The Samurai's Wife Page 8

  “My husband thought I would enjoy seeing the old capital,” Reiko said.

  “Indeed.” Jokyden sounded skeptical. “And what is your impression of Miyako?”

  “I haven’t seen much yet, but it’s very different from Edo,” Reiko said, glad that Jokyden hadn’t challenged her explanation. “I’m particularly fascinated by the Imperial Palace.”

  A wry smile touched Jokyden’s lips. “You would find it less fascinating if you had spent your entire life here.”

  “You’ve never been outside?” Reiko said.

  “On four occasions during my lifetime, when the court was evacuated from the palace because of fires. But I’ve not left the compound in sixteen years.”

  Reiko believed that she herself would go mad under such circumstances. “Do you mind very much?”

  Her expression serene, Jokyden shrugged. “Although I sometimes crave different scenery and a wider acquaintance, there’s no lack of stimulation here. The palace is the world in miniature, with all the excitement of human drama.”

  “And crime,” Reiko said, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation to the subject of her interest.

  “Then you know something about the murder that your husband is investigating?” Jokyden asked coolly.

  Aware of a sudden tension, Reiko said, “All I know is that the imperial left minister was killed by a spirit cry, in the Pond Garden. My husband prefers that I have nothing to do with his business here, but I can’t help being curious. Did you know the left minister?”

  “Yes, of course.” Abruptly, Jokyden set down her tea bowl and rose. “Shall we walk in the park?”

  They descended the steps from the veranda. Jokyden was taller than Reiko, her stride quick yet fluid. While they strolled together along a path that wound between trees, Reiko conjectured that Jokyden had disrupted their conversation because she needed time to think about what Reiko’s interest in the murder meant and how to respond. Surely, Jokyden was wondering if everything she said would be reported to Sano.

  Feigning chagrin, Reiko said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the murder.” She must convince Jokyden that she wouldn’t tell Sano about their conversation. “My husband would be very angry if he found out I distressed you by prying into matters that are none of my business.”

  Lady Jokyden walked in silence, contemplating a group of courtiers who had gathered for a picnic on the miniature mountain. “There’s no need for apology,” she said at last. Perhaps she’d decided there was no harm in discussing the murder with Reiko, because she explained, “I’ve suffered no personal loss. I frequently saw Left Minister Konoe when he was advising my son, and I often spoke with him about the administration of the palace, but our relationship was not close.”

  Reiko could detect no falseness in Jokyden’s neutral tone or manner, yet she understood that the sudden rapport between the two of them didn’t preclude dishonesty. Just as Reiko was deceiving Jokyden, so might Jokyden be deceiving her.

  “What kind of person was the left minister?” In case her interest seemed too avid, Reiko said, “I never knew anyone who was murdered. I’m interested to learn why someone could hate a man enough to kill him.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Jokyden replied, “He was more respected than liked. Underneath his handsome looks and charm, he had a selfish, ambitious spirit and a great need for power over other people. He couldn’t tolerate anyone defying him, or admit he was wrong.”

  Those qualities could have easily provoked violence. “How did you get along with him?” Reiko asked.

  “We had no quarrels.” As they passed under a vine-covered arbor, the sudden dimness obscured Jokyden’s face. “I didn’t always approve of the way he managed the palace finances or handled my son, but it wasn’t my place to question his judgment. It was my duty to obey his orders.”

  Yet Reiko observed that Jokyden’s description of Konoe might very well fit Jokyden herself. Had they clashed over control of the court? If so, Konoe would have won by grace of his rank and sex. Had Jokyden then taken revenge by killing him?

  “Didn’t the left minister mind having a woman in a position of influence?” Reiko asked.

  “He tolerated the situation,” Jokyden said, “because he knew it was temporary. When the emperor is mature enough to rule the court himself, my efforts will no longer be necessary.”

  Reiko recalled Jokyden presiding over the meeting of the Imperial High Council. Maybe Konoe had viewed her as a threat to his own domination of the court. Had she sought to protect her position for however short a time that remained? How much had she gained by Konoe’s death?

