Samurai's Wife (31 page)

Through the years, she'd grown aware of the court's diminished circumstances, its nonexistent influence over the world outside. Tokugawa troops guarded the palace. The bakufu doled out meager sums of money that kept the court alive but dependent. The imperial family had millions of devoted subjects, but no army. Jokyoden had eventually awakened to the fact that she had reached the pinnacle of her world, but there seemed no way to expand her domain. Would all her education, all her scheming, result in nothing more than command over the petty affairs of a few individuals?

Disappointment is the mother of creativity, Wu Tse-tien had counseled. Reassess your objectives. Circumvent the problem.

At last Jokyoden found a new direction for her life. It was daring, unwomanly, and violated both tradition and law. She loved it. But unfortunately, her new venture coincided with another circumstance: Left Minister Konoe's appearance as her suitor.

Never allow yourself to fall under the power of a man! Wu Tse-tien warned. Men are a woman's downfall!

But the left minister had awakened needs that Jokyoden had suppressed in pursuit of her dreams. He made her realize how much she craved affection; his lovemaking taught her that sex had other benefits besides procreation. She'd fallen in love with him. Carried away by romance, she had confided in him, and he had betrayed her.

"You were right," Jokyoden said now to Wu Tse-tien. "I never should have trusted the left minister."

Never waste time on regretting the past, Wu Tse-tien said sternly. Her eyes, the ornaments in her hair, and the dragons on her robe glittered in the flame that surrounded her. Concentrate on the present and the future. Hasn't the death of the left minister solved your problem?

Once Jokyoden had believed that Konoe's murder had saved her from exposure, scandal, and punishment while protecting her great venture. Then Sano had revived the danger. "I thought Konoe had died before he could use the power he held over me, but he was involved in things I never guessed. The sosakan-sama survived the attack, and his investigation continues. I didn't anticipate the direction it would take, or the stakes involved." She added regretfully, "I was a fool to help Lady Reiko, but I could not have guessed what would come of taking her to the left minister's secret house."

That was a grave mistake, said Wu Tse-tien. Now there is only one way to protect yourself and your son. You must cease your activities so that the shogun's detective will not discover them. Until he is gone from Miyako, you must have patience.

Wu Tse-tien had shown Jokyoden the value of patience. The Chinese empress had waited forty-one years to found her new dynasty, until Emperor Kao-tsung and her strongest opponents were dead. She'd accumulated power over a lifetime, gradually replacing the old bureaucracy with men loyal to her. Yet Jokyoden couldn't accept Wu Tse-tien's advice.

"I can't stop now," she said. "This is a critical time. I've invested all my effort and capital and hope in this venture. Unless I move forward, I risk utter failure."

Bitterness hardened Wu Tse-tien's expression, because she had suffered defeat in the end. At eighty-three, she'd been forced to abdicate by one of her sons, who dissolved her regime and reestablished the old Tang dynasty. This was the one example from her mentor's life that Jokyoden must not emulate.

"I shall continue as I began," decided Jokyoden. Then she asked humbly, "May I have your blessing?"

My blessing, yes: my approval, no, Wu Tse-tien said peevishly. Even from the grave she liked to be in control.

"May I ask what the future holds for me?"

The Chinese empress spread her hands in a mocking gesture of resignation. Yours is a perilous path, which you have chosen to walk without my guidance. The future is uncertain; good and evil are equally possible. I wish you luck, because you are on your own now. Good-bye until we meet again in the afterlife.

"Wait," Jokyoden cried. But Wu Tse-tien's image vanished; the candle had burned out. Jokyoden sadly closed the butsudan. The world had changed since Wu Tse-tien's day. Jokyoden must go where Wu Tse-tien couldn't guide her. It was her destiny.

She prayed that her destiny would not lead to execution for murder and treason.

The news came just as Chamberlain Yanagisawa was preparing to attend Yoriki Hoshina's execution.

Hearing a knock at the door of his private quarters at Nijo Castle, Yanagisawa called, "Come in."

The guard captain entered, bowing. "Excuse me, Honorable Chamberlain, but there's a problem that I must bring to your attention. Yoriki Hoshina is gone."

A wave of shock hit Yanagisawa; his heart began to hammer. "What do you mean, gone? Hoshina was locked up at police headquarters. He's supposed to die this morning."

