The Incense Game (17 page)

Hirata hesitated, recalling his oath of silence to the secret society. But asking about the other members didn’t equal telling on them. “Three mystic martial artists. Their names are Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi.”

Onodera’s eyes opened up as the smile left his face.

“You asked me about them, when was it, last year?” Iseki said. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from them?”

“I should have listened,” Hirata said.

Iseki frowned, refilling Hirata’s tea bowl, adding a splash from a jar of sake.

Hirata drank. The tea was spicy and robust, the liquor eye-wateringly potent. “Do you know them?” he asked Onodera.

“I’ve never laid eyes on them, let alone seen them in action. But I’ve heard that they were Ozuno’s favorite disciples. Which means they have to be among the best martial artists who ever lived.”

Hirata felt a pang of jealousy. He’d thought he was Ozuno’s favorite. But he should have known better as soon as he’d met the three and learned Ozuno had been their mentor. “Is there anybody you know of who could tell me more?”

“A monk named Fuwa,” Onodera said. “He used to go around with them.”

“Where can I find him?” Hirata asked eagerly.

“Last I heard, he was living in Chiba.”

Hirata’s heart sank. The town of Chiba was a day’s journey from Edo. He could never make it there and back before the ritual.

*   *   *

LIKE EVERY OTHER
neighborhood in town, the Hibiya administrative district, south of Edo Castle, had been severely damaged by the earthquake. Barriers made of logs, scrap wood, and piled stones enclosed the sites of the mansions where the city’s high officials had once lived and worked. Above the barriers Reiko could see the tops of tents that housed residents who had nowhere else to stay. Reiko called to her bearers to stop by a gate with shiny copper crests that looked incongruous remounted on beams made of cut logs. The sentries recognized her and let her in the gate. Walking toward the tents, Reiko heard muffled voices but saw no one.

“Grandmother?” she called.

A flap on one tent opened. A tiny old woman peered out. Bundled up from neck to toe, her body resembled a fat pile of quilts, but her head was as precisely modeled as that of a porcelain doll. Her silver hair was tied in a sleek knot, every hair oiled in place. Although she was past seventy, her skin was unlined; only her sagging jowls betrayed her age. She had the same delicate features and large, almond-shaped eyes as Reiko. Whenever Reiko saw her, she saw how she herself would look in the future, if she lived that long.

“What are you doing here?” her grandmother demanded. Her voice was hoarsened by the years but had nary a quaver.

“I came to see you, Grandmother,” Reiko said, bowing. She needed the old woman’s help with the investigation, but she was loath to ask.

“Dear me, is it New Year’s Day again?”

“Not yet.”

“And here I thought I was getting senile. New Year’s Day is the only time you ever come—when you bring your husband and children for your annual visit.”

Reiko felt the sting of rebuke, followed by the flare of temper that her grandmother never failed to provoke. “You’ve always made it clear that I’m not welcome.”

“Why would you be?” Disapproval crossed the old woman’s face. “You’re the most impertinent, unladylike creature I’ve had the misfortune to know.”

Their exchanges always went like this. Even when Reiko was a child, her grandmother never had a kind word for her, only criticism, scolding, and slaps, often for no apparent reason. At first Reiko had wept because her feelings were hurt and tried harder to please her grandmother. When she discovered that nothing she did was good enough, she’d decided to hate the mean old woman. Not until she was ten did she learn why her grandmother didn’t like her. She’d overheard a conversation between her grandmother and a visitor. Standing outside the room where they chatted, Reiko had listened to her grandmother say, “That brat killed her mother! I wish she’d never been born! If she hadn’t, my daughter would still be alive.”

Reiko had realized that her grandmother blamed her for her mother’s death during childbirth. How unfair that she would be hated for something that wasn’t her fault! The experience was one reason she was passionate about justice. She couldn’t bear to see innocent people wrongly condemned, or those guilty of harming others escape without punishment. She’d exercised her passion while observing the trials her father conducted and discussing them with him afterward, and while helping Sano with his investigations. But it seemed she could never set things right with the person who’d taught her the pain of injustice.

“Won’t you ever forgive me?” she asked.

