The Cloud Pavilion Page 5

  “No tired,” Akiko protested.

  Her face bunched into a frown that portended one of her horrific tantrums. She didn’t have them for anybody except Reiko, who, determined to learn to handle her child, resisted the temptation to call the nurse to deal with Akiko.

  “No more arguments,” she said gently but firmly. “You’re going to bed now.”

  Akiko sobbed, screamed, and beat her head and heels on the floor as if possessed by a demon. Reiko soothed, scolded, and pleaded. By the time Akiko had worn herself out and fallen asleep, Reiko felt as beaten up as if she’d lost a battle.

  She stepped out the door and saw Sano coming. He smiled, but an air of tension around him caused her heart to race. “What’s happened?”

  “No new political upheavals,” Sano reassured her. “I met my uncle, Major Kumazawa, today.”

  “Ah,” Reiko said, thinking that it was about time.

  She accompanied Sano into their chamber, where he removed his rain-damp clothes. Reiko opened the cabinet, took out a robe, and helped him into it. “Why did you finally decide to make contact with your uncle?”

  “I didn’t. He came to me, to request my help.” Sano explained that the man’s daughter had gone missing and he’d spent the day searching for her in Asakusa.

  Reiko felt a stir of excitement. Here, perhaps, was a new investigation for her to join. “Did you find any clues?” she said as she heated sake on a charcoal brazier.

  “Better than that,” Sano said, kneeling opposite Reiko. “I found Chiyo herself. She’s alive.”

  Reiko was amazed at his quick results. “That’s wonderful!” But even though she was glad for Chiyo’s sake, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. The investigation was over already.

  “I took her to my uncle’s house,” Sano said.

  “The place where your mother grew up? What was it like?”

  “About what you would expect. Typical for his rank.”

  Men weren’t good at describing places in the detail that women wanted, Reiko thought. She sensed that the visit to his ancestral estate had caused Sano feelings he would rather not discuss. “Your uncle must have been very pleased and grateful.”

  “Pleased, I would have liked. Grateful, not exactly.” Sano sounded nettled beneath his humor. “He’s a stern, hard man—a real old-style samurai.”

  “Well, a plague on him,” Reiko said, offended on Sano’s behalf. “You brought his daughter home safe and sound.”

  “Not exactly sound.” Sano described Chiyo’s dazed, weak condition and the injury on her head. “And it appears that she was violated.”

  “How awful,” Reiko murmured, recalling the time she’d been kidnapped by a madman who’d nearly ravished her. And she knew that the consequences of a rape could be even worse than the pain and terror.

  Masahiro padded barefoot into the room and asked, “What does that mean, ‘violated’?”

  Reiko and Sano exchanged perturbed glances. They tried not to talk about adult matters when their son could hear, but Masahiro had sharp ears. He could sense when something had happened, and often showed up at the scene before his parents knew he was there. Reiko gestured at Sano. You’re his father; you explain.

  Sano told Masahiro, “It means she was hurt.”

  “Hurt how?”

  Sano looked as flustered as Reiko felt. Masahiro was familiar with the facts of life; he’d seen animals mating, their offspring born. But he was too young and innocent to know about rape.

  “Never mind.” Sano put on a stern expression that closed the subject.

  “Who did this to Chiyo?” Reiko asked. “Has she said?”

  “She doesn’t remember much.” Sano puffed out his breath with frustrated concern. “And she became so upset that Major Kumazawa put a halt to my questions.”

  “Is Major Kumazawa my uncle, too?” Masahiro asked.

  “He’s your great-uncle,” Sano said. “Can I meet him?”

  Reiko herself was eager to meet Sano’s family. She wanted to know what her husband came from, to see his traits reflected in the faces of strangers. But she said, “Someday.” A family that had suffered such an ordeal would be in no shape to contend with new relations. She asked Sano, “What are you going to do about Chiyo?”

  “Major Kumazawa has asked me to find and punish the kidnapper.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “Of course,” Sano said.

  Reiko heard misgivings in his voice, but they didn’t put off her desire to collaborate in the investigation. “Can I help?”

