"Shinjū" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rowland Laura Joh)

Chapter 3

Sano awoke to the sound of footsteps outside his bedchamber in the yoriki barracks. Stirring beneath thick quilts, he lifted his head from his wooden neck rest. A slit of light widened as the door slid open, and the maid entered on her knees, bearing a bucket of hot coals.

“Good morning, yoriki-san,” she said cheerfully, bending to dump some coals into a brazier near his futon.

Through the thin walls came other sounds of morning in the barracks. The veranda that ran past the doors of his and ten other adjoining apartments creaked and shuddered under hurrying feet. Sano’s colleagues called greetings to one another. It had taken him a while to get used to the noise, so different from the quiet of the house where he’d lived with only his parents and one maid-of-all-work. Grimacing at a loud crash from the other side of the wall, he rose cautiously.

To his relief, the queasiness that had continued all yesterday evening after the dissection had passed. He felt refreshed, hungry, and even confident that he could discover who had killed Noriyoshi and Yukiko. Only the lingering fear of disobeying Magistrate Ogyu and concern for his reputation clouded his thoughts.

Hurriedly Sano pulled on his heavy winter robe and went to the entryway for his shoes. Shivering in the chill gray morning, he followed the veranda to the privies attached to the building. He saw none of his colleagues, for which he was glad: the camaraderie they shared didn’t include him.

When Sano returned to his rooms, his manservant helped him wash, then dress in fresh black hakama, white under-robe, dark blue kimono printed with black squares, and a black sash. The maid had stored his bedding in the closet, removed yesterday’s clothes for washing, and swept the mats. As the manservant oiled and arranged his hair, Sano reflected that his position had its benefits. This apartment, located within the police compound, was bigger and better than he’d ever imagined having. A whole family could sleep in the bedchamber. The sitting room, equally large, had a desk alcove with built-in shelves, like one in a rich man’s house. His income was two hundred koku a year, the cash equivalent of enough rice to feed two hundred men for that long. Even after deductions for room, board, stable fees, and servants’ wages, he made many times as much as he had tutoring.

Sano sighed inwardly as he dismissed his manservant and headed for the barracks dining room. He couldn’t really enjoy these pleasures because his peers were anything but welcoming.

Although it was late, six men still knelt in the dining room, finishing their morning meal: Yamaga, Hayashi, and four others, all immaculately groomed and dressed, manicured hands holding their tea bowls. Their heads turned toward Sano as he paused in the entrance. The conversation ceased.

Then Hachiya Akira, senior yoriki, a heavy man of fifty with a soft-jowled face, spoke. “We thought you were not coming.” He took another sip of tea from his bowl. “Many thanks for giving us the honor of your company.” Murmurs from the others echoed the mild disapproval in his tone.

“My apologies,” Sano said as he took his place beside Hayashi. As little as they welcomed his presence, the other yoriki still expected him at meals and in their rooms when they gathered at night to drink and talk. Otherwise he would have eaten in his own apartment and spent his free time reading or with old friends. This endurance of slights, baiting, and loneliness was a duty he couldn’t shirk.

“Very well.” Releasing him. Hachiya turned to the others and resumed their conversation, which, as usual, dealt with politics.

“Whatever one thinks of the government,” he said, “it does maintain order throughout our nation. There has not been a significant disturbance since the Shimabara peasant uprising was quelled more than fifty years ago. Because the Tokugawa military force far exceeds that of any daimyo clan that might challenge the regime, we are free from the threat of war.”

But throughout history, ambitious men had successfully faced great challenges to win power for themselves, Sano remembered. Five hundred years ago, Minamoto Yoritomo-a Tokugawa ancestor-had defeated the imperial forces to become shogun. The Ashikaga clan had supplanted the Minamoto. More recently, great warlords had waged almost a hundred years of civil war in their quest to dominate. Despite the apparent permanence of the Tokugawa supremacy, no regime lasts forever. That the government was quick to detect and crush budding insurrections showed that it recognized this fact. Still, a majority of samurai considered the Tokugawas invincible and such precautions superfluous.

