The Samurai's Wife Page 5

  “Let’s drink a toast for good luck,” Aisu said.

  He clapped his hands. Female bodyguards—the only attendants allowed in this most private chamber—silently entered the room. On Aisu’s orders, they served wine, then silently departed.

  Aisu raised his cup and said, “Here’s to your victory and the ssakan-sama’s downfall.”

  Yanagisawa and Aisu drank. From the street drifted the laughter and shouts of the Obon crowds; more gongs clanged. The tart, refreshing liquor invigorated Yanagisawa; he smiled.

  Refilling the cups, Aisu proposed another toast: “May you capture Left Minister Konoe’s killer the way you did the Lion.”

  Malice hardened Yanagisawa’s smile. “No,” he said, “not quite like the Lion. Remember, this time, Sano won’t get another chance to redeem himself.”

  Aisu’s hooded eyes glistened; his sinuous body squirmed with anticipation. “How shall Sano die?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Yanagisawa admitted reluctantly. “Nor can I predict the exact outcome of the investigation.”

  He leapt to his feet and paced the room in a fever of impatient energy. “Everything depends on the case itself. I must see what happens and use whatever opportunities arise. I don’t have enough information to take the next step. However, that problem should be remedied very soon.” Yanagisawa halted by the door and gazed out at the dark, lush garden, listening for sounds that would herald the arrival of the news he awaited.

  “Then I’ll decide what to do.”

  Several long, unproductive hours later, Sano finished interviewing the Konoe clan members. They’d been shocked to learn that the left minister had been murdered, instead of dying from a mysterious disease as they’d thought. They hadn’t known he was a metsuke spy, and claimed no knowledge about which of the suspects might have killed him. All Sano managed to learn were two stray facts.

  A cousin of Konoe’s said he’d heard on several occasions a much less powerful version of the spirit cry. Afterward, dead birds had been found in the garden. This confirmed Sano’s belief that someone in the palace did indeed have the power of kiai. Had he—or she—been practicing for the murder?

  Fifteen years ago, Konoe’s secretary, a young man named Ryzen, had been stabbed to death. This was presumably the crime that the bakufu had covered up in order to force Konoe to spy for the metsuke, but Sano found no apparent connection between the incident and Konoe’s murder. Nor did Detectives Marume and Fukida glean any clues from the servants.

  Now Sano, Hoshina, and the detectives stood outside Konoe’s private chambers, which occupied two adjoining rooms in an inner section of the house. Mullioned paper walls enclosed the space, affording greater privacy than the open plan of classic imperial architecture.

  “Has anything in there been disturbed since Left Minister Konoe’s death?” Sano asked the courtier who’d admitted him to the estate.

  “The rooms have been cleaned, but his possessions are still there,” the courtier said. “That’s his office. This is his bedchamber.” He opened the door, and a musty smell rushed out. After lighting a lantern in the room, he bowed and left.

  Sano entered and swept his gaze around the room. The tatami floor was bare; sets of lacquered tables and silk cushions were neatly stacked. Sano saw no personal articles. Presumably, these were inside the built-in storage cabinet and wardrobe.

  “Search this room,” Sano told his detectives.

  “What are we looking for?” Marume asked.

  “Anything that can tell us about Konoe’s life, what kind of person he was, or his relationships.”

  Marume began opening drawers in the cabinet. Fukida started on the closet. Sano and Hoshina moved through the connecting door to the office. There, an alcove contained a desk and built-in shelves of ledgers and books. Across the desk, open scrolls covered with calligraphy lay amid writing supplies. The doors of a cabinet stood ajar, revealing compartments full of clutter. A large wicker basket held paper scraps; fireproof iron chests stood three high.

  While Hoshina watched, Sano scanned the scrolls on the desk. They concerned repairs to the palace walls. In the drawers Sano discovered Konoe’s jade seal and a tobacco pipe and pouch, but no diary. Sano took a ledger off a shelf. It bore the title, “Proceedings of the Imperial Council, Teiky Year 3.” Although Sano doubted that the court archives contained what he was looking for, he examined each ledger for the sake of thoroughness. What a lot of words the imperial bureaucracy generated! Next, Sano went through the cabinet. He found official memoranda from the left minister’s colleagues, pronouncements issued by emperors, and long documents describing imperial law and protocol. The trash basket contained scribbled notes about the palace budget.