  Sano smiled with appreciation. “As a matter of fact, you can. Major Kumazawa doesn’t want me to talk to Chiyo again. I could force him to cooperate, but after what Chiyo has been through, she probably wouldn’t want to discuss it with a man. She might be more comfortable with a woman. So I asked Major Kumazawa if he would permit her to be questioned by my wife. He agreed, although reluctantly. Will you do it?”

  “I’d be glad to,” Reiko said. Not only did she welcome a chance to help catch a criminal and obtain justice for Chiyo; perhaps she could smooth Sano’s relations with his newfound family.

  “Chiyo insisted on going home to her husband and children,” Sano said. “Her husband is a Captain Okubo; he’s a retainer to Lord Horio, daimyo of Idzuma Province. They live inside the daimyo’s estate. You can talk to her there.”

  “I’ll go first thing tomorrow,” Reiko said.

  “I’ll be needing more help,” Sano said. “I’ve sent for Hirata.” Footsteps approached down the corridor, their gait slightly heavier on one leg. “Here he is now.”

  Into the room strode Hirata, the shogun’s ssakan-sama—Most Honorable Investigator of Events, Situations, and People. He’d inherited the post from Sano seven years ago, when Sano became chamberlain. He was also Sano’s chief retainer and close friend, although their respective duties kept them much apart.

  “Greetings,” Hirata said, bowing.

  He wasn’t tall, and he wore modest garb, a gray and black kimono, surcoat, and trousers. His face was broad and ordinary; he didn’t stand out in a crowd. But appearances were deceiving, Reiko knew. Seven years ago, Hirata had been seriously injured in the line of duty. A lesser man would be dead or an invalid, but Hirata had apprenticed himself to a mystic martial arts master. Rigorous training had whittled every spare bit of fat from his body, which was now all muscle, sinew, and bone as strong as steel. Secret rituals had conditioned his mind, had replaced his youthful, naïve mien with an expression of preternaturally mature wisdom. And he’d gained a reputation as the best martial artist in Edo.

  Masahiro yelled, “Hah, yah!” and launched a flying kick at Hirata. Hirata took the kick in his stomach, howled in comic pain, and fell backward with a floor-shaking thud. Masahiro threw himself on Hirata. As they wrestled and Masahiro laughed, Reiko protested, “Masahiro, that’s no way to greet a guest!”

  Hirata let Masahiro pin him facedown. Masahiro sat on Hirata’s back, crowing, “I win!”

  “I surrender,” Hirata said. “Let me up.” Masahiro climbed off Hirata, who asked Sano, “How can I be of service?”

  Sano told him about the kidnapping and assault while Reiko poured cups of sake for the men. “Right now I’ve no idea who might be responsible. After I spoke with Chiyo, I questioned her attendants, but they didn’t see anything. I need you to help me beat the bushes for leads.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Hirata didn’t mention any other work he might have pending. He had a detective corps to cover for him, and his first duty was to Sano, his sworn master. “I have some contacts who might be useful.”

  Masahiro had been listening with a pensive frown on his face. He blurted, “I want to help, too.”

  The adults regarded him with surprise. Sano said, “What? How?”

  “I can look for clues,” Masahiro said eagerly. “I can interrogate witnesses and suspects.” He stammered the difficult words. “I’ll catch the bad man.”

  Hirata chuckled. “Here’s a pine
cone that didn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Our son spends too much time playing detective,” Reiko said with a laugh.

  Masahiro bristled. “I’m not playing! I’m practicing!”

  “Yes, and that’s good,” Sano said, “but this is a real investigation, not a game. We can’t have you chasing a bad man who won’t want to be caught. It could be dangerous.”

  “If anybody attacks me, I can defend myself,” Masahiro insisted.

  He’d proved he could, Reiko knew, but she said, “A real investigation is too complicated. It’s for grown-ups, not children.”

  “You’re too young,” Sano said.

  “I’m not. I’m almost ten!” Masahiro said.

  “Your manners are worse than if you were half that age,” Reiko rebuked him, but gently because she understood what it was like to want to be a detective and not be permitted. Once Sano had refused to let her participate in his investigations on the grounds that women weren’t capable or allowed by tradition. Only by taking matters into her own hands, and proving her worth, had she prevailed. “Don’t contradict your parents.”

