The Dragon King's Palace

27

The Dragon King regarded Reiko with stern disapproval. “There is blood on your clothing,” he said.

Again he’d summoned her from the women’s quarters, where Keisho-in and Lady Yanagisawa were bathing the baby and Midori slept. Reiko surmised that he’d brought her to his chambers to satisfy the passions she’d aroused in him earlier. Mustering the courage for another attempt to maneuver him, swallowing her fear, she looked down at her kimono and the red stains from Midori’s childbirth.

“You must wash,” said the Dragon King. “Come with me.”

He led Reiko downstairs, into a room that smelled of decay and contained a bathtub sunken in a floor of wooden slats. Vines growing on lattice-covered windows imparted a murky green hue to the evening light. Black mold dotted the plank walls.

“Take off your clothes,” the Dragon King said.

Reiko abhorred the very thought, but she was keenly aware of his power to hurt her should she displease him. And unless she proved her willingness to obey, she would never overcome his distrust, and her plan to free herself and her friends would never work. She turned her back to him, untied her sash, and dropped her outer robe.

He didn’t speak, but she heard his breathing grow harsh. She reluctantly slipped off the white under-kimono and stood naked within the aura of his palpable lust. Her flesh rippled, and her muscles tensed; her spirit withered as she thought of Sano and deplored that this man should see what only her husband had the right to behold.

“Exquisite,” the Dragon King murmured, trailing his fingers along her torso, down the curve of her hip.

Involuntarily clenching her buttocks, Reiko winced and braced herself for the assault that she’d feared since she’d first met him. Her throat constricted, nearly choking her.

The Dragon King snatched away his hand. “Go ahead and bathe now,” he said in a subdued voice. “There’s soap and a bucket on the shelf. Excuse me.”

Reiko heard him leave the room. Her fear eased, although minimally. For some reason he kept skirting the brink of ravishing her, then retreating, but this might be her last reprieve before he yielded to desire. She noticed that he’d taken her clothes. She would have run away stark naked, if not for the guards she heard outside, and her captive friends. Reiko filled the bucket from the tub of water that smelled of the lake. She poured the water over herself, then scrubbed her body and hair with the cloth bag of rice-bran soap. Despite the circumstances, she found relief in washing after days without a bath. She rinsed, then immersed herself in the tub.

The Dragon King appeared at the door. He carried a bundle of folded fabric. “Here are some cloths to dry yourself, and fresh robes to wear,” he said.

“Thank you,” Reiko said, shivering in the chilly water as he stared through it at her body beneath the surface.

“Are your new quarters satisfactory?” he said.

“Yes, very.” The sliding door and wall panels were solid and firmly locked by vertical beams inserted through the latches and floor on the outside; but Reiko had discovered that the wooden bars on the window were rotted and breakable.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.” Squatting at the edge of the tub, the Dragon King spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone: “From now on, when you’re not with me, you’ll be guarded only by Ota, whom I trust. The others won’t be allowed near you.”

“Many thanks,” Reiko said, glad to hear he’d reduced the watch on her. “I feel much safer now.”

The Dragon King nodded absently, watching Reiko. “You look cold. You’d better come out.”

He stepped back from the tub and waited. Reiko turned away from him as she rose, then climbed out of the water. Quickly she dried herself and put on the clothes he’d brought-a white under-robe and a teal silk kimono printed with white flowers. She tied the aqua sash, wondering where he’d gotten women’s clothes. As she combed her fingers through her wet hair, the flowers on the kimono caught her eye.

They were anemones.

The clothes the Dragon King had given her had belonged to his dead beloved.

A chill passed through Reiko as she realized that he must have kept them during the twelve years since Anemone had died. She smelled a faint, stale whiff of perfume and body odor on the robes: They’d not been washed after Anemone last wore them. Reiko pictured the Dragon King fondling the clothes, sniffing their scent, arousing himself. She understood he was perpetuating the illusion that she was the embodiment of Anemone by dressing her in them. Revolted, she turned to face him.

His strange features were luminous with admiration. He intoned, “The pale wraith of your spirit departed its lifeless body. You drifted in enchanted slumber, down unfathomable depths, through watery channels, to the palace where we reunited.” He touched Reiko’s wet hair. “Come. There’s something I must show you.”

