Shinju (21 page)

“O-hisa,” he whispered, touching her sleeve to get her attention. “Where is Miss Midori?”

The maid looked at him, her face blank and uncomprehending.

Ahead of him, Sano could see Lady Niu's back, uncomfortably close. “We met two days ago at the house,” he explained hastily. “I'm
Yoriki
Sano—do you remember me? I must speak to Miss Midori. It's very important. Can you show me where she is?”

Now recognition spread across O-hisa's face. Her eyes and mouth rounded into circles of fear. “No … I'm very sorry … I …”

Stammering more barely intelligible words, she made a move as if to run toward the gate.

Sano blocked her path. “Please,” he began.

O-hisa turned and plunged into the crowd of mourners. They stirred, uttering murmurs of surprise and annoyance.

Sano stared in dismay at the turmoil she'd left in her wake: women beating her dusty footprints from their hems, the old man she'd knocked to the ground. Appalled by the spectacle he'd created, he wondered if he should try to resume his place among the men, or leave before Lady Niu or Magistrate Ogyu saw him. He hesitated too long. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He turned and found himself face to face with Lady Niu's manservant. Eii-
chan
's homely visage remained rigidly impassive, except for the warning glint in his small eyes.
Offend my masters and die by my hand
, they seemed to say.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Niu herself was advancing on him, regal and furious. Three of her husband's retainers accompanied her, stern and hostile in their black garments. The crowd parted to let them pass. The priest's chanting trailed off; the bells and drums stopped. Only the fire's crackle continued unabated.

Panic clutched Sano. What would she do to him? He flung a wild glance toward the male mourners and saw heads turning his way, Ogyu's among them. And what would his superior do upon learning that Sano had not only disobeyed orders but disrupted Yukiko's funeral as well? Eii-
chan
and the other samurai surrounded him. He stood his ground, hoping Lady Niu wouldn't reveal his presence to Ogyu by saying his name.

She didn't, maybe because she didn't remember it, or because she didn't want her friends to know that a police commander had crashed her stepdaughter's funeral. When she reached him, all she said was, “I warned you once, and I won't warn you again,” in a low tone meant only for him. Her lovely eyes flashed in anger—and, strangely, fear. She turned to her manservant. “Eii-
chan
, see this man to the gate.”

Before she'd finished speaking, Eii-
chan
had already taken the initiative, moving with that odd swiftness he had. He stepped around Sano. Fierce pain streaked up Sano's arm to his shoulder as Eii-
chan
seized it, bent it behind him, and wrenched it upward. Only his instinctive self-control enabled him to turn a scream into a gasp. Only his desire to keep Ogyu from seeing him—if the magistrate hadn't already—made him bow his head instead of struggling to free himself. Nearly fainting from the pain, he stumbled out of the murmuring crowd with Eii-
chan
propelling him forward. He was dimly aware of Lady Niu offering apologies to the mourners, and the priests resuming the service. Shame increased his distress as he sensed the hundreds of curious onlookers witnessing his humiliation.

As soon as they reached the steps—too far for anyone to recognize him—Sano began to fight. He trod hard on Eii-
chan
's insteps and jabbed his free elbow into the manservant's stomach. Eii-
chan
didn't react or make a sound. Although Sano suspected that a man of feeling and spirit lived within Eii-
chan
, he seemed made of stone: hard, numb, silent. Was he mute, or did he simply choose not to speak? He half-pushed, half-lifted Sano up the steps, twisting his arm. This time Sano cried out in spite of himself.

“Wait, Eii-
chan
.” It was a man's voice, behind them.

Eii-
chan
paused at the gate and turned, swinging Sano around with him, but not releasing Sano's arm. Through a haze of pain, Sano saw young Lord Niu standing at the top of the steps, small but proud in his black robes.

“You can't stay away from us, can you,
Yoriki Sano
?” Lord Niu
said. He came forward and leaned against the gatepost. “Now I think you can see that interfering in our affairs can result in very unpleasant consequences. Yes? No?”

