The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria Page 7

  Wisteria wished she could believe him. Though she’d traveled far away from the room where Lord Mitsuyoshi had died, life outside the walls of Yoshiwara promised new hazards. The police would have begun looking for her by now. And while she’d escaped her brothel master, she was now at the mercy of Lightning, nicknamed for the way no one knew what he was going to do until it was too late.

  “What’s the matter?” He regarded her suspiciously. “You don’t like it here?” Hurling down the bundle, he advanced on Wisteria. “Don’t like the company either? Miss your fine rooms and fancy friends?”

  “No, it’s fine,” Wisteria said, stumbling backward from the menace in his voice. “I’m happy to be here, with you—”

  “Do you know what would have happened to me if I’d gotten caught smuggling you out of Yoshiwara?” He seized her wrist, and his painful grasp provoked a yelp from Wisteria. “I’d have been arrested, beaten, maybe even killed. I risked my life for you, and you ought to be satisfied with whatever I give you, and not complain.”

  “I am satisfied.” Wisteria hastened to placate Lightning. “I thank you for all you’ve done for me.” Lowering her eyelids, she smiled provocatively and dropped her voice to a husky whisper: “A man as strong and brave as you can satisfy me in every way.”

  Years of practice had made her adept at coaxing men, and as she grazed her fingertips across Lightning’s cheek, lust replaced the anger in his eyes. “That’s better,” he said.

  “Please let me show my appreciation by satisfying you.” Wisteria didn’t have to pretend eagerness, for Lightning’s touch, his strength, and his flashing gaze awakened in her an urgent need for him.

  His sardonic smile acknowledged his power over her. Releasing her wrist, he said, “Later.” He squatted and opened the bundle. “I’ve got food here, and I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  He’d brought cooked rice, smoked eel and salmon, pickles, grilled prawns, steamed dumplings, and different kinds of sweet cakes. Wisteria had spent much of the day sleeping, and the rest too nervous to eat; but now the sight and smell of the food made her ravenous. She and Lightning sat on the floor, gobbling with their fingers, gulping sake between bites. This seemed the best meal she’d ever eaten, with no need to mind her manners as a tayu should, and no brothel master tallying the cost of what she ate and adding it to her debt. Giddy with pleasure, she laughed. She fed morsels to Lightning. He grinned and sucked her fingers.

  When they finished, he took the remaining, largest package from the bundle and tossed it in her lap. “Here’s a present.”

  Wisteria opened the package and found a kimono of crimson satin, lavishly brocaded with waves and swimming carp in rainbow-hued metallic thread.

  “How beautiful!” she exclaimed in delight.

  “Sure it is.” Lightning smiled proudly, but his tone distrusted her reaction. “It’s as nice as anything those other men have given you—isn’t it?” He was jealous of her high-class lovers, who often brought her expensive gifts.

  “Yes, yes,” Wisteria assured him. Stroking the kimono, she didn’t ask where he’d gotten it; knowing how he earned his living, she could guess. Yet she didn’t care, because the kimono was hers now, a promise of a brilliant future.

  “You can show me your appreciation now,” Lightning said.

  Lust gleamed in his eyes as he swept aside the remains of their meal. He tore off her garments. The cold raised bumps on her skin, but Lightning opened his own clothes and pulled her against his warm flesh. Wisteria moaned, overwhelmed by desire for him. Lightning was her own age of twenty-four, instead of decades older, as were most men who could afford the services of a tayu. Caressing him, Wisteria reveled in the feel of him, so firm and strong instead of pudgy or emaciated like her typical client. His hands on her breasts, her buttocks, and between her legs caused her pleasure instead of disgust. When Lightning climbed atop her, his manhood was erect. No over-refined, impotent gentleman was he!

  “I want you inside me.” Gasping, Wisteria wrapped her legs around his waist. “Take me now!”

  Lightning reared up from her in sudden anger. “Impatient, are you?” He slapped away her hands and wrenched free of her. “I’m the one who says when and how, not you!”

  In her passion, Wisteria had forgotten that he never liked being told what to do. “I’m sorry,” she said hastily, for last night had proven his contrary nature and shown her the peril of trying to impose her will upon him. “Please forgive me.”

