The Samurai's Wife

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Sano hadn’t felt any vibration after the spirit cry, probably because he’d been too far away. Suddenly Yanagisawa began to laugh. Hysteria tinged his merriment.

  “What’s so funny?” Sano said, wondering if the spirit cry had demented Yanagisawa’s mind.

  “It’s ironic. Do you know what saved me?”

  Mystified, Sano shook his head.

  “You.” Yanagisawa pointed at Sano. “I heard you and your detectives talking. The vibration suddenly stopped. I saw a movement in the shadows, and I couldn’t feel the killer anymore. You scared him away.” Now Yanagisawa’s humor faded into the glumness of defeat. “You, of all people, saved my life.”

  Pity diluted Sano’s animosity toward the chamberlain. To be rescued by the foe whose death he’d plotted—what a blow to his pride! “Did you see the killer?”

  “No,” Yanagisawa said. All the resistance had left him. He looked pale, sick, and broken. Perhaps he mourned the loss of Aisu. Or was something else bothering him?

  “You referred to the killer as ‘him,’” Sano continued. “Does that mean you think it was a man?”

  Yanagisawa shook his head. “At the time, I thought of him—or her—as ‘it.’” He added, “I caught up with my bodyguards outside the palace gate. We rode straight here. I asked them if they’d gotten a look at the killer. They said no.”

  “Unfortunately, the only other witness is dead,” Sano said. “But it’s unlikely that more than one person has the power of kiai, so it was probably the same killer as in Left Minister Konoe’s murder. The attack on you has cleared Lady Asagao and narrowed the field to four suspects. I can determine where each of them was last night.”

  “How wonderful that my terrible experience was so helpful to your investigation,” Yanagisawa said with a touch of his old sarcasm. Then an aggrieved expression came over his features. “Why would the murderer want to kill me?”

  “That’s a good question. The answer might provide a clue to the murderer’s identity.”

  “I suppose you’re going to place me under guard in some secret place until your work in Miyako is finished,” Yanagisawa said. “Then you’ll take me back to Edo and tell the shogun what I’ve done. His Excellency will be so furious that I deceived him and tried to ruin the investigation he ordered that he’ll believe whatever you say about me. No doubt Yoriki Hoshina will be glad to corroborate your story in exchange for a pardon.” A grim, desolate note inflected Yanagisawa’s voice. “I’ll lose my post, and probably my life.”

  Sano had come here intending to do exactly as Yanagisawa had described. It was what Yanagisawa deserved, and would rid him of the chamberlain’s interference. But a strange, fleeting sensation came over him, like the invisible touch of ancestral spirits returning for Obon. Sano found himself thinking that fate had brought him and Yanagisawa together for some important purpose, that there was a reason for the way things had turned out, and he would regret following his planned course of action. Sano frowned, puzzling over the bizarre omen. Had his own mind been affected by the spirit cry? Yet an instinct stronger than common sense urged him to obey intuition.

  He said to Chamberlain Yanagisawa, “Yes, I could destroy you, but instead, I’m going to offer you a deal.”

  Yanagisawa’s brows rose in astonishment; then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

  “If you’ll agree to a truce between us and help me solve the case,” Sano said, “then I won’t report your sabotage to the shogun.”

  Yanagisawa gave an incredulous laugh. “You’re not serious.”

  “Indeed I am,” Sano said. “I want information you have. You want to be a detective. If we work together, I can fulfill the shogun’s orders, and you can share the credit.”

  From the opaque look in the chamberlain’s eyes, Sano knew Yanagisawa was calculating the benefits of the deal, the price of staying out of trouble, and how he could come out ahead.

  “All right. We’ll work together. But surely you understand what I can do to you if you allow me my freedom.” Yanagisawa regarded Sano with resentment and scorn.

  “And you understand what I’ll do to you if you cross me,” Sano said. The gaze he fixed upon Yanagisawa reminded the chamberlain how close he’d come to death tonight. It promised that next time Sano wouldn’t control his temper. No matter where you hide or how many guards you have, I will get to you, Sano thought, and I will show no mercy.

