The Perfumed Sleeve

34

A mob was gathered outside the Nakamura-za Theater when Sano arrived with Hirata, a squadron of detectives, the watchdogs, and their troops. People surged, yelling and shoving, toward the entrance, where police officers tried to hold them back.

As a chorus of wild shouts issued from the building, more crowds hurried down the street, eager to join the excitement. Sano and his companions leaped off their horses and pushed their way through the mob toward the theater.

“What’s going on in there?” Sano called to the police.

“Some crazy samurai jumped on the stage during the play,” the officer said as he shoved at men trying to scramble through the door. “He’s up there threatening one of the actors.”

Sano had planned to walk into the theater, wait until the show ended, and make a peaceful arrest of Koheiji. Now his smile mocked his notion that anything about this investigation should turn out the way he’d expected. The mob pressed in on him. Nearby, Hirata and the detectives jostled boisterous spectators; the watchdogs and their men floundered at the edges of the crowd.

“Let us in,” Sano told the police. “We’ll restore order.”

The police fought back the mob long enough for Sano and his companions to slip through the door. The theater was jammed with people. Sano couldn’t see the stage because the audience was standing up on the dividers between the seating compartments, craning their necks, blocking his view. The cavernous room thundered with their shouts. The smells of liquor and sweat mingled with the acrid tobacco smoke that hazed the dim atmosphere. Sano tasted violence, intoxicating and contagious, in the air. He leaped onto the walkway, the only unimpeded path to the stage.

As Hirata and the other men hurried after him along the walkway, the audience waved at them and cheered their arrival. The noise clamored in Sano’s ears. Faces distorted and ugly with bloodlust surrounded him. On the stage Sano saw two men facing each other. One held a sword raised high. The other cowered, his palms lifted. Nearing the stage, Sano recognized the cowering man as Koheiji. He wore samurai costume; wide trousers, two swords at his waist, surcoat, and flowing kimono. Shock and fright showed on his painted face. The other man, dressed in black, was Tamura. Surprise halted Sano at the rim of the stage.

“I’ve come to avenge the death of my master, the honorable Senior Elder Makino!” Tamura shouted. He pointed his sword at Koheiji. “You who murdered him shall pay with your blood!”

The spectators roared. Maybe they thought this was part of the play, but Sano knew Tamura was carrying out the vendetta he’d sworn on Makino’s killer. Suddenly Sano recalled hearing someone outside the chapel of the Makino estate while he’d interrogated Agemaki. It must have been Tamura, eavesdropping.

Hirata exclaimed, “He overheard you saying that Daiemon hired Koheiji to assassinate his master!”

“You’re insane,” Koheiji told Tamura. “I didn’t kill Makino.” But his fear quaked under his scornful tone. “You’ve got the wrong man.”

While the audience cheered, Tamura said, “No more lies!” Rage and determination hardened his stern, masklike face. His blade glinted in the sun that shone through the skylights. “Admit your guilt before you die, you coward!”

Although Sano understood the honor involved in a vendetta, and he hated interfering with a fellow samurai’s duty to avenge his dead master, he couldn’t let Tamura take the law into his own hands. The shogun had the first right to deliver Koheiji to justice if he wanted. Sano stepped onto the stage.

“Tamura-san,” he called.

The noise from the audience subsided into an expectant hush. Tamura turned, glancing at Sano but keeping his attention focused on Koheiji. “Sōsakan-sama,” he said, his manner amused as well as hostile. “Many thanks for discovering that this worthless gob of filth murdered my master. I suppose I owe you an apology for underestimating you. Now, if you’ll stand back, I’ll save you the trouble of arresting him.”

He lunged and slashed his sword at Koheiji. The actor vaulted backward, narrowly escaping the blade. The onlookers cheered. Their hunger for thrills exceeded any concern that their favorite’s life was in peril.

“I’m not the murderer.” His desperation obvious, Koheiji said, “Ask Okitsu. She’ll tell you.”

“She has,” Sano said. “She told me the whole story.”

“Louder!” came shouts from the audience. “We can’t hear you! Speak up!”

