The Ronin's Mistress: A Novel (Sano Ichiro Novels) Page 13

  That stopped the doshin in his tracks; he’d obviously heard of Sano, whose name still carried weight even though he’d lost standing at court. The doshin said to the innkeeper, “I guess you’re stuck with these people,” and walked away.

  The innkeeper shrugged, resigned. Goza nodded in triumph. Okaru smiled at Masahiro, then sighed unhappily. “I mustn’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

  “Where will you go?” Masahiro asked.

  “I don’t know.” Okaru made a visible effort to boost her courage. She and Goza began packing. “But I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Reiko returned with Chiyo. When she learned what had happened, she said, “Okaru, you and Goza must come home with me.”

  Okaru gasped as if she’d just received a splendid, undreamt-of gift. “You mean, to Edo Castle?” She clapped her hands. “How wonderful!”

  Chiyo moved close to Reiko. Masahiro’s keen ears overheard Chiyo whisper, “Is this wise? What will your husband think?”

  “Wise or not, I can’t let that poor girl wander the streets,” Reiko whispered. “As for my husband, Okaru is a witness in his case, and he would want to keep her safe.”

  Chiyo nodded reluctantly. Okaru was watching the two women, and her face fell; she understood that her welcome in Reiko’s home wasn’t certain. “Oh, but I shouldn’t impose on you. I can’t accept your kind invitation.”

  “You can and you must,” Reiko said. “I insist.”

  Okaru’s smile was so brilliant that it dazzled Masahiro. “A thousand thanks for your hospitality.” She bowed deeply to Reiko.

  Masahiro’s heart beat fast with excitement. Okaru was going to live at his house! He would be able to see her every day!

  * * *

  HIRATA RODE WITH Sano, Detectives Marume and Fukida, and the troops, entering Edo proper along a road lined with food-stalls. They stopped for a quick meal. A vendor lifted the lids on pots of dumplings stuffed with shrimp, ginger, and bamboo shoots. Rich, savory steam billowed. Gulls and crows squabbled over dropped tidbits. After Hirata and his comrades had eaten, they resumed riding and came upon a group of priests walking in the same direction. The priests wore padded hemp cloaks over their saffron robes. Hoods protected their shaved heads from the cold. They carried wooden bowls, which they held out to passersby, soliciting alms. When they heard Sano’s procession coming, they moved to the side of the road. They stood motionless, hands clasping their bowls and their heads bowed, as the procession passed. They looked identical, like life-sized dolls crafted by the same artist.

  Six crows suddenly took wing. They hovered in a circle above a priest in the middle of the group. Staring in astonishment, Hirata lagged behind his companions. The aura suddenly pulsed; the air scintillated. Sano, the detectives, and the troops rode right past the priest without looking at him or the birds. The other priests didn’t move. The vendors, their customers, and the pedestrians in the street went about their business. No one but Hirata seemed to notice the strange phenomenon.

  The priest with the halo of birds raised his head and met Hirata’s gaze. His hood shadowed one half of his face. The complexion on the other half had a waxen glow, like a candle whose flame has hollowed out its interior. The eye that Hirata could see shone with a strange light. The priest raised his hand, then flicked his wrist.

  The birds flew at Hirata and assailed him in a storm of screeches and flapping wings. He shouted as he waved his arms to fend them off. Their claws scratched his face; their sharp beaks pecked at his eyes. He tumbled off his horse and fell into the snow on the road.

  “Hey!” Detective Marume called. He and Fukida came running. “Why did you fall off your horse?”

  “Didn’t you see that?” Hirata stood and brushed snow from his buttocks.

  “See what?” Fukida asked. “How come your face is scratched?”

  “Those birds—” Hirata glanced around. The birds were gone. So were the priests. “Never mind. Let’s go.” Sano and the rest of the group turned curious gazes on Hirata as he pulled himself up onto his horse.

  “Maybe you could use a few riding lessons,” Marume joked, not quite kindly. He and Fukida didn’t like Hirata’s evasions or inexplicable behavior.

  Hirata didn’t answer. He resumed his place beside Sano.

  “Is there anything wrong?” Sano asked.

  “No,” Hirata lied.

