The Ronin’s Mistress

30

When morning came, Reiko was reluctant to speak to Okaru. She didn’t want to disturb the poor girl, especially since Okaru was a guest. Reiko lingered over breakfast with the children. Finally, unable to avoid the difficult task, she went to Okaru’s room.

The room was empty, the exterior door open. Reiko stepped out onto the veranda, blinking in the pale sunlight, folding her arms against the cold. Okaru was crouched near the foot of the steps, digging with her hands in ground she’d cleared of snow.

“What are you doing?” Reiko asked.

Okaru looked up and brushed a strand of hair off her tear-swollen face. Her fingers smeared mud on her cheek. She gave Reiko a wan smile. “Digging a hole. To bury this.” She pointed to a small red lacquer box on the step.

“What’s in it?” Reiko said.

Okaru opened the box’s hinged lid to reveal a pink paper flower, a writing brush with frayed bristles, and a lock of black and gray hair tied with a green thread. “Oishi bought me this flower. He threw this old brush away, and I picked it out of the trash. He let me clip some of his hair to keep.” She gently touched each item. “They’re all I have left of him.”

Pity for Okaru made Reiko’s task even harder. “Why do you need to bury them?”

“Because after what happened with Oishi the other day, I can’t bear to look at them.” Okaru’s eyes welled. “The memories hurt too much. I hope it’s all right to bury the box here. I don’t have any place else.”

“It’s all right.”

Okaru sniffled, said, “Thank you,” and finished digging. She set the box in the hole.

“I need to talk to you,” Reiko said.

“About what?” Okaru’s hands trickled dirt onto the box.

“My father. He was attacked the night before last. He was badly beaten.” Reiko swallowed. “He may die.”

“I’m sorry.” Okaru looked up. “I didn’t know.”

Studying her closely, Reiko saw sympathy in her eyes but no sign of falsehood. “Did you know that my father is Magistrate Ueda? And that he’s a judge on the supreme court that will decide what should happen to the forty-seven ronin?”

“Yes. I heard the servants talking about it.”

The suspicions that Sano had raised about Okaru last night seemed ridiculous now. Reiko could hardly envision a person less capable of an assassination attempt. Furthermore, Okaru hadn’t been out of the estate-except for the trip to see Oishi-since Reiko had brought her here. Yet Reiko knew that unlikely people did commit crimes.

“Are you angry at Oishi?” Reiko said.

Okaru patted down the dirt that covered the box. Her hands were black with soil. “I guess I am, a little.”

“Did you want to hurt him because he hurt you?”

“No.” Okaru sounded as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “I would never.”

“Have you changed your mind about wanting to save him?” Reiko asked. “Do you want him to be put to death?”

Okaru gaped. “Of course not. I still love him. Even though he doesn’t love me.”

“Did you ask someone to make the supreme court condemn him and his friends?”

“I don’t understand. How would someone make the supreme court do anything?”

“By killing my father, the judge who was leading the faction that wants to pardon the forty-seven ronin,” Reiko said.

“I didn’t even know that your father wants to pardon them.” Okaru stood up and regarded Reiko with bewilderment. “And even if I had wanted to kill him, who would I have asked to do it? I don’t know anyone in Edo except the people in your house.”

“You do know someone else in Edo,” Reiko said. “Your servant. Goza.”

Okaru’s mouth and eyes opened into perfect circles. “She wouldn’t-”

“She’s devoted to you. She tried to strangle Oishi. Why stop at that? Why not have him put to death?”

“Goza was only protecting me!” Okaru cried. “Now that I’m safe, why should she want to hurt Oishi anymore?”

“To pay him back for breaking your heart,” Reiko suggested.

“If you knew Goza, you wouldn’t think that.” Okaru hastened to explain, “Goza is an orphan, like me. She grew up cleaning teahouses in Miyako. People used to make fun of her. They threw stones at her and called her ugly names. But Goza never lifted a hand to them. She’s really a gentle person. She doesn’t care about revenge.”

“Maybe not for herself, but what about for you?” Reiko said, warming to her own theory. Her fondness for Okaru gave way before a new onslaught of suspicion. “I think she would do whatever you asked. That includes hiring an assassin to kill my father and turn the supreme court against Oishi.”

