The Incense Game (15 page)

The Large Interior contained the women’s quarters of the palace, where the shogun’s mother, wife, female concubines, and their attendants lived. They still lived there, although most of their building had collapsed during the earthquake; no better accommodations were available. A bamboo fence screened the intact wing from the ruins, the workers clearing them away, and the noise.

“Why not?” Reiko noticed more women occupying the pavilion in the snowy garden. These most privileged, pampered women in Japan were living like housewives in the slums. The earthquake had equalized the social classes. They looked cold and dour.

“You’ll see,” the lady-in-waiting said ominously.

Carrying a small lacquer lunch box she’d brought, Reiko entered the low, half-timbered building. A din of women’s shrill voices sounded like quarrelsome birds. She left her shoes by a pile of other shoes and draped her cloak on other garments that hung in the entryway. Heading down the corridor, she winced at the stale odor of too many people shut up in too little space. Chambers contained women bathing, brushing their hair, putting on makeup, eating, or playing cards. Acrimony tinged their conversations. Two girls squabbled about a broken comb. They were all like caged animals, venting their frustrations on one another. The loudest voice emanated from the largest room. Reiko stood at the threshold because so many women knelt on the floor, taking up all the space. Young and old, they wore brightly painted kimonos, their hair spiked with expensive ornaments. They sat in frightened silence. Amid them lay Lady Keisho-in, the shogun’s mother.

She drummed her heels and fists on the floor and yelled, “How dare he?” in her croaky old voice. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Small and plump, she wore a brilliant magenta silk kimono. She loved girlish clothes, which she’d never given up even though she was seventy-six years old. Thick white rice-powder on her round, double-chinned face hid its wrinkles. Red rouge on her lips and cheeks, and black hair dye, lent her a semblance of youth. As she ranted, the gaps between her teeth hardly showed; the ones that remained were painted black in the fashionable style for married women. She’d never married the shogun’s father, Reiko knew; she’d been his peasant concubine. The fact that she’d given birth to the shogun gave her every privilege of fashion and rank she wanted. Reiko understood why the women were outside in the cold: They didn’t like to be around while Lady Keisho-in had a tantrum.

A gray-haired attendant spied Reiko and exclaimed brightly, “Look, my lady! You have a visitor!”

The other women cleared a path for Reiko. As she walked into the room, they bowed, smiled, and backed out, leaving her to cope with Lady Keisho-in, who shouted curses. Reiko knelt. Lady Keisho-in sat up and went silent, surprised to see Reiko, puzzled because she’d lost her audience.

“Good afternoon, Lady Keisho-in,” Reiko said. “May I ask what has upset you so much?”

An angry scowl creased the makeup on Lady Keisho-in’s face. “It’s that damned astronomer. Have you heard about his pronouncement?”

“Yes, my husband mentioned it,” Reiko said.

“His constellations say the cosmos is displeased with the government in general, and an important personage in particular. He had the nerve to hint that it’s me, because I was promoted to the highest rank in court, which is too far above my station.” Lady Keisho-in exclaimed, “Can you believe it?”

Reiko hadn’t heard that part of the story. “No, indeed, I can’t.” It was dangerous for anyone to criticize the shogun’s mother.

“As if that weren’t bad enough, he suggested that the earthquake is my fault!”

The astronomer had put Lady Keisho-in in danger, too, Reiko realized. People wanted someone to blame for the earthquake. If it was Lady Keisho-in, not even her status as the shogun’s mother would protect her from harsh punishment. Reiko reflected that no matter how bad one’s own earthquake-related problems seemed, others had theirs that were even worse.

“He doesn’t know his anus from a hole in his head,” Lady Keisho-in declared. “I deserve that rank even though I was born a peasant. I’m the mother of the shogun! Besides, my son has the right to promote anyone he wants!” She cursed, then asked Reiko, “What do you think?”

Reiko thought giving birth to a shogun was a matter of sex and luck rather than accomplishment, and it shouldn’t entitle Lady Keisho-in to such high honors. But she also thought it was far-fetched to blame the earthquake on Keisho-in. Even if the gods didn’t like Keisho-in’s promotion, it seemed too trivial a matter for them to make millions of people suffer through an earthquake. But Reiko didn’t dare say any of this.

“I think you’re right,” she said.

“Of course I am,” Lady Keisho-in said stoutly. “That astronomer has a grudge against me because I don’t invite him to my moon-viewing parties. He’s jealous and vindictive, and he’s out to get me. I’ll have him run out of town!”

