The Iris Fan Page 8

  “I’m innocent,” she said. “My word should be enough to convince you. I’ve worked for His Excellency for thirty years. My trustworthiness has never been doubted.”

  “His Excellency isn’t the only one you work for. You’re also employed by Lord Ienobu.” That was the fact Sano knew about her.

  Madam Chizuru reacted with dismay. “How did you know?”

  For years Sano had been compiling a dossier on Lord Ienobu, and he’d cultivated a spy in the treasury. “Lord Ienobu pays you a monthly stipend.”

  “He pays everybody who works in the Large Interior. He likes to know what goes on here.”

  “But he pays you the most,” Sano said. “What do you do for him?”

  Chizuru hesitated, trapped between fear of lying and fear of being punished by Lord Ienobu for talking. “I keep track of his concubines’ monthly courses. I’m supposed to tell him if any of them are pregnant.”

  Of course Ienobu would be on the lookout for a pregnancy, Sano thought. No matter if the shogun had actually fathered the child, if it was a boy, he might claim it as his own even if he knew it wasn’t; he was that desperate to leave the regime to a direct descendant, and a new son would displace Lord Ienobu. But Sano suspected Madam Chizuru wasn’t telling the whole story of her arrangement with Ienobu.

  “What else?” Sano asked.

  “I’m paid not to tell anyone except him.”

  “So he buys your silence,” Sano said, still unconvinced. “How many pregnancies have there been in the Large Interior since he started paying you?”

  “None.”

  “Then he hasn’t gotten his money’s worth, has he?”

  “If there is one, I’m to make sure the baby isn’t born,” Chizuru admitted reluctantly.

  Sano was shocked even though abortion was common and Lord Ienobu had already masterminded the murders of the shogun’s daughter and Yoshisato, the former heir. To pay someone to discover and kill unborn babies, as if they were vermin … “That’s pretty dirty work.”

  Chizuru looked offended rather than shamed by his repugnance. “Not all of us can afford to turn down money. I have a granddaughter to support. My stipend isn’t enough.” She glanced at the doll’s dress in her sewing basket. “And you of all people should know what happens to somebody who won’t do what Lord Ienobu wants.”

  Sano did, but he couldn’t let sympathy get in the way of justice, and if he didn’t solve the crime, the shogun would put him to death. If he couldn’t pin it on Lord Ienobu, then Lord Ienobu would. “So you couldn’t say no to Lord Ienobu. Did he tell you to stab the shogun?”

  “No. He didn’t. And I already told you: I’m innocent.”

  “He wants to rule Japan, and he was tired of waiting for the shogun to die, so he decided it was time for you to earn your pay. He sent you to assassinate the shogun.”

  Chizuru folded her arms across her stout chest. “If he sent somebody, it wasn’t me.”

  “You’re the only woman in the Large Interior who doesn’t have an alibi,” Sano lied. “The shogun has to blame somebody for stabbing him. It’s going to be you.”

  The fear rekindled in her eyes; she apparently didn’t know that Tomoe and Lady Nobuko were also suspects.

  “Do you think Lord Ienobu will protect you? No—he’ll let you take the fall.”

  Chizuru backed away from Sano, but a stack of trunks against the wall stopped her. She glanced at the door. Manabe and the guard blocked her escape.

  “You may as well confess and make Lord Ienobu share your death sentence.” Sano heard her breath rasp. Perspiration soured her peppermint-and-jasmine scent.

  “When the shogun was stabbed, I was here, asleep. I can’t prove I was, but you can’t prove I wasn’t.” With an emphatic nod, Madam Chizuru clamped her prim mouth shut.

  Sano couldn’t break her without using more persuasive tactics, and he didn’t believe in torture even though it was legal and commonly employed. It often produced false confessions, and Madam Chizuru might be innocent. Even without a confession he could make a case for his theory that she had tried to assassinate the shogun on orders from Lord Ienobu. The shogun, who was in a drugged, vulnerable state, might believe it and put Lord Ienobu to death. Sano and his family could make a fresh start.

  But no matter how much he wanted that fresh start, Sano also wanted the truth about the crime, even if the truth was that Ienobu was innocent. It was a matter of honor as well as justice. Honor was the source of strength that had sustained him through the most difficult times in his life. If he ever gave up his honor, he was finished no matter how this investigation turned out.

