogun's Daughter: A Novel of Feudal Japan (Sano Ichiro Novels) Page 12