The Incense Game (30 page)

Akiko screamed. The blast hit Sano like thunderclaps against his ears. He caught Akiko up and whirled her around to shield her from the hot, orange fireball that seared his eyes. The blast hurled him and Akiko against the house. He felt sharp, piercing sensations, like arrows striking his back, and Akiko’s screams vibrating through her body. The house shuddered. Blinded and dazed, Sano smelled fire, smoke, and sulfurous, acrid gunpowder; he heard creaking and rumbling noises. The supports holding up the roof were coming down. Timbers clubbed his back. Sano shielded Akiko with his body as he fell. A post struck his head with a tremendous bang, and everything went dark.

*   *   *

SHRILL SCREAMING AWAKENED
Sano. Brutal pain throbbed on the right side of his head. His whole body ached. Moaning, he opened his eyes. Grit stung them. Warm liquid flowed onto his face, which was pressed against the hard surface where he lay. He tried to move, but heavy weights across his back and limbs pinned him down. He knew something bad had happened, but he couldn’t remember what.

Underneath him, someone wriggled and screamed. Akiko. Memory resurged. The bomb. The explosion. Thank the gods she was alive!

Sano became conscious of urgent voices clamoring, Reiko frantically calling his name and their daughter’s. Lanterns bathed him in light. Weights lifted off him. Sano groaned, in relief because he could move his arms and legs. Unseen hands cleared away the beams, planks, and roof tiles that covered him and Akiko. She crawled out from under him, jumped up, and cried, “Mama!”

Reiko knelt beside him, hugging Akiko. Her face was terror-stricken as she bent, touched his face, and cried, “Speak to me!”

“I’m all right.” Dust caked Sano’s mouth. He knew Reiko must have been in the house during the explosion. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Reiko called to the guards who’d lifted the wreckage off Sano. “He’s bleeding! Fetch a doctor!”

“Akiko?” His first concern was for her.

“She’s fine,” Reiko said. “Not even a scratch on her, that I can see.”

Sano rolled onto his back. Pain stabbed him as if he lay on a bed of flints. The movement worsened the ache in his head, which pounded violently. He was so dizzy that he felt as if he were sliding sideways. Nausea assailed him. He could see the night sky: The roof over the veranda was gone. When he moved his eyes, the stars smeared white streaks across his vision. His stomach heaved. Turning his head away from Reiko and Akiko, he vomited.

Reiko made soothing noises, wiped his face. Detective Marume said, “Let’s bring him inside.” He carefully lifted Sano’s shoulders. A guard lifted his legs. They carried Sano into the building, which had survived the explosion. They lowered him onto the bed in the family’s chamber. Sano lay on his left side because his head didn’t hurt there and his back was too sore. Eyes closed, he listened to people tramping around outside and speculating about the explosion. The doctor arrived, spoke to Reiko, and made clattering noises with his equipment. Sano heard Akiko protest as Reiko handed her over to the nursemaid. As the doctor cleaned the wound on Sano’s shaved crown, Reiko murmured in consternation.

“This is a bad gash,” the doctor said. “It will require stitches.”

He held an ice pack over Sano’s scalp to numb it, then began sewing. Sano clenched his teeth against the pricks of the needle and the tugging of the thread. Then the doctor set to work on Sano’s back. He picked out particles that the blast had driven into the flesh and washed the cuts. Sano winced at the sting of alcohol. After the doctor applied an herb poultice to the cuts and bandaged them, the dizziness and nausea abated enough for Sano to open his eyes. The doctor held his hand in front of them and said, “How many fingers do you see?”

Sano’s vision was blurry. “Two,” he guessed.

“Just as I suspected,” the doctor said. “You have a concussion.”

“What does that mean?” Reiko asked anxiously.

“His brain was jarred inside his skull.”

“Will he be all right?”

“Yes, if he rests in bed for a few days.” The doctor held a cup near Sano’s mouth and placed a bamboo straw between his lips. “Drink this. It will ease the pain and help you sleep.”

The sweet wine, astringent herbs, and bitter opium made Sano gag, but the pain soon dulled and drowsy warmth spread through his body.

“I’ll leave medicine for you to take later,” the doctor said before he left.

Masahiro came running into the room. “Father, are you all right?”

“Yes.” Sano felt weak and helpless. He hated to worry his family.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Reiko asked.

