“Stop around the corner from the bathhouse,” Reiko ordered her escorts.
They obeyed. The procession halted, and the bearers set down the palanquin. Reiko pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and stepped out into the drizzle, hesitant to venture into such hostile territory. But if she wanted information that might save Sano, she must take a risk. The dagger strapped to her arm under her sleeve gave her confidence.
“Follow me at a distance,” she said to her guard captain. “Wait for me down the street from the bathhouse.” She thought Yuya might be more willing to talk if not intimidated by soldiers. “While I go inside, count quickly to five hundred. If I’m not out by then, come in and get me.”
The captain bowed and nodded. Reiko set off alone, past archways that led to mazes of dank alleys in which buildings constructed of weathered planks and peeling plaster resounded with harsh babble from the inhabitants. Rancid cooking odors mingled. None of the people Reiko passed appeared to notice her, but she felt their covert scrutiny.
She entered a gate into a street of houses with barred windows and recessed doorways. A tattered blue cloth banner above one bore a white character for hot water. Steam billowed from the roof and condensed on the tiles; moisture dripped from the eaves. Surly-looking men loitered outside the bathhouse. Reiko knocked on the door. Presently it opened, and a young woman appeared. She was barefoot, and wore a flowered robe that she held closed around her voluptuous body; her hair was piled untidily on her head.
“This bathhouse is for men only,” she said with a curious look at Reiko.
“I don’t want a bath. I’m looking for Yuya,” said Reiko.
The woman’s expression turned suspicious. “I’m Yuya.” She had a round face with full cheeks, a pointed chin, and a pouting mouth painted scarlet. Her skin had the moist, starchy color and texture of stale tofu. Her eyes, hard beneath puffy lids, cast a wary glance at Reiko. “Who are you?”
“My name is Reiko.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk to you,” Reiko said.
Yuya’s gaze moved over Reiko and turned hostile. “No,” she said, and started to close the door.
“I’ll pay you,” Reiko said quickly. She reached into her sleeve and drew out the paper packet she’d hidden there. She unwrapped the packet, revealing silver coins. Yuya stared at them with hungry yearning. She grabbed for the coins, but Reiko held them out of her grasp.
“After we talk,” Reiko said.
The woman’s red mouth twisted; she said grudgingly, “Come inside.”
As she and Yuya entered the bathhouse, Reiko glanced at her guard standing by the neighborhood gate. Places like this harbored danger, and she was uneasy. Inside, a dim passage smelled of urine. A doorway framed a view of a tattooed hoodlum seated at a counter and a big sunken tub. Naked couples fondled in the steamy water. The men moaned and grimaced; the women were stoically quiet. Grunts and thumps emanating from partitioned rooms indicated the presence of more amorous couples. While Reiko tried to hide her shock, Yuya sneered at her.
“You’ve never been to a public bath before, have you?” she said, then nodded sagely. “Not one where the girls do more for the customers than wash their backs.”
Reiko realized that the bathhouse was an illegal brothel, and Yuya a prostitute. Cringing in shame, she followed Yuya into a bedchamber. They sat, and Yuya filled a tobacco pipe and lit it with a hot coal from the brazier while Reiko avoided looking at the stained futon.
“Well?” Yuya said, tossing her head and puffing smoke.
Reiko cut straight to the point: “You knew Lady Wisteria, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I did.” A distasteful smile curved Yuya’s lips.
“When did you last see her?” Reiko said.
“Maybe three years ago? She came here, to this place.”
That was long before Lord Mitsuyoshi’s murder, but Reiko wanted any information she could get. “How did Wisteria happen to come here?”
“People said the man who freed her from Yoshiwara had given her money to live on, but she was a big spender. She wanted to live like she did when she was a courtesan. She rented a mansion, bought expensive furniture and kimonos, threw parties. The money disappeared in no time. Wisteria borrowed more and got deep in debt. Finally, she had to sell her things, move out of her house, and run away from the moneylenders who were hounding her to repay them.”
This was quite a different scenario than the second pillow book described, thought Reiko, and Yuya had less reason to lie than did the person who’d written the book to slander Sano.
