5

One wing of the Court of Justice contained rooms where the magistrate and his staff conferred with citizens seeking to resolve disputes that involved money, property, or social obligations. Here Magistrate Ueda had sent Yugao. As Reiko walked down the passage, she heard raucous male laughter from an open door. She peered inside.

The room was a cell enclosed by sliding paper-and-lattice walls, furnished with a tatami floor and a low table. Yugao stood between the two guards that Reiko liked the least in her father’s retinue. One, a thickset man with squinty eyes, pawed Yugao’s cheek. The other, athletic and arrogant, groped under the skirt of her hemp robe. Yugao scrambled away, but the men caught her. They yanked at her robe, squeezed her buttocks and breasts. She strained at the shackles that bound her hands while she kicked her bare feet at the men. They only laughed more uproariously. Her face was tense with helpless anger.

“Stop that!” Reiko exclaimed. Bursting through the door, she ordered them, “Leave her alone!”

They paused, annoyed at the interruption. Their faces showed dismay as they recognized their master’s daughter.

“The magistrate will be displeased to hear that you’ve been taking advantage of a helpless woman in his house,” Reiko said, her voice sharp with ire. “Get out!”

The guards slunk off. Reiko shut the door and turned to Yugao. The woman slouched, her face concealed behind her tousled hair, her robe hanging off her shoulder. Pity filled Reiko.

“Here, let me fix your clothes,” she said.

As she touched Yugao, the woman flinched. She tossed back her hair and stared at Reiko. “Who are you?”

Reiko had expected Yugao to be thankful for her protection from the guards, but Yugao was wary, hostile. Seeing her at close view for the first time, Reiko noticed that her complexion was ashen from fatigue and malnourishment, her flinty eyes shadowed underneath, her lips chapped. Harsh treatment by the jailers had surely taught her to be leery toward everyone. Although she was accused and perhaps guilty of a serious crime, Reiko felt her sympathy toward Yugao increase.

“I’m the magistrate’s daughter,” Reiko said. “My name is Reiko.”

A long gaze of mutual curiosity passed between them. Reiko watched Yugao appraise her tangerine-colored silk kimono printed with a willow tree pattern, her upswept coiffure, her carefully applied white makeup and red lip rouge, her teeth blackened according to fashionable custom for married women of her class. Meanwhile, Reiko perceived Yugao’s jailhouse stink of urine, oily hair, and unwashed body, and saw resentment and envy in Yugao’s eyes. They looked at each other as though across a sea, the highborn lady on one shore, the outcast on the opposite.

“What do you want?” Yugao said.

Her rude tone surprised Reiko. Maybe the woman had never been taught good manners. Reiko wondered what station in society Yugao had originated from and what she’d done to become a hinin, but it didn’t seem a good time to ask.

“I want to talk to you, if I may,” Reiko said.

Suspicion hooded Yugao’s gaze. “About what?”

“About the murder of your family,” Reiko said.

“Why?”

“The magistrate is having trouble deciding whether to convict you,” Reiko said. “That’s why he postponed his verdict. He’s asked me to investigate the murders and find out if you’re guilty or innocent.”

Yugao wrinkled her brow, clearly perplexed by the situation. “I said I did it. Isn’t that enough?”

“He doesn’t think so,” Reiko said, “and neither do I.”

“Why not?”

This conversation reminded Reiko of the time when Masahiro had stepped on a thistle and she’d had to pull the spines from his bare foot. “One reason is that we need to know why your parents and sister were killed,” Reiko said. “You didn’t say.”

“But…” Yugao shook her head in confusion. “But I was arrested.”

Reiko could sense her thinking that her arrest should have guaranteed a conviction, as everyone knew it would have under ordinary circumstances. “Just because you were caught at the scene of the crime doesn’t prove you did it,” Reiko explained.

“So what?” Anger tinged Yugao’s query.