Sano, biting back another cry of pain, couldn't reply.

Then, almost as an afterthought, Lord Niu said, “Oh, Eii-
chan
. You can let him go now.”

Eii-
chan
released Sano. Sano gingerly flexed his shoulder and arm. Nothing seemed broken, but his muscles ached. Anger flared inside him—not at Eii-
chan
, whom he regarded more as an animated tool than as a man, but at Lord Niu, who could have ended his misery sooner, but had deliberately chosen to let him suffer. The malicious glint in his eyes confirmed this. Sano wanted to rail against the insult, to hurl accusations and threats at Lord Niu: “Someone in your household killed Noriyoshi and your sister, and I'll prove it!” But he held his peace, reminding himself of Tokugawa Ieyasu's words: “Look upon wrath as thine enemy.” He couldn't let anger make him careless.

“What is it you want with us now?” Lord Niu asked.

Swallowing his rage, Sano forced himself to lie courteously. “I only wanted to pay my respects to your family,” he said.

Lord Niu let out a burst of scornful laughter. “Do you mean to tell me that you have ceased your ridiculous investigation into our private tragedy?”

“Unless I find evidence indicating that it isn't so ridiculous after all.” Sano couldn't resist making a verbal counterattack. “Maybe you could give it to me?”

A momentary frown creased Lord Niu's forehead—dismay, or simple irritation? “You can't be serious. There is no such evidence, and even if there were, why would I have it?”

Was the emphatic denial a stall to buy Lord Niu time to recover his wits? Sano thought perhaps he could goad the daimyo's son into an unguarded revelation.

“Noriyoshi had ties to another member of your family besides Yukiko,” he said.

But Lord Niu had regained his poise. Instead of acknowledging the question, he said to Eii-
chan
, “Return to the funeral. I think
Yoriki
Sano can find his own way home.”

Eii-
chan
turned and walked down the steps without a word. To Sano, Lord Niu said, “If you come near our estate or near any member of our clan again, I cannot guarantee your safety. Eii-
chan
and our other retainers take an unfavorable view of those who trespass on our property or persons.”

He delivered the words casually, but with a malevolent glow in his feverish eyes. Sano recognized the tacit threat: if he approached the Nius again, he would be killed.

“I see that you understand my meaning,” Lord Niu said. “Perhaps you're not as stupid as I thought. Just foolhardy, but decidedly capable of learning your lesson.” A contemptuous smile twisted his mouth as his gaze held Sano's. “Farewell,
yoriki
. I trust we won't be seeing each other again.” He pushed himself away from the post and started slowly down the steps, his head high and his body rigid.

That's what you think, Sano silently told Lord Niu's retreating back. Resentment and humiliation burned dully in his blood like bad wine. His hand moved to his sword, gripping its hilt with all the force of his anger against Lord Niu, who had given him even more reason to investigate the Nius' role in the murders.

Then Lord Niu turned. “Oh, by the way,” he called. “I wouldn't bother trying to see Midori, if I were you. My mother has sent her to the nunnery at the Temple of Kannon in Hakone.” His laugh rang out as he continued on his way.

Sano watched Lord Niu rejoin the mourners at the funeral pyre. The flames had died down, although smoke continued to rise from the smoldering embers. As he started back toward the city center, a heady excitement stirred beneath his initial disappointment. Attending the funeral had endangered him, but not, perhaps, to no avail. Midori was in Hakone, a long, arduous journey west along the Tōkaido—the Eastern Sea Road that linked Edo with the
imperial capital in Kyoto. This was bad news, but at least he knew where to find her. It wouldn't be easy to justify a five-day leave of absence to Magistrate Ogyu; still, he could operate more freely once outside Ogyu's domain.