“Forgive you for what?” Her grandmother feigned puzzlement. The hostility in her eyes said she knew exactly what Reiko meant. “For running wild when you were young, as if you were a boy instead of a girl? Riding horses and sword-fighting in the streets?” She snorted. “I can’t imagine what your father was thinking.”

He’d never held her mother’s death against her, Reiko knew. Magistrate Ueda had given her, his only child, so much love that she’d never missed having a mother. He’d rewarded her intelligence, strength, and courage with the education usually reserved for sons. Of course, her unconventional upbringing had worsened her relationship with her grandmother.

“That was a long time ago,” Reiko said.

“Oh, well, then. Should I forgive you for defying me when I tried to arrange a match for you?”

When Reiko had reached a marriageable age, her grandmother had obtained proposals from rich, important men. Reiko had refused them. Not only had she thought them too old, unattractive, and stuffy; she’d dreaded being trapped in the circumscribed existence of married women of her class. She’d held out until her father had insisted she attend the
miai
where she’d met Sano. She’d accepted Sano because he was young and handsome, and she’d heard of his exciting exploits. She’d gambled that he would be less conventional and more amenable to letting her do as she pleased than her other suitors, and she’d won.

“My husband is the shogun’s chamberlain,” Reiko said. “You couldn’t have asked for anyone higher than that.”

“I couldn’t have asked for anyone who gets in more trouble,” her grandmother retorted. Little that happened in the regime escaped her; she had sons, grandsons, and other relatives in high places, whom she badgered into telling her everything.

“We have two beautiful children,” Reiko said, because she hadn’t quite lost the habit of trying to show herself to her grandmother in a positive light.
And another on the way.

“A pity, the way you’re raising them,” the old woman grumbled. “You’re too easy on them. I worry that they’ll go bad.”

Another reason that Reiko didn’t come more often was that her grandmother treated Masahiro and Akiko the same way she treated Reiko. Her temper ready to boil over, Reiko changed the subject. “Why are you still living in this tent, Grandmother?”

“Where else would I live?”

“I invited you to come and stay with me.” Although Reiko’s house was crowded, she could fit in one more person.

Her grandmother huffed. “I’m too old-fashioned for your modern home.” That was a dig at Reiko’s habit of leaving domesticity behind to do detective work for Sano. Her grandmother didn’t approve of women who meddled in men’s business. “I’d rather stay here. This is my home. Besides, who will keep an eye on things if I leave?”

Reiko watched the snow sift from the sky. She was freezing. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, all right.”

The tent was crammed with lacquer chests and iron trunks. Grandmother seated herself on a futon in the center. Reiko knelt on the tatami that covered the earth. A brazier filled the tent with smoky heat. While her grandmother made tea, Reiko noticed a pile of unfurled scrolls covered with black calligraphy and red government seals, and a portable writing desk, its open lid revealing papers scribbled with notes.

“What is that?” Reiko asked.

Her grandmother slammed the desk shut and pushed the scrolls behind a trunk. “Just some things I’m doing for your uncles.”

Reiko’s uncles worked for the government. “It seems I’m not the only woman in our family who meddles in men’s business,” Reiko murmured.

“What did you say?” her grandmother said sharply.

“Nothing.” Reiko couldn’t afford to antagonize the old woman any further.

“What’s the real reason you came?” She handed Reiko a bowl of tea. “Did you want to see if I was still alive? Well, too bad for you.”

Reiko sipped tea, warmed her hands, and braced herself for another fight. “I need an introduction to the wife of Minister Ogyu who runs the shogun’s Confucian academy.” Social custom prohibited calling on a stranger without an introduction from a mutual acquaintance, and Reiko didn’t want to barge in on Lady Ogyu and make her suspicious. She didn’t have the excuse of a funeral and a political connection, as she’d had with the Hosokawa women.

“Who does your husband think she killed?”

“No one,” Reiko said, taken aback. “This isn’t for an investigation.”

“Spare me.” Her grandmother flicked a slender, elegant hand at Reiko. “Why else would you want to meet such a dull little woman? Why would you be interested in anyone except those murderers that you like to hobnob with?”

“This is important. I can’t tell you why.” Reiko put on her most humble, conciliatory manner. “Please. I need your help.”

