“And the most important piece of evidence yet,” Reiko said.
“You shouldn’t have done it!”
“What’s done is done. Now please stop yelling and consider what this means to the case.”
“First I want you to promise you’ll never do such a thing again,” Sano said.
“Only if you’ll promise never again to trick me into thinking you’re dead.”
This was one of those times when Sano longed for a traditional marriage where the husband set the rules and the wife obeyed them, instead of this constant negotiation. “All right, I promise,” he said. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Reiko said, then hurried on: “I believe the gang is plotting to overthrow the Tokugawa regime, and that someone in the Imperial Court is behind the plot. One of the murder suspects must be arming troops in preparation to restore power to the emperor. Left Minister Konoe must have found out, and the murderer killed him to prevent him from telling the authorities.”
Sano saw the logic of her reasoning, and the new political element in the case disturbed him, but he strove for objectivity. “That’s quite a leap to make from a few scribbled notes, a few troublemakers, and a few guns.”
“There were more than just a few guns,” Reiko said, “and the size of the arsenal means there must be hundreds, even thousands of troublemakers involved in the plot. They could launch a full-scale siege of Miyako at any moment.” She grasped Sano’s hands. “You must do something immediately.”
“Of course I’ll investigate the situation,” Sano said. “Any potential threat against the regime must be taken seriously. But let’s not jump to conclusions. You were in the house for only a short time, while you were under severe emotional stress. Maybe there weren’t as many weapons as you thought; maybe you misinterpreted what the men said.”
“I know what I saw and heard,” Reiko said stubbornly. “If you don’t arrest those men and seize the arsenal, there could be a revolt that turns into nationwide civil war. Entire provinces could fall under rebel control before the bakufu has time to mount an effective defense. Eventually, war could reach Edo.”
“That’s a distinct possibility.” While Sano could think of arguments against the theory, he hesitated to raise them lest he reawaken Reiko’s hurt and resentment over his deception. “Therefore, I have to proceed with caution. A revolt goes beyond the scope of the murder investigation. I must inform the shoshidai and Chamberlain Yanagisawa.”
“Soon, I hope?” Reiko said.
“Tonight.” Instead of the evening of rest that he’d wanted, Sano anticipated hours of secret meetings. “And tomorrow I’ll begin looking for the instigator of the plot at the Imperial Palace.”
20
At dawn, a brisk wind rattled the window blinds, awakening Sano in his room at Nij Manor. He smelled smoke, heard bells clanging, and bolted up in bed, heart pounding as he recalled a fire that had almost claimed his life. But the inn was quiet except for the ordinary noises of guests rising. Sano washed and dressed. Leaving Reiko asleep, he took his morning meal with his detectives in their rooms and gave them their orders for the day. Then he rode to the Imperial Palace.
Smoke hovered over Miyako, adding an acrid pall to the hazy, oppressive heat. From newssellers who hawked broadsheets, Sano learned that the wind had blown down some Obon lanterns and started a fire that had spread across the southern part of town. Nervous citizens kept watch for more fires. Sano’s own mood was troubled as he recalled his meeting with Shoshidai Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa at Nij Castle last night, when he’d told them about the outlaws and guns at Lord Ibe’s house.
At first, Yanagisawa had scoffed at the possibility of an imperial restoration attempt. “The court is powerless. How could they dare to attack the bakufu?”
“It’s happened before,” Sano said, prepared to counter the objections that had occurred to him when Reiko had broached the idea. “Four hundred and seventy years ago, Emperor Go-Toba tried to overthrow the Kamakura dictatorship with the help of militant monks and rebellious samurai clans.”
“I’m familiar with history,” Yanagisawa said. “Go-Toba’s coup failed. So did the one led by Emperor Go-Daigo two hundred years later. Although he managed to seize control, his reign lasted only a short time. I doubt that the Tokugawa regime is in any danger from his descendants now.”
“Indeed,” the shoshidai murmured.
