Shinju Page 5

  The Way of the Warrior had undergone a subtle alteration in response to the changed times. Samurai still upheld honor, bravery, and loyalty as the highest virtues. They still carried swords and were responsible for keeping their fighting skills up to standard in the event of war. But in addition to swearing allegiance to a lord, they owed sometimes conflicting loyalties to a whole network of superiors, allies, and patrons, in addition to shogun and emperor. And while most samurai practiced the martial arts at academies such as the one Sano’s father operated, many didn’t. Like Yamaga and Hayashi, they’d gone soft. True, Tokugawa Ieyasu’s Ordinances for the Military Houses called on samurai to engage in polite learning as well as military training. In peacetime, their energy must be directed into civilian channels; both their education and the dwindling value of their stipends made them ideal candidates for service in the government bureaucracy. But Sano couldn’t help thinking that the samurai soul had lost much of its steel.

  And, along with it, the certainty born of knowing that your life is to be spent in preparation for battle to the death in your lord’s service. Nothing in Sano’s life had prepared him for the task of investigating a murder and finding a killer. How should he go about it?

  Pondering his dilemma, Sano realized belatedly that Hayashi was asking him a question in an impatient tone that indicated he’d already repeated it once.

  “I’m sorry, Hayashi-san. I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?”

  Looking straight into Sano’s eyes, Hayashi said pointedly, “It is a commonly held opinion that they who teach do so because they have no other skills. Therefore, it is good that the government is so well organized that it virtually runs itself. This way it matters little how posts are filled. Nor the qualifications of the men who hold them. Would you not agree?”

  The words hung ominously in the air. Silence fell as the others awaited his reaction. Sano could feel himself flushing as he saw them exchange glances, suppress smiles. He’d had all he could take of the constant baiting and veiled insults. Perhaps because he shared Hayashi’s low opinion of his qualifications, a sudden fury boiled up inside him. The frustration of the past month spilled over. A bitter retort sprang to his lips. Only the knowledge that an open quarrel with Hayashi would earn him a reprimand from Ogyu made him bite it back. Ogyu expected the police department to run smoothly and unobtrusively.

  “Some might think so,” Sano forced himself to answer calmly. “Others perhaps not.”

  Hayashi’s smirk made him even angrier. Out of anger came inspiration. No matter what these men thought, a tutor and history scholar had plenty of useful skills! Ones that could be applied to any task—even the investigation of a murder. When he wanted to learn about a historical event or person, he questioned people who had witnessed the event or known the person. As yet he had no witnesses to the murders. But he could talk to those who’d been close to Yukiko and Noriyoshi. Maybe that way he could discover their killer’s motive and identity. Throwing down his chopsticks, he rose and bowed his farewells to the others.

  Hachiya frowned. “Leaving us so soon?”

  “Yes.” Sano looked down at the six upturned faces. The hostility he saw there saddened and worried him. His inability to make comrades of his peers boded ill for the future. But he tried to convince himself that their enmity didn’t matter. Finding the truth and bringing a killer to justice did. “I must go to my office and leave orders for my staff. Then I shall pay my respects to the families of the dead.”

  The yashiki—great fortified estates of the daimyo—occupied large tracts of land south and east of Edo Castle. Each was surrounded by a continuous line of barracks, where as many as two thousand of the lords’ retainers lived. Decorated with black tiles set in geometric patterns, their white plaster walls were punctuated by heavily guarded gates. Smooth, straight thoroughfares, wide enough to accommodate huge military processions, divided the estates. Along them, multitudes of samurai moved on foot or on horseback.

  Sano walked quickly through the avenues, checking each gate for the crest that would identify the Niu yashiki. The weather had turned colder; a cloudy sky pressed down upon the city, threatening snow. His breath frosted the air, and he bunched his gloved hands in the sleeves of his cloak for extra warmth. Under his arm he carried the obligatory funeral gift: a package of expensive cakes, wrapped in white paper and tied with black and white string. The castle loomed before him, an imposing conglomeration of stone walls and tile roofs set on a wooded hilltop.

  He paused for a moment to look about. The sight of Edo Castle, the fortresses around it, and all the armed men reminded him forcibly that this city was first and foremost a military base. The thousands of townspeople, crammed into the meager remaining land between here and the river, existed only to serve it. Edo belonged to the shogun and the daimyo.