“I didn’t ask!” Indignation filled Okaru’s eyes. “We would never do anything to hurt your family.”

“Where is Goza?” Reiko asked. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

Suddenly frightened, Okaru said, “I-I don’t know.”

Reiko recalled Chiyo saying she’d seen Goza sneak in and out of the house. Horror trickled through Reiko. Was she harboring the people responsible for her father’s injuries? Had she ruined her friendship with Chiyo for someone who’d repaid her kindness with evil?

“Tell me the truth. You owe me that much,” Reiko said, her sympathy toward Okaru cooling fast. “Did you plot with Goza to kill my father?”

Although her face was a picture of terror and misery, Okaru spoke bravely: “No, I didn’t. But I can see that you don’t trust me. I think Goza and I should leave.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Until I find out the truth, I want you where I can watch you.” Reiko marched Okaru into the mansion, called Lieutenant Tanuma, and told him, “Find a place to lock her up, and her servant when she comes back. Guard them and don’t let them out of your sight.”

* * *

When Sano arrived at the Hosokawa clan estate, the guards directed him to the martial arts practice room in the barracks. There, a crowd of samurai cheered the two men engaged in combat.

Naked to the waist, dressed in white trousers, Oishi and his son Chikara brandished swords, circled, lunged toward, and struck at each other. Their reflections in the mirrors on the wall followed their moves. The room echoed with their grunts, the clang of their blades, the stomp of their bare feet, and the audiences’ cheers. Sano watched Oishi and Chikara. The son was quicker, but the father moved with the skill that comes only from long experience. Sano noticed that their swords weren’t wooden practice weapons; the blades were steel.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Sano yelled, “That’s enough!”

The audiences’ shouts dwindled into silence. Oishi and Chikara retreated.

“What is this?” Sano asked the Hosokawa men in the audience. “You’re supposed to be guarding them.” He pointed at Oishi and Chikara. “And you put real weapons in their hands?” He ordered, “Drop those swords.”

Oishi obeyed, his face impassive. Chikara waited a moment, in defiance, then followed suit. They took their white coats from a rack and draped them over their shoulders. One of the Hosokawa men said sheepishly, “They weren’t going to hurt anybody.”

“That’s what Kira thought until they cut off his head.” Sano turned to Oishi and Chikara. “I want to talk to you.”

“We can go to my quarters,” Oishi said.

He and Chikara led Sano into the mansion, to a guest chamber with gold-inlaid teak cabinets, a matching desk in a raised study niche, embroidered screens, and a wall mural that depicted water birds by a river. Heat shimmered up from sunken braziers. The lavish accommodations were further evidence of the Hosokawa clan’s goodwill toward the ronin.

Oishi put a silk cushion in front of the alcove, which contained a calligraphy scroll hanging above a branch of winter berries in a black ceramic vase. Sano knelt on the cushion, in the place of honor. Oishi crouched opposite; Chikara hovered near the door. The atmosphere was as charged with the heat of combat as the martial arts practice room. Father and son waited expectantly, identical scowls on their faces.

“There’s been a problem with the supreme court,” Sano said. “One of the judges was ambushed and beaten the night before last. He’s unconscious. Another judge was hurt in a riot.” Sano had checked on Minister Motoori and learned he’d broken his leg. “The court has postponed deciding on a verdict. You’re safe for a while.”

Chikara betrayed his relief with a sigh. Oishi said blandly, “So we’ve heard.”

“How?” Sano asked.

“Our hosts have been kind enough to fetch us news from town,” Oishi said.

“Did they also tell you that the judge who was beaten is my father-in-law?”

“They mentioned it.”

“Did they mention that the supreme court is divided on the issue of whether you should live or die?”

“No.” Puzzlement crept into Oishi’s scowl. “How could they know? The supreme court proceedings are secret.”

“Why are you asking us these questions?” Chikara demanded.

“Mind your manners,” Oishi warned.

“Why should I?” Chikara grinned at Sano despite the fear that showed in his eyes. “The Hosokawa men brought us some news about you, too-you’re out of favor with the shogun. Nobody cares what you think.”

His insolence stung. Sano controlled his temper. “You should care. What I think will affect my investigation, which could influence the supreme court one way or the other.”

