The Perfumed Sleeve (37 page)

“Master,” Hirata said. His cracked, barely coherent whisper conveyed all the respect, obligation, and love he felt toward Sano. Pain and lethargy prevented him from speaking more. Sano’s image grew dark, indistinct.

“You’ve proved yourself an honorable samurai,” Sano said in a voice raw with emotion. It seemed to echo across a vast distance. “For saving my life, you have my eternal gratitude. The disgrace you brought upon yourself is gone. I’ll never doubt your loyalty again.”

Hirata reveled in the words. As he felt himself raised up from the hole into which his disgrace had sunken him, he was dimly aware of his physical and spiritual energy fading. Any effort to save him seemed futile. He thought of his wife Midori, who would grieve for him, and his daughter Taeko, who must grow up without him. Sadness pierced Hirata. He thought of Koheiji and felt brief amusement that the actor had turned out to be an agent of his fate. He remembered his hunch that Tamura would figure into the solution of the mystery. Instinct had proved correct one last time.

And now Hirata heard a rushing sound, like a tidal wave coming to carry him into the black emptiness obliterating his vision. He sensed legions of samurai ancestors awaiting him in a world on the other side of death. Sano’s hand holding his was all that tethered Hirata to life.

35

The passage of three days brought milder weather, rains that engulfed Edo, and tentative peace to the city.

Legions of mounted troops and foot soldiers marched along the highways, heading beyond hills cloaked in mist, back to the provinces from whence they’d come to fight the war between Lord Matsudaira and Chamberlain Yanagisawa. Under the murky, clouded sky, the battlefield lay abandoned, strewn with trampled banners, fallen weapons, and spent arrows. The rain gradually washed away the blood where men had died.

In the official quarter within Edo Castle, the estates no longer sported the crests of the rival factions. But troops patrolled the streets in case trouble should break out again. Officials scurried furtively between the mansions. Behind closed doors there and in the palace, the Tokugawa regime had begun the delicate, volatile process of reorganizing itself in the wake of major changes within the political hierarchy.

Far from the castle, Lord Matsudaira’s soldiers escorted Chamberlain Yanagisawa down a pier raised on pilings above the rain-stippled gray water of the Sumida River. Ahead of him, at the far end of the pier, stood Police Commissioner Hoshina. Beyond Hoshina loomed a ship with an enclosed cabin and protruding oars. Its mast supported a square sail that bore the Tokugawa crest. The crew waited silently aboard. Behind Yanagisawa toiled a handful of servants carrying baggage. Then came his wife and daughter, huddling together beneath an umbrella. Four of his sons and more troops trailed after them. On the riverbank, along docks that extended across the Tokugawa rice warehouses, a crowd stood gathered to watch the departure of the man who’d once commanded the shogun’s power as his own.

Yanagisawa strode proudly; his face under his broad-brimmed wicker hat showed no emotion. But inside him, his spirit raged against his bitter fate.

Now he and his escorts reached Hoshina, who waited by the gangplank leading to the ship. Hoshina bowed to Yanagisawa with elaborate, mocking politeness.

“Farewell, Honorable Chamberlain,” he said. “Have a pleasant journey. May you enjoy your exile. I hear that Hachijo Island is quite a charming place.”

Humiliation, fury, and anguish howled like a storm through Yanagisawa. That his exalted political career should end with his banishment to a tiny speck of land in the middle of the ocean, and the scorn of his lover turned enemy!

“You probably thought you could finesse your way out of this,” Hoshina said.

Indeed, Yanagisawa had cherished hopes that even though most of his allies had deserted him, and his army had dissolved, all wasn’t lost. He’d felt certain that he could rely on the shogun’s protection and he would soon mount another attack on Lord Matsudaira, defeat his rival, and reclaim his position.

“Too bad the shogun refused to see you after you were captured and imprisoned.” Hoshina’s smile expressed cruel delight that Yanagisawa had been thwarted. “Too bad that while you were busy trying to raise more troops for the battle, Lord Matsudaira convinced the shogun that you are responsible for every misfortune that’s ever befallen the Tokugawa regime, and you should be eliminated.”

Hence, the shogun had exiled Yanagisawa forever and allowed him to take only his wife, his daughter, his sons, and these few attendants as company during the long years until he died.