  The priest with the birds might be the man who’d been stalking him. But so might the soldier he’d seen yesterday after he’d found the poem on the bush. Or maybe neither was. But Hirata knew he’d just received another arcane message. And although he couldn’t grasp what it meant, he was sure of one thing: His stalker was coming closer.

  16

  SANO ARRIVED AT the main reception chamber in the palace just as the supreme court convened. The judges ranged in age from late forties to early seventies. Dressed in black ceremonial robes emblazoned with gold family crests, they milled around uncertainly. Sano’s father-in-law, Magistrate Ueda, was among them. Their attendants bowed courteously to Sano because he was nominally a high-ranking official, then gave him a wide berth because he was a pariah. Standing alone near the door, Sano heard snatches of conversation.

  “So you’ve been roped into service, too.”

  “I hardly know whom to thank—heaven or hell.”

  “Being appointed to this court is an unprecedented honor.”

  “It’s unprecedented, I’ll grant you that.”

  There had never been such a court in Japan, as far as Sano knew. Criminal cases and civil disputes were usually decided by magistrates. But then Japan had never seen a case like the revenge of the forty-seven rōnin. This was history in the making.

  “What are we supposed to do?” someone asked.

  “Why don’t we begin by sitting down?” These words, which rose above the chatter, came from Inspector General Nakae. He was in his sixties, broad of figure, and gray-haired. He reminded Sano of an overripe pumpkin—he’d lost most of his teeth, and his face had that caved-in look, with a big patch of dark age spots on his right cheek that looked like mold. Officials quaked when they saw him coming, for he had the authority to reprimand, fine, demote, or oust them for real or trumped-up charges of corruption or incompetence. Diligent rather than clever, he had a humorless, overbearing manner.

  The judges knelt on the floor in two rows, seven men facing seven more—Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s cronies versus the opposite faction. Inspector General Nakae sat with the cronies. Magistrate Ueda sat with the opposition. He matched the inspector general in age, build, and hair color, but his hooded eyes were bright with intelligence. Smile lines framed his mouth. He glanced at Sano and nodded.

  Magistrate Ueda had stood by Sano during his troubles, and not just because Sano’s wife was his beloved only child. He believed Sano was innocent of wrongdoing and had received a raw deal because of Yanagisawa. A man of integrity, he would not bow to Yanagisawa just to make his own life easy. Sano was thankful for his father-in-law’s loyalty, although he worried that it would cost Magistrate Ueda.

  “What’s next?” asked one of the judges, Lord Nabeshima, daimyo of Saga and Hizen provinces, who sat beside the inspector general. He was in his seventies, with white hair, his skin and eyes tinged yellow with jaundice.

  The other judges spoke simultaneously. A din arose as they tried to outshout one another. Finally Magistrate Ueda clapped his hands. “The first order of the day is to pick a chief judge,” he said in a voice that had often silenced a courtroom full of rambunctious citizens. “Who would like to volunteer?”

  Everyone quieted while the judges weighed the cachet of being the leader against the risks. Sano watched each man realize that if he were the chief judge, and the shogun didn’t like the court’s verdict, he could be blamed and punished. Expressions grew cautious. Inspector General Nakae said, “Magistrate Ueda is the only one among us who has experience with trials. He should be the chief judge. All in favor?”

  The other judges quickly said, �
�Yes,” in unison. Inspector General Nakae bared his few, decayed teeth in a smile.

  Rotten seeds in a rotten pumpkin, Sano thought. Nakae had bad blood with Magistrate Ueda and would love to see him take a fall.

  “I am honored by your confidence in me,” Magistrate Ueda said. “I gladly accept.”

  Sano admired his father-in-law, who welcomed a chance to ensure that the court functioned competently and the defendants received a fair trial, even at his own risk. Sano began to hope that the supreme court was a good idea. With Magistrate Ueda as its leader, perhaps the judges’ verdict would be fair as well as satisfactory to everyone who mattered.

  “My first act as chief judge will be to lay down the rules by which the supreme court will operate,” Magistrate Ueda said. “Some of them I’ll make up as we go along, since we’re venturing into uncharted territory. Others, I’ll establish at the outset.” His side nodded smugly. The opposition looked leery. “Rule number one: Anybody who wishes to speak must raise his hand first. No one is allowed to speak until I give permission.”