  They emerged from the arbor into the open space around a pond. Jokyden bent her shrewd gaze upon Reiko, who felt exposed and transparent in the hot sunlight. Surely, Jokyden could guess what bearing her relationship with Konoe might have upon the murder case.

  “Imperial politics can be brutal even though times have changed and courtiers fight over rank and privileges instead of control of the nation,” Jokyden said firmly. “Left Minister Konoe had numerous enemies, including certain high-ranking nobles.”

  But they, along with almost everyone else in the court, had alibis for the night of Konoe’s murder, according to Yoriki Hoshina’s report, which Reiko had read yesterday evening. “Who do you think killed him?” Reiko asked.

  “It’s hard to envision any of one’s associates as a murderer.”

  Reiko believed that Jokyden must have some ideas about potential culprits—if she hadn’t killed Konoe herself. As if in idle thought, Reiko said, “The killer must be an expert martial artist, to have mastered the power of kiai.”

  “Indeed he must,” Jokyden said, ignoring Reiko’s unspoken invitation to speculate.

  “You said ‘he,’” Reiko observed. “You believe the killer was a man.”

  “Only because men have the freedom to move about at will,” said Jokyden, “whereas the imperial women are confined under strict supervision.”

  Although Reiko saw the logic of this reasoning, she also realized that it benefited Jokyden, as well as Lady Asagao, by eliminating them as suspects. And the lack of freedom also applied to the emperor, who would be constantly surrounded by attendants and seldom left the palace. That left the emperor’s cousin as the killer. Of course Jokyden would prefer to see Prince Momozono convicted of murder than herself, her son, or his consort.

  “Who might have been in the Pond Garden with the left minister that night?” Reiko said, hoping that her interest would pass for natural curiosity.

  “Left Minister Konoe had ordered everyone to stay away from the garden. There are very few people who dared disobey him and risk punishment.”

  Reiko noted Jokyden’s repeated evasion of questions. She realized that Konoe’s orders had informed all the suspects that he would be alone in the garden. Had one of them taken advantage of the circumstances? She voiced another possibility: “Perhaps the killer had arranged to meet the left minister for a private rendezvous.”

  “As far as I know, Left Minister Konoe never told anyone why he wanted the garden to himself,” Jokyden said, gazing at the circular green lotus leaves that covered the pond. She added, “I didn’t see him at all that night. The weather was very hot; I couldn’t sleep. So I took a walk around the summer pavilion, which is north of the Pond Garden. I was sitting outside, watching the moon, when I heard the scream.”

  “Did you see anyone else around?” Though aware that these questions might give away her ploy, Reiko needed the answers.

  “No. The area around the pavilion was deserted. And I didn’t take any attendants with me or tell them I was going out because I desired solitude.”

  This story explained why Jokyden hadn’t been in her chambers and had no witness to give her an alibi. Still, Reiko found herself pleased that Jokyden had no apparent motive for the murder. Meeting Jokyden, she realized with concern, had altered her hopes for the investigation.

  She’d come to the palace bent upon pursuin
g a killer, wanting it to be one of the suspects she interviewed. Now she didn’t want Jokyden to be guilty of murder because she felt a sense of kinship with her. But she couldn’t let her feelings toward a suspect compromise her judgment.

  Lady Jokyden’s cool voice penetrated her thoughts: “Such a thorough discussion of murder is quite unusual during a social call. Perhaps I’m not the only wife who performs her husband’s duties. And perhaps the ssakan-sama need not bother interviewing me, because you’ve obtained from me the answers that I presume he would ask of me himself.”

  Alarmed, Reiko was quick to protest. “Oh, but I would never even try to do a man’s work.” Her earnestness sounded unconvincing even to her own ears. “Whatever information my husband needs, he’ll ask for himself. I don’t know anything about detection. I just wanted the pleasure of meeting you.”

  Jokyden watched Reiko’s discomfiture with the amused air of an older sister observing the antics of a clumsy younger sister. “Dare I suggest that you are still hiding behind the false pretenses under which you came here, Honorable Lady Sano?” She laughed, a low, melodic sound. “But perhaps you’re not the only one whose motives are ambiguous.”

