Red Chrysanthemum

16

Hirata and detectives Inoue and Arai stood in an alley below a fire-watch tower in the daimyo district. This was, according to Reiko, where she’d spied on Lord Mori’s estate. On its platform high above the tile roofs, a peasant huddled. The wind scattered raindrops on him. The city was so wet that fires were rare, but the instant that people relaxed their vigilance, a blaze could break out and destroy Edo.

“Hey!” Hirata called. The peasant peered down at him. “Who does fire-watch duty at night?”

“Yoshi,” came the answer. “He works for Lord Kuroda.”

Moments later, Hirata and his men were at the portals of Lord Kuroda’s estate a short distance away. The guards summoned Yoshi, a droopy-faced young manservant. Hirata introduced himself, then said, “Did you let someone kick you out of your tower for a night two months ago?”

Yoshi looked at the guards, fearful mat they would punish him for shirking his duty. His fear of lying to Hirata won out. “Yes. I didn’t want to, but a samurai ordered me to come down.”

The samurai must have been Lieutenant Asukai. Hirata was glad that finally a small part of Reiko’s story was confirmed. “Did you see a lady climb up the tower?”

“No. I was scared. I got out of there as fast as I could.”

“Didn’t you ever think to see if somebody was in your place, covering your shift?”

Yoshi shook his head. Hirata couldn’t fault him for not bothering to look at Reiko. He’d spotted the figure in the tower himself while spying on Lord Mori’s estate, then ignored it. Now he was disturbed that neither he nor Yoshi could verify that it had been her. He thanked Yoshi; then he and his detectives mounted their horses.

“There must be someone who saw Lady Reiko in the tower,” Inoue said as they rode through the pelting rain.

“I hope so,” Hirata said. “We’ll go back to Edo Castle and put every available man out here, and around the Persimmon Teahouse, to look for witnesses who can prove that she was where she was when she said. Then I’ll do what I should have done before we ever started our surveillance on Lord Mori.”

“That would be…?”

“Tracking down whoever sent that anonymous tip.”

Hirata and his detectives spent hours visiting estates in the official quarter of Edo Castle. At each he obtained the names of soldiers who’d been on guard duty when the anonymous letter had been delivered. He asked them whether they’d seen anyone sneaking around who had no business in the quarter, or had otherwise looked suspicious that night. At first the search for the letter’s author seemed futile; the guards couldn’t recall anything that had happened almost a month ago. Then, at the estate behind his, Hirata met one man who did.

His name was Kushida. He had horsy teeth that protruded when he grinned at Hirata. “Oh, yes. I remember who was around that night. I memorize everybody I’ve seen during the past month.”

“Why?” Hirata controlled his hope because this witness seemed too good to be true.

“It’s my hobby.”

Hirata supposed it was one way to relieve the monotony of long night shifts.

“Do you want to know how I do it?” Kushida said, tickled by Hirata’s attention. “I recite the names over and over in my mind, every spare moment I have. I don’t forget the people until a month has gone by since the night I saw them. Would you like to hear my list?”

He began rattling off names, starting with last night’s. Behind him, the sentries at the gate rolled their eyes: They’d been entertained in this fashion more times than they liked. At any other time Kushida would have seemed an intolerable bore to Hirata, but now he was priceless.

“Not the whole month,” Hirata interrupted, “just the names from the night in question.”

Kushida paused long enough to say, “I have to go through the whole list to get to that one,” and continued. He rattled the names faster and faster, then stopped, breathless. He held up his finger and slowly recited each name.

Hirata recognized the first eight, which belonged to his neighbors and their retainers. Kushida identified the next three as servants. “There’s only one more. It was somebody I’ve never seen inside the castle before. Chugo Monemon.”

“Who is he?” Hirata’s pulse quickened with excitement.

“A samurai I know from a teahouse where I go to drink. I said hello to him, but he didn’t answer. He acted as if he didn’t want to be seen. He’s a clerk at Lord Mori’s estate.”