Sano glanced over his shoulder and saw hundreds of avid faces looking at him: He’d become part of the drama. “You did kill Makino,” he said to Koheiji, then addressed Tamura: “But he’s not a murderer.”

Both men stared at him. Tamura halted on the verge of another attack. Disbelief and confusion showed on both their faces.

“Tamura-san, you listened to only part of the story,” Sano said. “You overheard me tell Agemaki that Koheiji had been hired to assassinate your master. If you hadn’t rushed off so fast, you’d have heard there was no assassination plot, and Makino’s murder was an accident.”

“What?” Tamura exclaimed. The audience quieted, eager to hear the conversation.

“Makino collapsed during a sex game,” Sano said.

Koheiji exhaled a puff of relief that the truth had come out. “That’s right,” he said. “Makino dropped dead on Okitsu and me while we were giving him a little fun.”

“Quiet!” Bent on pursuing retribution, Tamura slashed his sword at Koheiji.

The audience gasped a collective breath. Koheiji drew his weapon and parried strikes; the audience cheered him on. But his sword was a mere theater prop. Tamura’s sword hacked off its wooden blade. Koheiji stared in dismay at the useless stub that fell from his hand.

“I don’t believe you,” Tamura said angrily to Sano. “You’re just trying to trick me out of my vengeance.”

“This is no trick,” Sano said. “The assassination plot was a fraud.”

Tamura glowered and raised his sword at Koheiji, who cried in desperation, “Get him out of here, will you please?”

Sano gestured for Hirata and the detectives to surround Tamura. As they moved in on him, Tamura ordered, “Get out of my way. Let me at him.” But indecision flickered in his eyes. Sano had shaken his certainty that Koheiji had murdered his master.

A gang of samurai jumped onto the walkway. Clad in tattered clothes, they appeared to be rōnin. Sano saw that they wanted to join the action, and they were too excited-or too drunk-to worry about the consequences of interfering with bakufu business. Ibe’s and Otani’s men held them back from rushing onstage. Their leader, a brute with an unshaved face and a red head kerchief, yelled, “Fight! Fight!”

The audience took up the chant. The rhythm, accompanied by stamping feet and clapping hands, rocked the theater.

“Makino drank too much aphrodisiac and overexerted himself,” Sano said. “He’s as responsible for his death as anyone else is.”

Tamura stood paralyzed. His face reflected shock, then disgust, then acceptance that lustful habits, not murder, had been his master’s undoing.

“Now that you know I’m innocent, can you all just go?” Koheiji whined. “Can I please finish the play?”

“Fight! Fight!” chanted the audience. The brute in the red head kerchief wrestled with Otani’s and Ibe’s troops as they tried to force him and his gang off the walkway.

“I’m afraid not,” Sano told Koheiji. “You see, Makino wasn’t quite dead when he collapsed. You shouldn’t have tried to make his death look like murder by an intruder. The beating you gave him is what really killed him.”

Koheiji stared in open-mouthed, silent horror. Sano could almost see his face turn pale under its makeup. “Merciful gods,” he whispered. “I had no idea…” He shook his head, ruing his mistake. Sano watched him realize that someone must shed blood for Makino’s death, and he was that someone. He staggered under the knowledge that he’d come to the end of living by his impulses and wits, and this was one scrape from which they couldn’t save him.

“Then Makino’s death was a stupid blunder by this fool,” Tamura said. “It’s not worth avenging. And a fool isn’t worth bloodying my sword.” Crestfallen, he lowered his weapon. But Sano discerned that he was relieved-he lacked the heart to enjoy killing. Now he sheathed the weapon. “I renounce my vendetta,” he said and jumped off the stage.

The audience and the gang of rōnin booed, furious to be cheated out of the carnage they wanted to see. Police moved through the theater, forcing the mob to clear the seats. Sano nodded to Detectives Marume and Fukida. They moved to Koheiji and grabbed his arms. He didn’t resist; he appeared too shattered by his misfortune. “You’re under arrest,” Sano said.

“My husband had discovered that Lord Matsudaira’s nephew and concubine were having a love affair,” Lady Yanagisawa told Reiko. “He’d learned about the signal that Lady Gosechi used to arrange secret meetings with Daiemon. He lured Daiemon to the Sign of Bedazzlement and sent me there to assassinate him.”

