The Pillow Book of Lady Wisteria (49 page)

“Masahiro-
chan
!” she called, hurrying down the corridor. Her voice echoed through emptiness. Fright constricted her lungs. Skidding around a corner, she almost fell through a doorway. She saw, inside the room, all five housemaids and three of Masahiro’s nurses asleep on the floor. Their eyes were closed; air hissed softly through their open mouths. Empty wine cups littered a table. Reiko stared with alarm as her suspicions found anchor in reality. Lady Yanagisawa must have drugged the servants so she would have the house to herself, and no witnesses to what she did. Reiko ran into the nursery.

Toys lay scattered around, but Masahiro was nowhere in view. The exterior door was open, the room bitterly cold. Stricken by terror, Reiko hastened outside to the garden.

“Masahiro-
chan
!” she called again.

The wind whipped her as she frantically searched the deserted lawn and wilted flowerbeds for her son. Then she heard childish laughter—and splashing noises. Reiko’s heart lurched. She sped around the cherry trees to the pond.

Kikuko stood waist-deep in the water. She was pushing something under the surface, holding it down with both hands. Water splashed, showering her with droplets. Giggling, she pushed harder. Reiko saw little feet kicking and arms flailing. Horror stabbed her. She inhaled a deep, wheezing gasp, then screamed: “No!”

Panic launched her forward to rescue Masahiro. Suddenly a figure darted out through the pine trees on the pond’s opposite bank. It was Lady Yanagisawa. Agony contorted her face almost beyond recognition. Her gray robes streamed behind her as she ran awkwardly to the pond.

“Stop, Kikuko-
chan
!” she cried.

The little girl looked up, saw her mother, and wrinkled her brow in confusion. Masahiro’s struggles weakened. Reiko and Lady Yanagisawa plunged into the pond. The cold water chilled Reiko’s legs and soaked her garments; mud sucked at her feet. Lady Yanagisawa seized Kikuko by the arm and hauled her away from Masahiro. Mother and daughter lost their balance and fell with a huge splash as Reiko reached Masahiro.

He lay face-down and motionless on the bottom of the pond, his pale clothes visible through the murky water. His outspread arms and legs floated limply.

“Oh, no, oh, no,” Reiko moaned.

She lifted her son. Carrying his heavy, dripping weight, she staggered up on the bank. Lady Yanagisawa followed, towing Kikuko. The wet, bedraggled pair collapsed onto dry land together and watched Reiko lay Masahiro down on his back.

“Masahiro-
chan
,” she cried.

His eyes were closed, his lips slack, his skin pale. Not a sound nor movement did he make. In desperation, Reiko shook Masahiro, then pushed on his stomach. A flood of water gushed from his mouth. He coughed and wriggled. His eyes blinked open and gazed up at Reiko. He started to bawl.

Reiko exclaimed in joyous relief. She gathered up Masahiro and wrapped her cloak around his cold, shivering body. “It’s all right,” she soothed. Belated tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked over her son’s head, at the woman whose daughter had almost killed him.

Lady Yanagisawa clung to Kikuko. “I’m so sorry,” she said earnestly. “I brought Kikuko to play with Masahiro. Please believe that I never imagined what would happen. Kikuko didn’t know any better.”

The woman’s excuses couldn’t deny what Reiko saw in her eyes: Lady Yanagisawa had wanted Masahiro to die. His near-drowning was no accident. She’d gotten the maids out of the way and sent Kikuko to murder him. That she seemed to have changed her mind at the last moment didn’t absolve her.

“Can you ever forgive us?” Lady Yanagisawa’s tone was anxious, pleading.

And all Reiko’s distrust and suspicion of Lady Yanagisawa had been justified. Her instincts had proved true. Though Reiko had only begun to guess why the woman wanted to hurt Masahiro, she knew with profound certainty that Lady Yanagisawa was her foe.

“Get out,” Reiko said in a voice that shook with outrage.

The sound of Hirata’s voice outside froze Lightning with his sword poised to kill Wisteria. Sano halted his rush to stop the gangster. Wisteria hunched on her elbows and knees, arms shielding her head. She cautiously looked up. Sano held his breath while silence pervaded the warehouse.

“Lightning!” Hirata called again. “
Sōsakan-sama
!”

Sano watched the anger dissipate from Lightning and satisfaction dawn on him as he recollected that his primary goal was escape, and understood that the means of escape had arrived. Lightning lowered his weapon, seized Wisteria by her collar, and yanked her upright. He backed away from Sano, toward the front of the loft, dragging Wisteria.

“You come, too,” he ordered Sano, then warned, “Try anything, and she’s dead.”

As Sano followed, his mind worked frantically to think how he might use this circumstance to capture Lightning.

“Open the window,” Lightning commanded him. Sano obeyed. Fading daylight brightened the warehouse; icy wind blasted inward. Still gripping Wisteria and his sword, Lightning leaned out the window. “Hey!” he shouted.

Hirata shouted back: “Before I give you the money, I want to see the
sōsakan-sama
.”

Lightning moved aside, pulling Wisteria with him. He jerked his head at Sano. “Go on.”

Stepping up to the window, Sano spied Hirata standing in the street, holding a cumbersome box, his face worried. He smiled in relief when he saw Sano alive and unharmed. “I had to go all the way to Tobacco Lane to get the money,” he called.

His emphatic tone suggested a hidden meaning, but Sano was baffled. He couldn’t understand why Hirata would mention Tobacco Lane, a street of tobacco shops and warehouses that had no moneylenders. Then Lightning’s sword poked his armor tunic, prodding him away from the window.

“Bring the money to the door and knock,” Lightning shouted to Hirata. “Then go home.”

“Very well,” Hirata called.