“My son’s question was a good one,” Oishi said. “So your father-in-law was beaten: What has that to do with us?”

“I want to know if you or your men are responsible,” Sano said.

“How could we be? We’ve been under house arrest for the past five days.”

“What else have the Hosokawa men been kind enough to do for you besides bring you news?”

Caution settled over Oishi; he exuded a stillness the way a tree does when the wind dies down and its branches cease to toss. “I don’t get your meaning.”

“Did you ask them to prolong your life by attacking the supreme court?” Sano asked. “Did they hire an assassin to kill my father-in-law? Or let you out so that you could?”

Oishi turned away, massaging his jaw with his fingers. It was the same reaction as when Sano had told him that his mistress was in town. Oishi seemed even more discomfited now, by Sano’s accusation. Maybe he was innocent and the idea that anyone would think him responsible for the attack had never occurred to him. Or maybe he was guilty but he’d counted on nobody connecting him with the crime because it had happened while he was imprisoned.

“I didn’t ask them.” Oishi spoke slowly, as if buying himself time to think. “Even if I had, they wouldn’t have done it. And they haven’t let me or any of my men outside.”

A Hosokawa retainer who was fanatical about Bushido and idolized the prisoners might have thought them worth risking the consequences of murdering an important official like Magistrate Ueda. Sano wasn’t ready to give up his theory, especially since he sensed that Oishi had something new to hide.

“My father didn’t arrange the attack.” Chikara moved to stand beside Oishi.

“Then maybe you did,” Sano said.

“Me?” Chikara drew back in surprise and fright. He looked to Oishi.

“He didn’t do it.” Oishi flung out his arm, a barrier between Sano and his son.

Sano remembered making the same gesture himself, when Masahiro had tried to run into the street as a group of samurai on horseback raced by. “If you’re guilty, then you’d better admit it,” he said, “or I’ll take Chikara to Edo Jail and torture him until he confesses.”

Although clearly dismayed by the threat, Oishi declared, “We’re both innocent.” He stood. “And we’re through with this conversation.”

Sano rose, too, his bluff called. “You haven’t seen the last of me. If I discover that you or your comrades were responsible for the attack on my father-in-law, I’ll execute the whole pack of you even if the supreme court pardons you for the vendetta.”

As he stalked from the room, he was astonished to recall that not long ago he’d respected the forty-seven ronin as exemplars of Bushido. Now he suspected them of trying to murder his kinsman. Even if they were innocent, he believed that their vendetta had led to the attack on Magistrate Ueda, and they were therefore indirectly responsible. If they were truly guilty, he would have their blood and his own revenge.

* * *

After thinking over the conversation he’d overheard between his parents last night, Masahiro had decided what to do.

He would conduct his own investigation into the attack on his grandfather.

The first step was to interview the suspect.

His heart pounded as he went to Okaru’s room. He wanted to see Okaru as much as he wanted to find out if she was involved in the attack. Peering through the open door, he discovered that she wasn’t there. Bedding lay in a heap on the floor. A maid stood at the cabinet, taking out clothes.

“Where’s Okaru?” Masahiro asked.

“Your mother moved her into the servants’ quarters. She doesn’t want her so close to your family.”

Masahiro felt a stab of apprehension. “Why not?”

“She thinks Okaru might have had something to do with the attack on Magistrate Ueda.”

If his mother thought Okaru was guilty, then perhaps she was. Masahiro’s heart sank.

“Lieutenant Tanuma is guarding Okaru,” the maid added.

So much for Masahiro’s plan to interview her. He couldn’t do it in front of Lieutenant Tanuma, who would tell his mother, who probably wouldn’t approve. It was time for the second step in his investigation.

“You can leave,” he told the maid.

“Your mother told me to move these things to Okaru’s new room.”

“Come back later,” Masahiro said.

He was the master’s son. The maid went. Masahiro hesitated, feeling guilty about snooping and afraid of what he might find. He gingerly sorted through the kimonos on the floor. Okaru’s sweet scent wafted up from them. He caught up a robe and buried his face in the soft, bright floral fabric. Embarrassed, he dropped the robe as if it were on fire. He didn’t find anything suspicious among Okaru’s clothes, shoes, and few other personal items in the right side of the cabinet. He examined a doll that had a chipped porcelain head. A girl who still liked dolls couldn’t be a criminal, could she?