“That’s another reason my father wants me to investigate the crime.” Reiko was increasingly puzzled by the woman’s attitude. “Why were you so eager to confess? Why do you want us to believe you killed your family?”

“Because I did,” Yugao said. Her tone and expression implied that Reiko must be stupid not to understand.

Reiko stifled a sigh of frustration and a growing dislike of the ill-natured woman. “All right,” she said, “let’s suppose for the moment that you stabbed your parents and sister to death. Why did you?”

Sudden fear glinted in Yugao’s eyes; she turned away from Reiko. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Reiko deduced that whether or not Yugao had killed her family, the motive for the murders lay at the root of her odd behavior. “Why not? Since you’ve already confessed, what harm is there in explaining yourself?”

“It’s none of your business,” Yugao said, her profile stony and unrelenting.

“Were there problems between you and your mother and father and sister?” Reiko pressed.

Yugao didn’t answer. Reiko waited, knowing that people sometimes talk because they can’t bear silence. But Yugao kept quiet, her mouth compressed as though to prevent any words from leaking out.

“Did you quarrel with your family that night?” Reiko asked. “Did they hurt you in some way?”

More silence. Reiko wondered if there was something wrong with Yugao besides a bad attitude. She seemed lucid and intelligent enough, but perhaps she was mentally defective.

“Maybe you don’t understand your situation. Let me explain,” Reiko said. “Murder is a serious offense. If you’re convicted, you’ll be put to death. The executioner will cut your head off. That will be the end of you.”

Yugao responded with a sidelong glance that deplored Reiko for treating her like an imbecile. “I know that. Everybody does.”

“But sometimes there are circumstances that justify killing,” Reiko said, although she had difficulty imagining what could justify these murders. “If that’s true in your case, you should tell me. Then I can tell the magistrate, and he’ll spare your life. It’s in your interest to cooperate with me.”

Sardonic laughter pealed from Yugao. “I’ve heard that story before,” she said as she faced Reiko. “I’ve been in Edo Jail for nine days. I listened to the jailers torturing other prisoners. They always said, ‘Tell us what we want to know, and we’ll set you free.’ Some of the poor, stupid idiots believed it and spilled their guts. Then later, I heard the jailers talking and laughing about how they’d been executed.”

Yugao tossed her head; the long, oily strands of her hair whipped at Reiko. “Well, I won’t fall for your lies. I know that I’ll be executed whatever I say.”

“I’m not lying,” Reiko said urgently. “If you had a good reason for killing your family-or if you help me determine that you didn’t do it-you will be set free. I promise.”

The disdain on Yugao’s face said how much she thought a promise from Reiko was worth. Jail must have taught Yugao harsh lessons she wouldn’t be coaxed into forgetting. Still, Reiko persisted: “What have you got to lose by trusting me?”

Yugao only shut her mouth tight and hardened her obstinate gaze. Reiko had often prided herself on her ability to draw information from people, but Yugao wore resistance like the shell of a turtle, hoarding her secrets underneath it. She vexed yet intrigued Reiko.

Switching tactics, Reiko said, “I’m curious about the night of the murders. Were you alone in the house with your family?”

No reply came from Yugao, except a frown as she tried to figure out where Reiko’s conversation was going.

“Or was there someone else?” Reiko said. When Yugao still didn’t answer, Reiko said, “Did someone else come and stab your family to death?”

“I’m sick of all these questions,” Yugao muttered.

“Are you trying to protect whoever it was by taking the blame yourself?” Reiko said. “What really happened that night?”

“What do you care? Why do you keep pestering me?”

Reiko began to explain again, just in case she hadn’t made her purpose clear at first: “The magistrate-”

“Oh, yes,” Yugao interrupted with a snort. “The magistrate set you on me. And of course you obliged him, because you’re a good little daughter who always does whatever Papa says.”

Her insulting tone seemed an overreaction to a few simple questions. “I just want to find out the truth about a terrible crime,” Reiko said, controlling her temper. “I want to make sure the wrong person isn’t punished.”

