The Iris Fan (7 page)

Ienobu turned on Yanagisawa, who’d pretended to uphold his claim of innocence while virtually proclaiming that he was guilty. Sano was stunned because Yanagisawa apparently wanted him alive, after years of trying to destroy him.

“Very well.” The black look Ienobu gave Sano and Yanagisawa said the matter was far from settled.

Sano led the way back inside the shogun’s bedchamber. His knees felt shaky; he’d walked away from a battle he’d expected to lose, and onto very thin ice. This was his most important case ever—the attempted murder of his lord. Bushido required him to find the truth, to exact blood for blood. Yet it might not be Ienobu’s blood. He hadn’t one scrap of evidence against Ienobu, and Ienobu could still make good on his threat.

For now Sano concentrated on solving the crime, his first priority. He would worry about Ienobu—and wonder about Yanagisawa—later. He fetched the lantern, resumed inspecting the floor, and found a dark patch on the tatami, near the wooden sliding door between the bedchamber and the shogun’s study. He crouched.

“What is it?” Ienobu’s tone was half eager, half frightened.

The patch gleamed red. “Blood.” It was irregularly shaped, and wider at the end nearer the door. Sano noted the distinctive marks made by toes and heel. “It’s a footprint.”

*   *   *

YANAGISAWA WATCHED SANO
open the sliding door and carry the lantern into the shogun’s study. More footprints led past the niche that contained a desk on a platform, to the lattice-and-paper wall that divided the room from the corridor. They grew fainter with each step.

“The attacker escaped through here.” Sano slid the partition aside and walked into the corridor. Tracking the bloodstains along the palace’s maze of corridors, he gathered an entourage of curious guards, servants, and officials. Yanagisawa and Lord Ienobu walked together behind the parade.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ienobu demanded in a furious whisper.

“I’m trying to help Sano find out who stabbed your uncle.”

“Don’t feed me that tripe! You as good as told Sano that I’m guilty and dug my grave!”

Yanagisawa smiled at the fear he saw beneath Ienobu’s anger. He’d lived in fear since Ienobu had kidnapped Yoshisato and it felt good to have the shoe on the other foot.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Ienobu said.

“Dangerous for whom?
I’m
not the primary suspect in this crime.”

Ienobu shook his finger in Yanagisawa’s face. “Hold up your end of our deal or you’ll never see Yoshisato again.”

“Our deal is off. I’m going to help Sano convict you of conspiring to assassinate the shogun.”

“Do you really think I did?” Ienobu’s air of wounded innocence stank like old fish.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Yanagisawa said. “What matters is whether the shogun believes you’re guilty, and when I’m done with you, he will. You won’t live to inherit the dictatorship.”

“Don’t forget, I have Yoshisato. Step out of line again, and he’ll be as dead as everybody else thinks he is.”

Yanagisawa swallowed the panic that always clutched his heart whenever he thought of his beloved son at the mercy of Ienobu’s henchmen. “You’ve only got him until I find him.”

“I suspect you’ve been looking for him all these years. You haven’t found him yet.”

Every trail had gone cold, and there had been no new leads for fifteen months, but Yanagisawa said, “I feel my luck changing.”

Ienobu chuckled, a sound like the rattle of a snake. “Your time is running out. The shogun is going to die.” He didn’t have to say,
When I take over the regime, I won’t need to keep your son—or you—alive any longer.

“Maybe the shogun will make a miraculous recovery and my searchers are rescuing Yoshisato even as we speak.” Yanagisawa added with sly humor, “I feel your luck changing, too.”

“Are you really willing to gamble that you can find Yoshisato, or destroy me, before the shogun dies and before I can send out my orders to have Yoshisato killed?”

Yanagisawa answered with passion, a substitute for certainty. “
Yes.
”

The parade slowed. Yanagisawa heard Sano say, “The footprints stop here.”

Over the heads of the men in front of him Yanagisawa saw a massive oak door banded in iron and decorated with carved flowers. It sealed the door to the Large Interior, the private section of the palace where the shogun’s wife, female concubines, their attendants and maids lived. A murmur swept through the crowd.

