Shinjū

Chapter 20

The next morning found Sano back in the daimyo district. Dressed in a peasant’s shaggy straw rain cape and wide straw hat, he walked up and down the wide boulevard in front of the Niu’s yashiki, ostensibly collecting litter, but in reality watching their gate. Every so often he skewered some trash with his pointed stick and put it in his basket, hoping he could convince the guards that he was a street cleaner with every right to loiter outside their lords’ houses. He couldn’t let them identify him as ex-yoriki Sano Ichirō, barred from the Niu estate and keeping secret surveillance on young Lord Niu. If the Nius or Magistrate Ogyu found out what he was doing, he would be arrested, if not killed on the spot.

Sano pretended to scan the street for debris, while watching for Lord Niu to make an appearance. Subterfuge didn’t come naturally to him, but he had no choice except to wait and hope Lord Niu would lead him to evidence that he’d committed the murders. He had no authority or help, as Katsuragawa had reminded him, not enough money to buy answers, and no other way to avoid the ubiquitous Edo spies. The memory of what Midori had told him about Yukiko’s diary flashed through his mind. He had no other way of learning what Lord Niu had done that he would kill to hide.

Despite his minimal chance of success, Sano experienced a curious buoyancy of spirit. He was now free to use unconventional means of detection, and he had unlimited time at his disposal. He had no responsibilities to anyone but himself. He could pursue truth and justice as he chose, and somehow save his father’s life. A true rōnin, he could live-or die-by his own wits. Although he yearned for the security of a master, his new freedom filled him with a terrifying exhilaration. The future had opened up before him, blank, yet hinting at unknown possibilities.

But his necessary disguise anchored Sano to the grimness of here and now. The cape, though it protected him from the chill drizzle, chafed his neck and wrists. Cold mud oozed through his straw sandals and into his socks; every step squished. And how humiliating for a samurai to dress like a common farmer! He also felt naked and vulnerable on foot, with his only weapon the short sword tucked into his sash under the cape. Missing his horse and his long sword, which he’d left behind because they marked his rank, he hoped he wouldn’t need them. He was glad to discover, though, that his costume made him virtually invisible; people hurried past without glancing down from their horses or out from under their umbrellas at him.

Thirty-seven paces brought him to Lord Niu’s gate. He took his time scooping horse droppings into his basket. No one entered or left the yashiki. Finally, not wanting to attract attention by staying too long in one place, Sano moved on. He left a few droppings as an excuse to return.

He looked casually over his shoulder whenever he picked up a scrap of debris. Reaching the end of the street, he turned and worked his way back again. This time three samurai wearing the Niu dragonfly crest entered the gate. Two more passes later, they came out. Still Lord Niu didn’t appear. Sano began to feel increasingly conspicuous. The street was free of litter now, and he wished someone would drop something so he would have a legitimate reason to stay. He lingered outside the Nius’ yashiki for as long as he dared, then started on another tour.

“Hey, you!” At first, Sano didn’t respond. People didn’t address a samurai that way. Then he remembered his disguise and turned toward the voice.

“The street is clean enough,” called one of the guards from the Niu gatehouse, “and I’m sick of looking at you. Get lost, you dirty beast!”

Dirty beast! All thirty years of Sano’s samurai upbringing rebelled against the insult. Furious, he stared at the guard. An angry retort sprang to his lips. He dropped his stick, and his hand reached automatically for the sword that wasn’t there.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” The guard came out of the gatehouse and started toward Sano, brandishing a small object.

It was a lighted match.

Laughing, the guard called to his comrades, “Shall I make him dance?” To Sano: “If you want to keep your filthy rain cape and your filthy life, you’d better run!”

“Yes, master!”