  “If Konoe left behind any records about whom he spied on and what he learned, I don’t see them here,” Sano said to Hoshina. “Nor is there any evidence of any activities except official business.”

  “Maybe your men are having better luck,” Hoshina said.

  But when they returned to the bedchamber, Detective Fukida said, “There’s nothing here but clothes, bedding, toiletries, and the usual things that might belong to anybody. All we can tell about Konoe is that he dressed mostly in shades of brown.”

  “It’s as though he lived and worked here without leaving any trace of himself, let alone the reason for his murder or the identity of his killer.” Sano shook his head in bewildered disappointment. A murder victim’s quarters were usually a source of valuable clues, but never had Sano seen any so devoid of personality. “Let’s do a more thorough search.”

  While Marume cleared out the cabinet and probed the walls, seeking hidden objects or drawers, Fukida lifted the tatami to check for secret compartments in the floor. Sano and Hoshina went into the office. Hoshina sifted through official reports in search of stray personal papers. Sano pulled books off the shelf, shaking each one upside down in case Konoe had hidden something between the pages. Then, on a bared space of wall behind the shelf, Sano saw two horizontal cracks, a hand’s span apart, crossing a vertical wooden wall panel. He inserted his fingernail into the top crack and pulled. Out popped a rectangular section of panel. From the shallow space behind it Sano withdrew a sheaf of papers.

  “What’s that?” Hoshina asked.

  Sano examined the documents. “Letters,” he replied with a thrill of gratification. “There are more than a hundred in all, with dates going back ten years.” So carefully preserved and hidden, the letters might represent the key to the elusive Konoe’s life, and murder. All bore the signature and seal of the left minister. All were addressed to the same person: Lady Kozeri, at Kodai Temple.

  “Who is Lady Kozeri?” Sano asked Hoshina.

  The yoriki’s eyes widened in recognition. “After Konoe died, I reviewed the metsuke dossier on him.” The intelligence agency kept records on all prominent citizens, and Hoshina had again demonstrated his initiative. “Kozeri is his former wife. She left him to become a nun.”

  Sano scanned a few pages. “These are love letters.” As he continued reading, he discovered that the one-sided correspondence consisted of endless variations on the same theme. He read sample passages aloud:

  “‘How could you leave me? Without you, every day seems a meaningless eternity. My spirit is a fallen warrior. Anger corrupts my love for you like maggots seething in wounded flesh. I long to strangle the wayward life out of you. I shall have my revenge!’

  “‘We are two souls distilled from the same cosmic essence. I knew as soon as I looked upon you. When I held your body close to mine, our union made us one spirit, one self. How can you not value my love and understand that I only did what was right?’

  “‘Yesterday I came to you, but you refused to see me. Today another of my letters came back unread. But your attempts to sever our connection will ultimately fail. For I mean to have you, and someday I shall!’”

  Hoshina grimaced. “Ten years of that?”

  Sano marveled at the strength and longevity of this unrequited love. �
��Such obsessive passion can be dangerous. Might it have somehow led to Left Minister Konoe’s death?”

  Hoshina said, “Kozeri left the palace a long time ago. Nuns cease all contact with their worldly lives when they enter the convent, and it sounds as if that’s what Kozeri did.”

  “There are no replies from her to Konoe,” Sano admitted.

  “Nor have we evidence of any relationship between Kozeri and the left minister besides the one that existed in his mind,” Hoshina said. “And remember, there were no outsiders in the compound on the night Konoe died. I can’t imagine that Kozeri is relevant to the murder.”