“Wisteria ended up at the bathhouse, like lots of women who fall on hard times.” Yuya chuckled at Wisteria’s misfortune. “When she came here, she acted like an empress, always talking down to the rest of us, expecting us to wait on her. She thought she was better than everyone else here.”
“Because she’d been a tayu?” asked Reiko.
“Well, that was part of it,” Yuya said, “but as far as I’m concerned, a whore is a whore, no matter what her price.” She dumped ashes from her pipe into the brazier. “Wisteria was the mistress of the man who owns this place. They’d known each other since we were young girls. The master was her lover then, and he was still mad for her. She lived here, but she didn’t have to serve the customers like the rest of his women do.”
Resentment inflected Yuya’s voice. “Our work put rice in her mouth. And whenever we did anything that offended Wisteria, she told the master, and he beat us.”
The more Reiko learned about Wisteria, the less admirable the courtesan seemed. Had her bad nature led to her death? Yet the incidents Yuya described had occurred long ago, and might have no bearing on Lord Mitsuyoshi’s murder.
“We girls were all delighted when Wisteria got sent back to the pleasure quarter,” Yuya said with a vindictive smile.
“How did Wisteria end up back in Yoshiwara?” Reiko said, still eager to hear the rest of the story. Perhaps she could present Yuya to the shogun as a witness whose account of Wisteria’s life would discredit the pillow book, and thereby clear Sano’s name.
“The master introduced Wisteria to merchants he knew. She bedded them, and they gave her money. But Wisteria got greedy. One night, a wealthy wine dealer took her home with him, and after he fell asleep, she stole a cash box full of gold coins and sneaked out. The next day he discovered that she was gone and so was his gold. He reported her to the police.” Yuya shrugged, leaving unspoken the end to this common tale of a female criminal sentenced to Yoshiwara.
“Was that the last you saw of Wisteria?” Reiko said. Yuya nodded, but thoughts slithered beneath the hard surface of her gaze. Reiko’s heart beat faster. “You’ve seen her lately?”
“I didn’t lay eyes on her, but she came here. I was in this room with a customer, when the night watchman let someone into the house.” Yuya stirred uneasily. “It was the master and Wisteria. I recognized their voices.”
“When was this?” Anticipation caught Reiko’s breath.
“Three days ago,” Yuya said.
Reiko experienced the heady soaring of her spirits that always accompanied successful detection. Wisteria had been here after disappearing from Yoshiwara! Reiko had picked up the first glimpse of the trail left by the courtesan.
“What is your master’s name?” she said, eager to identify this man who might have been involved in Wisteria’s escape, and the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi.
Yuya started to speak; then she paused in belated caution. “Why do you want to know about him? I thought you were interested in Wisteria.”
“They might be witnesses to a crime,” Reiko said. “I must find out what they’ve seen.”
“You mean you think he killed the shogun’s heir.” Yuya slowly laid down her tobacco pipe, as though freeing her hands for self-defense, but not wanting Reiko to notice her fear.
“Tell me everything you heard when they were here,” Reiko urged.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Yuya said
. “They went in the bathchamber. I couldn’t make out what they said.”
Reiko sensed a lie. “Did they talk about Lord Mitsuyoshi?”
“I don’t know. I told you, I couldn’t hear them. But wait—I know who you are, I’ve heard about you. You’re the ssakan-sama’s wife.” Yuya drew back from Reiko in appalled enlightenment. “You’ll tell your husband what I said. He’ll go after my master.”
“Did they say who killed him?” Reiko persisted.
A breathy, nervous laugh escaped Yuya. She shook her head and stood, palms raised toward Reiko. “I don’t want to get mixed up in this. You asked about Wisteria, and I told you. I’ve got nothing more to say.”
“Please,” Reiko said as desperation clutched her. She felt so close to discovering the truth about the crime and saving Sano, yet saw opportunity slipping away. Rising, she beseeched Yuya: “You must tell me. Where is your master now?”
“I don’t know. He and Wisteria left the next morning.”
