The Samurai's Wife

by Laura Joh Rowland

The innkeeper’s wife held her back. “But you can’t go out alone at night. Outlaws will attack you.”

  “I’ll take my husband’s guards with me,” Reiko said, eager to reach Sano.

  “You must stay.” Concern gave the woman’s manner authority. “Let me send a manservant to the palace to see what happened.”

  Reiko reluctantly consented, less because of fear for herself than the thought that Sano was probably busy investigating another murder and would be upset if she interrupted him. The innkeeper’s wife dispatched the servant. Reiko lit a lamp in her room and sat drinking tea, wondering who had uttered the spirit cry and why the killer would strike again.

  After an hour, the innkeeper’s wife reappeared and said, “The servant just came back. He spoke to the guards at the palace gate. All they told him was that there had been another death. They wouldn’t say who it was.”

  Reiko felt a sudden stab of fear. “Thank you,” she said.

  Alone in her room, she told herself it couldn’t be Sano who had died; she would have sensed if anything had happened to him. But wouldn’t he know she would hear the spirit cry? Wouldn’t he send a message to reassure her? Dread mounted in Reiko. The inn quieted as the other guests settled down to sleep, and in the stillness, the thudding of her heart echoed in her ears. The room was hot, but Reiko’s hands turned cold from an inner chill. She thought of sending one of Sano’s guards into the palace for news, then reconsidered. She wanted to know, yet she did not want to know.

  Time dragged on. Then Reiko heard footsteps approaching her room. She threw open the door. There stood Detective Fukida. One look at his haggard face told her what she’d been dreading. She had a sensation of a black void absorbing all the light and warmth and joy in the world.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “We were on our way to see the emperor.” The young samurai’s voice trembled. “The killer ambushed us inside the palace, and—”

  “No, it’s impossible. When he left, he said he would see me later.” Reiko heard herself forestalling the inevitable truth. She backed away from Fukida, glancing wildly around the room. “His things are still here. He can’t be—” She could not make herself say it.

  Fukida came to her and grasped her hands. Because he would never touch his master’s wife under ordinary circumstances, the gesture convinced Reiko and pierced her heart. She pulled her hands out of Fukida’s and hunched low, arms clasped around herself.

  “Honorable Lady Reiko, I’m sorry,” Fukida said, looking ready to weep. “Your husband is dead.”

  “Where is he?” Now Reiko experienced a consuming need to be with Sano. Although she remained outwardly calm, emotion began building inside her, as if her spirit stood in the path of a violent storm. “Take me there.”

  Fukida shook his head. “I can’t,” he said wretchedly. “There was such great injury to him…” The young detective gulped, then continued: “Before he died, he used his last breath to order me to spare you the sight of him. I’m sorry.”

  “But I’m his wife. You can’t keep me away.” The storm inside Reiko gathered power; she could hear the gusting winds of grief and the thunder of outrage coming closer, and see the turbulent black clouds of despair lowering upon her. “Where is he? I demand that you take me to my husband immediately!”

  Now the storm overpowered Reiko. Falling to her knees, she howled, “No. No. No!” Raised in samurai tradition, she’d been trained to value stoicism and practice self-control, but this terrible moment taught her that training was inadequate preparation for tragedy. She didn’t care if she compromised her dignity. With her beloved husband dead, what did social standards of behavior matter anymore?

  Through the tears that streamed from her eyes, she saw Fukida standing by, helpless and shamefaced. He said, “I’ll get help,” then fled. Soon Reiko’s maids came. They hugged her, murmuring words of comfort that she barely heard above her own sobs and moans. They held her still while a local physician poured a bitter liquid down her throat. It must have been a sleeping potion, because the world grew hazy, and Reiko drifted into unconsciousness.

  Temple bells tolled the next hour, and the next, while Sano and Marume waited for Yoriki Hoshina. At last Sano heard brisk footsteps cross the courtyard and mount the wooden stairs to the veranda. He stood in the shadow of the cabinet, braced for action. The front door opened. Now the shadow of a second figure appeared opposite Marume’s on the paper partition.

  “Ah, Marume-san,” said Hoshina’s voice. “The sentries just told me you were here. I’m sorry you had such a long wait, but after I finished at the palace, I had to go to the shoshidai’s mansion to report what had happened.”

