Ronin's Mistress Page 8

  “Well, you’ve been busy.” It was Sano’s turn to be surprised. “I can always trust you to turn up clues for my investigations, but this time you’ve done it before the investigation has really started.” Drinking his tea, he pondered. “So Oishi’s mistress says Oishi claims that the vendetta isn’t what it seems.”

  “I know that’s a vague clue,” Reiko said apologetically.

  “But it confirms my own feelings about the vendetta,” Sano said. “The whole business is peculiar.”

  “Then you’ll investigate Okaru’s story?” Reiko asked eagerly.

  “Yes,” Sano said. “At this point I’m thankful for any clues at all.”

  “I’m glad. I’d like to help that poor girl.”

  Concern sobered Sano. “What I find out may not be good for her or Oishi. If it isn’t, I can’t protect them because she’s someone you’ve befriended.”

  “I know.” Yet it was obvious that Reiko couldn’t help hoping the investigation would turn out well for Okaru. “Can I at least tell Okaru what’s happened to Oishi and let her know you’re looking into the matter?”

  Sano nodded.

  “Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Masahiro jiggled his legs under the table.

  Sano smiled at his restlessness. His son didn’t like to sit idle any more than Reiko did. He’d inherited her impatience, her urge to take action.

  “Let’s wait and see.” Sano glanced at Reiko, remembering times when she had taken part in his investigations, with near-disastrous results.

  She must have seen something in his eyes besides misgivings based on past experience, because her brow furrowed. “What is it?”

  “Masahiro, go play with your sister and Cousin Chiyo for a while,” Sano said.

  When he and Reiko were alone, there was no use trying to minimize the bad news. “The shogun decreed that if I don’t lead the supreme court to a satisfactory decision, I’ll be permanently assigned to a post in Kyushu. You and the children will be kept in Edo, to make sure I don’t misbehave.” Sano added, “You can guess who was responsible for that.”

  Reiko was so shocked that she sputtered. “Kyushu! That’s the end of the earth!”

  Sano couldn’t disagree. Kyushu was the island of Japan farthest to the southwest, some two months’ journey from Edo.

  Reiko clasped her hands to her chest in horror as she absorbed the full implications of the shogun’s threat. “We would never see you again!” Her fists clenched; bewilderment mixed with the anger that lit her eyes. “I know Yanagisawa is out to get you, but why did he do this?”

  “Because he knows I’ve been threatened with death and escaped it so many times that the threat hardly fazes me anymore,” Sano deduced. “The shogun has always balked at killing me. Yanagisawa is hoping that this time the punishment will happen. And he knows that being separated from my family would hurt me worse than death.”

  “It would hurt all of us.” Reiko threw her arms around Sano and clung to him. “I can’t bear to lose you. Or for the children to lose their father.”

  Sano stroked her hair. “Don’t worry, it won’t come to that. Haven’t I always managed to get out of trouble before?”

  She looked up, still distraught. “But this is different from solving a murder. How can you lead the court to a satisfactory verdict? What would be ‘satisfactory’? Condemning or pardoning the forty-seven rōnin? What kind of evidence would make either choice the right one?”

  “No one knows at this point,” Sano admitted. “But I have faith in the power of the truth. My discovering the truth about Kira’s murder and the forty-seven rōnin will make things turn out right, somehow.”

  Although clearly doubtful, Reiko nodded, consoled.

  Chiyo, Akiko, and Masahiro rejoined them as a maid brought dinner—miso soup with carrots, lotus root, and seaweed; roasted salmon; rice; pickled radish, ginger, and scallions. Sano realized that he was starving; he’d eaten nothing all day except a bowl of noodles from a food-stall. He and Reiko exchanged a glance; they tacitly agreed to keep the shogun’s threat to themselves.

  “Where will you begin your investigation?” Reiko asked.

  “With the man at the center, the leader of the forty-seven rōnin,” Sano said. “If something about their vendetta isn’t what it seems, it may be Oishi himself.”