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t know!” Yuya backed toward the door.
Outside it, a gruff male voice called, “Yuya! Here’s a customer for you.”
Yuya started in fright; her puffy eyelids opened wide. “That’s the manager. I have to get back to work,” she told Reiko, and thrust out her hand. “Give me my money and leave.”
“It’s very important,” Reiko pleaded with Yuya. “Lives are at stake.”
She clutched Yuya by the arm. The prostitute shrieked and slapped at her, and they tussled as the manager shouted, “What’s going on in there?” Men in adjacent rooms yelled curses. Afraid to start a brawl, Reiko let go of Yuya and handed over the money.
“I’ll tell you this much,” Yuya hissed, her eyes glittery with panic. “Lightning strikes during storms. Gangsters are dangerous when anybody crosses them. My master and Wisteria had a big fight when they were here. I heard her screaming. It sounded like he almost killed her. If he finds out I told you about him, he’ll kill me!”
A thrill of excitation tingled in Reiko, for this dangerous, violent man posed an answer to Sano’s problems. She said, “Thank you for your help. If your master comes back, or you learn where he is, will you let me know? I’ll pay you.”
Yuya nodded too quickly, as though willing to agree to anything just to get rid of Reiko.
“Send me a message at Edo Castle,” Reiko said, then hurried past the glaring tattooed attendant and out of the house.
She met her guard captain in the street, and he accompanied her back to the palanquin. Climbing in, she ordered her escorts to take her home. She must tell Sano what she’d discovered, so he could begin the search for the new murder suspect.
30
“What do you mean I can’t come in?” Hirata demanded.
“The palace is off limits to the ssakan-sama and everyone in his retinue,” said the guard stationed at the door of the Edo Castle women’s quarters. “The shogun has ordered you kept out.”
Hirata stared in amazement and horror. That Sano had been barred from the palace meant the shogun thought him guilty of murder and treason, even though he’d received a chance to prove he was innocent. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi feared Sano as a threat to himself! This seemed the first stage of an inevitable downfall for Sano and everyone associated with him.
“I just stopped by to see Lady Midori,” Hirata said. “Will you tell her to come out?”
The guard shut the door in Hirata’s face. Hirata stood momentarily paralyzed by helpless outrage, then hurried around the building. The grounds lay vacant in the wet afternoon. Raindrops glittered on bare branches, stippled the pond, and pelted Hirata as he trudged through damp grass to the window of Midori’s chamber. Taking shelter beneath the eaves, he rapped on the wooden bars that screened the window.
“Midori-san!” he called.
The shutters and paper pane inside the window opened. Midori appeared, her eyes huge and scared. “Hirata-san!” she exclaimed in a whisper.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Hirata whispered, “but the guard won’t let me in.”
Midori pressed her face up against the window bars and spoke with breathless urgency: “The ladies say the ssakan-sama killed Lord Mitsuyoshi so that Masahiro-chan can be shogun someday. They say he’s a traitor, and so are you because you’re his chief retainer. Tell me it’s not true,” she pleaded.
“Of course it’s not,” Hirata said, alarmed to learn how fast the news had spread around the castle. “Don’t listen to the rumors. The ssakan-sama has been falsely accused.”
A sigh of relief gusted from Midori; her lips quivered in an eager smile. “That’s what I’ve been telling everyone who criticizes him or you.” Then her face crumpled. “But the palace officials told me I should stay away from you because you’re in trouble, and I could get in trouble, too. They said that if you and the ssakan-sama are condemned, I could be thrown out of the castle, or even put to death along with you.” Midori’s voice quavered with fear. “Things aren’t that bad, are they?”
As Hirata searched for words to tell her gently and console her, his face must have revealed the awful truth. Midori whimpered, “Oh, no,” and began to sob.
“I’m sorry,” Hirata said. “I’ve brought you nothing but unhappiness.” Although the idea of giving up Midori appalled him, he had to think of her welfare. He forced himself to say, “Maybe we’d better not see each other anymore. That would please our families. And you’ll be safe.”
