The Iris Fan (13 page)

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Sano said, “What’s wrong with Masahiro?”

That was another sore topic. “Midori caught Masahiro and Taeko … together, in the storeroom last night.”

Sano looked surprised, then disheartened by this trouble on top of trouble. He sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

Carrying the tray to the kitchen, Reiko thought of things she might have said.
You have the most dangerous case of your life to solve, and I’m only making things worse, I’m sorry.
But she still thought she was justified in criticizing Sano for starting a new campaign against Lord Ienobu, and he hadn’t apologized for putting honor ahead of their family. Neither was going to back down; they were both too sure they were right, both too proud.

Maybe the investigation would bring them back together. Reiko felt hope glimmer inside her, like a lighted window glimpsed through a snowstorm. Fear tempered hope. She was about to step into the same, treacherous political quagmire that she’d begged Sano to stay out of. But she found herself looking forward to another chance at Lady Nobuko.

14

SANO FOUND MASAHIRO
swinging a wooden sword, hacking savagely at the falling snowflakes, in the fenced yard behind the house. His breaths puffed out angry white vapor. His face was strained with distress. Sano remembered practicing martial arts with Masahiro when he’d been younger. Masahiro had worked hard but often clowned and laughed. Sano missed that carefree little boy, but he bore much of the blame for Masahiro’s present unhappiness.

Masahiro saw Sano, froze, and lowered his sword. His expression darkened.

“Your mother told me about you and Taeko,” Sano said.

“I suppose
you
don’t want us to marry, either,” Masahiro said.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to.” Sano had an inkling of how Masahiro felt. Before he’d married Reiko, he’d fallen in love with another woman. He’d known from the start that their affair was doomed, but losing her had hurt so much, he hadn’t been sure he could go on living. “I wish you and Taeko could marry. It’s just that you can’t.”

“But I love her.” Masahiro’s hardness melted into pleading.

“You’re young, and so is Taeko. Your feelings will change.”

“No, they won’t! We’ll never love anybody but each other!”

It was no use promising Masahiro he would find a new, better love within an arranged marriage. Sano couldn’t promise Masahiro any marriage at all; no suitable family wanted him. For the first time Sano thought Reiko might be right—he should have given up fighting Lord Ienobu years ago. He had ruined, perhaps permanently, Masahiro’s life. If not for his stubbornness, Masahiro would have been married, with a home and children, and perhaps concubines, before he could fall in love with Taeko. But these notions only made Sano cling harder to his convictions. To abandon them would mean he’d wasted the past four years for nothing, and his honor still required him to vanquish Lord Ienobu.

“If you really love Taeko, then you’ll leave her alone,” Sano was forced to say.

Masahiro waved his wooden sword in a defiant, slashing motion. “I want to be with her. She wants to be with me. You can’t keep us apart forever.”

“If you keep making love to her, she’ll get pregnant.”

“She won’t. We’re careful.”

Sano doubted that they were careful enough. “Break it off with her,” he said, all too aware that he might be permanently ruining his relationship with Masahiro. “For her sake.”

Masahiro flung the sword. It struck the house’s roof. Tiles shattered and fell. “We’re going to marry. I promised Taeko. I’m going to keep my promise.” He stalked away.

*   *   *

INSIDE THE HOUSE
, Taeko watched Masahiro and Sano through the window. After hearing their conversation, she felt more desperate than ever. Sano didn’t want her and Masahiro to marry. Would Masahiro really go against his father? If she and Masahiro couldn’t marry, what was she going to do?

Everybody thought that keeping her and Masahiro apart would prevent her from getting with child, but it was too late. She was already pregnant.

“Shut that window, I’m freezing!” said Ume, the maid, in the kitchen behind her. “You’re supposed to help me. Get over here!”

Taeko closed the window and knelt at the table where Ume was cleaning fish. She picked up a mackerel and slit its belly with a knife. The slime and the bloody, rank-smelling fish guts nauseated her. Taeko breathed shakily. She’d begun vomiting in the mornings and at odd times. She’d thought it was just a stomach upset, until she’d missed two monthly courses. When she and Masahiro made love, he tried to protect her by withdrawing from her before he finished, but sometimes he hadn’t been able to control himself, and sometimes she hadn’t let him withdraw because she wanted him so much. And now she was in trouble.