Shaken, Sano bowed low in accordance with his humble status. He picked up his stick and made a hasty retreat around the corner. There he stood, struggling to control his anger and shock. That guard, fearing no harsher punishment than a reprimand, might have set him on fire, killing him the way Lord Matsukura of Shimabara had once killed peasants who’d failed to meet their rice production quota! Finally his body stopped trembling. His breathing slowed and evened. He inspected his surroundings and tried to think of a way to maintain his watch for Lord Niu.

The side street, half the width of the boulevard he’d just left, ran between the wall of the Niu yashiki and that of its neighboring estate. Pairs of guards stood sentry at plainer secondary gates through which continuous streams of porters and servants passed. Here Sano worried less that someone might challenge him. The guards were occupied, the foot traffic heavy, the trash plentiful. But he had little chance of seeing Lord Niu here. A daimyo’s son would use the main gate.

Disconsolate, Sano paced the side street, wondering what to do now that his plan had failed. He could search for witnesses who had seen a man throw a large bundle into the river. He could go back to Yoshiwara and question the rest of Noriyoshi’s friends in the hope that one had seen him with Lord Niu the night of the murders. Sano shook his head. How far could he get before someone penetrated his disguise and reported him to Ogyu?

Then, as Sano passed the Nius’ gate for the third time, it opened to discharge four samurai carrying a black palanquin. Neither the palanquin nor the bearers’ cloaks displayed identifying crests, but they bore the unmistakable stamp of quality. What Niu family member or distinguished guest chose to leave through the side gate? Sano peered at the palanquin, his curiosity frustrated by its sealed shutters.

Suddenly the shutters opened. The passenger spoke to the bearers, then quickly closed the shutters again. His face, partially hidden by a wicker hat, had appeared for a mere instant. But Sano recognized him at once.

It was young Lord Niu.

Although mystified by Lord Niu’s stealthy departure, Sano had no trouble following the palanquin. Nihonbashi’s crowded streets offered many hiding places and kept the bearers’ pace slow.

Lord Niu visited a swordmaker’s shop, talked briefly to the other customers, and left without buying anything. He went to a seedy martial arts academy frequented by rōnin, where he practiced his swordsmanship. Sano strolled back and forth in front of the open door, watching. Lord Niu fought with a steel blade instead of a wooden practice sword. Unhindered by his bad leg, he executed each thrust and parry brilliantly, his reflexes lightning fast. Match after match ended with his blade against his opponent’s throat. His skill left Sano breathless with admiration. Would that he need never face Lord Niu in combat!

Afterward, Lord Niu and three fellow students went to a restaurant near the academy. Sano followed the bearers’ example and used the time to buy lunch from street vendors. Although he risked eating at the stall next to theirs, he overheard nothing useful. They were taciturn men who gave their orders and then ate in silence. Sano wished he dared eavesdrop on Lord Niu and his friends instead. At this rate, he might never see or hear Lord Niu incriminate himself. But he stayed, ready to pursue Lord Niu for the rest of his life if necessary.

His quarry had begun to exert a powerful magnetism on him. He was gradually coming to believe that Lord Niu had killed a blackmailer, his own sister, and Tsunehiko, all in an attempt to cover some earlier dreadful crime. Sano couldn’t let the creature out of his sight. Hatred and fascination whetted his appetite for vengeance, and he accepted whatever hardships awaited him. He bought two mochi cakes in case the pursuit took him someplace where food wasn’t available. He endured sore legs, frozen feet, and the ever-present threat of death, watching with a fierce sense of anticipation as Lord Niu came out of the restaurant and climbed into the palanquin.

To Sano’s disappointment, the bearers began to retrace their steps home. Then, bypassing the daimyo district, they followed a circuitous path down winding streets, across the Nihonbashi Bridge, along canals, and through rich and poor neighborhoods, gradually heading north. Finally they left the city’s outskirts and continued into open country.

Sano felt safe enough following Lord Niu through the Kanda district, where undulating wooded hills lay brown and gray beneath low, swollen clouds that continued to send down a thin, cold rain. Although the crowds had vanished, there was still plenty of traffic on the Okushudo highway leading into Ueno, including peasants dressed like himself. Then the bearers turned onto a deserted road that climbed a steep hill into the woods. Sano dropped farther and farther behind so they wouldn’t see him.