“However, I must admit that things have changed since the assassination of that superb statesman, the Great Elder Hotta Masatoshi,” Hachiya continued. “Without his guidance, Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi seems to have lost his taste for government affairs. Why, I remember when he conducted proceedings against the corruption in Takata just eight years ago. The daimyo was stripped of his fief, his second-in-command was ordered to commit seppuku, and the rest of the partisans were banished. Now Tsunayoshi occupies himself with other pursuits. Lecturing his officials on Chinese philosophy and classics. Reviving the old Shinto festivals. Acting as patron to the theater and endowing Confucian academies.”

Hachiya’s neutral tone implied no dissatisfaction. With spies everywhere, no one dared criticize the shogun openly. But Sano had gotten the message and knew the others had, too. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi had his detractors, both here in this room and at every level of society.

Yamaga’s thin nostrils flared in distaste as he said, “His Excellency’s chief chamberlain-the clever and charming Yanagisawa- wields much power now.” He set down his bowl. Then, in a lighter manner, as if to change the subject: “The incidence of certain physical practices seems to be on the rise. One can observe the consequences. His Excellency… many individuals… the treasury… ” He let the words hang.

“Ah.” Noncommittal sounds came from the others as they nodded and lowered their eyes.

Sano hid a smile as he accepted an ozen-an individual meal tray containing rice, fish, pickled radish, and tea-from the maid. Yamaga’s gift for circumspect communication nearly matched Ogyu’s. He’d just told them, although not in so many words, that the rumormongers said Chamberlain Yanagisawa preferred men to women and had had an affair with the shogun, whose protege he’d been since his youth. From that affair sprang Yanagisawa’s influence over the nation. And the shogun’s own appetite for men wasn’t satisfied by Yanagisawa. Evidently he used government funds to lavish gifts upon many lovers, including a harem of boys. This had caused resentment within the ranks of the shogun’s retainers, as well as among the great daimyo, although not because they disapproved of his sexual preference. Many samurai practiced manly love; they considered it an expression of the Way of the Warrior. Rather they objected to the shogun’s blatant favoritism. The conversation turned to general matters. Talking during meals was considered rude, but the other men had finished eating and apparently saw nothing wrong with gossiping around Sano as he ate. Excluded from the conversation, as he had been every morning, Sano mentally stepped back to look at himself and his companions. How different they were from the warriors of old!

Instead of gathering outdoors in the morning to discuss strategy before a battle, they dined in comfort while chatting about politics. Hachiya, now holding forth on his problems with a certain treasury official, was hardly General Hōjō Masamura, who had successfully defended the country against invading Mongols four hundred years before. Although Sano was grateful for the peace that had brought prosperity and stability to the country, he regretted the lost simplicity of those bygone days.

The Way of the Warrior had undergone a subtle alteration in response to the changed times. Samurai still upheld honor, bravery, and loyalty as the highest virtues. They still carried swords and were responsible for keeping their fighting skills up to standard in the event of war. But in addition to swearing allegiance to a lord, they owed sometimes conflicting loyalties to a whole network of superiors, allies, and patrons, in addition to shogun and emperor. And while most samurai practiced the martial arts at academies such as the one Sano’s father operated, many didn’t. Like Yamaga and Hayashi, they’d gone soft. True, Tokugawa Ieyasu’s Ordinances for the Military Houses called on samurai to engage in polite learning as well as military training. In peacetime, their energy must be directed into civilian channels; both their education and the dwindling value of their stipends made them ideal candidates for service in the government bureaucracy. But Sano couldn’t help thinking that the samurai soul had lost much of its steel.

And, along with it, the certainty born of knowing that your life is to be spent in preparation for battle to the death in your lord’s service. Nothing in Sano’s life had prepared him for the task of investigating a murder and finding a killer. How should he go about it?

Pondering his dilemma, Sano realized belatedly that Hayashi was asking him a question in an impatient tone that indicated he’d already repeated it once.

“I’m sorry, Hayashi-san. I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?”

