“This is the one place I can show you that might contain clues about what the left minister did during the days just before he died, who he saw, or why someone wanted to kill him,” Jokyden said. Her dignified poise hid any shame she felt at bringing Reiko to the scene of her illicit romance. “He sometimes kept personal papers here.”
He’d kept very few things here, Reiko thought; hardly enough even for a quick tryst once in awhile. Then she noticed indented, rectangular shadows on the tatami where furniture had once stood, and hooks on the walls that might have held paintings or drapery. And she understood. The room had been comfortably furnished when Jokyden and Konoe had come here together. Konoe must have removed unneeded furnishings because the affair had ended even before his death.
“We always traveled here separately,” Jokyden said. “Sometimes he would be writing when I arrived, and he always put the papers away in the desk. Perhaps they’re still there.”
Even as Reiko knelt at the desk, questions burgeoned in her mind. Why had the affair ended, and when? Reiko remembered asking Jokyden how she got along with Konoe, and Jokyden’s answer: “We had no quarrels.” But what if there had been a quarrel, one that had caused a breakup between Konoe and Jokyden shortly before his death? Reiko thought about Lady Asagao’s story of seduction by Konoe. If it was true, then perhaps his infidelity had angered Jokyden. Earlier, Reiko had conjectured that the pair had clashed over imperial politics, but love gone bad was also a strong motive for murder.
She looked up at Jokyden, who stood by the window, looking outside. Sunlight slanted across her profile, glittering in her eye; a cold serenity masked her thoughts. Fear turned the sweat on Reiko’s skin into a film of ice water as she remembered Jokyden closing the front doors and sealing them both in the shop. Was it Jokyden who had killed Konoe—and Sano? Had she arranged this trip for the purpose of eliminating a woman who sought to expose her guilt?
Then Reiko dismissed her fear as ludicrous. She didn’t really believe Jokyden was a murderer, but even if she was, she wouldn’t kill again here. There were people outside, including Reiko’s guards; she couldn’t get away with murdering Reiko. Still, Reiko’s heart thudded as she examined the desk. A uniform coating of dust dulled the inlaid surface, and she hoped that this place had remained undisturbed since Konoe last came here. Her hands shook as she lifted the lid of the desk.
Inside, amid writing brushes, inkstones, and ribbons for binding scrolls, she found stacked papers, all blank. Disappointment crushed Reiko. She pulled everything out of the desk, searched for scraps she’d missed, or hidden compartments, without success. Konoe had apparently not left any writings here. As a metsuke spy, he would have taken care to conceal documents related to espionage for fear that his secret life would be exposed. Or had someone else removed things, careful not to leave signs of the disturbance?
Reiko looked up to see Jokyden watching her. She said, “Who else besides you and the left minister knew about this place?”
“No one, as far as I know.”
“When was the last time you came here?”
“If you are asking if I have been here since the left minister died, the answer is no.” Jokyden turned back to the window.
Yet maybe she’d come back after the murder, to take away personal items she’d left behind or anything else that revealed her relationship with the left minister. Reiko knew that the Imperial Court viewed adultery in much the same way as did society in general: Married men enjoyed the freedom to have affairs, but women paid dearly for sexual dalliance. If Jokyden’s affair with Konoe had become public, the abdicated emperor would probably have divorced her; she’d have lost her authority over the court amid humiliating scandal.
However, Reiko saw another reason for Jokyden to remove papers from the desk, if they could implicate her in Konoe’s murder. Such an intelligent woman would recognize the need to destroy evidence against her. Reiko wondered whether Jokyden had brought her here while knowing she would find nothing. Had she pretended to help with the investigation so Reiko would think her innocent?
Plagued by doubts, Reiko looked around the room for somewhere else to search. Her gaze lit on the charcoal brazier. Excitement quickened her pulse. She hardly dared to hope…
She hurried to the brazier, a square wooden box with multiple slots in the top and three sides. Kneeling, she peered through the grate on the fourth side. Inside sat a metal pan containing ash, sooty coals, and a wad of partially burned paper. Reiko’s heart leapt. Opening the grate, she lifted out the paper, heedless of the ash that smudged her fingers. She peeled away delicate black layers. Only the innermost had survived the fire. Darkened at the edges, it was a fragment from a page of scribbled notes. An inked circle surrounded the name Ibe Masanobu. This, Reiko knew, was the daimyo of Echizen Province. Other notations read: “Site surveillance? Watch night movements.” “Arrived Month 3, Day 17.” “Eleven more inside yesterday.” “No outsiders allowed.” “Infiltrators?”