  Too flustered to think of a reply, Reiko wondered who’d been manipulating whom. Maybe Jokyden had sinister reasons for welcoming Reiko and speaking so freely. Had Jokyden intended for their conversation to be communicated to Sano, so she could plant in his mind the idea that she was innocent? Maybe she meant to prejudice him in her favor by befriending his wife.

  Certainly Jokyden possessed a strong will, the foundation for the power of kiai. That she must have known all along that she would be investigated by Sano cast doubt upon everything she’d said.

  The crunch of footsteps on the gravel path broke the silence between Reiko and Jokyden. A maid came up to them, bowed, and said to Jokyden, “Please excuse me, but His Highness the Abdicated Emperor wishes you to come to him.”

  Grateful for the chance to escape, Reiko said quickly, “I mustn’t impose on your hospitality or interrupt your business any longer. I’ll go and pay my respects to His Majesty’s honorable consort now.”

  A ripple of mirth crossed Jokyden’s face, as if she knew what Reiko was thinking. After they exchanged bows, Jokyden said, “Thank you for a most interesting chat. Will you please visit me again before you leave Miyako? I should welcome the chance to improve our acquaintance.”

  “So would I. Yes, I’ll come back.”

  While glad of an opportunity to learn more about Lady Jokyden’s possible role in the murder, Reiko glimpsed new dangers ahead. If Jokyden was the killer, might she perceive Reiko as an enemy to destroy?

  7

  A series of hoots and yelps sounded outside the Purple Dragon Hall, where Sano, Yoriki Hoshina, and Right Minister Ichijo waited with Emperor Tomohito.

  “Momo-chan!” the emperor called from his throne. “Come in here.”

  The side door opened. A small, skinny young man, perhaps a few years older than Tomohito, entered. He approached the emperor with a jerky stride. The strange noises issued from his mouth; his head tossed like a horse’s. As he knelt near the throne, courtiers looked away from him; their mouths tightened with the disgust usually accorded cripples. Sano stared, unable to hide his shock.

  “My cousin, Prince Momozono,” the emperor announced.

  Right Minister Ichijo whispered to Sano: “The prince is a hopeless idiot who can’t control himself.”

  But Momozono was clearly trying. His jaws clenched in an effort to silence the sounds; his mournful eyes rolled. Sweat beaded his thin, pallid face. When he bowed to the emperor, his left arm suddenly shot up into the air. He forced it down with his right hand.

  Tomohito said, “Momo-chan, this is ssakan Sano,” with an impudent glance at Ichijo and the attendants, as though he enjoyed subjecting them to his cousin’s loathsome presence; he didn’t seem to share their disgust. “He wants to find out who killed Left Minister Konoe.”

  “I b-beg to be of assistance,” said Prince Momozono. He let out more hoots, then cried, “A thousand apologies!”

  On the way to the palace, when Sano had asked Hoshina about the prince, Hoshina had said, “Momozono is the emperor’s pet.” However, the yoriki’s description of the prince had failed to prepare Sano for the appalling spectacle of him.

  “The two of you discovered Left Minister Konoe’s body together?” Sano addressed the emperor, too startled to think of communicating with his cousin.

  Right Minister Ichijo said, “Really, Your Majesty, I don’t think it’s necessary for Prince Momozono to be present.” Distaste curdled his polite tone. “You can answer the ssakan-sama’s questions by yourself.”

  “Momo-chan can stay if he wants,” the emperor said. “Turning to his cousin, he said, “Do you?”

  “Yes, p-please!” Prince Momozono’s hands flapped.

  Sano observed the devotion in his eyes and the entreaty in his voice: The “pet” adored its master. Pity alleviated Sano’s initial repugnance. Sano also perceived shame in Momozono’s blinking eyes: He had the wits to know how repulsive he was.

  Folding his arms, Tomohito glared down at his subjects. “If any of you don’t like it, you can leave.”

  No one did. In a low aside, Ichijo said to Sano, “Please pardon the inconvenience.”

  “That’s quite all right.” Sano understood the embarrassment that having an idiot in their midst must cause the Imperial Court, even while he regretted their cruel attitude toward Momozono. He said to the boys, “Tell me how you happened to find Left Minister Konoe’s body.”

