The Shogun's Daughter: A Novel of Feudal Japan (Sano Ichiro Mysteries) Page 14

  You have to keep on them even if it makes you feel bad, Detective Marume’s voice said in Masahiro’s memory. “If Lord Tsunanori did know, what would he have done to Tsuruhime?”

  Jinnosuke looked up in surprise. “Nothing. What could he have done? She was the shogun’s daughter. You don’t divorce the shogun’s daughter, shave her head, or send her to work as a prostitute in the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter.”

  Those were the usual punishments for women who committed adultery, Masahiro knew. But maybe Lord Tsunanori had punished Tsuruhime in a way that no one, including the shogun, would know he’d done it. Maybe he’d infected her with smallpox so that her death would seem natural. Masahiro remembered what his father had said last night: If I didn’t want to believe Yanagisawa killed her, Lord Tsunanori would be my favorite suspect. Now Masahiro was beginning to think that Lord Tsunanori was indeed guilty.

  He wished he hadn’t found Jinnosuke, hadn’t gone to Lord Tsunanori’s estate. All he’d accomplished was to lose Taeko and find more evidence that pointed away from Yanagisawa.

  * * *

  A GUESTHOUSE STOOD near the palace, secluded within stone walls, amid pine trees. Yanagisawa strode into the house, which the shogun had lent him because his estate wasn’t rebuilt yet. Still fuming from his clashes with Sano and Ienobu, he kicked off his shoes in the entryway and threw his swords onto the rack. On his way to his private chambers, he heard noises in the adjacent room. That was where Yoshisato had lived before moving to the heir’s residence. Yanagisawa looked in and saw Yoshisato standing by the cabinets built into one wall.

  “Why aren’t you at the palace?” Yanagisawa demanded. “Didn’t we agree that one of us should be with the shogun at all times?”

  “He’s reading documents in the privy. He’ll be there for a good hour. Rather than stand outside the door and smell his farts, I came to get some things I forgot to pack when I moved.” Yoshisato held up a stack of clothes. He eyed Yanagisawa curiously. “Why the bad mood?”

  “I just had words with Sano and Ienobu.”

  Yoshisato cast his gaze up at the ceiling. “Why am I not surprised? What happened?”

  “Sano is investigating the death of the shogun’s daughter, just as I suspected. He refused to stop. He and Ienobu both accused me of infecting her with smallpox by planting a contaminated bedsheet in her room. Ienobu practically admitted he’s responsible for the whispering campaign, and he’s certainly not going to give up trying to discredit you. So excuse me if my mood isn’t more cheerful.”

  Surprise lifted Yoshisato’s brows. He seemed not to have known there was any doubt that the shogun’s daughter had died a natural death or that Sano was investigating it. “I suppose you gave Sano and Ienobu as good as you got. You really know how to fan a fire.”

  “Don’t.” Yanagisawa held up his hand. “I’ve had enough for one day. I’m not going to listen to criticism from you.”

  “You will listen,” Yoshisato said, his eyes hot. “Because it isn’t just your future that will be affected by your actions. Mine is at stake, too.”

  “All right,” Yanagisawa said, exasperated. “What do you, in your infinite wisdom, think I should have done?”

  “You should never have started a feud with Sano. You should have been so nice to him that he would be licking your shoes now. You should have befriended Ienobu instead of ignoring him until he started to be a problem and then pushing him out of the court.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll just travel back in time and change the course of history!”

  “Since you can’t, you should go to Sano and Ienobu and apologize.”

  That Yanagisawa should apologize to his enemies! “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I’m trying to help you find yours. Offer them anything they want in exchange for supporting me as the shogun’s heir. Tell Sano he can be chamberlain and you step down. Promise him and Ienobu their own provinces to rule when I’m shogun. Convert them from enemies to allies who will help me control the regime when I’m shogun.”

  Yanagisawa slashed the air with his hand. “I won’t put up with Sano for another term. I won’t share power with him and Ienobu.”

  “You will,” Yoshisato said, deadly earnest. “Because it’s how I want to handle them. And because you have to stop creating enemies and strife everywhere you go, or neither of us will live long enough for me to become shogun.”

