Concubine's Tattoo (21 page)

She could be so frivolous, even at a time like this! Hiding his impatience, Ryuko said, "My lady, Sano's investigation may turn up information that is detrimental to... any number of persons. No one is safe from scrutiny."

"You say things in a way that I can't understand," Keisho-in complained. "Whatever are you talking about? Who's in danger?"

Her denseness forced blunt speech. "You, my lady," Ryuko said reluctantly.

"Me?" Keisho-in's rheumy eyes widened in surprise. Evidently she'd given no thought to how the murder investigation might affect her. Then she smiled, reaching up to pat Ryuko's arm. "I appreciate your concern, dearest, but I have nothing to fear from Sano or anyone else."

Ryuko studied her guileless face with confusion. He'd thought himself adept at reading her after all these years, but now he couldn't tell whether she spoke the truth. "Your relationship with Lady Harume was... shall we say... less than innocent," Ryuko reminded Keisho-in.

She let out a merry guffaw that turned into a fit of coughing, and Ryuko had to pound her back before she could continue. "Oh, my dearest, you are such a prude! What can it matter that Harume and I sometimes enjoyed a little bed sport? Surely no one could think it has anything to do with her murder!"

Sosakan Sano might consider it relevant, if he found out about them. Gossip spread like fire in the Large Interior, and Ryuko feared that someone might let slip a careless word to Sano's detectives.

"There's nothing to worry about, dearest," Keisho-in said.

Did she mean she'd fixed things so well that Sano would never learn anything that could hurt her? Ryuko didn't trust his patroness to have managed this: Usually she depended on him to handle sensitive business for her. He longed to ask Lady Keisho-in a few straight questions about Harume, yet the cautious politician in him didn't really want to hear the answers. If Sosakan Sano accused Lady Keisho-in of murder, then Ryuko's only defense against a conspiracy charge was a lack of compromising knowledge. So he confined himself to addressing the issue of mutual self-preservation.

"You allowed Sosakan Sano access to the Large Interior without consulting me," Ryuko said. "A bit unwise, perhaps. I recommend taking steps to block his inquiries."

With a grimace of annoyance, Keisho-in waved away the suggestion. She had occasional contrary moods; unfortunately, this was one of them. "Stop talking in riddles, my dearest. Let Sano inquire all he likes. What difference does it make to me?" She puffed out her chest in self-righteous dignity. "I'm no murderer. I'm innocent."

Really? thought Ryuko. Keisho-in had a history of falling madly in love with younger men and women-like Harume. Inevitably they failed to satisfy her vast need for adoration. When the affairs ended, Lady Keisho-in would fly into a hysterical fury. Usually Ryuko could cajole her out of it, or a new romantic interest would distract her. But sometimes Keisho-in turned vindictive. Two particular incidents haunted Ryuko.

One had involved a concubine named Peach; the other, a palace guard. Both had suddenly vanished from Edo Castle after disappointing Lady Keisho-in. Ryuko's informants had told him that Keisho-in had complained about her lovers to the Tokugawa high military command. However, no one seemed to know where Peach and the guard had gone, or whether they were still alive. Ryuko guessed that Lady Keisho-in had ordered the pair's murders. If Sano ever learned of this, he would think she'd arranged a similar revenge against Lady Harume. Ryuko had to make her see the danger she courted by abetting Sano's investigation.

"Harume spent considerable time in His Excellency's bedchamber," Ryuko said."What if she had become pregnant?"

Looking puzzled, Lady Keisho-in said, "That's what my son wanted, and what I wanted, too. Why else would I have urged him to do all this?" She looked around the clearing, where the architects busily conferred and the woodsmen sawed.

Ryuko could think of another reason why she'd championed the kennels. Showing mercy toward dogs would bring Tokugawa Tsunayoshi good luck, but the shogun must do his part to beget a son. Was Lady Keisho-in encouraging spiritual actions in the hope that he would neglect the physical ones?

"Let me put it another way." Pacing the ground, Ryuko mustered his fading patience. "What do you think will happen to you if an heir is born?"

Lady Keisho-in laughed. "I'll be the happiest grandmother in the world." Cradling her arms around an imaginary infant, she made cooing noises.