Looking straight into Sano’s eyes, Hayashi said pointedly, “It is a commonly held opinion that they who teach do so because they have no other skills. Therefore, it is good that the government is so well organized that it virtually runs itself. This way it matters little how posts are filled. Nor the qualifications of the men who hold them. Would you not agree?”

The words hung ominously in the air. Silence fell as the others awaited his reaction. Sano could feel himself flushing as he saw them exchange glances, suppress smiles. He’d had all he could take of the constant baiting and veiled insults. Perhaps because he shared Hayashi’s low opinion of his qualifications, a sudden fury boiled up inside him. The frustration of the past month spilled over. A bitter retort sprang to his lips. Only the knowledge that an open quarrel with Hayashi would earn him a reprimand from Ogyu made him bite it back. Ogyu expected the police department to run smoothly and unobtrusively.

“Some might think so,” Sano forced himself to answer calmly. “Others perhaps not.”

Hayashi’s smirk made him even angrier. Out of anger came inspiration. No matter what these men thought, a tutor and history scholar had plenty of useful skills! Ones that could be applied to any task-even the investigation of a murder. When he wanted to learn about a historical event or person, he questioned people who had witnessed the event or known the person. As yet he had no witnesses to the murders. But he could talk to those who’d been close to Yukiko and Noriyoshi. Maybe that way he could discover their killer’s motive and identity. Throwing down his chopsticks, he rose and bowed his farewells to the others.

Hachiya frowned. “Leaving us so soon?”

“Yes.” Sano looked down at the six upturned faces. The hostility he saw there saddened and worried him. His inability to make comrades of his peers boded ill for the future. But he tried to convince himself that their enmity didn’t matter. Finding the truth and bringing a killer to justice did. “I must go to my office and leave orders for my staff. Then I shall pay my respects to the families of the dead.”

The yashiki-great fortified estates of the daimyo-occupied large tracts of land south and east of Edo Castle. Each was surrounded by a continuous line of barracks, where as many as two thousand of the lords’ retainers lived. Decorated with black tiles set in geometric patterns, their white plaster walls were punctuated by heavily guarded gates. Smooth, straight thoroughfares, wide enough to accommodate huge military processions, divided the estates. Along them, multitudes of samurai moved on foot or on horseback.

Sano walked quickly through the avenues, checking each gate for the crest that would identify the Niu yashiki. The weather had turned colder; a cloudy sky pressed down upon the city, threatening snow. His breath frosted the air, and he bunched his gloved hands in the sleeves of his cloak for extra warmth. Under his arm he carried the obligatory funeral gift: a package of expensive cakes, wrapped in white paper and tied with black and white string. The castle loomed before him, an imposing conglomeration of stone walls and tile roofs set on a wooded hilltop.

He paused for a moment to look about. The sight of Edo Castle, the fortresses around it, and all the armed men reminded him forcibly that this city was first and foremost a military base. The thousands of townspeople, crammed into the meager remaining land between here and the river, existed only to serve it. Edo belonged to the shogun and the daimyo.

Niu Masamune, as befitting his wealth and power, would have one of the estates nearest the castle, Sano thought as he continued on his way. Ah, there it was: the Niu clan symbol, a dragonfly within a circle, painted in red on a white banner. Black mourning drapery hung in loops above the gate. Sano reflected that the dragonfly, symbol of victory, seemed an inappropriate crest for the Nius. They and their allies had, after all, suffered defeat at Sekigahara by the Tokugawa faction. After the battle, the Nius had been stripped of their ancestral fief. But Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, had realized that unless he somehow pacified his conquered foes, they wouldn’t stay conquered for long. He’d granted them other fiefs-the Nius’ in distant Satsuma, far from their traditional power base. He and his descendants had exacted a fortune in tributes from these daimyo clans, while allowing them to keep much of their wealth and to govern their provinces autonomously. Thus Niu Masamune maintained his status as one of the highest-ranking “outside lords”-those whose clans had sworn allegiance to Tokugawa Ieyasu after Sekigahara. The elaborate gate, with its red beams, twin guardhouses, massive double doors, and heavy tile roof, proclaimed its supremacy over the simpler gates of lesser daimyo.

