The Dragon King's Palace Page 7

  The Buddhist supply shop occupied a storefront in the middle of the block. Inside, past the blue entrance curtain, a white-haired man sat behind a counter amid beaded rosaries hung from the low ceiling and shelves crammed with Buddha statues and boxes of incense. Sano and Detective Arai loitered outside while Detective Inoue, clad in a plain cotton robe hastily purchased for this occasion, entered the shop and approached the proprietor.

  “I’m looking for Yoshi,” Detective Inoue said, as Sano had instructed him to do.

  The proprietor scrutinized Inoue, and a leery expression came over his wrinkled face. “I’m sorry, master, there’s no one by that name here.”

  Sano was dismayed because the proprietor had obviously guessed that the detective wasn’t a real Black Lotus member. He also discerned that Inoue posed a threat, because he darted toward a curtained doorway behind the counter. Inoue lunged across the counter and caught him. As Sano and Arai rushed into the shop, Inoue held the proprietor by the arms.

  “Please, masters, don’t hurt me,” the old man cried.

  “I won’t if you tell me where the Black Lotus temple is,” Sano said.

  “But I don’t know.”

  The proprietor gave a nervous giggle that turned into a shriek as Sano whipped his sword out of its scabbard. “Where is the temple?” Sano demanded. To menace a helpless old man filled him with shame even though his victim abetted the Black Lotus, a crime punishable by death. But the abduction was teaching Sano that his principles had limits. He would do anything to find out who’d kidnapped Reiko, and saving his lord’s mother took precedence over personal ideals.

  “All right—I’ll tell you. It’s in the teahouse by the Inari Shrine on the north side of the Kanda vegetable market.” The proprietor begged, “Please don’t kill me.”

  Sano sheathed his sword; Detective Inoue relaxed his hold on the proprietor, who babbled in relief.

  “Listen carefully,” Sano told the old man. “You’ll carry on your business as usual. You won’t tell your Black Lotus friends about our talk. Do you understand?”

  Resignation slumped the old man’s body. “Yes, master.”

  “Detective Arai will be here watching to make sure you obey,” Sano added, then turned to Arai. “Arrest anyone who comes and asks for the temple’s location.”

  “Yes, ssakan-sama,” the detective said, though obviously wondering how many outlaws might come and worried about whether he could subdue them by himself.

  “I’ll send men to help you as soon as possible,” Sano said. Suddenly his detective corps seemed smaller than usual and stretched far too thin to net the Black Lotus. “Detective Inoue and I have to find that temple.”

  The teahouse was located in a row of dilapidated buildings dwarfed by the torii gate of the shrine to Inari, the Shinto rice god. The shrine’s gong clanged and peasants streamed out the gate while Sano and Detective Inoue secured their horses to a nearby post. As the sun rose higher toward noon, shadows receded and stray dogs lay panting under the eaves. Raucous voices drifted from the vegetable market, and the still, hot air reeked of rotten cabbage. Sano and Inoue appraised the teahouse from a distance. With its thatched roof, barred window, and weathered plank walls, it resembled Edo’s thousand other drinking places—except that it showed no sign of life.

  Sano signaled Inoue to wait, then walked to the sliding door that stood open just enough for a man to squeeze through. He pressed himself against the building and peered sideways into a small room, unfurnished and empty, with a closed door at the rear. Sano beckoned Inoue, who slipped after him into the teahouse. They leaned their ears to the door and heard high, faint voices, chanting. Sano’s heart beat a cadence of caution and excitement because he was certain he’d discovered a Black Lotus ritual. He drew his sword because the sect’s priests, nuns, and worshipers would fight to the death rather than be captured. Then he nodded at Inoue.

  The detective opened the door, which required all his strength to budge and yielded with a groaning noise. Sano yelled, “Don’t move! In the name of the shogun, I order you to surrender!”

  He and Inoue rushed into a long, narrow chamber. Unlit lanterns dangled from the rafters. Against the far wall, a black lacquer table held burned-out candles. The space in front of the altar where worshipers would have knelt was unoccupied. Sano halted, lowering his sword, stunned by the letdown; yet the chanting went on, louder now. Sano and Inoue frowned in confusion. Then a slim, vertical rectangle of sunlight at the edge of a back door caught Sano’s eye. He and Inoue raced to the door, flung it wide, and looked outside.