He led her up to his chamber and beyond the sliding partition. There, in a smaller room, Reiko saw the source of the incense odor that pervaded the palace and shrouded him. Brown sticks smoked in a brass bowl atop a small iron trunk. Near the bowl, candles burned around a painted color portrait of a young woman.

“This is you during the prime of your life, Anemone,” the Dragon King told Reiko. “You are as beautiful now as you were then.”

Reiko discerned a vague likeness to herself in the stylized portrait.

“I’ve kept your funeral altar since you died,” he said. “My faithfulness has brought you back to life.”

Glancing around the room, Reiko saw his bedding rolled up in a corner. Here was morbid evidence that he slept with the altar, worshiping the dead.

“Who was she?” Reiko said, driven by curiosity to risk disrupting the charade that she herself was Anemone.

The Dragon King gazed at the portrait. “She was my mother.”

“Your mother?” Surprise struck Reiko, because his behavior toward her wasn’t filial in the least. “But I thought… ”

“That she was my lover?” The Dragon King smiled at Reiko’s reaction. “Indeed she was.” He’d switched from speaking to her as if she were Anemone to addressing her as the stranger in whom he thought Anemone’s spirit reposed. “We were much closer than mothers and sons usually are.”

He had engaged in carnal relations with his own mother! Reiko was shocked into silence. She recalled the Dragon King telling her about his dream in which Anemone had taught him calligraphy. Her mental image of the scene underwent a sudden alteration. Instead of an adult couple indulging in love play, Reiko saw a mother fondling an adolescent son, initiating him into forbidden sex. And now the son, grown into this evil, tortured man, wanted to recreate his sordid past with her. The magnitude of his perversion and insanity horrified Reiko.

“Anemone is the only woman I’ve ever loved,” the Dragon King said, ignoring Reiko’s discomfiture. “I never married because I couldn’t forget her.”

That was why he had no children and blamed Anemone for his lack, thought Reiko.

A pained smile twisted his face. “She was less faithful than I. She gave her love to someone else.”

And that explained the anger with which he’d lashed out at Reiko and cursed her as a whore.

“But I can’t entirely blame her,” he said. “Women are weak, and susceptible to villains bent on seduction. When that man came along, she was helpless to resist him.”

Reiko listened, compelled by morbid fascination, yet sure that the rest of the Dragon King’s story couldn’t top his earlier revelation.

“The man was my father’s lover first,” continued the Dragon King. “But he wasn’t satisfied to make one conquest in our household. When he visited my father, he would sneak flirtatious looks at Anemone. He paid her compliments. When she served tea, he would touch her hand as he accepted the bowl from her and gaze into her eyes. My father was oblivious, but not I.” The Dragon King’s expression turned resentful. “I saw that man trying to win Anemone’s affection. I saw her blush and smile. I saw her sneak him into the garden late at night and make love with him in the summer cottage.”

She’d underestimated the Dragon King, Reiko thought, as she experienced fresh shock that the story involved an adulterous three-way love triangle as well as incest.

“Anemone was fooled by the man’s ardor, but I knew better. I tried to tell her that he was just toying with her to feed his own vanity. I warned her that their affair would come to a bad end. But Anemone wouldn’t listen. We never lay together again, because she abandoned me for him.” Clenching his hands, the Dragon King flared in indignation: “She abandoned me, her own son, who loved her as that man never did!”

“What happened to Anemone?” Reiko asked, certain that these events had somehow led to the woman’s death.

“My father learned of the affair between his wife and lover,” the Dragon King said, his voice tight with the effort to control his emotions. “One night he took Anemone out on Lake Biwa in their pleasure boat. He drowned her, then killed himself.”

A gasp caught in Reiko’s throat.

“That man not only stole my beloved,” the Dragon King said; “he was the cause of her death, and my father’s.” Rancor harshened his features. “He destroyed my family.”

Reiko felt an unexpected pity toward the Dragon King, tormented by his memories, a prisoner of his torment. Then he said, “If not for Hoshina, my mother would still be alive. Anemone and I would be together.”

Hearing a familiar name startled Reiko. “Anemone’s lover was Hoshina? Do you mean Police Commissioner Hoshina, of Edo?”