Sano stopped a few paces from the Niu gate. Never had he imagined calling on a daimyo, for any reason. Now he wondered whether he had the audacity to elicit details of Yukiko’s life while seemingly paying an official condolence call. Only his increasingly compelling need to seek the truth and find Yukiko’s killer gave him the courage to approach the guardhouse.

He identified himself to one of the guards and explained, “I wish to pay my respects to the Niu family.” Then, not wanting to tell a total lie about his reason for coming, he added,”And to settle a few matters regarding Miss Yukiko’s death.”

The guard said, “Please wait.” Unlike the Edo Jail guards, he acted neither surprised nor servile. As retainer to a great lord, he no doubt encountered many visitors who ranked far higher than a yoriki. He left his guardhouse and crossed to the other, where he consulted his partner. Then he opened the gate, spoke to someone inside, and closed it again. “Wait,” he repeated to Sano.

Sano waited. The damp chill seeped into him, and he paced before the guardhouses to keep warm. Finally, when he was beginning to think he would never gain admittance to the yashiki, the gate opened again.

Another guard stood there. Bowing, he said, “Sir, Lord Niu is not presently in the city. But if you would be so obliging as to come with me, Lady Niu will see you.”

Sano wasn’t surprised to find Lord Niu absent, or Lady Niu at home in Edo. According to the law of alternate attendance, the daimyo spent four months of each year in the capital, and the rest on their provincial estates. When they returned to their estates, the shogun made them leave their wives and families in Edo as hostages. The daimyo were divided into two groups, one of which was in Edo while the other was in the country. These restrictions, which greatly humiliated the proud daimyo, effectively kept them from plotting and staging a rebellion. They also had to maintain two establishments, thereby draining their wealth into nonmilitary expenditures. Peace came with a high price, and the daimyo had paid it with their money, their pride, and their freedom. Still, Sano hadn’t expected Lady Niu to receive him. Most ladies spent their days confined to the women’s quarters of their mansions while the daimyo’s retainers handled the households’ official business. They seldom received strangers of the opposite sex. Even more curious now-and increasingly unsure of how he should act once inside- Sano followed the guard through the gate.

He saw immediately that the yashiki was laid out like a military camp, where soldiers’ tents were arranged around the general’s. Here the barracks bordered a vast courtyard where tens of samurai patrolled, protecting the estate’s center where the Niu family lived. Other samurai tinkered with weapons in the guardrooms, or sat idly. More barracks, larger and more elaborate residences for higher-ranking officers, formed an inner wall. A paved walk led

Sano and his escort through them and into a formal garden. Beyond this lay the daimyo’s mansion, a large but deceptively simple-looking structure with half-timbered walls and a tile roof, set above the ground on a granite podium. Sano knew that such mansions were rambling complexes of many buildings, connected by long corridors or intersecting roofs, that housed hundreds. Awe, combined with a sense of his own inferiority, weakened Sano’s resolve. Was he a fool, daring to confront such a rich and powerful family?

Just outside the house stood an open shed containing several palanquins decorated with elaborate carved lacquerwork. Sano followed the guard beneath the covered porch and into the spacious entry way, where he removed his shoes and donned a pair of guest slippers. He placed his swords on a shelf that held a large collection of bows, swords, and spears; etiquette dictated that samurai must always enter a private home unarmed. Then he followed his guide into the house proper.

The guard’s quick pace allowed him only a glimpse of a vast empty reception room with a coffered ceiling, murals of green islands in a swirling blue sea, and a large dais at the far end where the daimyo sat during formal ceremonies. A maid was opening windows to air the room; through them, Sano saw the outdoor stage where No dramas were performed in summer. Everything was elegant and luxurious, but not ostentatiously so. The Tokugawa sumptuary laws forbade lavish home decoration, and no daimyo would risk seizure of his property.

A corridor led to another reception room. From it came the murmur of voices. When they entered, the guard knelt and bowed.

“Yoriki Sano Ichirō, from the Office of the North Magistrate,” he announced, rising to stand beside the door.