  His face blazed with bestial rage and desire; he was panting and perspiring, literally steaming in the chill air. He roughly turned Wisteria over on her stomach. His hands jerked her hips upward and pushed her face to the floor. Frightened, though aroused by his brutality, Wisteria cried out in protest.

  “Don’t you dare resist me,” Lightning shouted as cheers and laughter exploded in the gambling den. “You’re mine, and I’ll treat you as I wish.”

  Mounting her, he yanked her buttocks against his loins; his manhood entered her with a friction that drew moans from them both. “Did Lord Mitsuyoshi take you this way?” he gasped out. He began thrusting deep and fast into Wisteria. “Did you enjoy it with him?”

  The floor’s rough planks scraped Wisteria’s knees and forearms. Her pride rebelled against this mistreatment, and she hated that the gamblers would hear her degradation. Her inner flesh swelled with excitement born of pain and pleasure.

  Lightning abruptly withdrew from her body. Unable to bear the cessation, Wisteria gave the answer he wanted: “No. No!” She knew he’d hated Mitsuyoshi more than any of her other clients. She wriggled backward, trying to regain him.

  “Did you want Lord Mitsuyoshi?” Breathless, Lightning shuddered with his own passion, but he held her away from him while she struggled. “Did you love him?”

  “I didn’t want him. I didn’t love him,” Wisteria said, sobbing in her desperation to have Lightning. “Please—”

  He reentered her, and as she keened in joy, he said, “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you!” At this moment, with him moving inside her, and the world reduced to the two of them, Wisteria did love Lightning passionately, truly, devotedly.

  “Tell me I’m the only man you’ll ever love.”

  “You’re the only one,” Wisteria cried. Eyes shut, she concentrated on their climb to pleasure. She lost awareness of the rough floor, the cold, and the other people nearby.

  Thrusting harder and quicker, Lightning growled like a wild beast. “If anyone else dares look at you, I’ll kill him. And if you ever shun me or betray me—if you ever cross me in any way—I’ll kill you, too!”

  His threats terrified Wisteria, for she knew he spoke the truth. Terror increased arousal, and her climax struck her in waves of ecstasy. She screamed. Lightning’s growls culminated in a triumphant roar, and she felt him release inside her. They collapsed together in heaving exhaustion, and Wisteria’s spirits slid into a black pit of distress.

  She realized that her liberator had become her captor, and one more prone to cruelty than any brothel master. Wisteria had extricated herself from financial debt, but she now owed Lightning, whom she must repay in flesh and blood. She’d hoped to harness his strength and daring to further her own aims, yet he was untamable. Last night marked the point at which her control over her destiny had shattered.

  No one would know whether she was an innocent witness to murder, or an accomplice in crime. If only Lord Mitsuyoshi hadn’t died! Had things worked out differently, she might now be free to enjoy the fruition of her secret plans.

  However, there seemed no use dwelling upon the past. Wisteria recognized that she’d bound herself to Lightning, for good or bad, and she was dependent on him for survival.

  She hoped she could survive his jealous rages, his volatile, unpredictable behavior.

  And he was still crucial to her plans, which had hinged on him from the beginning.

  Closing her eyes, imprisoned in Lightning’s possessive embrace, Wisteria prayed they woul
d escape Edo alive.

  7

  Treasury Minister Nitta lived in the Edo Castle official district, in a street higher on the hill and closer to the shogun’s palace than Sano. His estate had the same style of architecture as all the others in the district, with barracks enclosing courtyards, garden, stables, and a low mansion raised on a stone podium and crowned by a brown tile roof. But Nitta’s estate was on a larger scale, befitting his exalted rank.

  When Sano and a team of his detectives arrived to call on Nitta the next morning, a hard, brilliant blue sky arched over the castle. The sun melted the snow on the roofs, but the intense cold froze the dripping water into icicles that glittered on the eaves. The snow in the roads turned grimy under the horses’ hooves. But in spite of the weather, the treasury minister emerged from the shelter of his house to meet Sano’s party as soon as it reached the front door.

  “Ssakan-sama. How dare you send troops to invade my home and wake me up in the middle of the night?” He gestured at Sano’s men, standing guard in the courtyard. “This is an execrable offense.”