  * * *

  IN THE OFFICE of his secluded compound inside Edo Castle, Chamberlain Yanagisawa sat at his desk. The lantern above his head illuminated a scroll spread before him. On the scroll was a chart he’d drawn, that showed which daimyo and top government officials were on his side, which were on Sano’s, and which were neutral. Yanagisawa drummed his fingers on the chart. Although Sano had lost many allies, not enough of them had joined Yanagisawa’s camp. There were too many men waiting to see how the political landscape shaped up, biding their time before they committed. Yanagisawa hadn’t managed to recruit a new ally in months. He had too narrow a margin, and he might start to slip before he achieved complete dominance.

  Yoritomo came into the room. Yanagisawa’s spirits lifted; he smiled. His son was the strongest weapon in his arsenal, his hold on the shogun, his best hope of ruling Japan. But Yoritomo was even more than a political pawn to Yanagisawa. His son was his pride and joy, the only person Yanagisawa loved, and who loved him. Yanagisawa had had many lovers, admirers, and sycophants over the years, but none had lasted. None had provided the bond of blood and affinity that he shared with Yoritomo. Now, as Yanagisawa beheld Yoritomo, he experienced a fear like cold fingers gripping his heart.

  Love made a man vulnerable. He’d often used that fact against his enemies.

  “Is everything all right?” Yanagisawa said offhandedly, trying not to show his concern for his son and the future.

  “Yes, Father.”

  “How is the shogun?”

  Yoritomo’s smile slipped at the mention of his lord and master. “He’s resting. The doctor gave him a potion to help him sleep.”

  Yanagisawa felt guilty because, unlike himself, Yoritomo got no pleasure from sex with men. And the shogun had been far younger and less repulsive when he and Yanagisawa had been lovers than he was now. Yoritomo never complained, but Yanagisawa knew he had to force himself to perform with the shogun, and Yoritomo wasn’t oblivious to the sneers and gossip behind his back. Yoritomo proudly held his head up, but his role of male concubine was wearing on him after nine years. And Yanagisawa hated that he’d put his beloved son in such a position.

  Yanagisawa said, “If there were any other way, I would never ask this of you.” He didn’t remember if he’d ever said it before. He felt a need to say it now.

  Yoritomo nodded. They were so close, they could read each other’s meanings. “I know, Father. I don’t mind. It’s my part in your plan to secure our future. I’ll do whatever you think is best.”

  Yanagisawa had explained that unless they could gain control over the Tokugawa regime, their enemies would destroy them. It was true. If Yoritomo hadn’t become the shogun’s concubine, they both would have been dead long ago. Yanagisawa loved his son all the more because of the trust Yoritomo placed in him, because Yoritomo wasn’t bitter, because Yoritomo loved him despite the humiliation Yoritomo had to endure. Yanagisawa wanted to tell Yoritomo how he felt, but he couldn’t. Fathers and sons didn’t speak of such things. Fathers used their sons as they thought right. Sons owed their fathers complete obedience.

  Yanagisawa settled for saying, “You’ve done well.”

  Yoritomo beamed with delight at the praise, then noticed the chart on the desk. “Is something wrong?” he asked, ever sensitive to Yanagisawa’s moods.

  Yanagisawa rolled up the scroll. “No.” He didn’t want Yoritomo to worry or lose faith in him. “I was just counting up our allies. We have plenty.”

  “We should have even more, after today. That was brilliant, what you did to Sano. You threw him right into the middle of the forty-seven rōnin business, after he thought he was safe. You also thought of just the
right punishment for him in the event that he fails. His wife and children are his weakness. He’s sure to lose them, because nobody knows what the right verdict is. However it comes out, it will seem wrong.” Yoritomo’s eyes shone with admiration.

  The praise brought Yanagisawa a warm flush of pleasure. A lot of people praised him, but they were just currying favor. Yoritomo was the only one who was sincere. “With luck, the forty-seven rōnin should be the end of Sano. All we need to do is let matters run their course.”

  Apprehension clouded Yoritomo’s face. “Sano is the one who’s been lucky in the past. You’ve been trying to get rid of him for fourteen years, and he’s still here.” His brow darkened with the memory of the evils that Sano had done to him. “And he usually ends up beating us.”

  Yanagisawa was painfully aware of that, but he said, “Never fear. If things go too well for Sano, I can change that.”