Sano also knelt and bowed. When he raised his head, his eyes went immediately to the woman who knelt upon the dais, dominating the room and everyone in it.

Against the painted backdrop of misty gray mountains, Lady Niu was a striking figure in her aqua kimono printed with colorful landscapes. Her body was broad and straight, like a man’s; the white throat that rose from the kimono’s deep neckline formed a strong, thick column. From the neck up, she had an arresting classical beauty. Her face was an elongated oval with smooth, youthful skin, a slender nose, long, narrow eyes, and a delicate small mouth vivid with scarlet paint. Her black hair, swept back from her forehead into an elaborate chignon fastened with lacquer combs, showed no gray. But her erect posture and confident air suggested maturity. A silk quilt patterned in diamonds of aqua and black covered her lap and spread over the square frame of a charcoal brazier. Against it, her hands lay folded, their smallness and daintiness belying the aura of power she exuded. Lady Niu was a fascinating study in contrasts: a woman whose appearance combined beauty with strength, who radiated femininity but did not let convention shut her away from the world. Sano wanted to know more about her.

Bowing again, he recited the words appropriate to the occasion. “I offer you this humble token of my respect.” With both hands, he extended the box of cakes. Funeral custom prohibited him from directly mentioning death during a condolence call. He would have to introduce the subject after the formalities were done.

“Your tribute is much appreciated.” Lady Niu’s voice was husky but melodious. If she felt any grief over Yukiko’s death, she hid it behind her properly calm demeanor. She inclined her head. Then she turned toward the wall on her left. “Eii-chan?”

Now Sano took notice of the others in the room. The figure coming toward him was not a child, as the diminutive chan implied, but a large, hulking man with a lumpy, pock-marked face. His vacant expression at first made Sano think that this was a feebleminded servant kept on for some reason involving obligation or sentiment. However, the rich black silk robes and two elaborate swords identified Eii-chan as a high-ranking retainer in the daimyo’s service. And Sano saw an unmistakable flash of intelligence- wary, measuring-in the tiny eyes that met his for an instant. Without speaking, Eii-chan held out a tray to receive Sano’s gift and to offer the traditional return token, a decorated box of matches. Then he carried the tray to a table by the door, set the gift there among others, and resumed his place near Lady Niu.

“Lord Niu’s daughters,” Lady Niu said, nodding toward a standing screen on one side of the room, halfway between her and Sano.

Through its close-woven lattice, Sano discerned two shadowy figures. Otherwise he could see nothing of the women but a fold of red silk kimono lying on the floor beside the screen. As he watched, a hand snatched it out of sight. He noted that Lady Niu had said “Lord Niu’s” and not “my” daughters. They must be the children of a concubine, placed in Lady Niu’s charge.

“I understand that you have come on official business regarding Yukiko,” Lady Niu said.

“Yes.” Sano was glad that she’d brought it up first. “Regretfully I must trouble you with a few questions.”

Lady Niu lowered her eyes, signifying resigned acceptance. Her expression was serene, like that of a royal beauty in an ancient painting.

Sano had planned his questions carefully. He must avoid giving any sign that he was investigating a murder, and avoid offending the Nius. And he was conscious of the listening daughters behind the screen, no doubt eager for forbidden knowledge. So instead of asking Lady Niu if she believed the deaths were suicide, he said, “Were you surprised by the manner of Miss Yukiko’s demise?”

“Yes, of course,” Lady Niu replied. She paused. “But in retrospect, I am forced to admit that it was sadly in keeping with Yukiko”s character.”

A small gasp issued from behind the screen, so faint that Sano barely heard it.

Evidently Lady Niu didn’t. “Many young girls are influenced too much by the theater, Yoriki Sano,” she said. “As you must have seen from the note that Magistrate Ogyu showed you. You are new to the police service, are you not?”

“Yes. I am.” Her remark caught Sano off guard. He’d taken for granted that those who cared about such matters knew who he was and that he’d been assigned to handle the shinjū, but he hadn’t realized that they included Lady Niu. Most women took no interest in government affairs. Once again he wondered what made Lady Niu different.