At Lord Mori’s estate, Hirata and his detectives found Sano’s troops stationed outside, preventing the residents from leaving and turning away visitors while the murder investigation continued. Hirata told them, “I want to talk to a clerk named Chugo. Find him and bring him to me.”

Soon Chugo came out the gate. In his thirties, he had a square face, a solemn expression, and a chunky build. When he saw Hirata, he quailed and stepped backward. Hirata’s detectives caught his arms to prevent him from fleeing, but he didn’t resist; he muttered, “Can we talk someplace else?”

They walked through the daimyo district. Chugo jittered, casting furtive glances over his shoulder, his expression hunted. Hirata and his detectives sat Chugo in a teahouse on the street that marked the boundary between the daimyo district and the Nihonbashi merchant quarter.

Hirata ordered a cup of sake and handed it to Chugo. “Drink up and calm down.”

Chugo obeyed, then licked his lips, expelled a gusty breath, and said, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Then you know what this is about?” Hirata asked.

“The letter I put under your gate.”

“Did you write it?”

Chugo nodded. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your friend Kushida told me he saw you.”

“Oh. I was hoping he would forget.” Chugo mumbled, “I wish I’d never written that letter.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Hirata said.

“Lord Mori was my master, and I should have been loyal to him no matter what he did. But treason was too serious for me to look the other way. I had to report it.” His gaze begged Hirata to agree.

“You did the right thing,” Hirata said.

Chugo still looked worried. “If Lord Mori’s other retainers find out that I told on him, they’ll kill me. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“I can’t promise,” Hirata said, “but if you’ll cooperate with my investigation, I’ll keep your secret as best as I can.”

“All right,” Chugo said even though he seemed far from satisfied.

“First, what made you think Lord Mori was a traitor?” Hirata asked.

“I overheard him talking with his friends. They said they were sick of the way Lord Matsudaira treated them. The tributes he demanded were too high. They’re tired of absorbing the cost of a war that was supposed to end three years ago but drags on and on. They’re afraid that if he goes down, so will they. They were planning to band together against him.”

Anticipation excited Hirata. It sounded as if there had been a conspiracy after all. “Who are these friends?”

“I don’t know,” Chugo said. “I didn’t see them. I happened to be walking past Lord Mori’s office. The door was open, but not enough for me to see them.”

“What else did they say? Did they discuss their plans?” Hirata asked urgently. Perhaps the conspirators had fallen out and one of them had killed Lord Mori.

“I don’t know. Lord Mori said, ”Somebody’s outside. Be quiet.“ They stopped talking. I left because I didn’t want them to catch me eavesdropping.”

Disappointment lowered Hirata’s spirits. Vague hearsay didn’t equal proof of treason, although men had been put to death for less. “How do you know it wasn’t just idle talk?”

“Because of what happened a few nights later,” Chugo said. “Some big boxes were delivered to the estate. I was curious, so I peeked inside one. It was full of guns. There would be no reason for Lord Mori to have them, unless…”

Unless he was planning an armed insurrection. Hirata’s excitement flared anew. “When was this?”

“About two months ago,” Chugo said. “I heard the guards say that more guns were expected.”

Here was indication that Hirata had seen what he thought he’d seen while spying on Lord Mori. “What happened to the guns? Are they still in the estate?”

“I don’t think so. I never saw them again.”

Without them, Hirata had no evidence that Lord Mori had been a traitor, nothing to convince Lord Matsudaira that his death was no loss, and no new suspects to draw attention away from Reiko. And nothing to convince Sano that he’d seen what he’d said he had and his powers of observation weren’t slipping.

“But I know a place they might be,” Chugo said.

“Where?” Hirata demanded.

Chugo looked unhappy because his obligation to Hirata was going to take more time than he liked, as well as incriminate his dead master even more. But he said, “I’ll show you.”

“Lord Mori rents this warehouse,” the clerk said. “This is it.”