  10

  THE NEXT MORNING Sano and his troops retraced their path along the southern highway. The weather was even colder than yesterday. The men’s faces were muffled up to their eyeballs in scarves; the horses wore quilted caparisons. Clouds lurked around the edges of a blue sky that seemed paled by a scrim of ice between heaven and earth. The sun was a blinding white crystal that gave off no warmth. The thin top layer of the snow that had melted yesterday had refrozen into a crust that the horses’ hooves broke with loud, jagged sounds. Sano raised his voice above the noise while he told Hirata and Detectives Marume and Fukida about the rōnin’s mistress.

  “Do you think Oishi meant that Kira’s murder wasn’t a simple revenge?” Fukida asked.

  “Could he and his comrades have had some other motive?” Marume asked.

  “Those questions have been on my mind since Reiko told me Okaru’s story,” Sano said. “I hope we’ll find some answers this morning. The supreme court will convene this afternoon, and I’d like to bring the judges some evidence to review.”

  He noticed that Hirata wasn’t listening to the conversation. Hirata seemed distracted, perhaps because last night Sano had told him about the shogun’s threat. Hirata must be worried about what it meant for him. Hirata’s eyes darted; he stole glances over his shoulder. Sano knew about the mysterious man who’d been stalking Hirata, and observed that Hirata seemed even more vigilantly on the lookout than usual.

  They reached the Hosokawa estate. Dismounting, Sano glanced around the barracks. As he approached the gate, he saw Hirata pause by the bushes outside the wall. Then Hirata joined Sano at the guardhouse.

  Two sentries stepped out. Sano said, “We want to see the prisoners.”

  The sentries summoned a servant, who led Sano, Hirata, and the detectives into the barracks. These had the same form as those in every samurai estate—buildings divided into sparsely furnished rooms where the retainers lived. Sano and his men passed through an entryway crammed with cloaks, shoes, and weapons, just like in the barracks at home. He smelled the same smell of male sweat and tobacco smoke. Talk and laughter issued from a room where a crowd of samurai knelt on the tatami floor, eating their morning meal from tray tables. They looked up as Sano and his comrades crossed the threshold. An abrupt silence fell. The samurai set down teacups, chopsticks, and bowls of noodles. Cheerful expressions sobered. Everyone bowed in stiff, formal unison.

  “My apologies for interrupting your meal.” Sano was puzzled to see many more men than the sixteen prisoners Hirata had brought yesterday. And they bore no resemblance to the scruffy, bloodstained rōnin he’d arrested.

  They were all clean, dressed in fresh clothes, their faces and the crowns of their heads neatly shaven, their hair oiled and tied in topknots. Then a group of them moved away from their tables to kneel by the walls. Their faces showed guilt, chagrin, and defiance. Sano spotted the crests on their garments: They were Hosokawa clan retainers, fraternizing with the prisoners. It was obvious which side the Hosokawa had taken in the controversy.

  Turning his attention to the rōnin, Sano caught them staring at him. They dropped their gazes. He counted only fifteen men, most of them in their thirties or forties. Some wore bandages over wounds. He didn’t recognize Oishi among them. They seemed confused: With their leader absent, they didn’t know what to do. Sano again had the sense that they were parts of a single creature. Their heads swiveled toward the youngest rōnin, who leaped to his feet.

  “What do you want?” His voice was shaky with fear. Sano recognized him as Oishi’s teenaged son, Chikara.

  “Just to talk,” Sano said.

  The seated rōnin visibly relaxed. They thought he’d come to deliver them to their death, Sano supposed. They seemed less staunchly resigned to their fate than they had while standing over Kira’s head in the graveyard. Sano said, “Where is Oishi?”

  “With Lord Hosokawa,” Chikara said.

  “I’ll talk to Oishi,” Sano told his detectives. “You and Hirata-san will interview these prisoners.”

  A scraping noise and the sound of quick, departing footsteps startled Sano. He looked at the empty space where Chikara had been standing. A partition that had been closed a moment ago was now open. Sano nodded to Hirata, who went after Chikara while the detectives settled themselves among the rōnin. Sano went in search of Lord Hosokawa and Oishi.

  He found them in the mansion, in Lord Hosokawa’s private office, a grander version of Sano’s own. Heat shimmered up through decorative grilles in the tatami floor, from braziers underneath. Furniture was spangled with gold crests. Oishi and Lord Hosokawa knelt at the desk, conversing over ledgers. When Sano entered the room, they raised their heads.

