The Samurai's Wife Page 4

  An eerie calm lay over the Imperial Palace’s famous Pond Garden. The lake spread like spilled quicksilver around islands, its surface overlaid with water lilies. Mandarin ducks roosted on a beach of black stones. Over beds of bright chrysanthemums, irises, and poppies, hummingbirds darted. Maple, cherry, and plum trees and bamboo stood resplendent in lush green leaf. The shrilling cicadas and tinkle of wind chimes, the scent of flowers and grass, the water and heat: all crystallized summer’s timeless essence. In the distance, drooping willows screened villas built in ancient style—raised on low stilts, connected by covered corridors. Sano saw no one except a gardener raking leaves. From within the palace walls, the hills seemed closer, giving the illusion that the surrounding city didn’t exist.

  Awed to walk this sacred ground where the descendants of the Shinto gods lived, Sano trod respectfully; his men followed suit. Yoriki Hoshina marched down the gravel paths as if he belonged there: the shoshidai’s representatives had supreme authority over the palace. He led the way across a stone bridge to the pond’s largest island. There, shaded by pines, stood a tiny cottage built of rough cypress planks. Bamboo mullions latticed the window.

  “This is where Left Minister Konoe was found,” Hoshina said, pointing at the foot of the cottage steps.

  “How did he die?” Sano asked.

  “The shoshidai wasn’t notified until the body had been prepared for the funeral, so all my knowledge comes from the report issued by the Imperial Court several days later,” Hoshina said. “That’s a violation of the law—we’re supposed to be informed immediately of all deaths in the palace. The court physician examined Konoe and said that he’d hemorrhaged almost all of his blood out his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and anus. Apparently the internal organs had ruptured. And he was as limp as a rag because so many bones had been broken. But the doctor couldn’t determine the cause of this condition. There were no bruises or any other wounds on the body.”

  Such a bizarre death couldn’t have been natural, and the delayed notification implied a cover-up, with murder the likely reason. As a possible explanation for Left Minister Konoe’s symptoms occurred to Sano, he felt a sudden apprehension. This could be a complex, dangerous case.

  “Did anyone report a very loud, powerful scream at the time of Konoe’s death?” Sano asked.

  Hoshina regarded Sano with surprise. “How did you know? People all over Miyako heard it; I did myself, all the way from across town. It was…unearthly.” A shiver passed over the yoriki. “Whatever happened to Konoe must have been extremely painful to produce such a scream from him.”

  Sano had a different interpretation for the scream, which confirmed his suspicions. “Left Minister Konoe must have been a victim of murder by kiai,” he said. Combat without physical contact; the ultimate expression of the martial arts. “The scream was a ‘spirit cry’—a burst of pure mental energy, concentrated in the voice of the killer.”

  Hoshina and the detectives stared at Sano in astonishment. That few samurai ever attained the ability to kill without weapons, by force of will alone, had made the practitioners of kiaijutsu the rarest, most fearsome, and deadly warriors throughout history. The killer’s presence, mighty and monstrous, seemed to darken the tranquil garden, and Sano knew his companions sensed it too.

  Then Yoriki Hoshina chuckled. “I’ve never heard of anyone actually killed by a scream. That theory sounds like superstition to me,” he said, expressing the modern skepticism that relegated amazing feats of martial arts to the realm of myth.

  Sano had suspected that Hoshina might not be as compliant as he’d first seemed. Now he knew that Hoshina had a mind of his own; he wouldn’t automatically accept the judgment of a superior. Sano wondered if the locals knew of the circumstances that had brought him here, and whether Hoshina might take advantage of Sano’s shaky position in the bakufu. Many men rose to power by attacking vulnerable superiors, and while Sano had no particular reason to distrust Hoshina, he knew better than to think that Miyako politics were any different than Edo’s. Aware that he must assert his authority, Sano rose to Hoshina’s challenge.

  “Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s tea master, Sen-no-Rikyu, averted an attack from the great General Kato Kiyomasa with a single glance that took away his strength,” Sano said. He himself had once thought kiaijutsu a lost art, but the murder of Left Minister Konoe had revived his belief that myths were based on fact. “Yagyu Matajuro, tutor of Tokugawa Ieyasu, could knock men unconscious with a shout.”