She felt so alone. She couldn’t tell Masahiro. He would be upset and blame her. Maybe he wouldn’t love her anymore. She couldn’t tell her mother, either. Her mother would force her to take medicine that would make the baby come out dead. That was what women did with unwanted babies; she’d heard people talking. The very thought made Taeko feel sicker. She closed her eyes.

“Keep working! Don’t be so lazy!” Ume scolded.

Taeko forced her eyes open and threw the fish guts in the slop bucket. What would happen if she had the baby? Although Reiko and Sano had always been kind to her, they would surely throw her out of their house. That was what happened to unwed girls who had babies. Masahiro would marry somebody else, Taeko would never see him again, and she and the baby would die in the streets. It would be better for the baby not to be born. But Taeko wanted the baby. It was hers and Masahiro’s. She already loved it with all her heart. What was she to do?

Scraping off fish scales, Taeko silently prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before:
Please let Masahiro marry me soon!
She clung to her hope even though it seemed impossible.

*   *   *

ALONE IN THE
courtyard, Sano gazed at the tile fragments that lay on the icy snow with the wooden sword, which had broken apart between the hilt and the blade. He breathed air that had grown colder in the last few moments.

A servant came out of the house. “Master, there’s a message for you.” He gave Sano a bamboo scroll container and left.

Glad of the distraction, Sano took out a scroll made of cheap rice paper. The characters were written in a clear but plain hand, perhaps that of a scribe hired by someone who didn’t know how to write. Sano read,
If you want the truth about Yoshisato’s murder, come to the Shark Teahouse in Nihonbashi today. Come alone.
Directions followed. The message wasn’t signed.

Sano didn’t put much faith in anonymous tips; he’d had so many that had turned out to be false. But he was desperate to break through the barrier of secrecy that surrounded Lord Ienobu. He would follow up on the tip before he resumed investigating the attack on the shogun. As he headed for the stable to fetch his horse, he decided not to tell Reiko where he was going. If the tip solved Yoshisato’s murder and put the blame on Lord Ienobu, she would forgive him. If it didn’t, she would never have to know about it.

15

IN THE BUSTLING
Nihonbashi merchant quarter, the narrow street that sloped down to the Sumida River was oddly quiet. The snow had stopped falling, and the wind carved drifts in the streets. Shop doors were closed behind indigo curtains that hung halfway down the entrances. Smoke rose from chimneys. A few men bundled in cloaks and hoods loitered outside. As Sano rode down the street, they appeared not to look in his direction, but he knew they were watching him. A window opened as he passed a shop, and he heard dice rattle. These shops were gambling dens. One of the men outside raised a tobacco pipe to his mouth. Blue tattoos decorated his bared wrist. This street was a haunt of gangsters.

Sano’s instincts went on high alert. Gangs controlled the gambling dens, operated illegal brothels, ran protection rackets, and killed people who crossed them. The tsunamis and the Mount Fuji eruption had driven them from devastated areas into Edo, and the incidence of gang-related violence had soared. Sano knew his patrol guard’s uniform wouldn’t protect him. Gang initiation rules required the novices to kill before they became full-fledged members, and killing a Tokugawa soldier would score them extra points. Sano thought of the battle he’d lost last night. Years ago he could have beaten single-handedly a whole mob of gangsters. Now he hoped they didn’t sense his fear.

Midway down the block, two young gangsters leaned against the wall of the Shark Teahouse. Daggers and clubs hung from their sashes. The law permitted only samurai to carry swords, but that was of little comfort to Sano. Above the entrance hung a shark’s jawbones with rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Sano dismounted and tied his horse to a post. The gangsters eyed him as he ducked under the curtain. The door grated open. An old man peered out.

Sano introduced himself. “Did you send me a message?”

The man stood back for Sano to enter an empty room in which two cushions sat on opposite sides of a low table that held two cups. A sake decanter warmed on a charcoal brazier. Sano wondered if Lord Ienobu had set him up to be murdered in a way that would look like a random crime, and he had an urge to run, but his inner voice whispered,
Stay.

Sano stepped into the teahouse. The gangsters outside rammed the door shut. He faced the proprietor. “You have something to tell me?”