Besides, the Nius' continuing resistance to his investigation confirmed his suspicion that they wanted the mystery of Noriyoshi's and Yukiko's murders to remain unsolved. And their abrupt removal of Midori from Edo meant they were afraid that she might tell him why.

S
ano had departed from the Tōkaido's starting point at the Nihonbashi Bridge at daybreak. Dressed in his winter traveling clothes—a wide, circular wicker hat, heavy robes, trousers, shoes and socks, and his warmest hooded cloak—he'd ridden southwest out of the awakening city. Now, as the sun burned the last of the dawn's shimmering pink radiance from the sky, he approached Shinagawa, second of the fifty-three stations that marked the highway between Edo and Kyoto.

The wide, sandy road, banked in the middle and bordered on each side by regularly spaced tall firs, narrowed and began to climb. Sano could see ahead of him the many bent figures of pedestrians toiling toward Shinagawa. To his right, the land rose steeply toward the forested hills. On his left it dropped sharply away below a line of fishermen's shacks to the sea. Small boats crowded the harbor. The faint shapes of larger ships floated on distant deeper water, against a hazy horizon. Seabirds wheeled and soared, filling the sky's high blue bowl with darting wings and the air with their sharp, plaintive cries. The sibilant lap of the waves made a constant, gentler music. The clean, fresh salt breeze invigorated Sano, renewing his optimism and confidence. His journey was going to be a success. When he got to Hakone, Midori would give him proof that Noriyoshi and Yukiko had been murdered, and maybe even tell him the identity of the killer.

“Wait,
Yoriki
Sano-
san!
I have to stop!”

The shout that came from twenty paces behind him shattered Sano's mood. With a sigh of irritation, he reined in his horse and looked over his shoulder. He watched as a smiling, wheezing Tsunehiko, mounted on a huge black steed, bounced up to him. For one blessed moment, he'd completely forgotten his traveling companion.

Tsunehiko scrambled off his horse. “I'll be quick, I promise.” He hurried to the roadside, hiking up his cloak.

Shaking his head, Sano leaned over to grasp the reins of Tsunehiko's horse before it could wander away. He watched his secretary urinate against a tree, wishing he were traveling alone and blaming himself for the fact that he wasn't.

After Yukiko's funeral yesterday, he had gone straight to Magistrate Ogyu's mansion. He'd wondered whether he should wait awhile to ask for a leave of absence. If Ogyu had seen him at the funeral, it would be better to allow the magistrate's anger time to cool. But a growing sense of urgency made Sano reluctant to postpone his journey. If he didn't solve the mystery soon, he feared he might never do so.

He'd waited until after dark. At last two bearers rounded the corner with a palanquin. Magistrate Ogyu stepped out at the gate.

Sano greeted his superior, who, to his relief, didn't mention the funeral. Then he said, “Honorable Magistrate, I must beg you to allow me a five-day leave of absence. As you know, my father is not well. His doctor has advised me to make a pilgrimage to the shrine at Mishima to pray for his recovery.”

Fabricating an excuse had presented him with a moral dilemma. He hated lies and subterfuge, but for the past few days, he'd dealt constantly in both. Now he'd come to realize that his investigation was compromising not only his career, but also his principles. He tried to justify the lies by telling himself that small truths must fall sacrifice to his pursuit of a larger one. Justice—for the murder victims, as well as for Wisteria and Midori and others who had
loved them—must take priority. Still, he felt a deep unhappiness that he couldn't deny. His personal quest was carrying him into a disturbing and unfamiliar world, away from the radiant path of duty, obedience, filial piety, and integrity defined by the Way of the Warrior. Finally he'd settled on the pilgrimage story after discarding several others, because it was plausible and contained elements of truth. He would go to Mishima, which was the station just after Hakone. If spies at the highway checkpoints reported his movements to Ogyu, he would at least appear to be doing exactly as he'd proposed. A doctor
had
recommended the pilgrimage, and Ogyu, always a champion of duty, couldn't refuse to let him go.