The Incense Game (21 page)

Now she clutched his hand so hard that he winced. “I’m so afraid!” Her rheumy eyes were round, moist.

“Of what?” Priest Ryuko saw that her fear was real, not a ploy to get attention and enliven a dull day. Fearful himself, he urged, “Tell me.”

“It’s that damned astronomer. Have you heard about his pronouncement?”

Priest Ryuko nodded; his spirits sank. He hadn’t known that Lady Keisho-in had heard, and he’d been hoping she never would. She got upset so easily, and although she was healthy for her age, a bad upset might kill her. And that would be the end of Priest Ryuko, too.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.

She was so much like the shogun, Priest Ryuko thought. She’d handed down to him her moods, capriciousness, and quickness to take offense. “Because I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.” He also didn’t like to be the bearer of bad news. “Nothing will come of it.”

“That’s all you know! What rock have you been sleeping under? Haven’t you heard the latest?”

“No.” Priest Ryuko had been so preoccupied with Sano and the murders that he hadn’t consulted his usual sources of gossip. “What’s happened?”

“The Council of Elders had a secret meeting about the astronomer’s pronouncement last night. They think the astronomer is right.”

“How do you know this?” Priest Ryuko asked. Rumors had run rampant since the earthquake, few of them true.

“I had it straight from a friend who’s a secretary for the Council.” Lady Keisho-in had many friends who cultivated her favor because of her influence with the shogun. “He said the elders talked about which high-ranking person the gods are displeased with. Guess who most of them think it is?” Her watery eyes bulged with outrage; she jabbed her finger against her bosom. “Me!”

At first Ryuko was surprised that the elders would give the astronomer’s pronouncement such a dangerous interpretation. Then he realized that they craved an explanation for the earthquake; they didn’t want to believe it was an accident of nature. Blaming someone would make them feel in control, as if by punishing the culprit they could prevent more earthquakes. They probably also wanted to avoid being blamed and punished themselves. Ryuko recalled things he’d seen happen to people accused of unbalancing nature’s forces. Some had been banished, others injured or killed during exorcisms. But none had been linked with a catastrophe as big as the earthquake. None had had as far to fall as Lady Keisho-in.

“What are they going to do?” he said.

“They talked about making my son send me away, in order to appease the gods.” Lady Keisho-in cried wildly, “Can you believe it?”

Speechless, Priest Ryuko shook his head. The world had gone insane since the earthquake. What would happen next? Animals would talk and men fly?

“They’ll stick me in some convent at the end of the earth, and I’ll lose my home and my place in court, and never see my son again!” Lady Keisho-in wailed.

The elders must be so desperate to restore normalcy, order, and peace—and protect their own skins—that they would jump on the astronomer’s pronouncement, dare to accuse the shogun’s mother, and risk death. And perhaps they wanted to kill two birds with one stone—mend the breach with the gods and get rid of Lady Keisho-in, who had more influence over affairs of state than they liked. Priest Ryuko tasted horror and bile as he saw his own lot take a turn for the worse.

He’d feared that Sano’s investigation into the murders would expose the secret he’d hidden from Lady Keisho-in. He’d feared losing her patronage and his influence with the shogun. But now she herself was in danger of taking a fall.

“Have you spoken to your son about this?” Ryuko asked. “Can’t you persuade him to stand by you?”

“I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s always too busy or too ill to see me.” Lady Keisho-in uttered a sound of despair. “His own mother!”

Priest Ryuko suspected that the shogun didn’t know his mother was trying to see him. Someone must be keeping them apart, and Ryuko had a good idea who it was: Lord Ienobu, who wanted to secure his position as the shogun’s heir and didn’t trust Lady Keisho-in not to interfere.

“The earthquake isn’t my fault. I’m innocent. This is wrong, wrong, wrong! What should I do?” Lady Keisho-in burst into tears; she tugged Priest Ryuko’s hand. “Tell me!”

“First you must calm down,” he said, stalling because he didn’t know what to do. “Let me give you a massage.”

She nodded, opened her robes, and flopped on her back. She loved massages. With sensuous, soothing motions, Priest Ryuko stroked the sagging flesh on her stomach. Soon she began to sigh with pleasure. As he gently kneaded the withered sacs of her breasts and rubbed their brown, droopy nipples, her sighs turned to purrs. She undulated, arching her back. He slipped his fingers between her legs. She gasped, thrust her hips, and gave excited little cries until she reached her pleasure. She moaned and relaxed.