Just then a door at the side of the room slid open. A kneeling maid entered, carrying a tray laden with tea utensils and a plate of rice cakes. She rose and crossed the room. When she placed the tray before Sano and poured out the green tea, her hands shook, spilling it all over the tray. Sano saw her tense, pale face and red, swollen eyes.

“O-hisa! Take that tray away and bring another at once!” Lady Niu’s voice was sharp with impatience.

The maid burst into tears. Her sobs rent the quietness. She picked up the tray, but her fumbling hands tilted the cakes onto the floor. Sano reached over to help her, wondering at her extreme reaction to Lady Niu’s scolding. Had something else- perhaps grief for Yukiko-caused it?

“Eii-chan, see to her,” Lady Niu ordered.

For a large man, Eii-chan moved quickly, the instant before Lady Niu spoke, as if anticipating her order. In a flash, he was across the room. He put the cakes back on the tray, picked it up, and seized the weeping maid’s arm with one fluid movement. He deposited both tray and maid outside the door, and returned to his position almost before Sano could blink, with a face as impassive as a carved No mask. Despite his doltish appearance, he was an efficient servant and probably more perceptive and capable of independent thought than his masters might suspect.

“I regret the inconvenience caused you by my clumsy maid,”

Lady Niu said. Then she tilted her head and frowned as if she heard something that displeased her.

Sano heard the muffled sobs, too. They came from the daughters behind the lattice screen. Were they also weeping for Yukiko? Sano thought he sensed a strange emotional undercurrent in the house. Comprised of what? Fear? Despair? Or did his knowledge that Yukiko had been murdered color his judgment?

“Midori. Keiko. Leave us.” At Lady Niu’s soft command the sobbing stopped. Then scuffles, footsteps; a door hidden by the screen opened and closed. The daughters had gone, without Sano’s seeing them.

“It is best that we not discuss this matter any further in the presence of innocent young girls,” Lady Niu said. “Now what else do you want to know?”

Just then the door O-hisa had come through slid open again. Sano, glad for the chance to collect his thoughts, turned to look at the young man who stood there.

“Forgive me for the interruption, Mother,” the man said, “but the priest is here to see you about the arrangements for Yukiko’s funeral.”

For the first time, Lady Niu seemed uneasy. Her hands went up as if to push the man from the room. Then she folded them in her lap again and said woodenly, “Yoriki Sano, may I present my son, Niu Masahito, Lord Niu’s youngest.”

Sano bowed, acknowledging the introduction. He was struck by Lady and young Lord Niu’s resemblance. They shared the same facial beauty and strong physique. Lord Niu’s upper body showed signs of rigorous physical training: broad shoulders, clearly defined muscles in his neck and in the parts of his arms and chest not covered by his somber gray and black kimono. But Lord Niu’s feverishly bright eyes gave his face an intensity that his mother’s lacked. While Lady Niu appeared tall even when kneeling, her son was short. Although his carriage and the timbre of his voice put him in his early twenties, he stood no higher than a boy many years younger. Sano had heard Lord Niu Masamune called the “Little Daimyo” because of his size, so at odds with his status. His son took after him.

“Masahito, perhaps you would like to speak with the priest yourself.” Lady Niu’s voice held the merest hint of warning.

But Lord Niu didn’t take the hint. He crossed the room to kneel at one side of the dais, facing Sano. He had a slightly stiff gait, and when he knelt he used both hands to position his right leg beside the other.

“Yoriki Sano is here to discuss some administrative matters regarding Yukiko’s death,” Lady Niu told her son. “They need not concern you.”

“On the contrary, Mother. I can’t think of anything that would interest me more.” Lord Niu waved an imperious hand at Sano. “Continue. Please.”

Lord Niu’s presence worried Sano. It was a distraction that might render Lady Niu less cooperative, and himself more likely to make a misstep. Still, he was glad of a chance to meet another member of Yukiko’s family.

“What was Miss Yukiko like?” he said, longing to ask whether she had had any enemies, but forced to disguise his intent with a polite query. “How did she get along with others?”

