The Shogun's Daughter

10

Masahiro hurried through Edo Castle, on his way to help his father with the most important investigation of their lives. He wore a leather shoulder pouch and a pole attached to his back that flew a banner printed with the Tokugawa triple-hollyhock-leaf crest-his page’s uniform. An official stopped him, said, “Take this message to the north army command post,” and pushed a scroll container into his hands.

Unable to refuse because his position in the regime was already shaky, Masahiro delivered the scroll. Afterward, he met two fellow pages. They blocked his way down the passage.

“What have we here?” said one of them, a surly, thickset boy named Ukyo.

“It’s the great Masahiro, who used to be head of the shogun’s private chambers,” said Gizaemon, the other boy. His little black eyes glinted with mean pleasure in a face like a rat’s. “But he got kicked out of the palace today.”

These boys and others had resented him because the shogun had chosen Masahiro to serve as head of his chambers and bypassed them. Masahiro stood his ground even though Ukyo and Gizaemon were two years older, taller, and stronger than he. “Get out of my way.”

“‘Get out of my way,’” Ukyo mocked him in a girlish falsetto.

Gizaemon snickered. “Say ‘please.’”

Masahiro knew he could beat them in a sword fight. He’d done so at martial arts practice, another reason they were tickled by his downfall. But drawing a weapon inside Edo Castle was against the law, punishable by death.

“‘Please,’” Masahiro said through gritted teeth.

The two boys stood aside. As he passed them, they grabbed him. They wrestled him onto the ground, seized his hair, and banged his face against the paving stones. Then they released him and walked away, laughing.

Masahiro stood up. He wiped his face with his hand, which came away bloody from a cut on his nose. He burned with shame and anger. Remembering how he’d been demoted in front of the assembly at the palace, he blinked back tears. That, and seeing his father brought down by Yanagisawa, had been the worst experience of his life. And this attack was only a taste of trouble to come, Masahiro knew. Yanagisawa would never leave his family in peace. Masahiro held his head high while he strode through the castle, avoiding the gazes of the people he passed. As he exited the castle gate, he swore to solve the murder of the shogun’s daughter and prove Yanagisawa was guilty.

By the time he reached the crowded, bustling daimyo district, the temple bells began tolling noon. The sun shone with a force that promised a hot summer. Laborers repairing the estates had stripped down to their loincloths. Their naked legs and torsos gleamed with sweat. Sawdust choked the air. Masahiro loitered near Lord Tsunanori’s gate and pondered what to do.

The sentries wouldn’t just let him walk in and start asking people, “Did you see Yanagisawa kill the shogun’s daughter?” Masahiro reached in his bag, took out a scroll container, and approached the sentries. “I have a message for Lord Tsunanori, from the shogun.”

“Thanks, I’ll give it to him,” one of the men said.

“My instructions were to put it into his hands myself,” Masahiro lied.

“I’ll see that he gets it.” The man snatched the scroll from Masahiro.

Masahiro wondered what Lord Tsunanori would think when he opened the empty container. He walked around the estate, peering up at the surrounding barracks, until he reached the back gate. It was open and unguarded. A group of carpenters sauntered in, carrying boards over their shoulders. Masahiro followed.

Although repairs had been finished on the lord’s mansion and the parts of the estate visible from the outside, new stables and servants’ quarters were still under construction, amid hammering and sawing. Smoke billowed from hearths under a huge tent where cooks prepared food for the daimyo’s entourage. Oxcarts, workbenches, piles of lumber and stones, and trash heaps took up much of the grounds. Masahiro saw shaved crowns and topknots on many workers. There weren’t enough peasants to rebuild Edo. Samurai who normally spent their time loafing now had to work for their stipends. As Masahiro looked around, wondering where to start his inquiries, he heard shouts, then a loud shattering noise.

Four samurai stood atop a building. They’d been affixing ceramic tiles on the roof. Below them a box lay on the ground amid broken tiles. Two of the samurai cursed angrily. A third yelled, “Look what you did, you clumsy fool! It’s a good thing nobody was standing down there. Go pick those tiles up!”

The fourth man, who’d knocked the box off the roof, climbed down a ladder. He was younger than the others, in his early twenties. While they had strong, tough muscles and faces, he had a slender build and handsome, sensitive features.

“Save the unbroken ones,” a man on the roof ordered. “There’s a shortage of tiles.”

Masahiro hurried over to help. “Thank you,” the young man muttered as he and Masahiro sorted good tiles into the box and threw fragments onto a trash heap.

The other men sat on the roof and watched. Disgruntled because they were forced to do menial labor, they took out their anger on their comrade, talking about him as if he weren’t there. “I never saw anybody so careless.” “He doesn’t pay attention to what he’s doing.” The young man’s sensitive mouth tightened as he sorted tiles. “His head has been in the clouds.” “Do you think it’s because of the mistress?” The men chuckled.

Masahiro’s attention perked up. The mistress-that must mean Lord Tsunanori’s wife, Tsuruhime. He studied the man he was helping. Could he have something to do with the shogun’s daughter and her murder?

The young man flung the last good tile into the box. His cheeks were bright red. With quick, angry movements he lifted the box onto a wooden platform and cranked a pulley. The men on the roof grasped the box and guided it onto the roof. They continued their conversation.

“All those afternoons he spent alone with her in her room before she got sick.” “Did he think the master wouldn’t find out?” “Now that she’s dead, he’s really lost his wits.”

“Shut up!” the young man burst out, glaring up at his comrades. “Just shut the hell up!”

They guffawed. One said, “Jinnosuke is in a bad mood.” Another said, “His little balls must be aching because he’s not getting any pussy!”

Masahiro had overheard enough conversation at Edo Castle to understand that these men were talking about sex. Their remarks implied that the young man had had an affair with Tsuruhime. Masahiro was excited because it might have a bearing on her murder.

Jinnosuke stalked toward the gate, his eyes shiny with angry tears. The other men called, “Hey, come back here and get to work!”

Masahiro hurried after Jinnosuke. Outside the gate he bumped into a little girl in a green kimono. “Taeko?” Startled, he said, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” She looked timid and anxious.

“How did you know where I was?”

“I followed you.”

“You followed me?” Masahiro said, taken aback. “All the way from the house?”

Taeko nodded. She hunched her shoulders.

Masahiro was upset because he hadn’t noticed her. If he couldn’t spot a little girl on his trail, what would have happened if someone dangerous had been stalking him? He would be dead. And Taeko must have seen the other pages bullying him. His face burned with fresh shame.

“I thought I told you to stay home,” he said.

She looked at the ground. “I wanted to help you investigate.”

Masahiro looked up the street. Jinnosuke was nowhere in sight. Masahiro ran to the intersection, looked left, then right. All he saw were porters, oxcarts, mounted troops, and pedestrians. He ran back to Taeko.

“I lost my witness!” All the anger and frustration that had built up inside him today spilled over. “It’s your fault.”

Taeko stared up at him with alarm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to come,” Masahiro said, venting the emotions he’d struggled to hide from other people. “Because you would get in the way! And now I have to put off my investigation to take you home!”

Tears welled in Taeko’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I won’t bother you anymore.” She turned and ran down the street.

Now Masahiro was sorry he’d scolded her. She didn’t understand what he was going through. He’d done the same thing those samurai had-taken out his anger on an innocent person. And Taeko was his friend. How he regretted hurting her feelings!

“Wait, Taeko,” he called.

She was gone.