  The nerve of this brat! “I’ve controlled the regime for the greater part of twenty years! I know what I’m doing! Whereas you have no political experience. We have to crush Sano and Ienobu and our other enemies before they can crush us!”

  “Your old-fashioned ways aren’t working. It’s time for a fresh approach.”

  “You’re insane!”

  “I’m the shogun’s heir. You’re not.”

  They must sound like two little boys fighting in the nursery, Yanagisawa thought. “You already admitted that you can’t function without me.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to give you a choice: Either you cooperate with me, or your days at court are over.” Yoshisato looked scared to be alone but seemed braced by his convictions. He stalked out of the house.

  Yanagisawa gazed after him, furious at the ultimatum, helpless because Yoshisato had the power to make it stick.

  “You should listen to him,” said a husky female voice. “He’s right.”

  A woman dressed in a brown kimono stood in the doorway. It was Lady Someko, Yoshisato’s mother.

  “What are you doing here?” Yanagisawa demanded.

  “I live here, remember?” She had the same wide face, rounded chin, and tilted, sparkling eyes as Yoshisato. At age forty-three, she was as beautiful as the day she and Yanagisawa had first met. She gave a laugh that was at once seductive and unpleasant. “You moved me in with you the day you revealed Yoshisato as the shogun’s son.” She stepped into the room and flung out her arms. Her long sleeves spread like wings; the silk glinted with orange lights like flames. Gold ornaments shimmered in her upswept hair, which was still glossy black. “So here I am.”

  Yoshisato had also inherited her wits, sharp tongue, and impertinence, Yanagisawa regretted. While Yoshisato would never forgive Yanagisawa for ignoring him most of his life, Lady Someko would never forgive Yanagisawa for stealing her from the husband she’d loved and making her his concubine. She’d nursed a grudge against him for more than eighteen years.

  “You were eavesdropping,” Yanagisawa accused.

  Lady Someko shrugged. “I’m borrowing a page from your book: Spy on your enemies, so you’ll know what they’re up to.”

  Yanagisawa’s anger at Yoshisato expanded to include her. “Don’t ever do it again.”

  “If you don’t like having me here, let me go home,” Lady Someko retorted. She and Yoshisato had once lived in their own villa and, after the earthquake, had shared a house with Yanagisawa’s three other sons and their mothers. “Oh, but you can’t let me go, can you? You have to keep me under control so I don’t do anything to spoil your plans.”

  She was the only person who knew for sure that she’d never slept with the shogun, the only person who knew Yoshisato was really Yanagisawa’s son.

  “You shouldn’t be too eager to spoil my plans for your son to be the next shogun,” Yanagisawa said. “Keep your mouth shut, and you’ll be secure for the rest of your life. Talk, and you’ll be put to death for fraud. So will Yoshisato.”

  “And so will you.” Her tone and expression were vicious. “I would almost be willing to sacrifice myself and Yoshisato, just to spite you.”

  “Almost,” Yanagisawa said. That was his hold on her—the fact that if she compromised him, the son she dearly loved would suffer. “Don’t be difficult. I’ve positioned Yoshisato to rule Japan. You should thank me.”

  Lady Someko gave an unladylike snort. “Oh, and I should thank you for making my son a target for everyone who hates you.” She paced around him; her fiery skirts swirled. “Every day I hear rumors that you’ve fi
nally gone too far. Do you know what I think? That you can’t pull off this plot. That Sano or Ienobu or one of your other enemies is going to bring you down.”

  Her voice had the ominous resonance of a curse. “Shut up!” Yanagisawa ordered. “Never say that!”

  “You can shut me up but not change what I think.”

  Yanagisawa felt the same sensation of his self-control slipping, his temper consuming him, as during his confrontations with Sano and Ienobu. “Let’s see what you think about this.” He grabbed her wrist.

  Fear widened her eyes as she laughed. “What are you going to do?” Her wrist felt small and delicate in his grasp. “Beat me?”

  Yanagisawa wanted to pummel her face into a pulp so she couldn’t speak and he wouldn’t have to see the mockery in her eyes. “I hate you!” He wanted to vent his anger on her. But a sudden rush of desire flushed heat through his body. He jerked Lady Someko close to him.

  “Hah!” she exclaimed. “You hate me, but you want me!” A triumphant grin bared her sharp teeth. “Doesn’t that make you feel like a fool?”