  In an alley, four little girls crouched in a circle by the opposite house, chanting in some childish game. Sano and Inoue shook their heads at each other. Disappointment grieved Sano as he voiced the obvious: “The sect has abandoned this temple.”

  The Black Lotus had an uncanny ability to sense danger coming and skip out just in time. Sano looked forward to long hours of chasing it. Worse, he had no proof that the hunt might lead him to Reiko except the word of a criminal . . . and his own instincts, which he realized might lead him as badly astray. Maybe he’d convinced himself of the Black Lotus’s guilt because he couldn’t bear to think he was just wasting time until the ransom letter arrived. Still, Sano clung to his convictions rather than admit helplessness.

  “We’ll go ask the neighbors where Profound Wisdom and his followers went,” Sano told Inoue. “If they can’t tell us, I know a few Black Lotus hideouts to check.”

  Yet although Sano found comfort in believing he was headed in the right direction, he hoped he was wrong about the Black Lotus and that it didn’t have Reiko. The sect’s cruelty toward its victims had no limits. And one disturbing notion seemed to Sano the only certainty: No matter who had Reiko, the longer she was captive, the less her chance of survival.

  7

  Birdsong had replaced the whine of nocturnal insects in the forest outside the prison. The gaps in the shutters had turned from moonlit gray to rose-pink at dawn; now they were bright streaks of sunshine. Reiko sat and watched while day illuminated her surroundings.

  Dusty cobwebs festooned the grid of cracked, rotting rafters. The ceiling and the plaster on the walls were stained black with smoke from a fire long ago. Dead bugs and mouse and bird droppings littered the floor. An abandoned nest made of twigs perched high above Lady Keisho-in, who reclined in a corner. With her face powder and rouge smeared, she looked clownish, pitiful, and a decade older than usual. Near her, Midori heaved over on her side, her eyes puffy from tears. Only Lady Yanagisawa had slept during the terrible night. She lay facing a wall, knees drawn up and arms folded, motionless.

  “Almost a day has passed since we were abducted,” Reiko said. Despite her anxiety, she must raise her friends’ morale. “By now someone should have found our entourage murdered and discovered us missing. The crime should have been reported to the authorities, who should have begun searching for us. We’ll be rescued soon.”

  No one answered. No one could guess whether her optimistic prediction would come true, or if worse things might happen.

  “It’s getting too warm in here,” Keisho-in said, fanning herself with the end of her sash. “I’m so thirsty I would kill for a drink.” They’d finished the last drop of water in the jar hours ago. “And I’m dying of hunger.”

  Reiko’s own empty stomach growled with a fierce appetite. Did their captors intend them to starve to death? Why had they been kidnapped? What reason could justify the slaughter of a hundred people? Reiko shook her head at the futility of speculating in the absence of clues.

  “This place stinks,” Lady Keisho-in complained. The buckets filled the room with the odors of urine, feces, and vomit. “I’ve never had to put up with the likes of this!”

  Nor had Reiko, who realized what a comfortable life she’d always taken for granted. Her father’s wealth and her advantageous marriage had given her luxurious surroundings, servants to wait on her, and good meals whenever she wanted. But now she hadn’t a grain of
rice to eat. She couldn’t even have a bath, or clean clothes to wear. This intimation of what poor people endured every day enlightened and appalled Reiko.

  With intense longing she thought of her home. She recalled awakening in her own bright, airy bedchamber, with Sano’s arms around her and Masahiro pattering into the room to crawl under the quilt with them. Sano must be busy working now; probably he didn’t yet know about her abduction. Masahiro would be enjoying the wonders that each new day brought him. She blinked back a rush of tears and forbade herself to indulge her misery. She rose and circled her prison, trying to see out the windows.

  On three sides of the room, the cracks in the shutters gave narrow views of sunlight and shadow dappling pine boughs that bristled with green needles. Birds winged past in flashes of color and motion. On the fourth side, brilliant blue sky dazzled Reiko. She heard the waves lap and gulls screech as she tilted her head, straining to glimpse buildings or people. But there were none that she could see. Despair assailed Reiko. The prison seemed isolated in remote country, far from help.