Reiko sat perfectly still, nurturing a hope as thin and fragile as the paper she cradled in her hands. This could be notes on a metsuke job that Left Minister Konoe had been working on just before he died. Lord Ibe and whomever else Konoe had spied on could be connected to his murder. Among them might be his killer—and Sano’s. Reiko allowed herself to believe this, because with the Imperial Palace closed to her and Lady Jokyden unable to help her further, she had no other leads by which she might solve the case and avenge Sano’s death.
“Have you found what you were looking for?” Jokyden asked.
“Yes,” Reiko said firmly.
18
“Well, Soakan-sama, I am most surprised and glad to see you alive,” said Shoshidai Matsudaira. “And Honorable Chamberlain Yanagisawa, it is certainly a privilege to welcome you to Miyako.”
After their confrontation in Yanagisawa’s hideout in the hills, Sano had told the chamberlain how they would make their deal official. While Yanagisawa dressed, Sano had untied the three guards; then the five of them had ridden into Miyako together. Now they were seated in the reception room of the shoshidai’s mansion. Mastsudaira, kneeling on the dais, looked confused by the simultaneous appearance of Sano, whom he’d believed dead, and Yanagisawa, his cousin the shogun’s exalted second-in-command.
“In the confusion of last night’s events at the Imperial Palace, mistakes were made.” Sano spoke from his place below the dais to the shoshidai’s left. “It was actually one of my retainers who died, not myself.” This was the story that Sano had concocted to explain the murder of Aisu. “I shall now do everything possible to resolve any problems created by the erroneous report of my death.”
“Very well.” The shoshidai sounded unconvinced, but as Sano had anticipated, he was too timid to raise questions.
Yanagisawa sat at the shoshidai’s right, with his three bodyguards behind him. Clad in rich silk robes, he looked his usual self, although his complexion still had a sickly gray pallor. “I’ve been traveling through Omi Province on business for the shogun. Since that business is finished, I have decided to lend my assistance to the ssakan-sama’s investigation into the murders at the Imperial Palace.”
“That is very generous of you.” The shoshidai smiled, obviously deceived by Yanagisawa’s genial manner.
But Sano had perceived the resentful undertone in Yanagisawa’s voice, and knew how humiliating it was for the chamberlain to bow to blackmail. “Yes, his help will constitute a major improvement.” Over his sabotage, Sano thought, glancing at Yanagisawa, who shot him a covert, venomous look.
“My troops, clerks, and other staff are at your service,” said the shoshidai.
“Since I’m traveling with a very small retinue,” Yanagisawa said, “that is much appreciated.”
Sano knew he would have to keep a close watch in case Yanagisawa recruited new henchmen to work against him.
“I wish that Yoriki Hoshina, my senior police commander, were here,” the shoshidai said. “He’s a most capable detective who h
as been assisting the ssakan-sama. But Hoshina-san seems to have disappeared.”
“A pity,” said Yanagisawa.
Subtle menace shaded the chamberlain’s voice. Sano hoped he could keep Hoshina hidden long enough to finish the case. However, that would still leave the problem of what to do with Hoshina afterward. He couldn’t protect the yoriki from Yanagisawa’s wrath indefinitely.
“Of course you’ll be needing a place to live while in Miyako,” the shoshidai said to Yanagisawa. “I regret that Nij Castle is undergoing a major renovation at the moment, but you can stay at Nij Manor with the ssakan-sama.”
“The renovation is suspended as of now,” Yanagisawa said, and Sano knew how much he wanted to avoid sharing the same roof. “I’ll move into Nij Castle at once.”
“Well, all right.” The shoshidai sounded doubtful, but not even the shogun’s cousin dared challenge the most powerful man in Japan.
“We’ll be going now,” Sano said. “We have much work to do, and I must brief the Honorable Chamberlain on the status of the investigation.”