  And there were still at least two other suspects.

  A guard came to the door and said, “Excuse me, but some man is trying to take that girl Tomoe out of the castle.”

  * * *

  YANAGISAWA STALKED THROUGH the gate of his secluded compound within Edo Castle. He ran past the barracks where his many retainers lived, then across the courtyard. A young woman skipped down the steps of the mansion to meet him. She was slender and graceful, with shiny black hair that reached her knees. It streamed out behind her like a cape. Her delicate face was stunningly beautiful. Her smile revealed perfect white teeth; her luminous black eyes sparkled. She opened her arms, and the long sleeves of her brilliant pink, flower-embroidered kimono spread like wings.

  “Papa,” she cried. “See my new kimono!”

  His daughter Kikuko was twenty-four years old, but she spun like a little girl. Yanagisawa shuddered with revulsion. Kikuko was feebleminded; she would never grow up. Yanagisawa was ashamed to have fathered a defective child, mortified because she looked like him. He sidestepped to get away from her as she fluttered around him and giggled.

  His wife hurried out of the mansion. She was as ugly as Kikuko was beautiful. Her face was flat and dour, with slits for eyes, a broad nose and lips, and thin, greasy, graying hair. Yanagisawa had married her only because she came from a rich, powerful clan and had a large dowry. He’d only bedded her to get an heir, and after Kikuko had shown early signs of retarded development, he’d avoided touching his wife.

  “Don’t bother your father. He’s busy.” His wife’s voice was soft and hoarse, like a rusty iron hinge creaking. She gently drew Kikuko away from Yanagisawa.

  He disliked having her and Kikuko in his house. He’d only moved them in because their villa had been damaged by the Mount Fuji eruption two years ago. Before that he hadn’t seen Kikuko in almost ten years. When he’d discovered how beautiful she’d grown up to be, he’d realized that she might not be completely useless. As he strode past her, she stared vacantly at him. Saliva pooled at the corners of her smile. His wife beheld him with naked, miserable yearning. She was in love with him, Yanagisawa knew but didn’t care. His wife and daughter meant nothing to him. All his love, all his passion, were for Yoshisato, his absent son.

  He hastened into the mansion, shouting, “Nakai-san!”

  His chief retainer appeared in the corridor that led past offices where his staff worked. Yanagisawa spoke in a low, furtive voice. “Are there any new leads?”

  Nakai was one of the few people Yanagisawa had told that Yoshisato was alive. The others were the troops searching for Yoshisato. “Not since that sighting in Kamakura last month that turned out to be false.”

  Yanagisawa fought down despair. “Beat every bush in Japan for more leads. I have to find Yoshisato before the shogun dies and Lord Ienobu—”

  A woman came hobbling toward him. Her brown kimono hung on her gaunt figure. It was Lady Someko, Yoshisato’s mother. She didn’t know that Yoshisato, her only child, was alive. Yanagisawa didn’t trust her to keep the secret. Once a beautiful woman, now devastated by Yoshisato’s death, she neglected her appearance. Her gray-streaked hair straggled around a face devoid of makeup. Her skin was waxy, her eyes set in dark hollows. As she neared Yanagisawa, he smelled her rank odor of urine, sweat, and dirty hair. She sucked in her cheeks and spat. A blob of saliva splattered on the
front of Yanagisawa’s robe. She grinned, baring scummy teeth, then hobbled away.

  Yanagisawa didn’t retaliate because she stirred a quagmire of pity and guilt in him. She’d hated him since the day twenty-three years ago when he’d stolen her from the husband she loved and made her his concubine. After she’d borne his son, he’d sent her away to an isolated villa. He’d ignored her and Yoshisato for seventeen years, then reentered her life and devised his scheme to put Yoshisato at the head of the regime. He and Lady Someko had become lovers again, even though she’d still hated him and her own desire for him. Now Lady Someko blamed him for the loss of Yoshisato.