Masahiro moved to the left side of the cabinet. Here robes and trousers were neatly folded, their material sturdy, their colors drab. They must belong to the servant named Goza. All were masculine in style. Masahiro searched the cabinet until he came upon a bundle on the floor. The bundle was a brown kimono wrapped around a pair of gray trousers with rope drawstrings. Both garments were blotched with stiff, reddish-brown stains.

A bad feeling came over Masahiro.

The stains were dried blood.

A high, feminine, angry voice behind him demanded, “What are you doing?”

Taken by surprise, Masahiro yelled. He dropped the clothes and banged his elbow painfully on the cabinet as he turned.

Goza stood there, her fists clenched, a savage look on her mustached face. Masahiro stammered, “I was just looking-”

“For what?” Goza towered over him, trapping him against the cabinet.

Masahiro remembered that this was his house, he was a detective, and he was the one supposed to ask the questions. He snatched up the clothes he’d dropped and thrust them at Goza. She stepped back. Moving away from the cabinet, he said, “Where did this blood come from?”

Goza’s eyes were like a pig’s, small and mean, sunken into the thick flesh of her broad face. “None of your business,” she said, and grabbed the clothes.

“You have to answer,” Masahiro said. “Or I’ll get my father, and you can tell him.”

The piggy eyes glinted with fear and antagonism. “It’s from a bloody nose.”

“Whose nose? My grandfather’s? Did you beat him up?”

“Stupid boy,” Goza said. “You don’t know anything.”

“Where were you the night before last?” Masahiro persisted.

“Here. In the house.”

“No, you weren’t,” Masahiro said disdainfully. “I already asked the guards. They said you left and didn’t come back until the next morning. Where were you really?”

Goza muttered a curse. “I was out.”

“Out, where? What were you doing?”

A dirty, sly gleam crept into Goza’s eyes. “Do you like Okaru?”

Masahiro was taken aback by the change of topic. His first impulse was to lie rather than tell Goza to mind her own business. “No.”

“Yes, you do.” Goza regarded him with amused contempt. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. You want her, just like all the other men.”

His face aflame with embarrassment, Masahiro could only shake his head. If Goza knew how he felt about Okaru, who else did?

Goza grabbed him by the front of his kimono and yanked him close to her. Masahiro was so startled that he forgot to resist. She said, “Listen, stupid boy. Better not tell anybody what you found.” Masahiro recoiled from her hot, sour breath. “If you do, it won’t just be me that gets in trouble. It’ll be Okaru, too. Because I’m her servant. Whatever I’ve done, it was because she told me to. She’ll be arrested and killed. And it will be your fault.”

As Masahiro gaped in horror, the floor in the corridor creaked under footsteps. He heard the maid say, “I just saw Goza, she went in there.”

Goza released Masahiro, stepping back from him just before the maid and a guard entered the room. “You’re not allowed in here anymore,” the guard told Goza. “Come with me.”

Goza bent a warning look on Masahiro. “Remember what I said.”

Before she and the guard left the room, Masahiro caught a fleeting glimpse of two crude black tattoos on her wrist.

* * *

Okaru’s new room was a cubbyhole in the servants’ quarters, an outbuilding near the kitchens. Lieutenant Tanuma leaned against the wall in the corridor outside, guarding Okaru. Before Reiko left the estate, she looked in on her prisoner. Okaru knelt on the mattress on the wooden pallet, her sad face lifted to the sunlight that came through the paper panes of the barred window. When she saw Reiko, her eyes filled with hope and entreaty. Reiko shut the door, pulled her cloak tighter around herself, and left the servants’ quarters. Walking up the path to the mansion, she met Chiyo.

Chiyo fell into step beside Reiko and voiced the thought that was on both of their minds. “Did she do it?”

“I don’t know,” Reiko said. “But I don’t think so.”

“I must say that neither do I,” Chiyo said. “When we first met Okaru, I was distrustful of her, but I can’t believe she has it in her to deliberately harm anyone.”

Guilt distressed Reiko. “If she didn’t have anything to do with the attack on my father, then I’m being cruel to treat her like this.” Suspicion provoked a burn of anger. “If she did, then I’ll never forgive myself for bringing her into my family.”