  He was a fool, enslaved by her power to arouse him; yet he savored the urgency of his arousal. When he’d first made Lady Someko his concubine, he’d tolerated her viciousness because it added excitement to the sex, like an aphrodisiac poison. Recently they’d come together again. In the interim Yanagisawa had had so many lovers that he’d lost count. Women, men, pubescent boys and girls—his desire respected few boundaries, except that he usually preferred his lovers to be young. But when Lady Someko goaded him into such a fever as this, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone else.

  Yanagisawa locked his arm around Lady Someko’s waist. He pressed his erection against her. She laughed scornfully.

  “Is that as big and hard as you can get? You’re pitiful!” She rubbed herself against him. Her lips shone with saliva.

  She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. The aphrodisiac worked both ways. Yanagisawa squeezed her breasts. Her nipples were hard under her smooth silk garments. He dragged her down onto the floor, threw himself on top of her. She kicked and screamed. He pulled her skirts above her waist. One of Lady Someko’s hands tore open his robes, jerked at the loincloth wound around his crotch. The other punched his head. He fended off her blows while he pried her legs apart with his knees. Her legs were slender and smooth. Her pubis was shaved, in the fashion of prostitutes. Yanagisawa had never asked why; he didn’t care. It whetted his excitement. As she freed his penis, he thought he would climax before he could take her. She jerked it so savagely that he cried out in pain. He reached down and tore her hand off him. He shoved his fingers between her legs.

  She moaned. She was wet, ready. He plunged into her. The pleasure was almost unbearable. As he began thrusting, Lady Someko clawed at his face. He grabbed her hand before she could scratch his eyes. Her fingernails raked his cheek. This was part of her allure—that if he let down his guard, she would hurt him. She arched her back to meet his thrusts. She dug her nails into his back, leaving sore gouges on scars from their previous couplings. Yanagisawa pinned her arms alongside her head. She bucked frantically, then stiffened and wailed as she climaxed.

  Yanagisawa thrust faster, pounding her against the floor. He climaxed in a burst of ecstasy that seemed to launch him out of his body, into some black, dreadful void. He yelled while he emptied himself into Lady Someko. His body shuddered with its release.

  Lady Someko collapsed under him. Their ragged breaths mingled as his body calmed and his wits returned. Now Yanagisawa couldn’t stand being close to Lady Someko. Drenched with sweat, he rolled off her, covering his limp penis with his kimono. He reclined, propped on his elbows. He heard silk rustle as she pulled down her skirts, then a whimper.

  He looked at her lying beside him. Her hair was disheveled; gold ornaments had scattered across the floor. She turned her head away from him. He saw a glistening trail on her cheek. She was crying.

  “Damn you,” she whispered.

  She was ashamed of her desire for him, Yanagisawa knew. She felt defeated every time she succumbed to the pleasure he gave her. She sat up, rearranged her hair, collected the ornaments, and reinserted them with trembling fingers. Her makeup was tear-streaked, but she had dignity even as she rose on unsteady legs. She smoothed the brown folds of her kimono, which glinted with their fiery sheen.

  Hobbling out of the room, she called over her shoulder, “You should do as Yoshisato says. Placate your enemies. Get them on your side. Or you’ll be sorry.”

  18

  IN THE LAUNDRY tent at Lord Tsunanori’s estate, Taeko pushed a hot iron along a damp kimono spread on a board. The air was steamy from the water in the tubs. Her arm ached from lifting the heavy iron off the charcoal brazier. Her fingers were blistered with burns. The other women chattered gaily as they worked, but she was homesick and miserable.

  “Hey, you,” said Kiku, the sullen girl who’d wakened her that morning. “Help me carry these quilts to the house.”

  Eager to escape the hot tent, anxious to look for a witness, Taeko set down the iron. Carrying quilts, she followed Kiku into the mansion, through the women’s quarters. Lord Tsunanori’s concubines, female relatives, and their attendants sat in their chambers. Their high voices filled the air, which was stale with perfumed hair oil and tobacco smoke. A loud shriek pierced the din.

  Taeko paused to look inside the room from which it had come. Kiku went on without her. A maid in a blue kimono and white head kerchief knelt, a comb in her hand, behind a sour-faced, richly dressed woman. The woman shouted, “You pulled my hair again!”