  Oishi, like the other rōnin, had washed, shaved, groomed his hair, and dressed in new clothes. His color had improved; he didn’t look as tired or ill. His fierce eyes burned brighter. He gazed at Sano, expectant yet cautious.

  Sano exchanged bows and greetings with Lord Hosokawa, whom he knew slightly.

  “Oishi-san has been giving me ideas for managing my finances.” Lord Hosokawa’s worried face took on a defensive cast. “They worked very well in Harima Province. I’m eager to try them in my domain.”

  “I see.” Sano saw that Oishi had become friends with Lord Hosokawa overnight. He wasn’t surprised, even though Hirata had mentioned that Lord Hosokawa had balked at taking in the prisoners yesterday. Lord Hosokawa probably admired Oishi as an example of samurai loyalty and hoped that if he himself ever needed avenging, his retainers would rise to the occasion as Oishi had for Lord Asano.

  “You’re not taking him away, are you?” Lord Hosokawa sounded upset by the idea.

  “Not yet.” Sano explained about the supreme court and his investigation. “I have some questions for Oishi. Is there a place where he and I can talk in private?”

  “Here.” Lord Hosokawa rose on tottery knees and left.

  Sano knelt across the desk from Oishi. The rōnin folded his arms. He reminded Sano of a falcon tethered to its perch but not tame. He calmly waited for Sano to speak first.

  This interview was different from others Sano had conducted during past investigations. Then, his goal had been to figure out whether someone had committed murder. Now he was on unfamiliar ground, not knowing what he needed to find out and uncertain of what questions to ask. He let himself be guided by experience, which had taught him to learn every detail of a case that might clear up ambiguities and indicate a suspect’s guilt or innocence. Thinking back on the events that had led to the murder, he identified one ambiguity that he would like cleared up, even though he knew who the killers were.

  “Why was Lord Asano so angry at Kira?” he asked.

  Oishi’s slanted eyebrows twitched upward before he could hide his surprise: He hadn’t expected this question. But he immediately recovered. “Kira made Lord Asano’s life miserable.” His raspy voice was harsh but controlled. He swelled with portent, a man about to confide a long-kept secret. “I’ll tell you exactly how.”

  1701 April

  THE FIRST, FATEFUL meeting between Lord Asano and Kira Yoshi
naka took place on a cold spring afternoon at Edo Castle. The old master of ceremonies sat on the dais in his office and peered down his nose at Lord Asano, Oishi, and their attendants, kneeling below him.

  “So you’re to be the host for the imperial envoys from Miyako?” Dressed in satin court robes, Kira was the picture of haughty elegance.

  “Uh, yes.” Lord Asano was thirty-four years old but as socially awkward as a youth, and nervous whenever he had to leave his home province and appear in the capital.

  “I am to instruct you on how to entertain the envoys,” Kira said, eyeing Lord Asano with disgust and condescension. “I’ll do my best so that you do not embarrass yourself or the shogun’s court.”

  Oishi took a dislike to Kira. Lord Asano had attained the rank of daimyo at age eight, when his father died, and Oishi had taken a major role in raising him. Lord Asano was like a younger brother to Oishi, who hated seeing him disrespected.

  Lord Asano cringed. “Many thanks, Kira-san.”

  His fear seemed to disgust Kira all the more. Oishi had often told Lord Asano that he should fight back instead of meekly submitting, but he couldn’t. He ruled his domain ably enough under Oishi’s guidance, but he wasn’t cut out to swim with the sharks in Edo.

  Kira preened because he’d cowed a daimyo rich enough to buy or sell the likes of him. He waited, an expectant look on his disdainful face. Lord Asano nodded to the attendants. They stepped forward, bearing gifts for Kira.

  “Honorable Kira-san, please—please allow me to present you with a token of—of my appreciation,” Lord Asano said, blushing.

  As Kira beheld the finely crafted jade vases and lacquer writing box, his face registered disappointment, then indignation. “Are you forgetting something?”

  “… No,” Lord Asano said, puzzled.

  Oishi realized that Kira wasn’t satisfied with the gifts, even though they were suitable for the occasion.

  “Please allow me to mention that your success depends on me,” Kira said to Lord Asano. “I will ask you again: Are you forgetting something?”