Suddenly Sano remembered an investigation that had taken him and Hirata to Tobacco Lane. Enlightenment struck him. As he comprehended Hirata’s intent, three loud knocks on the door echoed through the warehouse.

Lightning hesitated, clearly wondering how to get the money and control his hostages at the same time. His breath huffed and his gaze darted with accelerating rapidity. His grip on the sword and on Wisteria’s collar tightened. Sano saw the gangster’s quandary urging him toward more violence instead of rational action. Wisteria shut her eyes and bunched up her face, as if she anticipated a fatal lash of the blade.

“We’ll all go downstairs,” Sano said, thinking fast about how to help Hirata’s plan succeed. “You can hold onto Wisteria, while I bring in the money.”

After an instant of deliberation, Lightning said, “All right. You go first.”

Sano descended; Lightning and Wisteria followed several steps behind him. They all crossed the warehouse. Sano unbarred and slowly opened the door, while his companions waited in the shadows. His pulse raced; expectation thrummed along his nerves. The wooden chest sat outside the door. Sano bent to lift the chest. Then came a scrambling noise on the roof.

“What’s that?” Lightning exclaimed. Panic edged his voice.

Turning, Sano saw the gangster spin in a circle, his gaze on the ceiling, as he clutched Wisteria against him. The skylights opened, raised by Sano’s troops, who’d climbed onto the warehouse. In dropped several dark objects the size and shape of turnips. Each had a short, flaming tail. As they fell, Lightning cried out and ducked. The objects plopped to the floor around him. Sano lunged for Wisteria. He caught hold of her hand, just as the bombs exploded with multiple thudding noises.

Dense, yellowish smoke billowed, clouding the air. Lightning emitted an enraged, terrified yowl. Wisteria shrieked. Sano tugged her toward the doorway, a rectangle of brightness that was barely visible through the smoke. But a hard yank from the opposite direction tore her hand out of his. Sulfurous fumes stung Sano’s eyes, obscured his vision. Though he heard Hirata calling him and Lightning and Wisteria coughing, he could see nothing but smoke. He wished he’d managed to remove Wisteria from the building and let the smoke flush out Lightning. His lungs constricted, and coughs wracked him; yet he couldn’t go and leave Wisteria in here with the gangster.

“Help!” she screamed, retching.

Covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve, Sano groped blindly toward the sound of her. Light from the lanterns filtered through the smoke clouds. Sano’s instincts blared a sudden warning. He crouched, and Lightning’s blade flashed out of the smoke, over his head. More pleas for help came from Wisteria; Lightning alternated curses and wheezes. Blurred shapes flailed like ghosts in the smoke, while the blade whistled around Sano. He fell to the floor, rolled away. Wisteria loosed a scream of agony.

Loud, splintering crashes reverberated as Sano’s troops hacked the window shutters open with axes. While the fresh air dispersed the smoke, Sano clambered to his feet in the center of the room. He saw Lightning lurch toward the door, choking and gagging, just as his detectives charged through it, their swords drawn. Lightning staggered into their midst, wildly swinging his blade in a desperate bid to escape or die trying. Sano launched himself at the gangster. He tackled Lightning around the knees. Lightning crashed to the floor. Sano’s men fell upon him and wrested his sword away. He struggled like a captured beast, uttering incoherent protests.

“Are you all right?” Hirata asked Sano.

Nodding, Sano panted from exertion and coughed up phlegm as he stood. “Where’s Wisteria?” he said.

Then he heard a moan, and saw her. She lay on her side, torso raised on her elbows, inching toward the door. Pain wrenched her features. Her legs were soaked with blood, injured by Lightning. Now pity overrode Sano’s ill will against Wisteria. He and Hirata walked over to her. When she saw them, she strained her body and groaned with a last, futile heave toward freedom. Then she collapsed, weeping in defeat.

35

Hirata-
san
!” Midori ran out on the veranda of the Edo Castle women’s quarters as he hurried up the path toward her. In her red silk kimono, she was a warm spot of color in the chill, cloudy afternoon and drab garden. “What has happened?”

“Lightning has been convicted of murdering Lord Mitsuyoshi and beating the prostitute to death,” Hirata said, glad to bring her good news at last. Two days had passed since the capture of the gangster, and Hirata had just witnessed the trial at Magistrate Ueda’s court. “Wisteria has been convicted as an accomplice to murder and treason.”

He joined Midori on the veranda, and as he described the events that had led to the trial, Midori regarded him with wide-eyed awe. “What will become of Wisteria and Lightning?” she said.

“They’re on their way to the execution ground,” Hirata said. “Their severed heads will be displayed by the Nihonbashi Bridge as a warning to other would-be criminals.” Tokugawa law had meted out harsh justice for the couple’s serious crimes.

“Are you safe now?” Midori asked anxiously.

“Yes. The
sōsakan-sama
has been exonerated. He and I have met with the shogun. His Excellency apologized for doubting Sano-
san
and welcomed him back into favor.” Overwhelnled by relief, Hirata said, “The threat to everyone in his retinue has passed.”

“I’m so happy for you!” Midori smiled, her eyes shining. “And your smoke bomb was such a clever idea.”

Hirata had used a tactic once used against him and Sano in Tobacco Lane. He was proud of his quick thinking, and glad Sano had taken his cue to get Lightning downstairs for capture. Then Midori’s face fell; she sighed in desolation.

“But we’re no closer to marriage,” she mourned.

“Oh, yes we are,” Hirata said, because the revelations in the murder case had unexpectedly produced a solution to their problems. “Come on. We’re going into town. I’ll explain on the way.”

Soon, Hirata and a squadron of detectives were seated in a teahouse in Nihonbashi. Lord Niu entered with his guards and his chief retainer, Okita.