Was she as na‹ve as she seemed? All marriages harbored secrets, and their union, Ryuko realized, was no exception. Forced to speak crudely, he said, "If Lady Harume had borne His Excellency an heir, she would have become his official consort. She would have supplanted you as the highest-ranking woman in Japan."

"That would be just a formality." Lady Keisho-in folded her arms, haughty with annoyance now. "I am Tsunayoshi's mother. No other woman could ever replace me in his affections. He depends on my counsel. Why, he couldn't lead the country without me!"

"Your son does not enjoy the responsibilities of being shogun," Ryuko said, avoiding the issue of whether or not Tokugawa Tsunayoshi led the country at all. "He would rather occupy himself with religion or the theater." Or boys, Ryuko thought, but did not add. Lady Keisho-in refused to admit her son's preference for manly love. "With the arrival of an heir, the succession would have been secure. His Excellency might have used this as an excuse to abdicate his position and appoint a council of regents to head the government until the boy came of age."

This prediction of the shogun's behavior was shared by many astute bakufu members, but Lady Keisho-in's features bunched in a stubborn pout. "Ridiculous! My son is a dedicated leader. He won't retire until death takes him from this world. And he doesn't need a council to run the government while he has his mother to advise him. He loves and trusts me."

However, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi also trusted Sano; Ryuko had watched the sosakan's influence grow daily. Even a hint of suspicion might jeopardize Keisho-in's relationship with the shogun, who feared and abhorred violence. If he thought she might be a murderer, he might turn away from her and seek another woman to act as mother-confidant-probably Lady Ichiteru. The devious concubine had regained his favor since Harume's death, had already borne him two sons, albeit stillborn, and would seize the chance to improve her position.

And then what would happen to Ryuko?

"Please, my lady," he said. "Just suppose there was an heir, and your son did retire. Who would have more influence over the regent council? You, the mother of a past, retired shogun? Or the mother of the future one?"

Ryuko's suave voice harshened with agitation, and he bent over Keisho-in, grasping her hands. "If Harume had lived, you might have lost your position as ruler of the Large Interior, your privileges, your power. Sosakan Sano will realize this eventually, if he hasn't already. You stand to become his prime murder suspect!"

Across the clearing, a huge oak crashed to the ground. Its branches swayed and rustled: the death throes of a giant. Peasants began sawing up and hauling away the tree's corpse. As Lady Keisho-in watched, her face took on a crafty, calculating expression that Ryuko had never seen before. She looked positively intelligent. A chill finger of dismay touched Ryuko. Was she finally becoming aware of her precarious position?

Or had she known all along?

Slowly Lady Keisho-in turned to Ryuko. She pulled him to his knees so that their faces were almost touching. All traces of good-natured silliness had disappeared from hers. "Tell me, my dearest," she said. Her gaze bored into Ryuko. "Are you so concerned about the murder investigation for my sake, or your own? Have you been up to something?"

The words, spoken on a vapor of breath that stank of tobacco and; rotten teeth, wafted over Ryuko. Shock disoriented him. He envisioned battlefields after a war, with the wind carrying the odor of carnage. Despite all his efforts in the cause of charity and spiritual enlightenment, there had been incidents in his life that illustrated his greed, ambition, and ruthlessness. What if Sano found out? Surely he would suspect Ryuko of murdering Harume on Keisho-in's behalf in order to protect her and, simultaneously, his own position. Yet even as he imagined himself at the execution ground, the wily politician in Ryuko saw a way to use the situation to his advantage.

"Yes, my lady," he said, bowing his head as if in shameful confession. It wasn't a lie. He'd devised and carried out plots designed to further his interests and Keisho-in's, with and without her approval. He wondered how much she knew or guessed about him-and how much her poor memory had allowed her to forget about things they'd done together. If he was charged with Lady Harume's murder, would Keisho-in sacrifice him to save herself? "I'm afraid Sosakan Sano will discover what I've done."

To his joy, Keisho-in responded just as Ryuko had hoped. She enfolded him in a suffocating embrace and declared. "I don't care if you've done anything wrong, especially if you did it for me. I love you, and I'll stand by you." Ryuko hid a smile against Keisho-in's breast. Let her believe-or pretend to believe-he'd killed Harume, if that was what it took to secure her complicity. Now they both would be safe from accusations of murder and treason. "As long as I live, no one shall harm a hair on your head!"