“Oh. I see.” Scorn curled Yugao’s lip. “You’re a spoiled rich lady who’s bored with her life. You entertain yourself by poking your nose in other people’s business.”

“That’s not so,” Reiko said, stung by this accusation, not the least because there was a smidgen of truth to it. “I’m trying to see that justice is served.”

“How noble you are,” Yugao mocked. “I suppose it amuses you to toy with a hinin. Don’t you have anything better to do, you silly, worthless little goose?”

“Don’t you speak to me that way! Show some respect!” Reiko ordered, now hot with fury. That an outcast dared to insult her, the wife of the chamberlain! “I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me?” Yugao’s voice rose with incredulity. “Don’t make me laugh. What you really want is for me to tell you something that makes me look guilty. Then the magistrate can sleep easy after he sentences me to death.” A snide grimace twisted her lips. “Well, too bad for him. I refuse to go along with you.”

Reiko couldn’t deny that she was honor-bound to follow her investigation either way it went, and any incriminating information Yugao gave would be used against her. In that case, Magistrate Ueda would condemn her with a clear conscience. Yugao might be deranged, but her logic was sound.

“Whether you believe me or not, I’m your last chance to save your life,” Reiko said. “If you’re as smart as you think you are, you’ll tell me about the night your family was murdered.”

“Oh, quit bothering me,” Yugao snapped. “Go away.”

“Not until you answer my questions.” Reiko advanced on Yugao. “What really happened?”

Yugao took a few paces backward. “Why don’t you just go home and write poetry or arrange flowers like the rest of your kind?”

“Why did your parents and sister die?” Reiko said.

She backed Yugao against the wall. Their antagonism heated the room as they stared at each other. Yugao’s mouth worked while her eyes gleamed with feral mischief. She spat straight into Reiko’s face.

Reiko cried out as the gob of saliva hit her cheek. Recoiling from Yugao, she stumbled backward across the room. She wiped her hand across the warm wetness that slithered down her skin. It was as much a defilement as an insult. Such shock, outrage, and disgust filled her that she could only stammer and gasp. Yugao burst into jeering laughter.

“That’ll teach you to pester me,” she said.

Reiko experienced an overwhelming urge to draw the dagger from under her sleeve and teach Yugao a lesson of her own. Afraid she would kill the woman if they remained together a moment longer, Reiko stormed out the door.

Yugao’s taunting voice followed her down the passage: “Yes, run away! Don’t ever come near me again!”


The sun descended over the wooded hills west of Edo. Its fading light gilded the tile rooftops spread across the plain below the castle, the river that curved around the city, and the pagodas in the temple district. Wisps of black smoke rose from points scattered across the panorama. In the Nihonbashi merchant quarter, fire brigades comprised of men dressed in leather capes and helmets and equipped with axes raced through the narrow, winding streets on their way to fight blazes set by outlaws as well as caused by common accidents. Shopkeepers were busy dismantling their roadside displays of merchandise and taking them indoors. They closed and locked the shutters that covered their storefronts. Housewives leaned from balconies, calling their children inside. Laborers and craftsmen hurried home. At the gates between neighborhoods, sentries stood armed with clubs and spears. In the wake of the political upheaval, the city shut down early, anticipating the trouble that night often brought.

Three samurai, dressed in plain, drab cotton garments and wicker hats, rode together on horseback through the rapidly emptying quarter. At a distance trailed a peasant pushing a wooden barrow used to transport night soil from the city to the fields. Two more mounted samurai followed the night soil collector. From his position between Detectives Arai and Inoue in the lead, Hirata glanced over his shoulder to make sure the barrow was still in sight. It contained Chief Ejima’s body, which he’d smuggled out of Edo Castle, hidden under a false bottom covered by a load of feces and urine from the castle’s privies. The guards at the checkpoints hadn’t bothered to inspect the malodorous barrow for stolen treasure. Nor had they recognized Detective Ogata, disguised as a night soil collector, who pushed the barrow. The two samurai behind it were also Hirata’s detectives, assigned to watch for spies following their party. They’d all left the castle separately, then joined up in town. Such were the precautions necessary for a clandestine trip to Edo Morgue.