“I do,” the Dragon King said. He reeked of bitterness, as though it oozed like venom from his pores. “Hoshina was never punished for his part in Anemone’s death. Everyone blamed her, because she was an adulteress who deserved to die, and my father, because he killed her. Not only did Hoshina walk away unscathed-he has prospered.”

The Dragon King gnashed his teeth, consumed by rage. Reiko marveled that Hoshina, someone she knew, was the man who’d come between the Dragon King and Anemone, deprived them of their togetherness, and stolen the life from her.

“These twelve years, I’ve watched Hoshina rise in the bakufu,” the Dragon King said. “I’ve watched him gain wealth, influence, and power, while I grieved for Anemone. I swore that someday I would make him pay for destroying her.”

“Why did you wait so long?” Reiko said, puzzled.

“When Anemone died I was a mere boy, while Hoshina was an officer on the Miyako police force,” the Dragon King said. “He had a powerful patron and other friends in high places; I had none. There was nothing I could do to hurt him then, so I bided my time. I kept my eye on Hoshina. Nine years passed without the right opportunity to attack. Then Hoshina moved to Edo. I followed him, and there I finally conceived my plan.

“One day, when I was riding through the city, I saw Lady Keisho-in traveling in her palanquin. I asked myself, ‘What does the shogun value enough that if it were stolen from him, he would do anything to get it back?’ The answer was right before my eyes. I decided to kidnap Lady Keisho-in and demand that the shogun execute Hoshina for murder in exchange for her return.” The Dragon King gloated; the flames of the candles on the altar reflected in his eyes. “And that’s exactly what I’ve done.”

Reiko had thought herself inured to further surprise, but his new revelation shocked her beyond all else. “Do you mean you kidnapped us because of Hoshina?”

“Of course,” the Dragon King said as though it were the most reasonable deed in the world.

At last Reiko understood the reason behind his crimes. What great lengths he’d gone to satisfy an old grudge! What savagery he’d committed with the ultimate aim of bringing down one man!

“How could you kill so many people, just to punish Hoshina?” she cried. “How could you kidnap the shogun’s mother, and the rest of us, when we’ve never done anything to hurt you? Why should we suffer for what Hoshina did?”

“Vengeance justifies extreme action,” the Dragon King said. “The deaths of your attendants were necessary sacrifices. That you must suffer is unfortunate, but can’t be helped. Nothing short of what I’ve done could destroy Hoshina.”

He seemed so proud of what he’d done, and so eager to boast, that he didn’t mind confessing to her. Either he was mad enough not to care that she knew, or he thought she would never have a chance to tell anyone. The grandiose scale of his plot flabbergasted Reiko, as did his belief that it was his only means of revenge.

“Why didn’t you just tell everyone how Hoshina caused your parents’ deaths and ruin his reputation?” she said. “Why not go to the magistrate, lodge a formal complaint against Hoshina, and demand that he make amends?”

“Hoshina is an important man. If I spoke out against him, no one would listen to me. No magistrate would take my side in a dispute.”

“Then why not challenge Hoshina to a duel?” Reiko said. Duels were a common means by which samurai resolved grievances outside the law. “Wouldn’t killing him yourself be simpler than making the shogun execute him?”

“I don’t just want Hoshina dead,” the Dragon King said, his manner defensive. “I want him officially denounced as a murderer, stripped of his rank and privileges, and executed like a common criminal. I want his honor disgraced, and his corpse exposed to the public revilement he deserves. This is what my scheme will accomplish.”

Yet Reiko glimpsed the truth underlying the Dragon King’s self-righteous assertions. He wouldn’t challenge Hoshina to a duel because Hoshina would probably win, and he didn’t want to die. Nor would he speak out against Hoshina, because he feared retaliation from his powerful enemy. He wanted to attack Hoshina without risking his own skin; he wanted revenge without consequences. He thought he could kidnap the shogun’s mother, force Hoshina’s execution, then sneak away to savor his triumph.

The Dragon King was a coward.

“And now that my scheme is under way,” he said, “all I need do is wait for my spies in Edo to bring me the news that Hoshina has been executed. When I see his corpse displayed by the Nihonbashi Bridge, I shall have my revenge.”