Outside, they mounted their horses in the narrow lane crowded with the strolling dignitaries of Miyako’s administrative district. Low clouds hid the distant hills, but the sun had burned the morning mist from the sky; heat shimmered in the air. Sano felt sweaty, rank, and in dire need of a bath.
Yanagisawa said in a surly voice, “I suppose you found that farce of cooperation and friendly camaraderie amusing.”
“Not so much amusing as necessary.” Sano hoped that making their partnership public would force Yanagisawa to behave honorably, although he had his doubts.
“As for briefing me,” Yanagisawa said, “that’s unnecessary because I already know everything you know. And I’ve told you everything Hoshina withheld from you.”
They’d talked during the ride to town, but Sano didn’t believe Yanagisawa had really made a full disclosure. “I want your metsuke dossiers on the Imperial Court,” Sano said, having guessed that Yanagisawa had plundered the records in Edo before he’d read them. “I also want the material you took from Left Minister Konoe’s office.”
“Fine. I’ll send it to Nij Manor.” Yanagisawa sat astride his horse, with his bodyguards flanking him. “That’s all I’m willing to do for today. I still feel very unwell, and I need to rest. Farewell until tomorrow.”
The chamberlain and his guards rode away. Sano set off toward Nij Manor. The first thing he needed to do was to see Reiko. Second, he must assign men to spy on Yanagisawa.
When Reiko rode up to Nij Manor in her palanquin, Detective Fukida was waiting for her outside the gate. “Where have you been?” he cried.
“I’ve been investigating my husband’s murder,” Reiko said, climbing out of the palanquin. Afire with excitement, she explained how she and Lady Jokyden had gone to Left Minister Konoe’s secret house in the textile district, then showed Fukida the scrap of notes she’d found in the charcoal brazier. “Look. I’m sure this means the left minister was spying on Lord Ibe, who might be connected to the murders.”
Fukida frowned. “You went to the palace?” he said. “On your own?”
“Yes. Lady Jokyden told me that Lord Ibe has a house in the cloth dyers’ district where he stays when he visits Miyako. We must go there right now!”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Fukida said. “Perhaps we should wait.”
“For what?” Reiko said, perplexed, then incredulous. “Do you intend to sit idle while your master’s killer goes free?”
Instead of meeting Reiko’s eyes, Fukida gazed around the bright, bustling street. “The ssakan-sama told me to watch over you. I must obey his orders. I can’t take you to Lord Ibe’s house or anywhere else that might be dangerous.”
“Then go yourself,” Reiko said.
“I can’t leave you.”
“Where is Detective Marume? He could go.”
Fukida looked so miserable that Reiko pitied him, but she was angry at his refusal to help her avenge Sano’s death. “All right,” she said. “If you won’t take me, then I’ll go alone.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that.” Fukida turned to Reiko’s palanquin bearers and guards and said, “You’re not to take her on any more trips without my permission.”
The bearers and guards bowed, chorusing, “Yes, Fukida-san.”
“You can’t do this!” Reiko cried, infuriated.
“Please go inside, Honorable Lady Reiko,” said Fukida.
She glared at him in helpless rage. Tears rushed to her eyes as the grief she’d suppressed all morning resurfaced. Head high, she entered the inn, walked into her room, and shut the door so hard that the frame rattled. Alone, she fought the impulse to lie down and weep. She changed her silk kimono for a simple blue cotton one, and her high-soled shoes for comfortable straw sandals. She strapped a dagger to her arm under her sleeve. Then she peered out the windows and door to look for Fukida. He was nowhere in sight; he’d underestimated her determination. Reiko slipped out of Nij Manor and began walking.
The hot sun beat down on her. Soon she was drenched in sweat and longing for a cool drink, but ladies didn’t carry money, and as a stranger in town, Reiko had no credit with Miyako vendors. Samurai on horseback and peasants carrying loads of supplies jostled past her through narrow streets lined with shops. Dust, horse manure, and filthy water from open drains soiled her shoes and hem. She avoided looking other pedestrians in the eye, praying that no one would accost her. Something in her expression must have warned off predators, because although some men leered, they left her alone. Perhaps they thought she was a madwoman. Exhausted and footsore, she finally reached the cloth dyers’ district northeast of Sanjo Bridge.