  The other judges assented, albeit with reluctance. Lord Nabeshima raised his yellowish hand. When Magistrate Ueda nodded at him, he said, “How will we arrive at a verdict? Will each judge get a vote? What if there’s a tie?”

  “Rule number two: The decision will have to be unanimous,” Magistrate Ueda decided. “We’ll deliberate until everyone agrees on the verdict.”

  Sano thought this was the best strategy. He didn’t like the idea of the court dispensing liberty or death to the forty-seven rōnin based on a scant majority of votes. Nor did he want Yanagisawa’s cronies ramming through a verdict that would hurt his family.

  “Now we’ll determine where we stand as of this moment,” Magistrate Ueda said. “Who thinks the forty-seven rōnin should be pardoned and set free? Raise your hands.”

  No one did.

  “Who thinks they should be punished for murdering Kira?” Magistrate Ueda asked.

  Everyone kept their hands down.

  Sano figured that the judges didn’t want their opinions spread all over town. Nobody wanted to attract censure from those who disagreed with him.

  Magistrate Ueda apparently reached the same conclusion that Sano had, for he said, “Rule number three: The proceedings of the supreme court are to be secret. What happens here, stays here. Everyone who’s not on the court and not required to testify before it will leave the room. That means everybody except Sano-san.”

  The people in the audience reacted with frowns and mutters: They didn’t want to miss out on the fun. Inspector General Nakae said, “Limiting the number of onlookers is fine, but don’t we need someone to write down the proceedings?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Magistrate Ueda said. “I appoint you.”

  Nakae pulled a disgruntled face. The attendants departed, leaving Sano as the court’s lone observer. The chamber seemed cavernous and empty, and cold without their body heat.

  Magistrate Ueda said, “Let’s try again. Who thinks the forty-seven rōnin should go free?”

  Four hands rose, including his, then dropped.

  “Who thinks they should die?”

  Five other hands went up, including the inspector general’s.

  “It seems that we have a few abstainers who are uncertain,” Magistrate Ueda said.

  The judges looked at one another in concern. They, and Sano, had noticed that opinions differed within the two factions. The case had the potential to shift alliances and change the political landscape.

  Inspector General Nakae raised his hand, was recognized, and said, “Am I going to change my opinion? No.” Murmurs of agreement came from the other judges. “How will we even begin to reach a unanimous decision?”

  “Our opinions have been shaped by the very little information available to us thus far,” Magistrate Ueda said. “We need new evidence to shed light on the case of the forty-seven rōnin. Sano-san is under orders to investigate the case and bring us that evidence.” He nodded to Sano. “Please come forward.”

  As Sano walked up the length of the chamber, he discerned that except for Magistrate Ueda, he had no friends here, not even among the men he’d nominated to the court. Scorn, pity, repugnance, and fear lurked behind the other judges’ neutral expressions. He embodied their worst nightmare, as Oishi embodied Sano’s own. Sano represented what could happen to them if their enemies got the better of them. And he still had his reputation as a rogue who would do what he thought was right, in spite of the dangers to himself or anyone else. The judges probably viewed him as a keg of gunpowder dropped in their midst, Sano thought with dour amusement that didn’t ease his trepidation. He realized that the supreme court was, from his perspective, a terrible idea, and his situation was even graver than he’d initially thought. Not only would he share the responsibility for the verdict that the judges rendered, but he couldn’t control them. None of them except Magistrate Ueda had his interests at heart. The others would do as they pleased with the evidence he provided, his family’s welfare be damned.

  Sano knelt at the end of the rows of judges, facing them, at Magistrate Ueda’s right. He bowed. They bowed. Sano was in a cold, drafty spot, or maybe that was just his imagination.

  “What have you to report?” Magistrate Ueda asked.

  “I’ve interviewed the forty-seven rōnin, including Oishi Kuranosuke, the leader, and his son Chikara,” Sano said. “I also have a statement from a woman named Okaru, who is Oishi’s mistress.”