Lady Niu spoke quickly, as if to prevent her son from answering. “Yukiko was secretive. She kept her thoughts to herself. Still, she was a most gentle and accomplished girl. Everyone admired her.”

“Everyone, Mother?” Lord Niu put in, emphasizing the first word.

He seemed to enjoy baiting her, but except for one pleading glance, she didn’t react. She evidently indulged her son, tolerating behavior from him that would earn a daughter harsh punishment. Sano decided that Lord Niu’s presence had an advantage after all. His remark clearly contradicted his mother’s portrait of Yukiko.

“Who did not?” Sano asked Lord Niu directly.

Lady Niu intercepted the question. “Masahito is only joking. There was no one who did not hold Yukiko in the highest regard.”

This time Lord Niu didn’t interject. He kept his eyes on Sano, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Sano tried a change of subject. Wanting to learn how Yukiko’s murderer could have gotten an opportunity to kill her, he said, “Wouldn’t it have been difficult for Miss Yukiko to get out of the house alone?” He would let them think he was merely asking how a sheltered young lady had managed to meet her lover.

“This is a large house, Yoriki Sano,” Lady Niu answered. “Many people live here, and it is difficult to keep track of everyone. And we have learned that Yukiko bribed one of the guards to let her out the gate after dark on at least one occasion.” Her lips tightened. “He has since been dismissed.”

Sano’s interest stirred. “Did anyone see her leave the night she died, or know where she went?”

“No.” Lady Niu sighed. “Unfortunately, we all attended a musical entertainment given by Lord Kuroda.” She tilted her head in the direction of the neighboring yashiki. “No one missed her.” She added, “The event did not end until rather late.”

Lord Niu emitted a sharp, ringing laugh. “ ‘Rather late’? That’s putting it mildly, Mother.” To Sano, he said, “We were up until almost dawn. Small wonder that no one bothered to check on who was where when we got home. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.” Sano was growing discouraged. The Nius had told him nothing he could take to Magistrate Ogyu as evidence of murder. And he was running out of questions.

Lord Niu leaned toward him, a speculative gleam in his feverish eyes. “From your questions, one would almost think Yukiko had been murdered. Because you seem to be trying to find out whether anyone would have, or could have killed her, and if we know who.” He raised an eyebrow. “Yes? No?”

Sano, dismayed that Lord Niu had seen through him so easily, said nothing. He forced himself to hold the young man’s penetrating gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Niu shift restlessly, but she did not intervene.

“But Yukiko committed suicide,” Lord Niu continued, his smile widening into a grin that revealed perfect teeth. “So there is no need for further questions, is there?” His tone conveyed dismissal.

Sano had no alternative but to make his farewells and follow the guard back through the corridor and main reception room. Disappointment weighed heavily on him as he reclaimed his shoes and swords in the entry way. He’d learned nothing much of value during this call, except that Lady Niu and her son apparently accepted Yukiko’s death as suicide. Perhaps a bit too readily? Shouldn’t they want to explore the possibility of murder, which endangered the entire family? Sano reined in his imagination. Although jealousy and rivalry could provoke murder within the best of families, he had no reason to believe that one of Yukiko’s own relatives was involved in her death. The tensions he’d observed within the daimyo’s household probably stemmed from another source. The crying maid, the daughter’s gasp, and Lord Niu’s hint at an enemy in Yukiko’s past did not necessarily indicate otherwise.

Outside, the guard stopped to confer with another whom they met on the garden path. Sano waited, wondering if he would have better luck when he questioned Noriyoshi’s family. Then a low whistle turned his head. Not birdsong, but a snatch of classical melody.

Sano looked around. Except for himself and the two guards, the garden was deserted. The shuttered windows of the surrounding barracks gazed back at him like blind eyes.

“Sir!” a voice whispered urgently. “Sir!”

Then he saw a face peering out of a doorway in the mansion, not far from the main entrance; a young girl’s face, with long straight hair that fell around it from a center part and tossed in the wind.

“I have something to tell you,” she hissed. “Come with me. Quickly!” She thrust out a hand to beckon him, and Sano caught sight of her kimono. It was red, like the fold he’d seen sticking out from behind the lattice screen. Then she vanished through the doorway.