  Yanagisawa stared, appalled, then nodded in resignation. “Very well, ssakan Sano. A truce it is.”

  17

  Reiko took a bath that rinsed away tears and restored strength; heavy makeup covered her puffy eyelids and mottled complexion. She pinned up her hair, which she would later cut off and put in Sano’s coffin as a token of her fidelity, and dressed in a pale gray silk kimono with a pattern of summer grasses because she hadn’t had time to buy drab mourning robes. Then she ordered her palanquin bearers to take her to the Imperial Palace.

  Out in the city, however, sorrow nearly defeated Reiko. As she rode through Miyako in her palanquin, the bright sunshine, colorful shops, and busy crowds seemed unreal. It was as if the death of the man she loved had left no mark upon the world. Worse, Reiko couldn’t shake the feeling that Sano was still alive. Whenever she spied a samurai of his age and build, her heart leapt. Then, after she saw it wasn’t Sano, fresh despair crushed her. Tears stung her eyes; she dabbed them dry to avoid ruining her makeup, and closed the palanquin’s windows.

  At last Reiko arrived in the quadrangle of the Palace of the Abdicated Emperor. As she disembarked from her palanquin, Lady Jokyden came to meet her.

  “Greetings, Lady Sano,” Jokyden said. Her face was impassive, her posture regal. She bowed in a cool, formal manner. “Please accept my sincere condolences on your loss.”

  “A thousand thanks.” Reiko fought to steady her trembling voice, because a display of emotion would shame her and offend this woman who obviously didn’t want her here.

  “I did not expect to see you again,” Jokyden said.

  “You asked me to come,” Reiko reminded her.

  Mild surprise lifted Jokyden’s painted brows. “So I did. But that was before yesterday’s events proved that you were no friend to me and a danger to the Imperial Court. When we talked before, I guessed that you wanted to help your husband by questioning me about Left Minister Konoe’s murder. I was intrigued by you, and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to further our acquaintance because you seemed capable of little harm.

  “But you had the gall to search for evidence in private quarters. Your discovery led to the arrest of the emperor’s consort by your husband, who chose to make a quick end to his work by persecuting an innocent woman.” Jokyden’s tone was hard, unforgiving. “How you can presume to come here now is beyond my comprehension.”

  “I want to apologize,” Reiko said humbly. “I did take advantage of Lady Asagao’s trust. It turned out to be a terrible mistake.” Yet Reiko also wanted to counter Jokyden’s criticism. “But a murder investigation often requires devious means to serve justice. My husband arrested Lady Asagao instead of immediately looking elsewhere for the killer because it was his duty to charge her with murder after she confessed.” Reiko couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “He paid for my mistake and his actions with his life.”

  Pity softened Jokyden’s expression, though she remained aloof. “I regret that you’ve suffered,” she said. “However, I presume you have some other purpose for coming here besides discussing past events. What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to help me find out who killed my husband,” Reiko said.

  “I see.” The noncommittal reply carried a strange inflection, as though Jokyden had half expected Reiko’s request, but couldn’t quite believe she’d actually heard it. Then she brought her hands together in front of her, fingertips pointed outward and touching. “Don’t you think the bakufu will assign someone to investigate the matter?”

  “Yes. But I want to finish my husband’s work and learn
the truth about his death.” Reiko forbore to mention that she intended to execute Sano’s killer with her own hands.

  “While I sympathize with your wishes,” Jokyden said, “investigating crimes is hardly within your purview anymore. Your husband’s status gave you freedom and power that you no longer have.” She said gently, “May I offer my advice? You are young; time will heal your pain. Your family will eventually arrange another marriage for you; with luck, you’ll find love and happiness again. Accept reality, go on with your life, and let the authorities handle official business.”

  Wild desperation filled Reiko as she realized Jokyden wasn’t going to help her. The suggestion that she would forget Sano and should abandon her quest for justice infuriated her. She retorted, “I doubt that you’ve ever accepted fate or left any business you care about to others. Shall I do as you say, not as you do?”