Finally, fearing he might lose them if they turned onto one of the trails that branched off the main road, he sped up and took to the woods.

Firewood gatherers had cleared the ground of dead branches that might have slowed his progress, but Sano had to contend with other hazards. Rocks thrust their sharp points against his already sore feet. Puddles soaked him to his knees. An arrow stuck into a tree told him that he was in some lord’s hunting ground. As he hurried to keep Lord Niu’s palanquin in sight, he expected a party of mounted hunters to descend on him at any moment. To his relief, the trail ended a short distance ahead, at a wall with a roofed gate bearing the Niu crest. The bearers set down the palanquin while two samurai came out of the guardhouses and opened the gate.

Sano watched from the woods as the gate closed behind the bearers and the palanquin, and the guards returned to their houses. This must be the Nius’ summer villa. With the daimyo in his province and the rest of the family spending the winter in town, Sano didn’t expect to find the villa heavily guarded. He approached it at an angle, moving deeper into the woods, away from the road and gate. Then, as he neared the wall, he heard the squelch of footsteps on the damp ground. Quickly he crouched behind a bush to peer through it at the pair of armored samurai carrying bows and arrows. As they marched past, snatches of their conversation reached him:

“I’ll be glad to get back to Edo. Too quiet here.”

“Not tonight, though.” Laughter.

What did that mean? Sano waited until he heard them talking with the guards at the gate. Then he hurried in the direction from which they’d come. Additional patrols, if any, would be spread out around the estate. He followed the wall’s curve until he could no longer see the road or gate. He paused to watch and listen. No one was inside the observation towers mounted at intervals along the wall. The forest seemed deserted, its gloom deepening with the fading sky, quiet except for the steady drip of water from the trees. Sano stole up to the wall.

Made of earth and faced with flat stones fitted together without mortar, it rose high above Sano’s head. He began to climb, his fingers and toes finding precarious holds in the cracks between the stones. His straw cape rustled loudly, and he winced at the noise. He pulled himself on top of the wall and lay there, looking down at the other side. There he saw more forest, similar to the one he’d just left-a natural-looking mixture of evergreen and deciduous trees and shrubs. It, too, seemed deserted. Sano waited a moment more. Seeing no one, he dropped over the edge of the wall. His cape rustled again as he landed. He hastily tore it off, burying it under a pile of dead leaves. The rain had almost stopped, and his dark cloak and trousers would make better camouflage in the coming twilight.

He stood up and began moving in the direction of the gate. A trail led through the woods, probably cleared to make a scenic walk for the daimyo’s ladies. It curved and wound, then ended at the edge of a clearing. Ahead Sano saw a wide gravel path leading from the gate. His eyes followed it to the distant house at his left. Immediately he felt as though he’d gone back in time.

Built in a style popular some eight hundred years ago, the Nius’ tree-shaded summer villa crowned a small rise in the land. The large main house, or shinden, a boxy shingle-roofed wooden structure raised on stilts, faced south. At the foot of its steep staircase rested Lord Niu’s deserted palanquin. Two more guards stood watch over a door fronted by a wide veranda and sheltered by a pillared roof. Covered corridors led from each side of the shinden to similar but smaller houses. Diamonds of light glowed behind the window lattices of all three buildings. From each side house, Sano guessed, another covered corridor extended backward, enclosing a rear garden and ending in open pavilions. Behind this compound, more interconnected buildings would house family apartments, servants’ and retainers’ quarters, kitchens, and stables. He’d seen such dwellings in old paintings. Female authors of the Heian imperial court, such as Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Shōnagon, had written their poems, stories, and diaries in them. Prince Genji had carried out his romantic intrigues in the chambers, pavilions, and gardens. Lord Niu’s coming here out of season, in an unmarked conveyance, suggested some more sinister purpose for the elegant villa.