  “Oh!” Midori exclaimed suddenly. She sat up, and surprise rounded her swollen eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Reiko said, hurrying to kneel beside Midori.

  “Nothing. My baby just moved.” Midori laughed for joy. “It’s all right!”

  “Thank the gods,” Reiko said as relief filled her.

  Midori’s body tensed; she grunted. In response to a questioning look from Reiko, she said, “I just had a cramp.”

  “That means the baby will be coming soon,” Lady Keisho-in said, nodding wisely.

  Trepidation pursed Midori’s mouth. A new problem beset Reiko. What if Midori should go into labor here? That Reiko had given birth herself didn’t make her an expert at delivering babies. She wouldn’t know what to do if something went wrong. Who could help Midori? Reiko considered Lady Keisho-in. Whenever anyone at the palace got sick or hurt, the shogun’s mother panicked; the sight of suffering made her ill. She would be of little use as a midwife. Reiko looked toward Lady Yanagisawa—and realized that the woman hadn’t changed position nor made a sound for hours.

  “Lady Yanagisawa?” Reiko said.

  When the woman didn’t respond, Reiko gently shook her by the shoulder. Lady Yanagisawa rolled, limp and unresisting, toward Reiko. Her half-open eyes gazed dully at nothing. Her skin had a pallid, greenish cast. A fly alit in drool that glistened on her parted lips. She didn’t even flinch.

  “Lady Yanagisawa, wake up,” Reiko said, her voice quavering as a new fear besieged her.

  The woman neither stirred nor replied. Reiko touched her hands. They were limp and ice-cold. Lady Keisho-in crawled over to join Reiko.

  “Is she dead?” Keisho-in asked, staring with ghoulish awe at Lady Yanagisawa.

  Much as Reiko detested and feared Lady Yanagisawa, she didn’t want her to die. Reiko hated for criminals to murder anyone, and Lady Yanagisawa was the mother of a simpleminded daughter who needed her. Furthermore, Reiko felt responsible for Lady Yanagisawa because she herself was the reason the woman had joined the ill-fated trip. If not for their friendship, Keisho-in probably wouldn’t have invited Lady Yanagisawa. Dread and guilt fused in Reiko.

  “No. Please, no,” she said. She shook Lady Yanagisawa, slapped her cheeks, and yelled her name. But the woman remained inert as a cloth doll.

  “We’re trapped in here with a corpse,” Keisho-in moaned. “Our spirits will be polluted by the contamination of death. Her ghost will haunt us!” She scurried to the far side of the room, knelt, closed her eyes, and began chanting prayers.

  “Oh, Reiko-san, what are we going to do?” Midori wailed, her arms folded protectively across her stomach.

  Reiko wanted to berate Keisho-in for scaring Midori, but instead she took a closer look at Lady Yanagisawa. Had the woman been injured during the attack? Could she be revived? Reiko opened Lady Yanagisawa’s robes. She examined the pale, flat-breasted torso and sturdy limbs, then checked Lady Yanagisawa’s back, but she found no cuts nor blood, and no bruises except where the ropes had bound her. And her body was still warm. Reiko put her ear against Lady Yanagisawa’s chest and heard a heartbeat, faint and slow.

  “She’s alive,” Reiko said. Midori sighed in relief, and Keisho-in ceased praying; but Reiko’s concern persisted as she redressed Lady Yanagisawa. “She seems to be in a trance. I think she can’t bear what’s happened and she’s withdrawn from the world.”

  “How lucky for her. She doesn’t have to suffer with the rest of us.” Keisho-in pouted. “But who needs her, anyway?”

  Reiko had never imagined needing Lady Yanagisawa, never expected to feel anything but relief to have the woman incapacitated. But Lady Yanagisawa might have helped her cope with Keisho-in and Midori. Distraught, Reiko wondered what other misfortunes lay ahead.

  There came a sudden rustling noise from the forest. Branches snapped; leaves crunched. Reiko, Midori, and Keisho-in froze alert, their breath caught.

  “Someone’s coming,” Midori whispered.