  “I’ve always thought those legends were invented by charlatans wishing to bolster their reputations.” Hoshina’s tone was deferential, but the fact that he dared to argue told Sano he liked to be right and wasn’t afraid to take chances. “Certainly, there haven’t been any recent, documented cases of death by kiai.”

  “The general level of combat skill has declined; there are fewer great martial arts masters today,” Sano admitted. “But Miyako is a city with strong ties to the past. Someone here has apparently rediscovered the secret of kiaijutsu. The scream and the condition of the corpse indicate that Left Minister Konoe was indeed a victim of a spirit cry.”

  Pronounced by the shogun’s highest representative, Sano’s opinion became the official cause of death. Rather than pursue the discussion and risk censure, Hoshina nodded and said respectfully, “Yes, ssakan-sama.” Sano observed that he knew when to yield for the sake of self-preservation.

  “Who discovered the remains?” Sano said, moving on to the next important topic.

  “When the palace residents heard the scream, they rushed to see what it was,” Hoshina said. “Emperor Tomohito and his cousin Prince Momozono were first on the scene. They found Konoe alone, lying in a pool of blood.”

  So the case involved at least two important members of the Imperial Court, Sano thought. “What time did this happen?”

  “Around midnight,” said Hoshina.

  “What was Left Minister Konoe doing out here so late?”

  “No one admits to knowing.”

  “You’ve questioned the palace residents, then?”

  “Yes, I conducted a preliminary investigation,” Hoshina said, “to save you some trouble. The results are detailed in a report which I’ll give you later, but I’ll summarize them now. All the guards, servants, attendants, and courtiers were elsewhere at the time of Left Minister Konoe’s death. He’d ordered everyone to stay out of the garden.”

  “Excellent work,” Sano said, noting the raw edge of pride and ambition behind the yoriki’s modest demeanor: Hoshina enjoyed showing off, and he anticipated rewards for pleasing the shogun’s ssakan-sama. That their interests coincided inclined Sano to trust the helpful Hoshina.

  “Were there any visitors or other outsiders present in the compound that night?” Sano asked.

  “No,” Hoshina said, “and there was no sign of forced entry, so it’s unlikely that an intruder killed Left Minister Konoe.”

  Sano said, “Was everyone else in the court accounted for around the time of the murder?”

  “I thought it best to wait until your arrival before questioning the imperial family,” Hoshina said. “However, I’ve made discreet inquiries. There are some people whose whereabouts I haven’t been able to establish. Emperor Tomohito and Prince Momozono weren’t in their quarters as usual. Neither were the emperor’s chief consort, Lady Asagao, or his mother, Lady Jokyden.”

  Four potential murder suspects; all members of Japan’s sacred imperial family. Sano contemplated the politically volatile nature of the case. By probing into palace affairs, he was bound to violate social and religious convention, thereby damaging relations between the bakufu and the institution that sanctioned its right to rule. Nevertheless, the killer must be caught, or others might die.

  Looking upward, Sano saw the hills darkening in murky twilight. He couldn’t call on the imperial family so late, on such short notice, without offending them. “I’ll interview the emperor, his mother, cousin, and consort tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course,�
�� Yoriki Hoshina said. “I’ll arrange appointments for you. Shall I take you to your lodgings at Nij Manor now?”

  The offer tempted Sano, who was hungry and tired, caked with sweat and grime; he needed food, a bath, and sleep. He also wanted to discuss the case with Reiko, but he hadn’t finished the day’s work at the palace. “Before we go, I’d like to inspect Left Minister Konoe’s residence and question the household.”

  3

  Sano, Yoriki Hoshina, Marume, and Fukida walked west along a passage that bisected the palace compound, through the district of the kuge, court nobles who were hereditary retainers to the imperial family. Fences bounded some hundred estates packed side by side, where buildings clustered with scarcely a gap between roofs. As the dinner hour approached, charcoal smoke billowed from many chimneys; the noise of activity and conversation made a constant, muted din. Through the passages strolled courtiers dressed in the old-fashioned short jackets and black hats of imperial tradition. Everyone bowed to Sano and his party.