“I can count on you to take care of me,” she murmured.

As she drifted off to sleep, Priest Ryuko covered her with a quilt. He sat beside her, musing on their relationship. Everyone thought it was a matter of a greedy climber servicing a foolish old woman sexually as well as spiritually in exchange for her patronage. But Ryuko was genuinely fond of Lady Keisho-in, never mind that she was flighty and stupid and too old to be attractive to him. They had a strong, human bond. She was the grocer’s daughter who’d given birth to a shogun; he was a village peasant boy who’d made his fortune as a Buddhist cleric. They would always be two commoners against the aristocrats.

“We’ll always stand by each other,” Priest Ryuko said.

“Yes,” Lady Keisho-in whispered in her sleep.

He wished he could believe her, but he knew she was as fickle as her son. Resisting the panic that clawed at his mind, Ryuko began to plot. He would have to bury his secrets deeper. That was his top priority. He reassured himself that Sano wouldn’t bring him down. He had at least one good weapon in his arsenal.

*   *   *

“MAMA, CAN I
go with you?” Akiko asked.

“No, I’m sorry.” Reiko inserted the last comb into her hair and put on her coat. “It’s too dangerous in the city.”

Akiko tugged at Reiko’s skirts. “But I’m tired of staying home. I want to go out.”

“This is where you’re safe. When I get back, we’ll play dolls.”

“No! Please?”

In the crowded chamber, Sano smiled as he fastened his swords at his waist. Akiko was so much like her mother. Reiko would have her hands full, trying to protect, discipline, and teach the adventurous Akiko. And so would he, with two such strong-willed, contrary womenfolk.

Akiko pleaded; Reiko refused to relent; their tempers flared. Sano said, “Akiko, you can come with me.” He told Reiko, “I’m going to Hirata-
san
’s house on my way to see Priest Ryuko and Minister Ogyu.” It was time to confront Hirata about his absences, his secrecy. “She can play with the children.”

“Good!” All smiles and sweetness, Akiko hugged Sano.

“Come put on your coat.” Stuffing her daughter into the little pink garment, Reiko gave Sano a glance that thanked him for resolving the argument.

Sano took Akiko’s hand. She skipped beside him out of the estate. He realized he’d never gone anywhere alone with her; Reiko and the servants usually accompanied them. The walls of the passage that led to the official quarter were broken, full of gaps. Akiko broke away from Sano and started to climb a rock pile. Before Sano could catch her, she slid down it and fell on her knee.

“Akiko! Are you all right?” Sano examined Akiko’s knee. It was scraped raw, but she didn’t cry. She was brave like her mother.

Two patrol guards sauntered by. They hid smiles as they bowed to Sano, the great chamberlain playing nursemaid. Sano got a firmer grip on Akiko’s hand. They arrived at Hirata’s home without further incident.

Midori hurried out of the storehouse, the baby in her arms, her other children following. The expectancy on her face turned to disappointment as she recognized Sano and Akiko.

“I brought you a visitor,” Sano said.

Akiko ran to Taeko and Tatsuo. Midori said, “I thought you were my husband coming home.” She looked worried. “Have you seen him?”

“No,” Sano said. “I was hoping to find him here.”

Midori brushed her disheveled hair off her face. “He didn’t come home last night.”

Sano was disturbed. His irritation at Hirata for his absence during the investigation gave way to fear that something bad had happened to him. Sano didn’t trust those friends with whom Hirata had become so close. But he didn’t want to voice these thoughts and upset Midori.

“He’ll probably be home soon,” Sano said. “I’ll stop by again later.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Midori said, reassured.

“Can I leave Akiko with you?”

“Of course.” Midori turned, saw the three children climbing a rock pile, and shouted, “Get down from there!”

Sano left in search of Priest Ryuko.

22

A MESSENGER BOY
from Edo Castle called into the courtyard of the Yushima Seid
ō
: “Honorable Minister Ogyu! His Excellency the shogun wants you. You’re to come at once!”