But now, as Yanagisawa mounted the gangplank, his hope of a return to Edo and eventual triumph burned like flames inside his heart. The shogun had spared his life, although Lord Matsudaira must have tried hard to coax their lord into executing him. Yanagisawa deduced that the shogun still bore him some affection and had honored their longtime liaison by banishing him instead. As long as Yanagisawa lived, he had another chance at victory. Already his mind nurtured new schemes.

He paused at the top of the gangplank, turned, and looked back toward Edo. Rain spattered his face as he gazed up at the castle. There, in the heart of the shogun’s court, he’d left a remnant of himself, a door open for him to enter when the time was right.

“You haven’t seen the last of me,” Yanagisawa said, then stepped aboard the ship.

Inside Sano’s estate, Reiko and Midori sat vigil in the chamber where Hirata lay unconscious in bed. His eyes were closed, his face pale and without expression. A quilt covered his motionless body and its terrible wound. Nearby, the Edo Castle chief physician mixed medicinal herbs for a poultice. A Shinto priest chanted spells and waved a sword to banish evil, and a sorceress jingled a tambourine to summon healing spirits. Reiko hugged Midori, whose tear-stained face was haggard with woe. Midori hadn’t left Hirata’s side since Sano had brought him home from the theater.

“He’s going to be all right,” Reiko said, trying to reassure Midori and herself even though Hirata’s chances of survival were meager. Sano had told her that Hirata had lost much blood before a local doctor had arrived at the theater, sewn up his wound, and applied medicine to prevent shock and festering. “We must have faith.”

“He’s young and very strong,” said Dr. Kitano, the Edo Castle chief physician. “That he’s still alive after three days bodes well for his recovery.”

A sob shuddered through Midori. “I love him so much,” she wailed. “If he should die ...”

“Don’t dwell on the thought,” Reiko said, tenderly wiping Midori’s tears. “Be strong for the sake of your daughter.”

But Midori wept harder at the thought of Taeko, whom she’d left in the care of a wet nurse. She couldn’t bring Taeko into Hirata’s room, for fear that the evil spirits might contaminate their baby. “Why did this have to happen?” she cried.

“It was fate,” Reiko said, having no better answer. “We’re all at its mercy.” Then she saw Hirata stir and his eyes slowly open. “Look, Midori-
san
! He’s awake.'”

Midori exclaimed. She clasped Hirata’s hand as he blinked up at her and Reiko. His blurred, empty gaze came into focus, as though his spirit had returned to his body after wandering in the netherworld between life and death.

“Midori-
san
,” he said. “Reiko-
san
.” His voice was hoarse and weak. Amazement dawned on his face. “I’m alive? That
rōnin
didn’t kill me?”

“Yes, you’re alive,” Midori cried, weeping for joy now.

“And his wits are intact,” Dr. Kitano said as he knelt beside Hirata. “That’s a good sign.” He felt the pulse points on Hirata’s body. “His energy is stronger. I think he will make good progress.”

While Midori sobbed and laughed, Hirata breathed a weary sigh and closed his eyes. “Let him sleep,” Dr. Kitano said. “Rest will help cure him.”

The physician went back to his potions. Midori and Reiko sat quietly beside Hirata. “Oh, Reiko-
san
, I forgot that your husband is still in danger,” Midori said contritely. Now that Hirata’s condition was improved, she could take an interest in other things. “What’s to become of Sano-
san,
with all the changes since Lord Matsudaira defeated Chamberlain Yanagisawa?”

“I don’t know,” Reiko said.

The one definite good thing that had happened was the exile of Lady Yanagisawa as well as the chamberlain. Reiko regretted that the woman had escaped worse punishment for the crime of murdering Daiemon, but Reiko’s marriage was safe for the time being. Perhaps, Reiko hoped, Lady Yanagisawa would never return to plague her again. But this blessing didn’t compensate for the other repercussions that Lord Matsudaira’s victory and Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s downfall threatened for Sano.

“Lord Matsudaira has been meeting with the highest-ranking officials in the government,” Reiko said in a low voice that the doctor, priest, and sorceress couldn’t hear. “He’s been deciding who will stay and serve under his new regime and who will go. He has said nothing to my husband yet.”