Lady Yanagisawa seemed unfazed that the detectives, as well as Reiko, were listening to her incriminate herself. Shocked by her admission even though already aware of what Lady Yanagisawa had done, Reiko said, “Weren’t you afraid? How could you do it?” A reason occurred to her. “What did the chamberlain offer you in return?”

“His love,” Lady Yanagisawa said.

Her mouth curved in a secretive smile; she sighed with pleasure. Reiko saw her suspicion confirmed. The chamberlain had taken advantage of his wife’s passion for him and promised to make the crime worth her while. After she’d rid him of his enemy, he’d rewarded her by bedding her as she had longed for him to do.

“I disguised myself as Gosechi. I wore my hair down,” Lady Yanagisawa said, stroking the black tresses that flowed down her bosom. “I put on the kind of bright, pretty clothes that Gosechi wears.” She touched her orange kimono. “I covered my head with a shawl. I carried a dagger that my husband gave me.” Her fingers curled around the hilt of an imaginary weapon.

“Why did you take Kikuko with you?” Reiko said.

Guilt shadowed Lady Yanagisawa’s features. Even if she didn’t care that she’d killed a man, she felt she’d done wrong by bringing her daughter on such an errand. “Kikuko has been difficult lately. When I tried to leave the house, she screamed and clung to me. She wouldn’t let me go. I had no choice but to take her along.”

Lady Yanagisawa shook her shoulders, casting off blame for her lapse of maternal responsibility. “We rode in the palanquin to the Sign of Bedazzlement. When we arrived, I told the bearers to wait for me down the street. I told Kikuko that she must stay inside the palanquin and be very quiet. She thought it was a game. I left her and hurried into the Sign of Bedazzlement.” Lady Yanagisawa drifted across the room as if in a trance, following the path along which the chamberlain had sent her that night. “There were other people in the house-I could hear them in the rooms. But the doors were shut. The corridor was empty. No one saw me.”

Reiko pictured Lady Yanagisawa’s furtive figure sneaking through the house of assignation, the dagger clutched hidden under her sleeve. Her eyes must have glittered with the same determination as they did now.

“I went to the room where my husband had told me that Daiemon and Gosechi met,” Lady Yanagisawa said, drifting to a stop in a corner. Lightning bolts painted on the mural converged toward her head. The detectives watched, impassive. “I covered the lantern with a cloth to make the room dim. I took off my cloak but kept my shawl over my head. Then I sat on the bed and waited for Daiemon. I began to worry that something would go wrong.” A spate of trembling disturbed her composure. “I almost got up and ran out of the house.”

The image of her huddling in her shawl, beset by last-moment anxiety, the knife shaking in her hands, filled Reiko’s mind.

“But I’d promised my husband. And it was too late to turn back. He was coming down the passage.” Lady Yanagisawa whipped her head around. Reiko could almost hear Daiemon’s footsteps echoing in Lady Yanagisawa’s memory. “He entered the room. He said, ‘Here I am.’ He sounded happy because he thought I was Gosechi. I didn’t answer. I was praying for courage and strength.”

Fear coalesced in her eyes; she mouthed silent words. “He knelt beside me on the bed and said, ‘Why are you so quiet? Aren’t you glad to see me?’ I turned toward him, willing myself to do what I must. He lifted the shawl off my head before I could stop him.” In Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes seemed to float a reflection of Daiemon, surprised to find a stranger in place of his beloved. “He said, ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

“I drove the dagger into him.” Lady Yanagisawa held her fists one behind and touching the other; she thrust them violently forward. A crazed, inhuman expression distorted her face. “Daiemon opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The dagger was stuck in his chest. I saw that he realized he’d been tricked. He was furious. But then his eyes went blank. He fell against me. He was dead.”

This was more satisfactory a confession than Reiko had expected to get.

Lady Yanagisawa recoiled as if from the corpse dropping on her. “I pushed him away and stood up. His blood was all over me.” Her throat contracted as she swallowed her rising gorge. She rubbed her hands against each other and down her robes, as if feeling the warm, slick wetness of Daiemon’s blood. “I covered it with my cloak and shawl. Then I ran out through the secret passage to my palanquin. I climbed in with Kikuko. We rode away.”