Patting Ryuko's shaven scalp, Lady Keisho-in giggled at her own joke, then said, "I'm cold, and this tree stump is hurting my bottom. Let's go back to Edo Castle. When we get there, I'll fix Sosakan Sano. Just tell me what to do. You needn't worry about anything, my dearest.

Sano disembarked from the ferry that had transported him across the Sumida River to Fukagawa, birthplace of Lady Harume. Located at the mouth of the river where it emptied into Edo Bay, this suburb stood on former swamps filled in with vast heaps of city garbage and earth excavated during the construction of canals. After the Great Fire, many citizens had moved here for a fresh start. However, Fukagawa retained the hazards of its geographic situation. Floods, typhoons, and high tides wrought mass destruction. The area was rightfully considered unlucky. Here Lady Harume had made an inauspicious start on a life that would end with her murder eighteen years later.

The approach to the town center led Sano past warehouses that smelled of pine timber, sesame oil, and hoshika, a fertilizer made from sardines. Smoke from salt furnaces on the southern tidal flats obscured the view of Edo on the opposite shore. The cold air had a lung-saturating dampness. A busy commercial district lined the main avenue leading to the Tomioka Hachiman Shrine. This contained the Oka Basho, a notorious unlicensed quarter where nighthawk prostitutes operated. Tea-houses and inns abounded, as well as Fukagawa's excellent seafood restaurants.

Hearing temple bells ring the noon hour, Sano realized he was hungry. He entered the Hirasei, a famous restaurant located just outside the shrine's torii gate. There he ate mixed sushi with vegetables, rice, and grilled trout. Then he said to the proprietor, "I'm looking for a nighthawk named Blue Apple. Can you tell me where to find her?"

The proprietor shook his head. "I don't know of anyone by that name. You might try the teahouses."

Sano did, with disappointing results: No one had ever heard of Blue Apple; no one knew Lady Harume, except as the victim of a widely publicized murder. Sano headed toward the Hachiman Shrine. Its great copper-tiled roof rose above the streets like a giant samurai helmet; its high stone walls sheltered the Etai Temple, whose priests kept census records on everyone living in the district. They, if anyone, could direct Sano to Blue Apple.

"Her real name was Yasuko, " said the old priest.

He and Sano stood in the Etai Temple cemetery, where Sano had finally located Lady Harume's mother. Her moss-covered stone memorial tablet lay in the area reserved for paupers. No flowers adorned these graves. Tall grass obscured paths down which visitors rarely came. The place had an air of bleak, chill desolation. Shivering under his cloak, Sano listened to the priest's recollections of Blue Apple, dead for twelve years.

"She came here for shelter during the floods, and I remember her because of her unique situation. Most nighthawks have no one to care for them. Their clients are usually poor, and mostly strangers rather than regular customers. But Yasuko was beautiful and much sought after. Her professional name came from the bluish, apple-shaped birthmark on her wrist. She was a trusting creature who often took lovers and tattooed herself with their names. When I prepared her body for cremation, I found characters inked between all her fingers and toes."

And following her example had led her daughter Harume to her death.

"Yasuko won the affection of Jimba of Bakurocho when he came to Fukagawa on business," the priest said. "After the child was born, he regularly sent money. Then Blue Apple became ill. She lost her looks- and her better clients. She serviced former criminals, and even eta to earn her rice. When she died, I brought the child, who was six years old, to our orphanage. Then I contacted Jimba. He took her home with him to Bakurocho."

The priest sighed. "I've often wondered what became of her."

When Sano explained, distress shadowed his kind face. "How tragic." Then he said, "Still, perhaps Harume enjoyed a better, longer life than if she'd stayed in Fukagawa and become a nighthawk like her mother."

Sano had never given much thought to how few occupations were available for women. Now, with disturbing clarity, he saw the narrow scope of their lives: wife, servant, nun, concubine, prostitute, beggar. There was honor-and possibly happiness-in marriage and motherhood, but not even those alternatives offered the chance for independence, or scholarship, martial arts, adventure, or accomplishments that made life worthwhile for men. Uneasily Sano thought of Reiko, struggling to escape the confines of Japanese culture, and his own efforts to contain her. Men made the rules. He, himself, was part of a system that had decreed his wife's limited existence.

And Lady Harume's.