The old woman smiled, gratified. “Lady Ogyu is my sister-in-law’s great-niece. But I won’t introduce you to her unless you tell me what this is all about.”

“Very well. But you must promise me that you won’t pass it on.”

“I’ll take it to my grave, which probably won’t happen soon enough for your liking.”

“There has been a murder,” Reiko admitted. “Lady Ogyu is a potential witness. She can’t be allowed to know that I’m investigating her for my husband.”

“Who was murdered?” The old woman leaned forward, rapacious in her curiosity.

“A woman named Usugumo. She was an incense teacher.”

Her grandmother uttered a scornful sound. “You’re holding out on me, child. Your husband wouldn’t bother investigating the death of one commoner, not when he’s got his hands full with earthquake problems and keeping the shogun happy. Now let’s have it!”

Reiko had no choice but to part with more information. “The other victims were Lord Hosokawa’s daughters.”

Shock wiped the crankiness off the old woman’s face. “Great Buddha! Now I understand. Lord Hosokawa is a very powerful
daimyo
. He could make trouble for the Tokugawa regime. I can imagine how badly he wants his children avenged. If your husband doesn’t find out who killed them, Lord Hosokawa could even decide to start a war.”

Her view of the situation was so astute that Reiko blinked.

“I’ll write a letter to Lady Ogyu, saying that I’m sending you to see how she fared during the earthquake, so that you can report back to me. That should do.” The old woman ground ink, dipped her brush, and wrote on thick white rice paper, stamped the finished letter with her signature seal, and rolled it into a lacquer scroll container. When Reiko put out her hand for it, she held it out of reach. “If I give you this, you must tell me how the investigation turns out.”

Reiko hoped that when the investigation was finished, she would have such a good story to tell that she could withhold any dangerous parts and her grandmother wouldn’t notice. “Yes, Grandmother,” she said, taking the letter.

18

AFTER FINISHING HIS
inquiries, Sano worked late in his office at home. He went over the day’s events with his aides. Hearing the urgent messages from officials who’d come to see him, he felt guilty and disturbed because his absence had enraged many of them. In the volatile, post-earthquake climate, hostilities bred like flies. Sano hoped he could solve the crime before he made too many new enemies. He left orders with his aides and authorized them to field requests and act as his deputies until the investigation was finished.

By that time, most of his household had retired. A maid asked if he wanted dinner. Sano said yes; he was starving. He tiptoed past rooms crowded with his sleeping retainers. The house seemed to expand and contract with their snores. He went to the small room that served as a bath chamber, stripped, scrubbed, and rinsed. He longed for a warm soak, but there was no space for a tub. The room was so cold that while he dried himself and put on his night robe, he shivered uncontrollably. Charcoal was becoming scarce; everyone conserved it at night. He ate his miso soup and noodles and drank his tea at his desk. Afterward he hurried to the family’s chamber.

Reiko, Masahiro, and Akiko were asleep in the bed, quilts piled on them, only their nightcaps showing. Sano climbed in between his wife and son. Reiko said drowsily, “Good, you’re home. How late is it?”

“Very late.” Sano basked in the body heat under the quilts. He pictured other families all over Edo bedded down together. The earthquake had fostered extra closeness, one of its few blessings.

“Did you see Priest Ryuko and Minister Ogyu?” Reiko whispered, trying not to waken the children.

“Yes.” Sano summarized the conversations, then said, “Priest Ryuko was as upset as any cornered criminal I’ve ever seen. Minister Ogyu, on the other hand, was pleasant and cooperative.” He described the man’s physical appearance. “Which made me suspicious.”

“So either of them could have poisoned the women?”

“Or neither. Have you discovered anything that might help determine whether they’re guilty or innocent?”

Reiko described her visit with Lady Keisho-in. Sano frowned as he listened to her news that Priest Ryuko and Madam Usugumo had quarreled.

“No matter the reason for the quarrel, it does sound like Priest Ryuko had a reason to want her dead,” Sano said.

“It sounds like Minister Ogyu didn’t.”

“What’s certain is that I brought my interest in the crime to the attention of two powerful men and I antagonized at least one of them,” Sano said ruefully. “And the investigation is no further ahead than before.”