He was also a fool if he believed his scheme would work, Reiko thought. Didn’t he know Hoshina was the paramour of the shogun’s second-in-command? Chamberlain Yanagisawa would prevent Hoshina’s execution. But even if he didn’t, the crafty Hoshina was sure to avoid death somehow. The Dragon King’s scheme would fail. A premonitory chill crept through Reiko.

“What are you going to do if the shogun won’t do as you’ve demanded?” she said.

“He will.” Smug confidence infused the Dragon King’s voice. “Because I’ve warned him that unless he does, I’ll kill his mother and her friends.”

Reiko at last understood what he had meant when he’d previously told her that he hoped not to kill her. He would prefer that his plan achieve Hoshina’s death rather than carry out the threat of slaying his hostages. But she comprehended with a rush of sickening horror that she, Lady Keisho-in, Midori, and Lady Yanagisawa had been doomed from the start. There had never been any possibility that the Dragon King would free them. He would wait for news of Hoshina’s death, in vain. And when he realized that his revenge attempt had failed…

Panic filled Reiko as she wondered how much time was left before he gave up hope. Maybe those twelve years of waiting for revenge had exhausted his patience. She couldn’t afford to gamble that he would wait much longer. She must forge ahead with her scheme, even though she feared it was premature.

“Dearest,” she said, caressing the Dragon King’s hands, “I’m so afraid something will go wrong. And I don’t like this place. Why don’t we leave-just you and me?”

If she could get him to take her off the island, away from his men, she would have a chance at freedom. He couldn’t watch her all the time. She could sneak away, find a Tokugawa garrison, and send soldiers to rescue her friends. His men wouldn’t stay here once they discovered their master was gone; rather, they would realize that he’d left them holding the hostages, ready to take the blame for the kidnapping. They would flee, abandoning Midori, the baby, Keisho-in, and Lady Yanagisawa, who would be safe enough until help came.

“We can go somewhere pleasant together,” Reiko said eagerly. “We don’t even have to tell anyone.”

The Dragon King regarded her with consternation. “We can’t leave. Not until Hoshina is dead.”

“Why not just forget him? Why is revenge so important anymore?” Reiko wheedled. “That we’re together is all that matters.”

“Twelve years I’ve waited to bring Hoshina to justice.” The Dragon King’s hand was hard and unyielding in Reiko’s. “I won’t give up my victory over him, even for you. I’ll not have peace until he no longer fouls this world.”

“But I’m so afraid you’ll get in trouble,” Reiko said. “Punishing Hoshina isn’t worth your life. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.” With a sob of genuine desperation, she lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. The stubble on it abraded her fingers. “Please, take me away from here now!”

He frowned, leaning away from her touch. “My plan is foolproof. There won’t be any trouble.” His adamant tone bespoke his faith in his insane scheme. “We will stay here until I know Hoshina has been denounced and executed. My decision is final.”

Hirata, Marume, and Fukida carried their raft out from the woods. Staggering under its unwieldy mass, they laid it at the edge of the lake. The sky was a vast cobalt-blue dome spattered with brilliant stars; the full moon diffused radiance through clouds that drifted like smoke. Reflected lights glimmered on the black water. A cool wind evoked whispers from the forest, which vibrated with the nocturnal insect chorus. Hirata and the detectives eased the raft off the bank, into the water. They held their breath in wordless suspense.

The raft rocked on the undulating surface, but didn’t sink.

“Thank the gods,” Hirata said with fervent relief.

He and Fukida fetched the oars, then crawled gingerly onto the raft. Marume pushed it away from the shore, waded into the lake, and clambered aboard. The raft plunged under him. The men hurriedly shifted position until their weight balanced and the raft stabilized. Hirata and Fukida began paddling. Water sloshed over the raft and seeped through cracks between the logs, but it stayed afloat, inching toward the opposite shore. Hirata feared that each accidental splash of the paddles would alert the kidnappers that intruders were approaching. As he rowed, he watched the island.

Darkness blended the terrain and castle into a black, impenetrable mass. Although the island seemed devoid of life, Hirata dreaded that its occupants would spot him and his companions on the open water, vulnerable as a duck without wings. A pang of doubt chimed inside him. Despite his determination to save Midori, he wondered whether he’d made the right choice. Should he have obeyed Sano’s orders instead?