  Sano again sensed the potential for trouble between himself and the yoriki, even as he concurred with Hoshina’s logic. Turning to the last page, he silently read more repetitive ramblings of love, lust, and rage that ended with a passionate declaration:

  “Resist me, defy me, torture my heart all you wish, but we are destined for each other. Soon the forces of defense and desire will clash upon the lofty, sacred heights where spires pierce the sky, feathers drift, and clear water falls. Then you shall be mine again.”

  The letter’s overblown sexual symbolism offered nothing new, but Sano said, “This is dated just seven days before Left Minister Konoe died. We can’t ignore the possibility that Kozeri spoke with him during that critical period, or that she knows something important.” He tucked the letters inside his kimono. “I’ll call on her after I interview the suspects.”

  “Yes, ssakan-sama,” Hoshina said, yielding once again. Sano checked the secret compartment for more clues, but it was empty. He and Hoshina systematically dismantled the rest of the office, examining walls, furniture, and ceiling, to no avail. Then Detectives Marume and Fukida joined them.

  “We found these sewn inside the padded lining of a winter cloak,” Marume said, holding out his open palm. Upon it lay three identical round copper coins. “There was nothing else.”

  Sano took a coin. Its face bore the crudely stamped design of two crossed fern leaves. The reverse side was blank.

  “This isn’t standard Tokugawa money,” Fukida said, then turned to Hoshina. “Maybe they’re local currency?”

  Studying a coin, the yoriki shook his head. “I’ve never seen any like these before.”

  “Marume-san, Fukida-san: Each take a coin and show them around town tomorrow,” Sano said. “I want to know what they are, where they came from, and why Left Minister Konoe had them.”

  Hoshina slipped the third coin into the leather drawstring pouch at his waist. “I’ll make some inquiries, too.”

  Sano surveyed the shambles they’d made of Konoe’s quarters. A sudden tide of fatigue swept over him. “We’d better restore some order here,” he said. “Then we’ll go to Nij Manor for food and rest. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  4

  “Is there anything you need, Honorable Lady Sano?” said the wife of Nij Manor’s innkeeper.

  A middle-aged woman with bright, avid eyes, she hovered in the doorway of a suite inside the inn’s complex of guest chambers. There, enclosed by walls decorated with painted scenes of Mount Mikasa, Reiko peered through the window at the torch-lit courtyard. Since her arrival at Nij Manor, she’d bathed, changed into a yellow silk dressing gown, dined, and sent her maids to bed. Now she anxiously waited for Sano to come.

  “No, thank you,” Reiko told the innkeeper’s wife, who had inundated her with offers of service all evening.

  Still, the woman lingered. “You needn’t fear for your safety here,” she said, obviously seeking an excuse to stay and misinterpreting Reiko’s interest in the view. “We have security guards, and the ‘nightingale floors’ in the corridors will squeak to let you know if someone’s coming. And look!” She bustled across the room and opened a panel in the wall. “Here’s a secret door, so you can escape during an attack.”

  Nij Manor, a hybrid between a commoner’s house and a fortified samurai estate, had been established to fill a need for this unique type of accommodation. Tokugawa law forbade the daimyo to have estates here, thus limiting their contact with the Imperial Court; but Nij Manor gave the feudal lords a safe place to stay while in Miyako. Yet Reiko, who’d heard the history of the manor from the innkeeper’s wife earlier, also craved privacy, which was in short supply.

  She realized that she must be the most interesting guest ever to stay at Nij Manor, at least in the opinion of the women here. The innkeeper’s wife had watched her constantly. The maids had helped unpack her baggage, whispering together as they examined her silk kimonos and exclaiming over the pair of swords she’d brought. Later, Reiko overheard them gossiping:

  “I’ve never heard of a lady with swords!”

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  When Reiko went to the privy and the bathchamber, giggles and stealthy footsteps followed her. She heard furtive noises outside her window. The innkeeper’s wife asked prying questions. Reiko had tried to discourage nosiness by explaining that she’d come to visit Miyako’s famous temples—a dull, respectable reason to travel—but the news about the strange lady from Edo spread through the neighborhood. When Reiko peered out the gate to look for Sano, a crowd of curious peasant women stared back at her.

