The Iris Fan Page 6

  He shifted position; she sensed his surprise. “You mean, leave Edo?”

  “Why not?” Taeko hurried to justify the drastic action. “Our families will never let us be together. It’s the only way.”

  “What about my post?”

  Unhappy because he sounded so reluctant, Taeko said, “You’re just a patrol guard. That’s nothing to give up.”

  “Nothing except my honor!” The heat of his anger burned through the paper wall. “If I leave the shogun’s service, I’ll be a deserter and a rōnin.”

  Taeko had heard about Bushido all her life, but she didn’t understand why Masahiro and his father cared so much about it, when it only seemed to get them in trouble. She’d heard Reiko and Sano arguing about it. Their arguments frightened Taeko. With her father gone and her mother often cross and mean, she looked to Sano and Reiko as parents. If they couldn’t get along, there was no security. It frightened her that now she and Masahiro were arguing about the same thing.

  “What’s so bad about being a masterless samurai?” Taeko thought it couldn’t be worse than being poor and looked down on. “At least you can do what you want.”

  “It’s the biggest disgrace there is! Besides that, what would we live on?”

  “You could teach martial arts, like your father did before he got into the government.”

  “That would be a giant step backward for our family!”

  “Maybe I could sell my paintings.” Taeko had always loved painting. She painted even though her mother told her it wasn’t for girls. Her work looked as good as many of the paintings in the shops. To be an artist was her cherished dream.

  To be Masahiro’s wife was her most urgent wish.

  “Oh, sure,” Masahiro said flatly. “We’d starve.” Although he’d admired her paintings, he obviously didn’t think they were worth much. “And don’t you see, if we ran away, we’d be dropping out of the samurai class? We’d never see our families again.”

  Taeko hadn’t thought that far. The idea of never seeing her mother, brother, or sister again was disturbing, but she said, “We would have each other.”

  His robes rustled as Masahiro stirred uncomfortably. Desperate, Taeko said, “I thought you loved me.” It seemed that there were limitations to his love.

  “I do.” Masahiro sounded more impatient than passionate.

  “Then let’s run away together and get married!”

  Masahiro was speechless for a long, tense moment. Taeko heard him draw, hold, then release his breath. “You never seemed to care about getting married. Why are you talking like this all of a sudden?”

  The sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor spared Taeko the necessity of answering. Detective Marume called, “Lady Reiko!”

  “Why are you home so early?” came Reiko’s surprised voice. “Where’s my husband?”

  “Sano-san is at the palace. The shogun was stabbed tonight. He’s not dead, but he’s badly wounded.”

  Reiko exclaimed. Masahiro muttered under his breath. Taeko could tell that he was upset by the news but glad for the interruption.

  “Why is there blood all over you?” Reiko asked.

  “Long story, later,” Marume said. “I’m heading to the palace to find out what’s happening there, as soon as I wash up.”

  Masahiro jumped to his feet and called, “I’m going, too!” He whispered to Taeko, “I have to help my father. Don’t worry. Someday, somehow, we’ll be married. I promise.” Then he ran off.

  * * *

  UNDER THE DARK sky, Hirata skimmed across the snow-frosted tile roofs of mansions where Edo’s richest businessmen lived in the Nihonbashi merchant district. He jumped from one to the next like a cat, effortlessly clearing the wide distances and landing without a sound. His body’s trained muscles absorbed the impact and dissipated it in heat that melted the snowflakes falling around him. A humorless smile twisted his mouth as he thought that anyone who saw him would think he was alone.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  To steal money for Lord Ienobu, the voice of General Otani said in his mind.

  Since Tahara and Kitano had worked the possession spell on him three and a half years ago, Hirata had stolen millions of koban from merchants, daimyo, and gangsters and delivered it to Ienobu. Hirata wondered what Ienobu thought about the money that showed up on his doorstep. He didn’t know that Hirata and General Otani were working for him. No one knew Hirata was back in Edo. He wore his hair cropped short instead of in a topknot with a shaved crown, and he lived under a false name in a slum, where the neighbors thought he was a peasant from the countryside and the army wouldn’t think to look for him. Burglary was only one of the illegal services into which General Otani had pressed Hirata. It wasn’t the worst. Each additional day that Hirata had to serve Lord Ienobu’s interests, he despised it more.