  Niu Masamune, as befitting his wealth and power, would have one of the estates nearest the castle, Sano thought as he continued on his way. Ah, there it was: the Niu clan symbol, a dragonfly within a circle, painted in red on a white banner. Black mourning drapery hung in loops above the gate. Sano reflected that the dragonfly, symbol of victory, seemed an inappropriate crest for the Nius. They and their allies had, after all, suffered defeat at Sekigahara by the Tokugawa faction. After the battle, the Nius had been stripped of their ancestral fief. But Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, had realized that unless he somehow pacified his conquered foes, they wouldn’t stay conquered for long. He’d granted them other fiefs—the Nius’ in distant Satsuma, far from their traditional power base. He and his descendants had exacted a fortune in tributes from these daimyo clans, while allowing them to keep much of their wealth and to govern their provinces autonomously. Thus Niu Masamune maintained his status as one of the highest-ranking “outside lords”—those whose clans had sworn allegiance to Tokugawa Ieyasu after Sekigahara. The elaborate gate, with its red beams, twin guardhouses, massive double doors, and heavy tile roof, proclaimed its supremacy over the simpler gates of lesser daimyo.

  Sano stopped a few paces from the Niu gate. Never had he imagined calling on a daimyo, for any reason. Now he wondered whether he had the audacity to elicit details of Yukiko’s life while seemingly paying an official condolence call. Only his increasingly compelling need to seek the truth and find Yukiko’s killer gave him the courage to approach the guardhouse.

  He identified himself to one of the guards and explained, “I wish to pay my respects to the Niu family.” Then, not wanting to tell a total lie about his reason for coming, he added, “And to settle a few matters regarding Miss Yukiko’s death.”

  The guard said, “Please wait.” Unlike the Edo Jail guards, he acted neither surprised nor servile. As retainer to a great lord, he no doubt encountered many visitors who ranked far higher than a yoriki. He left his guardhouse and crossed to the other, where he consulted his partner. Then he opened the gate, spoke to someone inside, and closed it again. “Wait,” he repeated to Sano.

  Sano waited. The damp chill seeped into him, and he paced before the guardhouses to keep warm. Finally, when he was beginning to think he would never gain admittance to the yashiki, the gate opened again.

  Another guard stood there. Bowing, he said, “Sir, Lord Niu is not presently in the city. But if you would be so obliging as to come with me, Lady Niu will see you.”

  Sano wasn’t surprised to find Lord Niu absent, or Lady Niu at home in Edo. According to the law of alternate attendance, the daimyo spent four months of each year in the capital, and the rest on their provincial estates. When they returned to their estates, the shogun made them leave their wives and families in Edo as hostages. The daimyo were divided into two groups, one of which was in Edo while the other was in the country. These restrictions, which greatly humiliated the proud daimyo, effectively kept them from plotting and staging a rebellion. They also had to maintain two establishments, thereby draining their wealth into nonmilitary expenditures. Peace came with a high price, and the daimyo had paid it with their money,
their pride, and their freedom. Still, Sano hadn’t expected Lady Niu to receive him. Most ladies spent their days confined to the women’s quarters of their mansions while the daimyo’s retainers handled the households’ official business. They seldom received strangers of the opposite sex. Even more curious now—and increasingly unsure of how he should act once inside—Sano followed the guard through the gate.

  He saw immediately that the yashiki was laid out like a military camp, where soldiers’ tents were arranged around the general’s. Here the barracks bordered a vast courtyard where tens of samurai patrolled, protecting the estate’s center where the Niu family lived. Other samurai tinkered with weapons in the guardrooms, or sat idly. More barracks, larger and more elaborate residences for higher-ranking officers, formed an inner wall. A paved walk led Sano and his escort through them and into a formal garden. Beyond this lay the daimyo’s mansion, a large but deceptively simple-looking structure with half-timbered walls and a tile roof, set above the ground on a granite podium. Sano knew that such mansions were rambling complexes of many buildings, connected by long corridors or intersecting roofs, that housed hundreds. Awe, combined with a sense of his own inferiority, weakened Sano’s resolve. Was he a fool, daring to confront such a rich and powerful family?