  Now the innkeeper’s wife continued extolling the virtues of Nij Manor. Through the window Reiko saw the maids in the courtyard. They waved to her, tittering. Reiko fought annoyance as she waved back, then forced herself to smile at the innkeeper’s wife. If there proved to be no part for her in Sano’s investigation, she would be stuck here; she mustn’t antagonize these women, because servants could take their revenge in small, aggravating ways.

  The inn’s floors and ceilings creaked as guests settled in for the night, their talk and laughter a continuous background noise. The night’s humid warmth oppressed Reiko’s spirits. Sano had warned her that she might have less freedom in Miyako than in Edo, where she had friends and relatives to visit, things to do, and a certain independence. In Edo, she also had her network to consult during investigations. Here she felt alone and helpless. She would go mad with boredom unless Sano found occupation for her.

  At last she heard the voices of Sano and Detectives Marume and Fukida in the corridor. Quickly she said to the innkeeper’s wife, “Please prepare my husband’s bath and dinner.”

  The woman hurried off to obey. Sano entered the room, carrying a clothbound ledger. Fatigue shadowed his face, but he smiled at Reiko. Feeling the stir of desire and affection that his presence always evoked, she murmured, “Welcome.”

  Sano studied her anxiously. “I’m sorry I had to leave you. Is everything all right?”

  That his immediate concern should be for her, even when he had serious business on his mind, filled Reiko with love for him. “Everything is fine,” she said, forbearing to mention her own troubles. “I want to hear all about what happened, as soon as you’ve had time to relax.”

  After he’d bathed and dressed in a cool cotton robe, they sat together in their room. The maids brought Sano a meal tray containing clear broth, grilled river fish, pickled radish, and rice. While he ate, he told Reiko the circumstances of Left Minister Konoe’s death.

  “So it was murder,” Reiko said, relishing the challenge of a hunt for a killer, “and an actual instance of death by kiai! This is going to be a very interesting case.”

  “And a difficult one,” Sano said. He paused, using his chopsticks to pick bones out of the fish. “Hopefully, I’ll soon have some clues, as well as statements from suspects, and we can discuss them. Your ideas will be very helpful.”

  A cautious note in his voice set off a warning signal in Reiko’s head. Unhappy comprehension deflated her excitement. “Discussion and ideas—is that all you’re going to allow me to contribute to the investigation?”

  “Please don’t get upset,” Sano said, laying down his chopsticks as his troubled gaze met her appalled one. “Let me explain.”

  The disappointment was more
than Reiko could bear. “But I should help search for clues and interview the suspects and witnesses. To develop any useful ideas about the murder, I need to see the people and places involved.” Tradition forbade a wife to argue with her husband, but Reiko and Sano had a marriage that strained the bounds of convention. “Have I come all this way to sit idle while you toil alone?”

  “I brought you here to protect you,” Sano reminded her.

  “From Chamberlain Yanagisawa, who is far away in Edo.”

  “From grave peril,” Sano said. “And this investigation has great potential for that.”

  Yet Reiko preferred peril to boredom. “I’ve worked on murder cases before. This one is no different. I’m not afraid.”

  “You should be,” Sano said somberly, “because this case is indeed different. The power of kiai makes this killer more dangerous than an ordinary criminal.”

  “The killer is no more dangerous to me than to you,” Reiko said. Exasperation rose in her. With an eleven-year age difference between them, Sano often seemed like an overprotective father. “Your greater size and strength are no defense against a spirit cry.”

  “My many years of martial arts training are,” Sano said. “I’ve practiced rituals for strengthening the will. A strong will is the foundation for the power of kiai, and the only weapon against it.”

  Reiko lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “Do you think that just because I haven’t lived long enough to study as much as you have, it means my will is weak?”

  “Not at all,” Sano said with a wry smile.

  “Rituals you’ve never had a chance to test won’t guarantee your safety if the killer attacks you,” Reiko retorted. “Nor will your sex or rank. The killer’s victim was male, and the highest official in the Imperial Court.”