Hirata shifted in his saddle, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, as his horse’s every footfall jarred him. A part of his mind whispered that he shouldn’t have taken on this investigation. He gripped the reins and tried to concentrate on his duty to Sano, but other problems besides pain troubled him. Only six months ago he’d moved boldly through the world, but the world was a dangerous place for a cripple.

Now he and his party entered Kodemmacho, the slum that housed Edo Jail and the morgue within it. Rundown shacks lined streets deserted except for a few wandering beggars and orphans. Hirata heard squabbling voices inside the shacks; they fell silent as his party passed, then resumed. Frightened faces peered at him from doorways. The late afternoon seemed darker here, the dusk hastening. The odors of cesspits, greasy fried fish, and garbage tainted the air.

Hirata’s instincts suddenly tingled, warning him of a threat. Up the street, a band of six samurai rounded a corner, their dirty, worn-out clothes and unshaven faces marking them as rōnin. They walked with stealthy intent, like a pack of wolves on the prowl. As they spied Hirata’s party, their stride quickened to a run toward him. Steel rasped as they drew their swords. Hirata realized that they must be fugitive, low-level troops from Yanagisawa’s army. They were upon him so fast that he barely had time to draw his own weapon before one of them grabbed his ankle.

“Get off your horse!” the outlaw shouted.

Two of his comrades assailed Detectives Inoue and Arai, trying to pull them from their mounts. Hirata knew that horses were a valuable commodity to the outlaws, many of whom had lost their own during the battle. They could be used as transportation or sold for cash to buy food and shelter. Hirata lashed his sword at the outlaw, who at the same moment tugged hard on Hirata’s ankle. A fireball of pain shot up his leg and tore a yell from him. He went tumbling off his horse. He let go of the sword and flung out his hands to break his fall.

Hirata’s body thudded on the dirt. More pain jarred him; he groaned and clutched his leg while a spasm knotted the muscles. The outlaw hooted with derisive laughter. He grabbed the reins of Hirata’s horse, which shied and whinnied. Hirata labored to pick up his fallen sword; he clambered to his feet. Detectives Inoue and Arai were still on horseback, fighting the other outlaws, who lunged, struck, retreated, and lunged anew. Steel blades clanged. Hirata swiped at the outlaw who was trying to mount his horse, but his blow lacked speed and force. The outlaw easily parried it. The counterblow knocked Hirata to the ground again. Arai and Inoue leapt from their mounts and rushed to help him, but the other outlaws surrounded them in a storm of blades that they fought fiercely to repel. Hirata swung again at his outlaw, who parried and laughed, still holding his horse by the reins. Overcome, Hirata lay on the dirt and rolled from side to side in a frantic attempt to avoid his tormenter’s sword that whizzed and sliced at him.

Detective Ogata, who’d abandoned the night soil cart, came rushing to rescue him, dagger in hand. His two mounted men of the rear guard also galloped to his aid, swords drawn. The outlaws saw they had more opposition than they’d thought, fled down the road, and scattered into the alleys. The detectives gathered around Hirata.

“Are you all right?” Inoue asked anxiously.

Gasping and exhausted, his heart pounding from his close call, Hirata pushed himself upright. “Yes,” he said, his voice brusque. “Thank you.

He was mortified that he’d been unable to defend himself-or capture the gang as he should have done. Inoue and Arai held out their hands, offering to help him rise, but he ignored them and struggled to his feet. He avoided his men’s gazes, lest he see pity in them. He sheathed his sword and climbed onto his horse.

“Let’s go. We’ve got work to do.” He added, “Don’t mention this to Chamberlain Sano.”

As they resumed their progress, Hirata wondered how he would get through this investigation, or the rest of his life.

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