The Perfumed Sleeve (10 page)

Sano planned to look for the gate, which he didn’t doubt he would find. He said, “If the guards don’t know about the gate, then how do you?”

“I grew up in Edo Castle. When I was a boy, I explored every part of it. I amused myself by sneaking into places where I didn’t belong.” Daiemon smiled at his youthful daring. “I’ve been inside most of the estates, including the one you live in now. By the way, you’d better seal up that trapdoor outside the kitchen that leads to the cellar, if you haven’t already.” He laughed at Sano’s disconcerted expression, adding, “I must know Edo Castle better than anyone else does.”

His knowledge, and talent for stealth, might have come in handy years later. Sano imagined Daiemon sneaking back to the private quarters while Tamura and the guards searched for him, beating Makino to death, then fleeing out his secret escape hatch.

“There’s evidence that someone broke into Makino’s quarters,” Sano said. If Daiemon had returned to kill Makino, he couldn’t have entered through a door because the guards would have seen him.

“It wasn’t me,” Daiemon said with brazen nonchalance. “And I didn’t kill Makino. He was alive when I left his estate.”

“Can anyone vouch for your innocence?” Sano said.

“No, but you have my word. And my word carries a lot of weight these days.”

Daiemon’s smug smile alluded to his relationship with the shogun. Sano knew he was no meek sexual slave to his lord but a man who used his body and charm as weapons to get what he wanted.

“To accuse my nephew of murder would be a big mistake,” Lord Matsudaira said, clearly hinting that the shogun would protect Daiemon and punish Sano for maligning his lover.

“I may have no choice,” Sano said.

Honor required him to pursue the investigation no matter what. He’d reached a fork in the path of his inquiries. One branch led to Daiemon and Lord Matsudaira, and a perilous clash with them should his findings implicate them in Makino’s murder. The other branch pointed the way to a new suspect who could be just as dangerous.

Daiemon grinned. “You’ve got a choice between sticking your neck in front of the executioner’s blade or walking into fire,
Sōsakan-sama.
Because you and I both know there’s someone besides me who bears investigation. Someone who’d have done anything to keep an ally from defecting—or to punish a traitor.”

“Betrayal by Makino would give Chamberlain Yanagisawa a motive for murder,” Sano said.

“It would have put him at a serious disadvantage against the Matsudaira clan,” said Hirata.

They were walking through the army camp in the Tokugawa enclave, away from Lord Matsudaira’s estate. Otani dogged their heels, while Ibe trailed behind them. Dark gray clouds still blanketed the sky, threatening more rain. Mutters and laughter emanated from soldiers huddled around fires and in tents.

“Makino’s defection might have cost the chamberlain control of the regime,” Otani hastened to add, removing aspersion from his master by shoveling it upon the enemy.

“And here I thought that for once Yanagisawa was above suspicion,” Hirata said.

“My master wasn’t responsible for the murder,” Ibe said, but he spoke with much less conviction than before.

Glancing backward, Sano noted how shriveled and sick Ibe looked. He must be dreading how his master would react to Daiemon’s insinuations. Yet Sano understood that although things looked bad for Chamberlain Yanagisawa, his role in the murder was debatable.

“The question of Yanagisawa’s guilt or innocence hinges on two issues,” Sano said. “The first is whether Senior Elder Makino really was going to defect. The second is whether Yanagisawa knew.”

“If he didn’t know—or if Daiemon lied—then he had no reason to assassinate Makino.” Hope brightened Ibe’s voice. “As far as he knew, Makino was still his ally.”

“Even if Daiemon told the truth about the defection, he claims it was a secret,” recalled Hirata. “According to him, Yanagisawa couldn’t have known. Yet he wants us to believe that Yanagisawa killed Makino for betraying him.”

“Daiemon was telling us that although only he, his uncle, and Makino were supposed to be in on the secret, no secrets are safe from Yanagisawa,” said Otani. “But let’s not waste time debating the issue. There’s one way to settle it: Accuse Yanagisawa publicly and hear what he has to say for himself.” Eagerness to ruin the chamberlain blazed in Otani’s eyes.

“Not yet,” Sano said firmly. “Before I confront Yanagisawa, the theory that Makino planned to defect needs further investigation. Daiemon can’t be trusted, because he’s still a suspect himself. Neither can Lord Matsudaira, because he and his nephew are on the same side. I’ll not have them use me as a cannon to shoot down their rival who may be innocent.”

Sano reflected that “innocent” was an unapt term to describe Yanagisawa, who was guilty of so much. Still, it would be dishonorable to punish him for a crime he might not have committed. And if Sano was going to take on the powerful Yanagisawa, and break their truce that had protected him for three years, he should prepare himself for a fight to the death.

“I want to be armed with evidence against Yanagisawa before I walk into fire,” Sano said.