  Nitta was a pallid, gaunt samurai whom Sano knew to be fifty years of age, though he seemed older because of his prematurely silver hair. Silver brows bristled over eyes that seemed too dark in contrast; ire compressed a mouth so thin that it appeared lipless. Clad in a kimono, surcoat, and trousers in shades of gray, he looked like a figure in a monochrome painting. He stood on the veranda, hands on his hips and feet pointed outward, glowering down at Sano.

  “Would you now kindly explain why you have placed my entire household under arrest?” he said.

  “I apologize for the disturbance.” Sano bowed low, as did his men. “But I need to question you regarding the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi.”

  “Murder? Lord Mitsuyoshi?” Surprise inflected Nitta’s high-pitched voice and sharpened his eyes. “How and where did it happen?”

  Sano explained, wondering if the treasury minister’s reaction was genuine, or feigned. Then Nitta’s expression turned disdainful.

  “And you obviously consider me a suspect. How ridiculous. Well, I suppose you are desperate to find the culprit, but there was no need for you to treat me, or my family, in such a rude manner.”

  Yet Sano saw fear beneath his disdain. Nitta was clearly aware that the murder of the shogun’s heir, and a visit from Sano in connection with the murder, posed him great danger. “I did not kill Lord Mitsuyoshi,” Nitta declared, “and all I know about his death is what you’ve just told me.”

  “If that’s the case, then we can conclude this matter quickly.” Sano kept his manner deferential, because if Nitta proved not to be the murderer, he could become a formidable enemy. Nitta could retaliate by withholding the treasury funds that financed Sano’s detective corps and investigations. Yet if Sano hadn’t placed Nitta under guard, he would have opened himself to accusations of leniency toward a suspect—and allowed Police Commissioner Hoshina to interrogate Nitta first. It had been a difficult choice, and Sano hoped he’d made the right one.

  “Take yourself and your thugs away,” Nitta said. “I shall let you know when an interview is convenient for me.”

  Sano stood his ground. “I have my orders to investigate the murder with all due haste. And I respectfully advise you to cooperate, because otherwise, you’ll displease our lord.”

  The treasury minister’s dark eyes flared like live coals; then a guise of indifference veiled their angry light. He said, “Come inside.”

  In the reception room of the estate, screens painted with lush green forest landscapes enclosed an area around a sunken brazier, sealed out cold drafts, and created the illusion of a warmer season. There, Nitta performed the ritual of welcoming Sano and serving tea with an elaborate courtesy that conveyed his antipathy more clearly than could blatant insults. They sat opposite each other, tea bowls in their hands, and Nitta’s contemptuous gaze challenged Sano to speak.

  “Please describe what you did the day before yesterday,” Sano said, “beginning with your arrival in Yoshiwara.”

  “It was late evening when my men and I got there. We went to the Owariya because I had an engagement with a courtesan.” Nitta’s statement had an artificial, rehearsed quality; he spoke in the tightly modulated voice of a man conscious that a wrong word could doom him. “Upon arriving at the Owariya, I learned that the courtesan had been requested by another man, and I was asked to yield my appointment. I complied, and my men and I joined a party in the ageya. But after awhile, I recalled some business in town that needed my attention the next morning, so I decided to leave. I paid the Yoshiwara guards to let my men and myself out the gate.”

  He added, “Bribing the guards and leaving Yoshiwara after curfew are but minor, common transgressions of the law. They do not implicate me in murder.”

  That the treasury minister had omitted compromising details from his recitation intrigued Sano. That Nitta would expect him to believe this limited version of events, and never find out that there was more to the story, insulted his professional honor and goaded Sano to speak boldly.

  “What does implicate you are the facts you left out of your story,” he said, and watched caution hood Nitta’s expression. “Or were you going to tell me that the man to whom you yielded your appointment was Lord Mitsuyoshi?”

  “I did not consider that fact important.” Nitta calmly sipped from his tea bowl. “Preemption of appointments is common in Yoshiwara, and it would be absurd to think that a man would kill someone for doing him out of one night with a woman.”