  Masahiro bowed his head. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” He was a good, considerate boy who only forgot courtesy when carried away by youthful impetuousness. “How long do I have to wait before I can be a detective?”

  Reiko could feel Sano thinking that he didn’t want their son following in his footsteps, investigating murders for the shogun, facing the constant threat of death. Neither did she. Sano said, “Until you’re fifteen.”

  That was the official age of manhood for samurai, when they could marry, earn their keep, fight in wars, and take on other adult responsibilities. Time went so fast, Reiko thought with a pang of sadness; before they knew it, Masahiro would be a man.

  “That’s forever!” Masahiro protested. Although strong, mature, and self-controlled for his age, he looked on the verge of tears. “Isn’t there something I can do?”

  “No,” Sano and Reiko said together. They both wished to protect Masahiro from the world. He’d already seen too much. Even though this case was within the family, without the danger of working for the shogun, it had its own particular horrors to which a child shouldn’t be exposed.

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue,” Sano said sternly, although Reiko knew he hated to disappoint their son. “Our decision is final.”

  The rising sun shone pale and diluted through storm clouds as Sano left his compound with Detectives Marume and Fukida and his entourage. As they rode along the passage, water dripped from the eaves of the covered corridors atop the stone walls, onto their wicker hats and straw rain capes. Their horses’ hooves splashed in puddles on the paving stones. High above them, far beyond Edo Castle, rain obliterated the green eastern hills outside the city. The pealing of temple bells echoed, then quickly faded, as if drowned by the humid summer air.

  Sano and his men came upon another procession of mounted samurai, led by Yanagisawa. “Good day, Sano-san,” Yanagisawa said. He and Sano exchanged polite bows. “I was sorry to hear about what happened to Major Kumazawa’s daughter Chiyo.”

  He sounded genuinely concerned and sympathetic, but Sano’s guard went up at once. “News travels fast,” Sano said. He took for granted that Yanagisawa kept abreast of his business; he did the same for Yanagisawa. But Sano was alarmed by how efficient Yanagisawa’s informants were.

  “News travels especially fast when it concerns the uncle and cousin of a man as important as yourself,” Yanagisawa said.

  He was also aware of the relationship between Sano and the Kumazawa clan, Sano observed. “What other facts do you have stored up in case they should come in handy?” Sano said in a light, jocular tone.

  Yanagisawa responded with a pleasant smile. “Not half as many as you do, I’m sure. I assume you’re on your way to hunt down the person who perpetrated this crime against your clan?”

  “You assume correctly.” Sano wondered if Yanagisawa had planted a spy inside the Kumazawa estate because he’d figured Sano would eventually show up there.

  “Well, I wish you the best of luck,” Yanagisawa said. “And I’ll be glad to help, if you like.”

  Memories flickered through Sano’s mind. He saw himself and Yanagisawa rolling in the dirt together, locked in mortal, savage combat. He heard Yanagisawa howling for his blood. Yanagisawa’s current behavior was truly perplexing.

  “I’ll keep your offer in mind,” Sano said. “Many thanks.”

  They bowed, said their farewells, and rode in opposite directions. Fukida glanced over his shoulder and said, “He wants to help? How about that?”

  “Maybe a rat can change its whiskers,” Marume said, “but he’s got a trick up his sleeve, mark my word.”

  “Obviously,” Sano said.

  “What are you going to do?” Fukida asked.

  “I’m going to stop relying on spies who can tell me what Yanagisawa ate for breakfast but can’t find out what’s in his mind,” Sano said. “It’s time to bring in an expert.”

  Escorted by a squadron of guards, Reiko rode in her palanquin through the district south of Edo Castle, where the daimyo and their hordes of retainers lived. Her bearers carried her down wide boulevards thronged with mounted samurai, past the barracks that enclosed each huge, fortified estate. Rain began to patter on the roof of Reiko’s palanquin as her procession stopped at the gate house of the estate that belonged to the lord of Idzuma Province. Lieutenant Tanuma said to the guards, “The wife of the honorable Chamberlain Sano is here to see the wife of Captain Okubo.”