  Jokyden stared, affronted by Reiko’s blunt speech. Then she shook her head and smiled in self-mockery. Her rueful gaze conveyed a new respect for Reiko. “I see that hypocrisy cannot persuade you,” she said.

  Reiko took this response as a sign that Jokyden might relent. She pressed on: “I realize I’m powerless without my husband. But you command much authority in the Imperial Court. You can take me where I need to go in the palace. You can introduce me to witnesses and ask them to cooperate with me. You can provide information I need.” Belatedly, Reiko feared that she sounded too presumptuous. “If you choose to grant my request,” she added.

  Frowning, Jokyden interlaced her fingers and looked down at them for a moment. “What you do not seem to realize is that my interests run opposite to yours. You are asking me to open the palace to you, for your purpose of incriminating someone here. Since Lady Asagao has been proven innocent, the array of suspects has narrowed to those who were in the palace last night. That includes the emperor. Do you expect me to betray my own son for your sake?” Incredulity edged Jokyden’s calm voice. “And I am still a suspect. Would you expect me to lead you to evidence of my own guilt?”

  Reiko had known that Jokyden was still a suspect. She also knew the danger of involving a suspect in her investigation, especially one as intelligent as Jokyden. To protect herself, her son, and the court, Jokyden could destroy clues, plant false evidence, and order witnesses to lie. Reiko would never be sure whether she was helping or sabotaging. And there was a possibility of more extreme treachery if Reiko enlisted Jokyden’s aid. Maybe the killer had feared that Sano wouldn’t believe Asagao was guilty and had halted his investigation by slaying him. If Jokyden was the killer, she might do the same to Reiko. Working with Reiko would give her plenty of opportunity.

  However, Reiko had no choice except to take the risk. “Before my husband died, he said he had a feeling there was more to the murder case than was obvious. He thought there might be other suspects nobody knew about, and that one of them was more likely the killer than His Majesty the Emperor, Prince Momozono, or you. By helping me discover the truth, you could clear yourself and your son.”

  Jokyden regarded her skeptically. She unlaced her hands and folded her arms.

  “I have no one else to turn to,” Reiko said, abandoning logic in favor of an emotional appeal. She knelt before Jokyden. “If you won’t help me, I’ll have to go back to Edo without knowing who killed my husband, and depend on the bakufu to obtain justice for him. And I—I can’t bear—”

  An upheaval of suppressed grief shattered Reiko’s artificial poise. She thought of Sano, his voice, his smile, the scent and feel of him. She imagined the long years ahead without him. Desolation swept over her. She pressed a hand against her mouth to stifle a sob and tried to compose herself by focusing on her surroundings: the morning sunlight casting the shadows of buildings across the quadrangle; the bearers standing by her palanquin; the floral pattern woven into Jokyden’s azure silk robe.

  Jokyden watched her in silent speculation. Was she weighing sympathy for a bereaved widow against her loyalty to the Imperial Court? Was she thinking of what she and Reiko shared as women unique in society and how she could honor their comradeship while protecting her kin? Or was she a murderess considering how to exploit the situation to her own advantage?

  Then Jokyden said, “My authority does not entitle me to let you roam around the palace or interrogate members of the court, but perhaps there is another way I can be of assistance, if you will accompany me on a short trip.”

  She spoke as though leery of committing herself, and her shrewd gaze held no warmth, but Reiko was too overjoyed to mind her manner.

  “A million thanks,” Reiko exclaimed, fighting tears of gratitude. “You won’t regret your decision.”

  Jokyden gave her an enigmatic smile. “I sincerely hope that neither of us will,” she said.

  Reiko chose to ignore the implicit warning in the words. She didn’t know what had finally swayed Jokyden in her favor. She could not afford to care.

  Miyako’s textile industry was centered in a district known as Nishijin—“Western Camp”—named for the army encampment located there during the civil wars. The main avenues of Kuramaguchi and Imadegawa on north and south, and Horikawa and Senbon on east and west, bounded a grid of narrower lanes that ran through Nishijin. Down these flowed stinking open sewers. Workers carried bolts of cloth and baskets containing silk cocoons. Women sprinkled water on thresholds to keep down the dust. Outside shops, hawkers invited customers to view shelves of bright fabrics. The rattle-clack of many looms resounded.

