The Ronin's Mistress (17 page)

“The forty-seven
r
ō
nin
aren’t criminals until the supreme court determines that what they did was indeed a crime and they’re pronounced guilty,” Hirata said.

Sano heard a defensive note in Hirata’s voice. He could tell which way Hirata’s opinion was tending. He himself was tending in the same direction, but Fukida seemed to have taken the opposite view.

“It’s obvious that we don’t have the whole picture,” Sano said. “Our investigation has a long way to go. Meanwhile, the supreme court is convening. I’ll tell the judges what we’ve learned so far. It’s their job to interpret the evidence.”

Yet Sano couldn’t deny that this case had engaged him on a deeply personal level, and he couldn’t help hoping that he could influence the verdict in the direction that he believed was right. Even though he couldn’t quite make up his mind about what the right verdict was, let alone predict its repercussions for him and his family.

*   *   *

WHILE HE WAITED
for his mother to return, Masahiro sat with Okaru in her room at the inn.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Okaru asked.

“A sister.” Masahiro could barely get the words out. Her nearness filled him with tingling pleasure yet made him uncomfortable.

Okaru smiled. “That’s nice. How old is she?”

“Four.” He would have to make better conversation than this, Masahiro told himself, or he would bore Okaru. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he ventured.

“I had a little brother. He died when he was eight.” Okaru spoke with matter-of-fact calmness. “And an older sister. When my parents died, she went away with a man who owned a pleasure house in Osaka. I haven’t seen her or heard from her since.”

Masahiro was disturbed by the story and the fact that he’d led her to talk about something so painful. “I’m sorry” was all he could think to say.

“That’s all right,” Okaru said. “It was years ago, so I don’t think about my family much. Whenever I do, I remember the happy times.”

She was so brave, and so nice despite the bad things that had happened to her, Masahiro thought.

The uproar of an angry mob outside interrupted their conversation. “What in heaven?” Okaru hurried to the door. She and Masahiro peered outside.

The gate was open. A
doshin
—a police patrol officer—and his two assistants were tussling with the crowd that tried to rush into the inn. The
doshin
was a thickset samurai dressed in a short, padded gray kimono, heavy leggings, and leather boots. He waved his
jitte
—an iron rod with a prong at the hilt for catching the blade of an attacker’s sword, standard police equipment. The assistants were burly, unshaven commoners; they did the police’s dirty work of subduing and capturing criminals and taking them to jail, Masahiro knew. They brandished their spiked clubs against the crowd.

“Oh, good! They’re chasing those awful people away!” Okaru said.

Her servant Goza barged through the crowd and in the gate. Goza carried a large hamper as if it weighed nothing. She swatted one police assistant with her arm and jabbed her elbow into the other’s eye. Her mustached face wore a look fierce enough to kill. She strode toward Okaru, who called, “Look who’s here—it’s Masahiro. He and his mother came back.”

As Goza tramped onto the veranda, the
doshin
yelled, “Hey, you! Stop!” He swaggered after Goza. The innkeeper closed the gate on the mob and bustled after the
doshin
. The two men faced Okaru, Masahiro, and Goza, who stood together in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave,” the innkeeper told Okaru and Goza.

Worry puckered Okaru’s brow. Goza said, “We paid for two more nights.”

“I’ll refund your money,” the innkeeper said. “I can’t have you here. The commotion is bothering my other guests. Two of them have already left.” He gestured toward the fence; beyond it, the uproar continued. “Nobody else will want to stay here with that outside.”

Goza folded her arms, planted her legs wide. “We’re not leaving.”

“I’m sorry,” the innkeeper said, genuinely contrite. “You’d better pack your things and go quietly, or I’ll have to turn you over to the law.”

The
doshin
advanced on Goza and Okaru. Masahiro stepped forward, drew his sword, and said, “I won’t let you throw them out.”

The
doshin
chuckled and kept coming. “Put that toy away before you cut yourself.”

Masahiro was furious at the
doshin
for mocking him in front of Okaru. He could cut the man down dead in an instant, but his father had taught him that a good samurai kills only when absolutely necessary. “My father is Sano, the shogun’s investigator,” he said. “Let them stay, or he’ll have you dismissed.”