Fear bit cold and hard within Reiko. “Rumors are flying, but nobody seems to know what will happen to us. Lord Matsudaira may not forgive my husband for refusing to bend to his wishes during the murder investigation. When his reorganization of the
bakufu
is done, my husband may no longer have a post.”

“But the shogun will want Sano-
san
to stay, won’t he?” Midori whispered anxiously. Reiko saw she’d realized that if Sano went, Hirata would also lose his station with the Tokugawa. He and Sano would both be
rōnin,
their families’ home and livelihood gone, their honor destroyed after years of faithful service and much personal sacrifice. “Won’t the shogun keep Sano-
san
and his detective corps no matter what Lord Matsudaira thinks?”

“The shogun has secluded himself in the palace for the past three days,” Reiko said. “He’s just summoned my husband to an audience with him and Lord Matsudaira. I suppose we’ll soon find out whether we’re safe—or ruined.”

A cadence of doom reverberated through Sano as he walked up the length of the audience hall toward the dais on which the shogun sat. The shogun waited in impassive silence as he approached. Lord Matsudaira, kneeling in the position of honor to the shogun’s right, regarded Sano with a stern expression. The four members of the Council of Elders gravely watched him from their two rows on the upper floor level below the dais. Guards standing around the room and secretaries seated at desks along the walls avoided his gaze. This cool reception convinced Sano that his tenure as the shogun’s Most Honorable Investigator of Events, Situations, and People would end this very day.

As he knelt on the lower level of the floor and bowed to the assembly, he noticed the young man who knelt near the shogun’s left. What was Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s son Yoritomo doing here? Surprise almost eclipsed Sano’s dread. He’d heard that Yanagisawa’s whole family had been exiled. Why had Lord Matsudaira spared the boy? Sano could only guess that Yoritomo had seduced and charmed the shogun so thoroughly that the shogun had insisted on keeping the boy in Edo despite Lord Matsudaira’s opposition.

“Greetings, Sano-
san
,” the shogun said in a weary voice. He looked older and frailer than Sano had ever seen him. “It seems that, ahh, an eternity has passed since we last met.”

“Indeed it does, Your Excellency.” Sano had spent an agonizingly long three days suspended between his dread of losing his post and his honor, and his fear that Hirata would die. At least he could soon stop waiting for one blow to fall.

“I, ahh, have something important to tell you,” the shogun said.

He looked toward Lord Matsudaira, as if for permission to speak. Sano saw that even though Lord Matsudaira might not always have his way with the shogun, he now had their lord as firmly under his thumb as Chamberlain Yanagisawa ever had.

“All in due time, Honorable Cousin,” said Lord Matsudaira. “First we must hear Sano-
san
’s report on his investigation.”

His gaze commanded Sano. As everyone watched him and waited for him to speak, Sano felt as though he’d been granted a stay of execution that only made his doom more unbearable to anticipate. “Senior Elder Makino’s murder was an accident,” he said, then explained what had happened. “The actor Koheiji has been executed. Makino’s concubine Okitsu was sentenced to work as a courtesan in the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter.” Since she’d been an accomplice in covering up the murder but not directly responsible for it, she’d been given the usual punishment for female petty criminals.

“Makino’s wife Agemaki has been tried for the murder of his first wife,” Sano said, “but there was insufficient evidence to prove her guilt. She, too, has been sentenced to Yoshiwara.” She now lived in the same brothel as Okitsu, her rival. Sano had told its owner to keep a close watch on her, lest she inflict her murderous tendencies on her companions or clients.

“Have you also solved the murder of my nephew?” Lord Matsudaira said.

“I have,” Sano said. “Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s wife assassinated Daiemon, on orders from her husband.”

He could have mentioned that he’d finally accounted for Koheiji’s, Okitsu’s, and Tamura’s whereabouts on the night Daiemon had died. Koheiji had admitted leaving the rehearsal to dally with a lady love, and Okitsu had gone out looking for him at the Sign of Bedazzlement, among other places where he’d been known to conduct romances. Tamura had had a secret meeting with a retainer of Lord Matsudaira, during which he’d pledged to join Lord Matsudaira’s faction. But these details didn’t matter anymore.