"The sosakan-sama had Hoshina moved last night," the guard captain said. "Two doshin took him to a secret hiding place. They were ordered to guard him, but they're both subordinates and friends of his, and he persuaded them to let him go."

"Why hasn't he been caught?"

"There are troops out looking for him now, but he made the doshin promise to wait until sunrise before reporting his escape. So he's got a head start on us."

Yanagisawa turned away, trying to sort out his emotions. Hoshina's flight enraged him. With his knowledge of Yanagisawa's sabotage against an investigation ordered by the shogun, Hoshina alive and free was a lethal danger. Yet even in the throes of anger and fear, Yanagisawa felt relief. If Hoshina got away, he need not die. Perhaps they would meet again someday. But Yanagisawa wanted Hoshina back now, even if only to see him one last time on the execution ground.

Turning on the guard captain, Yanagisawa said, "I want those doshin executed for dereliction of duty!"

"They're already dead," said the captain. "They just walked into the shoshidai's office, confessed that they'd set Hoshina free, then committed seppuku."

"I want troops combing the city, nonstop, until Hoshina is found," Yanagisawa said.

"Yes, Honorable Chamberlain."

After the captain left, Yanagisawa leaned against the wall, shaken. Then he forced himself to forget Hoshina. He still had to solve the murder case and triumph over Sano. They'd arranged to meet here at the hour of the rooster to share their findings, and until then, he would let the shoshidai's troops continue the search for the outlaws while he followed the leads he'd kept to himself when he and Sano had agreed to work together.

Yanagisawa hastily shed his black ceremonial robes and donned the faded indigo cotton kimono, blue trousers, and straw sandals he wore for martial arts practice. The clothes were right, but he looked too clean. Going outside to the garden, he rubbed dirt on his garments. And he needed something to conceal his face. Then he noticed a gardener staring at him in puzzlement. The gardener wore a frayed wicker hat, bleached by the sun.

"Give me your hat," Yanagisawa ordered.

The gardener obeyed. Yanagisawa put on the hat, went back into his room, fastened his swords at his waist, and stood in front of the mirror. He gave his reflection a sardonic smile. With his battered face and raffish costume, he looked like a disreputable ronin.

"Perfect," he murmured.

He slipped out the back gate of Nijo Castle. His pulse quickened with the same thrill he'd experienced during the raid on Lord Ibe's house yesterday, which had whetted his appetite for detective work.

Once out in the street, however, Yanagisawa began to doubt the wisdom of his venture. He felt small and defenseless without his entourage. Passing samurai gave him disdainful glances. Commoners made way for him, but no one offered the lavish displays of respect usually accorded him.

"Clear the road! Clear the road!"

The tramp of hooves and marching feet accompanied the shouted orders. Pedestrians scurried to the roadside. Yanagisawa looked down Marutamachi Avenue and saw a procession coming toward him. Soldiers and mounted officials escorted Shoshidai Matsudaira, who rode a black steed.

"Get out of the way! What's the matter, are you deaf?"

A soldier pushed Yanagisawa aside. As the procession passed, angry consternation filled him. That the troops of a subordinate should treat him so rudely! And the shoshidai hadn't even noticed him. His disguise negated his rank and power. Chastened, he hurried on his way, hoping he wouldn't encounter anyone else he knew.

When he reached the Imperial Palace, he walked east on Imadegawa Avenue to a rear gate used by tradesmen. At a guardhouse, a sentry received deliveries. This, according to Hoshina, was where Lady Jokyoden's mysterious visitor brought messages every day at this time. Not that Yanagisawa trusted Hoshina's word. Not that he believed he would actually see the elusive young man known only as Hiro, who probably had nothing to do with the murders or conspiracy even if he existed. But the visitor represented one of two clues that Yanagisawa had and Sano didn't.

Yanagisawa strolled, mingling with other pedestrians while covertly watching the gate. Porters delivered loads of charcoal and produce. Across the street from the palace, Yanagisawa went to a tiny restaurant that offered a good view. He sat on the raised wooden floor, as far from the other customers as possible; they were all filthy laborers who might have fleas. A toothless old woman hobbled over to wait on him.

"A bowl of noodles and some tea," Yanagisawa said without taking his gaze off the palace gate.

More porters brought more goods to the imperial compound. Soon Yanagisawa's meal came. The tea tasted like weeds in stagnant water; the noodles were mushy. How could anyone cat such slop? Yanagisawa pretended to sip his tea while time dragged, other diners came and went, and more provisions arrived at the palace. The steam and food odors from the restaurant kitchen made him hot and queasy. Then, just when he was ready to give up hope, a lone figure approached the gate.