Moving from tree to tree, Sano approached the rear of the house. The clearing paralleled the covered corridor he’d expected to find. He stopped just short of the rambling wooden family quarters and crawled under the raised floor of the pavilion at the end of the corridor. Reaching the opposite side, he peered cautiously out toward the shinden. The back garden contained a small lake with an island in the middle. Arched bridges connected the island with the shore. Sano jerked his head back when he saw two more guards standing on the rear veranda. His curiosity, piqued by the other guards’ conversation, increased. Did all the daimyo keep such tight off-season security on their summer estates, or were these men here for a special reason? Were there more inside the house? He wouldn’t get anywhere near Lord Niu with them around. Frustrated and exhausted, Sano squatted under the pavilion, wondering what to do next. He leaned against the curved wooden surface of a large object beside him.

Maybe its half-familiar contours sparked a sense of recognition in him; maybe his samurai training made him wary of things encountered in dark places where he shouldn’t be. Whatever, Sano examined the object. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he saw that it was a boat. Not a flimsy craft for carrying ladies about the lake, but a sturdy wooden punt with an equally stout oar laid across it. Sano reached inside. His fingers touched tatami, rolled into a loose bolt. He probed the bolt and thought he felt something at the center. Keeping his ears strained for footsteps, he unwound it. He hoped the guards couldn’t hear the faint rustle of the matting from this distance. The last fold opened. Two soft objects fell onto the ground beside Sano. He picked them up. Triumph flared within him.

In one hand he held a sandal, made of straw and heavily worn on the inner heel. His other hand tightened around a coil of rope. He’d seen the sandal’s mate in Dr. Ito’s dissection room: it belonged to Noriyoshi. He would swear on his life that the rope had once bound the matting around two bodies during transport between here and their watery grave. Mentally reconstructing the murders, Sano imagined Lord Niu bringing his victims to the villa-Noriyoshi with the promise of money, perhaps, and Yukiko with a simple brother-to-sister command. Stealing up behind them to deal the fatal blows. Carrying the unwieldy bundle by horseback to the river’s edge, where the boat waited. Then having the boat and its contents retrieved at his leisure. Sano thrust both sandal and rope inside his cloak. The first real smile in days tugged at the corners of his mouth. This evidence he could take to the authorities-not Magistrate Ogyu, but higher, to the Council of Elders. They would have to listen to him now.

But instead of making straight for town, he hesitated. He still didn’t know why Noriyoshi and Yukiko had died. The absence of a motive weakened his case against Lord Niu. He must find out what it was, even if he had to stick with Lord Niu all night.

Inspiration came when he saw that the corridors leading from the pavilions to the side houses were elevated, too. He could look straight down the narrow, stilt-framed tunnel beneath the one adjoining his pavilion and see daylight on the far side. Carefully he crawled toward the light. Halfway there, he heard the guards’ voices from the veranda. Would they hear him? It was darker under the corridor than under the pavilion, and he swept the ground ahead of him with his hands as he advanced. One bump against an unexpected obstacle, one tumble into a hole would alert the guards.

Sano had just reached the large space beneath the side house when he heard hoofbeats coming from the direction of the gate.

He flattened himself against the ground, arms over his head. The floor above him creaked as someone inside walked across it. Footsteps crunched on the gravel path.

A man called, “Hail, brothers! What took you so long? His lordship is waiting.”

Sano missed the reply. The guards had gone to meet the new arrivals, who had stopped just out of earshot. He scooted to the front of the house. Now he heard voices raised in argument and could make out broken phrases:

“… meaning of this?”