That stopped the
doshin
in his tracks; he’d obviously heard of Sano, whose name still carried weight even though he’d lost standing at court. The
doshin
said to the innkeeper, “I guess you’re stuck with these people,” and walked away.

The innkeeper shrugged, resigned. Goza nodded in triumph. Okaru smiled at Masahiro, then sighed unhappily. “I mustn’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

“Where will you go?” Masahiro asked.

“I don’t know.” Okaru made a visible effort to boost her courage. She and Goza began packing. “But I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Reiko returned with Chiyo. When she learned what had happened, she said, “Okaru, you and Goza must come home with me.”

Okaru gasped as if she’d just received a splendid, undreamt-of gift. “You mean, to Edo Castle?” She clapped her hands. “How wonderful!”

Chiyo moved close to Reiko. Masahiro’s keen ears overheard Chiyo whisper, “Is this wise? What will your husband think?”

“Wise or not, I can’t let that poor girl wander the streets,” Reiko whispered. “As for my husband, Okaru is a witness in his case, and he would want to keep her safe.”

Chiyo nodded reluctantly. Okaru was watching the two women, and her face fell; she understood that her welcome in Reiko’s home wasn’t certain. “Oh, but I shouldn’t impose on you. I can’t accept your kind invitation.”

“You can and you must,” Reiko said. “I insist.”

Okaru’s smile was so brilliant that it dazzled Masahiro. “A thousand thanks for your hospitality.” She bowed deeply to Reiko.

Masahiro’s heart beat fast with excitement. Okaru was going to live at his house! He would be able to see her every day!

*   *   *

HIRATA RODE WITH
Sano, Detectives Marume and Fukida, and the troops, entering Edo proper along a road lined with food-stalls. They stopped for a quick meal. A vendor lifted the lids on pots of dumplings stuffed with shrimp, ginger, and bamboo shoots. Rich, savory steam billowed. Gulls and crows squabbled over dropped tidbits. After Hirata and his comrades had eaten, they resumed riding and came upon a group of priests walking in the same direction. The priests wore padded hemp cloaks over their saffron robes. Hoods protected their shaved heads from the cold. They carried wooden bowls, which they held out to passersby, soliciting alms. When they heard Sano’s procession coming, they moved to the side of the road. They stood motionless, hands clasping their bowls and their heads bowed, as the procession passed. They looked identical, like life-sized dolls crafted by the same artist.

Six crows suddenly took wing. They hovered in a circle above a priest in the middle of the group. Staring in astonishment, Hirata lagged behind his companions. The aura suddenly pulsed; the air scintillated. Sano, the detectives, and the troops rode right past the priest without looking at him or the birds. The other priests didn’t move. The vendors, their customers, and the pedestrians in the street went about their business. No one but Hirata seemed to notice the strange phenomenon.

The priest with the halo of birds raised his head and met Hirata’s gaze. His hood shadowed one half of his face. The complexion on the other half had a waxen glow, like a candle whose flame has hollowed out its interior. The eye that Hirata could see shone with a strange light. The priest raised his hand, then flicked his wrist.

The birds flew at Hirata and assailed him in a storm of screeches and flapping wings. He shouted as he waved his arms to fend them off. Their claws scratched his face; their sharp beaks pecked at his eyes. He tumbled off his horse and fell into the snow on the road.

“Hey!” Detective Marume called. He and Fukida came running. “Why did you fall off your horse?”

“Didn’t you see that?” Hirata stood and brushed snow from his buttocks.

“See what?” Fukida asked. “How come your face is scratched?”

“Those birds—” Hirata glanced around. The birds were gone. So were the priests. “Never mind. Let’s go.” Sano and the rest of the group turned curious gazes on Hirata as he pulled himself up onto his horse.

“Maybe you could use a few riding lessons,” Marume joked, not quite kindly. He and Fukida didn’t like Hirata’s evasions or inexplicable behavior.

Hirata didn’t answer. He resumed his place beside Sano.

“Is there anything wrong?” Sano asked.

“No,” Hirata lied.