  Just outside the house stood an open shed containing several palanquins decorated with elaborate carved lacquerwork. Sano followed the guard beneath the covered porch and into the spacious entryway, where he removed his shoes and donned a pair of guest slippers. He placed his swords on a shelf that held a large collection of bows, swords, and spears; etiquette dictated that samurai must always enter a private home unarmed. Then he followed his guide into the house proper.

  The guard’s quick pace allowed him only a glimpse of a vast empty reception room with a coffered ceiling, murals of green islands in a swirling blue sea, and a large dais at the far end where the daimyo sat during formal ceremonies. A maid was opening windows to air the room; through them, Sano saw the outdoor stage where No dramas were performed in summer. Everything was elegant and luxurious, but not ostentatiously so. The Tokugawa sumptuary laws forbade lavish home decoration, and no daimyo would risk seizure of his property.

  A corridor led to another reception room. From it came the murmur of voices. When they entered, the guard knelt and bowed.

  “Yoriki Sano Ichirō, from the Office of the North Magistrate,” he announced, rising to stand beside the door.

  Sano also knelt and bowed. When he raised his head, his eyes went immediately to the woman who knelt upon the dais, dominating the room and everyone in it.

  Against the painted backdrop of misty gray mountains, Lady Niu was a striking figure in her aqua kimono printed with colorful landscapes. Her body was broad and straight, like a man’s; the white throat that rose from the kimono’s deep neckline formed a strong, thick column. From the neck up, she had an arresting classical beauty. Her face was an elongated oval with smooth, youthful skin, a slender nose, long, narrow eyes, and a delicate small mouth vivid with scarlet paint. Her black hair, swept back from her forehead into an elaborate chignon fastened with lacquer combs, showed no gray. But her erect posture and confident air suggested maturity. A silk quilt patterned in diamonds of aqua and black covered her lap and spread over the square frame of a charcoal brazier. Against it, her hands lay folded, their smallness and daintiness belying the aura of power she exuded. Lady Niu was a fascinating study in contrasts: a woman whose appearance combined beauty with strength, who radiated femininity but did not let convention shut her away from the world. Sano wanted to know more about her.

  Bowing again, he recited the words appropriate to the occasion. “I offer you this humble token of my respect.” With both hands, he extended the box of cakes. Funeral custom prohibited him from directly mentioning death during a condolence call. He would have to introduce the subject after the formalities were done.

  “Your tribute is much appreciated.” Lady Niu’s voice was husky but melodious. If she felt any grief over Yukiko’s death, she hid it behind her properly calm demeanor. She inclined her head. Then she turned toward the wall on her left. “Eii-chan?”

  Now Sano took notice of the others in the room. The figure coming toward him was not a child, as the diminutive chan implied, but a large, hulking man with a lumpy, pock-marked face. His vacant expression at first made Sano think that this was a feebleminded servant kept on for some reason involving obligation or sentiment. However, the rich black silk robes and two elaborate swords identified Eii-chan as a high-ranking retainer in the dai-myo’s service. And Sano saw an unmistakable flash of intelligence—wary, measuring—in the tiny eyes that met his for an instant. Without speaking, Eii-chan held out a tray to receive Sano’s gift and to offer the traditional return token, a decorated box of matches. Then he carried the tray to a table by the door, set the gift there among others, and resumed his place near Lady Niu.

  “Lord Niu’s daughters,” Lady Niu said, nodding toward a standing screen on one side of the room, halfway between her and Sano.

  Through its close-woven lattice, Sano discerned two shadowy figures. Otherwise he could see nothing of the women but a fold of red silk kimono lying on the floor beside the screen. As he watched, a hand snatched it out of sight. He noted that Lady Niu had said “Lord Niu’s” and not “my” daughters. They must be the children of a concubine, placed in Lady Niu’s charge.

  “I understand that you have come on official business regarding Yukiko,” Lady Niu said.

  “Yes.” Sano was glad that she’d brought it up first. “Regretfully I must trouble you with a few questions.”

  Lady Niu lowered her eyes, signifying resigned acceptance. Her expression was serene, like that of a royal beauty in an ancient painting.