“… insisted on coming… wouldn’t deliver the goods otherwise… know he won’t like it, but… ”

Peering out from between the house’s stilts, Sano saw eight men clustered on the path. The two guards faced four mounted samurai and two bearers with a palanquin. The gray afternoon had begun to dissolve into a darker gray twilight, and he couldn’t see the newcomers’ faces clearly, or distinguish any crests on their garments. But the guard had greeted them as comrades: they, too, were Lord Niu’s men. Sano wished they would come closer so he could hear better.

Suddenly a loud rapping came from within the palanquin. The bearers eased it to the ground. The door opened and a small, stooped man burst out.

“Take me to Lord Niu Masahito immediately!” he yelled, his voice carrying across the distance to Sano.

The guards grabbed at the man. He darted away and ran toward the house. The mounted samurai galloped forward, blocking the stairs to the door. Thwarted, the man skidded to a stop. The guards seized him. As they dragged him back to the palanquin, he stumbled and fell sideways, his face turning toward Sano.

Even from a distance of some thirty paces, Sano saw and recognized the stained mouth and chin. The man was Cherry Eater, shunga dealer and former employer of Noriyoshi.

Sano smiled again as he grasped the significance of Cherry Eater’s presence. Whatever business had brought the shunga dealer here must have once included Noriyoshi. Now, if he could just learn what that business was! He didn’t believe Cherry Eater would come all the way from Yoshiwara, uninvited, just to deliver artwork.

The guards flung Cherry Eater toward the palanquin. He fell in a heap on the ground beside it.

“Unload the goods and take this pest back to Yoshiwara,” one of the guards ordered the bearers.

“I won’t go until I’ve spoken to Lord Niu,” Cherry Eater shouted. When the bearers tried to pick him up, he kicked and thrashed.

Sano heard a door open, then Lord Niu’s voice demanding, “Just what is going on here?”

Cherry Eater scrambled to his feet. “My lord, what a pleasure to see you,” he simpered, bowing. “And to receive such great hospitality is an honor indeed.” Even under the circumstances, he didn’t-or couldn’t-curb his wit. He took a few steps toward the house and dropped to his knees before the guards could grab him again. “I apologize for the imposition, but there is something I must discuss with your lordship.”

“What is it?”

Although trees blocked Sano’s view of the veranda, he could imagine the annoyance on Lord Niu’s face.

“I am afraid that the price of my services has increased,” Cherry Eater said. “Perhaps you would like to discuss the matter inside, in private?”

Lord Niu ignored the suggestion. “We had an arrangement,” he said. “I see no reason to change it.”

Cherry Eater rubbed his hands together, an ingratiating smile opening within his red birthmark. “Noriyoshi’s death has made change regrettably necessary.”

Sano expected Lord Niu to protest. But the daimyo’s son seemed to lose interest in the conversation. “All right,” he said impatiently. “How much?”

Cherry Eater named a sum that sounded outrageous to Sano. Was the dealer taking over Noriyoshi’s position as blackmailer, or just charging more because his employee’s death made more work for him?

Lord Niu didn’t ask; he just said, “Come to the yashiki tomorrow. The money will be waiting for you.” To the bearers, he called, “Get him out of here, and bring me what he’s brought. And hurry. Time is short.” The door slammed.

Sano watched the bearers reach into the palanquin. A wave of shock hit him when they lifted out an inert body wrapped in a blanket. They carried it between them like a sack of meal, toward the house. The man’s head lolled. Sano drew a sharp breath as he glimpsed closed eyes and pale cheeks.

“He’s dead!” One of the mounted samurai voiced Sano’s thought.

Cherry Eater waved his hands. “No, no. Just drugged, as his lordship ordered. He won’t wake up for at least two hours.”

The shunga dealer got inside the palanquin. Then he stuck his head out and called, “I’m sure that’s more than long enough, heh, heh, heh!”

Sano left his lookout point and shot under the corridor that connected the side house to the shinden. He had to find out what Lord Niu intended to do with the man. Was he on the verge of learning what hold Noriyoshi had had on Lord Niu, and why the artist had died? A moment later, the corridor creaked above him as the bearers shuffled along it with their burden. He crawled after them, back to the side house he’d just left. They stopped near the rear corner, and he heard a thud as they set down the body. Should he climb up and try to see inside the room?