  “Lord Ienobu has the whole Tokugawa treasury at his disposal. Why does he need more money?”

  Lord Ienobu has plans.

  “What kind of plans?”

  You will find out soon enough.

  That was what General Otani always said. Hirata frowned in irritation.

  If you dislike the same answer, then stop asking the same question.

  Hirata especially hated that General Otani could read his thoughts but he couldn’t read Otani’s. The ghost hid them in a part of Hirata’s mind that Hirata couldn’t access no matter how hard he tried; it was like pounding on a locked door.

  “I’ve been your slave for three and a half years,” Hirata said. “The least you owe me is an explanation for why we’re stealing money for Ienobu and why you want him to be the next shogun. How is that supposed to destroy the Tokugawa regime?”

  Not now.

  “Then let me see Sano-san.” Hirata wanted desperately to tell Sano what had happened to him. Even though Sano knew he was a traitor and had set the army on him, Hirata clung to the hope that a face-to-face talk would somehow set things right. And he missed Sano, his beloved friend as well as master.

  No.

  “I want to see my wife and children.” Hirata felt terrible about abandoning Midori, Taeko, Tatsuo, and Chiyoko. He hadn’t realized how much he loved them until he’d lost them. Midori probably hated him, the children had probably forgotten him, but he had to make it up to them, too.

  You will see them when the time is right.

  “You’ve been saying that ever since we came back to Edo three and a half years ago, and the time is never right, according to you.” Hirata halted his steps. “I’m going to see them now.”

  His leg muscles jerked as the ghost overrode his will. He resisted, but the ghost jumped him onto the next rooftop. He cursed in frustration. “You can’t keep me away from Sano or my family forever!”

  I can do with you what I like.

  “I can make it hard for you!”

  They’d had many arguments, and Otani always won, but it took a toll on him, too. Hirata’s body was their mutual home, their battleground. Shut up. A blinding stab of pain in his head quelled Hirata’s resistance. Here we are.

  Propelled by the ghost, Hirata crept down the sloped roof of a mansion. Below, in the courtyard, were two storehouses with tile roofs, thick plaster walls, and ironclad doors. Outside the doors stood two men—samurai mercenaries guarding the householder’s wealth. Hirata jumped down to the courtyard. Sensing the movement, the guards turned; they reached for their swords. Hirata projected bursts of mental energy at them, and they fell unconscious to the ground. He opened the door of a storehouse with a hard yank that broke the lock. His keen night vision perceived iron trunks of coins inside.

  As he moved to pick up a trunk, General Otani said, Stop. We’re going to the palace. The shogun has been stabbed.

  “He’s dead?” Terror and hope filled Hirata as the ghost maneuvered him toward the gate. If the shogun was dead, Ienobu was the new dictator and it was the beginning of the end of the Tokugawa regime. General Otani wouldn’t need Hirata anymore.

  No. He’
s seriously wounded but alive.

  Hirata had never understood how General Otani knew things that he himself didn’t. Relieved because the end wasn’t yet at hand, and disappointed because General Otani still needed him, Hirata asked, “Why are we going to the palace? To finish off the shogun?”

  He’d once asked why General Otani didn’t just make him kill the shogun so Lord Ienobu could inherit the dictatorship. Otani had replied, Because the shogun must die a natural death. Hirata supposed that was so there would be no complications afterward. He’d always been glad he didn’t have to add “murder of my lord” to the list of his sins. That would be the ultimate disgrace. Now it seemed that Otani couldn’t always foresee the future and step in fast enough to bend the course of events to his needs. He hadn’t expected, or been able to prevent, the stabbing.

  “Who stabbed the shogun?” Hirata asked.

  That is yet to be discovered.

  It also seemed that the ghost didn’t know everything about the present or past. His private channel of communication with the cosmos must be faulty.