10

A separate compound within Edo Castle enclosed Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s estate. Guards in watchtowers, and high stone walls topped by sharp spikes, kept out trespassers. The mansion was a labyrinth of interconnected wings surrounded by retainers’ barracks. Deep within its protected center was the private domain of the chamberlain. In his office, where a painted map of Japan covered an entire wall, Yanagisawa sat at his desk on a raised platform. Below the platform knelt two men. One was Kato Kinhide—the shogun’s adviser on national finance, a member of the Council of Elders, and Yanagisawa’s principal crony. The other man was Yanagisawa’s chief retainer, Mori Eigoro.

“What’s the report on my war treasury?” Yanagisawa said.

Kato unfurled a scroll on the desk. He had a broad, bland face, with eyes and a mouth like slits in a worn leather mask. “Here is the balance as of today.” He pointed at characters inked on the scroll. “And here are the tributes we expect to receive from our allies.”

Chin in hand, Yanagisawa frowned at the sums. Lord Matsudaira surely had much more in his war treasury. Yanagisawa battled his doubts about the wisdom of challenging Lord Matsudaira. Yet it was too late for misgivings. And determination had won many a battle against overwhelming odds.

“How many troops do we have?” Yanagisawa asked.

“Five thousand currently in Edo,” said Mori. His lithe, fit physique contrasted with his pitted complexion, puffy eyes, and air of dissipation. “Two thousand more are on their way from the provinces.”

But Lord Matsudaira had the entire Tokugawa army. Yanagisawa inhaled on his silver tobacco pipe, trying to calm his nerves. The air in the room was already hazy and acrid with smoke. Perhaps his downfall had begun.

“How goes our campaign to purge our opponents from the
bakufu
?” Yanagisawa said.

Kato presented another scroll that bore a list of detractors. He pointed to three names. “These men are gone,” he said. “I convinced them to accept posts in the far north. They decided not to gamble that joining Lord Matsudaira would protect their families from you.” Kato’s finger touched a name near the top of the list. “After I tell him I’ve discovered he’s been stealing and selling rice from the Tokugawa estates, he’ll never lift a hand against you.”

Satisfaction abated Yanagisawa’s fears. “Very good,” he said. “Where do we stand on allies?”

Mori opened a third scroll. Pointing to four names at the bottom of a list, he said, “Yesterday these men swore allegiance to you.”

“It’s a pity they don’t have more troops or wealth,” said Kato.

“Most of the men who do chose sides a long time ago,” Yanagisawa said. “Not many of them are still available. Though there’s one notable exception.”

“Sano Ichirō?” said Kato.

Yanagisawa nodded.

“But Sano has resisted all our attempts to win him over,” Mori said. “I think he’s a lost cause.”

Yanagisawa said, “We’ll see about that.” He and Kato and Mori smoked their pipes while they contemplated the scroll. “There’s one person we can cross off the list.” Yanagisawa picked up a writing brush from his desk, dipped it in ink, and drew a line through Senior Elder Makino’s name.

“How fortunate for us that he died at this particular time,” Kato said.

“Indeed,” Mori said. “After he decided to join Lord Matsudaira’s faction, he was a mortal danger to us.”

“You’ve never told me how you found out he planned to defect,” Kato said to Yanagisawa.

“Makino started hinting that he wanted me to give him more money and authority in exchange for his support,” Yanagisawa said. “I ignored his hints because he already had as much as he should, but I knew he would try to satisfy his greed elsewhere.”

“So we had him watched,” Mori said. “Our spies saw him talking with Lord Matsudaira’s nephew Daiemon several times.”

“Lately Makino had seemed afraid that our side would lose,” Yanagisawa said. “When we added up his greed, his fear, and his relations with the enemy, we concluded that he would soon turn traitor.”

Admiration for Yanagisawa’s perspicacity glinted in Kato’s eyes. “Makino could have done us much harm by spying for Lord Matsudaira while pretending he was still loyal to us. It’s a good thing you caught on to him.”

“We can be thankful that someone eliminated him and saved us the trouble,” Mori said.

Yanagisawa watched his companions avoid his gaze. The atmosphere seethed with their suspicion that he was responsible for their stroke of luck. That he’d known about Makino’s betrayal had given him ample cause to want his former crony dead. That he’d had a spy planted in Makino’s estate implied opportunity to commit the murder. But Yanagisawa didn’t answer their unspoken question of whether he was guilty or innocent. He wouldn’t admit to the crime, not even to his most trusted comrades, for he knew they could betray his trust as Makino had done. Nor would he claim innocence, for he wanted them to believe him capable of assassinating whoever crossed him. Intimidation was his strongest hold over his subordinates.

Fear for his own future was his primary concern.

“Makino’s death isn’t an unmitigated blessing,” Yanagisawa said. “The murder investigation is as serious a threat to us as he ever was.”

Above Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s office, a hole the diameter of a coin pierced the elaborate woodwork of the ceiling and overlooked the desk. In the attic above, Lady Yanagisawa lay on a
tatami
mat on the floor, an eye to the hole, peering through it at the chamberlain, Kato, and Mori. Their voices drifted up to her. Beside her lay her daughter Kikuko. A quilt shielded them from the damp winter cold. Daylight from grilles set in the peaked gables dimly illuminated their faces. Nearby, rodents scrabbled, their pungent odor fouling the musty air. But Lady Yanagisawa didn’t notice the discomforts of this place from which she habitually spied on the chamberlain. All her attention focused on him, the beautiful, clever, and powerful husband she adored.