“A
woman
stabbed the shogun?”

8

“HERE’S YOUR NEW
chaperone,” Midori said.

Taeko’s heart sank as she beheld the plain young maid named Umeko, whose sharp eyes missed nothing.

“How am I supposed to keep her away from Masahiro, along with all my other work?” Umeko said in her nasal, insolent voice.

Taeko missed the old days, before they got so poor, when their servants were polite. Now they had servants like Umeko that richer folks wouldn’t put up with.

“Taeko will help you do your work.” Midori glowered at Taeko. “Cleaning house will keep you too busy to get in trouble.”

Umeko led Taeko into the bedchamber; the younger children were asleep there. She laid bedding in front of the door and tucked herself in. “I’m a light sleeper. Don’t bother trying to sneak out.”

Taeko crawled into her own bed and lay awake and miserable in the dark. She’d been so happy in love with Masahiro that she hadn’t thought about the future. She couldn’t bear to be separated from him, and if they couldn’t marry, all was lost.

“Taeko?” whispered Masahiro, kneeling outside the chamber on the other side of the paper wall.

“What are you doing here?” Taeko whispered, glad to have him near her yet afraid Umeko would catch them.

“I wanted to tell you, I’m sorry for what happened.” Masahiro expelled a mournful breath. “I shouldn’t have started this.”

“It’s not your fault. I wanted it as much as you did.” This was such a bold, unfeminine thing to say, Taeko’s face burned.

“But I’m older. I should have kept things under control.”

Glum silence stretched between them. Taeko whispered, “What are we going to do?”

“I’ll think of something.” But Masahiro sounded as forlorn as she felt.

Taeko thought of the times when matchmakers had brought proposals from clans that wanted to wed their daughters to Masahiro. Each time she’d prayed that the marriage would fall through. Each time one had, she’d secretly rejoiced, but now she was scared.

“You won’t marry someone else, will you?” Her voice came out loud and shrill.

“Shh! Don’t worry. It’s like I said: Nobody else wants me.”

“But if somebody did…?”

“I’ll never marry anybody but you.” Masahiro spoke with impatience and tenderness.

Hearing him say it pleased Taeko but didn’t relieve her fear. She knew how much he loved, respected, and felt a duty toward his parents. If a match were arranged for him, would he be able to say no? “We should run away and get married!”

He shifted position; she sensed his surprise. “You mean, leave Edo?”

“Why not?” Taeko hurried to justify the drastic action. “Our families will never let us be together. It’s the only way.”

“What about my post?”

Unhappy because he sounded so reluctant, Taeko said, “You’re just a patrol guard. That’s nothing to give up.”

“Nothing except my honor!” The heat of his anger burned through the paper wall. “If I leave the shogun’s service, I’ll be a deserter and a
r
ō
nin
.”

Taeko had heard about Bushido all her life, but she didn’t understand why Masahiro and his father cared so much about it, when it only seemed to get them in trouble. She’d heard Reiko and Sano arguing about it. Their arguments frightened Taeko. With her father gone and her mother often cross and mean, she looked to Sano and Reiko as parents. If they couldn’t get along, there was no security. It frightened her that now she and Masahiro were arguing about the same thing.

“What’s so bad about being a masterless samurai?” Taeko thought it couldn’t be worse than being poor and looked down on. “At least you can do what you want.”

“It’s the biggest disgrace there is! Besides that, what would we live on?”

“You could teach martial arts, like your father did before he got into the government.”

“That would be a giant step backward for our family!”

“Maybe I could sell my paintings.” Taeko had always loved painting. She painted even though her mother told her it wasn’t for girls. Her work looked as good as many of the paintings in the shops. To be an artist was her cherished dream.

To be Masahiro’s wife was her most urgent wish.

“Oh, sure,” Masahiro said flatly. “We’d starve.” Although he’d admired her paintings, he obviously didn’t think they were worth much. “And don’t you see, if we ran away, we’d be dropping out of the samurai class? We’d never see our families again.”

Taeko hadn’t thought that far. The idea of never seeing her mother, brother, or sister again was disturbing, but she said, “We would have each other.”