The proprietor looked toward the back doorway. The curtains hanging over it parted. A gangster stepped through. Compact and wiry of figure, he wore a padded brown cloak. Gray leggings hugged his muscular calves. A dagger in a black lacquered sheath hung at his waist. His hair was cut short; blue and black tattoos climbed up his neck. His face had scars on his rounded chin, his cheeks, and his wide brow. His expression was so fierce that Sano instinctively drew his sword.

The gangster laughed. Its gleeful, sardonic timbre sounded so familiar that Sano’s heart skipped a beat. His face was startlingly familiar, too. “If you want the truth about my murder, you’d better let me talk before you kill me.”

It was Yoshisato.

Shock dropped the bottom out of Sano’s stomach. He felt unbalanced, as if the world had turned upside down. Everything he thought he knew was suddenly negated. His mouth opened as he stared. This tough, tattooed gangster couldn’t be the youth he’d known as the shogun’s heir. He let his sword dangle while his mind argued with his eyes.

“Yes, it’s me.” A mischievous smile played around Yoshisato’s mouth. If this weren’t an illusion, he would be twenty-two now. He was astoundingly more like Yanagisawa, his true father, in manner although not physical features. “I’m really alive.” He held out his hand. “Touch me, if you’d like to check.”

Slowly, in a daze, Sano sheathed his sword. His hand reached out. Yoshisato grasped it. His hand was warm. The back was tattooed with a dragon whose tail curled around his fingers. Sano pulled away as if burned.

“This is a poor welcome back,” Yoshisato said with mock disappointment. He also sounded just like Yanagisawa. “Aren’t you glad I’m not dead?”

Sano was glad because Yoshisato hadn’t burned to death in the fire, because miracles were possible. But he was also aghast. The murder he’d been investigating for more than four years had never happened. He couldn’t lay the blame for it on Lord Ienobu.

“While you make up your mind, let’s have a drink.” Yoshisato knelt on a cushion.

Sano dropped to his knees on the other. They were alone; the proprietor had disappeared. Yoshisato filled their cups. Sano swallowed the strong, smooth liquor. He felt as if he were drinking with a ghost. So many questions tangled in his mind that he couldn’t sort out which to ask first.

“Are those your men outside?” he asked. Yoshisato nodded. The shogun’s heir had reincarnated himself as a gang boss. “Do they know who you are?”

“They know I’m a former samurai. They think my name is Oarashi.”
Great Storm.
“I’ve been calling myself that for almost two years.”

“You’ve been a gangster for almost two years? The fire was more than four years ago. What happened during the time in between?” Sano slammed his cup down on the table as he realized what a cruel hoax had been played on the shogun, on the whole country. “Why in hell did you let everybody think you’re dead?”

Yoshisato responded with a thin, humorless smile. “It wasn’t my idea. When you hear the whole story, you’ll understand.”

Once Sano had thought Yoshisato a decent, honest man despite his history. Now he was so drastically changed in more than outward appearance. Sano sensed a difference inside him, a new darkness. Unsure whether to trust him, Sano folded his arms. “I’m listening.”

“The night of the fire, I was almost asleep when I heard scuffling and shouting outside. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my sword, and ran to the door. They burst through it, chased me, and cornered me in my bedchamber.” Yoshisato’s voice conveyed none of the terror he must have felt; he could have been reciting what had happened to somebody else. “I fought hard, but it was five against one.”

“‘They’?” Sano prompted.

“The one in charge was Manabe Akira. He’s Lord Ienobu’s chief retainer. I didn’t know the others. I figured they worked for Ienobu, too.”

You think you know so much, but you don’t know anything,
said Manabe’s voice in Sano’s memory. Here was the information Sano had gone to Yoshiwara to learn—the role Manabe had played in what he’d thought was Yoshisato’s murder. “There were five men?” His informer had told him that only Manabe, Setsubara, Ono, and Kuzawa had gone out that night. “Not four?”

Yoshisato waved away the interruption. “They tied me up. Manabe poured medicine down my throat, then gagged me. His men carried in three dead bodies—my guards. Suddenly one of the men turned on another and cut his throat. They left him with my dead guards.”