The astronomer had better prepare for a battle unless he changed his tune, Reiko thought. She steered the conversation to the topic she’d come to discuss. “What does Priest Ryuko think of this business?”

Disgruntlement soured Keisho-in’s face. “That man! How should I know what he thinks? He never comes near me! I’m furious! After all I’ve done for him! I introduced him to my son. I even got him his own temple. If not for me, Ryuko wouldn’t have a pot to make water in. But it’s always, ‘I’m busy helping the poor earthquake victims, my dear.’” She snidely imitated the priest’s booming voice.

“I suppose Priest Ryuko is too busy for incense lessons,” Reiko said.

“Incense lessons?” Keisho-in looked baffled by this new, unexpected topic.

“Somebody told me he was taking them,” Reiko said. “Before the earthquake. I was thinking of studying incense myself, when things get back to normal. Now what was his teacher’s name?” She frowned, as if trying to recall. “Oh, yes. Madam Usugumo.”

“That bitch!” Lady Keisho-in exclaimed.

Startled, Reiko said, “Did you know her?” Then she wanted to bite her tongue because she’d spoken in the past tense. She didn’t want to let on that Usugumo was dead and invite unwelcome questions.

Lady Keisho-in didn’t seem to notice. “I never met her, but Ryuko-
san
mentioned her. I don’t like anybody who offends my dearest.”

“What did he say about her?” Reiko spoke casually, but excitement quickened her heartbeat.

“That she had taken him in. That if he had known what she was really like, he never would have associated with her.”

“It sounds as if something happened between them.” Containing her excitement, Reiko asked, “What was it?”

“I don’t know.” Keisho-in’s face bunched up like a sulky child’s. “He wouldn’t tell me. All I know is that when he came home from his lesson, he was terribly angry and upset. After that, he quit the lessons. He never went back to Usugumo again.”

“Have you any idea why?” Reiko probed. “Do you remember anything else?”

Keisho-in turned her irritation on Reiko. “No, I don’t. All I remember is that my dearest Ryuko-
san
was grumpy for a long time.”

Reiko didn’t dare press the issue and risk irritating Keisho-in, who had a history of extreme wrath toward people who crossed her. She’d had maids, ladies-in-waiting, and even the shogun’s concubines beaten, sent to the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter to work as prostitutes, or exiled to islands in the middle of the ocean for infractions as minor as not flattering her enough. The women in the Large Interior walked on tiptoe around her. Reiko changed the subject.

“I heard that Lord Hosokawa’s daughters were taking incense lessons, too,” she said. She had to explore the possibility that if the priest had indeed committed murder, the teacher hadn’t been his intended target. “Is Priest Ryuko acquainted with them?”

“He’s not acquainted with any women except me.” Lady Keisho-in was renowned for her jealousy. She treated Ryuko as if he were her husband, even though he’d taken a religious vow of celibacy. It was no secret that he visited her in her bedchamber. The irritation in her eyes took on a suspicious glint. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“No, no,” Reiko said. “I just thought that maybe Priest Ryuko met Lord Hosokawa’s daughters when he took incense lessons at Usugumo’s house.” She was wondering whether he’d seen anything to indicate whether they were guilty, when a new and dismaying idea occurred to her. Had Priest Ryuko been involved with Usugumo? Had their quarrel been a lover’s spat? If so, then here was another suspect—Lady Keisho-in. Reiko had thought that nothing could be more dangerous than implicating Lord Hosokawa’s daughters in the murders.

“Ryuko-
san
never met anyone at Usugumo’s house. His lessons were private.” Lady Keisho-in leaned toward Reiko, suddenly hostile. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

The risk of making Priest Ryuko a suspect in the crime was also hazardous. Even if Lady Keisho-in believed her lover was guilty, she would be just as angry at those who exposed him as at Ryuko himself. Reiko felt danger suffuse the air, like poisoned incense smoke. The shogun loved his mother. Accusing or displeasing her was tantamount to treason.

“I almost forgot,” Reiko said. “Please excuse my poor manners. I brought you a gift.” She offered the lacquer box to Lady Keisho-in. Polite custom dictated that she should have given the gift as soon as she’d arrived, but Reiko had waited, in case she needed it to smooth over a difficult moment.

“Oh, wonderful!” Lady Keisho-in pounced on the box, as eager as a child for a treat. She opened it, saw the pale green cakes colored with tea, filled with sweet lotus paste, and dusted with cinnamon. Reiko’s cooks had made them with the last of the spice. “My favorite!”