“I agree that those attempts were futile,” Sano said. “My point is that someone did try. And Emperor Go-Daigo’s coup eventually resulted in a shift of power to a new regime. This could happen again, if the revolt spreads and the daimyo unite against the Tokugawa. Miyako is a good starting place for civil war. It’s far from the shogun’s forces in Edo, and the emperor is a natural rallying point for malcontents seeking a new leader. Left Minister Konoe must have realized all this. An armed insurrection against the bakufu is high treason—punishable by death for everyone involved, plus their families and associates. Therefore, Konoe had to be eliminated before he could report his discovery.”
Yanagisawa frowned, and Sano knew he wanted to disagree for the sake of disagreeing. He must hate having Sano inform him about a development that he hadn’t managed to discover himself. Nevertheless, Yanagisawa couldn’t ignore any threat against the regime he controlled, no matter how little he liked acting on Sano’s recommendation.
“I’ll handle the situation at Lord Ibe’s house,” Yanagisawa said.
“My troops are at your service,” said the shoshidai, clearly glad that he wouldn’t have to take charge himself.
Sano hoped that the task would keep Yanagisawa too busy to cause new troubles for him, but he doubted it. He feared that he would live to regret his strange partnership with the chamberlain.
Now a party of nobles conveyed Sano into the palace. Courtiers huddled along the passages of the kuge quarter, conversing in whispers. They fell silent and bowed as Sano passed. Seeing the animosity in their eyes, he presumed they were discussing the murder, the false report of his death, and the arrest of Lady Asagao. Obviously no one wanted him here. Yet anticipation lifted Sano’s mood. The discovery of the arsenal and outlaw gang gave him a new chance to solve the case.
At Right Minister Ichijo’s estate, attendants had gathered in the courtyard. Down the stairs of the mansion came Ichijo, dressed in a formal black cap and robes and leaning on an ebony cane. When he saw Sano, he halted on the bottom step.
“Congratulations on your miraculous return to the world of the living, ssakan-sama,” he said, bowing with stiff dignity that bespoke his displeasure at Sano’s arrival. “Forgive me if I haven’t time to receive you, but I must go to my daughter. She is home now, but quite upset from her ordeal.”
Sano braced himself for a dangerous, difficult interview. The murderer had already killed one Tokugawa retainer, and antagonizing a suspect might provoke another attack. In addition, Sano had unintentionally created bad blood between the bakufu and the Imperial Court.
“I beg your pardon for my treatment of the honorable Lady Asagao,” Sano said, forced to grovel for the mistake connived by Chamberlain Yanagisawa. “Please accept my sincere apologies.”
Ichijo looked slightly mollified. “Thank you for freeing my daughter.” With a trace of waspishness, he added, “Of course, freedom is no more than Lady Asagao’s due. Certainly she has been exonerated.”
“Yes, she has,” Sano said, “and I won’t delay you long, but I must ask you some questions.”
“Such as?”
“Where were you during the murder the night before last?”
Shaking his head in annoyance, Ichijo walked past Sano. “My activities are none of your concern, since I was never under suspicion for Left Minister Konoe’s murder, and therefore not for this one, which was obviously committed by the same person.”
“I’ve spoken with Chamberlain Yanagisawa. He supplied information that changes your situation.”
Sano watched Ichijo halt, and saw the wary look on his face as he
reluctantly turned. Ichijo had seemed surprised not to be questioned about Konoe’s murder, Sano recalled, and loitered around during the inquiries in the palace. He must have wondered why he hadn’t been targeted as a suspect. After his interrogation by Yanagisawa, he’d probably lived in fear for his life. Now Sano could see the crafty old politician marshaling his defense.
“I was here at home, asleep, when the scream woke me,” Ichijo said. “Soon afterward a servant came to tell me there had been another death. My household can verify that.”
Observing the closed faces of Ichijo’s staff, Sano knew these men would lie to protect Ichijo from the despised bakufu.
“Before the second murder, you received a message that I would be in the palace that night,” Sano said.
“Yes.” Ichijo tapped his cane on a paving stone. He scrutinized Sano with shrewd calculation.
“But you did nothing about it?”
Ichijo gave Sano a sour smile. “I disdain anonymous communications and therefore ignored this one. I’ve been informed that similar messages were delivered to Lady Jokyden, Prince Momozono, and the emperor. I spoke with them this morning and learned that they, too, ignored the messages.”