  A procession of imperial guards and Tokugawa troops escorting two palanquins halted in the middle of a block. Reiko stepped out of her palanquin and Lady Jokyden from the other. Together they walked to a shop. Unlike the establishments on either side, whose open storefronts were filled with customers, this one stood deserted, its tall wooden doors closed.

  “What are we doing here?” Reiko asked.

  Jokyden said, “This shop belonged to Left Minister Konoe. He purchased it some years ago.”

  “What for?” Reiko said, baffled. The noble class didn’t engage in trade, and she couldn’t imagine Konoe wanting quarters in the noisy, dirty, and bustling textile district.

  “He wanted privacy that he couldn’t get at home.” Jokyden unlocked the shop’s doors, and Reiko followed her inside.

  Hot, musty darkness engulfed them. Jokyden picked up a long wooden pole that stood near the entrance, pushed open the trap door of a skylight, then closed the doors. In the dust-flecked light from above, Reiko saw a room that had once been the display area of a textile business. It was empty, the floor littered with dead insects. She smelled mildew; sweat trickled down her temples. The ache of grief swelled in her. Would that she were here working with Sano instead of investigating his murder! She kept her misery at bay by speculating on why Left Minister Konoe had needed the privacy afforded by this shop.

  Konoe had been a metsuke spy. Had he bought the shop because he needed a place from which to conduct espionage? If so, he’d found the perfect location to live a secret life: conveniently near the palace, but on the other side of the class boundary, where he could be anonymous. And maybe this secret life was related to his murder.

  With the purposeful stride of someone who knew where she was going, Jokyden walked through an open doorway at the back of the room. Reiko joined her in a second room, where an abandoned loom stood, festooned with spiderwebs, faded threads clinging to its broken beams.

  “How do you know about this place?” Reiko asked.

  Another door, this one closed, led to the rear of the shop. Jokyden halted with her back against it and said, “If I am to tell you, I must first have your promise that what I say will be kept in strict confidence.”

  Reiko hesitated, because although instinct told her that Jokyden’s answer might be important to her investigation, she didn’t know whether she could honor such a bargain. Avenging Sano’s death took priority over Jokyden’s wishes. If revealing later what Jokyden told her would benefit her cause, then she must do it. Still, perha
ps she could somehow manage to keep Jokyden’s secrets without jeopardizing her own mission.

  “I promise,” she said.

  For a long interval, Jokyden regarded her in silence. The room was dim and Jokyden’s face in shadow, so Reiko couldn’t see her expression. The incessant clatter of looms from the adjacent shops echoed through the walls. Then Jokyden said in a tone devoid of emotion, “Left Minister Konoe and I were lovers at one time. We used to meet here, where no one who mattered would see us together.”

  Surprise stunned Reiko. When she and Jokyden had talked about the left minister two days ago, Jokyden had betrayed no personal feelings toward him. Now Reiko felt a stab of apprehension as she wondered what else Jokyden had concealed.

  “When was this affair?” she asked.

  “Before Left Minister Konoe’s death, obviously.” With her sarcastic reply and forbidding tone, Jokyden proclaimed that she didn’t intend to elaborate on the subject. She turned to open the door, then let Reiko into the shop’s last room, which had once been the proprietor’s living quarters.

  When Jokyden opened the skylight and windows, Reiko saw a kitchen on one side, where a kettle sat on the hearth; shelves held a few pieces of crockery, parcels of tea, and dried fruit. On the other side, a charcoal brazier stood beside a dingy futon on the frayed tatami; a pine table held a lamp; an umbrella leaned against the whitewashed plank wall. The only item that reflected Konoe’s noble rank was a desk made of dark teak with gold geometric inlays. The windows overlooked an alley whose privy sheds and garbage bins sent foul odors into the room. Reiko couldn’t imagine the elegant Jokyden lying on that bed, in this dismal place.