Sano described the events that had preceded the explosion. “It was a bomb. Someone threw it onto the veranda. I heard him running away.”

“I heard a loud bang,” Reiko said. “I thought it was a gun.”

“So did I,” Masahiro said. “I heard it in the shogun’s house.”

Detective Marume entered the room. “I found these in the wreckage.” He held out his hand. On his palm were small, curved, sharp ceramic fragments—the remains of the bomb, the container that had been filled with gunpowder.

Another memory surfaced in Sano’s mind. “I felt something lurking outside. It must have been the person who threw the bomb. But I thought I was dreaming. I was so tired.”

“I have men searching the area,” Marume said.

“He’s probably long gone.” Sano pounded the bed with his fist, angry at his negligence. “I should have investigated!”

“Never mind,” Reiko said, although visibly shaken by their close call. “Let’s just be glad you’re going to be all right.”

Sano was newly aware of how vulnerable they were without the walls that had once enclosed them. He said to Marume, “Put guards around the house day and night. And up the hill to watch from above.”

“I’ve already done it,” Marume said.

“Who threw the bomb?” Masahiro asked.

“I don’t know,” Sano said, “but I have an idea.”

“Maybe Yanagisawa is up to his old tricks,” Reiko said.

“Maybe,” Sano said. “He’s back. He put in an appearance at court today.”

“I saw him,” Masahiro said. “He’s made friends with the shogun again. Ienobu didn’t like it.”

Sano thought of Ienobu, and Kato Kinhide, and other men he’d clashed with, who would like to see him gone. “But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this happened while I’m investigating the murders.”

“Could it have been one of the suspects, trying to prevent you from finding out that he’s guilty?” Reiko said.

“One of the suspects or somebody associated with one of them,” Sano said.

“It couldn’t have been Madam Usugumo or Lord Hosokawa’s daughters,” Masahiro said. “They’re dead.”

“I’m fairly certain that it wasn’t Mizutani, the incense master,” Sano said. “He’s a commoner. He doesn’t have access to the castle.”

“The same applies to Korin the apprentice,” Reiko said. “Besides, he’s in jail.”

“That leaves Priest Ryuko and Minister Ogyu,” Masahiro said.

Something good had come out of the bombing, Sano thought. It had whittled down the list of suspects.

“I bet it’s Priest Ryuko,” Masahiro said. “I found out something about him today. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t get away from the shogun.” He described how he’d spied on Ryuko and learned that the man was planning a journey. “Maybe he decided to kill you so he wouldn’t have to leave.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Sano said. “He’s not feeling too friendly toward me.”

“Is he bold enough to try to kill you?” Reiko wondered. “I’ve never heard anything about him to indicate that he would resort to violence.”

“Everyone has the capacity to resort to violence.” Sano considered his wife, his son, and himself. All of them had killed, albeit in self-defense or in defense of each other or someone else. Maybe Priest Ryuko had been desperate enough to forsake his Buddhist vow to protect all forms of life. “I’d better find out where he’s going.”

“You’d better not do anything but rest,” Reiko warned.

Because of the medicine, Sano felt little pain, but he was too drowsy to argue that he couldn’t postpone the investigation without angering Lord Hosokawa. “Did you learn anything about Minister Ogyu?”

“I did,” Reiko said. “The whereabouts of his old nurse, who knows his secret.”

Sano drifted off to sleep during her explanation.

31

DAWN FOUND HIRATA
riding his horse along the coast of Edo Bay. The quiet ocean rippled with little waves, like shirred silk. Thin clouds laced the pale blue sky; sunlight gilded the sand where the tide had melted the snow. Seabirds wheeled overhead, swooped down, and flocked at the water’s edge. A whale spouted offshore. But the natural beauty couldn’t lighten the darkness inside Hirata. For the first time in longer than he could recall, he had no duties to perform. Sano was investigating the murders without him. The freedom was sobering, humiliating. He felt as useless as a samurai in battle without his swords.

Before leaving town yesterday, he’d planted the letter in Ienobu’s room. He already regretted it. Ienobu was sure to show up in the garden at the designated hour, and Sano was safe for the time being, but Hirata dreaded the consequences of his actions.

Last night he’d camped in the woods above the beach. After securing his horse and covering it with blankets, he’d collected sticks, built a fire, and eaten pounded rice cakes, dried fish, and hot tea. Then he’d wrapped himself in a quilt and performed the breathing and meditation exercise that would warm his blood while he slept. Now, as he continued his journey, he noticed something strange.