“I see.” Sano felt vexed at Ichijo, who had surely advised the other suspects to claim they’d disregarded the opportunity to attack him, thereby protecting themselves and obstructing his investigation.
“If you’ve finished, I shall be going,” Ichijo said.
“Not just yet.” Hastened into blunt speech, Sano said, “Your daughter has been exonerated, but you’re still a suspect. You and Left Minister Konoe were rivals for the post of prime minister. My arresting Lady Asagao gave you reason to want me dead, and killing me while she was imprisoned would clear her.”
Anger bared Ichijo’s blackened teeth; his thin hand gripped the gold handle of his cane. In a cutting voice he said, “Even if you disregard my alibi, do you really think I have the power to kill with a scream?”
“Perhaps we should talk about that in private,” Sano said, “along with some other matters that you might not care to discuss out here.”
He saw a flash of apprehension in Ichijo’s eyes: Whether guilty of murder or not, Ichijo had something to hide. Then, with a martyred expression, the right minister led Sano into the mansion and to his office.
“Now that we’re alone,” he said, “what did you wish to discuss with me?”
Sano reminded himself that Yanagisawa had picked Ichijo as his prime suspect. With all Sano’s fighting skill, he was defenseless against the power of kiai. If Ichijo had that ability, Sano courted death during every moment spent with the right minister. A current of fear ran through Sano as he circled the room, examining the paintings on the walls. The first panel showed a garden where wisteria vines draped an arbor, under which stood two men, both wearing the costumes of a thousand years ago.
“Nakatomi Kamatari,” Sano said, pointing to the older man in the painting. “Your ancestor. And the young man is Naka-no-Oye, an imperial prince and disgruntled member of the Soga clan, which once dominated the court. The two plotted to oust the Soga and seize power. When they succeeded, the prince became emperor. Kamatari took the new name Fujiwara—wisteria—in memory of the garden where they conspired. As the emperor’s mentor, he won great power for his clan. For some five hundred years afterward, the Fujiwara ruled Japan from behind the throne.”
“I am impressed by your knowledge of my heritage,” Ichijo said with chill asperity, “but surely it cannot be the reason for your interest in me.”
“On the contrary.” Sano moved to the next panel. It showed the Purple Dragon Hall of the Imperial Palace. On the veranda, a courtier stood beside a boy dressed in the tall black hat and elaborate robes of the emperor. Pointing to the courtier, Sano said, “This must be Fujiwara Yoshifusa, regent for the young Emperor Seiwa, who reigned seven centuries ago. Yoshifusa established the tradition of marrying Fujiwara daughters to emperors. A father-in-law can exert much influence over a young sovereign, yes?”
Ichijo compressed his mouth in annoyance at this allusion to his relationship with Emperor Tomohito.
“But the zenith of Fujiwara glory was the great Michinaga,” Sano said. “His daughters were consorts to four emperors; two other emperors were his nephews, and three his grandsons. He ruled supreme for thirty-two years.” Sano contemplated the last painting, a view of a temple at night. In the sky floated a huge, round moon. “Michinaga founded this monastery at Hojo Temple. He wrote a poem boasting that he was a master of his world, ‘like the flawless full moon riding the skies.’”
“That is true,” Ichijo said impatiently, “but I fail to see what relevance it has to your investigation.”
“After Michinaga’s death, the Fujiwara fortunes declined. Power shifted to the samurai class.” Sano faced Ichijo. “Don’t you regret the passing of those glorious days?”
Disdain shaded Ichijo’s face. “Even if I did, that gives me no reason for wanting Left Minister Konoe dead. The post of prime minister confers no power outside the Imperial Palace. Killing my rival would not have reestablished Fujiwara control over Japan.”
But perhaps Konoe had discovered that Ichijo was planning to restore imperial rule and Fujiwara supremacy by mounting a revolt against the Tokugawa, Sano speculated. Ichijo was in a unique position to influence Emperor Tomohito, both as chief adviser and as father of the imperial consort. If a coup succeeded, Ichijo would dominate the throne—and the nation—as his ancestors had. Therefore, Ichijo was a prime candidate for instigator of the rebel conspiracy.