  While he summarized their stories, he could only hope his work would lead to a just verdict. He wished he were impartial enough to believe that the verdict could be just even if it deemed the forty-seven rōnin guilty of unlawful murder and broke up his family.

  The instant he finished, hands rose. Magistrate Ueda said, “I’ll allow an open discussion.”

  “Oishi and Chikara have conflicting versions of the events,” said Motoori Akihiro, the Minister of Temples and Shrines, a judge on Magistrate Ueda’s side. He was almost blind, his eyes cloudy, and almost crippled by stiff, sore joints. “Which is lying?”

  “It doesn’t matter which,” said Lord Nabeshima. “Their stories agree on the most important point, and so do their comrades’ stories: The forty-seven rōnin banded together to avenge Lord Asano by killing Kira. I don’t care whether Oishi planned the vendetta immediately after Lord Asano’s death or not until some loudmouth from Satsuma insulted him. Conspiracy is illegal. So, therefore, was the vendetta.”

  “The forty-seven rōnin didn’t even show any remorse,” said Hitomi Munesuke, a colonel in the Tokugawa army, seated in the inspector general’s row. He was vigorous and fit at age sixty, even though he walked with a cane. He had a pleasant, honest face and disposition. Sano had nothing against him, except that he’d had the bad judgment to fall in with Yanagisawa.

  “Why should remorse make any difference?” the inspector general asked his friend. “They broke the law. And let us not forget that Kira wasn’t their only victim. They also killed his retainers. That was murder of innocent citizens, in cold blood.”

  “That’s a separate issue,” Magistrate Ueda said. “Our job is to rule on the vendetta against Kira.”

  “The vendetta was illegal.” The inspector general seemed stuck on this point, like glue. “End of story.”

  “Not so fast,” said a judge from Magistrate Ueda’s side. He was Ogiwara Shigehide, a superintendent of finance. Perhaps forty-five years old, he was handsome in a dramatic way, with large, protuberant eyes, red lips and cheeks, and blue-black hair. He would play well on the Kabuki stage, with his booming voice that would carry to the back of a noisy theater. “There are other parties in the case besides the forty-seven rōnin. I’m interested in the mistress.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Lord Nabeshima muttered, and his friends chuckled. The finance superintendent was a notorious womanizer.

  Ogiwara cut his eyes at them. “She could be the key to the whole case. We should bring her in to testify.�
�

  “She’s just a whore. She would probably say anything to save her lover,” Lord Nabeshima said.

  “That doesn’t mean she’s not telling the truth in this instance,” Ogiwara said. “The fact that there are discrepancies between the forty-seven rōnin’s stories indicates that there are indeed things about the vendetta that haven’t come to light.”

  “Discrepancies such as the different explanations for why Oishi left his wife and took a mistress?” Inspector General Nakae laughed. “We’re here to rule on a murder, not wallow in sordid domestic details.”

  “I thought you liked sordid domestic details,” Ogiwara retorted.

  Inspector General Nakae had a wife and three concubines who were always at one another’s throats, Sano had heard.

  “Rule number four,” Magistrate Ueda said with the air of a patient father among squabbling children. “No personal attacks.”

  “I want to know why the forty-seven rōnin waited for orders,” said Minister Motoori from the magistrate’s side. “That information wasn’t in their statements.”

  “Another irrelevant detail,” Lord Nabeshima scoffed. “It doesn’t have any bearing on what they did to Kira.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Minister Motoori said.

  “Lord Asano’s motive for attacking Kira has bearing,” said Finance Superintendent Ogiwara. “If Kira really insulted Lord Asano, if he demanded bribes, and if the shogun had known about it, then His Excellency wouldn’t have forbidden action against Kira. The vendetta would have been legal.”

  “‘If, if, if,’” Inspector General Nakae said in a snide imitation of Ogiwara’s booming voice. “Has anybody else besides Oishi witnessed what happened between Kira and Lord Asano? No. It’s all hearsay from a criminal who’s lying to save his skin.”

  “Even if Kira did demand a bribe and did bully Lord Asano, that’s not enough reason to slaughter him,” Colonel Hitomi said. “Lord Asano was too sensitive, not to mention stupid to draw his weapon inside Edo Castle. His death was his own fault.”