The summons awakened Minister Ogyu, who lay in bed with his wife and children in their tent. Groggy consciousness gave way to an agonizing headache that felt as if a spike had pierced his right eye, stabbed through his brain, and pinned him to the bed. His body’s response to mental strain, the headache had come on yesterday after Chamberlain Sano’s visit. Ogyu wished he could go back to sleep, but he couldn’t ignore the shogun’s order. He rolled over and stifled a groan.

His wife roused immediately. She searched his face, read the pain that he hid from everyone except her. “Is the headache bad today?”

“Not very,” Ogyu lied, not wanting to worry her.

The mental strain had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember. Even when he was a child, fear and anxiety would pump through him and turn into pain in his head. “Make it go away!” he’d sobbed to his mother.

She had shaken him and scolded, “Never cry! Don’t be a sissy!”

“Obey your mother,” his father had said. “It’s for the good of us all.”

Even though they withheld comfort, Ogyu had never doubted that they loved and cherished him. He’d known their story ever since he’d been old enough to understand. His father had been a court physician, his mother from a minor noble family. They were desperate for a son to carry on the family name, until at last Ogyu was born, the precious only child. They expressed their love through ever-vigilant discipline.

His wife clambered out of bed, wrapped herself in her heavy coat, and said, “I’ll brew you some opium tea.”

She was more sympathetic than his parents had ever been. Ogyu loved her dearly for it. Most other men would think her plain and worthless, but he wasn’t like most other men. He appreciated her as the luckiest thing that ever happened to him.

He said, “I’ll have just a little.” Opium was the only thing that took the pain away, but he rationed his doses; he didn’t want to become a slave to it or impair his wits. “Because of Chamberlain Sano and his investigation. I need a clear mind.”

They hadn’t spoken about Madam Usugumo or the murders. They had a tacit agreement that they wouldn’t, except indirectly.

“But you dealt with Chamberlain Sano,” his wife said. “He went away.”

“He’s not finished with me,” Ogyu said. “We have to be on our guard.”

“We always are.” She smiled, proud of their unity against a world they’d both found cruel.

But Ogyu could see how tired she was, how dark the shadows under her eyes. Life after the earthquake was wearing her down, and she’d shared the burden of his problems for the nine years they’d been married. He himself badly needed a rest from the pressure to dissimulate, achieve, and impress. But it never let up.

Dragging himself upright, he remembered mealtimes at his parents’ house during his childhood. “Eat!” his mother commanded, holding a bowl under his chin and spooning rich meat stew into his mouth. “Get bigger!” He ate until he was bloated. “Take your medicine!” He swallowed the bitter herb potion. Before he went out in public, his father coached him. “Walk like this, with bigger steps. Don’t mince! Shoulders back. Head high. If someone speaks to you, speak up; don’t whisper. Talk deeper in your throat.”

His parents were gone now, but his wife had taken over for them. She put more coals on the brazier and heated gruel, thick with fish and vegetables and lard. As she mixed his medicine, he said, “I don’t think I can eat.”

“You must.”

She urged him with kindness, but it was still a regimen he wished he could escape. Knowing he never could, he dutifully ate and drank. Afterward, she shaved him, oiled his hair, tied his topknot, and neatly trimmed the end. Unlike other men of his status, he didn’t have a valet. She helped him dress in his loincloth, white silk under-kimono, his formal black satin robe ornamented with gold family crests, his black trousers, and black padded coat. On his feet she put socks she’d laundered herself, and high-soled sandals. She checked every detail of his appearance so thoroughly that he didn’t need a mirror.

“There,” she said with a satisfied smile. “You’re ready for the shogun.”

Ogyu took small comfort in knowing that he looked the perfect scholar. His headache stabbed, each thrust deeper. Involuntary tears stung his right eye. The pain was as bad as during the most stressful occasions of his life.

One of those was the day he’d had his first lesson with his tutor, at age six. Up until then, the only people he knew were his parents and their servants. They’d kept him at home, not allowing him to mix with other children; they had no friends or visitors. But they wanted him to have a good education, necessary for their family’s advancement. At great expense they’d hired the tutor—a strict, humorless scholar from the shogun’s court. The tutor was the first stranger that Ogyu had had to impress. For years he toiled to learn math, literature, history, and Confucian philosophy while practicing everything his parents had taught him. He excelled at his studies, but that only created a new challenge.