  A door scraped open far below them. Footsteps mounted the stairway. Reiko listened to the heavy, overlapping rhythm of the steps, which heralded several men. As the sound grew louder, she and her friends huddled on their knees together. Her heart thudded with dreadful anticipation. The footsteps scuffed to a halt outside the room. The women watched the door, speechless and transfixed. Iron rasped against iron as someone drew back bolts on the other side. Then the door slowly swung outward. In the crack appeared a sliver of a man’s face. Its eye appraised the women with sharp hostility. The door opened wider, and the man edged into the room, brandishing a long sword.

  He was a tall samurai in his thirties, clad in an armor tunic that left his thickly muscled arms and legs bare. Fresh red scars marked his skin; black stubble shadowed his jaws and shaved crown. A scowl darkened his features. After him followed three more samurai, equally formidable, armed and dressed in similar fashion. An ominous quiet hushed the room as they approached the women, who gazed up at their captors like rabbits cornered by a hunter.

  Lady Keisho-in scrambled to her feet and addressed the men. “It’s about time you honored us with your presence,” she said with haughty bravado, while Reiko and Midori stared, alarmed. “Whom do I have the privilege of addressing?”

  “Be quiet and sit down!” the first samurai shouted, lifting his sword.

  Keisho-in shrieked and dropped on all fours. The samurai, apparently the leader, pointed the sword at Reiko and said, “You. Crawl over there.”

  Trembling, her chest constricted with anxiety, Reiko backed on hands and knees into a corner while the samurai advanced toward her. The tip of his sword gleamed close to her face.

  “Don’t move,” he said, “or I’ll cut you.” Reiko surmised that he’d singled her out for special handling because she’d killed several of his comrades during the battle. Even now that she was unarmed, he didn’t trust her. She gazed up the steel length of the weapon at his narrowed eyes, flaring nostrils, and cruel, bow-shaped mouth. He shot a glance at his companions. “Guard the other ones.”

  Two men moved, swords in hand, to stand near Keisho-in and Midori. The samurai who guarded Lady Yanagisawa nudged her with his foot; when she didn’t move, he relaxed.

  “You can come in now,” the leader called to someone outside the room.

  A young man entered. He was a brawny peasant with a soft, round face and the eyes of a boy anxious to please. He carried a lidded wooden pail in each hand.

  “Here’s food and drink,” the leader announced.

  The youth set the pails on the floor. Lady Keisho-in said, “At last!” She crawled to the pails and lifted the lids. Reiko saw that one pail contained water. The other held mochi—round, flattened cakes of rice—and pickled vegetables. Keisho-in grimaced in disgust.

  “I can’t eat this garbage,” she said.

  “You will, because it’s all you’re going to get,” the leader said. Before Reiko could warn her against provoking the man,
Keisho-in reared up on her knees. “I demand that you serve us a good hot meal,” she said. “And while you’re at it, take away those slop buckets and bring me some warm water for bathing.”

  The leader gave a disdainful laugh. “You don’t give the orders here,” he said.

  “Do you know who I am?” Keisho-in’s rheumy old eyes blazed. “I’m the shogun’s mother. I give orders everywhere! And I order you to do as I said, then take us to the nearest post station so we can get a ride home.”

  Ignoring her, the leader jerked his chin at the other men. They all backed toward the door.

  “Don’t you walk away while I’m talking to you,” Keisho-in shouted, as Reiko silently begged her to be quiet. “Tell me what you’re going to do to us. Tell me your names so I can report you to my son!”

  The men didn’t answer; they kept going. With an exclamation of outrage, Keisho-in picked up a rice cake and threw it at the men.

  “No!” Reiko and Midori cried in horrified unison.

  But Keisho-in hurled more rice cakes. One struck the leader on the chest. Anger blackened his countenance, flared his nostrils wider. He stalked toward Keisho-in and kicked away the food pail, which toppled and spilled. Keisho-in, startled out of her anger, fell on her buttocks. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her upright. With a savage, whipping motion, he flung her into the corner.

  She crashed down with a force that jolted a grunt from her, shook the floor, and knocked plaster off the wall. Horror filled Reiko. Midori covered her mouth with her hands.

  “That should teach you to behave yourself.” The leader spoke to Keisho-in, but his warning gaze included Reiko and Midori. He and the other men walked out the door.