  Sano had planned his questions carefully. He must avoid giving any sign that he was investigating a murder, and avoid offending the Nius. And he was conscious of the listening daughters behind the screen, no doubt eager for forbidden knowledge. So instead of asking Lady Niu if she believed the deaths were suicide, he said, “Were you surprised by the manner of Miss Yukiko’s demise?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lady Niu replied. She paused. “But in retrospect, I am forced to admit that it was sadly in keeping with Yukiko’s character.”

  A small gasp issued from behind the screen, so faint that Sano barely heard it.

  Evidently Lady Niu didn’t. “Many young girls are influenced too much by the theater, Yoriki Sano,” she said. “As you must have seen from the note that Magistrate Ogyu showed you. You are new to the police service, are you not?”

  “Yes. I am.” Her remark caught Sano off guard. He’d taken for granted that those who cared about such matters knew who he was and that he’d been assigned to handle the shinjū, but he hadn’t realized that they included Lady Niu. Most women took no interest in government affairs. Once again he wondered what made Lady Niu different.

  Just then a door at the side of the room slid open. A kneeling maid entered, carrying a tray laden with tea utensils and a plate of rice cakes. She rose and crossed the room. When she placed the tray before Sano and poured out the green tea, her hands shook, spilling it all over the tray. Sano saw her tense, pale face and red, swollen eyes.

  “O-hisa! Take that tray away and bring another at once!” Lady Niu’s voice was sharp with impatience.

  The maid burst into tears. Her sobs rent the quietness. She picked up the tray, but her fumbling hands tilted the cakes onto the floor. Sano reached over to help her, wondering at her extreme reaction to Lady Niu’s scolding. Had something else—perhaps grief for Yukiko—caused it?

  “Eii-chan, see to her,” Lady Niu ordered.

  For a large man, Eii-chan moved quickly, the instant before Lady Niu spoke, as if anticipating her order. In a flash, he was across the room. He put the cakes back on the tray, picked it up, and seized the weeping maid’s arm with one fluid movement. He deposited both tray and maid outside the door, and returned to his position almost be
fore Sano could blink, with a face as impassive as a carved No mask. Despite his doltish appearance, he was an efficient servant and probably more perceptive and capable of independent thought than his masters might suspect.

  “I regret the inconvenience caused you by my clumsy maid,” Lady Niu said. Then she tilted her head and frowned as if she heard something that displeased her.

  Sano heard the muffled sobs, too. They came from the daughters behind the lattice screen. Were they also weeping for Yukiko? Sano thought he sensed a strange emotional undercurrent in the house. Comprised of what? Fear? Despair? Or did his knowledge that Yukiko had been murdered color his judgment?

  “Midori. Keiko. Leave us.” At Lady Niu’s soft command the sobbing stopped. Then scuffles, footsteps; a door hidden by the screen opened and closed. The daughters had gone, without Sano’s seeing them.

  “It is best that we not discuss this matter any further in the presence of innocent young girls,” Lady Niu said. “Now what else do you want to know?”

  Just then the door O-hisa had come through slid open again. Sano, glad for the chance to collect his thoughts, turned to look at the young man who stood there.

  “Forgive me for the interruption, Mother,” the man said, “but the priest is here to see you about the arrangements for Yukiko’s funeral.”

  For the first time, Lady Niu seemed uneasy. Her hands went up as if to push the man from the room. Then she folded them in her lap again and said woodenly, “Yoriki Sano, may I present my son, Niu Masahito, Lord Niu’s youngest.”

  Sano bowed, acknowledging the introduction. He was struck by Lady and young Lord Niu’s resemblance. They shared the same facial beauty and strong physique. Lord Niu’s upper body showed signs of rigorous physical training: broad shoulders, clearly defined muscles in his neck and in the parts of his arms and chest not covered by his somber gray and black kimono. But Lord Niu’s feverishly bright eyes gave his face an intensity that his mother’s lacked. While Lady Niu appeared tall even when kneeling, her son was short. Although his carriage and the timbre of his voice put him in his early twenties, he stood no higher than a boy many years younger. Sano had heard Lord Niu Masamune called the “Little Daimyo” because of his size, so at odds with his status. His son took after him.