  It is certain that Lord Ienobu will fall under suspicion.

  If Ienobu were blamed for the stabbing, he would be put to death instead of becoming the next dictator. General Otani’s goal was in jeopardy, and he needed to protect Ienobu. Hirata saw an opportunity for himself in this crisis.

  “I’m not going.” Hirata planted his feet firmly on the snowy ground and clamped his fingers around the iron bar of the gate.

  General Otani’s anger blazed up through his veins. Don’t be foolish. Hirata’s fingers tried to pry themselves off the bar. His feet involuntarily braced themselves against the gate and pushed. Hirata held on tight. Pain throbbed in his head. As he screamed, the windows of the mansion lit up.

  “I’ll keep us away from the palace long enough for the shogun to die and Lord Ienobu to be executed for his murder!” Hirata said, panting.

  General Otani roared. Hirata felt his brain slam against the inside of his skull. Neither of them could bear it much longer, but Hirata would gladly die if he could take Otani with him. Then suddenly the pain stopped. Gasping with relief, Hirata sagged as he clung to the gate.

  Sano is at the palace. The shogun has ordered him to investigate the stabbing.

  Otani was dangling Sano like a carrot in front of a horse. Hirata took the bait in spite of himself. “If we go to the palace, will you let me talk to Sano-san?”

  Yes.

  Hirata didn’t trust Otani to keep his word. He knew that going near Sano would put Sano in danger and protecting Lord Ienobu might interfere with Sano’s ability to solve the crime, but he convinced himself that he was strong enough to prevent the ghost from hurting Sano or sabotaging the investigation.

  “All right. We’ll go.”

  His lips curved as General Otani smiled with satisfaction. He opened the gate as the guards staggered to their feet and people spilled out of the mansion. He sped through the snowy streets, trailing a fiery wake like a comet’s tail, toward Edo Castle.

  9

  OUTSIDE THE LARGE Interior, Sano tried the door as the spectators in the corridor behind him watched. The door was locked. Captain Hosono called to the guard on the other side, “Sano-san is investigating the attack on the shogun. Let him in.”

  The guard obeyed. From the dim corridor behind him drifted women’s anxious voices and sweet, tarry incense smoke overlaying the odors of aromatic unguents and women’s bodies. The odors transported Sano nineteen years into the past, to the first time he’d entered the Large Interior. One of the shogun’s female concubines had been murdered during his wedding. That had been the first crime he and Reiko had investigated together.

  So much had happened between them since then.

  The last case they’d investigated together was the murder of the shogun’s daughter more than four years ago. At the end of that case Reiko had lost the baby and Sano had begun his campaign against Lord Ienobu. At first she’d been too ill and distraught to help Sano with his quest to prove that Lord Ienobu had murdered the shogun’s heir, then too upset because she thought it was a mistake. Sano missed their collaboration, and he knew he’d made life hard for her, but he couldn’t help feeling hurt and abandoned. Once he’d also had a corps of a hundred detectives. He was on his own now in a den of wolves.

  As Sano stepped inside the Large Interior, Manabe joined him. “Lord Ienobu sent me to watch you.”

  “Where is he? Where’s Chamberlain Yanagisawa?” Sano asked.

  The expression on Manabe’s hard, burnished face said it was none of Sano’s business. Sano shone his lantern on the floor—polished cypress planks in which he could see his blurry reflection. There was no blood. Unable to tell where the attacker had gone, Sano headed into the labyrinth of passages and small chambers. Two male guards appeared, soldiers who preferred their own sex and wouldn’t touch the women. Peering in doorways, Sano saw women huddled on beds where they slept four or five to a room amid lacquer chests and cabinets, dressing tables and mirrors, and garments hanging on stands. There were countless places where bloodstained socks or clothing could be hidden. Sano noted the many charcoal braziers. The socks could be burnt to ashes by now. There were also hundreds of potential suspects.

  A commotion arose outside the Large Interior. Sano heard his son, Masahiro, and Detective Marume arguing with the guard at the door. He called, “Send them in.”