Not yet: a pair of trousered legs was approaching the house. Sano shrank back into the shadows. The man stooped at intervals to thrust torches into the ground and light them. Soon a line of dancing flames surrounded Sano’s hiding place and lit the path to the gate. Hurrying footsteps came from the direction of the servants’ quarters. Doors opened and closed. When Sano crept over to look toward the garden, he saw maids carrying laden trays up the stairs to the main house. What now? Lord Niu and his men must eat, of course, but the commotion suggested something more. A banquet? Sano’s stomach growled, and he realized he was hungry. Reaching inside his cloak, he pulled out a cake of mochi. He bit off small pieces and swallowed them. The dense, nutrient-rich staple that fed samurai during long journeys would silence his stomach before it attracted someone’s attention.

Gradually the commotion subsided. A hush fell over the villa as night encroached. From the house above him, Sano heard nothing. No one passed. He waited with growing impatience, longing for action as much to warm his cold, cramped muscles as to satisfy his curiosity. At last he crawled to the side of the house and put out his head and shoulders. Seeing no one lurking among the dark trees, he slid the rest of himself out and stood.

He staggered a little, his legs stiff from crouching and crawling. The air outside was colder, but fresher; he breathed it with relief. Cautiously he moved along the side of the house, stooping below window level. At the corner room, he slowly straightened to his full height-and halted in frustration. Behind the lattices, the windows were closed. He could distinguish only vague, dark silhouettes inside the lighted room. He put his ear to the wall. This time he heard a faint moan. He had to see!

Sano examined the wall for cracks or holes, but found none. He ran his hands over the smooth, weathered wood. His searching fingers found a rough, circular spot about the size of a human eye. A knot. Maybe…

He drew his dagger, stuck it into the knot’s center, and wiggled it. The knot held firm. Sano tried again. Did he feel a slight movement this time? He pulled gently. Ah, there…

The knot came out with an almost inaudible scrape that nevertheless sent Sano hurtling back under the house. Had Lord Niu heard? Sano lay still, clutching his dagger and expecting shouts and chaos. But nothing happened. He waited for what seemed like forever. The villa remained steeped in silence. He crept out again. Still holding his dagger, he looked around, then put his eye to the knothole.

A ring of candles lit the naked body stretched out on the floor. It was not a man after all, but an adolescent samurai with a shaved crown and the long forelock that signified he’d not yet had his manhood ceremony. He lay motionless, eyes closed. An unnatural redness, perhaps from the drug, colored his slack face. Lord Niu stood over him, also naked, his manhood erect. Sweat sheened his muscles. The scarred and withered right leg was a monstrous deformity grafted onto the perfection of the rest of his body. His feverish eyes shone; his parted lips glistened wetly. Chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, he dropped to his knees beside the boy. One hand grasped his own organ and began to stroke it.

Sano, clued by Cherry Eater’s parting remark, had half expected something of the sort. Now both disgust and disappointment rose inside him. Child prostitution, even in a grotesque form like this, was legal, common, and socially acceptable. Lord Niu was guilty of nothing but indulging himself outside the Yoshiwara licensed quarter. Even a refined young lady like Yukiko would have known this. And Lord Niu would neither have paid Noriyoshi nor killed him to keep such a secret.

Then Lord Niu reached behind him with his free hand and picked up a knife. He held it aloft, pointed upward, so that the blade sparkled in the candlelight. He stared at it as if mesmerized. His tongue passed once over his lips. The hand on his organ moved faster. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lowered the knife. He held it to the sleeping boy’s neck. Just as slowly, he drew it across the rosy flesh. A thin line of blood welled against the blade.

Rooted to the spot in awestruck horror, Sano realized too late that someone had come up behind him.