  She wasn’t entirely mistaken. If he hadn’t passed Yoshisato off as the shogun’s son—if he hadn’t made Yoshisato a political pawn—then Yoshisato would be safe with her now. Lady Someko had done everything possible to punish Yanagisawa. She’d yelled curses and insults; she’d thrown things at him. While making savage love to him in a futile attempt to conceive another child, she’d clawed and hit him. Yanagisawa still had the scars. Now she was so broken that spitting at him was all she could manage. He felt as if he deserved the abuse for letting her think Yoshisato was dead, for letting her suffer. It was fair retribution for what Yoshisato must be suffering at the hands of Lord Ienobu’s men.

  If Yoshisato wasn’t already dead.

  Lady Someko only lived in Yanagisawa’s house because she had nowhere else to go. But it wasn’t only pity or guilt that made him keep her with him; nor was it love or desire. They’d never loved each other, and he liked his sexual partners young and beautiful. Lady Someko was a connection to his son.

  “Find Yoshisato,” he whispered urgently to Nakai. “Or you and I and everyone in this house are finished!”

  12

  SANO FOLLOWED THE guard to a room down the passage. Inside a samurai was arguing with another guard. Tomoe stood watching anxiously, her hands tucked inside the sleeves of her white robe.

  “She’s my cousin.” His back to Sano, the samurai held a wicker hat in his gloved hand and gestured with it at Tomoe. His proud posture made him seem taller than his average height. His copper-colored, padded silk cloak was damp from the snow. He wore two swords with elaborate gold inlays at his waist. “I’m the head of our clan. She’s under my protection.”

  “Who are you?” Sano asked.

  The samurai turned. He bore a disconcerting resemblance to the shogun. If one shaved about thirty-five years off the shogun’s age, and gave him a backbone, this man would be the result. Sano recognized him. “Honorable Lord Tokugawa Yoshimune.”

  “Greetings, Sano-san.” Lord Yoshimune’s speech was confident instead of hesitant like the shogun’s, his refined features firmly set instead of slack. He wasn’t handsome, but his eyes had a hard, clear look of intelligence that made him attractive.

  As they exchanged bows, Sano recalled that Yoshimune was a second cousin to the shogun and Lord Ienobu. He belonged to the Tokugawa branch clan that ruled Kii Province, a rich yet troubled agricultural region. He’d become the daimyo of it at the young age of twenty-one, after his father and elder brothers died. His clan had been in debt to the government for many years and still owed a fortune in tributes, and two years ago a tsunami had destroyed villages and killed many people in his province. Yoshimune had taken strong measures to help the survivors, trim expenses, and reduce the debt. With a growing reputation as an expert in finance and administration, he was spoken of as a new player on the political scene.

  “The guards outside told me you were investigating the attack,” Yoshimune said.

  “How did you get past them?” Sano asked.

  “I convinced them that letting me in would cause less trouble than trying to keep me out.” Yoshimune said with a brash, youthful grin, “I brought some of my army along. That usually opens doors.”

  “I didn’t know Tomoe was your cousin,” Sano said.

  “Third cousin. She’s been a concubine since last year.”

  Noble families, Tokugawa branch clans included, sent their girls to the palace on the off chance that the shogun would father a son on them. A son eligible to inherit the regime would make the sacrifice worthwhile.

  “Would you have treated Tomoe more kindly if you’d known she was my cousin?” Hostility tightened Yoshimune’s expression. “I came as soon as I heard the news about the shogun and you’d already broken down a door and terrified her. I’m taking her home with me.” He turned to Tomoe. She smiled gratefully at him. His manner turned gentle. “Put on some warm clothes. It’s cold outside.”

  Tomoe sidled to a cupboard and took out a cloak and sandals. Sano blocked the door. “She’s not leaving.”

  “You can’t seriously believe she stabbed the shogun?”

  “She doesn’t have an alibi, and she wouldn’t explain why she was taking a bath in the middle of the night.”

  Tomoe stood on tiptoe to whisper in Yoshimune’s ear. As he listened, his hand clasped her waist in a gesture more intimate than a man of his station would normally use toward a younger, distant, female relative. He conveyed her words to Sano. “She can’t take baths while the other concubines are around. They hold her head under the water. Plain girls like to pick on the pretty one.” He asked Tomoe, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” she murmured.

  “Well, you should have. I’d have taken you away sooner.”

  Pity for Tomoe didn’t change Sano’s mind. “She’s still a suspect. She stays here, under house arrest, until my investigation is finished.”