His robes rustled as Masahiro stirred uncomfortably. Desperate, Taeko said, “I thought you loved me.” It seemed that there were limitations to his love.

“I do.” Masahiro sounded more impatient than passionate.

“Then let’s run away together and get married!”

Masahiro was speechless for a long, tense moment. Taeko heard him draw, hold, then release his breath. “You never seemed to care about getting married. Why are you talking like this all of a sudden?”

The sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor spared Taeko the necessity of answering. Detective Marume called, “Lady Reiko!”

“Why are you home so early?” came Reiko’s surprised voice. “Where’s my husband?”

“Sano-
san
is at the palace. The shogun was stabbed tonight. He’s not dead, but he’s badly wounded.”

Reiko exclaimed. Masahiro muttered under his breath. Taeko could tell that he was upset by the news but glad for the interruption.

“Why is there blood all over you?” Reiko asked.

“Long story, later,” Marume said. “I’m heading to the palace to find out what’s happening there, as soon as I wash up.”

Masahiro jumped to his feet and called, “I’m going, too!” He whispered to Taeko, “I have to help my father. Don’t worry. Someday, somehow, we’ll be married. I promise.” Then he ran off.

*   *   *

UNDER THE DARK
sky, Hirata skimmed across the snow-frosted tile roofs of mansions where Edo’s richest businessmen lived in the Nihonbashi merchant district. He jumped from one to the next like a cat, effortlessly clearing the wide distances and landing without a sound. His body’s trained muscles absorbed the impact and dissipated it in heat that melted the snowflakes falling around him. A humorless smile twisted his mouth as he thought that anyone who saw him would think he was alone.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

To steal money for Lord Ienobu,
the voice of General Otani said in his mind.

Since Tahara and Kitano had worked the possession spell on him three and a half years ago, Hirata had stolen millions of
koban
from merchants,
daimyo
, and gangsters and delivered it to Ienobu. Hirata wondered what Ienobu thought about the money that showed up on his doorstep. He didn’t know that Hirata and General Otani were working for him. No one knew Hirata was back in Edo. He wore his hair cropped short instead of in a topknot with a shaved crown, and he lived under a false name in a slum, where the neighbors thought he was a peasant from the countryside and the army wouldn’t think to look for him. Burglary was only one of the illegal services into which General Otani had pressed Hirata. It wasn’t the worst. Each additional day that Hirata had to serve Lord Ienobu’s interests, he despised it more.

“Lord Ienobu has the whole Tokugawa treasury at his disposal. Why does he need more money?”

Lord Ienobu has plans.

“What kind of plans?”

You will find out soon enough.

That was what General Otani always said. Hirata frowned in irritation.

If you dislike the same answer, then stop asking the same question.

Hirata especially hated that General Otani could read his thoughts but he couldn’t read Otani’s. The ghost hid them in a part of Hirata’s mind that Hirata couldn’t access no matter how hard he tried; it was like pounding on a locked door.

“I’ve been your slave for three and a half years,” Hirata said. “The least you owe me is an explanation for why we’re stealing money for Ienobu and why you want him to be the next shogun. How is that supposed to destroy the Tokugawa regime?”

Not now.

“Then let me see Sano-
san
.” Hirata wanted desperately to tell Sano what had happened to him. Even though Sano knew he was a traitor and had set the army on him, Hirata clung to the hope that a face-to-face talk would somehow set things right. And he missed Sano, his beloved friend as well as master.

No.

“I want to see my wife and children.” Hirata felt terrible about abandoning Midori, Taeko, Tatsuo, and Chiyoko. He hadn’t realized how much he loved them until he’d lost them. Midori probably hated him, the children had probably forgotten him, but he had to make it up to them, too.

You will see them when the time is right.

“You’ve been saying that ever since we came back to Edo three and a half years ago, and the time is never right, according to you.” Hirata halted his steps. “I’m going to see them now.”

His leg muscles jerked as the ghost overrode his will. He resisted, but the ghost jumped him onto the next rooftop. He cursed in frustration. “You can’t keep me away from Sano or my family forever!”