  At the Konoe estate, near the northern wall of the imperial enclosure, black mourning drapery decorated the lattice fence and double-roofed gate. Hoshina rang a bell that dangled from the portal. After a moment, the gate swung open to reveal a courtier, who looked startled by the unexpected arrival of four samurai, then bowed politely.

  “Greetings, Honorable Masters. How may I serve you?”

  Hoshina introduced Sano and said, “The ssakan-sama is investigating the death of Left Minister Konoe. You shall assemble the family for questioning and show us the left minister’s quarters.”

  The courtier led Sano’s party along a flagstone path through a garden landscaped with pines. Within a gravel courtyard stood a mansion built in the same style as the palace. Wooden rain doors were raised to admit the mild evening breeze. Walking behind the courtier down hallways floored in polished cypress, Sano and his companions passed spacious parlors where cultured voices murmured and a samisen played behind paper partitions. In the reception hall, screens decorated with forest scenes formed an enclosure; lanterns cast a soft glow.

  The courtier invited the four samurai to sit on the dais, then left. Presently he returned, announcing, “I present the honorable Konoe clan.”

  Sano watched in amazement as a long parade of people, young and old, filed into the room to kneel before the dais. The courtier introduced siblings, cousins, and other relatives of the dead man. Sano had known that court families were large but hadn’t expected quite so many people living under the same roof. The men wore traditional court costume. The women were dressed in multilayered pastel robes with voluminous sleeves and narrow brocade sashes; long hair flowed down to their waists. Sano recalled that Tokugawa Ieyasu had established “Laws Pertaining to the Emperor’s Retainers,” which consigned the noble class to the practice of scholarship and arts rather than politics. Isolated from the world during the seventy-six years that had followed, these people fulfilled little purpose except to preserve their obsolete way of life. They were virtual prisoners of the bakufu, which financially supported them along with the imperial family. Now they comprised a huge pool of potential witnesses.

  “My detectives will question the servants,” Sano said to the courtier. “Is there a place where I can interview the family one at a time, in private?”

  Evening immersed Miyako in tropical darkness. In the Market of the Dead, brightly lit stalls turned the streets into lines of multicolored fire where shoppers browsed among Obon supplies. Gongs rang, calling dead souls back to earth. On hillsides and along the Kamo River, bonfires burned, lighting the way for the spirits’ journey. Pine torches blazed at the thresholds of houses; incense smoked on windowsills. Citizens bearing lanterns converged on the cemeteries to visit ancestors’ graves. The air resounded with the clatter of wooden soles. On the boulevards fluttered the curtains of shops closed for the night, stirred by the wind…or passing ghosts.

  In the city center stood the great bulk of Nij Castle, built by Tokugawa Ieyasu eighty-nine years ago with funds levied from vanquished warlords. Its stone walls and five-storied keep loomed high above the surrounding houses. Gold Tokugawa crests crowned the curved roofs. No shogun had visited Miyako in more than five decades; since then, Nij Castle had been occupied by a minimal staff of caretakers. A few sentries manned the gates and guard turrets above the wide moat. From the outside, the castle seemed an inert historical relic.

  But deep inside its dark complex of barracks, gardens, and palace buildings, lights burned in the White Parlor, residence of visiting shoguns. There, in an austere room decorated with murals depicting winter landscapes, sat Chamberlain Yanagisawa and his chief retainer, Aisu.

  Yanagisawa inhaled on his tobacco pipe, then expelled smoke in an impatient gust. Although circumstances required his present state of waiting, he hungered for action. Worry and anticipation consumed him.

  “Are you sure Sano doesn’t know I’m here?” he said.

  “Oh, yes, master,” said Aisu, who’d just returned from making covert inquiries on Yanagisawa’s behalf. “No one in Miyako knows, except your local agents. They received your message from Edo in plenty of time to carry out your orders. They told Shoshidai Matsudaira that the shogun had issued orders to renovate Nij Castle, then brought in laborers and supplies as if it were true, not just a ploy to keep Sano away. No one else suspects anything. My spies have been watching Sano since he left Edo, and he’s completely oblivious. Oh, yes, the plan is working fine so far.”