  Both shadows bowed; Hoshina’s knelt. Marume said, “It’s I who should apologize for coming here without notice.”

  “Under the circumstances, formality is unnecessary,” Hoshina said in a kind, forgiving tone. He obviously had no idea that he and Marume weren’t alone. “My condolences on the murder of your master.”

  “Thank you,” Marume said sadly. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “If you wish to take over the investigation, I’ll do everything in my power to help you identify the killer and obtain justice for the ssakan-sama.” Hoshina’s sincerity grated on Sano’s nerves. The yoriki acted the part of the sympathetic, dutiful subordinate with perfection, no doubt rejoicing all the while.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re so willing to help,” Marume said, his voice cheerful now, “because here’s your big chance.”

  Sano stepped around the partition, into the parlor. “Good evening, Hoshina-san.”

  Shock widened the yoriki’s eyes. “ssakan-sama,” he said. “But I thought—”

  Aware of Hoshina’s part in the plot against him, Sano was gratified by his reaction. He permitted himself a sardonic smile. “You thought I was dead? Of course you did, after coming from the scene of my murder.”

  Hoshina rose, staring at Sano. Marume stood, too, surreptitiously moving between Hoshina and the door. Hoshina shook his head in disbelief. “But I saw your body, and your blood on the ground, and Detective Fukida grieving over you.”

  “Obviously, you and your men didn’t see any need to look at the face of the corpse,” Sano said, glad that his prediction of the police’s behavior had proved accurate. “That was a stupid mistake for someone as smart as you think you are.”

  The insult brought a scowl to Hoshina’s face. His breathing quickened and his mouth worked as he struggled to get his emotions under control and understand what had happened. “If you didn’t die at the palace, then who did?” he asked.

  “It was Aisu,” Sano said.

  He saw instant recognition of the name in the yoriki’s gaze, then fear. But Hoshina quickly masked his response with a bewildered expression. “Who on earth is Aisu?”

  “He was a high-ranking bakufu retainer from Edo. You may have met him during the past few days.”

  “…No, I don’t believe so.” Hoshina frowned in a studied attempt at remembering, then said, “I’m sorry; I’ve never even heard of the man.” But the energy of racing thoughts and mounting distress radiated from him. “What was this Aisu doing in Miyako?”

  “You tell me,” Sano said.

  Hoshina gave a nervous chuckle. “How can I, when I didn’t know him?” Then he spread his arms as if to embrace Sano, and said earnestly, “Look, I’m overjoyed to see you alive and well. But why have you let everyone think you dead?”

  Sano’s plan required the element of surprise, which had already unbalanced Yoriki Hoshina, and which he hoped to employ to even greater advantage soon.

  “Why did you sneak into my quarters?” Hoshina added.

  Ignoring the questions, Sano said, “Where is he?”

  “Where is who?” Hoshina spoke in a tone of puzzled innocence, but his gaze shifted furtively.

  “Chamberlain Yanagisawa,” said Sano.

  “The shogun’s second-in-command? In Edo, I suppose. How would I know?”

  Marume
laughed in derisive amusement. “You’re a pretty good actor. Maybe you should have chosen a career in the Kabuki theater instead of with the police force, because then you wouldn’t be in as much trouble as you are now. Answer the ssakan-sama’s question.”

  “I assure you that I would if I could,” Hoshina said. Anger and panic shone through the transparent veil of his courtesy; his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “If you’re threatening me, I don’t understand why. Maybe I could be of more help if someone explained what’s going on.”

  Sano was growing impatient with Hoshina’s false innocence, but he found a certain satisfaction in laying out what he’d deduced. “Yanagisawa wants to solve the mystery of Left Minister Konoe’s death and destroy my reputation as a detective and my standing with the shogun by beating me at my own game. He won’t risk a public defeat, so he came to Miyako secretly. But he can’t identify the killer without information about the victim, the crime scene, and the suspects that he couldn’t get for himself while staying hidden. He also intends to benefit from whatever leads I find.

  “Therefore, he needs someone to feed him facts and inform him on my progress. Someone inside the local bakufu, with expertise in investigating crimes, upon whose assistance I would rely. Someone he could trust to sabotage me by withholding information about the case.” Sano stared at Yoriki Hoshina. “Someone like you.”