Sano hesitated. What would happen to him if he followed her? Men had suffered demotion, maiming, or exile as punishment for even the hint of improper behavior toward a lord’s daughter. He glanced at the two guards. Deep in conversation, they’d drifted down the path, their backs toward him. His desire to catch the killer gave him daring. The call of inescapable destiny beckoned. He took the risk.

Once through the doorway, he found himself in a long, narrow passage that ran between a high bamboo fence and the walls of the mansion’s other wings. Following it, he saw no sign of the girl or anyone else, but he could hear voices coming from inside the house. He quickened his pace, looking over his shoulder and expecting someone to accost him at any moment.

The passage angled left and came to an abrupt end at an open gate. Sano peered cautiously through it. All clear. He tiptoed across the threshold and into a garden. There the gnarled limbs of a tall pine blocked the sky and made the dull winter day seem even gloomier. A bridge made of a single stone slab lay across a pond whose surface was littered with pine needles and dead leaves. Several boulders, their sides brown with lichen and moss, stood on the bank of the pond.

She stepped from behind the largest boulder so suddenly that he cried out in surprise.

“Shhh!” The girl put a finger to her lips, casting a furtive glance toward a veranda at one side of the garden.

Now that he stood face to face with her, Sano could see that she was no more than twelve or thirteen years old. She had plump cheeks, full lips, and a round chin. Eyes that must normally sparkle with merriment now regarded him solemnly.

“Can I trust you?” she asked.

Surprised by her ungirlish boldness, Sano answered her as he might have done one of his pupils. “I can’t tell you who to trust and who not to trust,” he said. “Miss… Midori?”

Apparently his honesty satisfied her, and he’d guessed right about her name. She nodded, threw another glance at the veranda, and whispered, “Yukiko didn’t kill herself!”

“But your mother thinks she did.” Sano fought down a surge of excitement, striving for objectivity. “And so does your brother. And the magistrate, and everyone else but Dr. Ito and me.

Midori stamped her foot, small fists clenched at her sides. “She’s not my mother!” she cried. “Don’t ever call her that.” Her voice rose, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Then, in a whisper nearly as loud, she hurried on. “She’s my father’s second wife. My mother-Yukiko’s mother-was his concubine. She’s dead. And I don’t care what anyone thinks. Yukiko would never kill herself. Especially not that way, with a man. She didn’t know any men. At least, not… ” Blushing, she lowered her head so that her silky hair curtained her face.

Not as a lover, Sano thought, completing the sentence Midori was too embarrassed to finish.

“How do you know?” he asked. He reminded himself that she was a child, with a child’s unwillingness to believe the worst about a beloved older sister.

Something of his skepticism must have entered his voice, because she flung her head up, eyes blazing. “I know!” she stormed. “I can prove it.” She yanked on his sleeve so hard he thought the fabric would tear. “Someone killed Yukiko. Please believe me. You’ve got to-”

“Midori! What do you think you’re doing?”

Sano jumped at the sound of the harsh voice. Turning, he saw

Lady Niu standing on the veranda, the open door framing her. Fury distorted her beautiful face. Beside Sano, Midori let out a little moan. The three of them stood in frozen silence for a moment.

Then Lady Niu said, “Go to your room at once, Midori.” A deadly calm replaced the anger in her voice, but her expression did not alter.

Without looking at Sano, Midori scuttled off, head ducked, down a path leading out of the garden.

“As for you, Yoriki Sano,” Lady Niu continued, “I advise you to leave at once. And never to return.”

Sano heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw his guard, looking angry and resentful.

“Take him away,” Lady Niu told the guard.

Sano let the guard escort him to the gate, feeling relieved and very foolish. How ironic if, after all the other risks he’d taken, he had ruined his career to indulge a fanciful child!

Once safely back on the street, he regretted not hearing Midori’s tale. It might have provided him with the evidence to convince Ogyu that more investigation was necessary. Maybe he would risk trying to question Midori again later, after he’d seen Noriyoshi’s family.