  While Momozono hooted and tossed his head, Tomohito said, “We heard a scream in the garden, so we went to see what it was. We saw the left minister lying by the cottage.”

  “Did you see anyone else there?” Sano asked.

  “Everyone c-came right after us,” Momozono said.

  “Not then, but when you first arrived,” Sano said, noting the boy’s surprisingly clear, cultured speech. Upon closer examination, Sano saw that Momozono had a well-proportioned body; the spasms gave the false impression of physical deformity. His fine features might have been handsome, if not for the strain of trying to control himself. “Was there anyone in the garden already?”

  “I don’t think so,” Tomohito said. “But it was dark, and we hardly had time to look around.”

  “Did you hear anything?” Sano asked.

  “People r-running and shouting,” Prince Momozono said. His mouth twitched violently.

  The prince wasn’t an idiot after all, Sano realized. Momozono’s attempts to direct the conversation away from the time he and Tomohito had spent in the garden before the others arrived suggested that he understood the implications of their finding Left Minister Konoe. For the moment, Sano allowed the diversion. “So the whole court gathered in the garden. Was your mother there, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes,” Tomohito said impatiently.

  “And your consort?”

  “As Momo-chan said, everyone came.”

  Sano hoped that Reiko would learn more about Lady Jokyden’s and Lady Asagao’s movements that night. Perhaps one of the women had murdered Konoe, then joined the crowd in the garden. Yet the same possibility applied to Tomohito and Momozono, with stronger justification. They’d been first to reach Konoe; therefore, they must not have been far away when he died. They could have pretended to discover the body together, after one of them had killed Konoe.

  “Where were you before you went to the garden?” Sano said.

  “In the study hall,” Emperor Tomohito said.

  Sano watched his hands begin to fidget. “Doing what?”

  “Playing darts,” Tomohito said, picking at his fingernails.

  “At midnight? Why so late?”

  Though Tomohito unflinchingly held Sano’s gaze, his fingers picked faster. “I just felt like it.”

  “Your cousin played, too?” Sano said in disbelief. He imagined Prince Momozono wildly flinging missiles in all dire
ctions. He caught himself committing the same error of judgment as the court by presuming that Momozono’s affliction rendered him a complete mental and physical cripple. Yet surely Momozono lacked the self-control necessary to master the power of kiai. Of the two boys, Tomohito was far and away the better suspect.

  “Yes. Well, I mean, Momo-chan watched me play. I scored three perfect shots.”

  “Was anyone else with you?”

  “No. But we were there.” Tomohito’s belligerent tone dared Sano to doubt him. “Both of us. Together.”

  “I see.” Sano appraised Tomohito’s nervousness and observed that Momozono had remained perfectly quiet during the exchange. It was obvious that they were lying. Sano considered pressuring them into telling the truth, but he saw the danger of doing so.

  Understanding Japan’s political climate, he could predict what would happen if he discovered evidence against Emperor Tomohito and charged him with murder. Tomohito would deny the allegation and accuse Sano of framing him. The Imperial Court would support his claim, while the bakufu sided with Sano, causing a rift between the nation’s military and spiritual institutions. Emperor Tomohito would denounce the shogun’s regime, withdrawing the divine sanction that only he had the power to confer. With the legitimacy of the government destroyed, upheaval would result. Discontented citizens would rebel. The daimyo, eager to take advantage of the situation, would mount a war to overthrow the government.

  Whether they succeeded in establishing a new regime, or the Tokugawa managed to maintain control, Sano would be blamed for bringing disaster upon Japan.

  “I’m bored with all these questions,” Tomohito said peevishly, gnawing at his fingernails while Prince Momozono yelped and jerked. “Are you finished yet?”

  Nor could Sano avoid trouble by focusing his efforts on Prince Momozono. While Sano doubted that the Imperial Court or the bakufu would care what happened to Momozono, he shared Tomohito’s alibi; breaking it would cast aspersion upon the emperor. Sano’s honor depended upon solving this case, but he dreaded the prospect of arresting Tomohito. He fervently wished the emperor’s mother or consort would turn out to be the killer.