  “With all due respect, you’ve got the wrong idea about me.” Now Hoshina arranged his face in the confident, ingratiating smile of a man accustomed to using looks and charm to ease his way through life. Yet the air in the room was sour with the reek of his anxious sweat. “I’ve done everything in my power to help you. I haven’t withheld anything from you. If Chamberlain Yanagisawa is in Miyako, it’s news to me. And there’s not one reason why I should sabotage your investigation.”

  “There’s exactly one reason,” Sano said, eyeing Hoshina with a contempt that extended to himself for thinking this man merely untrustworthy and no real threat. “Ambition.”

  “All right; I am ambitious. That I want to advance in the world is no secret. Therefore, it was in my interest to do my best for you so you would think well of me and recommend me for a promotion in Edo.” Hoshina was all reasonableness and affability. “I’ve nothing to gain by making you look bad.”

  “You have much to gain by serving a man who can do more for you than I can.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve taken such a dislike to me,” Hoshina said contritely, but his eyes had the wary look of someone humoring a madman. “At least tell me what it is you think I’ve done against you, so I can defend myself and set things right.”

  “You knew I needed to make further inquiries about Lady Asagao after she revealed her quarrel with Konoe and lied about her alibi to my wife. You guessed that I would search her rooms or send someone to do it. You planted the bloodstained robes in her cabinet.”

  Sano watched Hoshina for a reaction, but the yoriki’s face showed only consternation that might indicate either guilty or innocent surprise.

  “One of your palace spies must have stolen her clothes for you,” Sano continued. “If I look in the police stables, will I find a horse with a recent cut? Did you dip the robes in the horse blood and heat them over a fire to dry them and make the stains look a month old? You and Chamberlain Yanagisawa arranged a false arrest so he could show up later, catch the real killer, and take all the credit.”

  Hoshina burst out laughing; he slapped his knee. “Pardon my amusement, ssakan-sama, but that’s the most farfetched story I’ve heard in a long time. Surely, the real killer planted the fake evidence to frame Lady Asagao. That seems to me a more logical explanation.”

  He might be right, Sano realized, and even if not, Hoshina wasn’t going to admit to anything. Now that he’d recovered from the shock of seeing Sano, he’d regained his bluffing skills. The longer the interrogation went on, the less Hoshina would give away, and the greater the chance that someone might come and see that Sano was alive.

  Sano said, “You didn’t stop at withholding information and misguiding me. You and Chamberlain Yanagisawa set me up to be murdered tonight.”

  The yoriki’s face froze in its amiable, concerned expression. His body tensed, and Sano knew what he was thinking. Hoshina could get away with sabotaging the investigation because Yanagisawa had ordered him to do so; he wouldn’t suffer any punishment as long as he had Yanagisawa’s protection. But conspiracy to murder the shogun’s ssakan-sama was a graver charge. Even without proof of the plot, or of Hoshina’s involvement in it, Sano could ruin his career just by accusing him publicly. If Sano put him on trial for the crime in a judicial system where most trials ended in a guilty verdict, he would be condemned to death. Yanagisawa would let Hoshina take the whole blame, sacrificing the yoriki to save himself.

  This awareness flashed in Hoshina’s eyes in an instant. His smile became a grimace; he relaxed his muscles with slow, deliberate effort, but held himself cautiously still, as if he stood at the brink of a deep gorge. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  Without warning, he bolted toward the door. Sano lunged after him, but Marume moved faster. The burly detective locked his arms around Hoshina’s thighs and brought down the yoriki with a crash. Hoshina kicked and flailed, trying to break free. Marume hung on. Sano wasn’t surprised that Hoshina had decided to run. His best hope of avoiding ruin was to find a way to warn Yanagisawa that Sano was alive and knew about the plot.

  Hoshina tore loose from Marume’s grasp. As he scrambled across the floor, Sano jumped on him. Marume grabbed his ankles. Hoshina had formidable strength, muscles like flexible steel, and fast reflexes. He fought savagely, bludgeoning Sano and Marume with his fists, knees, elbows, and head, but he didn’t try to use the swords at his waist: Only escape would save him; killing two bakufu officials would get him in deeper trouble. Sano caught a stunning blow to the jaw, and Marume a kick in the stomach, but they both held on to Hoshina. They stifled cries of pain and exertion, because noise might bring people who would see Sano. Hoshina didn’t call for help, probably because he didn’t want to explain why he was fighting with his two superiors. The only sounds in the room were harsh gasps, the thump of blows to flesh and bone, scabbards clattering, and the crash of bodies against floor and walls.