  “Men have killed because of rivalry over courtesans,” Sano said, remembering duels fought during recent years. “And in this case, the courtesan was Lady Wisteria, the woman you love so much that you reserve her company every night because you’re jealous of her other clients.”

  Nitta flapped a hand in impatient dismissal. “Some folk have nothing to do but spread foolish, inaccurate gossip. While it’s true that I did go to see Lady Wisteria that night, and I am her patron, she is just a prostitute, and only one of many that I use.” A brief, vain smile quirked his lipless mouth, and Sano recognized him as the kind of old man who liked to flaunt his sexual potency and needed young, beautiful women to feed his pride. “Wisteria is not an object of my love or jealousy. You should know better than to believe everything you hear.”

  Sano felt his patience slipping; his ire flared as it had last night, when the shogun had berated him. He willed himself to remain calm, because losing his temper with a suspect would harm his investigation, and he didn’t want to antagonize Nitta any more than necessary. “So you didn’t care if Wisteria entertained Lord Mitsuyoshi instead of you?” he said.

  “Her business was of little consequence to me.”

  “You weren’t angry at Lord Mitsuyoshi for taking your place?”

  “Not in the least.” Nitta set down his tea bowl and rose. Turning away from Sano, he faced the painted forest on a screen, his shoulders rigid.

  “Then why were you so upset about yielding to Lord Mitsuyoshi that you argued with the proprietor of the ageya?”

  Nitta whirled, his face suddenly taut with alarm. “Who told you?” Sudden, angry enlightenment flickered in his eyes. “Senior Elder Makino, that old sneak. He was at the party. He must have been eavesdropping, the way he often does.” Though Sano gave no sign of confirmation, Nitta nodded in certainty. “Well, I must warn you against listening to anything Makino says about me. Some years ago, he asked me for a huge loan from the treasury. I declined because his credit is bad. Ever since then, Makino and I have been enemies.”

  Had Makino consequently lied to frame the treasury minister? Sano had heard nothing of a feud between the pair, and feuds involving such high officials were hard to keep secret. However, Nitta had a reputation as one of the few honest men in a corrupt bureaucracy.

  “I did argue with the proprietor of the ageya,” Nitta said, “but not because I was upset about Wisteria or angry at Lord Mitsuyoshi. My concern was strictly financial. I had paid Wist
eria’s fee for the night, and so had Lord Mitsuyoshi. I asked the proprietor for a refund, but he insisted on keeping both fees because it’s the custom.” Nitta puckered his mouth, as if at an unpleasant taste. “I lost my temper with the greedy lout. After I threatened to close down his establishment, he agreed to give me my next appointment free, to compensate for the one I’d lost.”

  Sano began to doubt the treasury minister’s veracity and put more faith in Senior Elder Makino because this story seemed so implausible. The samurai class disdained money as sordid and beneath their dignity, and a man of Nitta’s wealth and position shouldn’t have minded losing a much greater sum than the price of a tayu, let alone quibbled over it.

  “What did you do after the argument?” Sano asked.

  “I stayed for a few drinks. Around midnight, I went home.”

  “You walked out of the ageya and straight to the gate, you bribed the guards, then left Yoshiwara?”

  Nitta’s gaze turned wary and speculative, as though he was trying to determine how much Sano already knew. Sano kept his countenance opaque. After a moment, Nitta gave a faint grimace, signaling his capitulation to Sano’s bluff.

  “No,” he said. “I told my men to wait for me at the gate. Then I went through the back entrance of the ageya, and upstairs. I thought I might be able to have a moment with Lady Wisteria. I didn’t want to leave Yoshiwara without seeing her.”

  A crimson flush colored Nitta’s pale cheeks, like blood dropped onto the surface of virgin snow. This first sign of passion in him told Sano that the man had feelings for Wisteria, in spite of his denials, and that he craved more from her than just carnal satisfaction.

  “I stood at the door of the guest chamber and listened,” Nitta continued. “Lord Mitsuyoshi was known to drink heavily, and I thought that perhaps he would be asleep, and I could speak to Wisteria.”

  Sano pictured the treasury minister hovering outside the chamber, his face engorged with desire and jealousy, longing for his lady while she pleasured his rival.