  The guard opened the gate and called someone to announce Reiko’s arrival. Reiko had read the Kumazawa clan dossier and knew that Chiyo was a lady-in-waiting to the daimyo’s womenfolk. She hoped Chiyo was receiving good care here.

  After a brief interval, a manservant put his head out the gate, spoke with the guard, and shook his head. The guard told Lieutenant Tanuma, “Sorry, Captain Okubo’s wife doesn’t live here anymore. She’s staying at her father’s house in Asakusa.”

  Sano and his entourage rode across Nihonbashi, the bridge that had the same name as the river it spanned as well as Edo’s merchant quarter. The bridge was jammed with traffic. Porters carried trunks for samurai traveling in palanquins; peasant women armed with market baskets jostled begging priests and children; foot soldiers patrolled. Below them, barges floated on the murky brown water. Wharves stacked with lumber, bamboo poles, vegetables, and coal occupied shores lined with ware houses. Drizzle hung so thickly in the air that it muted the sounds of seagulls shrieking, oars splashing, and voices raised in laughter and argument. The wet atmosphere intensified the stench from the fish market at the north end of the bridge. Sano scanned the crowds, looking for Toda Ikkyu, the master spy.

  Earlier, he’d stopped in the chambers within Edo Castle that housed the metsuke, the Tokugawa intelligence service. A secretary had informed him that Toda was working at the bridge. He knew from experience that Toda was hard to pick out of a crowd. Toda was so ordinary in appearance, so utterly lacking in distinctive features, that Sano could never remember what he looked like even though they’d known each other for more than a decade. Neither could most other people. That was an advantage in Toda’s line of work.

  As Sano eyed the faces of samurai who passed him, he thought of what he’d learned from Toda’s dossier some months ago. Toda had begun his life as a sutego—an abandoned child, one among legions that roamed the cities. No one knew who his parents were. Toda had fended for himself by stealing. One night, when he was twelve, he sneaked into the estate of a rich daimyo. There he lived for three months, filching food from the kitchen, sleeping under the raised buildings. The daimyo’s men noticed things missing and found traces of Toda, but they couldn’t catch him until the dogs cornered him. They brought him before the daimyo.

  “I can use a boy with your talents,” the daimyo had reportedly said. “From now on you’re in my service.”

  He put Toda to work spyin
g on his retainers, reporting any hint or act of disloyalty. This went on for ten years, during which Toda was granted the rank of samurai. Then the daimyo ran into financial trouble; he couldn’t pay the cash tribute required by the shogun, Tokugawa Ietsuna. He presented Toda to the shogun and said, “A good spy is worth more than any amount of money, and this young fellow is the best.”

  So the legend went. Toda had risen within the ranks of the metsuke until he became the chief spy. To him and his subordinates belonged much of the credit for keeping the Tokugawa regime in power.

  Now Sano heard a voice call, “Greetings, Honorable Chamberlain Sano. Are you looking for me, by any chance?” He saw a samurai who appeared to be Toda, leaning against the bridge’s railing. Toda was ageless, his body neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, his face composed of features seen on a million others. He wore the ubiquitous wicker hat and straw rain cape, and an expression of world-weary amusement that was vaguely familiar.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Sano jumped off his horse and joined Toda; his men halted; traffic streamed around them. “I’m not interrupting any secret operation, am I?”

  “Not at all,” Toda said. “I haven’t done much of that since Lord Matsudaira’s death. Things have been quiet lately. I’m just conducting school.”

  “What kind of school?” Sano asked.

  “For the next generation of metsuke agents. Political strife will flare up again eventually, and we’ll need new spies who know the craft.”

  Sano looked around. “So where are your students?”

  “They’ll show up soon. What can I do for you?”

  “I want you to put Chamberlain Yanagisawa under surveillance,” Sano said.

  Interest enlivened Toda’s expression. “Why? Have you reason to believe he’s plotting against you?”

  “Only that he’s been too nice for too long.”

  “Indeed he has. As I said, things are quiet.” Toda added, “I must tell you that Yanagisawa already has us spying on you.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Sano said. Yanagisawa was far more careful of potential rivals than Sano had ever been.