“No!” Midori’s protest was immediate and vehement. Her streaming eyes filled with horror; she grasped the window bars.
She was making this so much harder that Hirata almost couldn’t bear to continue. “I love you,” he said brokenly. “I don’t want to give you up. But I can’t let you suffer because of me. We must say goodbye before my troubles destroy you.”
He backed away from the window while Midori darted back and forth sideways, like a caged, frantic animal. “Don’t leave me!” she cried. “If we can’t marry, I’m doomed!” Her weeping rose to a hysterical pitch, and she hunched over, sobbing into her hands. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!”
The force of her reaction halted Hirata. She was even more upset than the occasion merited. “What is it?” he said.
Midori shook her head violently, still sobbing. Hirata stepped up to the window. “Tell me,” he said, bewildered.
He leaned close, and after a moment Midori’s answer emerged in a tiny squeak: “I’m with child.” Then she dissolved into weeping again.
“Oh,” Hirata said, his stomach jarred by shock. Now he understood Midori’s panic. He rued the consequences of their forbidden pleasures.
“I couldn’t tell you before,” Midori whispered. “I was so ashamed. I was so afraid you’d be angry at me.”
Hirata reached through the window bars. “I’m not angry,” he said. “It’s my fault. I should have controlled myself.” As Midori pressed her wet, teary face against his hand, he ached for them both; yet she would suffer more than he from bearing their child out of wedlock. He feared for the child, whose prospects were dire.
“What are we going to do?” Midori wailed in desperation.
Although their circumstances had never been worse, Hirata felt an unexpected pang of hope. “We’ll find a way,” he said. “The child is proof that we’re destined for each other.”
“Are we?” Midori gazed longingly at him.
“Yes,” Hirata said. “Our love is stronger than ever.” It swelled his heart, renewed his confidence. The child gave him added reason to persevere. “We’ll be married soon. I promise.”
Doubt vied with hope in Midori’s expression. “But how?”
“First I’ll find evidence to clear the ssakan-sama’s name,” Hirata said. “Then everything else will turn out fine.”
Midori nodded, calmed by his reassurances. Hirata wished he had more faith in them. Restoring his master to the shogun’s good graces wouldn’t automatically solve the other problems that stood in the way of his marria
ge to Midori.
“I have to do some more investigating now,” he said. “I’ll come back with good news as soon as I can.”
As Hirata withdrew his hand from the window, Midori let go reluctantly, as though she feared she would never see him again.
Hirata arrived in Yoshiwara with two of Sano’s detectives, when the evening’s festivities were already in full sway. They interviewed the courtesans whom Lord Mitsuyoshi had tricked into believing he would marry them, but all three had been able to prove they’d been elsewhere the night Mitsuyoshi died at the Owariya. When Hirata and his companions left the brothel, the rain had ceased; wet roof tiles and streets reflected the lanterns in streaks of gold. Servants hauling trays of food from cookhouses to banquets rushed through the noisy crowds. Maids led clients to the brothels; a vendor sold rice crackers mixed with love poems. As Hirata neared the Owariya, a courtesan and her entourage promenaded up to the door. He experienced a peculiar illusion that he’d been transported backward in time, and the courtesan was Lady Wisteria, arriving for her appointment with Lord Mitsuyoshi.
The illusion grew stronger when Hirata entered the ageya and found a party in progress. The guests weren’t the same men who’d been here when Mitsuyoshi died, and the hokan singing for them wasn’t Fujio, but Hirata recognized the courtesans he’d interviewed the morning after the crime. A magic door to the past had opened, and his heart beat quicker with a premonition that he would discover new, important evidence tonight.
The proprietor circulated through the parlor, chatting with guests. Hirata walked over to the squat, gray-haired man.
“Greetings,” the proprietor said, smiling uneasily. “How may I serve you?”
“I want to know if you or your staff have remembered anything more about the night of Lord Mitsuyoshi’s death,” Hirata said.
The man winced and looked around the room, obviously loath to spoil the festivities with talk of murder. “I already told you. I was busy with the guests. I didn’t see or hear anything unusual. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria Page 27