It was a dapper young man dressed in a brown-and-black checked kimono, his hair in a topknot. As Hoshina had said, he looked to be a member of the lower merchant class. He carried a cylindrical red scroll case. Yanagisawa leaned forward for a better look. The man stopped at the guardhouse and spoke to the sentry. Yanagisawa, who had excellent vision and had mastered the art of lipreading, easily discerned the man's words: I have a message for the Honorable Lady Jokyoden.

The gate opened, and a noblewoman of elegant, dignified appearance came out. She took the scroll case, bowed, and went back inside the palace. The gate closed.

Yanagisawa could hardly contain his elation. Hoshina hadn't lied to him about this, at least. He concentrated on the messenger, who leaned against the palace wall, awaiting Jokyoden's reply. Who was he? A secret lover? Maybe Jokyoden had killed Left Minister Konoe because he'd discovered the affair and intended to tell her husband. The man had an intelligent expression, but his face was homely, with protruding teeth. Yanagisawa hoped that the mysterious visits had nothing to do with love and everything to do with the conspiracy to overthrow the Tokugawa regime.

After a short while, the gate opened again. The woman handed the scroll case back to the messenger, who bowed his thanks. Yanagisawa resisted the impulse to rush across the street, arrest the man, and confiscate the message. If it turned out to have nothing to do with the murder case, he would look a worse fool than he did already.

The messenger trotted down the street. Yanagisawa rose to follow, but the toothless crone who'd served his meal hurried over to him. "You owe five zeni!" she screeched, blocking his way.

Yanagisawa stared blankly at her. He never carried money; his staff always paid his expenses. Now the crone's shrieks were attracting an audience. He saw the back of Lady Jokyoden's messenger rapidly moving away. Yanagisawa drew his sword and waved it at the woman. "I'm not paying for that garbage. Get out of my way!"

The woman obeyed, but shouted curses at him as he ran down Imadegawa Avenue. His quarry ducked into a side street. Dodging a peddler laden with baskets, Yanagisawa followed. The messenger entered a maze of alleys where hanging laundry bridged the narrow gap between balconies. His route zigzagged, avoiding main streets. He constantly looked sideways and backward. Was he carrying orders from Jokyoden to the outlaws? Would he lead the way to their hiding place?

As he threaded between food stalls around a shrine, chasing the messenger, Yanagisawa's blood raced with an intoxicating energy. Anonymous, unhampered by a huge entourage or formal garb, he felt as swift and invisible as the wind. Anyone else would have lost the messenger by now, but Yanagisawa had no trouble keeping up. With the same intuition that helped him predict other men's moves in the game of politics, he anticipated the abrupt turns that had foiled the palace guards who had tried to follow the messenger. He'd always had a good sense of direction; he could picture the route superimposed on a map of Miyako. They were in the main commercial district. Wherever he ended up, he could guide troops there to arrest the rebels. In this secret pursuit, he unexpectedly achieved the heightened awareness sought by devotees of Bushido. The samurai spirit in him expanded, and the search for clues seemed more gratifying than sabotaging a rival.

The messenger ducked into a passage barely wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Vertical signs protruded from shops. Many bore crests featuring the scales used for weighing gold: This was a district of bankers. Merchants strolled, accompanied by samurai bodyguards and clerks carrying ledgers and cash boxes. Suddenly the messenger vanished into a shop. Puzzled, Yanagisawa halted. This didn't look like a place where outlaws would gather, or hide illegal weapons. Jokyoden's messenger must have spotted him and run through the shop to evade him.

Yanagisawa hurried forward. The shop's sign read "Daikoku Bank"-named after the god of fortune. Yanagisawa peered into the narrow storefront. He heard the jingle of coins, rapid clicks, and loud conversation as clerks counted money, totaled sums on the beads of their soroban, and negotiated with customers. The clerks wore the same brown-and-black uniform that Yanagisawa had followed from the Imperial Palace. With relief he spied his quarry showing the scroll case to the elderly proprietor, who sat on a platform, weighing gold ingots on a balance. Proprietor and messenger walked through a doorway leading to the back room, with the scroll. Yanagisawa sped around the block and down the alley behind the shop. He had to find out what the scroll said and what the bank had to do with Lady Jokyoden.