Throughout their ten-year marriage, she’d hoped for him to love her in return, despite overwhelming odds. Theirs had been a union of political and economic convenience. She came from an affluent clan related to the Tokugawa, and the chamberlain had wed her for her dowry and connections. Why else would he choose a woman so ugly, so devoid of charm? He’d engaged in sexual relations with her during the few months after their wedding, then stopped when she’d become pregnant with Kikuko. After he discovered that their child was feebleminded, he’d never touched Lady Yanagisawa again. For years he had ignored her and Kikuko. But although his indifference tormented Lady Yanagisawa, she still dreamed of winning his love.

To her joy, recent events had given her fresh hope.

Her abduction by the Dragon King, and her brush with death, had taught Lady Yanagisawa that life was short, and those who waited for what they wanted might die before ever getting it. The revelations had overcome her innate shyness. Instead of just spying on her husband from a distance, she’d dared approach so close within his view that he couldn’t help noticing her. At first she’d lacked the nerve to speak, but one day, upon encountering him in the garden, she murmured, “Good morning, my lord.” And miracle of miracles, he answered!

More emboldened than ever, Lady Yanagisawa insinuated herself into his life. On the rare evenings when he didn’t go out, she served him his dinner. He talked of politics, vented ire at his enemies, celebrated triumphs over them. Lady Yanagisawa cherished those evenings and the privilege of his company. Yet he never said anything personal to her; he treated her as he would a faithful servant. His gaze never lingered on her, never reflected the need that burned within her.

Then one night she told her husband how she’d almost killed Reiko on the Dragon King’s island. For once he looked at her with genuine interest. That drove her to even greater audacity. She began to frequent his bedchamber, where he’d slept alone since Police Commissioner Hoshina left him. In the mornings she brought him tea and helped him dress. At night, during his bath, she scrubbed and rinsed him before he soaked in the tub. The sight of his naked body filled her with such desire! But he never showed the least sign of wanting her. Why he allowed her this intimacy with him, she didn’t understand. Perhaps he enjoyed her frustration; perhaps he was lonely now that Hoshina was gone.

Now, as Lady Yanagisawa listened to her husband talking with Kato and Mori, she realized that the chamberlain was in trouble. His problems created a fresh opportunity for her. In her mind coalesced vague plans for endearing herself to her husband and reaching her heart’s desire.

“Surely Sano doesn’t suspect that Senior Elder Makino was killed by someone in your faction,” Kato said to Chamberlain Yanagisawa. “When he announced that Makino had been murdered, you did a superb job of pretending you were upset. You almost fooled me. Surely you fooled Sano as well as the shogun.”

Yanagisawa prided himself on his performance, but he said, “I accomplished no more than to gain us time to protect ourselves. Should Sano learn about Makino’s defection, he’ll realize that Makino was worth more to me dead than alive.”

“He won’t learn it from us,” Mori said.

“But Daiemon and Lord Matsudaira will tell him, if they haven’t already,” Yanagisawa said. “They’ll jump to save their own necks by incriminating me. I’ll become his primary suspect.” Yanagisawa felt a grudging admiration for Sano. “He’s like a dog who won’t let go of a bone even if it bites him back.”

“What shall we do?” Apprehension creased Kato’s leathery face.

“The obvious course of action is to get Sano on our side,” Yanagisawa said. “But in case we can’t recruit him, we need an alternate plan to divert his suspicion and, at the same time, weaken the Matsudaira.”

Just then, Yanagisawa heard footsteps in the corridor, approaching along the nightingale floor, which was specially designed to emit loud chirps when trod upon. Few persons were allowed in his private domain, and Yanagisawa recognized this one from his step. He dismissed Kato and Mori. After they’d departed, he called through the open door: “Enter.”

In walked his son Yoritomo, seventeen years old, a youthful image of Yanagisawa. He had the same slender build and striking beauty. But his gait was hesitant, his expression perpetually shadowed by self-doubt. He had a sweet, vulnerable air of innocence, inherited from his mother, who was a Tokugawa relative and former palace lady-in-waiting, with whom Yanagisawa had enjoyed a brief love affair.

As he knelt cautiously before Yanagisawa and bowed, Yanagisawa felt a possessive affection toward him. The boy touched a tender, hidden spot in his heart. The blood they shared bound them together. And Yoritomo was not just the fruit of his loins, but his means to supremacy.

“My apologies for interrupting your business, Honorable Father.” Yoritomo’s voice was a faint, immature echo of Yanagisawa’s. “But I thought I should tell you that the shogun has just sent for me.”

“Excellent,” Yanagisawa said. “That’s the fifth time this month. The shogun’s fondness for you is growing.”

And every moment the shogun spent with Yoritomo was one he didn’t spend with Daiemon, the rumored heir apparent. When the shogun named an official successor, Yanagisawa wanted it to be his son, not Lord Matsudaira’s nephew.