Soon thereafter, the chamberlain’s men-who’d have followed Lady Yanagisawa-must have tipped off the police that Daiemon was dead.

“I started shaking. I couldn’t stop.” A visible tremor rippled through Lady Yanagisawa. “I vomited until there was nothing left to come up.”

Perhaps she did feel some guilt, Reiko thought.

“My sickness frightened Kikuko,” said Lady Yanagisawa. “She cried and hugged me and said, ‘Mama, what’s wrong?’ I said I would be all right soon, and she mustn’t worry. I told her that someday I would explain to her what I’d done. Someday she would understand that I’d done it for her as well as myself, so that her father would love us both. I promised her that everything would be wonderful from now on.”

“That’s a promise you won’t get to keep,” Reiko said with a twinge of vindictive joy. Soon Lady Yanagisawa would reap her punishment for all her evils. “You killed Daiemon. You’ll pay for his death with your life.”

And when Sano learned of her treacherous crime, he would think the worst of Lady Yanagisawa. He would never trust anything she said about Reiko and the Dragon King.

Lady Yanagisawa smiled. Her happiness at winning her husband’s favor apparently outweighed both her guilt and her fear of repercussions. “But you can’t prove I killed him. If you publicly accuse me, I’ll deny my confession. I’ll claim that you forced me to say what you wanted me to say. My good character has never been questioned before. No one will believe that I am a murderer.”

Her confidence seemed invincible, but Reiko said, “We’ll see about that.” She turned to the detectives: “Arrest her.”

The detectives moved toward Lady Yanagisawa. Dissonant laughter emanated from her. “Don’t bother,” she said. “My husband will set me free. He won’t allow me to be punished for killing Daiemon.”

“Your husband won’t lift a finger to save you,” Reiko said. “He’d rather let you take the blame for the murder than continue living under suspicion himself. When you’re accused, he’ll say that you acted on your own, and he had nothing to do with Daiemon’s murder. He’ll sacrifice you to protect his own position.”

“No. He would never do that.” Although Lady Yanagisawa emphatically shook her head, sudden fear glinted in her eyes. “He loves me. He said so.”

“You’re a fool to believe him,” Reiko said. “During all these years, he’s neglected you and cared nothing for you. Now, all of a sudden, he loves you?” Reiko raised her voice to a scornful, incredulous pitch. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“People change,” Lady Yanagisawa said, her manner adamant yet uncertain. The color drained from her cheeks. “He’s just realized how much he cares about me.”

“He realized how useful you could be,” Reiko said. “His enemies are on the attack, he needs all the help he can get, and he knew you’d do anything for him. So he manipulated you into doing his dirty work. What you think is his love for you is nothing but an act. And you fell for it.”

“It’s not an act,” Lady Yanagisawa whispered. A sob broke her voice. “He meant what he said. If you’d heard him-if you’d seen him making love to me-you would know.”

“You should know that sex isn’t the same thing as affection.” Reiko pitied as well as disdained Lady Yanagisawa’s naïveté. “Your husband took his pleasure while assuring that you were his devoted slave.”

Tears of angry hatred glittered in Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes. “That’s not true. You’re just jealous because my husband is superior to yours. You hate for anyone to have more than you do.”

“Speak for yourself,” Reiko said. “Your husband won’t even miss you when you’re gone. And what will become of Kikuko after you’re dead? Who will take care of her? Her father will neglect her just as always. She’ll die of grief and loneliness for you.”

Lady Yanagisawa stared, clearly appalled by this grim depiction of Kikuko’s future.

“But maybe you don’t mind sacrificing yourself for love of your husband,” Reiko said. “Maybe you don’t mind that he’ll climb to power over the corpse of your beloved child.”

Horror welled in Lady Yanagisawa’s eyes. Her lips moved in silent, inarticulate protests as her illusions shattered. Reiko watched her absorb the dreadful fact that she’d been duped and the chamberlain couldn’t care less if she and Kikuko paid the price for his triumph. She uttered a brokenhearted moan.