Jittery with fatigue and apprehension, Hirata plied his oar with hands that were still raw and tender from building the raft. He sniffed mucus up his nose and wished his cold would go away. He told himself it was too late to change his decision. Afraid for Midori’s safety, he wanted her back now, not after he returned to Edo.

The island loomed larger. Soon the raft bumped to a halt in the shallows near the end of the island opposite the dock. Hirata saw the sloping bank and dense trees articulated by the moonlight, and luminous reflections breaking at the shoreline. He and his companions climbed off the raft. Cold water immersed them up to their shins. Mud sucked at Hirata’s sandals as he waded ashore. He and Fukida and Marume hauled the dripping raft out of the lake, into the forest, and leaned it upright against a tree. They draped vines over the raft and buried the oars under fallen leaves. Then they crept through the woods, toward the castle.

The light from the stars and moon barely pierced the dense shadows in the forest. Hirata and the detectives groped their way around trees, over dead logs. His fear of getting caught magnified every crackle of twigs under his feet, and every rustle of leafy branches against him, into a thunderous noise. The atmosphere tingled with the presence of nearby humans. A sudden sense of danger and malevolence stirred Hirata’s nerves. At the same moment, he smelled burning oil and spied a light flickering in the near distance.

Hirata froze, his arm flung out to halt Marume and Fukida behind him. They all crouched in the underbrush as footsteps tramped toward them. The light was a flame that guttered in a metal lantern carried by a tough-looking samurai. His visage, eerily lit by the lantern, disappeared and reappeared between the trees. Hirata held his breath until the samurai passed. With his heart pounding from the close call, Hirata cautiously rose. He and his men continued their advance for some twenty more paces, until they spied more lights, traversing the island in multiple directions. Again and again they paused to hide as more samurai patrolled around them. Hirata was dismayed that so many of the kidnappers maintained a vigilant watch even at night, when he’d hoped they would be asleep.

Could he find Midori before they found him?

Ages seemed to pass while he and his comrades crept across the island. Finally, a lessening in the darkness ahead of them signaled an open space. Hirata, Fukida, and Marume stopped within the fringes of the forest and peered out at the castle. The glow of the moon limned buildings that squatted like a mausoleum in a graveyard. Their damaged roofs pointed jagged peaks toward the sky. At intervals along the dilapidated, vine-covered walls stood many sentries, guarding the place. The occasional low rumble of their voices underlay the distant splashing of the waves.

Gesturing for Marume and Fukida to follow him, Hirata crept around the castle’s perimeter, staying within the cover of the forest. He saw collapsed structures, a pavilion in an overgrown garden, and more sentries. Breaching the kidnappers’ defenses and rescuing the women began to seem impossible.

Fukida leaned close to Hirata and murmured in his ear: “If we go to Edo, we can bring back more troops.”

This idea had occurred to Hirata, but he couldn’t bear to retreat after he’d come this far. “Not yet,” he whispered.

They resumed circling the castle. Outside a wing that was joined to the main palace by a covered walkway, a lone samurai crouched on the veranda. His two swords jutted at his waist. The clouds shifted, unveiling the moon, which shone on the peeling plaster wall behind him. Above him to his right, in a rectangular window, vertical bars alternated with stripes of dark interior space. As Hirata sidled onward in search of an unguarded access to the castle, a pale shape moved into the frame of the window.

It was a woman, her face framed by long hair that streamed down her shoulders. The moon illuminated her features. Hirata’s heart slammed inside his chest. Recognition froze him so abruptly that Fukida and Marume bumped against him.

“Midori,” he whispered. Jubilation surged within him. He’d found his wife! Giddy with relief, he clung to a tree trunk and stared at her.

She gazed out through the window, her expression pensive and melancholy. Hirata knew she was thinking of him, longing for him. He stifled the impulse to shout her name and run to her. Then Midori turned away from the window. Hirata reached out his hand to stop her, but she vanished into the darkness inside the room. Anguish and frustration flooded him. Even though he and Marume and Fukida could easily overpower the guard, the noise would bring the other kidnappers running. He mustn’t start a battle that he would certainly lose because the enemy outnumbered his side.

“We’ve got to find a way inside the castle and sneak Midori and the other women out,” he whispered.