  “I’m sorry.” The maid cringed. She was perhaps ten or eleven years old.

  The woman snatched up a hairbrush, hit the girl on her face, and yelled, “Get out!”

  The girl hurried from the room, her hand over her left eye. She ran down the corridor past Taeko. Taeko was horrified by the woman’s cruelty. Her parents, and Masahiro’s, didn’t let anybody hit the servants. Taeko went after the girl, followed her outside to the garden. Ladies sat in a pavilion, feeding carp in a pond. The girl ran to a bent willow tree and ducked under its hanging boughs. When Taeko caught up with her, she saw the girl curled in the green, sun-dappled shade, sobbing.

  Taeko crawled under the boughs and dropped her stack of quilts. “Are you hurt?”

  Holding her hand over her eye, the girl sat up. Her oval face was lovely despite the tears that blotched her ivory skin, the ragged kerchief. Taeko would have liked to draw her someday.

  “What are you doing here?” The girl’s voice was a fearful whimper.

  “I came to help you,” Taeko said.

  The girl’s smooth brow wrinkled. She seemed puzzled by the idea that anyone should want to help her. “You’d better go back to work, or you’ll get in trouble.”

  She also seemed more concerned about Taeko than herself. Taeko warmed to her. “It’s all right. Let me look at your eye.”

  The girl slowly lowered her hand. Her eye was red, swollen.

  “Can you see out of it?” Taeko asked. The girl nodded. Relieved, Taeko noticed that her cheek had taken the worst of the blow. It was bruised around broken skin. “Your face is bleeding.” Taeko dabbed her sleeve against the girl’s cheek.

  “I haven’t seen you before,” the girl said. “Are you new?”

  “I started working in the laundry yesterday. My name is Taeko. What’s yours?”

  “Emi.”

  “Does that lady hit you often?”

  Emi nodded sadly. “They all do.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t. They’re mean and stupid.” Taeko knew that some ladies didn’t like servants who were prettier than themselves. “And jealous.”

  Emi smiled. It was like the sun coming out after the rain. “You’re the only person here who’s ever been kind to me. If there’s anything I can do for you…”

  Taeko didn’t like to take advantage of a poor, lonely, picked-on girl, but she needed help. “Maybe there is. I’m looking fo
r a witness. Can you tell me where to find one?”

  Confusion pursed Emi’s delicate mouth. “A witness to what?”

  “I don’t know,” Taeko confessed. “I don’t even know what a witness is.”

  “I think it’s someone who saw or heard something,” Emi said. “There were two samurai here yesterday. They were asking questions. I heard Lord Tsunanori’s men say they were looking for witnesses.”

  The two samurai must have been Masahiro’s father and Detective Marume, Taeko realized. They’d come to investigate the murder of the shogun’s daughter, who’d been Lord Tsunanori’s wife. A witness must be a person who knew something about the murder. That was what Masahiro wanted!

  “Do you know anything about Lord Tsunanori’s wife?” Taeko asked hopefully.

  Apprehension clouded Emi’s lovely features. “We’re not supposed to talk about the mistress.”

  Taeko felt a stir of excitement. She sensed that Emi knew something important. “I promise not to tell.”

  Emi peeked through the willow branches to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It was the night before Lady Tsuruhime got sick. She gave me a coin and a folded piece of paper and told me to take them to a pharmacy shop the next morning. She said to give them to the man there and bring her back what he gave me. I was surprised because I didn’t usually work for her. Whenever she wanted something, she usually asked her own maids. And she ordered me not to tell anybody.”

  This didn’t sound related to murder, but Taeko liked secrets and she wanted to hear the rest of the story. “Did you do what she asked?”

  “Yes. I went to the shop. There was an old man. I gave him the paper and the coin. He gave me a bag of herbs.”

  “What were they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What was on the paper?”

  Emi shook her head. “I can’t read.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “The man threw it away.”

  “What else happened?”

  “I took the bag home. But when I got here, the women were all upset because Lady Tsuruhime had smallpox. Nobody was allowed to go near her except her nurse. So I couldn’t give her the bag. And I couldn’t give it to anybody else because it was supposed to be a secret.”