“Don’t let him get away with it,” Reiko said. “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty or love. Come with us.” Standing amid the detectives, Reiko beckoned Lady Yanagisawa. “Tell the world how you were tricked into assassinating Daiemon. Let the chamberlain take his rightful punishment. Then maybe you’ll be allowed to live, and Kikuko won’t lose her mother.”

Lady Yanagisawa breathed in painful, accelerating wheezes, then began to shake her head and stamp her feet. She wailed and tore at her hair. Her eyes rolled, wildly seeking some remedy for her anguish or target for her wrath. They lit on Reiko.

“This is all your fault.” Her voice emerged in a growl from between gnashing teeth. “You always have to get your own way, and you don’t care whom you hurt.” She glared at Reiko through the tangle of her hair. Hatred ignited in her eyes. “You always win. But not this time.”

With an ear-spitting screech, she flew at Reiko, her hands outstretched and curled into claws. Reiko leaped away, and the detectives moved to stop Lady Yanagisawa, but she was too fast. She grabbed Reiko’s neck. Her momentum knocked them both to the floor. As they crashed together, Reiko screamed. Lady Yanagisawa squeezed her throat. Reiko tried to pry away Lady Yanagisawa’s hands, but they seemed made of iron. Reiko coughed, gasping for breath. Lady Yanagisawa’s face, twisted with rage and madness, loomed above hers. Continuous shrieks and yowls burst from Lady Yanagisawa. Hot, acrid breath flamed Reiko’s face. She heard the detectives shouting as they fought to pull the woman off her. They raised Lady Yanagisawa, but she held tight. Reiko felt herself lifted up from the floor by Lady Yanagisawa. She kicked Lady Yanagisawa and clawed her wrists, all the while choking and gagging. Panic surged through Reiko. Dark blotches spread across her vision. The thunderous pounding of her heartbeat drowned out all other sounds.

Suddenly Lady Yanagisawa’s hold broke. Reiko collapsed onto the floor, gulping air, moaning with relief; she clutched her sore, bruised throat. As her vision cleared, she saw the detectives holding Lady Yanagisawa, who screamed curses as she thrashed in their grip. But the pounding in Reiko’s ears continued, and she realized that her heart wasn’t the cause.

“What’s that sound?” she said.

The detectives listened. Lady Yanagisawa fell silent; she ceased to struggle. The pounding stopped. Running footsteps outside signaled a horde entering the estate. Men’s voices arose in furious shouts amid the clash of steel blades. The noise resounded through the mansion. Into the reception room marched a brigade of samurai troops clad in armor, brandishing swords. Reiko staggered to her feet. She saw the Matsudaira clan crest on the troops’ armor, and astonished comprehension filled her.

The Matsudaira faction had invaded Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s domain. The pounding she’d heard was a battering ram, breaking down the gates.

The invaders faced off against the detectives. Their hostile stares took in Reiko and Lady Yanagisawa. The leader of the Matsudaira troops demanded, “Who are you?”

A detective explained that he and his comrades were the sōsakan-sama’s retainers. He identified the women, then said, “What’s going on?”

“Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s army has retreated from the battle,” the leader said. “Most of his allies have defected to our side. And Lord Matsudaira has convinced the shogun to throw the chamberlain out of the court. We’re here to capture him.”

A wail of horror arose from Lady Yanagisawa. Reiko could hardly believe that the corrupt, wily chamberlain had finally fallen from power. But now she heard blades ringing, loud crashes, and screams of agony as his guards tried in vain to defend him and his territory against the invaders. Down the corridor, past the reception room’s doorway, filed Matsudaira troops, leading Yanagisawa’s officials. Then came the chamberlain himself. Two of his rival’s soldiers held his arms. His posture was proud, his expression fierce; he gazed straight ahead. Behind him stumbled Kikuko, escorted by another soldier. She saw Lady Yanagisawa and cried, “Mama, Mama!”

“No!” shrieked Lady Yanagisawa.

She broke away from Sano’s detectives. Weeping, she flung herself toward her child and husband as they disappeared from view. The leader of the Matsudaira troops seized her. He said, “We have orders to take the chamberlain’s whole family. Come along quietly now.”