  Then Marume and Sano pinned Hoshina facedown under them. He heaved and bucked, but when Sano twisted his arm sharply, he went stiff. Marume stripped off his own sash and cut it in half with his sword. He and Sano used the lengths of fabric to bind Hoshina’s ankles together and wrists behind him, then knotted the loose ends of the restraints so that Hoshina’s knees doubled backward. The yoriki writhed on the floor, muscles straining to break his bonds. Sweat gleamed on his face; blood trickled from his nose. With his hair in wild disarray and his teeth bared, he looked more animal than human.

  Sano stood, mopping his own perspiring face on his sleeve. Sore spots on his chest and limbs marked the places where bruises would soon appear. Marume leaned against the wall, his left eye red and swelling.

  “You have two choices,” Sano told the yoriki. “One: You can stick to your lies. I don’t recommend this, because if you do it, I’ll destroy you.”

  Hoshina struggled harder and spat curses at Sano.

  “Two: You can cooperate with me, and I’ll let you off,” Sano continued. “All you have to do is tell me everything you know that relates to the murder of Left Minister Konoe, what Yanagisawa is planning, and where he is. I’ll place you under protection so he can’t punish you for betraying him.”

  Hoshina gave Sano a look of contempt. “That’s not two choices, but one: certain death!” A strangled laugh burst from him.

  Sano knew that a promise of protection against the most powerful man in Japan was of questionable value, and that he might be exacting cooperation at the cost of Hoshina’s life, but he couldn’t relent. “Choose now,” he ordered.

  The yoriki heaved sideways, gasping and grunting, in a futile effort to esc
ape. His head tossed; the tendons of his neck bulged. Then, with a shuddering moan, he went limp. He closed his eyes and nodded in defeat, just as Sano had anticipated he would. Hoshina was no noble samurai who would sacrifice himself out of loyalty to Yanagisawa.

  “Thank you.” Sano exchanged a satisfied glance with Marume. “Now, what information did you withhold from me? What lies did you tell?”

  His expression sullen, Hoshina spoke in a quiet monotone, confirming notions Sano had already entertained.

  “Tell me about Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s plot against me.”

  Hoshina revealed disturbing details of the plot, but Sano sensed major gaps in his knowledge. “Where is Yanagisawa?” Sano asked.

  “I don’t know where he is right now; he didn’t tell me all his plans for tonight. But I’m supposed to meet him at a villa in the hills in the morning.” At Sano’s request, Hoshina gave directions.

  Sano stood, beckoned Marume to follow him to the back door, and said quietly, “Lock Hoshina up and guard him so he can’t run to Yanagisawa or spread the news that I’m not dead. You can send Lady Asagao home and put Hoshina in the special cell here in police headquarters. Order his colleagues not to tell anyone he’s there.” Sano added, “Tell Fukida-san to look after Reiko.”

  The thought of his wife awakened guilt and longing in Sano. She must have heard the news of his murder by now. He wished he could go to her so that she wouldn’t have to suffer needlessly, but the most critical part of his task still lay ahead of him. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  “You’re going after Yanagisawa alone?” Marume said, frowning in concern.

  “I’ll have to risk it,” Sano said. “Gathering our troops will take too much time and increase the chances that the Miyako spies will see me and report my resurrection to Yanagisawa.”

  Sano and Marume bowed to each other, their glances conveying wishes for mutual good luck. Then Sano opened the door and stole away into the night.

  After an empty, timeless interval, Reiko stirred awake. The windows framed pale squares of dawn light; her maids lay asleep on a futon beside hers. At first she didn’t know where she was. Heavy lassitude filled her body; her head throbbed; her eyes burned. She had a vague sense that something awful had happened. Then she remembered. She was in Miyako and Sano was dead. Reiko closed her eyes; more tears leaked through the swollen lids. She wanted to go back to sleep. She wanted to die.