He and Hirata and Detectives Inoue and Arai swung off their horses outside a building, one in a uniform row with whitewashed walls and steeply pitched tile roofs that fronted on a quay. Men rowed boats, laden with vegetables, along a canal. All the warehouses except the one that had belonged to Lord Mori bustled with activity as porters unloaded the boats and carried the goods inside. His was silent, its huge doors locked. The quay was crowded and noisy, but at night it would be deserted, a perfect place to receive contraband.

“Let us in,” Hirata told Chugo.

Chugo unlocked the warehouse doors and flung them open. Hirata and the detectives strode inside. The cavernous space was warm and dank, lit by barred windows near the roofline. The air had a faint, greasy, metallic odor. Wooden crates stood ranged, ten wide and three high, along one wall. Anticipation leapt in Hirata as he and his men hurried toward them. They raised the lid of one crate. The smell of iron wafted up. Inside, swathed in greased cloth, lay a pile of arquebuses, their long barrels gleaming dully.

Hirata, Inoue, and Arai burst into a simultaneous cheer. “I knew it! Lord Mori was plotting a rebellion,” Hirata exulted.

“These have to be the weapons you saw,” Inoue said.

“Proof doesn’t come much better than this,” Arai said.

Chugo slouched by the door, looking miserable. Hirata pitied this samurai who’d betrayed his master. “You did the right thing,” Hirata assured Chugo again. “Even now that Lord Mori is dead, the rebellion could have gone on without him if you hadn’t reported him. You may have prevented another war.”

The clerk didn’t seem any happier. “What are you going to do with the guns?”

“We’ll take them to Edo Castle. They’re evidence in the murder investigation.” Hirata told Inoue, “Go hire some porters to carry them for us.”

Inoue hastened off to obey. Chugo said nervously, “You won’t tell anybody that I was the one who led you to them?”

“Not anybody more than necessary,” Hirata said.

Unsatisfied yet resigned, Chugo said, “Can I go now?”

“Yes,” Hirata said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Chugo sped off like a rat with its tail on fire.

“It would be nice if we could discover who Lord Mori’s coconspirators were,” Arai said.

“Let’s see if there are any clues with the guns,” Hirata said.

They opened all the crates, removed the guns, but found no letters or other papers to show where they’d come from or who besides Lord Mori owned them. Hirata and Arai repacked the crates. Refusing to be discouraged, Hirata said, “We’ll search this whole place.”

That promised not to take long. The warehouse appeared empty except for the crates, its floor swept clean. “They were careful not to leave traces of themselves,” Arai commented.

“Don’t give up hope yet.” Hirata looked upward and noticed an enclosure built on a platform high in a corner. A wooden ladder led to it.

Hirata and Arai climbed the ladder. Inside the enclosure was an office with a view out a window that overlooked the canal. It contained a writing desk, a fireproof iron trunk, and a round, open bamboo basket. Arai lifted the lids of the desk and trunk.

“Empty,” he said.

“Wait.” Hirata gazed into the basket. A repository for trash, it held sunflower seed shells, dust balls, and wadded papers. He picked out the papers and flattened them. There were three, each bearing handwritten characters. Even before he read them, recognition jarred him.

“What do they say?” Arai asked.

Foreboding drummed a warning signal through Hirata. He read the first page: “ ‘Meeting on night after tomorrow. Observe usual precautions.”“

He shook his head. It couldn’t be. The dim warehouse echoed with his disbelief.

Arai looked over his shoulder at the second page, which was a roughly drawn sketch of Edo with the castle, river, and a few streets labeled. Hirata read aloud the third page, a list of four daimyo and three high-ranking Tokugawa officials. After each name were scribbled numbers in the thousands.

“It looks as if the leader of the conspiracy had scheduled a secret meeting of the men who were in on it,” Arai said. “The map could be their battle plan. The list must be their names and the amounts of money and troops they were pledging.” These ideas jibed with Hi-rata’s own. “This is good information. Now if only we can find out who wrote this, we’ll have them all.”

“No,” Hirata said, “no, it’s not good.” Agitated by horror, he thrust the papers at Arai. “This is Chamberlain Sano’s writing. If it’s what we think, then he’s the leader of the rebellion conspiracy.”