  “She can be under house arrest at my estate.”

  Sano began to see that this crime might not be as straightforward as he’d first thought. Nor did Yoshimune’s turning up to rescue his cousin seem innocent. “Why are you so anxious to take her home with you?”

  “To protect her.” Impatient, Yoshimune explained, “She grew up in my house. She’s like a sister to me. I don’t want her tormented by you or the girls or anyone else.”

  Sano saw Yoshimune’s hand on Tomoe’s waist and suspected that the two were a little more than like brother and sister. He began to see a motive for Tomoe to kill the shogun. “What place in line are you for the succession?”

  Startled by the change of topic, Yoshimune said, “Second, after Lord Ienobu. I’m a great-grandson of Tokugawa Ieyasu, who founded the regime.” His eyes narrowed. “But you must have known that. Why did you ask?”

  “Do you want to be shogun?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Yoshimune’s laugh was loud, boisterous, uninhibited. “My bad luck, I drew the short straw.”

  He wasn’t like the current shogun, who’d always seemed to consider his rank as much a fearful burden as a blessing. Yoshimune was as ambitious as his other cousin, Lord Ienobu. “Did you decide to change your luck?” Sano asked.

  Yoshimune was also as mentally adroit as Ienobu. “You’re asking if I arranged the attack?” He laughed again. “If I had, you’d be investigating a murder and not a stabbing. But why would I assassinate the shogun? That would make Ienobu the new shogun, not me.”

  “It would make you the new shogun if Lord Ienobu were blamed for murdering the old one and put to death.”

  “Oh, I see.” Vexation tinged Yoshimune’s enlightenment. “You think I cooked up a scheme to get rid of the shogun and Ienobu with one swipe. Well, I’m afraid it never occurred to me.” He grinned, pointing a gloved finger at Sano. “It’s a good thing you’re not in line for the succession. You would bump off everybody else who was ahead of you.”

  It had been a long, difficult night, and the mockery taxed Sano’s patience. “I don’t believe you never thought about how to put yourself at the head of the dictatorship.” Throughout history samurai had assassinated their relatives in order to gain power. “And you had someone to help you.” He pointed at Tomoe, whose bare toes peeked out from under the hem of her robe. “Her feet match the size of the bloody footprints leading from the shogun’s chamber. Where are her socks?”
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br />   “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t send my poor cousin to kill the shogun. I would never.” Yoshimune took the cloak from Tomoe and draped it over her shoulders. “Enough of this!” He thrust his hand against Sano’s chest and shoved.

  “Hey!” Taken by surprise, knocked off balance, Sano stumbled out the door. Disagreements at Edo Castle rarely turned physical. Sano had thought he could talk his way around Yoshimune, but the daimyo had yet to tame the short, hot temper of youth. Having gained so much power at such an early age, used to having his own way, he thought himself exempt from protocol. He pulled Tomoe out of the room and hurried her down the corridor.

  “Stop!” Sano yelled, running after them.

  “Try to make me.” The grin Yoshimune flashed over his shoulder said they both knew that if Sano laid a finger on him, his army would rush to his defense, drag Sano out of the castle, and beat him to a pulp. Sano needed to pick his battles, and this wasn’t a good one, even though he could have gladly fought Lord Yoshimune to the death.

  The rude young pup was yet another obstacle between Sano and the truth about the most important crime of his career.

  Following Yoshimune and Tomoe outside the palace, Sano blinked in the sudden brightness. The morning sky was white with opaque clouds. Snowflakes materialized out of it and swirled before Sano’s tired eyes as he halted on the veranda. Yoshimune paused to help Tomoe put on her shoes, then led her down the steps. Troops standing around the palace let the couple pass.

  “If you have any more questions for her, you can ask them at my estate,” Yoshimune called before the troops closed ranks and he and Tomoe disappeared from Sano’s view.

  Manabe chuckled at Sano’s frustration. Masahiro came out the door and said, “What was that about?”

  “That was one of our suspects escaping.” Sano explained about Tomoe and Yoshimune.

  “I talked to Dengoro, the shogun’s boy,” Masahiro said. “He said he thought he heard Tomoe’s voice right after the stabbing.”