In workshops, craftsmen stirred steaming dye vats and painted designs on silk. Reiko followed a path beside the Kamo River, seeking Lord Ibe’s house. She knew that while the feudal lords occupied grand estates in Edo and their provinces, Tokugawa law forbade them to maintain residences in Miyako. Therefore, a daimyo who desired a home here would avoid the authorities’ notice by keeping a modest, discreet establishment. Reiko hadn’t asked how Lady Jokyden knew where Lord Ibe’s illegal residence was. She would not allow herself to consider the possibility that the notes she’d pinned her hopes on were irrelevant to the murders and she’d come all this way for nothing.
Along the path on Reiko’s right, textile shops crowned the embankment; drying cloth flapped on roofs and balconies. On her left, dyers rinsed long, brilliantly colored fabrics in the river, turning clear water into a sea of painted flowers, landscapes, and geometric designs. Reiko followed Jokyden’s directions up a path leading inland to a neighborhood of narrow, two-story houses behind high fences. Maids and porters hurried down the streets; bearers carried passengers in palanquins. Lord Ibe’s house was the second to last on its block, behind a double gate suspended between two square pillars capped with a gabled roof.
Reiko circled the block, covertly inspecting the area. Other houses showed signs of life—maids shaking brooms out windows, children playing in front—but bamboo blinds covered the balconies of Lord Ibe’s place. During an hour of watching, Reiko didn’t see anyone enter or leave. Nervously, she walked up to the gates and knocked on the wooden planks.
No answer came. Reiko knocked again, louder. She heard the rasp of a sliding door, and footsteps. Then came the metallic scrape of a bar drawing back; the gates parted to reveal a man dressed in a short brown cotton kimono. He had the thick build and close-cropped hair of a laborer. Suspicion darkened his pockmarked features as he looked Reiko up and down.
“Yes?” he growled.
His unfriendly manner and disreputable appearance intimidated Reiko. “I—I’m looking for Lord Ibe,” she said.
“Nobody by that name here.”
The man started to close the gates. “Wait,” Reiko said, pushing against them. “I know this house belongs to Lord Ibe. I must speak to him.”
A lascivious smile came over the man’s face. “You
’re wrong,” he said, “but maybe you should come in anyway. We could have fun with a pretty girl like you.” He reached over and chucked Reiko under the chin.
She recoiled at the liberty. “Who are you?” she asked, trying to sound stern.
“None of your business. Who do you think you are?” The man scowled, obviously displeased that a woman should dare to question him.
“Who’s in there?” Reiko persisted. “What’s going on?”
“Get lost, girl.”
The man slammed the gates shut. Reiko heard the bar slide into place. She looked up at the house in desperation. The man had acted as if he had something to hide. She had to know what Left Minister Konoe had discovered here, because this represented her only chance to solve Sano’s murder. But how could she, a woman alone, find out the secrets of the house?
Reiko hurried to the gate of the house behind Lord Ibe’s and knocked. A maid answered. “Yes, madam?”
“Excuse me,” Reiko said, arranging her face in an apologetic smile, “but I wonder if I could use your place of relief?” This was the polite term for the privy. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s an emergency….”
“Yes, of course.” The maid smiled back, eager to help a lady in need. “Come this way.”
She led Reiko around the house, into a narrow backyard that contained a fireproof storehouse and a privy shed.
“Thank you, you’re so kind.” Feigning casual interest, Reiko pointed at the daimyo’s house and said, “Who lives over there?”
“Some men…. I don’t know who they are.”
“How many?”
Puzzled, the maid shook her head. “They keep to themselves.” She opened the privy door. “If you need anything, just call.”
“Many thanks.” Reiko went into the privy, waited until the maid was gone, then came out again. She surveyed the yard. Along the fence lay rakes, baskets, urns, a wooden barrel. Quietly Reiko overturned the barrel, stood on it, and peered over the fence. She saw a yard similar to the one she was in, with a storehouse and privy. Wooden bars shielded the back windows of Lord Ibe’s house. As Reiko watched, the door opened, and a muscular man dressed in a loincloth emerged. His body was covered with tattoos, a mark of the gangster class. Leaving the door ajar, he went into the privy.
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