Chiyo didn’t say she’d warned Reiko not to get involved with Okaru. She said soothingly, “You couldn’t have known what would happen to your father. It isn’t your fault, even if it is Okaru’s. You were trying to help someone in need. And maybe Okaru is innocent.”

Even if she was, she’d certainly opened the door to a lot of trouble. Without her story about Oishi and the vendetta, Sano’s investigation might not have taken the course that it had. Magistrate Ueda might not have been attacked.

But Reiko said, “You’re right. The assassin could be someone who has a personal grudge against my father. And if he was hired by someone, there are other people besides Okaru who could have done it. I’m going to see Oishi’s wife and Lady Asano.”

She and Chiyo reached the front courtyard, where her palanquin, bearers, and guards stood waiting. Chiyo said, “Shall I come with you?”

“I’d better go alone.” Reiko needed time to think.

The two women bid each other a stilted good-bye. Reiko climbed inside her palanquin, unhappily aware that she’d hurt Chiyo’s feelings. Even if Okaru was innocent, she had come between Reiko and Chiyo.

* * *

Riding away from Edo Castle, Hirata studied the list of repeat offenders. Their residences were scattered all over town. He wouldn’t have time to look for Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi. Now that he’d slept on his encounter with them, it seemed unreal, the aim of their society a joke. Magic rituals to influence the course of fate, indeed!

He glanced backward at the palace, where Tahara had thrown the branch, and snorted. What did those men think was going to happen? The hill under Edo Castle would erupt like a volcano?

One repeat offender, named Genzo, lived near the blacksmiths’ district, where the doshin had chased Magistrate Ueda’s attacker. Hirata rode along a narrow lane. Between the gates at the ends were tenements-ramshackle, two-story, connected buildings. A woman came out of a room on a lower floor and dumped a pail of dirty water onto muddy snow. Balconies fronted the upper stories. Smoke from the blacksmiths’ shops fouled the air with soot.

A man emerged onto a balcony. He had shaggy black hair; his gray kimono strained across his thick shoulders. He looked out onto the street, yawned, and scratched his head. Hirata saw two black tattoos on the man’s arm, at the same instant he sensed the sullen red aura with glinting sparks, the energy that bespoke weakness and brutality. A combination of Reiko’s detective work and Hirata’s supernatural powers had led to the culprit.

The man turned his head toward Hirata. Recognition flashed in his puffy eyes, even though he and Hirata weren’t acquainted: A perpetual criminal knows the law when he sees it coming after him. He rushed into the room behind the balcony. Hirata galloped his horse toward the house, stood in the saddle, and jumped.

He caught the wooden railing of the balcony and pulled himself up. He charged into a room cluttered with an unmade bed, heaps of clothes, and a bow and a quiver of arrows. The man was nowhere in sight. Hirata heard footsteps pounding down stairs. He sped through a curtained door, into a dim, narrow stairwell. Clearing the stairs in one leap, he saw the man run across a courtyard. Hirata caught the man by the shoulder just before he reached the gate. The man turned, his eyes wide with shock: He couldn’t believe Hirata had caught up with him so fast. Hirata squeezed a nerve in his shoulder. The man crumpled, howling with pain.

“Who are you?” He clutched his arm, which jerked in spasms. “What did you do to me?”

Hirata said, “Don’t worry-the damage isn’t permanent. My name is Hirata.”

The man gasped. He obviously knew Hirata’s reputation. “What do you want?”

“Are you Genzo, convicted twice for assault?” Hirata asked.

“Yes. But I haven’t done anything wrong since then.”

“You ambushed three men the other night,” Hirata said. “You killed two of them and beat the third so badly that he may die, too.”

“How did you know I did?” Genzo was so flabbergasted that he didn’t think to deny the accusation. Confusion, terror, and pain had caused him to blurt out his guilt.

“Never mind.” Hirata seized Genzo by his uninjured arm and hauled him to his feet. “You’re under arrest.”

As he marched Genzo out of the courtyard to the street, Hirata looked up at Edo Castle. It looked the same as ever, with a smoke haze around its hill and its white walls and tile roofs shining in the sun. Nothing had happened yet, as far as Hirata could tell.