She crammed a cake into her mouth, chewed, and smacked her lips. The danger dissipated. Reiko relaxed.

“I just remembered something else Ryuko-
san
said when he came home from his last incense lesson,” Lady Keisho-in said as she munched another soft, gooey cake. “He said that if Usugumo tried to get him in trouble, he would make her sorry.” Lady Keisho-in licked her fingers.

16

SANO MADE A
few inquiries and learned that Minister Ogyu had vacated his mansion in town, which had been totally destroyed by the earthquake, and moved to the Academy of Confucian Studies, known as the Yushima Seido—Sacred Hall in the Yushima district, located north of Edo Castle.

Snow lay ankle-deep in the streets as Sano and his troops rode to Yushima. It caked the horses’ hooves and manes, covered strewn debris. Smoke from fires in the camps disappeared into the veil of white flakes. When Sano looked back at the castle, he could barely see its shape on the hill. It felt as if he, his men, and the few wanderers they passed were the only people left in the world. When he reached Yushima, nostalgia worsened the sorrow that had lodged in his heart since the earthquake.

Yushima had once been a popular recreation spot. When he was a boy, his father and mother had brought him to the market, where crowds were so thick that parents often lost track of their children, and to the spring festival when the plum trees bloomed. They’d enjoyed walking along the Kanda River, watching the boats. Now the retaining walls, the teahouses, and the restaurants that had lined the banks had slid into the river. Snow frosted the plum trees. Yushima was deserted except for small groups of people roaming around, viewing the destruction. That was the most popular pastime nowadays. Sano’s father had been dead thirteen years; his mother was remarried and living in a distant village. He missed them and their happy times.

He came upon the ruins of the town. Here had once stood the
kagemajaya
—“teahouses in the shadows,” brothels inhabited by boy prostitutes. Sano ascended the road up the hill occupied by the Yushima Seido and the Kanda Myojin Shrine. The shrine was home to the great festival held on the anniversary of the Battle of Sekigahara, at which Tokugawa Ieyasu had defeated his rival warlords to become the supreme dictator of Japan. Sano remembered the portable shrines carried by near-naked bearers, the musicians banging drums and gongs, the models of human figures, pine trees, turtles, cranes, and roosters riding on floats drawn by oxen. He could almost taste the famous sweet sake, laced with ginger, once sold in the famous shops that now lay wrecked along the road. He’d brought his family to the last festival. They’d had a wonderful time, especially Akiko, who couldn’t take her eyes off the floats. He wondered if they would ever see the festival again.

The Seido evoked more decorous memories. Sano had been there for the grand opening ceremony twelve years ago. The shogun, government officials, and
daimyo
had gathered inside the academy, which resembled an opulent temple. They’d listened to speeches, readings from Confucius, and poetry composed for the occasion. The place had become an elite educational institution, the first of its kind, where the sons of Tokugawa retainers and feudal lords studied the Confucian classics. But there wouldn’t be any more ceremonies, lessons, or lectures for the foreseeable future. Sano and his men had to dismount and clamber through the gaps in the broken tile walls that enclosed the Seido; the roof over the main gate had collapsed, blocking the portal. Sections of the wall around the inner precinct had fallen off the slope on which it stood; rocks littered the outer precinct.

“Hello!” Sano called. “Is anybody here!”

His voice echoed up and down the hill. A cry from above answered. He and his troops climbed the steep steps to the innermost precinct. The going was treacherous, the steps slippery with snow and riddled with cracks. At the top, Sano and his men climbed over the crumbled wall. A spacious garden of shrubs, pine trees, and boulders still existed, but the buildings once arranged in a square were long piles of ruins topped with their roof ornaments—snarling stone beasts with roosters’ bodies and dragons’ heads. A narrow path had been cleared through the rubble. Sano walked through this into the stone-flagged courtyard.

Where once pupils had strolled and debated Confucian theory, now stood five square tents made of bamboo and oiled muslin. Sano heard children’s voices within. The main hall still had its roof, but its walls and foundations had given way. It brought to Sano’s mind a prone man wearing his hat on his slanted back. Fire had charred the walls, blistered the vermilion paint. Five or six women were sorting tiles that had slid off the roof, tossing the whole ones into wheeled barrows. Some twenty men lugged pillars and statues from the ruins of the side buildings. Clad in leather gloves, thick coats, and broad-brimmed wicker hats, the people seemed oblivious to the snow. A heavy woman trundled a full barrow of tiles across the courtyard and dumped them onto a heap of others. She noticed Sano.