He’d been to these parts before, but he saw nothing he recognized. The ocean had taken huge bites out of the land. The road was buried under mud and uprooted trees. Where fishing villages had stood, debris littered the beach and floated on the water. Hirata realized that the earthquake had caused a tsunami, which had washed them away. Broken dishes and furniture, planks and roof tiles covered the sand. Corpses with bones showing through rotted flesh hung in tree branches. A wave tossed up a child’s sandal. The cold sea breeze carried the reek of death. Hirata wondered if the government in Edo knew about this. It seemed as if no one here had lived to tell. Hirata felt as if he were the only man on earth. Grieving for the lives lost, he despaired of finding Fuwa, the monk whose name he’d obtained from his acquaintance at the tent camp. If Fuwa hadn’t left the coast before the tsunami, surely he’d drowned. But Hirata kept going, past the wreckage of more villages, until he reached the site where Chiba had been. There he perceived a lone human aura, a quiet but strong pulse emanating from above the beach.

On a high, wooded bluff stood a tent made of fabric patterned in green and brown shades. Beside it a man crouched perfectly still. He rose and lifted his hand in greeting. Lean and tall, he had a shaved head and wore the hemp robes of a monk.

“Who goes there?” he called, neither friendly nor hostile.

“My name is Hirata. Are you Fuwa?”

Caution edged Fuwa’s aura. “I am. How did you guess?”

“A friend told me you might be here. I came from Edo to talk to you.”

“I’ll come down.”

Hirata dismounted. By the time his feet touched the sand, Fuwa had descended the bluff, stepping on exposed roots and rocks, as easily as if they were stairs, to stand before Hirata. “I’ve heard of you.” His face reminded Hirata of an axe blade. Cheekbones and nose curved outward; forehead and chin receded. It was wider and sharper in profile than from the front. “The best fighter in Edo.”

Hirata shrugged off the admiration in Fuwa’s glance. “Were you here when the tsunami came?”

Fuwa nodded somberly.

“How did you survive?”

“I hung onto a tree.”

“Are you the only person in Chiba who wasn’t swept away?”

“There were a few others. They left. Everything they had is gone.”

“Why did you stay here?”

“Why not?” Amusement twitched the corners of Fuwa’s firm mouth. “I’m doing what I would be doing anywhere else.”

Itinerant mystic martial artists camped in the wilderness and liked solitude. “Well, I’m glad I found you.” Hirata offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the gods.

“Is Edo very badly damaged?” Fuwa asked.

“Very.” Hirata described the conditions in the city.

Fuwa looked grave, but all he said was, “What did you come all this way to talk to me about?”

“Some mutual friends. Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi.”

Fuwa turned abruptly away. His axe-blade profile, backlit by the sun on the sea, was sharp and dark. “I don’t talk about them.”

Enlightenment startled Hirata. “You were in their secret society. They swore you to secrecy.”

Fuwa’s head snapped around. “You, too?”

“Yes.” Hirata had never imagined that the secret society had had another member. “So you can talk to me. We’re comrades.”

“I’m not in the society anymore.” Fuwa strode down the beach, as if he wanted to escape not only Hirata but his past.

Hirata followed. “Did they throw you out?”

“No. I quit.”

“I didn’t think they let anybody quit.” Maybe there was a chance for Hirata to get out alive, too. “How did you?”

“I walked away,” Fuwa said. “They weren’t in a position to stop me.”

“Why not?” Hirata couldn’t imagine Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi being that powerless.

Fuwa halted and faced him. “Why don’t you ask them?”

“Because I don’t trust them to tell me the truth.”

“You don’t trust them, but you joined their society anyway?” Fuwa laughed good-naturedly. “Well, I guess we are comrades. We both made the same mistake.”

Hirata laughed, too, in relief. “How did you meet them?”

“Why do you want to know?” Fuwa asked, still not ready to share his secrets.

“Because I’m in trouble.” Hirata poured out the whole story of his dealings with the men. He described the ritual, showed Fuwa the ghost’s orders branded on his arm, and said that Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano had threatened to kill his master unless he obeyed the ghost.

“Why do you think that anything I say could help?”

“I don’t know,” Hirata admitted. “I’m just desperate.”