The priest with the birds might be the man who’d been stalking him. But so might the soldier he’d seen yesterday after he’d found the poem on the bush. Or maybe neither was. But Hirata knew he’d just received another arcane message. And although he couldn’t grasp what it meant, he was sure of one thing: His stalker was coming closer.

16

SANO ARRIVED AT
the main reception chamber in the palace just as the supreme court convened. The judges ranged in age from late forties to early seventies. Dressed in black ceremonial robes emblazoned with gold family crests, they milled around uncertainly. Sano’s father-in-law, Magistrate Ueda, was among them. Their attendants bowed courteously to Sano because he was nominally a high-ranking official, then gave him a wide berth because he was a pariah. Standing alone near the door, Sano heard snatches of conversation.

“So you’ve been roped into service, too.”

“I hardly know whom to thank—heaven or hell.”

“Being appointed to this court is an unprecedented honor.”

“It’s unprecedented, I’ll grant you that.”

There had never been such a court in Japan, as far as Sano knew. Criminal cases and civil disputes were usually decided by magistrates. But then Japan had never seen a case like the revenge of the forty-seven
r
ō
nin.
This was history in the making.

“What are we supposed to do?” someone asked.

“Why don’t we begin by sitting down?” These words, which rose above the chatter, came from Inspector General Nakae. He was in his sixties, broad of figure, and gray-haired. He reminded Sano of an overripe pumpkin—he’d lost most of his teeth, and his face had that caved-in look, with a big patch of dark age spots on his right cheek that looked like mold. Officials quaked when they saw him coming, for he had the authority to reprimand, fine, demote, or oust them for real or trumped-up charges of corruption or incompetence. Diligent rather than clever, he had a humorless, overbearing manner.

The judges knelt on the floor in two rows, seven men facing seven more—Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s cronies versus the opposite faction. Inspector General Nakae sat with the cronies. Magistrate Ueda sat with the opposition. He matched the inspector general in age, build, and hair color, but his hooded eyes were bright with intelligence. Smile lines framed his mouth. He glanced at Sano and nodded.

Magistrate Ueda had stood by Sano during his troubles, and not just because Sano’s wife was his beloved only child. He believed Sano was innocent of wrongdoing and had received a raw deal because of Yanagisawa. A man of integrity, he would not bow to Yanagisawa just to make his own life easy. Sano was thankful for his father-in-law’s loyalty, although he worried that it would cost Magistrate Ueda.

“What’s next?” asked one of the judges, Lord Nabeshima,
daimyo
of Saga and Hizen provinces, who sat beside the inspector general. He was in his seventies, with white hair, his skin and eyes tinged yellow with jaundice.

The other judges spoke simultaneously. A din arose as they tried to outshout one another. Finally Magistrate Ueda clapped his hands. “The first order of the day is to pick a chief judge,” he said in a voice that had often silenced a courtroom full of rambunctious citizens. “Who would like to volunteer?”

Everyone quieted while the judges weighed the cachet of being the leader against the risks. Sano watched each man realize that if he were the chief judge, and the shogun didn’t like the court’s verdict, he could be blamed and punished. Expressions grew cautious. Inspector General Nakae said, “Magistrate Ueda is the only one among us who has experience with trials. He should be the chief judge. All in favor?”

The other judges quickly said, “Yes,” in unison. Inspector General Nakae bared his few, decayed teeth in a smile.

Rotten seeds in a rotten pumpkin, Sano thought. Nakae had bad blood with Magistrate Ueda and would love to see him take a fall.

“I am honored by your confidence in me,” Magistrate Ueda said. “I gladly accept.”

Sano admired his father-in-law, who welcomed a chance to ensure that the court functioned competently and the defendants received a fair trial, even at his own risk. Sano began to hope that the supreme court was a good idea. With Magistrate Ueda as its leader, perhaps the judges’ verdict would be fair as well as satisfactory to everyone who mattered.

“My first act as chief judge will be to lay down the rules by which the supreme court will operate,” Magistrate Ueda said. “Some of them I’ll make up as we go along, since we’re venturing into uncharted territory. Others, I’ll establish at the outset.” His side nodded smugly. The opposition looked leery. “Rule number one: Anybody who wishes to speak must raise his hand first. No one is allowed to speak until I give permission.”