  Aisu’s nervous grin begged Yanagisawa to appreciate his efficiency, to see how much he deserved to keep his job despite the failed bombing. Yanagisawa had given him one more chance to prove his worth before dismissing him. Thus, Aisu’s fate, as well as Yanagisawa’s hopes, depended on the success of the plan.

  “See that the operation proceeds along its present satisfactory course,” Yanagisawa said, then murmured to himself: “The results had better justify the trouble this venture may cause me.”

  When the shogun had ordered Sano to investigate Left Minister Konoe’s death, Yanagisawa had recognized a perfect opportunity to rid himself of his enemy and permanently secure his position in Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s graces. He’d decided that he, too, must go to Miyako. Hence, he’d waited until the meeting with Sano ended and he was alone with the shogun, then proposed that he should go to Omi Province—where Miyako happened to be located—on a top-secret mission to investigate corruption among local officials. The shogun had vacillated, demurred, and finally been persuaded.

  Yanagisawa spent the rest of that night conferring with Aisu and his other top retainers, issuing orders, collating secret records, and drafting communications to be sent by express messenger to Miyako, while servants packed his baggage. Before dawn the next day, Yanagisawa rode out of the castle, accompanied only by Aisu and a few attendants and bodyguards instead of his usual huge entourage. They’d worn plain clothing without Tokugawa crests, and gained passage through highway checkpoints with documents that identified them by false names. Riding fast, stopping rarely, and sleeping a mere few hours each night, they’d reached Miyako two days ahead of Sano. Yanagisawa’s agents had sneaked them into Nij Castle disguised as carpenters. Yanagisawa and Aisu had made the necessary preliminary arrangements before Sano’s arrival, yet the fact that everything had worked out so far didn’t negate the inherent dangers of the plan.

  Leaving the seat of power, even for a short time, was a perilous move for Yanagisawa. He’d impressed upon the shogun the confidential nature of his mission in Omi Province and the need for only the two of them to know about his absence from Edo, yet he didn’t trust the dull-witted Tsunayoshi to keep a secret. He’d sworn his staff to secrecy, threatening them with death should they fail to cover his absence, but what if people discovered he was gone? Yanagisawa pictured subordinates robbing his treasury, his spies taking a holiday from gathering the information he needed, rivals usurping his authority and turning Tsunayoshi against him. And what if the shogun learned that Yanagisawa had lied to
him about the reason for this trip? The shogun cherished a deluded belief in his officials’ honesty; he wouldn’t forgive being tricked. When Yanagisawa got back, he might find himself in utter disgrace, stripped of his rank and wealth, and sentenced to death.

  Still, the potential advantages of the move justified the risks. In Miyako, Sano was in a vulnerable position, without his political allies or detective corps to assist and protect him. He wouldn’t know to beware of sabotage by Yanagisawa. And operating in secret, away from the shogun and all the spies who scrutinized his every move in Edo, gave Yanagisawa the freedom he needed. Now he brooded, wishing he felt more comfortable with his choice. The smoke from his pipe hung in the stagnant air; ghostly moths flitted around the lanterns. Gongs rang in the distance; the incessant whine of insects came through the open doors. Yanagisawa shifted uncomfortably inside his sweat-drenched clothes. He hated Miyako and its awful heat. He longed to be back in Edo, secure in victory.

  “Solving the mystery of Left Minister Konoe’s death from behind the scenes won’t be easy,” he said. “The need to stay hidden until the critical moment presents complications.”

  However, secrecy wasn’t the only problem. Reports from Yanagisawa’s Miyako agents indicated that Konoe had been the victim of a bizarre murder. Yanagisawa had never investigated a crime, and he felt handicapped by his inexperience. But he’d set his scheme in motion, and he must follow it through to the end. He must apprehend the killer before Sano did, in a manner that created the impression that he’d happened along during the course of his inquiries in Omi Province, observed that Sano was making poor progress, and stepped in to solve the case. No one must guess that Yanagisawa had come here specifically to beat Sano at his own game, or think he’d won by underhanded means, because he didn’t want it publicly known that he’d resorted to such desperate tactics. By the time he was finished, Sano’s reputation as a great detective would be his.