  “We heard what happened,” Masahiro said. “We came to help you investigate.”

  Sano was glad to have helpers he trusted, but he felt the ever-present strain in his relationship with his son. As a child Masahiro had thought his father could do no wrong, but now he was old enough to know that his low station was Sano’s fault. After each demotion it had been harder for Sano to look Masahiro in the eye. Masahiro was always loyal, and he respected Sano’s dedication to honor, but he couldn’t help resenting the high price that he, too, must pay for honor. He’d grown aloof toward Sano. Now Sano welcomed the chance to work with his son and restore their harmony as well as solve the crime.

  “You’re just in time,” Sano said. “The shogun has made me chief investigator and you my assistant.”

  “That’s great!” Masahiro visibly warmed toward Sano; his eyes shone with excitement. He was old enough to understand the danger that the attack on the shogun posed for his family, but young enough to think of the investigation as an adventure and an opportunity.

  “Luck is on our side for once.” Marume, scrubbed clean, looked delighted by the fact that Sano was back in favor with the shogun. “What do you want us to do?”

  Their enthusiasm buoyed Sano’s spirits. “You search for socks and clothes with blood on them. Masahiro and I will question everybody.”

  A tall, square woman, neatly dressed in a dark brown kimono, marched up to Sano. “If you are going to speak with the women or enter their rooms, you will do it under my supervision.” Her deep, stern voice was crusty with age. Her white hair, pinned atop her head, gave off a strong odor of peppermint-and-jasmine-scented hair oil. The bristly mustache on her upper lip was white, too. She must be in her sixties now, but Sano recognized her from that long-ago investigation.

  “Madam Chizuru,” he said. “So you’re still the otoshiyori.”

  The otoshiyori was the chief lady official of the Large Interior. Her most important duty was to keep a vigil outside the shogun’s chamber when he slept with a female concubine, to ensure that the concubine behaved properly. There had been little need for that service. Her other duties included keeping order in the Large Interior.

  She looked surprised to see Sano. “So you’re a detective again.”

  Sano had reason not to let her oversee the search and interviews. He knew something about her that he didn’t mention now. “Where were you when the shogun was stabbed?”

  Her prim, dainty lips thinned in dislike. “I was in bed, asleep.”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “No, I have my own room.”

/>   “Then you’re a suspect.” Sano told Marume, “Put her under guard, apart from the other women. I’ll talk to her later.”

  Cloaked in indignation, Madam Chizuru let Marume lead her away. Masahiro said, “That was fast.”

  Later Sano would tell Masahiro why he thought his first suspect was a likely culprit. They began questioning the women, who all had roommates to confirm their statements that they’d been asleep during the attack on the shogun. Sano noticed things that had changed in the Large Interior since his previous case. The concubines were all homely. Lord Ienobu must have ensured that if the shogun should ever want a female bedmate, none of them would tempt him into fathering a new heir. And the shogun’s mother was gone. Lady Keisho-in had died a few years ago, at age seventy-six. Sano and Masahiro questioned female relatives of the shogun, and the ladies-in-waiting and maids. They, too, had alibis. So did the male guards.

  “I think they’re telling the truth,” Masahiro said.

  Sano agreed. With each moment that passed he felt increased pressure to find witnesses and evidence. Detective Marume called, “Hey, I can’t get this door open.”

  Sano and Masahiro hurried around the corner. Manabe, their shadow, followed. They found Marume rattling the locked door of a chamber. “Break it down,” Sano said.

  Marume heaved his shoulder against the door. The wooden panel fell into a room that exhaled warm, damp air. Sano saw a round, sunken bathtub filled with steaming water, surrounded by a floor made of wooden slats. “Who’s there?” he called.

  No answer came. Sano, Marume, and Masahiro stepped inside the bath chamber. In the corner crouched a young woman dressed in a white cotton robe. She was small, slim, and beautiful, perhaps eighteen years old. Her long black hair hung in damp straggles. Her limpid eyes were huge with fright.

  “Who are you?” Sano asked.

  “Tomoe,” she whispered. “A concubine.”