“Do you know Lord Ibe Masanobu?” Sano asked.
Ichijo raised his eyebrows, although Sano couldn’t tell whether he was surprised by the apparent non sequitur or if the name had significance to him. “The daimyo of Echizen Province? We have never met.”
“Have you ever been to his house in the cloth dyers’ district?”
“It is my understanding that the daimyo are forbidden to have estates in Miyako, and since I’m not acquainted with Lord Ibe, there would be no reason for me to visit him. Really, I do not see the point of these questions.”
“Have you any contact with priests at the local monasteries?”
“Of course. They perform ceremonies here at the palace.” Folding his arms, Ichijo said, “I get the impression that you are accusing me of something besides the murders. At least be specific so that I may defend myself.”
If Ichijo knew about the activities at Lord Ibe’s estate, he was doing an excellent job of pretending he didn’t. However, this veteran of court politics would have mastered the art of dissembling, and Ichijo’s clan had masterminded secret plots for centuries. But Sano wasn’t ready to make an open accusation yet.
“Even if you aren’t acquainted with Lord Ibe, I believe your family has close ties with other daimyo clans,” he said. “The Kuroda and the Mitsu, in particular.”
“Many of us have married into those families,” Ichijo said stiffly. This was a common practice by which the samurai gained prestige via connections with the Imperial Court, while the nobles shared in the daimyo families’ wealth.
“Then you’ve had the opportunity to study the martial arts with them?”
“The opportunity, yes; the desire, no,” Ichijo said with a moue of distaste. “We in the court are glad to give the benefit of our learning to the samurai class. But with all due respect, we prefer to maintain the integrity of our culture by not absorbing yours.”
However, Sano knew that cultural influence flowed both ways. As men of the daimyo clans studied art and music with their imperial in-laws, so might nobles practice Bushido under the direction of samurai relatives. Sano perceived the strong will hidden behind Ichijo’s refined countenance, and will was the foundation for the power of kiai, the perfect weapon for a courtier who wanted a means of self-defense—or murder.
“Unless you have something else to discuss,” said Ichijo, “I really must go. My daughter needs me.”
“Just one more
thing,” Sano said.
The right minister’s look of aggrieved impatience did not change, but alarm radiated from Ichijo. Sano wondered what he was hiding. He also wondered whether there was something that Yanagisawa had neglected to tell him about Ichijo.
“I need to speak with His Majesty the Emperor, Lady Jokyden, and Prince Momozono,” Sano said. “I would prefer to see them alone, without giving them advance notice.”
“That is against court protocol, but I suppose an exception can be made.” Through Ichijo’s grudging consent, Sano saw relief. Whatever he was hiding must be serious, for him to readily grant an objectionable request just to avoid more questions. “I shall escort you to the imperial enclosure now.”
“Thank you,” Sano said.
Ichijo started toward the door. Sano lagged behind. Then he lunged forward and grabbed the right minister, locking his right arm around Ichijo’s shoulders, his left across Ichijo’s throat. For an instant, Ichijo stiffened. Sano was startled to feel tough, wiry muscles: Despite his age, Ichijo kept himself fit. Sano recalled the unearthly scream, and Aisu’s bloody corpse. What if Ichijo did indeed possess the power of kiai? At this close range, he could kill Sano by barely raising his voice. Sano knew the risk he took by provoking Ichijo, but what better way to expose the truth?
Then Ichijo went limp. He struggled feebly in Sano’s grasp, bleating, “Help, help!”
Sano let go. Relief and disappointment filled him. The door opened and two servants appeared. They hurried to the aid of their master, who sagged against the wall, coughing. Ichijo’s cheeks were red, his eyes watery. He glared at Sano.
“I know why you did that,” he said, “and I hope you are satisfied. You almost killed me.”
“If that’s the case, then I apologize,” Sano said, unconvinced. Might a man who could master kiaijutsu also be quick enough to hide his skill by feigning weakness? “I’ll see the imperial family now.”
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