Dazed by too many emotions to comprehend, Reiko watched her enemy borne away from her.

The detectives led a meek Koheiji offstage beyond the backdrop. The curtain fell. Outside it, the audience booed louder while exiting the theater. Hirata, walking alongside Sano as they followed the captive actor, experienced a tremendous letdown.

The investigation was over. The man he’d dismissed as a trivial nobody had killed Senior Elder Makino. And Hirata had done nothing to win back Sano’s trust, prove himself a worthy samurai, or salvage his reputation. Playing by the rules hadn’t helped. The best clue he’d discovered-Daiemon’s secret quarters-wasn’t enough. Nothing that had happened had required heroics from Hirata. He must wait for an opportunity to redeem himself that might never come. If only he could have one more chance, now, at restoring his honor!

Suddenly, loud yells and scuffling erupted nearby on the other side of the curtain. The gang of rōnin burst through the curtain, waving their swords, chased by Ibe, Otani, and their troops. Hirata had barely time to realize that the rōnin meant to have their fight, the consequences be damned, when the leader with the red kerchief came charging toward Sano. Bellowing with maniacal abandon, the rōnin raised his sword in both fists.

“Look out!” Hirata yelled.

At the same moment, Sano turned and his eyes perceived the attack impending. His hand flew to his sword. But Hirata drew his own sword first. He leaped in front of Sano. In the instant that the rōnin arrived within striking distance of them, Hirata slashed him across the belly.

The rōnin roared. He faltered to a stop. Pain and madness blazed in his eyes. He began to crumble, the sword still raised in his hands. With his last strength he swung the blade violently downward as he died.

It happened in a flash. Hirata had no time to dodge. The blade sliced down his left hipbone, then deep into his thigh. He cried out as agony shot through muscles, veins, and sinew. Letting go his sword, he toppled hard onto the stage. Throbbing spasms of pain wrenched his features into a grimace.

He heard Sano exclaim in horror and alarm, “Hirata-san!” He glimpsed the rōnin lying dead nearby and the detectives and the watchdogs’ troops fighting the gang. They all dissolved into a blur as he saw the blood spurting from his thigh, out of the tear in his clothes, and spreading around him. Hirata’s pulse raced; gasps heaved his lungs as dizziness weakened him. Terror pierced the depths of his spirit. Many times he’d fought and been injured; always, he’d survived. But he recognized that this wound was different.

Now Hirata saw Sano, his face aghast, bending over him. Sano was alive, unhurt. He seized Hirata’s hand in his strong, warm grasp. He shouted, “Fetch a doctor!”

Even as Hirata moaned in pain and horror of impending death, triumph dazzled him. He’d taken the fatal sword cut meant for Sano. He’d performed his heroic act and achieved the ultimate glory of sacrificing himself for Sano.

“You’re going to be all right,” Sano said urgently, as if willing himself as well as Hirata to believe it. Hirata felt someone binding his thigh, stanching the flow of blood. “Just hold on.”

“Master,” Hirata said. His cracked, barely coherent whisper conveyed all the respect, obligation, and love he felt toward Sano. Pain and lethargy prevented him from speaking more. Sano’s image grew dark, indistinct.

“You’ve proved yourself an honorable samurai,” Sano said in a voice raw with emotion. It seemed to echo across a vast distance. “For saving my life, you have my eternal gratitude. The disgrace you brought upon yourself is gone. I’ll never doubt your loyalty again.”

Hirata reveled in the words. As he felt himself raised up from the hole into which his disgrace had sunken him, he was dimly aware of his physical and spiritual energy fading. Any effort to save him seemed futile. He thought of his wife Midori, who would grieve for him, and his daughter Taeko, who must grow up without him. Sadness pierced Hirata. He thought of Koheiji and felt brief amusement that the actor had turned out to be an agent of his fate. He remembered his hunch that Tamura would figure into the solution of the mystery. Instinct had proved correct one last time.

And now Hirata heard a rushing sound, like a tidal wave coming to carry him into the black emptiness obliterating his vision. He sensed legions of samurai ancestors awaiting him in a world on the other side of death. Sano’s hand holding his was all that tethered Hirata to life.